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I genuinely cannot believe that my fic is doing so well. Sure, to other people it may not be "wonderful" or "groundbreaking", but I never imagined over 200 people would want to even take a look at my writing.

It's just so incredible to me that this little fic of brain vomit has become such a big thing (at least for me) in just a week.

I hope it continues to be enjoyed by ghost fans and that people continue to read it. I might get another chapter out by Tuesday, so look forward to that too!

From The Pinnacle: Ch.6

WC: 3,807

Chapter 1 on AO3

Read under the cut or on AO3

They woke to pale light filtering through their curtains, tangled with something warm and… purring?

They blinked their eyes open, glancing around only to find a large earth ghoul clinging onto their chest, practically laying on top of them, simply purring.

They inhaled sharply, getting their elbows under them to allow them to sit somewhat upright. They stared with wide eyes, taking in his curving antlers and curly brown hair. He was still asleep, and though they wanted to just be held close for the hours for the first time in what… decades? They couldn't help the way their heart jumped at the sensation of being crushed and trapped.

They wriggled, trying to free themself from his grip while still trying not to wake him. They gritted their teeth as the action sent pain thudding down their arm.

Mountain yawned, blinking open his eyes. They stilled, watching closely as Mountain cast his eyes lazily around the room, before landing on their own.

“Oh, shit,” Mountain remarked, grumbling. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, grunting as he did so and thankfully releasing them. He pushed himself down, nearing the edge of the bed, almost falling off it before he clumsily managed to get a foot under himself for balance.

They breathed out, more at ease without his weight pressing into them. They ignored the twinge of loss they felt in the base of their skull, in favor of letting out a single, breathy “Thanks.”

Mountain nodded, bringing his hands to his face and rubbing at his eyes. “I'm sorry,” he managed, voice gravely from sleep.

They just nodded, pulling themselves further upright and rubbing the sleep from their own eyes.

“You weren't too uncomfortable, were you?” Mountain asked, voice getting gradually more bright.

They shrugged, not really wanting to reveal how much they did enjoy the comforting touch. “It's alright.”

Mountain nodded, yawning again and gently massaging his injured shoulder. “Still, I'm sorry. I'm going to go get some breakfast, do you want me to bring you any?”

They shook their head, and Mountain nodded again. “Stay and rest,” he said, sleepily stumbling out the door.

It didn't seem to be much later at all that they received a knock on their door.

“Everyone’s gathered to meet the other summon, if you would like to come. Lunch is about to be ready, too,” Mountain told them, sounding much more chipper, leaning his head through the door.

“Will Dew be there?” They asked, meeting his eyes, tail swishing back and forth anxiously.

Mountain shook his head. “He's out right now. We figured it would be best to introduce her to everyone without him there, given how he reacted with you…” Mountain trailed off.

They nodded, glancing rapidly around their room before standing. “Okay.”

Mountain grinned at them, turning back around as they trailed him through the door.

They kept swaying their tail, trying desperately to soothe themself as they did so. Shame still coursed through them just as the dull, throbbing pain did, and they self-consciously placed a hand over the wrapped wound.

Mountain glanced back at them and nodded as he passed through a small archway. They breathed slowly and controlled as they followed.

Nearly instantly they were taken over by the undeniable feeling of being outcast. Mountain had stopped over to a couch and was instantly settling in, chatting with the ghouls next to him. Rain was curled into a small armchair, focusing diligently on a small rectangle he held in his hand. Teeth leaned against a doorway farther into the room, looking too cold to even warrant an approach.

The longer they stood there, the more awkward they felt, and so they quickly sidled up next to the arm of the couch and just stood there, arms behind their back and just waiting.

They could feel the seconds ticking by, gaze fixed determinably on a tall, polished box of wood on the opposite wall. Their eyes tracked the back and forth swing of a golden disk, examining the circular white face it held above.

They felt drawn to the object, somehow. It felt imbued with magic, weaved through with threads of quintessence but also something far more mechanical. Every swing, they expected the golden disk to slow or stop, but it never did.

It just swung, punctuated by a nearly indiscernible ticking sound.

Swing, tick, swing, tick, swing, tick, swing…

They looked about themself frantically as the box began to let out deep bell chimes. None of the other ghouls seemed to be phased as it rang out a musical pattern, but they did notice Teeth looking at them with a soft smile on his face. They tore their gaze away immediately, blushing in embarrassment and staring towards the archway instead.

It couldn't have been even a second later that they watched Cumulus walk through the door, followed closely by a much shorter ghoulette.

They were the first to notice them, but in just a few seconds, the room was silent.

They squinted at the ghoulette, studying her. She seemed nervous, just as he had, and her eyes were fixed more on Cumulus than anything else.

They felt frozen in place as her gaze fell from Cumulus and fixed on them. She blinked, and they blinked back. She smiled, and they felt their own mouth form into an awkward grin, before they dipped their head, breaking off eye contact.

Cumulus wrapped an arm around her shoulders, tugging her close to her. “Meet our new ghoulette, Aurora,” she announced. They glanced back up to examine the reactions of the other ghouls around them, and to once more study Aurora. “Cirrus, you've met her, but the rest…” Cumulus trailed off, flourishing a hand around the room.

Mountain smiled sweetly at her. “Aurora, I'm Mountain, earth ghoul. I'm the pack leader.” They blinked at this information in surprise, as he had never told them. However, when they studied Aurora’s reaction, she just smiled and waved a little.

Rain spoke up next. “Rain, water ghoul.” It was much like how he had greeted them; shy, quiet.

Teeth spoke up next, and they watched Aurora closely as she tensed a little. “I'm Swiss, multi ghoul.” Ah, Swiss, that was his name. They watched closely as Swiss dipped his head, not displaying his wide grin. Interesting. Mountain must have warned him about how it had freaked them out.

It was quiet for several beats, and they realized everyone had their eyes glued into them expectantly. “Oh, uh,” they stumbled over their words for a moment. “I'm the new quintessence ghoul,” they said, smiling as well as they were able. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Mountain spoke up after them. “We have a fire ghoul, too, but he's currently unavailable. You can meet him later.”

Aurora nodded. “That's okay,” she said, voice melodic.

Cumulus ushered her forward like an attentive mother sending her kit off to play, and she stumbled forward a little, smiling awkwardly.

To either their dismay or their excitement, Aurora first decided to walk straight for them. They ducked their head and swayed their tail side to side, a little anxious.

“Hello,” Aurora greeted when she reached them. “What's your name?”

Deja vu hit them like a train and they had to fight to keep their brain from swirling down a pit of doubt. “I didn't choose one yet.”

She just nodded, while they tried subtly to catch her scent. “Cumulus said that I could choose my own too, and I picked Aurora because it sounded pretty,” she explained. They appreciated the way she led the conversation, allowing them to not feel pressured into saying anything.

They wrapped their tail around their thigh a little self-consciously, trying even more desperately to catch her scent. They got wisps of different elements, much like Swiss but without the underlying foul odor.

“Anyways,” Aurora continued, oblivious to them struggling to catch her scent. “Are you a ghoul or a ghoulette?”

They tensed, just a little, at the blunt question. “Now?”

She shrugged, a little confused. “Yeah, now, when else?”

“Oh,” they said, a little breathlessly, brain floating away from them. “Um, a ghoul, kind of.”

“What do you mean, kind of?” She asked, tilting her head.

“Well, I feel like both. But also neither. Definitely more ghoul than ghoulette. Does that…?” They trail off a little, more confused having to explain it than anything else.

She smiled up at them, seemingly accepting the explanation. “Is that allowed?”

“Would it not be?” They asked, panic clearly slipping into their voice, enough to make Aurora laugh. They reeled themselves back in, blushing a little from the shame, while Aurora seemed purely unbothered.

“Lus,” Aurora called, turning away from them and prancing towards Cumulus. They trailed behind her like a lost puppy.

“Yes, Aurora?” Cumulus answered, not even turning from where she was braiding Cirrus’ hair.

“Is it allowed to be neither a ghoul or a ghoulette?” She asked, bouncing a little on her toes.

This got Cumulus to glance up, if only for a second. “Of course it is. Why do you ask?”

“Well it seems cool, plus…” she trailed off for a second, a little lost. “He… she… um…” she waved her hand in the quint’s direction where they stood a step behind her.

“They,” Cumulus supplemented.

“They!” Aurora picked up immediately, excitement back in her voice. “They said they didn't feel like either.”

Cumulus hummed and nodded. “So you're they?” She asked, question directed at the quint. Again, she only glanced up to meet their eyes for a second.

“I think so,” they answered, tail wrapping around their leg once more.

“Humans call that non-binary,” she explained, slipping a tie off her wrist and wrapping it securely around the end of the braid, lifting her hands to stroke over Cirrus’ horns instead as her gaze lifted to focus on the two new ghouls instead.

Aurora chimed in next. “Have there been any other ghouls up top who are not-bine-airy?”

Cumulus’ reaction was nearly imperceptible, but they immediately caught the change in her scent and slight tensing of her limbs. Cirrus wrapped her tail around Cumulus' leg, squeezing slightly in some sort of comfort.

“Kind of. It was a bit more complicated than that, though.” her voice strained a little as she spoke, even though Aurora didn't seem to catch it. They could sense the interest and worry beginning to peak form the other ghouls around them.

“Really? What was their name? What element were they? I never heard of anything like that in the pits,” she rambled on. They turned towards Aurora a little, eyes a little wide as they tried to communicate to stop talking.

Thankfully Cirrus interrupted, stretching her arms high above her head. “Eeh, I can't ever remember. They got summoned a long time ago. Anyways, Rory…”

They tuned out of the conversation then. They didn't quite believe that the ghoul was summoned too long ago for Cirrus to remember, mostly due to her and Cumulus' reactions. They mentally curled inward on themself, feeling a little shunned by being lied to. However, the crushing weight of the pack’s combined anxiety lifted, allowing them to breathe just that much more.

Their consciousness floated back to them, finding three pairs of ghoulette eyes all fixed on them, expecting. “What?” They asked, voice a little shaky.

“I said, do you want to take Aurora to the kitchen, get some food with her?” Cumulus asked.

“Oh. Yeah, I can-”

They were interrupted by the door slamming shut. All eyes turned immediately to the entrance of the room, waiting with baited breath.

“Hey, Rain, can you-” Dew cut himself off as he walked into the common room. He bared his fangs, growling lowly as he took in the pack gathered in the room. His eyes settled mainly on the two new summons, sparking with rage. “Fine. I see how it is,” he growled, whipping away and stalking down the hall.

Mountain stood quickly and followed after him. “Dew!” He shouted, voice punctuated sharply by a slamming door.

It was quiet for several moments, only the sound of Mountain's footsteps radiating down the halls, before they heard a door open and shut, muffled shouting starting up.

“Here we go,” Cirrus mumbled, breaking the silence in the room.

“You're not the one who has to share a wall with him,” Rain accuses, pointing one spindly finger at her. “I don't want to hear it.”

“What was that about?” Aurora asks, question mostly directed at Cumulus.

Cumulus sighed. “That's our resident hothead, Dew. Unfortunately he seems to be having trouble adjusting to the change, and it's making him much more annoying than usual.”

“We all thought we were done with this,” Swiss chimes in, rolling his eyes and sinking into Mountain's abandoned spot. “Clearly we aren't.”

A loud thump sounded from down the hall. “There it is,” Rain muttered.

“What did Mountain make for lunch?” The quintessence ghoul asked.

“Tuna melts. Go claim your own before Rain finishes them off,” Swiss answered, waving a hand a little dismissively. “And Rainy, if you don't want to listen to them going at it all night, my room's always open.”

Cirrus growled half-heartedly. “The walls are thin here; I don't want to hear that either.”

Swiss chuckled, leaning his head back into the couch. “Don’t act like you won't take the opportunity to spend the night with Lus.”

Cirrus gasped dramatically, a hand over her sternum. “And traumatize our poor new summon right next door?”

Aurora slapped her gently in the face with her tail as she turned around. “Ugh, shut up. I'm going to go get whatever a tuna melt is, you can fend for yourself on this one.”

Cirrus chuckled, and the quint hurried to follow Aurora to the kitchen. As they did, another thump echoed down the hall along with more muffled shouting. “Two for two,” Rain remarked sarcastically as they stepped into the kitchen.

“Hmmm,” Aurora hummed, surveying the kitchen with her hands on her hips. They stood behind her, looking around over her shoulder. “Do you know what a tuna melt looks like?” She asked.

They shrugged, glancing around the room. “That, maybe?” They said, pointing to a couple squares of something yellowish-brown in color.

Aurora shrugged. “Looks edible. I'll take it.”

They nodded in response, taking one of the squares and biting into it. Their eyes lit up, and they swallowed quickly. “Tastes like fish!”

“What's fish?” Aurora asked, taking a bite of her own.

“Rain caught one for me. They're super good,” they answered, taking more large bites out of the sandwich.

“Do they all look like,” Aurora paused, gesturing to her sandwich.

They shook their head rapidly. “No, no, not at all. I don't know how they got the fish into there,” they commented, squinting at the whitish filling.

Aurora shrugged. “Food here is weird.”

“But it tastes good,” Phantom commentented, finishing off their sandwich in one last bite.

A door slammed down the hall, tearing their attention away from their food. Both of them watched attentively through the arch, waiting in apprehension.

Dew stormed past, but the minute he saw the two ghouls in the kitchen, he swerved rapidly. “You,” he said, pointing at the quint. “You're coming with me, right now.” He grabbed harshly onto their wrist, tugging hard. They felt the skin of their wound stretch and break apart, beginning to seep blood again.

Their instincts flared, and before thinking, they lowered their head and charged forward. Their horns collided harshly with Dew’s, knocking into each other. Dew stared into their eyes and growled. They growled back.

They wrenched their head, feeling something give, and we're freed. The grip on their wrist was instantly gone, and they poised to fight but–

Dew was crouched on the ground, tail lashing nervously as he began picking up pieces of something. They heard low whimpers and chirps, and only then they realized that Dew’s right horn was gone. He clutched his hand over it protectively, but all that was left of it was chunks and sharp edges.

They began to back away, towards the common room where the rest of the pack was. Apparently the commotion had drawn them towards the kitchen, and they heard a hiss behind them. They whipped their head around, seeing Rain hurry past them to begin picking up the same pieces on the floor.

They felt hands grip their shoulders, pulling them back, but they couldn't bring themselves to fight it.

Their eyes stayed locked on the broken pieces of Dew’s horn on the ground. They did that. They had hurt him.

They could hear words and commotion around them, but their brain didn't even register it. They were just a fool. They had to be sent back to the pits now. Could horns grow back? In the pits, it was always too late to find out.

They knew they would be sent back to the pits now. Even as they were tugged out of line of sight to Dew, they knew it. They just kept causing problems. They needed to stop.

They needed to stop.

They needed to stop.

To stop.

Someone hissed in pain, the only thing that dragged them back to their relative consciousness. They registered Cumulus in front of them, teeth bared in pain, holding her hands close to her chest as if she’d been burned.

What had they done?

Why couldn't they just stop making the pack's life wrong?

They felt their fingers fizzle and pop, and they looked down at them.

When did they get on the couch?

They didn't even deserve the couch.

They stood, and they felt their body hiss with energy.

Then, they felt it expelled.

Not let out, not released, simply there one moment, and gone the next.

They tried valiantly to get a hold on their consciousness again, and as they did, they registered a faint buzzing against their skin.

They looked down at themself, and they were just…. Gone.

They were there, of course they were there, they could feel their legs and their torso and their hands. But they weren't there, not truly.

They took in a shaky breath, watching their arms flicker in and out of presence. And then they released it.

They stumbled, feeling the solidness of their body come back with a rush.

They could feel warm hands cradling them, setting them back gently on the couch, but still their vision swirled.

What was that? How did they do that?

They could feel their breathing pick up, even more quintessence sparking from their skin. They tried to rein it in, to control it, but it only spiraled further out of control.

A gentle weight settled itself on top of them, and it began soothing them. They felt quintessence that was too weak to be their own threading through their veins, soothing and thick like honey.

Their breathing began to slow, consciousness slipping back to them gradually. They wrapped their arms tight around the weight on top of them, pulling it closer as they began to register it as a ghoul.

They buried their head into its shoulder, letting out a shaky, muffled sob. They felt hands petting through its hair, scratching at their scalp and the base of their horns.

They felt themselves flicker more, in and out of corporeal form, quintessence stretching thinly over their skin, trying to bury them once more.

They were shaking, just shivering, wavering like a dead leaf, clutching harder onto their only sense of reality. They could feel the rise and fall of the other ghouls' chest, and they tried to match it. Their breath rattled in their lungs, frantically trying to keep pace.

Slowly, gently, they felt their mind and their body begin to slow. They felt comforted, safe, present.

The gentle tick, tick, tick of the tall box soothed them. Muffled whispers and scrabbling of claws could be heard in the other room, accompanied occasionally by a hiccuping sob.

The air was cool. The other ghoul was warm. The couch was soft. Their shirt was scratchy. The box ticked. Their hair was ruffled gently.

Their eyes gradually registered ones above them, leaning over their head. “Are you back with us?”

They purred, snuggling further into the ghoul. They other began to purr back.

“You gave us a bit of a scare there. We're very glad you didn't run off this time,” the ghoul said, tracing one finger down their horns over and over again.

Again, they simply purred in answer.

“Did you give them too much?” a more feminine voice asked from above them, shaking them as she spoke.

The ghoul above them shook their head. “I shouldn't have. I think they're just recovering from that.”

“Do you want to go check on Dew?”

The ghoul shrugged. “I guess. Can you handle them?”

“Don't you worry,” the ghoulette said, raising one hand to take up the brushing pattern along their horns. They closed their eyes, listening to the ghoul walk away. “How are you doing?”

They chirped at her. She chuckled. “Really?” They felt the weight on their chest shift, and they opened their eyes with a whine, their eyes meeting turquoise-colored ones haloed with white curls. “Do you remember my name?” She asked.

They chirped again, grasping and clinging onto her, trying to pull her back down onto them.

She laughed sweetly again. “Come on, you've got it.”

They wracked their brain, digging into every buried nook and cranny, trying desperately to remember. “Cu- lus- Lus?” They asked.

She chuckled again. “Close enough. What about the other ghoul?”

Again they dug through the depths of their mind, searching and searching. Not Teeth, they remembered that much, but not Rain, something odd, maybe Dew-

They gasped, sitting up rapidly. They thrust their hands wildly out in front of them, trying to push Cumulus off. They fought to pull their legs close to their chest, tears gathering in their eyes.

“Whoa, whoa, you're okay kid,” Cumulus frantically tried to reassure as she stumbled off them as fast as she could manage.

The instant the weight lifted from them, they pulled their legs towards them, tucking their face into them and curling their tail and arms around them. “Stop, stop, stop,” they mumbled.

“Listen, you're okay, you know that?” Cumulus told them, kneeling on the floor beside the couch, placing one hand on their arm.

They shook their head. “Let me go, let me go.” Cumulus raced to release them, and they shot up, rushing right past her. They barely registered the world around them until they reached their door, slamming their whole body into and through it.

They slammed the door behind them, racing toward their nest, immediately burying themselves in its body wracked with sobs.

Not even Mountain came to check on them.

From The Pinnacle: Ch.7

WC: 4,234

Chapter one here

Read under the cut or on AO3

Phantom gets a name in this one :) Unfortunately it doesn't mean it's going to be a happy chapter :(

They hadn't left their room since the incident. Even late through the night, no one came to check on them to see how they were doing or even to bring them food.

They had only slipped into a restless sleep when the sun began to rise, only to be awoken by a knock. The position of the sun in the sky indicates they hadn't slept long, yet their ears still twitched eagerly at the sound of the knock.

“Come in,” they called quietly, rolling to face the door.

The door clicked open, revealing Mountain. “Breakfast is ready. There's important things to do today.”

They didn't let Mountain’s thinly stretched smile fool them. His scent was stronger than usual, sour at the edges as if tinged with mold. They could feel his energy twisting and pulsing, erratic, and could sense pain radiating from him, mental and physical.

They shoved an elbow under themself, propping themself up. “Did your cut open again?”

They could feel him retract and flinch even if his physical body made no reaction to their words. “It's not bad.”

They shook their head. “No. Come here. I can at least help.”

“I'm fine-”

“Mountain,” they deadpanned, tone of voice forcing him towards them with his head hung shamefully.

They could do this. If they didn't, what would happen to them? What were they if not useful?

They took a deep breath, gathering the static and essence from around the room and condensing it. They reached out with one hand, placing it over Mountain’s wound, and began to weave the quintessence into his skin.

Thread into thread, curl, knot, pull.

Mountain yelped and tore himself away from them. They felt what little static they had poured into him tear out, worsening the wound, and sighed.

“You have to stay still for this. It hurts right now, but give it an hour and you won't even feel it,” they said, beckoning him back to them.

“It's not supposed to hurt at all!” Mountain placed a hand protectively over his shoulder, voice squeaking on his last few words.

His words barrelled at them, hitting them hard enough in the chest to knock them over. They felt a pounding ache settle into their ribcage, beating strong and angry as they bared their teeth defensively. “If you were dying in the pit you wouldn't turn this down,” they snapped.

He looked shocked for a moment, his mouth open slightly in what could have been a gasp and his eyebrows cinched together in pain. He took a stumbling step back before quickly recovering, and they could smell his scent shift from sour to sharp.

“Fine.” His voice was cold and unforgiving. “Whether you get breakfast or not, there's things that need done today. Swiss'll help you.”

He whipped around, one hand still clutching his injured shoulder. He didn't even bother to close the door behind him.

In the cold weight of his absence they felt their anger fade and begin to morph into guilt, settling heavy on their ribs and shoulders.

They shouldn't have snapped at him. They would be punished for this, for being broken, because it wasn't supposed to hurt. They would be sent back to the pits, or estranged from the pack, or neglected by Mountain, though that seemed likely already…

Their chest constricted, ribs cutting into their lungs and heart, digging into their flesh and suffocating them. They couldn't have this right now. They had to stop it. There were things to do today.

One breath in.

Don't spiral.

One breath out.

Don't spiral.

One breath in.

Stand up.

One breath out.

Step forward.

Each breath, they encouraged the weight to lighten. Each breath, they took another step, forcing their worries into the deep pits of their mind.

The weight was freed from their ribs by the time they stepped into the kitchen, bustling with activity. They tensed, only slightly, as their eyes locked with Mountain’s from across the room.

One breath in.

Blink.

One breath out.

He turned away, saying nothing and breaking eye contact with them. They relaxed, stepping forward into the room and glancing around for food.

They jumped, tensing once more as a hand was placed on their shoulder, whipping around to face the threat. They came eye-to-eye with not a ghoul, but an unfamiliar human.

One breath in.

“Ghoul! I'm sorry for startling you, however it is great to see you out and about,” the human greeted cheerfully, waving its hand about as it spoke. Something seemed familiar about its face, especially its mismatched eyes, but they couldn't place exactly what.

One breath out.

They nodded hesitantly, just once, willing themself to calm.

The human chuckled. “Yes, I'm sure Mountain told you all about it. Today you'll get your very first schedule!”

“A schedule for what?” They asked, tilting their head to the side questioningly.

“Ah, chores, and band practice. Very exciting.” The human clapped them on the shoulder twice, and before they could deduce whether or not it was joking, it turned away.

They accepted its vague answer and shouldered their way forward, grabbing a plate and loading up some food onto it.

Mountain didn't look at them the whole time they were serving themselves. With a pang, they realized that neither were the other ghouls. Not Cumulus, not Cirrus, not even Rain.

They didn't need help scooping the food onto their plate, though it would have been nice to be offered it. It would have also been nice to know exactly what they were eating, but no one had offered them the name.

They cut into a round that smelled vaguely like meat, biting into it and chewing. The flavor was drowned out by salt, making it less than pleasant to eat, but they weren't going to complain and make things worse for themselves. After all, this might very well be the last meal they had before being sent back.

They were interrupted from their thoughts as Swiss slid into the chair right next to them, startling them as he spoke. “Good job being nice to Papa.”

“What?” They asked, turning towards him, frantically swallowing the meat.

He shoveled a fork full of tan shapes into his mouth and made a face. “Can you pass me the hot sauce?” He asked, ignoring their question.

“Me?”

He waved his hand a little dismissively. “Yes, you. The red stuff.” He pointed across the table, and they shifted their gaze to see what he was gesturing to.

They stretched their arm out across the table, moving to grasp the shiny red bottle. It was oddly cold to the touch for being called “hot sauce”. They turned back, passing the bottle into Swiss' hand.

“Thank you. Anyways, I’m going to take you to get your schedule; Mountain asked me to,” Swiss rambled, unscrewing something on top and pouring a generous amount of the hot sauce onto the food before scooping it into his mouth. “I am not looking forward to having chores again. I'll teach you how to skip, if you want.”

“Skip? Skip what?” They asked, mirroring him and scooping the tan food into their mouth, cringing at the bland flavor.

Swiss chuckled, once again ignoring their question. “Yeah, Cumulus is notorious for making bland potatoes. Here.” He reached over, pouring some hot sauce over a portion of the “potatoes”. “Try that.”

They nodded, a little cautious as they scooped the potatoes into their mouth, tilting their head curiously at the foreign flavor. “Thanks.”

Swiss nodded, scooping more of the potatoes into his mouth, tail flicking in thought. “Y’know, I have no idea how you did…” he paused, gesturing to their whole body. “That last night.”

“What?”

“Turning invisible or whatever you did. You have to remember it, right?” He asked, swallowing his mouthful of food. They nodded a little. “So how did you do it?”

“I… I'm not sure,” they stammered in answer after a moment. They remembered the feeling, sure, that feeling of panic, of needing to hide. They remembered the quintessence stretched over their skin, thin and patchy. But to recreate that? It was completely different.

“Hm.” Swiss shrugged, taking another bite, completely unaware of their worry. “Well, I guess I can ask Delta if I can find him. He seems like he would know.”

“Who's Delta?” They asked, trying desperately to keep up with Swiss' train of thought. They think they had heard the name before, that night mixed in with flashes of pain and regret.

Swiss sat up straighter suddenly, pointing his fork right at the center of their chest. “Someone you shouldn't go out looking for.” Despite his words, his voice was somewhat playful. “Satan knows what he'd do with a newbie like you.”

“Is he a quintessence ghoul?”

Swiss turned back to his food, eyebrows raised a little bit. “Well, yes. Still, don't go hunting for him. He’s gone a little…” he trailed off, gesturing with his fork.

They sighed a little, turning back to their own food and quickly finishing what was left of it.

The human spoke loudly from the entrance to the kitchen. “Thank you, my ghouls. Please talk to Sister today, show the summons around, all the important stuff. I must go.”

“Thanks Papa!” Swiss called from beside him. Similar calls of thanks and goodbyes echoed around the room at his departure.

They turned to look a little wide eyed at Swiss. “That's Papa?”

Swiss laughed, tilting his head back suddenly. “Yeah, yeah, that's Papa. Hard to recognize without the paint, I know.”

“What paint?”

Swiss waved his hand as he stood up, empty plate in his hands and a mouthful of food. He swallowed before speaking. “The patterns on his face. They aren't part of him, he paints them on.”

“Really?” They asked, incredulous. They stood after him, plate in their hands just like he had.

“Really,” Swiss answered, before turning his attention away. “Lus, how's the other one doing?”

Cumulus chuckled. “Not great. Definitely got spooked last night. I'll try my darndest to get her out for orientation today, but I'm not sure if it'll work.”

Swiss shrugged, dumping his plate into the sink. The quint copied him, guilt zinging through his veins.

She could have been their friend. She would have been their friend, but then they had to go and ruin it, scaring her off.

They tried desperately to shake the thoughts out of their head, trailing after Swiss aimlessly. He seemed joyful, each step accompanied by a little hop.

“Swiss, quit teaching our summon bad manners!” Cumulus called after, making him only move faster.

He glanced behind himself, eyes wide and eccentric, and tossed his head. “Go get ready. Meet me in the common room when you are and then we'll go, okay?” He pushed partway through a door, leaning on the doorframe and looking at them expectantly.

They nodded hesitantly, turning down the hall and making their way to their own door, hearing Swiss’ door swing shut behind him.

They did what Mountain called a “shower”, cleaning themself as well as possible and wrinkling their nose at the acrid smell of the foam. They stepped out, shivering in the cold air on their wet skin, before grabbing the soft piece of fabric and drying all the water from their skin. They ruffled it over their hair, the fabric quickly soaking up the drips from their hair.

They stared into the blank wall above the sink, hands planted firmly on the counter either side of it. There was supposed to be something called a “mirror” there, but Mountain said it spooked most new summons so they took it down for the time being.

Instead, shapes were scrawled into the paint roughly and randomly. Many of them they didn't recognize, but there was one scrawled in the language of the pits, simply saying the equivalent of “Alpha fucked here”.

They repeated the words to themself quietly, just once, before pushing up off the counter. Their chest ached faintly for the pit as they stepped out of the bathroom.

They pulled on the clothes Mountain had left for them, faintly registering that there was only one set left and that they would need more.

They stepped outside their room finally, making their way slowly to the common room and frowning as they realized that Swiss wasn't there yet. They settled instead to stand opposite the tall, ticking box, observing it quietly.

“You like the clock, huh?” They jumped as Swiss’ voice resounded from beside them, glancing over at him. “Courtesy of Cowbell. Sweet ghoul, but a little kooky.”

“Cowbell? Kooky?” They tilted their head questioningly.

Swiss waved his hand about as he spoke. “Off his rocker. Not all there. Kinda eccentric. Y'know, crazy.”

They just nodded thoughtfully, turning their head away before whipping it back to face Swiss as realization hit them. “You smell different.”

Swiss laughed, full hearted and joyful. “Really? That's what you notice?”

They just nodded, scenting him again. Their mind wasn't just playing tricks on them, the underlying foul stench that always seemed to follow Swiss around was gone. Instead, he smelled like spice and rock, underlying elements mixing faintly with his scent as well.

“Oh, yeah, I forgot to tell ya…” Swiss turned towards them, a goofy grin on his face and his arms crossed. “Our bodies up top tend to smell a lot different than in the pit. Plus, y'know, weed, but,” Swiss didn't finish his sentence, simply waving his hand dismissively.

That wasn't quite the answer they were wanting, but it seemed to be the one they got.

“Anyways, bud, before we go there's two things I need to show you,” Swiss said, looking slightly more subdued. “First one is a little scary the first time, so just promise you won't freak out on me.”

They eyed him carefully, nodding just once but holding their guard up. Swiss nodded back, before wiggling his fingers at them. “Ready?” He asked, and before they had the chance to answer, he raised his hand to his head and brushed it over his forehead and across his scalp. And it didn't bump into his horns, his horns which were… his horns?

They hissed a little as they recognized the change, taking a step back. “Whoa, whoa,” Swiss interjected, holding his hands out. “Don't freak out on me,” he repeated. “This is called a glamour, and all ghouls can do it on themselves, no matter their element. Got that?”

They nodded, trying to stay calm as they eyed Swiss up and down. “And that's not all. We also have to do the tail-” Swiss scooped it into his hand, letting it slide out and… disappear. They barely had the time to register the change as Swiss just kept on talking. “And the ears!” He swiped his hands over his ears and they turned round, rather than pointed.

They hissed again, weaker, but Swiss took it in stride. “This is all we need to go around the ministry. Plus one other thing, but I'll get to that later.” They nodded at him, taking in and accepting his scent, reassuring themselves that he was still Swiss. “Now, it is a little difficult to do and I'm not the right person to teach you, but you can do it on other ghouls with quintessence. Please don't freak out on me for this part,” Swiss said, voice rushing a little.

At first they didn't comprehend anything had changed, other than a tingle of quintessence across their skin.

That was, until they lashed their tail with nerves.

Or tried to.

They whipped their head around, to do what, they weren't sure, but at least to try and find it. Their attempts were futile. There was no stringy tail swinging behind them as it normally would be. With urgency, they ran their hands over their head and their ears. They didn’t feel any bit of their horns, and their ears no longer extended out and tapered to a point.

Swiss nodded at them, simply watching as they registered what had happened. Finally, he spoke. “I know it's weird, but we have to.”

“Why?” Their voice squeaked embarrassingly high on the word. Their claws grasped at where their horns should be in panic, feeling vulnerable without them.

Swiss shrugged, not paying much mind to their reaction. “I don't know. It's just the rules. Now, the last thing will definitely help with how you're feeling right now,” he said, turning and picking up something silver and shiny on the table behind him.

They still clutched their claws over where their horns should be, looking at Swiss, more scared than anything.

“We have to wear masks while out and about. These aren't the current masks we have-” he held up the silver object. “-but they are the most comfortable, especially for new ghouls.” Swiss scrabbled at the back of the silver thing, before pulling a black band out from it and sliding it over his face. Only his eyes and his mouth peeked out from it. “See?”

They buried their feelings about the eerie masks, deciding to simply get it over with instead as they held out their hand for the other mask.

Instead of placing it in their hand, however, Swiss pulled the strap of the mask back himself and stepped towards them. “Let me,” he said simply, slipping the mask over their face.

It was cold, eerily so. Once it was secure, they lifted their hands and ran them across the shiny exterior. They felt cool nubs of horns and chirped slightly, more at ease now with the illusion of horns.

Swiss chuckled and nodded. “Okay, now we can go. Follow me.”

They hurried after him as he guided them out of the den and into the halls thick with humans. They fought to keep their eyes locked onto his back the whole way, rather than looking around.

Finally, Swiss came to a halting stop outside a door, looking behind him as the quint took a few more steps to catch up. “I'm going to stay out here. You're going to talk to Sister,” he explained concisely, swinging his hand towards the door.

“Who’s Sister?” They asked, eyeing the door nervously.

Swiss shrugged. “Sister Imperator. She runs the place. She seems scary, but I promise she won't hurt you.” He paused, looking at them expectantly. “Go on, then.”

They dipped their head in embarrassment, reaching for the door handle and twisting it, before pushing through.

The very first thing they noticed was a woman with graying hair piled on top of her head sat at a desk, a lamp shining over the piece of paper she was leant over. “You forgot to knock,” she drawled as they shut the door behind them. She glanced up, squinting at them. “Sit, ghoul.”

They did as they were told, eyes darting around the room. Dark wooden cabinets were piled high around the room, shelves covered in papers and assorted pens, more lamps staggered precariously on piles of books and laying sideways on the highest cabinets. Their attention snapped back to the woman as she spoke once more.

“Are you one of the new ones?” She asked, taking a frame of shining thin metal off her face and setting it to the side.

They nodded, not daring to speak. If it were possible, their tail would be flicking anxiously by now.

She nodded, humming to herself and moving to shuffle through a pile of papers. “Perfect. I'm Sister Imperator. I have just the thing right here…”

They said nothing, watching patiently as she pulled out a paper from the stack and placed it in front of herself and picking up her pen. “Have you been summoned before?”

The question immediately caught them off guard, though they shook their head nonetheless, accompanying the gesture with a small “no”.

She hummed, scratching something into the paper. “And your name?”

“What?”

Don't spiral.

“Your name. I need your name for your schedule so we know who has which duties,” Sister hummed, tapping her pen on the table a little impatiently.

Their mind was lost, reeling around them. They barely registered themself speaking, hearing their voice as if it was outside their body. “I don't have one yet.”

She set down her pen and raised her hand to her face, rubbing at the bridge of her nose and sighing. She picked up the pen again and looked at them, eyes surprisingly kind. “You need one. Anything you've been pondering over?”

“Phantom.” They curled their mind around the name, using it as an anchor to hold onto amid their swirling thoughts.

She hummed, seeming pleased, scratching into the paper once more. “Phantom it is.”

* * *

They somehow managed to stumble through Sister's barrage of questions, even managing to close the door behind them before they collapsed against the adjacent wall. Swiss whistled. “That good, huh?”

They tried to calm their racing nerves enough to answer. “Got a name,” they managed to pant out.

“Which is?”

“Phantom. Like I was thinking about before.” Again, they grasped onto the name with sharp claws and hugged it close to their chest, hoping to calm their racing heart.

Swiss smiled at them, grin visible through the opening of the mask. “Well it's nice to meet you, Phantom.” His smile faded into a slight frown. “You alright?”

Phantom breathed in hard, clutching to that simple utterance of their name. Their heart hammered in the confines of their ribs, fighting to break free. They moved to shake their head, but only made it half a turn.

Swiss stepped towards them, frown still on his face. “Can I help calm you down?”

They felt their breath get stuck in their lungs, just for a moment, before nodding, the world still swirling around them.

Fingertips graced their shoulder before calm oozed into their veins, pumping through each of their limbs, filling their heart and swimming up until they could no longer hear pounding in their skull.

They relaxed their muscles, the wall supporting more of their weight than their legs. “Are you going to be alright?” Swiss asked, taking his fingertips away. Phantom just nodded, head bonking gently against the wall.

Swiss hummed. “I'll be as quick as I can. Don't go anywhere.”

The door clicked open and shut next to them, and they reveled in the newfound calmness of their blood.

Phantom observed the hallway silently, watching every person who passed carefully. It was much less busy than the others, however many of the people bustled past with urgency.

The door opened again next to them, and Swiss stepped out, releasing a relieved sigh as he spotted Phantom in the same spot he had left them.

“Okay. Let's get back.”

They just nodded, pushing themself off the wall and trailing after Swiss.

Swiss led Phantom to an armchair in the common room, sitting them down and removing the mask and the glamour before bringing them food.

They barely registered any of the ghouls passing by, mind still a little sluggish from the quintessence. Hushed whispers were all they managed to catch as they walked by.

It was when the calming, loopy energy was wearing off that someone finally came to a stop in front of them. The sun was high in the sky behind them, and they looked up to a ghoul awash in light.

“Hey.”

Phantom shrugged. “Hey.”

“Are you okay?” The voice was stretched thin, and faintly unrecognizable as it was trailed with swirls of static. They squinted to make out the face above them.

“I'm fine,” they answered simply. Their nose twitched as they finally caught something recognizable from the ghoul in front of them, registering the scent of moss and wet earth.

Mountain huffed. “Look, I'm sorry about this morning. I just wanted to tell you that.”

Phantom nodded again, heart warming and chasing away the lingering strands of fuzziness from their brain. “Thanks, Mountain.”

Mountain smiled thinly, humor dripping into his voice. “Although I don't think you should worry yourself with any more healing until we can get you lessons from Omega.”

They managed to huff a laugh, before breaking eye contact, looking instead to where their hands fidgeted with their tail. “I've got an official name now.”

Mountain smiled genuinely this time. “Really? What did you choose?”

“Phantom, like I was talking about.” Their voice got quiet and shy. “Can you… can you tell the pack for me, please?”

Mountain nodded, clapping a hand on their shoulder. “Of course I can, Phantom. Are you going to be okay here, or do you want to go to your room?”

“I think I'll go back to my room,” Phantom answered, letting their tail slip from their hands.

“That's okay,” Mountain reassured, smile falling and scent souring slightly as he turned away, mumbling something to himself as his tail twitched.

Phantom nodded once to themself before sitting up, pressing forward towards their room. They stopped in their tracks as a door ahead of them opened and Rain came out, holding an empty bowl. The smell of charred ginger wafted from the door, before he clicked it shut again.

Rain’s eyes caught on Phantom's and he offered them a strained smile. Phantom returned it, guilt creeping back under their skin.

Rain pushed past them, and they lingered in the hallway for a moment, before pushing onwards. They knew there wasn't anything they could do to help.

From The Pinnacle: Ch.8

WC: 2,519

Chapter one here

Read under the cut or on AO3

Phantom and Aurora my lovelies :)

Phantom sighed deeply and rested their head against the cool wall for a moment. A rag and small spray bottle dangled from their hand, rag damp and dirty.

“It could be worse,” they reminded themselves under their breath. Their voice was absorbed into the empty space of the hall. “It could be floors.”

“Phantom?”

They jumped at the sudden voice echoing through the empty hall, frantically pulling back and dusting with their rag once more. “Yes?” They asked, dull pain radiating through their arm as they stretched it to clean the dust off the horns of a deer bust above them.

Their chest ached with the panic of being caught potentially “lacking”, their heartbeat jumping and racing. They had to be perfect. They shouldn't have allowed themselves that moment of breathing room.

“Phantom.” Again it sounded through the room. Painful, aching, accusatory, bouncing from wall to wall and making it much louder than it needed to be.

They finished dusting the antlers of the deer, turning to face the source of the voice and immediately tensing. Anxieties rushed through them without abandon, slithering up and through their bloodstream like a venomous snake.

Pale pink eyes stared out at them from a shining silver mask, much like the one they were wearing. Her eyes locked on theirs, not allowing them to tear away with the sheer ferocity of the gaze. Even so, they could smell a dart of nerves before she forced it to dampen.

Their eyes widened as she lifted her booted foot and stepped forward, just once. Her foot fell sounded loudly on the hardwood, before she was swinging the other one around and stepping forward again.

She was going to kill them. That's the only thing she could do, would do. They had posed a threat, and a threat needed to be neutralized.

Another step, and another. Their heart rate increased, beating powerfully against their ribs, powered by their fear.

Their claws scrabbled at the wall behind them for purchase as they pressed themselves completely and totally into it, trying to get as far away from her as possible. They felt their head hit against the plaque underneath the bust of the deer, and they squeezed their eyes shut, panic racing through them.

“Stop.” The word slipped and bubbled from their lips, strained and involuntary. Their ears twitched as they heard the footsteps halt, a faint sound of shuffling accompanying it. They waited a few seconds, making sure that she wasn't moving anymore, before relaxing slightly.

“Phantom.” A third time, their name sounded through the hall. They hesitantly blinked open their eyes to meet the ones of the ghoul in front of them.

“Listen, I-” Aurora's head dropped, voice shaking slightly as she stumbled over her words. “Cumulus and Cirrus- or, sorry. I'm…” she just trailed off and shrugged, lifting her gaze again. Phantom nodded hesitantly to her, encouraging her to continue, back still press tightly against the wall behind them.

“I'm sorry for getting scared of you,” she finished, voice quiet, dropping to the ground limply and blanketing it in a thin layer of snow.

Phantom cleared their throat, eyes locked on hers. “You don't have to be sorry. I'm the one who scared you.”

Aurora's eyes darted over their masked face, down to the rag and bottle held in their hands. “It's past four.”

The three words were spoken soft, but only as soft as toxic, crawling mold. It crawled up and encircled Phantom's chest, squeezing tight enough to pop.

“I have to finish this hall.” The words were too big for the room. They felt too small for their body.

Aurora's eyes darted up to the deer, antlers worn proud, encircling his head like a crown. Fake glass eyes gazed back, as bright as anything lifeless can be. His horns gleamed, all eight sharp points displayed. She blinked. It stared back.

“I think the hall can wait until tomorrow.”

Phantom wasn't sure why, but her words forced them into action. They trailed towards, and then past her, not saying a word. She followed after them, standing patiently behind them as they put their supplies back where they belonged.

The silence wasn't awkward, nor was it comfortable. It was simply there, always present, blanketing the space between them in a warm layer of dappled sunlight.

Neither of them really registered the humans milling around them. Their boots clicked on the floors, buried under the sound of those around them. Busy halls turned into lonely ones, and the smell of humans faded until the smell of ghoul overpowered it.

Phantom rummaged for their key, fitting it into the rusty lock and taking one, two, three tries to turn it before it clicked faintly and opened.

The silence wasn't shattered, per say, however it became sharper, lined with eggshells and sandpaper.

Cirrus sat with Cumulus cuddled close to her asleep on the couch. Her gaze was somewhat cold, calculating. It darted from them, down to Cumulus, then to the hallway. She furrowed her brow at them and lifted one finger to her lips as a sign of “quiet”.

Aurora nodded back, passing the common room and stepping instead into the kitchen. Phantom trailed behind her, stopping in a moment as they realized just whose head was pressed flush into the table.

His arms curled around his head. Only his chest could be seen moving up and down faintly with his breaths, pausing when they got caught in his throat. Only one long, sharp horn stuck out from the safe cushion of his arms.

One breath in.

They were distracted by Aurora bumping gently into them, holding two plates loaded with food. She looked up, and they looked down.

Everything seemed so very far away.

They reached out, taking the plate from her with a small smile. They looked up and gave a nod to Rain where he stood at the counter. He simply nodded back tensely.

Phantom felt far disconnected from their body as they wandered after Aurora as she beckoned them into her room.

She sat on the bed with a flourish, so they took the desk, beginning to feel their consciousness floated back to them with something solid beneath them.

Their eyes darted around her room. It was much the same as theirs, but they noticed thick, fluffy pink blankets coating the bed rather than the usual white. “Your bed is pink.” The words were too quiet for the big room.

Aurora looked up, swallowing quickly and wiping her lip. “Yeah. Is yours not?”

Phantom shook their head, eyes then darting around the room and landing on small, simple differences. A little glass trinket sitting proudly on the dresser. A ribbon looped around the lamp shade. A chain of beads hanging from the curtain rod.

Their eyes flashed back up to Aurora’s. They were bright, and she sported a mischievous grin. “Oh no,” they echoed.

“Oh yes,” Aurora answered, grin somehow growing even wider.

Aurora began scarfing down her food, and they had to race to eat theirs as well. It was yellow, stringy and chewy, a little sweet and a little salty. They wished they had more time to savor the taste, but the race spurred them onwards.

“Trust me,” Aurora said between bites. “Cumulus showed me.”

“Aurora, I don't-” they blurted, but she cut them off and they raced to shovel another spoonful into their mouth.

“Nope. It'll be fun, you're coming with me.” She wiped her mouth quickly and swallowed her last bite, Phantom racing to follow her lead as they stood, shoving the last bit of food in their mouth as they did so.

“Aurora, come on, I don't need anything special!” They half walked, half ran out of the room after her, dumping their plate into the sink after her.

“Yes you do!” Her voice was joyful as she skipped past them, tapping them on their shoulder playfully as she did.

A faint hiss sounded from the table and Phantom only half turned around to locate its origin. Fiery orange eyes locked on their own and squinted threateningly.

They hurried after Aurora as fast as they could, trying to squash the feeling of guilt that began to bubble up in their gut.

“You're so slow,” she jeered over her shoulder at them as she opened the door.

“I am not Aurora!” Phantom said back, rushing through the door and jogging to be by her side as she began speed walking in a seemingly random direction. “Do you even know where you're going?”

Aurora giggled at that. “A little bit. Come on, it's like an adventure!”

“What if we get lost?” Phantom asked, turning their head to face her.

She shrugged. “It's an adventure.”

Phantom sighed. “Fine. Please don't get lost.”

“I won't!” Aurora's voice squeaked as it got caught up on her words.

Her pace kept changing, sometimes going unreasonably fast, sometimes slowing to a normal walking speed, and Phantom had to scramble to match it. So much of their attention was used to keep up with Aurora's rapid pace that they didn't keep track of any of their surroundings.

“Aurora, are you sure-” Phantom asked, breaking the silence between them.

“Of course I am!” Her voice wavered slightly as she spoke, and Phantom immediately picked up on her nervous energy.

They stopped in their tracks and took in the empty and unfamiliar halls around them, unease begining to prickle at their skin.

“Ugh, Phantom!” Aurora whined, stopping and turning several meters away from them. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and glared at them.

“No, no, Aurora, I-” Phantom frantically tried to gather their thoughts and form them into words. Cobwebs hung in dark corners, and the walls and floor seemed to be buried in a solid layer of dust.

“Do you happen to be lost?”

A deep, slithering voice sounded from behind them, crawliing up their spine. They whipped around as a hand was placed on their shoulder, eyes meeting a solid chest before slowly tracking upwards until it met deep blue eyes set deep within a dark, featureless face.

“Who are you?” They tried to keep their voice from wavering as they spoke, taking a step back from the ghoul.

“Oh, thank Satan!” Aurora chimed, and they could feel her come up behind them. “Yes, we did get lost.”

“Well what are you looking for?” Phantom narrowed their eyes, catching the deep and corrupted scent, unmistakeably ghoul.

“We're looking for the bins that have the bedding and clothes in them that ghouls can take,” Aurora described, grinning up at the ghoul in front of her.

“Are you Delta?” Phantom asked, immediately causing the ghoul to whip their head towards them.

Phantom cowered under their gaze, before they barked a laugh. “Delta? No, Lucifer! I'm Chain, little ghoul, and who might you be?”

They relaxed slightly, relieved that the ghoul wasn't who they were warned about. “I'm Phantom. I'm the new quintessence ghoul.”

Chain whistled lowly, placing his hands on his hips. “Hm. Shame. And you?”

He was moving on before Phantom had the chance to comprehend what he meant, leaving them reeling in his wake.

“I'm Aurora!” Aurora introduced joyfully.

Chain sniffed the air audibly, eyes widening slightly. “You're a hybrid!”

Aurora tilted her head. “Yeah?”

Chain shrugged it off, looking over his left shoulder as he did so. “Nothing. Just that we never had any hybrids when I was in the band.”

He began walking and they both had no choice to follow. “You were in the band?” Aurora asked, voice chipper.

Chain laughed, low and loud. “Yes, I was. A long time ago.”

“Well, what do you do now?” Phantom asked, trailing behind the two.

Aurora looked at him expectantly, but he didn't answer their question. “What do you do now?” Aurora tried again.

“Oh, I handle contaminants and work ceremonies. My water magic is very strong,” Chain bragged, flourishing his hand with a splash of water.

Phantom stumbled, feeling themself become unnaturally parched suddenly. Chain glanced back at them, eyes glinting dangerously in the low light for a moment, before he turned his attention back to Aurora, menace radiating from him.

“Whoa! That's amazing! Most of my elements are really weak except for my air and my earth,” Aurora lamented. Phantom blinked rapidly as the pair began to trail further away from them. Their instincts flared, and they hurried ahead to push themselves in between Aurora and Chain before he had the chance to say anything more.

“Aurora,” they stated, scenting her as strong as they could, brushing their hand over hers. Their eyes darted to Chain, his eyes swirling with anger.

Phantom knew exactly how dangerous this was as they glared at the much larger ghoul. They couldn't find it in them to care, instincts on overdrive.

“Phantom, what-?” Aurora squeaked, taking in the situation between the two.

Phantom ignored her. “Chain.” He didn't reply. “Where are you taking us.”

Chain tilted his head. “Where you asked to go, the charity bins. It's just a little longer this way.”

“I don't believe you,” Phantom hissed, pushing Aurora behind them more.

The grin in Chain’s voice was apparent. “Do you want to come with me, or take your chances finding Special back that way?” He tossed his chin in the direction they had come.

“That depends,” Phantom growled. “Where are you really taking us?” They felt static gather and pop dangerously around them.

Chain sighed, shaking his head. “You really don't believe me?”

“No,” Phantom hissed. “I don't.”

He grinned. “There's no shame in a little hazing, come on now,” Chain chastised, voice playful but dripping with threats.

“What are you actually doing, Chain?” Aurora piped up behind Phantom, pushing forward to stand more at their side.

“Quit with the redundant questions,” Chain growled, waving his hand in the air. “Just having a little fun. I'm sorry. Earth?”

Phantom glanced around, becoming suddenly painfully aware of another presence in the hall. They whipped their head around the way they had come, a spark of quint alighting from the tip of their ear as it twitched.

A ghoul stood at the end of the hallway, blocking it. He was massive and hooded, face as hidden in shadow as Chain’s was. His claw twitched.

“Hey!” Aurora's screech forced them to turn the other way. Their eyes widened even more as Chain slipped further down the hall and blocked the space.

“Come on, Earth, one for each of us,” Chain called in a sing-song voice, before looking down at Aurora in front of him, cooing. “Don't worry, we'll take you right to the charity bins when we're done. Now are you ready for your rite of passage?”

Phantom grabbed Aurora's arm, dragging her away from Chain and pressing their back to hers in a quick moment. “Aurora,” they said.

“Phantom,” she answered.

“Shut your eyes.” Phantom sent a quick prayer to Lord Lucifer below that she listened.

In a moment, they let loose all the bubbling and churning quintessence that was sitting thickly on the surface of their skin and the hall went white.

I feel like Phantom never really had the space or time to develop their quintessence skills as much as other quint ghouls. They know how to gather the energy, and how to expell it, but past that, they don't know anything more complicated.

This is part of the reason that I write them as hurting people when they heal them, because they don't know how to heal soothingly using and channeling the person's own energy.

This is also why, when they lashed out at Mountain, it just slashed him. They didn't know how to properly wield their quintessence into anything different than its pure form. And when they flash-banged Chain and Earth, that was simply them quickly expelling a lot of energy.

And when they twitch when they're nervous and sparks fly? That's when their nervous energy has nowhere to go, and they aren't focusing on keeping it under wraps, so they just release sparks of pure quintessence back into the air.

From The Pinnacle: Ch. 9

WC: 2,076

Chapter one here

Read under the cut or on AO3

I hope I can be nice to Phantom next chapter. Maybe. Who knows.

Cw: heavy reference to SA, skip after the three asterisks (* * *) if you don't want to see.

They hissed, circling the carcass on the ground, eyes locked on the ghoul across from them.

They were too weak for this fight. Their ribs jutted from their skin, their tail barely had the muscle to move anymore. Their magic felt weak and far away.

They needed this food, and they needed it badly.

The ghoul across from them hissed back and leapt onto them, knocking them immediately into the ground. It was much stronger, muscle hard as iron and teeth sharp and slobbering in their face.

They rolled and tussled, clawing at the ghoul's chest and ribs until they were panting and too tired to move, bloodied and bruised.

They expected teeth to go for their jugular, but instead they were flipped on their stomach.

They didn't have any energy to struggle anymore.

Even after it left, as they tore into the carcass running on sheer instinct, they think they would have preferred having their throat ripped out instead.

* * *

Phantom gripped Aurora’s wrist and ran.

They heard one of the ghouls roar with their fury, but didn't pay it any mind as they dashed past Earth as fast as they could, dragging Aurora behind them.

He was still flailing around aimlessly, trying to shake the dancing spots of light from his eyes.

Behind them, Phantom heard Aurora hiss in pain. They whipped around to face Earth, his arms darting to claw at whatever he could reach. Before they knew what they were doing, they let their quintessence slash Earth ruthlessly over the face, reveling in the roar of pain it ripped from him.

Aurora had made her way further down the hall, and Phantom sprinted after her, fighting to catch up.

She rounded a corner, and they followed, skirting to a stop as they spotted her leant against a wall, chest heaving.

“Aurora, you okay?” Phantom asked, hovering their hands over her shoulders, too scared to touch her.

She grit her teeth, one hand clutched over her side. “I’ve had worse.”

“Then come on, we can't waste time,” Phantom said, wrapping his arm around her and half guiding, half carrying her as they ran to the next bend in the hall, eyes sparking with hope as they saw the stone stairs at the end.

The pair continued to stumble down the dingy hall, Phantom faltering and tripping, adrenaline fading and leaving them exhausted despite not being in the clear yet. Aurora wrapped her arm around Phantom’s torso as well, and Phantom winced as they glanced back at the sparse trail of blood behind them, not daring to mention it to Aurora. Thankfully, however, neither of the odd ghouls were following.

Phantom looked back to the stairs, sighing in one big whoosh of air. Aurora mirrored them, and they leaned their head against hers as much as they were able, stumbling towards the stairs.

Though they were relieved that the two ghouls hadn't followed, they were also worried. The halls were ominously empty, not a soul in sight.

They both tensed and stopped on a dime as a door opened a little ways in front of them, a looming ghoul neither of them recognized stepping out and perking up when he saw them.

“Oh, hello. Do you need…” he trailed off, squinting his eyes at the pair, eyes darting from Phantom’s bared teeth to where Aurora had her hand clutched to her side, fingers red.

He exhaled, running a hand over his face. “Okay…” his eyes darted between them. “Listen, I'm going to go out on a limb and say that you are the new ghouls, you went wandering, and now you're lost?”

Aurora hissed, tail lashing behind her. “And we'll find our own way out, thank you very much.”

He sighed, again running his hand over his face. “Let me get my mask, and then we can go.”

“We're not going to go with you,” Phantom deadpanned, dragging essence from the air in preparation for another fight.

Both their eyes widened as the ghoul sighed, lowering himself to his knees, head bowed to the ground instead of meeting their eyes as a sign or deference.

“I'm Ifrit,” he began, head still bowed towards the ground. “I tutored Dew. I was summoned at the same time as Mountain, and we know each other very well. In fact, I was just going to meet him.” He glanced up, catching Phantom's eye, before looking back down. “I was in the band before you. I promise, I'm not going to hurt you.”

“How do we know we can trust you?” Aurora spat, clenching her hand tighter around her wound. Phantom's ear twitched as they sniffed the air, before wrapping their tail around her arm in an attempt to placate her.

“Listen, I know you don't want to, but I promise-”

Phantom cut him off. “Go get your mask,” they instructed sharply, making Ifrit glance up in surprise. “Get Mountain and bring him back to us. Then we can trust you.”

Ifrit nodded once, twice, before slowly rising to his feet, eyes mildly calculating. “Okay. Okay.”

As he stepped back through the door, Aurora whipped her head to face Phantom, hissing. “What are you doing?” She asked accusingly.

“Shush, I have a good feeling about him,” Phantom tried to reassure, unwinding their tail from her arm in a sudden rush of self-consciousness. “I just…”

They were cut off as Ifrit stepped out of the room, a silver mask much like their own shining on his face and a rectangular shape held up to his ear.

Phantom perked up, eyes squinting as they met Ifrit's, who just gave a nod before turning his attention back to the rectangle.

“Hi Mountain,” Ifrit said, and Phantom whipped their head around, looking for him. Aurora did the same. “You missing something?” Ifrit continued.

He paused for a while, turning to face the two new ghouls and squinting slightly at them. After a few moments, he spoke again. “I'm going to put you on speaker,” he said simply.

Phantom hissed at him as he stepped forward, removing the rectangle from his ear and tapping it, extending it towards them. Their tail lashed, a spark alighting from it.

“Phantom? Are you there?” Suddenly Mountain’s voice was echoing down the hall, emitting from the box. Aurora tilted her head in confusion. “Aurora, are you with them?”

“Where are you?” Phantom asked, tilting their head and creeping closer to the rectangle, oblivious of the fire ghoul in front of them.

“I'm on my way, still in the ghoul dorms, listen, just go with Frit, I'll meet you there,” Mountain babbled.

Aurora crept up to Phantom's side, studying the rectangle as well. “No, no, that's not what they meant. Why can we hear you? You're not here, just this… box…” Aurora trailed off, studying the colors on the shape.

Mountain’s sigh was audible. “I'll explain later. But please, go with Ifrit, you can trust him.”

Phantom shifted his gaze from the rectangle to Ifrit above them. They blinked once. He blinked back. “Okay.”

“Okay, perfect. I'm on my way. Frit, meet you halfway. Bye,” Mountain’s voice was rushed, then it cut off abruptly, a shrill beeping emitting from the phone. Even as Aurora jumped, Ifrit seemed unaffected, sliding the object into his pocket.

“Come on, you know you can trust me now. Let's go meet up with Mountain, he'll get you taken care of.”

Phantom and Aurora linked themselves together again, hands clinging to arms and tails wrapped close around each other. Their fear and hesitance was mostly gone, leaving in its place a vibrant curiosity.

The halls stayed silent as they trailed behind Ifrit, the walls gradually getting more familiar and the floors more populated.

Phantom perked up as they saw Mountain rushing towards them, pushing through people until he reached them, brushing past Ifrit and placing hands on each of the new summons’ shoulders.

“Are you both okay? Are you hurt anywhere, what happened?”

Phantom felt themself melt a little into Mountain's comforting touch, letting it calm the last of their racing nerves. “‘Rora got clawed,” they mumbled, eyes darting up at Ifrit before looking back down.

“You never do that again,” Mountain scolded suddenly, hand leaving Phantom’s shoulder as he leant to inspect Aurora’s wound. Phantom felt themself recoil a little, soul twisting and untwisting, pulsing with shame. “You ask someone to take you somewhere if you don't know what you're doing, do you hear me?” A growl crept its way into Mountain’s voice.

“I- I’m sorry Mountain, it's-” Phantom stammered, pulling away from Aurora.

“Aurora, let's get you to medical,” Mountain instructed her, voice not quite stern but not soft either. Phantom felt a pang of hurt in their chest as Mountain ignored them, instead turning to talk to Ifrit. “Take them back to the den. You can wait there for me to come back if you want.”

Ifrit nodded once, accompanying his action with a quiet “yep” as Mountain ushered Aurora away.

Phantom swayed his tail a little dejectedly, looking up at Ifrit with tired eyes. “He didn't mean to be rude, y'know. He's just worried,” Ifrit said, trying to console the little ghoul.

Phantom didn't respond, so Ifrit shrugged and began walking, leaving Phantom to once again follow him.

Ifrit stopped in front of the familiar entrance to the dorm, looking back as Phantom caught up. “You got a key?” He asked, and Phantom quickly looked down and away, feeling intimidated by the other ghoul.

“Aurora had hers,” they muttered.

Ifrit sighed, raising his fist to knock before pausing. “How's Dew doing these days?” He asked, voice a little strained.

Phantom looked up and bared his teeth, hissing a little. Ifrit's eyes widened only slightly, and he rapidly knocked on the wood.

Shuffled and steps could be heard on the other side, before the handle jiggled. “Mount? You found-” Cirrus opened the door and stopped. “Ifrit, good to see you. Where's Mountain?” She peeked her head out a little, squinting at Phantom. “Nevermind. Come in,” she said, rapidly ushering them in before shutting the door behind them.

They both stayed quiet as they followed Cirrus into the common room, stopping in place as she turned around, eyes locked on Phantom. “Ifrit, if you would please,” she said, gesturing towards the kitchen. “Pretty sure Rain is in there.”

She stayed silent as Ifrit nodded, hurrying to the kitchen and out of sight. Phantom shuffled in place under Cirrus’ gaze, unable to read it. Their tail lashed nervously.

Cirrus took a deep breath in, then let it out, placing one hand to her temple. “Just give me a rundown of what happened.”

Phantom lowered their head, lifting their tail into their hands and fidgeting with the tip of it. “Aurora wanted to take me to the charity bins but we got lost,” they mumbled, brain instinctively locking out the other events.

Cirrus nodded thoughtfully. “I'll take you tomorrow, if you still want to. But that doesn't explain why Mountain left in such a hurry and didn't come back with Aurora.”

Phantom wishes they were as small as possible, so small they eventually vanished into nothing. “She got hurt.”

Cirrus' ears strained forward to hear, eyes widening a little bit. “How bad? No, scratch that, how?”

Phantom felt themself sway on their feet, eyesight going wavy and unfocused. “She- we met- they were…” Phantom found themself unable to form their sentences, feeling their quintessence flicker.

They suddenly felt a hand on their shoulder, holding them still and bringing them back to Earth.

“Phantom?” Cirrus' voice echoed through their head, almost too loud.

“I think his name was Chain…” Phantom mumbled, voice quiet and near indecipherable.

Cirrus let a small curse fall from her lips, following it up with a close-lipped smile. “Guess we need some work on our stranger-danger,” she said, words directed at Phantom but seeming to slip right past. She patted them twice in the shoulder before stepping back. “Go get some rest. I'll handle the rest of this.”

Phantom didn't know what else to do but obey her, stepping back and slowly padding down the hall to their room. Their spine prickled with double heated gazes pinned on their back as they picked up speed to hurry past the kitchen.

Their hand rested gently on the handle, head cocked to the side a little, painfully void of thoughts.

With a deep sigh, they stepped into their equally void room and shut the door.

Save A Horse (Bull)

WC: 4,871

Tags: Alternate Universe - Western, Rodeo Competitions, Cowboy Hats, Alcohol, Making Out, Not Beta Read, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Alternate Universe - No Band

Read under the cut or on AO3

The black bull seemed somewhat more wild than before. Phantom's eyes widened a little as the man on screen tilted his face to the camera, flashing it a bright, confident smile. Fuck, maybe it was a good thing Aurora made him stay. The dude definitely wasn't hard on the eyes.

Or

Phantom ends up grabbing a drink with Bull Rider Swiss.

Phantom pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to ward off the incoming headache brought on by the overwhelming sights, sounds, and smells around him, endured for far too long. He let out a sigh. “Aurora, promise me that after this show we'll leave,” he asked, exasperated.

Aurora, his best friend for longer than he could remember, just smiled and fluttered her eyelashes at him. “Come on, Tommy, I can't believe you're not enjoying it! Let loose a little, we haven't even seen the goats yet!”

Phantom frowned, wagging his finger in her face. “Oh no, no, no, I know how you work. I've known you long enough. Thirty minutes is going to turn into three hours before you know it. And!” He said, pressing the finger over her lips, keeping them shut as she tried to protest. “You only want to see this next show because you think the rider’s hot. I know you, you never enjoy bull riding.”

Aurora swatted Phantom’s hand away, a pout forming on her face. “You're no fun,” she whined, lifting her hat to sweep her hair back before settling it back on her head. “Besides, after this show there's barrel racing, and I wanted to study some of the riders. You know the Cirrus is here!”

God, Phantom wishes he wasn't so susceptible to Aurora’s charms. “Fine. We'll stay until after Cirrus' show, then we'll leave. Deal?”

Aurora pouted slightly. “Deal. Now come on, we have to get good seats.” She practically dragged him up the metal risers, sitting him down forcefully and plopping herself right next to him. “You never know, maybe you'll enjoy it!”

The pounding behind Phantom’s eyes only increased as a crowd began to gather, mumbling half-heartedly about how he was “missing the sheep shows” and had “already seen the steers”.

He tried valiantly to focus, for Aurora if anything, as the speakers crackled to life. He squinted up at the screen, watching a big black bull shake and toss his head from side to side, restless and stubborn in the closed-off space.

Some name shone on the screen, flashing away before he could read all of it, only catching something like “Swiss”. He rolled his eyes as Aurora poked him a little, straining her neck a little to talk to him close enough to be heard. “That's the one. He'll be last.”

Phantom gave some sort of a half-entertained grunt, seemingly enough for Aurora to not jab him in the ribs.

He didn't pay much attention to the few poor riders flung right off their smaller, tamer bulls, feeling Aurora tense in sympathy as each one hit the ground. Only when he faintly heard the intercom announce the name did he perk up for Aurora’s sake. Not that he needed to be listening, Aurora’s sharp punch in the shoulder was enough for him to straighten up, eyes locked on the screen.

The black bull seemed somewhat more wild than before, possibly helped along by the bull rope now tied around it. His eyes widened a little as the man on screen tilted his face to the camera, flashing it a bright, confident smile. Fuck, maybe it was a good thing Aurora made him stay. The dude definitely wasn't hard on the eyes.

Aurora must have sensed his thoughts, because she once more strained up to talk too loudly into his ear. “I told you he was hot!”

Phantom grumbled, face going red as he pushed her away playfully. “Shut up and watch the show.”

The man has since turned his attention from the camera, carefully mounting the bull. And if Phantom’s eyes were admiring his body as he settled onto the bull on the screens, no one needed to know.

He tore his gaze away from the screen as a shrill beep echoed through the arena, instead looking down to watch the bull rip from its spot into the arena, bucking wildly to rid itself of the parasite on its back.

Phantom couldn't keep his eyes off the man’s hips, rolling and shifting in quick adjustments to accommodate the rapid shift of weight, thighs pinching close to its flank and one hand raised in the air, the other wrapped white-knuckled around the rope.

His movements were fluid, oddly natural as if he fused with the bull itself.

It seemed both an eternity later and far too soon that another buzzer sounded, announcing the end of the ride just eight seconds later. The rider jumped off, rolling into the ground almost gracefully, before hopping to his feet and jogging to the edge where he easily slipped over the fence, dropping onto the other side without issue and quickly absorbed into a wave of bodies.

Phantom was nearly oblivious to the cheers around him, until Aurora giggled beside him. “I bet now you're glad I made you stay,” she teased.

Phantom rolled his eyes, but in truth, his headache was the furthest thing from his mind at the moment. In fact, now the pain was nearly imperceptible, as if it wasn't there at all. “You,” he sighed. “I am going to get you back for this.”

Aurora giggled again. “Yeah, sure you will,” she said, eyes only half focused on the bull being rounded up below as they began setting up for the next event. “Come on, there's at least a few minutes until the barrel racing starts, let's grab something quick to eat.”

Phantom simply nodded, following Aurora down the stands with the rest of the previous crowd. Most of the crowd seemed to gather in a throng near where he had spotted the rider jump out of the pen, clearly clambering for a grin or a fist bump or an autograph from the little local celebrity.

He barely noticed he had stopped until Aurora was back at his side, tugging him away. “You absolute dunce, you stick with me, you hear me? I don't care if you want Mr. Swiss Cheese over there to give you a bright little grin, I want a cheeseburger.”

Phantom rolled his eyes, letting himself be dragged along by her. “When do you not want a cheeseburger?”

“Shut your mouth,” she snipped playfully, just continuing to pull him along.

* * *

The little burst of energy gained from watching the bull rider was drained from them too quick for their liking, headache once again presenting to pound at their temples as they sat through all the barrel racing for Aurora. Their gaze barely tracked the rider Aurora had wanted to see, only giving a hum of acknowledgement as she gushed over her methods.

He sort of registered her saying something to him, but it was drowned under a wave of fuzz and pain in his head. The next thing he really noticed was Aurora no longer being by his side, and the realization was enough to immediately zap his brain into overdrive.

His gaze immediately darted over the heads of the surrounding crowd, trying to grasp a glance of her tan hat and failing. He grumbled a little under his breath, wishing she hadn't worn the damned thing when she wasn't even competing just so he could see her colored hair bouncing through the crowd.

Phantom knew she could hold her own in a fight, unfortunately from personal experience, but that didn't still his worry of something serious happening to her. With no other reasonable idea in mind, he set to a brisk walk, hoping to somehow stumble across her.

He took several rounds around the arena, stopping at her favorite food trucks and brushing past the goats just in case. His breath only seemed to quicken in his worry, pulling out his phone to see if he could call her.

He bent over his screen, tapping it and clicking the power button. Fuck. Of course it stayed black, dead. He pocketed it, sighing more with worry than exasperation as he decided to branch out to places he hadn't looked.

God, it was loud. Concrete and sheet metal did not agree with his ears. The floor was covered in a fine layer of dirt and hay dust, which he kicked up with each step. The smell of sweet fair food mixing with animal feces turned his stomach, combined with the worry making it all that more nauseating.

Phantom wasn't even sure where he was walking, barely noticing the fewer people around him as he walked, opening and closing the little metal gates separating areas behind him.

A shrill whistle suddenly caught his attention, turning around to meet the source as someone approached him, rubbing sweat off their face with a bandana. “Ho boy, watcha’ doing back here? You got clearance, or you with anybody?”

His eyes squinted a little, faintly recognizing the face twisted in confusion. “Uh, not sure, but I'm looking for my friend. About yay high, pink and blue dyed hair?” Phantom asked, gesturing. “You seen her?”

The man shrugged. “Probably not back here. Y'know this is where the riders and such are supposed to be?”

Phantom’s eyes widened. “Oh, shit! My bad, haven't been to this venue before. I'll go look elsewhere,” he stammered, stepping back slightly.

The man grinned at him and that finally sparked Phantom’s memory. Jesus fuck, that was the bull rider. Swiss, or whatever his name was. “No need to worry, buddy, no one minds much, just as long as you don't cause problems on purpose. Besides, maybe…” he trailed off, scrubbing a little at the stubble on his face as he thought. “You said pink and blue dyed hair?” He asked.

Phantom’s eyes lit up a little. “Yeah, about shoulder length, and a tan hat.”

Swiss' eyes widened and he chuckled, as he patted Phantom’s shoulder like they were old friends. “I wouldn't bother myself looking for her right now, unless it's a real emergency. I saw Cirrus walking out of here with a little lass matching just the description.”

Phantom lifted his hand to his face, exasperated. “You're joking, right?”

“Nope! Seems like your little friend has wormed her way into the eyes of the big dogs! Trust me, if you go after her now she will kill you, if Cirrus doesn't do it first,” Swiss commented, a bit too casually for Phantom’s liking.

Swiss flashed another of his smiles at Phantom, and his short-lived annoyance vanished in an instant. “Message heard loud and clear. Might as well congratulate you for your time on the bull out there before I get out of your hair.”

Swiss' expression shifted minimally, rummaging in his pockets for something. “Yeah, yeah, it was a tough bull. You got a hat or something for me to sign?”

Phantom’s brow furrowed. “No, no, I don't need an autograph. Never a huge fan of bull riding.”

Swiss' face shifted again, seemingly more light-hearted as he tucked a sharpie back into his pocket. “Damn, hitting me with that now?” He joked, once again slapping Phantom on the shoulder.

Phantom’s face flushed as he groaned, hiding it in his hands. “You know what I meant,” he grumbled.

“Yeah, yeah, I catch your drift. What's your name, kid? You compete in anything?” Swiss asked, nudging Phantom again.

Phantom forced his hands back to his sides with more effort than it should have taken. “I'm Phantom, but most people call me Tom or Tommy. More normal, easier to remember. I typically show sheep or steers, some roping, but this one was too high level for me to really get in,” he told Swiss, tucking his hands into his pockets.

Swiss shrugged, beginning to walk away, gesturing with one hand for Phantom to follow him. “Phantom ain't a bad name. God, at least you're not stuck with the nickname Swiss.” He raised a hand as Phantom opened his mouth to object, almost as though he had sensed it. “Trust me, used to not be as much of a good thing.”

Phantom clicked his mouth shut audibly, nodding along. “No, no, I get it. It's why I started going by Tom instead of Phantom.”

Swiss whistled. “Trust me, kid, you take that uniqueness and hold it tight. No one’s gonna watch if there ain't no bull on the field.”

Phantom tilted his head minutely at the comparison, tucking it away in their mind to ponder over later. “So when do you think Aurora- er, my friend, is going to be back?” He asked, changing the subject.

Swiss chuckled, hunching his shoulders a little bit as that dazzling grin lit up his face once more. “I'd give you two hours at best. At worst, you ain’t seeing hair nor hide of her till morning.”

“Fucking hell,” Phantom groaned, running his hand over his face. “I'm not sure whether to be more disappointed or proud of her.”

That got Swiss to let loose more than his previous chuckles, laughter setting something fizzing and popping in Phantom’s stomach. “Yeah, yeah,” Swiss said, waving away the last of his laughter with a hand. “Say, since you're probably stuck here for a little longer, you wanna sneak out and grab a quick drink with me?”

Phantom's eyes nearly popped from his head. “Well, if you're offering,” he joked, trying to slow his jumping and stuttering heartbeat to a normal speed once more.

Swiss chuckled again, flashing Phantom yet another bright smile. “C’mon, I'll drive us there if you won't mind. My truck ain't far.”

Phantom nodded almost over enthusiastically, energy seeping to pop over his skin. “Yeah, yeah, sounds good!”

Swiss nodded, smile dropping into something more sober as he reached an exit door, pulling his keys into his hand in preparation. “Don't stop for anything, don't talk to anyone. Try and walk as quick as possible, I really don't want to end up signing fifteen more autographs,” he groaned, rolling his wrist.

Phantom nodded, attitude sobering with Swiss as he stepped through the door, pace immediately fast enough to have Phantom stumbling to keep up.

Swiss stopped beside a tall black truck, unlocking it and climbing in. Phantom took to the other side, lifting himself up slightly into the passenger's seat. Swiss shut his door firmly and Phantom did the same, watching as Swiss leaned his head back, eyes closed with a sigh.

Phantom took the moment to rove his eyes over the interior of the truck. Several crushed energy drink cans lay on the floor at his feet, more on the dash and in the backseat. Otherwise, the truck was sleek and clean, furnished by shiny black leather.

Phantom’s eyes darted back to Swiss as he heard a little chuckle, smiling a little awkwardly at him as Swiss gazed back. “Sorry about the mess, most of my buddy’s don't mind,” he said, straightening in his seat and sliding his key into the ignition. “Just throw them in the back seat if they're bothering you.”

“No, no, it's alright,” Phantom said, mind a little dazed still. The conversation drew to an awkward silence as Phantom drew the seatbelt over his body, clicking it into place. “Know any good places around here?” He asked, trying to get the conversation up and running again.

Swiss chuckled, shaking his head as he did the same. “No, no, not really from around here. You?”

“Couple towns over,” Phantom replied, studying Swiss as he began to pull out of the grounds. “We just gonna show up to the first bar we see and hope it ain't crowded?”

Swiss shrugged, a sly smile on his face. “Well, I know one place. You a fan of underground shows?”

Phantom shrugged a little. “I'm pretty much up to anything as long as the beer’s good and the music’s good,” he stated simply.

“Then you might damn near love this place,” Swiss grinned, tossing a glance to Phantom before leaning over and turning up the radio, letting the music fill the truck for the drive.

A few minutes later, Swiss pulled into a little near-empty parking garage, switching off the ignition. “Alright, Phantom, I'm about to blow your mind,” he said, stretching both his arms high over his head with a groan.

Phantom shrugged, a little nip of anxiety working its way into his brain. “You didn't bring me here to kill me, did you?”

Swiss barked out a laugh, warm enough for Phantom to forget his previous worry. “God, of course not! Trust me a little here,” he joked, slipping out of the truck, Phantom following.

Swiss waited until Phantom rounded the truck to meet him, setting off not in the direction of the exit, but instead to a small metal maintenance door inset into the wall. “Wait, Swiss, what are you doing?” Phantom asked, heart rate skipping as Swiss reached for the handle.

“Dude,” Swiss placated, pointing at the metal plaque. “I said it was gonna be an underground show.”

Phantom fixed his attention on the plaque, quickly skimming the words. Raindrop Bar. “Huh,” he muttered simply, tilting his head at the door as Swiss rolled his eyes playfully and pushed his way in.

The atmosphere inside was far different from the empty parking garage they had been in just a moment before. It was populated, for one, eyes pinning on them the moment the door opened before slipping away one by one. It was also louder, too, a little rag-tag band up on a makeshift stage playing something deep and rocky. Dull colored lights swept over the small crowd gathered in front of the stage, and it took a moment for Phantom to realize that Swiss was walking away from him.

They hurried to follow, nearly tripping over themselves as they caught up to Swiss right as he slid into a seat at the bar, flashing a grin at the bartender. Phantom slid in beside him, shifting to get comfortable in the polished wood seat.

The bartender smiled back at Swiss, immediately turning to greet him, sashaying his hips. “Swiss, Swiss, Swiss, what am I going to do with you?” He cooed affectionately.

Phantom’s eyes quickly darted over the bartender’s body, a casual glance-over before his brain caught up to him and his eyes locked on him again. To say he was beautiful would be an understatement, with his curled black hair shining nearly blue around his eyes and with the silver glinting from his ears and face. Their eyes traveled lower for a moment before they diverted their attention, a little panicked and flushed, back to Swiss.

“God, Rainy, don't even try to get on me for this,” Swiss jeered playfully. “You're not much better.”

The bartender turned his attention to Phantom, forcing him to tear his eyes away from Swiss. “Now what's your name and your order?” He asked quickly, stepping back to grab a cup.

“Uh-” Phantom stuttered, glancing at Swiss for a little help. God, it did not help. Swiss was gazing at him with a hungry look in his eyes, grinning lazily. He tore his eyes away as quick as possible, warmth brewing in his gut. “Name's Phantom. How about a good ol’ judge of character?” Phantom asked, mind too frazzled to grasp anything else. “Whatever you think I'd like.”

The bartender nodded, hips swaying a little bit as he whipped up what looked like a cherry sour, sliding it to Swiss. “Gotcha.” He hummed idly, pulling stuff towards himself before speaking again. “So how’d little Swiss here pick you up?”

Phantom shrugged, glancing at Swiss only to be met once more with his grin and forcing himself to look away. “I wandered where I shouldn't have, and sweet talked my way into my current situation,” Phantom joked, trying to play up his confidence. The bartender hummed, eyebrow twitching upward as he slid Phantom a cocktail, orange slice perched on the edge of the glass. Phantom lifted the glass to his lips, sipping it and humming appreciatively at the perfect mix of flavoring and liquor.

Swiss sighed, sipping his own drink. “Yeah, yeah, pretty much,” he commented, waving his hand dismissively. “Phantom, by the way, this is Rain. Good friend.”

Phantom nodded at Rain, smile a little tight as he took another sip of his drink. Rain flourished his hands, shrugging and lolling his head to the side. “Owner of this fine establishment,” he added, voice a little playful.

“Oh, yeah, yeah,” Swiss joked, taking his hat off his head and tossing it playfully at Rain. Rain caught it, slipping it onto his own head and sticking his tongue out at Swiss as Phantom felt his chest constrict, knowing exactly what that meant.

He diverted his gaze, and downed the rest of his drink, barely registering the taste and instead reveling in the mild burn as it slipped down his throat.

Swiss chuckled at Rain, glancing back at Phantom as he clinked his empty glass back onto the table, stubbornly refusing to look at him. Phantom could feel his expression fall. “Whoa, dude, you okay? Are you still worried about your friend?”

Phantom clenched his teeth, shaking his head and rubbing at the side of his nose a little, huffing, refusing to make eye contact.

Swiss beckoned for his hat back from Rain, quickly sucking the last of his drink up as he shifted slightly in his seat, reaching into a back pocket to slide a ten over the bar. “Alright, let's get you back,” Swiss said, voice quick as he stood, clapping Phantom on the shoulder.

God, he wished he could refuse, but his truck was back at the grounds and his phone was dead so he couldn't call a ride. Damnit. He stood, eyes still stubbornly lowered as he followed Swiss out, missing the look Rain threw him.

He slipped into the passenger seat without saying a word to Swiss, refusing to meet eyes with him. Swiss got in as well, shutting the door, but not starting the ignition.

As the tension stretched between them, Phantom finally glanced up, meeting Swiss' eyes where they were locked on him. “You going to acknowledge me now?” Swiss asked, voice a little sour.

God, maybe alcohol wasn't the best idea for him. That drink must have been stronger than they thought, rolling their eyes and scoffing. “Just take me back, dude.”

Swiss tilted his head. “No,” he deadpanned.

“No?” Phantom sputtered indignantly, glaring at Swiss.

Swiss crossed his arms in front of his chest, brown eyes glowing almost gold from the interior lights shining down on them. Phantom furrowed his brow, cowered a little, suddenly too aware of how much scrawnier they were than Swiss.

“You're a bitch,” Phantom hummed, waving him away and turning his face out the opposite window.

“What upset you so bad?” Swiss asked, voice low and gravely behind Phantom. He stayed stubbornly quiet, making Swiss sigh. “I know this is about Rain and the hat.”

“Yeah, it is about the fucking hat!” Phantom spat with no real malice behind the words, feeling like nothing more than a jealous schoolgirl.

Swiss groaned, and Phantom spared a glance as he dragged his hand over his face, rubbing at the stubble on the sides. “Christ,” he muttered.

“Just take me back,” Phantom muttered, voice a little too quiet. “I was being stupid.”

He suddenly felt a hand grasp his, and gasped indignantly as Swiss dragged it closer to himself onto the center console. Phantom fixed a glare to the top of Swiss' hat as he bent over his hand, writing rapidly into the skin of it.

The moment Swiss straightened, Phantom snatched his hand back, a glance at the skin of his hand making his breath stutter just a bit as he realized what was written there.

Swiss was waiting as Phantom looked back up at his eyes, offering a small smile at him. Phantom squinted, then sighed, eyes darting down again. “Fine. Apology accepted.”

Swiss raised an eyebrow. “That was enough of an apology for you?”

Phantom gazed into Swiss' eyes, scrutinizing them. “What more apology do you have to offer?” He asked, maybe a tinge recklessly.

Swiss slowly raised his hand to the one he had just written on, brushing lightly over the knuckle, sparks flying from the contact. His eyes never left where they were locked on Phantom’s, and he found he couldn't look away either.

It stayed that way for a few moments, long enough for the interior lights to click off. In the dark silence, Swiss spoke again. “Can I kiss you?”

Any other circumstance and Phantom would have said no. Maybe it was the alcohol in his system, or the drying ink on his hand, or the tingles in his gut when he recalled Swiss' grin, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he nodded, just a little tilt of the head, leaning towards Swiss.

Swiss met him halfway, lips crashing together in the dark and noses knocking into each other. It wasn't simple or graceful, instead woven with too many complex emotions to study in the dark.

Phantom pulled back for air, chest heaving a little as he tilted his forehead into Swiss’, nudging up his cowboy hat slightly. It seemed almost intimate for a moment, breathing in each other's air, until Phantom darted in again, mouth open and hot against Swiss’.

A hand fisted into his shirt at his back, pulling him closer. The kiss was nearly ravenous, and Phantom couldn't seem to get enough. Swiss pulled away for air this time, and Phantom felt a thin string of spit connect their lips for a moment before falling away.

They sat for a few more moments, chests heaving in tandem as they breathed in each other's warm, humid breath. Swiss twisted his head, nosing at Phantom's neck, hat falling onto the floor without care.

Phantom gasped as Swiss' warm lips plastered themselves to his neck, hands snaking around to grip Swiss' shirt tightly in his hands, eyes fluttering slightly.

Warm, wet kisses were gently placed along his neck, trailing upward to a point just under his ear. Phantom must have whined, gasped, something, because Swiss chuckled before gripping the skin lightly between his teeth and sucking.

“Oh fuck, Swiss, Swiss,” Phantom stammered, nails digging into Swiss' back from where they were clenched.

Swiss pulled away, eyes searching Phantom’s in the low light. “Too much?” He asked, a little sheepish.

“Fuck no,” Phantom managed to mutter, dragging Swiss back towards him and crashing their lips together with more passion than before. Open-mouthed and messy, Phantom reveled in the taste of whiskey on his tongue, whining as Swiss nipped gently at his bottom lip before pulling back again, locking eyes.

They were both panting, hungry with passion. “I need to get you back,” Swiss whispered, voice still too loud for the quiet space punctuated only by their heavy breaths.

“I know,” Phantom replied, voice equal in volume, still unable to tear their eyes away from each other.

“Fuck,” Swiss sighed, pulling away with great effort and sliding the key into the ignition, sparking the engine to life. He picked his hat up from where it had fallen, slipping it back onto his head.

Phantom straitened, a blush spreading on their face as they buckled quickly, embarrassed as light from yellow street lamps washed away the privacy.

It was quiet the entire drive back to the grounds, breaths returning to a normal pace as they kept their eyes averted from each other the whole way.

Swiss eased into a parking spot at the grounds, shifting the truck into park. Phantom undid his seatbelt, opening the door and preparing to step out when Swiss' voice stopped him. “Hey.”

He glanced up to meet Swiss' eyes, irises carrying hope in their deep blue, nearly purple depths.

Swiss took his hat in his hand, reaching and settling it onto Phantom’s hair with a tired smirk. “Call me?” He asked, voice softer than his words suggested.

Phantom nodded, mind feeling fuzzy as he absent-mindedly brushed his fingers over his neck where he could feel bruises forming. “Yeah,” he replied, voice equally as soft as he stepped out of the truck, shutting the door. He stood there as Swiss shifted into reverse, pealing away from him.

And if Phantom stood there for a few minutes, rubbing along his neck, it was nobody's business.

Finally Phantom forced himself into action, glancing around to gain his bearings before setting off in the direction of his truck. His eyes lit up a little as he saw a familiar shape leaning against it, face illuminated by her phone screen. She glanced up as Phantom came closer, smiling at him, before furrowing her eyes at him.

“Did you-”

Phantom cut her off before she could continue. “I won't say anything if you won't,” he mumbled, eyes pointedly fixed on similar marks along the column of her throat.

She shrugged in reply.

“Were you waiting long?” Phantom asked, sidling up to the driver's door, opening it.

Aurora climbing in the other side, shrugging again. “Just a few minutes.” Phantom shut his door, turning on the truck before reaching to the gear shift. Aurora’s eyes locked on his hand as it shifted, widening as she chuckled. “Damn, you did get lucky!” She exclaimed.

“Shut up,” Phantom mumbled, tugging his sleeve over the marker half-heartedly as he began steering them in the direction of home.

I don't know if I should post the sequel to my swisstom cowboy fic on the same work or on a separate one for the sake of tagging.... They would be in a series to make it easier to find but I still can't decide......

𝚆𝚎𝚕𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚢 𝚙𝚊𝚐𝚎!

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Masterlists People i write for Request rules ao3 - Ghoul_gremlin about me

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Kylar is currently working on: A Rhea Ripley and Finn Bálor fic

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The Empire That Little Cardi Built (ficlet)

Fandom: Ghost (The Band Ghost)

Pairing: None

Genre: Angst

Word Count: 685

Summary: In the aftermath of the night at the Forum, Copia is being watched.

A/N: Big thank you to @angellayercake for always championing me and my writing, I cannot tell you how much it means. ♡♡♡

-

BIG SPOILERS FOR RITE HERE RITE NOW UNDER THE CUT

BIG SPOILERS FOR RITE HERE RITE NOW UNDER THE CUT

BIG SPOILERS FOR RITE HERE RITE NOW UNDER THE CUT

Terzo fiddles with the clasps on his robe, the translucent black and purple fabric rippling as he sits in one of the now empty seats, his feet are propped up on the seat in front of him, looking down at all the strewn confetti and Mummy Dust notes - a sigh escapes him, a pang of nostalgic longing for a time since passed. 

"Do you think we should..." He trails off, looking up into the nothingness. He’s not sure what he's suggesting.

"Ah, Saltarian is already with him, he'll have plenty to tend to without us showing up right this moment." Secondo muses, yet his eyes are sombre. His heart was never as cold as some might have thought, he too wanted to go to the man they were watching so diligently.

The man who was once a boy they used to treat with such weariness and disdain like brothers sometimes did.

The Second Emeritus shifts on his seat, scratching at his head in wistful thought."It would have been nice to play somewhere like this, hm?" He understood the order of things, and always knew his tenure was merely a custodial passing of the torch, but he wasn’t beyond having dreams.

The last of three watchful figures hums in agreement, the one who missed out on the most, yet gave everything in other ways. He’s standing instead of sitting, his frail and almost glowing hands gripping the rail in front of him, he's a few rows further down than the other two.

Primo watches over the scene with indescribable emotions, watches as Saltarian lifts a shaking Copia to his feet, his red sparkling jacket such a jarring contrast to the sorrow that emanates from their half-brother's soul.

"He fought hard," The eldest says matter-of-factly.

"So did I..." Terzo grumbles, but Primo dismisses him with a gentle chastising tsk.

"Fratellino, they had made their minds up about us. It was never going to be enough. The old man still does not see this-" He gestures to the now empty Forum. "-as enough."

The two seated brothers nod in resigned understanding. If this place filled with life and love for their reigning Papa, mere hours ago, could not be enough to let Copia keep going, then what would?

Two grunts of agreement come from behind the eldest, they continue watching from the shadows no longer illuminated by the spotlights or pyrotechnics. Hushed words are exchanged between the two men in the pit, after a few moments three noises of surprise come from the stands as they hear Copia say two words, "Frater Imperator."

Stunned for a beat, they look at each other. Terzo throws his hands up in the air.

"At least he made it out with his life." It's not a scornful statement from the Third, one of relief really, he didn't wish death upon the man who had already endured so much and worked himself silly - the same man who had to hold Terzo's head and pretend that he was okay with it before throwing up and crying in his room later that night.

"We'll show ourselves when he's not so fraught with such fresh news. He may not take well to us suddenly showing up when we had years to do it." Primo adds.

They look at each other, deciding that is what they'll do, they'll say hello when Copia's had time to adjust.

Then, without fanfare, the three brothers begin to fade - deciding to return to their plexiglass coffins ready for the ride home.

Just as Copia begins to leave the quiet of the pit, slowly pushing his mother toward the concourse where the private ambulance is waiting, he gets the urge to look around - his eyes are drawn to the first few rows of seating.

Copia knows he must be going a little mad with all that had occurred tonight because for a second he thinks he sees flashes of red, green and purple, flashes that send goosebumps rippling through his body. 

Yet, just as quickly as the vision was noticed, it's now gone, leaving the hairs on Copia's neck standing rigidly.

-

Fin.

I Will Hold You For The Minute

I have a lot of feelings about this movie, too many to express, so please take this even though I'm sure it is not at all coherent <3

Content: 1.1k words, Copia x gn!reader, soft and angsty, idk i have too many feelings right now, ghovie related, Copia stresses a lot, lots of kisses, sweetness, that new fit oh my fucking satan its so hot, no beta.

It is so late that the Ministry halls are deathly silent, with only the rodents out of their hunts. It’ll probably be morning soon, you haven’t looked at a clock for hours, but the world outside remains cool and black. 

Today has been… a lot. That is the only way you can think of describing it. Overwhelming, emotional—like a tornado has ripped through the halls… and yet everything is the same, untouched. 

The man you love, standing before the mirror in his room and studying his reflection, is still here. He’s still Copia. 

Alive and breathing. 

You watch him from the doorway of his bathroom, having just slipped the last of his paint pots into the cabinets, stored away, wondering if they’ll ever be used again. Probably, most likely not. Melancholy has been a familiar friend for you today, and you cannot even begin to imagine how Copia is feeling. 

Copia, now Frater Imperator. 

It is surreal. 

Copia’s got an appraising face on. You watch his gloved hands touch the black glittering clerical collar, smoothing down the front of his new, stunning jacket. It is beautiful, tailor-made and spun from the finest wool with twisted, peak lapels made of the softest, shiniest satin. Attached to the lapels and edged with black gemstones, two precious rubies are pinned with a chain connecting in the centre from which a black grucifix swings. It sparkles under the lamplight, like stars against a black sky at the bottom of which, a ruby red tear-drop gem dangles. It’s ridiculous, maybe even a little bit impractical, but it's certainly Copia. And he looks damn good.

He fiddles with the collar and adjusts his cuffs for the hundredth time that night, and you watch his shoulders visibly slump when he meets your eyes in the mirror. You can't help but smile. How can you not? You love him, adore him with everything you are. 

“Hey,” you whisper, stepping into the room, “the bath is ready…”

Copia nods, his eyes back on his reflection. You pad up to him, barefoot and wrapped in his robe that hangs off your body, sliding an arm through his elbow. You lean against his shoulder, squeezing his bicep. The material creases under your touch, cool and crisp.

“Are you ready to get all this off?” You say again, softly, stroking up his arm tenderly. 

The stiffness that grips him is telling enough. When you find his gaze again, his unblinking and wide eyes are glassy, a little of his paint starting to smear down his cheek with a single tear. You can’t help when your own eyes start to burn. The emotions of the day are finally coming to a head. You’ve both been as strong as you can, an unspoken rule that matters not behind closed doors.

“You did so well,” you whisper, sliding a hand down to his tense one. When you lace your fingers through his, his grip is vice.

“Amore…” The way his voice falters on the term is too much for you.

“I’m so proud of you,” you sniffle, your own tears falling. You grip him tighter, leaning into him, watching your pictures in the mirror. “I’m so fucking proud of you, Copia. My Copia…”

When his face crumbles, you pull each other in a tight, suffocating embrace. Copia buries his head in your shoulder and finally, finally, a sob breaks from him. His grip on you is tense, gloved fingers grasping at you desperately, like he’s afraid if he loosens his hold for a moment you’ll slip through his fingers like smoke. He wets your neck with tears, trembling as you stroke a hand through his soft hair and nuzzle into him. 

You kiss the soft, secret space of skin just under his ear, forever marked by your mouth as you hush him. You whisper words of affection and love, pouring everything you have into him, filling his cup with your light while you replace yours with his dark in the hopes he can find some relief. 

“I’m so proud of you,” you tell him again, softly, half-choked. “Everyone will be… so proud of you.” 

“I—I hope I did good for them. I hope I—I was good enough,” he whimpers on a shaky breath.

“Oh, you did so well,” you cradle the back of his neck and press your cheek to his before you nudge him back. The paint around his eyes is a messy smear down his cheeks, his top lip mashed and smeared into his bottom.

You cradle his handsome face, stroking bare thumbs over his cheeks, catching tears and smears of black paint. His eyes are bloodshot, the white iris starker in the centre of its red rim. The wrinkles of his face are deeper somehow with the stress, with all the loss and heartache, but it doesn’t detract from his beauty—from your Copia.

Leaning up on your tip-toes, you press your forehead to his and close your eyes. His hands stay around you, keeping you close. He’s still tense, but softening as the emotions are finally allowed out of the floodgates. 

“You did so well, my baby. My beautiful, sweet man,” you reaffirm again, smiling bittersweet, pulling back to kiss his cheek. Copia closes his eyes and sniffles again. 

“You will always be Copia. Nothing will ever change that.” You kiss his opposite cheek, speaking between sweet pecks. Copia starts to sway with you, slow, ample movements as you speak. “No matter your title,” another kiss, “no matter your appearance or your dress.” You kiss his forehead. “Papa Emeritus. Frater Imperator Copia.” You kiss his wet lids and the tip of his nose. “You will always be loved and treasured, forever. By your fans, by me, by everyone, my sweet boy. I know we are all so proud of you even if it all feels shit right now.” Your smile is bittersweet when he cracks his eyes open. They’re less watery than before. And you chuckle, quietly, nuzzling your nose to his. He lets out a heavy sigh.

Finally, after a few more bittersweet tears, you kiss him on the mouth. You melt into each other, gripping his lapels, his hand on the back of your neck, everything so soft, solid and shaky all at once. It’s strange, to finally watch the balloon that's been inflating beneath his ribs finally pop. 

“Ti amo,” Copia crokes roughly. “I don’t know what I would ever do without you, amore.”

You bring your hands up once more, caressing his temples and stroking through his soft, mousy hair and greys. He purrs, mismatched eyes fluttering. He pulls you in for another deep kiss, humming into our mouth when you part your lips.

It will take time to accept the changes, you know, neither of you will ever get used to such a huge shift… You’ve both always been afraid of the future and talked about your fears and anxieties in the late morning hours when neither of you could sleep. But you’ve done it before, and you will do it again, together as one.

You know that with him, the future doesn’t look so foreign.

<3

masterlist ⛧ Ao3

infernal - terzo x f!reader - part one

art by the lovely @stainedlilac

author’s note: been cooking this one up for sometime. about 4k words. 18+! mdni! ao3 link. this will be a looooong one. if you like it, PLEASE tell me omg. tell me in the tags or send me a message please and thanks.

~~~~

Terzo is serving a death sentence. 

It isn’t like he had much of a choice.

He remembers the game night clearly. The typical arguments and accusations of cheating had subsided and it was a rare moment of fun and relaxation with his brothers.

The next thing he remembers is waking up on a gurney and gasping for air. They told him his brothers were dead. They told him they had removed his head for a photoshoot and then reattached it again. They gave him a choice: die now or take their money and never speak to them again.

Terzo lives in solitude. The mansion he was put up in is large with enough rooms to fill all of the stories of his time at the clergy, which already feels like a lifetime ago. But it is just him. Only him. He spends his days in the quiet, stewing in his bitterness of how his reign came to an end and how the clergy had pushed him aside. The longer he is alone, the more angry he becomes. 

What is he supposed to do now?

They left him with nothing. Nothing besides money, which feels like the ultimate insult.

He lets his own home fall into disrepair. Trinkets and memorabilia from his past life pile up around him until he is forced to shove it all into one room to get it out of his sight. His days are filled with nothingness. He doesn’t know who he is anymore or what he’s meant to do. The purpose he had spent his life preparing for had been ripped from him. 

He doesn’t pay his bills on time so on more than one occasion, his power is shut off or he doesn’t have warm water. He eats cereal out of collection plates that bear the name of his old band. He is never completely dressed and doesn’t shower or clean himself for days on end. 

What is the point?

One day, there is a knock at the door. An unfamiliar feeling of dread washes over him, anxiety bubbling up in his stomach as he creeps to the window. Terzo sighs deeply once he realizes there is no one at the door. He shuffles outside and stares at a brown envelope on his doorstep. The speed at which he snatches the envelope and slams the door behind him almost makes him dizzy. He manages to steady himself back at the window, his eyes narrowing as he looks to see if anyone is watching. 

Terzo tears through the envelope. What he sees sends red hot anger coursing through his veins. It’s a magazine and on the cover of it is his bloodied, severed head. He nearly rips it apart. The sight of his own father standing behind Copia, the little rat that sniveled his way to the top — 

He exhales sharply out of his nose as his eyes fall to his severed head and he runs his fingers across the cover. This was all he ever was to his father and to the clergy leadership: a prop. A puppet to push out to the masses and parrot the word they approved of and the second he had any thoughts or ideas of his own, they threw him away.

Terzo tosses the magazine on a nearby console and storms into his study, his fingers brushing through his wild hair. He can’t live like this; he can’t. It’s tearing him apart inside, twisting him into a withering husk of a person. He needs to make a change and he knows it.

He needs a new toy to play with.

He picks his head up, his eyes flickering to the closed double doors to the dining room. His life’s work is piled up and discarded there, filling him with a combined sense of longing and anger.

Terzo needs everything gone. 

***

You stare at the ad on your computer screen. It seems too good to be true. It must be too good to be true. You’ve never been a personal assistant before but it clearly states “no experience necessary for applicants”. Your fingers drift over the mousepad to the apply button. It couldn’t hurt to at least try, right? The worst that could happen is you get denied or never hear back but that is par for the course with job hunting anyway. You click apply and fill out your information, submitting the form after uploading your resume. 

You are sick of your current job working at a call center. Sure, it pays the bills but you haven’t gotten a raise in the two years that you’ve been there and your expenses have gone up. The fact that you struggle to make ends meet even with a roommate makes you spiral at least once a week. Not to mention that the job itself is soul-sucking, draining you of all positive energy so that once you are done working for the day you typically go right to bed.

You need a change. 

You don’t want to get your hopes up but it’s hard not to fantasize about what you could do if you are able to secure the assistant job. The idea of having spending money to buy takeout instead of living off cereal, oatmeal and ramen is getting you excited. Or maybe, as a personal assistant, your boss will feed you each day so you’ll be able to save money on groceries. The bar is so low for improving your day to day life. 

The thought brings an important revelation to the forefront of your mind: you didn’t know much about who the person requesting an assistant. You pull up the job posting again and read over the description. The only information it gives is in the title line of the posting (which you completely missed when applying): Personal Assistant to Golden Bachelor.

“Golden bachelor?” You say to no one at all as you google the term. You didn’t think people referred to themselves as “bachelors” anymore in this day and age. Well, it makes sense that a rich, lonely man would need an assistant to help him run his life - he’s probably always had assistants and can’t function without one. You’re not one to usually judge but when it comes to rich people they are fair game. 

You close your laptop and roll over on your bed, grabbing your comforter to cocoon yourself in. Exhaustion grips your body and the weight of the comforter starts to soothe you off into an unfortunately restless sleep. Not that you aren’t used to it.

***

Terzo is unimpressed with the applicants so far, despite the fact that it very clearly says “no experience needed” in the post he made. Also, the fact that there are so many applicants and he has to go through each individual application and read about these people and their silly jobs. 

Ugh. Boring. 

His leg bounces as skims through the applications on his laptop in the dim light of his study, reading glasses perched low on his nose. His study is practically empty besides his antique desk and chair that seemed to have come with the house. There are plenty of built-in bookshelves and cabinets lining the walls but they are all empty and full of dust. The walls are a dark blue that look black in the evening light with hardwood floors that creak with every step.

Terzo gives a sigh and removes his glasses, sitting back in his chair with a huff. This isn’t as easy as he thought it would be. He was expecting the first applicant to be a hit but when that person had nothing particularly interesting in their resume, he was feeling defeated. And then the same would happen with each of the other at least fifty he’s gone through by now. He wished he had an assistant to go through these but… well, then what kind of paradox would we be in, then?

He reaches into the pocket of his plush, purple robe for his pack of cigarettes, opens it and then brings it to his lips. Terzo presses a finger to the tip of the cigarette and it immediately lights, taking a deep, long drag of it. Coming back from the dead had its perks, especially because of whatever dark magic the clergy had used to do it. He still isn’t sure exactly what he is capable of but  he figured this little trick out when he nearly almost set fire to the entire house while trying to open the curtains in the sitting room. 

Terzo is already halfway through the cigarette, his eyes glazing over as he zones out while facing his computer. A notification pops up accompanied by a little “ding” to indicate a new applicant. He groans and rubs his eyes behind his glasses, taking another deep drag of his cigarette. 

“Un altro.” Terzo grumbles to himself. One more and then he’ll have a drink before slipping into unconsciousness, potentially on the couch in the sitting room where he spends at least half his nights. He leans forward in his seat, eyes fixed on your application after pulling it up. His tongue darts and licks his painted lips.

Your resume and application oozes desperation, so much so that he can almost taste it. The message introducing yourself is sweet, to the point and the most promising he’s seen thus far. A low growl rumbles through his chest as he copies your name and pastes it into google. He clicks the first Facebook profile to come up with your name, which may or may not be you. There’s no information on the profile other than a pixel-y profile photo of what resembles a young woman. Terzo stares at the photo for some time as he finishes off his cigarette, placing it into a golden ashtray that is almost completely full of ashes.

“Il mio topolino.” He purrs and opens a new window to reply to you, offering windows of availability for an interview.

***

It’s been days and you’re starting to think the whole thing was a scam from the start. Every time you send him when you’re available and can make it to an interview, that date and time comes and goes, and he sends a follow up asking for another time. You’re on the verge of giving up, of letting go of the fantasy of making a considerable amount of money with the potential for perks. 

That is, until there is finally a window of opportunity for the both of you. You almost turn it down at this point from being jerked around so much but the pay is just too good to pass up. You make sure to tell a few friends the address and the time of your interview so that they’ll know exactly where you are in case this is a scam and you are about to be abducted. He even follows up with you the morning of, telling you that he is looking forward to the interview so it seems like it is happening.

It takes you some time to settle on an outfit which ends up being a pair of navy blue slacks, white blouse and a pair of flats, and you put your hair up into a neat ponytail. You look at yourself in the mirror and decide that you look professional enough. 

The drive to his house is silent, by design so that you keep your focus on the interview. You’re not familiar with the area he is located in even though it is in your town. There is an old gate at the front of his driveway that is open and probably not functional judging from the state it’s in. The driveway is long and rocky, and the further you travel down it the more uneasy you feel. The house comes into view and you have half a mind to turn the car around.

It’s massive. Most of the windows are dark, complimenting the dark color scheme of the house exterior. It looks haunted. You stare at it through the dashboard window of your car, nervousness creeping up your chest. Your eyes fall to the clock in your car and it reads ten minutes until the scheduled interview time. A shaky breath falls from your lips.

To be early is to be on time.

The walk to the front door feels like an eternity and it’s hard to fight the feeling that the house is somehow watching you. The closer you get, you realize that the siding is a dark hunter green with black shingles which really contributes to the overall spookiness of the Victorian mansion. You reach the front door and take a moment to smooth out your outfit and adjust your backpack on your shoulders. Your lungs fill with air and you lift your hand to knock — but the door swings open before you have a chance to do so.

You are met with a pair of haunting, mismatched eyes. 

He doesn’t look the way you imagined. His hair is messy, sticking up in most places with some of it falling into his face. He is wearing a plush purple robe over what looks like a dress shirt and he is in a pair of black slippers. You can’t tell if he is wearing any kind of pants. What stands out the most is his painted face, sharp black paint cutting into his cheek bones and around his eyes. Despite the rest of his appearance, the paint is crisp. His eyes look weary as they look you up and down, just as you had done to him.

“You are here for the assistant job.”

A statement, not a question and a very thick italian accent.

You blink at him a few times and then hold out your hand. “Yes, sir. I have my resume here for you to review and—“

“You’re hired.” His expression is still tired and he turns away from you. “Begin cataloging and packaging my memorabilia.” He waves his hand and starts to trudge away from you.

“U-uh, shouldn’t you show me around first or something?”

Terzo spins on his heel back in your direction and starts to walk toward you. The closer he gets to you, the more you can see the wrinkles that had been obscured with his paint. His bright, white eye sparkles in the low light. You tuck your folder against your chest, a blank expression across your face. He looms over you and his eyes drift over your shoulder before he points behind. You turn your body slowly, looking to the double doors.

“In there – the dining room. That is where the memorabilia is.” 

His breath tickles the side of your neck and it gives you goosebumps. You can only bring yourself to nod slowly, trying to think of the salary that was promised in the ad and then step toward the doors. He watches you for a moment before slinking away. You hear him leave and a sense of relief washes over you as you open one of the double doors.

The dining room is a complete mess. There are half filled boxes everywhere, different fabrics and strange items littered across the floor. The dining table is covered in piles and piles of books. You close the door behind you and immediately start to think through a plan of attack. It was already after lunch so you only had a few hours to get started. This is not what you were expecting but then again, the amount you were getting paid made it worth it.

From what you could tell from rummaging through his things, he had been in some sort of spooky music group. There are posters with concert dates, ticket stubs and several different books full of photographs of him and masked men performing on stage. You think that it makes perfect sense given everything you’ve observed from him so far, especially his dramatic paint. Still, there is something darker about him - something that chills you when you think about it.

Your thoughts run wild. In the photos, he looks regal like he is some kind of prince, commanding the attention of the crowd. There are photos of women swooning, of him holding people’s hands and kissing the back of them while their faces light up. He seemed immensely popular from the size of the crowds and the interactions you’ve been able to see from rummagining. 

What happened? Did he retire? Did the band fizzle out? He didn’t seem all that old… You wonder why he is here, in this home in your town. It doesn’t seem like a place for someone of his profession or status. You carefully start to organize the tour memorabilia on the table, trying to keep like items together before diving back into another box on the floor. 

Terzo isn’t too far away, in fact he is right outside of the door for most of the time you’re working in the dining room. After every little noise he presses his ear to the door, listening to your movement. The feeling of excitement starts to warm his body up, his skin tingling as he starts to think up how he wants to play with you. It takes all of his self control not to burst in the room and scare you, just to see the look on your face. 

Oh, he wants to mess with you. He wants to see your smooth skin turn pink, to make you squeak and stutter just by lingering a bit too close to you. Terzo stifles a groan at the thought and presses his head against the door. Unbeknownst to you, you are his little mouse to chase, to tease, to bring some liveliness back to his boring life. He can’t help but scratch his nails against the door and gives another soft groan at the thought of someone giving him attention again.

He wants you now but he knows he must wait. He has to bide his time, he has to slowly draw you into him until nothing else matters to you. There’s movement from the dining room and Terzo quickly takes a step back from the door, but the sound fades and he’s left in silence. A deep sigh falls from his lips as his mind turns back to you. Even from just meeting you, he can tell that you are going to be perfect for him to prey on. 

Terzo slips out of the sitting room.

You hear something from behind the door but when you lower the box onto the table quietly, it’s gone. A shiver runs down your spine. Even with being completely alone in the dining room you can’t help but feel like you’re being watched. Maybe it’s an effect of this old house - maybe it’s haunted. You shake your head, figuring you are being a little bit too influenced by the prayer candles and spirit boards you’ve been sorting through. 

Your fingers pull at the flaps of the box, the last one from the floor for you to go through. Once it’s open, you sink to your seat and stare at the contents.

Condoms. Condoms with his face on them. Condoms that say “Popestar” and “Missionary Man”. You pick one up from the box and turn it over a few times in your hand, your mouth agape. 

“You haven’t gotten much done, eh?” 

His voice makes you jump, the condom wrapper you have been examining flinging from your hand. He watches it fall to the ground before settling his gaze back on you, a darkly amused look on his face. He must have crept in from the kitchen.

“I-I mean I just started.” You struggle to put a sentence together as you are distracted by his mismatched eyes. “Actually, I haven’t technically accepted the position yet.”

“Oh? So you don’t need the job?” The venom in his voice makes your skin crawl.

“No, no, I do — I do need the job.” There is a sick kind of satisfaction oozing from his annoyed expression. “I am just going to need to have the job offer in writing, including pay.” You almost whisper but you keep your eyes locked on his. You need that money. His lips curl into a smirk and he nods.

“I’ll have it for you tomorrow, topolina.” Terzo purrs as he leans against the table. Your eyes drift and you notice the now unbuttoned dress shirt giving way to his hairy chest. He leans down, his robe coming completely open, and picks the condom up off the floor and tosses it back on the table. “You will be back tomorrow, si?” 

“Y-yes, sir.” You realize you don’t even know what you’re supposed to call him yet. 

“Ah, bene.” His eyes sparkle of mischief and he hovers just next to you for a moment, looming over you. The tension rises in the room and you can feel your chest start to tighten. Terzo  gives a soft growl, then exits the dining room, his long robe trailing behind him. You rest your head in your hands and exhale slowly. You make a decision here and now: you’ll stick with this job until the first paycheck and then you’ll figure out whether the obvious red flags are worth the pay.

As you gather up your things, you decide to leave a copy of your resume there, just in case he wants to review it. You sling your backpack over your shoulder and grab your phone, heading out of the dining room but something stops you midstep. The distant sound of him singing fills your ears. You can’t tell what the song is but he sounds incredible. Your eyes flicker over the mountains of memorabilia as you finally get your feet moving.

He finishes singing as soon as you’ve stepped outside of the house, hovering by one of his bedroom windows to watch you get into your car. A growl rumbles up from his throat and he can’t help but run his fingers down his chest but stops just short of his briefs. He exhales slowly — he doesn’t want to get ahead of himself but the arousal he feels just from you perceiving him is too much for him to handle. 

Terzo had forgotten what it felt like not to be alone. 

He thinks about you on your knees in front of him, singing his praises, telling him how good he is before tugging at his waistband. His hand snakes down to palm himself through his briefs with a soft moan and starts to make his way to his bed. Terzo sits on the edge of it, his cock straining against the fabric of his briefs, the tip of it poking through the slit. He pushes them down and frees himself, his hard cock resting on his stomach.

Terzo thinks about you begging to taste him, begging for him to use you however he wants. His cock jumps and he takes it in his hand, lazily stroking it as growls rumble in his throat. He leans back on to the bed, his legs still dangling off the side. He could have anyone he wanted when he was Papa. People would beg him to take them to bed, to get a taste of Papa Emeritus. At the time, he felt a deep loneliness and self-loathing despite the attention or perhaps because of the attention, but he hardly ever turned it down. There was always the one moment he thought that they were there because of him, because of who he was and not because of the title he held, and that moment made it feel okay.

Terzo would take that over the loneliness he feels now.

His eyes fall shut, his lips part as soft moans fill the room. He strokes his cock more vigorously now, his thumb swiping over the tip every few strokes. He thinks of you behaving like the other siblings and ghouls that had wanted him so very badly. On your knees still, begging for your communion. You would open your mouth for him and stick out your tongue, ready to receive.

“Oh, cazzo.” He squeezes his eyes shut and gives a thundering moan as he finishes, thick ropes of cum landing on his chest and dress shirt. Terzo pants and lets his hand rest on his stomach, his chest rising and falling while his eyes drift back to the window.

He can’t wait to see you again tomorrow.

Movie Night

Copia x gn!Reader

Summary: The movie (no spoilers here) made me feel are warm and fuzzy so I wrote some comfort Copia. 1k words.

tags: gross domestic fluff. established relationship.

Copia’s suite was bathed in a warm glow, courtesy of the large vintage (his words) television he was adamant about using for occasions like this. The wood-paneled vacuum tube TV weighed a ton, but he insisted on propping the thing up in front of his perfectly functional flatscreen to watch his “special movies.” 

You’d scoffed at the first invite of course, wondering why in the hell Papa Emeritus was seemingly asking you to stop by and watch porn with him when you barely knew each other. He quickly and nervously explained that he simply meant they were his favorite films—a collection of old VHS copies he had carted around for his entire career. Each one was more or less in pristine condition, minus some fading or wear and tear on the old paper sleeves. He treasured these movies, keeping them locked away from ghouls or unruly older brothers for years.

But he wanted to show them to you.

Your adoration for him grew with each showing, the way he would tell stories about why whatever movie meant something to him. Sometimes it was an emotional attachment tied to a pivotal moment in Copia’s life. Other times it was just because he thought the movie was so cool. One movie at a time, your chosen spots on his sofa drifted closer and closer until the night he finally asked permission to kiss you. You gave it happily, filled with the flutter of butterflies over this sweet man.

Now his rooms were beginning to feel more like a second home, a place he wanted to share with you as much as those old videotapes. You were so comfortable with him here, happy to doze off and wake next to him on that overstuffed sectional. There was more than enough room for the two of you, but Copia liked that you’d cuddle up to him or use his thighs as a pillow after a long day. You never wanted to cancel movie night with him.

The notes of Copia’s cologne mixed with the scent of butter from the bowl of popcorn he always made for these dates. There was a touch of sugar in the air, the chocolate and peanut butter candies slowly melting in the popcorn bowl. Copia absently grabbed another handful and made a tiny happy sound as he chewed the salty and sweet snack.

You pulled your blanket a little higher, wrapping it around your shoulders before shifting in your seat. A little sigh left your lips as you settled your head in his lap for the millionth time. He lazily threaded a hand through your hair, while the other traced the familiar buttons on the remote. The movie paused and actors stilled mid-conversation, a discussion you’d stopped following some time ago.

“Dolcezza? Is everything okie dokie?” he asked softly.

“Mmhmm,” you hummed in response. “Just getting comfortable.”

He chuckled—a gentle heh heh heh that you were falling in love with—before he began to speak again. “We’re gonna need a bigger couch.”

“Hmm?”

“Ah, just a little movie joke, dolcezza. Never mind me.”

“I like your jokes,” you replied sleepily. 

“Really?” 

The surprise in his voice hurt a bit. You hoped after this many movie dates he would have realized how much you enjoyed everything about him. But insecurity and doubt occasionally liked to chew at the man’s insides. No amount of face paint or bejeweled robes could hide those moments from you.

You pushed yourself back up so you could look him in the eye. “Copia.”

He gave you a sheepish smile. “Forgive me, dolcezza. I didn’t think anyone liked my jokes.”

“Well, I do. So there.”

He smiled again, brighter this time.  He draped an arm over your shoulders and pulled you a little closer. “What has two thumbs and really likes you?”

You furrowed your brow, deep in thought. Pointing at the tv you asked, “the shark?”

He shook his head, that delightful laugh returning. “That guy has no thumbs.”

“Ah well,” you conceded. “Is it…the guy on the boat?”

“Now you’re breaking my ass, dolcezza.”

“Pretty sure you mean busting your balls.”

He winced and covered his crotch. “Not without a safe word.”

You tried to fight it, chewing your lip to keep from laughing, but he raised an eyebrow and wiggled in his seat to draw it out of you. An uncontrollable giggle bubbled up and forced you to hide your face against his shoulder to try to stop. His hand trailed down from your shoulder, squeezing your side before tucking you even closer under his arm.

“You know, dolcezza,” he began nervously. “I love your laugh.”

Your heart raced. It was a word neither of you had used in relation to each other, instead carefully places likes had peppered your conversations over the last few weeks. But you’d felt it for a while, slowly but surely you were falling. And not just for Papa as so many others did, but the man underneath it all. The man with the silly jokes and cheesy dance moves. The man with the special tv for his special movies who groaned every time he sat down. The man who’d acted like you were worthy of a Nobel Prize for introducing him to putting candies in his popcorn.

That was it. You loved Copia.

“Love?” you asked, searching his mismatched eyes for any hint as to what he might say next.

“Sì, love,” he confirmed easily and tapped you on the nose. “I love your laugh.”

You grinned back at him, happy to be at his side like this. “Well, I love your jokes.”

He brought his hand to your chin, tilting your head slightly as he leaned in for a soft kiss. His lips brushed yours, leaving behind the familiar taste of movie night.  “And I love you.”

You melted against him, body too warm as the butterflies in your stomach stirred back to life. “Oh, Copia,” you sighed. “I love you, too.”

might turn these into a series? idk.

Thoughts on “you couldn’t care less” “oh, I could” and “once I start I can’t stop” (especially for a big guy like ghost) together or separate both wreck me

A/N: Ghost x F!Reader (Red Fox). Trauma. Mentions of torture.

She throws it at him, spits it like a feral cat. “You couldn’t care less, Simon.”

He gapes at her, blood encrusted in the folds of his suit. Corpses littering the floor. “I couldn’t care less?” he echoes, tone stained with incredulity.

As if the evidence of his care isn’t at their feet.

She turns away from him, staggers slightly to the side before righting herself. She’s wounded and she won’t let him touch her. A pretty bird with a broken wing. His fury rages anew. It builds like a brushfire, and he wants another neck to twist. They had hurt her, and they had paid the price.

“What has two legs and bleeds?” she rasped, raising finger guns and pretending to shoot. She was slumped against the cement wall, crimson spit pooling to the floor.

“Red,” he growled, stepping forward with the keys to her cell door. The relief in his voice was muddied by his fear. Irritation was always his backup. “Not the time.”

“It’s me,” she murmured, exhausted and fragile and half out of her mind. “I think they hit a lung.”

It’s whiplash. Her joking to her shutting him out? She’s galloping toward hysterics, her fingers trembling as they loosely grasp the handle of the gun he had shoved into her hand. Fox had been ambushed and taken as a hostage. It was Ghost who had run after her, not caring that Price had firmly told him no - you're compromised in this particular situation.

“I just...” Ghost begins before trailing off.

He just what? Murdered a whole room of people that he was supposed to keep alive, but they had attacked Red, and he wasn’t capable of playing nice. Not when it came to her. “They tortured you,” he offers lamely. It’s the truth. He knows all about torture. It’s the mental shit that’s the worst, being used and shoved to the bottom of the barrel until there’s no light left.

“You jeopardized the mission,” she argues as she kicks one of the guards’ heads to the side. It’s limp, a water balloon filled with clay. She stumbles again and Ghost shoots forward, arm winding around her waist to hold her steady. “They’re all gonna blame me.” She places her palm on his tac vest, spreads her fingers. “I got caught. You killed them all. Fuck." She sounds resigned and bitter.

“I did,” he replies flatly. “My decision.”

Her lip trembles, her teeth clicking in her mouth as they start to chatter. A box of jumbled bones. She’s going cold and Ghost realizes that she’s in shock and perhaps that is why she’s making zero sense.

“You couldn’t care less because-because you shouldn’t care like this,” she tries to explain. “They’re gonna say you did it for me and I was weak and caught and forced your hand-”

“I did do it for you,” he replies simply, picking her up into his arms. Price is barking something into his earpiece and Ghost knows he’s going to get hell; he may even be put on leave for what he did. “They can say whatever they want.”

“No,” she protests, pushing away from him, but she’s so frail that it barely registers. A butterfly landing on his shoulder. She chokes on a sob and starts to cry and if that doesn’t kill Ghost, he’s not sure what will.

He bites his tongue, attempting to control himself from reacting. Her frustration, her tears, distress him and if she could see the expression behind his mask, she’d understand. Of course, I bloody did it for you.

However, she needs his kindness now. She needs to bash herself against him until she can no longer hold her weight. Douse her anger. Douse her resentment at herself because surely this is about her. She's mad at him for risking his own reputation to save her life.

"Simon," she sputters, and his name plops out wet. Helpless. Her breasts hitch, her heart thumping fast - too fast.

“Hey...hey...easy there, duchess,” he soothes, dropping his brow until it’s fastened against her own. “Breathe with me. We got Evac coming.”

“But...it's not...”

“No more of that,” he hums before inhaling and exhaling at a slow, even rhythm. Her ear is firmly planted on his chest, and she curls her finger around one of the straps of his tac vest. She clings to it. Her hairline is beaded in cool sweat. Blood in the air. He swallows thickly as he feels her attempt to follow his pace. “That’s a girl. Just like that. Breathe. You’re safe.”

Ghost adjusting Red's parachute straps. Giving them a good, but unnecessary, tug, making her jolt forward into him slightly and her breath hitch. He loves the reactions he can pull from her and his voice is smug af as he tells her he's just checking, that he's being a good LT and keeping an eye on her safety. Red flipping him off because she knows he's full of shit and that he's absolutely smirking under that mask.

A/N: Simon Ghost Riley x F!Reader (Red Fox). Smut. Size difference.

She’s still incredibly sore between her legs. It pulses like a bruise and, fuck, it’s extremely uncomfortable because everything Ghost filled her with is now drying on her inner thighs. The straps of her parachute aren’t helping. They’re wedging her legs apart, too tight and shoved up against too many areas that don’t need to be chafed.

Don't you dare shower me off.

What do I get if I don't?

You'll have to be patient.

I need incentive.

You're bloody impossible, you know that?

Ghost steps into her line of vision, cocking his head as those dark eyes study her. He looms like a monolith - a fucking tower of glass and metal and he’s too big, way too fucking big, so big that he may have ripped something inside her.

She flips him off just because she can. 

He steps forward so that his chest bumps into hers and when she stumbles backward, his hand shoots out and grasps the straps of her parachute. He drags her back to him and she trips again. 

“Unsteady, are we?” he remarks in a low voice. 

She jabs him in the side, which does nothing because it’s all flesh and muscle. “I think you punctured an organ.”

He chuckles and it tastes rich. He smells like moss and shower gel and she can’t forget how he felt on top of her, the perfume of sweat in his hair and on his skin and how they slipped over eachother because they’d been fucking for hours. His grip under her knee, his immense strength shoving her legs back against her tits and folding her in half as he stared down between them, focusing right on where they were joined -

“Fuck...fuck...look at that...look at that pretty cunt stretch for me.”

He grasps the buckle to readjust them before pulling the strap too hard. She yelps, screwing her eyes shut as she breathes through the ache in her cunt. It throbs and pulses like a spasming heart in an open chest - thwap thwap thwap - and still she’s beginning to get wet, slick up at the sound of Ghost’s voice. 

“Sore?” he offers and the arrogance is audible. He gets off on making her so unsteady. “C’mon soldier, you were in perfect form earlier.”

“Hands on the headboard, Red,” he demanded as his hips snapped against her ass. The tip of his cock was punching up against the soft curve of her womb. He was hitting the center of her - deliberately on target. The mattress squeaked and the metal springs screeched something fierce and he’s had her on all fours for hour - hours - 

He slipped his hand between her legs and circled her clit with three of fingers. They were too thick, rubbing through her folds until her flesh becomes raw and swollen. That was all he had to do - stroke and slide his fingers into her as his cock drove forward repeatedly. He slapped her pussy, he fisted the fleshy cheek of her ass, spreading her open and spitting on his length already soaked in her juices. 

“Don’t push it,” she growls as she tries to breathe through the pain. It’s not unwanted. It’s just annoying now that they actually have to do drills. “I think you broke something inside me.”

He inhales sharply, one gloved knuckle rasping against her stomach. She can feel him through her clothes. “Is it bad?”

He sounds calm, but she still catches the inflection of concern beneath his gruffness. 

“It’s fine.” She leans into him so that her breasts brush his chest. “I’ll live. I’m a big girl, right?” She lowers her voice to something velvet. A seduction.

“You’re a big girl, Red,” Ghost growls into her hair as he fucks her. “You can handle it. I know you can.” He pins her wrist to the mattress before his hand slithers up and threads their fingers together.

He tips his head, pupils expanding. “You are,” he agrees a little hoarsely as he tightens her other strap. “Just lookin’ out for your safety, duchess.”

Bastard.

She pretends to stumble, and he instantly catches her by the waist like she knew he would. She lifts herself on tiptoes, her mouth grazing his jaw.

“Make it up to me later,” she whispers. Ghost swallows, his grip on her tightening. “Maybe, I can sit on your face again.”

Ghost squeezes her hips, pushes himself closer until they’re momentarily stuck together, intertwined. “If that’s what you need,” he replies tenderly. “Just trying to be a good lieutenant for my favorite-”

“What the fuck are you two doing?” Price barks and Ghost smoothly steps away from her. She’s so unsteady that she has to catch the wall to keep herself from falling. 

Truth be told, she feels as if she’s already jumped. She’s tumbling to earth and everything in her belly flips and it’s all butterflies. The throbbing between her legs is the only reminder that Ghost had been inside her to begin with. She stares at his blank mask, black eyes like a shark. Unbothered. Unmoved. 

It’s unfair. 

“Just checkin’ her chute,” Ghost explains.

“Just coppin’ a feel,” Soap interjects and Gaz muffles a laugh with the back of his hand. 

Ghost slowly turns his head to stare at the Scotsman who suddenly blanches. She can only imagine the iciness of Simon’s expression. He’s done it to her when she’s managed to royally piss him off. 

After a moment, she places the flat of her palm against Ghost’s massive shoulder blade and he relaxes, sighs. The tension is stripped to hot air. It’s too easy. She didn't expect him to react just the way she had intended.

She realizes that maybe Simon isn’t so unaffected by her presence. 

i don't want to miss you.

simon 'ghost' riley x f!reader wordcount: 1.2k an: mentions of war, loss of unknown solider, angst but with nice ending. comfort!ghost Reader and Simon are from the same world as Helen.Simon. summary: you lose someone, and he's the only one who can make you whole. masterlist for ghost.

+++++++++++++++

From the moment their fingers fell from yours, their pulse having vanished, and the light in their eyes stolen—you’d been frozen. 

You didn’t hear Price checking in on you, you didn’t hear the dull sound coming from the plane you were in. Just the memories of gasping breaths, which had been once real. 

They hadn’t died peacefully. 

They shouldn’t have died at all. 

Your eyes pinned on the sheet covering them, your feet as flat to the ground of the plane as possible. It’s only when two soldiers move the body, the once crisp sheet stained scarlet, did you shuffle back until your spine is pressed against the wall of the plane. 

Somehow, you didn’t falter even when it landed or emptied.

The plane feels larger, colder and quieter than you have ever known it to be. You know Price has asked you a question, but your brain can't formulate words, not even when he'd touched your shoulder.

You were just lost, floating somewhere between the moments before you were radioed to the cargo plane and before they died without you able to stop it.

Price must know how you don't mean it because he runs his hand over your shoulder before exiting. You’re sure you offered a smile, a nod, but you can't swear your life on it.

Because you could have saved them. 

If you’d been at the base—if you had everything you needed. 

You’d brought far worse back to the living, but never like this—not with time running out in the back of the cargo plane. All they asked was for you to hold their hand, their blood coating your palm as you nodded, sitting on your knees, hearing them whisper thank you as they choked out their last breaths. 

You’re used to losing people. It’s the job. 

But this felt different. It felt wrong. 

It felt like something was stolen from you, knowing—in your mind—all the ways you could have made it work. You’d missed your med bay at the base, even the half-hearted tents. They had things, they had blood and tools. More than your persons had on you now. 

You hear his boots. Know they belong to him—you could pick his walk out of a line-up. 

If you could listen closely enough, you’re sure you can even pick out his heartbeat from everyone else’s on base. Your ear has been against his chest so often it had become welcomed music at the end of a bad day, week, or month. 

Avoiding his eyes, you keep your eyes fixed on the spot, even as he moves closer. Your mind wondered what Price had to say to get him here or whether just simply telling him you were all back would suffice. 

The shadow of his frame dwarfs you the nearer he comes, the light from the end of the plane vanishing from your view. Ghost closes the gap slowly, as if fearful of spooking you—not that you look up.

Not until he tugs you, pulling you close. Your body tenses until you realise, awkwardly, what he’s doing. What he’s trying to do. 

He’s hugging you. 

Poorly, but he is. His hands were not sure where to be, his arms trying to wrap you close but either afraid of squeezing you or not knowing how to do it best. 

You’re not sure. 

But you let him. You welcome it. Allow him to hold you together, just for a moment, as your eyes stare over his shoulder—feeling him grow tenser and tenser. 

“Ghost…” 

“Shut up.” 

You smile, and the corners of your lips twitch. Slowly, you allow your arms to wrap around him, softening against him as he breathes heavily before doing the same. 

It takes another few seconds before you feel it shift, and unlodge, your throat tightening as your breathing stutters. And you know he’s heard it, you can tell. 

“Let it out.“

“I can’t,” you say, lessening your grip on him, trying  to release your arms, but he just holds you tighter. 

“Let it out, Helen.” 

Your mouth opens, ready to argue. 

“It’s an order.” 

It isn’t. 

You know it isn’t. Hell, he couldn’t even make it convincing enough to be one. But it’s also what you need. The lump shifting as a tear falls. 

He doesn’t let go. 

If anything, he holds you tighter, your mouth pressing into him as you let out a sob. A pained, full of heartache sob. 

Because losing is expected in war, but it doesn’t make it easy. You’d told him that once, said it to him off-handedly. 

Contradictory. A medic in a task force like this. On one hand, I need to take a life, but I’m also expected to save one. 

And you know, as well as he does, that it’s hurting more because they were so young, and you’re so tired from lack of sleep. That the mission was also not as successful as any of you would have liked. 

That there was so much loss and very little gain. The hardest of all poisons to swallow. 

You sniffle, trying not to fall entirely apart when you feel it—a slight rock. Ghost’s feet moving his weight from one to the other, holding you as close as he could without crushing you. 

“You hate hugs.”

It’s all you can think to say. Feeling him freeze. Tense. The sound of fabric meeting your ears before he’s allowed enough of a gap for you to meet his eyes. 

The dark paint surrounding them, the mask which scares others, but you know what lives underneath it. 

“I do.” 

“But... you are hugging me?” 

He doesn’t snort, but you suspect he smiles. A Simon-smile, not really showing teeth or a smirk, something different, something which suits him and him alone. 

“There’s a lotta things I do just for you.” 

His hand slides free from around you, trying to catch the edge of his glove on you as he shows it to you. His wrist. The veins and the edge of ink, and more importantly, the very thin black bobble. 

“You still have it…” you whisper. 

His hand moves, sliding back around your waist, studying you—each minor expression which flutters across your face. 

It’s not that you thought he’d rid it of his person the moment you left for the mission, but you didn’t expect it to be there days later. Likely cutting into him, such a thin thing on such a thick wrist. 

If you miss me, which I know you won’t because missing people is for people with hearts, flick it against your skin. 

Flick this bobble against my skin? 

Yes. It’ll feel like I’m right here, annoying you. Bothering you. That little pinch I do to your arm when you say no, and we both know you’ll say yes. It’ll feel like that. And you won’t miss me. 

“Did it help, with missing me?” 

Ghost just stares, his fingers slowly drawing circles on your hip—even through your layers “No. Wasn’t nearly annoying enough,” he gruffly responds. 

You curl back into him, pressing your ear against his chest. Your smile is harder to fight as you listen.

“C’mon,” he whispers, so soft that it almost seems wrong. "Can't show y'how much I didn't miss you here."

And so you almost move, but then you feel his chin against the top of your head. 

Closing your eyes gently, knowing it’s his way of kissing your head, of pressing his lips to your hairline. 

And you smile as you open them again, lifting your head, staring into the eyes, which makes you feel whole. 

“I still have one of your masks,” you reply in a similar softness, his fingers coming up, brushing your chin. “Kept it in my vest pocket, close to me as I could have it. It didn’t feel the same either.” 

Your lips kiss his gloved thumb, watching him let it linger against your bottom lip before you nod. A nod which says I missed you too, which says so much more if you were honest.

But, you could say them another time.

For now, you let his hand fall from your lips, allowing him to move you, to twist you into his side as he leads you off the plane.

Hoping, almost praying, it's hours before he lets you go.

///// masterlist for ghost.

keep you close.

simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader summary: he's pretty sure he's in love with you. not that he'll admit it, acknowledge it. an: angst with fluff, mentions of injury, war-stuff, cheeky stabbings, just cod things. no smut. just feelings. cause I wanted flangst. word count: 3.6k

masterlist for ghost.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Ghost doesn’t think when his eyes land on you. 

He should. 

He knows he should. 

But he fires his gun all the same, not content with the sound each body makes when they fall to the floor. He wants them to fall harder, almost land and shatter. 

He wants them to hurt.

It’s all he thinks as he slides the metal edge along the throat of the last one. The one who is hissing at him in a language he doesn’t even care to translate. 

Ghost cares about one thing, and one thing only: getting that radio message out of his head. 

It’s an ambush. Do not proceed. Get out—

It has been on a loop since he heard it.

Your radio message. 

The one which made Soap shout, calling for you as the static and crackle came back. The sound which made his blood run cold. The one which made him charge across the base grab the person who confirmed the intel by the shoulder, and made them piss themselves. Accidentally, of course.

It had been Soap who suggested sweeping the place, but it hadn’t been far from his mind.

They found your radio stood on, crushed—likely by your own boot. You’d always been thorough—you also usually wiggled your way out of these situations, 

It’s how you’d earned the moniker Mouse to begin with. 

His eyes caught the dried blood, hoping it didn’t belong to you as his flashlight followed its path until his jaw locked, his muscles tensing. 

Your scrunchie. 

That ridiculous one you bought months ago. The one which you’d found hilarious, and he had found anything but. Black, with tiny ghosts on it, for Halloween. No other reason, you’d said with a smirk. Unless you want to borrow it, sir? 

It’s in his pocket now. 

Has been since he found it. 

As he lets the last man fall, he brushes the pocket with his hand before wiping the blood on his thigh, sheathing his knife.

Turning, nodding in the direction of the other men as they checked them as he moved across the room to you, sliding his gun behind his back, and dropping to his knees. 

We bring Mouse back. By any means necessary. 

He’s thankful you’re alive and breathing. Watching as your head tilts —trying to work out who it is. Cautiously, both for the fact he’s considering it and for the knowledge he could hurt you, his gloved hand slides up your cheek, watching you tense before he pulls down the blindfold with his fingers. 

One eye is swollen, horrid, and puffy. Something which makes him want to put extra holes in each of the men for it. But, he can’t take his eyes from the one of yours, which blinks, and stares at him, taking him in. 

“I’m undoin’ this cuff.” 

You swallow, nodding, trying to keep the eye fixed on him. The handcuff releases from your wrists as your arms drop weakly. 

It’s then he can see the bruises. 

The ones which have formed and the ones about too. 

How the colours vary in spots along your exposed arms, neck and cheeks. Dreading to think of how deep they go, how far they spread under your clothes. 

“Sir…” you whisper, his head moving closer. “You’re a piss poor listener.”

“Almost as bad as you, soldier.”

Cautiously, he moves closer, his knees hitting against your legs as his hand slowly brushes over your arm. 

He’s aware the others have their eyes trained on him, Soap giving orders, busying them. It doesn’t stop him from moving his arm around your shoulders, bringing you close until his chest is close to your side.

“Do you want me to close my eye, make it easier for you?” you cough—sounding like a deflated lung. “You seem the type to hate touching people.”

“Enough.” 

It comes out gruff, but he knows that you don’t take it that way. The side of your busted lip twitching as he pulls you over his lap. 

He’s pretty sure it’s the gentlest he’s ever been, even more so with someone. He doesn’t mean to press his forehead against the side of yours. But, he thought he’d lost you. 

The annoying girl who talked too much, who smiled and had no issues with personal space. Unless you were on the battlefield. Then, you were different—quiet, tactile, mouselike. You scurry, you don’t miss, with a gun, a knife or a computer. 

Ghost knew he was fucked before today. 

But, this confirms it. 

The sharp pang in his chest is a horrid, bitter reminder of how fucked he is—especially with how his heart skips a beat when your hand shakes as it brushes against his mask.

He should look away as he lifts you, breaking the stare he has with you, but you move closer, whispering for him—and him alone. “I knew-w you’d find me.” 

He tightens his jaw, feeling a lump in his throat as he gives a curt nod. “Always.” 

“Always,” you repeat softly, eyelashes fluttering, desperate to close.

“Hey, eyes on me,” he says, and you do your best. You hope he knows that. “Good girl.” 

You hear someone shout for a medic, but it’s not him. 

He’s saying very little, just letting his breath dance across your neck and cheek as he holds you to him.

+++

The next time he sees you, he's visiting you when you’re in recovery.

He’s heard from others you’re improving. Soap nudging him, ensuring he’s heard him—thinking he knows more than he does.

He does go, though. 

You’re smaller than him, but you look so much smaller in the bed. Your face finally regaining some colour, an expression not twisted up in pain. The bruises faded, eyes unswollen. 

It’s a welcomed sight after the last time he saw you.

He crosses the recovery room floor, the room slowly emptying around him. He was glad that the rest of the med bay was without patients. 

His chair squeaks with protest when he sits beside you, eyes glancing over your face, over your arms, checking and checking that everything is where it was supposed to be. 

You say nothing. 

He says nothing. 

He just sits, staring at you, letting his eyes roll over your face. You seem to let him, likely basking in the fact that you’re currently not being boiled alive by him. 

It’s nice. Quiet. 

It’s helping to drown out the whimpers and groans you’d been making all the way back here from your injury. 

Until the tension reaches such a height even if you can’t stomach it. 

“What you doing here, Lt?” 

“Ensuring you don’t act recklessly.” 

“I think I can behave for one night.”  

“Doubtful.” 

You play with the sheets on the bed, rolling them between your fingers as he watches you, knowing what’s coming before you’ve even opened your pretty little mouth. 

“I’d behave for you, if you asked.” 

Sometimes, your brashness even surprises him. 

“I have asked,” he says, stretching his leg out as he watches you smile. “You still disobey me.” 

You nuzzle down into your pillow, not taking your eyes off him. 

“Sleep, Mouse.” 

“With you watching me?” 

He clicks his tongue. “Sleep.” 

You smile softer, eyelashes looking heavy. “Okay.” 

Nodding, he interlocks his gloved fingers over his lap. 

+++

You’d been silent. 

Too silent. 

He knew how you got your Codename. He’d read your file, after all. You sneaked through impossible holes figuratively and literally. Price had informed him how good you were with computers, he hadn’t known how good until he read it himself. 

You were good, capable, and able. 

He knew you could handle yourself, which is why it wasn’t that which concerned him. It’s the silence. 

You’ve been quieter overall since you came back—since he brought you back. Since he helped carry you back to the truck till he watched you get patched up. 

Something inside of you, that annoyingly cheerful part of you, had withered. He knew it, Soap knew it. 

“You following me?” 

“Could say the same to you.”

“Can someone even stalk a ghost?” 

You’d tried to hide it, more so from him than the others. Your body trying to twist from him, but his arm had stopped you.

“Something you need, Lt?” 

“No.”

You’d given him a curt smile. “Goodnight then, sir.” 

He didn’t miss the way you added the sir.

Not that he expects he’s supposed to. Shifting his jaw from side to side, having watched you walk down the corridor, not even bothering to turn to look back at him. 

That had been two days ago. 

Today, you had dark circles around your eyes. A tenseness in your shoulders as you were all briefed. 

He waited, seeing if you approached him, and asked him to stay behind—not entirely sure what his answer would be if you requested it. 

But you didn’t. 

It should have been a warning, your demeanour shifting, darkness descending down over you the closer they got to the location. 

“Mouse, you copy?” 

Silence. 

Even to Soap. 

Often, Ghost knew he warranted your anger. 

He was colder with you, more stern. Especially since he’d allowed himself a moment—when he’d been able to hold you, carry you. When he’d felt your heartbeat and watched your eyes fix on him—warming him. 

He had wanted distance and walls. Many of them, more so. 

Now, he wishes he hadn’t. 

Because with Soap, you were light, never ignorant. And maybe he’d have recognised how your anger and hurt had consumed you. That what happened between you being taken and being found had festered and eaten everything good inside of you.

He could relate. 

More than most. 

“Mouse,” Ghost radios, gruff voice and all. “Fuck.” 

He taps Soap, heading in your direction, almost charging. He knew it before he saw it before his foot kicked open the door and witnessed it with his own eyes. 

He even freezes for the briefest second. 

Half impressed with the number of bodies on the floor. 

But then he reacts, hooking an arm under your hips as he both lifts and moves you against the wall. The knife falling from your fingers, clattering against the stone, the only other sound is your panicked breaths and Soap exclaiming, “Steaming bloody Jesus…” as he enters the room. 

His forearm presses into the wall beside your head, caging you in as his other palm presses into the wall next to your hip. 

Because it was the mission to kill him—once they’d got the information. 

The information he couldn’t currently prove you had—but he’d hoped you did. Because otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to contain his anger, his fury. Right now, it simmered, being kept back by that vacant look in your eyes he doesn’t recognise. Not in you, at least. 

You’re not looking at him. Not meeting his eyes. 

Too busy staring at the body on the floor, the one which has scarlet seeping from each hole you’d inflicted with a knife. His knife. 

“Mouse.” 

You don’t move, staring as if transfixed in the knowledge he’s dead. 

So he whispers your name. 

Your real name. 

Your eyelashes flutter into a blink, head-turning, finally pulling from the man who kidnapped you on the floor. 

“Got the drive,” you say in a tone void of emotion. 

+++

Ghost didn’t want to shout, he didn’t want to scream at you, but he did all the same. 

Both in anger that you disobeyed an order and in a panic because he couldn’t stop the way his mind unravelled when you didn’t respond. 

That it took him back to that moment all over again. Where you were taken from him. Where he lost you. Where he should have protected you. 

“You wanna explain what the fuck happened back there?” 

You don’t look at him, folding your arms over your chest, suddenly finding the floor interesting. Pressing the sole of your foot against the wall as you leant, seemingly unbothered.

“That’s an order, Soldier—“

“I collected the information, and I stabbed him. Mission complete. Sir.” 

Sir. 

Fucking sir. 

He hated how it made him hard. Little bitch. 

“You disobeyed a direct order—“

“—The mission—“

“—You were supposed to wait for backup.” 

“I couldn’t risk it.” 

He rounds on you, forehead pressing against yours. “You couldn’t risk it?” 

Your eyes don’t soften. They hold his gaze, full of fire, ash and destruction. “Well. We’ve both seen the evidence of bad intel, haven’t we?” 

He stills. 

Blinking, staring into your eyes, seeing the darkness still swirling. The anger has lessened but still remains. 

“You need to let it go.” 

“I need to… what?” You look hurt, more than he thought you could, and then it vanishes, swept away by anger. “…fuck you, Ghost.” 

Moving from him, turning your back on him 

“Fuck me? If you continue down this path—“

Then you turn, your eyes burying into him. “It’ll what? Keep me up at night? Consume me? Well, guess what, Simon, it already has.” Your chest rises and falls rapidly, a tremor to your outstretched arm before you snap it back to your side. “For days, they asked me who we were. They had ideas. They did… inklings. But, they… they knew my fucking name, Simon. They…told me what they’d do, and I had nothing, not a single thing to drown it out as they described all the ways they’d kill Johnny, how they’d break Gaz, how they’d hurt…” 

You. 

The unspoken word hanging in the room. 

“I got it before, I did,” you say, words shaky at your almost declaration, “but I understand why you wear that mask—why you keep people out…” 

Your eyes fill with tears, one’s he wishes he could wipe away before they even meet your cheeks. 

“People you know can hurt you the most… right? That's what you said.” 

His head reeling back an inch, but it feels like he’s been hit. And then you leave, storming out of the room, and he doesn’t stop you. 

Because he knows he shouldn’t. 

Because you’d called him Simon. 

Not Ghost. 

+++

He hates that you’re not here. 

You’ve been avoiding him. Outside of briefings and necessity, you’re nowhere else to be found. 

The rest of them are around a table, beers in their hands. His mask lifted just enough to enjoy his—if it didn’t taste like nothingness. 

Because there were no kind eyes on him. No jesting coming from a soft, sweet voice. 

Especially right now, when it’s needed as they discuss who they’re currently fucking their fist over. He hears someone ask him, something he ignores. 

And then Soap speaks for him. “I think Ghost here has his eyes on—“

“That’ll do.”

The others snigger, mumbling about getting some air as he cracks his neck. Hoping if he ignores Soap enough, he’ll vanish too. 

“Talk to her.” 

Ghost rolls his head on his shoulders, meeting his sergeant's expecting face.

Soap slaps his hand on his back. “Trust me, Lt, talk to her.” He tries to think of something, anything, to respond with. He hasn’t got anything until he continues, “Didn’t think you had a heart.” 

“A cold one. I have a cold one.” 

Soap smirks. “I doubt it’ll remain that way.” 

It doesn’t take him long to find you, seeing you huddled over papers and a computer. 

He considers watching you, but he steps in before he’s caught, offering you a mug, one you stare at suspiciously before taking it. 

You prefer a milky tea, one sugar. 

A person after his own heart. 

Right now, he imagines you need something different, so he chose coffee.

“What’s this?” 

“A boost. You need it.”

“Thanks?” 

He doesn’t know what to say. 

Letting himself see how dark the bags under your eyes have gotten. 

“You’re not sleepin’.” 

“Can’t.” 

He taps the desk with two fingers, your eyes lifting up to face him. Slowly, he retracts his hand, holding your stare as he takes his glove from his hand. He knows his sleeve has risen, the ends of his tattoo showing as he offers you his hand.

“You made me a drink, and now you want me to what, leave it?” 

Slowly, he nods. 

Your huff sounds before you stand, slapping your hand into his. It isn’t until your fingers are in his does he watch your eyes flicker, realising that you're touching him—really touching him. 

“Ghost…” 

“C’mon. Now.” 

He doesn’t let go or lessen his hold, not even when you slide your fingers between his. Not when everything inside of him tells him to run, to tell you to run. 

His mouth doesn’t open, it remains shut as he brings you to his room, opening the door, letting it swing open before he lets his eyes meet yours. 

Letting your eyes take it in before he nudged you forward. 

“Ghost…” 

“Simon,” he says gruffly. “My name is Simon.”

He shuts the door slowly behind the two of you, releasing your hand, moving it to his neck. 

Your eyes follow him, the air thickening—he can feel it. The hairs on the back of his neck standing, the ones on his arms standing. He’s even sure time is ticking slowly. 

Especially when he begins to slide his mask up, slowly showing you his chin, his cheeks, and his nose. 

Your lips parting, mouth falling open as he pulls it off that last bit. Nothing hidden, not from you. 

Swallowing, you make a noise, a squeak as if you’re about to say something, before clamping your mouth shut. 

“Hi.” 

Your lips twitch. “Hi.” 

His fingers brush yours ever so slightly, forcing your eyes to dip before landing back on his with so much adoration—he’s not sure how he deserves it. Any of it.

“What does this mean?” 

“It means you go to sleep. Here.” 

You raise a brow, and he almost smirks. Almost.

“Not like that.” 

Shrugging, you smile. “Coulda fooled me.”

Sighing, he lets go of your fingers. “You can’t sleep because you’re alone. But, if I’m here—“

“You’ll keep the ghosts away?” 

He runs his tongue over the front of his teeth. 

“Anything else this… declaration means? 

“Means you can trust me.”

He watches your head tilt, a scrunch to your brows and your forehead as you look at him. “I trusted you anyway.”

“Then get in bed.” 

He wonders if your cheeks are warm if they’re full or blush. More so when your eyes land on the floor, and he turns his back, moving to his things, finding you a t-shirt. 

On you, it’ll bury you. 

Which makes it perfect, just as perfect as the sound of you undoing your belt is to him and the faint sound of your trousers hitting the floor. 

“Here,” he says, holding the T-shirt behind his back, not wanting to look. 

Not even when he feels your fingers slide down his forearm, over his ink. When he feels your index and middle slide along his pulse, over his wrist and palm before taking it. 

It’s not until he feels your hands on his sides does he turn, your eyes looking up at him—somewhat close to the eyes he knew, the ones which first had his heart pulsing furiously as it is now. 

“Do you snore?” 

“Don’t think so.” 

“Sleep naked?” 

“Not all the time.” 

“Good,” you comment, loosening your grip as he turns to face you. “Hate for you to have gone to all this effort to not let me get a wink of sleep.” 

The double meaning of your words isn’t lost on him. 

Especially when he sees the twinkle in your eye, the grin desperate to blossom over your lips. 

“Unless…”

“Another time,” he says, even if he hates himself for it just a bit. “Now, get in bed.” 

You nod, smiling, “Yes, Sir.” 

Fucking hell. “Less of that.” 

“Any reason?” 

He snorts, turning to watch you climb into his bed, slowly pulling his T-shirt over his head, hearing you inhale as if your mouth was next to his ear. 

“I’m tryin’ to be a gentleman.”

He flicks the light off, wondering if your heart is hammering as much as his. Each step towards you feels like a mile, but he’d do it again and again. Feeling for your hand and the sheets you’re offering him, sliding in beside you.

For a moment, he’s tense. 

Just as you are. 

Especially as his bare legs find yours, your back to his chest, hair tickling his nose. He waits, letting you make the first move for comfort, feeling you breathe heavily before shuffling against him. Fingers trying to keep your hair out of his way, pulling it, twisting it.

And he remembers sliding his hand under his pillow, pulling it out slowly, the fabric rolling between his thumb and finger before he finds your hand over the sheets. He feels you tense, likely recognising it instantly, slowly taking it from him as you move, turning to face him.

Even in the darkness, he makes out your features. 

His hand reaches up, touching his chin before fingers spread up your cheeks. His thumb rolls over your bottom lip, wanting to kiss you desperately. 

“You found it?” 

He says nothing.

“You kept it?” 

He breathes out. “I did.” 

You must feel his heart hammering. You have to. 

Your body slowly comes down, arms sliding around his chest before hands find themselves on the back of his neck. 

His head turns as you let hug him, as your body says everything without so much as speaking. And all he can think is he’s an inch away from your lips. 

He’s within reach. 

He could. He should. 

“Simon…” you whisper. 

His throat goes dry, and then you kiss him. 

Silencing his mind, silencing everything that doesn’t matter—doubt, worry and the sound of that radio message—as he runs his hands over his T-shirt that covers your body. 

Pulling you close. 

Keeping you close.

——————————

I’m with you : read part two/companion piece

i'm with you

simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader an: can be read as a standalone, but does nicely accompany 'keep you close'. alludes to 18+ content, more angst, feelings, and emotions. usual, jo shit. summary: he knows how he feels, he knows how she feels. yet he fucks it up all the same. word count: 3.7k

simon 'ghost' riley masterlist

It’s a shithole. 

The safe house is barely standing. It’s a teetering, broken mess which is almost blending with trees. 

“It’s a safe shit hole. We’ll get evac to you at sunlight.”

That’s all Price had said before silence met Ghost’s ears. His tone sympathetic, but stern. The reminder of his words when they left base still swirling around some distant space in his mind: Sort it, Simon. Or I will. 

Not that he had a fucking clue how to. 

The damage is seemingly already done. He’s aware it’s his fault. He’s aware he’s a being a fucking cunt and that he’s fucking things up. 

In his defence, he’s not entirely sure how to be anything but. 

He’s stoic and distant. It’s who he is. With or without the mask. 

He’s let few in, few past the many walls and layers he’s built over the years. It frightened him he’d wanted to tear them all down when he realised that she fit perfectly between the crook of his arm and chest. 

“I’ll scope it out,” Mouse says, walking away from him before he can protest. 

His eyes watch her form, running his tongue over the front of his teeth as he reminds himself to unclench his fists. He preferred her talking his ear off. He misses her telling him useless facts about nothing and anything. 

Fuck, he just misses her. 

He misses how it was before he made her sleep in his bed before he handed her the fuckin’ scrunchie and kissed her. He misses how he didn’t feel conflicted before he’d felt how soft her thighs were, how delicious she tasted and how sinfully poetic her moaning his name was. 

“Sir.”

He’s thankful the mask is covering his fucking face as he smirks instantly. She likely knows it, just from the way she’s stood, all cocky like she’s got the fucking keys to the castle. But, as he reaches the door, he sees that same stern look—the one blended with ice and fire simultaneously, like a flamin’ tequila shot which’ll burn him from the inside out.

He’d suspected the safe house would be worse on the inside. 

As bad as he suspected it to be, he didn’t expect the electricity to be out. He didn’t expect the leak in the cupboard he supposed was a bedroom, and for it to be directly above the moth-infected mattress and poorly-made metal-frame bed.

Not that he’d sleep. 

He highly suspects she isn’t about to either. 

In another moment, he’s sure she’d be making light of the situation. Likely flirting, something she used to do more of before she was taken from him. When her heart was lighter, her fears never realised. 

I’ll let you be the big spoon, Simon. 

He conjures her voice with such ease he has to look around to check she hasn’t actually spoken. No. She’s still ignoring him, in her own personal hell-ish way, where she manages to both acknowledge and ignore him all at once. A skill he thought he was alone in mastering. 

He doesn’t comment when Mouse drags a chair to the door, hooking the back of it under the handle. He wants to comment that the chair will do fuck all to stop us being killed. That one measly push, and it's likely the whole fucking cabin will come down.

But, he doesn’t. 

Quickly suspecting the act makes her feel better. Noticing the slight tremble to her fingers, the way she keeps trying to busy herself, looking from window to window, door to ceiling. He tries not to look, to make things worse—not that he’s sure he can—however, the sound of her helmet unclipping makes his neck snap. Watching her ungloved fingers hook it onto the chair. Those same fingers that stroked his arm when she lay on his chest, the same ones he clutched between his when he knew her dreams had taken her. 

Then, all he saw was her back. 

Her frame looking smaller than she has done since the day in the med bay. 

He studies her a lot. More than he’ll ever admit.  

Whenever his eyes aren’t on what is needed, he allows them to find her. Seeking her out, like he is now. All eyes tracing her back, wondering if he can find the places he’d bruised when he filled her and stole her gasp. When he’d slowly rocked inside of her, gripping her sides as he pressed his forehead against hers. 

Then he sees it: the damn scrunchie. 

He both loathes it and misses it. 

Having wished he’d never returned it, even if it meant he gained the memory of her lips on his. When she’d been full of desperation and need, fingers so soft against his stubbly, rugged skin. 

The trade had been worth it, even if it had changed everything. 

Even if he’d awoken feeling lighter than he had in a long-time, almost content. He’d let his eyes roll over her features, capturing them all to mind until she’d stirred and he’d half-pretended to do the same. Knowing, deep down, the moment had to end—that things wouldn’t, and couldn’t, be the same. 

How could they be? His heart beat too quickly when she was around, his stomach almost bruised from how it fell to his feet whenever he thought she’d been hurt. He couldn’t control himself, barely think, barely functioned when she wasn’t in plain view. 

It would ruin something, a mission, a stakeout. Something.

Because she’d gotten under his skin. 

Mouse had scurried herself into another place she shouldn’t have, even if he’d been the one to let her in. Practically throw open the doors and be damned with the walls.   

When he thought about it, it made no sense. Not the feelings which simmered, bubbled and exploded within him, not the way everything seemed to brighten when her eyes landed on him. Not that fact that he had needed her to sleep, he had needed her to rest—not as her lieutenant, but as something else entirely. 

Now, she’s purposefully keeping her distance. Her hand rubbing her side, her foot kicking open cupboard doors, stepping back in case something which wasn’t welcome comes out. 

“You hurt?” 

Silence. But her body freezes, tenses. Slowly, in time, her head shakes, her eyes unwilling to look over her shoulder to him. Even if he’s pleading internally for her to do so. 

“Words, Mouse.” 

She huffs, shooting him a glare over her shoulder. “No, sir.” 

He expects it—the tone. Almost braced for it. 

Ghost doesn’t expect the pacing which follows, the way she switches from silently moving around the cabin to needing to move more purposefully. 

Three steps forward, three back. 

++

Once he’d been sure no one had followed, he began the fire. 

He found blankets, not bad ones, considering the rest of the place. 

There even more important since the warmth from the flames barely touches all of the corners of the room, his back against the dusty armchair he refuses to sit in as he watches her continue to pace.

She had paused for a brief moment, having searched the decrepit kitchen until she found beans, handing him a can and a half-rusting fork and began pacing once again. Her teeth nip at her bottom lip, her eyes unfocused on anything but where she moves them for a step. 

He’s not sure what it means.

Half-wishing Johnny was here to translate. He understands her, has been let in too. Not in the same way—never in the fucking same way. But, he’d be able to answer, even tell him the reasons she chose shapes over lines.

Occasionally, she stabs her beans with the fork—the only other sound than the cracking of the fire and her boots. 

He won’t admit it, but he likes the sounds of her boots on the safe house floor. How it echoes through the shit wooden walls and across the shit wooden floor. It’s as close to communicating with him as she’s gotten since the team had split up, and she’d no longer felt it necessary to respond through radio. He’d have been content to listen to it for longer, but watching her in the corner of his eyes was beginning to make him dizzy. 

“Mouse. Sit down.” 

Mouse pauses, not lifting her eyes. Seemingly thinking, deciding. Knowing her, she’s weighing up whether it’s worth ignoring his demand or not. Eventually, moving to the fire, sitting down, glaring into her own tin can. 

And it’s tense. 

Her silent treatment is more palpable now she’s sat in front of him, all red-nosed and anger-filled eyes.

“You cold?” 

“No.” 

He lowers his chin, purposefully ensuring his voice isn’t as sharp, as bruttish as it has been. “Mouse. Are you cold?” 

The look she gives him wounds him. It’s all pitiful, pleading and mixed with tight lips. One which screams for him to let it go. 

It’s worsened by the fact he can tell she’s holding back everything inside of her, not wanting a single shiver to show, a whimper or displeased groan at how she couldn’t warm herself. 

“Yes, Simon. I’m fucking cold.” 

Something both curls and unfurls in him at once at the sound of his name. 

The way she spits his name stains the air, making it buzz around him. It punctures and breathes life into the tension, making it double, triple. It’s stifling, mixing with burning wood and damp as he grits his jaw. 

“Come here.” 

“So you can avoid me again?” 

There it is. 

Her words were even accompanied by his least favourite expression: the angered glare.

“I said—“

She groans, loud, purposeful. Slightly edging forward along the dusty floor, shooting him a glare which he supposes should mean “happy, now?”—but he’s not fucking happy, not even close to it. 

He weighs up his options, considering both the fallout and the payoff before he grabs her ankle and pulls. He’s surprised at the lack of resistance, her body sliding with ease across the short distance until she is closer, almost entirely between his legs. 

“Fuck sake…” she whispers, deep under her breath.

Rolling her head on her neck, letting her eyes land on the fire and her grip remain iron-like on the can. 

“You gonna ignore me all night?” 

“Yes.” 

He rolls his eyes, placing the can down on the floor as he stares at the fire too. He watches them dance, the flames. Almost losing himself in it before he hears her can be placed down too. 

Heavier, more filled than his.

A swirl of worry rose in him, wrapping itself around important organs and sensibility as she let her face turn, letting him see her. 

“I hate beans.” 

“Course you do,” he replies, studying her. 

He lets his eyes fall over her, from her bent knees to her face, back down to her boots pressed against the floor. 

If he could, he’d leave this place and find her something. Bring her back greasy food, and a milkshake. Hell, he’d even find her a plate of curry and rice from that place she always talks about near her home. 

Not realising until now his hand is still on her ankle, something she’s too becoming aware of as she wiggles it—attempting to free herself from him.

“Why are you doing this?” Why did you let me in, to freeze me out, Simon. 

The words, both said and unsaid, dance to him, all broken and sad as soon as they leave her lips.

I don’t know. 

That’s the honest answer. He’s not sure why he let her leave that morning without explaining what he was thinking. He’s not sure why he just stared when she asked him a question—a simple, normal fucking question. Ghost isn’t even about a lot right now, other than he misses her.

And she must sense it, the shift. 

She must understand him, and see his thoughts all of a sudden as if they were being painted onto the walls. 

Because truthfully, he feels better when she’s close and feels almost whole. He could almost let himself imagine watching mundane television with her, doing a food shop at a supermarket with too many choices. He can also imagine ruining her over and over again. Desperately needing her fingers to snake through his hair as he takes her apart with just his tongue. Never wanting another mouth to wrap around his cock ever again, finding her the most terrifyingly intoxicating thing he’s ever met in his entire life. 

Her arms push her up, quickly distancing herself from him. 

“Mouse…” 

Shaking her head, taking strides to the pathetic kitchen as his chest tightens, knowing he should move; it feels harder to breathe as he watches her, especially when she leans over the poorly made counter—back to him.

Don’t leave. 

Don’t leave me. 

The same words which he thought of when she’d fallen asleep against him, her ear close to his heart. Not wanting her, and yet wanting every single part of her all at once in some confusing turn of events.

Because he’d never banked on her agreeing to come back with him. 

Not even just to sleep. 

He’d not planned or expected to hand her the scrunchie, and her kiss him. He hadn’t banked on it being the key to unlocking everything he’s been carefully stuffing down inside of him, desperately trying to lock it all away so he doesn’t ruin things, so he doesn’t change things. 

She turns, all so suddenly. 

Again, as though hearing him, and the look she gives him—fuck, it would have floored him if he wasn’t already sat down. It knocks the wind from his sails, the cockiness from his confidence. He almost feels stripped back, no mask, no uniform. 

And, it commands him to stand up. 

An order that he gladly answers as her eyes scream, now or never, Simon. Last fucking chance.

He stands, striding, closing the gap in half the steps it had taken her—stopping just short of her. Allowing her one more moment to glare at him, to inject her eyes into his skin, to feel anger, to feel hate towards him before he makes sure he takes every last bit of it away. 

If she was brave enough to ask, he’d tell her his favourite part of her is her eyes. 

Not the thighs she thinks he adores, not the smile he finds lights a room. 

Right now, he’s got a front-row seat to watching them thaw. Slowly, bit by bit, waiting until the right time before he swallows, hand hovering over her jaw. 

It’s hard not to struggle for breath when he stares into them when he loses himself in the shades that make up her eyes. The thousands of mini-expressions they show, let him in, just enough to read her. 

He half wishes the wind was howling or the house creeks. Because Mouse doesn’t speak, the silence is so thick he’s adamant she can hear how quickly his heart is beating. As though she thinks the entire moment is fragile, and at risk of shattering. 

Ghost knows why that is. He let her think that.

He’d let it be that way. 

He’d acted coldly, filling her mind with thoughts of him regretting it. But he didn’t. If anything, he felt as though he’d been resuscitated, while not knowing he’d been dead. That in one night she’d ruined him, and all she did was count sheep. 

“Lift my mask.” 

His words leave his lips softly, less gruff than he’s used to speaking. He’s sure it’s the reason she holds his stare for a beat, likely focusing on every expression dancing in his eyes. 

Mouse had told him, in her half-lucid, sleep-filled way, he said more with his eyes than he thought. Those words had swirled around his mind all night and ever since. Always wondering if they’re doing it, just like he is right now. 

He hopes they are. Hopes she can see how much he needs her to lift the mask, how much he needs her to do so he knows he can kiss her. Because words are not his strength, but action is. 

How can he make her forgive him if he can’t kiss his apologies into her lips, into her skin? He’d get onto his knees for her, if needed, but he needs her to lift his mask first. Silently commanding her to do so as her hands slightly shake, moving tentatively to the fabric at his neck. 

But she does lift it. 

Fingers lightly pulling it free from his neck, the fabric pulling at the tiny hairs and over his stubble. A cold finger and thumb slide either side, brushing his skin, leaving scorch marks he hopes burn forever as he watches her eyes.

Showing her he’s okay with it, all of it. If he could get the words out, he’d tell her as much. That the first day when she didn’t cower from him, when she stared him straight in the eyes, nodded and called him sir, he’d been fucked. When she was taken, stolen from him, he’d almost lost it—a gnawing inside of him which only stifled when he knew she was back safe. 

He doesn’t think she’ll ever understand the effect on him, likely never believing him.

The cold, six-foot-something soldier who has more hidden and confidential in his file than information has fallen. 

Fallen so far he doesn’t care he’s without any means of being saved, if she decides to not catch him. 

She’d never understand it, the effect she had on him. Likely suspecting he’s not capable of it, just because he’s silent, because he’s practical. But he feels, just not on the surface. And sometimes, that’s a bigger burden to carry. 

Nails drag over his stubble, the fabric lifting, rolling over the hair at the back of his neck. It almost makes him shudder—catching the scent of the sweat on her body mixing with her shampoo. A scent he can’t rid from his pillow, not that he wants to. 

It’s only as the mask clears his nostrils does he realise how much he loathes this place, hates the smell of it and the sight of it. But it’s a small blessing. A quietness in the middle of nothingness where this moment can exist. 

And then her fingers stop, letting the mask sit just above the base of his nose, resting on the bridge. 

“Lift the mask.”

She swallows. Her eyes flicking down before meeting his, sliding it up the last bit—freeing the skin around his eyes and his forehead. The cool air dancing over perspiration. 

It’s intimate, so much so that he’s not sure if Mouse knows she’s holding her breath as he cups her jaw and cheek. He makes his touch feathery, and gentle. Soft and slow as he slowly tilts her head up, watching her eyes focus on him as she allows her arms to fall back to her sides. It’s cautious all of it. Not his or her usual quick, determined, and efficient movements. 

He wonders if Mouse can tell his cheeks are on fire, whether she knows his stomach is doing flips as he strokes her cheek. 

And then she sighs. “It’s because you’re my lieutenant.”

His mind silences.

Empties. 

Her eyebrows rise, waiting before she smirks. “Words, sir.”

“Yes.” 

Because he is her lieutenant. Her superior. 

It’s fraternisation. Prohibited. Even if Price isn’t fucking bothered, even if Soap told him to find her. Some part of him knows it's more than wrong—knows it can put her at risk, from others, from higher-ups… from enemies. 

And then he feels it. 

Her catching him.

Small hands on his waist, holding him tightly. His free hand moving up to the back of her head, fingers sliding over her neck, up her hair, before he pulls, feeling bobbled silk-covered ghosts. 

“Mouse…” 

She stiffens as if waiting for him to move, but he doesn’t. Not this time. Not now.

Even if he should. Even if it would make sense too. 

Instead, his lips descend until they find hers gently, almost experimentally—fearful she’ll pull away. 

She doesn’t. 

Instead, holding him more firmly, more determined at his waist. He feels her pull, tug at him to move closer, as his tongue presses against her lips before things turn more desperate, hungry, and needy. 

She makes the blood rush through his veins and silences his heartbeat from his ears. That’s when his apologies really begin—when they begin searing themselves against her lips, then her jaw, and then her neck. 

His hand clutches the scrunchie to her lower spine, keeping her flush to him, showing in all the ways he can that this is what he wants. Not distance, not space or avoidance—as much as his behaviour has said otherwise. 

Ghost slides his hand down and around her thighs until he lifts her onto the counter—the one which groans at the intrusion of someone who dares use it for something other than letting it sit there—nudging her thighs apart, sliding as comfortably as he can between them as he grips her waist, feels her skin on his. 

He doesn’t mind that their lips part, her breaths mingling with his. He gets to watch her eyes, all wild and full of something he can’t describe.

He lets her hand brush over his cheek, smudging the black from around his eyes into her nails, and he whispers her name—so careful with it, like it’s something he could break. 

“Do that ever again—” Don’t ever hurt me. 

“Never.” I couldn’t. I’m sorry.

She waits for a beat, before nodding. 

He wants to lift her, move her somewhere more comfortable, although he’s not sure where that’ll be. The floor is their best bet, he could pull her flush against him all night, turn her legs to jelly, and let his palm slide down her stomach until she’s gasping his name and he feels how slick she is on his fingers. 

“No. Not here. I'm worried the walls'll come down.”

Rolling his eyes, he snorts, burying his head into her neck, silently agreeing.

His fingers drawing soft circles on her waist, not sure how to tell her he's happy with this. He's just wanted this. To hold her. Breathe her in and have the chance to explain.

“Simon…”

He pauses, both his hand and his thoughts. Lifting his head, sliding a hand over her cheek, feeling her curl into, just like she did in his bed. 

“...I feel the same…”

Good. That's good.

"So... don't let me fall. don't let this continue, if you're not going to catch me. If you're going to leave. If you'll ignore me—"

"Stop."

It's sharp, leaving his tongue gruffer than he'd hoped.

The words, the ones he wants to say sitting on the tip, sat right at the edge of his lips, unwilling to fall through into the air. So, his lips answer her in the only way he knows how. Not sure how else to show her he'd catch her. He'd catch her every single fucking time.

Always.

Hi! I've been waiting to make this post so here it is.

Here's a load of fanart I made for @boww-tiez hehe

Thank you so much for making Yuuei Survival Guide. I'm going to miss it when it's over. I've been invested in this story for over a year now!

And the very old sketches..

Also chances are there will be more that I'll make in the future.