Book Lover

[ghostwritterrr]

Taking Danny/Sam fanfic requests 👻💚

Send me your ideas, tropes, or specific scenes you want to see!

[ghostwritterrr]

~The Space Between Our Fingers~

Danny Phantom x Sam Manson

I’ve been thinking about it for three days.

Three whole days.

Not about ghosts. Not about school. Not even about how my parents are trying to force me into another pastel nightmare of an outfit. No—my brain has been stuck on one thing.

Danny’s hand.

Specifically… holding it.

It’s ridiculous. I know it is. We’ve fought ghosts together, nearly died together, saved the town more times than I can count—but somehow this feels scarier than any of that. Because this isn’t life-or-death. This is… what if he pulls away?

Or worse—what if he doesn’t even notice?

“Sam? Earth to Sam?”

I blink, snapping back to reality. Danny’s standing right in front of me, waving his hand in my face. That hand. My eyes immediately drop to it, like they’ve been magnetized.

“Uh—yeah. Sorry,” I mumble.

He tilts his head, soft concern in his eyes. “You’ve been kinda out of it lately. Everything okay?”

Everything is not okay. Everything is very much not okay because I cannot stop thinking about how his hand would feel in mine—

“I’m fine,” I say quickly.

Too quickly.

Danny raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t push. He never really does with me. Instead, he just smiles a little and starts walking again, gesturing for me to follow him down the sidewalk.

We’re alone. Tucker bailed earlier, claiming something about “important PDA-free gaming time,” which I didn’t question at the time but now feels suspiciously convenient.

Now it’s just me and Danny.

Walking.

Side by side.

Our hands brushing every few steps.

I swear it’s on purpose.

Okay, no—it’s probably not. Danny’s just… like that. Casual. Comfortable. Completely unaware that every time his fingers graze mine, my brain short-circuits.

Just do it.

The thought hits me out of nowhere.

Just grab his hand.

It’s not a big deal. People do it all the time. Friends do it. Probably. Maybe. I mean—do they?

My heart starts pounding anyway.

I glance at him.

He’s talking—something about a ghost sighting near the park—but I’m not listening. I’m watching his hand again. The way it swings slightly as he walks. The way his fingers flex when he talks.

I could do it.

Right now.

I slowly move my hand closer.

Closer.

Our pinkies brush.

Electric.

I freeze.

Okay nope. Abort mission.

I pull my hand back like I’ve just touched something dangerous.

“Sam?” Danny glances over again, this time more confused. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I said I’m fine,” I snap—then immediately regret it. “Sorry. I just… spaced out.”

He studies me for a second longer, then his expression softens. “You don’t have to lie to me, you know.”

That makes it worse.

Because I want to tell him.

I want to say, Hey, I’ve been obsessing over holding your hand like an idiot because I think I might—

Nope. Absolutely not finishing that thought.

We fall into a quiet stretch, the kind that usually feels easy between us. But now it’s heavy. Charged.

I try again.

Slowly, carefully, I let my hand drift toward his.

Don’t think about it. Just do it.

My fingers hover next to his.

This is it.

This is the moment.

My heart is pounding so loud I’m convinced he can hear it.

Grab it.

I start to—

And then—

Danny’s hand suddenly turns, his fingers sliding naturally between mine like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

I stop breathing.

Actually stop.

I look down.

Our hands are… intertwined.

Like it was always meant to happen.

I slowly look up at him.

Danny’s not even looking at me—he’s still facing forward, but there’s this tiny, almost shy smile on his face. His thumb rubs lightly over my knuckles.

“You were taking a while,” he says casually.

My brain completely shuts down.

“…what?”

Now he glances at me, and there’s something softer in his expression. Something that makes my chest feel too tight.

“You’ve been trying to do that for, like… the past five minutes,” he admits. “Kinda hard to miss.”

I stare at him.

“You noticed?”

“Sam,” he huffs softly, squeezing my hand just a little. “I notice everything about you.”

Oh.

Oh.

That does something dangerous to my heart.

“I—” I try to form a sentence, but it comes out scrambled. “I wasn’t—I mean, I was—but—”

He laughs quietly, and it’s warm and gentle and way too close.

“It’s okay,” he says. “I wanted you to.”

That’s it. I’m done. I’m officially not functioning anymore.

“…you did?” I manage.

“Yeah.” His thumb brushes over my hand again, slower this time. “Kinda been waiting for it, actually.”

Three days.

Three days of overthinking.

And he was just… waiting.

I squeeze his hand back before I can second-guess it.

“…you could’ve just done it yourself, you know.”

He grins, a little sheepish. “Nah. I wanted you to want to.”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t stop the small smile pulling at my lips.

We keep walking like that.

Hand in hand.

And suddenly, it doesn’t feel scary anymore.

It just feels right.

[ghostwritterrr]

~Not Subtle~

Danny Phantom x Sam Manson

Ashley had built an entire love story out of almost nothing.

It started small—just a few polite conversations in the hallway, a couple of smiles Danny had given her when she’d nervously said hi. To Ashley, those moments meant something. They had to mean something. Danny Fenton was nice to everyone, sure, but this felt different. At least, that’s what she told herself.

Danny, on the other hand, barely knew her name.

He recognized her face—Ashley, right?—from a couple of classes and the way she sometimes hovered near him before or after the bell. She’d talk to him about random things: homework, teachers, even what he did over the weekend. Danny would nod, give a small, polite smile, and answer just enough to not seem rude.

“Yeah, uh—just hung out with Tucker,” he’d say, shifting his backpack higher on his shoulder. “Nothing exciting.”

Ashley would laugh like he’d said something charming, her eyes lighting up in a way that made Danny a little uncomfortable, though he couldn’t quite explain why.

He wasn’t mean. He never cut her off. He didn’t ignore her.

But he didn’t engage either.

And the difference was obvious to everyone… except Ashley.

Because the second Sam walked into the room, everything changed.

It was subtle at first—a shift in Danny’s posture, the way his expression softened instantly, like something in him just… relaxed. His attention, which had been half-there with Ashley, snapped fully into place.

“Hey, Sam,” he’d say, a real smile breaking across his face.

Sam would raise an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “You look like you just survived something.”

Danny huffed a quiet laugh. “You have no idea.”

Ashley would still be standing there.

Still talking, sometimes—trying to keep his attention—but it was like she’d faded into the background. Danny didn’t do it on purpose. He wasn’t trying to be cruel. It just… happened. Like gravity pulling him toward Sam without him even thinking about it.

Sam noticed.

She wasn’t oblivious. She saw the way Ashley lingered, the hopeful looks, the way her voice tried just a little too hard to pull Danny back in. And Sam wasn’t heartless—but she also wasn’t going to pretend something was there when it wasn’t.

One afternoon, Ashley caught Danny alone by the lockers. No Tucker. No Sam. Just him.

Perfect.

“Hey, Danny!” she said brightly, stepping into his space before he could slip away. “I was thinking—there’s this movie playing tonight, and—”

“Danny.”

Sam’s voice cut through the hallway.

Ashley’s words stumbled to a stop.

Danny’s head turned immediately. His entire face lit up in a way it never did with Ashley.

“Oh—hey, Sam.”

That was it. That was all it took.

Ashley felt something sharp twist in her chest as Danny shifted his body toward Sam without even realizing it, like Ashley was just… incidental. Temporary. A placeholder until something better came along.

Sam glanced between them, reading the situation in half a second. “Am I interrupting?”

Danny hesitated—just for a moment—but it was enough.

“Uh—Ashley was just—” he started, clearly not even sure where the conversation had been going.

Because he hadn’t been paying attention.

Ashley swallowed, forcing a smile that didn’t quite hold. “It’s nothing. Just… homework stuff.”

Danny nodded quickly, relieved. “Oh—yeah. Yeah, I should probably get going anyway.”

He didn’t even question it.

Didn’t notice the way her voice had changed. Didn’t notice the way her hands clenched slightly at her sides.

“See you around,” he added, already turning back to Sam.

And just like that, she was dismissed.

Not cruelly. Not intentionally.

But completely.

As Danny and Sam walked off together—talking easily, laughing like they existed on the same wavelength—Ashley stayed by the lockers, staring after them.

Everyone had told her.

He’s not into you.

He barely knows you.

You’re reading too much into it.

But watching it happen right in front of her—seeing how effortlessly Danny chose Sam without even thinking—it finally started to sink in.

This wasn’t a love triangle.

It was a straight line.

And Ashley… was never really part of it.

*********

Shout-out to @djbunnie for this idea 🖤💚

[ghostwritterrr]

~Signal Through Static~

Danny Phantom x Sam Manson

Something was wrong.

Not the obvious kind—like ghosts attacking or Dash being a jerk or even Danny doing something reckless. No… this was quieter. Subtle. Like a whisper just out of reach.

Like a signal breaking up.

I noticed it when Danny laughed.

That sounds stupid, I know. But I know his laugh. I know the way it starts soft, like he’s not sure he’s allowed to be happy, and then it builds—warmer, brighter, real.

This one?

Too loud. Too sharp. Like someone hit a button.

I turned to look at him from across Tucker’s room. He was sitting on the floor, controller in hand, eyes locked on the TV where some cheesy space hero was delivering the worst line I’d ever heard.

Danny laughed again.

I didn’t.

“…You good?” Tucker asked, not even looking away from his PDA.

“Yeah,” I said automatically.

But my chest felt tight.

Because Danny didn’t look at me.

And he always looks at me.

It got worse after that.

People started acting… off. Like they were following a script they didn’t even realize they were reading from. Lines too perfect. Reactions too delayed.

Like the whole town was lagging.

And Danny—

God.

Danny was fading.

Not physically. Not like when he phases or turns invisible. This was different. This was…

Distance.

Like standing right next to someone and still feeling like they’re miles away.

“Danny.”

I grabbed his wrist before he could float off again—literally this time, because he’d gone ghost without even announcing it. No jokes. No dramatic flair. Just… gone.

He blinked at me, green eyes glowing faintly.

“Hey, Sam.”

Too smooth.

Too easy.

I tightened my grip. “Talk to me.”

“I am talking to you.”

“No, you’re responding. That’s not the same thing.”

For a second—just a second—something flickered behind his eyes.

Static.

I felt it.

Not saw. Felt.

Like a buzz under my skin, like when you touch something electric and it hums through your bones.

Danny stiffened.

“…Did you feel that?” he asked quietly.

My heart jumped. “You did too?”

Before he could answer, the sky glitched.

Actually glitched.

Like someone dragged a bad filter over reality—the clouds stuttering, the light bending wrong.

And then a voice echoed, too loud, too theatrical.

“Citizens! Prepare yourselves for the greatest show on Earth!”

I clenched my jaw. “Freakshow.”

Danny’s hand tightened around mine without thinking.

And this time—

This time it felt like him.

We didn’t let go.

Even when the world shifted around us—streets twisting into sets, buildings flattening like cardboard props, people freezing mid-motion before snapping into exaggerated roles—we stayed anchored.

Together.

“Sam…” Danny’s voice dropped, uneven now. Real. “Something’s messing with everything. I can feel it in the Ghost Zone… like channels overlapping.”

“I know,” I said, stepping closer. “But I can still feel you.”

He looked at me, really looked this time, and I saw it—the confusion, the fear, the part of him that was fighting to stay present.

“How?” he whispered.

I swallowed.

Because I didn’t have a scientific explanation. Tucker would’ve loved that.

But me?

“I just can.”

The world flickered again.

This time harder.

Danny gasped, grip tightening painfully as his form destabilized—edges glitching, like he was being pulled into whatever twisted reality Freakshow was broadcasting.

“Danny!”

“I—I can’t—” His voice fractured, overlapping with itself. “It’s like I’m being tuned out—”

“No.”

I grabbed his face, forcing him to focus on me.

“Stay with me. Don’t listen to anything else.”

His eyes darted, unfocused. “Sam, I can’t tell what’s real—”

“Then listen to me.”

I pressed my forehead against his.

Everything else fell away.

Noise. Light. That awful artificial narration echoing through the sky.

Just us.

“You’re Danny Fenton,” I said softly, firmly. “You’re half ghost, half human, and you hate math homework. You love space movies even when they’re terrible. You forget to eat when you’re distracted. You—”

My voice caught.

“You matter. To me. So you don’t get to disappear. Not like this.”

For a second, nothing happened.

Then—

That static feeling surged again, stronger this time.

Not painful.

Connected.

Like something clicked into place.

Danny inhaled sharply, and his form stabilized.

“Sam…” His voice was clear now. Grounded. “I can feel you. Like—like a signal cutting through everything else.”

I smiled, breath shaky. “Good. Then follow it.”

Above us, Freakshow’s voice cracked with irritation as his “perfect show” started to distort.

Because Danny wasn’t playing along anymore.

Because we weren’t part of the script.

Danny straightened, still holding onto me, green eyes blazing with something fierce and steady.

“Guess we’re going off-channel.”

I smirked. “Finally.”

And together—

we broke the broadcast.

[ghostwritterrr]

~Understanding Danny~

Danny Phantom One-Shot

Jazz POV

I didn’t think I was naïve.

I’m a psychology major. I read people for fun. I notice things. Patterns, behaviors, coping mechanisms—I’ve built my entire identity around understanding what’s going on beneath the surface.

So when I found out Danny was half-ghost, I thought I understood it.

Half ghost. Half human. Weird? Yes. Dangerous? Obviously. Traumatizing? Of course.

But understandable.

I was wrong.

It starts small.

“Danny, your heart rate—”

“I’m fine, Jazz.”

He says it too quickly. Too casually. He’s leaning against the kitchen counter, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands, eyes a little too dull for someone who just woke up ten minutes ago.

I frown, stepping closer. “You’re pale.”

“I’m always pale.”

“That’s not—”

“Jazz.” His tone sharpens just enough to stop me. Not angry. Not defensive.

Just… tired.

And that’s what makes me pause.

Danny doesn’t get tired like this. Not normal tired. This is something heavier—something that sits in his bones.

I open my mouth to push, because that’s what I do, because I help, because I fix things—

“Dude,” Tucker calls from the doorway, voice unusually serious. “We should go.”

Sam is already there too. Silent. Watching Danny like she’s waiting for something invisible to happen.

Danny nods immediately. Too fast. Like he’s relieved.

“Yeah. Yeah, let’s go.”

And just like that, they’re leaving.

No explanation. No jokes. No eye-rolls.

Just urgency.

I follow them.

I know I shouldn’t.

But something about the way Danny moved—like he was holding himself together with sheer willpower—sets off every alarm in my head.

They don’t notice me at first. They’re too focused on getting to the abandoned lot on the edge of town—the one with the broken fence and the half-collapsed building no one bothers to tear down.

Danny stumbles.

It’s subtle. Barely there.

But Sam is at his side instantly.

“I’ve got you.”

“I’m fine,” he mutters again, but this time it’s weaker.

“You’re not,” she says quietly. Not accusing. Just… certain.

Tucker’s already setting something down—a thermos? No. Something glowing faintly green.

I stay hidden behind the fence, my chest tightening.

What is that?

Danny exhales sharply, like he’s bracing himself. “I just need a second.”

His hands are shaking.

No—worse than shaking. There’s something wrong with them. The edges of his fingers flicker—like static, like he’s… not fully there.

My stomach drops.

“Danny,” Sam says, softer now. Careful. “You pushed too hard.”

“I had to,” he snaps, then immediately winces, pressing a hand to his chest. “That ghost was going after the school—”

“And you’re going to collapse if you keep doing that,” Tucker cuts in. “Man, your core’s destabilizing again.”

Core?

Destabilizing?

Danny lets out a strained laugh that isn’t funny at all. “Great. Awesome. Love that for me.”

And then—

He drops.

Not like someone fainting.

Not like someone losing balance.

It’s like something inside him… gives out.

His body hits the ground hard, and for a split second—just a second—he flickers.

Human.

Ghost.

Human.

Ghost.

Like a glitch.

Like he can’t decide what he is.

My breath catches in my throat.

“Danny!” Sam’s on her knees beside him instantly, grabbing his face, grounding him. “Hey—hey, stay with me.”

“I’m here,” he whispers, but his voice sounds… wrong. Echoing. Hollow.

Tucker’s already opening the thermos, that eerie green glow spilling out. “He’s burning through ecto-energy too fast. I told you that fight took too much out of you!”

“I know,” Danny grits out. “I know, I just—” His voice breaks. “I couldn’t let it happen again.”

Again.

Sam’s expression softens in a way I’ve never seen before. “We know. But you don’t have to destroy yourself every time.”

Destroy yourself.

My chest tightens.

That’s not dramatic.

That’s literal.

Tucker helps tilt Danny’s head back slightly, carefully holding the thermos to his lips. “Drink. Slowly. Don’t overload.”

Danny grimaces but does it, swallowing whatever that glowing substance is like it physically hurts.

“God, that’s awful,” he mutters weakly.

“Yeah, well, it’s keeping you from, you know—” Tucker gestures vaguely. “De-rezzing.”

I don’t know what that means.

I don’t think I want to.

Danny lets his head fall back against the dirt, breathing hard. “I hate this.”

“I know,” Sam whispers.

“I can’t even—” He clenches his fists. “I can’t even get hurt normally, Sam. Do you know how messed up that is? Either I heal too fast or I just—” He swallows hard. “Or I don’t.”

Sam doesn’t flinch.

Tucker doesn’t joke.

They’ve heard this before.

A lot.

“I don’t feel right half the time,” Danny continues, voice quieter now. “It’s like… I’m cold, but not cold. Empty, but not empty. And if I use too much power, it’s like something starts pulling me apart from the inside.”

My hands start to shake.

I didn’t know.

I didn’t know it felt like that.

“I don’t sleep right,” he adds, almost like he can’t stop now. “I don’t eat right. I don’t even exist right, Jazz would have a field day trying to diagnose me—”

I flinch.

“—but she wouldn’t get it,” he finishes, a hollow laugh slipping out.

Sam’s grip on his hand tightens. “You don’t have to explain it to her.”

“I know,” Danny says. “I just… I wish I could be normal again.”

Silence settles heavy between them.

Then Tucker nudges his shoulder lightly. “You’re our normal, dude.”

“Yeah,” Sam murmurs. “You’re not doing this alone. You never have been.”

Danny looks at them—really looks—and something in his expression softens. Not fixed. Not okay.

But… steadier.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “I know.”

I step back before they can see me.

My heart is pounding too hard, my thoughts too loud.

Half ghost.

That’s what I called it.

Like it was a category. A label. Something clean and clinical I could put in a textbook.

But it’s not.

It’s instability.

It’s pain.

It’s not knowing if your body will hold together after a fight.

It’s drinking something unnatural just to stay functional.

It’s feeling wrong in your own skin—no, worse—not even knowing what your “skin” is.

And Sam and Tucker…

They didn’t look confused.

They didn’t look scared.

They knew exactly what to do.

Exactly what to say.

They’ve seen this before.

They’ve been carrying this with him.

All this time.

While I was busy analyzing from the outside…

They were keeping him alive.

When Danny comes home later, he looks normal again.

Too normal.

Like he’s trying extra hard.

“Hey, Jazz,” he says, forcing a small smile. “What’s up?”

I look at him differently now.

I see the slight tension in his posture.

The way his hand presses briefly to his chest like he’s checking something.

The exhaustion behind his eyes.

“You,” I say carefully, “are going to sit down.”

He blinks. “Uh… what?”

“Sit,” I repeat, softer this time.

He hesitates.

Then—slowly—he does.

I sit across from him, my chest tight but my voice steady.

“I don’t think I understood,” I admit.

His expression shifts immediately. Guarded. “Understood what?”

I meet his eyes.

“You.”

Silence.

“I thought ‘half ghost’ was just… what you are,” I continue. “I didn’t realize it’s something you’re constantly surviving.”

His breath catches.

And just like that, the walls start to crack.

“…You weren’t supposed to find out like that,” he mutters.

“I know.” My voice softens. “But I’m glad I did.”

He looks away. “Jazz, you don’t—”

“I don’t get it completely,” I interrupt gently. “You’re right.”

He goes still.

“But I want to,” I add. “And I should have sooner.”

His shoulders drop—just a little.

“…It’s not exactly something I can explain easily.”

“Then don’t,” I say. “Not all at once.”

I lean forward slightly.

“But you don’t have to do it without me anymore.”

Danny stares at me.

Really stares.

Like he’s trying to figure out if I mean it.

“…You’re gonna go full therapist mode on me, aren’t you?” he says weakly.

I huff a small laugh. “Absolutely not.”

A pause.

Then, softer—

“I’m going to go full big sister mode.”

And for the first time that night—

Danny smiles.

Not forced.

Not fake.

Just small.

But real.

[ghostwritterrr]

Hello, how are you?You said that you accept story requests, so what do you think about this idea?Let’s say Clockwork is forced to choose a successor, and the choice falls on Danny—also against his will.And when he is chosen, everyone forgets about him, as if he never existed, and he becomes the next Master of Time.But for some reason, Sam, Tucker, and Jazz feel like something is missing in their lives…and that missing thing is Danny.I tried to find a similar story, but I couldn’t find anything anywhere 🥲

~The Boy Time Forgot~

Danny Phantom One-Shot

The first thing Danny notices is the silence.

Not the kind that fills a room when everyone leaves.

Not the kind that settles in Amity Park at 3 a.m., when even the ghosts seem to rest.

This silence is wrong.

It presses in on him from every direction, thick and suffocating, like time itself has stopped breathing.

Clockwork stands before him—ancient, unmoving, his three forms perfectly aligned for once. No shifting between child, adult, and elder. Just… stillness.

Which is how Danny knows something is seriously, horribly wrong.

“You don’t get to look that serious,” Danny mutters, arms crossed, trying for sarcasm and missing by a mile. “That’s, like, your whole thing—being cryptic and mildly creepy. Not… whatever this is.”

Clockwork’s red eyes soften.

“I did not choose this outcome lightly, Daniel.”

Danny’s stomach drops.

“Nope. Don’t like that sentence. Try again.”

A pause. A breath that isn’t really a breath.

“The timeline is collapsing.”

Danny blinks. “Cool. Awesome. Love that for us. So… fix it?”

“I can no longer do so.”

That lands harder.

Danny’s voice comes out sharper now. “Then find someone who can.”

Clockwork’s gaze doesn’t waver.

“I have.”

And then Danny understands.

“No.”

Clockwork steps forward.

“Absolutely not,” Danny says, backing up. “No, no, no—find someone else. There are, like, a million ghosts. Pick one of them. Preferably someone ancient and wise and not—” he gestures to himself “—me.”

“You are the only being who exists between life and death, between past and future,” Clockwork says quietly. “You are already a bridge. This is merely… the next step.”

“I don’t want the next step!”

His voice cracks, and he hates that it does.

“I have a life.”

Clockwork doesn’t argue.

“I have friends. I have—” he hesitates, softer now “—I have people.”

A flicker in Clockwork’s expression. Regret.

“I know.”

Danny shakes his head, panic rising fast now. “Then you know I can’t just leave them.”

“You won’t remember leaving.”

Danny freezes.

“…what?”

Clockwork’s voice is gentle. Too gentle.

“Once the mantle is transferred, Daniel Fenton will cease to exist within the timeline.”

Danny stares at him.

“No. No, that’s not—that’s not how that works.”

“It is the only way to stabilize reality.”

Danny laughs, breathless and disbelieving. “So what—everyone just forgets me? Like I was never there?”

“Yes.”

The word echoes.

Danny’s hands shake. “Sam won’t forget me.”

Clockwork doesn’t respond.

“Tucker won’t forget me.”

Silence.

“Jazz—” his voice breaks “—Jazz would never—”

“They will feel the absence,” Clockwork says softly. “But they will not know what is missing.”

Danny’s chest tightens so hard it hurts.

“No,” he whispers.

“I’m sorry.”

“No!”

The word tears out of him, raw and desperate. “You don’t get to do that—you don’t get to decide that they lose me!”

“I am not deciding who is lost,” Clockwork says. “I am deciding whether everything is.”

Danny falters.

“…what?”

“The timeline is unraveling. If no successor takes my place, time itself will fracture. Every moment. Every memory. Every person.”

Danny’s breathing stutters.

“Sam. Tucker. Jazz… they will not simply forget you, Daniel. They will cease to exist entirely.”

That’s it.

That’s the moment.

The fight drains out of him like someone flipped a switch.

“…so it’s me,” Danny says hollowly.

“Yes.”

“And if I say no?”

Clockwork meets his gaze.

“Then there will be no one left to remember anything at all.”

Danny closes his eyes.

For a second, just one second, he lets himself imagine it—Sam laughing, Tucker ranting about tech, Jazz smiling at him like she knows everything and loves him anyway.

Gone.

All of it.

Because of him.

“…this sucks,” he whispers.

“I know.”

Danny laughs weakly. “You always say that like it helps.”

“It is not meant to help.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

A long silence stretches between them.

Then Danny takes a shaky breath.

“…do I get to say goodbye?”

Clockwork hesitates.

And that’s all the answer Danny needs.

“Right. Of course not.”

Because that would make it too easy.

Danny swallows hard, blinking fast.

“Okay,” he says quietly. “Okay. Let’s just… get it over with before I change my mind.”

Clockwork studies him.

“You are certain?”

Danny forces a crooked smile.

“No. Not even a little.”

A pause.

“But I’m doing it anyway.”

For them.

Always for them.

The transition doesn’t hurt.

Not physically.

It’s worse than that.

It feels like being pulled apart at the seams—like every moment he’s ever lived is being unraveled thread by thread.

He sees everything.

Every fight. Every laugh. Every late-night conversation. Every quiet moment that didn’t seem important until now.

Sam’s hand in his.

Tucker’s grin.

Jazz hugging him just a little too tight.

And then—

Nothing.

——————

Sam wakes up with tears on her face.

She doesn’t know why.

The room is the same. Her walls, her posters, the faint glow of early morning slipping through the curtains.

Everything is normal.

So why does her chest feel like it’s been hollowed out?

She sits up slowly, pressing a hand to her heart.

“…what…?”

There’s no answer.

Just that awful, aching emptiness.

Like she’s forgotten something important.

Someone.

But that’s ridiculous.

She would know if she’d lost someone.

Right?

——————

Tucker stares at his phone.

He’s been staring at it for ten minutes.

There’s nothing on the screen. No messages. No missed calls.

Still, something feels… off.

Like he’s waiting for something that’s never going to come.

“…okay, this is weird,” he mutters.

He scrolls through his contacts.

Sam.

His parents.

Names he recognizes.

But there’s a gap.

He can feel it.

Like a missing file his brain keeps trying to open.

“…who am I forgetting?”

No answer.

Just static.

————————

Jazz pauses outside the kitchen.

Her parents are talking—something about bills, about work, about normal, everyday things.

She should go in.

She should say good morning.

Instead, she just stands there, frozen.

Because for some reason…

Walking into that room feels wrong.

Like there should be someone else there.

Someone who always sat at the table, half-asleep, hair a mess, complaining about school.

Her throat tightens.

“…no,” she whispers.

That’s not right.

That doesn’t make sense.

She doesn’t have—

Her thoughts stutter.

Her chest aches.

“…why does it feel like I lost someone?”

The words slip out before she can stop them.

Silence answers.

And somehow…

That silence is louder than anything she’s ever heard.

————————

Time moves on.

It has to.

But it feels… off.

Like a clock that ticks just a little too slow.

Sam stops laughing as much.

Tucker fills the silence with more jokes, but they don’t land the same.

Jazz throws herself into school, into work, into anything that keeps her from thinking too hard about that empty space in her chest.

None of them talk about it.

Because how do you talk about something you can’t even name?

High above it all—

Beyond moments, beyond memory—

Danny watches.

He doesn’t sleep anymore.

Doesn’t eat.

Doesn’t breathe.

He exists.

That’s all.

Time stretches out before him, infinite and unchanging.

Every second. Every possibility.

And right in the middle of it—

Them.

He sees Sam sitting on her bed, staring at nothing.

Tucker pacing, frustrated and restless.

Jazz standing in the hallway like she’s waiting for someone who’s never coming home.

Danny reaches for them.

He can’t touch them.

“…I’m here,” he says, voice echoing into nothing.

They don’t hear him.

“I didn’t leave,” he whispers.

But that’s not true.

He did.

He chose to.

For them.

Always for them.

Sam suddenly shivers.

Tucker pauses mid-step.

Jazz looks over her shoulder, heart racing for no reason.

For a split second—

They feel it.

Something.

Someone.

Then it’s gone.

Danny’s chest tightens.

“…please,” he breathes.

But time doesn’t bend for him like that.

Not anymore.

He is time now.

And time doesn’t give things back.

Still—

Somewhere deep inside them…

A ghost of a memory lingers.

A laugh they can’t place.

A warmth they can’t explain.

A name they almost remember—

…but never quite do.

And Danny—

He watches over them.

Every second.

Every moment.

Forever.

Alone.

But not regretful.

Because they’re alive.

Because they’re okay.

Because even if they don’t remember him—

He will never, ever forget them.

[ghostwritterrr]

~We Were Never Normal~

Danny Phantom One-Shot

The halls of Casper High used to be loud.

Now they hushed when they walked in.

Not completely—people still talked, lockers still slammed—but there was always this subtle shift. Conversations dipped. Eyes followed. A few students stepped aside without even realizing they were doing it.

Danny noticed.

He always noticed.

He leaned back against the lockers, one boot propped against the metal, black rings catching the fluorescent light as his fingers idly traced slow patterns over Sam’s wrist. It wasn’t even intentional anymore—just something he did. His thumb brushed over the inside of her pulse point, steady, absent-minded.

Possessive.

Grounding.

Sam didn’t react. Not even a glance. She was flipping through her notebook, dark nails tapping against the page as if his touch wasn’t even there.

Because to her… it wasn’t anything new.

Tucker stood on Danny’s other side, adjusting his tinted glasses—except now they weren’t just for style. The lenses flickered faintly with ghost-detection tech, a soft green glow pulsing across his eyes. His hoodie was darker now, layered with chains and subtle tech upgrades stitched into the seams.

“Three people just walked into a wall trying not to look at us,” Tucker muttered, smirking slightly.

Sam didn’t look up. “Natural selection.”

Danny huffed a quiet laugh—but his eyes weren’t on Tucker.

They were on her.

Always on her.

His fingers tightened just slightly around her wrist—not enough to hurt, just enough to feel her there. Solid. Real.

Alive.

His.

“Stop doing that,” Sam said calmly, turning a page.

Danny tilted his head. “Doing what?”

She finally glanced at him, eyes dark, knowing. “That thing where you forget you’re touching me like you’re holding onto your last tether to humanity.”

Tucker snorted.

Danny didn’t.

Instead, his grip shifted—sliding from her wrist to her hand, fingers lacing slowly with hers like it had always belonged that way.

“Maybe I am,” he said quietly.

There was no joke in it.

That… was new.

Sam held his gaze for a second longer than usual. Most people would’ve looked away by now—Danny’s eyes had changed over the years. Lazarus green, glowing faintly even when he was fully human, like something was always just beneath the surface.

Watching.

Waiting.

Hungry.

But Sam didn’t flinch.

She squeezed his hand once—firm, grounding.

“You’re not,” she said simply.

That was enough.

For him, it always was.

A locker slammed too hard somewhere down the hall.

Someone flinched.

Danny’s head snapped in that direction instantly, eyes flashing brighter for half a second—instinct, reflex, something not entirely human.

The guy who slammed it froze when he realized Danny was staring.

“…sorry,” he mumbled, even though he hadn’t done anything wrong.

Danny just stared for a beat too long.

Then—

“Relax,” Tucker called casually. “He’s not gonna haunt you. Probably.”

Probably.

The guy left faster.

Sam exhaled softly. “You’re getting worse at pretending to be normal.”

Danny shrugged, but there was something off in the movement—too fluid, too light, like gravity didn’t fully apply anymore.

“Normal’s overrated.”

His thumb brushed over her knuckles again.

Again.

Again.

Sam finally closed her notebook.

“Danny.”

“Hm?”

“You’re doing it again.”

He looked down like he hadn’t realized their hands were still intertwined.

He didn’t let go.

“Yeah,” he said after a second.

No apology.

No excuse.

Just… acceptance.

People called them creepy now.

Whispered about how they’d changed.

How Danny Fenton died that day in the lab—not literally, but close enough—and something else crawled back out wearing his face.

How Sam Manson stopped trying to fit in entirely and leaned into something darker, colder, sharper.

How Tucker Foley went from comic relief to something quietly dangerous, always watching, always calculating.

They weren’t wrong.

But they weren’t right either.

Because standing there, in the middle of a hallway full of people too afraid to get close—

Sam shifted slightly closer to Danny.

Tucker bumped his shoulder against Danny’s.

And for a second—

Just a second—

They looked like the same three kids who used to laugh too loud and run headfirst into danger without thinking.

Only now?

They didn’t run.

Danger came to them.

“You feel that?” Danny murmured.

Sam stilled.

Tucker’s glasses flickered.

A cold draft slid through the hallway.

Not natural.

Never natural.

Sam smirked faintly. “Finally. I was getting bored.”

Danny’s lips tilted—sharp, almost predatory.

His grip on her hand tightened just a little more.

“Stay close,” he said, voice low.

Sam raised an eyebrow. “I always do.”

That made something in his chest settle.

Not fully.

Never fully.

But enough.

Tucker cracked his knuckles. “Alright, ghost hunt after school?”

Danny’s eyes glowed brighter.

“Why wait?”

[ghostwritterrr]

~Danny Fenton vs. Sam’s Belly Ring~

Danny Phantom x Sam Manson

It starts like everything else with Sam—quietly.

No announcement. No dramatic reveal. No “hey guys, look what I did.”

Danny only notices because she stretches.

They’re in the Nasty Burger, sitting in their usual booth. Tucker is halfway through explaining some new tech thing Danny barely understands, and Sam leans back, arms lifting above her head in a lazy stretch—

—and her shirt shifts just enough.

A small glint of silver.

Danny’s brain just—

Stops.

Completely.

Because there, right above the waistband of her skirt, is a tiny, dark gem set into a curved barbell. A belly ring.

On Sam.

On his Sam.

“…Danny? Dude, are you listening?”

He isn’t.

He is staring.

Not even subtly. Not even trying to hide it. Just completely locked in, eyes wide, like someone unplugged his brain and forgot to plug it back in.

Sam notices immediately.

Of course she does.

Her arms lower slowly, and she tilts her head, watching him with that small, knowing look.

“…you okay, Fenton?”

Danny snaps like someone shocked him.

“YEP. Totally. Fine. Great. Amazing. Everything’s—normal.”

Tucker squints at him. “You just said ‘normal’ like five times.”

“I did not—”

“You did.”

Danny is not looking at Sam.

He is definitely not looking at the way her shirt sits now. Or the way the small gem catches the light when she shifts.

He is failing.

Horribly.

Sam leans forward slightly across the table, resting her chin in her hand.

“…you gonna ask, or just keep staring at my stomach all day?”

Danny chokes.

“I wasn’t staring—!”

“Mhmm.”

“I wasn’t!”

“You’ve been staring for like, two minutes.”

“I—two minutes?!”

Tucker snorts. “It’s actually been closer to three.”

Danny groans and drops his face into his hands.

Sam just watches him, amused—but there’s something softer under it. Curious. Waiting.

“…it’s new,” she says after a second, almost casually.

Danny looks up again immediately.

“…yeah,” he says, voice quieter now. “I noticed.”

His eyes flick down again before he can stop himself.

Sam notices that too.

Of course she does.

“Do you hate it?” she asks.

And that—that—gets him.

Danny sits up straight so fast he nearly knocks the table.

“What? No! No, I—Sam, I don’t—”

He stops.

Because how is he supposed to say this?

How is he supposed to explain that it’s—

—that it’s her.

That anything she does, anything she changes, anything that’s hers suddenly feels—

important.

Distracting.

Dangerous.

“…I just—” he tries again, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wasn’t expecting it.”

Sam studies him.

“Yeah,” she says softly. “That’s kind of the point.”

Tucker, completely done being ignored, leans across the table.

“Okay, I’m the only one saying it—Fenton is losing his mind over this.”

“I am NOT—”

“You are.”

“I am not—”

“You look like someone just invented your favorite thing.”

Danny turns bright red.

Sam raises an eyebrow.

“…favorite thing, huh?”

Danny points at Tucker. “You are so dead.”

Tucker grins. “Worth it.”

It only gets worse from there.

Because once Danny notices it—

He can’t un-notice it.

Every time Sam moves. Every time her shirt shifts. Every time she leans, stretches, laughs—

It’s there.

And it drives him insane.

Not in a weird way—well, maybe a little—but mostly in that overwhelming, consuming way Sam has always affected him.

Like his brain just keeps going: that’s Sam. That’s Sam. That’s Sam.

And now there’s something new.

Something bold.

Something that feels… dangerously hers.

Later that night, they’re on her roof.

It’s quiet. Stars scattered across the sky. The town dim below them.

Sam’s sitting beside him, knees pulled up, boots resting against the shingles.

Danny is trying—really trying—to focus on literally anything else.

The sky. The clouds. The way the wind moves.

Anything.

“…you’re doing it again,” Sam says.

Danny freezes.

“I’m not—”

“You are.”

“…am I being obvious?”

“Painfully.”

He groans and falls back onto the roof, covering his face.

“I hate this.”

Sam smiles slightly and leans back beside him.

“…why?”

Danny hesitates.

Because the truth is embarrassing.

“…because it’s you,” he says finally, voice quieter than before.

Sam turns her head toward him.

“…what does that mean?”

Danny lowers his hands slowly, looking at her now.

Really looking.

“It means everything you do messes with my head a little,” he admits. “And this is just—new. And I don’t know where to look anymore.”

Sam’s breath catches just slightly.

“…you can look,” she says.

Danny goes still.

“…what?”

She shrugs, trying to play it off, but there’s a flicker of something vulnerable there.

“It’s not like I got it for strangers.”

That hits him harder than anything else.

Danny sits up slowly.

“…you didn’t?”

Sam looks at him like that’s the dumbest question he’s ever asked.

“Danny.”

Right.

Of course.

Danny exhales shakily, running a hand through his hair.

“…it looks really good,” he says.

Simple. Honest.

Sam smiles—small, real.

“…yeah?”

“Yeah.”

There’s a pause.

Then Danny’s gaze drops again—more intentional this time. Slower.

Sam doesn’t stop him.

Doesn’t tease.

Doesn’t look away.

And something shifts.

Because this isn’t just Danny being flustered anymore.

This is something quieter.

Something heavier.

Danny reaches out before he can overthink it—his fingers brushing lightly against the edge of her shirt near her waist.

Not touching the piercing.

Just close.

Sam inhales softly.

“Danny…”

He freezes immediately. “Sorry—I didn’t—”

“No,” she says quickly.

And then, softer—

“…it’s okay.”

He looks at her again, searching her face.

“…yeah?”

Sam nods.

There’s a faint flush on her cheeks now, but she doesn’t pull away.

“Yeah.”

Danny swallows.

His hand doesn’t move away this time.

It just… rests there.

Careful.

Like she’s something fragile.

Like she’s something important.

Which she is.

Tucker, the next day:

“So. Did you survive the Belly Ring Incident?”

Danny, dead serious:

“No.”

Sam, smirking:

“He really didn’t.”

[ghostwritterrr]

~Half Alive~

Danny Phantom One-shot

Danny doesn’t remember the exact moment it started feeling wrong.

Not the accident—that part is burned into him. The smell of ozone, the hum of the portal, the way his heart had stuttered before everything went white.

No, this came later.

It starts small.

Cold that doesn’t go away.

At first, he thinks it’s just winter.

Amity Park is freezing, wind biting through his jacket, frost clinging to windows like spiderwebs. But even indoors, even under blankets, even sitting right next to a heater—

He’s still cold.

Not shivering. Not quite.

Just… hollow.

Like the warmth doesn’t know where to settle anymore.

Danny notices other things, too.

His reflection lags sometimes.

Just for a second—barely noticeable—but it’s there. He’ll tilt his head, and the mirror version follows a heartbeat too late.

A heartbeat he’s not sure he has.

He checks once.

Presses trembling fingers to his wrist.

Nothing.

Then—suddenly—something.

Then nothing again.

“Cool,” he mutters to himself, voice thin. “That’s… that’s totally fine.”

He stops sleeping.

Or maybe he doesn’t sleep the way he used to.

His body lies still for hours, but his mind drifts somewhere else—somewhere gray and endless and quiet. No dreams. No sounds. Just the distant feeling of being pulled apart and put back together over and over again.

He wakes up more tired than before.

If it even counts as waking up.

The worst part is the silence.

Not around him—Amity Park is never quiet.

It’s inside him.

There’s this… space. A void sitting behind his ribs where something should be.

A pulse.

A rhythm.

A life.

Instead, there’s just… nothing.

And sometimes, when he phases, when he lets himself slip fully into ghost form—

That nothing gets bigger.

He starts to understand it, slowly.

He’s not just alive.

He’s not just dead.

He’s both.

And neither.

It scares him more than any ghost ever has.

Because ghosts can be fought.

This?

This is him.

Danny doesn’t tell anyone.

Of course he doesn’t.

He cracks jokes. He shrugs things off. He pretends the way his hands sometimes go transparent when he’s tired is just a “cool trick.”

But he starts staying closer.

Tucker notices first.

“Dude,” Tucker says one afternoon, lowering his PDA. “You’ve been standing like… right on top of me for the last ten minutes.”

Danny blinks, like he hadn’t realized.

“Oh. Sorry.”

He takes a step back.

It feels wrong immediately.

Too far.

Too empty.

So he drifts closer again without thinking.

Tucker raises an eyebrow. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Danny says quickly.

Too quickly.

Tucker doesn’t push. He never does when it matters.

Instead, he just nudges Danny’s shoulder. “Well, if you’re gonna invade my personal space, at least bring snacks next time.”

Danny huffs out a laugh.

It helps.

A little.

Sam is different.

Sam watches.

She notices the way Danny flinches when a ghost talks about “the afterlife.”

The way he goes quiet when conversations drift toward death.

The way his hand, almost unconsciously, reaches for her sleeve when things get too still.

She doesn’t say anything at first.

She just… stays closer.

It’s late when she finally corners him.

They’re on the roof of his house, legs dangling over the edge, the sky stretched out above them like an endless void.

Fitting.

“You’re not okay,” she says.

Not a question.

Danny exhales slowly. “I’m fine.”

“Danny.”

There’s something in her voice that makes him crack.

He doesn’t look at her.

“I don’t think my heart beats right anymore.”

The words fall out, quiet and broken.

“I can’t… feel it half the time. And when I do, it’s like it’s trying to remember how. Like it forgot.”

Sam goes very still.

Danny laughs, but it’s hollow. “Kinda ironic, right? Half-dead superhero. Guess I really committed to the bit.”

“Stop.”

Her voice is sharp.

He does.

“I don’t feel warm anymore,” he continues, softer now. “I don’t sleep. Sometimes I look in the mirror and I don’t think it’s me looking back.”

His hands curl into fists.

“And when I go ghost—when I really let it happen—it feels… easier.”

That’s the part that terrifies him.

“I think… I think I’m slipping.”

Silence stretches between them.

Then—

Sam grabs his hand.

Hard.

Not gentle. Not hesitant.

Grounding.

“You’re not slipping,” she says firmly.

Danny lets out a shaky breath. “Sam—”

“You’re not,” she repeats. “Because you’re still here. You’re still you.”

“How do you know?” he whispers.

She squeezes his hand tighter.

“Because you’re scared of it.”

That hits him.

Hard.

“If you were losing yourself,” she says more softly, “you wouldn’t care.”

Danny finally looks at her.

Her eyes are steady. Fierce.

“And you care about us too much for that.”

Us.

Danny swallows.

“You… you guys are the only time it doesn’t feel like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m disappearing.”

Sam doesn’t hesitate.

She leans in and rests her forehead against his.

“You’re not allowed to disappear,” she murmurs.

A weak smile tugs at his lips. “Yeah? Who’s gonna stop me?”

“I will.”

There’s no doubt in her voice.

None.

And somehow—

That helps more than anything else.

Jazz finds out last.

Because of course she does.

Because Danny tries the hardest to hide it from her.

She corners him in the kitchen one night, arms crossed, expression sharp in that way that means she already knows.

“You’re not eating enough. You’re not sleeping. Your core temperature is lower than it should be—yes, I checked—and your pupils dilate unevenly sometimes.”

Danny freezes.

“…You checked?”

“I’m your sister,” she says simply. “It’s my job.”

He tries to joke.

Fails.

“I’m not fully alive anymore, Jazz.”

The words come out small.

Not like a hero.

Just like a kid.

Her expression softens instantly.

“Oh, Danny…”

She steps forward and pulls him into a hug before he can protest.

Warm.

So warm.

It almost hurts.

“I don’t think that means you’re losing yourself,” she says into his hair.

Danny grips the back of her shirt.

“…What if it does?”

Jazz pulls back just enough to look at him.

“It means you’re something new,” she says gently. “Something in-between. And yeah, that’s scary.”

She cups his face.

“But you don’t have to figure it out alone.”

Danny’s throat tightens.

“You have me,” she says.

“And Sam.”

“And Tucker.”

He nods, barely.

Because that’s the thing.

The only thing that keeps the emptiness from swallowing him whole.

Tucker’s stupid jokes.

Sam’s steady presence.

Jazz’s unwavering belief in him.

They’re loud.

They’re warm.

They’re alive.

And when Danny stands between them—

Half-dead.

Half-ghost.

Half-something-else—

He feels, just for a moment,

completely whole.

[ghostwritterrr]

~Like a Dream You Can’t Forget~

Danny Phantom x Sam Manson

The night feels too quiet.

Not normal quiet—Amity Park is never really quiet—but the kind that settles after something big, like the world is catching its breath.

Or maybe it’s just me.

I sit on the edge of the Fenton roof, knees pulled to my chest, staring out at the skyline. The air is cold, but I barely notice.

I should be tired.

Everyone else went home hours ago. Tucker practically passed out mid-sentence, and even Jazz looked like she needed a week of sleep.

But me?

I can’t stop thinking.

About the dream.

About him.

Footsteps land softly behind me.

I don’t turn around.

“Y’know,” Danny says, a little breathless, like he flew here too fast, “most people would be inside right now. Recovering. Sleeping. Not… brooding dramatically on rooftops.”

I huff quietly. “Most people didn’t just have their brains hijacked by a dream ghost.”

“Fair point.”

There’s a pause.

Then the sound of him sitting down next to me.

Not too close.

Not far either.

Just… Danny.

We sit like that for a minute. Maybe longer.

And it’s weird, because usually silence with Danny is easy.

This one isn’t.

This one feels… full.

“So,” he says eventually, rubbing the back of his neck. “Crazy day, huh?”

I let out a small, humorless laugh. “That’s one way to put it.”

Another pause.

I can feel it building now—the thing we’re both not saying.

The thing sitting right between us.

I glance at him.

He’s already looking at me.

We both look away at the same time.

God, this is ridiculous.

“Do you—” we start at once.

We stop.

He gestures awkwardly. “You go.”

I hesitate.

Then, quieter than I mean to—

“Do you actually not remember your dream?”

There it is.

Out in the open.

Danny goes still beside me.

For a second, I think he’s going to brush it off. Make a joke. Change the subject.

That’s what we do.

Instead, he exhales slowly.

“…Not all of it.”

My chest tightens.

“Yeah,” I say, staring straight ahead. “Same.”

Another pause.

Longer this time.

He shifts slightly closer. Not enough to be obvious.

Enough that I notice.

“I remember…” he starts, then stops.

I wait.

“…feeling like everything was… right.”

My heart stutters.

I swallow. “Yeah.”

“Like nothing was complicated. Or messed up. Or—” He huffs out a quiet laugh. “—like I wasn’t constantly screwing things up.”

“You don’t screw things up,” I say automatically.

He turns his head toward me. “Sam—”

“You don’t,” I insist, softer now. “You just… overthink. And panic. And make dumb decisions sometimes.”

“…wow. Thanks.”

I smirk faintly. “You’re welcome.”

But it fades quickly.

Because that’s not the point.

“…I remember something else,” I admit.

Danny goes very still again.

“What?”

I hesitate.

God, why is this so hard?

It was just a dream.

Not real.

Except—

“…you,” I say finally.

His breath catches.

I feel it more than hear it.

“You were there,” I continue, forcing the words out before I lose the nerve. “And it wasn’t… weird. Or surprising. It just… was.”

I risk a glance at him.

Big mistake.

He’s already looking at me like I just said something that matters.

Like I always matter—but more.

“…yeah,” he says quietly. “Same.”

My pulse is way too fast now.

“Danny—”

“I said something,” he blurts.

I blink. “What?”

“In the dream. I—” He drags a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I don’t remember exactly, but I know I meant it. Like—really meant it.”

Something twists painfully in my chest.

“About what?”

He looks at me again.

And this time he doesn’t look away.

“You.”

Everything in me goes still.

“…me?”

“Yeah.”

His voice is quieter now. Rougher.

“About how I—” He cuts himself off, jaw tightening. “It doesn’t matter. It was a dream.”

“No,” I say immediately.

He frowns slightly. “Sam—”

“It does matter,” I insist. “Dreams like that don’t just come from nowhere.”

He searches my face.

Like he’s trying to figure out what I’m saying.

Or what I’m not saying.

“Then what do they come from?” he asks.

The truth is sitting right there.

Between us.

Heavy.

Terrifying.

Obvious.

I should deflect.

Make a joke.

Say something sarcastic and safe and very me.

Instead, I hear myself say—

“…things you don’t say when you’re awake.”

Danny inhales sharply.

The air between us shifts.

Not just full now.

Electric.

“Sam…”

My name sounds different when he says it like that.

Softer.

Careful.

Like it’s something fragile.

I shouldn’t look at his lips.

I definitely shouldn’t notice how close we are now.

I really shouldn’t remember—

The dream.

The almost.

The way it felt like it was going to happen.

Like it should happen.

“…we almost—” I start.

“I know.”

Oh.

So he remembers that part too.

Great.

Awesome.

Perfect.

Nocturn, I hate you.

We both laugh a little, but it’s shaky. Not real.

Then it fades.

And neither of us moves away.

“…Danny,” I say, barely above a whisper.

“Yeah?”

I don’t know what I’m about to do until I do it.

I lean in.

Just a little.

Testing.

Giving him time to pull back.

He doesn’t.

His breath catches again, softer this time.

“Sam… are you sure—?”

“No,” I admit.

Honest.

Always honest.

“But I think… I want to be.”

That does it.

The last bit of distance disappears.

His hand comes up—hesitant, like he’s asking permission even now—and brushes against my arm.

I don’t pull away.

So he leans in too.

Slow.

Careful.

Nothing like the dream.

This is real.

Messy.

Uncertain.

Better.

Our foreheads almost touch—

—and then—

A loud crash echoes from inside the lab.

We both jump apart like we’ve been electrocuted.

“…seriously?” I mutter.

Danny groans, dropping his head into his hands. “Of course. Of course that happens now.”

“Your parents?”

“Probably blew something up,” he sighs. “Again.”

We sit there for a second.

Processing.

Then—

We look at each other.

And this time, we don’t look away immediately.

It’s still there.

That almost.

That something.

Not finished.

“…this isn’t over,” I say quietly.

Danny shakes his head, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Not even close.”

**************

Shout-out to @greybinx for this idea! I’ve always loved this episode and honestly wish we got more from it 👻🖤

[ghostwritterrr]

~I’ll Remind You~

Danny Phantom x Sam Manson

The first sign something was wrong was Sam’s laugh.

Not her usual dry, unimpressed huff. Not the quiet, fond sound she only ever let slip around Danny and Tucker.

No—this was light. Breathless. Almost… giggly.

Danny froze mid-step in the school hallway, one hand still gripping the strap of his bag. His stomach dropped hard, a cold, sinking feeling settling deep in his chest.

Because Sam Manson—

—was laughing at something Dash Baxter said.

Dash.

Danny’s eyes narrowed, his entire body going rigid as he watched from across the hall. Dash leaned casually against the lockers, one arm braced above Sam’s head like he owned the space around her. And Sam…

God.

Sam was looking up at him like he was interesting.

Like she liked him.

“That’s not—” Danny muttered under his breath. “That’s not right.”

Tucker followed his gaze and immediately made a face. “Oh, that’s cursed. That’s actually cursed.”

Sam reached up, lightly touching Dash’s arm as she said something Danny couldn’t hear—and that was it.

That was enough.

A sharp, possessive spike of anger tore through Danny’s chest, hot and immediate.

“No,” he said, already moving.

“Danny—wait—!” Tucker called after him, but Danny was done waiting.

He crossed the hallway in seconds, students instinctively stepping out of his way. There was something in his expression—something sharp and dangerous—that made people move.

Dash barely had time to react before Danny grabbed his shoulder and shoved him back into the lockers with a loud clang.

“Back. Off.”

Dash blinked, startled. “Dude, what—”

“Danny?” Sam’s voice cut in, confused—but not in the right way. Not the way it should have been.

Danny turned to her, and the anger flickered—just for a second—into something softer. Something desperate.

“Sam,” he said, quieter now. “What are you doing?”

She frowned at him like he was the one being weird.

“…Talking to my boyfriend?”

Everything in Danny snapped.

Silence seemed to fall around them, the hallway noise fading into a dull hum in Danny’s ears.

“…your what?” he asked, voice low.

Dash, recovering quickly, smirked. “You heard her, Fenton. Back off.”

Danny didn’t even look at him.

His eyes were locked on Sam.

On the girl who used to roll her eyes every time Dash opened his mouth. The girl who despised everything he stood for.

“Sam,” Danny said again, stepping closer. “You hate him.”

She crossed her arms, defensive. “People change.”

“No,” Danny said immediately, shaking his head. “No, you don’t. Not like this. Not overnight.”

Something flickered in her expression—uncertainty, just for a second—but then it was gone.

“I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal out of this,” she said. “It’s not like it affects you.”

Danny stared at her.

And that—

—that hurt more than anything.

“It affects me,” he said, voice dropping, rough with something dangerously close to breaking, “because you’re mine, Sam.”

Her breath caught.

Dash scoffed. “Dude, she’s not your—”

Danny’s head snapped toward him, eyes flashing an unnatural, toxic green for half a second.

“Stay. Out. Of it.”

Dash actually took a step back.

Good.

Danny turned back to Sam, softer now—but no less intense. “This isn’t you,” he said. “Look at me and tell me you actually like him.”

“I do,” she insisted, but her voice wavered.

Danny noticed.

Of course he noticed.

He took another step closer, lowering his voice so it was just for her. “Then why are you hesitating?”

Sam’s lips parted—

—but no answer came out.

Danny reached up slowly, giving her time to pull away.

She didn’t.

His fingers brushed against her wrist, grounding, familiar. “Sam,” he murmured, “you hate jocks. You hate everything Dash is. You literally called him a ‘walking personality void’ last week.”

A faint crease formed between her brows.

“…I did?”

“Yes,” Danny said, a little more urgently now. “And you meant it.”

Dash stepped forward again, irritation flaring. “Okay, this is getting old—”

Danny didn’t even turn this time.

“Walk away,” he said flatly.

Something in his tone made it very clear that wasn’t a suggestion.

Dash hesitated—then, with an annoyed grunt, backed off. “Whatever. This freak show isn’t worth it.”

He shot Sam a look. “Come find me when he’s done being a psycho.”

And then he left.

Good riddance.

Danny waited until he was gone before focusing completely on Sam again.

She looked… confused now. Less certain. Like something inside her was starting to crack.

“Danny…” she said quietly, “I—I don’t know what’s going on.”

Relief hit him so hard it almost made his knees weak.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “I do.”

His expression darkened, jaw tightening.

“Ember.”

Sam blinked. “The ghost girl?”

“The one who literally controls emotions with her voice?” Danny said. “Yeah. That one.”

Realization slowly dawned in her eyes.

“…oh.”

“Yeah,” Danny said again, softer now.

There was a beat of silence.

Then Sam looked at him—really looked at him this time.

And something shifted.

“…Danny?”

“Yeah?”

Her voice dropped to something more familiar. More her.

“…why did you say I’m yours?”

Danny stilled.

Right.

That.

For a second, he considered dodging it.

But then he looked at her—really looked—and saw the way she was watching him. Waiting.

He exhaled slowly.

“Because you are,” he said, quieter now—but no less certain. “And I’m yours. Even if we’re both too stubborn to say it out loud most of the time.”

Sam’s breath caught.

The hallway felt very, very still.

“And I’m not letting some ghost mess with your head and make you forget that,” Danny added, stepping closer.

Close enough now that there was barely any space between them.

Sam didn’t move away.

“…prove it,” she whispered.

Danny didn’t hesitate.

His hand came up to cup her face, grounding her, steady—and then he kissed her.

Not soft.

Not uncertain.

It was firm, deliberate—like he was reminding her of something she already knew. Something buried under whatever Ember had done.

For a second, Sam froze.

Then—

She melted.

Her hands grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him closer as she kissed him back, and that was all the confirmation Danny needed.

When he pulled back, her eyes were clearer.

Focused.

On him.

“…Danny,” she breathed.

“Yeah?”

She swallowed, then—very Sam-like—rolled her eyes just a little.

“…Dash? Seriously?”

Danny huffed out a quiet laugh, resting his forehead against hers. “Yeah, I know. I was offended too.”

She smacked his shoulder lightly. “You should be.”

He smiled—soft this time, relief and something warmer settling into his chest.

“C’mon,” he said. “Let’s go find Ember before she decides to make Tucker fall in love with Lancer or something.”

Sam snorted. “Don’t even joke about that.”

But she grabbed his hand anyway.

And didn’t let go.

[ghostwritterrr]

~Static in the Walls~

Danny Phantom Fanfic

Danny didn’t even remember what started it.

That was the worst part.

One second, everything was fine—well, normal fine, which for the Fenton household meant mildly chaotic and faintly humming with unstable energy—and the next, his dad’s voice was booming through the kitchen like a cannon.

“Daniel, I told you not to touch the ecto-filter!”

“I didn’t touch it!” Danny snapped back, already regretting how sharp his tone came out, but too wound up to stop now. “It’s been glitching all week, Dad!”

Jack slammed a wrench down on the counter with a loud clang. “This is sensitive equipment! You can’t just mess around with things you don’t understand!”

Danny barked out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, because you understand it so well, right? That’s why it explodes every other Tuesday?”

The second the words left his mouth, he knew he’d gone too far.

Jack’s expression shifted—not just angry now, but hurt. Offended.

“That equipment protects this family,” Jack said, voice lower now but somehow heavier. “Everything I do is to keep you safe from ghosts.”

Danny’s chest tightened.

If you only knew.

“Yeah,” Danny muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Real safe.”

Jack frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Danny hesitated—just for a second—but it was enough. Enough for frustration to surge back up and push him forward.

“It means maybe you should focus less on blowing stuff up and more on, I don’t know, actually listening for once!”

Silence.

The kind that buzzed louder than any machine in the lab.

Jack straightened slowly, towering, his expression hardening in a way Danny didn’t see often—but when he did, it always made something in his chest twist.

“I listen, Danny.”

“No, you don’t,” Danny shot back. “You just decide what’s right and don’t care about anything else!”

Jack’s jaw clenched. “I’m your father. It’s my job to decide what’s right.”

“And it’s my life!” Danny snapped.

The words echoed.

Too loud. Too final.

Jack inhaled sharply, then turned away, grabbing his tools like the conversation was already over.

“Go to your room.”

Danny let out a bitter laugh. “Seriously?”

“Now, Daniel.”

Something in Jack’s tone—firm, final, unyielding—made Danny’s hands curl into fists.

“Fine,” he muttered, already backing away. “Whatever.”

He turned before his dad could see the way his expression cracked.

Danny didn’t slam his bedroom door.

He wanted to.

God, he wanted to.

But instead, he shut it with a quiet click and leaned back against it, staring at the ceiling like it might have answers.

His chest felt… heavy.

Not angry anymore. Not really.

Just… tired.

“Stupid fight,” he muttered under his breath.

And the worst part?

He missed his dad already.

A soft knock came about an hour later.

Danny didn’t answer at first.

“Danny?” Sam’s voice filtered through the door. “I know you’re in there.”

He sighed, pushing himself upright. “It’s open.”

The door creaked as she stepped in, black boots quiet against the floor. She took one look at him—slumped on his bed, hair a mess, eyes distant—and her expression softened immediately.

“You look like crap.”

He huffed out a small laugh. “Wow. Thanks, Sam. Really boosting my confidence here.”

She rolled her eyes but moved closer, sitting beside him without hesitation.

“What happened?”

Danny groaned, flopping back onto his pillow. “Nothing. Everything. I don’t even know. We got into a fight about the ecto-filter.”

Sam blinked. “That’s… it?”

“Yeah,” he said, staring at the ceiling. “It got dumb really fast.”

She tilted her head, watching him carefully. “It’s not really about the filter, is it?”

Danny didn’t answer right away.

Because… no.

It wasn’t.

“I just—” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “It feels like he doesn’t see me, you know? Like I’m just… some kid who’s gonna mess everything up.”

Sam’s expression softened even more.

“He’s scared,” she said quietly.

Danny scoffed. “Of what? Me touching his precious gadgets?”

“Of losing you.”

That made Danny pause.

Sam hugged her knees slightly, gaze drifting toward the floor.

“My parents don’t even notice when I leave the house for hours,” she said, voice light—but there was something under it. Something quieter. Heavier. “Your dad builds weapons and overreacts and yells, but… he notices you.”

Danny turned his head to look at her.

She wasn’t looking at him.

“I’d take that,” she admitted softly.

Something in his chest twisted.

“Sam…”

She shrugged, forcing a small smile. “It’s whatever. I mean, at least your dad actually cares enough to get mad.”

Danny sat up slowly.

“I wish he’d just… trust me,” he said. “Just once.”

Sam glanced at him now, eyes warm.

“He does,” she said. “In his own weird, ghost-obsessed way.”

Danny let out a small breath, shaking his head. “Yeah, well… I kinda made it worse.”

“How?”

“I told him he doesn’t listen. That he doesn’t care.”

Sam winced. “Ouch.”

“Yeah.”

There was a pause.

Then, softer—

“I didn’t mean it.”

Sam smiled faintly. “You should probably tell him that.”

Danny hesitated. “Maybe.”

She nudged his shoulder gently. “Hey. For what it’s worth… you’re really lucky, you know.”

He blinked. “Lucky?”

She nodded, her voice quieter now.

“You have someone who would do anything to protect you.” She swallowed slightly. “Even if he doesn’t always get it right.”

Danny stared at her.

Because suddenly, this wasn’t just about him anymore.

“…Sam,” he said gently, “your parents—”

“Don’t,” she cut in, but not harshly. Just tired. “They love me. They just… don’t really see me.”

The room fell quiet.

And neither of them noticed the faint creak from downstairs.

⸻

Jack Fenton hadn’t meant to eavesdrop.

He’d just been heading up to check on Danny.

To maybe—maybe—apologize.

But then he heard voices.

And then he heard her.

“My parents don’t even notice when I leave the house…”

Jack froze halfway up the stairs.

“…at least your dad actually cares enough to get mad.”

Something in his chest shifted.

“You have someone who would do anything to protect you.”

Jack’s grip tightened on the railing.

Would do anything.

Danny’s voice came next, softer than Jack had ever heard it.

“I didn’t mean it.”

Jack closed his eyes briefly.

⸻

Upstairs, Danny let out a long breath.

“I should go say something,” he admitted.

Sam smiled, nudging him again. “Yeah. You should.”

He stood, then paused, glancing down at her.

“Hey, Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“…you can come over whenever you want. You know that, right?”

Her expression softened, something warm flickering behind her eyes.

“I know.”

But the way she said it made it clear—

She didn’t hear that enough.

When Danny opened his door, he nearly ran straight into his dad.

They both froze.

For a second, neither of them spoke.

Then Danny rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Uh… hey.”

Jack cleared his throat.

“Son, I—”

“I didn’t mean it,” Danny blurted out at the same time.

They both paused.

Then—

Jack sighed, shoulders dropping just slightly.

“…I know.”

Danny blinked.

Jack hesitated, then continued, voice quieter than before.

“And… I should listen more.”

Danny’s chest tightened.

“And I shouldn’t snap at you,” he admitted.

Jack gave a small, almost sheepish nod. “Maybe we both… overreacted.”

“Yeah,” Danny said, letting out a breath. “A little.”

There was a beat.

Then Jack added, more gently—

“You’re not going to mess everything up, Danny.”

Danny looked up, surprised.

Jack met his eyes.

“I trust you,” he said.

And for once—

It didn’t feel like empty words.

Behind him, Sam watched from the doorway, silent.

But she was smiling.

Just a little.

And downstairs, the house hummed—not with tension this time, but something quieter.

Something steadier.

Like the static had finally settled.

[ghostwritterrr]

~A Place That Stays~

Danny Phantom x Sam Manson

The first thing Sam notices about the apartment is the quiet.

Not the suffocating kind—the kind that used to press in on her from all sides at home, heavy with expectations and things left unsaid.

This quiet breathes.

It hums softly in the walls, in the light filtering through the windows, in the faint creak of the floorboards as she steps just inside the doorway.

She doesn’t go any farther at first.

Just… stands there.

Taking it in.

The living room is bigger than she expected—not huge, but open enough that it doesn’t feel like it’s closing in on her. The hardwood floors are worn in places, scratched and imperfect. The blinds are slightly uneven, letting in thin slants of late afternoon sunlight that stretch across the floor like fingers.

It’s not polished.

It’s not staged.

It’s real.

And for a second—just a second—Sam feels something unfamiliar settle in her chest.

Something steady.

Warm.

Safe.

Behind her, there’s the soft thud of a box being set down, followed by footsteps she could recognize anywhere.

Then—

Arms slide around her waist.

Familiar.

Firm.

Danny.

“You froze,” he murmurs, his voice low and amused, warm breath brushing the shell of her ear.

“I did not freeze.”

“You’ve been standing here for, like, a full minute.”

“I’m observing.”

“Uh-huh.” His chin rests lightly on her shoulder. “Observing so hard you forgot we still have half our life in boxes.”

Sam huffs, but she doesn’t pull away.

Instead, she leans back into him—just slightly at first, then fully, letting her weight rest against his chest like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Because it is.

It always has been, with him.

“It’s nice,” she admits quietly.

Danny doesn’t tease her for that.

Doesn’t make a joke.

His arms tighten around her just a little.

“Yeah,” he says, softer now. “It is.”

There’s a pause.

The kind that isn’t empty—but full of everything they’re both thinking and don’t need to say.

We made it.

Sam turns in his arms, slowly, her hands coming up to rest against his chest. His shirt is slightly wrinkled from moving boxes, a little damp with sweat at the collar, and somehow that makes this feel even more real.

Less like a dream.

More like something solid.

Something that won’t vanish.

Danny’s already looking at her—really looking, the way he always does. Like she’s something worth memorizing.

Like she’s home.

Her chest tightens.

She leans up and kisses him.

It’s not rushed.

Not hesitant.

Just… familiar.

Comfortable in the way that only comes from knowing someone completely—every expression, every small shift in breath.

Danny melts into it instantly, one hand sliding up her back, the other settling at her hip like it belongs there.

Because it does.

When they pull back, they’re both smiling.

Soft.

A little breathless.

“Okay,” Danny says, resting his forehead against hers. “Now we can officially say we’ve moved in.”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “That was your requirement?”

“Absolutely. Very important step in the process.”

She huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking her head.

“Come on,” she says, brushing her fingers through his hair briefly before pulling away. “Let’s actually make this place livable.”

Danny salutes. “Yes, ma’am.”

They try.

They really do.

But unpacking quickly turns into something else entirely.

Danny opens a box labeled misc and immediately gets distracted.

“Sam,” he says, holding up a crumpled piece of paper.

She doesn’t look up from where she’s sorting books. “If that’s another old assignment, throw it away.”

“It’s not—it’s—wait.”

There’s a pause.

Then—

“Oh my god.”

Something in his tone makes her glance over.

He’s holding a photo.

Old.

Slightly bent at the edges.

Sam sighs, already knowing. “Danny—”

“You totally had a crush on me.”

“I did not.”

“You so did.”

She walks over, snatching the photo from his hand.

It’s from sophomore year.

She remembers it immediately.

Tucker had insisted on taking it—Danny grinning like an idiot, Sam standing next to him with her arms crossed, clearly trying to look unimpressed.

But her eyes—

Her eyes are softer than she remembers.

Damn it.

“You’re projecting,” she says, but there’s no heat in it.

Danny scoots closer on the floor, bumping his shoulder against hers.

“You’re smiling,” he points out.

“I am not.”

“You are. It’s subtle, but it’s there. I’ve studied this.”

“You have not studied my facial expressions.”

“Sam, I’ve been in love with you since I was fourteen. Of course I’ve studied your facial expressions.”

That—

That does something to her. It always does. No matter how many times he says it. Her grip on the photo softens.

“…You’re so annoying,” she mutters.

Danny grins. “And you love me.”

She doesn’t deny it.

Instead, she sets the photo carefully on the nearby shelf—not in the trash pile—and sits down beside him.

He doesn’t hesitate.

He never does.

His arm slips around her shoulders, pulling her in until she’s tucked against his side, her head resting just under his chin.

Her hand finds his shirt without thinking, fingers curling lightly into the fabric.

Grounding.

They stay like that for a while.

Surrounded by half-opened boxes.

Sunlight shifting slowly across the floor.

Not rushing.

Not needing to.

By the time evening rolls in, the apartment is still a mess.

But it’s their mess.

Sam’s already carved out a space by the window—her desk set up with almost obsessive care. Her notebooks are stacked neatly, pens aligned, a candle sitting in the corner waiting to be lit.

It’s hers.

Completely hers.

No one’s going to walk in and tell her it’s “too dark” or “too much” or “not appropriate.”

No one’s going to ask her to change it.

The thought lingers.

Unsettling.

And comforting all at once.

Across the room—

“Danny.”

No response.

“Danny.”

Still nothing.

Sam turns.

He’s floating.

Of course he is.

“What are you doing?” she asks, already suspicious.

“I’m fixing the ceiling.”

“That is not something you’re qualified to do.”

“I’m improving the ceiling.”

That’s worse.

Sam walks closer, arms crossing as she tilts her head up.

Glow-in-the-dark stars.

Of course.

“You’re kidding.”

“They’re accurate,” Danny insists, pressing another one into place. “I mapped out the constellations—”

“You just put one above the closet.”

“That’s a rare constellation.”

“That’s not a thing.”

Danny hops down, landing right in front of her.

Close.

Too close.

On purpose.

He always does that when he’s trying to win her over.

“It could be,” he says, softer now, a hint of a grin tugging at his lips.

Sam narrows her eyes.

He leans in just slightly.

Not enough to kiss her.

Just enough that she notices.

“Bedroom only,” she says finally.

Danny lights up instantly. “Yes!”

“But if I find one in the bathroom—”

“No bathroom stars. I value my life.”

“Good.”

He beams at her like she just handed him the universe.

God.

She loves him.

It comes together slowly after that.

Not perfectly.

Not all at once.

But piece by piece.

Their lives start to intertwine in visible ways—Sam’s plants winding around Danny’s equipment, her poetry books stacked beside his research notes filled with scribbled equations and half-finished theories about ghosts and energy and things no one else would understand.

There’s always something playing in the background—music, the hum of Danny’s devices, the quiet scratch of Sam’s pen against paper.

It’s not silent anymore.

It’s alive.

Three days later, Tucker walks in without knocking.

“Okay,” Sam says immediately, not looking up from her notebook, “you live down the hall. You can knock.”

“I did knock,” Tucker argues. “With my presence.”

“That is not knocking.”

Danny leans against the counter, grinning. “What’s up, man?”

Tucker looks between them, eyes narrowing slightly.

“…You two are disgustingly functional.”

Sam smirks faintly. “We aim to disappoint.”

“No, seriously,” Tucker continues, dropping onto a chair. “No passive-aggressive tension? No dramatic fights? No ‘whose turn is it to do dishes’ meltdown?”

Danny glances at Sam.

Sam glances at Danny.

“We made a schedule,” they say at the same time.

Tucker stares.

“…I don’t like this version of you.”

That night, everything slows again.

The lights are dim.

The boxes are mostly gone.

The apartment feels… settled.

Sam sits by the window, notebook open.

Blank page.

Her pen hovers.

Doesn’t move.

Danny notices immediately.

He always does.

“You’re stuck,” he says quietly, lowering himself beside her.

She exhales, leaning back slightly until her shoulder brushes his.

“I want to write about this,” she admits. “About being here. About… us. But every time I try, it feels like I’m—waiting.”

“For what?”

She hesitates.

“…For it to fall apart.”

The words are quiet.

But they land.

Danny doesn’t brush it off.

Doesn’t tell her she’s being dramatic.

He just reaches for her hand, lacing their fingers together.

Warm.

Steady.

Real.

“Hey,” he says softly.

She looks at him.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Simple.

Certain.

No hesitation.

“You don’t have to brace for this,” he adds. “You don’t have to earn it or prove anything or wait for it to disappear.”

Sam’s throat tightens.

Because that’s all she’s ever known.

“And even if things get messy,” he continues, a small smile forming, “we’ll deal with it. Together. Not… alone.”

That word hits harder than anything else.

Alone.

She’s not.

Not anymore.

Slowly, carefully, Sam leans into him.

Danny’s arm wraps around her instantly, pulling her closer until she’s tucked against his side.

Safe.

She closes her eyes for a second.

Just… feels it.

Lets it exist without questioning it.

When she opens them again, she reaches for her notebook.

This time—

The words come.

Not perfect.

But honest.

Real.

Danny glances down. “What’s it called?”

Sam smirks slightly, not looking up as she writes the title.

“A Place That Stays.”

Danny presses a soft kiss to her hair.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “That’s exactly what this is.”

[ghostwritterrr]

~Permanent~

Team Phantom/ Everlasting Trio

Danny Fenton was absolutely, completely, 100% against this idea.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Danny.”

“Nope.”

“Danny.”

He crossed his arms tighter, hovering a few inches off the ground like that somehow made his refusal more powerful. It didn’t. If anything, it just made Tucker snort.

“You’re literally floating while arguing about permanence,” Tucker said, leaning back in his chair. “The irony is insane.”

Danny pointed at him. “You’re not helping.”

“I’m helping me,” Tucker corrected. “Because I’m getting one either way.”

Sam, standing by Danny’s desk, rolled her eyes but there was a softness in her expression that gave her away. She wasn’t just being stubborn.

She wanted this.

“They’re tiny,” she said, holding her fingers an inch apart. “Like—barely noticeable. And meaningful.”

Danny groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “You say that now, but what happens when we’re like, thirty and I have to explain to people why I have a cartoon ghost on my wrist?”

Tucker grinned. “You are a ghost, dude. It’s called branding.”

“That is not branding!”

Sam stepped closer, lowering her voice slightly. “Danny.”

He froze.

There was something about the way she said his name sometimes—quiet, intentional—that made it impossible to ignore her.

“They don’t have to match exactly,” she said. “But… I thought it could be something that’s ours. Not ghost fights. Not secrets. Just… us.”

And there it was.

Danny’s resistance cracked immediately.

Because Sam wasn’t asking for something impulsive. She was asking for something lasting.

Something that said we chose this.

He glanced at Tucker.

Tucker, who had been there for everything. Every stupid mistake, every near-death experience, every late-night emergency.

Tucker, who was now watching him with a smug little smile that said you’re about to cave.

“…they’re really small?” Danny muttered.

Tucker threw his hands up. “HE FOLDS!”

“I didn’t say yes!”

“You basically did!”

Sam smiled—soft, relieved, a little brighter than usual. “We can design them ourselves.”

Danny sighed, but he couldn’t stop the tiny smile tugging at his mouth.

“…fine. But if it’s ugly, I’m haunting both of you.”

“You already haunt us,” Tucker said. “Emotionally.”

They ended up sprawled across Sam’s bedroom floor later that night, papers scattered everywhere.

Sam had her sketchbook open, already halfway through drawing different variations.

Some were gothic and elegant.

Some were cute.

Some were… questionable.

Tucker held up one page. “Why does this one have abs?”

“It’s stylized,” Sam said defensively.

Danny leaned over, squinting. “That ghost looks like it goes to the gym.”

“It’s a strong ghost!”

“We are not getting a buff ghost tattoo,” Danny said flatly.

Tucker grinned. “Speak for yourself. I’d rock it.”

Sam huffed and flipped the page.

“Okay, what about this one?”

This time, it was simple.

A tiny, rounded ghost. Soft edges. A little curl at the bottom like it was floating.

Two small eyes.

A subtle, almost shy smile.

Danny blinked.

“…that one.”

Sam paused. “Yeah?”

He nodded slowly. “It’s… I don’t know. It feels right.”

Tucker leaned in. “…okay yeah, that one slaps.”

Sam tried not to smile too much, but she couldn’t help it.

“Okay,” she said, picking up a pen. “Now—placement.”

Tucker immediately said, “Ankle.”

Danny made a face. “Why ankle?”

“So I can show it off with sandals.”

“You don’t wear sandals.”

“I could.”

Sam ignored them, tapping her pen thoughtfully against her chin. “Wrist could be nice. Or behind the ear. Or—”

“Behind the ear sounds painful,” Danny said quickly.

“Everything sounds painful to you.”

“I died once, Sam, I think I’m allowed to have opinions about pain.”

Tucker snorted.

Sam smirked, then softened again. “Wrist,” she decided. “Small. Easy to hide if we want. Easy to see if we don’t.”

Danny hesitated for half a second.

Then nodded.

“…okay.”

The Tattoo Shop

The place was dimly lit, quiet, and smelled faintly like antiseptic and something metallic.

Danny immediately regretted all of his life choices.

“This was a mistake,” he whispered.

Tucker elbowed him. “Too late. You signed the emotional contract.”

Sam was already talking to the artist, showing her sketch.

“She’s really good,” Sam said when she came back. “She can do fine line work, so it’ll look exactly like this.”

Danny stared at the chair like it was a torture device.

“…who’s going first?”

“Not me,” Tucker said instantly.

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Coward.”

“I’m strategic.”

Danny pointed at Sam. “You go first.”

She blinked. “Why me?”

“Because this was your idea.”

She considered that.

Then shrugged. “Fair.”

Sam’s Turn

She didn’t flinch.

Not even a little.

Danny sat beside her, watching closely, probably more tense than she was.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

Sam glanced at him, a small smile forming. “Danny, I’ve fought ghosts that tried to eat my soul.”

“…fair point.”

But he didn’t look away.

He watched every second—the way her fingers curled slightly, the way she stayed still, the calm in her expression.

There was something about it that made his chest feel… tight.

Not in a bad way.

Just… full.

When it was done, she turned her wrist toward them.

It was perfect.

Small. Clean. Exactly like the sketch.

Floating there like a tiny secret.

Tucker leaned in. “Okay that’s actually really cool.”

Danny nodded, softer. “…yeah. It is.”

Sam’s eyes flicked to him.

And for a moment, it wasn’t about the tattoo at all.

Tucker’s Turn

“Alright, Tech Support, your turn.”

Tucker took a deep breath. “I am a brave man.”

“You’re sweating,” Danny said.

“I am a moist brave man.”

Sam snorted.

Tucker sat down, trying to look cool and failing immediately the second the needle touched his skin.

“OH—okay—okay—yep—wow—”

Danny burst out laughing.

“You’re so dramatic!”

“This is BETRAYAL—”

“You literally volunteered—”

“I DIDN’T KNOW IT FELT LIKE THAT—”

Sam shook her head, smiling despite herself.

But she reached over anyway, grabbing Tucker’s free hand.

“Hold still,” she said. “You’re going to mess it up.”

Tucker squeezed her hand dramatically. “If I pass out, tell people I died cool.”

“You’re getting a tiny ghost, Tucker, not fighting one.”

“Same thing!”

Danny was still laughing, but there was something warm underneath it.

This.

This right here.

This was everything.

Danny’s Turn

“…I hate both of you,” Danny muttered as he sat down.

Tucker grinned. “You love us.”

“Unfortunately.”

Sam stepped closer.

“You’ll be fine,” she said quietly.

Danny looked up at her.

“…stay?”

Her expression softened instantly. “Of course.”

She stood beside him the entire time.

And yeah—okay—it hurt.

More than he expected.

But every time he tensed, Sam’s fingers brushed lightly against his arm.

Grounding.

Steady.

And somehow, that made it easier.

When it was done, he looked down.

There it was.

The same tiny ghost.

The same soft shape.

The same quiet little smile.

Permanent.

“…huh,” he said.

Tucker leaned over. “Welcome to the club.”

Sam smiled at him.

And Danny realized something.

This wasn’t just a tattoo.

It was proof.

That no matter what happened—ghosts, secrets, chaos—

They chose each other.

Every time.

Later That Night

They ended up back at Danny’s, sprawled across his bed, wrists occasionally bumping as they talked.

Three identical little ghosts.

Three different people.

One unbreakable bond.

Tucker yawned. “If we ever get separated, this is how we find each other.”

Danny smirked. “Yeah, we just flash our ghost gang signs.”

Sam rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.

“…I’m glad we did this.”

Danny looked at her.

Then at Tucker.

Then at the tiny ghost on his wrist.

“…yeah,” he said softly. “Me too.”

And for once—

Everything felt still.

Permanent.

[ghostwritterrr]

~Things I Only Sing When You’re Not Listening~

Danny Phantom x Sam Manson

I don’t sing in front of people.

Not my parents. Not Tucker. Not even him.

Especially not him.

It’s not that I can’t—I know I’m not terrible. I’ve practiced too much, spent too many late nights whisper-singing into my pillow, shaping lyrics in the dark, letting melodies bloom quietly in the spaces where no one else exists. It’s just… singing feels different.

Too honest.

Too close to saying things I’ve spent years pretending I don’t feel.

So I keep it to myself.

Or at least—I thought I did.

It starts as poetry. It always does.

Scraps of paper scattered across my floor, stuffed into drawers, tucked between pages of books I’ll never finish. Lines about green eyes glowing in the dark. About laughter that echoes a little too long in my chest. About a boy who doesn’t realize he’s the center of every orbit I exist in.

I tell myself it’s just writing.

It’s not.

It’s him.

It’s always him.

The first time I turn one into a song, it’s an accident.

I’m sitting on my bed, knees pulled up, notebook balanced against them. The house is quiet—my parents are out, probably at some ridiculous gala or organic protest dinner or whatever they’re calling it this week.

It’s just me.

And the silence.

And the words.

I read them out loud at first, testing how they sound. Then I hum—just a little, barely noticeable. And then—

It happens.

The melody slips in like it’s always been there, waiting for me to find it.

Soft. Hesitant.

My voice follows it before I can stop myself.

And suddenly I’m not just reading anymore.

I’m singing.

It’s quiet at first.

Like I’m afraid the walls will hear me.

Like the air might judge me.

But the longer I go, the easier it gets. My voice steadies, grows warmer, fuller. The melody wraps around the words, and they mean more like this—like they’ve finally found the right shape to exist in.

The song is about him.

Of course it is.

About the way he smiles like he doesn’t know what it does to people. About how he leans too close when he talks, like personal space is just a suggestion. About how he says my name—

God.

The way he says my name.

Like it matters.

Like I matter.

I don’t realize I’m crying until my voice cracks.

I stop immediately.

The room snaps back into focus, too quiet, too still.

Too real.

“Wow,” I whisper, wiping my face quickly, like someone might see. “That was… pathetic.”

I laugh, but it’s hollow.

Because it wasn’t pathetic.

It was true.

And that’s worse.

I start doing it more after that.

Late at night. Early mornings. Whenever I know I’m alone.

I write, and then I sing.

Songs about things I’ll never say out loud.

Songs about loving him.

Songs about losing him.

Songs about what it would feel like if he ever looked at me the way I look at him.

(He doesn’t.)

(He can’t.)

I get better.

Not in a performative way—this isn’t about that. But my voice grows more confident, more certain. I learn how to hold notes longer, how to let emotion sit in my chest instead of choking on it.

And the songs—

They get worse.

Not bad.

Just… more honest.

More him.

Tonight is one of those nights.

The house is quiet again. I’m sitting on the floor this time, back against my bed, notebook open beside me. The window’s cracked just enough to let the cool air drift in, brushing against my skin.

It feels like a night meant for secrets.

So I give it one.

“This one’s new,” I murmur to myself, even though no one’s there to hear it.

I close my eyes.

And I start.

My voice is softer than usual, like I’m handling something fragile.

The song is slower, heavier. The kind that builds in your chest before it ever reaches your throat.

It’s about him.

About how I’ve loved him quietly, stubbornly, hopelessly.

About how I’ve memorized every version of his smile.

About how I would choose him—

Over and over.

Even if he never chose me.

My fingers curl into the fabric of my skirt as I hit the chorus.

It’s the most honest part.

The part I shouldn’t have written.

The part I definitely shouldn’t be singing.

“If you ever looked my way—

Really looked, not just by chance—

You’d see I’ve been standing here

Waiting for your second glance…”

My voice shakes, but I don’t stop.

I can’t.

“And I’d give you every piece—

Even the ones I never show—

But you don’t need to ask me twice…

I think you already know…”

I inhale sharply.

Because that line—

That line feels too real.

Too close to something dangerous.

“—I think you already—”

I stop.

Not because I forgot the words.

Not because my voice gave out.

But because—

I’m not alone.

The air shifts.

It’s subtle.

So subtle I almost convince myself I imagined it. But I don’t. Because I’ve spent years around ghosts. I know what it feels like when something’s there.

Even when you can’t see it.

My heart stutters.

“…Danny?” I whisper.

Silence.

But not empty silence.

Full silence.

The kind that’s holding something.

I swallow, pushing myself up onto my knees.

“Danny,” I say again, louder this time. “If you’re—”

A flicker.

Right by my window.

Barely there.

Gone so fast I almost miss it.

My stomach drops.

“No way,” I breathe.

No.

No no no—

“Danny Fenton,” I snap, my voice sharper than I feel. “If you are invisible in my room right now, I swear—”

“Okay, okay!”

He appears like he’s been caught mid-crime—which, technically, he has.

Hovering awkwardly near the window.

Looking guilty.

And—

Oh my god.

He heard.

My entire body goes cold.

“How long?” I ask, my voice dangerously quiet.

Danny winces.

“…Define ‘long’?”

“Danny.”

“…Since the second verse?”

I stare at him.

“SECOND—?!”

“I didn’t mean to!” he blurts, hands up defensively. “I was just—passing by—and then you were singing and I—”

“And you decided to INVISIBLY SPY ON ME?!”

“I was appreciating!” he protests.

“YOU WERE EAVESDROPPING!”

“I was emotionally invested!”

I want to be angry.

I should be angry.

This is a violation of privacy, and boundaries, and—

He heard.

He heard everything.

“You—” My voice cracks, and I hate it. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

Danny goes very still.

And just like that—

The joking disappears.

“Sam,” he says softly.

And oh god.

That tone.

I look away immediately, wrapping my arms around myself like I can hold the pieces in.

“It was stupid,” I mutter. “Just—ignore it.”

“I can’t.”

My head snaps back up.

“…What?”

“I can’t ignore it,” he repeats, quieter now. “I’ve heard… a lot of them.”

My stomach drops.

“A lot?” I echo faintly.

Danny rubs the back of his neck, suddenly looking nervous.

“…Yeah.”

“…Define ‘a lot.’”

“…A week?”

“A WEEK?!”

I feel like I might actually combust.

“You’ve been INVISIBLY LISTENING TO ME SING ABOUT YOU FOR A WEEK?!”

“When you say it like that, it sounds creepy—”

“BECAUSE IT IS CREEPY, DANNY!”

“I know, I know! I just—” He cuts himself off, frustrated, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean for it to happen like that. The first time was an accident. And then…”

“And then?” I demand.

He hesitates.

Looks at me.

Really looks at me.

“…I couldn’t stop.”

The room goes quiet.

My heart is pounding so loud I’m sure he can hear it.

“…Why?” I whisper.

Danny exhales slowly.

Like he’s been holding this in just as long as I have.

“Because they’re about me,” he says.

I flinch.

“And?” I push, even though I’m not sure I want the answer.

“And…” He steps closer, hesitant but determined. “Because you sound like you mean every word.”

I swallow hard.

“I do,” I admit before I can stop myself.

There it is.

Out loud.

No melody to hide behind.

No music to soften it.

Just—

Truth.

Danny’s breath catches.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I figured.”

My chest tightens.

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” I ask, my voice barely steady. “If you knew—if you heard—why didn’t you—”

“Because I didn’t want to ruin it.”

I blink.

“…Ruin it?”

“You,” he says simply. “This. The way you feel. I didn’t want to push you or make you think you had to stop or—” He shakes his head. “And I was scared.”

That—

That surprises me.

“You?” I say. “Scared?”

Danny huffs a quiet laugh.

“Yeah. Turns out, hearing the girl you’re in love with sing about how she thinks you’ll never love her back is… kind of terrifying.”

My brain stops.

“…What?”

He freezes.

Like he didn’t mean to say that.

Like it just—

Slipped.

“You—” My voice fails completely. “You’re—what?”

Danny closes his eyes briefly.

Then opens them.

And there’s no hiding now.

“I’m in love with you, Sam.”

Everything inside me goes still.

Like the world just—

Paused.

“…You heard all my songs,” I say slowly.

“Yeah.”

“And you still thought I didn’t think you’d—”

“Have you met me?” he interrupts gently. “You think I’d let you believe that if I was sure you knew?”

I stare at him.

At the sincerity.

At the softness.

At the way he’s looking at me like—

Like I’m the one thing in the world he doesn’t want to lose.

“…You’re an idiot,” I whisper.

He smiles a little.

“Yeah. I’ve been told.”

I step closer.

Just a little.

“Danny?”

“Yeah?”

“…How much of that last song did you hear?”

He hesitates.

“…The whole thing.”

I groan, covering my face.

“Great. Fantastic. I’m moving to another dimension—”

“Don’t you dare,” he says quickly, catching my wrist.

The contact sends something electric up my arm.

We both feel it.

Neither of us pulls away.

“…Sing it again,” he says softly.

My eyes widen.

“Absolutely not.”

“Sam—”

“No. Nope. Not happening. I would rather fight Skulker naked—”

“Okay, first of all, please never say that again—”

“Then stop asking!”

He laughs.

And then—

He leans closer.

“Please,” he murmurs.

And that—

That tone—

“…You’re the worst,” I mumble.

“Yeah,” he agrees easily. “But I’m your worst.”

My heart does something stupid.

Something hopeful.

I take a shaky breath.

“…Fine,” I whisper.

His eyes light up.

“But if you ever tell anyone—”

“I won’t,” he promises instantly.

I close my eyes.

And I start again.

This time—

I’m not alone.

And somehow—

That makes it even more terrifying.

And infinitely better.

[ghostwritterrr]

~Connected in Ways We Shouldn’t Be~

Danny Phantom x Sam Manson

I didn’t notice it at first.

Not really.

It started small—so small I brushed it off as coincidence.

Like thinking about Danny and then, seconds later, my phone buzzing with a text from him.

Or knowing exactly when he was about to walk into a room before the door even opened.

Or that weird, sharp tug in my chest whenever he got hurt on patrol—like I felt it before he even said anything.

At first, I told myself it was just… us.

We’ve always been close. Closer than normal friends. Closer than most people would probably understand.

But then it started getting worse.

Stronger.

I’m sitting in class when it happens again.

Mr. Lancer is droning on about symbolism, and I’m half-paying attention, doodling in the margins of my notebook, when—

Sam.

I freeze.

My pen presses too hard into the paper, ink bleeding through.

That… wasn’t out loud.

No one said my name.

I slowly lift my head, glancing around the classroom.

Everyone’s normal.

Tucker’s typing something under his desk. A girl two rows over is asleep. Nothing weird.

Except my heart is suddenly racing.

Because I know that voice.

Danny.

I swallow, my fingers tightening around my pen.

Okay. Okay. Maybe I’m just imagining things.

Maybe I’m tired.

Maybe—

You’re so beautiful.

My breath catches.

That was clearer.

Closer.

Like it wasn’t in the room at all—but inside my head.

“Okay, that’s not normal,” I whisper under my breath.

Tucker glances over. “What’s not normal?”

I stare at him.

“…Nothing.”

But my pulse won’t calm down.

Because that wasn’t just my imagination.

I know it wasn’t.

I find Danny after school.

Of course I do.

It’s instinct at this point.

He’s by his locker, like always—leaning casually, talking to Tucker, acting completely normal.

Like he’s not… in my head.

I walk straight up to him.

“Danny.”

He turns immediately.

Too immediately.

Like he knew I was coming.

Like he was waiting.

His eyes lock onto mine, and for a second, something flickers there—something intense, sharp, focused in a way that makes my stomach twist.

“Hey, Sam,” he says, voice softer than usual. “You okay?”

There’s that question again.

The same one from—

I take a step closer. “Did you just… talk to me?”

Tucker blinks. “Uh, he’s talking to you right now.”

“No—not out loud.”

Danny goes very still.

And I mean very still.

Like even his breathing pauses.

“…What do you mean?” he asks carefully.

I cross my arms, narrowing my eyes at him. “I mean I heard you. In my head.”

Tucker snorts. “Okay, that’s new. Psychic Sam—”

“Tucker,” Danny cuts in.

Sharp.

Warning.

Tucker immediately shuts up.

That alone makes my suspicion spike.

I look back at Danny.

He’s watching me too closely.

Like he’s studying every little reaction, every breath, every blink.

“Sam,” he says slowly, “what exactly did you hear?”

My stomach twists again.

Because that tone?

That’s not confusion.

That’s… confirmation.

“You said I was beautiful,” I say quietly.

Something shifts in his expression.

Not surprise.

Not shock.

Something darker.

Something that makes my skin prickle.

“…And you heard it?” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” I say. “Danny, what’s going on?”

There’s a pause.

A long one.

And then—

I didn’t mean for you to notice yet.

I suck in a sharp breath.

My hand flies to my temple.

“You just did it again!”

Tucker jumps. “Did what?!”

I’m staring at Danny now.

And he’s not even trying to hide it anymore.

His eyes are locked on mine, something almost… pleased flickering in them.

“You can hear me,” he says softly.

Not a question.

A statement.

My heart is pounding so hard it feels like it might burst.

“Danny,” I whisper, “why can I hear you?”

He steps closer.

Too close.

Close enough that I can feel the cold that always lingers around him—but it doesn’t bother me like it used to.

If anything, it feels… familiar.

Comforting.

“Because we’re connected,” he says.

My breath catches.

“Connected how?”

Another pause.

And then, quieter—

“More than we’re supposed to be.”

I should be freaking out more.

I am freaking out.

But there’s something else tangled up in it.

Something heavier.

Because as I stand there, staring at him, I realize—

This isn’t new.

Not really.

This has been building.

For years.

All the times he showed up exactly when I needed him.

All the times he knew what I was thinking before I said it.

All the times his attention lingered just a little too long.

“…Danny,” I say slowly, “how long has this been happening?”

His gaze softens.

And somehow, that’s worse.

“Since the accident,” he admits.

My stomach drops.

“The portal?”

He nods.

“I didn’t realize it at first,” he continues. “It was just… feelings. Impressions. You’d get hurt, and I’d feel it. You’d be upset, and I’d know why.”

My chest tightens.

“That’s not normal,” I whisper.

“I know.”

But he doesn’t sound bothered by it.

At all.

If anything, he sounds… calm.

Content.

“And it got stronger,” I say.

It’s not a question.

He nods again.

“Every year.”

My pulse spikes. “Danny—”

“I can always find you,” he adds quietly.

That makes me freeze.

“What?”

His eyes don’t leave mine.

“No matter where you are,” he says, voice low, steady, certain. “I always know where you are.”

Something about the way he says it sends a shiver down my spine.

Not fear.

Not exactly.

Something… else.

Something that makes my breath come out uneven.

“Danny,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady, “that’s—”

“Too much?” he finishes.

I hesitate.

Because the answer should be yes.

It should be.

But instead, what comes out is—

“…I don’t know.”

His expression shifts again.

That same flicker of something intense.

Almost hungry.

“Sam,” he says softly, “do you feel it too?”

My throat goes dry.

Because—

Yeah.

I do.

That pull.

That awareness.

That constant, quiet sense of him at the edge of my thoughts.

“I thought I was imagining it,” I admit.

“You’re not.”

His voice is almost a whisper now.

“You never were.”

There’s a beat of silence.

And then—

I think about you all the time.

The words slide into my mind like they belong there.

My breath stutters.

“Danny—”

“I don’t even try to anymore,” he continues, still speaking in my head. “It just happens.”

My heart is racing again.

Faster.

Louder.

“And now you can hear me,” he adds.

I look at him.

Really look at him.

At the way his gaze hasn’t left mine once.

At how close he’s standing.

At how focused he is—like the rest of the world has just… disappeared.

“…Yeah,” I whisper.

His lips curve slightly.

Not a full smile.

Something softer.

Something more dangerous.

“Good.”

That one word sends a spark down my spine.

“Good?” I repeat.

“Yeah,” he says.

And then, quieter—

“Now I don’t have to hide it anymore.”

My breath catches.

“…Hide what?”

He tilts his head slightly.

Still watching me like I’m the only thing that matters.

“Everything,” he says.

I don’t step back.

I probably should.

But I don’t.

Because the truth is—

As overwhelming as this is…

As intense as he’s being…

As obsessive as this is starting to sound—

I don’t want the connection to go away.

And judging by the way Danny’s looking at me?

He never did.

[ghostwritterrr]

~Operation: Flirt (Disaster)~

Danny Phantom x Sam Manson

I didn’t know when it started.

Okay—actually, I did.

It started when Valerie called Danny “cute” in the middle of a conversation like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t a statement that should have caused the earth to split open and swallow me whole.

Because… yeah. He was.

And somehow I had never said it.

Not once.

Which meant, logically, there was only one solution:

I needed to flirt with him.

…How hard could that be?

Day One

“Hey, Danny.”

He looked up from his locker, smiling immediately. “Hey, Sam.”

Okay. Good. Normal. You’ve got this.

I leaned against the locker next to his, attempting what I hoped was a casual pose.

“You look… um… not bad today.”

Not bad.

Not. Bad.

I wanted to die.

Danny blinked. Then his smile turned softer—warmer.

“Thanks, Sam,” he said, like I’d just handed him the world.

Before I could process that, he reached out and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear.

“You look really pretty.”

My brain shut off.

Completely.

Day Two

I spent twenty minutes googling “how to flirt without embarrassing yourself” and got absolutely nowhere.

So I improvised.

Danny was sitting at the lunch table, laughing at something Tucker said, when I slid into the seat next to him.

Close.

Closer than usual.

Our arms brushed.

“Hey,” I said, trying to sound… something.

“Hey,” he said back, already looking at me like I was the most interesting thing in the room.

Okay. Confidence. Try confidence.

“You know,” I started, picking at my sleeve, “if you weren’t such a dork, you’d be kinda—”

He gently grabbed my wrist.

Not to stop me.

Just to hold it.

“Yeah?” he asked, leaning in slightly.

I forgot what I was saying.

“…tall.”

“…Tall?” he repeated, clearly trying not to laugh.

“I mean—not like—just—forget it.”

He did laugh then—but it wasn’t mean.

It was soft.

Fond.

And then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, he intertwined our fingers under the table.

My heart almost exploded.

Day Three

New plan: physical flirting.

This was a mistake.

Danny was half-asleep at his desk when I walked into class. Perfect opportunity.

I leaned over him, resting my hand on his shoulder.

“Wake up, loser,” I said, aiming for teasing.

He blinked up at me, dazed.

Then he smiled.

God, that smile.

“Morning, Sam.”

Before I could move, his hand slid over mine, squeezing gently.

“Stay,” he mumbled.

Stay.

Like that.

Like I was supposed to just—

I sat down next to him.

He immediately leaned his head on my shoulder.

I stopped breathing.

Day Four

By now, I was starting to suspect something.

Because every time I tried to flirt—

Danny got worse.

Worse as in more affectionate.

More touchy.

More… Danny.

I tested a theory.

We were walking home after school, and I nudged his side with my elbow.

“You know,” I said, trying (and failing) to sound smooth, “you’re kinda cute when you’re not talking.”

He snorted. “Wow. High praise.”

But he didn’t pull away.

Instead, he slung an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his side.

“Good thing I like when you insult me,” he said.

“I’m not—!”

“You are,” he teased.

But his hand rubbed small, absent circles on my arm.

And he didn’t let go.

Day Five

I was losing my mind.

Because this wasn’t how this was supposed to go.

I flirt.

He notices.

Maybe he blushes.

Maybe he—

Not this.

Not… whatever this was.

We were in his room. Movie night. Tucker had bailed, which felt suspicious but I didn’t have the energy to care.

I sat on the edge of his bed, trying to gather my courage.

“Danny?”

“Yeah?”

I took a breath.

“Have you ever thought about… like… us?”

Smooth. So smooth.

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he reached over, grabbed his hoodie, and gently pulled it over my head.

“What—?”

“It looks better on you,” he said simply.

Then he tugged me down beside him.

And wrapped his arms around me.

Just like that.

No hesitation.

Like it was normal.

Like it was us.

“…Danny,” I whispered.

“Yeah?”

“…what are we doing?”

He hummed, like the answer was obvious.

“Cuddling.”

Day Six

I didn’t flirt.

I refused.

This was getting out of hand.

So I ignored him.

Well—tried to.

That lasted approximately ten minutes.

“Sam,” Danny said, appearing next to me at my locker, “are you mad at me?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“…Did I do something?”

“No.”

He was quiet for a second.

Then softer—

“Did I miss something?”

I froze.

Because—

Maybe.

Maybe he did.

Maybe I had been trying to tell him something all week, and he just—

Didn’t get it.

My chest tightened.

“Forget it, Danny.”

I turned to leave.

He caught my wrist.

Again.

Always so gentle.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

I didn’t turn around.

“…You’ve been different this week.”

I swallowed.

“Yeah.”

“More… nervous,” he added.

I almost laughed.

Nervous was one word for it.

“…Why?” he asked.

I turned then.

Finally.

“Because I’ve been trying to flirt with you, Danny!”

The words just—

Exploded out of me.

And there it was.

Silence.

Danny stared at me.

“…You’ve been what?”

“Flirting!” I repeated, mortified. “Badly, obviously, because you didn’t even notice!”

“I—Sam—”

“I literally called you ‘not bad’—do you know how hard that was for me?!”

He blinked.

Then—

He started laughing.

Actually laughing.

“Wow,” he said, running a hand through his hair, “I thought you were just being… you.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

He stepped closer.

Careful.

Soft.

“…I knew you were trying something,” he admitted.

I frowned. “Then why didn’t you say anything?”

His expression shifted.

Warmer.

Almost shy.

“…Because I liked it.”

My heart skipped.

“What?”

“I mean—” he rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly a little awkward, “you were cute. And I didn’t want you to stop.”

Cute.

I was going to pass out.

“And also,” he added, quieter now, “I thought this was your way of… you know.”

“Of what?”

He looked at me.

Really looked at me.

“…Telling me you like me.”

Oh.

OH.

“Well I do,” I blurted.

His breath caught.

“…Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

A pause.

Then—

He smiled.

Soft.

Relieved.

And a little bit smug.

“Good,” he said.

Because then his hands were on my face, gentle and sure, and—

“Because I’ve been waiting for you to figure that out.”

And then he kissed me.

Day Seven

Flirting was significantly easier now.

Mostly because I didn’t have to try.

Danny just kept kissing me anyway.