#❛ in. ✦ / ❝ ( you're a ghost at most / a set of empty bones. )

[joonsytip]

So It Goes || Wonwoo

Synopsis: Your acceptance of his rejection and attempt on moving on has been hurting Wonwoo to the bones, head and most significantly, his heart.

Word Count: 1.3k

Sequel to Say Don't Go and set in the Withering for You universe (can be read as a standalone drabble series).

Warnings: mentions of alcohol consumption, mention of fucking once, making out

Next Part : All Too Well

[ SVT Masterlist ][ SVT Flick - Fic Masterlist ]

"Take me with you, please."

Wonwoo double takes at you, finding it hard to believe that such words could come out of your mouth and not be directed at him.

You are grinning ear to ear, something you haven't done in a while.

"Are you sure because all I do is work.", Jihoon tucks a lock of hair behind your ear and says, "You'd eventually get bored of me."

"I can fill in for all the interesting things", you tell him coyly.

Seungcheol and his wife are expecting their first baby so the group decided to throw a party to the soon to be parents. The ambience is cozy, the lights are dim. Soothing music is filling in the space and after long and fun conversations all together, now you all are scattered in groups chatting the night away.

Jihoon is a new addition to the group, the prodigal musician who was initially bagged by Seungcheol's wife to manage the new branch of the academy founded by her and Seungkwan but ended up playing an important part in the reunion of Seungcheol and his wife and hence was adopted by the group instantly. Especially you, you've grown fond of Jihoon. Seems the same for him as well.

It's a pleasing atmosphere, everything is eye pleasing but also, such an eyesore to Wonwoo. Because though no one has asked him to be standing so close to you, he at his own will, is leaning against a wall adjacent to where you're seated across Jihoon who has now his hand placed atop yours. Wonwoo's teeth are sinking onto an empty cup, eyes sharp and hands fisted with all his attention spanned on you.

"You're making it so obvious."

Wonwoo turns his head to Seungcheol's whispering, the later grabs his arm and takes him away to a more secluded area. Seungcheol takes a quick jog to his wife asking her to call him if she needs anything, kisses her forehead softly and walks back to where his friend is standing.

"So what are you gonna about it?", Seungcheol asks.

Wonwoo doesn't meet his eyes, "About what?"

Seungcheol sighs, he understands where his friend is coming from and also feels guilty about his family painting this horrendous picture of the rich and powerful that has scared the person infront of him so much that he believes almost everyone is sick and twisted.

"Everyone in this room knows that you like Y/N.", Seungcheol says sadly patting his shoulder, "And not every family is sick like mine.", he smiles sweeping a quick glance at his wife, "But look we're back together, after everything, we're in love, we're gonna have a family soon. It's the best of anything I could have ever asked for."

To be honest, when Seungcheol got back together with his wife, it would given Wonwoo a hope, he could see the silver linings but he is still afraid.

"I have already rejected her and...", Wonwoo's gaze falls on you, a sad smile ghosting on his lips, "She looks happier with him, she's moving on."

You haven't looked at him once and he's unable to take his eyes off you tonight.

"You're mistaken.", Seungcheol says and hands him a filled cup, "You don't need to hold back everytime. Try living for yourself from now on."

It's not easy he thinks, not when his brother is lying unconscious, getting treated in the hospital, not when you belong to the family of chaebols, several heirs lining up to get married to you while he's just a secretary, who's still trying to meet ends.

Wonwoo doesn't hold back, he finds a seat at one of the tables and resorts to drinking which he has never done before as an obligation to himself to be the one to drive all others to safety, though never been asked.

"He's worse than her.", Mingyu tells Seungkwan.

"Shouldn't we stop him?", Chan asks, "He's drowning in his sorrows."

"Damn, Jihoon turned out to be such a great actor, even I'd have believed that there's something going on between Y/N and him, if I hadn't known.", Seungkwan mutters eyes going back and forth between the three of you, "It's funny knowing Jihoon has a motive to make Wonwoo jealous but sad knowing Y/N wants him to think she's moving on just not to be a burden to him anymore."

It's the dawn hours when Seungcheol who is as sober as day just so he could attend his wife anytime is begging everyone to dismiss the party insisting his wife needs to maintain her sleep schedule and rest well but she won't leave until everyone does.

"Okay, so my driver's coming , anyone wants to come with me?", Chan asks.

Seungkwan and Mingyu immediately tags along.

"Jihoon, Y/N what about you both?", Seungcheol asks.

"Take Jihoon with you both.", you say sighing, "I am not drunk, haven't had drinks."

"Okay, we are gonna take Wonwoo also--"

You cut off Seungcheol, "I'll take Wonwoo with me, don't worry."

No one objects, one by one they leave. You go to Wonwoo who hasn't sobered up a bit despite of the efforts of Mingyu from before.

"Come on, let's go.", you tell him, helping him to get up.

Drunk Wonwoo is chatty, his honeydew voice is eating off your ears as you struggle to put his big frame inside the car.

He's talking about how he keeps loosing the games nowadays because he lacks concentration. He talks about how happy he was when the doctors said that his brother can have a full recovery. He's spilling out random facts, cracking lame jokes and whatnot.

He's so cute, you think. You wanna record this version of him, wanna stop driving and give your full attention to him, to look at him. Because you know once he sobers up he's not gonna remember any of this, going back to his stoic self.

Seungcheol has texted you the passcode of his house and somehow you've ended on sheets under Wonwoo.

"Be here, with me", he mumbles, his soft breaths grazing your neck.

"Wonwoo, move", you huff trying to get him off you but fail one more time as his arms lock you in place.

He lifts his head to meet your gaze, removes the hair off your face and says, "You're so beautiful, Y/N. So good at everything you do, have so many people admiring you.", he smiles through the slurry words, "You could have anyone, anyone would be willing to be with you but out of all people you choose me."

You go stiff when he rests his forehead against you. And your whole body gives up when he confesses, "I love you, Y/N. Love you so much that it hurts. I'm so sorry for hurting you."

After some moments of staring, your hands attempt to push him again, "You're just drunk, you don't mean anything you're saying. Please--"

The words remain stuck in your throat as Wonwoo kisses you. His lips move softly against yours, the aftertaste of alcohol in his mouth intoxication you as well, as you find yourself giving in, kissing him back.

He takes both of your hands and pins them above your head, deepening the kiss. You moan, gasping for breath, letting his tongue lick your whole mouth. Every ounce of rational thoughts leaves your body, just like the clothes those stay discarded on his bedroom floor.

Wonwoo is fast asleep beside you, hugging your naked body after fucking you hard because you surely wouldn't call it making love.

You slowly remove his hand and get up. After putting back your clothes on, you keep the medicine and water on the sidetable.

"You probably didn't mean for any of this to happen between us.", you whisper, trying to hold back the tears, "You won't even remember all of this."

You peck the side of his head and take your leave.

When Wonwoo wakes up later, he groans because of the killer headache but also sobers up straight, panicking when he finds no traces of you in the house.

→ Do not copy, re-post, translate, or share any of my works on other platforms! All stories are copyrighted, joonsytip. ©️

[jina-juhi]

Feels like

you can love again.

Pairing : Johnny × fem!reader

Rating : 18+

warning: smut with plot, protected sex, i tried fluff? fluffy sex? and heart break. and basically all things sex. oh alcoholism. cute sex? plus doggy style plus face sitting:) oral m/f

word count : 4.5k

summary : I could fuck you, right here, right now, but only if you'd ask.

[if you wanna skip to the smut part just go straight down]

Playlist

all too well, Taylor Swift

you heard me, Heather Sommer

1 step forward, 3 steps back, Olivia rodrigo

graveyard, halsey

right where you left me, taylor swift

wouldn't come back, Trousdale

ghost of you, Selena Gomez

company, Justin Bieber

yours, Raiden

crushing, illenium

begin again, Taylor Swift

feels like, Gracie Abraham

link

When all is said and done, and the person you loved is no longer there, what's left to do? How do you cope when you've given your all, only to find yourself empty, a mere shell of your former self? It's like being left with nothing but bones and muscles, a broken machine barely keeping you going.

So, how do you restart? How do you function when they've taken everything and left you with nothing? How do you shift your mindset to believe that this is all for the better? And most daunting of all, how do you open your heart to love again?

It feels like trying to breathe without air, as if the very essence of life has deserted you, leaving behind a jagged landscape of shattered pieces. It's dangerous to get too close to those sharp edges, so you stand alone and don't let anyone close. Trying to find yourself again.

Stand alone and contemplate what you've gotten yourself into and what you've done to yourself. How could you have ignored the warning signs? They were crystal clear. How could you have not predicted it? Too innocent.

Too gullible to let him in.

Thinking about it now feels pointless. "He was a nice guy, but he was too caught up in himself. He never really saw me. He claimed he did, but I never felt truly understood," you confide while he brews your coffee.

"I never felt loved by him," you add, as he sets the mugs on the counter—one for each of you. It's a chilly evening, and the cafe where he works is quieter than usual. You're a regular here; it feels like a safe haven, a place where you can find comfort in familiarity. You accept your coffee in silence, opting not to say more.

"Take a deep breath," he urges, his voice gentle as he nods, trying to seem strong and supportive. "How?" you reply absentmindedly, staring out the window where the fog thickens by the second. The ache in your heart grows, and despair overwhelms you as you fall back into the familiar trap of negative thoughts.

"He wasn't giving you what you needed. You shouldn't have to beg for love. Believe me when I say it's for the best that he's gone." He says.

"I loved him."

"You did, Maybe you still do, but people change," he interjects gently, his gaze fixed on the coffee between you, his words carefully chosen. "In different ways. You may have promised forever, but forever is a long time. Sometimes you grow together, and sometimes... you grow apart. It's nobody's fault in the end. You just drift away, lose that connection, maybe take each other for granted, and before you know it, the fights start."

His voice falters slightly, betraying the depth of his emotions. "I know it might not make sense right now, but what I'm trying to say is... you deserved more than what he could give you. Trust me, you're better off without him."

You inhale deeply, shaking your head in resignation. Raindrops cascade down the window, distorting the glow of the city lights outside. His words echo in your mind, and as you take another sip of coffee, its comforting aroma envelops you. Yes, he's right. You're undeniably better off without him, yet the ache lingers.

Why does it still hurt, months after the breakup? Why does the pain persist, stubbornly refusing to fade away? Days blur into months, but the heartache remains a constant companion. People change, move on. But the pain always stays. It gets a little better each day. You learn to accept. You learn to love yourself. Yet, just when you think you've moved on, something triggers that familiar ache, dragging you back to square one.

But life doesn't pause for heartache. Despite the pain, the world keeps spinning, and you move forward, one step forward and three steps back, hating, crying, wanting, but never stopping.

~~~

A year and almost a half have passed since then. Things have been getting better. The clouds are clearing up, leaving behind a little less hurt and a lot more clarity. There's a sense of hold, of something stirring within—gratefulness, perhaps, or hope. Or maybe its the sound of a familiar ring at the door. You turn around to see a familiar face, a smile lighting up your face as you recognize Johnny.

"A latte, please," you say as he approaches, his presence bringing a comforting warmth to the room. Johnny nods, his gentle demeanor never faltering as he starts to brew your coffee. Johnny's a gentleman, and a law student. He works part-time in this cafe, not because he's broke or anything. He simply lives the high life. Gym first, then college, and then in the cafe followed by late nights of studying. He's a quiet guy who keeps to himself. Disciplined and courteous. Doesn't really like to waste his time on the things undeserving of his attention.

Your friendship with Johnny began in this very place. You remember it must have been around 10 o'clock at night, you had just split up with your ex. It was a stormy night, It felt like the world was collapsing around you and someone was sucking the breath out of your lungs, alone and broken, you found this cafe nearby. The rain was pouring nonstop, so you decide to take refuge, sitting in the corner, your tears flow with the raindrops tapping against the windowpane.

Jhonny brings you a cup of coffee and a napkin with words of reassurance, "It'll be okay, just hold on."

He saw you when you felt invisible to the world, and he understood you when no one else could. In Johnny, you found not just a friend, but a shimmer of light in your darkest moments.

You still have that note.

Jhonny could hardly fathom the possibility of falling in love, especially with someone as uniquely eccentric as you. Little did he know, his heart had already been quietly captivated by your presence over the passing months. As you walked through that door, disheveled and drenched from the rain, the only word that echoed in his mind was "beautiful." From that moment on, an unspoken longing stirred within him, urging him to reach out and connect with you. He extended that napkin, not just to offer solace, but as a gesture of his desire to understand you, to unravel the mysteries you hide behind those smiles. There was an enigmatic force pulling him toward you, compelling him to take that first step.

You became a regular at the café, grateful for Johnny's caring nature. It seemed like nobody else noticed you like he did. Unintentionally, Johnny had fallen deeply in love with you over the past few months. He paid attention to everything about you - your likes, dislikes, comfort songs, and movies you could watch a 100 times.

He became your confidance, your best friend, always there when you needed him. Watching you cry over someone unworthy filled him with the desire to show you wat true love actually is. Late at night, he found himself thinking about you, wondering if you were okay, if you had eaten, or if you were thinking of him. He felt your sadness as if it were his own and rejoiced in your happiness. But despite his feelings, he couldn't bring himself to confess his love.

Simply put, Johnny wanted you. He wanted to show you what true love was, and that no girl deserved to be treated the way you were, left alone in the middle of nowhere, weeping in the pouring rain. Hearing about your past hurt him, but it also revealed your strength and resilience, which only made him love you more. He wasn't drawn to the roses and smiles you showed the world; he was captivated by the scars and bruises you tried to hide.

The more Johnny got to know you, the deeper he fell.

However, he made a conscious decision to hold back because he didn't want to become a rebound love. Instead, he wished for you to heal from the wounds of your past relationship, to move forward and see him for who he truly was, not just as a replacement for what your ex lacked.

He longed for the day when you would accept him completely, with no remains of the past clouding your judgment. So, he waited patiently, hoping for your heart to mend. Hoping for you to let go. Hoping for you to see him.

Time passed away, six months turned into a year, yet you still struggled to let go completely. Though it was getting better, the ghost of your past still lingered, haunting your thoughts and emotions.

How could you not feel shattered? Johnny was just too good for you, too kind. But when you've been hurt before, love becomes terrifying. Trying to piece things together while pretending to be okay is exhausting. It's hard to focus on anything when you're struggling to keep it together. Knowing you love someone and they love you back, yet being unable to fully embrace it because you're afraid of losing them, of getting hurt again - it's paralyzing.

And then there's the guilt. Even though your past relationship ended a year ago, the promises made still weigh heavily on your conscience. How do you reconcile having Johnny in your thoughts while someone else occupies a part of your heart? It feels unfair to him, but you can't shake the feeling.

How are you supposed to let go and move forward when your heart is still stuck in the past? People say "move on" like it's easy, it's anything but easy. It feels like an impossible task, especially when nobody seems to understand what you're going through.

Except for him. Johnny. He understands.

It's so damn difficult," you thought to yourself, feeling the weight of your emotions. Letting go seemed like the simplest solution, but in reality, it was anything but easy. As Johnny led you towards his flat, the thought lingered at the back of your mind.

He mentioned the party he was hosting with his friends at him appartment, someone got a job or something. The atmosphere inside was luxurious, yet simple. with crimson sofas exuding a regal aura in the soft golden light. The air was filled with the sweet scent of vanilla candles and the sound of champagne being poured, it was cozy.

The gathering was intimate, with only the chosen few invited. Amidst the fancy party, all you could think about was Johnny. You wanted to tell him how you felt, that you'd fallen for him too, about the guilt that shouldn't be feeling. Johnny was the best guy you'd ever met, and you couldn't just let him go because you were scared. Even though your past hasn't been great, you didn't want to hurt him because you knew he loved you too. Since the day you met, he's been there for you. And he still is, always there in every little thing. It feels like you're stuck in between, torn between your feelings for him and the uncertainty.

As Johnny left momentarily, you found yourself walking towards the balcony, away from the small talk and pretense inside, with a bottle of champagne. all you needed was a stunning view of the city's glittering skyscrapers, illuminated by the twinkling lights.

You craved peace of mind, a moment to quiet the storm raging within you. Being around Johnny, even for just an hour, had a profound effect on you, all the thoughts and insecurities on one side, and all the feelings of desire and lust, unlike anything you've ever experienced before.

There was no rush of blood and getting all hot and bothered every time your prior partner looked at you. You would never have felt this shy and nervous in his presence. Yes, there was attraction, but nothing like this, but with Johnny, it is the exact opposite. His mere presence left you weak-kneed and breathless, yearning to surrender to the intoxicating pull between you. He awakens you. He makes you want to succumb to him, give into him.

Yes, you yearn to experience the warmth of love, to be cherished and valued in return. And perhaps, deep down, you crave these feelings from Johnny, who has shown himself to be both kind and breathtakingly amazing. The way he gazes at you speaks volumes about his feelings for you.

It's confusing, isn't it? Frightening even. Because all you've ever known about Love is that it breaks and burns and ends, yet here you are, falling for Johnny despite your fears. It's a terrifying feeling, but there's something about it that makes you want to continue. Makes you want to keep dreaming. But you're afraid to confess your feelings, terrified that you'll only end up hurting Johnny in the process. It's hard to find the words, to admit to yourself, let alone to him, that you're falling for him. But despite the uncertainty and the fear, there's an urge within you, a desire to reach out and claim him for your own. All you want is to grab his face, to feel his lips against yours, and to lose yourself in the sweetness of his embrace.

Hard.

And never let him go. You've been thinking about it, about you. And him. And since, you've been moving on, you've been trying to forget and forgive and embrace and accept. You have come to a conclusion that amidst all the chaos, Johnny was the only one there. And that you have hopelessly fallen in love with him.

~~~

Hey," he says, joining you on the balcony, "you're standing alone?"

"Hey jj," you reply, meeting his gaze.

"You call me 'jj' when you're happy," he remarks, puzzled because your tone isn't cheerful.

"I guess I'm happy, sort of. It's been a while, but it feels good," you admit, looking at him standing beside you. He smiles, his eyes filled with happiness. He's genuinely pleased for you.

"That's great," he says with genuine enthusiasm. "Actually, that's fantastic."

He eyes the glass of alcohol in your hand. "Can I have that glass, though?"

That's great," he says with genuine enthusiasm. "Actually, that's fantastic."

He eyes the glass of alcohol in your hand. "Can I have that glass, though?"

"Nope, I'm having a pretty good time," you say, pulling the glass away from him. He noticed a whole bottle nearby on the floor. "I think you've had enough for the night, darling."

darling.

Even in the dim light, Johnny couldn't miss the blush spreading across your cheeks. He's skilled at noticing your reactions and knows how to tease you.

Trying to steer the conversation away from any awkwardness, you say, "So I was thinking..."

"About?" he interjects playfully, trying to provoke a response.

"Everything that's happened, you know, with my ex, and then with you," you begin, but he interrupts.

"Oh, nothing happened between us, as far as I can remember... unless..." he trails off, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"That's not what I meant," you quickly clarify.

"Okay, okay, just kidding. But I kinda wish you did mean it," he mutters under his breath, a smirk forming on his face.

You feel your thoughts becoming fuzzy as you both dance around the topic. Usually, your brain would shut down any such ideas, but tonight feels different. Instead of being repelled, you feel drawn to him, wanting something you've suppressed for so long.

Despite trying to hold back, you find yourself unable to think of anything else.

As the alcohol courses through your veins, emboldening your desires, you find yourself unable to resist the urge to ask him what has been in your mind for quite a long time, and so you ask "If I were to ask for a kiss, would you kiss me? Right here, right now?"

The intensity in his gaze heightens, his pupils dilating as his demeanor shifts, becoming more serious. "Ask me," he demands, his jaw clenched with anticipation. His eyes linger on your lips before locking onto yours, a silent plea echoing within them.

Overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze, you turn away, feeling a rush of emotions flooding your senses. With a deep breath, you struggle to compose yourself, but before you can respond, he chuckles softly. "I knew you didn't have the nerve," he remarks, his tone teasing yet tinged with disappointment. Meeting his gaze once more, you're taken aback by his confidence. As he straightens himself and takes a sip of his drink, his words hang heavily in the air. "I don't know how much longer I can wait for you," he confesses, his voice low and filled with longing, "but if you were to ask me to fuck you right here, right now, I wouldn't even think once." With that declaration, practically deadpanned on your face, he goes inside the flat, leaving you to grapple with your miserable self.

~~~

The night after that seemed to stretch endlessly, a void you couldn't escape. Frustration and regret gnawed at your mind, You turned to more alcohol, a fleeting attempt to numb the pain within, but it only amplified the train of thoughts swirling in your head.

As you sat alone on the balcony, the chilly night air enveloped you, matching the coldness you felt inside. Time lost its meaning, slipping through your fingers as you drowned in a sea of overthinking. Every possible scenario played out in your mind like a relentless storm, each outcome more daunting than the last. What could have happened if you could have just said.

Johnny appears through the doorframe. His presence was unexpected, you thought he was mad yet oddly comforting, a reminder that you weren't completely alone in this chaotic night. "Will you spend the whole night here?" he asked, concern etched in his voice. But you were too lost in your own thoughts to fully grasp his words.

Refusing to retreat from your self-imposed exile, you remained rooted to the spot, the numbness spreading through your limbs. Yet Johnny persisted, his care evident as he gently coaxed you back inside. "It's cold. Come inside, everybody left already," he urged, worry evident in his eyes.

Too weary to resist, you allowed him to guide you indoors, his touch grounding you in reality. As he settled you into his bed, a wave of familiarity washed over you, a stark reminder of the times you'd been here before, always on the edge of leaving. You had been here countless times, yet never truly stayed. But tonight was different. Tonight, you found yourself unable to muster the strength to leave, surrendering to the comfort of his presence, if only for a fleeting moment.

As he guided you to sit on the edge of the bed, you instinctively reached out, clinging to his shirt. "Kiss me," you implored, your gaze locking with his warm brown eyes, overflowing with affection.

His response came with a gentle sigh, his concern evident in the furrow of his brow. "You're drunk," he stated softly, his voice laced with worry.

"I am, but I can still make sense of it all," you insisted, determination shining through the haze of intoxication.

"We'll talk about it in the morning, okay?" Johnny reassured, his face drawing closer to yours.

"Please," you exhaled, closing your eyes, feeling the weight of your confession pressing down on you. "I know I'm the worst person alive right now but I- I'm just afraid. Please understand. I want you, I do, but it's so scary."

"Shh, it's okay, I know," he murmured, his words a soothing balm to your troubled soul. "I know you're trying."

Foreheads pressed together, your breaths mingled, each exhalation a testament to the vulnerability you shared in that moment. "I'm sorry," you whispered, the weight of your guilt heavy on your heart.

"You don't have to be," he replied, his lips brushing against your forehead in a tender gesture of forgiveness. "Look at me."

As you met his gaze once more, his eyes filled with understanding and compassion. "Relax, okay? I'm happy that you opened up about it."

"I'm sorry," you repeated, the words a mantra of remorse.He shook his head gently, his touch comforting. "Let's try sleeping now, shall we? Don't think about it." With his reassurance enveloping you like a warm blanket, you allowed yourself to drift into the embrace of sleep, for the first time with him.

As consciousness reluctantly seeped into your foggy mind, a wave of discomfort washed over you, fueled by the repercussions of last night's poor choices. The harsh glare of morning light pierced through your eyelids, adding to the throbbing ache behind your temples.

Attempting to remove yourself from the confines of the bed proved to be a tough task, your limbs heavy with exhaustion and your head swimming with dizziness. Searching for Johnny's presence beside you, you found only an empty space, adding to the disorientation.

Succumbing to defeat, you surrendered to the comfy embrace of the mattress, sinking into its softness as you lay there, gazing blankly at the ceiling above. Dehydration gnawed at your parched throat. As you drifted in and out of consciousness, the world around you faded into a haze of half-formed thoughts and fleeting sensations. The rhythmic hum of the ceiling fan above served as a lullaby.

In the midst of this surreal feeling, fragments of memories from the night before flickered like distant stars in the night sky. Realization and what-ifs danced at the edges of your mind, their haunting presence a constant reminder of the consequences of your actions.

Yet, amidst the turmoil, there lingered a glimmer of hope, a faint whisper of possibility that perhaps, despite the mistakes of the past, redemption was still within reach. You clung to this fragile thread of optimism, a lifeline in the midst of the storm.

Minutes stretched into hours, the passage of time marked only by the shifting patterns of sunlight filtering through the curtains. And then, as if on cue, the sound of footsteps drew near, with a weary sigh, you opened your eyes to find Johnny standing in the doorway, his expression a mixture of concern and relief. "Hey, you okay?" he asked softly, you nodded sleepily.

As you reluctantly stirred from your sleep, you felt the duvet being tugged away, prompting a sleepy protest. "Erugh, let me sleep," you mumbled, trying to shield yourself from the intruding light.

But his teasing remark about your state of dress snapped you awake, and you jolted up, "You're completely naked," only to realize you were already covered. He pointed out with a playful grin, causing you to blush and scramble for cover.

However, your movements triggered a sharp pain in your head, and you winced, instinctively reaching to soothe it. Before you could fully register the discomfort, another hand joined yours, gently stroking your head. Slowly opening your eyes, you found him sitting close, his concern evident in his gaze.

"Who told you to drink that much? You puked two times," he said softly, his tone filled with worry and care. Giving in to his touch, you leaned into him, finding solace in his presence amidst the pain.

"I... may have overdone it a bit," you admitted sheepishly, feeling a mix of embarrassment and gratitude for his concern. He chuckled softly, his fingers continuing to massage your head as you relaxed against him.

"It's okay. Just drink some water and take it easy," he reassured you, his voice a soothing balm to your frazzled nerves. With a nod, you reached for the glass he held out to you

He's far too good for you. A voice at the back of your head screams at you.

"Johnny..." you say, breaking the silence that hung heavy in the room. His presence alone was enough to make your heart race, but you needed to speak your mind.

He turns to you, his gaze softening as he listens intently. "What is it?" he asks, concern lacing his words.

You take a deep breath, gathering your thoughts before continuing. "I've been thinking about..." you trail off, unsure of how to articulate the right words.

Johnny reaches out, his hand placing a strand of hair behind your ear,offering silent support. "Go on," he encourages gently.

"I'm sorry," you say, the words heavy with regret. "I know this is complicated, and i am making it even more complicated but I just don't want to hurt you." You could barely manage to say even that.

Your breath catches in your throat as his fingers trail through the loops of your hair, sending shivers down your spine. His hum reverberates through you, a sensual melody that ignites a fire deep within. But then, in an instant, his demeanor shifts, catching you off guard.

His hand tightens around your hair, pulling your head back with a swift, yet gentle force. The sudden change in his touch sends a rush of adrenaline through your veins, heightening your senses to the electrifying proximity between you.

Your eyes meet his, dark and intense, and you find yourself unable to look away. His breath, warm and fruity, fans over your face, stirring something primal within you. In that moment, you're acutely aware of every sensation, every heartbeat, as you surrender to the magnetic pull of desire that envelops you both.

"Can't you see what you do to me?"

Johnny..." you say, your voice barely above a whisper, the intensity of the moment almost overwhelming.

He pauses, his eyes locked with yours, waiting for you to continue.

"I... I didn't mean..." you stutter, struggling to find the right words as his grip on your hair loosens.

He chuckles softly, his laughter dancing in the air, easing some of the tension between you. "I know, I know," he reassures you, his tone gentle yet teasing.

"But..." you start, only to be cut off by his next words.

"You talk a lot when you're drunk," he says with a smirk, his fingers tracing light patterns along your skin.

Your cheeks flush with embarrassment, knowing he's right.

"What did I say?" you ask, trying to piece together the fragments of the night before.

His gaze softens, a hint of mischief glinting in his eyes. "That you tend to get... aroused whenever I say your name," he says, his voice low and husky, sending a shiver down your spine.

You shake your head in denial, but deep down, you know he's right.

He leans in closer, his breath warm against your skin, sending tingles of anticipation coursing through your veins.

"Johnny..." you breathe out his name, a mixture of desire and uncertainty swirling in your mind as he hovers above you, his presence consuming your senses.

"Say it," he urges, his voice low and demanding, sending a thrill through your body.

"Johnny, listen to m—" you begin, but he cuts you off with a firm command.

"Say it!" he insists, his intensity leaving no room for argument.

"I want you, for fuck's sake, I want you," you finally admit, your voice tinged with both desire and vulnerability.

Closing your eyes, you release the grip you've been holding onto, allowing yourself to surrender to the overwhelming attraction between you.

You lay back, flattening against the bed, pushing your hair away from your face to meet his gaze head-on. His eyes, dark and intense, never waver from yours, sending a flutter of nerves through your stomach.

"I want you, in every way possible, and it's no secret. I'm just afraid," you confess in a small voice, baring your soul to him.

Johnny's smile is reassuring, his touch gentle as he lays on top of you, ensuring he doesn't overwhelm you with his weight. "Don't be afraid," he whispers, his breath warm against your skin. "You'll love me just fine."

In that moment, as you lay entwined with him, all your fears melt away, replaced by a sense of warmth and comfort in his embrace. You know that no matter what lies ahead, you're ready to explore this newfound connection with him by your side.

As Johnny hovers above you, his gaze dark with desire, you feel a surge of anticipation coursing through your veins. His lips brush against yours in a teasing caress, igniting a fire that burns hot and fierce between you.

"I've been waiting for this," he murmurs, his voice low and husky with need as he trails kisses down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in his wake.

You arch into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips as his hands roam your body, exploring every curve and contour with an expert touch that leaves you trembling with desire.

"God, you're so beautiful," he whispers, his breath hot against the skin of your neck as he takes you in, his eyes drinking in every inch of you. You feel his breath against your skin, warm and inviting, as he leans in closer, his lips brushing against yours in a feather-light kiss.

With each touch, each caress, the tension between you dissolves, replaced by an electric current of desire that pulses through your veins. His hands roam your body, mapping every curve and contour with a reverence that leaves you breathless.

You arch into his touch, a soft sigh escaping your lips as he explores every inch of your skin with a delicate touch that sets your senses ablaze. His fingers trace patterns along your spine, sending shivers of pleasure racing down your spine.

Your lips collided with his in a heated embrace, sending shockwaves of desire coursing through both of your bodies. Crashing into each other, feelings of desire over powering you both. In that moment you knew, it was gonna be a hell of a ride and you couldn't be any more excited than you are right now.

After the kiss, you both laid side by side, "By the way you didn't really say any of that." Johnny gently whispers in your ear, and you both end up laughing, cuddling.

~~~

You like it?" Johnny asks, his eyes sparkling with warmth as he watches you take a lick of the ice cream. You nod enthusiastically, a wide smile spreading across your face like a child on Christmas morning. His smile widens in response, a soft glow of happiness emanating from him. It's moments like these that make everything feel so right.

Since that unforgettable day when you poured your heart out to him, your life has been like a dream come true. Flowers, date nights, chocolates – you name it, he's made sure to fill your days with joy and love. From cozy movie nights to endless cuddles, it's like you've found the missing piece to your puzzle.

But it's not all sunshine and rainbows. Like any couple, you have your disagreements. Yet, what sets you apart is the unwavering understanding and support you both offer each other. Johnny never lets you go to bed upset, always there with reassurance and kisses to mend any hurt feelings.

He constantly reminds you that you're doing just fine, and it's true. It's not just about healing from past wounds; it's about the beautiful exchange of giving and receiving love. It's about reciprocating the care and affection you both share, knowing that the more you give, the more you receive.

In a world where it's easy to become complacent, you both choose to love each other every single day. And that, in itself, is the greatest gift of all.

You plead with puppy dog eyes, urging him to let you indulge in more ice cream because, well, why not? 'Pleeease let me have another scoop!' you whine, the anticipation of the creamy goodness making your mouth water. But alas, he declines with a chuckle, warning, 'No way! You'll catch a cold!' You pout, but secretly admire his concern."

Disappointed but not defeated, you pout and playfully stick out your bottom lip, giving Johnny your best puppy-dog eyes. "But Johnny," you protest, "I promise I'll bundle up extra warm tonight! Pretty please?"

Johnny can't help but laugh at your antics, finding your determination to get that extra scoop of ice cream utterly endearing. He shakes his head, still chuckling, and gently takes your hand in his. "As much as I love seeing that adorable pout of yours, I can't risk you getting sick, [Reader]. How about we save the ice cream for tomorrow, hmm?"

You sigh dramatically, but a mischievous glint dances in your eyes as you lean in closer to him. "Fine," you concede, "but only if you promise to share a warm blanket and snuggle with me tonight."

A grin spreads across Johnny's face as he leans in to press a soft kiss to your forehead. "Deal," he agrees, his voice filled with warmth and affection. "Anything for you, my love."

As you both leave the ice cream parlor, the cool evening air wraps around you, the gentle breeze a welcome contrast to the warmth of your intertwined hands. As you both step into the cozy cafe, the familiar scent of freshly brewed coffee fills the air, bringing back memories of the first time you met. Johnny's hand tightens around yours, his touch sending a thrill through you that's impossible to ignore.

You find a secluded booth in the corner, and as you settle in, Johnny's eyes lock with yours, a silent invitation sparking between you. "You know," he murmurs, his voice low and husky, "this place holds a lot of memories for us."

You nod, a soft smile playing on your lips. "It feels like just yesterday that we were sitting here, nervously sipping our coffees," you reply, your voice filled with affection.

Johnny leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear. "But this time," he whispers, "we don't have to be nervous." A shiver runs down your spine at his words, and you meet his gaze with a newfound sense of boldness. "No, this time," you say, your voice steady and sure, "we can just be us."

With a gentle touch, Johnny cups your face in his hands, his eyes searching yours with a depth of emotion that takes your breath away. "I like the sound of that," he murmurs, his lips hovering just inches from yours.

Before you can respond, his lips capture yours in a passionate kiss, the world around you fading away as you lose yourself in the heat of the moment. It's a dance of tongues and teeth, of whispered words and soft sighs, each touch igniting a fire that burns hotter with every passing second.

As you finally pull away, breathless and flushed, Johnny's eyes meet yours with a hunger that mirrors your own. "I never want to stop kissing you," he confesses, his voice thick with desire.

A smile tugs at your lips as you lean in to press another kiss to his, the promise of countless more moments like this hanging in the air between you.

~~~

As you sit at your desk, textbooks spread out before you and notes scattered across the surface, you're fully immersed in your study session. The material is dense, and you're determined to grasp every concept before the upcoming exam.

Just as you're deep in concentration, Johnny enters the room with a mischievous grin, his eyes lighting up at the sight of you buried in your books. Without a word, he crosses the room and leans against your desk, his presence a distraction you can't ignore.

"Hey there, studious one," he says, his voice low and playful. "Need a break?"

You look up from your books, torn between the desire to keep studying and the temptation of Johnny's irresistible charm. "I really should finish this chapter," you reply, trying to sound firm despite the flutter in your stomach at his proximity.

But Johnny has other plans. With a swift movement, he slides your textbooks aside and pulls you to your feet, his hands finding their way to your waist as he draws you close. "I think you've earned a reward for all that hard work," he murmurs, his lips dangerously close to yours.

Before you can protest, Johnny's mouth descends on yours in a fiery kiss, his tongue tracing the outline of your lips before delving deeper, igniting a fire within you that threatens to consume you both. Lost in the heat of the moment, you abandon all thoughts of studying as you melt into his embrace, the world around you fading away until there's nothing left but the two of you and the intoxicating rush of desire.

Minutes, or maybe hours, pass in a blur of tangled limbs and heated kisses, until finally, you break apart, breathless and flushed, the taste of Johnny still lingering on your lips. "Now that's what I call a study break," he says with a grin, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

You can't help but laugh, the tension of the study session now a distant memory as you bask in the warmth of Johnny's love and the thrill of his touch.

~~~

As you made your way back from college, the skies darkened, and before you knew it, a heavy downpour unleashed its fury upon you. The rain hammered down relentlessly, soaking you up and down. Despite the continuous ringing of your phone from within your backpack, the rain made it impossible to retrieve. With no umbrella in hand, you quickened your pace towards the bus stop, only to witness the last bus pulling away just as you rounded the corner. Desperation set in as you attempted to sprint after it, but the distance between you and the departing vehicle only widened. Defeated, you exhaled heavily, feeling the chill of the rain seeping into your bones. Seeking refuge at the bus stop, you huddled under its shelter, which wasn't helping much.

As you stood there, shivering and dripping, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease creeping over you. The relentless rain seemed to whisper secrets in the wind. With each passing moment, your mind raced with thoughts of your worried boyfriend waiting at home, unaware of your predicament.

As you glanced down at your phone, the screen illuminated with missed calls and frantic messages from him. Frustration bubbled within you, knowing that you were only adding to his worry by being stranded in the storm. You tried to call him back, but the signal was weak, and the connection kept cutting out. Time seemed to stretch endlessly as you waited for the next bus, the minutes ticking by like hours.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the bus appeared on the horizon, its headlights piercing through the darkness like a beacon of hope. With a sigh of relief, you boarded the bus, grateful for the warmth and safety it offered. And soon you were standing in front of his appointment door.

As the bus finally pulled up to a stop, you hurriedly disembarked, your heart pounding with a mix of fear and relief. You practically sprinted the rest of the way home, the rain still coming down in sheets, soaking you to the bone.

Finally, you arrived at the doorstep of your apartment, soaked and shivering. With trembling hands, you fumbled for your keys, desperate to be inside the safety of your home. But before you could even insert the key into the lock, the door swung open, revealing a worried and furious Johnny.

"Where have you been?!" he exclaimed, his voice laced with anger and concern. "I've been trying to call you for hours! Do you have any idea how worried I've been?"

"I-I'm so sorry, Johnny," you stammered, tears mixing with the rain on your cheeks. "I got caught in the storm, and I missed the bus, and...and I couldn't get through to you. I'm so sorry."

Johnny's expression softened as he took in your trembling form, his anger melting away in an instant. Without a word, he pulled you into a tight embrace, wrapping his arms around you protectively. "I'm just glad you're safe," he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "I was so worried about you. Let's get you inside and warm you up, okay?"

You nod, feeling the weight of your backpack against the wall as you follow Johnny into the bedroom. With a quick movement, you pull your hair up, hoping to keep it from sticking to your clothes. Sensing his hands on your torso, you inhale sharply as they glide around to the front, undoing the button of your jeans. Anticipation mounts as he pulls them down, and then he sits, planting kisses on your damp thigh, eliciting a dissatisfied moan from you.

In a swift motion, your undies join the jeans on the floor. "Nice butt," he remarks, drawing a rhetorical look from you. Stepping closer, he removes the t-shirt clinging uncomfortably to your skin, and with it, your bra disappears too. "Beautiful as always," he murmurs, enveloping you in a warm towel and pulling you close, his lips finding your neck, leaving their mark.

"Johnny," you sigh as his hands slip under the towel, teasingly moving between your legs, knowing just where to stop, leaving you breathless. "I'll be right back, change into dry clothes, okay?" he says, his voice a tantalizing promise hanging in the air.

He returned with a steaming mug of tea, fragrant steam curling upwards in the air. He handed it to you with a tender smile, the warmth of the mug seeping into your chilled fingers.

"Here, drink this," he said softly, his voice soothing.. "It'll help warm you up."

"I only need you to warm me up."

"Come here then." He motions you to sit with him in the bed he made, warm and cozy. As you lay there in Johnny's arms, the intimacy of the moment enveloping you like a warm embrace, you couldn't help but feel a surge of emotion welling up inside you.

"Johnny," you murmured softly, your voice barely above a whisper, "I'm so sorry for worrying you. I never meant to cause you so much distress."

Johnny's arms tightened around you, pulling you even closer to him as he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. "It's okay, sweetheart," he whispered back, his voice filled with reassurance. "I was just so scared when I couldn't reach you. All I could think about was making sure you were safe."

You buried your face against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a soothing lullaby against your ear. "I promise I'll be more careful from now on," you vowed, your words muffled against his skin. "I never want to put you through that kind of worry again."

Johnny tilted your chin up gently, his eyes locking with yours in a tender gaze. "I know you will," he said softly, his thumb brushing away the tears that had pooled in your eyes. "And I'll always be here for you, no matter what."

With a contented sigh, you snuggled closer to him, reveling in the warmth and comfort of his embrace. Johnny's fingers danced along the buttons of your blouse, a spark of desire ignited between you, fueling the passion that simmered just beneath the surface.

"How about we finish what we started earlier?"

Your heart raced at his words, the anticipation building with every breath. With a smile, you nodded in agreement, your own desire mirrored in your eyes as you leaned in to meet his lips in a fiery kiss.

The heat between you intensified quickly, passion igniting like a wildfire as your bodies melded together in a tangle of desire. Teeth clashed against each other, tongues danced in a feverish rhythm, and hands roamed eagerly, seeking out every inch of skin they could find.

With a swift movement, you straddled Johnny, taking control of the moment as you traced a path of kisses down his neck, relishing in the soft gasps and low growls that escaped his lips. As his shirt fell away, revealing his beautifully toned body beneath, you couldn't help but admire the sight before you, feeling a surge of desire coursing through your veins.

Too shy to say anything, you let your actions speak for you. Lingering on his nipples, you teased and tantalized, eliciting soft moans of pleasure from Johnny's lips. With each flick of your tongue and gentle nip of your teeth, the tension between you grew, pushing you both closer and closer to the edge of desire.

But you weren't done yet. With a mischievous glint in your eye, you continued your exploration, trailing kisses and caresses down Johnny's torso until you reached the waistband of his jeans. With practiced hands, you teased and toyed with him through the fabric, making him harder with every stroke, relishing in the way he squirmed beneath your touch.

As his pleasured groans filled the air, you couldn't resist escalating your actions, eagerly sliding his pants down while he sat up, fixated on your every move. Locking eyes with him, you took him into your mouth, teasingly tracing the tip with your tongue, prompting a soft curse from his lips. Pulling back, you continued to lavish attention on him, savoring every moment as you licked his length, stealing glances up at him. "Enjoying yourself?" you teased, to which he responded with an enthusiastic nod.

Returning to him, you gradually took more of him into your mouth, relishing in the way his hands urged you on, guiding you further down. He pulled you up for a heated kiss, expressing his desire to explore your taste. As his lips trailed down your neck, he urged you to sit on his face, igniting nerves and excitement within you. With his encouragement, you straddled his eager mouth, blushing at his sweet words as his lips planted kisses on your thighs.

Feeling his hands on your hips, he drew you closer, his tongue eagerly finding your clit, eliciting moans of pleasure from you. As his hands explored your body, adding to your arousal, you couldn't help but cry out in bliss as he skillfully pleasured you,

As your pleasure surged, you couldn't contain your cries, feeling the intensity of his actions. "Oh, fuck," escaped your lips as he intensified his efforts, his mouth and tongue working fervently on your clit. His suction grew stronger, his tongue moving with increasing speed, drawing out guttural moans from you. "Oh my god," you exclaimed as the waves of your orgasm crashed over you, "fuck," you moaned as he persisted in his ministrations.

His hands gripping your hips, pulling you closer, he delved deeper into your core, his touch sending shivers down your spine. "Oh god, don't stop," you gasped, your breath ragged as you requested his fingers. With a calm demeanor, he complied, easing his fingers into you, eliciting a blissful moan from your lips. As he continued to pleasure you, his fingers moving rhythmically inside you, your cries of ecstasy filled the room.

"Oh my god," you moaned aloud as he momentarily paused, only to reposition himself behind you. Bending you slightly, he inserted two fingers, drawing out a soft, pleasurable moan from you. With relentless determination, he showed no mercy, driving you towards another peak of pleasure. The sound of slick noises filled the air as his fingers worked expertly within you, pushing your head gently into the headboard to ensure your stability as you surrendered to his touch.

As his hand pressed you down onto his fingers, a fervent moan escaped your lips, the sensation overwhelming you. "Oh my god," you cried out as he intensified his movements, driving you wild with desire. With increasing speed and force, his fingers plunged into you, eliciting a chorus of ecstatic moans from your lips.

Suddenly, he withdrew his fingers, his command clear. "Turn around," he instructed, guiding you gently as you complied, meeting his intense gaze. Enveloped in his embrace, you shared a deep, passionate kiss, his desire evident in his words as he broke the connection. "I want to fuck you," he declared, and you eagerly nodded in agreement, urgency coursing through your veins.

Pushed onto the bed, your legs spread wide, you watched as he knelt between them, his eyes fixated on your dripping arousal. His finger traced circles on your swollen clit, then slipped inside you, claiming you as his own. "Mine," he whispered, his gaze never wavering from yours, and you nodded in submission, a smile playing on your lips. "I'm yours," you affirmed, anticipation building in the air.

With a hungry look, he licked his lips before slowly entering you with his cock, causing you to gasp in ecstasy. "Oh my god," you moaned loudly as he began to move within you, the intensity of his thrusts driving you to the brink of pleasure.

As he increased the pace, driving into you with fervent desire, your cries of ecstasy filled the room. "Oh my god," you moaned loudly as he relentlessly fucked you, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge. Leaning down, he captured your lips in a passionate kiss, his declaration of love mingling with the sounds of your pleasure. "I love you," he murmured against your lips, his words igniting a fire within you.

Wrapping your legs around his waist, you reciprocated his declaration, your voice filled with desire. "I love you too," you confessed as he continued to ravish you with his relentless thrusts. With a swift motion, he withdrew from you, flipping you onto your stomach. "Get on all fours," he commanded, assisting you into position.

Meeting his gaze over your shoulder, you were met with a declaration of your beauty, sending shivers down your spine. As he entered you from behind, a rush of anticipation flooded your senses. His movements became more intense, driving into you harder and faster, eliciting moans of pleasure from your lips. "Oh my god," you cried out, overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through your body.

Feeling his hand reach around to play with your clit, a surge of pleasure washed over you, intensifying the pleasure building within. "Oh my god," you moaned again, lost in the ecstasy of his touch. With each deep thrust, you felt yourself teetering on the edge, your body aching for release.

As he took control, holding both your hands behind your back, you surrendered to him completely. Your petite frame under his dominance, your face buried into the sheets muffling the sounds of pleasure escaping your lips. Sensing his impending release, you knew you were on the brink of ecstasy.

With a few final, deep thrusts, you both succumbed to the ecstasy, waves of pleasure washing over you in a euphoric crescendo. As he pulled out, licking you clean, you whimpered from the overstimulation, your body trembling with aftershocks of pleasure.

a sense of blissful exhaustion washed over you both. Lying tangled together under the sheet, hearts racing and skin still tingling from the intensity of your lovemaking. As you caught your breath, he peppered soft kisses along your neck and shoulders, his touch gentle and tender. "You're incredible," he whispered, his voice filled with adoration as he caressed your cheek. You smiled up at him. In his arms, you feel safe and cherished, the weight of the world melting away as sleep begins to claim you. Drifting off with the rhythmic beat of his heart as your lullaby, you rest easy knowing that you are safe. And you finally know, what love actually feels like

~~~

hope you liked it. umh? idk tried, if you want to request anything, please do. (it'll take forever but ill respond)

please check out other works m.list

and enjoy, have a good day, night~

[cherie-doll]

☽COD Characters + Mythical/Monster/Weirdos AU☾

𓆣 Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rudy, Phillip Graves, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

No one's ever dared to venture further past the crossroads. Anyone who goes beyond the rusted metal fence that marks the passage the lumberman takes never comes back. You don't got much of a choice but to take the hike when your car breaks down in the middle of the woods. Surely, the feeling of prying eyes watching as you tremble and make your way past the fence and through the lonely road is only your paranoia. Oh, what a convenience! The lumberman who introduced himself as John invited you into his cabin. You'll ignore the dark stains of old blood on his porch steps for the sake of your body in need of warmth.

He who remained silent and shrouded in the dark. Who only saw the dazzling lights dimming as the calling of the audience faded out into the background. And you, standing in the center of an empty stage, staring into the dark. A shudder overcoming you and you feeling as if someone was watching you. Glancing towards the highest box, you knew he had watched your performance. You knew him as Ghost, he never let on more than this cognomen. He was the shadow that was always looking over your shoulder. The faint silhouette in the background of harsh and vivid stage lights. Here was his hand, resting upon your skin. The hand that would not harm you. The graze of an igniting fire burned under his skin, here his suffering had originated; from attachment, from desire. This craving he dared not to fulfill. He vowed to himself to feel it as deeply and express it as he pleased. Unfortunately for you, this ravenous hunger was long out of hand.

Johnny was dared to venture out and explore his town at midnight to prove the existence of the local folklore shapeshifter; you. Being the daredevil he is, he couldn't pass up on this opportunity. You were said to take form in many different ways; sometimes an animal like a raven, some force of nature like wind or water, and on rare occasions in human form. Your presence was very evident by the change in the air, the piling tension that caused his camera to turn off, his flashlight flicker and goosebumps break out on his skin from the chilling wind. He has no evidence of that night, despite standing before you in your human form. He's now set on proving your existence which causes a cat and mouse dynamic to form between you.

You assumed the man, Kyle, that you saw once on the riverbed had been swimming. Clearly, he's handsome. Only, his appearance is... alluring, drawing you in, luring you right into his hands. You don't even feel the scales as he caresses you, his hands going over the map of your body. He's already memorizing where all your bones are, takes notice of where the most fat is on your body as his hands mold and play with it. He can already imagine how soft your skin is, how easy it would be for his teeth to sink into the flesh. His seductive voice and gaze only serve to invite you to wade in the water. Maybe he'll toy with you, you seem so sweet and willing.

Having a roommate is a hit or miss. But what are the chances that roommate is deceased? Rarely does one get along with a dead roommate, but that certainly is not your case. 'Roach', as you called him, "because what type of name was Gary?" dwelled- er, haunted the college dorm you shared. At first, communication was difficult and arguments broke out often, resulting in broken and damaged furniture. Guess that's what happens when your first time messing around with an ouija board goes wrong. It also gets awkward when you wanna try and bring your girl or boyfriend over and you can't make out without acknowledging the horrified ghost in the corner.

You were a forgotten deity; your followers gone. You thought the portal between your world and the mortals was forever sealed, the entrance never to be opened again. Until, one day you're able to pass through to catch a glimpse of an altar made and dedicated to you by Alejandro. He's the most loyal devotee you've had in a long time; every night and every day he lights a candle to you and kneels to pray. Even if he doesn't have access to the shrine he's made for you, he carries one around in his pocket; a stitched image of you along with a symbol. He swears he can feel as you embrace him in your saving veil of grace and grant him protection.

Rudy's crush has gotten so out of hand the poor, sweet man doesn't know what to do with himself. He blushes and freezes whenever he's blessed to be in your presence. Anticipation building within the walls of his chest, antsy to tell you, to confess. If only that doubt didn't plague his mind. Would you be spooked by his way of life? Certainly, modern witches weren't being put on trials and burned anymore, but the social repercussions could be considered equal. Guess he'll go back to perform another manifestation ritual. Don't be surprised at the sudden fluttery effect you start to magically develop one day when you see him.

Having a vampire boyfriend has its benefits. The cons are few; while you're getting your life sucked right out of you, Phillip only seems to revivify and grow younger. He also has little to no self-control and he always holds his age and 'wisdom' over your head, using his 'better sense' to get you to change your mind. On the bright side, thanks to him you've started to save on using tampons + pads while on your period. He also keeps you in check and healthy by not letting your blood levels imbalance, after all, he feeds off of you. Loves going down on you whilst biting your neck and drawing blood. Something about being so close to biting an artery or vein that could spill too much blood and leading you to death yet he chooses not to.

You moved out to the south seeking for a tranquil pace of life. This town had a strange feeling to it, an underlying horror and emptiness; the effects of a ghost town. Under the silver moon one night, you come upon a field, a stretch of land with pasture stretching for many miles. The cattle guarded under the watchful eye of Keegan. The wind rustled the trees as they made a haunting whistling sound. Shadows seemed to dance along the edges of forest as he motioned you over to his campfire, his horse tethered to the log he rested his head against. His eyes captivated the soft glow of the moon as you listened to him speak of guarding this piece of land for many years. He coaxed you to get comfortable, to not leave right away, in fact, you could stay for as long as you wanted. And unless your senses catch up to you, you'd stay caged in this corner of the world, roaming as a ghost.

König couldn't bear to see you whither away as life was slowly drained out of you. Night and day he listened to your sorrows as you spoke of your fear of dying. You couldn't bear to rest in the cold grave, alone for eternity. The townspeople swore he must've gone mad when you died, he obsessed over you dead more than when you lived. He had installed a burial bell, slipping the rope into your lifeless hands. He refused to pay anyone else to wait the long hours of the day and night. Red rimmed eyes from crying, black circles from the sleepless nights, didn't even register the throbbing headaches. And could it be his delirium or did he hear the bell ring? He was quick to grab a shovel and start digging.

Gumiho Horangi who got close to you only for the sake of stealing your soul. He had been digging through the soil, searching through the foul smell of decomposing corpses to find a human heart to devour. You had been on the graveyard shift when he spotted you and decided he'd much rather prey on a living human rather than be contented with decaying corpses. A method of absorbing your energy resembled the act of kissing as he would open your mouth to inhale your essence. You became to know the true meaning of intertwined love when he planned to embed a 'fox marble' in your abdomen and therefore take all your energy. He, however, fell in love with you over time and vowed to never eat another human so he could become human and live with you.

Nikto always talks to the patients on his table, he thinks it helps them loosen up. They're always so stiff and cold when he takes them out of the freezer. When he pulls back the cloth covering your face he can hardly greet you as he's taken by your beauty. His gloved hands run through your hair as he gazes into your lifeless eyes. You're too pretty by the time he's done dolling you up that he feels sorry you'll only be placed in a box and buried six feet deep underneath the soil. He reckons you'll be much happier in a comfortable home, with someone to care for you rather than the cold cemetery where you're sure to be forgotten about. He swore you told him yourself!

[silence-burns]

The Death of Me //part 1

Fandom: Aquaman

Summary: (very small spoilers for the movie) Finding Orm on your doorstep was not something you expected. Having him move in was even worse. But the effect he still had on every part of your life would be the death of you.

The sun was blinding, but unfortunately, not enough to make the man standing before you disappear.

“You're in surprisingly good shape for a dead person,” you said.

“And you look terrible for someone supposedly alive,” said Orm.

You shrugged and immediately regretted it. The tight bandages keeping your shoulder in place worked as a poor reminder it was out of commission for the next few weeks.

“How I've missed that princely charm. Piss me off some more and, half-dead or not, I'm gonna kick your ass back into that desert I got it from. It might be the last thing I do, but if I become a ghost, I'll brag about it for eternity.”

Your mood soured further with every minute you remained conscious. Surprises and resurrections, you could deal with, but your ability to be polite left long ago. There were a lot of impolite and certainly unprincely words bubbling in your chest, but they all disappeared when the most magical, impossible, and straight-out-of-fairy-tales thing happened.

Orm, of his own volition, smiled.

The sun was still doing its best to blind your already red and swollen eyes—it failed yet again. You examined the strange occurrence, with the furrowed brows and all the small wrinkles and tiny folds in the skin that usually accompanied a person’s smile looking perfectly normal on his face. It was a genuine smile. You could only blink at him for a moment

“I thought scowling was the only expression you had. Like a factory setting, you know.”

“I'm glad to hear you are as sharp as ever, despite your current shortcomings.”

“Excuse you, I'm in great shape.”

The man in front of you politely didn't argue. It was rather clear from his expression that he had some serious doubts about not only the state of your body, but also about your mental capacity of acknowledging said state, but he made the wise choice of keeping these thoughts to himself.

Wise was your middle name; therefore, you allowed the silence to confirm your words. At the same time, you shifted more of your weight against the doorframe, hoping your grimace came across as menacing rather than painful. Your leg needed a bit of rest, nothing serious. It totally wasn’t almost crushed to pieces a few weeks ago.

The smile on Orm’s face, an expression you could get used to seeing, started to shift into a look of concern as he watched your eyes. You looked away, afraid of how much he could see. Before you could react, he picked you up and carried you inside the house.

It was a pretty house, very spacious, just like old rich men tended to enjoy—which might explain why Batman bought it a long time ago as a safehouse far from any prying eyes, and why he allowed you to occasionally use it as such.

Yet, despite all the initial spaciousness, it was rather easy to clutter if the person living inside had a few cracked bones, general lack of energy to move, and never invited anyone around to see the mess.

Orm raised an eyebrow when he noticed a sofa dragged into the kitchen area and the amount of empty, crushed packaging laying around it. You hated how much could be expressed without saying a word.

“Put me down.”

Your words came out weaker than intended. Orm held you in a bridal carry which put immense pressure on your cracked ribs and sent flashes of pain every time you inhaled. But he was so warm and close that your anger sizzled and faded.

With your head on his shoulder, you had the perfect view of his perfect profile and the perfect frown deepening the wrinkles between his brows.

“So, this is how you live now?” was all he said, in a controlled tone.

“I know you're not deaf and heard me the first time. Put me down. Preferably on my beautiful and completely normal kitchen bed, thank you.”

You sighed with relief once he finally listened. Even though the pressure of his arms around you disappeared, somehow you still felt his warmth, as if it seeped into your battered, bruised flesh. You felt your face getting hot and decided against following that train of thought.

Your heart, for a reason you also chose to ignore, skipped a beat when Orm turned on his heel and walked back to the front door. It took him comparatively less time than when you had to drag your ass to open it a few minutes ago.

But rather than walking outside and disappearing from your life again, Orm only closed the door. And then turned the lock too.

“I don’t like where this is going,” you said, in vain hope that all of this was just a bad dream you'd soon wake up from.

“What a shame,” Orm said with no shame whatsoever in his voice.

“Why are you here? I might be a little late with that question, but I'd still love to know the answer.”

Orm took measured steps to the kitchen table, assessing the seat with the least amount of trash surrounding it, and sat down. He sat upright, posture uncompromised in the face of a backless stool, and folded his hands on the table. How he looked royal surrounded by trash and cold leftovers was beyond you.

“As you have witnessed, thanks to Arthur, after that final battle I got a way out of my old life. I enjoyed it for the most part, and even wandered the surface world for a while. And then I heard about your accident and came to settle my debts.”

“You don't have a debt to me.”

“When I was awaiting sentencing for my crimes, you were the one that took care of me. And not so long ago, you helped Artur break me out of that prison. That alone guarantees my utmost respect.”

“Your debt is paid, you owe me nothing.”

“That's not how it works.”

“I don't need a nurse, especially one who isn’t wearing a sexy costume.”

“I'm afraid that part is not negotiable.”

“Wait.” You squinted, doing your best to focus your thoughts despite a rising migraine. “This cottage is in the middle of nowhere, with the nearest town a few hours on foot and only if you already know the way. And the only people that knew I got… a little roughed up, were those in the Justice League. Did Artur give you a ride here because he felt guilty he didn’t stop that building in Venice from falling on me?”

“Every day I am thankful that I don't know the inner workings of my brother’s mind.”

“So he did.”

You let your head fall back onto the makeshift kitchen-bed. It was too much for you.

You grabbed the pills from your secret under-the-pillow stash of meds and swallowed some painkillers.

“I'm going to kill your brother.”

“May you have more luck than I did. Now, do you even own any clean clothes?”

[cr4yolaas]

the night shift — slow down

day 5 | masterlist | day 7

now playing: heart to heart by mac demarco

"you're late," she hums, with a lilt of tease and jest. she doesn't look up at him. the jingle of the doors opening cues her into fixing her posture, her spine fitting into the shape of her chair. he watches the action but can't quite process it, too overwhelmed with all the sweat and clothes and hair sticking to his skin.

an apology falls from chapped lips instinctively. he slips into the space behind the counter and discards his jacket from his figure, haphazardly throwing it into the break room before taking his usual seat beside her. "practice ran overtime," he heaves out as soon as he settles into his spot. like routine.

it's a slow day. the night shift is busy, for the most part, but there are the rare handful of days where the store is stagnant. they're silent, save for the hums of the heater and the refrigerators and the wind outside the window, and compared to the last shift they'd worked together, it's not so tense. it's light, almost, the burden of unspoken words and misdirected emotions no longer weighing heavily on their shoulders. he basks in it, just for a moment, before she gets up from her chair to busy herself with something, anything to escape the stasis. he follows suit.

restocks are her favorite task, he's noticed. it's her go-to to pass time, when her hands don't know what to do with themselves and her mind runs rampant. the boxes sit beside the snack shelves, the tape sliced open and the flaps lifted, ready to be emptied and organized. his shoulder brushes against hers briefly as he situates himself next to her, leaning into the depths of the first shipment and handing each product to her one by one. they fall into a slow, steady system. he passes. she places.

"remind me why you didn't go pro?" she questions almost a bit too loudly, failing to consider whether or not she's breaching a checkpoint that she isn't meant to pass yet. she notices the stutter in his movements, the flicker of a hitched breath, the avoidant stare. the perspiration still sticks to his forehead from before, evidence of the effort he had been putting into practice moments before clocking in.

kageyama stands, his shoulders rolling back and the bones popping slightly. an inhale through his nose, an exhale through his mouth, and he droops, as if physically bearing the mental baggage of what she presumed to be his passion. "i burned out, i think," he starts. it's barely there, barely audible. "i think i was also just scared. i was becoming someone i didn't recognize, so," he pauses. "i dropped it."

i think, i think, i think, as if he was still unsure in a decision he made years ago. she leans against the shelf with one shoulder, her eyes fixed on his while he fidgets with a bag of candy. "do you regret it?"

"sometimes," he whispers, almost sheepishly. "i do want to seek help for it. yachi recommended therapy, but," he pauses again, placing the candy in his palms into hers. he wills his mind into ignoring the way her hand ghosts over his, but his body can't seem to follow suit, with the ticklish feeling running through his palm and the dusting of pink on the corners of his ears (it's only visible if you look hard enough). the bag is set up neatly on the shelf, in line with all the others of its kind. "id want someone i know to listen to me. someone who actually knows me, not someone who's forced to."

she doesn't ask any more -- she knows not to. her shoes squeak against the tile as she makes her way to the next row, kageyama following behind her with the cart of boxes. they fall back into routine. he passes. she places. again, and again, and again, until it's muscle memory, so much so that they just barely miss the chime of the doors opening.

the pair from across the street -- none other than her two favorite new grounds employees (and his, though he'd never admit that) -- waltz into the building, steaming hot coffees cusped between their gloved hands and thick, wooly scarves (matching, of course) wrapped around their necks. "we thought we'd visit," yamaguchi explains first, taking his and yachi's drinks and placing them on the counter as if the place were their own. "it's slow tonight, and i think i'd rather kill myself than make small talk with our boss."

the two rid themselves of their garments -- the scarves, the coats, the gloves -- and just like the coffee, it all finds itself splayed across the counter.

a warmth spreads through her chest at the sight. it comes again when they all sit behind the register, two spare plastic chairs pulled out for the newfound company. and it rises once more when they all laugh in unison, the sound reverberating in both the store and her heart. it trickles up from the bottom of her ribcage to the top of her head, and with each pass it makes, she feels even lighter.

she wonders where it all was before. the white-hot glow of everything around her washes over the burden of being once riddled in her bones, and she questions the bigger picture that had consumed her life before: the false yearning for what once was, the reminiscence, the overbearing memory of someone that isn't quite her. a soft breath falls from her tongue, and another, and another, and another.

ᡣ𐭩 sooo cheesy LOL. but i loved when i first thought of this chapter bc the vibes were so cute and warm and i needed it to be in this series

ᡣ𐭩 updates r obvs going much slower be of school..... i need to be shot before APs kill me (AP phys and AP calc bc i will always hate you)

ᡣ𐭩 kageyama very often comes in sweaty from practice. do with that what u will

ᡣ𐭩 it's not very common for yachi n yams to come into the store at all. to kind of clarify the relationship btwn yachi yams and yn, it's like online they're oomfs and irl theyre just moots. do u catch my drift. in all srs yn is the one to visit them more often (bc it's new grounds, duh) which is kind of what sparked the household connection (outside of kenhina)

ᡣ𐭩 it's ALSO not very common for kageyama to be asked about the decision that sort of haunts his entire life. his roommates know it's a sore topic, and they were also there when the decision was made, and hinata brings it up way too much already, and it's just such an awkward conversation that they try not to pry too far. which is both great and horrible for kags, bc while he doesn't necessarily want to talk about it all the time (again, the theme of running away from his problems), he knows that bottling it up doesn't help at all

ᡣ𐭩 am i projecting? i guess we'll never know!

ᡣ𐭩 as i'm typing this i'm realizing that i need to finish mezzo forte (might discontinue it to be honest but ARGHHGHGHSD its so close to ending)

ᡣ𐭩 the fall of mezzo forte is like my fall of the roman empire. but this isn't about mezzo forte this is about the night shift

taglist: @causenessus @strawberryurii @iiwaijime @savemebrazilhinata @tiramizuloz @conrad4life13 @wyrcan @zazathezaer @nperoconelcositoarriba @cupidsblonde @thechaosoflonging @diorzs @aozui @fefesooli

[b33zlebubz]

RIGOR MORTIS | CHAPTER SEVEN

SIMON RILEY X AFAB READER | 18+ MDNI | MASTERLIST | AO3 PREV CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER TAGS: reader uses she/her pronouns, fluff angst & eventual smut, blood violence & death, suicidal ideology, slow burn, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, toxic workplace environment, flashbacks “Abandoned in a battlefield with the one person you thought you would never see again; you're forced to come to terms with the ghosts of your past."

WEDNESDAY APRIL 24TH 2024  MEXICO, 0000 HOURS

The pain in your chest is getting worse.

It's hard to sleep that night for many reasons.  One: with all the rain of the other night it's hard to find any wood dry enough for a fire.  Mexico has relatively tame weather compared to what you're used to, but Springtime is a whole different beast, inconsistent and unpredictable.  Nearly ninety degrees in the daytime and then dropping down to the fifties at night, you find yourself sweating all day just to be freezing and damp when the sun sets.  The thin blanket you pull out of the back of a wrecked truck doesn't help much and neither does the fact that you've developed a fever.

Two: you're definitely sure you have at least one broken rib.  The first day after the battle you had the adrenaline to numb the pain, but now that it's faded, it's easier to notice how it takes a great deal of effort just to breathe without your lungs spasming painfully.  Each breath aches, rattling in your chest.  You can't put pressure on your side without seeing stars and the bruises are damn near black across the expanse of your ribs.  Still, you won't rest more than a few hours at a time—knowing that the second you do, you might not be able to get up again.

And that brings you to the last thing; the radio is still dead silent.

You're staring at the ceiling, leaning back against the truck's wall as you listen to it; the static.  The charge has died twice now and both times you've revived it with an emergency battery.  Once that runs out, you plan to charge it with the SUV.  The longer you listen to the buzz of an empty signal paired with the steady sound of Ghost's breathing beside you, the longer you get to thinking about what might happen if nobody comes to find you.  

You think about the first time you put your survival training to use; left for dead in some safe house during your tour in Yemen, left by your squadron in a rushed retreat.  Back then, the pain in your side had been a nasty knife wound to your ribs, but now it was shattered bone and bleeding organs.  The longer you listen to the static the easier it is to recall the coldness of concrete on your skin, the burn of sand-caked sweat and blood in your eyes.  The sputtering static of your comms picking up no signal and the growing panic of being forgotten.  The blood.  The death.  The memory once so far away now felt tangible again; real.

It's funny.  The longer time went on the easier it was to forget about moments where you weren't so strong, but it was also easier to get lost in them whenever they unearthed themselves at the most inconvenient of times.  

Then a warm hand on your shoulder shatters the illusion—and you panic.

Within moments, you're up again.  You grab the unknown enemy by the front of his shirt and force him back against the floor with an audible thunk—causing weapons and gear to swing and the truck’s suspension to bounce.  When the red clears from your vision, your eyes are locked with two tired, brown irises blown wide with surprise as your grip tightens on his wrists against the floor.

Shocked to your core, your body goes rigid.

You lost a lot of your usual muscle mass during your first few weeks in Camp Viking; after Yemen and everything else that happened.  Stress, too much sleep or not enough, and a complete lack of appetite were a fatal combo to all the progress you made after signing your life away—so when Ghost met you, you were the weakest you've been since before joining the military.

Now: your shoulders are broader, arms and legs thicker and crisscrossed with ragged scars.  Skin glistens with the sweat of a fever as you hold him, still bigger than you, pinned to the floor.  

The breath knocked from his lungs; he's panting.  You're close enough to feel the warmth of his breath on your face, to see how your own labored breathing stirs the hair laying on his forehead.  Close enough to realize you've only ever seen him out of breath like this one other time—

Christmas Day.

His eyes flash with something familiar and you know he remembers it, too.

You shoot off of him in an instant.  Mind reeling, you turn to leave.  Run.  Do something to quell the fire in your veins and the burn of memories in your delirious mind.

"Angel, wait—"

The nickname falls on deaf ears.  Before he can gather his bearings enough to scramble upright, you've grabbed the radio and disappeared into the night with a burning face and a newfound heat in your bones.

WEDNESDAY APRIL 26TH 2024  MEXICO, 0300 HOURS

"Echo 0-2 to Actual."  

Your voice sounds rough with insomnia whenever you speak into the radio for the hundredth time.

It's been two nights since you've been in the van with Ghost, two nights since you've talked.  You're avoiding him—it's just as clear to you as it is to him—and embarrassment ravages your mind as you continue to keep yourself upright, keep yourself moving.  Now, the stretch of bodies was four lines deep instead of two.  Now, sitting on top of the SUV with ruined boots dangling over the edge and a raggedy blanket on your shoulders; it officially burned like hell to breathe.

Above you, the stars are the brightest you've seen since Camp Viking.  The night is just as quiet.

You close your eyes for a long time, dread settling in your stomach at the thought of staying here much longer; of what might happen if you're not found.  You think about how long the walk from here to the next civilization might be—if, by some miracle, they don't shoot you on sight.

Bandaged, anxious hands hold the radio tight in your lap before pressing the button and bringing it to your face once more.

"Again, this is Echo 0-2 attempting to reach Actual.  I've got a wounded Lieutenant with me…is anyone there?"

Static.

You try again, "Echo 0-2 to Actual.  Watcher.  Anyone."

Again, nothing.  You sigh, batting the side of the small machine against the heel of your hand.  Crickets chirp somewhere far off in the distance as you curse and eventually give up.  Tired eyes fall over the pitch-black landscape before you, getting lost in the quiet.  Your skin prickles against the cold air as your eyes sink shut. Shoulders slump for what feels like the first time in weeks as exhaustion, a gentle but swift current, sweeps you under.

"Nice night."

You jump and whip around, clutching the fabric of the front of your uniform.  

"Fuck," you breathe out.  "Just you."

He stands with what appears to be two of the American MREs you found in hand, his uniform notably cleaner now—having shed his dark, dirt-matted jacket for a dark compression shirt that stretches over thick muscles.  He looks…better.  Able to stand upright, at the very least.  There's more color to his face but that could very well just be the cold.  The fresh bandages you helped him put on the last time you talked don't show any signs of being bled through and he definitely doesn't have a hard time sneaking up on you—a good sign.

"Well��don't sound too excited."

You only huff at his remark, turning back around to look at the radio in your lap as your face burns with embarrassment.  Your hands are still shaking as you take a deep breath to try and steady yourself, and you wait for him to finally mention it—acknowledge it.  Your hands on his wrists.  His heaving chest.  Your breath on his face.  Christmas Day.

He shifts and at first you think he might be leaving now that he knows where you are.  Instead, he appears beside you, sliding down to dangle his legs over the edge and wordlessly hand you one of the MREs.

Your throat constricts at the very thought of food, staring down at the sad, brown package as he tears his open and sets it up to heat.  You squint at the label to read the contents.

Cheese Tortellini in Tomato Sauce.  Well, there are worse things. 

"No luck?"  He asks.

You let out a sigh of relief and mentally thank whatever God above he decided against bringing it up.  Instead, you shake your head wearily as you set the MRE aside, deciding to save it for when you know you'll keep it down.  Hypocritical, you know, but you've only been able to find a handful in the rubble thus far.

"No," you breathe, disheartened.  "Still nothing."

A moment passes, filled only by the sound of crickets and the rustle of plastic packaging.  There's movement in the distance followed by barking.  Coyotes, no doubt.  

You both sit in silence for a while and your thoughts slip back into dark territory.  You rub your chilly arms as you stare out over the hellscape before you—wondering how many more bodies out there you have left to gather.  How many families you're failing; leaving their beloved soldiers in the mud to rot because you're losing the ability to walk straight.

Then, Ghost speaks, ripping you out of the depths of your head.

"Why did the monkey fall out of the tree?"

You shoot him an incredulous look.  Then, you shake your head with a scoff.  You know what he's trying to do; lighten the mood, in his own strange way.  For a moment it works, and it's easy to pretend you're somewhere else. A simpler time, maybe, where all you had to worry about was which hallways to take to avoid being seen sneaking around the barracks.

You try not to let his obvious attempt at lifting your spirits work.  So, you only raise an eyebrow at him, "really?"

"Why did the monkey fall out of the tree?"  He repeats again, nonchalant as ever, as he pushes his food around the package with his fork.

You stare at him for a while before deciding to humor him with a sigh.  "Too many bananas…or something?"

"'Cause he's dead."

"Hm," you nod your head, pursing your lips into a line.  "That was bad even for you."

He huffs, "too soon?"

"Far too soon." 

"Noted."  He shifts, placing his food to the side to take something out of his pocket.  After all these years, it surprises you that even he's still off-put by the smell of death in the air.  "You got a light on you?"

A stupid question—and he knows it.

"Always.  Why?"

He pulls a full pack of Marlboro Reds out of his pocket, flicking the top open.  The packaging is slightly crumpled but otherwise remains spotless, unlike the rest of him.  He plucks one out and holds it out to you.

You glance at the cigarette, then up at his face—almost shocked he managed to keep them safe while the rest of him is so beat up.  You notice bruises are beginning to show under his eyes from his broken nose and there's a stubble starting to form on his jaw, patchy with scars you never noticed until now.

You take out your lighter.  An orange glow lights up his battered face as you flick it twice, let the flame catch, and then shut it again.  He takes a deep inhale, sitting back on his other hand, before letting the smoke billow out past his chapped lips.

"Fuck," he sighs, already slumping with relief.  "Could always count on you for a light.  Good to know that hasn't changed."

"What can I say," you respond, managing what you can of a small smile.  "I'm an angel."

He chuckles lowly.  "You're anything but, Colonel."

He offers the cigarette to you.  It's tempting, really tempting, but the pain in your lungs is far more annoying than the nagging effects of withdrawal. 

"I'm good," you brush his arm away and attempt to hide the tremor in your hands.  "I quit a few years ago."

"Hm," He seems surprised, or maybe he's humoring your obvious lie, you're unsure.  Nevertheless, he presses the cig to his lips again.  "Good on you, then."

You find yourself relaxing again slowly, anxious thoughts easing as you breathe in the smell of nicotine and look up at the stars above.  It's silent save for the sounds of the desert, and you find yourself thinking about a time where you both sat just like this for hours.  Getting by with nothing but the warmth of a heater, a flickering lantern, and a pack of cigarettes to keep you both company.  You remember laughing until your stomach hurt at his dry humor, once upon a time.

"This place is hell," Ghost says, deadpan as ever, as he exhales another cloud of smoke.

Flashes of cold concrete, rough sand, and nauseating heat flash through your mind again.  You realize, then, you prefer the warmth over the cold any day—no matter what you've gone through. 

"I think I'd rather be in hell," you mutter, rubbing your arms.  "At least it's warm, there."

He chuckles a little, and you wonder if he's reminiscing just as you are.

"That it would, Colonel," he says.  "That it would."

It's quiet again.  Years ago, the silence might've been filled by soft touches—a head against a shoulder or a hand on a back.  Instead, you both just sit there.  His hand is just centimeters away from your own, and you wonder if it would be easier to take it or pull away.  Or just…talk.  You want to speak, want to apologize or something—but the words are stuck in your throat.  You want answers, you want closure, but your hand curls into a fist as you realize that fuck.  You're not strong enough to break the question.

He's staring at you.  You can feel when he does it.  For some reason, you always have.  After a moment, you hear him take a breath.  He leans back on his hand as the other flicks his cigarette and comes up to touch the sore part of his head.  

"You know…"  He begins with a sigh. His mouth opens and shuts again, hesitant.  Suddenly, he looks away.  "I—"

"This is Watcher trying to reach Echo 0-2 and Bravo 0-7," a garbled, female voice interrupts him from the radio.  "We hear you, Angel."

@crazy-phan-girl13

[ariesmusingz]

૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ╱ white noise ( deluxe ) sentence starters pt 1 ( created using lyrics from pvris' white noise deluxe album. feel free to adjust to fit your muse. )

i know it's warmer where you are and it's safer by your side

right now i can't be what you want

just give it time

if you and i can make it through the night

if you and i can keep our love alive

we'll find we can meet in the middle

bodies and souls collide

dance in the moonlight when all the stars align for you and i

i know it's cold when we're apart

i hate to feel this die

you can't give me what i want

for now we stay so far til our lonely limbs collide

i can't keep you in these arms

i'll keep you in my mind

we stay so far

can we meet in the middle?

i want the world to believe that there's a light inside of me

it's time that i'll come clean

i'm not what i seem

some would say i'm possessed

i'll confess

i've just been obsessed with life and death and emptiness

can't you see all of the change in me?

you took all these starving limbs

tried to see what they cold be

i thought i would be something

i thought you'd complete me

that you'd erase all the pain that i felt in my brain

you filled my heart with love then you'd fill the voids above

now you see that didn't change a thing

what do you want from me?

i'm empty

this isn't violence

this is just a war in my head

i give it time but it never seems to end

i feel a fire in the back of my throat

so let's get covered in flames and play some games with the smoke

don't you try to run right now cause baby, i could burn you down

you make your way into my veins

course right through my limbs and dig your way into my brain

int he second that you walk into a room i can't help myself from the things that you do

you're killing me right now

i think it's time you burn me down

i love the things we do when it's just me and you

i'm burning up

you're just a ghost of blissful feelings

a cloud of smoke that i keep breathing

i'm losing you to the games in my mind

i see your face

now it's changed, shape shifting

don't wanna open my eyes

you give me something to talk about

i know it's chemicals that make me cling to you

i need a miracle to get away form you

i'm not spiritual

i think you're a saint

i think you're an angel

you give me something to talk about that's not the shit in my head

you're a miracle

transparent hands around my neck

i love the way you let me breathe instead

take in your chemicals

you're a glimpse of bliss

a little taste of heaven

i need a miracle to bring me back to you

i know you're gone now but i still wait for you

i still wait for you

i feel you in these walls

you're a cold air creepin' in

chill me to the bones and skin

i heard you down the hall but it's vacant when i'm looking in

who let you in?

you walk around like you own the place

you never say anything

i caught you walking straight through my walls

guess it was all my fault

i think i let you in

never thought that i would feel like this

such a mess when i'm in your presence

i've had enough

think you've been making me sick

gotta get you out of my system

it's my house and i think it's time to get out

it's my soul

it isn't yours anymore

i think it's time to get out

you're at my bedroom door

heard your footsteps on the floor

closer than ever before

now you're in my room

under sheets, avoiding you

i can hear you pace

circling my bed frame

we're face to face

head on my pillow case

darling, you can't stay

haven't you heard?

i'm not yours anymore

chill me to my bones and skin

you've got it all but you've got it all wrong

you don't know

you're a poor unfortunately soul

i know you make it seem like you feel whole

you put on a faith facade

think you're holy when you're not

i hate to break it to you baby, but you're simply lost

you can right all the wrongs just to feel like you belong

simply calling out sings don't bring you closer to god

you're just a ghost at most

a set of empty bones

searching for anything and everything to make you feel whole

you're all alone

you can't control where your body lets you go

you say i've got it all wrong

there's no way that there's weight in the words that you preach

when you're claiming your faith and you contradict your speech

i sit here and listen to your tongue and cheek

i know that when you sit and pray, you're only praying for keeps

you can't control where your body lets you go

you're shallow and empty and filled with regret

i think that chest must be heavy from that cross on your neck

you only wear cause you're wary of what comes next after your death

don't think i didn't notice

don't think i didn't know

[kinardsevan]

you're just a ghost at most a set of empty bones searching for anything and everything to make you feel whole - "Holy", Pvris

(Did I make another moodboard for another story? Yes, yes I did.)

[themurderofcrowscollective]

Some angst involving you, the 141 and snow

Be warned, you might cry.

(Head's up, this time the reader isn't in a relationship with anyone in the 141 so this is entirely different from The 141 And You! series we're working on) You've had your bumps and bruises, long-term leaves and intense injuries while working with the 141. You have your friendships too with Soap, Gaz, Ghost, Nikolai, Price, Alejandro and Rodolfo so you're all good in the friendship department. Yes, you know you're here to fight and go on missions, you know you've been trained not to feel and to kill as your past life wasn't the best but... you'd be damned if you lied that you felt some sort of connection to the 141 in a familial sense. You don't like admitting it to yourself either. Nor do you like admitting to yourself that surely, there is a bond the others have that you aren't a part of. You tend to tell yourself that no matter what, you won't have to deal with anything important in that sense except your job and that is it, but you can't fight down the feeling that all this bad thinking is going to bite you in the ass one day. And that one day just so happens to happen right after a terrible mission that went south but was completed afterwards, thanks to you and your stubbornness. Did anyone get injured? No, you suffered the most of the pain but hey, no broken bones! Just a bunch of bruises, shrapnel lodging itself into your body and a bunch of scars. How you're still walking is a miracle but you'd be lying if you weren't two seconds away from crying from the pain. On the helicopter while you were getting your wounds tended to, everyone had dark and sullen expressions on their faces no matter how much you tried to make jokes about the mission or distract them with a story from your youth. Something tells you that you're waist-deep in deep shit. Back on base and rushed to the infirmary, you try not to focus on the godawful silence that helicopter ride had but it leaves a pit of anxiety in your stomach. Not even Soap or Gaz chuckled at your dumb jokes during that ride. Once you were able to get out of the infirmary, you stopped to see Price leaning against the wall as if he was waiting on you. You try to smile and lighten up the mood but the look in Price's eyes reminds you instantly of those cold and emotionless eyes your mother once had when you did something reckless. Before you could even say anything though he orders you to meet in his office for a debriefing, which you instantly act on. Ghost, Gaz and Soap are already in the office when you arrive, sitting down as Price takes his seat and waits for you to sit down in an empty chair. Sitting down, you swear you can cut the tense atmosphere with one of Ghost's knives. It doesn't take long until Price opens up with a quick debriefing, letting everyone put their input in on the mission before he sets his eyes on you. " Y/N, you are going to be set on leave for 3 weeks effective immediately. You are to pack your things, Nik will be waiting for you on the tarmac. We appreciate your work earlier today. Dismissed. " Oh fuck. This is worse than the time you got reprimanded by Price openly for acting reckless, and something deep within your mind tells you that this was the last chance, the final straw for you. Rather than trying to make a compelling argument to object, you glance around and see everyone staring at you which makes you feel worse. Something happened and you know you fucked up and soon when you're back, you're getting transferred to another team. It didn't take long for you to immediately get up and leave when the feeling of being stared at really fucked with you. Walking down the halls you avoided everyone you saw, making a beeline for your room and quickly getting more than just one bag to fit nearly all your belongings inside. Anything else, anyone can take and keep. As you packed up, you covered your mouth as you sat on your bed to try and stifle the overwhelming surge of emotions bubbling up before you heard the approaching footsteps which had you get up quickly, grab all your bags and quickly walk out.

[pyriety-a]

5 SONGS THAT REMIND YOU OF YOUR MUSE.

arsonist's lullabye — hozier

when i was a child, i'd sit for hours staring into open flame something in it had a power could barely tear my eyes away all you have is your fire and the place you need to reach don't you ever tame your demons but always keep 'em on a leash

numb little bug — em beihold

do you ever get a little bit tired of life like you're not really happy but you don't wanna die like you're hanging by a thread but you gotta survive 'cause you gotta survive like your body's in the room but you're not really there like you have empathy inside but you don't really care like you're fresh outta love but it's been in the air am i past repair?

two — sleeping at last

it's okay if you can't catch your breath you can take the oxygen straight out of my own chest i know exactly how the rule goes put my mask on first no, i don't want to talk about myself tell me where it hurts i just want to build you up, build you up till you're good as new and maybe one day i will get around to fixing myself too

holy — pvris

you put on a faith facade think you're holy when you're not i hate to break it to you, baby but you're simply lost you can right all the wrongs just to feel you belong but simply calling out sins don't bring you closer to god you're just a ghost at most a set of empty bones searching for anything and everything to make you feel whole

would've, could've, should've — taylor swift

all i used to do was pray would've, could've, should've if you'd never looked my way i would've stayed on my knees and i damn sure never would've danced with the devil at nineteen and the god's honest truth is that the pain was heaven and now that i'm grown, i'm scared of ghosts memories feel like weapons and now that i know, i wish you'd left me wondering

tagged by: stole it from the dash <3

tagging: @bravevolunteer, @scapparedimente, @shackld, and whoever else wants to steal it from me!!

[muwapsturniolo]

✯𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐀𝐬 𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫-𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 ✯

Nick as polter-geiss

i think this is perfect for nick because polter is an artist. polter's medium is paint, ghost paint specifically, but i think nick's medium would range. we all know nick loves photography, so i feel like that would be his main medium. polter is infamous for doing graffiti so i think nick would participate in that but he only does it in public places, creating murals, and also to destruct the property of those he doesn't like and messes with matt.

songs i associate:

"in the land of a million drums there is always something going on" ✯ outkast

"from this time, unchained, we're all looking at a different picture" ✯ portishead

"you're just a ghost at most, a set of empty bones" ✯ pvris

Matt as Jackson jenkyll

this is perfect for matt and if yall disagree, go sit in the corner. jackson is considered a "normie" because he does appear human until he transforms into holt. he's usually seen as anxious and hunched over, a way of protecting himself, but he does flourish in areas. he was part of the casketball team and was really good in science. i think this describes matt perfectly because he is essentially the same. he may be quiet at times and anxious, but he does flourish around his brothers and when he's in his element. now as stated and for those who love monster high, we know that jackson has an alter ego named holt, which brings me to chris...

songs i associate:

"running away is easy, it's the leaving thats hard" ✯ vano 3000

"coming out of the backside of a rocket ship, its monster shit" ✯ childish gambino

"this lonely kid has a name, it rhymes with words you write" ✯ blvk hippie

Chris as Holt Hyde

chris as holt is literally an award winning role. holt is seen as a party animal, goofy ass, impulsive, enthusiastic person. that's literally chris!!! as stated previously, holt is jackson's alter ego, usually coming out in party enviorment's and being in control of the music since he's the life of the party. that would be chris. i think in this universe holt and jackson (matt and chris) would be brothers instead of the same person. when matt gets anxious, chris would be there to make sure he's ok and having a good time.

songs i associate:

"dope shit like that jerm" ✯ mac miller

"on some grim reaper shit, billy and mandy" ✯ ski mask the slump god

"come and fuck with me baby , im a franchise" ✯ future

not edited fully so sorry if theres any mistakes.

𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐨 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 🍑: @mattslolita @thenickgirl @guccifrog @luverboychris @zayyluvz @mrsmiagreer @chrisssluttywaist @78yaz @hoesformatt @freshloveforthefit @3lizaluvs @mattsturniolosgirlfriend @jetaimevous @luxy-nyx @ts-is-my-spirt-animal @iihrtsturniol0 @idontexistman @katw4shereee @madisturn @starlace111 @zivall @adoreindie @imwetforyourmom @sturnsxplr-25 @sturncakez @theyluvme-2315 @moonk1ss3d @@babyalliah-777 @sturniololol @oliviasturniolo21 @ariithereyet @blahbel668

[exmcrtis]

Yeah, you've got it all, But you've got it all wrong. No, you don't know You're a poor unfortunate soul. Oh I know, You make it seem that you feel whole, So they don't know You're a poor unfortunate soul.

Yeah you put on a faith facade, Think you're holy when you're not. I hate to break it to you baby, But you're simply lost. You can right all the wrongs just to feel you belong, But simply calling out sins don't bring you closer to God. You're just a ghost at most, A set of empty bones, Searching for anything and everything to make you feel whole, When it gets cold, oh oh oh.

You don't know. No you don't know. Oh you're all alone, You poor unfortunate soul. You can't control where your body lets you go. Oh you're all alone, You poor unfortunate soul.

And you say that I've got it all wrong. 'Cause you just know I'm a poor unfortunate soul.

[cursekept]

@sungracd​ said: ❛ i didn’t realize you were in so much pain. ❜

        he’d been in mondstadt only a short while before he’d heard of the supposed angel,  a person who was capable of performing healing on wounds that even the church couldn’t manage.  it had been a surprise,  as he’d more or less given up on searching for a cure when he’d taken over the running of springvale’s chapel,  but not an unwelcome one.  one thing had led to another and after a bit of asking around,  sukha had made his way to starfell valley in search of them.

        they’d seemed  ...  well,  uneasy when he’d spoken of his origins.  but sukha had chalked it up to general suspicion toward a people that was supposedly long dead due to a calamity that had taken place five hundred years ago.  for a reason speculated by many scholars as being having invited the ire of the gods.  funny,  for a land without.  they’d simply  ...  grown too innovative,  the elders used to say,  though sukha had always thought there had been more to it.  of course,  he said none of this when giving his tale.  instead,  he’d asked for their aid,  if they could give it.  temporary,  permanent,  he didn’t care.  he just wanted to be able to breathe again without feeling crushed.  and they’d delivered.

        “  me neither  ...  ”  he murmured.  sukha had tried to keep a brave face.  he was used to the pain,  dealt with it daily.  it became akin to a persistent headache,  if that headache set the entire body on fire.  still,  he didn’t cry over it often,  numbed by alcohol.  but once adrian had used their healing,  the sudden release of pressure and lift of the invisible weight of his curse had left him gasping.  light,  tears streaming down his face.

        “  i  ...  ”  hands wiped at his cheeks,  eyes.  was this how normal people lived ?  those whose ancestors hadn’t been damned ?  “  i’ve never  ...  i’ve never felt so light.  i know it can’t be permanent,  but  ...  even for a little reprieve,  i owe you so much.  ”

[hexbent]

Tag Dump

salem’s tags

[believemetheodore]

Night shift

Ted x Reader OR Ted x Rebecca

When she feels like a ghost in her own life, Ted is enough to make her feel alive again.

Warnings: I don't think any specific warnings apply, but I was mildly depressed when I wrote this, so it does have some kind of melancholy themes; let me know if you want me to add any warnings.

Sometimes, she feels like she's haunting her own house. Moving room to room without a trace. 

She's tried making the place feel more domestic, but all the throw pillows, new drapery, and knickknacks in the world couldn't make this house feel like a home.

 She's tried making a mess, leaving a trail behind her. Dirty dishes are left in the sink, and clothes are left on the floor, but any evidence of a life lived is washed away, swept up, and laundered when the housekeeping service comes by.

 She's tried drinking away the quiet, but it only feels like floating, and she feels more like a spectre than ever before, a shadow of herself carrying around the old bones of the past. 

During the day, there's enough distraction, enough on her plate from the moment she enters her office for her to feel useful. She can see the impact of her actions with each item crossed off her to-do list. She sends emails, sets up meetings, returns calls-- keeps herself busy. She's never alone with all her friends and co-workers. Even on the quietest days, she can hear the whistles blowing and the laughter and cheering on the pitch during the team's training hours. 

After hours it's easy to fill the void, socializing with friends; going out for dinner or drinks; having girls nights with Keely; long walks and pub nights with Ted. 

Every responsibility, and every interaction is a reminder of who she is. Every task, every text message she sends, every bought of laughter, each insecurity confessed, and every drink past her lips is a step closer to her becoming the woman she’s always known she could be. Compassionate and loving, bold and powerful, confident, she’s incredible, and she’s healing. 

She's never wanted her identity or personhood to be reliant on others. Having spent so much time in her past, allowing herself to fall victim to the pattern of living just to support other people's narratives. She doesn't feel like that with the people she chooses to surround herself with now. She's no longer a side character in her own life; instead, she's taking charge, loving and being loved by those who make her feel like the best version of herself. 

But the moment she steps foot in her house, the silence hits. The absence of the warm and comforting love, and zest for life settles heavily on her shoulders, and she craves nothing more than the company and companionships that make her feel the most like herself. 

It's not that she's become dependent on others, but a house isn't a home without any love in it. 

She makes dinner, swaying to music as she stirs in ingredients. She sips wine while she watches her favourite film. She takes care of herself, doing her skincare, and face masks, giving herself the time to relax in a warm bubble bath before calling it a night. 

Her bed is comfortable, with sheets she probably spent a little too much money on, and a plush duvet. Still, she can't help but notice how empty the other side of the bed is. How quiet the room is without the sound of another person breathing. She gives up on trying to find sleep, grabbing her phone off the nightstand, scrolling through social media and firing off emails she doesn't expect to be answered until business hours. 

One to some of the club's shareholders, a reminder for an upcoming meeting. Another, to Ted and the coaching staff, clarification about lodging and hotel rooms for next week's away game. 

You're up late.

She's almost startled by the text from Ted, but she can't help the smile that crosses her face. 

Couldn't sleep. You?

The same. Tried to get some shut-eye, but it was like I was trying to make pancakes driving up a twisty road . 

You're going to have to translate that for me, Lasso. 

Tossing and turning.  

She wants to roll her eyes at the ridiculous joke but is betrayed by the snort of laughter that leaves her instead. 

She's not sure what's actually going on between her and Ted. Part of her is too nervous to ask, too afraid that whatever it is, he doesn't feel the same, or worse, that her feelings are rooted more in desperation rather than affection. She doesn't want to hurt him. So she shoves those extra feelings down, holding tightly to what she knows for sure-- he's her friend and probably the best one she's got. 

She tries to imagine Ted now cozied up in his flat. She wonders what's keeping him up, what thoughts are rattling around in his mind. It's easy to picture his apartment, having been there a few times for dinners, and movie nights. She knows how inviting the space feels and how easy it is to relax, surrounded by the little bits of his life scattered around the place. Photos of Henry, his favourite books, and an abandoned jumper on the chair in the corner. Ted's flat is unmistakably lived in and instantly comforting. She allows herself to imagine the vitality and energy he'd bring to her own space.

She treasures the time she's spent at Ted's house. A picture of domesticity she yearns for, the instant peace that seeps right into her bones there. It's the same calm and reassurance that his hugs bring her, and she wishes she could bottle up the feeling, and drink it down before bed. 

In the last couple of weeks, it's become clearer to her that love and company aren't just things she desires but things she needs. She deserves to feel safe, to be held, to find someone else's clothes in drawers alongside her own. And for the first time in a long time, she wants to reach out and grab onto that reality. 

Do you want to come over for a nightcap? 

 She sends. Three dots appearing shortly after. 

Nightcap, as in a drink before bed? Or are we having a sleepover? 

Both?

In that case, my answer is yes. I'll be sure to bring my Mr Scrooge cap too. 

Fantastic. I'll have to dig out my own Victorian sleepwear. 

She smiles as she sends the text before adding.

See you soon, Ted. 

They don't need to say anything. Both of them are silent as they make their way up the stairs, Rebecca leading the way to her bedroom. They've done this walk before, through the halls of his flat. The moment Ted entered her home, the air felt lighter, her breathing easier, settled by the sound of a second set of footsteps following her own. The weight of his hand on her hip as they turn into her room. 

They've spent plenty of time curled up in Ted's bed, but never overnight. And something about him standing in her room feels different, a resuscitation and restoration of faith. 

Sleep comes easy with the comfort of gentle touches, and easy breathing. And when the sun creeps through the gap in the curtains, she can't help herself from reaching out to touch him. Tracing down his spine, his warmth radiating even under his t-shirt. She grounds herself, burying her face against the side of his neck in a desperate attempt to be closer to him. 

She loves the way his puffer jacket is draped over the chair in the corner of the room, his shoes left neatly next to her dresser; every bit of him a reminder of her own existence. 

She thinks about what to make for breakfast, her hand creeping underneath his shirt. 

“Good morning,” she can hear the smile in his voice before he even attempts to roll over to face her. This is what mornings should feel like, she thinks. 

She makes coffee listening to the shower running upstairs, no longer a phantom in her own home, the past and future far out of her thoughts as she focuses on the present, relaxing into her reality. This is what living feels like. 

[cicaklah]

ohhh, for the fic meme 👻 💡🎨 🎁?

Ive done some of these but!

Wildest headcanon: I didn't even type this. Basically I don't have very wild headcanons, my headcanons are usually just "they're in love" or "they're boning"

Share a wip snippet:

From a bit of a future watch me that may now not happen:

"What if...we just stayed." Barnaby said, skimming a stone across the wine-dark sea as the twin suns set over the horizon.

"What?" Kasimir says, confused.

"Do you really want to go back? Back to civil war, back to everyone hating us, back to the darkness and the grime and the ghosts and the constant terror?"

Kasimir blinks at him, and Barnaby sits down, and there's a light in his eyes that is wonderful and terrifying.

"What if we just...became pirates. We have a ship. We've done alright so far. We found the mythical lake of corazon de ballena, for gods' sake. You're a wizard" - "warlock" - "you're the most powerful man in the whole of Geth, I know, but do you want to be? It is a lot of bother."

"You need to shut up, Barney, before you say something you regret," kasimir says, but the way he says it is soft and fond, no fight in it.

"I mean. Isn't the whole point of being a criminal doing what you want? Bugger the rules?"

The silence between them is thick, almost velvety. Kasimir watches as Barnaby hears his own words, and then, deliberately, looks at Kasimir's mouth with a yearning he usually only reserves for empty whisky bottles he finds in tide pools.