#LET'S SIT IN THE GRAVEYARD [GHOSTS]

[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~

[betweenstorms]

hey, this is the anon from before :) honestly would you consider writing a simon pov? cuz i’d like to see what he thinks during all the silence, the sudden stride forward to grab your chin?? immaculate. did he think of you too during those years gone? argh so much to talk abt.. honestly i picture he noticed you in the bar before you noticed him outside but wasn’t sure if he should come up to talk, which is a pretty simon thing to do.

Hi! I'm so glad you sent this ask—I absolutely love it! Writing from Simon's perspective is something I've been itching to dive into. But I have to admit, a full POV would give away a bit too much of the ending. Still, I didn’t want to leave you hanging, so I’ve written a short drabble! Thank you again for the thoughtful message—it really made my day!

Drabble One of Where We Part (previous chapter) (next chapter) (masterlist) Childhood Friend!Simon x fem!Reader

The streets of Manchester hadn’t changed, not really.

Returning here was like walking through a graveyard of memories he’d long buried, each street corner a ghost, each familiar landmark an infected scar. Selling his childhood home felt like cutting loose the last thread of a life he had tried so hard to leave behind, something he hadn’t let himself think about for years. He’d avoided this return like the plague. It was a place he never wanted to think about, let alone see again, yet here he was. He was back, and the weight of the past was heavier than he’d imagined.

He hadn't meant to stop by the old pub.

He hadn’t planned on drinking at all, but there he was, in the heart of his old neighborhood, the one place that had remained untouched by the passing of time. Stepping inside, the familiarity was suffocating—same stained floors, same worn barstools, and faces that blurred into ghosts from his past.

He sat in the shadows, nursing a glass of whiskey that tasted too much like pain. But he wasn’t here to reminisce, wasn’t here for the memories that lingered in the corners of this place. He was here to forget, just for a few hours.

But then, there was you.

Bloody hell.

The sound of your laughter reached him first, sweet and familiar, cutting through the haze of voices. He didn’t need to look to know it was you, but when he did and the sight hit him like a punch he hadn’t braced for. There you were, sitting with old friends, the same group from high school—familiar faces he hadn’t thought of in years. Time had touched you too, but softly, like a breeze, not the storm that had weathered him down.

For a moment, he could only stare.

The sound of you twisted something inside him, both sharp and soft, like a knife dulled by time. He hadn’t prepared for this—hadn’t even considered the possibility of seeing you again, not here, not like this. Fifteen years had passed, but looking at you now, it felt like no time at all, like the years between you had been nothing more than a blink. You were laughing, as if life hadn’t crushed you the way it had him.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away, even though every instinct told him to look away, to run before the memories dragged him under.

But the pull was too strong.

And when you ended up outside, in that small, dimly lit smoking area, he knew he was done for. It was like being pulled into a gentle current he didn’t want to fight. The moment you stepped into his space, the air felt different, heavier. The distance between you had been vast for so long, but now it was nothing—just a few steps and you were close enough to touch. Close enough to undo him.

He didn’t have a chance.

Not against you.

Not when you looked at him like that, with the same eyes that had once seen the boy he used to be, the boy he’d tried so hard to forget. He had no chance, not here, not in this place where the air still smelled faintly of the life he should’ve had.

You were everything soft, everything he craved and feared in equal measure. And as you asked for a light, as you came closer to him, the memories came crashing back. He had spent years building walls, but with you, they never stood a chance. The years fell away in that instant, and he was drowning in you all over again.

So he just stood there, watching, waiting, wondering how it was possible for someone to still hold this much power over him after all these years. Simon Riley, the man who had faced death countless times, felt his heart stumble in his chest as your eyes met his.

He really had no chance.

He could already feel himself drowning, sinking into the memory of what could have been, and he wasn’t sure he even wanted to swim to the surface.

[qierxing]

A/N: An interpreted continuation of @shiny-jr wonderful fic. This is one of the longest fics I’ve written…..carried by my love for Heartslabyul. Been chipping away at this every so often until now. I would strongly recommend reading Shiny’s part first, or else a good part of this will not make sense. Part two will be something that will be floating in the future.

TW/CW: Graphic descriptions of PTSD & panic attack symptoms, self-harm from bad coping habits, dissociation, dismemberment, references to Alice in Wonderland, made up lore LOL

I. II. | Isekai AU | Yan! Heartslabyul x Reader

"So she sat on, with closed eyes, and half believed herself in Wonderland, though she knew she had but to open them again, and all would change to dull reality…"

– Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, by Lewis Caroll

i. Cremation

Ramshackle's mailbox is a pitiful thing.

It sits right in front of the small graveyard near forgotten covered in tangled vines and weeds. Unlike its surroundings which shine from recent renovations and repairs, the hinges still squeak loudly when the latch is opened and the outer parts are scratched and dented. On bright sunny days, it sticks out like a sore thumb.

And today, it's even more obvious.

The box now is in danger of tilting off its support pole, filled with the weight of lumpy letters, spilling out envelopes upon the dirt. Around it sits various colorful wrapped boxes and packages that are piled haphazardly across each other. You swear it gets larger each passing day.

“How many does this make?” 

A battered top hat pops into existence next to you, one of the resident Ramshackle ghosts who's been helping you around lately. (He had said you remind him of his siblings when he was alive. You're still unsure whether that was a good or bad thing.)

You let out a sigh through your nose. There's nothing to say about the situation in front of you. You wish they could disappear the minute you wish for it, yet the colorful wrappings and the various envelopes scattered around your feet don’t vanish the more you stare. 

“I’m really sorry about all this.” 

The ghost shakes his head, frowning at your apology.

“It’s not your fault, prefect.” 

The words are reassuring, but they don’t make the gross feeling go away when you crouch down and start picking up letters that have fallen out of the mailbox. 

From: Azul Ashengrotto 

Sender: Vil Schoenheit

Sent by: Riddle Rosehearts

All of them are addressed to you, of course. You can already imagine their contents: filled to the brim with regret and guilt, blotted words begging for forgiveness for the wrongs they’ve done. When you told the Headmaster that you didn’t want anyone visiting Ramshackle, that wasn’t an invitation for them to flood you with unwanted mail. Then again, perhaps you should have foreseen that they would do this. All of them are stubborn to a fault. It wasn't like your phone was any better until you’ve blocked all numbers making it go off endlessly like a shrieking parrot.

The resulting letters alone are thick enough to rival the textbooks Professor Trein assigns students. Pressing your lips together, you turn around to start heading back to your temporary home.The rest of the bulky packages can wait. The ghost helps swing the door open and Grim perks up from his seat in the living room as you set down the letters.

“Grim, can you get a fire going?”

“Now?”

He eyes the thick pile of letters with wary slit pupils and asks, “Aren’t ya…gonna read ‘em?”

You did. For the first few ones, at least. They were barely discernible, their apologies blurring by as they begged for your grace and mercy. That they would do anything to right their wrongs. If you didn’t know any better, you would say their reverence was akin to a cult. 

It makes your skin crawl.

After that, you stopped bothering to even  skim through. What is the point of continuing to make sense of lunatics? Of cruel games and intrepid players?

"We have the wood, and the house is a bit chilly, so why not?" You reply. Grim scrunches his eyebrows but doesn't object as heavy wooden logs are dumped into the grate. He takes a deep breath and blows upon the letters scattered on the wood, encasing everything in familiar neon blue flames.

You settle into the armchair next to Grim, staring into flickering blue flames. Grim curls up next to you, purring contentedly. All too easily, your eyes lull close to the sound of crackling flames consuming paper.

–

When you step out onto the front porch the next morning, you're overtaken by an overwhelming fragrance.

There's crimson red petals floating through the air. Fluttering in the crisp morning wind, they fall in your hair and the rest end up crushed under your feet. You'd feel bad if it wasn't so pungent; the very air feels like it's infused with the scent of roses. 

Your nose crinkles as you pick up the impossibly huge bouquet that is wrapped in silk and ribbons. It's certainly beautiful, you'll give it that. Yet this scent doesn't bring back good memories. It only brings vivid flashbacks of being lost among rose bushes, covered in dirt and scratches, trying so frantically to find a way out. When every single crack and snap was a possible life threat. 

You don't realize you're crushing the bouquet until something trickles down your fingers. It doesn't feel like blood pooling between your skin. Relaxing your grip ever so slightly, you find pin sharp thorns running down the stems where you were gripping. The fleshy meat of your palm is punctured cleanly in the shapes of the thorns. Was it left unclipped on purpose?

The card is the next thing you find with bloodied fingers, rumpling white cardstock and soiling it without a care.

To our beloved player,

We deeply apologize for the pain we have caused you and beg for your forgiveness. We will make sure to atone for our sins of harming you.

~H

The initial and the bouquet is too obvious of who it's from. Riddle must've penned it, because none of the card soldiers would ever write this formally. But it must've been Cater's idea to send the bouquet–Trey nor Riddle would've come up with such a sentimental and sappy idea. And Ace and Deuce would rather die than do such a cringey thing. 

The door opens again behind you. You turn to see a half-awake Grim groggily yawning. He stops once his blue eyes land on the bouquet in your hands.

"Whazz that?" He points a paw at the rumpled roses, and you hastily shove them behind your back. 

"Nothing." You say.

Grim makes a face before finally breaking the awkward silence with, "Do ya want me to go tell 'em off–"

"No." 

The answer is rushed and makes Grim's eyes widen. It's crazy, you know. But to have Grim try to solve the problem for you doesn't sit well with you. It's not like it's his fault for what you went through.

And maybe, deep down, you couldn't bear the thought of telling them nasty insults and curses to make them hate you more.

"I'll take care of it." You add, trying to reassure Grim, who only stares impassively. He shakes his head.

"Am I making another fire?"

"...if you can, please."

ii. The Morgue

It’s been a couple of weeks since you’ve been brought to Twisted Wonderland. 

Yuu’s…body has been moved to another room. It freaks you out more than you would like to admit. It’s familiar, yet it’s not. It’s carved to your image, but with none of your personality. There’s something wrong with the way its eyes are tilted, the dip of its cheeks, the curve of the chin. An idealistic, dreamy mirror of yourself.

Still. You’ve seen many dolls in your lifetime, and even you cannot deny the life like artisanship. The seams of the joints are cleverly hidden and the skin is smooth and unfettered without any misshapen resin(or clay?)–these are marks of a true doll-maker.

“It’s your vessel.” Grim had said with a matter of fact tone. As if you weren't looking at an unmoving human body. “Everyone was freakin’ out cuz’ it just shut down outta nowhere.”

It must’ve been because you were brought here at that moment. The hypothesis doesn’t really make you feel any better. You should know better than to blame an inanimate shell of a vessel, but... 

You jerk awake, cold sweat running down your neck and face. It takes a second for you to realize you're not being encased in burning scarlet flames and it's not claustrophobic verdant green hedges surrounding you. The bed sheets are tangled, wrapped in a chokehold around your legs and torso. Instead of translucent leaves, the bed canopy curtain shields you from the moonlight pouring in. The soft snores of Grim sync with your ragged breaths in time.

Tonight's nightmare had been recurring for a while. Every single time you thought you had shaken it off, it comes back like a bad omen.

Instinctively, your hand runs over the bumpy raise of scars running down your back and neck. Most of them had faded with magical treatment and time, but there are some that still have rough skin that has hardened like scales on a dragon. 

Your fingertips curve inward and dig. 

You thought you were safe. The rose maze is large and encompassing: hiding would be the best move. You breath in–

– and you were face to face with the Crimson Tyrant himself.

His face contains no humanity, his eyes only reflect dark, dark anger and resentment. You thought you were staring into a never ending abyss. Something inky black catches your eye, and you realize with horror that blot is trapping your feet and leaving stains upon your skin.

"Stop right there, imposter!"

Your nails scrabble at the bumps and raises, tearing through them with obsessive speed. Faster, faster–it doesn't feel right, you have to scrub your skin clean of those foreign textures.

Adrenaline is the only thing keeping your legs from collapsing to the blot climbing its way up. You have to do something–

–something wraps around your neck and torso, and all air leaves you as it squeezes and knife sharp needles gnaw into bone.

Your breathing grows more hoarse as your nails scratch faster and faster, desperate to remove more of those vile clumps of impurities. 

"You will suffer as Yuu did." The verdict is declared with deranged gleeful vengeance. The tyrant points his scepter at your fallen body covered in thorny vines reminiscent of roses. Blot swallows your form and screams whole–

It's only when the familiar smell of iron registers in your mind, that you finally snap back to your senses. When you finally draw your hand back to view, it's covered in clotted blood and torn skin, both dead and fresh, all clogged under your nails. The open cold air now makes your neck and back sting sharply as blood trickles out of reopened wounds.

It's with a heavy heart that you quietly leave the bedroom entirely to wash away the blood in the kitchen sink. Crimson dyes the white ceramic for a brief moment before swirling away down the drain. 

The wounds sting and ache, but you can barely be bothered to tend to them as you resign yourself to the living room couch with a thin blanket. You think of Grim sleeping unaware upstairs and close your eyes. The old weathered grandfather clock in the corner ticks on and on with each second.

No, you can't blame a puppet for functioning for its purpose.

But you could tear its limbs out of its sockets so it could never walk anywhere again. If you plucked out its fingers and eyes, it wouldn't be able to find its way around anymore. Sewing the mouth shut would seal the deal.

Then it would truly know how it felt to have no choice.

–

Working as Sam's assistant helps take the mind off things. Crowley had begged you to resume classes as Grim's 'beast tamer', but something in you screamed at the thought of having to shed your feelings aside to return to what normalcy was. As if this world didn't run on the giant malicious cogwheels of fate and lines of code.

How painfully obvious it is that your mere presence is just a substitute. 

"Ah!" 

You look up from sorting products on the shelves to a surprised looking Riddle Rosehearts. No no no no–

You take in his sunken gray eyes and pale skin, before going back to shelving products. It takes strength to play dumb. Your shaking hands betray the fear growing within as they sort through stationary merchandise. Finally, the products are lined up neatly and you're trying to bustle away as quickly as you can–

"W-wait!" You try to ignore the half whispered plea, moving behind the counter with an unnatural speed. 

"Please, wait, I need something!" You do stop, because unfortunately, you can't completely ignore a customer in need. So you take a deep breath and grit your teeth, turning around with a polite smile. Stare straight ahead. Think not of smoldering flames and knife like rose thorns–

"What can I help you with?" He stares into your eyes, frantic and desperate. It's clear with the way his mouth opens and closes that he wasn't sure how to continue his case.

"If you aren't sure, take your time to browse, dear customer." The grin was starting to wear on your cheeks already with how much you struggle to keep it in place. 

Please just leave, you internally beg. You settle behind the counter, watching as Riddle bows his head and disappears among the shelves for his items. A tired sigh leaves your nose. 

Your hands keep shaking no matter how hard you clench and unclench them. 

He can't hurt me here. 

Sam is just a yell away and there's mace and a knife in your bag underneath the counter. 

It'll be fine. It's not the Tyrant.

A clink of glass catches your attention, as some ink bottles are pushed on the counter. 

"I've finished." Riddle's smoldering eyes choke you under their hues.

"I'll ring that up, then." 

The exchange happens quietly yet as you hand him the bottles, he pauses, looking down. "What happened to your hand?" 

Shit. There were still obvious swollen scratches and puncture holes imprinted on your hand. You completely forgot about bandages after Grim caught you with the bouquet the other day. You quickly hide your hand in your pocket. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He seems to want to say more, but is cut off when someone else comes up behind him, waiting to pay for their items. He only swallows hard and nods, setting out with only a guilty look back.

You finally breathe out a long sigh of relief when the door chimes echo behind him.

-

"That'll be ten thaumarks and thirty madols." 

This is the fifth time Riddle's shown up during your shift and bought ink. This time, it's a deep crimson color not unlike the shade that saturates his dorm. It reminds you of torn skin on nails from that night, and it takes a minute to shake those thoughts off as you pick up the bottles.

"Prefect, could I talk to you after your shift ends?" You turn to fix him with an incredulous stare, and he grimaces.

"I promise I won't harm you! Did you not get our letters?" But how can I trust you? On this cracked chessboard you are forced to play upon, you don't know where to place Riddle at all. He is too much of an unstable bomb that could blow up in your face at the wrong impression.

"Fine." He definitely won't back down until you agree to hear him out, and it's best to let him state his case once and for all. "My shift ends in an hour. I'll meet you outside."

"Excellent. I shall wait for you then, prefect." He takes his bag and leaves with a small bow.

The time passes all too quickly. Sam shoos you out before you can try to coax some overtime hours from him. And much to your annoyance, Riddle is waiting for you promptly as you step outside.

He looks nervous as he bows his head in acknowledgement of your presence. You'd almost feel bad, if it weren't for the fact that he nearly beheaded you at first sight.

"Have you received our recent letter and flowers?" A long silence follows, before you reluctantly nod. Your hand throbs as you open and close it out of habit. You just removed the bandages this morning, but the unbearable itch to reopen the scars is too tempting. Steel eyes are immediately drawn to the movement. "I see. Then I won't drag this out. Prefect, could we prove to you our sincerity to make amends?"

"What do you mean?"

"Exactly as I said. Please let our dorm express to you our sincerity to mend our relationship." The intensity of his eyes makes you sick to your stomach.

"You've apologized enough, Housewarden Rosehearts. I'm sure your card soldiers have too." Subconsciously, your hand drifts toward your neck.

He winces. No doubt it must be a sting to his pride that his numerous penned letters weren't acknowledged. "It's not just about apologies. We want to start over–turn over a new leaf, if you will, for our relationship. It would be a disgrace to the Queen of Hearts herself if I could not atone for what I've done."

Always with the rules. You're not entirely sure what Riddle means when he says 'mending your relationship', but it seems he's already set his mind to it. It would be hard pressing to get him to change his mind now.

"...sure." You reluctantly acquiesce. The tips of your nails brush against scarred skin before drawing back. You shouldn't. It took so long for the wounds to close again, for sinew to piece itself together, and for skin to finally grow back. You don't want another lecture by Crewel or Trein.

He brightens considerably with a look of relief. "Good. Then, please wait for our call." 

You watch in confusion as he trots off hurriedly after another deep bow. Wait for our call? What does that–

Something buzzes, and you realize it's your phone, lighting up with a notification from Magicam. You frown, tapping on the icon. A message? 

cay4cay sent a message request

The second you processed the username and profile picture, you instantly hit the block button. With a frustrated scowl, you shove the phone into your pocket. You deleted Yuu's account and only had a burner account for info purposes. How the hell did that social butterfly find your handle?

You groan. This is all too much.

iii. Paying Respects

A letter arrives, but not by mail.

A jarring commotion rudely rips you from sleep's embrace. You groggily sit up, blinking once, twice, before realizing the noises were very much real and still happening. Who is this loud on a Sunday morning? Grim continues to snooze right next to you, unperturbed by the disturbances. You debate whether it's worth it to get out of the comfy covers. Then another yell echoes up to the room and you groan in annoyance. 

You slam the entrance doors open, ready to give the lecture of a lifetime before you stop in your tracks. 

Deuce Spade looks like he wants the ground to swallow him up whole. Even Ace Trappola, haughty asshole that he is, looks thoroughly ashamed to be caught in a compromising pose. The scene is so familiar that you can't seem to be confused. It takes a second of awkward staring from all three of you before you realize that you're still standing in your thin pajamas, out front in the public entryway in the cold.

"...May I help you?" The distant polite inquiry has them both flinching. They scramble to their feet, brushing off dirt and debris from their fist fight. 

"We're very sorry!" Deuce bows deeply, while Ace scoffs and looks away.

"Housewarden Riddle told us to give you this, so…" Ace shoves a white envelope with a seal boasting a crown insignia into your hands. The Queen of Hearts. You exhale through your nose. So this is what Riddle meant earlier.

You open the envelope gingerly, carefully inspecting it as if it were some kind of trap.

"We're going to have a party soon." Ace is still determinedly avoiding your eyes. "You can come…if you want."

You hold back a sardonic chuckle. Even after everything that's happened, he's trying to act like some kind of cool, suave guy. Your eyes drop down again and you open up the flap to reveal the elegant crimson cursive that decorates the paper.

You're cordially invited to Heartslabyul's monthly tea party. Please send your response ASAP.

Date: XX/05

Time: 14:00 - 17:00

A silence lingers in the air, heavy as a rock. You can tell without looking that the two were holding bated breaths waiting for your reply.

This certainly was out of the blue. But. It was Ace and Deuce. Riddle may have issued the order, but they must've taken initiative in delivering her majesty's decree. Stubborn and tenacious, yet they were still endearing with their loyal friendship. Who in this world would run across a whole desert for you?

That wasn't for you though. The intrusive thought immediately makes your lips thin. The card soldiers shift at the subtle expression change, nervousness painted all over their faces.

You would be lying if you said you weren't curious. Why an invitation to a tea party? It was rather unlike Heartslabyul–or at least most of them–to be indirect like this.

"Sure. I'll be there. I can bring Grim, right?" You flip over the card and envelope, raising an eyebrow at their stunned faces.

"Wait, you serious?" Ace stutters. His ruby eyes blink rapidly as his mouth gapes open. It’s clear he wasn’t expecting you to actually say yes.

"Why would I waste my time lying to you?" You sigh, crossing your arms. Granted, you never did send any response back to that ostentatious bouquet, but you were already preoccupied with the hundred of other letters and packages flooding your mailbox. 

"In that case, of course Grim can come!" Deuce says, looking like he's been released from an entire burden off his chest. It was no doubt plaguing him on what your answer would be.

"Great." You wave a careless hand, turning to close the door. You're so ready to go back under soft bed covers. "You can give my answer to your housewarden. See you then."

A hand grabs at your arm and tugs you back suddenly. You turn and open your mouth–

"You! You're the one that caused Yuu to shut down!!"

Wind blasts past you, leaving a thin trickle of blood down your cheek. Eyes wide, all you can do is stare at furious crimson eyes glaring you down.

"-Hey!" 

Those eyes. It's the same bloody crimson. The same sharp glint of raw bloodlust. Your right cheek aches terribly. Cold sweat runs down your back. Try as you might, you cannot suppress the reactive instinct to flee.

"Don't touch me." Your terse response has Ace retracting his own hand immediately. 

"S-sorry, sorry–" He’s scrambling to get past his mistake. If you were in a better state of mind, you would've laughed at his genuinely flustered state. "I–I didn't mean to grab you like that, it’s just that–"

"We also have something else.” Deuce cuts in, trying to cover for Ace’s blunder. He shoves something warm under your nose, and it takes a hot minute to process what you’re smelling. 

Lavender. The cookies within his hands are simple and aren’t decorated, but the buttery floral aroma they emit leaves you salivating. You slowly take it from his hands, staring at the carefully packaged bag. 

“...From Trey,” Deuce offers hesitantly after seeing your surprised expression. His tight expression and stiff posture betrays the way he is attempting to look respectable. “He's wanted to send you something for a while now.”

For a while? His dorm mates were all clambering to get any crumb of response from you. He might've had the manners then to understand that you wouldn't be delighted to hear from someone who only watched from the sidelines as you were being attacked. Did he only wait because his beloved housewarden didn't move yet? How typical.

“Tell him thanks for me.” The two of them shuffle their feet while exchanging glances at your freezing cold tone. 

"Don't mind us, prefect." Deuce elbows Ace, causing the red head to click his tongue and glare back. "Sorry for bothering you like this–we'll get going now!"

The two actually leave without more fuss, leaving you to twirl the invitation in trepidation.

When you look down again, the flowy calligraphy has been smudged by your fingers, ink blooming on your skin like blood.

–

"What does one wear to a tea party, Sam?" 

The question slips out before you know it, making the store keeper turn around and raise an eyebrow at you.

"And why is our little imp curious?" He teases. At your unamused face, his face splits into a garish grin.

"Perhaps you should ask Professor Crewel. After all, he does have quite the fashion sense." Sam strokes his chin in thought. "While we do have some outfits here, it might be best to get advice from someone who has been to these kinds of events."

And so, you find yourself standing in front of an indifferent Divus Crewel, who takes one look at you and takes another drag from his fashionable cigarette holder. He continues to shuffle through papers, all the while shaking his head.

“I should’ve known Sam would be the one to send you.” His voice sounds annoyed, yet carries no weight of anger. Much like how his bark is worse than his bite, Crewel isn’t one to heartlessly turn you away. “A tea party, you said?”

“Sam recommended that I go to you since you have more experience in this sort of thing.” Crewel does another critical once over of you, no doubt estimating your measurements for the look he’s thinking of. As expected of a former Pomefiore housewarden. He seems to already have an idea of what outfit would be best.

“I’ll help you, but you’re running some errands for me first, pup.” 

You shouldn’t have expected anything less from the alchemy professor. Now you’re stuck picking out ingredients in the botanical garden while you’re waiting for him to get the materials together for your outfit. 

Of all the botanical zones, it just had to be the tropical zone. The harsh artificial lights shine down as you lean down to pick herbs. While the temperature is bearable, you don't know how much more sweat your outfit can take before it gets soaked completely. The humidity is choking, and you feel dizzy from both the moisture and heat clouding your senses.

“Prefect?” 

You look up wearily from basil plants to see Cater Diamond in his labwear, with a face that mirrors your stunned expression.

Give me a break. Immediately, your awkward customer service smile falls in place. First her Majesty, then Tweedle Dee and Dum, and now the March Hare? But Cater knows how to read the room. Maybe he'll know to let it go–

Your hopes are dashed as he immediately bounces up to you with a grin. “Didn't think I'd run into ya like this. Whatcha doing here?”

“Er, Crewel wanted my help with getting him ingredients…” This conversation was quickly swerving into awkward territory. “Why are you here?”

“Ah, you know…” Cater chuckles sheepishly, “I got assigned to water the plants…”

You take notice of the steel watering can in his gloved hands, then the long green hose by his boots. “Ah.” 

“Guess that means we’ll be working together!” He chirps cheerfully and you cringe. Seven, anything but that! You quickly turn back to your basket and begin to pick up the pace in harvesting the basil. The quicker you finish, the faster you can get out of this deathly awkward situation.

“By the way, Acey and Deucey wouldn’t stop chatting about you accepting our invitation!” You flinch as Cater idles up next to you, using the hose to spray a generous amount of water over the patch of herbs. “It was pretty cute to see, y’know.”

“R-really?”

"Trey was also glad too. He and Riddle have been planning to make it the best tea party ever," he mock emphasizes. "They've been running the dorm ragged over the party deets. Cay Cay's been so busy with planning stuff!"

"That's not really necessary…" A feeling of guilt worms into your guts for a moment. You squash it. What Riddle and the others do is none of your business and no obligation of yours. 

"Right? That's what I said too!" Is he implying that you're the reason there's more work than usual? How shameless is he?

After a good minute of dead silence, Cater pipes up again.

"Sooo, prefect, whatcha been up to lately?"

You can't take it anymore. 

“Why are you talking like I have a gun to your head?” 

Ever since he made his presence known, he's adopted a high pitched cheery tone that grates on your ears. It was akin to a customer service voice, but you know Cater. That's his influencer speak.

Cater's chipper smile vanishes instantly.

"Whaaaat?!" You catch a glimpse of his snaggle tooth in his exclamation. He quickly turns and moves to water a patch of sprouts further away, "Like, what are you even talking about? You know ol' Cay Cay's just trying to lighten the mood!"

More like he's desperately trying to appeal to you. He knows which attitude will get him the most views, and the best expressions to rake in likes and comments. You often thought that trait was endearing in its own way when you saw him as a fictional character. Now that you're dealing with him as a human being, it just pisses you off to no end. How could he? You know Cater isn't known for his genuineness but….you thought he would at least act his usual aloof casual self. Then you would know that it wouldn't matter if you offended him.

The straw basket is finally filled with everything Crewel asked you for. It's with dirtied skin and sore muscles that you turn towards the exit without sparing Cater a glance.

"If you say so, Diamond." You hurl the words like a molotov cocktail, and it's very effective. Cater's eyebrows twitch and his hands clench around the watering can. It's one thing to call him by his last name, it's another to completely blow off the nickname he blatantly shoves onto you. "See you later at the party."

“Wait, wait, time out for a second!! Can you at least unblock me on Magicam?” The last sentence makes you freeze in your tracks.

When you turn around, Cater’s somehow still smiling that insincere smile of his. Your neck prickles with dread.

You trust me now, right? His crinkled lime green eyes gleam.

You're not fooled. He is desperate to appeal to you not from genuine adoration, but rather guilty obligation. Although he tried to scrub it from his Magicam profile, you saw the blurry reels and pictures of you fleeing for your life. The detailed descriptions underneath. Each one boasting deliberate timestamps meant for best exposure. He put a bounty on your head with his own hands.

Two can play at that game.

"Block you? I don't have a Magicam account," is your dry response. Cater continues to smile as his eyes close.

"Really? I swear that it was you…" His lips jut out in an insincere pout, tilting his head. You shrug apathetically, hoping the conversation runs itself dead.

"Well, if you do make one, hit me up okay?" Cater calls out after your retreating back.

Once you're in the school corridors and catching your breath, you dig your phone out with shaky hands and pull up Magicam.

Hitting delete account has never felt more relieving.

–

The outfit, in your quiet opinion, was not worth the mental gymnastics you had to do in the botanical garden. Not that you were going to say anything to the very teacher who has been known to treat his students like barking dogs.

"It should fit just fine," Crewel smooths out the crinkles in the fabric before handing it to you. "Go on now. Try it on."

A simple white with a red ribbon bow tie and black slacks. It was rather simple, which is just fine. You didn't need or want to stand out in this party. But you certainly didn't want to end up looking like a slob either. This suit your needs quite nicely.

Smoothing down your shirt, you give a spin as Crewel looks on unimpressed. He waves you off with a dry "Don't expect me to do any more favors for you, pup." You mischievously grin and wave him goodbye as you trot off with your clothes in tow.

The last rays of the sun sets the hallway ablaze with orange and yellow hues. You hum as you take the familiar pathway back to Ramshackle. With everything crazy that’s been going on lately, it gets too easy to be swept up in the moment. As you watch the shadows flicker between the stone pillars, you slow down to observe the scenery for a bit.

The sunset catches a glint and reflects bright white for a moment. You blink and it’s gone when you focus. You stop, confused at the intrusion. 

A loud click echoes behind you, but when you whip around, there’s nothing but the empty hallways.

You stand for a moment in place, waiting and listening apprehensively. Nothing else happens, and it’s with cautious paranoia that you turn around and start speed walking.

iiii. Funeral

It would be impolite to show up to a party without something.

But now as you're standing before the mirror leading to Heartslabyul, you're having second thoughts.

What if it isn't good? You glance down at your box containing the simple custard puddings you were able to make just last night. You didn't really have the skills to make complicated sweets and the puddings only took three ingredients. And your outfit, what if it isn't up to the Queen of Hearts' rules–

"C'mon, [First]! Or else the food will be gone by the time we get there!"

You breathe out a giggle. "I don't think anyone can beat you on your eating speed, Grim."

"You don't know that!" He hops up and down impatiently, waiting for you to adjust the box in your hands.

Right, who cares about any of that?

You follow your companion through the warped glass.

The fresh spring breeze graces you first, then the refreshing scent of flora, and finally, the warmth of the sun on your skin. When you open your eyes, the stretch of viridian green pastures and vibrant flowers greets you. The land of Heartslabyul is as picturesque as you remembered on screen. It feels unreal.

And waiting for you at the end of the path is the very first dorm you've befriended.

"Weird. Where's everyone at?" Grim grumbles, ears twitching in irritation.

The entrance is completely devoid of any human presence. You don’t sense anyone in the building either, which is completely strange. 

Grim's right. Where is everyone? For an incoming tea party, wouldn’t there be various students rushing in and out for the preparations?

“Perhaps they’re in the maze?” You glance warily over to the tall hedges that bloom with beautiful roses. “Should we wait?”

“Ugh, that’s so rude of ‘em to keep us hangin’ though! I say we go lookin’ for them. Who knows how long we gotta stand out here!” Grim shakes his head, distraught at the thought of having to wait for his food. "Let's go to the kitchen!"

"You just want to see if you can eat something." You tut at Grim's scheming face. 

"Mya, so what?!" He yowls. "I'm going and you can't stop me!"

"Grim, wait–" You call anxiously, but your companion is already scampering off into the dorm. You're left with no choice but to take a deep steadying breath and press on. 

But the kitchen room is also empty when the two of you pop in. However, it seems like it was used recently, if not for the smell, then the sight of various dishes laid out on the counter would have clued you in. You sneakily compare your puddings to the spread laid out before you and wonder again if it isn't too late to put them away in a dark corner.

"What do you have there, prefect?" A low voice breathes in your ear. 

You and Grim shriek in tandem, with you almost fumbling and dropping your box and Grim’s signature sharp nails digging into your shins.

The looming presence behind you is revealed to be Trey Clover, who has an apologetic face after spooking the two of you. At least he is conscientious. 

"My bad, my bad," he chuckles, "I should've been more obvious about my arrival." He places a steady hovering hand behind your back. Just barely touching, yet close enough to feel its heat. Embarrassingly, the feeling is soothing enough that you can't find it in yourself to pull away.

"Sheesh, for real! You took some of my life with that, y'know Trey!" Grim hisses, detaching his claws from your poor legs. Trey only laughs and ruffles his head.

"I’m sorry about that Grim. Anyway, you guys came just in time," Trey begins to transfer the dishes onto a wheeled cart. "Food just needs to be carried out and the tea party can begin—but you have something, don't you?"

Regret seeps in when you think of your sad puddings next to all these gorgeous pastries and appetizers. 

“Uhm, I don’t think it’s really needed since you got all this,” you laugh sheepishly as your hands automatically hide the box behind your back.

“No way.” Trey’s smile is warm but firm. When he gently guides your hands to give up the box, you can’t find it in yourself to protest. “It can’t be that bad, since you made it.”

You're struck silent, and Trey immediately takes advantage of your state to press his hand to your back to usher you forward. His fingertips graze your side, and for a second, you swear his lips quirk into a smirk.

You follow alongside Trey as he pushes the cart out through the door.

"By the way, I'm happy to hear you liked the lavender cookies." You look over to see the baker smile warmly. "I would've tried something with the candied violets I had, but I ran out just as I was making them." He sighs as he shakes his head.

Something with the way he's worded it makes it sound like there was more to the story, but you don't care enough to pry further. Trey's golden orbs slide to meet yours discreetly, and you realize he's waiting for you to respond. You murmur an apathetic response back, and he visibly droops.

It's a long, quiet walk through the rose maze.

It seems your arrival with Trey threw everyone off guard. You don't know why they look so alarmed: the venue looks absolutely resplendent. Colorful lanterns dot the tree lines, swinging back and forth cheerily with brightly colored flags. The long table is draped with fine cloth embroidered with intricate lace patterns. There's not a single wrinkle to be seen in the fabric. And the rose bushes, blooming with both red and white roses, are pruned cleanly, not a leaf or branch out of place.

It is a tea party fit for the Queen of Hearts.

"And the guest of honor is finally here!" Easygoing as ever, Cater calls out jauntily to you both. He seems to be the only one not visibly panicking. "Trey, what took ya so long?"

"Had to get the dishes here, you know." He shoots a knowing glare at Cater, who flinches with a sheepish smile. "Someone was supposed to help me, which would've made it a lot faster."

Ah. Cater giggles nervously while twirling his hair. Ace and Deuce exchange disbelieving looks before shaking their heads. 

“Welcome, prefect.” Riddle greets you with a stiff bow. "And Grim." He hastily adds, seeing your companion’s face twist sulkily. The action makes you smile, if only for a moment.

“We’ve been waiting forever for you, Yuu—” Deuce jabs an elbow sharply into Ace’s side, making him cough and sputter mid sentence, but the damage has already been done. Another awkward silence reigns as everyone’s fearful faces are directed at you, trying to figure out how to best traverse the conversational minefield. 

“W-What Acey meant to say is–” Cater is cut off immediately.

"Uh, er, come to think of it, what's your actual name?" Deuce is the one who pushes forward despite everyone else’s horrified looks. As if he had uttered a profane exclamation.

"My…name?" You echo back. 

Right. Since all they knew was the puppet, they didn't know your true name. Heavy silence hovers in the air, even Grim was looking at you in anticipation.

"My name is…" Something chokes your throat. Reluctance? Or fear? 

"[First]. [First] [Last]."

They mutter it among themselves, tasting the syllables and weaving the rhythms of the letters. How strange. With sugar coated lips, their voices ring like church bells for prayer. You're born anew, for the way they look at you is enough to make your heart soar for several fleeting seconds. 

For a brief moment, you could believe that you were with your Heartslabyul again.

The tea party begins like a baby animal: slow, unsure, and always in danger of stumbling to the ground. But it’s Heartslabyul, and who else would know how to best host a party for its guests?

By the time the tea is being poured into your cups, a steady conversation has started naturally flowing between all of you.

“Is there something the matter?” Riddle asks for the nth time as he worriedly gazes at the way your eyes stray to the hedges and whimsical decorations beyond the table.

"Oh uhm…” You hesitate, still not meeting Riddle’s worried face. “Why are the roses both red and white? I thought one of your rules is that tea parties always have white roses." 

Riddle exchanges a look with Trey at your question. 

"That is true, [First], however…" He pauses, before continuing with a determined look. "Red and white roses are customary for parties celebrating with new friends."

“New…friends?” Your hand is frozen at your teacup.

Something fiercely warm fills your chest. There's cautious hope glimmering in Riddle and Trey's eyes. That wasn’t fair. How could they say something like that and not expect you to react? 

The party ends on a light note unlike its stiff beginning. The soldiers gather to see you and Grim off, but once Grim scampers off with his leftovers in paw, her Majesty moves to your side.

“Prefect–no, [First], would you come again?” He asks. His hands are trembling, tugging at your sleeve timidly like a young child again. “F-For an Unbirthday party, of course!”

It’s a request that’s not selfish, you note. Her Majesty’s card soldiers look on expectantly behind their monarch, and it takes everything within you to not collapse. 

“Of course. I can’t wait for it already.”

Your heart weighs heavy. They do not know that the promise is an empty white lie. Though you cherish them, you do not wish to act the role of a doll whose purpose is to play house. 

When they looked at you with those pleading eyes, who did they see? 

Yuu, the puppet they adored for its safe default responses and supportive words?

Or you, the player who has their own flaws and biased personality?

It's okay, you reason.

They won't be able to tell the difference between clay and flesh.

v. Burial

You have a hunch about Yuu.

Only a guess based on many hypotheticals, but better than nothing.

If the puppet stopped working when you arrived, then shouldn't it go without saying that if you left this world, that it would return back to life?

The wooden door creaks open, stirring up dust and sending it flying into the air. You cough and sneeze, waving your hand to disperse the irritant. Serves you right. After all, you refused to step into this room since Yuu's body was hauled here. Didn't even dare to come clean the room. The dust settles and you can finally make out the puppet's silhouette from the waning light rays of the window.

It still adorns its proper NRC uniform, wrinkled in the spots where you had lifted it. It hasn't moved at all from its sprawled pose on the sofa. You remember the dread at realizing the only fitting school uniform you could possibly wear was on this puppet. It only cemented your resolve to break away from the puppet's image. Even if you had to resort to clearing out ancient closets and haggling with faculty, you'd rather take the raggedy shawls and worn flannel over the crisp blazer and button up the puppet wore. 

Its skin has become ashen gray, drained of any life. Old joints creaked in agony when you adjusted it to a sitting position for better examination. For a while, the both of you stare at each other.

Despair tugs at your mind. How long will you be trapped in this world? Has the Headmaster even done anything to help you get home? You snort. He couldn’t even bother doing anything when it was just the vessel. Why would that change now? 

Can you hear me?

The voice, so quiet yet clear, makes you whip your head around. No one's in the room. Are you finally going crazy?

You can hear me, right?

Is one of the ghosts playing a prank on you? You can't pinpoint the source of the voice at all.

I'm here–look!

With dread and fear pooling in your heart, your head turns slowly to meet the doll's eyes; whose pupils are now fixated on you.

The urge to scream and push away the doll is overwhelming. But in a world where the supernatural is natural, you suppose that dolls that can speak are the least impossible thing out there.

I can help you find your way home.

You swallow thickly. Pursing your lips, your grip on its arms tightens as you lean in. Something stirs, and it’s crazy, but you swear it hums in pleasure.

Listen to what I say carefully…

-

Decorations? Check. Refreshments? Check.

Outfits? Check.

So why does it feel like there's something missing?

"What's wrong, Riddle?" He turns to see Trey's concerned face. He gives an awkward smile back.

"I'm not quite sure, but something feels amiss." He explains, rubbing his neck. It's obvious enough to make him feel the familiar slivers of irritation slither through him. 

He tries to will it away. It's a good day, and there was nothing to be angry about. The player–no, [First]–had decided to give them a chance and agreed to come over to celebrate an Unbirthday party with them. Ace and Deuce are behaving as good, law-abiding card soldiers should be. The roses were saturated with dripping red, the dormouse had its nose smeared with jam–so what is this itch that won't go away?

"We can do a double check of everything again," Trey offers gently. “It shouldn’t take too long.”

Riddle shakes his head. “It’s almost time for them to arrive. I will not have them waiting on something that isn’t even a problem.”

“Housewarden~!” Speak of the devil. He turns with a frown at Ace’s loud shout, but it fades to a small smile when he sees you trailing after Ace.

"Hello, Riddle." You smile warmly at him, and his cheeks flush pink.

Wait. He stops. Have you ever called his name? He doesn’t have time to ponder this before he’s interrupted by Trey and Cater bringing in the food.

When everyone is seated and the party is in swing, he notices something.

“Is the food not to your liking, [First]?” He inquires as politely as possible, softening his tone to make it sound less accusatory.

You fluster, waving a hand. “Not at all. I’m just not that hungry right now.”

He decides to leave it, because it’s not as if it’s wrong, per se, if the guest wasn’t eating. He recalls Ace’s previous words to him.

“Housewarden, you really should loosen up a bit! Otherwise you’re gonna end up being a killjoy!”

He may be many things, but he is not a killjoy! Just because he was particular about certain things doesn’t mean he didn’t know how to let go.

But something feels off.

Then he realizes that while the conversation is flowing as usual, you are hardly speaking at all. You only speak when directly spoken to, and even then, it’s short, clipped responses.

He watches incredulously as you pour yourself a cup of tea and then drink it.

The golden scepter materializes in his hand as easily as breathing.

Everyone else reacts explosively, looking alarmed at the scene unfolding. Meanwhile, you merely stare blankly at the end of the scepter nearly several inches from your nose.

"Riddle, hold the phone, what are you doing?!" He barely hears Cater's frantic voice to his left. He's too focused on the way that…that thing is not reacting at all. 

"You. Where is [First]?"

It's silent for a moment, and then a disturbing crooked grin breaks out from its poker face. It starts cackling loudly and it makes his blood start boiling. 

"Start speaking or it's off with your head!" He screeches, scepter shaking uncontrollably in his hands.

"Boo, I was hoping you guys were stupid enough to fall for it.” The thing taunts, leaning back in their chair. 

Red fills his vision. How dare this thing use your visage and breath such vile words? Before he could register it, his arm swipes across. By the time his eyes clear and his breathing steadies, he's staring at a decapitated body that is mangled beyond repair. 

It takes another moment to realize he is not the only one who has raised their magical pen.

Trey is at his right, golden eyes dark as Riddle realizes he positioned himself to shield him. Cater mirrors Trey, but his arms are visibly shaking and his eyes keep switching from him to the broken body on the trimmed lawn. Ace and Deuce had positioned themselves to the backside, but they too, barely seem to be holding themselves together, clenched fists at the ready for physical blows.

“What…” he breathes, “is going on?”

The only answer he gets is the wind whistling through the grass blades.

He collapses to his knees as he fumbles with a body that has been torn asunder, but instead of flesh and bones, he only finds clay and chipped resin.

“What have we done?”

[ghcstao3]

ghost doesn’t talk about his family. he just… doesn’t. maybe he doesn’t feel a need for it, maybe it’s to keep that part of his life private (which would be understandable, if soap didn’t already know every other part of his life), or maybe… maybe there are other reasons.

so when ghost asks soap if he’d like to meet them, soap feels that he’s understandably nervous.

it’s a long enough drive from ghost’s flat. there isn’t much indication as to where he plans to go, how long he plans on driving—and it certainly doesn’t help that soap is unfamiliar with the region. but he can’t find it in himself to be bothered, not when he gets to spend time with ghost anyway.

soap had wanted to dress a little more formally, make a good impression—but ghost had just shook his head and said it wasn’t necessary. that his current outfit of jeans and a t-shirt would be plenty fine. soap concedes, but it doesn’t ease his anxiety in the slightest.

then they’re turning into the parking lot of a church.

it’s not quite the middle of nowhere, but it’s not busy, either. the church itself is simple, small, but well-kept. it’s graveyard, too.

which appears to be where ghost is leading them.

soap’s anxiety is immediately replaced with a sort of… melancholy.

his heart aches when ghost sits himself down in the grass, in front of four gravestones all paired with the surname riley. it hurts even more when he sits beside ghost, seeing the forlorn expression on his face.

“they’d have loved you, i think,” ghost says. it’s the first time he’s spoken since they’d left his flat. “‘specially jo. he might’ve actually appreciated the mohawk.”

soap laughs quietly, gently bumping ghost’s shoulder with his. “finally, someone with taste.”

ghost snorts, then they’re settling into a new silence as they sit pressed together, observing the headstones.

soap’s head falls onto ghost’s shoulder as he lets out a soft sigh.

“tell me about them?” soap requests.

after a moment, ghost shrugs. “s’pose i didn’t bring you here for nothing.”

it’s almost as sad as it is heartwarming, watching ghost’s face as he describes his loved ones. and while soap would have loved to have been able to properly meet them like he’d initially thought, and while he’s sure ghost wishes the same—it’s still enough, seeing and understanding their importance to ghost, to simon, through his stories alone.

maybe in another universe, the world is kinder to the man that deserves so much peace.

[sister-lucifer]

Love After Life

Claude Theroux (Ghost OC) x Male Reader

Genre: Smut 

Summary: When the ghostly groom mistakes you for his lost bride on a dark Halloween night, you can’t stop yourself from giving into him. 

Content/Warnings: AMAB Reader, unprotected anal sex, cumming inside, Reader crossdressing as a bride for Halloween, a little dubcon but not really only at first, mentions of death + fire, pet names (my love, my darling, various French pet names, etc), Claude refers to Reader with feminine terms because he has weird ghost brain stuff going on and doesn’t realize he’s not his wife, pregnancy/breeding, does this count as force fem?

A/N: Happy (slightly late) Halloween, everyone! ʚ♡ɞ

THIS IS NOT FULLY PROOFREAD! PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU SEE ANY TYPOS!

Believing in ghost stories is a feat that has always hovered just outside your field of reality, what you know to be true. Sure, you can suspend your disbelief to humor a friend now and again, but nothing beyond that. Of course, curiosity has a nasty habit of overpowering basic logic; when your phone pinged with a video from a friend about the supposedly haunted manor on White Oak Hill, you couldn’t resist giving it a watch. 

You rolled your eyes at the cheesy music that immediately started up upon hitting play, snuggling into bed with your free hand in a bag of snacks. You didn’t expect much at all, really. From the look of the video, it seemed like just another ploy for views from a subpar channel profiting off of kids who are still scared of monsters under the bed. You were far too intelligent for that. 

“The haunted house on White Oak Hill has been circulating once again, now that Halloween is coming around,” the narrator spoke, putting on an obviously forced voice while stock b-roll of a graveyard panned across the screen, “but what really happened to make it so haunted? Stay tuned to find out, but first, we want to tell you about our new merch drop—“

You groaned aloud, immediately skipping ahead. You could not be less interested in whatever they were peddling.  

“…and it was then, in July of 1945, that tragedy struck.” 

Ah. That’s more like it.

“Newlywed French aristocrats, Suzanne and Claude Theroux, had just arrived at White Oak Manor, where they intended to spend their honeymoon…”

Ugh, how cliché. You skipped forward a few more seconds, running out of patience fast. 

“…The couple moved downstairs, still dressed in their reception clothes, and completely oblivious to the fire blooming up in the master bedroom. Somehow, a recently lit candelabra had knocked over, causing the charred wick to burn one of the curtains, and the flames were growing rapidly. In their panic, Suzanne managed to escape, but Claude was not so lucky…” 

The music faded out, as did the visuals. As much as you’d hate to admit it, they had reeled you in. You didn’t even realize how close you’d gotten to the screen throughout that monologue, at least not until—

“…but first, a word from our sponsors.” 

Oh, fuck this! 

The shrill text tone jolts you out of an embarrassingly deep sleep. You wipe the drool from your chin as you scramble to sit up, phone sliding off of your chest. Looks like you fell asleep watching that video. So much for scary—you slept like a baby. 

You pick up your phone and look at the notification. You can’t help but roll your eyes as you type out your reply. 

Unfortunately, you actually had to consider that. 

You’re not exactly strapped for cash or struggling to scrape by, but it sure as hell would make you a lot more secure and comfortable to know you at least have that extra hundred put away in case of an emergency.

…Ugh. 

“Oh my god,” you mutter, stumbling through the doorway of the old house, “this is stupid. This is so stupid…” 

Somehow, you’ve gotten this far without putting all of this to a stop.  Maybe it was the hundred dollars floating just out of reach like a carrot on a stick, maybe it was morbid curiosity, or maybe it was just plain idiocy, but you really let this happen. Wow. 

Each step makes the wooden floors creak underfoot, the boards hissing in protest to your weight. You struggle to keep your balance in the tacky heels you were forced into, which are as uncomfortable as they are humiliating. To add insult to…well, another insult, you aren’t even wearing regular clothes under the dress as promised; they made it nearly impossible to get the damn thing on, and it was just too uncomfortable. You were allowed to keep your briefs, at least. Not that that makes you feel any better. Your dignity is strained, to put it lightly. 

You scratch at your arm rather aggressively, the itchy fabric of the tulle sleeves irritating the skin there. The entire dress is painfully cheap, and promises an unforgiving rash tomorrow morning. You instinctively reach to where your pocket would normally be to grab your phone, only to be utterly disappointed as the words of your friend echo in your head: 

“No modern technology! If he sees you tapping at your weird light box, he’ll freak out! All you have to do is go in, sweep the house, and report back to me.” 

Of course, your immediate response was to question why the ghost hunter wasn’t going in; surely the ‘expert’ isn’t scared? 

The only answer you got was a rather unceremonious shove towards the house. 

You’re in this alone. Great. 

You just hope the house doesn’t decide to collapse in on itself tonight. You don’t believe in ghosts, but the decrepit 20th century architecture and the harsh wind whistling through the broken windows are very real. It seems like the entire manor is trying to chase you out, like it’s angry that you’re here, loudly creaking and moaning with every shift or shake to talk you out of taking another step. No wonder this place has sparked so many ghost stories, it’s scary as shit! 

You stop in the middle of the foyer, taking a moment to drink in the scenery. 

The effects of the fire are obvious, even after all the years of atrophy; the core of the charred blackness lies upstairs, but its countless arms sprawl outwards, clawing at the walls in a desperate attempt to get free. From what you can see, it did not succeed, as the front most part of the house seems to be relatively untouched. 

Most of the house was gutted in an estate sale—what could be salvaged, anyways— but a couple of throne chairs and a matching ottoman still remain, now thoroughly gnawed through by all manner of creepy-crawlies. The entire downstairs is covered in a sticky blanket of spiderwebs, as if you needed more evidence of an infestation. Most of the curtains have been left untouched, except by time, though they do little to keep the house warm without any in tact windows. All of glass has been nearly completely shattered by either nature or vandals. You noticed a few graffiti tags and discarded beer cans outside, but the inside looks like it hasn’t had many people in it since the fire. The legends must keep them out. 

You look around as you try to discern where to go next. Directly in front of you is a large staircase leading to the upper level of the house, and behind it are a few doors that probably lead to a kitchen, a guest room and the like. On either side are long hallways that curl around, preventing you from seeing where they lead. The living area on your left, with the only remaining pieces of furniture, is enclosed on either side by grand bookcases that once held countless manuscripts and novels. The floor is still discolored from where the rug once laid. The grand chandelier of Damocles above your head sways a bit in the wind, and that makes you swallow nervously; you make the smart decision to move a few steps to the side just in case the diamond daggers come down. 

The question is: where do you start?

You could quite easily get turned around in here, especially in the endless hallways of the ground floor. You were given a brief glance at the floor plans, and there was no basement, only the two levels above and below the stairs. The best place to start would be upstairs, you decide— that way you can work your way back to the front door. 

Upon closer inspection, though, you realize that physically going up the stairs might be easier said than done, especially in these tacky pumps. Your eyes follow the steps from the bottom up, and each stair is only more burnt and broken than the last. You’ll have to navigate this with utmost caution. 

Your first step is shaky, but the wood doesn’t feel too unsteady. You’re careful not to stumble or let the heels of your shoes slip off the back of the stairs as you ascend, holding tightly to the rail. You only lift your hand at about halfway up, when you feel the gradually blackening wood starting to flake off and stick to your palm. The higher you climb, the darker it gets, all of the color of the upstairs completely consumed and overtaken by the fire. It’s like walking into Hell, the last vestiges of light fleeing from the sight as you finally reach the last step. 

You linger there for a moment, mouth hanging open just slightly as the reality of the tragedy sets in. Sure, you’d seen pictures, unable to push down the curiosity in the time before your little adventure, but this was…haunting. 

Someone actually died here. Holy shit. You’re staring into someone’s grave. 

You shudder as another breeze passes through, feeling much colder than before. You can only stare into the pitch black hallway for a moment before an irritated creak from the stairs urges you to quickly move off of them. 

Black dust swarms around your ankles as you step onto the upper floor. It seems even more untouched than the lower part of the house. The wind doesn’t come through as loudly here, and suddenly you realize how deathly quiet it got as you came up the stairs. You listen for a moment to see if you can pick up any sound from the outside, but there’s nothing. Not a sound, not a rustle, not a honk from the highway. You don’t even think the rats come up here. Spooky. 

You look to your left, down the hallway. Darkness. Complete darkness. The frail gleam of the moon is practically swallowed by the suffocating black. 

You look to your right, and see the same thing. You catch a brief glimpse of the dim light reflecting on something. 

You look back to the— 

Wait. 

You double take.  The fuck was that? 

You turn back to the right, now much more on guard. You squint into the shadows, sure that you saw something against the wall that barely hovered where you could see it. 

Nothing moves. 

Nothing is there. 

You sigh, rolling your eyes at your own stupidity. You’re letting those dumb stories get to you. You just need to get out of here before you catch a disease or fall through the floor and break an ankle. 

You decide to keep true, headed straight for the center hall and the master bedroom where it all began. You walk slowly, keeping an arm in front of you to feel for spiderwebs in the windowless hallway, but you encounter none. Come to think of it, you hadn’t seen any signs of pests since the stairs. Nothing worth eating up here, you guess. 

You can barely see the slight glint of the bedroom doorknob. It shifts and wavers just a bit as you bob with each step, eventually coming close enough to reach out and grab it. You prepare for the spikes of cold metal against your skin, but the sensation you feel is much different. 

The doorknob is warm. 

Not unbearably hot, no, but warm. Warmer than it has any right to be, enough to make you pull your hand back for a moment. 

You swallow hard. 

It must be because the wind doesn’t come through here, you rationalize; this hall has no windows, there’s rooms on both sides—it’s not as drafty as the rest of the house. That must be it. 

You grasp the knob again, turning it slowly…so as to not break it, of course. 

The door creaks open loud enough to make you wince, like you’re worried someone will hear and come bustling in to scold you for being up past your bedtime. The room looks rather well preserved, and it doesn’t start to sink in how odd  that is until you’ve already stepped inside, and then the door shuts behind you on its own. That startles you enough to crash your train of thought. 

You quickly spin around to look at the door, staring for a few moments to see if it’ll move. It stays still, the ornate wooden carvings looking back at you like sharp eyes, waiting to see if you, too, will make a move. 

The room is, for lack of a better term, dead. Any sound that tries to make its way in dies outside the walls, and even the particles floating in the air seem frozen, cursed to forever hover in the beams of moonlight. A ghostly glow is cast over everything, an ethereal blanket that makes the air feel heavy. You take a step further into the room, and it feels like walking on the ocean floor. You’re numb, yet you can feel your skin clinging to your bones. 

You really shouldn’t be here. 

Then, a flickering light in the corner of your eye catches your attention. It startles you, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, enough to make you jump as you turn to it. The glimmering brilliance blinds you for a moment, and you don’t realize what you’re looking at until your eyes focus again. 

On the bedside table, its illuminating aura casting quivering shadows on the walls, is a sterling silver candelabra holding tightly to three lit candlesticks. The engraved vines snake their way up its arms and around its base, almost as if trying to hold it still. It looks like a priceless antique, but it shines like it’s brand new. A moment ago the room was completely dark, and now it’s aglow with the white-blue candlelight. The flames swirl in your pupils, hypnotizing you with their unnatural hue as they dance like skilled ballerinas, flicking up into a perfect arabesque before relaxing into a soft adagio, beckoning you closer without you even realizing. 

You don’t see how close you’ve gotten until you’re nearly upon it. Your fingers twitch, nearly aching to reach out and hover over the fire. Without a conscious decision, your hand starts to lift, like moving through water. It floats just above the candles, and you feel no heat, nor do you see any smoke. It’s like a projection onto the air itself. 

You barely stop yourself from dipping a finger into the flames. You know logically that you’ll be burned—or at least, you should be—but the fire calls to you nonetheless. For just a moment, everything is different; you aren’t yourself. There’s a dark cloud forming in your mind, and then suddenly it dissipates at the startling sound of a voice behind you. 

You whip your head around so fast your neck nearly snaps. You squint into the darkness, still as a statue, expecting to see your friend standing there or perhaps even a fellow explorer whose curiosity got the better of them. You’re not even sure what the voice said, but it was certainly human…or, at least, something that’s quite good at sounding human. 

You see no one.

You’re just as alone as you were. 

You turn to face the room fully, but you move too fast. Your hand bumps the bedside table, knocking the candelabra off of it. You panic as you scramble to catch the candleholder, not even thinking about the possibility of burning your hands. You manage to reach out at the last second and get your palm beneath it, and you expect to feel the weight of the cool silver against your skin, but you never do. 

You watch with your own eyes as the candelabra phases right through your flesh. 

You think for a split second that perhaps you just missed, but there’s no clatter against the wood floor either. The candelabra disappears with as much ceremony as it first materialized, leaving only a few sapphire embers that jump from the wicks before fading away as well. The moon’s beams on your back is the only surviving light. 

You can feel the freezing of your blood as it crystallizes into solid ice, the unbearable sensation blooming in your stomach before snaking its way down your limbs. You want to scream, but you can only muster a gasp as you stumble backwards in shock. You trip over your own feet, falling back onto the bed. 

Your vision starts to fill with black spots as your mind struggles to wrap around what it just witnessed. You keep seeing that split second in time when you watched it go through you, that single moment where it was halfway through your solid form before it was gone. Unsure what else to do, you squeeze your eyes shut, trying desperately to calm yourself. 

You lay there for a few moments, unable to make yourself get up or move at all. All at once your mind is racing, yet you’re unable to think at all. You try to force yourself to calm down, to will your heart to quiet, but you can’t push the thought of the candelabra out of your mind. 

You’re not sure why, but you cover your face. Your entire body tenses for a brief moment before you finally break your barrier of panic. Slowly, but surely, you relax again. Your chest is still heaving, but you can finally form a semi-coherent thought. 

…What the hell just happened? 

You don’t have an answer for that. At least, not right now. 

That’s okay, you sure yourself. You’re fine. You need to just get out of here. You can lie and say you saw a shadowy figure or something. 

You pull your hands away from your face, blinking a few times as your eyes focus and adjust to the bright light. 

Hold on. 

The what? 

No, you’re really seeing that…?! 

Just above you is a hovering form, glowing in the darkness of the bedroom. For a second it only looks like a luminous cloud, but then the finer features become clear, coming into form like a time lapse of a painting. 

You notice the eyes first. They’re a brilliant blue, even more so than the rest of the body, like heavy gems being cradled by translucent clouds. You notice the hair next, long, silky and wavy, looking like it may have once been blond despite the blue tint, and floating as though in zero gravity. The nose is slender and straight, and the lips are devoid of warmth and slightly parted as if pleasantly surprised. The rest of the body is wrapped in a dark suit, accented with a light blue tie and a matching lily boutonnière with drooping petals. 

You put it together in an instant; the attire, the house, the fire… 

…The groom. 

Your throat goes dry as sandpaper. 

He’s smiling down at you a terrifying amount of genuine affection. He tilts his head just slightly, observing you as your mouth gapes and eyes widen in shock. You struggle for words, but only manage to choke out one thing: 

“Claude...?!”

His grin only widens when he hears his name from your lips. 

“Ohh, my love,” he sighs, his thickly accented voice echoing in the back of your head as if speaking directly into your mind, “I was wondering where you went…”

He reaches out to stroke your cheek, and it feels like cold fog on your skin. He’s trembling as much as you are. 

“You’ve returned, you’ve returned…” he mumbles like a chant. He leans in with both hands on the sides of your face, gently bumping his forehead against yours. The contact makes your entire body shiver, and you have to stop your teeth from chattering. You know you should say something, stop him, move away…but what can be done? 

You’re frozen. 

His hands on your face are starting to make your skin tingle, like pins and needles in your cheek. The sensation lingers when he finally pulls away, and you can’t stop yourself from rubbing the feeling away on your shoulder. 

There’s a beat of silence between you for a moment. He looks down at you, gentle smile never wavering despite the terror that’s surely on your face. He doesn’t seem to realize at all that you’re not happy to see him. Something in his eyes makes you feel like he’s looking through you, or perhaps not truly seeing you at all. 

You bristle when he moves lower, hollow hands grasping at your ankles before sliding upward, lifting the cheap layered skirt of the bride costume. The cold feeling creeping up your leg makes you yelp, and you instinctively kick at him. Your tacky heel slips off and falls to the floor with your foot still floating inside his abdomen. Oh god, it feels like stepping in refrigerated jello. 

Claude pauses. For a moment you’re worried you’ve angered him, that now you’ve invoked

the wrath of a restless spirit, but then he laughs. He laughs as though you’d simply told him something funny, and then his hands continue working their way up your legs. 

“Always so spirited,” Claude chuckles, hands now firmly on your thighs, “I always did love that about you, ma femme…” 

He leans over you, and you want to sink into the mattress as far as possible. Your legs tremble uselessly as they dangle over the edge of the bed, unable to make you run. 

“W-Wait, hold on—“ you stammer, but you choke on your words when he dips down to kiss your neck. Each little press of his lips is like a shock to your system. Normally, you wouldn’t be so sensitive, but the feeling is so foreign and overwhelming you can’t help but arch your back. His hands slide up and down your waist, skirt now bunched around your hips, and you can barely feel the cold through the costume. 

He either doesn’t hear you or doesn’t acknowledge your words. He keeps working his way down your neck, hands moving around to your back and fumbling with the zipper down the bodice of your dress. You don’t realize what’s happening before suddenly the costume is being pulled off your shoulders. 

“Wait, wait—!” you say again, with a bit more volume this time. This makes him stop, pulling away and looking at you with confusion, and maybe even a bit of hurt. 

“Darling, what’s the matter?” he asks, stroking your hair, “Are you nervous? Don’t be…” 

“N-No, you don’t understand…!” you insist, but the longer you look in his eyes, the less you want to fight him. 

“Can’t you tell? I-I’m not…you know…” 

You trail off, gesturing vaguely to yourself. Surely he can tell you’re not his Suzanne…? 

His eyebrows furrow. He’s clearly not understanding what you’re getting at, but then his eyes light up with a realization. 

“…Oh…I see…” he mumbles, looking away from you in thought. You finally relax, breathing a sigh of relief. Looks like you managed to get through to—

“Oh, darling, I don’t care if you’re not a virgin!” 

…What? 

You open your mouth to correct him, but no sound comes out. He kisses you, you think, but it’s so fast you only feel the slight coolness on your lips. 

“It doesn’t matter to me,” he continues, “you’re still my beautiful wife. No more delay, let me show you how much I love you.”

Before you can blink the costume has been pulled off of you. You’re left in only your boxers and one shoe, head spinning as you struggle to make any sense of the situation. 

How does he not see? You think, you don’t look anything like Suzanne, gender disparity aside…! 

No, wait…what was it they said in that old ghost movie? 

“Ghosts see what they want to see.” 

The sudden understanding barely breaks through as Claude dives into your neck again, the other side this time, mumbling and sighing against your skin in slurred French. 

There’s no reasoning with him, you realize, he wants you to be his wife. He needs you to be her. He’s been waiting here so long for her to return, he doesn’t even know he’s dead. 

Oh, god… 

His hands run up and down your bare chest, and the freezing touch makes your nipples harden. They trail lower, like cold water running down your body, pausing at the waistband of your boxers. He floats downward to nuzzle into your thigh, and the sight of him looking up at you with those big, blue eyes makes your stomach flip. 

“Oh, mon amour, won’t you let me…?” he asks, tugging at your boxers, “I simply can’t rest until I’ve had you…”

Can’t rest, he says…

Is that what he’s been waiting for all these years? 

They say ghosts only stick around if they have unfinished business, right? Is this…is this what he needs? 

You suck in a deep breath, unable to look away from his eyes. 

Well…if it might work, it’s worth a shot, right? You’re doing this for him, after all. 

At least that’s what you’ll tell yourself tomorrow morning. 

Fuck it. 

“Yes.”

The way his expression quite literally lights up makes your face go hot. 

He wastes no time, pulling off your boxers with utmost enthusiasm. The fall to the floor, immediately forgotten once he’s dropped them. You resist the urge to suck in a harsh breath as your half hard cock is exposed to the air. You’re already bracing yourself for the inevitable feeling of his cold touch. 

For the first time, you really see him pause. He’s staring down at your length, gears turning in his head but not working quite right, like he’s on the verge of snapping out of a trance. You gulp. If he’s found you out, you might be screwed. 

The silence stretches on for an almost awkward amount of time. 

Then, without warning, the love returns to his eyes, and a split second later his tongue comes out to lick a long stripe up your shaft. You nearly scream, barely managing to cover your mouth in time. Fuck, that’s cold! 

It’s clear that he’s not all that knowledgeable about what to do with a dick, but he’s giving it a hell of a try. He makes sure his tongue doesn’t neglect a single spot on your length, and he doesn’t miss the little squeal he gets when he flicks gently at the tip. He tries to take it in his mouth, but forcing your cock down his throat is clearly uncomfortable for him, even if he can’t choke on it. Nonetheless, he tries, rubbing at whatever he can’t fit in his mouth with his hand. He’s not afraid of moaning, either, and the vibrations it sends through you can never be replicated by any toy. 

You do your best to lay back and enjoy it despite the bizarre situation. You manage to clear your mind for only a moment before you feel two of his fingers brushing against your hole. You gasp, tensing on instinct. You can feel him smirk around your cock before he pulls off of it for a moment. 

“Ahh, there it is…” he says lowly before promptly busying his mouth once more. 

You bite down hard on your bottom lip as two of his fingers slip in, the cold instantly penetrating your core. This seems to be a skill he’s much more adept at; he’s far less hesitant, and far more graceful. He stretches you in just the right ways, exploring your waiting hole with a confidence that easily surpasses any of your past partners. His fingers slip in and move around so easily, without any struggle or pain. You’re almost upset you’ll never feel this again. 

Try as you might to be quiet, you can’t bite back the moan that crawls out of your throat when the pads of his fingers press against your prostate. He chuckles as best he can with your dick down his throat. He presses again, gentler this time, clearly enjoying the drawn out while it gets from you. 

It’s getting harder and harder to keep quiet as he hits all the right spots over and over again. He’s evidently a quick learner, too, as he’s already picked up on the best ways to use his tongue around your length. You can feel yourself twitching in his mouth. 

He slips in a third finger, and as it pushes in you nearly see stars. Tingly static crawls up your body like dye soaking into fabric, invading the deepest crevices of your nervous system. God, that’s good. 

You’re not sure how long it’s been when he finally pulls away, leaving you suddenly empty and far too warm for comfort. You’re too dizzy to question what’s going on when he flips you onto your stomach, but you don’t have to ask questions. You shudder as he leans over you, his chest against your back, engulfing your body with an icy sensation. 

“Oh, ma belle femme, how lucky I am to have you,” he whispers in your ear, voice choked and shaky, “I can feel you trembling underneath me. Just sit still, my darling…” 

You can hear him rustling with his clothes behind you, but don’t bother to look back. Your cock is practically begging for more of his touch. 

After a moment he leans over you again, this time laying his hands over yours. He feels nearly weightless, like a cloud resting on top of you. 

“Je peux enfin t’emmener…”

You don’t have a second to process his words before suddenly he’s pushing into you. You don’t bother trying to hide your voice, and neither does he, droning on and whispering sweet nothings you can barely understand as your mind is completely melted by the feeling of the penetration. 

You nearly collapse against the mattress, but he manages to catch your hips just in time. You claw at the sheets as he fills you to the base, and the blankets do little to muffle your cries. For a brief moment you wonder if anyone outside could hear you, but that worry is quickly pushed aside when you feel him pulling back. You dig your nails into your palm so hard you’re sure it’ll leave marks as you prepare for what’s about to come. 

The first thrust feels like it might break your mind. The head of his pale cock butts hard against your prostate, making you shriek like you never thought you could. You nearly tear a hole in the bedsheets with your desperate attempt

to find some sort of relief, and yet you don’t want any at all. Your body might be shaking like a leaf in a hurricane, but against all logic, your mind is screaming more, more, more!

“C-Claude—!” you yelp as he slams into you once more. 

“Suzanne!” he echoes in turn, ecstasy dripping from his voice, “Suzanne, my love, how I’ve waited for this…!”

He returns to kissing your neck, though much messier than before. He just needs to taste you, sucking and nipping and licking any spare bit of skin he can get to. If he feels so cold, you must feel so warm. 

He’s trying to be gentle, to go easy on you, but he’s struggling. You can feel him forcing himself to go slower. You need to encourage him. 

“Oh, Claude,” you moan, putting on the girliest voice you can muster, “faster! Faster, my love, please, give me more!” 

He’s more than happy to comply, and after a brief adjustment of his hold on you his pace increases tenfold. He’s grunting and huffing like an animal—and you’re underneath him, moaning and whimpering like a girl. 

“Suzanne, my darling, we’re going to do it,” he says suddenly, and you have no idea what he means. He pulls you in closer, pressing you against his chest more firmly. 

“We’re going to do it,” he repeats, “we’re going to have our family…I want to— no, I need to give you my child.” 

The sound that comes out of you is humiliating. 

You’ve never wanted anything more than for him to cum inside of you in this moment. 

“Yes,” you reply without thinking, “yes, yes!” 

He only thrusts into you faster, fueled completely by your mutual desire. Both of his hands are on your hips now, holding tightly and pulling you back against him as he pushes in. The bed is rocking so hard it feels like it might collapse underneath you. Even if it did, neither of you would even consider stopping, not for a second. 

He’s starting to lose his rhythm, you realize. He’s just as sensitive as you are. He wants this just as much, if not more. You can’t even string together a coherent sentence to beg for it, all you can do is let the string of pleasured noises fall from your lips, only occasionally managing to say his name. He chants back ‘Suzanne’ like it’s the only word he knows; it’s the only one that matters to him, at least. 

You jump when he wraps a hand around your cock, pumping it quickly with little to no consistent pattern. He’s practically milking it, rubbing fast and hard and doing everything in his power to push you to your peak. 

“Cum for me, my love,” he huffs, “let me feel you cum around my cock…won’t you give me the privilege?” 

“Of course, my darling,” you reply. How could you say no? 

Your orgasm starts to build faster than you’re ready for. You can barely choke out an understandable warning before your cock twitches and spills its load, spurting into his hand and certainly dirtying the bedding underneath you. He buries his face in your neck as your hole squeezes him deliciously, making him cry out at the feeling. 

“Yes, my love— Oh god, yes!” he almost sobs. He’s completely lost his rhythm now, just rutting into you like a feral dog in heat as he chases his own high. 

He gives one last cry of his bride’s name before suddenly he stills, and his cock spills into you. You’re not sure what it feels like—you don’t think any human experience could ever compare—but it’s certainly not unpleasant. It’s not the warm, sticky feeling dripping down your thighs, at least. 

You nearly black out for a moment, your head spinning like a top with no relief in sight. Darkness is quickly clouding your vision as you come down from your intense high, and you barely register the gentle kiss Claude presses to your cheek before the cold feeling against your back is gone. You close your eyes then, unable to keep them open any longer. 

You’re not sure how long it’s been when you awake again. Logically, it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, but you feel like you’ve been asleep for years. You slowly move to sit up, and instantly you’re made painfully aware of the soreness in your legs and lower back. You groan, forcing yourself to move to sit on the edge of the bed. 

You’re still very naked, that’s for sure. You look down between your legs, and grimace at the sight of the luminescent ectoplasm glowing in the dim light as it drips from your thighs and ass. 

The thing that really stands out, though, is the state of the room. Whatever you saw before must’ve been some sort of ghostly illusion; now you’re surrounded by nothing but charred black, sticking to your legs and palms and floating about in the air in flaky little bits. 

Yuck. 

You sigh as you will yourself to get up, not enjoying the feeling of your one bare foot on the dusty wood floor. You can barely walk far enough to retrieve the costume dress, let alone bend down and pick it up, but by some divine intelligence you manage. 

After redressing to the best of your ability, you limp back downstairs—talk about a walk of shame. Although, despite your embarrassment, you do note that the house feels…emptier. Lighter. It’s nice. 

You don’t have an excuse for why you’re so disheveled, or why you’re walking so weirdly, or why you’re so sweaty. You don’t care. You’re going to walk out that door, get your last half of the payment, and go home and get a good night’s sleep knowing that, in some impossibly strange way, you did a good thing. 

The one thing you will never admit, though, is that you were very wrong: 

Ghosts are real. 

And you have the wet dream to prove it. 

If you liked this fic, please reblog! it’s free, takes two seconds, and really helps me out. 

Feedback is encouraged and appreciated.

[mattsobvimyfav]

neighbors (Matthew Sturniolo)

pt.2

Friday morning was full of excitement. Charlie and I had barely slept the night before, too eager about picking up our cars. The moment we got to the dealerships, it felt surreal seeing our new cars parked out front, gleaming in the morning sunlight.

Charlie’s yellow Jeep Wrangler stood out like a burst of sunshine, and my forest green Ford Bronco had this rugged, timeless look that made me fall in love with it all over again. We couldn’t stop grinning as we signed the last bits of paperwork and were handed the keys.

Once we were done, we decided to meet back at the house and park our cars side by side. The contrast of Charlie’s bright yellow and my deep green made for the perfect aesthetic, and we couldn’t pass up the opportunity for a photo op. We set up the tripod and took a bunch of pictures in front of our cars, arms around each other, grinning from ear to ear.

One picture stood out: the two of us leaning against our cars, It perfectly captured the moment, our excitement radiating through the screen.

Back inside, we edited the picture quickly and posted it to our joint Instagram account with the caption:

“New wheels, new beginnings. Video dropping tonight at 8 PM EST! Huge thank you to you guys for making all of this possible. We love you so much!”

Within minutes, the post started blowing up with likes and comments. Fans were excited to see the new cars and were already hyped for the video announcement.

“Okay, that’s done,” I said, setting my phone down.

“Yup,” Charlie replied, her face already buried in her phone. “Do you want to go to that party tonight?”

“What party?” I asked back.

Last year Sam and Colby, the ghost-hunting YouTubers, had come to Massachusetts twice to film with us. They’d reached out after seeing some of our vlogs where we explored abandoned buildings, claiming we had the perfect skepticism for a collaboration. The first shoot had been a creepy old mansion, and the second, an eerie graveyard that left us questioning our life choices. Those videos were some of the highlights of our channel, and working with Sam and Colby had been an absolute blast.

We kept in touch sporadically through Instagram DMs, commenting on each other’s projects and hyping each other up, but we hadn’t seen them since the last collaboration. 

“Sam and Colby invited us to their party” She replied very nonchalant 

I blinked, “What?”

She shoved her phone in my face, and there it was a dm from Sam

“Hey, char, We’re throwing a party tonight seeing you guys just moved here figured it was the perfect welcome. Have y/n text Colby if you guys want to come.”

“First party here?” I said, sitting up straight. “I mean fuck it”

“Exactly,” Charlie said, pacing the room. “Text Colby.”

I hesitated for a moment, thinking about the crowd that would be there. I rolled over on top of Charlie and started grunting “There's going to be a lot of people, isn't there?”

Charlie gave me a look like I was insane. “We moved to LA. What else did you expect”

She had a point. 

“Okay,” I said, nodding. “Ill text him.” I pulled my phone out typing up colbys name in my messages .

‘Hey, me and charles will go send me ur address and the time you want us there’ 

Colby quickly texted me back with the information and I saw it was about forty five minutes from us.

“Okay we have like two hours till we have to start getting ready” I told Charlie, throwing my phone across the couch.

“Now the big question,” she said, trying to push me off of her. “What the hell are we going to wear?”

I’d just hit “post” on our car shopping vlog and already saw the comments rolling in, fans gushing about our new cars and how excited they were for our move to LA. I closed the laptop and stood, stretching.

“Alright,” I said, turning to Charlie, who was rummaging through the cabinets “Let’s do this.”

We ran upstairs and Charlie came into my room with clothes in hand “What are you wearing?”

She held up a sheer grey sparkly cropped top with a satisfied grin. “This, with black jeans and a black bra underneath. Casual, but still hot. What about you?”

I stared at my closet for a second before grabbing my cheetah-print corset top and a loose, short black skirt. 

Charlie whistled, nodding in approval. “What the fuck, your boobs are going to look so good”

We spent the next hour getting ready, music blasting in the background. I curled my hair in loose waves while Charlie applied her makeup with the precision of an artist. After throwing on my outfit, I accessorized with a pair of silver hoops, a stack of bracelets and necklaces. Charlie opted for sleek eyeliner and a touch of highlighter that caught the light perfectly.

By the time we were both dressed.

“Our ubers almost here, ready?” Charlie asked, her grin infectious.

I smirked, grabbing my purse. “Lets get fucked up.”

The Uber dropped us off in front of a sprawling mansion glowing with string lights and thumping with bass. People were spilling out onto the driveway, drinks in hand, laughing and shouting over the music.

“Okay, this is a lot,” Charlie whispered as we stepped onto the property.

“It'll be fun,” I muttered back, adjusting my skirt as we approached the front door.

Inside, the party was even more chaotic. The lights were dim, colored LED strips casting a neon glow over the crowded rooms. The air smelled like expensive perfume, alcohol, and something faintly burnt—probably weed.

“Y/N! Charlie!” Colby’s voice cut through the noise. He appeared out of nowhere, a wide grin on his face. He pulled us into quick hugs, kissing my forehead. “You made it! I’m so glad. Drinks are in the kitchen. Just have fun. I’ll find you guys later!”

Before we could say much, he disappeared into the crowd, already engrossed in some conversation.

Charlie and I exchanged a look. 

We made our way to the kitchen, weaving through groups of influencers we recognized from YouTube and TikTok. The countertops were lined with bottles of alcohol, mixers, and cups, and a bartender stood behind the counter, casually pouring drinks.

“Two vodka sodas, please,” Charlie ordered, leaning on the counter.

I glanced around, taking in the party. People were dancing, talking, laughing, and in the living room, something made me stop short. A group of people were casually doing lines of coke on the glass coffee table like it was nothing.

Charlie followed my gaze and froze. “Uh…”

“That’s…a lot,” I said, grabbing my drink and taking a sip.

“Fuck it, its LA,” she suggested.

“You're right.”

We carried our drinks into the living room, After scanning the area, we found a couple of empty spots on a couch and sat down. The vibe was weird—part glitzy and glamorous, part outright hedonistic—but at least the music was good, and the drinks were strong.

“This is going to be an interesting night,” Charlie muttered, glancing around.

I nodded, taking another sip. “Understatement of the year.”

Charlie and I decided to split up after a while. “You go do your thing,” she said with a smirk. “I’m gonna see if I can find someone interesting to talk to.”

I laughed, finishing off my drink. “Fine, but don’t leave me stranded with coke heads.”

She winked and disappeared into the crowd, leaving me to wander. I ended up by the bar again, where I ran into Jake Webber and Carrington, two creators I had followed for years.

“You’re Y/N, right?” Jake asked, flashing a charming grin.

“Yeah, that’s me,” I said, trying to sound casual.

“We’ve seen your stuff,” Carrington added, leaning on the counter. “You are hilarious.”

“Thanks,” I said, genuinely flattered. “You guys are too”

We quickly got into a conversation about how they've never seen me around before, and I explained the whole finishing college.

Until I felt someone staring.

I turned, and there he was—Chris. His expression was a mix of shock and irritation, and it didn’t take long for him to storm over.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he demanded, his voice low but firm.

Jake and Carrington both looked between us, clearly uncomfortable.

“Uh, I think we’ll let you guys talk,” Jake said, quickly retreating with Carrington.

“What are you talking about?” I said, crossing my arms. “It’s a party. I was invited.”

Chris ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. “This isn't some college party, Y/N. You shouldn’t be here. People actually do drugs and get fucked up here”

“Are you serious? I’m perfectly fine, Chris.”

“No, you’re not,” he snapped. “You don’t know half the shit that goes down at these parties.”

“I don’t need your protection. I’ve been fine without you for four years.”

His jaw clenched, and before I could react, he grabbed my arm.

“What the fuck!” I shouted, trying to pull away, but his grip was firm.

“We’re talking. Alone,” he said, dragging me upstairs despite my protests.

When we reached an empty room, he finally let go, slamming the door shut behind us.

“What the fuck is your problem?” I yelled, rubbing my arm.

“My problem is you being here, acting like this is just some casual party,” he fired back. “You don’t belong here, your too good for all of this”

“I’m not a child, Chris! Stop treating me like one.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, his voice dropping, almost pleading. “This place, these people—they’re not for you, Y/N.”

“Why do you even care?” I shot back, my voice cracking slightly. “You made it pretty clear you didn’t four years ago.”

His face softened for a moment, but he quickly masked it with frustration. “You don’t get it. I never stopped caring.”

I stared at him, my chest tightening with anger. “Well, maybe you should have.”

I glared at Chris, my voice trembling with anger. “You don’t get to do this, Chris. You don’t get to come into my life out of nowhere and act like you care.”

“I do care!” he shot back, his frustration boiling over.

“Really? Because it sure didn’t feel like it when you left. When you and your brothers decided we weren’t worth a conversation, a warning, anything.”

Chris rubbed the back of his neck, his jaw tightening. “We had to go. It wasn’t just about us—it was about what was best for our careers.”

“And what about us? What about Charlie? Do you even know what you did to her? She loved you, Chris, and you shattered her heart without a second thought.”

His face twisted in pain, but he stayed silent.

“And don’t even get me started on Matt,” I continued, my voice rising. “Do you have any idea what it was like to watch the person I thought I’d spend my life with just… leave? To find out everything I thought we had was just gone because you three made a decision that didn’t include us?”

Chris opened his mouth to respond, but I wasn’t done.

“He told me it was for my own good,” I said, my voice breaking. “That he didn’t want to ‘drag me down.’ But you know what? That wasn’t his choice to make. He didn’t trust me enough to stay and fight for us. He didn’t trust me.”

Chris’s shoulders slumped, and he looked at me, guilt etched across his face. “Matt never got over you,” he said softly.

I let out a bitter laugh. “Don’t you dare try to make this about how hard it was for him. He left me, Chris. He made that choice. He didn’t even try to work it out. And you—you were just as bad. You lied to Charlie, broke her heart, and walked away like we didn’t even matter.”

“I didn’t know what else to do,” he yelled

“You could’ve stayed,” I shot back. “You could’ve talked to us. But instead, you left us to pick up the pieces while you chased your dreams. And now you’re here, what? Hoping we’ll just forget all of it?”

Chris ran a hand through his hair, his face crumbling. “It wasn’t like that, Y/N.”

“Then tell me what it was like,” I challenged. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you three cared more about yourselves than the people who loved you.”

Chris looked away, unable to meet my gaze. The silence between us was heavy, suffocating. Finally, I shook my head, stepping back toward the door.

“You made your choices, Chris,” I said, my voice cold. “And we’ve made ours. Stay away from me. Stay away from Charlie. Just stop. I am going to go downstairs and enjoy this party. And you, your going to fuck right off.”

I turned and walked out, slamming the door behind me, my heart pounding in my chest.

As I sipped my drink, chatting with a girl who’d just introduced herself as Riley, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned and, of course, there he was. Matt. The last person I wanted to see tonight.

I sighed loudly, pinching the bridge of my nose for dramatic effect. “Can I have one night of peace, please?”

“Nope,” Matt replied flatly, his jaw set and his eyes locked on me. “We’re leaving. Now.”

I stared at him, dumbfounded. “Excuse me? We’re not doing anything. You’re free to go, but I’m staying right here.”

He crossed his arms, his expression unyielding. “I’m serious, Y/N. This party isn’t for you. We’re leaving.”

I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt. “Oh, give me a break, Matt. You don’t get to decide what’s for me anymore. You lost that privilege a long time ago.”

He didn’t flinch, didn’t back down. “I’m not asking, Y/N. Let’s go.”

I groaned, the frustration boiling over. “Whatever makes you leave me alone.”

Pulling my phone from my bag, I quickly texted Charlie:

Change of plans. Get an Uber home without me. I’ll explain later.

Without waiting for her reply, I turned to Matt. “Happy now?”

He didn’t say anything, just motioned toward the door. I followed him, my anger simmering under the surface. Of all the people in the world to interrupt my night, it just had to be him.

The car ride home was suffocatingly silent. Every second stretched painfully, and I could feel Matt’s presence like a weight on my chest. I stared out the window, my mind racing, trying to process how the night had spiraled so fast.

When we finally pulled into my driveway, I unbuckled my seatbelt, ready to escape this nightmare. But as I stepped out, I realized Matt was right behind me, following me up the walkway.

I stopped dead in my tracks, turning to face him. “Um, your house is that way,” I said, pointing next door.

He didn’t respond. Instead, he reached into my bag, yanked out my keys, and unlocked the door. Before I could even react, he pushed the door open and guided me inside with an unyielding grip on my arm.

“Matt! What the FUCK are you doing?” I snapped, jerking my arm free.

He shut the door behind us, his eyes blazing with anger. “We need to talk.”

“Oh, now you want to talk?” I shot back, throwing my bag onto the couch. “Four years, Matt. Four years of silence, and you think you can just walk into my life and demand a conversation?”

“I didn’t have a choice back then!” he yelled, his voice cracking with frustration.

I laughed bitterly. “You didn’t have a choice? You chose to leave. You chose to walk away from me, from everything we had! Don’t stand here and act like you’re some victim.”

“I had to leave, Y/N!” he shouted, stepping closer. “I did it for us. For our future. You think it was easy for me to walk away?”

I scoffed, crossing my arms. “Don’t you dare try to twist this into some noble act. You left with nothing. No explanation, no warning—just gone.”

Matt’s face twisted with frustration. “I didn’t want to drag you down with me. You deserved better—”

“Don’t you dare tell me what I deserved!” I interrupted, my voice trembling. “You don’t get to make that call for me. You abandoned me, Matt. And you don’t get to waltz back into my life like nothing happened.”

He ran his hands through his hair, pacing the room. “I didn’t abandon you! I thought—”

“You thought what?” I spat. “That I’d just wait around for you? That I’d put my life on hold while you chased whatever the hell it is you wanted?”

“I thought you’d understand,” he said quietly, his voice laced with pain.

I shook my head, my throat tightening. “I don’t understand, Matt. I don’t understand how you could hurt me like that and then come back here and act like you care.”

“I do care, Y/N!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the room. “I’ve always cared!”

“Bullshit!” I screamed, the tears finally spilling over. “If you cared, you wouldn’t have left! You wouldn’t have destroyed me! I hate you, Matt. I hate you.”

His face crumbled, and for a moment, I thought he might cry. But then his expression shifted, anger flickering in his eyes. “You don’t mean that,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

“Oh, I mean it,” I said, my voice sharp as glass. “And just so we’re clear, I’ve moved on. I have a boyfriend now, Matt. His name is Leo, and he actually cares about me.”

Matt froze, his eyes narrowing. “You’re lying,” he said.

“I’m not,” I said coldly, meeting his gaze. “He’s everything you’re not. Reliable, honest, present.”

Matt’s breathing quickened, and he took a step closer, his fists clenched at his sides. “He’ll never love you like I do,” he said, his voice shaking with anger.

I laughed bitterly, the sound hollow. “Love? Don’t make me laugh, Matt. Whatever you felt for me died the second you walked out that door.”

His face twisted with pain, but I didn’t care. I was done being the girl he left behind. Done letting him think he had any power over me.

I swallowed hard, the words burning in my throat. “The tattoo. The one of our dorm number. What the hell were you thinking?”

Matt’s jaw clenched, and his eyes darted away like he didn’t want to answer.

“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about,” I said, stepping closer. “I saw it, Matt. The key. The number. Why would you do that? Why would you brand yourself with something you so easily left behind?”

“I didn’t leave it behind,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible.

I let out a bitter laugh. “You could’ve fooled me. You left. You didn’t look back. And now you’re walking around with this permanent reminder? What’s the point? To pretend you didn’t completely destroy me?”

“I got it because I never forgot,” he snapped, his voice rising as he finally looked at me. “Because no matter how far I went, no matter how much time passed, it was always there. You were always there.”

I felt my stomach twist, anger bubbling to the surface. “Do you even hear yourself right now? You don’t get to say that. You don’t get to act like you’ve been suffering when you were the one who made this choice!”

“You think this has been easy for me?” he shouted, stepping closer. “You think I don’t regret it every fucking day? That I don’t wake up wishing I’d done things differently?”

“Then why didn’t you?” I yelled back, my voice breaking. “Why didn’t you stay? Why didn’t you fight for us?”

His face crumpled, and for a moment, he looked utterly defeated. “Because I was scared, okay? I was scared I’d hold you back, that I’d ruin everything good in your life.”

“You already did,” I whispered, the words cutting through the air like a knife.

Matt flinched, his shoulders slumping. “I thought I was doing the right thing,” he said.

I shook my head, tears streaming down my face. “The right thing would’ve been staying. Fighting for me, for us. But instead, you left. And now you’re standing here, acting like you’re the victim. It’s pathetic, Matt.”

He took a shaky breath, his eyes locking onto mine. “I don’t know how to fix this,” he said, his voice breaking.

“You can’t,” I said firmly. “It’s too late. You made your choice, and I’ve moved on. You need to do the same.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Matt looked at me like he wanted to say something, like he wanted to fight for me now, but it was too late.

“Go,” I said softly, my voice steady despite the tears. “Just go, Matt.”

This time, he didn’t hesitate. He turned and walked out the door, leaving me standing there, shattered all over again.

I dragged myself upstairs, each step feeling heavier than the last. My chest was tight, my breaths shallow as if the weight of the night was physically crushing me. I stepped into the bathroom, not even bothering to turn on the light at first. The dim glow from the hallway was enough as I stared at myself in the mirror. My red, puffy eyes and tear-streaked face stared back at me, a reflection of how utterly wrecked I felt.

I turned on the shower, letting the water heat up as I pulled off my clothes. The moment I stepped under the spray, the tears started again, mixing with the water cascading down my face. I sobbed quietly, my hands gripping the tiled walls for support. The warmth of the shower did nothing to ease the cold, empty feeling in my chest.

It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair.

The memories came flooding back: laughter in our dorm, late-night conversations, stolen kisses. And then the way he left, how he tore everything apart. And now—now he had the audacity to show up, to push himself back into my life when I’d worked so hard to move on.

By the time I turned off the water and stepped out, my legs felt weak, and my heart felt heavier. I wrapped myself in a towel and padded to my room. Pulling on an oversized sweatshirt that fell to my thighs and a pair of underwear, I tried to focus on anything other than the ache in my chest.

I took my time with my skincare routine, the familiar motions grounding me. Cleanse, tone, moisturize—it was a small act of care in a moment where I felt so completely uncared for.

Finally, I headed downstairs, my hair still damp and clinging to my neck. I grabbed my water bottle from the kitchen and made my way to the couch. Curling up in the corner, I tucked my knees under the sweatshirt and pulled a blanket over myself.

The house was quiet, save for the faint hum of the fridge. I glanced at my phone, seeing no new texts or missed calls. Charlie wasn’t home yet, but I needed her. I needed her to burst through the door with her dramatic energy and remind me I wasn’t alone.

I grabbed my phone and decided it was time to finally tell Leo about Matt living next door. I sent him a text lying in the process saying all that happened was I saw him outside, and we didn't speak.

I stared at my phone, waiting for Leo’s response. My heart was pounding, and I wasn’t sure if it was from the confrontation with Matt earlier or the anxiety of telling Leo. I knew he would be upset, but I didn’t realize how upset until his response came through.

Leo: What? Are you kidding me?

Leo: You’re telling me you’re near him again? After everything?

My fingers trembled as I read his messages. His words stung more than I expected.

Me: I didn’t want him to be here either, Leo. It just happened.

Leo: No, Y/N, you literally live next door to him. What are you going to go back to him now?

Me: I’m not going back to him. I’m just dealing with the fact that he’s living next door now. And I didn’t know until tonight.

Leo: I hate that he’s still in your head, its supposed to be me and you. Not you and matt and maybe me.

I let out a shaky breath, tears pricking at my eyes. It hurt to see him so angry, but I couldn’t blame him. 

Me: I’m not letting him back in, Leo. I swear.

Leo: You say that, You’re letting him get in the way of us.

Me: That’s not fair, Leo. I didn’t choose for him to be there. He shouldn't be affecting us at all.

There was a long pause, and when his next message came through, I could feel the frustration and hurt in every word.

Leo: I’m sorry, but I can’t do this. I can’t sit here and wait for you to just go back to him. You think I didn't hear about you guys all the time, we were on the hockey team together. I don’t want to end up being second to him.

I felt like the air had been sucked out of my lungs. My eyes were blurring with tears, and I felt a lump form in my throat. This was not how I expected this to go. I thought Leo would understand. I thought he would have my back, not be so furious with me for being in this situation.

Me: Leo, please don’t say that.

But I could tell by the tone of his messages, he was already done.

Leo: I think we need some space, Y/N. I don’t know if I can keep doing this.

My hands shook as I stared at the screen. I could feel the walls closing in around me, suffocating me. I didn’t know how to fix this, how to make things right with Leo. He was right to be angry, but it felt like I was losing him for something that wasn’t even my fault.

Me: I’m sorry, Leo. I really am.

There was no reply after that, and I just stared at my phone, willing it to buzz with a message that would undo the damage I’d done. But it didn’t. And I couldn’t help but feel like I was losing everything: Leo, my peace, and my control over this new chapter of my life.

As I stared at my phone, trying to calm my racing thoughts, my eyes caught a notification on the screen. I hadn’t expected it. I didn’t want to expect it.

Matt followed you on TikTok.

It was like the breath left my body all over again. I couldn’t help but stare at the notification for a few seconds, I had forgotten to re-block him, feeling the weight of everything crash down on me. I hadn’t wanted this. I didn’t want any of this anymore. My mind was spinning, overwhelmed by the weight of what had just happened with Leo, the confrontation with Matt, and the fact that my entire world felt like it was being flipped upside down.

I glanced over at the clock. Charlie wasn’t home yet, and I knew she was probably out having fun, doing her thing, while I was stuck here, buried under everything that had been happening. The noise in my head was unbearable.

I sighed, standing up and walking towards the bedroom. I pulled back the covers and crawled into bed. I felt like I’d been running a race that I couldn’t keep up with. All the thoughts, the emotions, the people who had once meant everything to me – they were all tangled in my chest, suffocating me.

I needed to escape it all, at least for a moment. I pulled the blankets tight around me, trying to make myself as small as possible, hoping that the weight of it all would disappear if I just closed my eyes.

But the reality was that it wouldn’t. None of it would.

I shut off my phone and threw it across the room, too tired to even process the pain it caused me. I just needed to shut down, stop thinking, even if it was just for tonight.

I tried to push the thoughts of Matt and Leo out of my head, but they lingered, gnawing at me. I didn’t know where to go from here. Everything had become so complicated. And as much as I hated to admit it, I was exhausted from trying to figure it all out.

I closed my eyes, burying my face in the pillow, and let myself drift into a restless sleep, hoping that when I woke up, maybe everything would be a little clearer. 

tag-

@tbfaptbfae @ch0llies @2muchofaslvt @rockstarchr1s @simply-a-simper @mattscore @watercolorskyy @urfungi @sturnsvelocity @mattsturnii @christmastreecake @izzylovesmatt @larnieboox88 @christophersstar @realuvrrr

[mars-and-the-theoi]

Low energy Devotional Acts for when you don’t have a lot of energy (or time, or money, etc.) pt. 8

💀Hades/Plouton💀

- listen to a devotional playlist for Him

- learn how to budget if able

- if you have a dog- spend some time with them

- if able volunteer at an animal shelter or volunteer to walk dogs

- if able learn about your ancestors

- learn about death magic and spirit work

- learn about death doulas

- learn about the Underworld or afterlives in general

- listen to ‘dark ambient’ soundscapes

- if able visit a cemetery

- learn about cemetery and graveyard etiquette

- learn about funerary practices throughout time and around the world

- wear black (can be as simple as a hair tie or socks to your whole outfit and even makeup!)

- listen to goth music

- carry some coins on you if able

- do Halloween or gothic themed coloring pages

- learn about the roles of hospice workers, funeral directors, morticians, etc.

- honor deceased loved ones (can be pets, friends, family members, etc. doesn’t matter)

- be kind to spirits and respect* them and the dead (*I know there are some folks who don’t deserve respect in death so obviously you don’t have to respect them this is just a more…in general kind of thing)

🌺Persephone🌺

- if able go on a walk (can be as simple as down the driveway and back up if that’s all you can manage)

- if unable to do that try to sit outside or open a window/door to let some fresh air in and open the blinds/curtains to let some sunlight in

- listen to nature soundscapes

- pick some flowers or get a bouquet for yourself or others

- learn about herbalism

- enjoy some pomegranates, pomegranate juice, or something with pomegranate in it

- listen to a devotional playlist for Her

- if able visit a cemetery

- learn, read, watch stuff about ghosts (yes even those weird ghost hunting shows that come on at like 2 am and make you feel like you’re experiencing a fever dream)

- learn about reincarnation

- be kind to Demeter

- if able donate to or volunteer at a battered women’s shelter and learn about their history and importance

- if able do some baking (especially bread)

- learn about the underworld or afterlives in general

[hunnysnoops]

Main Three + Craig with morbid/odd reader

“I want love to change my friends to enemies and tell me how it’s all my fault.”

Stan:

He lets you draw on him but instead of doodling you take a black marker and start to meticulously draw dotted lines and arrows like you’re a surgeon prepping him for cosmetic surgery.

While helping him with farm chores you go into detail about how you can compost and break down a corpse in soil, he just kinda nods along.

You give him tarot readings every week. He thought they were fake and just did it to entertain you until his week played out exactly like you said it would. When he realized he just froze up and went non verbal.

Stan- “Hey, do you have any spells to curse my dad?”

Met him when he was in his goth era.

The two of you were having a moment in the rain when you told him that he should’ve worn shoes with rubber soles in case he gets struck by lightning.

You started writing his eulogy when you were laying in bed together, bro was trying not to freak out. Just spam texted Kyle.

You’re date idea is taking him to an abandoned house.

You guys bonded over music. Now you help him write songs since you’re so used to writing poetry.

Reader- “You’re into music?”

Stan- “Yeah, I guess so.”

Reader- “Have you heard Carnival of the Animals, R. 125: Aquarium composed by Camille Saint-Saëns and performed by Philippe Entremont, Gaby Casadesus, and Yo-Yo Ma?”

Stan- “Can’t say I have.”

Kyle:

Has veiny arms so when the two of you are just chilling you’ll put your finger on one of the veins and start talking about what would happen if you severed it. He’s lowkey interested from a scientific standpoint.

You’ll straddle his hips and pull his lips back to look at his teeth, poking around in his mouth like a dentist. You’re inches apart.

Reader- “Wow, you have beautiful teeth.”

Kyle- “Thank you?”

He’s kinda fascinated by you but also repulsed by some of the things you do/say.

He came to your house and you were butchering your own meat, left right away.

You listen to The Cure together.

When you climb trees to look for birds and squirrels he’ll climb too to help you.

Will get mad annoyed after listening to you say incredibly out of pocket things while he’s trying to focus on something.

He’ll buy you little knickknacks that remind him of you.

Before he got to know you, he talked mad shit.

Sometimes gets super freaked out by your behaviour, you straight up give him the heebie-jeebies.

Reader- “So this is my collection of human teeth.”

Kyle- “All of those are yours, right?”

Reader- “Actually, none of them are mine.” 😁

Kyle- 😨

Kenny:

Sits through horror movies and weird foreign films with you. He didn’t like it at first but he came around and started sourcing out movies he’d think you like.

You took him to a Wicca ceremony and he had the time of his life.

You taught him how to make flower crowns and now he makes them all the time. He likes to give them to Karen.

When he sees something off-putting or creepy he will immediately take a picture and send it to you.

Reader- “Hey, it’s raining. Do you want to go look for earth worms and build a worm colosseum?”

Kenny- “Hell yeah.”

He likes to go for walks in the forest with you, you guys will look for bugs and pick them up or make them houses of leaves and twigs.

He’ll help you wash the skulls/bones you find.

Never really minded that you were weird, he approached you first because he thought you were hot.

He loves when you play with his hair and tie little braids into it.

You guys tried to recreate The Blair Witch Project but failed miserably when you actually got lost in the woods.

You’ll meet up at the graveyard and just sit in the grass while you talk about ghosts and ghouls. Sometimes you’ll walk around and stop at a specific grave and guess how they died.

Reader- “Would you rather be in Cannibal Holocaust or The Poughkeepsie Tapes?”

Kenny- “Erm, I gotta pick The Poughkeepsie Tapes.”

Craig:

Generally goes along with whatever you want to do.

Reader- “Can we go down to the riverbank to pickup fish heads and then eat out their eyes?”

Craig- “Yeah, sure.”

He’ll just watch you roll around in the mud or set little twig piles on fire, he won’t join in but he also won’t interfere.

You’ll talk to Stripe, not in the baby voice that people usually use to talk to animals but your tone will be dead serious like you’re talking to a grown adult.

The two of you will watch true crime documentaries together.

He’ll fuck up anyone who calls you weird or a freak.

When you’re out in public, you’ll point someone out and predict how they’re going to die.

There’s nothing you can do that’ll shock him, he’s unfazed by everything that you say.

Sometimes gets concerned with you around Stripe.

You’ll disappear for hours at a time and he’ll get worried, sending you a million texts then you’ll randomly show up at his door soaking wet or covered in dirt with no warning.

Craig- “Where have you been? You weren’t answering my texts.”

Reader- “I was meeting with a friend of mine who is alive.”

Craig- “Oh, that’s cool.”

Requests are open! I’m working through a couple right now. Thanks to the anon who requested this.

[frankenkyle19]

My Masterlist

Tate Langdon-

Tate Langdon NSFW Headcanons (smut)

Be My Good Boy (smut)

The Devil’s Chocolate 🍫 (smut)

Hold Me (smut)

I Bet I Could Scare You (Smut)

Kit Walker-

Opening Up (hurt/comfort)

Desperation (smut)

Healing ❤️‍🩹 (hurt/comfort)

This Cruel Existence (angst)

You Can If You Want (smut)

Grown up time (smut)

Kyle Spencer-

“Not….Stupid” (hurt/comfort)

Kyle Spencer Headcanons (fluff)

Kyle Spencer NSFW Headcanons (smut)

🌼Blow Dryer🌸 (comfort)

Stories Untold (hurt/comfort)

🌼Touched By A Zombie🌼 (fluff)

Cherry Medicine 🍒 (fluff)

Questions Answered (fluff, hurt/comfort)

Let Go, I’ll Catch You (smut)

Unsupervised Tablet Time (smut)

After The Glitter Fades (Fluff)

Rubber Ducky 🧼 (comfort)

Free (Fluff)

Franken!Kyle experimenting with toys (smut)

Jimmy Darling-

You Sunshine, You Temptress (smut)

Jealousy (smut)

After Work Release (Smut)

James March-

Ghost Sex (smut)

JPM’s NSFW alphabet (smut)

A Lesson In Vulnerability (hurt/comfort)

Self Pleasure (smut)

Rhythm of Your Undead Heart (smut)

Peter Maximoff-

I Hate You, I Love You (smut)

Go Slow, Speedster (smut)

🎃The sweetest Treat is You🎃(smut)

Drabble (smut)

Learning Your Lesson (smut)

The No Longer Virgin (smut)

Pegging Peter Maximoff (smut)

Food Play with Peter Maximoff (smut)

The Twinkie Thief (smut)

Glitter On The Floor After The Party (smut)

“Amaze-balls” (smut)

Graveyard adventure (smut)

‘Fur-reaky’ (smut)

Kai Anderson-

Comforting Car Ride (hurt/comfort)

Why Won’t You? (Sorta fluff)

Sweet Pain (smut)

Mask Sex (Smut)

Colin Zabel-

Best Years Of Your Life 💋 (fluff)

Sit Down (Smut)

Stan Bowes-

First Time For Everything (mxm smut)

Mr. Gallant-

Red Silk and Leather (mxm smut)

Austin Sommers

My Treat-(smut)

[liorae]

No More Pretending ୨୧ 𝓢im 𝓙aeyun

pair: bf!jake x fem!reader | genre: angst, heartbreak | warning(s): heartbreak lol | wc: 617 | synopsis: your boyfriend breaks up with you at the same place he once confessed his love.

The old playground stood as a testament to time, a place where memories lingered like ghosts. You walked along the rusted swings and faded slides, your heart heavy with nostalgia. It was here that you and Jake first fell in love, where laughter and whispered promises once filled the air. The swings creaked softly in the breeze, and you could almost hear the echoes of your younger selves.

The once vibrant colors of the playground equipment had faded to dull hues, the bright reds and blues now ghostly and worn. Weeds sprouted between the cracks in the concrete, and the merry-go-round, which once spun with joyous abandon, stood still, a monument to the past.

Jake was already there, sitting on the swing where you had shared your first kiss. His eyes were distant, lost in thoughts you couldn’t read. He looked older, wearier, as if the weight of the world had settled on his shoulders. You approached slowly, each step weighed down by an unspoken dread. He glanced up as you sat on the swing beside him, his expression unreadable.

For a while, you both swung in silence, the gentle rhythm soothing yet laden with unspoken tension. You stole glances at him, hoping to find a spark of the love you once shared. But his gaze remained fixed on the horizon, lost in memories that seemed to drift further away with each passing moment.

“I’ve been thinking a lot lately,” Jake finally said, his voice soft yet heavy. The words hung in the air, a prelude to something inevitable.

You held your breath, your heart pounding. “About what?”

Jake stopped swinging, his feet dragging on the ground. He turned to face you, his eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and resolve. “About us. About how things have changed.”

You felt a lump form in your throat, your hands gripping the chains of the swing tightly. “What do you mean?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t feel the same anymore. I’ve tried, but I can’t find that spark we used to have. It’s like... it’s gone.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, leaving you breathless. You had feared this, but hearing it out loud made it painfully real. “Jake, please... we can work through this. We can find a way back.”

He shook his head, his eyes filled with a sorrow that mirrored your own. “I wish we could. But I don’t want to lie to you or to myself. It’s not fair to either of us.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, spilling over as you looked at him. “So, this is it? This is how it ends?”

Jake’s expression softened, a tear slipping down his cheek. “I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. I loved you so much... but something changed, and I can’t pretend anymore.”

You stared at him, the boy who once held your heart now slipping through your fingers. The pain was raw, an open wound that throbbed with every beat of your heart. “I don’t know how to let go,” you whispered.

Jake reached out, his hand warm against your cold skin. “Neither do I. But maybe, in time, we’ll find a way to heal.”

You nodded, though the words felt hollow. The playground, once a sanctuary of love and laughter, now felt like a graveyard of memories. You stood up, your legs trembling, and Jake followed suit. For a moment, you stood there, facing each other, the weight of lost love pressing down on you both.

Without another word, you turned and walked away, leaving the playground behind. Each step felt like a thousand, your heart breaking with every stride. As you glanced back one last time, you saw Jake standing there, watching you go, his own heart breaking in silence.

[bullet-prooflove]

Sun on your skin, 6 am And I been watchin' you sleep

Tagging: @kmc1989 @wnbweasley @lamadramaworld @madisonbroxson1 @@yukina23

Companion piece to Lizard People

It’s 6am and your lying next to Judd, sprawled out across the bed, tangled up in the sheets. The sun plays across your skin from the gap in the curtains and Judd sighs contently as his fingertips trace along the curve of your spine.

You’re dead to the world at the moment. You’d gotten from your shift at the precinct a couple of hours ago and woke him up in the sweetest way, with teasing lips and wandering hands. His fingers had threaded through your hair, before he rolled you underneath him and made love to you until the light from the sunrise began to blush across the sky.

These twilight hours are the only time he gets to spend with you recently. You’ve been working the graveyard shift because you’d pissed off your Captain by letting Owen help out on a case. The two were like oil and water, always rubbing each other up the wrong way.

“I’m sorry we won’t get to see each other.” You’d said when he’d come home to find you sitting on the couch with a bottle of beer looking dejected.

Your last relationship had failed because of your job. You ex hadn’t realised that it was a calling, that you hadn’t chosen your profession, that it had chosen you.

“Don’t apologise for being you, for doing the right thing.” He’d said as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and gathered you up close. “If you hadn’t brought in Cap…”

The girl you were searching for, she would have died. It’s unfair that that you’re being punished for it, but that’s what happens when you break protocol. Because of the result your Captain couldn’t give you an official reprimand but he could make your life hell.

Judd sighs as his gaze strays to the digital display on your sunlamp. It’s almost six thirty and he needs to be getting up for his own shift. His lips brush over your temple and you mumble drowsily at the sensation as his thumb ghosts over your cheek.

“It’s alright baby.” He drawls, his lips brushing tenderly over yours. “You get yourself some more sleep.”

Love Judd? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[softpascalito]

I To Dig a Grave I Chapter 5 I

Summary: Twenty-one years after the outbreak, you come to Wyoming looking for something and end up in Jackson after a stranger saves your life.

But he doesn't stay a stranger.

Turns out Joel Miller is looking for something too. It feels like a fresh start. But when bad luck seems to follow you, Joel is the only one to turn to, forcing both of you to confront your feelings about your pasts- and each other.

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 20k+ Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Age Difference, Smut, Explicit Content, Grief/Mourning, Mental Health Issues, Canon-Typical Violence, Chose not to use Archive Warnings, Tags to be added

AO3 LINK // Series Masterlist // Playlist

notes: between writing this and the voice memo of pedro on omars new album? im in the trenches. sending all of you lots of smooches for the recent comments and feedback, please know that i do a lil jump every time i see someone has commented <3

this fic will deal with heavy topics. please note that it doesn't use archive warnings and tags will be added as we go in order to avoid spoilers. each chapter will have detailed warnings in the end notes on ao3.

Chapter 5 – The Wake

‘I don’t mind so much being haunted by a dead ghost, but I resent like hell being haunted by a half-dead one.’ — J.D.Salinger, Franny and Zooey

The typewriter is fixed by the time you get up. But before you can sit down and ponder how to begin your speech, Joel forces you downstairs for some breakfast. He has somehow gotten his hands on orange juice and refuses to let you leave the table before you’ve had two glasses and some toast.

Eventually, he clears his throat. “We could grab some of your stuff today, if you want.” He pauses for a moment, searching your face. “Or I could, if you prefer to—if you’d rather stay here.”

The thought of going back home seems unbearable. The thought of Joel leaving you alone seems almost as bad.

“Can’t we do that tomorrow? I’d rather—I want to finish the speech. And we’re leaving in a bit.”

“Okay,” Joel mumbles. “Okay, yeah, we can do it some other time.”

You both head back into his workshop upstairs afterwards. He’s laid out some paper and pulled up a more comfortable chair for you. He settles down on his own and watches as you hesitantly begin to type, occasionally glancing out of the window. It’s begun to snow again, the thick flakes drifting against the other side of the glass and beginning to pile up on the windowsill below.

“If it keeps snowing like that, they won’t be able to prepare the grave, will they?”

Joel stares at the book that's spread out in front of him, determined not to let your eyes meet.

“I’m sure they’ll figure it out.”

They're not the words he should be saying. But they are the only ones able to push past his throat and flow into the open.

***

“Watch out for the steps, they’re frozen over.” Joel closes the front door behind himself, taking his first breath of cold air. It’s still snowing and he watches as the first flakes settle on your coat. He hurriedly pushes his gloves onto his hands and follows you down the small flight of stairs that leads to the street.

You place your feet carefully, partly because you would not find slipping and landing on your butt entertaining and partly because your body feels like it belongs to someone else again. You automatically turn to your left but Joel catches your arm before you can begin to move down the street. He jerks his head to the street ahead of you instead, the one that follows along the walls of the graveyard. They seem to have gotten much taller than they were a few days ago.

“We can get to the church through here,” Joel says, his hand squeezing your arm before he lets it go. “Less people.”

“Good point,” you agree quietly and begin moving again, this time across the street and past the green house on the corner. Joel follows your lead, putting himself between you and the graveyard, his broad form shielding you from view.

Which is a stupid thought, you think after a few moments. It's not you he is trying to hide. You are the one he's hiding something from.

You slow down a little, making Joel glance back at you. As his hand nudges yours again, you notice that his gloves are the same ones he wore when you met. A little more worn down maybe, but still the same leather, the same shade of brown. And here he is, still saving you, even if in a completely different way.

“Come on. We’ll be late.” Joel pulls on your hand lightly and you begin walking again. You don’t let go of his hand though. He doesn’t mention it.

When you pass the large metal gate that opens to the cemetery, you automatically turn your head. “It’d be quicker through here.”

Joel's head swirls around at that. “No.” You almost think you feel a slight tremor in his hand as he shakes his head. “I think it's better if we stay on the street for now.”

His hand is still in yours so you don’t find it in yourselves to argue, even if you find the cemetery quite beautiful. It feels less like a cemetery and more like a small park, with high trees and benches, a small oasis from the occasionally busy life in Jackson.

You can’t really tell if you’ll still find it beautiful once Lane's name will be carved into one of the headstones.

The two of you walk in silence for the remainder of the way. As you reach the far end of the church and when your gaze moves past the library shed tucked away to the side of it, you make a mental note to check in there once you’re done. You try and distract yourself by keeping your eyes on it, thinking about which books you could take home to pass the time with, trying to make a mental list.

But as soon as you step over the holy threshold, you can’t name a single one. The scent of burned down candles and wood greets you.

“I think I may pass out.”

Joel instantly switches his hands, wrapping his free arm around you, no doubt ready to catch you if your knees do give out. “Like right now?”

“No, I—I've just—never done this before,” you choke out. You’ve seen Infected and bodies and funerals. But there’s never been a wake. People just die and rot in this world. 

You suddenly feel like you want to cry and desperately try to pull yourself together. If this is the last chance to say goodbye, you want to do it with grace and you want to do it right. For Lane’s sake.

You take a shaky step forward and Joel takes the hint, moving you further down the hallway and stopping in front of a door to the left that is slightly ajar. His arm is still around you, his hand resting in yours.

“Want me to wait here?” His voice is low.

“Is she in there?” Your voice is equally quiet, matching the somber atmosphere around you.

Joel takes in your features for a moment before giving a slow nod. “Yeah. Yeah, she’s in there.”

“Can we go in together?”

You are certain you do come near to passing out when you step into the room, pressing your body against Joel’s, unconsciously using him as a shield. There is a small table full of candles to your left, a stained glass window half covered by snow at the far end of the room and two mismatched chairs to the right.

You do not see any of it. The second the door opens, your eyes are on her.

She’s bedded in a wooden coffin with white sheets. Her skin is almost as pale. The stark contrast that draws your eyes in is her hair. Ocean blue, the tips already losing their color.

Joel looks down at you, carefully and slowly disentangling himself from you. “Would you like a moment alone?” The small nod is all he needs to see, squeezing your hand once more before heading back outside, leaving the door ajar.

It suddenly strikes you how still she is. A body, usually so full of life, decorated by countless miniscule motions. The corners of her lips turning upward, the anxious turning of the silver rings on her fingers, a strand of hair falling into her face.

You move closer. You sit next to her. You stroke her cheek. She looks like she’s sleeping very deeply.

Joel lets out an involuntary sigh as he steps back out into the hallway. They managed to get the blood out of her hair, covered the right side of her head with a pillow. It almost looked comfortable. And he feels like he can breathe again. It’s a much better sight than the one in the cabin. You shouldn't have to remember her wounds. Only her face.

But he finds that he’s glad to get a moment alone. Because unlike you, he knows exactly what her temple looks like under the dainty, white pillow.

He sits down on one of the wooden benches lining the hallway, making sure to keep his movements quiet. Not because there is an enemy around. But because the wooden structure around him takes him right back.

He hasn’t been to a service in forever, not even before the outbreak. But the high ceiling and the stagnant air still make him automatically lower his voice, making him feel like he’s all of eight years old again and dressed for Sunday service with his parents somewhere just outside of Austin.

He hasn’t had time to consider how to do this, a small voice in the back of his head says. He hasn’t considered how the hell he will get you through this in one piece, if he is the one that should be doing so. There is so much baggage in him, tucked away into the dusty corners of his house, that he’s surprised you haven’t found it yet.

He stares at the floor and wonders if it had been easier for him to move on if he’d been able to say goodbye in a pretty room, surrounded by candles and lacy pillows, with high ceilings above. And for a split moment, he allows himself to imagine the hair resting on white sheets not to be blue but dark brown and curly.

Joel is leaning against the wall of the hallway when you finally emerge from the room, managing a weak smile. He stays quiet as you step towards him, raising your arms to sneak them around his body while you bury your face in his chest.

You can feel the exhale of his lungs below you as he sighs, bringing his arms around you and pulling you into him.

It comes so naturally now. The way he rests his chin on the top of your head, your hair tickling his graying beard. The feeling of your face pressed tightly into him, clearly having found a place where you can hide from the questions you already know people are asking.

Joel's hand caresses your back in gentle motions. His voice remains as quiet as it was earlier. “Did you say goodbye, darlin’?”

“Yeah,” you mumble into his chest, giving a shaky nod. “Yeah, I did.”

“Wanna take a break and go back in? Or come back later?” he offers quietly. He knows exactly how hard it is to let go—to walk away from the last piece that they leave behind when they leave the earth. The body holds so many memories.

“No, I think—I think it’s okay.” Hot tears have gathered in your eyes and threaten to spill into Joel's shirt. “I think I said goodbye.”

Joel quietly coos at you for a few more moments before he begins leading you back outside. He’s content to leave the church behind that feels so laden with bad memories despite it holding none.

You're just leaving the small hallway and passing back through the church when he abruptly moves you to his side, putting a small amount of distance between you. His arm is still wrapped around your waist but it's less strong, merely enough support to keep you from falling back.

“Oh. Hello, you two.”

Your breath hitches in your throat as you stare at the woman in front of you. She has short hair that's tied in a neat bun. The lines and wrinkles on her face seem to have increased rapidly since you have last seen her. She's wrapped in her black winter coat, one that is slightly too big for her small frame and almost reaches her knees. You realize that all her clothes are, in fact, black, even if some are slightly faded.

You feel Joel shift again beside you. “Ma’am.”

With a quick motion of your free hand, you wipe your eyes. It feels silly to be crying in front of her. You’ve lost a best friend.

She has lost a daughter.

“Mrs Moss, I’m so sorry—I meant to come by, I swear,” you blurt out, hoping that you sound as honest as you are. The tears threaten to come back.

“It’s quite alright, dear. I know it can’t have been easy for you,” she says gracefully. “And it’s Deborah, I’ve told you before. Eleanor’s friends are—” For a split moment, you can see something twinkling in her eyes before she corrects herself, carrying on as if nothing happened. “Eleanor’s friends were always welcome in my house.”

Your heart feels like it’s stopped. Eleanor. You almost forgot that Lane wasn’t her real name, despite it feeling more real than Eleanor ever has. You try and remember the story behind it and you’re certain it had something to do with her grandmother but you can’t recall the entire thing. You make a point not to ask.

The woman in front of you stays quiet. Her eyes wander between you and Joel for a moment, sending a completely different kind of discomfort through your body.

“Well, I’d like to go inside now,” Mrs Moss announces quietly and Joel and you shift to the side to let her pass. She gives you another sad smile in passing. “You’ll be there for the ceremony, won’t you? Eugene came by this morning. They are clearing the receiving vault out today.”

Joel tenses next to you, his grip getting a tiny bit tighter. You just stare blankly at the woman in front of you. “Receiving vault?”

You bite down on the inner side of your cheek.

“Oh, it’s what they call that small building. Of course, once spring comes around, we’ll bury her properly.”

Mrs Moss does not seem to realize what she has just set into motion or that all of these details were complete news to you. She gives Joel a small, polite nod and continues down the hall.

The taste of blood fills your mouth.

You don’t hold hands on the way back.

***

You brush past Joel the instant he opens the door and, while he is still stripping off his gloves, hurry into the small bathroom at the end of the hall. It’s rarely used and has become more of a makeshift storage room if you’re being honest. A few plastic containers are piled up next to the sink and you squeeze around them before letting your tired body sink onto the toilet lid.

You can hear Joel hesitate in the hall, his heavy boots on the wooden floors audible through the thin door. You can't see the way his face is scrunched up in worry—and guilt. The guilt that threatens to swallow him whole as he briefly glances at the small cupboard under the stairs, one of the few that is locked. He knows you won’t check there.

With a small sigh, he follows down the hall, hesitating in front of the bathroom door. He leans against the doorframe, his gaze fixed on the floor.

“I meant to tell you.”

No reply comes. But he can hear your breath, the small squeak of your shoes as you move your feet on the toilet seat. You’re pressing them to your chest as tightly as you can.

She won’t be buried. She will be stored in the back of some shed like something you plan to forget.

“If I’d known she’d be there—” Joel shakes his head despite knowing that you can’t see him. His hand flies to his face, pinching his nose as he closes his eyes, trying to find the right words to make you understand that he needs to do this, that this is his job. He’s supposed to protect you. And he failed miserably, letting you walk right into Lane’s mum with no clue about the arrangements.

“I would’ve told you in time. I swear.”

The hand leaves his face and instead gravitates towards the doorknob. He pauses for a moment, the metal cool under his touch. “Honey, can I please come in?”

“Fine,” you press out, keeping your gaze fixed on the plastic containers below. You don’t want to look at him. Mainly, you don’t want him to look at you.

Joel gets to his knees, unable to suppress the small groan as he does so. He hesitantly reaches out to place a hand on your knee, squeezing a little. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. I thought it was—not the right moment.”

“Okay.” You nod, determined to punish him with as many one-worded sentences as you can. Today has been one bad surprise after another and it’s entirely his fault—except you know that’s not true. But you’re not ready to place the blame on the person who may deserve it—you’re not ready to think of Lane with anything but fondness and longing. And maybe, a tiny part of you pipes up, one that you’d much prefer to be quiet, maybe you know that Joel will take the blame if you place it upon him, that he would proudly carry your hate like a crown and still let you eat his food and still let you sleep in his bed.

Your eyes meet his and he looks so miserable, broad shoulders still wrapped in his winter coat, his hair slightly wet from the melted snow and his eyes. His eyes, begging, asking to be forgiven.

The thoughts of blame and hate are gone in an instant. Instead, the tears that you didn’t allow to come in the church and all the way back home, finally spring up in your eyes.

“I didn’t think—when that man died last year in the winter—” you choke out, the thoughts forcing their way into the tiny bathroom. “They buried him, he got a grave—”

Joel brings his free hand up to your face just in time to catch the first tear rolling down your cheek and wiping it away, his calloused hand smoothing over your skin.

“Darlin’, he was sick. You know that, right?” Joel keeps his voice low and soft and his motions slow. Like he is approaching a sick animal, trying not to startle it.

You didn’t know that he’d been sick, to be truthful. But you also don’t see how that made a difference.

It’s almost like Joel can read your mind. He tilts his head a bit. “They knew he was gonna pass, sooner or later. They dug his grave in the fall.”

You can’t help the sob that escapes you at that. Because it’s a horrible, horrible thing, digging a grave for someone who is still alive. And because it’s a horrible, horrible thing to not be able to.

“No one dug—'' You think you feel snot running down your face. “We didn’t know—No one dug a grave for Lane—”

“Yeah,” Joel agrees quietly, his voice filled with a heaviness. “No one dug a grave for Lane.”

No one knew she’d need one.

Joel lets you cry, even when his knees are screaming at him to get off the bathroom tiles. He pats your arm and wipes your tears. He doesn’t try to cheer you up or make you see the bright side or, worst of all, tries and tell you that Lane is a better place. You both know her place was here.

He lets you wear yourself out from crying before he asks if you want a bath and, following a shy nod, scoops you up in his arms and carries you upstairs into the bathroom, the one you actually use.

The small moment of hesitation after he’s set you down on the edge of the tub is his way of asking for permission. You give a tired nod.

He lets you undress and climb into the tub while he begins to heat the water, insisting on placing a towel below you so that the porcelain won’t be too cold on your skin.

It doesn’t take long until the air in the room is comfortably warm and steamy and the faint smell of jasmine and cotton fills the air, replacing the lingering one of old buildings and grief. You feel like you’re transported back to the first time you were curled up in Joel Miller's bathtub, the first day you’ve ever spent in Jackson.

“Lean a little to the side,” he instructs quietly, lathering the top of your head with the shampoo and working it into your hair. His fingers are scratching circles into your skin, making you feel like he’s washing off all the things you’d like to see disappear down the drain. The sorrow and the pain. You don’t touch the guilt yet.

“Do you remember the last time you did this?” you mumble and hear Joel hum behind you as you continue. “I wouldn’t let you cut my hair.”

“You also called me an asshole.” You are glad your head is slightly lowered so that Joel can’t see you smile. Then again, you have a feeling he knows.

“Yeah, I guess I did.”

His fingers work around your head, gently tilting it into whatever direction he needs to reach every part of it. He surprises himself when he speaks up.

“You know what you looked like?” Your head perks up slightly at that, attempting to turn around but Joel guides your head back with a gentle motion. Because he doesn't want shampoo to get into your eyes. Definitely not because turning around would mean seeing—

“Tell me,” you insist, despite keeping your gaze forward now.

“No, nevermind, it’s—it’s silly.” He tries to brush you off but you aren’t having it.

“Joel. Come on. Please?”

He can see you’re on the verge of turning around again and reckons it’ll be easier to just answer your question instead of having to deal with all the thoughts he is so successfully pushing away.

“You looked like a fawn. Curled up, trembling. Waiting on someone.” “I wasn’t waiting on anyone.”

“I know you weren’t.”

You sit in comfortable silence, tilting your head back as Joel pours warm water over your head. He steps back into the bedroom to grab some fresh clothes, leaving you to wash your skin and dry off by yourself.

“They’re not much but they should do until we get some of yours,” Joel mutters as he hands you one of his worn shirts. You pull it over your head, each part of it a bit too big on your body. The collar is draped slightly to one side, making your soft skin peek out from under the fabric.

Joel smiles weakly, trying so hard to avert his gaze. But not enough to miss you struggling with your hair, attempting to pull the still wet strands into a bun.

“C’mere,” he instructs, taking another step towards you and reaching around your head to take the hair tie from your hands and carefully gathering all your hair in his right fist. You’re left there without distraction, without anything to do except stare up at him, so close that you can make out the gray hairs in his beard and the small scar that decorates his nose.

“There we are,” Joel mutters, securing the hair tie before hesitating for another moment as his gaze shifts down to your face, your eyes meeting.

He’s looked at you hundreds of times. So he’s not sure why, at this moment, his lungs suddenly seem to stop working, drowning in the softness of your eyes that seem to be completely focused on him. For a split second, he thinks he sees your gaze flicker downwards.

One of his hands finds a strand that escaped his grip before and he tucks it behind your ear, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You still look like that sometimes.”

He is so close. If one of you leaned just a tiny bit forward—

The moment is over as suddenly as it appeared. Joel drops his hands a little too quickly to be casual about it, taking two steps back. Like he’s gotten too close to something dangerous.

But you're not dangerous, a small voice in the back of his head says. You’re just a fawn.

He cannot touch you. He is certain of one thing: He would find a way to ruin you.

***

A few months ago, being back in Joel’s bathroom would've been your favorite thing in the world. And it’s still good and comforting. But it’s not the same.

You give yourself to brief illusions. That this is your first day in Jackson, that you don’t know anything about the man beside you except his name and that he carries his gun in the back of his jeans. That you will be taken to your new home in a few days and meet your roommate, the one with blue hair you’ve already spotted around town.

But you know it won’t happen. You had another shot at life here, the chance to do and say all the right things this time. And you failed.

You can feel the mattress dip beside you as Joel crawls under the thick covers. It’s nice to feel the heat of his body next to yours, to feel him shelter you with what he can. He sleeps on the side that is closest to the bedroom door, leaving you tucked away to the more closed off one.

But it never makes you feel trapped. Quite the opposite. Anyone who hopes to reach you will have to pass by him. You wish that grief too could be politely turned away or chased off with a drawn gun. But it seeps through the cracks of the old wooden house, drifting through the hallways, spreading its arms and placing itself right on your chest.

The thin curtains are drawn but you can still see the faint shimmer of the snow that’s stacked up outside, reflecting the lights of the few lamp posts that line Rancher Street. You move your head just enough to be able to stare at the silhouette of the window, wondering if any of the candles next to Lane are still burning or if she’s already shut away in the receiving vault, without any light at all.

Joel sighs softly beside you, his gaze following yours and lingering there for a few moments. “Want to talk about it?”

You both know what but you still find it an odd question. You do talk to him about Lane, more than anyone else even. He’s not touching you and something tells you that it has to do with what happened in the bathroom before. Just that nothing actually happened, you tell yourself. But you don’t dare to bring that up. Defense is better.

“Talk about what?”

“About whatever is keeping you from closing your eyes,” he mumbles quietly, his eyes back on you. “I know it ain’t easy but you need a few hours of sleep at least.”

“She’s there when I close my eyes,” you whisper into the quiet room, tensing slightly at just the idea of it. Of her. You don’t understand how something you love so much can feel so unwelcome in your head.

“I didn’t know you had bad dreams,” Joel muses quietly.

“It’s not that. But she must feel so alone. And confused,” you whisper, curling up a little more into yourself, as if that will protect you from the images that keep forcing themselves to the front of your mind.

“Honey, she’s not—she doesn’t feel those things anymore, okay?” Joel sighs beside you, hesitating for a small moment before reaching out and lightly rubbing your shoulder. “I promise it’ll get better once you get the ceremony over with.”

You both stay quiet for a few moments, both thinking about graves and funerals and those you’ve lost. There are so many you’ve lost.

“Can I ask you a question?” you pipe up, your voice trembling a tiny bit. You’ve never outright asked him—only taken what information he gave willingly, which was very little.

“If you promise to try and sleep after.” Joel chuckles quietly, leaning back into the pillows. The small laughter dies on his lips as he hears your question.

“Did you have a funeral for her?”

The small intake of breath to your right tells you he didn’t expect this. You immediately feel your stomach give a lurch as you sit up slightly. “Sorry, you don’t—I shouldn’t have brought it up—”

“No.” Somehow, despite his voice being very quiet and low, it’s strong enough to make you fall silent in an instant. You bite your lip as you try and make out Joel’s face but it’s too dark to do so without moving closer and you’re afraid that one more misstep will have him either running off or throwing you out of the house.

“It all happened very fast, with Sarah.” His voice quivers a tiny bit as he says her name. “We were lucky to make it out at all. Tommy took—He got us out.”

Maybe it’s your tired mind playing tricks on you, but Joel doesn’t sound like he feels very lucky about having made it out. You can’t blame him. Some part of you, too, feels like you should have been with her, in that cabin. Should be with her in the vault. That there should be two graves waiting to be dug instead of one.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, again, because apparently you are not good at finding the right words and you feel just like you did in front of Mrs Moss earlier today, just that this is Joel and that is precisely what makes it so much more difficult and so much worse.

“It was a long time ago,” is all he says.

To your surprise, the quiet that follows is not uncomfortable. Maybe because he feels that you understand, at least partly. Or maybe you’re just two very tired people, glad to have each other to hold on to.

After a few minutes, you can feel him turn towards you in the dark, opening his body up so that you can shift a bit closer, the excuse about the night being so incredibly cold dying on your lips when you feel how readily Joel wraps his arm around you, pulling you into him. You press your face into his chest, taking a deep breath that actually makes you feel like breathing comes a little easier. Your hands sneak around him, holding on. Always holding on.

A small sigh leaves Joel’s throat, his voice so low you can barely hear it.

“Let’s get some sleep, little fawn.”

thank you very much for reading! if you like this fic, please consider supporting me by rebloggin or liking or whichever buttons you prefer to press <3 if you have any feedback, it is also very welcome!

[neurodiversebones]

it's the five year anniversary of my best friend's death and i'm coping via thoughts about brennan and grief.

sixteen year old brennan in foster care, facing the world alone and being so angry at everyone she's lost that she can't even feel the sadness anymore. furious at her parents for not protecting her. furious with russ for lying to her when he said he wouldn't let her go into foster care. furious at the whole world that she just doesn't seem to fit within.

brennan in her early twenties, graduating with yet another degree, and just feeling empty when she sees all her classmates parents hugging them and bringing them flowers. going home to an empty apartment to stare at the ceiling because it doesn't matter how incredible she is, it's not gonna bring anyone back to be proud of her.

brennan at 28 after finding her mothers remains. radio silence from her as she sits in her apartment trying to piece together everything she thought she knew about her life. staring in the mirror trying to figure out what parts of her are her mother, what parts are her father, what parts are real and what parts were lies. breaking the mirror in a rare moment where she just lets herself feel so angry at what the world has done to her.

brennan looking at baby christine and just crying. because part of her knows she would do anything to protect this perfect being, but the other part can't comprehend how anyone could leave someome they love so much. being so afraid that she won't know how to be a mother, crying and wishing she could just ask her mom for help.

brennan, burying her father, being orphaned for a second time over. despite knowing that she is so surrounded by love, feeling like the two people who loved her most in this world have abandoned her again. wondering what she ever did to deserve this.

brennan, trying to tell stories of her childhood to her children, but having to work through the haze and fog in her brain around every good memory she's ever had. realizing that every wall she put up is still standing strong, being so afraid that she'll make her children the same way.

brennan, refusing to get close to her interns for years after what happened with zack. no matter how intelligent, hard working, and truly brilliant they are, always having this feeling that something is going to go wrong and they will be gone just like him. finally letting her guard down and letting herself care, only for vincent to bleed out in her arms.

brennan, feeling a pit in her stomach every time she walks past vincent's plaque, the memories of his smile and the scent of his blood twisting together in her mind. the gnawing guilt that the best things in her life came to be the night he died.

brennan, who takes every change like its the end. who feels the changing seasons, her birthday, her friends new phases of life like everything is about to come crashing down. who looks around corners like a scared animal in case someone is coming to take another person away from her.

brennan, who feels like nothing but a vessel for grief some days. who, in a rare moment of self awareness, wonders how much more her body and brain can take. who feels more like a graveyard than a human more days than not. who spent most of her life feeling like a ghost.

[raaorqtpbpdy]

Wile E. Weston

"The Coyote could stop anytime — if he were not a fanatic. (Repeat: 'A fanatic is one who redoubles his effort when he has forgotten his aim.')." — Chuck Jones' third rule of creating Road Runner cartoons.

For the Prompts: Wes knows that Danny is durable and heals quickly. He decides the best way to reveal Danny's secret is to publicly orchestrate an "accident" that would kill a normal human. [from @maxattax], Iced out [from @faeriekit], and GRAVEYARD PLAYGROUND [from @ashspecter]

Read also on AO3

[Warnings for cartoon violence and obsessive behavior]

The plan was foolproof.

The school was moving a piano out of the upstairs music room using a crane to take it out through the window, rather than trying to get it up the stairs. That whole area was cordoned off for the safety of the students, but of course there were gonna be gawkers wanting to see everything. And Danny had been out fighting a ghost when the announcement was made to steer clear, so he didn't know about it. 

Wes had spent several hours the previous night reading the crane's operation manual, and he had a free period right before lunch, which he used to lure away the workers and remove all the caution tape and warning signs.

Every student knew not to get too close except Danny.

Danny was durable. He didn't get hurt easily, and when he did get hurt, he healed quickly. Wes had observed this phenomenon on multiple occasions, and thoroughly documented it, so he knew exactly how much Danny could handle, and that it was more than enough to kill an ordinary human. So he decided that the best way to expose Danny's secret would be to orchestrate a little "accident" where everyone could see.

They would watch the accident, something that would kill a normal person, and then, they would watch Danny walk away from it completely unharmed.

The bell rang for lunch, and Wes climbed into the cab of the crane, snickering at his own cleverness. As expected, most of the students were giving the crane a wide berth, but Danny didn't seem to notice, and walked right into the danger zone. As soon as he was in range, Wes swung the arm of the crane toward Danny, lined it up, and dropped the piano right on top of him....

Or... it would have landed right on top of him... if it weren't for conservation of momentum. The piano swung on the ropes when the crane's arm moved, and Wes hit the release when it was mid swing, causing it to move a few feet in the air, and land completely clear of Danny.

Danny looked alarmed only for a moment, then looked up to where the piano had fallen from, followed the arm of the crane, and met Wes' eyes through the windshield with a smirk.

Wes could only sit there, turning red with anger, as Danny ran over to him, climbed up into the cab of the crane, and reached for the horn with a shit-eating grin.

Beep beep, sounded the horn.

Danny laughed with abandon as he left Wes to make his escape before school faculty found out what he'd done.

—

Okay, so the piano plan had been a bust, but Wes wasn't gonna give up that easily. He just had to account for things like physics and gravity this time.

It had been snowing lately, and the pond in the park had frozen over with a thin layer of ice. Signs warning that the ice was too thin to walk on were posted all around the pond, but they were easy enough to remove. 

Danny cut through the park on his way home from school, and when the pond was frozen, he never hesitated slide right over it. After school, it was crowded with younger kids playing in the snow, and parents an nannies keeping an eye on them, so there would be ample audience. 

This time, Wes hid in the snow-covered bushes so Danny wouldn't see him and be tipped off to the scheme.

Right on schedule, Danny started through the park. As soon as he saw that the pond was frozen over, he got a running start, jumped right onto the ice, and let himself skid across the slick surface to the other side before continuing on his way home.

Wes shot up out of the bushes, looking aghast. There was no way the ice became thick enough to walk on in the five minutes between pulling the signs and Danny's arrival. Wes trudged over it through the snow and cautiously stepped on the ice.

Not even so much as a crack.

He took a few more steps, still cautious, but increasingly frustrated. Danny had jumped onto this ice full force and slid right across without issue. Wes jumped, angrily, and with a sickening crunch, the ice gave way underneath him. He was quick enough to reach out his arms to keep from falling all the way through, but the shock of the sudden cold was intense.

Danny had apparently noticed him and came his way carrying a bright yellow sign. With a smug grin, Danny pushed the sign into the snow next to the pond.

Thin Ice, it read.

Danny laughed as he walked away, and he left no footprints in the snow.

Wes had, of course, known that ghosts could ignore the pull of gravity, and he was definitely paying for his lapse of consideration now.

Thankfully, someone came to help pull him out a little bit later, and he had to go to the hospital to get preventative treatment for frostbite and hypothermia. Ultimately, nothing was hurt besides his ego, but his ego was badly bruised.

—

Third time was the charm, Wes thought as he set up his latest scheme.

Near the edge of town, there was an elementary school that had been built next door to an old, disused graveyard. When it had first been built, there had been a rotting fence between the two of them, but after a few years, it was gone, leaving nothing between the mossy headstones and the playground in the schoolyard.

The place was, as one might imagine, a hot-spot for minor ghostly activities. Weak ghosts like shades and blob ghosts liked to hang out in death-adjacent places, and they sometimes crossed over to the school to play with the elementary schoolers during recess. It was relatively safe, as long as there didn't get to be too many ghosts gathered there.

The chance to see ghosts with minimal danger, as well as the unique aesthetic, made it a popular tourist spot. 

Danny went there every other Saturday to capture some of the ghosts that hung out there to manage their numbers and keep things safe for the tourists and the school kids. Since it was such a simple operation, he didn't even bother to transform, just went out there with a Fenton Thermos and sucked up the ones that had been hanging around the longest, and any that seemed too unruly. 

It was the perfect place to enact a new scheme to expose Danny with a terrible "accident."

Wes had woken up early and spent his entire Saturday morning setting various traps. He put pressure pads all over the place, covered them in leaves and dirt, and set slings in the nearby trees and bushes to shoot rocks at them when they were set off.

Wes could recognize that it was probably excessively elaborate, but dropping something on Danny hadn't worked, and dropping Danny into something hadn't worked, so Wes was left to throw everything he had at Danny and hope that worked, even if it cost him a good chunk of his savings.

He had just finished setting everything up when he realized he'd inadvertently cornered himself in a graveyard full of traps, and he... didn't remember where he'd put all of them.

Then he heard Danny approaching, and quickly hid. he could cross that bridge when he came to it. This was gonna work.

Danny bent over to soup a ghost right as the firs rock flew at him, and it missed by a mile. The second one was too heavy and didn't have enough momentum to reach him, and the third was poorly aimed, so that one was on Wes. But the fourth one flew true. Danny wasn't moving and it was heading right for him. Unfortunately Danny noticed and turned intangible before it hit him, so to onlookers it would look like the rock had simply passed behind Danny instead of through him.

Wes stepped out of his hiding place to shout in frustration at Danny, but the words froze in his throat as he felt something move under his foot and his eyes widened in realization just in time for a heavy rock to hit him right in the chest, knocking the wind out of him, and he fell back into the bushes. 

He could hear the quiet beep beep of the Fenton Thermos indicating it was almost at max capacity taunting him. It meant that Danny would be leaving any minute, and Wes was no closer to exposing him than he had been that morning when he'd first set ll these traps. When he caught his breath and sat up, rubbing his sore chest, he was glad he hadn't gone with poison darts, even though an ordinary human could totally survive being hit with a rock or two.

Granted, he had only decided against the poison darts because of budgetary restraints, and laws that restricted the buying and selling of poisonous substances, but that didn't mean he couldn't be grateful for it. Wes sighed, stood up, and started to disassemble the sling mechanisms. Maybe he could still return some of this stuff and get his money back.

—

Wes swore to himself that this would be the last time.

This time, Wes would have to activate the trap manually by pulling a cord. It wouldn't accidentally backfire on him the second he stood in its range. The trap had no gravity powered elements, and he'd triple-checked that all the moving parts were perfectly aligned. There was no way this would fail.

Wes had set everything up downtown on a day he knew Danny would be hanging out there with his friends.

Stealthily, he followed the three of them until they got to the place where he'd laid the trap. Just as planned, Danny volunteered to get the three of them snacks from a food cart. It was go time.

Wes pulled the cord and everything was set in motion.

Ten. Nine. Eight. 

Danny turned around to look at something.

No! Wes wouldn't let himself fail again.

Five. Four. Three.

Wes ran out and shoved Danny hard, pushing him onto the right spot.

Two. One. 

BOOM!

Wes was blown backwards and knocked on his but, but he wasn't hurt this time.

And it had worked! The explosion went off exactly as planned, hit Danny head on, and when the dust settled, Danny was still standing there, a little singed, but no worse for wear. At worst, he looked slightly annoyed, but not the least bit harmed. Any normal human would have been severely injured by an explosion like that.

Excited and triumphant, Wes got to his feet and turned to see all the shocked faces of the people downtown. But no one was looking.

Across the street, Wes could see a stage had been set up, and Ember was putting on an impromptu concert. No one in the square could look away from her mind-controlling music, but he'd been so focused on Danny that he hadn't even noticed her.

He looked back at Danny, his shoulders slumped in defeat. Danny gave him a smug smirk, transformed into his ghost form right in front of Wes' eyes, and still no one else saw! 

There were hundreds of people right across the street. Any one of them could have turned around and seen Danny surviving that explosion, or transforming in broad daylight in the middle of down town, but none of them did.

Danny floated up, and gave Wes a sarcastic salute as he flew off to shut down Ember's concert before anyone—besides himself—got hurt.

Wes could have torn his hair out in frustration. He could have screamed! He didn't care about his promises. This wasn't over!

[tourettesdog]

DPxDC Prompt where when Jason is resurrected, he does not become fully conscious. He lays in his coffin, at rest while his body slowly absorbs the ambient ectoplasm of Gotham and tries to fix the improper formation of his core.

The rest is not altogether peaceful. He often has nightmares, and has no way of escaping them. The ambient ectoplasm in Gotham is sustaining Jason, but what repairs the ectoplasm is managing are agonizingly slow.

-

Danny has been living in Gotham for awhile, having moved there with Jazz as soon as she turned 18. Gotham has its own host of ghosts, but Danny feels at ease without the constant strain of ghost fights.

That is, until he feels something amiss in the Gotham cemetery.

The cemetery feels wrong, in a way Danny can't place. It reminds him of Amity, how restless it is-- only different. Wrong. He keeps visiting the cemetery, trying to find the source of that feeling. The entire graveyard is saturated with it, and all Danny can do is sit in the graveyard and talk into the quiet. He lets emotions flood from his core, trying to exude an air of calm that might settle whatever restless spirit haunts the grounds.

It works, at least. The sense of restless agitation eases when Danny flares his core, settling into a quiet comfort.

It becomes stronger, too. Danny can feel it coming from a newer section of the graveyard, and he curiously wonders why he's drawn more and more to a single line of headstones.

Wonders why the one on the end seems to stand out, the name Jason Peter Todd burning itself into his dreams.

Wonders why he feels a kinship with this boy's grave, when he can't even see a ghost attached to it or feel any resonance of a core. Nothing stronger than the blob ghosts that haunt the grounds, at least.

Only ever those strange emotions and that restless energy that quiets with the sooth of his own core.

Yet one day when Danny visits the graveyard and flares his core, he's startled when another one answers his.

-

[I originally posted this prompt in the Batpham server and it ended here, but several of us expanded on it and what I’m posting after this are the additions I added in that discussion, some of it edited.] Jason never actually digs out of his grave. When he finally awakens and tries to dig at the coffin he actually slips through it into the soil above. A hand thrusts its way through the soil and pulls him the rest of the way up

Danny is the only one present when Jason comes out of his grave-- when he pulls him free, a ghostly inversion of Robin who he knows to be a halfa. In his confused state, however, Jason does not linger in the cemetery. He runs off, and even though Danny's half ghost and can get around fast, Jason is now too and knows the city well enough that he manages to slip away. He's terrified, confused beyond reason, and hiding.

Jason hangs about the city, and at times he goes up on his favorite gargoyle to think-- and that's the first time Babs sees him. She thinks it's just a mistake-- her own imagination-- because as soon as she looks again, he's gone.

But it keeps happening. Dick swears he sees Jason near the manor grounds when he goes to visit. Alfred swears he sees him in the rear view mirror of the car one day. Tim swears he sees him while heading home one night. Bruce sees him on patrol, long enough for the two to lock eyes, but before Bruce can even open his mouth he's gone. And Danny isn't helping, because he's Looking for Jason still, trying to help, and this suspicious kid keeps turning up in the weirdest places and at a glance he looks like Jason too.

And it fucks with Bruce's head so badly. He can't say anything about it for days, and when he shakily admits it to Alfred the butler tells him he saw the same thing-- and when the others also share this, all of it lining up too perfectly, that's when Bruce approaches the grave and finds it empty.

During this, Jason naturally grows more bold after his initial shock and confusion dies down. He's a bold and smart kid, even if he's confused and afraid. He's just trying to investigate and see how Gotham (and his family) are doing and figure out how he can approach Bruce. He sees Tim and can’t help but feel forgotten and replaced, but without the rage from the pit he's trying to be a bit more level-headed and think things through.

Jason is also learning more about his new physiology, which keeps him distracted and his mind busy. Trying to figure out himself as much as those around him. But some things still haunt him and cannot be so easily ignored.

An encounter with the Joker sets Jason off.

Jason sees the Joker and that rage and hurt builds inside of him and he manages something similar to a wail. It's the most broken sound Danny's ever heard. It's nothing like his wail, it's more like choking and static and more a feeling in the chest than a sound. Jason died from inhaling smoke and didn't have any dying screams. It’s a shattered, raw wall of reverberating emotion that has no justice.

And Danny goes to it-- stumbling, because it's raw enough to punch at his core-- and he just finds the kid he's been looking for knelt on the ground, keening and sobbing his heart out. Danny goes to comfort him, tentatively wrapping an arm around him while they're surrounded by Wreckage (and a clown-shaped dead body).

And when the bats get there they finally get a good look at the specter they've been seeing all around Gotham, and it's absolutely Jason-- with another boy beside him... And the Joker's body, twisted and bloody. But when Bruce gets close, Jason startles, visibly terrified and hurt, and Danny hides them both from view and whisks Jason away to hide him.

Bruce let the Joker live-- and now Jason has killed the man and that horrified expression he caught on Bruce's face won't leave his head. He feels like a monster, destroyed with grief and hurt, and doesn't know what to do.

Danny takes Jason home, and he’s just a fucking Mess. When they get to the apartment Jazz is just about to leave. She was sleeping but the reverberating “wail” woke her and she’s been in a mad dash to grab all of their weapons to storm out and see what the hell has happened.

But right before she can leave, Danny appears with Jason in tow and all of Jazz's questions die on her tongue when she catches sight of the kid. Danny's told her a lot about Jason since he first met him-- and about the cemetery even before then-- and she's been trying to give advice and help out in whatever was she can from a distance. And now, seeing this kid actually here and just the sheer wreck that he is, she can't help but feel fiercely protective of him. She doesn't even know what happened down in the streets, just that Jason's in distress and needs help.

No questions asked, she helps Danny sit him down on the couch, wrap a blanket around him, and make some hot chocolate to try and get him to relax. She certainly has plenty of questions she Wants to ask, but that's not what's important right now. Right now she just has two severely shaken boys that need a safe place and time to calm down.

And even once she knows what happened, Jazz is nothing but supportive. Hell, she's happy to see the Joker is gone, but she doesn't focus on that because it's also not what's important. Instead she just does what she can to make a comfortable space and lets Jason know she's there to listen if he needs to talk.

And at first Jason is hesitant around Jazz-- and alarmed at first that Danny brought him to someone he doesn't know-- but Jazz is so patient and understanding. Jason can't help but relax around her. In a way it hurts, because it reminds him of his own family, but he'd rather have this than nothing, not knowing what reception he'd get back at the manor.

Danny's terrified Batman will want to hunt them both down. He knows this kid used to be Robin, but Jason's own reactions to Batman aren't making Danny feel more secure. If anything, he has a bone to pick with Batman himself now.

And Bruce is just left to reflect on what's happened, knowing that something of his son is still lingering. And he can't stop thinking of that Feeling the wail Jason made left in his chest. He keeps going back to his empty grave, hoping he might find him there. Hoping he might get to apologize to more than just the flowers.

Danny finds Bruce at the grave-- as Bruce, not Batman-- and he puts it together. He thinks he already knew it too, since while he refused to look up Jason Todd's name, it's Too Familiar.

Danny confronting Bruce angrily, expecting the man to rise to his challenge, but all he's met with is just a grieving father who desperately wants to see his son again.

And Bruce recognizes this kid and knows Danny knows where Jason is, but instead of demanding to know where he is he just asks if his son is okay. Because after feeling that wail and seeing what he saw that day, Bruce knows Jason must resent him. He doesn't even know what Jason is anymore, but he knows he's still the kid he loved and he's hurt and Bruce doesn't think he can fix that. He just wants to know if he's okay, and for Danny to tell him that he's sorry. That if Jason ever want to come home, the door will always be open.

Jason is terrified too cause he truly wanted to kill the Joker, but he didn't expect to If he was going to kill him, it would be in a way he could feel with his hands. But the way he did it was in an uncontrollable show of power that he's not sure he could have stopped.

And Danny keeps trying to reassure him that he not only will get a better hold on his powers, but that he's not a monster. That what happened wouldn't repeat itself because the only reason it happened in the first place was because that was the man who Killed Jason and ghosts are emotional beings. It’s still a struggle.

Unfortunately, the Fentons make their way to Gotham. News of what is clearly a ghost killing a person-- villain or not-- is big enough to reach them in Amity. Jazz and Danny were only in Gotham because the parents couldn’t stomach their son being Phantom-- assumed Phantom was overshadowing Danny and turned a moment of trust into one of betrayal. The siblings were trying to lay low, but... well it was Phantom that was seen with the other ghost.

The Fenton parents come to the town with an entire Arsenal and approach the Batman, going on and on about ghosts, how dangerous they are, and in particular how dangerous These ghosts are. They lament about the Death of their own son, and the entire time Bruce is just-- shocked. He wasn't even sure what Jason was, and while the word ghost does seem to fit it still feels like his heart breaking all over again.

And he can't forget how broken Jason seemed, and how protective this Phantom was of his son. He doesn't believe the Fentons, but he does Fear them. He fears what they might do, and that's when he learns about the GIW and that these people are acting Lawfully in telling him, to his face, that they want to hunt down his son.

[blingblong55]

Jokes and all -Simon "Ghost" Riley

Based on a request: Also, I was wondering if you could make a story where R/n’s past is like Ghost’s and R/n just makes jokes about the past🤔🤔🤔 ---- GN!Reader, platonic!relationship (no clue if this is even fluff) ----

War has always been a part of your life, much like Ghost's. It’s the constant hum in the background of your existence, the familiar rhythm you’ve grown up with. Your name? It’s R/n. But most people just call you Grim. It fits. Like Ghost, you’re a product of your past, a shadow of memories that echo through your actions.

You grew up in a rough neighbourhood in Manchester. Your father was a brute, a man who believed that fear was the best way to control a family. He’d come home drunk, looking for any excuse to use his fists. Your brother tried to shield you, but he was just a kid himself. Eventually, you learned to fend for yourself, to take the hits and keep going. The scars you carry are not just physical but etched deep into your soul. But you don’t let them define you; instead, you joke about them. It’s your way of coping, your shield against the pain.

Joining the military was your way out. The SAS became your new family, a place where you could channel your anger and your skills. You were good—no, you were damn good. It wasn’t long before you caught the attention of Lieutenant General Shepherd, and before you knew it, you were recruited into Task Force 141.

That’s where you met Ghost.

You were kindred spirits, though. Both of you had clawed your way out of hell, and in some twisted way, that formed a bond. He didn’t talk much about his past, but you saw it in his eyes, in the way he moved, always calculating, always prepared for the next fight.

One day, during a particularly gruelling mission in a remote part of Eastern Europe, you and Ghost find yourselves huddled behind an abandoned building, bullets flying overhead.

“Reminds me of home,” you quip, peeking out to return fire. “Except less screaming and more bullets.”

Ghost glances at you, his eyes crinkling slightly behind the mask. “You had bullets at home?”

“Nah, just the screaming. My old man loved to yell. Thought it would toughen us up. Guess he was right.”

He nods, understanding in his gaze. “Toughness isn’t just physical, Grim. Sometimes, it’s about surviving up here.” He taps the side of his head.

You chuckle, though there’s no humour in it. “Yeah, well, my old man did a great job then. Mental scars and all.”

You share a brief, heavy silence before Ghost gives the signal to move. You slip through the shadows, your training kicking in seamlessly. You’re a perfect team, your movements synchronized like a deadly dance. It’s in these moments of chaos that you feel most alive, and you know Ghost feels the same.

After the mission, you sit around a makeshift campfire, the rest of the team spread out, securing the area. Soap is tending to his gear, Price is on the radio, and Gaz is…well, Gaz is being Gaz.

You poke at the fire with a stick, lost in thought. Ghost sits next to you, his mask pushed up just enough to take a sip of water. “You ever think about going back?” he asks suddenly.

You snort. “To Manchester? Hell no. Nothing there for me but bad memories and a graveyard full of regrets.”

“Family?”

“Just my brother. Haven’t seen him in years. He got out before I did. Good for him, though. He deserves a better life.”

Ghost nods, understanding without prying. That’s the thing about Ghost—he never pushes, never demands more than you’re willing to give. It’s a silent respect you have for each other’s boundaries.

Days turn into weeks, and your missions grow more dangerous. Each time, you and Ghost fight side by side, your trust in each other is unspoken but absolute. You share dark humour to lighten the mood, your pasts becoming fodder for your twisted jokes.

One evening, after a particularly brutal mission, you find yourself staring at the stars, the weight of the world pressing down on you. Ghost joins you, his presence a comforting shadow.

“Do you ever wonder if we’ll make it out of this alive?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ghost is silent for a moment before replying, “Sometimes. But then I remember we’ve already survived the worst. This…” He gestures to the desolate landscape. “This is just another fight.”

You smile, a real one this time. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. We’re survivors, you and I.”

He looks at you then, really looks at you. “We’re more than that, Grim. We’re warriors. And we fight for those who can’t.”

You smirk, wanting to lighten the mood. “Look at us, all noble and heroic. Think we can get capes with our uniforms?”

Ghost chuckles softly, a rare sound. “Only if they come with matching tights.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “I’d look good in tights. You, though? Not so sure.”

He tilts his head. “I make anything look good, Grim. Even tights.”

The banter, light and easy, wraps around you like a shield, deflecting the darkness of your pasts. In moments like this, you feel the weight lift, if only slightly, and you’re reminded why you fight.

The next day, you’re deep in enemy territory again, the tension high. As you navigate through a maze of crumbling buildings, you crack another joke. “You know, if we survive this, I’m buying you a drink. Or ten. You look like you could use it.”

Ghost smirks behind his mask. “You’re assuming I drink.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Come on, Ghost. Everyone drinks. Especially after dealing with this kind of crap.”

“Well, in that case,” he replies, “make mine a double.”

The mission is brutal, but you and Ghost emerge victorious, your bond stronger than ever. Later, as you sit around another fire, you share a flask, the warmth of the alcohol spreading through you.

“To surviving,” you toast.

“To more than surviving,” Ghost corrects, clinking his flask against yours. “To living.”

As you lie under the stars that night, the past feels a little less heavy, the future a little less daunting. With Ghost by your side, you know you can face whatever comes next. In the end, you’re more than your scars, more than your memories.

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