#like heaven is not going to be as he imagined it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cherspastries · 2 days ago

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Okay, but here's another question... What jobs do you think the drivers would have of they weren't a driver? Or what they would major in? (loved the story btw!! :))

YOU DON’T GET WHAT YOU WISH FOR,

YOU GET WHAT YOU WORK FOR.

WORK FOR IT

2025 Grid x Reader

SUMMARY 𐙚 What jobs I think the drivers would have if they weren’t in F1. Part 1, where I talk about the reader’s job, is here! I will be referencing this so I advise reading it first.

WARNINGS 𐙚 N/A!

WORD COUNT 𐙚 2.9K

A/N 𐙚 It was really hard to decide for all of these guys. Some of them do have doubles because I couldn’t think of anything else 😬 Maybe a university AU with some of the younger drivers is needed now. Love ♥︎ Cher

DIRECTORY | MASTERLIST | REQUESTS: OPEN

RedBull ෆ

Max Verstappen

Motorsports

Unfortunately I’m a firm believer that if it’s not F1 for Max Verstappen, it’s gonna be a different motorsport. He has racing so deeply imbedded in his soul that I just can’t imagine him doing anything else. I also think that he could potentially be a streamer in another universe, but I think he’s a racer first. Imagine MotoGP Max, or maybe even Nascar Max. He loves the thrill and that’s not something he’ll abandon. So, if he doesn’t make it to F1, there’s lots of other options for this boy.

Let’s go with MotoGP. Imagine the badass pairing of a bartender and a motorcyclist. It’s quite literally a match made in heaven. Bonus points if the reader also rides motorcycles, so they can go out on adventures together. Or, if that’s not your style, he loves to have you ride on the back with your arms around his waist and all.

Yuki Tsunoda

Chef

This guy loves his food, which leads me to believe that culinary school is in his alternative future. I think Yuki could live it up as a chef that experiments with food from all corners of the world— Except America. He refuses to partake in the oily food from America, as we’ve all learned.

And hey, a chef and a seamstress isn’t exactly the expected duo, but it could work. Maybe you’re the one making the uniforms for his restaurant, and designing the logos and such. Even if he’s just in the kitchen working his magic, he still needs to look good to represent his business! It works, okay?

Mercedes ෆ

George Russell

Politician

There was a video where drivers made up what another driver would do if not F1, and a lot of people suggested George was a politician, and I 100% agree. While he said he’d be a farmer, I think he has a talent that shouldn’t go to waste. He’s a very convincing fellow that has a knack for following the rules and maybe even being a bit bossy. He exudes the vibes of someone who is a great leader, so he’d likely be a pretty decent politician.

I don’t really think your jobs intertwine much, but that’s just fine. Graphic design doesn’t have the biggest role to play in politics, but he always tries to find a place to squeeze your work in. Besides, it’s not like they have to match up perfectly anyway. You both have your own respective lives, and the life that you share together. He’s still super supportive nonetheless.

Kimi Antonelli

Scientist

Scientist Kimi! I don’t know why, but I can see it. I think if we want to be more specific, he’d study pharmacology, but I can really picture him working with chemicals in some way. I need to see Kimi in a lab coat and goggles messing around with chemicals. Maybe he’s not the best and maybe it blows up in his face, but he’s having a lot of fun. Maybe he’ll accidentally create a whole new element.

And he has his tutor girlfriend to stand by his side and support him. You’re there to offer knowledge and help in all fields. An intelligent girl matched with an equally intelligent boy is a nearly dangerous duo, and people acknowledge that. All of his friends are a little scared. You have the potential to someday rule the world— But with your childish smile and his cute curls nobody would take you seriously. Maybe it’s best you stick to science.

Ferrari ෆ

Charles Leclerc

Architect

An architect and a fashion designer. Yes, this seems about right. You’re both designing, just in your own way. I’d like to think you each contribute and help each other with the designing process, and it’s always easy to tell what aspects were thrown forth by the other person. Suddenly he’s bringing math equations into your designs, and you’re bringing little details and trends to his.

Charles himself said he’d like to be an architect, but if I were to assign him something from my own mind, I’d probably say music. It’s clear it’s something he’s very passionate about, and he’s very musically talented too. I can picture the reader sitting with him and resting her head on his shoulder while he plays.

Lewis Hamilton

Fashion designer

Yet another obvious choice. Maybe him and Charles’ girlfriend can be friends. Anyway, a makeup artist and a fashion designer kind of go hand in hand. You’re in the fashion industry, and you both work with specific clientele. Maybe you’re even a package deal. Celebrities hire one of you, and they end up hiring the other too. Just for fun.

I think this choice is obvious because it’s clearly that Lewis has a talent for fashion. His work with the Met Gala, and his day to day wear just proves that. He’s always dressed to the tens in my opinion, and I think he should spread that knowledge with the world. He’s a genius!

McLaren ෆ

Oscar Piastri

Engineer

Yes, Oscar’s expressed before that he would go into engineering if it weren’t for his current career. It makes sense. The boy’s smart, and his family has a history with racing so it’s not like mechanical engineering is all that far off. I can even see him being a track engineer. I think he’d have some decent strategies to share with a team, and would be smart enough to handle all the numbers and stats.

Now, it’s not really like his occupation matches up with yours either, but again… I think that’s okay. If he was an F1 engineer, I could see him taking you along with him, so as a food critic you’re getting to travel the world and experience dishes from different regions. So maybe in that sense, you’re perfect for each other. Who knows.

Lando Norris

Similar to George, a lot of the other drivers said that if he wasn’t a racing pilot, he should be a DJ. Esteban Ocon himself said that Lando got up behind the booth and made some decent beats, so with a bit more practice he could definitely do it. He also has the necessary party boy energy to pull off being a DJ, so it makes a lot of sense in the long run.

I’m not sure how well a teacher and DJ would work, but I think that’s ultimately part of the charm. You’re total opposites. One of you is quiet and collected while the other is loud and chaotic and it makes you relationship consistently interesting and engaging for you both. If you were paired with people exactly like yourselves, you’d probably get bored after awhile. Each of you brings something new to the table.

Aston Martin ෆ

Fernando Alonso

Football / Soccer

This was hard because, much like Max, it was hard to see Fernando doing anything but racing. I was almost tempted to keep him in motorsports as well, but I chose not to because I remember Fernando saying he liked football, and that just makes a lot of sense in my mind. I definitely don’t think he’d play football as long as he raced for F1, so after he reaches a certain age he retires, but I can see him pursuing this career at some point.

The life of a football player with a wedding planner wife is rather domestic. You’re constantly doting on him and taking care of him, treating your retired lover as if he’s old and decaying. He insists that he can do everything on his own, but he does like the attention nonetheless, so Fernando sits back and lets you pamper him like he’s your princess. Hey, whatever keeps the man busy.

Lance Stroll

Business man

I was unsure about this one, but I think considering that his dad is a business man, it makes sense for Lance to follow a similar destiny. Maybe he also ends up owning his own F1 team, who knows? I think he’s a very diplomatic guy, even if he’s somewhat introverted. That doesn’t mean he’s rude or anything, so talking business would come along just fine for Lance! He’s a very smart guy. I’m picturing him as a CEO of sorts.

He doesn’t play about you, either. You get to act as his sugar baby for a while, even though you make plenty of money yourself. He loves getting to tell you to buy whatever you want using his card, and he loves spoiling you. If you need new equipment for writing, he’ll buy it. If you need help getting your books published, he’ll talk to people for you. If you need help advertising, he’s on it. Lance is there to assist you in everything. He’s your partner in crime!

Alpine ෆ

Pierre Gasly

Football / Soccer

Okay I KNOW, this is unoriginal, but if you look at Pierre’s instagram there’s lots of photos of him playing football and I think it just makes sense to me. He kind of has the appropriate build for one too? Muscular, but also very strong legs and a good runner. I can’t really describe it, just trust me.

And, since he’s still in a sport, you can continue to be his social media manager and like everything related to him. People are still stunned to find out that Pierre runs his accounts and is the one viewing everything, but they’re even more stunned to find out that a majority of the time you’re the one actually liking the posts because every time you see anything related to him you giggle uncontrollably and spam the like button. Still a perfect, dynamic duo.

Franco Colapinto

Journalism

This guy likes his gossip. Franco’s charismatic enough to be able to easily interview people, and I firmly believe in that. He loves catching up on all the latest gossip and posting about it online for everyone to see. It doesn’t matter if it’s none of his business, because he’s gonna make it his business. Either way, he tends to be fairly respectful about what he posts. Even if he wants to phrase it in the most dramatic way possible, Franco sticks to the facts. And what he assumes are facts.

He likes to work on his pieces while he’s in your shop. He’s usually sitting behind the counter while you tend to customers, typing away on his newest report back to his boss. Every now and then he gets a few weird looks, almost like people recognize him, but they aren’t quite sure if it’s actually him or not.

Williams ෆ

Carlos Sainz

Boxer

Ohhhh… Okay sorry let me compose myself. Carlos gives off these casual aggressive vibes that tell you he’s not someone to be messed with, but also he’s a very sweet guy deep down. He loves his job, but he makes sure to remain unbiased and sportsmanly throughout, because it’s important to ensure that your opponent knows they did a great job too. He always said he’d remain an athlete if he was to do something other than F1, and while boxing probably isn’t on the top of his list, I can see it happening.

A boxer and a baker. It’s very much giving cute wife who bosses her strong husband around like it’s no big deal. Sure, he’s a champion in the ring, but when Carlos comes home he has to listen to you first. You’re the one wearing the pants in this relationship. He doesn’t mind, either. It’s nice to come home and be ordered around by you.

Alex Albon

Golfer

Vet gf and golfer bf. Makes perfect sense to me. He’s out there enjoying a nice day on the fresh green grass while you’re taking care of very cute patients. It’s a win for you both, and at the end of the day you both get to come home and relax together and talk about your days.

I think golf suits Alex. I know he always jokes about being terrible about it, especially in comparison to his actual girlfriend (The beautiful that is Lily Muni He) but if he had years of experience like he does with F1, I think he’d be really talented! It’s something that he loves already, so it makes sense.

Visa Cash App Racing Bulls ෆ

Liam Lawson

Actor

Uhm, hello have you seen him acting in the VCARB tiktoks? Perfect. But also I think he’d be typecasted as a stereotypical teen in the 90’s. He looks young enough, and that’s exactly how he dresses and acts. He’d be very charming with younger audiences due to his boyish charm. He just needs to brush up on those acting skills a bit and then we have the perfect actor.

And hey, you’re an actress. It fits perfectly. Maybe the two of you meet on set. Maybe you’re even casted to play lovers, and then it just ends up being that you come out of the experience actually dating. Who’s to say if it actually works out. Lots of actors say it’s hard to date your co-worker, but you guys would have to disagree, because you’re going strong!

Isack Hadjar

Physicist

Isack’s dad is a physicist! I think it would be cute if he followed in his footsteps. Most F1 drivers do follow in their parent’s footsteps, especially their dad, but Isack didn’t. However, imagining a universe where he did is interesting. He’d probably have the brain for it, he’d just have to dedicate a lot of his time to school, which might be hard.

A physicist and a photographer. I think you guys both like to discuss your more nerdy occupations. You get to rant about photo editing and camera settings, and he gets to rant about astrophysics and a lot of stuff you don’t entirely understand, but you enjoy hearing nonetheless. This is my favorite duo, never stop being a nerd.

Kick Sauber ෆ

Nico Hülkenberg

Male model

Nobody can convince me otherwise. He has the perfect face for modeling. Ruggedly handsome with a slight stubble and nice hair. I almost gave Carlos this role, but I think Nico is perfect for a model. If he hasn’t already received offers, he should, because he’s 37 and he looks fantastic still.

A model and a sommelier is a great duo, actually. You both have jobs seen as sophisticated. You’re a killer duo, the type of couple that can kill with your looks alone. He’s always impressed by your extensive knowledge, and you’re impressed by just how beautiful he is. You like to show him off at events you’re invited to, and he likes to do the same himself. Power couple. End of sentence.

Gabriel Bortoleto

Sports commentator

Not sure of this one either. I think Gabi would be a very fun commentator, always making silly quips and witty jokes that draws the audience in while retaining that necessary sports knowledge. At first he’d definitely let the other commentators do a lot of the talking, but once he’s warmed up to the environment, you hear him just as much as you hear the others. There’s no more hiding!

I think a streamer and a commentator is a silly duo as well. Maybe sometimes you stream sports and commentate it to mimic your boyfriend, which he always pretends to be offended by, but he thinks it’s adorable in reality. He likes showing up on your streams too. I love them. I’m jealous of you, reader.

Haas ෆ

Oliver Bearman

Male model

ALRIGHT I KNOW. I’m being unoriginal again, but have you SEEN Ollie?! He’s absolutely model material as well. Tall, handsome, fit. He might need some training on how to pose and walk a runway, but he’ll get it down eventually. I can also see him being like a hand model for watches and jewelry and such. He has very nice, soft hands that are still very masculine.

A painter and a model are you SERIOUS? I know I wrote it but I’m also fangirling because wow. He can quite literally be your muse. He doesn’t even have to sit there, because there’s thousands of beautiful pictures online for you to use. Although it does make the experience a lot more special when he offers to be your live model and pose for you. It’s like something only you get to see. Yeah… Huge fan of this.

Esteban Ocon

Comic book editor

PLEASE he would have a BLAST. He gets to read all these superhero comics, and he actually gets to contribute to the process of making them. I don’t know I just love the idea of a superhero fanatic, especially someone who loves Spiderman like Estie, getting to edit the scripts for comics. He’d be so into it, too. Like “this idea is unoriginal, so you should go for something like this” because he’s already read so many comics out there that he can recite plot lines from a lot of them.

And trust that I am a huge fan of goddess girlfriend and loser boyfriend. A model with a comic book editor? Nobody would see it coming. Imagine pulling up to the red carpet, cameras flashing as a tall, handsome figure emerges from the limo and it’s… Oh, it’s just some guy they’ve never seen before, but you look so happy that it’s impossible to harbor any judgement. It’s adorable how much you two love each other.

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wistfulnightingale · 1 day ago

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Good Omens & the Existential Art of Not Giving Up (or, When It's All Exhausting)

So many of us love Good Omens, especially Crowley and Aziraphale, with an intensity that our friends and loved ones may not understand. We analyze their choices, their relationship, their future. We cry over them. We speculate, create and enjoy fanfics about them, and await the conclusion of their story with all of our hopes and fears on the line.

For me, one of the biggest reasons I'm so attached to their story is because of the way they constantly fight to figure out how to exist as they are, in a universe that forces them be something they're not. They make mistakes, they get overwhelmed, and sometimes they totally screw it up. But they always come back.

They never give up.

Our world is -- tough -- to say the least. Many of us are struggling to figure out how to exist as we are. So many pressures and expectations, so much conflict and... Well, you already know exactly what I mean! Existential Exhaustion is real, and all too present.

Good Omens provides something much more important than an escape from those harsh realities. I believe it provides HOPE.

I lost hope for a little while. I've been away from Tumblr and my AO3 writing for months because of it. Good Omens was helping me keep my head above water in a chaotic, exhausting world. When the future of GO itself got chaotic, I lost something (for awhile) that helped me make sense of the world's chaos.

But these characters, Crowley and Aziraphale, are beautiful and brave and flawed and So Ineffably HUMAN... They show us what it is to fight and fall and fail and rise to fight again. They remind us that we can mess up and still be lovable, worthy of love. And, when they get it right, they show us what acceptance and fidelity can be.

Stories are usually about how people (and angels and demons!) respond to challenges. We only get to be privy to the story of Our Ineffables when their lives are about to get turned upside down. AntiChrist about to enter the world? Season 1. Their precious, peaceful, fragile existance together about to be threatened by a mysterious Something Terrible from Heaven? Season 2.

I love to imagine what Aziraphale and Crowley's lives together were like in that short time they had together in between. (It's why we love the flashbacks, right? An extra peek at their relationship!) That time was far too short, but they came a long way since that gentle night at the bus stop, and protecting each other's very existence from Hellfire and Holy Water the very next day. "To the World", they said. "To Us," it meant, and how much they love it and strive to protect it.

Like us, Our Ineffables are flawed fellows. They get overwhelmed. Aziraphale gets too anxious, and starts spouting off things he doesn't really mean. Crowley loses his temper, and likewise starts spouting off things he doesn't really mean...

They fight with each other.

They fight for each other.

And life stays hard. They get overwhelmed. Anxiety happens. Anger happens. Bad decisions happen. Existential Exhaustion. Doesn't put any of us at our best, yeh?

But they keep trying to figure it all out and make it right. For the world and for each other...

Maybe I believe in Our Ineffables so much because I need something to believe in that gives me Hope, something that helps me keep fighting. Because I do believe in them, both of them. They mess up, but they don't give up.

Maybe that's not such a weird thing for any of us to believe in.

#good omens #good omens 2 #ineffable husbands #good omens meta #don't give up #wistfulnightingale #ineffably human #ineffable idiots #ineffable spouses #deep thoughts #hope #I love them too much to stay away!

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yourislandgirl · 2 days ago

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⁺‧♱₊ DON’T TOUCH, DON’T DO IT ˚˖𓍢⋆ || 박성훈 x fem!reader || fic

ib: this prompt by @hoondrop

summary: light and darkness culminates in a single glance when you find yourself entranced by a handsome stranger, and with one touch he brings you closer to god than you could ever have imagined

genres: fallen angel!sunghoon x human!fem reader, romance, mature, suggestive, angelic/devilish powers au, religious imagery, strangers to ???

warnings: swearing/cursing, skinship, indirect allusions to sex but nothing explicit is written, some descriptive sentences on bodily harm (burns.. to sunghoon), desperate sunghoon, he’s lowkey going through a psychotic break and questioning his entire purpose, yn sees a handsome guy who questions religion like herself and runs with it, not an accurate rep of christian mythology — i’m not christian i just like researching and learning religious symbolism so i’m so sorry if i get smth wrong

w.c: 5.9k

[archive]

It had been at least ten or so hours since he’d lost it all. Or at least that was his assumption. Time worked differently in this realm. Everything felt tortuously long.

The field where he’d woken up had left charred grass blades beneath him, his skin stippled and smoking in two long stripes down his broad back. The smell made him want to heave and yet nothing came out. But the feeling… He’d never felt such a repulsive reaction in himself.

Angels didn’t feel nauseous, they didn’t feel hunger, rage, wrath, or at least they weren’t supposed to.

But now the feelings seemed to suffocate him. Yet the air was stale.

The world of the humans felt bleak — it lacked the opulence of pearlescent pillars and amber chandeliers and marble pathways. The trees seemed less alive, the flowers less fragrant, everything was less.

But it was better than the other option…

He refused to go there.

But that left him no other choice but to stay here. Among the humans. They were…different.

Some shone brightly, others had a festering wound coiling inside them, draining them with every breath and every sin. Those fighting for sanity were always teetering on the brink of giving up and pulling through. Those that gave in, fell into the poison of release that had Sunghoon looking away in disappointment.

But at least they had the chance to redeem themselves.

Sunghoon regarded every passing person with a semblance of prospect — they each had the opportunity to find salvation. Something that would forever remain out of his reach.

Turmoil riddled his mind, complicated emotions that had never touched the strings of his heart were now orchestrating his feelings. He’d become a marionette, a simpleton compared to humans who had grown into mastery of these emotional shortcomings.

This shame buried under anger was new. And it only grew with every passing hour.

He found himself walking into an empty chapel’s halls. Rows of pews and stone walls carved with intricacy, paintings and murals of the divinity that he’d once known — it wasn’t enough.

His steps echoed, heavy against oakwood polished floorboards. The urge to raise up into the air, suspended between gravity, it gnawed at him. But despite all the dust and musty candlewax, all Sunghoon could smell was the burning flesh on his back.

He chose a pew to the far corner, away from the entrance but far enough from the podium that he felt like he could stare without the guilt swallowing him whole. His back rested against the length of the bench, one arm bending back to cushion his head.

And for the first time since he fell, Sunghoon wept.

Hot tears slid down his unblemished cheeks — skin that had never felt anything more than the warmth of Heavens sun, the sweetness of its rain — he felt the rage pushing itself out, heating up his face, pulsing against his skull, twisting in his throat.

Feeling the sticky yet dry remains of his sadness was humbling.

Amongst the multitude of muddled emotions, one thing remained consistent — Sunghoon had divinity that did not hold power to those above, and was irrelevant to those below, he only mattered here, and yet here was the realm of freedom that promised salvation to everyone but him.

Sunghoon let his hand slide down his face, wiping his tears and with them, his self pity.

Alright Father, you want to punish me? Let me show you the liberty of your punishment.

⋆ ───── 𝜗𝜚 ───── ⋆

There wasn’t any goal with your walk. You just wanted to get out, clear your head, get your thoughts straight, something to pass the time. It wasn’t a planned route. There wasn’t an intended destination.

So when you found yourself on the steps of the old church in your town, it felt more pretentious than comforting.

What gave you, the girl who renounced religion as something that predetermined value, the right to step foot into such a place when you felt lost.

Regardless, you simply scoffed and entered the place anyway.

It was the better option compared to the town’s newer church. This one was all but abandoned, safe for the archive room being used as storage by the pastors after they all moved to the newer church across town.

You remember sneaking into these halls as a young teenager. Usually during a game of truth or dare, to see who’d be brave enough to enter the abandoned church at night and get a picture of the weeping angel statue out the back on the church grounds. Safe to say you’d finished the dare with only minimal nightmares for the rest of that weekend.

“Worth it,” you whispered to yourself as you slid past the slightly ajar doors.

The place hadn’t changed at all. In a way, that was comforting. After seeing all the new apartment complexes closer to the city or the reconstructed parks that got rid of the old equipment you’d grown up with, this was an oddly nice change of pace.

You pulled out the lighter in your back pocket and reached for one of the single candle holders. The sun was setting rapidly outside and the streetlights on this side of town were old and quite frankly unreliable.

The crackle of the aged wick filled the previous pin drop silence and you felt goosebumps rise along the length of your forearms. The slither of cold that slid down your spine made your shoulder shake slightly.

It was a delicious sort of drear, the kind that had you curious and pushed away thoughts of your day, your week, your life.

Tonight, in the halls of the church, with its enormously high ceilings that glittered with cobwebs and candelabras, all that mattered was your peace of mind. You didn’t care about tomorrow, or yesterday, or even the last hour.

You just wanted to get lost in the one place in town that had stood still through the progression of time.

You took tentative steps along the rows of seats, searching for the odd bible left behind, maybe some other momento, lost among moth eaten cushions. The amber flame in your hand cast eerie shadows, reflecting mirages from the multicoloured stained glass.

You had just reached the podium when the sight of a limp body along one of the pews had you frozen on the spot, a gasp strangled in your throat.

“What the— Hey.”

You placed the candleholder on top the podium, letting its light spread wider from the elevation, and you hesitantly walked closer to the man laying there in what appeared to be a satin shirt and pants that looked darker than obsidian. A grey coat was bunched up behind his neck for support and upon further inspection, his shoes seemed caked with mud and gravel, as if he’d been walking for hours.

You shuffled closer, breath held between your pursed lips. Except it didn’t stay back for long — your eyes had only just reached his face when you felt the air being pushed out of your lungs.

He was… Beautiful. There was simply no other word for it.

Fair skin mildly speckled with dark stars, lips that looked like they had a touch softer than rose petals, one hand tucked under his head, dark hair spread in different directions from his sleep. His other hand was adorned with silver rings, glistening despite the minimal lighting, as if they glowed but not quite.

Your hand reached forward before you could even control it. The desire to touch him was something so out of this world that it was as if you were viewing yourself through a screen, your body moving without any intention other than to feel the form of someone that screamed angelic.

As your fingers touched the soft fabric on his shoulder, you wondered if he was some wealthy runaway, some sort of political figure or celebrity, maybe even a model. No other explanation came to mind. He looked otherworldly and his clothes felt like they were meant to be worn by a prince.

And he radiated warmth. Not a feverish burn but a simmering heat. Like the sun in the early morning, the first rays of light.

Finally, taking a breath, after what felt like a millennia, you cleared your throat and gave him a gentle shake.

“Hey. Wake up. … Hello?”

He furrowed his eyebrows, lips creasing together before sitting up with a jolt, eyes wide, shoulders tense. You stumbled back a few steps, watching him observe his surroundings until his gaze landed on you. Before he squeezed his eyes shut.

“…So bright.” His voiced was slightly rasped from sleeping and yet the gravity of his tone had you lost for words.

All you managed to get out was a measly “Huh?”

“Bright.” He repeated himself.

Looking back at your single candlestick, you frowned a little. “That’s too bright for you?”

The man simply rubbed his eyes with his fingers, blinking a few times before shaking his head. “I’m fine.”

“Well, that’s one way of putting it.” Your hand clasped itself around your mouth hurriedly.

Heat prickled the back of your neck as you watched the man in front of you start to stretch and stumble to his feet, standing taller as he straightened up.

He didn’t appear to have registered your words, thank god, but the embarrassment had already washed over you.

It was hard to stop staring, observing the way he scanned his surroundings, took a step forward before looking down and sighing in disappointment. It was as if he expected something to happen.

You were just about to work up the nerve to ask some sort of question when he turned around.

“Oh god…” You took a step backwards, hand reaching for your phone. “You— You’re hurt.”

He froze, his shoulders squaring as he looked back to you. “I’m not. I— It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not?” Your phone lit up as you unlocked it. “You need a doctor.”

He took a step closer, palms up placatingly. “I don’t! Just… Stop. Trust me. I’m fine.”

Your thumbs paused, hovering over the keypad. It was a little impossible to look away from him. His gaze had a depth that had you swimming just to stay present in the moment, fighting against the tide.

He must have taken your silence as an indication to keep going. “I, uh, already had it treated. It just needs to be aired out to heal now.”

That didn’t seem medically sound in the slightest. From your quick glance it looked like severe burns, not the kind you got from a kitchen stove. Two long stripes etched down his back, the marks burnt through his shirt, browning the once pale, moonlit-white of the satin.

“I don’t think that airing it out will help much…” Your eyes darted between his, gaze fixating on the small moles that dotted his face. You were so focused on counting them, you missed the way his lip quirked up.

With a shrug, he reached for his coat, grey and long, draping it over his shoulders. “I’m just doing what my doctor told me.”

Normally, this would be the perfect opportunity to form an ending to the conversation and make a quick exit.

Normally, you would do that just that, giving a curt smile and a quick nod and a simple ‘Have a good night’ before speed walking out the door.

Normally…

Nothing about this man was normal.

“What are you doing here?”

He sighed at your question, arms crossing over before he spoke, “Just sleeping. I’ve had a long day. You?”

“Uh… I was out for a walk. Kind of ended up here. Weird, right?”

His expression sobered a little, his mind seemingly drifting before he responded. “No. You probably came here for a reason. Like I did.”

“And what reason’s that?”

“Peace. Silence. Company.”

You felt the same tug on your limbs, where it was like you were a mere spectator while your feet took a few tentative steps forward. “Are you the company?”

The man’s eyes seemed to soften, a hypnotising contrast with the subtle strike of his smirk. “If you want me to be.”

⋆ ───── 𝜗𝜚 ───── ⋆

It wasn’t like Sunghoon knew what to do in such situations.

Stuck in a realm where redemption was futile had suddenly made every thought, every action, every inhibition seem enticing.

What could he do now that he had no limitations on his soul?

Did he even possess a conscience? Or was it always just an added bonus to divine existence?

What would it be like to give in and fall into that freedom?

He’d have to get used to not raising into flight after taking a single step — the lack of wings left a lightness to his shoulders. He felt uninhibited.

Usually in bouts of desperation, one does something that they will eventually regret. But Sunghoon couldn’t deny how exhilarating it was to dismiss regret. To feed into thoughts of impurity because he finally felt separate from the shackles of feather and bone that had once framed his structure.

He had the opportunity to let go of everything that had once defined him. He had the chance to reinvent himself in his own image, rather than what was handed to him upon birth. He just didn’t know where to begin.

Until he laid his eyes on you.

Through the brief interactions, it was clear why you shone so brightly. There was a genuine light inside of you — golden and glistening — ready to shine onto anyone in need or sear the space around you to protect yourself. There were a few people he’d seen with such brightness.

You were the first one he’d seen up close.

It should have concerned him. Usually he was supposed to have a sense of nurturing and a desire to help facilitate such brightness.

Now, all he wanted was to feel the tempting burn of your light under his fingertips.

This should have concerned him — this desire, so raw, and so new, and so unknown. Yet it was so natural.

Sunghoon let you have your space, blinking repeatedly every chance he got in order to get used to the way you shone in the dark space of the church hall.

The way you moved with a hesitant step, a slightly measured reaction, like you were aware of how much space you were occupying, it was so human of you.

You’d taken the candleholder back in your hands and were explaining briefly why you’d decided on going for a walk in the first place. And Sunghoon listened with raptured attention. Eventually the pair of you made your way past the long echoey hallways and into the archival room.

“This room’s got more comfy chairs anyway.” You gave him a little smile, setting the candleholder down on one of the empty tables before you went to light a few more.

With every little flame that flickered to life thanks to your lighter, the room glowed a little orange. Sunghoon sighed, your own light slightly dimming from the candles around the place.

“So,” you started, “Why are you sleeping at a church? Not that I’m judging… Or, maybe I am. I don’t know. I’m just curious.”

An amused smile etched on Sunghoon’s lips. Your flailing hands as you tried to explain yourself was endearing enough that he didn’t register his response until it happened.

“I can’t go back home.”

“Trouble with your folks?”

“Something like that. I just needed to rest until I can figure out what to do with myself.”

It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t the truth either. Sunghoon knew there was not much a fallen angel could do unless they got help from those in power in the Underworld.

But then he’d be indebted.

Dismissing the concern he simply relaxed at how you accepted his words. Your attention seemed taken by the volumes of tomes and books that lined the shelves.

Pulling one out, you flipped it over before frowning at the lack of text on the back. “Guess that doesn’t work. Only novels have blurbs,” you muttered.

Sunghoon walked a little closer, his shoulder just barely brushing yours as he carefully took the book from your hands. “Check the inside, last few pages.” He opened the back of the book and pointed out a tiny paragraph of text, looping in fancy script on the aged, yellowing paper.

His eyes followed the way your fingers traced each loop of ink, trying to read the words.

“It’s Latin,” he whispered. “Translates to something about ritual to revitalise a soul after they have sinned.”

You scoffed, closing the book and sliding it back into the shelf. “Sin itself is so bogus.” Halting for a moment, you stole a glance at Sunghoon. “I mean, not to offend you if you’re religious. Which I’m assuming you are if you choose to sleep at a church when you’ve got nowhere to go. I didn’t mean—”

“Relax.” Sunghoon, leaned against a table behind him, arms crossing over his torso as he spoke. “I don’t think sin has weight on me anyway. Not anymore.”

Again, not a lie. But not the truth.

Again, he should have been concerned with the ease at which he was crossing his old limitations. But he wasn’t.

Instead he was smiling at the way you relaxed. He was nodding at your explanation on the rejection of sin, entranced by the confidence in your autonomy. A little envious of what was blissful ignorance to the kinds of realms he’s seen. You truly were existing in the moment for no one but yourself.

“You should keep doing that.” His fingers played with the platinum ring that weighed heavy on his other hand. The last piece of the life he had once known.

You hadn’t quite understood his words. “Doing what?”

“Living for yourself.”

You smiled.

It should have been a sin to have a smile as ethereal as yours, but Sunghoon just smirked at the realisation that you’d renounce that sin as well.

“I don’t actually know what I’m doing.” You walked closer to where Sunghoon stood, back rested against the table. He watched you with a gaze so soft, it was impossible to notice how he was basically pulling you closer with a single look.

He remained situated in one location, eyes following your every movement, as if the dark brown irises that flickered gold from candlelight were some source of power, in control of every step you took.

“You…” The words died on your lips.

You’re different. You’re not normal. You’re doing something to me. And I’m letting you….

Sunghoon was indeed in control. A power he hadn’t ever used without intention until this very moment. He wasn’t moving a human being to the right position in order to facilitate some divine timing. That was no longer his purpose. He had no purpose for anyone other than himself.

Just like you.

He wanted to give into that. Feel what is was to be like you. Feel what it was to be with you.

Feel you.

⋆ ──── 𝜗𝜚 ──── ⋆

There was no logical explanation for how it happened. One minute you were standing a few meters away from the most handsome man you had ever laid your eyes on, and the next minute, you were inches away from him.

Less than inches.

He stood tall, gaze cast down, eyes half-lidded and filled with a darkness that only seemed to beckon you closer.

Your neck craned slightly as you held his gaze. You had no clue where you found the will to keep looking when every nerve in your body was pulsing with the urge to look away. But his pull was inexplicably demanding. And it had you wanting to fulfil what he asked, his desires becoming your own, his thoughts enveloping yours, a shadow encircling light.

With shaky hands, your fingers reached closer — little dark spots on his skin, porcelain smoothness, light rouge dusted across his cheekbones with the candlelight shadows making him seem like he was suspended between this world and a world just beyond the veil — you ached to touch him.

“Don’t.”

With a blink, you halted. Your eyes searched his for some explanation.

“You don’t want to touch me.” He spoke with a certainty, like he knew the power he held over you, like he knew you were questioning why you wanted this so bad.

But that want, that craving, it was all you could focus on. You could have pleaded in that moment, but you tried to bite back the desperation from seeping through your voice and nodded. “I do.”

A smirk struck his features with the magnetism of lightning. He was so alluring. And he was just standing before you. “Innocent girl…” The gravel of his voice left a thundering thump in your chest, in your soul, in the parts of yourself that you didn’t expect. “You don’t know what you want.”

“I do.”

“Really?”

You kept your eyes locked with his, nodding again.

Swallowing back the shivers that were working their way up your forearms, you waited as he straightened up a little more, growing taller than before. You didn’t think it was possible. His own hand started raising higher, mirroring yours, his fingers just a hairs width away from your own cheek.

“Then tell me,” he started, “What do you think you want?”

You bit your tongue. How could you tell a nameless stranger — a handsome stranger, but a stranger nonetheless — that all you really wanted was to feel his hands on you, feel his breath mixed with yours, with no clause or reason or regret for what would come or what it could mean.

Meaning only mattered when it was given that importance. Meaning only existed if one let it. You didn’t intend to.

“Hmm?” He hummed, awaiting a response.

Your response came with your gentle touch, fingertips softly tapping against one of his moles, eyes fixated on the slope of his nose, trailing down to the tantalising sight of his lips, parted ever so slightly. He stiffened from your touch, eyes fluttering closed. A low hiss, barely audible, filled the little space between your faces.

“I know what I want.” You didn’t think your voice had ever been so soft. “The question is, do you want the same?”

His eyes were still closed, his hand dropping down to clench around the fabric of your jacket. “I shouldn’t…”

His brows furrowed, eyes opening to finally meet yours and you felt a sweltering heat from his very gaze. He held a breath for an eternity longer than you thought was humanly possible. Your hand had only just lifted off his face when he grasped with a firm grip, sparks creeping along your palm from his touch.

“I shouldn’t want this.” His whisper seemed to be more for himself than for you. So you chose to remain silent. Entranced by the sight of someone fighting to remain logical in a space that seemed to defy logic, where the energy pulsed with desire, where intellectualising the tension was trivial when you could just give in and feel.

And when he took that single step closer, fingers lacing into yours, you closed your eyes in an immediate release of control. There was no time to question yourself, to try and understand why you were acting in a manner that didn’t feel normal. All that mattered was the warmth of his breath, ghosting lips that hovered over yours, and the gentle rub of his thumb on the back of your hand, grounding you in the moment.

“Forgive me.”

You felt your heartbeat in your throat. Unable to respond, you thanked every source of operant powers that you didn’t have to.

His lips seared with a fire that breathed another life into you. An indescribable feeling, like no other kiss, no back-of-a-party hook up or first date butterflies could compare from the way he claimed you in that very moment.

Nothing mattered when he moved his mouth against yours. Nothing became everything. The ground beneath your feet could have gave way and you would have remained in the spot, one hand pressed against his chest, the other sliding out of his grasp and pulling him closer with the collar of his shirt.

His hold was the only thing keeping your knees from buckling. His arm wrapped around you, fingers pressing into the material of your jacket, one hand already working on lowering the zipper just enough to slide his hand along the bare skin of your neck, cupping your jaw.

You pulled back, breathing deeply. His eyes held a lust that you hadn’t seen before, a thirst that didn’t seem explainable, yet it only drew you in. His thumb slightly pulled on your lower lip, like he was hypnotised, thoughts foggy, only one goal in mind. You could have chalked it up to the heat that bathed the room, but honestly, you had the same goal. And with the way he studied you while you unzipped your jacket and pulled it off, he seemed to understand.

“Are you sure you’re not an angel?” He asked, seeming a little dazed.

The line felt undoubtedly cliché and yet the way he looked at you — eyes glossed over, lips parted, ready to swallow yours again in an instant — he seemed to really mean it.

You giggled, tugging his grey coat off his shoulders. “I’m no more an angel than you are.” You pulled him back down by the collar, your grip so tight you thought you heard a button pop. “Besides,” you breathed against his lips, “I don’t think angels get up to shit like this. Do you?”

He exhaled low, nose nudging against yours, like the mere act of sharing oxygen with you was making his head spin. And maybe it was, because yours was doing the same.

The sound of his chuckle had you biting back the most embarrassing sounds. And it didn’t help when he held your waist, fingers pinching at the skin through the material of your shirt while he turned the two of you around, leaning you against the desk.

“I can tell you with the upmost certainty,” his hand reached down and hooked under one of you knees, lifting you up by the back of you thighs, seating you on the desk as he stepped closer, between you legs. “Angels don’t do anything like this.”

He seemed almost grateful…

For a split second, the confusion overtook the emotions and you wondered about the man before you. The one who’s hand was trailing up your clothed thigh, his other hand stroking the soft skin of your cheek, like he was trying to memorise the sensation, trying to embed your warmth into his soul.

You felt the urge to ask, but you were torn between the need to know and the need to feel.

“Are you okay?” He leaned closer, pressing a gentle kiss before pulling away to gauge your reaction.

You nodded. “Never better.”

His lips trailed down your jaw, the warmth drowning any doubts, teeth poking through to prick against the pulse of your neck. You clenched your hand around the width of his arm, tilting your head further to feel as much as possible.

When your fingers slid between the silk of his hair, you wondered if you’d ever felt anything so smooth. It curled between your fingers, practically begging to be tugged.

And who were you to deny that.

Each touch ignited a beating pulse in its wake. Each kiss melted together. Tongues clashing, teeth nipping, hands wandering to places that had your moans and whines melding together into a lewd symphony.

And yet you had never felt more content.

That’s what happens when desire takes the reigns. Time blurs together and before you realise it, you find yourself feeling like heaven is found in some dark corner of an archive room, in the arms of a handsome stranger who seems to be just as lost as you are.

a.n: this was supposed to be a drabble but i think i’m almost incapable of writing those bcs tell me why this ended up being so long T^T not complaining (that much) bcs i still had fun writing it !! hope i delivered xx

perm taglist: @oceanstide — @sheepsgf — @itsrinsdrs — @enjakey — @rynnest — @jaylaxies

2025 © yourislandgirl

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panlight · 3 days ago

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Yeah Bella for SURE is the next most likely to get mauled by a bear after Emmett.

Moves to Forks, mopes around a bit then decides to go for a walk in the woods and find a nice spot to read and try to stop thinking about the weird guy in biology (what is his deal!?!?) and then, whoops, Arizona city girl accidentally comes between a mama bear and her cubs, game over.

Except . . . weird guy from biology catches the scent of her delicious-freesia blood. He kills the bear and with a heroic force of will carries Bella back to Carlisle (too delicious to attempt to change her himself) and congrats, Esme, you have a new baby girl.

Now Bella's experience is like everyone else's: no warning, she barely knows these people, and while her physical attraction to Edward is there, they haven't like, talked much yet. But he is the angel who saved her.

Is she as good at being a vampire in this scenario? I mean, probably? Because Beau is pretty much the same and he didn't have time to "prepare" and "brace himself" like Bella supposedly did in Eclipse/Breaking Dawn so she still probably is remarkably controlled. Does she try to visit Charlie? How quickly do she and Edward get together? How much is he hating himself for being selfish enough to doom her to this life rather than letting her soul ascend to Heaven where she surely belongs?

Is Rosalie as resentful or does she just feel bad for her? I'd imagine she'd still not be thrilled about the disruption to her life, but in this case Bella wasn't making the informed choice to 'throw her life away,' she was dying and 'rescued.'

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justafreakonline · 2 days ago

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Not again

a/n I don’t want to do all the work of pre-writing summary ect. I already wrote it. It’s just mic’d up again

“I would just like to say, y’all begged for me. I know yall want me bad. I mean who wouldn’t?”

You strutted into the gym in gray sweats rolled at the waist, a white compression shirt tucked into your bra, and your silver chain glinting under the lights. “The mic is on. Get excited yall. Not too excited though. You freaks.”

____

“You eating that banana real suspiciously, Icy,” you said, staring at her with narrowed eyes.

Ice paused. “It’s literally a banana, how else do I eat it?”

“Why you makin’ eye contact with me while doing it? Didn’t know you were a freak like that for real.”

____

“Coach Geno told me to lock in, but he already knows I’m locked in with my girl.”

You pointed to Morgan, who was tying her hair up.

“See that slick back? Y’all. I’m fighting for my life right now. Sum else is slick I’ll tell you that much.”

____

You walked into the locker room, dribbling a ball.

“Mic’d up and dripped out. I’m like if Sue Bird and Sexy red had a love child. You’re welcome.”

____

“Paige told me to touch some grass today. I said nah, I’m too busy touching feelings. Mostly hers.”

She threw a towel at you. “I will file a restraining order.”

“Who told you I liked being restrained.”

____

“I just want the record to show Morgan said I couldn’t go a full practice without being inappropriate.”

You turned dead serious to the camera.

“I lasted seven minutes. That’s character development. Growth.”

“She’s right it used to be three.” Morgan said walking by. You nodded and smiled proudly.

“It was 7 minutes in hell wayyy worse than 7 minutes in heaven I can tell yall that.”

____

You pointed the camera at Aubrey mid-stretch.

“Y’all see that arch? I’d hit. I’ll tell yall that much”

“Get outta my face, Y/n.”

“Too late. I’m already imagining the wedding.”

____

“Sarah said she can outlift me. I said baby I don’t need to lift, I got you to do the heavy lifting in this relationship.”

“We’re not even dating.” Sarah said from the bench where she was taking of her shoes

“Shhh” you said pressing your finger to her lips “That’s a mindset issue.”

____

Camera cut to KK again.

“She’s bricked five in a row. She’s building a house at this point.”

KK: “Say one more thing and I’m snatching that mic off your chest.”

You: “Kinky. I’m listening.”

____

Morgan handed you your water bottle.

You sipped, looked into the lens, and said:

“Hydration is important. Especially when you’re thirsty…for your girl.”

“You’re lucky I think you’re cute.” Morgan said taking the water back

“I’m lucky you have no standards.”

____

You were stretching again, badly. Like, barely reached past your shins badly.

“Okay but imagine the positions I could be flexible in. Use your imagination.”

“Please stop.” KK said covering her face

“No.”

____

Practice ended. You collapsed on the floor, mic still on.

“That’s all folks. Practice is over. My ass looks great. My reputation is ruined. 10/10, would do it again.”

____

Editor: “Y/n, this can’t go online.”

“Put it on TikTok with sexy background music. Trust me. I’m a brand now.”

UConn_wife13| fear Y/n is the most unserious person alive and also the love of my life.

hoops4life| Y/n gonna flirt with the whole team and then cry when Morgan gives her the silent treatment for 20 minutes.

icefan3000|

The way Ice didn’t even flinch at the banana comment… she’s seen too much.

notgenoauriememeguy|

Y/n: flirts with everyone

Also Y/n: “I’m a loyal girlfriend”

Morgan blinked twice at the end. Should we call someone?

paigeshairgel|The Geno cameo was crazy. Bro looked like he aged 10 years in 3 seconds.

sarahslayz|

I dunno how but she makes everything freaky

user8183|

“Positions I could be flexible in” NAH Y/N GOTTA BE BANNED FROM THE MIC 😭😭

editorruss|

As the editor who had to bleep half this video… I haven’t known peace since Wednesday.

Fan69402|

Why does Morgan just sit there calmly like her girl isn’t out here trying to seduce the whole gym?

benchwarmersunite|

Y/n got 10 points per game but 40 points in unspoken rizz.

#paige bueckers #kk arnold #inês bettencourt #nika muhl #uconn wbb #morgan cheli x reader #caitlin clark #morgan cheli #uconn women’s basketball #wlw

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polaritydisturbed · 2 days ago

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Fan casts for the next Doctor are always a little unhinged, but I just saw a TikTok where someone—completely earnestly—suggested Alan Rickman.

Like. Bestie. Babe. Sweet summer child. I say this with love and trembling hands as I gently guide you to sit down on the fainting couch: They cannot cast someone from beyond the veil. The BBC cannot Time Lord regenerate someone out of Heaven's casting sheet.

I get it. I do. We all miss him. He would’ve eaten a Gallifreyan monologue for breakfast. But unless the BBC is about to partner with a ouija board and the estate of Alan Rickman to bring us Doctor Séance, I think we have to let that one go.

Also: imagine the behind-the-scenes footage. Just a circle of candles on the TARDIS set and a very stressed producer going, “Alan, if you’re here, give us a sign. Blink twice.”

#doctor who #doctorwho #the doctor #doctor who fan casting #doctor who text post #alan rickman #16th doctor #sixteenth doctor #doctor who spoilers #dw spoilers #dr who spoilers #spoilers

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darth-mortem · 2 days ago

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The 13th part of my demon!Ghost AU. Ghost cannot get his brother and his family out of his mind. He remembers more and more happy moments, but along with these memories come others, dark and terrifying, like hell itself. Soap knows him well enough to understand that he is overwhelmed and depressed by the horrific episodes of his human life, and he comes up with a crazy idea. He thinks he knows how to help Ghost, but will it really work, or will it make things even worse?

Angst, hurt/comfort, Ghost's family, some hot things. 3696 words.

Soap opened his eyes and reflexively recoiled when he saw Ghost standing over his bed. It wasn't the first time he had seen this, but it was impossible to get used immediately after waking up to the sight of the demon's sinister skull mask and eyes that were abysses in the darkness.

“Bloody Jesus!” Soap blurted out before he could realize what he had said.

Ghost, who was standing slightly bent over him, straightened up and took a step back. Lately, he had even started apologizing for such incidents, and Soap hoped that sooner or later he would simply learn to wait for him to wake up from a distance, rather than standing over his bed like a fucking grim reaper. However, today the lieutenant remained silent, and the sergeant suppressed his anger, realizing that he was not well.

“What's wrong, Simon?” Johnny asked, trying to keep his voice soft. “Please tell me.”

You can keep reading here or on the Ao3

Ghost looked into his sad blue eyes and, as always, couldn't refuse him. Perhaps he would have shared it with Johnny even without being asked if he had known how to put into words what was troubling him. For him, a demon, albeit one with memories of human life, all these feelings were too complex and incomprehensible to talk about out loud. But Johnny was looking at him, waiting for an answer, and Ghost didn't want to prolong his wait. Soap never rushed or prodded him, giving him time to think about the question, but he was glad when the demon answered quickly. And Ghost liked to see Johnny smile.

“My family is still alive.” The lieutenant said in an unusually hoarse voice, looking at his sergeant.

“Oh, Simon.” Soap extricated himself from under the blanket, jumped to his feet, and hugged him. “I can't even imagine what you're feeling right now, but I'm here, with you, do you copy?”

“Roger.” Ghost nodded, carefully placing his hands on Johnny's waist, then stated another fact that the sergeant already knew. “My mother died.”

“Did you love her?” Soap asked, looking into his eyes.

“Yes, I guess.” Ghost said emotionlessly, although in reality this simple question made him think. “From the bits I remember, we got along well. But I don't remember my childhood or her at all. Maybe she was a bad mother.”

Having said so many words at once, the demon fell silent, not letting Johnny out of his embrace. In fact, it was very difficult for him to imagine human criteria for a good or bad mother. Despite being half-human, there was much more demon in Ghost than there was human. He saw and felt everything differently, and this only complicated the situation.

“You know what?” Soap broke the silence, rubbing his scarred chin thoughtfully. “I think you should visit her.”

“If she's in heaven, that's going to be problematic.” Ghost replied impassively.

“What?” Johnny stared at him, completely understanding what he had heard. “Bloody hell, Lt., that's not what I meant! Not to her personally, but to her grave.”

“I'd better like to visit Tommy.” Ghost said with a bitter smile under his mask. “But the dead can't visit the living. So maybe it's not such a bad idea.”

Soap didn't like it when the lieutenant started talking about himself in that tone, but now he almost let it pass because he suddenly realized something very important. TF141 was now in the town of Fairford, not far from the RAF station of the same name where the plane had taken them. Due to a lack of helicopters at General Strickland's base, they would have to spend another two days here waiting for a free vehicle. And it was only about a hundred and sixty miles from Fairford to Manchester. Soap and Ghost could easily make the round trip in a single day if they rented a car.

“So, Simon?” asked MacTavish, who was already excited about his idea. “Do you want to go?”

“What's the difference?” Ghost shrugged. “Captain Price would never allow it anyway.”

“I'll take the captain!” The sergeant declared and began to get dressed quickly.

Price was not thrilled when the youngest of his sergeants literally burst into his room. 141 had been put up in a very average hotel, and the captain planned to take advantage of all its few amenities. But even if the members of the unit had absolutely nothing to do, technically the waiting time did not count as rest, so Price hid his dissatisfaction and prepared to postpone his plans just in case.

“Has something happened?” He suggested, looking at the overly excited sergeant.

“Negative!” Soap blurted out and then continued without pause. “Sir, allow me and Ghost to leave today!”

“When?” Price asked.

“For the whole day.” MacTavish replied. “Please, sir, it's very important!”

The captain realized that this was not going to work. He gave Soap, who seemed to have a stick up his ass, a stern look and spoke in a completely different tone, his commanding voice.

“Sergeant!” He barked. “Get out and come back in properly!”

“Aye, sir!” Soap automatically replied and disappeared from the room.

A couple of seconds later, he knocked on the door and, hearing permission to enter, did everything according to the statute, except that he shouted a little louder than the situation required.

“Permission to speak, sir!” Meanwhile, MacTavish had finished his speech with these words.

“There, that's better.” Price said with a smile. “Now, son, sit down and give me more information about your request.”

Soap did as he was ordered. He told him about his conversation with Simon and his offer to take him to Manchester to visit his mother's grave. Without exaggerating too much, he explained that it was very important to the lieutenant because he was upset by all the memories that were now coming back to him. Price didn't like any of this, but he understood that he had taken responsibility for Ghost and had to look after his welfare as well as that of the rest of his men.

“All right.” He finally said. “You can take him to Manchester, Sergeant, but go to the cemetery late at night. You can spend the night in town and come back tomorrow, but the Army won't reimburse you for that or for the car rental.”

“Thanks, cap, thanks!” MacTavish jumped up, unable to contain his emotions again. “I promise everything will be fine!”

Soap and Ghost left after lunch so they would arrive after dark. The lieutenant took the news as usual, with indifference. He quickly changed into civilian clothes, packed his bag, and stood in the sergeant's room for another twenty minutes while he rushed around trying to do the same. Only an hour after they left Fairford did Ghost turn his head toward Soap and break the silence.

“I think I could make the car move.” He said a strange phrase.

“You mean push it with your demonic telekinesis?” Johnny asked immediately, glancing at him.

“Negative.” Ghost shook his head. “I mean demonic remote control.”

Soap blinked in surprise, not even imagining that the lieutenant knew such words. But when he understood what he meant, his eyes lit up with excitement.

“Let's try it!” He exclaimed, starting to brake.

“Negative.” Ghost repeated and explained. “I can make the mechanisms move, but I don't yet know how much force to apply to each one, and I don't understand how to steer.”

“So you need practice?” Johnny asked, and seeing the lieutenant nod, he turned so sharply toward the neon sign pointing to the motel, restaurant, and gas station that the car skidded.

“Don't do that again.” Ghost said, glaring at Soap. “You could get hurt.”

“Aye, Lt.!” The sergeant replied cheerfully, turning into the gas station.

While Soap filled up the car, Ghost followed his instructions and went into the station to pay for the gas and buy two coffees, two buns, and a pack of his cigarettes. The lieutenant did an excellent job, and a few minutes later they were both sitting in the car in the gas station parking lot; Soap was smoking, drinking coffee, and chewing on a bun, while the second cup stood on the dashboard next to Ghost.

“Look, Lt., what about that red car at ten o'clock?” He asked.

The lieutenant turned his gaze in that direction, then glanced at Soap with what he thought was a disapproving look.

“Come on, Johnny.” He said and then added. “That's a fucking Tesla; how the hell am I supposed to know how it works?”

“Fucking hell!” Soap laughed. “Sorry, Lt., I didn't know you were such a pro! Then look at that silver BMW at two o'clock.”

“Roger.” Ghost nodded. “That one will do. Now be quiet and watch.”

Soap lit another cigarette and leaned back in his chair, his gaze indifferently glancing over the cars across the street. The lieutenant wasn't looking at the chosen car either, sitting with his shoulders slightly slumped and his head down. Nothing happened for a while, and then the BMW suddenly flashed its headlights brightly, and then its engine started and it lurched forward.

“That's it, Lt., enough!” Soap grabbed Ghost by the shoulder. “You didn't release the handbrake!”

The owner of the silver car was already running out of the café behind the gas station, and for a few minutes, both soldiers watched the drama unfold in front of them. Without waiting for the outcome, Soap accurately threw the crumpled coffee cups with cigarette butts inside into a trash can, then smoothly pulled out onto the highway and began to pick up speed.

They arrived at the cemetery when darkness had already fallen. The gates were still open, but Soap drove past and stopped at a blind turn where a tall metal fence was hidden by large trees. Parking between them, the sergeant and the lieutenant got out and approached the fence. Ghost helped Soap over it and then easily jumped over the nearly nine-foot barrier himself. The files Price had found contained the coordinates of the Riley family graves, so they didn't have to search blindly. The lieutenant could see perfectly in the darkness and spotted the place they were looking for first, heading straight for them.

There were two gravestones. Ghost vaguely remembered that his father was a real scumbag who died in prison, and his mother didn't claim the body. That was why he wasn't here. One of the marble slabs was newer, and the photo on it showed a pretty blonde woman of advanced age; she was smiling, but there was sadness lurking in her brown eyes. Ghost stood in front of his mother's grave for a long time, trying to feel the grief that a human would feel, but it seemed he couldn't. He moved on to the second grave, crouched down beside it, and touched the slab with his fingers. There was no photo, only a name: Simon Riley. Johnny glanced at the date of birth and the question mark in place of the date of death and at the inscription ‘Beloved Son, Brother, and Uncle’. He wanted to say something, but suddenly both soldiers heard the crack of a branch under someone's foot. Ghost jumped up and turned around, pushing Soap behind him, but in front of them stood a young man in civilian clothes who looked very surprised to see people here.

“Listen, if you're here with bad intentions, I've got a gun!” The stranger warned, trying to look confident. “What are you doing at my uncle’s and mother's graves?”

As was often the case, Soap's mouth reacted faster than his brain, and he exclaimed in surprise:

“Are you Joseph Riley?”

“Yes.” The young man replied cautiously, rubbing the back of his head, and his face brightened. “So you two are military, right? Did you know my uncle Simon?”

“Yes.” Ghost replied unexpectedly before Soap could think of anything to say. “I... served with him.”

“Well, it's nice to meet you.” Joseph smiled and held out his hand.

“Lieutenant Thomas Ryan." Ghost introduced himself, shaking her hand. “And this is my partner, Sergeant John MacTavish.”

“Do you remember your uncle well?” Soap asked, finishing the formalities of introduction.

“Not as well as I'd like.” Joseph shook his head, then smiled unexpectedly. "What I know for sure is that I became a pilot because of him. Here, look!”

He pulled some keys out of his jacket pocket, with a small toy airplane hanging from the key ring.

“Uncle Simon gave it to me just before he disappeared.” Joseph said quietly and handed the keys to Ghost. “I said something about wanting to be a pilot, and he looked at me seriously and asked if I was sure, because it's not an easy job.”

Ghost listened, thoughtfully twirling the toy airplane between his fingers. Joseph's words and appearance brought back memories, and he could see everything he had described as if it had happened a second ago.

“And now this plane protects the keys to my plane and helo.” Joseph continued proudly. “I'd like to believe Uncle Simon would have been proud of me.”

“I'm sure he would.” Ghost said hoarsely, and then held out his hand, returning the keys.

“Thank you for your words, Lieutenant Ryan.” Joseph smiled, looked at Simon Riley's mother's grave, and sighed quietly. "My grandma believed until the very end that he would return. Even when he was officially declared dead and a funeral was arranged. But let's not talk about sad things. Maybe you can tell me something about him, Lieutenant?"

Ghost remained silent, and Soap came to his aid. He glanced at his watch and said it was time to go, apologized to Joseph, and pulled the lieutenant away. They left the cemetery the same way they had entered, got into the car, and MacTavish drove as fast as he could to the hotel where he had booked a room before leaving.

Entering the room, Ghost took a few steps and stopped in the middle. Despite his usual behavior, Soap understood that he was stunned by what he had seen and heard, so he quickly closed the door, turned on the light, and, walking around the lieutenant, hugged him tightly.

“Are you feeling sad?” He asked gently. “Hurt?”

“Yes.” Ghost replied after thinking for a moment. “I mean, I understand that I should be sad and hurt, but...”

“I understand.” Johnny nodded and tilted his head back to look into his eyes. “I don't want you to be sad. Will you let me do something to make you feel better?”

Ghost should probably have asked what exactly. However, he trusted Soap and understood that he was better at understanding human feelings and therefore knew better what he could do to help. So he nodded silently in response to the question and closed his eyes. Almost immediately, he felt Soap's hands slip under his black hoodie and touch his bare back beneath it. Warm palms stroked his lifeless skin, fingers felt the scars, and Johnny's eyes grew sad. He was a professional and could imagine the wounds that had covered the lieutenant's back before turning into ugly, jagged marks. The relief of the muscles was too deep for a human, but Soap had already seen the demon's fingers and touched his face, so he understood how his body was built. He probably had no body fat at all, because he didn't need it to function or be comfortable.

“Sit down, please.” Johnny asked, rubbing his whole body against the motionless demon.

Ghost did so, sitting down on the bed, which creaked pitifully, and Soap knelt between his spread legs and reached for the belt of his jeans. He unbuttoned them slowly, giving the lieutenant a chance to stop him, but he didn't, just staring intently at his sergeant. So Soap reached his underwear unhindered and ran his fingers over his cock, feeling its hardness. It seemed that despite the absence of a heartbeat, blood flow in the demon's body still occurred through some other forces, and that was encouraging.

“Will you let me?” Soap asked quietly and gently pulled down the elastic of Ghost's boxers.

The demon nodded. His powerful body trembled with excitement, which he felt for the first time in all the years of his afterlife. He wanted Johnny; he wanted him to do something, anything to make him feel better. And Johnny didn't let him down. He deftly pulled out Ghost's now fully erect cock, ran his fingers along it, and then whistled.

“I thought your scythe was a deadly weapon, but now I see you have something even more deadly.” He exclaimed cheerfully, holding the demon's cock, which was quite proportional to his body size, with both hands. “But don't worry; I know how to handle large calibers.”

Ghost had enough humanity to understand the joke, and he growled softly with impatience. His long fingers clenched his tousled mohawk, and Soap, understanding the hint, slowly licked the tip of the demon's cock, which was the same pale gray color as the skin on his hands.

The taste was unusual. Licking a drop of the smoky liquid from the tip of the “deadly weapon,” Soap felt something familiar, but from a different realm: something like ash, gunpowder, metal, and perhaps napalm or some other combustible mixture.

“Bloody Jesus, Simon.” Johnny exhaled, raising his eyes to him, shining with excitement. “This is perfect. You're perfect, you hear me?”

Without waiting for a response, Soap leaned forward again and tried to take as much of Ghost's cock into his mouth as he could. He caressed the rest with his hands, feeling the absolute smoothness of the hot skin, and wondered, at a very inopportune moment, if Ghost had any hair on his head. However, Johnny didn't think about it for long; he heard the demon's very deep, quiet moan, as inhuman as it was desirable. At the sound, Soap's own cock began to harden, and without breaking away from his task, he lowered one hand and squeezed himself through his jeans.

“Take your hand away, Johnny.” Ghost said in an unexpectedly commanding tone, and Soap trembled and gasped without removing his cock from his mouth.

He obediently removed his hand, clinging to the lieutenant's thigh with his fingers and continuing to work with his tongue and lips. His own arousal became painful, but he didn't care, not now, when something as powerful as a real demon, a devourer of souls, was trembling beneath his caresses. Johnny couldn't resist the temptation to look up at Ghost, or rather Simon, from time to time. He had never seen a demon like this before; even though he was still dressed and wearing a mask, Soap felt that he was vulnerable now, and it filled his heart with an uncharacteristic tenderness.

“That's right, my dear.” He murmured, looking into the lieutenant's wide-open eyes. “It feels good, doesn't it?”

It was strange to hear moans but no breathing, but Soap didn't focus on that. He quickened the movements of his hands and tongue, and at one point, Ghost jerked his head back by the hair and pressed his cheek against his knee. Johnny wanted to protest, to rebel, but he quickly realized why Ghost had done it. Under the warm, insistent human hands, the demon came with a half-moan, half-growl, and his semen was black, just like his blood. The thick liquid, drops of which fell on Johnny's face, was hot and smelled strange, like some kind of combustible mixture. Watching greedily as Ghost's burly body shook with pleasure, Soap couldn't help thinking that maybe the demon's semen would catch fire if he held a flame to it, and hastily pulled his own cock out of his pants. From the sight of Ghost's pleasure and a few quick movements of his hand, he also came, pressing his cheek against his lieutenant's thigh.

The demon's fingers unclenched, releasing Johnny's mohawk, and he leaned back, falling onto the bed. Smiling triumphantly, the sergeant brought a wet towel and cleaned up Ghost and himself first, then the floor, carefully destroying all traces of what had happened. While he went to the bathroom, the lieutenant pulled up his jeans and buttoned them but was in no hurry to get up. He felt good, perhaps truly good for the first time since he had realized his new nature. Of course, he had felt pleasant sensations before, such as when he devoured souls or killed enemies. But that pleasure was demonic, while this, brought by Johnny's skilled hands and mouth, was human and therefore much more valuable. It allowed the demon to remember the other half of his essence. Half of his blood still belonged to a human, Simon Riley, who had a family that had not forgotten him and had not stopped loving him. He also had Johnny, who cared for him and even protected him as if Ghost were not a supernatural creature but just a human like MacTavish. And as long as these people were still somewhere nearby, Ghost knew that his human blood would never stop calling to him and would not allow him to turn into something else, something he had fought against not so long ago on an abandoned construction site.

“Hey, Lt.!” Soap came out of the bathroom wearing only his boxers and, approaching the bed, crouched down and began to untie Ghost's boots. “How are you feeling now?”

“Good.” The lieutenant replied. “Very good, Johnny.”

Soap smiled, pulled off his shoes, and hurried to dive under the blanket. Ghost, as always, turned off the light and lay down next to him, hugging him and pressing him to his chest. MacTavish was slowly drifting off to sleep when suddenly a thought brought him back to reality, and he exclaimed:

“Listen, Lt., if you can move a car with your own superpowers, then you understand how it works and can drive it like a human being!”

“I don't know what you're talking about.” Ghost muttered in reply and added. “Go to sleep, Johnny.”

The sergeant snorted cheerfully but didn't argue, and a few minutes later he was fast asleep.

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