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ateliersss · 2 months

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TOP GUN

…is part of The Bookshelf.

Jake "Hangman" Seresin

This Isn’t What It Looks Like Summary: Hangman is totally, 100% over his ex… he just needs a fake girlfriend to prove it.

Baby, you down? Summary: 5 times Bradley was blissfully unaware of who you’re dating and the 1 time he wasn’t.

Saviour

Major Mistakes Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Clock Don't Stop Summary: After a big fight, you need some time away from Jake. A song that you are listening to reminds you of a very important lesson. Can you and Jake fix things?

Try Losing One Summary: After a big fight, Hangman takes a drive to clear his mind. A song that comes on the radio fits perfectly.

Karma Summary: The fight that leads up to the events of "Try Losing One" and "Clock Don’t Stop".

It’s Not Me, It’s You Summary: Your ex is back in town and that might be the kick in the ass Hangman needs to change the parameters of your situationship.

Aw Honey Honey Summary: Jake isn't sharing his sugar.

Sleep Tight Summary: Jake Seresin knows he’s a good pilot. But what happens when skill and luck run out and you find your husband in the hospital for the first time?

You're Not My Type Summary: You only spent one evening with Jake, but it was enough to leave you wanting more and also have you hoping to never see him again.

Just Friends Summary: Everyone seems to think you’re Jake Seresin’s girl. It’s easier than explaining to them that you’re just friends with benefits. But that arrangement doesn’t seem to be working for either of you anymore.

Married? Summary: After Jake is called back to Top Gun for a mission, him and the Dagger Squad go out to the Hard Deck one night where Javy gets absolutely hammered and lets it slip that Jake has a wife.

I Just Want You To Like Me Summary: You’re a bartender at the Hard Deck while completing grad school, which is how you met Jake Seresin. You and Jake began a “friends with benefits” type deal, using Jake’s aviation obligations and your education as reasoning why things couldn’t get too serious. Over the months, you have started to harbor deeper feelings towards him, afraid to speak up about it and potentially ruin everything you have with him. But when Jake returns from a two-month mission, your feelings for him reach a turning point in a moment of self-consciousness.

The Beanery Summary: Jake goes from drinking the base’s stale coffee to bringing in cups from the cafe down the road from the hard deck, and the Dagger Squad is determined to find out why.

Opposites Attract Summary: How can Hangman, cocky, arrogant Hangman fall in love with a girl who is so different than him and raise a family completely opposite of him?

Rule Number One

Long Time Gone (Series) Summary: Penny Benjamin’s niece works at The Hard Deck, saving the money she earns to get out of the west coast and put herself through Graduate School. What happens when a pretty boy pilot ends up as her fake boyfriend?

Coffee For Mrs. Seresin?

Never Knew (That I Could Fall So Hard) Summary: You and Jake are friends. Just friends.

Ice Ice Baby Summary: He knows he annoys you. You know he annoys you. And he’s made it his mission to melt your cold, dead heart.

Right Back To You

A Ghost Playing Hangman (Series) Summary: Ghost was one of the most recent graduates from Top Gun quickly making a name for herself. When she gets recalled with the best of the best, she realizes her work is cut out for her if she wants to make the team. And one of her biggest obstacles is a blonde hair pilot with the world’s most annoying smirk. Will she make the team? And if so, at what cost?

Touch and Go Summary: You and Jake had been sleeping together for months, and as sure as you were of your feelings for him, you were unsure of his for you. He, however, certainly knew how he felt about you, and after you decide to go on a long trip without telling him, he lets you know just exactly what’s on his mind.

Wants and Needs Summary: Jake "Hangman" Seresin sets his sights on you, Rooster's best friend, but it doesn't take long for you to understand what type of man the cocky, blond pilot is. Unfortunately for Hangman, you have no interest in a womanizer.

Who Did This To You? Summary: In your most vulnerable hour, Jake "Hangman" Seresin is the one to find you, and the one to ask you the ultimate question: "Who did this to you?"

Until Him Summary: He's all bronzed confidence, a stupid fly boy you should hate. Yet, you can't help the little thoughts that plague your mind.

Hooked From Hour One Summary: He watched as Rooster took you around, introducing you to everyone and Jake's eye twitched. The two of you looked awfully comfortable around each other, with tons of physical contact. You and Jake hadn't been dating long, but he thought that you were on the same stage as him when it concerned your relationship. Were you cheating on Rooster with him? But you wouldn't do that, right?

Nightmares Summary: In which you were in an accident during a mission, and have a nightmare that night, but Hangman is there to help and finally confesses his feelings.

Split Summary: You break up with Jake because his actions make you question everything you've had between you, but he wants you to take him back.

You Left Me No Choice But To STay Here Forever (Right Were You Left Me) Summary: You and Jake have been best friends for years and eventually he becomes the love of your life - which makes it that much harder to cope when he starts pulling away with no explanation.

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw

A Nice, Big Rooster Summary: Rooster is surprised to run into you on North Island. He's not, however, surprised to find that he still wants you as much as always.

It's Only My Heart (Save Yourself) Summary: Rooster's very bad, terrible day.

M.U.R.P.H. Summary: An undisclosed pregnancy that you and your husband try keeping a secret ends up being the reason you end up in hospital during a PTI session with the Dagger Squad.

Webb Of Unfortunate Events Summary: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw was and always would be the love of your life. When the pair of you are brought back to Top Gun, neither of you expected Pete Mitchell to be your instructor — a series of unfortunate events leads to your hospitalisation, with Rooster by your side.

The Ironies of Life Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 Summary: A few weeks after breaking up with her long-term boyfriend because he wouldn't commit to marriage and kids, Naomi finds out that she's pregnant with his baby.

I Would Never Hurt You Summary: Bradley saw the bruises and knew what was going on, but he also knew you didn't need him the way he needed you.

Red Flags, Green Flags Summary: Hangman complains about his date's red flags, but Bradley thinks this girl sounds amazing.

I Still Want You Summary: Bradley had been an idiot when it came to you. He still wanted you, but did you still want him?

My Future In You (Masterlist) Summary: Bradley’s twenty-two years old and not where he’s supposed to be. He’s supposed to be out of the academy by now. Instead, he’s retaking his senior year of college and praying to god that he gets into flight school. Mav’s gone, his mom’s gone. He’s mad at the world. Then, a hook up at a Halloween party changes his future even more than he could have imagined.

You don’t want this, do you? Summary: Reader is pregnant, but it's not Bradley's baby.

Misinterpretation of the Heart Summary: With Rooster away on a mission, you're left feeling lonely and missing him. That's when a past love comes back into your life just as Rooster returns home.

A Misinterpreted Loss Summary: Bradley finally asked you out, but what happens when he walks out with another girl? Running to your best friend seemed like the only logical answer.

This Is Me Trying Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 Summary: Bradley Bradshaw was the bane of your existence back at UVA. You practically burnt yourself out trying to outdo him. Now, you've quit your big shot engineering job in search of something more meaningful. The wind blows you across the country and into fightertown, where a familiar, sandy haired jackass is crooning away at the stupid piano in some naval bar. And you're not sure if you should wait for the next gust or plant your feet down.

Protective Summary: "He would've just kicked your ass... now he's gonna kill you."

What Have You Done? Summary: Pete's daughter is as wild as him, she's also as passionate as him. However, an incident during high school drove them apart until they were called back to Top Gun. The uranium mission too, took them from each other, leaving her helpless as she couldn't do anything to make the situation better and save the people she loves.

Beau "Cyclone" Simpson

Banished

Mav's Daughter Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Tom "Iceman" Kazansky

The Engineer Summary: You're just the engineer, a man like Tom Kazansky should have no reason to pay attention to you. Or at least that's what you thought.

Promise? Summary: You hear something that you’re not supposed to. Ice tries to explain himself. But is he too late?

She's His Girl Summary: Maverick has a talk with Iceman after the events in the locker room. Once you finally have a chance to explain yourself, Maverick realizes just how much you love each other.

Touch Summary: Ice notices that you have become more distant since you moved in together. When it’s been nearly weeks of you avoiding his touch, he confronts you about it.

Brothers Best Friend

Fatal Attraction Summary: Muchlike every other person that came across Tom "Iceman" Kazansky, you had developed quite the crush on him. What made you different, though, was that you were the niece of his direct superior. He knew it was wrong, and he knew he shouldn't entertain the idea in the slightest, but a little teasing never killed anyone, right?

Biggest Regret Summary: His biggest regret was that argument. It escalated beyond anything he wanted, but he gave you what you wanted. Would you still be waiting for him 6 months later?

Who Would've Thought Summary: When Iceman gets a pleasant surprise during the Top Gun training, it’s safe to say he isn’t the only one surprised.

Dash Summary: Being Slider's little sister is anything but easy, especially when you are placed among the best of the best.

Best Behavior Summary: Iceman has never been known as one to lose his temper. Secure in every single thing in his life, you, his girlfriend, happened to be no exception. During a night out at the bar, he witnesses a man with an ego almost as big as his try to flirt with you. Naturally, he contemplates murder.

Love of my Life Summary: Tom hadn't told his fellow pilots he's a married man. There's great satisfaction when he witnesses their reactions after you do it for him.

For What It's Worth Summary: Sometimes all it takes is a RIO who likes to gossip and some friendly competition to help you understand what you feel for Ice.

Wrong Answer, Sweetheart Summary: This man? Jealous? Possessive? Wherever did you get that idea?

Hurry Back to Me, Soldier

My Doll Summary: Who knew that Mister "Ice Cold, No Mistakes" could be with literal sunshine personified?

Nick "Goose" Bradshaw

A Little Gosling Part 1, Part 2 Summary: Some frantic goodbye sex with your secret boyfriend Goose yields a little surprise. Four months later, Goose comes back stateside to attend Top Gun. Now, all you need to worry about is telling him before your brother Maverick finds out.

You Know Why Summary: You're a sexy sweetheart with a past and a toxic boyfriend. Goose sees that and wants better for you. Why? You know why.

Family Is What You Make It Summary: When Goose and Carole decided for a mutual divorce after realizing that they worked better as friends and co-parents rather than as Mr. and Mrs. Bradshaw, they knew that along the line they would meet new people on their journeys — and now Nick wants Bradley and Carole to meet you, because he really likes you, and he wants them to like you too.

Gold Rush Summary: All the years of silent pining and anticipation between you and Goose are put to test when he realizes that if he doesn’t make his move, he's going to lose you — and maybe Maverick and Bradley help a little.

Robert "Bob" Floyd

King Of My Heart Summary: An accident during training and a little liquid courage has Bob finally making his move.

The Kind of Girl I Could Love Summary: Bob has a secret admirer, but he’s convinced it’s actually Jake and Nat messing with him.

Devil Doesn't Bargain Summary: Bob has spent months watching your boyfriend be someone completely different than you think he is. The WSO is there to hold you when your world stops. All because of a man that you thought you could change.

Enterprise Summary: Bob likes to keep his personal life and work life separate. But returning to San Diego has been difficult so what better time to introduce you to his new friends than Halloween. It is a night for surprises, after all.

Radar Summary: After Phoenix and Bob are forced to eject after a freak bird strike — the Top Gun class find out a little bit more about their quiet back seat weapons systems officer.

Mission Impossible Summary: After Bob is picked to fly the mission with the Dagger team, memories of moments you both have shared together come flooding back—leading to a shock discovery.

Another Statistic

Baby On Board Summary: Being placed on a top secret mission weeks before his wife's due date was not what Lt. Floyd had imagined married life would be like.

The Captain's Daughter Summary: An unlikely candidate has you breaking your dad (and brother’s) “no pilots” policy.

Candy Summary: Bob falls for a beautiful barista over the course of a few encounters.

Back to The Bookshelf

#top gun #top gun maverick #jake seresin x reader #hangman x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #beau simpson x reader #cyclone x reader #bob floyd x reader #robert floyd x reader #nick bradshaw x reader #goose x reader #tom kazansky x reader #iceman x maverick

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heartfullofleeches · 10 months

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Yan Cheater + Cheater Reader

Yan Cheaters are funny lemme try-

Yan Cheater who sees their darling dearest out on the town alone. You should be with them, but they'll fix that shortly. You're the person of their dreams and after so many failed relationships they're happy to find the right one. On their way over, their entire world crumbles as you're seen hugging and chatting up some random with a closeness you've never showed them. The unfamiliar face slings an arm around your shoulder as you walk off together - laughing as if you were without guilt.

You heartless bitch. How could you? After they'd give you their heart - their everything. Fine, fuck you - they could do the same thing. After crying through the night and crying their eyes they hit up a past fling to forget all about you; aggravated that all they can think of as the look at their partner is features that remind them of you. They ignore your calls, block you on everything, and have the time of their life with whoever's available... And looks like you.

The first time you saw them with someone else you turned tail and ran, saving your tears for a better time and person. Good - run off. You know what you did. They won't chase you - no matter how red their heart bleeds after seeing you after so long. You meet again at a party a mutual friend left in the dark was throwing. You, for closure - them, looking for a new body to take home. They couldn't even hide their disgust as you stomped up to them, two lockets in hand.

"What the hell did I do to you...."

They scoff. Trying to play innocent? "You know what you did."

"No! No I don't! You ghost me for weeks and never seem to be home when I try to talk to you, but the second I see you, you have your arm around somebody else. As far I remember, we were happy together. What did I do to you to deserve this?!"

"Hm... I think it was roughly a month ago. You and that little whore you met outside that coffee shop that just opened."

"Coffee shop?... Wha-" Your eyes widen. Unable to control your anger, you slap them across the face so hard the blow rattles in their teeth. They clutch their jaw. You little-

"That was my cousin, asshole!"

You toss the necklaces to the ground, two sets of initials engraved on their fronts.

"You didn't even bother to ask me about it before you ran off. If you really loved me, you wouldn't say something instead of jumping to conclusions. I knew dating you was a mistake. You spineless coward."

Their tongue feels heavy, likely cut on their teeth from your blow - bleeding; just like the heart they thought they lost. In a way - they truly had.

"Couldn't get a refund since they were custom" You spit on the fallen jewelry as you turn your back to them. "Happy Anniversary."

They fall to their knees, crawling after you as you fall into the crowd - grabbing your ankle. "No, baby. Please, baby - I fucked up bad, I know, but I can make this up to you. Sweetheart please - I'll delete everyone in my phone right now, even my parents. You'll be the only one. You're all I need. Baby, see? I'm doing it - look. Look at me - I'm sorry. Angel? Honey? D- don't leave me... DON'T LEAVE ME."

You have to change your phone number the very next day from all the calls you receive from the burner phones they purchased that same night to speak their part. Jobs too - as they stand outside and harass customers since your boss refused to let them in by your own wishes - accusing everyone of trying to take you away from them. You return home one day to find your front door unlocked and before you can realize the danger you step inside - your ex waiting with a carbon copy of every gift you threw out and wearing everything you ever gave them.

"Darling... I'm wearing that shirt you bought me last Christmas. I honestly thought it was hideous - but...it came from you. I'm wearing that hoodie you thought you lost too. I lied because I wanted to have something that smells like you to keep. It doesn't smell much like you anymore. Only my tears. I'm sorry - I won't ever lie to you again. You're perfect. My sweet angel. Please...give me a second chance. I don't know what I'll do if you don't."

#yandere #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere scenarios #yandere headcanons #yandere insert #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere blurb #yandere concept #yandere drabble #tw yandere #yandere x darling #yandere cheater

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celepom · 11 months

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It’s Pride 2023! Time to put up some more comic recs!

This time I’ve put together some stories about discovering one’s own queer identity, outlining a family history of queerness, and several stories where being queer isn’t the focus - queer characters are simply allowed to be.

Belle of the Ball By Mari Costa

High-school senior and notorious wallflower Hawkins finally works up the courage to remove her mascot mask and ask out her longtime crush: Regina Moreno, head cheerleader, academic overachiever, and all-around popular girl. There’s only one teensy little problem: Regina is already dating Chloe Kitagawa, athletic all-star…and middling English student. Regina sees a perfectly self-serving opportunity here, and asks the smitten Hawkins to tutor Chloe free of charge, knowing Hawkins will do anything to get closer to her. And while Regina’s plan works at first, she doesn’t realize that Hawkins and Chloe knew each other as kids, when Hawkins went by Belle and wore princess dresses to school every single day. Before long, romance does start to blossom…but not between who you might expect. With Belle of the Ball, cartoonist Mariana Costa has reinvigorated satisfying, reliable tropes into your new favorite teen romantic comedy.

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The Moth Keeper By Kay O’Neill

Anya is finally a Moth Keeper, the protector of the lunar moths that allow the Night-Lily flower to bloom once a year. Her village needs the flower to continue thriving and Anya is excited to prove her worth and show her thanks to her friends with her actions, but what happens when being a Moth Keeper isn't exactly what Anya thought it would be? The nights are cold in the desert and the lunar moths live far from the village. Anya finds herself isolated and lonely. Despite Anya's dedication, she wonders what it would be like to live in the sun. Her thoughts turn into an obsession, and when Anya takes a chance to stay up during the day to feel the sun's warmth, her village and the lunar moths are left to deal with the consequences.

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Hollow By Shannon Watters, Branden Boyer-White & Berenice Nelle

Isabel "Izzy" Crane and her family have just relocated to Sleepy Hollow, the town made famous by—and obsessed with—Washington Irving's legend of the Headless Horseman. But city slicker-skeptic Izzy has no time for superstition as she navigates life at a new address, a new school, and, with any luck, with new friends. Ghost stories aren't real, after all.... Then Izzy is pulled into the orbit of the town's teen royalty, Vicky Van Tassel (yes, that Van Tassel) and loveable varsity-level prankster Croc Byun. Vicky's weariness with her family connection to the legend turns to terror when the trio begins to be haunted by the Horseman himself, uncovering a curse set on destroying the Van Tassel line. Now, they have only until Halloween night to break it—meaning it's a totally inconvenient time for Izzy to develop a massive crush on the enigmatic Vicky. Can Izzy's practical nature help her face the unknown—or only trip her up? As the calendar runs down to the 31st, Izzy will have to use all of her wits and work with her new friends to save Vicky and uncover the mystery of the legendary Horseman of Sleepy Hollow—before it's too late.

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Until I Meet my Husband By Ryousuke Nanasaki & Yoshi Tsukizuki

The memoir of gay activist Ryousuke Nanasaki and the first religiously recognized same-sex marriage in Japan. From school crushes to awkward dating sites to finding a community, this collection of stories recounts the author’s “firsts” as a young gay man searching for love. Dating is never ever easy, but that goes doubly so for Ryousuke, whose journey is full of unrequited loves and many speed bumps. But perseverance and time heals all wounds, even those of the heart.

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Is Love the Answer? By Uta Isaki

When it comes to love, high schooler Chika wonders if she might be an alien. She’s never fallen for or even had a crush on anyone, and she has no desire for physical intimacy. Her friends tell her that she just "hasn't met the one yet," but Chika has doubts... It's only when Chika enters college and meets peers like herself that she realizes there’s a word for what she feels inside--asexual--and she’s not the only one. After years of wondering if love was the answer, Chika realizes that the answer she long sought may not exist at all--and that that's perfectly normal.

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M Is for Monster By Talia Dutton

When Doctor Frances Ai's younger sister Maura died in a tragic accident six months ago, Frances swore she would bring her back to life. However, the creature that rises from the slab is clearly not Maura. This girl, who chooses the name "M," doesn't remember anything about Maura's life and just wants to be her own person. However, Frances expects M to pursue the same path that Maura had been on—applying to college to become a scientist—and continue the plans she and Maura shared. Hoping to trigger Maura's memories, Frances surrounds M with the trappings of Maura's past, but M wants nothing to do with Frances' attempts to change her into something she's not. In order to face the future, both Frances and M need to learn to listen and let go of Maura once and for all. Talia Dutton's debut graphic novel, M Is for Monster, takes a hard look at what it means to live up to other people's expectations—as well as our own.

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Golden Sparkle By Minta Suzumaru

Himaru Uehara’s first year of high school is off to a good start, minus one problem—he keeps having wet dreams. With only his mom and sister at home—and having skipped health class in middle school—he thinks it means there’s something wrong with him. Thankfully, a new friend has just the remedy and teaches Himaru exactly how to deal with those pesky dreams! But his solution only leads to more confusion, and the two find themselves navigating feelings they’ve never felt before.

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Thieves By Lucie Bryon

Ella can’t seem to remember a single thing from the party the night before at a mysterious stranger’s mansion, and she sure as heck doesn’t know why she’s woken up in her bed surrounded by a magpie’s nest of objects that aren’t her own. And she can’t stop thinking about her huge crush on Madeleine, who she definitely can’t tell about her sudden penchant for kleptomania… But does Maddy have secrets of her own? Can they piece together that night between them and fix the mess of their chaotic personal lives in time to form a normal, teenage relationship? That would be nice.

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Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic By Alison Bechdel

Meet Alison's father, a historic preservation expert and obsessive restorer of the family's Victorian home, a third-generation funeral home director, a high school English teacher, an icily distant parent, and a closeted homosexual who, as it turns out, is involved with his male students and a family babysitter. Through narrative that is alternately heartbreaking and fiercely funny, we are drawn into a daughter's complex yearning for her father. And yet, apart from assigned stints dusting caskets at the family-owned "fun home," as Alison and her brothers call it, the relationship achieves its most intimate expression through the shared code of books. When Alison comes out as homosexual herself in late adolescense, the denouement is swift, graphic -- and redemptive.

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She Loves to Cook, and She Loves to Eat By Sakaomi Yuzaki

Cooking is how Nomoto de-stresses, but one day, she finds herself making way more than she can eat by herself. And so, she invites her neighbor Kasuga, who also lives alone. What will come out of this impromptu dinner invitation...?

Kasuga and Nomoto promised to spend their Christmas and New Year’s together. Now, they find themselves learning more about each other’s families through the food sent by Nomoto’s mother. Cute character bento, salmon and rice, stollen, fruit sandwiches, roast beef…Nomoto and Kasuga warm up to each other over a cheerful holiday season.

#Pride 2023 #book rec #comic #graphic novel #autobio #fantasy #science fiction #high school #queer #lesbian #gay #asexual #intersex #bisexual #romance #book recs #pride #LGBTQIA #LGBT comic

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 6 months

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Black Metal and Bourbon (III)

AU MASTERLIST || THE FINAL PART

PAIRING: Biker/Mechanic!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Bartender!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 7.9k

WARNINGS: Depictions of injuries, blood, gore, abductions, death, talks about bike crashes, violence, guns, intended harm, past toxic relationship, murder, protective!Simon, suggestive content, (1) dirty joke, etc. (18+ mini-series)

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You remember the long nights when you would sit in the empty bar and wonder why you’d never left. Why you couldn’t up and disappear like you wanted to—a bird taking flight and choosing any direction at all to travel, just as long as you didn’t stay on this branch. It wouldn’t have been hard. There wasn’t anything here that mattered to you.

This invisible string was holding you back, waiting; tying you to something that you would never understand for as long as you lived. You had dreams and aspirations.

So why hadn’t you grabbed them by the throat and dragged them along with you?

Maybe there were larger powers in that old town, a mischievous spirit that played a game of chess with the lives of its inhabitants. It certainly felt like it.

Especially when you’re flying through the air, the rain falling in slow motion as hands slash past wind to grab at your body. You recall flashes of that day. Snippets.

Even now, you feel like you see it in the third person, your form getting tossed by the momentum of the flipping motorcycle and cutting the storm—Simon’s hands reaching out and grasping you. He had dragged you into his chest, his back taking the force of the ground as you slid along the wet streets, pained grunts echoing into your soul as your panic resulted in a shocked muteness. His hands had been gripping you so tight that veins had burst, the view of the sky above you as your back conformed to his chest.

And then you’d both tumbled, rolled over and over as the screech of metal grated your ringing eardrums and pain flared like fire. Your head slammed into the front of the helmet with a smack, and nothing else is recalled.

Until now, of course.

You try to move your fingers, the tight hold of a cast over the entirety of your left forearm—the action brings a wave of weakness with it, making you grit your teeth. You’d woken up in the hospital with black dots in your vision, your body so unresponsive your mind had panicked thinking you wouldn’t be able to move at all.

And Simon?

Where was Simon? You’d been so loud with your hoarse calling that the nurses had rushed in and had to put you back under, letting you drift and brushing their hands over your head as you babbled on failing breath. Never once had your brain left you void of the mechanic’s brown eyes—his hands grabbing you, keeping you safe at the risk of his own flesh.

He hadn’t been wearing a helmet.

But now…now you were fully conscious.

“Where is he?” Your face is perhaps one of the few parts of you that was unscathed. Your legs were skinned—wrapped so tightly you couldn’t move them. While Simon’s leather jacket had saved your arms, they were still battered and bulging with blisters as big as your hand. Your forearm was broken.

The nurse shushed you, and your voice snapped. “Loralie, I’ve known you since middle school,” she pauses, lips thinning as she messes with your IV drip. “You’re going to tell me where the hell he is, or I’m going to scream that you made Braylan Holt forge your high school diploma.”

Sizzling eyes meet yours, but not even that will deter you—your heart is heard, rapid on the screen to your left.

“You’re a damn horror, Bartender.”

“You’re acting like I give a shit,” you growl and the nurse slightly moves back, never hearing that venom from you before to such a degree. “Where the fuck is Simon before I get up myself.”

It’s like a dog with fear aggression—you can’t comprehend the man you’d formed such a bond with hurt, much less here in this hospital with you and…and…

Your heart rate increases even more.

He wasn’t wearing a helmet.

“That’s not gonna happen, Sweetheart,” Loralie grits out. “You won’t be walkin’ for another week, at least. Not with all that damage—your legs were so bloody the EMTs couldn’t tell where the hell the blood was even comin’ from.”

Your working hand curls into a tight fist, teeth snapping together as you restrain a flinch. You don’t want to think about that right now.

“Simon,” you grunt, shaking.

The woman stares for a moment before sighing.

“You’re something strange, Girl. How the hell you managed to be stuck here is some mystery I can’t fathom. Fine,” she glares before a fast whisper. “But you best forget about that stint with Holt, alright? You never mention that again—”

“Already forgotten,” you grind out, impatient. Even the muddled agony from under the sheen of the pain meds couldn’t stop you. “Speak.”

“The man’s in rough shape. Hasn’t woken up yet.” Your jaw clenches tight, blood pumping like a river. A finger is leveled at you, moving in an accusing motion. “He’s lucky he didn’t die, by all accounts the shape he was in he should have. Had to go into surgery to get the bike shrapnel out of his legs.”

“Surgery?” Your eyes go wide, your voice frantic. “W-what about his head—did he hit it, or…or is he—”

“His brain waves are active.” The nurse tidies the blankets at the end of your bed. “Can’t say that about his body.”

Your throat sinches violently, and you have to look away to hide your tears. Moments later, the woman lets out an aggressive sigh, her hands moving to cross over her chest.

“That man must fucking love you,” you blank, blinking quickly as you sniffle and try to shift your expression back to fake anger.

“What…?” You ask, your tone defeated.

Loralie stares, her eyes moving to the IV only to waft back when she can gather her thoughts.

“If he hadn’t grabbed you, you would have gone right off the edge of the road into the rocks.” In the bed, your body goes as still as possible, your ears twitching at the confession. “In the middle of getting road-burned to all hell, he still grabbed you. If you would have gone over, we’d only be having one of our intensive care rooms filled up…you hear?”

You can’t say anything, only watch as the nurse finishes up her work and exits with one last look of exasperation.

Alone, your brain finally tries to comprehend what you’d just been told.

“...Simon,” you whisper to dead air long minutes later, the machines all around you beeping.

The tears come easily.

—

When your legs finally started working again, it didn’t bring you any comfort. Only Simon could do that, and seeing the looks from the other staff, they knew it as well. You couldn’t keep your full weight on your limbs, only bend the toes and knees in small intervals.

The doctor said it was a fantastic start, but you felt helpless.

You wanted to see him, yet first came the interview with the Sheriff to explain what had happened. After the details started coming back, a larger picture was formed, and when you had been able to get ahold of a phone—your own shattered and little more than a box—you’d heard a case had already been opened.

Simon’s bike had been tampered with.

After you’d given your statement, you had been surprised to find three mechanics at your door, walking in quickly and throwing over concerned looks at your busted forearm and hidden legs.

“Christ,” Soap says, a flash of anger crossing like lightning over his eyes. “You don’t hurt much, do you?”

“No,” you lie easily. “Could be worse,” your words were whispered.

John sends you an indiserable look as Gaz sips off his hat and keeps it in his grip as he frowns.

“We’re happy you’re alright, Love. Scared us half to death when we heard the news—thought the worst,” Kyle commented, the Brit’s hand running over his neck slowly.

They could all tell that you weren’t in the right mindset.

“He’s alive,” you look over to Price sharply. Those blue eyes don’t waver. “That’s all that matters. He’s alive.”

“Aye,” Johnny agrees, nodding his head and crossing his arms. A stubborn expression was on his face. “Never known someone like Simon. The man’ll push through without a doubt—just needs time to rest up.”

“I shouldn’t have agreed to go out,” you mutter, rubbing at your cheek, thinking about a man with a mangled body and skinned bones. Jesus, he needed to be alright. He had to be.

“No one could have thought that would happen,” Kyle comes over and puts a firm hand on your shoulder. “Hey, c’mon,” you look at him with a guilty face; fear under your tiny pupils. The man smiles, but it’s shaky at best. “We all know who to blame for this, yeah? Don’t go taking that from the person who needs to carry it.”

“We’ve been keeping up with it,” Soap adds, frowning. “Still no trace.”

“They haven't found him yet?” Your brows turn in with concern, a sudden paranoia entering your head—if they hadn’t found Graham, what’s to stop him from doing something like this again? Hell, if he was unhinged enough to commit attempted murder, what was stopping him from pushing those boundaries now that he’s already gone through with the former?

“We’re not going anywhere,” John seems to sense this. You look at him quickly. The man grunts, lips moving as he speaks. “Not until he’s found.”

A piece of your heart eases at that, thankfulness flooding your veins.

“...Do,” your voice pauses, and you swallow down saliva slowly before you continue. “Do you know when they’ll let me see him?”

Soap and Gaz share a glance, the Scot going to ease into the chair on the other side of the room with a low sigh.

“They’re not letting anyone in,” Kyle utters. “Not until his condition improves a bit. We tried.”

“Two weeks,” John nods to you. “They’re only giving estimates.”

Fingers twitching, you look down at your lap, the hospital bed hard under you. The words come out, and you find they’re met with a hard certainty from the men around you.

“What if they don’t find Graham?”

“...Then we will.”

—

The mechanics had all looked over their bikes for any tampering and had found none when they reported back to you—the bolts had been loosened only on Simon’s. Soap was the one who had mentioned that you might have never been the target at all, and that Graham had been a spiteful man who just wanted to make a point about his past relationships’ new attraction. The thought didn’t settle you.

All of them were undeniably worried about their friend.

You’d tried to get what you could out of the other nurses—any signs of waking or getting better, but there were only stiff looks as if it was taboo to talk about him. Like an inside joke with the devil.

The staff had finally said they would tell you themselves if there was any change in Simon’s health. It didn’t stop you from asking, though. It currently didn’t stop you from sneaking out in the middle of the night after visiting hours, either.

Your legs were still weak, sometimes going numb entirely as you dragged them over the floor. Inside your eyes, black dots swirled as you effectively dodged the front desk by taking the far back hallway; the lights above your head were too bright and too loud.

Your arm burned something awful.

Eyes blinking rapidly, you pant as you go from room to room, not stopping even to breathe before room fourteen makes your soul pull in on itself like a crow holding a bell. The bit of metal jingles, attached to a red string that flutters in the wind—reaching back to the wreath it was stolen from.

Not understanding the instinctual feeling, you grasp the handle and push open the door with more force than you’re able to push out of you; your working arm quivering violently.

But the sight behind the door is something you would cross mountains for.

Simon lies still on the bed, attached to so many machines he seems more like a cyborg than a man. Over his face, an oxygen mask takes the place of a balaclava, and the right side of flesh is patched with so many bandages the bulk makes your stomach drop.

“Simon,” you whisper, stuttering as your blood falls internally to pool at your feet.

Walking over as quickly as you’re able, you pause at the side of his bed, nearly falling over as your knees buckle. You lean your weight on the frame and take a deep breath.

This man saved your life.

You look at him, unable to say anything—unable to utter a sarcastic quip. Your hand stutters in its course through the sterile air, but at the very end of it, your skin settles over Simon’s hand; the limb on his chest.

“Simon,” you say again, licking your lips, fingers squeezing his tattoos as if to bring the images to life. “Can you hear me, Brown-Eyes?”

You needed him to wake up—needed to speak to him, see that October gaze lock so numbly with yours. Dead eyes had never meant so much to you than when the man that wore them wasn’t blinking so softly. Where had he gone?

“Simon,” you plead, getting choked up when nothing happens beyond the flicking of the light on the ceiling. The beeping of his pulse didn’t change, not even when you intertwined your fingers together to lock them like a knot—a promise. “I need you to be okay,” your voice stutters.

“We have to get through this together…I…” Tears splatter his tattoos, his lovely, beautiful, tattoos, you hiccup. “We need each other.”

Maybe it was cliche, two people who relied on one another in a town of nobodies, but it didn’t make it untrue. And maybe it was a partial lie—after all, you didn’t know what Simon thought of you exactly, but the way he looked at you, how he cast his shadow above yours, was a well enough guess in the right direction. But you needed to say it, and your heart ached to see him like this.

Simon doesn’t move, his hand is cold and his lashes stuck to his cheeks.

“Simon,” you hiss, sniffling.

The hours pass, and you stay there for as long as you’re able before your body is about to give out on you. You reluctantly kiss his forehead and leave with a crushing weight on your shoulders, so much so that the flashes of broken metal and rain don’t even bother you at this point.

A rage grows in your breast.

But when you sneak back to your room, you don’t go to bed. You can’t. The smell in the space is something that leaves your eyes stuck wide until your legs actually do buckle. Your eyes stare at the far wall blankly.

Cigarette smoke lingers in the air.

—

“He woke up last night.” Your blank eyes stare, expression stuck firm. Loralie gives you your lunch, setting it down on the bed tray. “Around three. Said your name and then passed out again.”

“Why didn’t you get me?” You’re already pushing off the bed, your lips letting loose a grunt. The boys had to be at work today—a Thursday—so that left you alone and bored until they took a break and walked over to keep an eye on things.

Wincing when your feet touch down, you’re quickly, and very easily, pushed back into bed with a scoff.

“Loralie,” you growl, venom in your throat like a rampaging bull.

“Sit down and let me finish.” The both of you glare before she rolls her eyes and points to the food. “Acting like a damn teenager. Eat.” She doesn’t start until you pick up the fork just to shove a single piece of the lunch into your mouth to spite her, slowly chewing it with a scowl. Loralie rubs at her temple. “He’s getting better, but it’s still a long road. Activity’s peaking every now and again—fingers been twitching, too. Some of the bandages have been able to come off.”

“Thank the fucking lord,” you breathe, running both hands over your face as you sigh out slowly. “Any estimate on when he might fully wake up.”

“God knows,” the nurse huffs. “He had brain bleed. Man was all kinds of messed-up.”

Your chest tightens, but you say nothing. You’d suddenly lost your appetite.

As the afternoon rolls around, you take down your pain medicine and fight the blurriness of your eyes. Healing was a very long and very tiring process—it seemed like no matter how much sleep you got you still woke up tired. And you suppose that was why you fell into an uncomfortable nap and woke up to the window still open, the moonlight rays like sheer fabric cascading down to the tile floors.

Groaning, your head lifts from the pillow; your first thoughts are always of Simon and how he’s doing. It was time to see him again.

Your TV-static mind reruns how he looks over and over again—the bloody bandages, the wrappings around his face. Even the machines now seemed to sneer at you as your guilt grew harder to ignore. He’d saved you at the cost of himself…without even hesitating.

Why would he do that?

“You really had to go and make me love you, huh?” You ask into the cold air, a breeze shifting through as you slowly sit up on one arm. “Simon, if I’d known you would have gone and done this, I would have never looked at that sold sign. At least then you’d be okay.”

“You love him?” Your body twists up, large patches of gauze pulling at dried blood and mixed plasma as your body keeps itself upright. The shadow in the corner of the room moves as your fatigued brain wakes itself back up in no time at all.

Graham.

Eyes stuck to the far corner, the phantom of your Ex stands tall—his eyes beady. Your entire being freezes as your lips part in horror, yet, you can’t make a sound.

He’s disheveled looking, but those eyes of his have never been more rageful. Like walking through the hospital and coming face-to-face with a grizzly bear of all things. It’s strange, but your thoughts immediately go to Simon as he steps forward, sneering at you.

“The first man that comes into town and you love him? I didn’t think you were so easy, but I guess I was wrong.”

“What are you doing here?” Your voice is hushed, panicked—adrenaline spikes in your veins.

If you screamed, who’s to say he wouldn’t just pounce on you?

Graham runs a hand over his hair, his scent taking up your nostrils until you feel the need to nearly gag at ash and tobacco. “I needed to see you—explain,” he stutters, emotions swiftly flicking from anger to fake remorse.

Your hand slowly inches to the nurse-call button attached to the wall near the bed, the cord leaking out like a snake as your fingertip catches against it.

“You weren’t supposed to be on that bike, okay? Celina fucking messed it up—she was supposed to keep you workin’ until he went out on his own.” He’s coming closer, and you push back up the mattress in distress.

He doesn’t stop.

“What the fuck, Graham,” your voice rises slightly, cracking in the middle.

The man growls. “It wasn’t my fault! J-just forget about it, okay? You’re fine now, it all worked out.”

“You tried to kill us!” You shout, and Graham’s instant hiss makes you flinch back and scamper as you slam the wall behind you.

“Don’t do that,” he snaps. “Do not…do that. Keep your damn voice down!”

“And if I scream?” You tilt your head, shaking violently. “What then, huh? You lousy son of a bitch.”

“You’re lucky I don’t pay that Simon of yours a visit, yeah?” Your lungs tighten, a wheezing inhale stuck in your throat.

“You wouldn’t, Graham,” you whisper hastily. “Not with all of this shit you’ve gotten yourself into—turn yourself in and fix this.”

The man spays his hands and your hand shifts to the bulk of the nurse’s button, running over the top until you find the correct one to press.

It moves in with a slight pop of plastic, the darkness of the room giving you extra coverage as you slowly drop it back down.

“It’s too late for that.” Graham shakes his head, and his stench overtakes you as you gag lightly, casted hand coming up to hide your nose. He pauses near the side of the bed, and you push to the opposite side and hear your feet slap the ground. The size of your makeshift barrier doesn’t fill you with confidence. “You need to come with me.”

“What,” you laugh in exasperation; fear coating the hoarse noise. “No! Leave!”

It was obvious that your usual sarcastic tone had slipped to a fearful one, your heart making your voice palpitate with every thump of the veins in your neck.

The door opens and Graham’s hand darts to the back of his pants.

Loralie’s body comes into view. “What’s happened now—”

A great ear-shattering boom leaves you screaming as blood splatters into the air.

—

Simon woke up to the world spinning.

He grunts heavily, the oxygen mask over his face tight before he can slap a weak hand to the plastic and pull it back. The man coughs, spine curling before a bone-deep pain makes him stop with a firm inhale.

Blinking sluggishly, he grinds his teeth together and lets the mask slip to his cheek. Movement at his slide makes Simon pause—trying to gather his bearings.

What was going on?

“Simon, easy with it.” Scottish. Johnny. “Christ…how am I going to explain this?” More shuffling and fast feet over to the side of the bed.

“Johnny,” Simon grunts, vocal cords tight. He needed water.

“One second, just wait. Let me…” A pause before a sloshing of water. Above the man in the bed, the ceiling moves and swirls—dancing. Simon remembers water…the bike…

“Can you hold it, then?” He doesn’t answer the Scot, instead slapping out a hand to curl the body of the glass, bringing it to his lips and downing the liquid as it slips from the side and dribbles down the side of his face.

Johnny grumbles, “Alright.”

You.

Simon choked on the drink, moving it back before his arms slammed to the bed, the glass bouncing off and shattering against the floor.

“Fucking hell!” Johnny shouts, rushing forward to put a stiff hand on Simon’s chest, trying to push him back down and avoid the glass that now litters the tile. “Stop it, you’ll destroy all the damn work they did, ya idiot!”

“Where is she?” Simon garbles out, glaring forward even as his body screams and peels back healed flesh.

“Stay the fuck down and I will!” Blue eyes sear downward, meeting brown as they battle for a moment.

Simon clenches his hands, but compiles, top half moving back to collapse to the pillows once more. Not once do his eyes stray from the Scot, ordering him mutely to continue as his heart pounds in his breast. He remembers grabbing you and then nothing else—the scream of sirens in his ears like a distant call from a dream. But his body ached far too much for this to be a dream.

“Where,” Simon forces out through his accent, throat like gravel. His chest was filled with dread at the nervous sheen over Johnny’s face.

“Ah…” The Scot begins. “She’s fine, Simon. She’s alive.”

That didn’t give him any reassurance.

Simon hisses, quickly trying to get back up again and succeeding in straining his body enough to sit halfway upward. All of the wires and cords attached to him rip and pop off, frantic beeping emanating from the room.

“Take me to ‘er. Now.”

“I can’t do that!” Johnny hisses, hands out and failing to keep him stationary. “Would you just calm down?”

The man doesn’t answer, not until the nurses rush into the room due to the noise and tell him false words to try and get him to lay back down. Simon knew something was wrong—instincts going haywire.

Were you…dead? No, you couldn’t be. That wouldn't be possible. Johnny knew better than to lie to him.

“Johnny!” Simon shouts as loud as he’s able; raw authority in his mouth. Even the nurses freeze at that.

The mohawked man’s twisted face is wracked with guilt, and there calls to the fact that Gaz and Price are nowhere to be seen.

Simon says it slowly, wounds bleeding and his face opening the long scrapes of road-burn on his left side. It burns like a fire—itching like no other. But it’s secondary to the pure adrenaline keeping him awake.

“Where.”

Even Johnny can’t fight that tone.

“Graham has ‘er.”

—

This was a hunting shed, you knew. One out in the middle of the trees—about three miles from town with its rot-infected walls and a chipping wood fireplace. The floor is nearly covered in cigarette butts.

You stay stuck in the far corner—hands and feet zip-tied together. Your head had been covered by a bag that you had grabbed and ripped off when the world stopped jostling from the trunk of a car. From then, you had been dragged at gunpoint through the hell portal of the front door.

Graham is watching from the single chair across the room, itching at his scalp with the barrel of a .44 Magnum and using his other hand to rub along his thigh.

“Shit,” he mutters as you watch, silent and as still as a stake in the ground. “Shit, shit, shit.” Loralie’s blood is still splattered along your face.

He’d shot her through the stomach. You’d seen her body drop: dead in an instant.

“I didn’t mean to do that,” Graham stands suddenly, and your body recoils with a slam of your shoulder into the wall. The frame shakes. The man quivers as he glares at you. “It wasn’t my fault she came in through the fucking door!”

You only nod tinily in frantic agreement, looking around the room in search of anything that might help you. But there’s only so much you can do against a man holding a gun—a man who finds himself wanted for a slough of crimes which now just got incredibly long.

You had heard the sirens bouncing over the hills hours prior, but no one knew you were out here unless they happened to be the best-trained tracker of all time.

It should be morning now, but the threat of rain outside obscures the tiny slivers of light that try to pierce the leaves of the forest.

“Fuck!” Graham screams, foot kicking out to connect with the chair and sending it flying backward before it splinters and clatters—all termite-eaten legs and cracked seat.

Your mouth releases a squeak, panting breath a sharp gasp.

You needed to figure something out. Quickly.

The single window is smashed in, glass sprinkling the ground in large shards, and you don’t care if it’s the result of some teenagers smashing property or anything else for that matter—you had to snap these bonds.

It wasn’t like the termites could help.

“Graham.” You’d never call yourself stupid, and heaven help anyone else who tried to. You didn’t work at a bar without learning more and more about the human psyche than all the years in school and adult life combined. Everyone had games they played inside of their head, a series of tic-tac-toe boards or grandiose plots of fanatical sagas; it just so happened that Graham fashioned himself the hero of every single one of them. Every line was his chicken scratch signature.

“Graham,” you raise your voice and say again, forcing past the quiver in your tone to a lake’s calm waters.

The man’s panicking—restless as he paces the front door, guarding it from you. It wasn’t too far-fetched to believe he could kill you now to put an end to this shit-show. He’d always taken the easy way out, after all.

But his eyes snap to yours regardless, and you have to not scream at him as he does.

“What?” He hisses, motioning to you with the gun with a limp arm. “You wanna weigh in, then? I did this for you and you went and ruined it!”

“I know I did, baby,” you breathe, alarm bells blaring. “I’m sorry—I just wasn’t thinking. I wanted you to fight for me.”

Your throat simmers with bile.

What were you saying? You had no idea, but it played into Graham’s weaknesses. Maybe Simon had rubbed his casual strength over to subjugate your brash sarcasm and brutish aggression.

Simon.

God, thinking about him made you want to cry.

“What are you talkin’ about?” Graham intently listens, the gun shaking. “Don’t….Don’t fucking play with me right now,” he warns, growling.

“I’m not playing,” you raise your hands up, the cast protecting one wrist, but the other had the harsh plastic suffocating your veins like it was a supple neck under a cougar’s jaw. “I’m not. I got with Simon because I wanted to make you jealous—at that party?” You suck down a fast breath. “I wanted you to swing on him, yeah? I know you could have made an example out of him.”

“Course I would have,” Graham mutters, pushing his hand up over his face to clear it of the sweat and crimson droplets. “Lousy no good mechanic with a shitty bike.”

“Graham, can you cut off the zip-ties, please?” He laughs and shakes his head immediately.

“I’m not that stupid there, Sweetness.” Your jaw clenches, anger spiking.

“I never said that you were,” you snapped desperately, hospital gown all dirty and your bandages hanging off of you like you were a mummy trapped in a tomb. It didn’t sound that far out of place. “You’re hurting me.”

The floors creak as you shuffle, moving your body forward trying to stand on bound ankles. It doesn’t work. Your ears twitch above the rumble from the clouds far above, past the hole-filled roof, to the sound of an exasperated scoff.

“You’ll live. Now be quiet and let me think—you’ve made a mess of everything.” Adrenaline gives everyone a high like no other. It happens fast and can start up from the adrenal glands in mere moments when under stress or danger; when it leaves, it can result in lightheadedness, and trembling. Go long enough to where you can get it out of you entirely, it can even lead to tiredness.

Three hours pass, and it’s storming outside as Graham is sleeping near the door. Curled like a wolf, the silver glint of the magnum is still clutched in his hand, fingers loose like worms as his face twitches. You had waited the past hour to see if he would wake up.

Now it was time to act.

As you slowly hobble to your elbows and knees, dragging yourself along the cigarette-coated floor, you collect dust like the knick-knacks in your home. Taking small and quick breaths, your eyes lock with a sharp piece of glass as your agonizing injuries pull and break open. Blood is so heavy in the air that it’s able to be tasted on your tongue—coated so thick even the deluge of rain can’t get rid of the stain.

Graham mutters in his sleep, and your heart beats far into your mouth; body locking up as your gaze flashes over to the twitching shadow. Lightning flashes outside as you slowly start back up again—one eye always to the side and the pupils smaller than a spec of dirt.

You lick your lips, creeping onward until you can reach out your fingers and slice them on the side of the glass. Your lips hold tight a whine of pain, hand clenched over the material as you twist it around and line the edge up with the zip-tie.

Your breath is all you can hear—loud inside of your head before the sawing motion makes the cuts over your hands grow deeper the more you press into the plastic. Welts had burst by now, puss seeping to the ground as the zip-tie around your wrists popped with a snap of hard material.

A yell of achievement is kept inside of your sputtering chest as you shove your leaking palms to the wood, rolling to your back and bending your knees to bring your ankles upward.

The second tie snaps just like the last, and your limbs roll themselves in circles to get the circulation back as quickly as possible, gaze jerking back and forth to Graham as your pulse roars.

Run. Run. Run.

Every rush of your blood sings the same order.

Lose him in the storm.

Your legs wobble as you shove yourself up, the glass still held in your hand—an infectious thought entering your body as you stare at the magnum. Stumbling, your bare feet steady themselves as your shoulder knocks the back wall, face contorted inwards.

How hard would it be to steal it? He was sleeping.

Blinking away the black fireworks in your vision, you look from the broken window to the door, remembering the bike crash as the rain seeps in from the roof. Water splashes as the minutes spread like crimson pools.

Graham’s troubled face shifts as he groans, and you’re already out of the window with a slide of glass and a slap of wet grass.

You’re running through the forest as if a deer, crashing through undergrowth and slipping down ravines. The gown and the trailing bandages have long been soaked, heavy in their own right—a second skin hanging off as your blood gets washed away by the rain. You don’t know when you started crying, but the sky’s tears bled with your own exceptionally well.

There were multiple times when you swore there were footsteps behind you—right on your tail as your blurry vision finds phantoms in the bushes and the leaves as they fly up behind you at a kick of your mud-covered feet.

You didn’t have a destination, and as far as you cared, you could die in these woods happily as long as Graham never had the chance to make a decision. In the end, his own ability to fuck himself over never had the chance to change—thank God.

A hand slams on your shoulder.

Half a scream is stifled, as another is leveled to your mouth—your body is yanked to the side. Dragged behind the bark of a tree, lightning flares overhead as if as shocked as you were, arms and legs kicking out.

There’s a stiff grunt, and large biceps that curl your waist. Words are about to be uttered into your ear canal before your teeth chomp down on the thick material of padded gloves, eyes wide with blurry panic.

“Sunshine!” You don’t listen over your muffled curses, nails clawing into a forearm as your casted limb aches.

Whirled around, your spine finds a trunk, and you snarl before, once more, “Bloody hell, Sunshine, it’s me!”

Finally able to see who was keeping you hostage, your struggling halts with a knee halfway up and ready to send full force into a crotch. You blink multiple times, panting into the palm before the hand drops entirely and you can take down fragmented breaths.

A skeleton-painted balaclava is only a glimpse before those October eyes suck you in.

Simon and you stare at one another as the storm rages on.

He was in all black—straps and holsters clipped onto his thighs and chest above a combat vest that you’d seen in military documentaries on TV; a compression shirt under a water-resistant covering rolled up to his elbows. And guns.

Guns at his thighs, a rifle at his chest, a knife at his belt.

Simon Riley was dressed for war.

You stutter, eyes beady as you open and close your mouth.

Wasn’t he supposed to be in the hospital? How did he find you?

“How…” You blink as the man’s concerned eyes scan you over, rage shimmering in his expression as water saturates his mask. His gloved hands settle at your shoulders and squeeze before they move once more. “How did you…?”

“Let me look,” he mutters, touching your wrist and bringing it up. Your mouth shuts tight, flinching. Simon halts and quickly glances back up with a simmering gaze. He doesn’t move, and when he blinks, whatever anger that was mounting is re-hidden back behind the void of his irises. You stare as his browns melt.

“Can I touch you, Love?” Water slaps your head but the barrier of trees helps slightly. The question was one of the most important he could have asked.

You nod, but he still waits.

“Yes,” your voice pushes out. Simon’s large hand recaptures your flesh like a precious object, twisting it around.

He tenses at the blood, and, just like the realization outside of the vandalized shop, he tells you quietly, “You’re shaking.”

“Simon,” your lips wobble, sniffling.

Your body is shielded in an instant.

“It’s alright.” He breathes into your scalp—you feel his pulse, his hard surety; this wasn’t a hold that was quick to leave. “I’m ‘ere, I’ve got you. We’ll be alright. Focus on me, Sunshine. Focus.”

It wasn’t soon after that those arms separated for a moment, the velcro of a vest in your ears before a rain jacket is carefully, yet quickly, pulled through your arms and zipped up. The rifle is leaning against a rock as the hood is pulled to protect your visage from the downpour. But the rain is the last thing on your mind.

Screaming echoes out over the night and you gasp, head jerking up to the trees as the yowls vaguely take the incorporeal shape of your name on the battling wind.

Simon growls, hand coming up to rest beside your skull on the trunk as he leans over you, gazing off into the night.

“Stay still,” he utters into your ear, the compression shirt tight enough to make the bulk of bandages easily visible all along his arms and shoulders. A pistol is held loosely from his free hand—his fingers twitching around it as numb eyes move along the open spaces of forest.

Not about to muster a response, your fatigued and addled mind begins to blank of all else but the scent of muddled oil and metal; tattoo ink.

Simon grips you closer to his chest as the wrathful calls bounce on air-waves like arrows right to his building fury. The man’s jaw clenched tightly—body shaking not from the chill but from restraint.

He’d broken out of the hospital with one goal: track you down and get you back. Anything else was an added pleasure that the veteran had mulled over as he busted out his old gear and strapped himself with whatever he might need.

Everyone’s only concern was with how he was still shaky on his feet after the crash, but in reality, Simon barely noticed. The minute he’d heard you were gone, all bets were off.

No one had clung to military life more than him, not even Price.

No one messed with someone he cared about and got off scot-free, even if it ended in a life sentence in jail. Eating a meal was too good for Graham Whitaker—breathing was too good.

But before all of that dark work, first came you.

Nothing else was touching you. Ever.

So the rushing feet weren’t much of a concern to the man, truth be told. Simon clocked the fool a mile before his huffing was etching like a point through the storm, cheek to your scalp as you shiver and shake, fingers curled into his shirt as your eyelids flutter.

He needed to get you medical attention—clean those wounds.

But Graham.

“No!” His screaming continues, stumbling through about ten feet away—the glint of a gun at the fool’s thigh unmistakable. “No! I was asleep for five minutes!”

Brown eyes don’t blink as they watch, feeling you tense and tighten even at the phonics of the man’s speech.

“Don’t look, then, yeah?” Simon utters softly. The sound of the safety being flipped off on his gun was drowned out. Your mind barely comprehends the words, all of it slurring together as Simon’s hand curls your skull and covers your ear above the hood. An oil painting smeared by blood-coated fingers that hold you so sweetly. “Easy. It’ll be over soon.”

You get drunk on it as you nuzzle your face into his neck. Simon’s focus threatens to give way before he blinks at the scene ahead of him.

Graham twists in a circle, nearly sobbing as he yells even more and grips one hand into his hair, pulling harshly. It was like watching a toddler having a tantrum, though this was far more serious. And deadly.

But all of that searching wasn't for nothing.

Simon lets his eyes lock with Graham Whitaker only once, and even then it was a mere glance. A Ghost deserves nothing more before it disappears back into smoke.

Panicked widening, an arm seizing up.

It had been for more of the mechanic’s benefit than anything else—torture in its own right as a rabbit stares down a wolf and its foaming maw. Simon was never reckless; never eager to kill even back then. It had been his job, and he’d done it tactfully—resourcefully. A dance of instinct and sheer nuance to get the ques down that had taken him decades to perfect. Training like that didn’t just go away.

People only saw him coming if he wanted them to.

And Simon desperately wanted this man to look into his eyes as he pulled that trigger. Not even the maggots would want the body he gives to them.

—

You both lay in bed, silent.

The sheets are warm with body heat, and the cast around your arm had only come off two days ago—the flesh sore and the muscles weak. Around you, hard limbs are anchoring you to a chest filled with scars; scars you’d memorized easily as you traced over them like a painter with her favorite brush.

He wouldn’t tell you the stories behind them, and you have to admit you were relieved about that. It was the past, after all.

This moment was for the future.

“Want you to work with me in the shop,” Simon mutters as he stares into your eyes. You blink, brows lightly furrowing before his hand comes up and his digits brush your cheek softly. Your lashes flutter at the scrape of calluses as he continues in a low grumble. “Custom detailing.”

“...And will I be paid for this?” You ask him, teasingly—delicately.

“As much as you want.” Simon isn’t joking. “More than what the fuckin’ bar can give you,” his breath moves over your pulse, making you shiver.

Your half-lidded eyes stay locked into those endless voids, his slow blinking waiting for an answer as the bulk of his belongings sits in the corner of your room.

“Haven’t even finished the mural yet,” you huff. “Eager to get me next to you?”

“Yes.” Simon moves forward, and, without the need to hide himself from you, presses his lips to your chin, head dipping to tilt your face and allow him access to your neck. You hear him nearly purr when your fingers card his hair, nails set into his flesh.

“I make pretty good tips, Brown-Eyes.” Fingers pulse at your hips, slipping over flesh.

There’s no reason to keep talking about this—your answer is already obvious—but the both of you enjoy this endless chase.

Something new and, for you, something to make your feet stationary.

Simon had taken out his CB1000R for the first time for your date yesterday, his eyes avoiding yours as you’d asked why he’d been five minutes late. He’d said it was because he’d been checking the motorcycle over all day—re-checking it once before coming over with a knot in his intestines.

There was the very obvious change of two helmets, as well. You had thought you’d be hesitant to get on a bike again, but the feeling of Simon’s body in front of yours was more of a comfort than anything that came before. The wind at your sides as he’d driven far slower than ever—glancing back nearly every minute to make sure you were alright.

Big teddy bear, you thought affectionately.

“Can give you a better one,” Simon jokes crudely in your bed, grunting like a beast. Your lips let loose a snort, head flopping down to rest on the top of the man’s skull. At his back, your fingers play with the brunt of his old scars as well as the new ones that are still and an angry red; barely closed.

“That was horrible.” Simon shivers under your study when your lips mutter your amusement.

“A bit.” He smirks. “You givin’ me an answer, Sunshine?”

This would be the last chance to get out of this town—say no and disappear, never to be seen again just like the hundreds before you. What life could you have out there? What could you build differently—build like a pack of wooden blocks and poke at before they fall down?

What could you nurture what you already had blooming?

You sigh, arm moving back to perch under Simon’s neck. Pulling him back, you tilt his head to meet yours as he hums, kissing him on the lips and taking his freedom as your own. Simon’s hand spans your spine as his fingers spread; the stretch of his tattoos corrupting your soul one atom at a time as he opens his eyes to watch.

A loyal sin had never tasted better.

You ease back and whisper over his open mouth, “Yes.”

October eyes consume you whole.

—

This town is small—it talks. Everyone knew what happened to Graham Whitaker; everyone knew who killed him.

But small towns always have big secrets that no one ever discusses.

They never found his body, and the boys had all made sure they never would. So, to this day, the bastard is still listed as he should be:

MISSING: GRAHAM WHITAKER

Dangerous individual believed armed and dangerous. Do not attempt to approach.

Information? Contact your local police force at the provided number below.

Celina and the rest of Graham’s goons never showed their faces again, and even then, there was no evidence to directly tie them to anything beyond the loose connection to the vandalism.

Of course, the bar was always bustling, eager to speak about it even when ivy had crept over the telephone post flyers and hidden them from any eyes. That one cold case that was ingrained into its history until something else came along—told on long nights to ease the bored atmosphere of passing folk and crumbling buildings. Grumbled over the raw scent of black metal and grunted at the rim of a Neat Kentucky Bourbon.

The twitched smirk over those lips is always a staple, though, and so is the brown-eyed look passed your way as you sit content under the stretch of his arm, art journal open to yet another page as the appointments piled up.

You haven’t shown him yet, but all of your sketches are of him.

TAGS:

@sheviro-blog, @ivebeentrashsince2001, @mrshesh, @berryjuicyy, @romantic-homicide, @kmi-02, @neelehksttr, @littlemisstrouble, @copperchromewriting, @coelhho-brannco, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @fictional-men-have-my-heart, @sleepyqueerenergy, @cumikering, @everything-was-dark, @marmie-noir, @anna-banana27, @iamcautiouslyoptimistic, @irenelunarsworld, @rvjaa, @sarcanti, @aeneanc, @not-so-closeted-lesbian, @mutuallimbenclosure, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @gildedpoenies, @glitterypirateduck, @aldis-nuts, @writeforfandoms, @kohsk3nico, @peteymcskeet, @caramlizedtomatoes, @yoursweetobsession, @quesowakanda, @chthonian-spectre, @so-no-feint, @ray-rook, @extracrunchymilk, @doggydale, @frazie99, @develised, @1-800-no-users-left, @nuncubus, @aldis-nuts, @clear-your-mind-and-dream, @noonanaz, @cosmicpro, @stinkaton, @waves-against-a-cliff, @idocarealot

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hugsandchaos · 1 day

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Real quick, I just want to say that Danny Phantom only being seen during ghost fights is a little funny because imagine there being this ghost kid in your town defending everyone and himself from other ghosts who are almost always bigger than him, but as soon as he notices someone nearby or someone tries to talk to him, he vanishes and runs away. A lot of people think he had social anxiety or something when he was alive, or maybe he’s scared of humans because of ghost hunters, so most people don’t go looking for him.

One day a kid decides to leave a note at a park. The note was for Phantom, thanking him for saving a relative of the kid’s. To everyone’s surprise, Phantom leaves a reply for the next day. Here’s an example.

To Phantom,

Thank you so so so so so much for saving my dad today!!! I was so scared that he was going to get really really hurt, but you saved him!!! Mom and dad both say you don’t like talking to people because there are bad people who want to hurt you, so I’m leaving you this note! I hope you see it! Oh, and my mom and dad say thanks too!! I hope you have an amazing day and stay safe from the bad people!!

From Alex

To Alex,

Your very welcome! Honestly, I was scared your dad was going to get hurt too, but I’m glad to hear he’s doing well now. It’s true, there are bad people, but I’m happy that there are also good people who appreciate me trying to help. Thank you for not trying to find me and instead leaving the note. I appreciate it! Hope you have a great day too!

P.S. Would you mind keeping this letter between you and your parents please? Reading this really warmed my heart core, but I really don’t want to suddenly have a ton of notes all over the park. I might be so busy trying to reply, I probably won’t get any sleep. And yes, some ghosts do need sleep.

From Phantom

#danny phantom #danny fenton #Danny phantom prompt #dp

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creativepromptsforwriting · 7 months

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Fic Titles: Song Edition

Part IV

Two hands longing for each other's warmth - Still, Daughter

I wish everyone knew what's so great about you - This is the last time, The National

You will still haunt me - Tessellate, alt-J

Thought I learned my lesson - me & ur ghost, blackbear

I know my heart would break - Francesca, Hozier

All my lovers were there with me - Pyramid Song, Radiohead

You are the solution - You are the solution, Loving Caliber

Save me once again - Lifesaver, Sunrise Avenue

Mess with us (you messed up) - The girls, Blackpink

Please take me home - I'm a liar, Amy Shark

I can't remember to forget you - Can't remember to forget you, Shakira ft. Rihanna

They own this town - They own this town, Flora Cash

My sweetest downfall - Samson, Regina Spektor

Someday, we'll both be older - Using you, Mars Argo

'Cause I will be the death of you - Breath, Breaking Benjamin

They were lost and never found - Fallen leaves, Billy Talent

So long, my luckless romance - Almost lover, A Fine Frenzy

I'm gonna kiss you like the sun - Every other freckle, alt-J

Like a lonely lover's charm - Get some, Lykke Li

You′re the sweetest I've ever tasted - Dark Side, Blind Channel

I will love you without any strings attached - Two, Sleeping at last

Holding hands while the walls come tumbling down - Everybody wants to rule the world, Tears for Fears

Why do I keep getting attracted? - Case 143, Stray Kids

I will hold you in my arms like a friend - World falls apart, Dash Berlin

Making me come (to my sinful senses) - Using you, Mars Argo

Someone who'll set my heart free - Hope there's someone, Avicii

Dancin' in the dark (in the pale moonlight) - Summertime sadness, Lana del Rey

Pushing past the limit - Hallucinogenics, Matt Maeson

Let's dance the dance that lovers do - Soul mate, Flora Cash

It's the long goodbye that gives us away - Mess her up, Amy Shark

More titles!

#fic titles #song titles #song lyrics #writing ideas #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writing prompts #writing inspiration #creative writing

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oddinary4bts · 7 months

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When the End Comes | ch 2 (jjk)

☆summary: Seven years after you've started dating Jungkook, long distance creates a wedge in your relationship. When the only solution seems to be breaking up, you go your separate ways even though love still lives in the two of you. Will you find a way back together, or has the end come for you and Jeon Jungkook?

☆pairing: photographer!Jungkook x lawyer!female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, there is mature content in every chapter)

☆genre: breakup!au, slice of life!au, angst with a big A, smut

☆warnings: moving, curses, alochol, explicit content: female and male masturbation, pain kink (Jungkook), mentions of blowjob and penetrative sex

☆word count: 8.7k

☆series masterpost

☆a/n: I don't even know what to say about this chapter, just that I FEEL their pain so much :'( justice for my babies

☆a/n pt2: Thank you to @moonleeai for beta-ing this, you are the best <3

☆Read The Forgotten Spaces here, the prequel to When the End Comes! It does not need to be read to understand When the End Comes, but I think it still should be read first to have a better understanding of the characters in general!

☆Add yourself to the taglist here (if you were on the taglist for The Forgotten Spaces, you're already on the taglist for When the End Comes!)

☆☆☆☆☆

But love never leaves a heart, where it found it, found it You found it Someday, I'll fall into you That's where I'll be now when the end comes

When the End Comes, Andrew Belle

☆☆☆☆☆

Thursday, July 6th

Days and weeks have passed. Apparently, even months have. Jungkook hasn’t really noticed – he’s been stuck in a daze, stuck replaying your breakup over and over again. Wishing he’d begged you to stay, though he could tell that nothing would have been fruitful.

You had made your decision already.

He hasn’t done anything since you left. Hasn’t left your apartment except for looking for a new one, when Yoongi forced him to go. Because alone, he can’t afford the one you had together. And it’s too filled with memories anyway.

All the pictures on the shelves by the window, turned towards the wall the night you left. The echo of your laugh, in every room he steps in. The ghost of you, just a silhouette he can’t ever reach when it’s dark and his mind is playing tricks on him.

The night you left, he thought it was a joke. A sick, twisted prank, and he believed you’d come back. When hours passed and dawn approached, he got up from the spot where he was sitting in, near the door, and turned the pictures towards the wall before heading to bed.

He hadn’t been able to sleep in the bed, and he’d slept with Bam directly on the floor.

A few nights later he’d made an actual bed with blankets on the floor, and he’s been sleeping there since then. But not tonight – tonight he’ll try sleeping in bed, in his new apartment.

A space that shouldn’t remind him of you too much.

He’s packed almost everything before today. He had nothing else to do, and it served to keep his mind busy during the long hours of the day. At night he usually has nothing to keep his mind from going to you, and he thinks he’s stuck in the moment when you left.

It’s a looped film in his mind, a horror movie that will forever haunt him.

The boys are helping. They brought most of the boxes he’s packed to his new place already, a small studio in the same building as Yoongi and Kiko. It’s on the other side of town, far from where he built a life with you, and he really hopes your ghost won’t follow.

Though he doubts he’ll ever escape it.

Everyone is currently doing a trip to the other apartment, except Jungkook and Yoongi. Mostly because Jungkook has been standing in the empty living room, save for the pictures on the shelves.

You left with the couch and the dinner table, telling him to keep the TV even though you were the one to buy it years ago. And that day you came to pick up your stuff…

Another haunting moment to add to the long list that’s been tormenting him since you broke up.

He shuts his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose, jaw clenching as the familiar ache takes over his heart. He doesn’t want to cry today – at least not before he’s alone in his new place. Because he hates how his friends are concerned, hates that he can’t just stay home alone.

None of them understand the sorrow that’s been plaguing him – hell, all of them except Jimin are happily dating. A dirty, ugly part of him hates them for it, and he’s been trying to distance himself.

“You good?” Yoongi asks, startling him.

Jungkook’s hand falls to his side, and he forces his eyes open. Yoongi is next to him, an eyebrow cocked in question. “Yeah.”

“Do you want me to put these in a box?” Yoongi enquires, and Jungkook clenches his fist as Yoongi’s pointing to the pictures.

“I can take care of it.”

It takes him a few seconds before he does get in motion, and he heads to the shelves. There’s already a box waiting for the frames, one Taehyung put there earlier before Jungkook told him not to touch anything.

“Do you want help?” Yoongi asks carefully.

Jungkook steels himself as he grabs the first picture. He already knows which it is, from its placement on the shelf. It’s one of his exhibit’s pictures. The one he titled ‘Where I found hope again’. It’s the sunset from the living room of the apartment he’d found for you.

Seeing it hurts, but he barely pays attention to it, carefully putting it in the box before grabbing the next one. There you are, cheeks red and smile bright in the snow of December, and he feels like dying as he remembers the name of that one.

‘Where I learned to love again’. It feels like it’s laughing at him right now, like life is having a good laugh at his expense. He wants to throw it away, to burn and watch your beautiful form crumbling into ashes.

Instead, he puts it away, before moving to the next one. He thinks he goes blind – he doesn’t see the next pictures. Doesn’t focus on any of them, and lets the ache take over his action, over his heart. When he’s done, he realizes that the apartment is once again filled with voices – none of them being the right one, and he wishes to be alone.

Wishes to be allowed to crumble, to let himself be carried by the wind.

The rest of the day is a blur. He barely remembers getting to his new place, riding shotgun next to Jimin while Taehyung and Namjoon talked about something on the backseat. Jimin was silent, respecting Jungkook’s need to not speak, and maybe it’s for that reason that Jungkook says yes when Jimin asks if he wants some company when the others finally start filing out at the end of the day.

They all hug him tight, tell him that they love him and hope he’ll like his new place. With everything placed, Jungkook knows that he’ll always hate it, because it lacks the only thing that he truly wants – you.

And he’ll never have that again.

“Want to order something?” Jimin asks.

Jungkook is sitting on a kitchen chair, watching the condensation on his glass of water when Jimin speaks. He raises his head – his friend is scrolling on his phone, and he shoots Jungkook a look as he remains silent.

“Sure,” Jungkook finally answers. “Did you have anything in mind?”

Jimin nods. “There’s this great dumpling place nearby, and they deliver.”

“Oh.”

If Jimin notices Jungkook’s lack of enthusiasm, he doesn’t mention. Because Jimin is a good friend – he’s been one of Jungkook’s closest friends for years for a reason after all.

“Pork and green onion works for you?” Jimin asks.

“Sure.”

“I’ll get the marinated cucumbers too.” Jimin pouts at his phone as he focuses, and then his gaze darts once to Jungkook. “Anything else you want? They got bobas too.”

Just thinking about drinking boba makes Jungkook feel nauseated, so he shakes his head no. Jimin purses his lips, nods curtly and then says the food is on its way.

His statement is followed by silence, until the front door opens as Yoongi returns with Bam, as promised. Kiko was taking care of him all day, since she and Yoongi live in the same building. Yoongi promises that Bam was a good boy, and then he leaves again, nodding his head at Jimin.

As if to say ‘thank you for being here’. Jungkook hates the gesture, hates that he let Jimin stay, but he figures he can always just ask him to leave when they’re done with the food.

He had to eat anyway, right?

Needless to say, his appetite has been off, since the day you left. He’s been working out more though, something to keep his mind busy, but he’s been unable to eat like before. Jimin forces him to eat half the dumplings though, and Jungkook reckons that even after everything, dumplings still slap.

Not a lot of things in life still slap without you around.

One thing that does suck is, Jimin tries to make conversation through dinner. He asks Jungkook if he has any project coming up, if he ever plans on returning to Europe. The answer is easy, and Jungkook gives it without an ounce of hesitation.

“No.”

Jimin cocks an eyebrow, as if surprised by his answer. “Why?”

Jungkook grits his teeth, but offers no answers. He thinks it’s obvious – he’s been hating the European continent ever since the night you left because he can’t bring himself to hate you instead. So he directed it to the place that took you from him, and so far it’s been keeping him going.

“You know…” Jimin carefully says. “We’ve all been avoiding talking about it. But how are you even doing, bro? Every time I see you it’s just…”

Worse. He’s convinced that’s what Jimin was going to say, and he doesn’t blame him. It’s worse every time because he has been getting worse. As if adding another mark on the calendar equals to adding another on his heart, and the wounds haven’t had time to heal.

He doesn’t think there’s enough time in a lifetime to heal from losing you.

“I’m okay,” Jungkook lies easily.

Bam offers him salvation, barking by the door. As he rarely does, Jungkook gets up, a frown moving on his features. Jimin lets him go, even as Jungkook mumbles he’ll take the dog outside. His friend remains silent, and Jungkook is able to slip into the evening without Jimin pressing him about the lie.

As Jungkook had assumed, Bam just needed to pee, and probably barked because of the unfamiliar environment. Jungkook debates taking him on a walk, hoping Jimin would be gone by the time he comes back, but it feels too cowardly, even for him.

So he takes Bam in right away – the walk would have been hell anyway.

Jimin hasn’t moved while he was gone, and Jungkook tries to avoid the conversation by cleaning the table, putting away the empty dumpling container in the recycling bin after he’s rinsed it thoroughly. He feels Jimin’s gaze boring into the back of his head, but he does his best to ignore it.

“You shouldn’t drop your job in Europe,” Jimin suddenly says.

Jungkook whips around from his spot by the counter under which the recycling bin is. “What?”

“Isn’t it…” Jimin winces, shaking his head slightly. “Listen, this will be tough love, but isn’t it losing everything if you just… drop it too?”

Jungkook sees red. “Get the fuck out.”

“Bro.”

“Get the fuck out,” he repeats, putting emphasis on each word.

“We’re just worried about you,” Jimin says carefully, still not moving from where he’s sitting.

Jungkook has half a thought that he could carry his friend out if he wanted to, but surprisingly enough his heart breaks in his chest, tears blinding his vision.

“I just can’t go, okay?” he chokes out, and his nails dig in the palm of his hands as he clenches his fists hard. “I just can’t.”

Jimin watches him carefully, before sighing deeply. “Okay. It’s okay. There’s plenty of stuff you can do here too.”

Jungkook gulps, blinking the tears away until Jimin is clear in front of him again. “Can I…”

He stops, because he knows he shouldn’t ask. Knows he shouldn’t care, yet he can’t help himself. Jimin doesn’t press, waits for him to be able to speak. It takes longer than Jungkook thought possible, and he has to shut his eyes and lean against the counter before he finds words again.

“Can I ask how she has been doing?” he voices, words falling softly, almost soundlessly, in the space between them.

“Jungkook…”

“Just,” Jungkook lets out, eyes shooting open. “Please tell me she’s okay.”

Jimin’s silence is telling enough – you must be going through it too. It fills Jungkook with bitterness, with something vile and disgusting that tastes like bile on his tongue. Because you don’t get to be suffering, you don’t get to have made this decision and suffer from it.

Why the fuck did you make that decision then?

“You know,” Jimin starts carefully. “You guys were together for a long time.”

“Why?” Jungkook asks. “Why did she do this?”

And then the tears are moving freely, and Jimin quickly gets up to hug him. Jungkook rests his forehead against his friend’s shoulder as he breaks in the embrace, like he’s been doing for weeks now.

“It’s going to be okay,” Jimin promises when the tears recede and Jungkook stops trembling, as if his body, too, is too tired to keep on breaking.

Strangely, he gets the feeling there’s nothing left to break anyway.

“How?”

Jimin remains silent for a while, as if searching for the exact right words to say. Jungkook doubts they exist – how can someone repair a broken heart such as his?

“Life finds a way,” Jimin eventually chooses to say. He pulls away from the hug, though he still holds onto Jungkook’s shoulders. “Life always finds a way.”

Saturday, July 15th

You’re tired. Have been tired. Think you’ll forever be tired. A relentless exhaustion has settled over you like a mantle of snow settles on the land during the months of winter. With it comes an unshakable cold, and even though it’s summer you’ve been cradling your hoodie to your frame, draping yourself with it as if it’ll chase the cold away.

The cold is never going to leave. You think your heart turned to ice in your chest, and it pumps freezing blood into your veins. You’ve been trying to warm up, but heat is a mirage to you, an illusion you can’t reach.

Heather and Bridget are hosting a dinner at their apartment today. You’d wanted to avoid it, but considering they offered you a room for a few weeks before you found a new apartment, you couldn’t say no. Yet you dread the moment you’ll be faced with the other girls, some of them your friends because they are dating… his friends.

You’ve been trying not to think about him too much. It’s hard – he’s lurking at the back of your mind, a reminder of your failures. Of the places where you went wrong, the mistakes you committed. Not that the breakup was a mistake – you think you made the right decision, or at least you’ve been trying to convince yourself that you have.

But you didn’t lie to him – you love him. Still do, though now it’s more like grief. Though, what is grief if not the next step in the eternal timeline of love?

You worry at your lips, bury your hands in the pocket of the hoodie. You fumble with your keys as you wait in front of the door, as you try to knock but find you’re unable to. Because it means talking to them, it means pretending that you have been able to eat or sleep for weeks.

You reckon Heather and Bridget know, to a certain extent. Saw you wither like a flower when autumn comes, though you think now you’re settled in deep winter.

You think it’ll pass. You doubt a pain like this can last – no soul can withstand it forever. But that would be admitting that he was your soulmate, and you aren’t stupid.

Soulmates don’t exist. Because if he was, why then was the distance enough to break you up?

You sigh, eyes falling to the ground in front of your feet. You take a steadying breath – it does nothing to help.

You’re a coward. You’ve become a coward, and you think it might be because you put all of your courage in that night weeks ago. It broke you, broke the steel you used to be able to drape yourself with.

Now you’re stuck in the never-ending winter, withered and lifeless.

“Y/n!” Jo says, and you startle.

You turn your head to the side to see Jo as she’s walking around the corner, and she smiles at you as she makes her way towards you.

“Hey,” you reply as your throat goes dry.

If he has a best friend, or at least a female one, you think it’d be her. They’ve been friends since before you reconnected with him, since before you even knew her. Seeing her feels like it’s wrong, but then again everything has been feeling wrong lately.

“Did you already ring?” Jo asks as she stops next to you.

You purse your lips, shaking your head no. “Huh,” you let out. “I was about to.”

Jo nods, and you think she immediately senses your unease. She’s a good person though, and an even better friend. She doesn’t say anything, and she rings the door for you.

You don’t know what to tell her. All that you can think of is, if someone has news about him, it would be her. She’s the only one you believe there’s a chance he’s been honest to.

Before you can say anything, the door opens and Bridget ushers you inside. You realize that you’re the last ones to get there – you usually never are. Usually always make sure to be the first, only so that you can help the hosts.

It seems losing him changed that.

You greet everyone half-heartedly, quickly moving towards Jiho. Jiho hugs you, tells you she’s happy you came. You can’t return the sentiment, so you offer her a tight-lipped smile as Heather announces that dinner is ready.

Their chatter is lively. You feel like you’re watching the scene through a frosted window. Like you’re stuck in a blizzard, watching people reveling in the warmth of the other side, wishing somehow that they’d share it with you. And it’s not that they don’t try; multiple times throughout dinner the other girls try to talk to you.

You reply, you always do, but there is just so little to say, so little words your brain can conjure up. It’s like your thoughts are slower – you’ve been that way at work too. You’re lucky, you haven’t been working on anything big in the last few weeks. But next week you will be, and you don’t even know if you’ll be able to do it.

At least Harrison is on the case with you. As one of the most talented junior partners of the firm, you think he’ll be able to manage the case even with you at his side.

You eat what you can, though you’ve run out of appetite before you even broke up. You force yourself, mostly because you don’t like how Kiko’s looking at you. How you notice her leaning to speak in Jo’s ear more than once during the meal.

You’re aware that they’re speaking of you – do they hate you as much as you hate yourself?

You doubt they can.

When dinner is over, you offer to clean the dishes. Jo ends up on washing duty with you, and you work in silence, water sloshing around as you rub the plates clean while she dries.

You’re cleaning a wine glass when she says, “How have you been?”

The question is a simple one. The truth isn’t so, and you wonder if you should lie. You think it’d be a mistake. Jo’s perceptive, she’d see right through the lie.

“I’ve been better,” you answer, shrugging your shoulders as if it doesn’t matter.

That much is a lie, because everything about him mattered.

“I can understand.”

Heavy silence follows, and you pass the glass to her. You hope she won’t speak more, hope she’ll offer you kindness and let you dwell on your mistakes, but you know it’s unlike her.

Indeed, she speaks up after a minute. “You know…” She pauses, and you glance once at her to find her features troubled. “I was wondering… what brought you to this decision?”

You freeze, hands in the water. It’s hot enough that your skin is turning scarlet, yet you barely even feel it. “What?”

“If you don’t want to speak about it it’s fine,” she gently says. “But I’m just concerned about you.”

“Did he ask you to ask me this?” you enquire, accusingly. You frown at the tone of your voice, and apologize as you resume washing the glass you’re holding.

“No,” she answers. “He hasn’t really been talking to anyone.”

You shudder, with horror and compulsion at the person that you were weeks ago, the one that caused him to isolate himself.

“Oh.”

Jo waits a moment, but when it’s clear that you aren’t going to speak again, she says, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t prod.”

You wet your lips, swallow around the lump in your throat. “It’s okay.”

Perhaps that’s also a lie. Perhaps you believe nothing is okay, nothing will be okay again. But you don’t voice it – it’s all your fault anyway.

“It’s okay if it isn’t okay, you know,” Jo gently says as you hand her a glass.

Your vision blurs, but no tears fall. No tears are left – you cry them to sleep every night already.

“Long distance is a bitch,” is what you eventually say. “You think you can make it through everything, and then long distance happens.”

You want to clench your hand around the third glass, want to feel the shards of it cutting through your palm like the shards of him have been stabbing through your heart. You force your grip to remain loose, lest you stain the sink with blood.

“Like for real, without it we would have been fine.”

You’ve told Jiho the same thing. You think you’ve told him the same thing, but you barely even remember the breakup. Just remember holding onto him at the end, and then winter seeping in through the crevices in your soul.

“I’m sorry.” Jo looks at you kindly when you glance her way. She offers you a sad smile that you want to hate, yet it just makes you want to break. “I’m really sorry it came between the two of you.”

You take a deep breath to tame the aching in your chest, nodding once. “It’s whatever.”

“It’s not.”

She’s right, so you remain silent. Choose to seek solace in a wordless moment, one you spend finishing the dishes. And when you’re done, and she’s wiping the last one, you find yourself asking, “How has he been doing?”

She stops moving, meets your gaze before letting her gaze drop to her hands. “As I said, he doesn’t really speak to anyone.”

“Which means he hasn’t been great.”

You know him enough to know that. She does too – she nods, before shrugging her shoulders. “Jimin and Tae have been making sure he’s okay though. Surviving.”

Because sometimes all there is to do is survive.

You’re relieved that his friends are there for him. It lessens the pain somehow, to know he’s not alone. You aren’t either – Jimin is your friend too and, even though she’s a mom of two, Jiho has been there for you ever since the breakup.

The first time Lisa asked you where Jungkook was though… felt like heartbreak uttered in an innocent sentence. Like the universe had gone wrong, like left and right were interchanged. You were lost then, and you still are today.

All at your expense.

“Good,” you answer.

She looks conflicted, pained – you understand why when she asks, “What about you?”

You clench your jaw out of reflex, as if it’s an accusation. As if admitting that you’re going through frozen hell is wrong of you, somehow. You think it is. After all, this is supposed to be better than the distance.

“I’ve got Jimin too, and Jiho,” you reply, voice strained. “Bridget and Heather too. They’ve been helping.”

Jo nods. “Good. Don’t isolate yourself.” There’s a pause, and her features turn pensive. “And you know, you got me too. You have all of us.”

Tears blur your vision, but like your soul they turn to ice before rolling down your cheeks. “Thank you.”

Smile apologetic, she nods again, as if her job here is done. And it must be – Kiko and Bridget walk into the kitchen, and they clearly don’t sense the atmosphere that’s clinging to you. They strike conversation with Jo, happily, and her stance switches to one that’s more relaxed.

You decide to leave them alone, because these three have always been a little closer to each other than you to them, and you return to the other room, where Chaeyeon, Valeria, Jiho and Heather are lounging on the couches. You debate leaving, debate claiming that you have to work early in the morning, but somehow you choose not to.

Is it a sign that you’re moving on? You don’t know.

When you do leave, later that night, at the same time as Jo and Chaeyeon do, you find yourself walking next to Jo as you head to your respective cars. Lance is picking Chaeyeon up, and she waves you two goodbye as you walk away.

You stuff your hands in the long sleeves of your hoodie, as if the air outside is remotely cold. It is not – there’s been a heatwave around for a few days. Luckily enough for you, a freezing heart seems to be a good remedy for the heat, and you still seek the comfort of your hoodie.

“I was wondering,” Jo says as you near where your car is parked. “Are you still planning on coming to the wedding?”

The forsaken wedding. The thing that set everything in motion – the spark that caught fire on years of your relationship.

You purse your lips, shrug your shoulders. “I think so,” you voice. “Yeah. You two are my friends, even if…”

If you’re closer to him. You don’t say as much, but it’s needless. Jo nods, understanding as ever, and she tells you that you don’t have to, if you don’t want to.

You think she’s a fool for believing that you wouldn’t want to go. Because… what’s wrong with wanting to make sure he’s okay with your own two eyes? What’s wrong with needing to see him in another context than this never-ending winter?

That night, you lie awake for hours. Picturing him behind your closed eyelids, only to find emptiness where he should be. The blankets are cold, the fan overhead not needed, yet you can’t bring yourself to turn it off.

Can’t chase the feeling of his absence from your heart.

You seek solace in memories of him, in the thought of his lips on yours. Of the featherlight kisses you used to exchange in the dead of night, when sleep was evading you or him. You must be half asleep – because suddenly you can almost see him here. Can almost hear his voice as he’d call you baby, mouthing the word against your neck before he’d suck on it.

Your heartrate picks up with the memory – they’re flooding in. The smell of his skin, the taste of his lips, the inebriating sweetness of his kisses. You remember the weight of him on you, the press of his knee between your legs.

And then you seek solace with a hand between your thighs, trying to remember how he touched you. How his long fingers always dragged you to a land of pleasure, how he’d managed to keep you there until you were insane with his taste.

You breathe out his name, a soft moan, though it’s almost a plea. A plea for him to appear, for him to never have been gone.

For you to never have pushed him away.

When you come down from the high that finds you in your memories, you lie on your side, holding one of your plushies to your chest. They don’t replace him; they never have.

You end up crying yourself to sleep over the memories, over the July night sky and the dance crew and every night you took for granted, believing that he’d be yours forever.

You cry for your decision, no matter how right it was. Because you know it’ll always feel wrong.

Friday, July 28th

There’s something about work that’s been setting you on edge. That’s been making you want to pull your hair out of your head – if only that was possible. It’s strange; you’ve been thinking about the breakup less now that you’re neck deep in work.

Now that you spend hours upon hours at work, after the usual closing time.

Luckily enough, you’re almost never alone. Harrison accompanies all of those late evenings as you work through the case, as he tells you what to do and you tell him you don’t need his help. He laughs at that – Harrison has an easy laugh. It makes its way to his lips whenever you speak, and it’s been like a ray of light in the otherwise dark land of your heart.

He’s a good coworker. Someone that’s noticed just how bad you are, but that’s decided to not treat you differently. To let you nurse your heart in peace, while he offers you the normalcy of what work should be.

Today, at lunch break, he suggested going out for dinner and drinks, along with the rest of the team that’s been working on the case. Mostly because you’re finally closing in on something that is clearly going to be good, and he believes it’s important to celebrate. You don’t have it in you to say no, and that’s how you find yourself squeezed between him and Anna, the paralegal that you’ve worked with the most, in the booth of a nice pub near the firm.

You’ve been sharing a nacho plate with Harrison and Ian, another one of the junior partners of the firm, and you’re sipping on a glass of the pitcher of sangria that Anna ordered for you and her. The buzzing of chatter and laughter makes the pub into a lively place, and you reckon you like the atmosphere.

You like the plants that cascade from their pots on shelves in the walls, like the hanging lights that shine brightly onto the tables, like the brick wall that gives the pub a nice industrial vibe. It just feels right, different than your usual.

Or maybe it’s the fact that the crew is different. That you aren’t with people that inevitably remind you of Jungkook, even though they shouldn’t.

Harrison’s English accent catches your attention as he says something to Ian – something about leaving work related conversation to the firm. As you turn your head towards the man at your side, he offers you a glance.

Harrison has clear blue eyes. Pale, like they hold the Caribbean sea in them. His eyes are beautiful, sparkling, and you offer him a smile.

He’s quick to smile back, and then he continues his conversation with Ian, who’s decided to speak about sports instead. You decide to join in, even though you know practically nothing about sports, and the two men tease you for it.

There’s no bite to it, yet it feels familiar. Reminds you of someone that used to tease you all the time, and with the sangria coursing through your veins, you decide to jump on the occasion. To let the past be the past, and live in this moment, for once.

Perhaps it holds some sort of salvation for you.

“It’s not my fault if football is boring!” you insist. “It’s just dudes throwing a ball. Who cares about that?”

Harrison nudges you with his elbow. “Hey come on,” he says. “They don’t only throw a ball, sometimes they kick it too.”

He’s got a teasing smile on his lips, and to your surprise you find yourself rolling your eyes. “And the point system? Stupid.”

“It isn’t!” Harrison says, faking offense. “You wound me.”

You cock an eyebrow as Ian laughs, before turning to speak to Sam next to him as the guy asks him a question.

“Aren’t you British anyway?” you ask him. “Why do you watch football?”

“Because I like dudes that throw balls,” he jokes, before realizing that his sentence sounded wrong as you burst out laughing. “Well, not like that.”

“No, of course not,” you tease back.

“It’s just a fun sport,” he insists. “Used to watch it with my step-dad when I was younger.”

Now, the revelation eases the teasing mood that you’ve been diving into, and you offer him a small smile. “Sounds like fun.”

Because you can get that. You can understand the need to love something because someone you loved introduced you to it – dance was that for you, once upon a time. When your mother had introduced you to it, when you were too young to realize that to her, you dancing was just going to be an accomplishment.

Until it became a curse, as you chose to not pursue ballet the way she wanted you to. But that’s old history – even though you still don’t talk to your mother all that much, the hatred you’ve held for her for years after she’s kicked you out is lesser now. Practically non-existent, and you have your therapist to thank for that.

Years of therapy really did help, eventually.

You realize, tonight, how you haven’t really been living since you broke up. You’ve been a mere ghost, a mere winter wind, but tonight you think the air warms up. It warms up into a tentative spring breeze, and you cling to it.

You say yes when Harrison suggests heading to a club after, a VIP one where he’s a member along with Ian. Say yes to the shots offered to you, and you ignore the texts in the group chat with the girls saying that they want to meet up for lunch tomorrow. You focus on the now, focus on the fact that he’s not all you’re thinking of.

No, his big, doe eyes barely exist in your mind right now, replaced by ocean blue and an English accent. At least that’s what you tell yourself as Harrison says he’s a shit dancer, and you admit you were on a dance crew for years.

He cocks an eyebrow, says you’re full of shit, and that’s how you find yourself pulling him to the dance floor, not caring that his hair is paler than your usual, that his smile rings different.

Harrison is not a good dancer. He’s awkward, clumsy, and he steps on your feet more than once as you dance face to face, swaying to the beat of the club music. The flashing lights feel like a haven, like you don’t have to hide in the darkness left by Jungkook’s disappearance from your life.

You let Harrison put his hands on your waist, let him pull you closer, until he’s resting his forehead on yours. Your eyes shut from the proximity, and you can smell the alcohol on his breath. Somehow, that’s what makes you remember – not the dancing, but the intimacy of the position. It makes you crave another, makes you need to forget, and you’re the one that closes the gap.

You’re the one who kisses him first, and he kisses you back all wrong. There’s something missing – the piercing, perhaps – but you don’t let it deter you. Focus on the swipe of his tongue on your bottom lip, and you sigh as you let him in.

But Jungkook is there, in your mind. When Harrison’s hands tighten on your waist, it’s in Jungkook’s hair that you want to thread your fingers through. When he groans softly in the kiss, as you bite his lower lip, it’s Jungkook’s lips that you want to be sucking on.

And you think it’ll always be Jungkook. He’ll haunt you forever – a reminder of your weakness, when it came to the distance. A reminder that, after everything, you’re the one that ruined it.

You’re the one that put an end to what was supposed to be forever.

It aches, coldly. You think your heart barely knows how to beat anymore. It’s erratic, painful, and when Harrison pulls away from the kiss, his blue eyes finding yours, you think his irises are made of ice.

“Hey,” he says gently.

“Hey,” is all you can think to reply.

If he sees the torment in your eyes, he ignores it. Guides you back to the table, where he leaves you with Ian and the rest claiming that he’ll get a water for you. And he does – he comes back with two bottles of water, and he hands you one as he sits next to you.

You think that’s what undoes you. That’s what breaks you, spills the content of your aching soul right there on the club’s floor. You don’t know who’ll pick up the mess – the one it belongs to is far away from these flashing lights. Far, yet closer than he was when the ending came. Somewhere in the city, you believe, because you don’t think he’s gone back to Europe yet.

Would he answer, if you were to call him? Would he pick up right where you left off, whisper sweet nothings in your ear as if you haven’t destroyed his beating organ?

You hate it. Hate how, weeks later, the torture hasn’t diminished. Hate how you believed it’d be just a few rough days, when it’s been weeks and months and winter hasn’t changed.

So you do what you do best. You escape. Tell the table that you have to go, and make it outside before Harrison catches up to you. He asks if he can walk you home, which makes sense because you live in the same complex anyway. Not the same building, but Harrison lives in the one across the small square-like courtyard between the three condo towers where you’ve found a place to rent after Jungkook.

Up above, stars twinkle in the sky. They seem unaware that, after that cataclysm of a July night, the story came to an end. Like the universe never meant it, when it put you and him together. Or maybe it’s you – maybe you created a new cataclysm. Wrote your own fate, and all that crap.

You’re getting dizzy. Both with alcohol and spinning thoughts, but luckily enough the walk is short. Harrison grants you silence, sensing that you need it, probably. Because he’s gentlemanly. Not that Jungkook wasn’t – it’s just different.

And you shouldn’t be comparing him to Jungkook, but it’s far too easy. Especially as your treacherous little mouth asks him if he wants to share a drink in your apartment, as you tell him that you feel better now that you’ve breathed some air.

He says yes, though he seems unsure. He seems unsure all the way up to your floor, and even more so as you pull him in a kiss when the door closes behind you and him. Especially as you breathe against his lips, “Do you think you can make me forget?”

After everything is done, and you lie awake next to his naked form, both of you staring up at the ceiling in silence, you know the answer to that question.

And it’s quite simple – no. Because no one will ever be able to make you forget the one you were supposed to be with until you turned to stardust. Until all that would have been left of the two of you was etchings on a stone, and memories in the space between this life and the next.

Harrison is kind – he tells you that he senses you shouldn’t have done it, gently. Tells you that the only person that can make you forget is yourself, and time. And when he leaves, he tells you not to worry about anything. That he can be a friend, if you need it, but that he doubts you want anything more.

He’s right, and you cry yourself to sleep holding onto Totoro and Appa, hoping weeks ago you would have listened to Jungkook when he’d said not to break up. Hoping to turn back time, cursing the linearity of it. Remembering the punctuate events of you and him, wondering how the distance was enough to undo your timeline.

The sun winks at you when it rises, mocking you as night ends, with no answer for you. The what-ifs shine as brightly as the rays of the morning, all of them piercing through your darkened heart.

You shiver and hide your face in Totoro, hoping one day you’ll be able to evade winter.

Friday, August 18th

Jungkook’s first thought when he steps into the restaurant is that it’s too loud. Too bright, with happy couples and smiling families sharing a meal as if life’s never ended, three months and ten days ago. He feels like an imposter – he hasn’t smiled since you left, and hasn’t laughed since before that.

He doesn’t know why he agreed to this, when Taehyung suggested it. Maybe because Taehyung and Jimin can be firmly persuasive, when they decide they’ll do something. Though, this time around, they’re not doing anything.

Anything other than having set this blind date with one of Taehyung’s coworkers.

Jungkook decides to find solace in his thoughts. Away from the bustling crowd of the restaurant, into the cool darkness where he’s been evading since he moved to his new apartment. Somewhere where the pain is lesser, where he doesn’t cry all the time.

That’s where she finds him. A shy smile, rosy cheeks as she voices, “Jungkook?”

He meets her gaze, finds her long lashes as she looks up at him innocently. He’s struck – she’s way out of his league. But so were you, and he’s got a whole story to tell about you now. He looks around as if to make sure the girl was speaking to him, as if she didn’t say his name, before he answers, “I assume you’re Emma.”

Another shy smile, and Emma nods her head. “The one and only.”

Jungkook wets his lips, and when the server comes to bring them to a table, he lets his gaze drop to the ground as he follows behind Emma.

He sits in front of her, feeling odd as she blushes and looks through the menu. Her shyness makes him feel awkward, and he doesn’t know what to say.

With you, he always knew what to say.

He shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath and then lets his eyelids flutter open so that he can look through the menu too. He thinks, he just has to make it through the evening. Doesn’t have to see the girl again, even though her shy smiles are cute.

She is cute, but she’s not you. No one will ever compare to you.

He takes a deep breath once more, tries to push you out of his thoughts. For the first time in weeks, it’s not as hard. Maybe because his awkwardness is winning over, making him all too aware of every glance the girl throws his way.

They order, barely exchanging a word, until the girl throws him a lifeline. She asks about his photography, admits Taehyung told her about it, and Jungkook settles in his comfort space as he tells her about it, as he answers her question.

It’s impersonal, almost professional, but at least it keeps the pain at bay for a while. He even thinks he’s enjoying himself – by the time they’re eating and he’s drank half of his beer, he does feel lighter. Like he can finally breathe, like the hand clutching his heart in his chest has loosened.

Or maybe he’s just been getting too good at burrowing his feelings deep inside of him. Still, he barely smiles, barely laughs. And he knows none of his smiles quite reach his eyes, and he knows the girl must have noticed. She doesn’t say anything though, focuses on telling him what she does for work, and then goes on to tell him about what it was like for her growing up.

He zones out, nods when he figures he has to, tries to smile when there’s a lull in the conversation. He’s clearly not good at that – he’s never really gone on dates before. Except with Laura, before you, but even that barely counted as a date. Perhaps because he already knew Laura, and he’s struck thinking that the girl in front of him is a stranger. A stranger, yes, but she’s kind. So when she suggests sharing a bottle of wine, claiming that it’s her favourite and that she’s wanted to drink it in a long time, Jungkook doesn’t have it in him to say no.

Even though they’re already done with eating. She does order dessert, and he watches her eat as he nurses his glass of wine, taking sips from it once in a while.

He hasn’t drunk in a long time, and the effects start to be felt faster than usual. Or maybe the beer he drank before the wine was strong. Either way, his head starts swimming with alcohol before they’re out of the restaurant, and he relishes in the feeling.

Revels in Emma’s suggestion to take a walk to clear their head, along the small river near the restaurant. The evening air is fresh, though clouds hide the stars from view. It smells of rain – there are leftover puddles from earlier today – but it doesn’t seem like the sky will cry again tonight.

A soft breeze plays in Jungkook’s hair. He hasn’t cut it in a while. It used to be a lot longer, but he’s not used to it anymore, so it feels weird whenever strands of his hair pass in front of his eyes. He tries to push them back but to no avail: the strands stubbornly always fall in front of his eyes again, and he ends up giving up after a moment.

Turns out Emma is a gamer. She suggests playing some games together the next time they hang out, and Jungkook doesn’t have it in himself to tell her that they, as a matter of fact, won’t see each other ever again. Not because she isn’t sweet – she’s just not what he wants. And he doesn’t even want the distraction.

He did that once, and it didn’t serve him good. Even if he managed to have you in the end.

“What’s your favourite game?” Emma asks as she stops next to some railing overlooking the water. She leans against it, forearms resting on it as she looks at the water, eyes following the ripples in the river.

“I don’t game as much anymore,” he admits. He shrugs, tries to ignore the way his lungs burn.

Because he used to game with you next to him, and he doesn’t need reminders of you.

“Mine is Valorant,” she says, and she smiles at him as if she expected that to make him happy.

“Oh,” he lets out. He offers her a tight-lipped smile, and feels bad when her face falls a little. So he quickly adds, “I took you more for a Sims girl.”

She fakes offense. “What? Why?”

There’s a twinkle in her eyes, and he’s struck silent as he watches it. She seems to take that as a cue for something else, because she takes a step closer to him, eyes dropping to his mouth.

He thinks he’s frozen on his spot when she tilts her head back, tiptoes, and presses a featherlike kiss on his lips. Eyes wide opened, he watches her, until he figures he should be kissing her back.

So he does, hesitantly, as lead forms in his stomach, making him think that he’s going to be sick. Because she kisses him all wrong. Tastes all wrong too, and suddenly you’re burning in his mind, bright magma that moves in his veins until pain suffocates his lungs.

He takes a step back, and Emma’s eyes shoot open, as if startled. They stare at each other for a time, and then she gulps.

“I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t care for her apology. Doesn’t care about anything other than the fact that he feels disgusted with himself. And for what? It’s not like he owes you anything anymore. As a matter of fact, he should be enjoying this. Should be enjoying that even though he was his most awkward self, he still was able to get the girl to kiss him.

Instead, he burns and he chokes on his saliva as he tries to swallow. He wonders why his vision is blurry, and he furiously blinks his eyes trying to keep Emma in focus.

“I’m so sorry,” she repeats. “Gosh, I read this all wrong. I…” she pauses, shaking her head slightly, and it seems she’s been wearing a mask all evening, because it crumples into nothingness. “I just got out of a long relationship, Tae said you too and I just… Fuck I just assumed we could comfort each other?” When he remains silent, she continues, “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.”

She’s rambling, and Jungkook just hears his blood pumping in his ears. When he still doesn’t speak, she apologizes once more, and then tells him that she should go.

He doesn’t try to stop her, doesn’t even look as she walks away, head hung low in what he assumes is shame. All he feels is the deep burning sensation, as it settles under his skin. Like a sunburn – he wants to scratch at it, wants to rip it from his skin, but he can’t.

He can’t because you’re gone, and this ache is all that’s left of you. It’s all that’s left, so he clings to it. Tries to keep it close to his heart, where you belong. Picks at the scab, at the wound, until he’s bleeding all over again, breaking out in the city, where anyone can see that he’s lost you.

He doesn’t know how he makes it home. All that he knows is that he’s in the shower, later, head pressed against the tiles as cold water runs on his back. It mingles with the tears streaking down his cheeks, mixes with the saltiness of heartbreak.

It doesn’t cool the sunburn ache, doesn’t ease the pain in his chest. And you’re everywhere then – in the cracks on the wall, he believes he can see you. Believes he can reach out for you, though what he ends up doing is cranking the temperature of the shower up, until it’s not cold anymore.

Though he reckons he barely can feel it anymore.

So he forces his eyes shut, chases memories of you like a dog chases its tail – round in round, in a circle, because he thinks he’ll always circle back to you anyway. He imagines you, in all your glory. Imagines you’ve never left, imagines you’d still run your hands on his back, still dig your nails in his skin.

He doesn’t even know how his hand finds its way to the base of his dick. Doesn’t even know why he’s horny, why the pain makes him crave you more. Why it makes him touch himself, imagining it’s your touch. And with his eyes squeezed shut, you’re everywhere. The goddess of the land of his mind, and he can almost believe you’re still here.

He grunts, perhaps in pain, and picks up the pace on his dick. He remembers words whispered on your skin, your spit on his dick as you’d swallow around the tip. He remembers your tight walls, clutching him, holding him in as you’d ride him like there was no tomorrow.

He remembers a hot tub and the night that followed, remembers breaking and healing with you. Remembers the darkness of the accident, and the light you’d shine on him. The light is gone now, and only darkness remains. It’s not the same – it’s lonelier, somehow. Because he had everything, and now remains nothing. Just the ghost of what once was, and he wishes he could be taken back to the night on the hotel rooftop, wishes you’d never left.

And when he comes, it’s your name that he moans. Like a blessing, though now you’re a curse. A curse to him, and he wishes the pain would go away, wishes it would stay. Wishes it would bring you back, yet knowing he’d push you away. Because he doesn’t think there is pain as great as what you caused him, and then he curses himself for the thought.

That night, he lies awake in sheets cold as winter, weakened by his broken heart as he chases sleep that never comes.

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celestialwhoree · 19 days

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Hey hun! I just wanted to send this (completely self-indulgent) ask so if you don't wanna write it, yer all good <3.

But how would you think either Ghost or Soap would respond to their partner getting a bad diagnosis. Like not anything fatal but something they'll deal with for the rest of their life?

Anyways have a great day you deserve it!

Perfectly happy to write this!!!! Chronic illness and I are better acquainted than I'd like to admit n writing is like my favourite coping mechanism💕🥴🤚

The dull cream walls of your doctors office have become far too familiar, so has the drone of his voice, and the incessant hum of the ancient AC unit which leaves the room always that little bit too cold. Simon's hand on your back is the only thing saving you from zoning out entirely. In a way, you so wish it isn't keeping you there in the room. You'd give anything to drift away into that comfortable place in the corner of your mind where everything is hazy and warm and nothing hurts. Today, of course, you're not granted such a privilege.

" - treatable, but unfortunately incurable."

You're not surprised, but it doesn't hurt any less either. It's impossible to ignore the way Simon's fingers flex against the base of your spine, his brows furrowing with disappointment as he looks down at the results of your blood tests. The way you feel has long since passed dread - settled on that horrible tear jerking feeling of defeat. Life has fucked you sideways, before well and truly leaving you in the dirt.

Simon ushers you to the car in silence, his heart breaking when your head drops into your hands, a frustrated sigh breaking the terse silence you'd fallen into, your mind having run so fast it stopped completely. The emptiness, the lack of distraction, feels far worse.

He soothes you in the best way he knows. "Takeaway? You fancy sushi?" Anything, he'll do anything to coax you from your thoughts, anything to see you smile. He just needs to see you smile.

If he has to take you to the pet store, or the bookstore or sephora, or the most expensive chocolate shop in town, or drop you off to Price's to sit with his wife and watch romcoms with pints of ice cream, whatever he has to do, he'll do it.

You plead to just go home. You just want to sit on the couch and wallow.

He puts up less of a fight than you'd expect, dropping into the supermarket to grab a pint of milk before driving the two of you back home.

By the time you've changed back into your sweats and one of Simon's old hoodies, he's covered the coffee table in all of your favourite snacks, your favourite movie ready to go, and open arms for you to walk into.

"Not gonna let my girl be sick and sad, yeah?"

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madamecaos · 7 days

Text

The Howling

AU Werewolf Mafia: F|Reader x AU Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley

Synopsis: You move to a new town and the people there are just... strange.

Warning: 18+ Mature in next chapters, Lil Gore, Mate-Trope, Alpha-Omega trope, Angst, Overall Violence and Dark Themes

A/N: This is me, avoiding my other WIPs so I can pantsy-through another story that I'm not sure how to plot. Well, I couldn’t decide between Werewolves or Mafia AU, so here’s both.

It was known.

The first night of a full moon after Winter Solstice, every citizen of the little town had to bar their doors, stay inside and hope that sunrise received them unscathed. Otherwise, the victims of little Arcadea wouldn’t come to save you from the mauling beasts. Everyone knew you weren’t meant to go outside.

If only you had known that beasts also lurked in the daylight.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

You were new in town. The aftermath of a bad relationship and a great offer of a remote position gave you freedom enough to move to a new place. As long as you had Wi-Fi, you could work. When the opportunity arose in a niche little town, away from the city and surrounded by a sea of woodland, you took it. Anything to place miles and miles between you and your psychotic ex was a great offer.

A ride an hour away from the city was an improvement. Anything was.

But despite the cute little cafes and the upcoming Christmas festivities, the town didn’t receive you with open arms. The locals weren’t gracious to newcomers, so you did everything possible to not intrude.

That’s why you found yourself hiding in the little library, staking claim of your little corner with a watered-down coffee between your hands. It was lukewarm, but enough to stave away the chilling breeze coming from the open doors. Aside from the fact that this was the only place with decent Wi-Fi, it was comfortable and quiet.

Kate, the local librarian, could be heard chatting away as the truck backed up near the entrance. Tuesday meant that new books were coming in. And Tuesday meant that the delivery guy would burst your quiet bubble any second now.

You hadn’t been here a full month and you already felt like you knew too much about him.

Soap was chatty and had a smile too wide that didn’t match your grumpiness. And what kind of name was Soap?

Without looking up, you heard his footsteps. You imagined that he skipped your way, going by the obnoxious clatter of his keys and whatever else he had in his pockets.

Maybe you needed more caffeine to be nicer, you thought as your temples pulsed with an upcoming headache. It was something inexplicable, but whenever Soap came near your instincts went haywire. The urge to be defensive and argumentative rose within you like a second nature.

“New Lass,” he called you, almost cheering. You rolled your eyes at the nickname he donned you with as you refused to give him your name. It seemed that you acting wary of men made him think he had to try and get on your good side, the tough way, by being annoyingly too cheery. To add to your annoyance, your reactions only incited him more.

“Got ya’ more books. Want to see the new batch?” He asked too loudly with excitement, and you winced. “Oh, my bad. Inside voice.” He half-apologized, shrugging with a smile still plastered on his annoying features.

You were just… annoyed.

You took in his outfit. His usual black overall was replaced by dark jeans and a light jacket. Even his mohawk was not covered by the usual beanie, which prompted you to ask him something finally. “Going on a vacation?”

His clothing was not meant for the blistering cold outside.

“Wow,” Soap placed a hand over his heart dramatically. “Oh, New Lass. I thought you were mute.”

“Selective,” you answered shortly, then looked down to pretend to write an email. You hoped he took the hint but going by the lack of screeching chair at his usual loud departure, he was still sitting in front of you.

His shoulders shook in silent laughter, and you questioned him with merely a risen eyebrow. “You would get along with my boss. You two would be a party.”

At your frown, he explained, “Silent and grumpy.”

“Soap!” Someone called from the entrance, allowing you peace as he walked away with a wave. What an odd man.

“See ya, New Lass.” Without turning back, he answered just as gruffly to the person that had demanded his attention, an attitude he had never directed at you despite your unwelcoming brashness. You couldn’t hear the rest, them being too far away.

Peace and quiet drove away the turmoil that usually came along with Soap’s presence, but your temples still pulsed with a surging headache.

“20 years less and I would,” Kate sighed as she closed the door with a click, looking through the glass doors as the truck drove away. Finally, warmth permeated the library again.

“Would what?” You asked and Kate looked at you like you were dense. Well, you kind of were.

“I don’t go for the young ones, but maybe Soap can be an exception,” As realization dawned at what she implied, Kate held in her amusement behind her titivating grin.

“Aren’t you married?”

“Like that has to do anything with it,” Kate rolled her eyes playfully and you ignored the uncomfortable thought of loyalty being so casually dismissed. Again, another reaction you had to thank your ex. “And you? No man back home that calls you lass?”

The wiggle in her eyebrows brought you a little out of your dark cloud. “No, no man for me.”

You went back to your screen, ignoring the understanding look from Kate.

“Ah, we all came to Arcadea to escape from something,” she said, salvaging what little conversation you had with her. You weren’t exactly social, and amongst the locals, she was the most welcoming one. But that all made sense when she mentioned she was a foreigner as well, married her husband and was brought to the little town where she founded her dream little bookshop.

That might explain the why and how the place stood afloat, seeing as you were the only customer you had seen inside. What you didn’t have a theory for was the mysterious merchandise of books she received weekly, and yet the contents of the library hadn’t changed once.

Soap looked nice and approachable, but the gruffness, tattoos and bulking arms convinced you that it was not smart to ask. The curling instinct you had adopted from the big city told you he was not merely a delivery boy. But it was none of your business, or so you repeated to yourself every time something odd happened in little Arcadea.

And it was a lot.

“You ok there, love?” Kate asked as you stared ahead, lost in thought.

“I think I’m clocking out early,” You stretched in your chair, closing the laptop. “This migraine calls for a long nap.”

“All right, hope you feel better!” Kate called out as you made your way to the exit. Until she left you with a parting advice.

“Oh, and y/n” She started, the lack of endearment calling for your attention. You turned, expecting the common cheery demeanor one can expect from Kate. Instead, the hardened glance made you freeze. The grim expression seamlessly bleeding away the woman you had been getting to know these past few weeks. This was a stranger standing in front of you. “Don’t go out tonight.”

Without any chance of asking for an explanation, the happy demeanor returned, and Kate left you gaping at the entrance as she hummed away to the back of the store.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

She surely had meant ‘go out’ as ‘hang out’, right? You weren’t exactly friendly with the locals yet, only a few. Kate was paranoid and you were starving. And it was Tuesday. Nothing happened on Tuesdays.

After sleeping away the headache for what felt like days, you woke up parched and ready to eat a whole three course meal. The migraine had ceased enough for you to see without flinching at every little light, but you knew that if you didn’t eat soon, it would worsen. So still in pijamas, with fuzzy boots and a big hoodie to complete the look, you went out into the cold with your phone, cash and your keys.

The diner across the block closed late, at least late enough for you to eat. And if it fit the mood, you might aim for a milkshake, you thought as you headed into the center of the town.

As you walked, you hugged yourself to stave away the breeze weaving through the trees. The woodland was so close to the town you could hear the leaves moving, its hushing billowing out through the deserted streets.

The cold painted your breath in huffs, your distance to the diner decreasing. But as you kept your pace, you couldn’t help but recognize the unusual solace of the roads. They were devoid of life, vendors already settled down for the night.

Your footsteps on gravel were the only sounds disrupting the silence, but even without any more sounds, the eerie feeling of someone staring at you made you walk faster.

Nothing could’ve told you someone was staring at you but your intuition, your paranoia getting the best of you. You snapped your head back, hoping that your fear was only induced by the darkness. The weathered headlamps were enough to let you confirm that you were wrong. No one was there, no shadows followed you. With nothing to show for, you kept walking, pace hurrying nonetheless.

The bell on the door charmed at your entrance. It was quiet, oddly so. You were often received by the boisterous waitress that covered the nightshift. She made the best lattes and made you laugh, getting you away from your shy nature.

All worn booths were empty as you sat in your preferred corner, read the menu that you’ve read a thousand times before, and looked around. It was odd that you hadn’t seen nor heard the waitress yet.

The restaurant looked empty, abandoned even. So with courage, you stood up and sat at the bar, ringing the bell for service. Right now, you would do anything for crumbs.

“Hi, dear,” the waitress whose name tag read as Darla, gave you a hurried smile. “I’m sorry, but we’re closing early today.”

“Please,” Yes, you resorted to begging. “I’m starving. Just the usual.”

“I-“ she stuttered. “The kitchen is already closed. The cook clocked out early.”

At the last word, the entrance bell chimed behind you, making you turn curiously. You felt the breeze, you heard the bell and you heard the door closing… but there was no one there. All tables were as empty when you arrived.

You turned back to face the waitress. The question in your lips stopped mid track at her expression. Her dark complexion had gone white, eyes wide eyed and petrified.

“Make the girl a plate.”

A low rumbling voice said from behind you, and you saw fear bleed into Darla’s expression.

You looked back immediately to your right, your gaze clashing with broad shoulders first, biceps bulging beneath a tight fitted black shirt. It seemed as if his height went on and on as your head tilted upwards, taking in the broadness of the looming man dressed as walking death.

Dark eyes beneath a skull mask perilously studied you. His stare unflinching, unmoving, as your heart made its way to your throat with fear… and something else. Something odd and uncanny made the hairs on the back of your neck rise. The sensation of someone chasing you confused you. You were sitting still, and he hadn’t made himself an obvious threat, despite the oddity of his mask in the middle of a local dinner. Your mind spun at the lack of sense, your heart wildly beating, pinned beneath his stare. While petrified on the stool, your body slowly but surely felt heat rise, perspiration building along your temples as if you had already ran a mile.

That damned migraine came back tenfold, and you still sat there, looking up like a deer in headlights, eyes threatening to scrunch at the buzzing lights. If you were to look away first, he would take it as you submitting to whatever fear was taking ahold of you. You kept silent, holding in your gasps of air.

What is this? Who was he?

Somehow, he had walked behind you so silently and so fast, you hadn’t seen him enter. He had crossed half the diner in seconds, landing at the opposite side of you. Something you wanted to believe was impossible, but here he was.

He was the first to break eye contact, allowing air into your lungs. All the odd warming sensations stopped at his departure. Without a glance back, he entered the kitchen then pivoted to the exit door, Darla moving away to give him a wide berth of space.

“New cook?” You joked timidly, trying to break the tension of the now fretting waitress. Metal spoons and pans clattered as she filled a foam container with whatever she could find. Her hands shook.

“Go,” Darla whispered with a pointed look, handing you a bag with whatever lukewarm food. At your hesitation to leave her alone, she pushed it to your chest, then motioned you to the door.

“I can pay-“

Darla side stepped the counter, hands on your shoulders pivoting you to the exit.

“It’s on the house. Now, don’t do anything stupid and stay inside.”

With that, the door clicked hurriedly behind you, not allowing you to turn and ask the million questions you had for her.

You were at odds with yourself as you stared at your dark reflection on the glass door.

On one hand, you wanted peace. It was the main reason you came to this town for, and asking the right or wrong questions often led you into more problems. But on the other hand, a huge man with a skull mask with an in-defensive woman didn’t bode well. And the panic in her eyes made you repeat the interaction over and over again.

Darla shut off the lights as she went back to the kitchen, leaving you standing at the closed entrance of the now dark restaurant.

You debated if it was worth it calling the police, or if that fell under the list of what Darla deemed as something stupid.

Holding the bag to yourself as you walked back to your apartment in a hurry, you ignored Darla’s warnings. You’d rather bet on the ‘stupid’ but safe option and put in an anonymous tip. The receiver sounded bored, nonchalant even, not caring that a woman was alone in her job with a strange man. The interaction didn’t go as planned, especially when the person you spoke with treated you as if you were insane and not something to believe. The conversation turned oddly quiet when they asked you to describe the man, the mention of a ‘skull mask’ twisting their questions into more personal ones.

Who are you? What’s your name? What’s your place of residence?

You hung up.

You did what you could, right? At least Darla’s danger won’t fully fall into your consciousness, you tried to convince yourself.

But the interaction interrupted whatever you thought of doing that night. You couldn’t concentrate. There was something off-putting that insisted that you had to go back there, but you were astute enough to know that it wasn’t a safe route. As an outlet, you called the restaurant several times, hoping that the internet’s spotty phone number was a true one. No answer. Maybe… just maybe if you saw if Darla was ok, you could rest. Then after assuring her safety, you would be relaxed enough to go back to your own business and hide in your apartment once again. After scarfing down the lukewarm food and pacing over the options, you did something else Darla had mentioned, something she had warned against.

With keys between your knuckles and pepper spray in your pocket, you went back outside. You just wanted to see that Darla wasn’t hurt. One glance and you were out.

This was the moment in horror movies when one would demean the main character for doing something so obviously stupid, you thought as you shivered with adrenaline and uncertainty.

The streets were just as empty as the restaurant, a full moon at its peak providing most light. The pavement was so dark its reflection bathed the street in white.

As you neared, you slowed your pace and approached cautiously. You shook the doors by the handles, but they were already locked. That much you already knew… but you’ve seen the odd man going out the other exit.

Cautiously, you tiptoed to the right corner and came around, peeking into the darkness to scope the back of the establishment. This is surely the way you’ll die, you thought with a tight grip of your keys as you rounded the wall. And at the turn, you clashed into something warm, so warm that the hands grasping you back to a wide chest could be felt through all your layers of clothing.

It was almost as if he had materialized from the shadows. Even with whatever minor moonlight shone through, it was not dark enough for you to be completely blind. You should’ve seen him coming.

You pushed the person back with all your strength, but they did nothing but chuckle, still too near for your comfort. At the sound and the familiarity of the creeping sensation crawling up your neck, you relaxed a little.

“Oh lass, I didn’t think it was like that,” Soap goaded, holding you close. “Only one word today and you’re already throwing yourself at me.”

“Get off me,” you shook your arms as you looked around him, behind him. At least, tried to, but he annoyingly planted himself in your line of sight, prohibiting you from searching for another sign of life.

“Hey, attention on me, yeah?” Soap stood closer, presence prompting you back to his attention.

“What are you doing here?” You questioned him, gaze still looking around you. “Where’s Darla?”

“Whose Darla?” Soap mused as he walked forward, forcing you to take steps back. “And I could ask the same.”

“I’m hungry,” you answered quickly, knowing that would be the first excuse you would use if the waitress asked for your intentions by disobeying her warning.

“Something told me you ate,” Soap said as he pointed with a look the red stain on your hoodie. He leaned closer and inhaled. You leaned back and ignored the odd gesture. “Pasta, to be exact.”

“Well, I’m still hungry.”

Seconds passed, and gloom dimmed his grin.

“Ah,” Soap sighed, disappointed. “So you’re the one that called the police.”

You froze, fear chilling the back of your neck. How did he know that? Nervous sweat and an accelerating heart with wide eyes took over you. Annoying Soap wasn’t acting like a child prying for your attention anymore. The seriousness and the slow tilt of his head made him seem as a complete stranger, much like Kate had been.

Had she known the danger of the delivery boy? Was she in on whatever was going on?

“Oh? Did the police come by?” You asked, thinking that it would be best not to admit anything. “Why would they need to come here?”

Soap’s lips tilted, and not in the amusement you’d been accustomed to. At your struggle to swallow, his sight slowly landed on your throat. His gaze leisurely angled up to your eyes, moonlight catching oddly on his irises.

“Hm,” he took his index finger to his chin, musing into the air mockingly. “What to do with you now.”

He looked down on you, as if he was holding a secret you didn’t know. Deliberating… In a sudden flash, he was beside you, arm around your shoulders back pushing you forward. His proximity jolted you, your temples resurging the headache from earlier.

“Come, It’s time you to meet the boys,” He offered, not leaving you another option.

“What boys? I don’t think this is a good idea. I’m leaving now.” You tried to turn back, but the both of you had already walked to the back where you supposed the dumpsters were.

“This is not a good idea, so I’m leav-“ You tried to say again, but it was too late.

“Look what I found,” Soap said loudly. As you rounded the corner, you blinked at the dim light, the backlight providing enough for you to make out three silhouettes and… maybe a dog in the back? They all looked big, all broad as Soap, but Soap lacked what they had in height.

The same man that had interrupted you earlier stood the furthest, his imposing shadow drawing perturbing darkness over the bricked wall, swallowing whatever light the moon provided. You could make out his form through the darkness. He was unfazed, unmoving, unlike his counterparts.

His untiring glare pinned you in place again, imposing itself in front of the prowling dusk-like silhouette bleeding away at the corner of your eye.

“What have you done?” One of the other men questioned with despair, genuinely worried at your presence petrified beside Soap. With a hand movement, the motion-sensor light activated, bathing the strangers with a harsh truth, immediately providing you with the information you were lacking. Now you understood Darla’s fear, its sight leaving you breathless.

The man in the skull mask was accompanied by other two, all just as bulky and threatening. The man perturbed at your presence was dressed in casual black just as Soap, the other one dressed in a police uniform. The golden badge caught in the light as the man stood taller, preparing for action, as if to chase you when you imminently ran away.

But your gaze couldn’t really focus on anything else except the dead body laying between them, all men surrounding the corpse. A pool of blood gushed from the cook’s torn neck, a chunk of it missing. You didn’t really know him… had known him.

He had been rude and standoffish, much like the rest of the citizens of the little town, but you really hadn’t seen any action that prompted for death, and a bloody one at that. But again, not knowing much about anyone had led you to this moment, prying for the safety of a stranger.

And now someone was dead, and you might be next. They all stared at you, at your rising panic.

“I didn’t think you would kill him so quickly,” Soap said nonchalantly, and your heart pounded itself into your throat, crawling upwards through your ribcage, preventing you from screaming. He voiced it so casually, as if this was his norm. “And besides, she’s the one that ratted us out.”

You felt the burn of Soap’s gaze on your profile, his arm around your arm confining. Suffocating.

“Brave for someone so little.”

The one in the police uniform stepped forward slowly, stern look at odds with the amusement in his voice. He might have seemed the oldest with the light mutton chop-beard, or at least the leader, going by the respect in Soap’s expression. As he got nearer, you felt Soap stand straighter. If he was someone Soap respected, he was someone you were to fear. That much you knew.

Their accents were not much like your own.

Your eyes jumped frantically from the body to him, the Sheriff badge pinned to his uniform catching in the light again, giving away his job position. Even with the threat imminently approaching, you also watched around him. The other stranger and the skull mask staring back at you were not forgotten. Too many threats you had to watch out for, you thought as you searched for an exit, for a way to drive away the attention from you.

“Don’t touch me,” You furiously shook Soap’s arm, ducking away, the lack of warmth reminding you of how actually cold it was. Your hurried breaths came out in puffing mist, truly showing them how scared you were. The fingers tightly curled around your keys were wait, fully prepared to drive jam your only weapon into someone’s throat, even if it did nothing but distract. You were determined to die fighting.

As if knowing your intentions, your eyes returned to the man you had briefly met before at his amused huff, the black of his skull mask camouflaging with the darkness behind him. It was almost like you couldn’t help but stare back at death.

Despite being the one standing the farthest away, too still for him to seem preoccupied at your actions, you knew subconsciously he was the biggest threat of them all.

“Hm, pup has teeth,” the Sheriff mused as he frowned, annoyance in his face aimed at Soap.

“And the other one is a yapper,” the one with the skull camouflage retorted, comment aimed at Soap too, his voice again sounding like a grumble in your ears, as if was too low of a sound for you to register.

Instinctively you minutely winced, adrenaline making your pulse jump.

The Sherrif’s ever studying gaze caught the movement, frown turning menacing. “That seems like a problem.”

You waited for him to pounce, to cut your throat as they had done to the one that cooked the best burgers in town. Or at least, for him to command you to start digging your own grave.

Seconds went by and the breeze picked up momentarily. Only the lulling shush of the billowing leaves was heard. You shivered as it hit the back of your neck, flying some of your loose baby hairs to your cheeks.

You wanted to think you were delirious. No matter how subtle the rise of his shoulders, you could tell when he inhaled. As did the others, simultaneously.

The threatening nature of the leader flattened to a blank expression, but his eyes, unmoving from your features, were as intense as your ongoing rising panic. You understood immediate violence, already bracing for whatever they had planned from the moment you saw them. What you didn’t understand was the realization dawning on the other two at the back, nor the proud stance in Soap.

But the Sheriff raised his hands in a placating manner and took a few steps back, submissive, expression now beseeching you to not fear him. The shift in attitude had you gripping your keys between your knuckles harder, thinking it was another tactic to lower your inhibitions.

“Impossible,” the unmasked one at the back whispered, eyes wide in disbelief.

“She’s had a headache for days now,” Soap added the much unnecessary comment. You glared, realizing that he had been observing you too closely, Kate probably spying for him. She was the only one that knew about the headaches.

“Grumpier each time I come near,” Soap added, almost tenderly. At your glare, he grinned. “See?”

“What? Can you shut up?” You sneered, taking more steps back, them allowing it. Almost feeling violated at the fact that you never had any privacy, anger interlaced itself with your never-ending fear. Your shifting mood wouldn’t now stab Soap in fear, but in rage at his grating voice.

“Easy there.”

The one with the mask hummed at the bite in your tone. That rumbling sound again drove your gaze to his like a moth to flame. It was sorely a reminder of your precarious situation, a gravely dangerous one.

You have been here before, trapped with a man that wanted to hurt you, you thought. You thought you escaped from that, that Arcadea was your way out. But as Soap stood near, you realized it was lie, and you might never come back alive this time. Four men and one woman didn’t bode well for other reasons too; you weren’t a stranger to the sins against your flesh either.

“You should smell her,” Soap finally said, humming with pride, not understanding how unsettling it was for you to hear. The creepiness in the comment made you forget about your anger momentarily, your eyes catching the lifeless ones of the cook. Slowly, your gaze drifted upwards, until it landed on now luminescent eyes behind a mask, moonlight reflecting oddly. Even through it, you noticed the harsh frown aimed at you. It spelled danger, and that was enough for you to bolt.

“Soap!”

You pivoted and ran, but just as quickly, you stopped and skidded on pavement. The adrenaline didn’t allow you to feel the shock of you landing on your behind, your hands taking the brunt of the impact as you stared upwards wide-eyed.

There was nowhere to go, and there was no way you could run away from it.

A hulking figure bled from the shadows, rising at its hunches. Snarling teeth, each one the size of your forearm, salivated in a snarling smile. A wolf the size of a two-story house stood amidst the night, hiding the high full moon behind it, taking the sight of your exits with him.

A hand caught you by the back of the hoodie as you crawled back, pulling you up.

“Breathe, lass,” Soap instructed in what he thought was a comforting way, but his grasp along the sight of the nearing beast turned your stomach. “You’re ok.”

“No, Soap!”

Before he could heed his boss’s warnings, Soap’s hand grasped the back of your neck gently. It was the first time he made skin to skin contact, and what a mistake that was.

Electricity cursed through you painfully and you screeched. It started from the top of your neck then down to your lower back, blinding agony crawling like a shiver down your spine. You fell to your knees, bone clacking with the floor loudly.

“You NEVER touch a dormant, much less her!” The Sheriff ran to your aid, hands hovering yet not daring to touch your shivering form. Something was strangling you from the back, your fingers clawing your throat and the nape of your neck where Soap touched you as you gasped for air.

The daring Sherriff finally grasped your wrists over your sweater, avoiding skin, preventing you from hurting yourself.

“Breathe through it, love,” he encouraged, hiding away the panic in his voice.

Soap jumped away from you at your scream, looking at his hand blamed for assaulting you.

“What do we do?” The one that mentioned the odd impossibility of your existence also stood near, worried gaze aimed at your hunching form. “We’ve never met an Omega before.”

Perspiration seeped through your clothing, shivers racking all over your body. You now laid down completely, hugging your bruised knees to your chest in fetal position.

A sudden current of unexplained emotions surged through the odd sensations of your body. Almost like not knowing how to pick, your emotions jumped from blinding rage, and oh so suddenly, back to despair then again to happiness. Sobs of overwhelming consciousness were pulled from you against your will. Your hands were freed, allowing you to clutch your head.

“Make it stop,” you begged repetitively through your crying, migraine increasing by the second.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Soap repeated again and again, apologies increasing at your wails.

You covered your ears at his voice, clenching your eyes shut.

“Hush” the gruff man sporting the mask said from the back. “No Beta should speak now.”

They made way as he neared, steps carefully calculated.

Unlike Soap’s voice, the lower rumbling coming from the looming shadow didn’t feel like screeching. His voice almost lulled you from the up and coming anguish caving away in your chest.

“What’s happening to me?” You managed to choke out, your voice feeling like nails trying to crawl up your trachea.

“It will pass soon,” he said, dark eyes intensely focusing on your own. He didn’t kneel beside the others, standing away, hiding your sight from the pacing beast behind his back, almost sensing how uncomfortable it made you. Even through the neutral tone and mask, you noticed how agitated he was at your state. The why and the how of the reason you knew that was lost on you.

“Stop that, you’re making her nervous,” the Sheriff spoke at the beast’s growl, but with a huff, it followed instructions and laid down slowly, as if not to disturb you.

After one last upsurge of overwhelming emotions, it slowly lulled down to a passive wave that you had to fight through. It was almost as if it had drained you, physically and emotionally. You could only stare in a haze at the military boots kneeling beside you.

Minutes followed in silence, allowing you reprieve from your heightened senses as your tears didn’t cease.

“How are you feeling, pup?” The Sherriff asked lowly, scared of disturbing you from your sudden peace. You tried to breathe out an answer, but nothing came out. You laid down there, limp, and exhausted, and yet it was not enough to stave away the need for comfort.

This wasn’t you, but you couldn’t fight the honing focus of your sight. And through your breathing, a scent snapped you up into action, like a string pulling you forward. The men hovering over you leaned back as you raised your head slowly but desperately. It was a need for… you weren’t sure for what.

Without aiming to, your self-preservation was lost amidst the confusion, making you forget all these months where you forced yourself into isolation, away from people and their touch.

You looked around, as if searching for something. The men stared at you bewildered as it called to you, sounding like a faraway howl deafening your usual self. It moved you against your will, it’s rebounding echo merging into a chorus of ravenous animals demanding your presence. The image of snarling teeth right behind your neck snapped into your mind.

Without control of your movements, you clumsily rose to your hands and knees, palms scraping the pavement as you crawled forward. The men shielding you made way, confused at your desperate state. Your gaze roved around, until landing exactly on what you were instinctually searching for, on whom you were called to.

He wasn’t far away, standing close to the comrades kneeling beside you. As you neared slowly, you saw the eyes behind the mask minutely widen.

“Ghost?” the Sheriff asked slowly, given his frozen state at your crumbling form reaching for his ankles. It was almost as if you couldn’t wait to get to him, your hands not knowing if to push you forward or reach for him.

You finally got to the stoic man, grasping his pants by his ankles, pleading at his towering indifference. You pulled and pulled, and a whine was pulled from you when he didn’t move.

Finally, you dared to look up, eyes clashing with amber irises in an intensity that matched the onslaught of sensations you were forced to breathe through earlier. It wasn’t animosity that found you, but shock and confusion, and maybe awe. From your view from the floor, it was almost humbling that a man that size was just as confused as you.

Your eyes watered at the sight of his unmoving form, reaching closer and upwards with the intention to climb him.

“Simon.” Someone sternly called his name, snapping him from whatever had made him freeze in panic like a novice. He slowly but surely kneeled, your hands refusing to let go of his clothes. Just as desperately, when he reached your height, your arms tried to close around him, pressing your body to him in a tight hug, but his torso was too big for you to touch your fingertips at his back.

The cold of the pavement, along with the smell of blood, had left you shivering. Almost too cold to be natural, until a big, tattooed hand gently, tentatively, placed itself at the nape of your neck.

Your lashes fluttered at the warm sensation, shoulders sagging in releaf, allowing you to breathe normally.

The others looked up, surprised at the kind gesture given by their most ruthless killer, or so you assumed going by the blood you had seen stuck at the soles of his boots.

Without waiting for instructions, that hand traveled slowly down your arm then to your side as if not to spook you. Just as carefully, an arm locked itself behind your knees, bringing you to his chest. The screeching need of him to hold you lulled, allowing exhaustion to melt you against him.

“Ghost?” Soap whispered, looking over you with trepidation at the consequences of him using his voice. “What are you doing?”

Your head felt heavy, forehead resting in the space beneath his jaw and his neck. Even through the baclava you could smell him, musk and something akin to sandalwood easing you to rest. The warmth surrounding you might have emanated from the hard chest you were pressed against or the trunk for arms now holding you to him, you weren’t sure what made you feel suddenly so secure. The only thing you were sure about right now was how tired you felt.

The masked man that had terrified you in the beginning dignified Soap’s question with merely a grunt for an answer, his quiet steps lulling you to a deep sleep.

From far away, the howling now didn’t sound so menacing, nor so loud, easing into your subconsciousness as if it were completely natural, for his warmth had quieted whatever unexplained horrors had taken over you.

A/N: Hoped you likes it! I'm open to suggestions on what should happen next 𓏗𓏗

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