#Presence or polaroid ghosts

[celluloidwickerman]

Presence; or Polaroid Ghosts (Part 1)

‘There is a spectre inside every photograph.’ – Deborah Levy, The Man Who Saw Everything There comes a point when trying to get a book off the ground (i.e. published) where you have to accept defeat. As will no doubt become an increasingly familiar scenario, judging from my recent experiences with British publishing at least, the projects that fail to find a home on paper will eventually be…

[nsharks]

merry christmas, lieutenant | simon “ghost” riley

words: 2k

plot: soap runs into his lieutenant off-duty and meets the girl he’s been keeping secret (you).

tags: pregnant reader, fluff, domestic simon, fem!reader

a/n: I was really inspired by the holiday season and this fic by @wttcsms.

part 2 & 3

Soap has seen you before.

Not in the flesh, but in a photograph. A small little Polaroid that he noticed his lieutenant thumbing in his pocket when they went out to a bar in Prague once with the team.

"Got something worth sharing there, Ghost?" Soap had asked him, mouth humming over the pint he was indulging in.

Ghost had just gave him a lidded look, as if to say "drop it". But later that evening, when Ghost stepped out for a smoke, pulling the little photograph out to look at when no one was around, Soap managed to catch a glimpse. He didn't realize Ghost was outside by himself, thinking he'd run off to the bathroom, so Soap was surprised to see the lieutenant when he'd stepped out for a smoke himself.

Not announcing his presence, Soap saw the little picture of you for just a few seconds. Enough to notice that it was a woman. A pretty woman, at that.

After that, Soap made a few attempts at getting Ghost to tell him about the girl in the Polaroid.

"Taking a little vacation when I get back," Soap had told him once, weeks after the bar in Prague. "Hope I meet a cute bird. What about you, Lt? Got a bird waiting for you back home?"

"Not your business, Sergeant."

It didn't take long for Soap to give up on trying to learn anymore about you. His lieutenant was as secretive as he was admirable out in the field. Soap decided that secrets were secret for a reason; most of the team was quiet about their personal lives, only dropping vague bits and pieces. It made sense that someone like Ghost wouldn't drop any pieces at all.

By the time Soap happens to see you, in the flesh, he's almost forgotten about that little Polaroid of you.

They're on a two month break. It was around Christmas time, the time of year when Soap tried to see as many old faces as possible, so he'd been driving down south to visit some friends before he got holed at home with the family for the holidays.

He knew his skull-faced teammate was from Manchester, which was readily available information given the man's thick accent. But he didn't even consider that he might run into the lieutenant there.

Soap stops by a holiday market on his way to see an old roomie. Hot wine, trinkets, warm food. He's not usually impressed by the Brits, but this market is something out of a movie, he thinks.

He's got a warm cup of Grenache in his gloved hands when he sees a set of familiar broad shoulders, tucked inside a black winter jacket and attached to the familiar skull-covered face. There's no way. No fucking way, he thinks to himself, narrowing his eyes to squint across the crowd of people. But it was most definitely his lieutenant; Soap knew it from the way he walked like a tank, sticking out like a sore thumb among all the civvies.

Soap is smirking the whole time he makes his way over.

He's expecting a look of surprise on Ghost's face. He's expecting the lieutenant to scowl at him before pulling him in for an awkward, half-hug. He's expecting a small chat before they part ways again.

What Soap isn't expecting is to see a young bird next to him.

You're walking next to Ghost, just barely touching his side, and a glowing smile is on your face. You've got on a knitted dress that reaches your ankles and a warm coat, but the layers do nothing to hide the visible baby bump.

Ghost is carrying various shopping bags, assumably all belonging to you, and he keeps looking down at you as if worried you're going to get lost in the crowd or run off to another stall without informing him.

The sight of it causes Soap to stop.

Instead of surprising the lieutenant like he'd planned to, he suddenly feels like he is intruding on a private moment. He's got a girlfriend? Of course he bloody does, Soap thinks, remembering the photograph from all those months ago.

He is ready to backtrack and pretend he never spotted Ghost at a holiday market of all places, when the lieutenant is suddenly looking right at him. Eyes widen at first, but then they narrow considerably. The brief moment that Ghost looks away from you is enough to make you follow his gaze, landing right on Soap about five meters away.

Ghost tries to keep walking, eager to pretend he never saw the Sergeant. But you're already putting two and two together. Soap can see the mental math you are doing, looking between him, then looking at the hulking man beside you.

Your eyes flicker with excitement.

You start waving at Soap.

Christ, I'm sorry, Lt.

He's got no choice but to walk up to the two of you now that he's been spotted.

"Hi!" you chirp, tucking your arm through Simon's so he can't start walking away. He groans to himself- this couldn't be happening. "Gosh, you must be Simon's teammate?"

"Yes, ma'am," Soap gives a nod. The three of you are standing amid the people. Soap's got a better look at you now and he realizes you're not just a girlfriend. The slim band on your finger, the prominent bump under your dress- the lieutenant's got a wife.

"I've never met any of Simon's friends before," you exhale excitedly, and the use of the word friends makes Ghost want to gag. "Simon," you whisper and give his arm a small squeeze. "Why don't you introduce us?"

Soap pities the lieutenant in this moment, but he can't say he doesn't enjoy the way Ghost instantly obeys your request.

"Johnny," he gives Soap a stiff nod. "This is Y/N. Y/N, this is Johnny."

You start chatting with Soap, asking him about what he's doing there and how he's enjoying the wine. Small talk. But all the while, Soap is trying to wrap his head around the bizarrely mundane sight of it all. The fact that Ghost is spending his free time walking around a holiday market, carrying the shopping bags of his pregnant wife. His beautiful wife, at that. Soap never imagined he'd witness something like it.

"Well, I don't want to keep you two," Soap says, but mostly he is referring to Ghost, who has said maybe two words. "Better get going."

"You're not keeping us," you shake your head. "It was so nice to meet you, Johnny. Are you... are you busy this evening?"

Ghost immediately knows what you're thinking. He also knows that once you get an idea in your head, and you get excited about it, it's extremely hard to say no to.

"Well, I-"

"We'd love to have you for dinner," you beam at him, leaning into your husband's side. "Right, Simon? We rarely have guests over."

"Is that such a bad thing?" Ghost clicks his tongue and grumbles under his breath.

The pointed look you give him almost makes Soap laugh out loud.

____

And that was how Ghost ended up agreeing to have his teammate over for dinner. Even more bizarre than the initial encounter is the home you two share, Soap figures. When he arrives later that evening, he brings in a bottle of bourbon and a small wrapped gift. He steps into the warm house, immediately met with an interior that is cozy above all else; dim lights and flickering candles, a small tree already up in the living room, a couch covered in Christmas-themed blankets.

And Soap is surprised to find that his lieutenant is the one in the kitchen, while you're the one greeting him.

"Simon will like this," you say, taking the bourbon.

"And this is for you," Soap rubs his neck, handing you the gift. "Well, both of ya, I suppose."

You don't open the gift until after dinner. Soap learns that Ghost did most of the cooking since it's been hard for you to be on your feet for too long lately. He learns that you're due in 8 weeks, and Ghost has already put the nursery together. (He nearly smashed the crib when he couldn't figure it out for two hours, apparently). You almost offer to show Soap, but decide against it, knowing that your husband was already out of his comfort zone as it was. Some things were best kept just for you two.

And Soap tells you about all the fun times they've had together. The near-death experiences, the times that Ghost almost killed them both whenever he was behind the wheel, all the different cities they've been to.

Simon only speaks up to add comments like, "That's not how I remember it" or "You're a worse driver than me".

Soap notices the lieutenant gradually start to relax, soften up a bit. What he doesn't notice is that it's mostly due to your hand on top of his thigh under the table, rubbing gentle circles.

You open the small present once everyone is done eating.

"It's really not much," Soap says, "Just somethin' I managed to pick up on the way over."

But the contents of the box pull at each string of your heart. You tear off the bow and open it to reveal a small, knitted romper, the color of cream. It's soft to the touch and it invites a moisture to your eyes (because everything made you cry these days).

"Johnny, thank you," you tell him earnestly. You'd only met the man a few hours ago, but already you were fond of him. Trusted him with your husband's life, even.

"Didn't know what the sex is," he explains sheepishly, catching a glimpse of the lieutenant's unreadable gaze. "Thought this would work for either one."

You look at Simon. You wish he'd say thank you, but instead he clears his throat. "Gonna clean up the kitchen," Ghost says gruffly, and stands from the table.

When he's gone, you offer Soap an apologetic smile. "He has a hard time accepting gifts," you explain on your partner's behalf, rubbing the swell of your belly.

"I figured," Soap shrugs. "If I'm honest, I can't believe he's got a family like this... like you. Bit surprising."

"It took him awhile," you hum thoughtfully, recalling the years of patience that your relationship demanded of you. "It took him two years to tell me he loves me. Another three to propose."

"Sounds about right for Ghost."

You nod in agreement and sigh. "I'm grateful he has someone like you. I know he's got a funny way of showing it, but Simon is secretly grateful, too."

_____

Ghost is the one to see Soap to the door. You wave your goodbyes, eyes starting to get heavy. Your husband quietly urges you to "slip into something more comfortable, pet", and you were happy to abide. Soap has noticed how gentle the brooding man is with you. Small touches to your waist, little kisses to your hair, grazing his hand over your belly. It’s a remarkable contrast to the demeanor Soap, and everyone else, knows him for.

As you're changing into your pajamas, Ghost is standing in the middle of the front doorframe, arms crossed.

"Nice place you got here, Ghost," Soap tells him with a cheeky grin. "Reckon I should stop by more often?"

His lieutenant doesn't seem to share his enthusiasm, instead grumbling in annoyance, “Fuckin’ hell. Don’t push your luck, Johnny.”

There is a warning in Ghost’s eyes that Soap knows him well enough to read, loud and clear: don’t tell anyone about what you saw today.

Soap simply lays a hand on his tense shoulder. “Merry Christmas to you, too, Lt.”

[bits-and-babs]

𝐈 𝐁𝐄𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐌𝐄

pairing: simon 'ghost' riley x f!reader ('boa')

summary: you give ghost a parting gift before a mission

warnings: [ 1k words ] secret relationship, dirty polaroids, (m) masturbation, mentions of (f) masturbation, nipple play and voyeurism, ghost fantasising about deep-throating with reader.

notes: much love to @ghostaholics for all the love and support you give me.

Ghost’s fingers twitched with trepidation as he tapped the leather of his wallet against his palm. Gunpowder coats the grooves in his hand, clinging to his lifeline as a reminder of the lives he’d smothered that evening. The deathly silence that throttled the base at Al Mazrah each evening was a breeding ground for the guilty conscience– but Ghost had forsaken his ethics a long time ago.

Delicately peeling open the pocket of his wallet, Ghost peered inside at the little white envelope you had handed him before deployment. It sat firmly amongst his military-issued counterfeit documentation, grains of sand clinging to the back gum. The paper was crushed in the corners, creases wrinkled the face of the cover where his name lay inked in your handwriting.

Ghost recalled the way you’d handed it over to him, choosing to hang fire on your gift-giving until he was about to leave– the most inopportune moment. He’d had one foot on the plane, its propellors roaring as it awaited its final boarder.

“You better not look at it unless you need to, Riley.” You’d arched a brow accusatorily, like you knew he’d wanted to shred it open the moment you had handed over the flat parcel. Peering curiously at it, Ghost had aimed a pointed expression of intrigue at your smirk.

“What’s in it?” He’d shouted over the roar of the plane’s engine, turning it over to assess the swirls of your writing in blue ink. Blue. Of course you’d choose blue just to annoy him.

“Well, it’s obviously not a bomb, Riley. It’s a gift,” you’d smiled, a spark of something playful swirling in your pupils as he gazed at you, his mild irritation evident despite what little access you had to his expression.

“I’nt much of a gift if I can’t open it when I want to!” He’d attempted to reason with you, but you were already stepping away from him, “How will I know when I’m meant to open it?!”

Pointing to your ears dramatically and pretending that you couldn’t hear him over the propellor blades, you’d grinned from ear to ear as you shouted at the top of your lungs. “Good hunting, Lieutenant!”

He hadn’t liked it, but he’d followed your orders for fear of whatever nuclear-grade repercussions you had up your sleeve if he didn’t.

Though, the nights were growing longer and hotter. Week three of this mission and, irritatingly, Ghost was beginning to miss you. Not miss you, not really. It was more that he’d grown accustomed to your presence constantly irritating his eardrums… The quiet had begun to grate on him.

Thumbing open the envelope, Ghost glanced inside. A single polaroid lay within, the image side facing away from him. Plucking out the picture, Ghost notes the, again, blue ink scrawled on the back. ‘Boa xxx’. Your callsign.

He huffs, turning over the image and glancing at the print.

Surprise lifts his eyebrows, caught off-guard by the lewd picture you’d gifted him. You’re naked, fingers plunged deep inside your cunt that glistens beneath the light of the camera’s flash. So distracted by the curve of your breast, he very nearly failed to note that you’re settled back on his office desk, his nameplate situated right beside your head. ‘Lt. Riley’ hovered over your shoulder as though it labelled you as his.

Damn right, you were his.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell. Filthy fuckin’ girl,” Ghost groaned to himself, immediately palming himself through his uniform trousers. He’d already grown half hard, the thought of you settled across his desk while knuckle deep in your cunt sparking something disgustingly wanton in him. Anybody could have walked in on you– and it excited him as much as it apparently aroused you.

Shit, the more he looked at it, the better it got. Your nipples were pert and slick where you’d clearly moved your fingers from your wet cunt to your breasts, smearing your cum across the sensitive skin. Dwindling, plum-purple bruises littered your collarbone, remnants of the last time Ghost had dragged you into his dorm to fuck you.

“Gonna fuckin’ ruin you,” he rumbled, unzipping his trousers and working his cock from his boxers. Already he was leaking, pearls of precum beading at his slit. It’d been weeks since Ghost had seen your body, longer since he’d had it. “Jus’ wait ‘til I get back.”

A shuddering gasp wracked his chest as Simon swept the pad of his thumb over his cockhead, smearing his precum across the velvety tip just as you always did. He loved it, your last act of tease and denial before finally taking him into your hot, wet mouth.

Fisting his cock slowly, Simon relished in the way he throbbed against his palm and how his abdomen clenched. His eyelids, smudged with midnight-black grease paint, fluttered closed as he imagined your throat taking him deep, the swirl of your tongue against the mushroom-head shape.

“Hah-shit–“ Ghost choked, his hips stuttering upwards to chase his palm each time it withdrew. He wouldn’t last long, his balls already drawing up tight as he squeezed the head of his dick in his fist. He could imagine it; your head hanging off the edge of his desk, crumpling his paperwork beneath your body weight as you took him down your throat. He’d make your body jolt across the surface of the table with each heavy thrust, his palm stretched across your throat to feel the bulge of his cock in your throat.

“Fu-ugh- fuck–“ Ghost hissed, barely managing to yank the hem of his t-shirt over his stomach before he spurted thick ropes of cum across his knuckles and over his rippling abdomen. Your polaroid pinched between his fingers, Ghost blinked the post-orgasm bleariness from his eyes to take a final look at it.

Your thighs spread wide for him, your thumb pushed up against your pretty, swollen clit; Ghost’s eyes had been drawn to the image instinctively. It was only now, his cock softening in his hand, that Ghost spotted the tiny note in the margin of the polaroid. It was scrawled in your writing, barely legible, with the letters all packed into a minute space.

“I knew you thought about me on missions xxx”

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[pricescancerstickk]

Platonic! Simon Ghost Riley x Young! Child reader

(Took a tiny break, this idea is a bit tw) *edited*

**[TW AND WARNINGS : MENTIONS OF CHILD SEXUAL ASSAULT, ABUSE, PHYSICAL AND VERBAL ABUSE, READER IS 7 YEARS OLD]

Your parents were never available or present ever since you were as young as a baby, it was very cruel and unfair and you were forced to grow up too fast for someone your size, Screaming yelling, bottles breaking and things falling over piercing and deafening your ears, the shouts from your father when you didn’t bring beer fast enough. The sound of the slap and your moms hand connecting to your little cheek after you didn’t clean the dishes. It was a dark world and you knew it all. It didn’t matter where you went Via school or home there was never a safe place for you except for Your Neighbors Home. Simon knew your parents as the three were childhood friends. Seperating in high school, Your dad was simons best friend. Your father was a hunter when he was in his youth and it was why he had a shotgun on display in his home, Simon was a lieutenant. Serving in military. A remarkable soldier of the SAS. Why was simons home a possible safe home? Sure he had only seen you once when you were 3 years old. A delicate cute baby. He missed rubbing your chubby red cheeks, he missed you secretly. Still having those pictures of you and him. Simon holding you in his arms, a Polaroid picture.

But when going back to the thought of school and your parents was unfair. They never bought you toys, never provided any comfort whatsoever and doing as much as looking or acknowledging you in their presence. Looking at you like a bystander examining a bug. The way they beat you after you made one little mistake…Awful. Your other relatives weren’t any better. You tried telling any staff or calling the police on how you got harassed and groped even by your older relatives. Nobody believe a word from you? Why? They just assumed you were spoiled or lying to get something that you wanted..You really weren’t, but alas. They couldn’t see that. Despite your little body all battered and bruised, coming into school in a weak state and all bandaged. Nobody batted one singular eye!

Eyes fluttering open as the alarm clock rang. Waking you out of your dazed and sleepy state, you rubbed your eyes and slipped your feet into the slippers. Walking to the bathroom, Grumbling softly. “I don’t wanna go to school today…” your hand rested atop the sink. Turning on the water. Washing your face, spreading toothpaste onto the tooth brush before brushing your teeth. Tilting your head making sure to clean thoroughly. Spitting out afterwards and washing up. You changed into your clothes and brushed your hair. Taking the pink flowery school bag with you. It was cheap. Small. But enough for you and it fit your school books and all that was necessary and important for you to bring to school. You tried to ignore your parents arguing, as always. Both drunk and hung over. Sparing you a glare as you walked to the school.

(A little of the pictures I found to describe what it’s like for little reader to be playing alone)

You opened up your locker and set some of your stuff inside. Taking a book but a foot connected to your back and you fell to the floor wincing. But catching a flash of your reflection on the metal handle of the lockers. Red puffy eyes, you’d been crying the entire night, forced to suck it up and bear with it while you can. You couldn’t understand why life was so cruel. You were only in the first grade. You heard laughing. But didn’t realize it’d been going on for a while as you zoned out. They chanted cry baby as witnessing the sight of those round eyes filling up the brim like a river with all those big round clear, Tears. “It’s not funny! Stop it!” They kept kicking you over and over as you cried. They couldn’t get anymore childish than hanging that ‘kick me’ sign onto your back. Snagging it off and grunting. Crying softly wanting the day to end already but hearing the bell ring after so many hours your eyes widened in relief. You left the class as fast as you could. Snatching the bag onto your back and rushing outside. Shaking in fear knowing coming back home wouldn’t be good either..What could you really do though? You couldn’t run away. You didn’t know where to go.

“Sweetheart?’ A voice called out shaking you and snapping you back to reality, turning around and seeing it was Simon. What was he doing here? “Daddy will be mad at me I-if he saw you with me si” you gently spoke up, voice shaky. Eyes about to tear up, His blue eyes filled with concern. His hair blonde and short. He gently took a knee. Kneeling infront of you and taking that flowery bag of your back and hoisting it over his shoulder. Taking you into his arm. Careful not to trigger anything, “How do you carry that bag darling? It’s a bit heavy ain’t it” Gently he murmured as you clung onto him like your entire life depend solely on Simon. “Can we go to your home?..” whispering caught him off guard but he recently found out what had been happening at home, he loved you too much to let it happen longer. He nodded along and his long legs moved around the floor. Walking you to his home. Hand in hand, seeing your outfit. It was childlike and innocent, matching your personality exactly, Blue hoodie with those pink like suspender pants it seemed, (idk how to describe but it’s gonna be similar to the picture idk???)

Setting you down gently on his couch as he sat beside you and wrapped you in a warm blanket easing all of your worries. Slowly wrapping you in a blanket burrito before putting you on his lap. Watching your eyes look into his pale-like ones, They softened further he looked at you. Long finger tracing your cheek, touching the scar on it with a gentle touch like a baby’s caress. A light graze “they’re monsters. You’re never going back to them, your staying with me. Sweetie” he reassured as you couldn’t hold back tears anymore and your tears stained his shirt. Hands clutching on the dark shirt. Eyes wide and sad. “T-thank you” crying sweetly and heart easing as his hand went to the back of your small head. Pushing it into his broad chest and stroking your hair back. Pushing the bangs away from your eyes. The height difference was massive. You couldn’t grow up fast. Never eating well and being starved and at the age of 7 you were really short, about 4 foot something. But Simon was one of those blokes. His British accent gruff. Phlegmy like but soft and stern. He was on the phone as he ordered the pizza later after letting you decide what you wanted to eat. He took it and set the box on the table. Offering a slice to you, you took it and gently stuffed it to your mouth. His finger wiping off the cheese that sprinkled onto your face. A light giggle emitting from you. “It tickles..” you murmured softly and ate. As you watched the cartoons on tv in pure bliss it wouldn’t be long before those shitty parents came to haunt you

Ring

Simon placed down the slice of pizza. Standing up and pulling his phone out his pocket. Seeing it was your dad calling and his heart sank tiny his stomach as he answered it he argued with your father on the phone violently. There was no way in hell Simon was giving you to those so-called ‘parents’. He hung up and sat next to you again, seeing you already finished eating surprised him. You were sitting there a second ago. You must’ve been really hungry. He panicked, as he didn’t see you? “Y/N sweetheart? Where did you go?” His voice raised lightly, startling you,

“I’m over here si!” You answered back softly. But he found you on the floor next to the table with the colorful plates and toy kitchen. Sitting on the floor. Eyes looking into his, and that he forgot to mention he bought you toys before you came here. He had thought this through and planned thsi without knowing. He kneeled next to you on the floor “Don’t scare me like that again Y/N” he ruffled your hair a bit, Simon’s blue eyes were sincere. His face was chiseled and you always called the jawline ‘lines on his face’ because you didn’t know the word ‘chiseled’, you yawned soflty after a while of playing, tired. He was on his phone checking the time, he looked up and saw you laying on your side. Asleep, throughout the day after he picked you up from school. “Will mommy be mad at me?” Those words echoed in his head. Reading him of mid day when he gave you a little bubble bath to wash the wounds and dirt off your body. You were really skinny and he took note to feed you more than you need to at times. In a good, healthy way. He hated how you shied away from his touch, how your eyes filled with fear if he almost walked to you too fast. He didn’t want to hurt you in any way. He’d feel like a monster. The way you flinched or shied away broke his heart and shattered it like no other. Despite his entire family dead and haunting Simon, he could cope with you. He had a terrible past aswell. And you were a ball of sunshine in his life. The ray of light and the little angel that saved him after his heart was too dark to let anyone in to love. He shed tears for you. A sign how much he cared for you. Your tiny peck on his cheek and your hands wiping away the tears and your compliments to him were sweet gestures showed how you were comfortable and safe with him melted his heart like no other. He was a giant teddy bear to you,

Not a while after you fell asleep in his arms. His chin resting atop your head and listening to the soft snores and head buried in his chest. Wrapped in the blanket. On his lap. Resting like a baby, finding the empty pizza box you both ate together laying on the floor. The tv playing cartoons you were watching earlier. He carried you to his bed. Laying you next to him, snuggling you and planting a kiss on your head before shutting his eyes. Falling asleep with you, making sure you were safe before he slept next to you, both nuzzled up.

[writtenontheport]

Lockwood falling in love with the type three ghost of a girl.

That's it.

That's the ask.

The Haunted Boy and His Ghostly Girlfriend

Prologue

(pt. 1) (pt. 2)

Anthony Lockwood x fem reader

Warnings/Tags: Reader is in this for like 2 paragraphs, Romcom 😭, Ik you gave me angst but everything I touch turns romcom I’m so sorry, George gets mad at Lockwood for a bit, Old people clients, mentions of death, Reader is literally a fucking ghost 😭, please tell me if there’s anything I forgot to tag

Notes: I absolutely adored this request omfg. When I saw it, I just KNEW I had to write it omg. This is— this needs to be multipart I’m so sorry. I can’t get it out of my head that he’ll have a little ghostly girlfriend PLEASE ITS SO CUTE IN MY HEAD. Also; very badly edited!! I was exhausted when I first posted this and am still currently combing through it for errors.

Summary: It starts, as all things do here: with a meetcute, the undead, and maybe a bit of tomfoolery. It goes, as it almost never does, with meeting the undead love of his life. What a big day for Anthony Lockwood.

Word Count: 1.5k+

Lockwood is staring into the eyes of the most breathtaking girl he has ever seen, and she isn’t even alive anymore. The girl looks as she probably did when she was alive; a beautiful face with only the most kissable lips he has ever seen in his life, not that he ever could kiss her. He should be calling for Lucy and George— yelling for them to tell them he’s found their ghost, but instead…

“Hi,” He says, clearing his throat, “I’m Anthony. Anthony Lockwood of Lockwood and co. You’re a ghost.”

He winces when your frown deepens, and feels bad immediately for blurting that out. Before he can apologize, he sees you mouthing something and realizes quite late that he does in fact need Lucy and George here to be able to talk to you.

“I can’t really hear you, sorry. I have… my friend can though. Just a second—“

Before we can go forward, we have to go back a little to just before this began. So let’s start with a fact: even with Skull being able to talk with Lucy, Lockwood still had his reservations on type threes. Type ones and type twos were the predictable result of certain situations— murders, death by illness, accidents, and all the “good” things that made the visitors more likely to visit. Type threes? It took the literal manifestation of the actual thing for him to even accept they existed. Suffice to say, Lockwood didn’t think he could ever fully warm up to the idea of a ghost he couldn’t understand.

Then one day, a case comes to him with a rather peculiar situation. The living don’t often find themselves attached to the undead, especially ones with no relation to them. The Thistlebrows prove to be an exception. The case? Their family ghost is lonely now that their granddaughter’s been sent away.

Lucy and George have stepped out for supplies when the old Thistlebrow couple stops by, so he takes them to the sitting room and prepares them tea. From the first word that comes out of them, Lockwood thinks he’s having some sort of hallucinogenic episode.

That’s more of an exaggeration actually as it seemed reasonably normal at first; strong presence, solid apparition visible enough that even in their old age they could see wisps of it lurking. Nothing more than a stubborn spectre, he was sure. Then—

“It’s an old house,” Mrs. Thistlebrow croons, sipping her cup of tea. “We’ve only lived in it for a few years, and we doubt we’ll be able to keep her company for much longer.”

“I’m sorry?” Lockwood asks, genuinely confused. He was sure he must have misheard them, before Mr. Thistlebrow spoke.

“We don’t know where she is, really, nor have we ever fully seen her… but our granddaughter is taken with her. We thought at first she just had an imaginary friend, but then…” He pulls out a polaroid.

There was nothing in the photo worth noting— a pair of shoes on the windowsill of an open window. The flash of the camera didn’t illuminate past the frame, but that was expected for a photo taken so late. He keeps a patient smile on his face, but he nods slowly with his brow furrowed in worry.

“The window was locked when we left the room. It’s too tall for our granddaughter to reach, and nothing was moved before or after this picture was taken— at least not by the living. Our granddaughter had asked her to open it to prove to us she was real, and the ghost left her shoes on the windowsill to hammer it in.” He leaves the photo in front of Lockwood, pulling back into the seat.

Lockwood’s brow scrunches in confusion as the gears turn in his head. Many type twos form apparitions, but poltergeists do not. Incidentally, only poltergeists can interact with heavy objects and the window certainly wouldn’t have been light. It looked to be a thick pane of glass with a metal on wood frame, pushed open farther than a stray breeze could push it.

“How old is your granddaughter?” He asks, his own voice distant to him. The photo makes something in him itch to solve the case.

“Just turned 7,” Mrs. Thistlebrow says with a click of her tongue, bringing a hand up to her wrinkly cheek. “Her parents sent off abroad when they realised she had Talent; didn’t want her having anything to do with the Problem. Heart broken, she was. The ghost was her first best friend.”

The Thistlebrows look genuinely devastated at that, and Lockwood bites back an incredulous frown. Oh the story he has for Lucy and George when they come back, absolutely mental it all is.

“We know this might be a lot to ask, but we’ll pay you as much as you need to keep the ghost company. Our granddaughter was so devastated knowing the poor girl would be lonely without her, and we certainly couldn’t talk to her no matter how much we tried.” Mr. Thistlebrow picks an envelope from his suit pocket, and slides it across the table to Lockwood. It’s a thick thing with obviously quite a bit of cash, and a cheque is peeking out from where the lip has opened.

Now, he could absolutely refuse the case. The agency was stable and the cases they have lined up were far less troublesome than finding and keeping another possible type-three ghost; George would even call him stupid for not refusing it right away, but…

“We’ll do it. You both have nothing to worry about,” He says instead, reassuring as he can be as he pulls on the lapels of his jacket. Mr. and Mrs. Thistlebrow’s faces split into smiles, and Lockwood can’t find it in him to regret his decision.

“—And you took the case?” George says, all but yelling as he leans over the table to stare wide-eyed at Lockwood. Lucy’s frozen in her seat, her pen still on the thinking cloth.

“I authenticated the money, and they offered to meet us at the house as soon as we can if there were any more issues with compensation.” He takes a spoonful of supper, and hums in delight. “You’ve really outdone yourself today, George.”

“That’s not the problem, Lockwood,” George hisses, always so dour. He doesn’t settle down into his seat, even going so far as to cross his arms in disapproval. Still, he mumbles out a quiet ‘thank you’.

“Did they say anything else?” Lucy finally speaks up, her eyes still on the thinking cloth. It’s good she’s at least started doodling again, so Lockwood manages to look back up at both of them (which is very hard when George is glaring at him so severely).

“Their granddaughter’s name is Pepper, thought it might help us if we pretended to be her friends at least. It…” He pauses, tapping his spoon against his supper as he thinks of the right way to say it, “As far as they know, it isn’t aggressive and seems cooperative. They even— actually, wait.”

He pulls out the polaroid from his inner pocket, looking it over (even though he knows nothing would have changed) before sliding it to the center of the table. Lucy and George both lean in to have a look, coming back to stare at him in confusion.

“It was able to unlock and push the window open, then left the girl’s shoes on the windowsill to further prove it existed. Not only that, but both the Thistlebrows have said it is a rather heavy window too high up for their granddaughter to reach.” He takes another bite of his dinner, watching their expressions morph.

“But they said it had an apparition?” George asks first, seeming on the edge of worried and heavily intrigued. “Spectres can’t interact with heavy objects, but poltergeists can’t have apparitions. This ghost can’t exist unless it really was…”

Lucy is deep in deliberation as her eyes flit to somewhere out of the kitchen; the skull, Lockwood realizes quickly. “If this is a type three… and it was cooperative…”

A pregnant pause fills the room, only the ticking of a faraway clock echoing about the walls. George settles into his seat with a sigh, finally picking up his utensils. Lucy, rests her hands in her lap. They all look up and at each other, waiting for a beat, before falling into a quiet supper. They were definitely going to have to see this through now.

So here Lockwood finds himself in front of the house that starts and ends it all; that houses what might just be the strangest thing to happen in his haunted life. He meets you in a flurry of strange things— through a polaroid of an open window, a ghost goose case, and then meeting the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen— before he finds himself asking:

“Would you like to come home with us?”

You nod quickly in surprise, your eyes shining in mirth and other-light. He doesn’t even need Lucy to translate that as anything but a firm ‘yes’.

A/N: Everything I touch… turns to romcoms… I am like King Midas of romcoms PLEASE.

Also! Starting a silly taglist, just somehow reach out if you’d like to be added!!

Taglist 🏷️

@tangledinlove

[aylasology]

𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠'𝐬 𝐀𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐓𝐨 𝐌𝐞

You broke up with Robin and the world can't stop reminding her of you.

TW : angst.

It’s October again, a year since you pushed yourself out of her arms.

It’s cruel, Robin thinks. How cruel her heart still ached for you. How cruel the world still managed to spin and move on, how cruel that she hadn’t.

She looked into the mirror, seeing the long face you didn’t like, the long face you kissed away until it wrinkled into a smile. The way your hands would tug on her hips, the feeling of your soft, plush lips on her freckled skin, the way your touch and your breath felt on hers, the way you ghosted all over her being.

It's not easy to look into her room and think of how it seemed to be covered in you. The bed you kissed her in, the bed you marked all the scars on her skin. The guitar that encouraged you to sing, the sun that kissed your skin, the vinyl player and the records you danced to, the walls that were stripped off of polaroids of you. The paper rings that were filled with promises that you’d be hers forever.

Paper rings that were filled with empty promises.

In Steve’s car, she saw a bird’s wing on the road, a sad, and hopeless thing in her sights. Would you be able to see the bird and its other wing from where you were? Would you wonder where its missing wing is? Would you remember Hawkins that way? Would you remember her that way?

At work, she saw a pretty girl walk in. Soft, honey hair cascaded down her shoulders. Freckles on her skin rings on every finger, and an oversized jacket zipped up just above her trousers. Robin thought of you, the girl looked so much like her, would you have fallen in love with this girl too? Would you have made this girl’s world exist through your smile the way you did with her? Would you leave her too?

The girl reached the counter, her hands on Fast Times. Robin could only wince at the movie title. The same movie the two of you watched together before you ultimately pulled her in for a kiss, ending your friendship and letting it blossom into a romance Robin’s always wanted ever since she met you. Are you kissing someone else now?

She doesn’t remember the last time she genuinely hung out with anyone, well, at least without bringing you up or leaving just because she could. She remembers her last sleepover with Steve and the others, all snuggled up in a blanket as they watched a movie. It was supposed to feel good, feel comfortable, and bring back the times she was happy without your presence. Until she felt how empty that one spot on the couch was. The spot you’d squeeze yourself into and curl up into a little ball so they’d have more space to lay down there. How your fingertips curled with hers under the fuzzy blankets. How your lips pressed on her hair whenever she was snuggled up to you.

She was so quiet watching Jonathan hold Nancy so tightly, so quiet as Steve mentioned another new girl he asked out. Steve’s love is so temporary, she thinks. Do you still think of her when you see a couple together? Are you silent when someone brings up dating and romance? Or are you starting all over again?

She left halfway through the movie. Telling them it was a family emergency.

No one knew you the way she did. No one felt your love the way she did. For if they did, they would understand the numbness that consumed her. How colorless the world looked around her, how you were the only thing that gave it life. No one knew how you consumed every waking thought, or how she found religion in the temple of your lips. No one else bore the weight of your stolen glances, or the echo of your laughter, or the warmth in your embrace. For if someone did, they would understand how every single thing in this godforsaken town reminded her of you. From the tree, you etched your and hers initials into, to Family Video where you used to steal kisses from her everytime Keith wasn’t watching.

Everything was about you to her, and if you asked her to, she’d come crawling right back to you.

[hannahclairillustration]

A story about a lonely ghost who is haunting itself. Ghost looks for a friend and sees their own ghostly presence inside. They run inside and no one is there. They look for them outside, and there they are, back inside again. In this cycle the ghost keeps itself trapped in the same lonely loop.

Playing around with doodly animation on some of my Polaroid photos. I took this photo of a black church in Iceland in May 2022.

[silkscream]

sangria 🥺 college!peter exes to lovers smut? (hii and congrats again bby)

nsfw ahead <3

you expected this. you did. it’s his apartment. and despite all of it, you still couldn’t help the thing stuck in your throat when you enter the room to see him.

he’s not looking at you. of course. he’s so enthralled by what mj is saying with some other girl attached to his hip that he doesn’t even notice you walk in, to your relief. or your dismay. you aren’t sure if you imagined your entrance to be very dramatic, with his eyes glued on you like a lost artifact, but you at least expected him to look in your fucking direction.

you did miss your college friends, though. after slaving away at your internship, you’d taken the time to take the last semester abroad. now that you were back, you felt like a ghost around everyone else no matter how excited they were to see you again.

there’s something strange about insisting you don’t miss someone despite the nagging desire for them to look at you.

when you make the treacherous move to make your presence known, mj gets off her feet to attack you with a hug while you make sweet small talk, peter chiming in intermittently almost out of politeness. you wonder if he’s nervous to see you. you wonder who that girl is.

“oh! totally forgot to introduce myself,” the girl pipes. “i’m felicia.”

“nice to meet you.”

you excuse yourself to the kitchen to grab some more punch — some kool-aid red mixture that harry had managed to dump together.

“you good?” the boy raises an eyebrow.

“yeah, why?”

“you know why,” he scoffs. he nods towards peter’s direction. your gaze follows his and your eyes lock with peter’s brown ones. you quickly look away.

“don’t be weird, osborn.”

the night stretches long, even when you’re drunk enough to calm those nerves and let loose, yet time seems to move slow. you’re more awake than everyone else, and everyone else is limited to harry, mj, and peter. peter’s the only one out of the two of you who aren’t asleep watching love island.

you don’t notice until you get up to go to the bathroom that peter’s the only one awake. you can feel his eyes on you as you walk away.

in the mirror, your eyes look sallow under the dull fluorescents. frowning at your reflection, you wash your hands and pick at the hangnail you’d been bothered by the whole day until the skin splits. there’s not too much blood but the shit annoyingly stings.

“uh, do you have a band-aid?” you whisper to peter, whose cheekbones are illuminated by the blue light of the television. he looks slightly ghastly, the way he does when he shows up in your dreams.

“yeah, in my room,” he murmurs. you turn to follow him, heart thumping along with your footsteps. you hadn’t been in his room in over a year.

it looks the same, of course. same sheets, same comforter, same movie posters on the walls. scattered polaroids that you’re definitely in.

he’s about to hand you the band-aid but pauses, frowning as he takes your hand in his. he peers at it like you’re a pathetic little thing. it leaves you confused.

“told you to stop picking at these,” he mumbles, fastening the band-aid over your torn cuticle for you. “’s bad habit.”

he says it like he’d told you the week before. he says it like you’re a constant in his life and sometimes you forget his little reminders.

“bad habits die hard?” your body is buzzing from all the alcohol. maybe that’s what’s making your stomach dip into unknown territory and has you getting closer to peter. it was always difficult to resist the things you wanted. that was part of the reason why you’d left the country.

there’s no reason for this situation to feel intimate. you’re just drunk. right?

“um. i should probably go home, shouldn’t i?”

“why should you?”

“i mean, there’s no room for me here.”

peter shrugs. there’s gravity between you, it weighs heavy on both of your shoulders and tethering you to the ground. he doesn’t respond, but he does take a step closer. he fiddles with the collar of your shirt, picking off a piece of lint to fill the space where conversation could be, but the innocent and mindless touching says enough for the both of you. peter feels like his tongue would burn if he really said what was on his mind right now.

“i haven’t seen you in ages, you know.”

“sorry,” you reply softly. you don’t know if this is the right thing to say?

“you liked europe, though?”

“it was really nice,” you clear your throat awkwardly. he’s now fixated on a strand of your hair, twirling it in between his fingers. “met lots of nice people.”

“yeah?”

god, his voice. you’d bottle it up and drink it if you could.

“yup. i see you have, too, um. i like felicia. she’s really cute.” you swallow the lump in your throat.”

“yeah, mj never shuts up about her,” peter rolls his eyes but feigns annoyance considering the small smile on his face. you try to ignore the twinge of relief you feel.

“fuck, i missed a bunch. it’s good to be back. i think i belong here. in-in new york, i mean.”

he purses his lips, blinking slowly. “i think you do, too.”

it happens like honey dripping — the eventual meeting of your mouths so soft against one another. peter is inches away from your face, breathing shallowly as if contemplating a mental rulebook.

“we can stop if you think it’s gonna hurt.”

you nearly scoff. how considerate of him to think about your feelings before he goes and toys with them. you don’t mind self-destruction, you’ve been doing it long enough for it to feel good. you’re sure that what you’re about to do will be paradise in hell.

“go wild, parker.”

he stops being gentle. he actually carries his actions with a sort of roughness that’s unfamiliar to you, all teeth and claws as he gets your clothes off right at the foot of his bed. he kisses down the length of your throat while his fingers dance around your hot core, working you up to an edge before teasing your release.

peter continues with his mouth now, his tongue caressing your bundle of nerves in a way that makes you legitimately gasp. you’ve forgotten what his mouth feels like. he’s being cocky now, you know it — even while his face is buried in your cunt, he’s just barely getting you there.

“you’re being mean,” you whine.

“i thought you liked that shit,” he chuckles.

“don’t you wanna be inside me?”

he looks up to see your angel face pleading for him and god, he can’t resist that. no way. not when you’re looking at him like that.

so he gives you what you want and clutches your arms against the bed hard enough to bruise flesh. the reddish marks along your collarbone bloom like gifts as he thrusts into you, and you find yourself slipping into a familiar place. swathed in his warmth like you’d never left his side.

peter makes a guttural groan that makes you think that maybe he’s changed, maybe he’s fucked countless other people after you because he was never usually this dominant. the intrusive thought dissipates when he kisses you again.

all of your synapses are on fire. the unintelligible mumblings coming from peter’s mouth reverberate in your brain as you find yourself overstimulated from his cock.

“so fucking pretty, just like always,” he moans. just like always.

“fuck, your cock feels so good.”

“you don’t know how many times i’ve thought of you. you’re the—the only thing that gets me there. ‘s not like this with anyone else.”

“fuck, fuck me please—” you whimper, your coquettish mewls of pleasure encouraging his hips to snap to yours with mercurial rhythm.

you cover your mouth to dull the sounds of your moans. you’re thrown to the edge completely, body going malleable right underneath him. you’re under his spell completely.

he bites back his moans and exhales them into your shoulder instead. you can feel the way his cock twitches inside of you before he bursts completely. together, your bodies melt into one another. it takes a few seconds for you to come back to earth.

“i missed you,” peter exhales.

“oh really? i couldn’t tell.”

“shut up,” he chuckles, hiding his face in the pillow.

[whatstruthgottodowithit]

The Boss

Fandom: Elvis Presley

Pairing: Elvis Presley x Female Reader x Memphis Mafia

Characters: Elvis Presley, Female Reader, Jerry Schilling, Red West, Sonny West

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5944

Summary: If you want something from Elvis Presley all you gotta do is ask.

Tags/Warnings: Series of Oneshots, Non Chronological Order, Graceland,  POV Second Person, Attitudes of the Time, Homophobia, Oral Sex, Blowjobs,  Handjobs, Sex, Vaginal Sex, Penetrative Sex, Group Sex, Extra Marital Sex, Threesome F/M/M, Multiple Partners, Kissing, Kisses, Neck Kissing, Cuddling, Orgasm Denial, Squirting, Creampie, Dom/Sub, Dom Elvis, Teasing, Wife Sharing, Reverse Harem, Established Relationship, Marriage, Reader and Elvis are Married, Angry Elvis, Nude Photos

Notes: No but the fact that E had polaroids on polaroids and we aint seen none? TRAVESTY.

 LINK TO MADE FOR THE MAFIA

You were tired, not flat out exhausted, but enough that you could feel your eyes closing as you cuddled into Elvis’ side. He was watching the TV, his eyes fixed on the screen, but you were watching him unable to fathom how he wasn’t as spent as you were given the amount of attention he’d given you over the course of the evening. Yet he seemed wide awake, his eyes glinting in the TV’s reflection, as he chuckled to what was playing.   ‘Man he’s funny isn’t he,’ Elvis chuckled. ‘Aw he’s funny as hell,’ you heard Jerry say in a tone just as energetic as Elvis’. You turned your head just a touch though you couldn’t really see him from the angle you were laying at. He was laying on the bed behind you a bit further than he had been when you’d last checked though you didn’t know if that was because he had chosen to move or because you had moved to cocoon yourself beside Elvis. Maybe that was why you were so exhausted because even though they had been more than attentive they had only been catering to you whilst you’d had to see to the pair of them, not that you minded of course.   As you turned your head back you stifled a yawn, but it was enough to get your husband’s attention. ‘You sleepy mama?’ he asked bemusedly. ‘A little,’ you admitted as your fingers started to play with the sparse hair on his chest. ‘You hear that Jer she’s all tuckered out,’ Elvis chuckled looking at his friend over your head. ‘That’s because she works so damn hard,’ Jerry said and though you couldn’t see him you could feel that familiar smirk in his words. ‘You guys run me ragged more like,’ you giggled making Elvis chuckle. ‘Oh, is that right?’ he mused, his fingers ghosting along the bottom of the satin robe you had donned to protect you from Elvis’ Baltic bedroom conditions now that your heart wasn’t pumping at a million miles a minute and keeping you flushed. Though as they did you felt your heart rate quicken betraying your feelings of fatigue. ‘Mmhmm,’ you said pressing a kiss into his bare shoulder. ‘In that case I think you need a pick me up,’ he decreed. ‘Or a cold shower,’ Jerry teased making you smile. ‘That might not be such a bad idea,’ Elvis mused looking at you for a second before he looked back at Jerry, ‘set it up would ya?’ ‘Sure thing boss,’ Jerry said shuffling out of bed but before he went you felt a playful tap on your ass which made you look around, ‘you uh take it easy there huh princess?’ ‘Oh I will,’ you giggled as he climbed off the bed and headed towards the bathroom. As you turned back around Elvis smirked at your joking with one another though his gaze fell back on the TV as you snuggled into his side, watching it yourself.   It was nice to see this side of Jerry. Though he had never been shy around you he had always been aware of your presence. He was a southern gentleman, unlike most of the boys, and though he gave as good as he got with them he was always conscious to be polite in the presence of a lady. But since the three of you had started your little arrangement he had become a lot more comfortable and you were enjoying having another friend in the house. You had your girls and Elvis of course but it was odd for you. After all, you spent your entire life around the same thirteen men and yet you’d hardly think of them as your friends.   Once he was off the bed he headed to the bathroom, closing the door behind him so the light wouldn’t spill out into the bedroom disturbing the pair of you. He moved to the shower sticking his hand in so he could fiddle with the knobs inside allowing a cool jet of water to erupt from the shower head onto the gold mosaic tiles. It spattered along them until it found its own current and started to flow steadily down the drain. Once he was sure it was on he pulled back and moved to look in the mirror at his own reflection as he allowed the water to get to an ambient temperature. Though as he observed himself he found he looked like he always did after, utterly and thoroughly fucked.   In fact the man looking back at him, the one he hadn’t recognised in the beginning of this madness, was starting to look more and more familiar. When the pair of you had first suggested it he had thought you were crazy and after the first time he figured it would be one and done. Now you were a couple of months in and neither of you seemed to be slowing down or even wanting to. More to the point he didn’t want to either.   His thoughts however didn’t have time to take too much root in his brain, mainly because he could hear something, no someone, in the room beside him. His room.   Of course it didn’t belong to him solely. In fact the room had housed every member of the mafia at some point though it did have its longest-serving members, namely Red, Sonny and himself, the guys Elvis used when he was feeling more vulnerable even in his sheltered, closed-in upstairs. But recently since the three of you had made your little pact it had become his mainly because it gave him direct access to your bedroom whenever you needed him.   Except now there was someone in there he was sure of it but instead of bursting through the door, he lingered, trying to figure out who it was.   ‘I’m telling you I’ve seen it,’ he heard Red say followed by something that sounded like drawers being pulled open. ‘You’re buggin’ man,’ he heard Sonny retort, he was closer not too far from the bathroom door which made Jerry suspect he was lingering by the bedroom door, taking watch. ‘I’ve seen ‘em. Just a glimpse but I’m sure I’m right,’ Red said. ‘You think he’d be that stupid?’ Sonny asked. ‘Girls man,’ Red said with a grunt as something clunked open, ‘Jesus would ya look at that.’   He could hear movement then, what he assumed to be Sonny moving across the room to look at whatever his cousin had shown him.   ‘Christ,’ Sonny said, ‘fuck man look at that. How did he even get these anyway?’ ‘I don’t know but EP’s gonna string him up,’ Red said making Jerry’s mind whir as he thought about what they could be on about ‘Even more so, Red that ain’t EP,’ Sonny said. ‘No it ain’t,’ Red said with a small whistle, ‘Son look.’   It was then that it clicked for Jerry. The Polaroids.   They’d been in his paper when he’d opened it this morning. Elvis had been recording something in his music room and he’d been sitting there with several of the guys but as he’d opened his paper to read they’d fluttered out onto his lap. It had only taken him seconds to realise what they were, to bring the memories of the pair of you in the shower together last night - well documented by Elvis’ new camera, but once he had realised he’d folded his paper on top of them trying to hide them in his lap before any of the guys saw. Elvis hadn’t said anything but he could tell from the big grin on his face his practical joke had tickled him. At some point in the record he’d managed to excuse himself and he had raced upstairs and thrown them in his nightstand in what he thought was an unnoticed manner but now he wasn’t so sure.   His uncertainty was enough to make him spring into action though and as he burst through the door he found his suspicions were correct as he found Red and Sonny standing by his bed looking like school boys caught misbehaving.     ‘What the hell are you doing?!’ he said lurching forward to snatch the handful of photos out of Red’s hands, ‘that shits private.’ ‘What are we doing?! What are you doing?’ Sonny baulked as Jerry struggled to get the photos from Red’s tightened grip. ‘Get off,’ Jerry grunted pulling as hard as he could but Red kept his pale fingers gripped on them watching his friend with irritation. ‘You know I knew something was going on,’ he started. ‘It’s none of your business,’ Jerry spat as he pried them out of Red’s hands. They were creased but he didn’t care so long as they were out of their possession. ‘None of our business?’ Sonny scoffed, ‘you’re banging the boss’s wife and it’s no one’s business?’ ‘Yeah, and if you think we’re gonna cover for you you’re nuts,’ Red said shaking his head. ‘Yeah I’d like to keep my brains inside my skull thank you very much,’ Sonny agreed. ‘It’s not what you think,’ Jerry scowled. They were both watching him now and though he was trying to maintain as much bravado as he could it was hard to do especially since he was standing facing them in his underwear. But it was more than that. Since they were older than him they always treated him like he was inferior. More insignificant. Like a little brother. Which was probably why Red had got so het up about the whole thing anyway. They didn’t care about the idea of you having an affair they were just miffed he was the guy it could be.   ‘Oh sure,’ Red said rolling his eyes. ‘I’m being serious,’ Jerry explained, ‘EP knows all about it.’ ‘Right,’ Sonny said though he seemed more unsure than his counterpart. ‘Who do you think took the pictures?’ he reasoned making them share a look as he continued, ‘and don’t worry it ain’t gonna be me you have to cover for. Not when he finds out you’ve been snooping.’ ‘As excuses go that’s a good un,’ Red said still refusing to believe him. ‘You don’t believe me?’ Jerry asked making both me shake their heads, ‘go on. Ask him.’ ‘What?’ Sonny said looking panicked. ‘He’s in his room right now. They both are though I doubt they’ll be thrilled at you barging in on them,’ Jerry said cockily. He didn’t know why he was even bothering to argue with them. After all what three consenting adults did was no bother of theirs but the way they were acting was getting on his nerves. He wanted nothing more than for Elvis to wipe the smug looks off their faces. Sonny’s was already fading as Jerry looked at him indignantly but Red look annoyed at being goaded. ‘Fine,’ he said, ‘we will.’ ‘It’s your funeral,’ Jerry said dropping the polaroids back onto the bed.   You however had no idea what the boys were up to and though you had thought it a little odd Jerry had yet to return you had been enjoying the little cocoon you had been nestled in, Elvis’ nimble fingers playing with the hem of your robe, brushing over your thigh as he did. As you yawned again he chuckled, ‘you gonna be able to walk to this shower or am I gonna have to carry you?’ ‘You might have to carry me,’ you mused, ‘my bones feel like jelly.’ ‘Well in that case I’ll just have to-’ Elvis started but his train go thought was disrupted as the door burst open bringing with it Red, Sonny and Jerry on the tail end. Elvis sat up properly forcing you out of your comfy spot as he glared at them, ‘what the fuck are you doing?’ ‘Prying,’ Jerry said earning a scowl from the men though Elvis’ brow furrowed as he watched them. You shifted from where he’d left you pushing yourself up so you were sat against the headboard as Elvis leaned forward waiting for an explanation.   ‘I’m not gonna ask again,’ he asked irately. ‘Look boss we gotta talk,’ Red said shifting uncomfortably as Elvis looked at him waiting for him to continue. You were watching him also but for all his bravado before he now felt unsure. It was one thing to tell your friend their wife was doing the nasty with a close friend but telling them whilst said wife was there was a whole different ball game. So instead he said, ‘alone.’ ‘Anything you want to say you can say in front of Y/N and Jerry and if you can’t maybe it wasn’t worth bustin’ my fuckin’ door down in the middle of Carson,’ he said irritably. He didn’t know why it had irked him so much, he figured it was probably because he could see that look of lust returning in your eyes as you cuddled into him and the promise of a wet and wild time only lay meters away though it felt as though it was slipping further away the longer Red and Sonny chose to bother him.   ‘Well?’ he asked after a moment when they didn’t speak, ‘what is it?’ ‘Y/N,’ Red said hesitantly though his words were enough to make your ears perk up, ‘Y/N and Jerry are fuckin’ and they can deny it all they want but there’s proof. They’ve got these nasty lil polaroids hangin’ around. Showin’ em off in front of people. Embarrassing you.’   The room fell silent for a moment the only thing that could be heard being Red’s heavy breathing as he spilled his confession into the air. Sonny seemed hesitant and Jerry seemed to be hanging on with bated breath. You however flushed deep crimson, watching Elvis closely as you daren’t look at either Red or Sonny. You weren’t ashamed of what the three of you had been doing but the accusation with which Red’s words were laced embarrassed you as if you were doing something shameful. As if you were cheating on Elvis. Elvis watched them both for a moment the words ticking over in his brain until finally, he laughed. Loudly.   ‘Phew that’s funny,’ Elvis chuckled as Red and Sonny’s eyes went wide, ‘you hear this Jer?’ ‘Oh I heard,’ Jerry said pursing his lips though the corners twitched as he watched Elvis. ‘Why are you laughin?’ Sonny asked making Elvis’ gaze fall on him. ‘You really think I wouldn’t know?’ Elvis scoffed as his hand fell on your thigh. Sonny and Red continued to look perplexed as they took in his cool demeanour, even more so as Jerry sat down on the bed beside you making your eyes dart to him, your blush growing darker. ‘Wait you…a-a-and him?’ Red asked making you bury your face in Elvis’ shoulder who allowed you to do so, his strong arms locking around you as he looked down at you. ‘Oh don’t pretend you’re shy,’ he said rolling his eyes as you looked up at him with a pout. He didn’t seem to pay you attention though as he looked back at the men still watching the three of you in disbelief, ‘and you two can un bunch your panties. It’s no big deal.’ ‘So what you three are a…couple now?’ Sonny asked stumbling over the correct turn of phrase. ‘No me and my wife have made a decision for our relationship,’ Elvis said irritably as he shift back onto the bed pulling you with him so you were tucked back into his side, unable to go anywhere and unable to look any place else but at the boys who were watching your perplexed, ‘which last time I checked wasn’t something I had to run past anyone but us or are you under the impression you get a say in what we do?’   ‘No of course not,’ Red said feeling uncomfortable as he realised his plan to get his friend in trouble was backfiring rapidly judging by Elvis’ tone. Yet there still seemed to be something there. Something they wanted to say though you supposed an unorthodox situation like this was bound to prompt questions. Elvis however didn’t seem to be taking their scrutiny well. ‘No if you two meat heads have got something to say by all means spit it out,’ Elvis said he said looking at Red though he seemed reluctant to make it worse. In fact all of you had your attention on him which is why it took you off guard when Sonny said, ‘why him?’ ‘What?’ you asked. ‘Why Jerry?’ ‘What do you mean why me?’ Jerry asked. ‘Why Jerry?’ Sonny asked, ‘I mean if it’s just fun how come he’s the one you ran to?’ ‘Because he doesn’t whine like a bitch about every little thing,’ Elvis said making you glance at him. He sounded defensive though you didn’t know if it was because they were questioning all of your behaviour or there was an undercurrent of insinuation about something else. Jerry however let their words roll right off as he said, ‘why are you jealous?’ ‘What? Of you get real,’ Sonny scoffed. ‘You sure Son?’ Elvis asked baitingly. When the boys had come in the room they’d been a team, determined to expose the pair of you, but their tactics had gone wide and now both Jerry and Elvis were playing against them, their own little team. ‘Of course he is. I bet he’s hard right now thinkin’ about getting his grubby little hands on her,’ Jerry said coolly. ‘That right?’ Elvis said raising an eyebrow. Sonny shifted. ‘Look EP I can’t say I ain’t curious-‘ ‘So you are thinking about fucking her?’ Jerry said, making a flutter run through your core as you watched him, that new Jerry you’d come to know shining through as he fought back beating them at their own game. If you had to admit, it was a little hot. ‘Well…yeah but that’s crazy right?’ Sonny asked looking at the pair of them. ‘We’ve been doing it for months,’ Elvis shrugged as he held you, ‘ain’t that crazy.’ ‘But-’ Red protested. ‘Look you can admit it if you want. I aint gonna yell at ya, hell Jer admitted to it and look where that got him. If you knew what the pair of us just did to her well you wouldn’t believe me even if I told ya,’ Elvis chuckled making that flutter run through you once more.   You peeked at the boys, for the most part you had been watching Elvis but your curiosity got the better of you. They were watching you, all three of you, with uncertain looks on their faces. They seemed to be thinking about it, about you, and that in turn got all sorts of ideas flowing through your brain. They weren’t as electric as that first flash you’d had when Elvis had first suggested you give Jerry a ‘helping hand’ though you supposed they couldn’t be after all months of endless new adventures had left the list pretty barren. Yet the way Elvis was acting was making you hot under the collar. He was never this demanding and powerful when it was just the three of you, when it was just you three he seemed to feel more like an equal than in charge, but now he was commanding. The Boss.   ‘Okay maybe,’ Red admitted, a pink tinge coming across the tips of his ears. ‘Yeah maybe,’ Sonny said gruffly. Elvis pulled back, relaxing against the headboard as his arms fell away from you. ‘It’s a yes or no question,’ he said watching them. ‘Okay yes,’ Sonny said dropping his gaze as Elvis smirked. ‘Red?’ he asked. ‘Yeah,’ he said with embarrassment. Elvis didn’t even seem to care about their answers though as he looked down at you, his hand caressing your cheek gently as you looked up at him. ‘What do you say baby?’ he asked making you bite your lip as you glanced at the boys. ‘I don’t know,’ you said though you could feel a smile playing on your lips, ‘it could be fun.’ ‘Yeah?’ he asked with a smile. ‘Yeah,’ you smiled though his gaze left you to look at Jerry. ‘What about you Jer? You happy to add to the party?’ Elvis chuckled. You rolled onto your back so you could see him properly, your eyes roving over his face which stayed unreadable until he shrugged and said, ‘she’s your girl.’ ‘So you wanna try huh? Me and Jer not enough for ya?’ he asked chuckling as you pouted, ‘I’m just kiddin’.’   He shifted a little in his seat, looking at each and every one of you before he cleared his throat and said, ‘okay so we all wanna have a go at this but first we gotta lay down some ground rules.’ ‘Like what?’ Red asked. ‘She’s EP’s girl,’ Jerry said matter of factly earning himself a sneer. ‘We know that,’ Red retorted. ‘Jer’s right. I may be okay with you havin’ at her but don’t forget your place. And don’t forget it’s because of her I’m doing this because she wants it okay?’ he asked. ‘Right,’ Sonny nodded. ‘And it’s over when I say it’s over,’ he said firmly, ‘if you want out before then fine but as soon as she’s done with this you are too, got it?’ ‘Got it,’ all three men confirmed. You were watching him closely, your engine throbbing at his commanding nature. It was hot. How protective he was of you when it came to something like this but what was hotter was the way he looked towards you, all harshness out of his expression as he said, ‘you okay with that doll?’ ‘Yeah I am,’ you nodded. ‘Well alright,’ he smiled leaning in towards you so your heads were pressed together, ‘what do you say, princess? Do ya think you’ve got another round in ya?’ ‘I don’t know,’ you giggled as he kissed you, ‘maybe they should show us they want to first.’   Elvis’ smirk grew. You didn’t know where it had come from, your teasing nature, but there was something about the boys that had you on edge. It wasn’t that you weren’t intrigued by the idea of them joining the party it was just that the reason they had even gotten the chance to was because they were being disrespectful. And that wasn’t the vibe you were going for. So maybe they needed taking down a peg or two first.   ‘Oh yeah?’ Elvis smirked, ‘whatcha thinking?’ ‘I don’t know,’ you sighed wrapping your arms around his neck, ‘maybe something that shows just how committed they are…not just jealous.’ ‘Good shout,’ Elvis murmured before he leant in and whispered in your ear, ‘oh don’t worry I’m gonna make ‘em pay first.’   Then he was gone, pulling back and beckoning Jerry to come and sit on the other side of you as the three of you sat facing the boys who shared an unsure look. ‘Alright,’ Elvis said, ‘you guys want in?’ ‘Yeah,’ Sonny said. ‘Strip,’ Elvis said. ‘What?’ Red asked. ‘You heard me. The pair of you need to show us what you’re working with first. Let my girl see if she wants ya,’ Elvis said making you smile. Sonny and Red shared a look but then they conceded and started to take their clothes off until they were stood in just their boxers. Sonny seemed to grow a little in confidence as your eyes roved his toned torso and though Red tried to style it out you could tell he was a touch self-conscious.   ‘What do you think baby?’ Elvis asked as if he was asking you what you thought of a menu at one of the fancy restaurants he loved to show you off at. ‘They look good,’ you said as he pressed a kiss to the pulse point on your neck making you moan. ‘Yeah?’ he mumbled into your flesh, ‘getting you all worked up?’ ‘Mmmhmm,’ you hummed your eyes still on Sonny and Red as you felt the damp heat return between your legs. ‘You want to see more baby?’ he asked as his hand fell between your thighs, his thumb rubbing circles on one under the satin robe’s edges. He was dangerously close to your sex but he didn’t move closer allowing the excitement to flutter through you. ‘Yes E,’ you breathed as he pulled back making you whimper. ‘You heard her,’ Elvis said as the pair shifted, ‘what ya scared once she sees what you’ve got in your shorts she’s gonna run a mile?’   They shared another look but then Sonny seemed to stop caring and instead pulled his boxers to the floor and kicked them to the side allowing his cock to spring free now hard against his toned stomach. He was smaller than Elvis and Jerry though not by much and not enough you couldn’t help but smile. Red seemed more self-conscious in his movements but followed suit, tugging at himself as he tried to get himself as rock-hard as his counterpart.   ‘You like that baby girl? Seein’ how worked up for you they are when ya ain’t even show ‘em anything?’ he teased making you nod as his hand moved back to your thigh, ‘hmm getting you all hot and bothered? How about they show you just how much they want you huh? Show you what they’d do to bury themselves in this pretty little pussy?’ ‘Mmm,’ you hummed as he allowed his pinky finger to tease through your pussy lips. ‘How about they touch each other?’ he mused making you shiver though Red’s eyes went wide as the words left his mouth. ‘Hold on a minute,’ he said. ‘What?’ Elvis asked earning a snigger from Jerry, ‘you guys said you were in.’ ‘I know but I ain’t touchin’ him,’ Red said. ‘Yeah boss, we ain’t...fruity,’ Sonny countered. ‘I’m not saying you are,’ Elvis shrugged, his fingers nudging against your sex as he moved making you whine, ‘I’m just sayin’ this aint about you. We do what she wants and if you can’t commit to that then fine but don’t think you’re layin’ a finger on her if ya don’t.’ ‘What so she’s desperate to see some dude-on-dude action?’ Sonny scoffed, ‘buy her a playgirl.’ ‘It’s not about what you do moron,’ Jerry said, ‘it’s more of the fact you’re willing to.’   Red and Sonny seemed to digest his words quickly though their faces signalled neither of them were on board with the idea of touching the other. You could sense their reluctance and though you wanted to punish them you didn’t want to make them feel outright violated and so you moved Elvis’ hand away and scrambled onto your knees towards the end of the bed.   ‘You don’t have to like it but I know I’d like to see you try,’ you mused as your hands skirted down your satin robe, pulling at the strings until it fell open revealing all to the men in front of you. As it slipped down your arms you felt it be tugged off to the side as Jerry threw it onto the ground. You leaned forward running a hand down each of their torsos until you were dangerously close to their hips as you said, ‘would you try? For me?’ ‘Fuck,’ Sonny breathed. ‘What do you say boys?’ Elvis called capturing your attention as you scuttled back towards him, waiting on your knees as he spoke, ‘you’re not gay or whatever but you want in you’re gonna have to do as she asks and right now she wants you to live a little. So you give her what she wants and then you can join in. Ain’t that right honey?’ ‘Yeah,’ you said as he leant in and kissed you. You kissed him back shuffling back onto your ass as his hand flew to your chest caressing your soft skin in his perfectly calloused hands. When you pulled back though you noticed Jerry was sitting watching and turned to pull him in to kiss him. Elvis allowed you to, his mouth going to your neck as his hand nudged your thighs open, his fingers teasing against you making you moan.   ‘Fuck look at that,’ he panted as his fingers dipped into your entrance, little resistance from how excited you were, ‘fuck honey you’re dripping an’ we’ve barely even touched you yet.’ ‘Elvis,’ you moaned as Jerry moved his mouth to your neck, the pair of them working in tandem. ‘You wanna taste yourself baby?’ he asked, his finger rubbing your slick against your own lips as you sucked at it, ‘look how worked up this greedy lil kitty is even after me and Jer had our way with her.’ ‘Never satisfied that thing,’ Jerry chuckled. ‘That right baby?’ Elvis cooed making you whimper, ‘you wanna go again? Fill this kitty up all nice an’ full like it should be?’ ‘Yes,’ you whimpered. ‘Yes what honey?’ Elvis said his blue eyes peering into yours as he returned his fingers to your cunt. ‘Yes Sir,’ you breathed. ‘Good girl,’ he smirked, ‘move up the bed baby. All fours.’ ‘Okay,’ you said scrabbling to do as you were told, your cunt now facing the men behind you as you watched Sonny and Red, your attention on their glistening cocks begging to be touched. You felt Elvis come up behind you, teasing you with his fingers as he spoke though this time it wasn’t to you, ‘now I can fill this pretty pussy but I can’t fill that mouth at the same time. Jer you wanna lend a hand?’ ‘Definitely,’ Jerry said leaping off the bed until he was standing beside Sonny, pushing his boxers down as he went. At the sight of him now bare in front of you you leapt forward, your mouth wrapping around him as Elvis filled you to the brim making you hum against him as you moaned.   ‘Fuck honey,’ Elvis grunted, ‘this kitty ain’t never satisfied huh?’ ‘Her mouth either,’ Jerry said as his hands went to your hair. ‘Fuck,’ you heard Sonny say and you looked up meeting his eye as Jerry pushed down to his base. That was what broke him and he turned to look at Red pleadingly.   ‘Fuck Red you gotta touch me,’ Sonny begged. ‘No fuckin’ way,’ Red said. ‘Then let me touch you,’ Sonny said. ‘No chance,’ Red scowled pushing the hand that had reached for him away. ‘C’mon man,’ Sonny said, ‘look at her. You don’t want that?’ ‘I ain’t gay,’ Red said. ‘Me either but I’m also straight enough to know I wanna be buried in that pretty lil mouth so c’mon man, please?’ Sonny said desperately. Red seemed to deliberate, watching as Jerry bobbed against the back of your throat, until finally he sighed. ‘Fine,’ Red grunted, ‘but not a word of this to anyone.’   Then Red moved the hand that had been protecting his manhood away and allowed Sonny to wrap his hand around it, tugging gently. As Elvis continued to fuck you you pulled back from Jerry so you could watch them. It wasn’t anything special, in fact, Red seemed to be adamant on not enjoying it making you roll your eyes but you had to give them credit, they’d fulfilled their end of the bargain.   ‘Does it feel good Red?’ you asked biting your lip. ‘Feels fine,’ he shrugged. ‘Don’t lie to me now,’ you teased. ‘Feels good,’ he nodded. ‘Would you rather have my mouth around it?’ you asked making his eyes go wide as he swallowed but then nodded, ‘well then c’mere.’   He moved towards you, batting Sonny’s hand away as his tip teased your lips breaching them just a touch before you swirled your tongue around him. Then you moved to take him inch by inch pulling back as you bobbed against him. You moved in rhythm, moving from man to man as Elvis worked behind you, his nimble fingers making you falter here and there as shudders of pleasure ran through you.   ‘Fuck honey you’re such a good girl,’ he said. He was working frantically against you now, your pussy clenching against him as he worked your sensitive bud expertly, ‘take ‘em all so good for me. You like me watching baby?’ ‘Love it E,’ you whimpered as he pulled you back so you were both kneeling, his cock thrusting in and out of you at speed. ‘You gonna make them cum for you? Paint that pretty face of yours,’ he asked. You were aware the boys were there, the show you were putting on so erotic they couldn’t help but continue what you had started but at that moment you were lost in him. ‘You want me to Sir?’ you asked. ‘Want them to cum all over that pretty face of yours. Decorate you like a pretty picture,’ he grunted, ‘but first you’re gonna cum on this cock you hear?’ ‘Yes Elvis,’ you panted feeling yourself becoming heady as his tip hit that sweet spot inside you with every thrust. ‘And then I’m gonna cum in this pretty little kitty okay? Fill her up like it should be,’ he grunted, ‘got it?’ ‘Fuck Elvis,’ you said your orgasm hitting at the mere idea of it. You shuddered against him, your walls clenching his cock as it started to spurt inside of you, spattering your walls as you claimed everything he wanted to give you.   He didn’t waste a minute. As your legs went floppy he flipped you pushing you towards the end of the bed so your face was down by the boys who seemed to be ready and waiting.   ‘Fuck man,’ Sonny grunted glancing at his friend, ‘anywhere?’ ‘Anywhere,’ Elvis agreed. ‘Fuck,’ Sonny said, shooting thick white ropes of cum across your chest closely followed by Jerry and then Red who offered similar expletives as they showered you in white. When you looked up Elvis was watching you lustfully. You pushed yourself up, sitting in front of him.   ‘Did I do good?’ you asked as he leaned in, avoiding the sticky mess your torso had become as he kissed you gently. ‘Always do mama,’ he said before he looked up at the boys, ‘you guys alright?’ ‘Peachy,’ Jerry chuckled. ‘Yeah I’m good,’ Sonny said. ‘Red?’ Elvis asked the aggression that he had reserved for his friend earlier was now gone. Red nodded. ‘Good, c’mon princess let’s get you in the shower,’ he said clambering off the bed and grabbing your discarded robe so he could hand it to you. You slipped it on, ignoring how it turned a slightly darker shade of lilac as it wrapped around your body. Instead you hopped off to follow him, your hand in his as he led you towards the bathroom. He opened the door to the bathroom, allowing you to slip by him but before he followed he turned to the two men who were watching him in disbelief. Jerry hadn’t even seemed to notice the fact that your actions might be weird, he’d quickly realised your need for closeness after any of you did anything and he had started to try and get the room back to normal for when you finished up in the shower.   ‘Oh uh fellas?’ Elvis asked. ‘Yeah?’ Sonny and Red said in unison. ‘Next time ya wanna know something about my wife just ask,’ Elvis said and with that he shut the door of the bathroom leaving Red and Sonny red faced and Jerry with a smug smirk on his face.

ELVIS TAGS

@literally-just-elvis-fics @caitlin1996 @notstefaniepresley@18lkpeters @daffieapple @lillypink @lettersfromvenus

[zayray030]

I think Ace when he was younger had a little phase where he would take Polaroid pictures of him and his friends, sometimes his family hanging out and hand them on a board somewhere.

When he came to NRC he stopped doing that as much because he didn't think he would form any actual friendships.

However, during the ghost marriage mess as he argues with Sebek for his proposal, he can't help be comforted by the others presence, how he feels undeniably safe and happy with them.

The next day he asks his parents if they can send him his camera.

He takes the picture as they're all studying and hides his true smile behind a smirk when they all whine about the flash and the random picture.

(The picture has Epel helpfully pointing something out to Deuce with Jack attempting to get Sebek to participate in helping everyone else meanwhile Ortho is floating happily, helping Grim and the prefect.)

[hyunverse]

forget me ‧₊˚✩彡 lee felix

pairing: felix x gender neutral reader. tags: angst, drabble. wc: 324 words. song: forget me by kid wine, haan ft plhn. note: written for my 4k event! disclaimer — © 2023 hyunverse on tumblr. all rights reserved. authors works are protected under the copyright law. do not plagiarize or translate my works. tumblr is my only platform.

the adjective sad would be an insult to how felix is feeling — an utter mockery of his emotions. the adjective sad is not sufficient to conclude the thoughts running through his head — then again, it feels as though no word in the oxford dictionary could fully reflect how he’s feeling. hell, even he himself is having a hard time to comprehend his own emotions.

“forget me,” you had said, eyes void of any emotions. a contrast to his own eyes, widened in shock.

“forget me,” you told him, under a maple tree as the bouquet of flowers in his hand began to fall apart, much like his heart.

“forget me,” you muttered, as if you weren’t his first friend, his first love. as if you didn’t spend years in his company. as if your heart wasn’t still consumed by him. as if you had already moved on.

“forget me,” you mumbled, as felix looked into your eyes in search of any longing or regrets.

“no, no—” felix took a few steps back, his whole figure shaking in grief, “you can’t. you can’t tell me to forget you,” his words began to jumble, “it’s unfair! you’re telling me to forget — forget you? forget you? i know you’re still in love with me, i can see it — please tell me you’re still in love with me. please, even if it’s a lie.”

it was a lie. a blatant lie. you didn’t let it show.

“i’m not,” your tone was softer, “goodbye, felix.”

now felix lays in his bed, every crook of his bedroom a reminder of you. the photo frame on his night stand, polaroids stuck onto his cork board, the scent of the candle you purchased for him — every little thing reminds him of you. the ghost of you haunting his room, his life.

forget you? when you’re a presence in each and every one of his treasured memories?

never.

disclaimer — © 2023 hyunverse on tumblr. all rights reserved. authors works are protected under the copyright law. do not plagiarize or translate my works. tumblr is my only platform.

[sweet-child-of-night]

Write a horror,But without paranormal/ghosts/aliens.

Show me if it can be done

The city lights blurred through the grimy bus window, casting Sally in a kaleidoscope of neon and shadow. She clutched her phone tighter, the voice on the other end a chilling echo of the man from the bar.

"Don't worry, honey," it rasped, like dry leaves scraping concrete. "We'll have a proper reunion soon."

Weeks ago, a handsome stranger with eyes that seemed to hold a universe of secrets had singled her out in a crowded bar. He'd known her favorite drink, the brand of perfume she used, even the name of her yappy chihuahua (RIP, Mr. Winkles). It had been intoxicating, like a forbidden fairytale.

But the magic curdled fast. The calls escalated, his voice morphing from charming to menacing. He started appearing everywhere – outside her apartment, at the park, down the street. She'd filed a restraining order, but the feeling of unseen eyes on her back never truly faded.

Now, walking through the desolate underpass on her way home, the air grew thick and cold. A single flickering bulb cast grotesque shadows on the damp walls. Suddenly, a low moan echoed, inhuman and raw. Sally spun around, heart hammering against her ribs. The darkness stared back, impenetrable.

At home, the unease lingered. Her apartment, usually a haven, felt oppressive. A photo frame tumbled from the bookshelf, the picture of her and Mr. Winkles replaced with a single, faded polaroid. A grainy image of a smiling girl in that same blue skirt she wore tonight. A girl whose eyes were hollowed out, replaced by two black voids.

Panic seized her. She scrambled for her phone, but it was dead. As she fumbled for the charger, a figure materialized in the doorway. The man from the bar, but different. His clothes hung loosely on a skeletal frame, his eyes glowed an unnatural yellow.

"You look lovely," he rasped, his voice a rusty hinge. "Just like her."

Sally backed away, tripping over a shoebox. Inside, nestled among trinkets, lay a collection of driver's licenses, each face an eerie echo of herself. He knelt, picking up a faded blue collar with the name Mr. Winkles stitched in gold.

"They never lasted long," he chuckled, the sound like nails scraping a chalkboard. "Too curious, too trusting. But you, darling, you'll be perfect."

He lunged. Sally screamed, a sound devoured by the suffocating darkness. The single bulb flickered one last time, then died, plunging the apartment into an abyss. The only sound that remained was a low, guttural moan, echoing through the night.

The next morning, sunlight streamed through Sally's window, illuminating an empty, pristine apartment. No sign of a struggle, no sign of her. Just a fresh picture on the bookshelf - Sally, smiling brightly, next to the man with the yellow eyes. His arm was wrapped possessively around her waist, his hand holding a leash attached to nothing.

The police report concluded "missing person," a chillingly familiar refrain for Detective Ramirez. He studied the picture on Sally's dusty coffee table. Her smile, once vibrant, seemed strained in the harsh light. The new man beside her, handsome in a gaunt way, had an unsettling aura. His eyes, though, were the worst. They seemed to hold a universe, but a vacant one, devoid of warmth or humanity.

Ramirez noticed the leash in the picture. It trailed off the bottom of the frame, leading nowhere. He knelt and examined the carpet. A single, platinum blonde hair clung to a stray fiber. It shimmered faintly, almost iridescent, in the sunlight. A shiver danced down his spine. This wasn't just a missing person case. It was something…else.

Days blurred into weeks. No leads. No trace of Sally. The only clue remained the blonde hair, which defied analysis. It wasn't human, not exactly. It pulsed with a faint, cold energy that made Ramirez's scalp tingle.

One night, hunched over his desk, Ramirez felt a presence behind him. He spun around, gun drawn, but the room was empty. Except for a single polaroid lying on his desk. It was the same faded image from Sally's apartment – the smiling girl, the hollow eyes. But this time, a single word was scrawled across the bottom in jagged handwriting: "Curious?"

Ramirez felt a cold dread grip him. He knew, with a chilling certainty, that this wasn't over. The man with the yellow eyes was playing a game, a twisted courtship with death. And Ramirez was now a pawn, drawn into a terrifying dance on the edge of a nightmare. He clutched the polaroid, the blonde hair clutched within his fist, a single, silent vow escaping his lips: "I'll find you, Sally. And I'll stop him." He knew, however, that the cost of victory might be more than he could bear.

[isbergillustration]

Inktober day 13: Follow up to this post.

It glows faintly in the dark. Several of its eyes blink, a continuous flowing motion that makes him oddly seasick. It looms. It’s quite good at looming, his angel. Well, angel adjacent. Right now it’s acting more like a sleep paralysis demon. He would call it a ghost if it were not so very obvious that this creature was never human. It is a person, though. Has to be, even if every word it says sounds more like rehearsed parroted lines than actual organic responses to what he says to it.

“What?” he demands.

DANGER

“Is it,” he replies flatly, and yawns.

Only slivers of orange light from the street creep in between the curtain edges. His alarm clock tells him it’s just past one in the morning.

DANGER

Exact same tone, exact same everything. Like a recording. Its hands, dark and skeletal, twist uncomfortably. It gets these strange human moments, sometimes. He finds himself resenting its presence. It has become such a large part, literally and otherwise, of his life, and there is no one he can tell without sounding like a lunatic. For ages he thought it might be a hallucination or prolonged delusion of some kind, but it showed up in a photo, and apparently hallucinations don’t. That’s what the fora for people with variants of schizophrenia said, anyway. A Polaroid, of course. He doesn’t want any digital traces. No way for others to prove he’s crazy. Not again.

Rubbing sleep from his eyes he sits up in bed. The thing still stares at him. All eyes, now, wavering very slightly as if seen on an old TV screen.

COME it tells him, PLEASE

That’s new. That’s personal.

He gets out of bed, throwing the blanket to the side, and shivers at the sensation of cold night air through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. There is something funny in the air, an off smell.

“Why?”

He gets right up in its- is face the right term? Its head area filled with eyes? All the pupils narrow in on him, and the sensation is unpleasant, but less so than it used to be. Bony blue black hands hover centimetres from his chest.

DANGER

It sounds almost uncertain, now. Odd. The sight of it is starting to give him a migraine, pain radiating dully out from his left eye socket. He rubs at his forehead, looking at the thing expectantly. Several eyes blink at him. He feels fingers on his arm and he flinches, stepping back. Its hands are cold, unpleasant things. The sort of hands you worry about grabbing your ankle when your foot dangles over the edge of your bed. The sort of fingers creeping in from the edges of posters in black and red.

“Fine, danger. What do you want me to do about it?”

COME

He groans, toeing on a pair of fluffy pink slippers with bunny ears, a gift from his sister before they lost contact. Well, before she cut contact, anyway. He spreads his arms expectantly, and slowly the thing glides towards the door. From somewhere in the building he can hear the muted beep of an alarm.

Grabbing his phone and keys from the table, he follows it as it glides towards the door. It hovers there, expectantly. Does it need him to unlock the door? This magic haunted creature who just shows up?

“Fine,” he mutters, flicking open the lock and holding the door as the thing glides out.

He follows it, turning for a moment to lock it behind him.

“Don’t bother, they will need to get in.”

He freezes. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck what is happening, are they seeing the creature, can they-

“It’s a gas leak thing,” the neighbour across the hall continues, unfazed.

The creature is nowhere to be seen, though he can feel the faintest cold shiver down his back.

“You’re John, right?”

They haven’t been introduced. They have exchanged brief nods and smiles and complaints about the lift never working, though, as neighbours do. He hasn’t lived there long.

He nods.

“Got your mail by accident once,” she says with a shrug, “I’m River.”

She has a thin and bony sort of face, with a long nose that might uncharitably be described as beak-like, an impression only furthered by the silver feather earrings she wears. But it suits her. Long dark hair falls in messy waves almost to her waist. He runs a hand through his own sleep messed hair self-consciously. Should he have gotten dressed?

“I just got home when my alarm started. Did you manage to turn yours off? Mine won’t fucking stop.”

She heads towards the stairs, and he follows her. Elsewhere in the building he can hear the sounds of confused muffled conversations. River digs a cigarette pack from her pocket and offers him one. He shakes his head.

“No thanks. And no, my alarm never went off. Are we meant to have a system for this?”

Her dark lined eyes widen.

“Yeah, by law.”

“Right. My, uh, my landlord doesn’t give a shit.”

“You should complain.”

“Oh, I have, believe me.”

They emerge together into a confused and largely pyjama-clad crowd milling about outside the door. An old lady struggles to hold a small dog of indeterminate breed as it tries to escape. Another has two cats peeking out from a cloth bag, squirming helplessly. Somewhere someone is on the phone with whoever one speaks to about these things. The janitor type lady? She lives in the cellar apartment, he thinks. He has only spoken to her once.

A small child, maybe seven or so, has sat down on the pavement, leaning against the wall. A man in his thirties is trying to convince her to stand up because the pavement is dirty, there might be broken glass, dog leavings. John zones out, staring up at his third floor window. Something glitters faintly for a moment.

Is this what the creature is here for? Making sure he doesn’t die of carbon monoxide poisoning or whatever? Does that mean it’s going to leave him alone from now on?

-

As it turns out, the thing does not leave him alone. It stayed away for a few days, but the next weekend it is there again, waiting for him as he gets back from work. He stares at the thing, defeated.

“Here,” he says, setting the bag of groceries on the floor next to it, “if you’re gonna keep coming here you might as well make yourself useful.”

The creature looks at him, and he nods at the fridge, then goes to lock the door behind him. When he turns back a few seconds later, the bag lies deflated on the floor, and his groceries are gone. He narrows his eyes at the creature, and checks the fridge, in case it had somehow teleported his things away, but no, it’s all there. Granted he wouldn’t personally feel the need to refrigerate shampoo and fabric softener, but his instructions were admittedly not specific.

“Thanks?”

It comes out more like a question than he intends for it to. It watches him without expression.

“Do you want-” he begins, but bites off the question.

Does it want coffee? Why would it want coffee, the thing hasn’t got a mouth. It’s not a person, it’s a- a thing. A monster or angel. The two are synonyms to him lately.

He makes himself a cup, then sits down across from it at the small kitchen table. It stares. Although, to be fair, how could it not stare? Its whole face is all eyes. It keeps its hands folded neatly on the kitchen table. He wonders what it is expecting of him.

Its hard not to resent the thing. The mere presence of it is fucking his life up, and even though it sort of saved him, he can’t help but feel like it imposes itself on him unnecessarily. Surely he would have woken up, or the people they sent to fix it would have found him before he died. It’s not like it pulled him out of a fire or anything. He swallows the itch of guilt with bitter coffee.

[celluloidwickerman]

Presence, or Polaroid Ghosts (Part 6)

Part 5 In the Park I often find myself asking a question. ‘What film would I live in if I could?’ It is a question that belies my own rather childish need to escape reality. But, if I could live in a piece of film, it would probably be Michelangelo Antonioni’s celebrated swinging cult classic, Blowup (1966). It is more than a little questionable as a choice, but needs must. Based on Julio…

[yaminerua]

Managed to churn out a second little thing today to catch up with Smegtober and it's another sad one. For some reason both of the things I've done today have had such a melancholy vibe to them;;

Smegtober prompts by @a-literal-toaster-wtf

Anyway Day 2's prompt was Lonely, and boy is Lister really feeling it;;;

Words: 1544

****

It was strange having Red Dwarf back again, not least because for a long while it had seemed as though it would never happen but also because in the time that it had been missing so much had changed. So much had taken place.

Having free run of the ship after so long confined to The Tank was an odd enough thing to experience. Just like it had been all those years ago when he had first stepped out of the stasis booth to be met with what had essentially become a ghost ship, it was odd to wander around the same old corridors, once again rendered just as cold and empty as they had been after the accident. It wasn’t quite as eerie as it had been back then, though. Instead, Lister found that it was oddly familiar, comforting in a strangely melancholic way. Maybe it just felt good to know that despite how much else in his life had changed and would likely continue to do so, Red Dwarf would remain a constant enduring presence, something that not even nanobots or highly corrosive chameleonic microbes could completely break down altogether.

Even as the roster of crew members changed and fluctuated, as familiar faces came and went, Red Dwarf itself remained, a single solid pillar of stability in an otherwise volatile universe.

That didn’t make the emptiness of its corridors feel any less lonely, however, even with all the time in the world to get used to it.

Wandering aimlessly around the old Z-shift route, accompanied by little more than the constant creaking and groaning of the old ship all around him, Lister hummed quietly to himself, tapping his hands on his legs in time to the beat of an old tune which in bygone days would have earned him an exasperated scolding and a report forwarded to the captain that would likely have just been brushed aside like all the others. He smiled a little at the memory and found that it wasn’t nearly as aggravating to look back on as it had felt at the time. In fact, perplexingly, like most things to do with his old bunkmate did these days, he found it made him miss the infuriating smegger more and more.

That was maybe the worst thing about having Red Dwarf back to normal – it wasn’t actually back to normal. Sure, things were functionally back to some semblance of how they had been before they had been forced into an extended game of catch-up but the absence of one Arnold Judas Rimmer felt magnified somehow, more pronounced than it had been on Starbug and nowhere else on the ship was it felt more strongly than in the old bunk room.

Yawning as he dragged his fingers along the cool metal walls, he dug the heel of his palm into his tired eyes and decided he was probably thoroughly exhausted enough by now to finally call it a night. God only knew what time it was. He’d been wandering the ship for what surely felt like hours, putting off the inevitable. Kochanski and the Cat had long since turned in for the evening and even Kryten hadn’t been able to keep him company for long before he too had had to turn himself in to recharge. Lister had appreciated the company nonetheless. It was better than the alternative but he could only put that off for so long.

The doors opened with a hiss and Lister stepped inside and breathed out slowly, tiredly, casting his gaze across all the familiar old things, the mish-mash of personalities plastered on every wall in the form of polaroids and posters and revision timetables and no smoking signs.

He didn’t like to spend too much time in the old bunk room these days, not since he’d gained access to it again. Maybe it would have been fine if the Rimmer he’d spent the past couple of years imprisoned with in the brig had still been around to stave off the worst of the unease the old room held but he, like the Rimmer before him, had died as a result of his own hubris and this time the ship hadn’t even been capable of bringing him back a second time.

Maybe he could have relocated to one of the many vacant rooms on the ship but somehow that too felt wrong so instead he remained stuck between a metaphorical rock and a hard place, bothered by the empty silence and the ghosts of what ought to have filled the space but too stubborn and indecisive to commit to leaving it behind, held back by a fondness that bewildered him greatly. So much of the time Rimmer had spent here Lister had spent fervently telling him to smeg off and perplexingly now that he had actually gone he found that he missed him more than he would readily ever admit. It was a funny thing that absence did to the heart.

Shuffling over to the old storage cupboard, he pulled open the door and fiddled around inside, flicking aimlessly through a record collection that could render an insomniac unconscious with ease until he found one that looked somewhat bearable.

Setting up the old player, he slotted the disc in place and started it spinning before making his way over to the fridge, procuring for himself a final drink for the night as the sweeping mellifluous tones of violins crackled into life behind him and a sweet feminine voice began to sing her longing little tune, flowing like honey to fill the lonely space.

It wasn’t ordinarily Lister’s kind of music. It didn’t really have much of a beat and there wasn’t a guitar to be heard but it was better than Hammond Organ Classics by a longshot and it filled the otherwise unbearable, hollow silence of the room in just the way he needed it to. Rimmer had played it a few times before, lamenting the loss of any chances he might have had at love. On drunken, miserable nights he would hum sadly along to it until he fell asleep or until Lister had begged him to stop bringing down the mood.

If he closed his eyes he could pretend even now that he hadn’t been the one to put it on, that it had instead been Rimmer pointedly trying to irritate him by playing his sappy music, or his Learn Esperanto tapes, regardless of any protestations Lister might have made against it. He could pretend his presence was still around somehow, still capable of annoying him, of keeping him company in spite of everything about him that might ordinarily make him say he’d rather be stuck with literally anyone else.

Draining his drink and discarding the empty can on the desk, he sat himself down heavily on the lower bunk for a moment and listened to the soothing melody, letting the exhaustion coupled with alcohol blend together in a perfectly sleep-inducing partnership, dulling his senses. The lady on the record sang softly, soulfully, her wistful, longing tones resonating somehow now more than they ever had before. Maybe it was just the tiredness and the drink but he swayed gently along with it and half-mumbled half-sang whichever occasional snippets of the lyrics came to mind.

“There’s a somebody I’m longing to see…”

Distantly, he was aware that he should really be clambering up into the upper bunk right now, but in truth the opportune moment for that had already long-since passed, the bone-deep tiredness settling in his bones making him feel impossibly heavy. At this point he couldn’t reliably trust himself to summon the energy to will his legs to stand so instead he yielded to the tempting pull of sleep, tilting slowly to the side where he sat, letting himself descend slowly, spreading himself out on a mattress that wasn’t his and wishing somewhere deep in the hazy sleep-addled depths of his mind that its owner would come storming in any second now to reprimand him for stinking up the bed, but of course that wasn’t going to happen was it?

He wondered what Rimmer – his Rimmer, the one who had been there from the start and who had left what felt like forever ago now to become the next link in an endless chain of dimension-hopping adventurers – was doing right now. He wondered whether he was still alive – or as alive as it was possible for a hologram to be – and if he was doing alright, if he had succeeded in stepping into Ace’s shoes after all.

He wondered, as his mind sank finally into an uneasy sleep, if he regretted leaving as much as Lister regretted letting him leave.

The music on the record player played on regardless, oblivious to the fact its sole audience member was no longer paying any attention, the violins swelling and blooming as the song reached its emotional crescendo, and as those final sweet notes sang out softly to no-one in particular, they mirrored the longing that nestled stubbornly in Lister’s chest, heavy and cold, and refused even after all this time to budge.

“Won’t you tell him please to put on some speed? Follow my lead, oh how I need someone to watch over me.”

[beyondashes]

The one song I have always, always held close to my chest was The Night We Met by Lord Huron

When I say I have a favorite song, there are many ways I can follow up that statement. Favorite nostalgia song, favorite song I'm hyperfixation on at the moment, favorite song to cry to.

But The Night we Met will always be my number one favorite song in the world.

It’s so haunting, so raw, so angelic. I can’t help but to be put in a trance.

So when someone asks me what my favorite song is, I hold that song close to my chest and hide it next to my heart and pull out a different song to keep the other one sheltered.

I’m too scared to reveal to the world that The Night We Met has ties to my entire soul and body. It both has me by a chokehold, threatening to reveal my deepest darkest and rawest feelings to the world if I so much as even hint to it of how it makes me feel; and it holds me in a tight and warm embrace while I weakly cry, hushing me and telling me that I am safe and protected.

“I had all and then most of you, some and now none of you”

I can’t help but to be brought back to all the moments I had with people who have since left my life in either a giant flame whose memory is burned into my subconscious or left under the silence and comfort of the moonlight leaving me with memories to quietly cherish.

All the moments I had with them, whenever happy or sad but now forever bittersweet. Nights where we stay up until the crack of dawn laughing and relishing in each other's presence, nights spent crying my eyes out as the other berated me. Nights where me and the other person just silently stared up at the stars, scared of the impending doom that was tomorrow and the future but still finding comfort in the present.

In the mansion that is my head their memories silently wander through my house like a ghost. Violently disrupting the peace and reminding me of their powerful presence, or silently hovering in my bedroom doorway as I lay in bed crying at the thought of them staying in my home while i’m still unsure if i’m ready to purge my house and memory of them or if i’m not ready to let go of them from my life yet.

I search and search for them, I search for answers. For long forgotten memories, for their figure because I am not ready to let go of them yet,

and

I

keep

on

digging

through

the

sand

trying

to

find

the

hidden

treasure

chest

that

was

our

bond.

And yet all I can come up with is empty polaroids, empty promises, memories with all of the emotion sucked out of it.

Sand falls between my hands as the tide pulls back from the coast line and their distance grows.

I stayed there and sat on the empty beach. staring up at the stars. at all the past memories.

I sit alone with nothing but the empty silhouette that is their last impression on my life next to me, and I continue to pretend that they’re still a part of my life.

Even if they’re long gone.

- “guarded song” by beyondashes