IM GETTING A CAT IM GETTING A CAT IM GETTING A CAT!!!!!!!!

welp. i was THISCLOSE to posting an adolescent “i hate everything” post… and then i saw this.

toxic ghost x fem reader [smut]

cw: unprotected p in v sex (wrap it b4 u tap it), fem reader fem anatomy, name-calling, degrading, praising, toxic ghost, angst(ish) idk! idk how i feel about this one, i haven't wrote in a minute.

You've been seeing Ghost on and off for months now. Answering his every beck and call, dealing with being shouted at, disciplined for every mistake the rookies made as if it were your fault, you allowed him to take his anger out on you, resulting in this... chase. This... game. You wanted to stop, you knew this was never going to go anywhere. Why did you still try? You begged for him to let you in, show him that you could be, were more than just a plaything. He blew you off, swiftly shrugging your hand off his shoulder as he would walk away without looking back.

You lay on your bed, your hands between your thighs as your head tilted back as you sighed out in pleasure. You couldn't stop thinking about him. He's ruined you, and you were falling into it willingly. 

You felt guilty, knowing he was breaking your heart. You didn't answer his text, he'd show up at your barrack, and you would allow him in. You always do. It was that time. He just wanted to relieve some stress, and you knew that's all it was. Falling into every sweet nothing he'd spill, just to get in your pants and leave you high and dry after he was done, chasing after him. He liked the game, he was looking back to make sure you were still running after him. He had you wrapped around his finger, in such the wrong way. You gasp, slowly lifting your head as you heard the doorknob twist and open, the dark silhouette of his body looming over you. You didn't stop rubbing yourself. It is so perverse, so wrong. You should stop, you know you should. You should stop right now. Turn him away. Don't give in. 

"What are you doin', luv?" he whispered, walking to sit on the edge of the bed. His sweet pet names got your stomach fluttering, but as you meet his dark eyes, emotionless except holding desire for your body and nothing more, you remember, these pet names meant nothing, were nothing. 

"Nothin'," you lied, defeated as you looked over his body before focusing on his eyes.

"Stop thinkin' so loud, luv," he rasped, his hand groping the bulge in his pants which were tightening. "'M followin' your eyes, doll, like what you see, yeah?"

Finally your hand movements stop, pulling your hand out of your underwear, you sit back on your elbows, giving him access to crawl closer to you. His waist opens your legs as he settled between them, hovering over you. He groans deeply as he grinds against you. 

"Getting right to it, I see," you muttered. His hand cupped your jaw as he tilted your face to his.

"That's right," his eyes squinted, looking over the features of your face. "You're so fuckin' pretty, baby. I can't help it."

He lifted his mask above his lips, leaning down. His lips crash against yours roughly, sloppily, hungrily as he then traced his hand down your chest. For a split second, you forgot about all of your woes, all of your negative thoughts about him. For now, you'd drown in this fire. Let him consume you, let him win you over for what you told yourself would be the last time. You moaned into his mouth as he held a tight grip onto your breasts, moving down to grasp your waist, massaging slow circles into it. Your hips knowingly buck into his, earning any friction you could find. 

He knew every weak spot, every sensitive spot, using it against you. He made quick work of kissing down your jawline, sucking on your neck while he pulled your pants down along with your panties. He groaned against your skin as he slipped a hand in between your thighs, his fingers exploring your wet folds before he slid your shirt over your breasts. 

"So wet already, yeah? Easy access," he chuckled lowly. He unbuckled his pants, removing them enough to free his cock. He spat in his hand and rubbed the spit along the thick head of his cock, slapping it against your cunt. "Ready for me?"

You do nothing but look up at him as you bit your lip. You nodded as your mouth fell agape at the tip prodding against your entrance. You both sigh in unison at the feeling before he slides all the way in. 

"That's it, fuck, that's it," he praised you. "Good girl, good fuckin' girl..."

This is what made you weak to him. You knew you couldn't be pleased like this elsewhere, yet you craved the emotional intimacy that you would never get from him. He thrusted deep into you, his tip hitting your cervix with each push, your moans were music to his ears. He grabbed your wrist into one fist and held them over your head as his thrusts got longer and deeper.

"Such a good cunt taking all of me," he moaned. "Feels good, right, doll?"

"Y-yeah, feels so good," you mewled. His movements went to a slow pace as his eyes flickered between your own.

He sighed. "Luv... talk to me." As if he actually cared.

You moaned at him slowing down, but as you met his eyes, obviously frustrated, you hesitated in speaking your mind. 

He leaned down, his other hand wrapped around your head as he caressed it, his other hand still holding your above your head. "Tell me, come on..."

"Simon..." you sighed. "I want... more than just sex."

He grunted as he slammed his hips into yours, earning a louder moan from you. He leaned back, letting go of your hands as he held a vice grip onto your hips, needily chasing his high, and you couldn't stop the knot from tightening in your stomach as he was hitting that one spot so deliciously.

"Simon!" you wailed, covering your mouth as your pussy clenched his cock as your orgasm sent waves of electricity through you. 

His jaw clenched as he finally made eye contact with you again, leaning down once more as he breathed heavily into your face. His nose brushed against yours, as he chuckled softly.

"Fuck... you brainless little thing... how many times..." he paused as he watched his cock slide in and out of you, hearing the schlick as your juices wept over his cock. "... do I have to tell you..."

He flipped you over on top of him, his hand grazes your lower back, guiding your hips up and down at an agonizingly slow pace. "That you... you are just a warm body. A nice hole to fill. To use. A good little fucktoy. And I know, luv, I know. I know you like it just as much as I do, yeah?"

His hips buck up into you roughly, the pleasure being too immense for you to handle as you cried out, your nails scratch against his chest. "See, look at you, you fuckin' slut, you love it."

You can't deny that you love it, but god you longed for more. 

"Simon..." you moaned as tears gathered in the corner of your eyes. "Please..."

He ignored your pleas as he kept bullying his cock into you, his thrusts becoming sloppier as you could barely hold yourself up. One hand caressed your neck as the other gripped the fat of your hips, using you as his cock sleeve.

"Take it, take it, fuck," he gritted his teeth, slowing his thrusts as he pulled you off of him, his cum shooting over your ass. "What a good slut."

You lay there awkwardly on his chest as he soothingly rubbed your back for a moment, coming off of his high. You then flopped on your side next to him, waiting for him to get up. This time it wasn't as instant as it usually is. 

"I don't want you to leave me," you whispered. "I'm so tired... tired of begging for it, Simon."

He laid there emotionless, his eyes staring up at the ceiling as his breath calmed. How can he be calm? How can he do this to you? To his subordinate... someone he was supposed to protect and care for?

He sighed as he sat up, pulling his pants up as he buckled them. He stood there with his back turned towards you. "And I'll keep coming back. As long as you let me. We can quit this little game... you're the one who keeps letting me in, yeah?"

Your mouth opens and closes trying to find the words. "You know what, Simon? You're right. Don't come crawling back here or even fucking text me when you want to get your dick wet. Go get it from some other bitch, I am not a barracks bunny... Get the fuck out of here." Your words held venom within them, but if you were being honest... you don't know for sure that you wouldn't let him come back. This was the whole point of the game, right?

He chuckled as he nodded his head. Almost as if he somehow knew you weren't serious. He knew just how to get into your head, surely it wouldn't be long before you let him come crawling right back. "A'right, then, soldier. Until next time..."

He walked out the door, leaving you alone to cry yourself to sleep in your pillow, not caring to shower, not caring about setting an alarm. You want to mean what you said so badly, but there's still part of you deep down that thinks there's a sliver of a chance to creep inside his cold fucking heart. 

.

.

.

.

.

.

To be continued...? (maybe)

“Daughter, be of good comfort; your faith has made you whole “

Me when I saw people bullying Peter Parker in this deleted scene of Spiderman Homecoming

Things I’ve noticed in the trailer

Previously destroyed statues in HTTYD 2 have been replaced with one of a dragon

Valka’s dragon is in the BG so we’ll definitely get to see Mama Haddock in this movie

This fight will be a fight in the sea, a nice touch when you consider HTTYD a fight in the air and HTTYD 2 a fight on the land.

Hiccup and Toothless emerging from the fire is an homage to HTTYD 1 where they fell into the flames.

Feel free to add more things you noticed!!!

I see no difference. (x)

Yessss plssss

I have a whole idea for a Corpse Husband minific series... Anyone interested?

Don’t worry Bro , Black Tumblr got you and your Sister.✊🏿

Can we find her a donor please ✊🏿🙏🏿

a/n: sorry there’s so much drama in this one LOL im nothing if not a sucker for nightmare tropes

-as always comments/reblogs are appreciated!

-want to leave a tip? heres my kofi!

The Accused | Simon Riley/Reader

3.

As the morning sun rose and shone through the splintered gaps of the boarded up window, you realized how exactly Ghost got his name.

You weren't sure when he'd arrived, but he was certainly your sight for sore eyes, rising from your fitful slumber. His back faces you, the light dances over the darkness of his tactical gear. For just a moment, you allow yourself to take it in. The birds outside offer a lovely soundtrack. His chair creaks underneath him while his weight shifts.

"Mornin'." Is all he says.

It takes a couple seconds before you're able to sit upright. Your back aches something awful, and you aren't sure if you've ever felt so thirsty in your entire life. Lucky for you, it seemed your friend had brought a couple of gifts. Four water bottles and what appeared to be a few bags of jerky and an assortment of nuts. Your stomach grumbles at the thought, upset at you for not feeding it sooner.

You mumble a good morning as you rise to your feet and take the chair next to him. If not for the situation at hand, you were sure this would have been a lovely morning indeed. The situation at hand only grows worse when Ghost breaks some news.

48 hours, he'd said with a flat tone. Meeting someone out in Las Almas.

For two days you'd be alone, cramped up in this shed with nothing but the everlasting sound of nature as entertainment. To hide the disdain on your face, you grab at one of the bottles and take a long swig. It doesn't work. But it also doesn't stop him from taking his leave less than an hour later.

The rest of the day was spent in phases of isolation. The first phase, immediate boredom, came with anxiety quickly in tow. Ghost would be across the country and you were merely a few miles away from base. It was over if someone decided to stray away just as you used to do and actually found you here. Running couldn't save you forever.

Phase two was quieter. Your left side ached as the bruises began to settle deep into your bones. The birds chirped high in the sky, your tired eyes numbly watching the light cracking through the windows morph from a proud yellow to a dim orange. And, eventually, white with the moon casting through the trees.

You slept better that night- fed and hydrated, mind empty and full all at once with questions. What if's haunted you deep in your core.

By day two you were starting to feel better, but the air around you felt heavier than before. Moist, almost. The shed was dim. When you peeked outside, tentative and afraid that even poking your head out the door would render your life over, you realized that dark clouds had rolled over the sky and parked right on above. Wind blew through the leaves and you could practically smell the impending storm brewing.

When it began to rain, late into the evening, it was nothing too serious. Light pattering on the thin roof, a couple drops slipping through gaps in the shingles and puddling on the floor.

When the thunder cracked over the sky it almost sounded like a bomb. You jumped in your seat so hard you almost fell off, scampering to the window and peeking through the tiny cracks. The wind had grown menacing, tearing through the branches and launching leaves to the grass. Just as before, the sky remained just as baleful as it had been that afternoon.

Eventually, the rain began to come down like it was hail. It beat the roof ruthlessly, more and more water gathering on the floor as it forced its way through the ramshackle shed. You tucked yourself up on the chair, bringing your knees to your chest, trying to have faith in your little shack to keep you safe. There was nowhere else to go- this was it. With no blanket, you were reduced to a shivering mess, listening to the deafening chants of the falling rain.

But, even through it, you could still make out something else.

A great clap of thunder. The unmistakable sound of craning wood. And then an ear-splitting crash. You'd barely even managed to hop from your chair in time.

You felt the wind on your skin before you felt anything else.

And then, water. Lots of it- soaking you almost instantaneously. Pieces of wood and metal lay at your feet, surrounding you, your mind struggling to grasp what the hell was going on. Roaring gusts of wind echoed in your ears.

Standing there, your eyes finally adjusted through the murky darkness just enough to see leaves and branches bent at all angles before you. A great tree lays horizontal through the shed, mere feet away from where you stood. Moon poured in through the gaping maw of what used to be the roof.

The chairs you and Ghost once shared lay shattered to bits under its mammoth weight.

The tree welcomed the entire night into your little safe haven. Angry outbursts of winds, the relentless rain showering every inch of your body. In an attempt to protect yourself, you crushed yourself up into a corner of the shed, the only part of it with a chunk of roof remaining semi-intact. It bowed down, barely held up by the wooden posts, but it dipped just enough where the water ran down it and pooled at your feet.

Tears bite at your eyes, and you let them. They fall in heavy streaks.

And your chest heaved, your hands shook. The storm swallowed your cries, hungry and angry and ripping away any last remaining shred of normalcy you had. Everything around you seemed to be riddled with fractures just waiting to shatter. You grieved the life you had merely three days ago- spent more on the upside than down and wasting your in-between hours alongside Ghost.

Ghost. Beautiful, enigmatic, scary Ghost. With all of those rough edges and those forlorn eyes. He haunts your mind as you fold into yourself, but your limbs offer little cover to the elements. Your head hurts, your body aches something deep and awful. Your skin burns at the cocktail assaulting you- equal parts the pelting rain and the whipping of the wind pitching shards of wood and glass at your weak frame.

A part of you wonders if this would be your demise. If, out of all the wrong cursing your life, this would be your downfall. Cramped in the corner of a shed attempting to outlive mother nature like some pitiful stray thing. Your protective grip on yourself tightens. The nightmare doesn't end.

And the storm rages longer than you can stay awake for.

You remain where you sit even in your dreams. The world is all underwater garbles, the branches of the fallen tree try to reach out and grasp at your shaking body. It's almost like being in a bubble- feeling so full an empty all at once. Hearing the raging storm but it's booming voice just can't seem to fully reach you. But, you swear you hear something else.

You swear, with your face tucked into your knees, you can hear your voice rising above the thunder and the whirlwind.

And then it's like you can feel hands on your skin. Gloved, but warm. Something soft and fuzzy tucked wrapped around you. Those hands pull your arms off your cut-up legs and then you're weightless. It reminds you of your fall. Weightless, hung by your hand. Your eyes screw shut and you're torn from your spot like a ragdoll. Clearly, your soul must be leaving your body.

"-Up."

That faraway voice reaches you. It tears through the veil.

"-Hear m-"

You blink. Everything suddenly rushes in- real. The lamenting winds, the torrent of rain, the creaking of wood and the whipping of leaves on shaking branches.

The softness of a blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

Then, it all stops when you lock eyes with those familiar, melancholic blues. He's shrouded in black, the edges of his form painted in the most beautiful of blues, droplets gathered on his gear reflecting in what little light the moon could creep through those rich clouds. He touches your face. He holds your face. And then he's picking you up like you're broken and you try to remember the last time you've been treated with some fragility. You try to think back to a time when you'd been treated with such care.

"Ghost." You murmur, your own voice the loudest thing reaching your ears.

"Me." He says, and it draws tears of relief to your already wet eyes. You sink into his large arms, allow him to duck out of what remained of the shed. Allow him to pull you to his chest so tightly it's almost too much of him. Almost.

But it never gets to the point. You press your head against him and swear you can hear his heartbeat thrashing in his ribcage, restless. For the first time that night, you felt safe. Utterly safe in his hold. If your body could say thank you, it would have.

The relief knocks you out a moment later.

----------

It's warm when you stir awake. Quiet.

Soft.

When your eyes open, met with a burst of yellow light, you struggle to grasp where you were. Your elbows try to prop you up, but they sink into something plush.

It takes a few moments to realize you're a sopping-wet mess laying atop a couch. Your clothes stuck you grossly, but the cushions you lap upon make it hard to feel uncomfortable. You almost wondered if this was the dream. If you were going to wake any moment in a jump to defend yourself or run, scamper into the stormy night and earn one more day on earth.

But then you see a window with tightly shut blinds. You see a coffee table with coasters, a tiny TV mounted on a wooden entertainment center. An air conditioner pokes out of the wall and it strikes you how similar it is to your flat back at the base.

Like instinct, you glance to your right, and sure enough, you're met with a kitchen you recognize so eerily you have to pinch yourself. A half wall divides the two rooms, the stove visible with the steam outpouring from a kettle.

You were back at base. You were sure of it now.

But it was as if your flat never had the loving touch of personal taste. No photos, no decor. Void of anything to suggest a person with a life worth living inhabited it. It felt hauntingly empty. The same blanket you'd had tucked against you lay a crumpled pile atop the armrest. Your eyes linger on it longer than they should, mind still half empty with sleep and confusion.

You reach out, and you draw your fingers along the blissfully soft fabric of the blanket. It reminds you of your own blankets, and the saddening realization that you may never get a bed of your own ever again, should you not clear your name somehow. You get lost in your thoughts, idly running your fingers along the blanket, still damp from the rain.

"Enjoyin' yourself?"

Ghost's voice pops you out of the bubble you'd slipped into. He stands there in the kitchen, his torso visible over the dividing half wall. The first thing you notice is his evening attire- a skull print etched over a his black fabric mask and a casual black t-shirt spread gaunt over his muscles. It never struck you how naked he looked without his gear on. How bare he seemed with his ruffled blonde hair and thick eyebrows on full display.

The second thing you notice is the sudden shrew scream of the kettle, forgotten on the stove. Ghost settles a pile of clothes on the table and turns to tend to the piercing sound.

For some reason, your mind remains far away. Like you're watching through a lens, not truly where you were. All your brain seemed to want to focus on was the softness of the blanket. The faint smell of amber spice lingering in the air. Your eyes travel to the outline of Ghost, particularly to the broadness of his shoulders, and to the way he moved so languidly, pouring water into a pair of mugs.

You don't even fully realize it when he's suddenly walked directly in front of you, your mind lagging. The mugs are set on the coffee table, and in two snaps of his fingers an inch away from your face, you're blinking up at him like you'd been ripped from a trance.

"You there?" He asks, and you finally offer a response.

"I'm here." You murmur, eyebrows knitting together. "I'm confused. Are we at mine?"

Ghost shakes his head. "Mine."

Your stomach drops like lead. Settles in your gut when he adds, so keep your head down. It's a struggle to digest his words when you're suddenly keenly aware that one wrong move, one wrong sound would have you surrounded. It would be over before the chase even began. Ghost senses your dismay- reads it off the lines in your face that drag your features into a sinking frown.

"No where else to bring you." He admits, settling beside you. "This'll do for now. Just got to keep your head down."

His words do so little to ease you that it actually makes you laugh. Low, pitiful chuckles. "Simon Riley harboring a fugitive. You're a changed man."

"Not changed anything. You'd do it for me." Is all he says with a huff, and you know he's telling the truth. He reaches down and grasps a mug, and he brings it to your lap.

Your hands shake as they reach out, the chill of wet clothes still biting at your bones. It's nearly comical when you take the mug into your own hands, the immediate ripples bouncing off the walls as it shook in your hold.

"Christ. Give me that." Ghost sighs, and before you're even able to respond, he's plucking the cup from your trembling fingers.

Then he's bringing it to your lips and you're so excited to finally drink something that you barely even register how close he is. How he has to shrink himself to be beside you, how gently he tips the mug back while you sip. The warmth drops to the floor of your empty stomach and relief washes over you so intensely it nearly draws tears. How emotional you’d become, the last few days pushing you to your limits. But now you have real shelter, Ghost at your side, a bit more color in your vision and of course the luxury of warm tea.

You're so eager to get it down that droplets gather and fall from the corners of your lips. They dribble down your chin and you pull away with a grimace, swiping at your skin.

" 'Sposed to drink it." Ghost says, and it leaves him so sweetly.

You match the smile you swore you'd heard in his words. When Ghost brings the cup back up to your lips, much less tentative this time around, you can't help but subconsciously reach up to paw at this wrist. The dull ache of an empty stomach ebbs away as you empty the cup, and finally, your sore muscles relax into jelly.

"There you go." Ghost's voice, low and observant. Something in the tone makes you squirm under your skin, and you're met with the reality of being disappointed when he pulls away and sets the cup aside.

It makes you all too aware of the heat over your face, and you lower your head to escape his gaze. A quiet thanks leaves your lips.

"Clothes are on the table, no chance they'll fit you though. Better than being soaked." Ghost's large hands clap over your knee before he stands up. "Washrooms on the left."

When he leaves the room, and you start feeling that gnawing sense of isolation, you finally take to standing and wander into the bathroom. Its white light on even whiter walls blind you for a moment. When your eyes adjust, you're met with eyebags and wet, messy hair. Cut up arms and shaking hands. You look like you've aged 10 years. Your wet clothes plop down in piles as you shed them, layer by layer.

It felt strange to be in Ghost's house. Even more, it felt strange to be naked in Ghost's house. Quickly you unfold the clothes he'd provided, and then proceed to gawk.

Ghost hadn't been kidding. They did not fit. Just the t-shirt alone engulfed you. Somehow you managed to secure the sweatpants around your waist after finagling the drawstrings into a belt. Your legs swam in the fabric pooled around your feet. Haphazardly you roll them into cuffs.

Ghost, again, wasn't kidding. Shucked of your wet clothes, blanketed by his, you were already feeling better. The world felt a little less shattered around you. You hang your old clothes over the shower rod in the hope’s they’d be dry by morning.

When you leave the bathroom and saunter back to his kitchen, you find him there leaning against the table in wait. For a brief moment, he doesn't see you enter. And for that brief moment, your eyes plant on the sliver of skin visible between the gap of where his t-shirt ended, and his mask began. His gaze flicks over to yours and you meet it.

"Better?" He asks.

"A lot better." You say with a relieved sigh. You fidget with the hem of your shirt, eyes downcast, thinking the night over. "Goodbye hangout spot."

"Hangout spot? Are we fifteen?" Ghost scoffs, laughing lowly under his breath. He motions for you to follow and you're led into a modest bedroom.

"Come on, it was like a hangout spot. And now it's gone." Your voice falls at the end, and doesn't go unnoticed by his listening ears. He watches you through the corners of his eyes. "Was one of my favorites, too."

"We'll find another." He offers.

You shrug. "It won't be the same."

Ghost sighs and wanders to the side of the bed, and only then do you notice the blankets laid out on the floor.

"We'll make it the same. Come on, you need some sleep."

When he pulls the blanket from the mattress back in invitation, you frown. Even more so when he begins to kneel on the blankets mounted on the floor.

"I'm not sleeping in your bed. I'll take the floor." You deadpan. He shakes his head.

"Absolutely not."

"Man, come on. Let me."

"Not a chance." He settles over the blankets, laying flat on his back. You crawl onto the bed to peek over the edge down at him.

"Are you sure?" You ask.

Those blues peer up at you from the floor. They roll, his voice a grunt. "Shut it. When's the last time you got real sleep?"

You scoff. "You're gonna' talk to me about getting real sleep? I could ask you the same question."

Ghost laughs deep in his chest. A sound you rarely get the joy of hearing. But then he rolls over, back facing you, and you feel him shut the argument down in one fell swoop. Your combative perspective dies somewhere in the back of your brain, and suddenly your new focus is just how plush Ghost's bed is. It sucks you in, it feels. Practically reaches up with and tugs you down against it. You sprawl out, your muscles crying out in relief.

The scent of him surrounding you is intoxicating. As is the deep, soft breaths you hear from the floor. Your head suddenly becomes too heavy to lift.

"You know what," You mumble with half-lidded eyes. "I think I am gonna' take the bed."

Whether Ghost answers or not, you're unsure, asleep nearly the same second the last syllable left your lips. A heavy dream cloaks the forefront of your mind.

And it paints such awful pictures.

Fireworks of light, clapping explosions, and the distant howls of your friend's voices echo cry into the back of your mind. All you know is that you're running, your legs struggling to heave the weight of you. Darkness nips at your heels as you flee. Hands grab at you from all angles, long twisting fingers rooted to bony knuckles.

The crashing waves of the emptiness pass you with ease and you're swallowed into nothingness. Your feet splash through it like a pitch-black puddle. Though warped, you catch your own reflection in the murky depths. You kneel down and reach out, touch at the wet surface. It rippled like water but sat on your finger thick, like honey.

It reeked of tar.

And before you knew it, staring at the black ooze, a hand crashes through the surface and wraps it's spindly fingers around your arm. It yanks, rips you down. You struggle to your feet with an outcry, find your footing despite the hands hold, just to see more hand breaching. Your feet sink inches into the murk. The hands claw at your ankles, and then your legs. The ground drinks you down. Your thighs, then your waist.

"Fucking hell." A voice garbles, echoing and distant. The choir of outcries beat against your eardrums.

Your eyes search, and they land on something emerging from the darkness. A creature shadowed in the darkness blossomed, its dripping teeth and glowing eyes drawing closer. The air pulls from your lungs and you choke on nothing.

The creature claps its talons over your shoulders, its grip puncturing bullet-sized holes into your flesh. You rip and tear fruitlessly. It taunts you, laughs at you. Gargles your name out fuzzy and far away. You're suffocating.

"Look at me!" It chants, shaking you ragged. "Open your eyes!"

Your mind statics and blurs around the edges. Your eyes clench shut, and then tear back open, and it's like being pulled out of the water. You suck in your first full breath. A hand presses firm to your cheek and you react with vitriol, ripping away with its touch. Fighting harder when it persists, another hand planting on your shoulder to keep you still. The image of the monster lights up in your mind, with its piercing stare and snapping jaws.

"It's me!" A voice rings in your ears from a foot away. Right there, real. It reaches into your mind and drags you out with a thrashing heart and heaving chest.

The creature melts into the familiar shape of Ghost before your eyes, and that's when you realize it's silent. Nothing but the sound of both of your heavy breaths. The color floods back.

"It's me." He says again, softer this time, edged with gruffness. He touches at your arm, the other still set firm on your other shoulder. You peer up with him through tears.

"I couldn't breathe." Is all you manage to sputter.

For a long moment, he studies you. Then he drags his touch down the length of your arm, to your shaking wrists. He pulls at your hands and gently drags you to sit before he settles beside you. He sinks the mattress down and you don't stop yourself from tilting and resting on him, too tired to fight anything anymore. Besides, you needed it. Needed to feel his presence, the sense of safety his energy alone provided.

When he doesn't immediately shift away, you wonder if he knows it too. Or, maybe he feels pity. Feels bad and isn't really sure what to do other than just... be there. Which doesn't necessarily not work. When your body goes lax against him, you can hear the deep, long breath that escapes him.

Relief.

Relief because finally you seem like you’re all together.

"I'm sorry for making you take care of me." You croak. "Fuck, this is so embarrassing."

"Enough of that. Relax." Ghost's voice is so quiet. You don't think you'd ever heard him bring his voice so low, barely even audible. You wonder if you'd scared him, somehow. Or perhaps he felt if he spoke too harsh, too loud, you’d be rocketed back into your spiraling.

The image of that monster you'd gone face to face with seeps into your thoughts. It sends a chill over the plains of your skin, reminds you how vulnerable to feel without a blanket on. As if he reads your mind, Ghost drags it up from the foot of the bed and drapes it over you. Even goes so far as to slightly tuck the edges haphazardly.

When you realize he goes without, you frown.

"Here," You say, lifting the side of the blanket and tossing it over his legs. Any minute now, you expect him to roll his eyes and return to his place back on the floor.

But, instead, he gets comfortable. He shifts, sinks into the bed just a little more. Breathes just a little deeper. Warmth blooms in your chest and rides straight up to your cheeks, masked by the darkness. You can't however, hide mask the smile that takes over your lips when his shoulders go slack. His head tips to rest on yours.

The world stops turning for a moment. Lost in his breathing, his heartbeat slowing in your ears. Somehow, you think deep in your mind, that perhaps this had made it all worth it. His hands rest in his lap, just as yours do.

Barely, just barely, you touch the back of your knuckles to his own and let your eyes fall shut. His skin vibrates against yours.

You aren't sure the exact moment you doze off into a quiet slumber, but you do, fit with heavy eyelashes and mirrored breaths.