#but what is the fear of the ghost in the moment? being stuck with the giw. so they calm down and let the giw take them and keep them

[orlaunderrated]

The Edges of Us: Chapter 19

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Will Lenney x fem reader; George Clarke x fem reader

Summary: Y/N has always been close to George—but everything changes when she catches feelings for his sharp-tongued, infuriatingly charming friend, Will. Torn between loyalty and desire, Y/N finds herself caught in a messy tangle of friendship, secrets, and unexpected love.

Word Count: 6.5k+

Note: Hello i gave YN a september birthday bc she gives virgo vibes.

also pls dont hate me for chapter 21 its coming and i fear people are going to be mad at me for it.

xxx

The week went by way too fast.

Maybe it's the fast pace of this city, or the fact that I’ve been distracted. Either way, since seeing Will at the station that day, he's sort of… drifted out of my head. Like smoke caught in the breeze. The ache that used to sit heavy in my chest has softened, faded into the background noise of everyday life. It’s barely noticeable now. I’m almost surprised.

George, though, has come back in like he never left—solid, steady, with that proper mate energy I always fall back on. It’s like he’s been here the entire time, even though it’s been a while.

I mean, just last week he showed up unannounced with a takeaway curry because I’d moaned about being too tired to cook. No big deal. No drama. Just food. And, as usual, his terrible jokes that make me laugh harder than I should. Even when I know they’re coming, I can’t help but laugh at them.

Or that one night last week, when I was stuck on a bug at work and sent him a frantic message at midnight. Without missing a beat, he stayed on the line for a full hour, alternating between half-teasing and half-moral-supporting me through it. It was as if he knew I needed both—someone to help me focus, but also someone to tell me I wasn’t as stupid as I felt in that moment. I think he made about seven different “cracked the code” jokes, all of them terrible. But still, every time, I felt a little lighter. Like I was a genius, even if I didn’t feel like one at all.

I’ve seen more of George this past week than I care to admit.

I won’t lie, a part of me loves it. He was appalled to hear my plans for my first birthday in London was to split a shitty bottle of wine with him and scroll through Netflix to find our favourite Brooklyn Nine-Nine episodes. That’s exactly what we did for my actual birthday, of course. But for the Friday after, George insisted I needed to do something real. Something different.

I ended up having a dinner out, with some of my friends from The Van plus a handful of Ruth’s mates who I could tolerate, you know, just to pad it out. George, Chris, and Arthur all solemnly declined the invite, pretending it was some big “brand event” they had to attend. And, to be fair, they did actually have one, but they spun it in such a way that it felt like they were doing me a favour by not coming. “We don’t want to steal your thunder,” they said, like I wasn’t capable of enjoying a night without their chaos.

It’s just so typical of them. But I’m not going to lie, it did make me feel a little warm inside. They care, in their own ridiculous way.

So, here I am—out on the town, dressed a little too nicely for a bar, surrounded by friends who make me feel like I actually belong. The music’s pounding, lights flashing, the crowd’s energy wrapping around me like a warm, electric current. I take a deep breath and, for the first time in what feels like forever, I’m not thinking about Will. Or the way I saw him that morning on the train platform, or how the ache had softened but still lingered in the background, like some ghost I couldn’t quite shake off.

It’s just me. Just this moment. Just my birthday celebration in this big, loud city. And for the first time in ages, I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

The buzz of the night swirls around me—laughter, music, the clink of glasses all blending together into a warm, fuzzy haze. I’m wine-drunk from the dinner, flushed, carefree, and surrounded by friends, all of whom are easy to talk to and full of stories. Their laughter is infectious, the kind that makes you feel like everything is good, even when you’re not quite sure how you got here.

In this moment, I’m just present, no overthinking, no wondering about past conversations or lost opportunities. It’s all just right now.

And of course, Ruth keeps nudging me, grinning mischievously. “Come on, just say hi to Liam. He’s a good bloke. Deep voice, really sweet.” Liam, of course, is the mate she was trying to set me up with when Will first ghosted.

I wave her off with a laugh, spinning a loose strand of hair between my fingers. “Ruth, I’m not here to meet anyone new. I’m having a bloody good time as it is.”

She smirks but lets it go, knowing she’s not winning this one tonight. I settle into the rhythm of the room, feeling light and happy in a way I haven’t for a while.

The bar is buzzing with that familiar, chaotic energy—laughter spilling into the dim lights, the low hum of music wrapping around the crowd like a warm blanket.

I’m caught in the middle of it all when someone’s hand suddenly slips into mine. My first instinct is to pull away, startled, but then I look up, and a grin that could light up the whole place is looking back at me.

It’s George.

He’s grinning wide, like he’s been waiting for this exact moment, a little spark of mischief dancing in his eyes. Without saying a word, he yanks me back into the rhythm, spinning me around with a fluid ease that makes me laugh out loud.

For a moment, the chaos of the dancefloor blurs away. There’s no noise, no crowd. Just us—moving, smiling, perfectly in sync like we’ve done this a thousand times before.

“Had to make it,” he says, his grin never faltering as we twirl. “Can’t miss your birthday celebrations, can I?”

I raise an eyebrow, curious. “Skipped the afterparty did we?”

George shrugs, unbothered. “Yeah, the event ended early anyway. It was boring.”

He takes a sip of his drink, leans back against the bar. The music shifts, bass-heavy now, just loud enough to blur the edges of the moment.

If George is here, I’m sure Chris isn’t far behind. They went to the event together—Arthur too, obviously. The Three Musketeers of mildly chaotic YouTube fame. Wherever one goes, the others tend to materialise not long after, usually holding pints and half-finished inside jokes.

I should probably find them. Go say hi. Give them shit for missing my birthday dinner.

“I was just about to text you,” George adds, glancing over with a crooked smile, “see where you ended up.”

He pauses, letting the grin settle.

“But then I heard your laugh—” His hand makes a vague gesture toward me, “—and figured it was the universe telling me to just show up and crash the party in person.”

“Just show up, huh?” I laugh, the moment settling between us like a worn-in coat—comfortable, familiar. I’m so glad he made it tonight.

“May I have this dance, birthday girl?” he asks, mock-formal, eyes twinkling with mischief. He sweeps into an overly dramatic bow, one hand extended like we’re at a royal ball instead of a sticky-floored bar.

I shake my head, smiling at his classic George antics. “Sure, why not?”

Before I can rethink it, he grabs my hand and pulls me onto the makeshift dance floor. The lights blur. The music pulses, loud and careless, the kind that gets into your bones whether you like it or not.

Our movements are terrible—chaotic, off-beat, probably embarrassing—but none of it matters. We’re laughing, bumping shoulders, spinning like idiots. It’s not about dancing well. It’s about this: messy, loud, completely unfiltered joy.

And somehow, it feels exactly right.

That’s when I spot him, of course.

Right when I’m feeling good. Music thrumming in my chest, wine warm in my limbs, laughter still clinging to the corners of my mouth.

Will.

He’s across the room, in a booth, half-lit by the lamp on the table and the sickly blue overhead bar light, talking to someone I vaguely recognise. He looks good. A little tired maybe, but still—him. Black tee. Rings catching the light. That same disarming way he holds his drink like it’s just another prop in his performance of not caring.

And without thinking, like muscle memory, I smile.

Big. Wide. Genuine.

It’s instinct, almost. Something automatic. Like how your body remembers the way home in the dark. It doesn’t matter that I haven’t spoken him in weeks, or that the last time I did, he barely looked at me. My stupid, traitorous face still lights up.

He glances over. Meets my eyes for a second too long.

Then smiles back. Polite. Measured. The kind of smile you give someone you used to know.

And just like that, something in my chest contracts—tight and sharp and sudden.

I think I've convinced myself that I miss him more as a friend than a lover. Because what I’m feeling is nostalgia, not longing. I just want the version of us that used to make each other laugh until our ribs ached.

Not the nights. Not the kisses. Not the way he used to touch me like I was something rare.

I sip my drink. Swallow the smile. Try to focus on the music, on the friends I actually showed up with, on George’s voice somewhere behind me yelling about how he “absolutely crushed that spin move.” Because I’m okay. I am.

Mostly.

I spot Chris in the booth, laughing at something, a drink in one hand, gesturing wildly with the other. Will’s next to him, naturally. He's leaning against the counter like he owns it, that casual slouch he always falls into when he’s had just enough to drink.

I hesitate. Just for a second. Then I square my shoulders and head over.

“Oi, look who it is!” Chris beams when he sees me. He stands up and pulls me into a proper hug—tight, warm, sincere in that disarming Chris way. “You look unreal, by the way. Seriously.”

I laugh, startled by the compliment, and mutter something like “you need new glasses,” but it still catches me off guard—the ease of it. The kindness.

When he lets go, I glance at Will.

His hand is still around his glass, knuckles gone white. He hasn’t said anything yet. Hasn’t really looked at me, not properly.

“Hi,” I say, soft but even. I’m not going to shrink.

He offers a smile—thin, polite, all surface. Then he gives me another one of those side hugs, the kind that barely counts. His arm brushes my shoulder, brief and stiff. Like we’re colleagues who once had a weird office Christmas party hookup.

I step back. The cold of his skin lingers.

The silence between us says more than either of us ever could.

Chris, oblivious to the tension, launches into a story about some chaotic shoot involving three smoke machines and a minor fire hazard, and I let him pull me in, let myself laugh at the right beats. But I don’t miss the way Will stays quiet. I don’t miss the flicker in his eyes when I smile too easily at someone else.

At some point, the noise of the bar fades into background chatter. Will's looking at his phone, scrolling through something with intent, and I feel a strange compulsion to fill the silence between us.

“So,” I start, forcing my voice to sound casual, “how have you been?”

His eyes flick up at the mention of the place, and for a moment, I see a flicker of something—maybe surprise. Then it’s gone, replaced with that same cool, detached demeanour.

“Oh, uh...” He swigs from his glass, clearly not looking to dive deep. “I launched a coffee brand last month so I've been non-stop.”

I blink, caught off guard. “Right. Cool. I—uh, didn’t know that.” I totally know that. I stalked the shit out of it when it first dropped. Ruth had to stop me from going to a Sainsburys' to buy it. I don’t tell him that I recognised the logo from various papers around his flat.

I can feel the awkwardness hanging between us, thick as smoke. I don't know what I expected, but I would think he could maybe elaborate a bit more. The man can talk until the cows come home.

I glance over at Chris, who's still caught up in his own story, not paying attention to the fact that Will and I are barely engaging.

Will’s eyes flicker, just for a moment—a hint of something softer, like he’s about to say something. “You look—” His gaze shifts suddenly, moving past me, over my shoulder.

He cuts himself off mid-sentence.

I follow his line of sight, curiosity pulling me to see what has caught his attention.

And of course, it’s George.

George, grinning like a cat who’s just knocked something precious off the counter. “Oi!” He calls out, walking toward us with his trademark enthusiasm. “Why are you wasting your birthday time with these guys? Go have some fun with your mates!”

I can practically hear the relief in Will’s exhale as he shifts his attention away, the soft moment gone before it can take root.

George flashes me a grin, throwing a playful look over at Chris and Will. "You two need to stop being so serious, let her have a good night."

Chris throws up his hands, still smiling. “Fair enough, mate. Go on, buy the birthday girl a drink.”

I laugh, though it feels like a little too much, a little too forced. But George is already pulling me away, guiding me toward the my friends with a cheeky wink.

Will doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t even look back.

And for once, I don’t feel sorry for myself.

Not tonight.

I make my way back to our group, and George goes to the bar to get me another drink. I can feel how flushed my cheeks are from dancing and too much wine, and my hair is clinging to the back of my neck. Ruth’s still mid-rant about how her ex once cried because she beat him at Uno, and I let myself dissolve into the comfort of it—of noisy, lovely people who don’t know the Will of it all.

A few minutes later, George wanders over, two fresh drinks in hand and cheeks pink from the heat. One of Ruth’s friends clocks him immediately, eyes trailing over him like she’s assessing inventory. I don’t blame her. His shirt’s unbuttoned just enough, curls a little messy, grin easy. He looks like the kind of guy you flirt with just to feel alive again.

And I feel it. That flutter. The smallest shift in my chest—something I don’t want to name. It passes quickly, but it still passes.

He grins at something Ruth says, then catches my eye. I turn to face him, his brow raising slightly, a half-smile playing at the corner of his mouth. It’s like we’re already mid-conversation, even though neither of us has said a word yet. I turn back to Ruth, who is still complaining.

I'm hyper-aware of his presence next to me, and I'm not sure why but it feels… forbidden. Like I've stumbled into a situation is shouldn't be in. Then, he turns toward the bar. I turn to watch him catching up with a few people from the other side of the room, his voice rising above the crowd. His attention shifts, and he's walking and now, he's standing next to some girl in a glittery top, laughing loudly enough that it cuts through the pulse of the music.

He’s leaning in just enough to hear her, grinning that lopsided grin—the one that always makes people feel like they’re in on something. I feel it before I even register it: a flicker, low in my stomach. A little flutter.

Not jealousy, exactly. Just… awareness. Like I’ve noticed something I wasn’t supposed to.

They’re talking.

No—more than talking.

Leaning in. Faces close. That kind of proximity you only allow when the rest of the room disappears. Eyes locked in a way that makes my stomach drop through the sticky floorboards. For a moment, I forget the beat of the song. Forget the warmth of Ruth’s hand around mine. Forget how to stand.

I shouldn’t stare.

But I do.

God, I do.

“Let’s dance!” someone says (probably Naomi) and suddenly I’m being pulled back into the blur of bodies and basslines. I let it happen. I smile. I raise my arms and pretend I’m still in it, like the music hasn’t warped around the crack forming in my chest.

We move. I dance. I laugh at something Arthur says in passing and shout-sing the chorus of a song I don’t really know. But every time the hook rolls around, I glance over.

He’s still talking to her.

They’ve shifted positions slightly. George now angled toward her like he’s shielding their conversation from the world.

His smile is lopsided, eyes crinkled. That laugh, his real one, the one that starts in his chest and ends in his shoulders—

rises up over the bar.

It’s so familiar. I know that laugh like a favourite song.

And yet I have no idea what’s making her laugh like that.

They talk for ages. Longer than I expect. Longer than I can excuse away.

I keep dancing. Keep pretending. But the longer it goes on, the less I can feel my limbs. I become mechanical, going through the motions, too aware of the prickling at the back of my neck. The small, tight burn behind my ribs.

It’s not jealousy.

(Not quite.)

It’s something messier than that.

Ruth and the others break away for a round of drinks, their laughter trailing off as they slip toward the bar, and I pause—one breath, two—still swaying, still looking.

That’s when George finally pulls back.

His hand lingers a second too long on the girl’s arm.

She says something that makes him smile.

He grins, pats her on the shoulder, and slips away without so much as a glance over his shoulder. No number exchanged, no flirty goodbyes. Just the kind of quiet exit that makes me think maybe it wasn’t even about anything at all.

He rejoins us a few minutes later, sliding next to me at the bar as I'm waiting for Ruth to hurry up and pay for my drink. His eyes find mine, so I turn to face him. He's close to me. Like girl at the bar close. He makes a face that suggests that did not go well and I stifle a laugh.

The flutter’s still there. But it softens into something warmer. Something familiar. And I shake it off. Just a little.

It’s George.

“So,” I say, nudging his elbow, “how’s your new soulmate? Planning the wedding yet?”

He groans. “Don’t start.”

“She touched your arm. That’s legally binding in some countries.”

“She also talked at me for twenty minutes about her birth chart,” he mutters. “Apparently my Mercury is in retrograde, which means I need to ‘unblock my throat chakra.’”

I snort. “She’s not wrong. You do talk like someone who’s never processed a single emotion out loud.”

George shoots me a look, then takes a long sip of his drink like he’s trying to drown the sass. “Honestly? I panicked and told her I was gay.”

I nearly choke on my wine. “You didn’t.”

“I panicked!” he defends, eyes wide. “It was that or pretend I was into crystals. I chose the option with less homework.”

I laugh, I laugh so hard my belly hurts. I try to say that she's probably so confused as he approached her, but it gets lost in my giggles

I’m still laughing as he bumps my shoulder with his, alerting me to the fact that Ruth has finally purchased my drink, I wave for him to join our group. He tells me to wait a second,

George tilts his head toward me, mischief dancing in his eyes. “So… who’s your mate?”

I blink. “Huh?”

He nods subtly toward Ruth’s friend—the same one who gave him the full once-over when he walked over. She’s mid-laugh about something Ruth’s just said, holding her cocktail like it’s a prop in a rom-com. Cute. Confident. Exactly George’s type.

“I saw her eyeing me earlier,” he adds, all mock modesty. “What’s her deal?”

I short-circuit for a second. My brain scrambles like it’s looking for an escape hatch, and before I can think it through, I blurt out, “She has a boyfriend.”

George raises a brow. “Oh yeah?”

I nod too quickly. “Yep. Long-term. Serious. Big beard.”

It’s not exactly a lie. Ruth did say she had a boyfriend… at one point. Probably. Maybe. Or maybe that was a different friend. Or maybe I just said so I didn’t have to watch George flirt with another girl tonight. Either way, it’s out there now. Floating between us, ridiculous and unnecessary.

I glance at her, then back at George. “Actually… I think they broke up.” I wince. “I think.”

His looks bewildered at my change of pace. “Well which is it?”

“I don’t know!” I hiss. “I’m not a relationship counsellor, I’m just trying to make sure you don't end up making a fool of yourself again.”

George raises an eyebrow, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “A fool of myself?” he chuckles, clearly enjoying how flustered I’ve gotten. His eyes flicker, something sharper flashing for a split second beneath the teasing. “I just… don’t want to make a scene, y’know?”

I nod, though I'm not sure if I fully understand his coolness about it. He can for sure tell I just lied through my teeth. I look down at my drink, stirring it mindlessly, then glance up. Somehow, despite everything, I’ve ended up talking to George and pretty much only George tonight. He looks good—when doesn't he?—like he’s barely even trying. His messy hair, the way his jacket fits him just right, the way he always seems comfortable in his own skin.

I feel something stir in me, but before I can think much more on it, a guy sidles up to the bar, leaning a little too close for comfort.

"Hey, wanna dance?" he asks, his breath hot against my ear, lingering a little too long for comfort.

I give him a polite but firm smile, leaning back just enough to create some space. “No, thanks.”

He doesn’t back off, a smirk spreading across his face as he glances at George. "Is this your bird, mate?" he sneers, eyes scanning George like he's just waiting for a response. There's a challenge in his voice, as if he's testing the waters.

Without missing a beat, George shoots him a look that’s half amusement, half something more protective. “Yeah,” he says, like it's a statement rather than a question, the kind of casual confidence that used to make me feel safe, back when we both knew the drill. He puts his arm around me, just enough to make it clear that the guy’s not going to push any further.

The man hesitates for a second, then mutters something like "Alright, mate," and slinks off, disappearing into the crowd.

"Ugh I hate being called bird. Like do you want me to chirp at you?" I look at George, half-exasperated. “You didn’t have to do that.”

George just shrugs, his expression completely unbothered. “It’s nothing. Just old habits.”

I can't help but smile at that. We used to do this all the time back in uni—keeping unwanted attention off each other. It’s one of those little perks of having an opposite-sex best friend. We always had each other’s backs, no questions asked.

I can see the guy, looking between us, clearly trying to figure out if there’s more to it, but George doesn’t give him anything else. Instead, he casually nudges me with his shoulder, as if to say, Let’s get out of here.

Before I can protest, he’s already setting his empty cup down and pulling me toward the dance floor, a grin spreading across his face.

“Come on, Birthday Girl,” he says, practically dragging me through the sea of people, “let’s actually have some fun tonight, yeah?”

I let him pull me along, a little too easily. Despite the chaos around us, the clamour of voices and thudding bass, I find myself laughing, shaking off whatever that thing was I felt earlier.

And for a moment, it’s just us again. Just the two of us, like it used to be.

“George, no—” I protest through a laugh, but it’s already happening. We’re weaving through bodies and basslines, and he’s grinning like a man on a mission.

“It’s a foolproof plan,” he says, dragging me into the beat. “You pretend to be my girlfriend. We dance. Everyone wins.”

“That is not how foolproof plans work,” I say, but I’m already moving with him.

He spins me dramatically. I nearly trip. He catches me by the waist, laughing into my hair.

For a moment, it’s just the two of us again. Dizzy. Stupid. Easy.

I still feel a little bad about lying to him about Ruth's friend, But George isn’t pressing, isn’t thinking about it. And maybe that’s the part I’m clinging to—that he doesn’t need anything from me right now except this.

Just music, and limbs, and the dumb safety of knowing you’re someone’s favourite dance partner, even if only for one song.

After a few more songs—some iconic, some unrecognisable—we slip off the floor, breathless and flushed. George grabs his drink from where he left it and downs the last of it in one go.

“I think the lads are heading to Lucky’s,” he says, nodding toward the door where Chris is already half-waving, half-coaxing the others out. “You coming?”

I shake my head. “Nah. Ruth’s booked us a karaoke room at that grimy place on the corner. I’m morally obligated.”

He grins. “God help you.”

“She’s promised tequila and emotional support,” I say with a shrug.

George smiles, softer this time. “Text me when you’re home, yeah?”

“Always.”

There’s a moment—just a flicker—where we linger in each other’s space like maybe there’s something more to say. But there’s no goodbye hug, no drama. Just an easy pat on my shoulder and a, “Don’t sing Mr. Brightside. Again.”

“I make no promises,” I call after him.

He heads off with Chris and the rest of the boys, swallowed by the dark edge of the bar crowd, and I turn toward Ruth and our chaos-bound karaoke mission.

There’s no ache. No longing. Just… fuck… a flutter. A stupid, persistent flutter that starts low in my chest and rises like it’s got something to prove. I tell it to shut up. To get a grip. It’s just George.

It’s always been just George.

And yet… my stupid heart won’t listen.

xxx

The night’s winding down, and I've just hit an absolutely phenomenal rendition of Everybody Talks. The buzz of laughter and chatter hums through our private room like a fading song. My head is warm, the tequila and the night mixing into a comfortable fuzz. My phone buzzes in my pocket, making me jump a little.

I fish it out, squinting at the screen. It's George.

Are you still out?

I smile, fingers hovering over the keyboard. I’m still out, technically, but the bar here called last drinks 10 minutes ago, Ruth is half asleep on the couch and I’m tired. So tired that my bed sounds way more appealing than going to another bar. I don’t even question when someone says that the uber is £70.

I type back.

Yeah. We’re about to head home though.

I pause. The Uber price pops back into my mind like a punchline I can’t unhear.

Fuck, Ubers are £70. Who’s pricing London like this?

My phone buzzes again almost immediately.

Crash at mine!

That was part of our deal.

I stare at the screen, breath catching for a moment. It’s simple, casual, but somehow exactly what I needed to hear. Like a lifeline thrown over a sea of overpriced rides and fading energy.

I glance around at my friends, then back at my phone. A slow smile spreads across my face.

Maybe tonight isn’t done yet.

xxx

I step Into George’s flat, the door clicking softly behind me. I expected the usual buzz—Chris and Arthur sprawled on the couch, music thumping, the familiar chaos of a late-night kick-on.

But it’s quiet.

Too quiet.

Only George is there, sitting on the worn sofa, looking a little too casual for this time of night. No Arthur teasing him about the playlist, no Chris talking a little too loudly about something I don’t care about. Just George, and that weird flicker of something unreadable in his eyes when he sees me,

I drop my bag by the door and lean against the frame, suddenly aware of how still the room feels without the usual noise.

“Hey,” I say, trying to keep my voice light.

He shrugs, grinning that lopsided smile. “Figured I’d hold down the fort.”

I smirk, dropping onto the couch beside him. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Ghosted. Probably found a better party.”

I laugh softly, feeling this strange mix of relief and something else I can’t quite name. Just George. Just us.

We settle into the living room like it’s our own private island amid the quiet hum of the city outside. The faint clink of glasses from earlier still lingers in the air, but it’s just the two of us now. No crowds, no distractions—just George and me.

He’s sitting on the edge of the couch, and I’m perched opposite on the other side, both of us locked in that comfortable rhythm of teasing and banter.

“You owe me a rematch on FIFA,” he says, grinning like he’s already won before the game’s even started.

“Oh please,” I fire back, voice light but eyes sharp, “you’re just scared of losing again. You barely even know the controls.”

He throws his head back and laughs, that rich, easy sound that always catches me off guard—like a secret only I’m allowed to hear. “Scared? Never. I’m just letting you think you’ve got a chance. Gotta keep the game interesting, right?”

I arch an eyebrow, crossing my arms. “Is that what you call it? I’d say it’s called ‘underestimating your opponent’.”

He leans forward, that mischievous glint in his eye making my heart do that stupid little skip it’s been refusing to quit all night. “Maybe I’m just playing the long game. You know, lull you into a false sense of security before I completely wipe the floor with you.”

I bite my lip to stop myself from smiling too wide. “You keep dreaming, George. One of these days, I’m going to break your winning streak.”

His grin widens. “That day can’t come soon enough. Until then, I’ll be enjoying watching you try and fail.”

I lean in a little, lowering my voice. “Better watch out. When I win, I expect you to perform me victory dance, call it a birthday present.”

He raises his hands mock-defensively. “Deal. But be warned—I’m known for my killer dance moves.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Yeah, I saw those earlier. Didn’t exactly strike me as ‘killer’.”

“Oh, you wound me.” He points a finger at me, feigning offense. “Maybe I’ll let you be my dance partner. Then you can judge my moves up close.”

I catch that look he throws—like he’s daring me to say yes, like he’s hoping I will.

It’s ridiculous how much I want to.

But I just grin and flick his forehead. “In your dreams, George.”

He catches my hand before I pull away, holding it a moment longer than necessary. “Dreams are where the best things happen, don’t you think?”

I glance down at our hands, then back up at him, breath catching for a second. “Maybe.”

I shift in my seat, my heart pounding louder in my ears. It’s ridiculous—I’m telling myself it’s just friendship. Nothing else. But then, almost without thinking, I lean forward and press a quick, impulsive kiss to his cheek.

Immediately, the world tilts.

George freezes, his eyes wide and unblinking, locked onto me like I’m suddenly some impossible riddle he can’t solve. My heart thuds so loud I’m sure he can hear it, and my breath catches, sharp and ragged in my chest. Panic crashes in like a tidal wave, dragging me under before I even have a chance to catch myself.

What the hell did I just do?

I’ve spent so long tiptoeing around this—around him—pretending like the last few months didn’t come with a price. Like I didn’t know exactly how fragile this all was. And now I’ve gone and thrown a grenade into the middle of it.

Did I not learn my lesson?

Every warning bell I told myself to listen to—every quiet voice in the back of my head screaming don’t do this—I ignored it. Because it felt good. Because it felt like maybe, just maybe, there was something worth risking.

But looking at him now, the way his whole body stiffens, the way his jaw tightens like he’s swallowing a storm—fuck, I’m terrified.

Because I know that look. That’s the look of someone who’s about to build a wall so high it’ll take years to climb back over.

And I’m the one who place the first brick.

I want to reach out, to explain, to tell him it didn’t mean what it always means. That I’m not trying to ruin everything. Again. But my throat tightens, words catching like stones.

I’ve broken us once before. Maybe I’m just stupid enough to do it again.

And the worst part? I don’t know how to fix it.

I swallow hard and try to steady my racing heart, but the damage feels already done—impossible to rewind.

I wanted this to be different. I wanted us to be different.

But maybe some things are just too broken to mend.

And I don’t think I'm strong enough to watch him walk away again.

I pull back even further, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Sorry,” I mumble, cheeks burning, “That was— I don’t know what that was.” I instinctually start to think about where my bag is, where my phone is, if I it worth just firming a £70 Uber after all.

My hands are shaking slightly as I lean back, instinctively searching the room for my bag. My phone. Somewhere safe, somewhere away from this mess. I’m already mentally mapping out a quick exit strategy, but grounded to the couch, trying to ignore the way my chest is still tight, still buzzing with that kiss that feels like it’s carved into my skin.

Maybe I can just throw myself into the £70 Uber, call it a night, and pretend it didn’t happen. That’s always the easy out, right? Just pull the drunk card, laugh it off. Oh, I always kiss Ruth’s cheek, sorry, I’m just sooo wasted.

He doesn’t say anything. Just reaches out, fingers brushing my arm, cautious. There’s a pause—barely a heartbeat—where his hand hovers, and I it's like he’s weighing every possible outcome behind his eyes. Then, with a quiet resolve, he takes my hand and gently pulls me off my place on the couch.

I stumble a little as I rise, and he guides me between his knees. One arm slips around my waist, the other steadies my hip, and then he's tugging me down into his lap. Our controllers drop to the floor with a soft thud, forgotten.

Now I’m straddling him, knees braced on either side of his thighs. My chest is almost flush with his, barely any space between us, and I can feel the rise and fall of his breath—shallow, nervous. His hands settle on my waist, fingers splayed, thumbs brushing circles through the fabric of my shirt.

The heat of him seeps into me. Every point where we touch feels electric, like a current passing through skin and bone. The air around us grows heavy, charged, as if the room itself is holding its breath. I am too.

My heart pounds so loudly I wonder if he can hear it. I’m terrified—but I don’t want to move.

Then his lips find mine.

It’s immediate, a shock of heat. The kiss starts slow, hesitant, like he’s feeling his way through the dark. But then, without warning, it deepens, his mouth pressing harder, demanding more, like he’s been holding back forever and can’t anymore.

There’s a desperation to it, but it’s not just hunger. It’s… something else. His lips move against mine with a kind of urgency that makes my whole body hum. Each touch, each breath, builds into something hotter, more dangerous, until I’m gasping for air, my chest burning with every shallow inhale.

My hands are in his hair, pulling him closer, desperate to feel more of him. The world around us blurs, fades into the background—there’s nothing but this, nothing but the fire between us.

And then, just when I think I can’t take it anymore, he pulls away.

I’m left there, dazed, my heart pounding in my chest, like I’ve been thrown into the ocean and can’t quite find the surface. My pulse is still racing, my breath coming in sharp gasps.

He’s looking at me, his eyes dark, impossibly intense. There’s no confusion in them, no second-guessing. Just something raw, like he knows exactly what this is and what it means. But neither of us is ready to say it out loud. Not yet.

I swallow hard, my voice shaky as I speak, barely above a whisper. “I thought I’d ruined it.”

His eyes flash—something sharp, fleeting, almost imperceptible. “Shut up.”

His voice is low, rough around the edges. Not cruel, but desperate—like he’s trying to strangle the doubt in its cradle, to silence that voice inside me that always wants to dismantle everything good before it can begin.

The space between us feels impossibly small now, strung tight like a wire. One wrong move and it could all snap. The kind of silence that teeters between breaking everything... or changing everything.

We’re frozen, breathless. Neither of us dares to move. Not yet. Not while the air is this thick with unspoken things and nearlys.

And then, before I can even fully exhale, he moves.

One hand slides up my back, firm and certain, and he pulls me in, swift and sure. His lips find mine in a kiss that doesn't ask—it claims. There’s nothing hesitant now, nothing careful. Just months, no years, of tension unravelling in a single heartbeat.

It’s not perfect. It’s messy, rushed, mouths colliding more than meeting. But it’s real. And that’s all I’ve ever wanted.

My hands fist in the fabric of his shirt as I kiss him back, everything else falling away. No fear. No doubt. Just this.

Finally.

xxx

TagList: @meglouise00 @migilini @thankyoulovely @mosviqu @formulaal @jonnybernthalslover @tiredqzl @mrswillne @ravenaz @mellucyx @capnjosh

[readwritealldayallnight]

You had never seen him look so utterly human before

Laid up amongst the scratchy, thin sheets of the hospital bed, with only a plain surgical mask covering the bottom half of his face, everything else above Ghost’s shoulders exposed to your eyes for the first time, while his own eyes have been shut for nearly four days straight now

You had never seen your Lieutenant without the signature mask that haunts the dreams of even the deadliest foreign mercenaries, had never seen him look anything less than intimidating, commanding, powerful without so much as even trying to, his presence alone striking fear into those who’ve heard whispers of the fearsome Ghost

Now however, with an IV hooked up to his arm and a nurse that comes to check on his vitals periodically, it’s hard to picture him as such a gruesome soldier, rather than a simple man who bleeds like any other human

In spite of the evident vulnerable position he finds himself in, his pale skin appearing nearly translucent under the harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital, there was no denying that Ghost remained someone to be feared

A particularly nasty blow to the head during a field op gone wrong had knocked the burly soldier out cold, and though doctors were optimistic he would make a full recovery, they couldn’t exactly tell the extent of the damage done until he woke up

You and the men that made up the remainder of the 141 had been taking turns remaining by his side, not wanting for Ghost to wake up alone, whenever that would be exactly

You wonder how he would feel about this, the fact that you are currently the one on shift for the unofficial rotation of visitors who’ve stuck by his bedside throughout his injury

You’re well aware of the fact that the Lieutenant doesn’t like you, has never liked you, and probably never will, though you’ve never been able to get a straight answer as to why

From the moment you’d met him, he’d been cold to you, distant, making no effort to get to know you nor welcome you to the team, opposite to the way the Sergeants and Captain had welcomed you with open arms and hearts

No matter how much you poked and prodded at them for an answer, some sort of inclination as to what you could possible have done wrong to have Ghost dislike you so much, the men always bit their tongues

You saw the way they exchanged knowing glances and sly smirks, believing they were being more cunning than they really were, insisting to you with carefully chosen words that it wasn’t something you should worry about too much, that the LT had a different way of expressing his feelings than most

“So long as he doesn’t wake up and want to ‘express his feelings’ by punching me in the face for being the first thing he opens his eyes to.” You thought to yourself, glancing up from your book at his still sleeping form, shaking your head at your silly thought

No, he’d never been particularly kind to you, but he’d also never gone out of his way to be cruel to you either you supposed

Perhaps he found you to be more of a nuisance than anything else, a pest he couldn’t seem to swat away hard enough, an annoying pimple he couldn’t quite pop

Your eyes scanned over his face once more, cursing whatever Gods might be listening that the man hiding beneath that Ghost facade had to be so … intriguing

You could see old scars running across his face, some of them peeking out from under the surgical mask while others ran across his brow, his crooked nose evident even under the fabric of the mask

He was handsome in his own, rugged way, a fact you were displeased to learn when you first saw him laying here, switching off with Soap who’d been sat at his side earlier

Ghost may not care for you, not that he had given you many reasons or chances to care for him, but you cared about your remaining members of the task force, and knew how important Ghost was to them, and so for the 141, you’d do your duty and care for a Ghost who apparently wanted no such love and tenderness from you

You looked the large man over, brows furrowing when your eyes landed on his neck, noting that the pillow supporting his head was getting a little flat

You stood from your chair, setting your book down, and approched him carefully, almost as though any sudden movements would somehow wake the comatose man from his slumber

As gently as you could, you attempted to adjust the pillow behind him to hopefully be more comfortable, quickly realizing just how heavy he was when he was nothing more than dead weight

You slowly slipped your hands behind his shoulders, pulling him forward as best as you could until you were able to adjust the pillow one handed

Slipping your hands back down his shoulders to ease him back into the bed, your palms naturally ending up sliding onto the back of his neck, the tips of your fingers brushing against the hair at the base of his skull, an involuntary shiver running through you at what you realized too late was a bit of an intimate touch with a man who’d been touch starved for years

It was hard to say who was more stunned at first, with how quickly things transpired, when you suddenly felt a pair of strong hands reaching up to grip your wrists and hold them in place

You hadn’t even realized you had let out a gasp as your eyes flicked down and met none other than Ghost’s own wide open orbs only inches away from you, staring right at you as though he was seeing a ghost

Stunned into silence, worried that you truly were about to end up on the receiving end of Ghost’s anger for having invaded his space like that, you barely had enough time to process that he’d somehow woken from his coma when his grip on your wrists tightened further, and somehow, whether it was a trick of the light or you imagination, his gaze softened before his scratchy, out of use voice said:

“Love.”

Your ears were ringing, hardly taking notice of the way a flurry of alarms and bells had gone off as soon as Ghost had woken up, his heart rate soaring through the roof and alerting staff

Medical personnel rushed into the room before you could wrap your mind around any of what was happening, Ghost’s grip on your never loosening until the doctor finally approached you both, sensing the tension in the air

“Lieutenant Riley,” the man said, gently landing a hand in Ghost’s bicep to hopefully help him ease his strong grip on you. “Let her go.”

His grip on you disappeared instantly, as though your skin had suddenly burned him, but his eyes never wavered from your own, even as he began mumbling unintelligibly beneath his medical mask

“What was that?” The doctor asked, trying to bring calm back to the room and ease Ghost into a state where he could be properly examined

“My girl.” The Lieutenant’s gravelly voice echoed throughout the sterile room

“Pardon?”

“My girl.” Ghost repeated, never once breaking eye contact with your now widened eyes

“Do- do you know who this is, Lieutenant?” The doctor posed the question, slowly gesturing towards you with a confusion that was spreading amongst you all

“‘Course I do.” Ghost spoke with certainty. “That’s my love.”

Part two

[logaenhowlett]

SOMETHING HAPPENS AND I'M HEAD OVER HEELS - L.H.

Summary: What starts off as a simple favour to watch Laura’s cat sends Logan into a spiral as you continue to make your way into his life.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female Reader

Warnings: Pure fluff - Logan is 100% whipped, Wade

A/N: 4.4k - my longest fic yet! Worst!Logan has my entire soul, I'd give anything just for that pretty smile. Title creds to Tears For Fears. Enjoy!

MASTERLIST

The familiar burn of whiskey stings the back of his throat. Logan rests his head against the couch, second-guessing his decision to babysit Laura's cat while she's enjoying her night out. Her tireless attempts of pestering him at last working in her favour so he can finally meet his 'copy-kitten' - her words.

A quick glance at the time reveals he should probably head out now. Logan rises, groaning as his muscles protest after weeks of just slumping around the apartment. Even Al had pointed out how lazy he'd become lately. And that unsolicited observation gave him half the mind to consider finding new roommates. But who was he kidding? As much as he also barely tolerated that one incredibly maddening little prick's incessant jibber-jabber, he wasn't going to find anything for what he's currently paying.

Soon enough, he weaves his way through the crowds, swerving past the shoulders of, frankly, one too many people absorbed by their devices to step aside for his large frame. Luckily, Laura's place isn't too far and he really appreciates that detail as the sound of thunder rumbles overhead. A faint ding emerges from his pocket and he retrieves his phone, reading the screen with a slight squint.

His boots soak the welcome mat as he fumbles with the door trim, locating the key according to Laura's text - making a mental note to remind her of personal safety later. Shivering, he shrugs the wet jacket off, tossing it over the armchair. His eyes dart around the room, looking for the damn cat, and for a moment, Logan wonders whether he's being pranked.

The pitter-patter of paws against the hardwood floor has him snapping his head to the little creature in question. The cat, or Leopold Alexis Elijah Walker Thomas Gareth Mountbatten - Leo, for short - he learns begrudgingly after Wade shoved pictures upon pictures to his face one particular day, stares at him with indifference.

Understanding the need to be left alone, Logan trudges towards the kitchen, swinging the fridge open. A small post-it stuck over a box of leftovers, reads "Knew you'd be hungry", has him scoffing, mildly amused that Laura had predicted his actions.

Minutes later, he sinks onto the couch, making brief eye contact with Leo, who's nonchalantly licking his paws. He's halfway through the bowl of pasta when the cat suddenly leaps onto the cushion next to him. Logan watches curiously, he's not terribly experienced around pets, hardly spending any time with Mary Puppins herself despite living under the same roof.

"Alright, here's the deal." He murmurs, "You stay outta my way and I stay outta yours."

Leo replies with a meow to which Logan nods, satisfied by the response. He hopes to god this cat has the same temperament as Dogpool and allows him to simply coexist till Laura returns. Intrigued by the smell, Leo slowly inches forward, gently nudging his head against the bowl.

"Don't think you can eat this, bub."

Leo seems to understand the implication and meows in defiance. With a sigh, Logan gingerly flexes his hand, stroking the cat's head. The act immediately has Leo purring in content, the desire to investigate the food long forgotten. And no one's there to witness the ghost of a smile that teases his lips.

The calm attitude only lasts an hour before Logan's biting back a string of profanities, frustrated by Leo's refusal to take his medication. He's thankful for his healing factor, for otherwise, he'd be covered in a litter of scars. How the hell Laura deals with this devil-of-a-cat is beyond comprehension.

There's no use in trying again. Leo clearly wants nothing to do with him or what he's hiding in his hand. The thought of seeking help crosses his mind, perhaps one of the neighbours is especially skilled in feeding pills to literal hellspawns. Logan tunes his hearing to the apartments on the floor. Old lady already asleep to her TV - no. A family of six attempting to eat dinner in peace - no. Two people about to - fuck no. Now he really wants a word with Laura about her living situation.

Just when he's about to give up, a recognisable melody reaches his ears - one he's unwilling heard Wade jam out to in the shower. This person swaying along to music seems far more approachable than anyone else in this building, and so he steps out, knocking on the apartment across from Laura's.

The door cracks open slightly, you peek your head out giving him a questioning look, “Um… hi? Can I help you?”

“Hey, sorry to bother you. But, uh… I’m watching Laura’s - your neighbour’s cat.” Embarrassment creeps into his cheeks as he points behind him, “He’s not takin’ his meds and uh do you… can you help me? Please?”

The look of absolute defeat paired with the remnants of red scratch marks on his arms has your heart clenching for this poor man, “Of course.”

When the door fully opens, Logan’s eyes widen reflexively at the state of your undress. There’s nothing evocative about it, yet he feels as though he’s intruding on an intimate side of you. One he’s definitely not privy to.

Your sheepish smile sends a wave of something indescribable through his body. He clears his throat, turning on his heel to lead you inside. Leo flicks his head up at the sound of footsteps, purring as if he hasn’t been driving Logan insane for the past hour.

You knew Laura had rescued the little guy a while ago, having run into her in the hallway the night she brought him home. Every interaction you’ve had presents him as the sweetest kitten in the world, so watching the distinct mark of dread on this stranger’s face has you stifling a laugh.

“What?” Logan asks, feeling a little self-conscious about the whole situation.

“Nothing. It’s just - Leo’s very friendly. Or at least, I thought so… what the hell did you do to piss him off?” You chuckle, kneeling a foot away.

“Piss him off? I was just tryin’ to give him the damn pills. Had no problem with me before that.” Logan’s fingers twitch as you approach the cat, wanting to protect you from the sharp claws the demon would surely attack you with.

Yet, to his astonishment, Leo innocently crawls into your outstretched arms. And Logan swears he saw a flicker of mockery come across the cat’s eyes as he peers at him, relishing your comforting embrace.

“See? He’s a sweetheart.”

The fondness in your tone almost has him believing your words. In no time, Leo’s fully cooperating with your gentle requests, happily taking the medication as if it’s the tastiest thing in the world.

Logan learns three things that night. One, your name. Two, that you have some innate ability to charm everyone around you - human or otherwise. Three, he absolutely couldn’t wait to see you again.

Logan tries to drain out the shouting match between his two roommates, ducking calmly as Al’s miscalculated spatula throw flies in his direction. Laura giggles next to him, entertained by the whole ordeal - Wade had accidentally left his cock ring plugged in the bathroom again, nearly short-circuiting the apartment.

“Hey! Kink shaming is very frowned upon, Althea.”

“You motherfucker! I almost got electrocuted by the toaster this morning!”

Logan grumbles to himself, knowing there’ll never be a quiet, normal day in this household. He turns to Laura, “Kid, you wanna grab some food later?”

“Can’t. I’m going out.”

He nods, not giving it a second thought. But as the memory of you flashes across his mind, he stops bouncing his leg, heart beating a little faster. It had been a whopping seven days since that interaction, yet every little detail has stuck with him since. In fact, he spent many hours pacing in his room planning some way to magically run into you.

“… What about the cat?” He asks, and when she raises her eyebrow, “Who’s watchin’ him?”

She replies with a shrug, “I’ll figure it out.”

The solution to his problem falls perfectly onto his lap. Oh, how his pulse quickens at the thought. And as if to not seem suspiciously enthusiastic, he pauses before speaking, “I can do it.” 

“Why?”

“Better than this shit.”

Laura considers him for a moment then agrees casually - she knows exactly why he offered. You had bumped into her a couple of days ago, offhandedly mentioning meeting Logan that night as you recounted the details of your week. It took mere seconds to put two and two together and realise he was incredibly smitten.

Logan spends a good fifteen minutes messing with his hair. Fuck, did it always spike up like that? The one tiny mirror in his room supposedly taunting him with each look over. A low tsk breaks the flood of self-criticism as he slams the door shut behind him, roughly brushing past Wade.

"Ooh, is that cologne I smell or are you just horny to see me?"

His teasing spirit immediately drops when Logan shoots him a glare, precisely throwing Al's spatula straight at his crotch.

"God - not the home office, peanut! Jim and Pam need protection!"

The walk to Laura's seems a lot shorter this time, some sort of nervous, giddy energy surging through his chest with each step. Logan bites the insides of his cheeks, feeling childish by the stupid smile daring to grace his lips just at the sheer thought of you. He can't remember the last time someone had drawn these kind of emotions from him. A part of him wants to cower in fear of rejection and self-doubt, and other? Oh, it's got your name written all over.

As soon as he reaches the hallway, all his senses are directed to your apartment. Confused by the silence he finds instead, Logan strains his hearing harder than ever. Hm, it's barely seven-thirty, maybe you're not home yet? Disappointment twirls around his mind, he sighs before opening Laura's door, convincing himself it's probably for the better.

To his surprise, Leo behaves quite well this time around - eating his food, taking his medication, and sticking with minimal efforts to annoy him. The black and white movie he randomly chose keeps his thoughts from drifting to you for the most part, though he can't help but wonder where you are at - he checks his watch - 10:38 pm on a Thursday?

Whatever hope he held onto paints him a fool as time slips by. He couldn't blame you, you didn't owe him anything. Logan runs a hand down his face, and despite his wavering relationship with Leo, he's at least grateful for the cat's company on this rather lonely night.

"Was a dumb idea, huh?" He mumbles, gently scratching Leo's ear.

Not ten minutes later, the jingle of something hitting the floor has him sitting up, intrigued. Logan pads over to look through the peephole, his heart fluttering at the sight of you. It doesn't take a genius to note your drunken state with the way you're cursing and fumbling with the keys. His hand rests against the doorknob, a flash of hesitation creeping in. Do you even want to see him right now?

Before he can psych himself out, his instincts make the decision for him. Logan's unsure of how to announce his presence, wanting to avoid any chances of scaring you. In hindsight, that task should’ve been deemed impossible when you flinch suddenly anyway.

"Logan! Shit - did I wake you up?"

He chuckles at that and before he can even respond, you fire off another question, "Wait, what're you doing here?"

"Laura's out. I'm on babysitting duty." Leo purrs from somewhere behind him in confirmation. Logan watches as you nod slowly, the keys once again sliding from your grasp, "Here, let me help you."

The two of you reach down, fingertips barely grazing as he reacts faster than you. He realises he's much closer than he anticipated when your perfume crowds his senses. Logan buries the urge to meet your eyes deep, deep down, instead unlocking the door with a clenched jaw.

He's very appreciative of the fact that you're too out of it to observe his actions. He wanders into the kitchen to fetch some water, a laugh nearly spilling out of him as you collapse onto the couch, "Hey, easy."

"I'm not that drunk."

"I believe you." He lifts the glass to your lips, words ever so soft, "But... how about we get you to bed hm? Doesn't that sound better than this couch?" When you blink at him tiredly, Logan knows it's so over for him - every shred of denial he held within now shattered by your very hands.

"Okay... "

He maintains some distance, assuming you'd stubbornly dismiss his attempts to guide you to the bedroom. Leaning by the doorframe, he doesn't try to hide the fondness in his expression as you settle under the covers.

"Night, Logan."

He hears you murmur beneath the blanket. It's almost natural how quickly he replies as if you've had this exchange hundreds of times before, "Good night, sweetheart."

A groan leaves you as the sunlight eventually breaches the comfort of your dark room. Rubbing your eyes, you blindly reach for the bedside table, hoping to find your phone. Instead, your hand retrieves a piece of paper while knocking over a bottle of Advil that definitely wasn't there earlier.

'Not that drunk' my ass. - L

The party hat lays tilted on his head. Logan hooks his finger onto the string, momentarily stopping it from cutting into his chin. On any other occasion, he wouldn't have been caught dead wearing the stupid thing, but it was Laura's birthday and once she pulled out the dangerous puppy eyes, there was no way he could refuse without being an asshole.

He's been leaning against the wall, thumb lightly tracing the rim of the beer bottle in his hand as he blankly stares around the room. Throughout the night, Logan's eyes impulsively shift in your direction, tuning into the conversations you're having with - what feels like - everyone but him.

Mary Puppins zooms by, stepping on his boots in the process. She must've caught a whiff of whatever Al's cooking. He bends down to pick up the stuffed Wolverine chew toy she dropped along the way, mildly concerned by the amount of slobber coating it.

"Nice hat."

Logan hears you chuckle behind him. He quickly turns around, tossing the toy somewhere far, far away before you could notice. And despite wishing all night for the opportunity to talk to you, he finds himself tongue-tied now that you're actually in front of him, awaiting his response with an amused expression. Get it together, dumbass.

"This thing? Well... it made the kid happy." He says, incapable of suppressing the smile that never fails to make an appearance whenever you're around.

The way your features soften releases a storm of arrows to his poor, old heart. Whatever anxiety he felt earlier increases tenfold, Logan takes a swig of his drink only to realise it's empty. With nothing to divert his energy to, he grips the bottle tighter, hoping the integrity of the glass is enough to withstand the force of his nerves.

"Thank you, by the way."

His eyebrows raise in confusion, "For what?"

"Few weeks ago. When I got home totally wasted." As your cheeks turn a little red at the memory, Logan wants to relive that moment over and over again.

"Oh... yeah." He huffs lightly, gaining a smidge of confidence from your flustered state. It gives him just enough courage to throw in a cheeky comment, "At your service."

He's mighty pleased when you giggle, biting his lip to control the proud smile aching to take over. Logan studies you briefly, and if he didn't know any better, you almost seemed nervous too? That possibility sends his mind reeling in excitement. Perhaps you also feel something here?

The shrieking sound of a party blower has him wincing, the plastic hits his cheek as Wade sneaks up right next to him with a wide grin, "Sugar bear! Don't mind me, I overheard you tell Yukio about your date tomorrow. Now, spill. Who is this mystery man and does he have a twin by any chance? Brother or sister - daddy's not picky."

Logan's initial reaction to harshly shove the man aside dies in an instant when you laugh rather bashfully at the question. He prays to god it's another one of Wade's fucking jokes. However, that hope flies out the window as you hesitantly ramble on about this guy. Excusing himself, he leaves the apartment, ripping the party hat off in agony - not witnessing the guilt eclipsing your emotions.

Droplets of sweat linger at the ends of his hair as he places the last of Laura's cardboard boxes on the floor of her new apartment. After weeks of mulling it over, she decided to move a little further away, complaining about how rent was becoming too crazy. Logan offered to support her financially till she was good on her own, yet she strongly refused just as he expected.

Since she was no longer your neighbour, the chances of running into you dwindled over time. He saw you in passing last month when he came over to help Laura with apartment hunting. The logical part of his brain convinced him to not stick around, desperately clinging to the idea that you're not interested. But catching your expression fall as he dismissed your presence nearly made him run back to wrangle you into his arms, to whisper apologies and beg for forgiveness.

After an especially tiring day, Logan returns home, crashing onto the couch with a sort of emptiness as he stares at the ceiling. Both his roommates are muttering in the corner, afraid to call out his incredibly irritable mood of late - instead, walking on eggshells whenever he's around. It seems that Wade loses the hushed argument, settling a good arm's length away from him.

"Peanut." He drags, slowly, "Al and I are... worried about you. As much as this brooding, tough guy act is really doing wonders for my sexual wellbeing, I just can't let you Debbie-Down-Pour all over this parade."

"The fuck you want me to do?"

"You need a one-way ticket to pound town-" He chirps, and when Logan grunts angrily, Wade shrieks, shielding himself from any incoming attacks, "Don't hurt me!"

The aroma of coffee tingles his senses as he takes an exaggerated sip, ignoring the need to continue such an aimless, one-sided conversation. Across the table is one of Vanessa's acquaintances, Karen or Kira - he can't remember - mindlessly explaining why her previous dates didn't work out. Logan forces a nod here and there, humming in pretend acknowledgement while he concocts some plan to seriously bash Wade's head against the nearest wall.

In all honesty, he didn't know how the hell that bastard persuaded him to entertain this woman for the night, making a note to check his alcohol for any suspicious substances later. What he did know was that this was going as terribly as he thought. And while he might be awfully rusty in terms of dating, Logan's certainly not oblivious to basic body language cues. Deciding twenty minutes of this torture is enough, she hastily rushes out the building and that's the last of Karen he ever sees.

The grocery bags feel like cinder blocks in your hands as you walk down the street. Mentally scolding yourself for postponing this chore till the last minute, you huff in exhaustion, adjusting your grip every few seconds. A woman nearly bumps into you on her way out, you stagger backwards, watching her storm off. Startled by her rashness, you turn to glance at where she came from, gasping when you spot a familiar face.

“Logan?”

He snaps up, recognising that particular voice - your name leaves his lips softly. Mixed emotions swirl around his mind, yet, he can't help the way his heart jumps as you fill his senses, “Wha - what’re you doin' here?”

“I was just passing by... saw you through the window.” Your gaze drops to the half-finished cup of coffee opposite him, “Were you on a date?”

“Uh Wade - he...” Logan stutters for a moment, dumbfounded that you're even talking to him after his childish behaviour the last few weeks. He nods lightly as the unmistakable bullet of regret pierces his insides.

“It’s her loss anyway.”

God, he wants to apologise so badly. Your friendly attitude only serves to make him feel worse, but Logan thanks his lucky stars that you don't hate him. He definitely wouldn't have been able to handle any sign of resentment on your part - no matter how much he deserves it.

“What’s with the eggs?”

You laugh, looking down at the several cartons peeking through your bags, “I’m stress-baking.”

He's so lost in your eyes that it takes him a second to register your reply, nose scrunching in amusement, “Stress-baking?”

“Yes, it’s a perfectly valid activity.”

That draws a chuckle out of him. He raises his hands in defense, “I ain’t judgin’, doll.”

A comfortable silence takes over and Logan realises just how happy he is to see you again - how much he's missed you all this time. He opens his mouth to spill something out of pure impulse when you beat him to the punch.

“Why don’t you join me?”

It doesn't take much convincing and he's already fallen into a steady pace as you walk together - his fingers effortlessly hooking onto all the grocery bags. His chest threatens to explode when you lean towards him, moving aside for people brushing by. Logan wills his entire strength to not drape his arm across your shoulders in an effort to keep you safe.

Time becomes irrelevant when you're around. The frequency of his own laughter shocks him at first, but he's not really thrown off by the joy you bring out of him because - well, of course, you do. It's safe to say that Logan can't bake to save his life, though he doesn't mind this particular weakness as you giggle at his dreadful attempts to mix the cookie dough. Shamelessly, he watches you come closer, breaking into a tangent about proper kneading techniques - if you ask him to repeat any of it, he'd be stumbling over his words like a fool.

Eventually, he makes something that somewhat resembles your example. He dips his finger into the dough and lifts a small piece in your direction, "How's this?"

When you gently grasp his hand to lick the sweet mixture straight off, he thinks he's trapped in some wild daydream. Logan stares at you in surprise, cheeks turning into a telltale shade of red. Your hums of approval fall onto deaf ears as he remains frozen, wondering how you're so quick to move on from that bold gesture.

Every little thing you do stains his mind - from the way you dance around to soft music playing in the background, the way you focus all your attention on him whenever he speaks, even the way you warn him about the oven as if he could get burned.

His expression must've turned serious by how you suddenly pause, peering at him in concern. Bearing a rush of emotions, the words pour out of his mouth without hesitation, "I am so sorry."

"I was an idiot and I... avoided you 'cause I couldn't deal with these damn feelings-"

He stops.

He's revealed way too much. And judging by your face, that was definitely a mistake. Logan shuts his mouth, jaw hardening as he fights something heavy crawling up his throat. His eyes land on the door and all he wants is to escape from this shrinking room.

A whisper of his name fractures the glass cage he's built up around his heart. His boots seem to be cemented to the floor, unwilling to break free even as you still in front of him - a mere breath away. Your hands rest against his cheeks, slowly turning his head so he's compelled to meet your tender gaze.

Not a single sound slips out of him before your lips are on his. His heart pounds in his chest, burning at sensation. Logan leans into the kiss, hands settling on your waist, holding you as close as he can. Relief washes over him, he tilts his head slightly to deepen his movements - his breath nearly giving out when you whimper softly.

The loud ding from the oven has you pulling back with a faint chuckle. Logan smiles too, letting out a sigh as he lays his forehead against your shoulder. He presses his lips to your collarbone, whispering against your skin, "Does that mean what I think it means?"

"The cookies... or us?"

He gently pokes your side at that comment, mirroring your dazed look. Between the quiet exchanges of laughter, he knows exactly what this means - what you mean to each other.

His muscles feel looser with each stride, embracing the breeze tangling with the warmth pooling inside from your touch moments ago. Logan makes his way home with a kind of ease he hasn't felt in forever, chewing on a cookie you insisted he taste.

As he walks through the door, Wade rests his chin on his hands, “So… how did it go? I see you’re enjoying the post-bang baked goods.”

Logan rolls his eyes, not wanting his mood to be spoiled. He grumbles under his breath, your name accidentally slipping out.

"You ran into angel-reincarnate?" Wade gasps, "Oh. Finally putting that horse cock to good use." Clapping excitedly, he follows after Logan, "Wait a second, this fic is tagged fluff. There'll be no fucking on my watch, partner!"

Logan slams the door to his bedroom behind him, blocking out Wade's muffled chattering.

"She had you cosplay as Paul Hollywood all night? Goodness! The power she possesses. I must gain all her secrets."

"Fuck off."

Wade grins to himself, quickly pulling his phone out to shoot off a text.

Wade: Project-Wolvie-Gets-Pussy is a go!

Laura: We are NOT calling it that.

[neonovember]

bucky barnes as a husband headcanon!

heavily inspired by my steve headcanons here, I wanna try my hand at writing more of james. he is the epitome of devotion, he falls first and falls hard.

this kind of takes part in an alternative au (think avengers are still together but its post the falcon and the winter soldier)

he is canonically good at cunnilingus

you think I’m joking? This man divulges into a rabid animal the second he gets close to your thighs. He is on his knees whilst your pressed up against the counter rubbing his face against your clothed crotch moaning and grinding in the air

he says if he could have gotten a taste of you while he was the winter soldier it would've required his brain and reversed the brainwashing

’to be alone with you’ - hozier is bucky’s song

like steve, he feels the isolation and ghost-like feeling of being lost in time. Brooklyn doesn't feel like home anymore, he constantly reaches for you, even in sleep because you are the thing he now belongs to.

you can never get used to how intense bucky just..stares at you. Every single moment of the day you'll just catch him watching you silently not saying a word. It wasn't creepy, no it had this protective almost darkness to it that was all consuming. At one of Tony’s parties, he’s watching you across the room with a glass in his hand or mysterious and shit. (probably thinking about when is a polite time to leave)

which is never because bucky just drags you both out of every gathering. Every goodbye is an Irish one

man bun bucky. That’s it.

lets you cut his hair when it gets to the point of covering his eyes. Sometimes his stubble too, thumb circling and grazes your thigh as you lean over him with a scalpel.

most of the team are still gobsmacked at how bucky justs..trusts you. Whether it be with a shaving, or jumping out of a corner. If any of the team tried to pull a knife on bucky he would probably (not) accidentally break their jaw

after missions all the Avengers know he’ll be offline for at least a couple days to be with you. What they don’t discuss is half of those days are fucking you bruised. He gets all pent up and irritated when he isn’t around you, it’s like you recalibrate his mood back to baseline regular bucky when he can finally sink into you.

doll, darlin’, honey

if you think steve is possessive…just exponentiate that to the power of 10 and you have husband bucky. Are we forgetting this man used to be the winter soldier? he's cute and adorable but also can be fucking horrifying. I’m talking blank face breaking a mans jaw cause he looked at you funny

very casual in his superhuman abilities to protect you. 

silky dulcet notes of etta james, the album sam had gifted you both playing as you cut up some root vegetables. It’s summer and the night is long and warm, and you and bucky are humming as you prepare dinner. You're twirling your hips, Bucky is leaning against the countertop, half trussing the chicken and the other watching you when he suddenly stops. You don't notice it at first, until he cocks his head to the side, kind of blinks and moves to turn the saucepan on low. You turn to him, and he grabs for one of the kitchen knives on the bench before reaching for you.

"there's someone in the backyard"

all nonchalant, like it had been a burrowing animal stuck under the floorboards. he motions for you to continue, turns up the record player a bit and walks into the backyard without a sound.

this man is touch starved, of course he is cock warming after. each and every time.

one of the things bucky loved about you is at ease he felt, he could talk to you and spill everything out in a way he never could with dr raynor or even steve.

there was a bit of distance from him when he first met you, he was awestruck, even more silent than he usually was. Just stared at you longingly, standing off to the side. he didn’t think he could be anything but feared, it genuinely got to the point where you thought he didn't like you or that you had done something wrong. when steve had told him this, he nearly died. no, i'd like to think he's heart stopped for a couple seconds seriously. than got up from fainting, took you aside, and kissed you against the back of sarah's backyard door on the fourth of july.

stations a few target practice posts in your backyard. teaches you how to shoot, chest pressed up against your back as he helps move your body in the right position. always make sure you know where the weapons are in the house

singing to records whilst he's cleaning said weapons at the table

takes you to all the places still standing he remembers in Brooklyn, you hold his hand and let him rest against your shoulder when the past gets caught in his throat.

Steve finds a place in the city with actual good music, where people actually dance, and it becomes your spot every Friday.

yeah, one thing bucky remembers would be his muscle memory of the dance floor, he’s goooood. Teaches you everything he knows in your kitchen of course, always ends up with you making out on top of each other though

dry humping like teenagers, bucky with his low hanging jeans, not wearing boxes and making a mess just from the taste of your mouth

actually, sometimes breaks down in tears when he realises you’re his wife. Like forever.

always thinking about you, what you're doing, if you've eaten. even if hes in the middle of recon you will be in the back of his mind.

leans over and loops his dog tags around your neck whenever he leaves for missions. kisses your eyelids when your sleeping and the fight calls him

the second time you and bucky visited Wakanda he had Shuri craft the ring to be fused into his vibranium finger..yeah I know.

bucky isn’t the extroverted talking type, but with you he is constantly just yapping..about anything and everything. Following you around the house like a puppy, coming to you for the answers about the new world and questions he always harboured even before the ice

bucky is hilarious, he's already an adonis, but he could laugh you of your pants

can’t bear fighting with you, he never yells. He just kind of goes quiet and takes a walk

you guys live in a house with a huge backyard and a wraparound porch

loves cooking, lets him turn his mind off sometimes and make you something hearty and warm. he has a frilly gingham patterned apron he wears and his curls are wrapped into a bun with your scrunchie. floor always ends up on his cheek, and you always end up on the kitchen bench with his mouth on you

night terrors had him sleeping in a sleeping bag next to the bed, he refused despite your attempts. Sometimes he'd wait till you fell asleep against him and make the heartbreaking quiet separation and sleep on the floor

sometimes likes to take of his arm around the house, especially sleeping. Keeps it near in case though, for you.

he’s thick everywhere…took an hour of foreplay minimum to get you ready for him. You both will never get used to each other, needing to take a moment of hushed gasps and groans when he first sinks in

the wedding was in Sams backyard in Delacroix, just Sam, Sarah, the kids and Yoshi and the team

fairylights wrapped around the spanish moss of hanging trees, soft jazz and hard liquor. Sarah’s seafood boil and a dance floor where bucky spends half the night with you there

dad!bucky on the other hand..now that is a different ballpark. wait no actually, just him when you're both expecting. let's not forgot when he stormed into the tower and broke through the office doors to ask why on earth tony had scheduled him a mission so close to the birth of your baby, tossing him his phone which was now crumbled heap of metal in the shape of his fists....(you were two weeks along)

[nekonaps0]

Heey :3

Could I request Sebek, Silver and Malleus with reader who attracts animals like Silver except it's..the weirdest or most unexpected animals. Like insects, spiders, crocodiles, snakes, anything very unconventional animal and they just let reader pet them.

Is that a spider?!

✦gn!reader

✦characters: Sebek, Silver, Malleus

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek prided himself on being alert, focused, and perpetually on the lookout for threats.

So when he found you outside Ramshackle casually stroking the head of a fully grown crocodile, his first instinct was to scream.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! THAT BEAST—IT COULD DEVOUR YOU IN A SINGLE BITE!”

You didn’t even look up. “Oh, this guy? Nah, he likes tummy rubs. Look, he rolls over when I do this.”

THUD.

The crocodile really did roll over. And made a… weird gurgly noise? Was that even real?

Sebek was horrified. And fascinated. And mortified about being fascinated.

“It must be enchanted! Cursed! Vile dark magic!”

The croc licked your arm.

“I think he likes the strawberry lotion I used. Wanna try?”

Sebek looked horrified. “I—NO—I DO NOT REQUIRE REPTILIAN AFFECTION!!"

But when the crocodile blinked at Sebek and then waddled to nuzzle against his leg, even he froze.

“...This is unnatural. You… you must be cursed with the ability to tame monstrosities!”

You only smiled.

“Maybe. But I like monsters. Especially loud, overprotective half-fae ones.”

He went so red he nearly combusted. And never let you walk alone again. Just in case the next crocodile wasn’t as nice.

Silver

Silver didn’t scare easily. He’d seen ghosts, dragons, and his father wearing questionable clothes.

But when he woke up from a nap on your lap and saw a giant tarantula crawling across your shoulder, he jolted.

“Y/N… don’t move. There’s a spider—”

You reached up and scratched behind its fuzzy legs like it was a cat.

“That’s just Mister Tickle-Toes. He’s cozy.”

“...You named it?”

“I think he likes when I hum. Watch.”

You hummed softly and the spider literally snuggled into your hair.

Silver sat there, stunned, not sure if he was hallucinating.

“That’s… actually kind of impressive.”

You grinned. “He only likes me, though. Everyone else he tries to bite.”

At that exact moment, Grim sprinted past the window shrieking, “SPIDER-THING TRIED TO EAT ME—!!!”

Silver blinked slowly, then turned back to you.

“Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

Malleus Draconia

Malleus had long considered himself strange, otherworldly, feared and revered, but not often understood.

Then he saw you cuddling with a coil of snakes in the greenhouse.

Not one. Not two. But at least five serpents, lazily draped over your shoulders as you giggled and stroked them like they were fluffy kittens.

He didn’t know whether to be alarmed or enchanted.

“Are those… venomous?”

You looked up cheerfully. “Yup! But I think they like my voice. They get sleepy when I talk.”

One of the snakes literally yawned.

Yawned.

Malleus approached, regal and unbothered, and sat beside you.

“They are beautiful,” he said gently.

You smiled at him with your usual shameless sparkle. “You’re not scared?”

“Of you? Never.”

One of the snakes slithered into his lap, curled into a circle, and fell asleep.

Malleus stared down at it, blinked once, and then chuckled—a soft, genuine sound.

“They accept me… because they love you.”

He leaned in, brushing your cheek with the back of his fingers.

“You are chaos incarnate. I find it… deeply endearing.”

You stuck a flower crown on his head (you’d made it earlier while a centipede sat on your wrist like a bracelet)

“I think I’m falling for you, snake prince.”

He smiled like thunder blooming in the night sky.

“Then I shall rule a kingdom of beasts with you at my side.”

..............................................................................................................................

Bahaha! That’s was peak idea!!!

[mandoalorian]

if this is war, i surrender — prologue

Revenge had a price. You just didn’t expect it to feel like this.

Pairing: New Avenger!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Synopsis: You wanted revenge. He became the reason you hesitated. He was the ghost from your past—the one who took everything. But getting close to him meant playing a dangerous game. And somewhere between hating him and pretending not to care, you forgot the one rule you swore you'd follow: don't fall for the enemy.

Word Count: 2,700

Rating/Warnings: 18+ for eventual smut - and there will be a lot of it, mentions and descriptions of abuse (both physical and emotional), enemies to lovers, canon typical violence, death of a family member, Sam/Bucky aren't friends.

Author’s Note: SPOILERS FOR THUNDERBOLTS* (and is tagged accordingly) — as promised, a brand new fic series for our beloved New Avenger!Bucky. And it's an Avengers Tower fic! I am so excited for this. If you want to be tagged, let me know.

Masterlist | next chapter

You’d lived your whole life feeling what others couldn’t hide.

Anger that simmered beneath polite smiles. Grief was tucked behind practised charm. Lust, hatred, envy—emotions wrapped in flesh and bone and lies. Most people were predictable once you knew what they’d do before they did it.

It wasn’t magic. Not really.

It was you—something twisted into your blood long ago. You could read them. Sense the weight of a person by the colour of their aura, the heat of their intent. It made the world feel like a game of chess, you were always five moves ahead in.

And still, somehow, you’d lost everything.

No family. No justice.

Just a face burned into your memory—cold, unfeeling, and soaked in your brother’s blood.

The Winter Soldier. 

You’d read all the self-help books and spent years in counselling and therapy. God, you had tried everything to get over it. But you remembered it like it was second nature, so much so that your Void Room felt like a nightmare you’d been used to for the past twenty years. It wasn’t reliving trauma, because you had never left. You were only a small child when it happened. You remember the fear that outlined your brother when he was cornered by the Winter Soldier, and the Soldier’s aura? Nothing. Like he was cut off from the world. Not an ounce of feeling or emotion. 

But how could that be possible?

They said he was reformed, that he was out in the city under a government pardon, trying to live a ‘normal life’ after the Battle of Earth. There were traces of his presence a few years ago, working alongside Captain America to disassemble the Flag Smashers. And since then, a brief stint of being Brooklyn's Congressman.

Seriously, who would vote him into power?

You had been waiting for the world to hand him a spotlight, a new beginning, because that always seemed to happen to men like Bucky Barnes. 

A fresh start. Forgiveness. 

You were okay with waiting because a plan like this had to be made with precision, and precision took time. You couldn’t fight him with fury or fire. 

You’d get close. You’d make him trust you. And when the moment came, you’d watch his world fall. 

But for now, you worked at McCready’s bar in Lower Manhattan.

The neon lights outside the bar flickered in a lazy rhythm as you wiped down the counter for the umpteenth time, the stale smell of spilt whiskey and cheap beer lingering in the air. It was a Tuesday, but the bar was packed — a sea of half-drunk faces and the kind of conversations that never mattered. You hadn’t expected much from the job, but at least it kept you afloat. Barely.

The tips were inconsistent, the hours long, but it was all you had. Living in New York City wasn’t kind to anyone who wasn’t swimming in money, and you weren’t even close. You’d gotten used to the way the city hummed around you, indifferent to your struggles, just another face in the crowd. At least you weren’t completely alone. Shane was always there, hovering in the background like a constant reminder of the life you were stuck in.

He was your roommate, sure — but the lines had blurred long ago. It was more than that. You couldn’t leave him, not because you loved him, but because you had nowhere else to go. Shane had a way of turning everything he touched into a mess, and you were caught in the fallout. He was just… volatile, always drunk, always angry. His mood swung like a pendulum — when it was good, it was fine, but when it was bad, it was a storm. And you were always the one caught in its path.

Tonight was no different. His eyes were bloodshot, his speech slurred, but you knew better than to challenge him. You knew the look, the one that came just before things went south. You had learned how to move quietly, how to keep your head down when he raged. It wasn’t the first time he’d lashed out — and you hated yourself for staying, for letting him control so much of your life. But you couldn’t leave. The apartment was cheap, and it was better than being homeless. The city wasn’t kind to women on their own, and you weren’t naïve enough to think you’d be different.

So you endured.

The clink of glass broke through your thoughts, pulling you back to the bar. Another customer. Another drink to serve. You plastered on your best smile and handed over the next round, trying to ignore the ache in your chest, the one that never went away. The ache that was there every time you realised you were stuck in a life that wasn’t yours to begin with, with a person who only made it harder to breathe.

But then, he crashed against the bar when your back was turned.

You felt it before you saw him.

A tight heat in the centre of your chest, like a warning flare under your skin. The aura rolled in a moment later—dark, pulsing red, bloated with alcohol and laced with something sharp. Bitterness. Rage. Shame. It wrapped around you like smoke, familiar and suffocating.

Shane.

You didn’t even need to look up. The aura was unmistakable. Predictable. He always came into your orbit like this—loud, drunk, and looking to pick a fight he could pretend wasn’t his fault.

You braced your palms against the sticky bar top and sighed.

“Didn’t think you worked Thursdays,” his voice slurred from your left. He leaned heavily against the counter, already swaying.

“I switched shifts.” You kept your eyes on the glass you were drying, steady and detached.

Shane scoffed. “Of course you did. Probably duckin’ me.”

You didn’t answer.

He leaned in closer, breath hot and sharp with whiskey. “You can’t keep avoiding me, babe. We’ve got things to talk about.”

You turned to face him. “We broke up.”

His jaw twitched. You saw the spike in his aura before he even moved. The humiliation—how quickly it curdled into fury.

He slammed his palm down on the bar. “You can’t just cut me off like that! I still have your stuff!”

“And I’ll pick it up tomorrow when I get off work.” You spoke calmly, but your fingers curled against the wood.

“You act like I was the problem. Like you’re so perfect.”

You felt his emotions boiling up, the weight of everything unsaid pressing into your ribs. Your powers made it impossible not to feel it all—the guilt, the desperation, the jealousy eating holes in his brain.

He reached toward the shelf behind you, fingers clumsy and quick.

You saw it in a flash—his intention. The movement. The bottle. The shatter.

“Shane,” you warned, voice low.

But he grabbed the glass anyway.

And when you didn’t flinch—didn’t react—he hurled it at the far wall. The sound of shattering exploded through the bar like a gunshot.

Conversations cut off. Heads turned. The bartender at the other end shouted something you didn’t catch, but you didn’t move. You stared him down, heart steady even as your powers screamed with the heat of his spiraling aura.

“Get. Out.” Your voice didn’t rise. It didn’t have to.

Shane scoffed again, as if that might somehow make him look less pathetic. He backed up with slow, jerking steps, flipping off the room as he staggered toward the door.

“You’re gonna regret this,” he muttered, just before the door slammed shut behind him.

The silence he left behind was louder than the glass.

You let out a breath, realising you’d been holding it. Then you grabbed the broom from behind the bar and swept the shards into a dustpan, the sharp scrape of glass grounding you.

Your skin still tingled from the contact with his rage. You hated that you felt it all—the fear before it turned violent, the hurt beneath the anger. You hated that your powers made it impossible to just forget someone.

But maybe that was the curse of being who you were. You always saw what was coming. You just couldn’t always stop it.

As the last pieces of glass clinked into the bin, you finally straightened. The bar had settled again. Conversations resumed. The music picked back up.

“Rough night?”

The voice came from the far end of the bar—smooth, level, edged with something you couldn’t quite name.

You looked up. Black hoodie. Cap pulled low. Sunglasses indoors. He didn’t look dangerous, but he looked like someone who could be.

“Getting there,” you replied.

He offered a small nod. “Water, please.”

You poured it and slid it over. “You don’t seem like a regular.”

He chuckled. “I’m not.”

There was a pause. You watched him closely, brushing your senses over his aura. It was… quiet. Centred. Strong in a way that didn’t shout. But frayed at the edges. Worn. Heavy. You sensed something simmering—like a soldier forced to sit still while a war started without him.

“You handled yourself well earlier,” he said, not looking up.

You blinked. “You saw that?”

“I saw enough. Most people don’t know when to walk away. You did.”

You tilted your head, wary. “You following me?”

“No. Just watching.”

That didn’t make it less strange. But your instincts didn’t scream danger—only mystery.

You turned toward the corner TV to anchor yourself—something normal. Background noise. Distraction.

Instead, your stomach dropped.

You hadn’t meant to keep watching.

The TV had always just been background noise—old games, muted news reels, the occasional infomercial to fill the gaps between orders. But tonight, the screen was impossible to ignore.

A navy-blue backdrop. Stark white letters:

LIVE: O.X.E. GLOBAL INITIATIVE PRESS CONFERENCE

At the podium stood Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, sharp in her suit, that perpetual half-smile like she knew something the rest of the world didn’t.

“Today,” she said, “marks the beginning of a new era.”

You barely noticed the sound of glass clinking behind the bar as someone restocked. The world had narrowed to that screen.

Val continued, cool and poised. “A world in chaos needs structure. Direction. Accountability. O.X.E. was founded for that purpose—and now, I’m proud to announce its greatest achievement yet.”

The camera panned as she lifted a hand, gesturing to the five figures standing just out of frame.

Your heart skipped once—no reason. Just instinct.

“Earth’s new protectors. A team not built on nostalgia or outdated legacies. But on precision, strength, and experience.”

The screen cut to a slow pan across the group.

First: Yelena Belova.

You recognised her instantly—shoulders squared in sleek black tactical gear, expression unreadable. There was something fiercely restrained in her stance. A storm with a chokehold on itself.

Next: Ava Starr.

Ghost. Gloved hands in her pockets, hood half-drawn. She looked like she wanted to vanish right through the floor. Her energy vibrated through the screen—quiet, unstable, barely contained.

Then: John Walker.

U.S. Agent. Chin high, arms crossed like he was daring someone to challenge his spot. The smugness rolled off him like oil.

After that: Alexei Shostakov.

The Red Guardian. Smirking like he thought this was a stage play. You remembered his face from news clippings—over-the-top patriotism paired with brute force.

And then—just as the camera reached the final spot—

You felt it before you saw him.

Cold steel wrapped in guilt. A storm buried under a thousand locked doors. It hit you like a tide and settled in your bones.

Bucky Barnes.

He stepped forward into frame, silent. Dark clothes. Gloves on. That familiar stare—the one you’d only ever seen in flashes, or in the brief security footage you weren’t supposed to find. The one from fourteen years ago.

Your grip on the counter went white-knuckle.

His name appeared below him in bold, unmistakable letters, sub-titled with the words Team Leader. 

The world faded around you. The bar. The people. The music. It all disappeared.

There he was. Front and centre. Standing tall like the past never happened. Like the blood on his hands had been scrubbed clean.

Leader. Hero. Forgiven.

And just like that, the plan began to form.

Because if he was back—if he was leading this new world—then this was your chance.

You’d get close. You’d get answers.

And you’d finally make him pay.

“Mind if I use your phone?” The voice cut your thoughts off with a sharp snap.

You hesitated. “Landline’s under the register. Doesn’t do long-distance.” 

“That’s fine. He’s local.”

The man in the cap dialled quickly, voice low as he turned away from the bar. You stayed close, listening despite yourself.

“Yeah. It’s me.” Cap said. That was the nickname you’d given him. It felt fitting. You read his aura, and found it laced with anger. But it wasn’t like Shane’s anger. It wasn’t volatile or red, but instead, it was muted and hurt. Betrayal.

A pause.

“No, I saw it. They didn’t clear it. Val went public without warning.”

Another pause.

“No, he didn’t tell me. Look, Torres. He knew— he knew about my plan to restart the Av—”

His jaw clenched before stopping mid-sentence, aware of his audience.

“Just be ready. If this gets worse, we’ll need to act fast. I’ll call him tonight.”

He hung up. Didn’t say goodbye.

You crossed your arms. “You talk like someone important.”

He gave you a look, unreadable behind the glasses. “Depends who’s asking.”

You lifted your chin, refusing to back down. “I’ve had enough people lie to my face tonight.”

For a beat, he said nothing.

Then, with the tiniest smirk, he pulled off the sunglasses and tucked them into his hoodie.

“I’m Sam.”

Your breath hitched.

Captain fucking America.

────✪────

Bucky’s phone lit up the second the press conference ended.

Sam Wilson.

He stared at the name a moment longer than he needed to, then answered with a clipped, “Yeah.”

Sam didn’t waste time.

“You really let them use the name.”

Bucky leaned back against the edge of the hotel desk, jaw tight. “It’s just a name.”

“No, it’s not,” Sam snapped. “It’s our name. You think you get to let some corrupt agency parade it around like a branding tool? Like Steve’s legacy didn’t mean a damn thing?”

Bucky said nothing.

“You stood up there like it was nothing,” Sam continued. “With Walker. With Val. You think this is what Steve would’ve wanted? You think he’d look at that team and—”

“Don’t,” Bucky cut in, voice suddenly cold. “Don’t bring him into this.”

Sam didn’t flinch. “Someone has to.” 

Bucky exhaled, short and sharp. “I didn’t choose the name. I didn’t write the headline. I chose a mission. That’s it.”

“Yeah?” Sam snapped. “Well, congratulations. You just handed the Avengers legacy over to a bunch of government puppets.”

Something burned behind Bucky’s eyes. He clenched his fist.

Bucky’s silence was answer enough, and Sam could feel his partner’s stoic glare through the line.

Sam exhaled, like he was holding back something worse. “You think this is justice? You think you’re fixing something?”

“I’m doing what I can with the mess that’s left,” Bucky said through gritted teeth. “Same as you.”

“No, I’m trying to honour what came before. You—? You’re just trying to outrun it.”

That struck a nerve.

Bucky stood straighter, voice low and clipped. “You think I give a damn about your approval? I don’t need your permission to do something that matters.”

“Oh yeah?” Sam snapped. “Since when do you care about legacy?”

The air between them tightened, stretching thin with unspoken names and unforgiven history.

“You’ve got no idea what I care about,” Bucky said coldly.

Sam paused, just long enough for it to sting. “Maybe that’s the problem.”

Click.

Bucky hung up first.

The fourteen months that followed weren’t peaceful.

────✪────

Sebastian Stan taglist: @notreallythatlost @houseofaegon @bunnyfella @sunday-bug @wintrsoldrluvr @maryevm @mcira @monsteraddicts-world

Fic taglist: @ruexj283

[plushieni]

i know ill find you one day

based off of this song

touya todoroki, your beloved childhood best friend, had passed away when you were just eleven. or at least, that’s what you were told. when the incident happened,, when he was assumed dead — you were devastated. he wasn’t just your best friend; he was your partner in crime, your safe place, and most importantly, your first love.

his loss changed everything. in the aftermath, you grew closer to the todoroki family. his mother welcomed you with open arms, holding you through nights when grief crawled into your chest and made it hard to breathe. she understood your pain in a way no one else could. you missed him deeply.

when you and touya first met, he’d confided in you, shared things he hadn’t even told his siblings. the bond had been instant — two broken kids finding comfort in each other’s company. you tried your best to understand the pain his father put him through, even if it was too big for either of you to make sense of. you made it your mission to bring joy into his life, even if just in little pieces. you wanted to remind him what being a kid was supposed to feel like.

but looking back, you both were doomed from the start.

so when it was reported that dabi — the infamous member of the league of villains — was actually touya todoroki... your touya todoroki… the world around you tilted.

you cried. a lot.

some tears were born from grief, others from joy, and many from sheer disbelief. it felt unreal, like someone had ripped open a wound you’d spent years trying to stitch shut.

anxiety coursed through your veins.

was it really him? was he still the same boy you had loved? did he even remember you? what if he was nothing like the touya you knew?

those thoughts haunted you for weeks. it wasn’t until recently that you learned he’d been placed in a rehab facility — something about endeavor pulling strings to lessen his punishment. trying to save his appearance.

truthfully, touya had never stopped thinking about you either. through the years, your memory followed him like a ghost. sometimes soft. sometimes aching. but always there.

he wondered about you often.

did you hate him? had you moved on? what if you didn’t recognize him — what if all you saw now was the monster he became?

but the moment he was cleared and able to return home, the first thing he asked about was you.

when you got the news he was home, you waited. longer than you wanted to. fear kept you stuck in place. anticipation and doubt battled inside your chest every time you thought about seeing him again.

when you finally did, it was nothing short of bittersweet.

his eyes met yours, and they still held that same quiet intensity���the same storm you used to see in them as kids. you ran to him before your mind could catch up, and he immediately melted into you, arms wrapping around your frame like he needed to make sure you were real.

he whispered over and over, “m’ sorry,” and “missed you s’ much,” voice cracking with every word.

it didn’t feel real. and yet, it felt like coming home.

the two of you talked for hours, and it was like no time had passed at all.

of course, the elephant in the room remained — he had become a villain. he had done things you couldn’t ignore. and he feared you'd look at him differently, that you'd be repulsed. but you couldn’t hate him. not even if you tried.

you weren’t going to pretend nothing had happened, but you also weren’t going to hold his past against him. you knew his trauma ran deep, that the pain that turned him into dabi was never his fault to begin with.

all you wanted now was to show him he was still the boy you loved.

you started coming around every day. on some nights, you stayed over — afraid that if you left, you might lose him all over again. he was still hesitant, still unable to believe someone could love him after everything.

but you were patient.

because underneath the pain, the scars, the fire and ash, he was still touya. still your touya.

one night, as you laid beside him, tracing the burns on his arm with the tips of your fingers, he whispered something so soft you almost missed it.

“when i left... i didn’t know where i was going. i didn’t know who i was gonna become. but even back then... i told myself, i know i’ll find you one day. and here you are.”

you blinked back tears and pressed your forehead to his —looking at him like he never stopped being yours.

it wasn’t perfect. there were still doubts. still moments of silence that stretched too long. still nightmares he didn’t talk about and questions you didn’t always ask.

but now that you finally made your way back to each other, you both knew — you were going to be okay.

© 𝐩𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐢 — do not copy, steal, translate, or claim any of my works as your own.

[nothomegal]

"Kiss. Teach. Love!"

(Mr. Crawling x GN! Reader)

No way, NotHomeGal actually revived? Yup, I did. Homicipher brought me back to life from the depts of my creative burnout (o゜▽゜)o☆

This game really scratched a part of my brain I didn't know was there, but I'm not complaining!

And no, I won't be abandoning the slasher fandom, but I must say it will take some time to come back to write those right now, but I'll do my best to rekindle that spark!

Okay, enough of my yapping. Hope you enjoy this Oneshot (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

Summary: after learning that sometimes objects from the human world may fall into the realm you're currently stuck in, it became a common activity for you to scavenge around the junk to pass time, and your ghost companion always seems so curious about it!

Warnings: none really just fluff, Mr. Crawling being too cute for a mortal soul to handle.

Side note: yeah just like in most (basically all) of my fics, MC (or Y/N) will be Gender Neutral! So everyone gets to enjoy the story with their favorite ghost man :]

AND! Here's the link of the dictionary I used for the fic to put ghost words heheerhkj.

Word count: 3.6k

It's been so long, they think at least. Time feels stuck in place, yet in the deepest part of (Y/N)'s conscience they know it's not true, that the time and everything outside these lifeless concrete walls is very much alive.

Life goes on, it keeps moving regardless if they feel it or not, time is passing just like it always did... Yet, they feel stuck. Numb. It's like their mind and soul are slowly melting, becoming one with this dimension they begrudgingly started to call "home", even if it's not... This is not their real home!...

It's not!...

It's not...

It's not...?

—"☨ д つ 々?"— (Sad)

A quiet gasp left (Y/N)'s lips when suddenly something brushed against their leg as that soft voice spoke next to them, that "something" being the very long, dark hair of their ghost companion.

They turn their head, almost flinching at the sight of how close Mr. Crawling was to them. Shoot, sometimes they forget how unnerving his appearance is, especially when he creeps up on them like this, though unintentionally.

—"ત ટ д ☨ д つ 々?"— (You Sad)

He repeated the question, his usual smile now replaced with a small frown. His voice quiet and soft as always, but with that subtle quiver at the end that appeared whenever he's concerned.

(Y/N)'s breath almost hitched from that little but oh so sweet display of care. Even after all the time spent side by side with Mr. Crawling, they still periodically wonder what the hell did they do to deserve such kind perso... Ghost, in their life.

Before the entity's worry could grow, (Y/N) flashed him with a smile, shaking their head a little.

—"I'm alright, just a little distracted."—

Their answer did seem to soothe the ghost's worry a little. However, he leaned closer, more of his hair falling into (Y/N)'s body, sending small shiver through their form as the black locks brushed their legs, sensation that resembling a small breeze of air running across their skin. An odd, chilly feeling... But one that became very comforting and grounding for the human over the time, as it was like a gentle reminder of Mr. Crawling's presence, that they weren't alone.

—"つ ત บ บ λ ป こ ৺ נ ८ ک ટ ? つ ત บ บ つ ኟ บ ટ ?"— (Not Bad Feel Not Scared)

Their smile faltered for a brief moment, knowing exactly what he was talking about...

Even if it's been quite a while since (Y/N) had one of those episodes of fear and hallucinations, the memories of them are still haunting the human in one way or another, leaving this uncomfortable sensation under their skin. It's like feeling hands, snaking all over their body, slowly slipping under their clothes, creeping through their skin and flesh, trying to dig deeper and deeper, right to their very core, trying to reach something so deep inside of them and rip it away from them...

Their essence?

Their soul?

T̵͉̗̒ḣ̴̻̱̂ȅ̷͓͘i̵̤͙̐͝ȑ̶͈̖̏ n̷̳̻̬̮̯̟̗̙̩̻̮͊͋̾́͐͌̏͒̿̏̆̑͜͠ä̴̢̧̡̦͕̻̙̻͕̳̟́̊͊̾̄̈́ḿ̵̡̢̛̜͉̗̗̞͖̟͈̬͈̻͍͌̋̓̐̅͘͠e̵͇̹͈̤͕̮̺͉͚͈͔̭͇̔-?

The human then simply hums, shaking off the heavy feeling off their mind. Their gaze soon focuses back on Mr. Crawling's face, their smile creeping back on their features, but now brighter, happier.

—"つ ત บ บ λ ป こ ৺ נ ८ ک ટ . つ ત บ บ ጉ ሰ ટ נ."— (Not Bad Feel Not Together)

They replied cheerfully, confidently using the otherworldly language to make sure there is no room for doubts left.

Upon hearing their answer and seeing that smile he absolutely adored, Mr. Crawling himself smiles back, letting that characteristic high-pitched giggle of of his. And just like (Y/N) expected, the crawling ghost reached out and gently patted their head, ruffling their grayish hair a little.

—"ㄷコ ਦ υ ป ! ㄷコ ਦ υ ป !"— (Glad Glad)

(Y/N) giggled as well, already used to Mr. Crawling's joyful chirps at whatever little thing they do. Once satisfied, the ghost slowly retires his hand from their head and leans back to his previous position right next to the human in a raincoat, his dark locks trailing behind and sliding off (Y/N)'s legs as he gives them a little bit of space.

They hum, that happy smile remaining on their lips, brightening a bit their bandage-covered face, returning some of color and life to it. The human soon shift their attention back to what they were previously up to, which was scavenging and going through all the junk and rumble that fell down here from the human world.

While (Y/N) is the one going through the numerous items, Mr. Crawling remained focused on them. Staying next to their crouched form and curiously watching the things they periodically picked up and inspected, sometimes even picking something himself and asking what it is and what humans do with it.

The activity was simple, but it was like a huge breath of air for (Y/N) and a great way to distract their mind from the decay this world was putting them through, helping them remember who they are and what are supposed to be. A human, an unfortunate human that found themselves in this place of absolute madness...

(Y/N)'s train of thoughts stopped when their eyes suddenly caught a glimpse of something bright and colorful under a small pile of old, messed news articles. And after carefully pushing aside all the trash, they get a clear sight of what it is.

A manga cover!

(Y/N)'s eyes widened and their smile grew as they reach out and grab the manga book, picking it up and instantly flipping through the pages.

—"No way, it's actually in good, readable condition!"—

They exclaimed excitedly, eyes wandering through the pages with interest.

Mr. Crawling simply observed, curiously watching them inspect the book. He noticed that (Y/N) would always get super excited whenever they saw one of these colorful pictures, and it made him happy to see them happy! As well as to keep a mental note to find more of these to make them even happier.

However, as the human paused on one of the pages, probably to check if the paper is holding up alright after getting a little wet. Something completely different caught the ghost's attention.

Slowly, Mr. Crawling reaches his hand again, pointing at a particular drawing with his finger while tilting his head to the side, like a confused puppy would.

—"נ บ ਦ ኟィд ⊔ ટ ৺ ㅗ?"— (What They Do)

He asked, gently tapping the picture with his finger.

(Y/N) glances at the spot their ghost companion is pointing at, their eyebrows rising slightly as they see an illustration of two of the characters kissing. Oh, did they just spoiled themselves one of the subplots?...

—"This?"—

They asks, eyes flickering between the comic and Mr. Crawling's face.

—"π々⊔ λ ک つ ત コ ጉ ک こ?"— (Why Touch Mouth)

The ghost asked again, genuine curiosity lingering in his quiet voice as he taps the paper again, his head turning to the side to look at (Y/N). Despite half of his face being covered by his dark hair, they could practically feel his curious stare, almost like a kid waiting for his parent to answer.

—"ک  ጉ ㄷ π π々⊔ ?"— (Teach Why)

He asks, now his attention completely casted on (Y/N), patiently waiting for their answer.

The mentioned human stays silent at fist, seemingly surprised the ghost actually doesn't know what a kiss is and why people do it. However, the more they think about it, the less he can blame Mr. Crawling. After all, this world is not built for affection, and considering all the dangers that lurk here on daily basis, it's not too surprising that some residents of this place don't even know what affection is.

—"Well. This is called a kiss, 'kiss'."—

They explain, pointing at their lips as they spell the word for him.

—"K- K̴̻̍-K̶̥͔̒ḭ̷̢̆̾ṣ̵̠͊s̵̮̎̾-?"—

He attempts to repeat, though the sound comes more as a hiss rather than an actual word... Still, (Y/N) was proud of him for trying! And expresses such joy with a soft giggle.

—"Yeah, kiss. Uh..."—

They paused, thinking over their wording before continuing.

—"☨ บ п ป Kiss ત �� コㄷ ک  ጉ ㄷ π ㄷ ८ コ ㅗ."— (Human _ Desire Teach Love)

They finish, scratching their cheek with a sheepish smile, knowing that their explanation probably sounded wonky a weird, especially with that little mix between languages.

The ghost, makes a small "oh" sound, actually understanding their answer even with the odd wording.

Suddenly, Mr. Crawling's face lightens in puppy-like joy as he leans closer, his face just inches away from the human's when he starts to chirp back.

—"ત λ コㄷ ک  ጉ ㄷ π ㄷ ८ コ ㅗ ! "— (Desire Teach Love)

(Y/N) raised their eyebrows at his words, their cheeks suddenly feeling a little warmer.

(Hold on, is he asking me for a kiss?!)

As flustered as they were, upon seeing that excited, happy smile of the ghost that they grew so attached to, they couldn't find the heart to tell him no even if their life depended on it. Beside, it's just a kiss, and they both like each other! So why not?

—"Eh... Hehehe. Okay, okay. You kiss like this."—

They answer, before suddenly leaning forward and pressing their lips against the cold skin of his cheek.

A soft, quiet gasp escaped the ghost's lips, the difference in temperature between his and (Y/N) body never failing to make his chest feel all funny, though not unpleasant type of funny. But now with the added softness of their lips and the hot breath casted on his face, it created a sensation he haven't felt before.

The human leans back a little, chuckling under their breath at the ghost's reaction. However, their smile begin to fade when they notice how still he suddenly got.

They go silent, patiently waiting for Mr. Crawling to say or do something, but he remained perfectly still and dead silent, like some kind of creepy statue. Did they just cross some boundary they didn't know about?...

—"Mr. Crawling?..."— you ask eventually, voice quiet. —"Are you alright? Did I-..."—

(Y/N) paused when he finally does move, slowly lifting his hand from the opened manga book and brushing his fingers against his cheek, right on the spot they kissed him a second ago.

Suddenly, another high-pitched giggle escaped the ghost as he immediately launches forward, forcing (Y/N) back and basically tackling them to the ground into that famous overzealous hug of his they came to secretly adore.

—"K̶̥͔̒ḭ̷̢̆̾ṣ̵̠͊s̵̮̎̾ ! K̶̥͔̒ḭ̷̢̆̾ṣ̵̠͊s̵̮̎̾ !"—

He cheerfully exclaims with his broken human speech, before mimicking (Y/N)'s action and pressing his lips against their cheek. Though, more than an kiss his gesture resembled a nuzzle, like big dog gently bumping his favorite person with his nose.

—"৺ ጉ נ ⊔ λ ત д ک  ጉ ㄷ π ㄷ ८ コ ㅗ ! "— (Me Want to Teach Love)

(Y/N) just couldn't help but laugh at the sweet action of the ghost, their cheeks turning much redder and warmer than before. With their hands no longer being occupied by the manga book, they reach and rest their hands on Mr. Crawling's back, basically hugging him back as the entity continues to joyfully express his liking through the newfound gesture.

—"You're doing it pretty good! But this is not exactly a kiss..."—

They eventually say, sliding their hands from his back and instead resting them on his shoulders. At the sound of their voice, Mr. Crawling's affectionate nuzzles pause and leans back, tilting his head to the side with curiosity.

—"Yeah, you need to press your lips, not caress with them. Ehm..."—

They fall silent, their gaze adverting for a brief moment as they try to find the needed words to describe what they're trying to say, but all they get is a reminder of how poor and limited the ghost vocabulary is...

Mr. Crawling remained quiet, patiently waiting for (Y/N) to figure out their wording. He didn't mind the wait at all to be honest, patience being one of his biggest virtues after all. Beside, seeing the human mumble and emit noises under their breath while making funny faces, such as pushing their lips or furrowing their brows, was a very cute sight to witness!

When realized that words, human or not, won't cut it. (Y/N) decided to use actions instead, as their head was starting to hurt at this point from this damn language barrier. So, with a soft sigh their eyes flicker back at Mr. Crawling, who was still patiently waiting for them to figure out their wording, or maybe taking the chance to look and admire their face, or maybe both...

—"৺ ጉ נ ک  ጉ ㄷ π ત ટ д Kiss."— (Me Teach You)

They finally said, a hint of determination in their tone, though it was mostly directed to (Y/N) as they try to push through their own sudden rush of shyness and fluster. How comes they can be all giggly and cuddly when Mr. Crawling literally tackles them, but then turn into a blushing mess from a little kiss?! Ugh, even they start to make less sense the more they stay in this world...

At their words, the ghost seemed almost ecstatic. He already was eager to get any sort of attention from (Y/N), let alone affection. So the mere thought of feeling their lips pressed against his skin again made his whole body almost shake.

(Y/N) could feel the ghost's body grow tense from the overwhelming joy, and it was such a strangely endearing sight to witness; an otherworldly entity acting like an overjoyed puppy about to receive his favorite treat.

They giggle again, giving his shoulders a gentle squeeze before speaking.

—"Okay hehe... Eeh... Look, you kiss like this, 々ኟп৺."— (Look)

They say before leaning closer, the distance between their and Mr. Crawling's face growing smaller and smaller, until their lips finally come in contact with the ghost's other cheek.

They can feel him shiver, clearly still not used to the new sensation, but he was definitely loving it judging by the way his long arms slightly closed around their body, almost hugging them and pressing their smaller form against his taller one.

(Y/N) leans back a tiny bit, taking the chance to simply look at the entity who was holding them in it's embrace so tenderly. Of course, this is not the first, nor last, time they'll be held by Mr. Crawling. But... Right now, there's something different, they feel different. Their heart is pounding like crazy, yes. But they no longer feel flustered or embarrassed, they feel strangely in peace in fact.

There's always been something captivating about the crawling ghost, even with his unnerving traces. The way his long, black hair surrounds them, a void that's isolating both from the outside world, covering them like a veil, making each the protagonist of the other's gaze. For a monster-filled place like this, the moment felt almost romantic.

The human let a soft exhale, their lips parting ever so slightly. And before their brain could even realize it, (Y/N) was already leaning forward again.

They don't know what came over them, but their mind, their heart, and even that little voice was telling them the same thing...

{Do it.)

They press their lips again, this time against the tip of his nose, getting one of these little "eh" sounds out of him.

They didn't stop there however, instead starting to pepper the ghost's face with more kisses. His cheeks, his forehead, his jaw...

(Y/N)'s movements were slow and delicate, keeping in mind the comfort of their otherworldly companion as they shower him with this new, intimate affection. They weren't quite sure what he was thinking about all of this, if he was getting overwhelmed or not, if he truly enjoyed or understood how much this moment meant for humans... But by how his arms seem to close more around their smaller form, how his fingers flex around the fabric of their raincoat, how his body seemed to gradually relax and even lean into the new, loving gesture...

Yeah, they knew he understood.

However, as (Y/N) was about to reach his lips, an inexplicable wave of hesitation came all over them, freezing them in place and incapacitating from moving back of forward, their heartbeat getting surprisingly, almost painfully loud.

(What's going on?)

(Why am I feeling so... Self-conscious?)

(No... No. I want to do it, I need to do it! Come on body, move! Move god damnit!)

They screamed inside of their mind, yet their body still refused to move, regardless of all the mental berating they were putting themselves through. Their grip on Mr. Crawling's shoulder tightened a little, like a silent attempt to ground themselves and remember just how close the ghost was, how he was waiting for them to continue, how he was waiting for them. But... They... They just couldn't move.

However, after a few beats of silence and inactivity had passed, is Mr. Crawling the one to finally break the tension and lean forward, his cold lips pressing against the warm ones of the human.

And just like that, all the doubts and hesitations had melted away in (Y/N), and everything felt alright again. No, more than alright. This felt perfect, intimate, sweet, and surprisingly innocent. Holding nothing but the affection, care and love the two beings felt for one another, now in it's purest way.

A human.

And a ghost.

Together, connected to each other not just in a physical way, but now in a deep, emotional way...

The kiss itself probably didn't last even 10 seconds, but in (Y/N)'s and Mr. Crawling's mind it felt like two eternities had passed, and many more would if they'd decided to keep going.

After breaking the kiss, the two just stay like this for a while, looking at each other as their minds clear from the haze and feeling of drunkenness the sweet exchange left behind. Mr. Crawling still on top of (Y/N), but instead of just hovering over them like he always did, now his arms were tightly wrapped around their frame, keeping them securely in place right between the ground and his body.

(Y/N) couldn't explain it, but right now they feel like they're falling again for the ghost. Just by being held in his embrace and hidden underneath his larger body, they felt so safe and at peace... So...

It's like they were home.

Their home...

He became their home, their safe place, their happy place...

Him...

—"λ ک ሰ ৺ ટ ?"— (Are you okay)

Mr. Crawling suddenly asked, his smile faltering as his embrace on them tightens a little. It was almost like he was concerned he did something wrong and broke them, what a sweetheart.

(Y/N) blinked, noticing they were probably staring and zoning out with this little realization of theirs, realization that their real home was not in this or their world.

It was with Mr. Crawling.

Or at least, that's what their heart told them.

—"I'm fine."—

The human said in a soft voice. Their body leaning forward while speaking, snuggling closer to the ghost's chest, the action feeling like a little dejavu to the time he hid them from the man in red.

Ugh... The sole mention of that guy is still sending shivers through their body, so let's not think about him.

—"৺コኅ ጉ ሰ ટ נ ৺ ጉ נ ሰ ኟ つ ጉ."— (Us Together Me Happy)

Mr. Crawling didn't take long to let yet another high-pitched giggle, his head coming to rest on top of (Y/N)'s, nuzzling gently against their hair and raincoat hood.

—"ㄷコ ਦ υ ป ! ㄷコ ਦ υ ป !"— (Glad Glad)

He chirped cheerfully, his arms tightening just a little to give the human a gentle squeeze.

—"ત ટ д ሰ ኟ つ ጉ ৺ ጉ נ ㄷコ ਦ υ ป !"— (You Happy Me Grateful)

—"৺ ጉ נ ㄷ ८ コ ㅗ ત ટ д !"— (Me Like You)

—"৺ ጉ נ ㄷ ८ コ ㅗ ጉ ሰ ટ נ ત ટ д !"— (Me Like Together You)

All (Y/N) could do at the moment is giggle and attempt to keep up with his excitement. Jeez, they forgot how talkative Mr. Crawling gets when excited. They reach out at some point, affectionately rubbing his back like a quiet request to slow down, which the ghost quickly complies by stopping his speech and instead resorting just to the nuzzling.

The two remained like this for quite a while, just enjoying this precious moment of having each other close. Even if they knew that the next time (Y/N) needs to take a nap, they'll be in embraced again.

—"Alright, that's enough for now.—

The human muttered, giving the ghost's back a few gentle pats like a way of saying that they wanted him to move.

Mr. Crawling doesn't try to protest at all, surprisingly. And after giving one more squeeze, his arms loosen around (Y/N)'s form and he slowly lets go, his body getting off them and instead settling right by their side. That's probably the reason he didn't complain about letting go, knowing he'd be next to them one way or another.

(Y/N) chuckled again at the ghost's sneaky antics, finding them pretty adorable. And after reaching out to pat his head again, the human settles into a more comfortable position and grabs the manga book they previously dropped from Mr. Crawling's surprise-tackle-hug.

—"Okay, let's see what this is about..."—

The human muttered to themselves while opening the book and starting to read the story, deciding to go blind into it and discover the plot as they progress with the story.

Mr. Crawling in the meantime had found his comfortable spot by placing his head against (Y/N)'s shoulder, with one of his arms resting across their waist, keeping them in this half hug.

Even if the ghost didn't understand a word, the illustrations of the manga were very helpful and allowed him to follow the story along with the human. Though there were things he also didn't quite understand about human behavior, it wasn't a big deal since (Y/N) would always chive in and explain him things.

As the two lay there, reading, Mr. Crawling suddenly lifted his head and pressed his lips against (Y/N)'s cheek gently, this time actually kissing them.

—"৺ ጉ נ ک  ጉ ㄷ π ㄷ ८ コ ㅗ ત ટ д ! "— (Me Teach Love You)

He said in a sweet, happy tone that nearly made (Y/N)'s heart explode. Ugh, seriously who gave him the right to be so cute!?

—"ㄷコ ਦ υ ป."— (Grateful)

—"ㄷ ८ コ ㅗ ৺ ጉ נ ?"— (Like Me)

(Aaand there he goes again. Yup, high-maintenance type...)

(But he's my high-maintenance type.)

—"ㄷ ८ コ ㅗ ત ટ д."— (Like You)

They replied warmly, planting another kiss on top of his head, gaining yet another lovely giggle from the entity before returning their attention to the manga. The ghost soon following their example, settling back into his previous position, occasionally nuzzling against their shoulder like an affectionate cat. They could swear he'd be purring if he could.

And while reading the manga, (Y/N) couldn't help but smile, but also dread a little at how the next days would go now that Mr. Crawling learned about kissing and what it meant...

...

They're going to get tackled A LOT.

"Won't they?"

[3mbot]

Mr. Gap Wants YOU

Desc: You hide behind Mr. Gap to get away from Mr. Scarletella. You didn’t think that would be for free, did you? ;) Gender neutral reader

Warnings!!: 18+ just to be safe, making out, solo Mr. Gap masturbation at the end hehe. You can skip that part it’s after the “＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚”

A/n: I haven’t written for a long time so forgive me if it’s not the best.  Any constructive criticism is welcome. I was inspired to write again after playing this game and seeing how lively the fandom is. I hope to write more for Homicipher and other things in the future! 

╔═══════════════*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*══════════════════╗

Walking through endless corridors of the ghost apartments is beginning to take its toll. After being separated again from Mr. Crawling, your only source of comfort, you become focused on one thing. Your only goal is to find the exit. 

You trudge along for what seems like ages until a faint glow of red can be seen around the corner. Your heart drops. This can only be from one source- Mr. Scarletella. His form glitches in and out of existence, which startles you out of being frozen in terror, and you begin to run in the other direction. 

To your horror, the corridor you ran to is a long stretch of hallway with no place to escape- until you see an opening in the bottom of the wall. With Mr. Scarletella hot on your heels, you run over there and are not surprised to see Mr. Gap appear. 

He tries to ask you for something but you can hear Mr. Scarletella’s static noises drawing ever near. In your panic, you push him to the side to jump into the dark hole to hide from the scarlet man. 

Mr. Gap isn’t happy about this but makes no move to push you back out and allows you to hide behind him in the darkness. 

Just as Mr. Scarletella makes it into the long hallway, you’re clinging to the side of Mr. Gap, shaking in fright. Your warmth envelops his cold body and Mr. Gap decides this isn’t so bad after all. He can always get your heart later. 

Several anxious seconds pass while Mr. Scarletella makes his way down the hallway. (Please don’t find me!!) you think to yourself. Each step causes you to hold your breath. 

Finally, he stops right outside the opening. He lingers there for a moment and you fear you’ve been found out. Suddenly, his head dips down to an inhuman position peering into the darkness. 

Almost as if he knew, Mr. Gap quickly covered your mouth to stop the surprised yelp from escaping you. You can feel his long, cold fingers, and they weirdly enough calm you down and prevent any noise from escaping. 

After a moment of searching, Mr. Scarletella sees nothing in the darkness and glitches away. 

You both stay stuck to each other for a bit, with you still holding your breath thinking he might come back and snatch you. What pulls you out of this state is Mr. Gap gently running his fingers along your side to comfort you. 

You look up at him and he is already looking down at you. You both blush and step away from each other. 

“He gone.” Mr Gap says. 

“Ha, yes… I think you’re right.” 

Mr Gap stares at you in confusion. You’re speaking in your language again without realizing it. 

“Thank you.” You say to him with a bow. 

He just stares at you. 

…

“I leave now.” You say to him. You turn to crawl back out, but Mr Gap grabs your wrist. You look back, confused. 

“No. You help me now.” He says, smiling. 

You roll your eyes at him. Of course, he wants something in return. 

“What do you want?” You ask him, annoyed. 

“You.” 

…

You blink up at him in surprise. (Did I hear that right?) Looking at his expression, his twisted smile looks more like a smirk than usual. Your heart skips a beat. 

“Me?” You question, pointing at yourself. 

His hand was still firmly on your wrist. His smile grows and he pulls you in close to him. 

“Yes, you” he confirms.

You gulp and stare back up at him. 

He places his cold, rough fingers on your face by holding your chin and studying your reaction. He seems pleased and brings you close to his face, giving you plenty of time to push him away. You don’t. 

His lips touch yours gently, far more gently than you would think suits him. Delighted by your submission, he goes back in for more. 

You both slowly warm up to the kiss and it gets heated. It gets sloppy. You’re almost surprised at how bad he is at kissing, but you don’t mind it. He is a quick learner and each one is better than the last. 

You don’t know how long it’s been, but when you finally part to gasp for air, his eyes are blown out, wet mouth glistening in the dim light, and looking the most delighted you’d ever seen him. His longing gaze catches you off guard. 

He comes back for more and you oblige, showing him the ropes. Your tongues dance together in harmony but he easily dominates yours at the same time. He loves the noises you make and he experimentally gropes around your body, surprised by how soft it is. 

You tap his arm to signal that you need air and he grunts but allows you to part. Your dazed expression sends a signal to his nether region that causes it to stir. 

You catch your breath and blush at his eyes piercing into your soul. Solely focused on you. You clear your throat and say “Thank you. Good enough? I go now?”

He makes a face and grumbles. “Yes. Leave.” Before you can respond, he drops you off in another room to rest. You turn back to say your thanks, but he’s already gone. 

You have a feeling that won’t be your last encounter. 

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚

Extra. 

Mr Gap returns to the darkness after leaving you and touches his fingers to his lips, still feeling the phantom touch of your lips. 

By this point, he is frustratingly bothered by you, evident by the bulge in his pants. He grunts in annoyance and fishes his dick out of his pants. 

He does this often by himself but something was different this time. He was far more sensitive as he gently stroked himself and growled, member twitching wildly at the thought of you. 

He was already so close without any friction at all. With each rough stroke, he pictured your flushed face, heavy panting breaths, your supple body…everything about you drove him mad. 

He had to slow down so he didn’t come too quick. Instead, he focused on teasing his tip with his cold fingers. He wondered how yours would feel. You were so warm. 

He cursed at himself for not feeling your hands more. Were they nice and soft like the rest of you, or calloused and hard like his? Either way, it excited him to fantasize about. 

He wondered if you would tease his tip until he became a whiny mess, if you would take the time to fondle his balls, stroke his thigh…splurt. 

Damn it. He came too quick. 

╚═════════════════*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*════════════════╝

A/n: Again, I apologize if it’s not the best thing you’ve ever read. I haven’t written for a long while. Any comments are appreciated!! Please be nice. :,) If you liked it, feel free to request something else! I’ll publish a pinned post soon to tell you about me and what things I'll write for!

[rainrot4me]

It's been kind of stormy (like flash floods and tornado warnings kind) where I'm at and so I was wondering how you HC Toby, Jeff, Tim, etc during one of those huge (and scary) thunderstorms?

Ahh! Stay safe!!

── .✦

✦ . jeff the killer

Thrives in the chaos.

Jeff is unbothered by the storm—actually, he kind of loves it. The power outages, the flickering lightning, the chance to wander outside when everyone else is hiding? That’s his kind of night.

He might disappear during the worst of it just to roam around and “enjoy the ambience,” but if you’re scared, he’ll post up on the couch with you, arms thrown behind his head, acting all nonchalant.

“What? It’s just rain. Chill. Unless you want me to tell you the story of the last time lightning hit a guy’s spine. That one’s real fun.”

✦ . ticci toby

High anxiety, low sleep.

Loud thunder and intense wind? It sets him off. His senses are already heightened, so the constant pressure, flashes, and rumbles make it hard for him to relax. He paces. Taps. Fidgets like crazy.

You’ll likely find him on the floor with his hoodie over his head, chewing on a hoodie string or knuckles tapping fast. He won’t admit he’s scared—but if you hold his hand? He’ll squeeze back.

“I’m not scared, it’s j-just loud. And fa-fast. And my heart’s doing that thing again. Sh-Shut up. Don’t laugh.”

✦ . eyeless jack

Oddly calm, almost serene.

Jack gets quiet and reflective when storms hit. He doesn’t mind them—it reminds him of being human. Of long nights stuck indoors. If you’re afraid, he’ll sit with you and talk in that deep, soothing voice.

Blankets, low light, the sound of rain drumming against the windows—he becomes surprisingly gentle during these moments. If you can’t sleep, he’ll read aloud or just hold you while the storm passes.

“It’s only water and pressure. Let it pass. I’ve weathered worse. You’re safe here.”

✦ . masky (tim wright)

Overly alert, stress levels high.

Thunderstorms make Tim hypervigilant. He’s constantly checking windows, unplugging appliances, walking the perimeter. It’s less about fear and more about control—he needs to do something to soothe all the anxious energy.

If you’re scared, he’ll bring you to the safest corner of the house, hand you water, and wrap an arm around you without saying much. It’s protective instinct kicking in.

“We’re good. Power’s out? Fine. Got flashlights, got food. You? You’re staying right here, with me.”

✦ . hoodie (brian thomas)

Ghost mode.

Brian becomes quiet and watchful during storms. He’s used to navigating in the dark and doesn’t mind a power outage—it gives him an excuse to slow down. You’ll usually find him on the porch.

He’ll sit beside you with a candle lit, sipping coffee, letting you curl up under his hoodie if the sound is overwhelming. If there’s a tornado warning, he’s already got the emergency kit packed.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got you. If we need to move, I’ll let you know. Just breathe. We’re okay.”

✦ . kate the chaser

Tense but collected.

Kate’s fight-or-flight is always close to the surface. A massive storm doesn’t scare her—but it does put her on high alert. She’ll take care of what needs to be done, snapping orders if needed.

If you’re visibly upset, she’ll settle in next to you and let you cling. She won’t admit it, but your fear makes her softer.

“I’ll keep watch. You sleep. If anything gets too close, I’ll be sure to get us out.”

✦ . ben drowned

Annoyed and glitchy.

Ben is furious when the power goes out because—no WiFi. No console. No screens. The storm fries his nerves, especially if there’s flickering that disrupts his internal “frequency.”

He might pace like a cat, trying to distract himself with cards or dumb games on his phone. But if you’re scared? He’ll roll his eyes and pull you close, muttering about how “it’s just wind” while secretly comforting you. If lightning ever hits, it’s fun to watch his pixels spazz out for a minute.

“Ugh. I swear if this storm bricks my backup files again, I’m gonna scream. But yeah, sure, come here. I’ll keep you warm—whatever.”

✦ . clockwork

Calm, focused, takes charge.

Natalie has that calm, “big sister energy” when things go bad. She immediately makes sure everyone’s okay—locates batteries, locks windows, pulls you away from anything dangerous.

You won’t even realize how scared you are until she’s got your face cupped in her hands, checking your eyes and making you sit down and breathe.

“Storms come and go, baby. But I don’t. Sit tight. I’ve got this. You just stick with me, okay?”

✦ . laughing jack

Unpredictable.

Jack either loves storms because they’re loud, theatrical, and chaotic—or he goes eerily silent and curls up in a corner like a traumatized cat.

If it’s one of his good days, he’ll be watching the lightning flash like it’s fireworks, making jokes to calm you down. On bad days? He needs the affection. Needs you grounding him.

“Boom! Nature’s having a tantrum! …What, scared? I’ll hold your hand if you hold mine, sweetheart.”

✦ . slenderman

Completely unbothered, weirdly serene.

The storm doesn’t touch him. The wind won’t enter his forest unless he wills it. But if you’re affected, he will appear silently beside you, energy swirling slightly, and place a hand on your back.

He won’t speak unless necessary. He simply exists as a protective presence—watching, listening, shielding.

“Rest. I will not allow the world to harm you tonight.”

꩜ .ᐟ

[steddiehasmywholeheart]

Thinking of Steve with PTSD from the torture in Starcourt. (TW: explicit memories physical torture)

Steve, who wakes up feeling hands punch him. Steve, who sometimes gets his fingers caught on knots in his hair, tugs at them accidentally, and suddenly feels the needle against his neck again. Steve, who can't remember the last time it didn't feel like someone was touching him, even when there's no one there.

During the day, it's not so bad. It whispers over his skin, but sometimes it's like it goes completely silent, drowned by the chaos of the kids or Robin's antics. But nights, or any time he's alone in his house, are hard. His skin burns from being slapped, pinched, injected, and the walls waver and morph into the basement of Starcourt for hours.

Obviously, Robin get's it, she was there too, so the pair try to spend as much time as possible together. But on the night's she's working, or her parents force her in and Steve out, he struggles, avoiding his house like the plague.

It's on one of these nights he meets Eddie. Eddie, who's a little skeptical of him, but who saw his fall from grace, and can see the wild fear in Steve's eyes from a mile away. Eddie, who's always ready to adopt a stray sheep. Eddie, who's babbling brings him back to earth, even when he has no idea what he's on about. He learns Eddie's funny, and loud, and brings life to his sickeningly quiet home in a way no-one else can, and Eddie learns he's not a stuck-up bully of a jock, and it quickly becomes a routine for them to meet whenever Robin's busy. Overtime, Eddie learns Steve struggles because of what he went through in Starcourt, but not much else.

One night, he rocked up to Steve's for a movie night, and he can tell instantly it's a bad day. Steve looks haunted, there's no other word for it. He knows he's going to have to pull out the extra Munson Special to be able to get a real smile out of him tonight.

But it doesn't work. In fact, Steve just seems to be getting worse.

He keeps zoning out, knuckles wise where they grip his jeans, the sofa, anything. And not only is he shaking in general, he's also jolting. And... dodging. Like some invisible figure is hitting him.

Eddie's so worried, he actually stops talking, just watches for a little bit and. Steve doesn't notice. He just keeps breathing too fast. Keeps staring at some ghost in his past. Keeps flinching.

Saying Steve's name isn't enough to get his attention, so slowly, carefully, Eddie reaches for him, placing a hand on his arm, just lightly. But it's enough to make Steve reel back.

They're both apologising in seconds, Steve looking distraught as he assures Eddie it's fine, he's just being stupid, and Eddie saying he should have asked, it's no big deal. But Eddie doesn't miss the sheen in Steve's eyes as he nods, or the tremble to his lips.

He takes a deep breath. Asks, "Steve? what's going on?" Watches as Steve tenses impossibly more for one second. Two. Then crumbles.

"I- I can just f-feel- and-and it hurts, and I don't-"

"Okay, okay, what can I do?"

But Steve just whines, because he doesn't know, he just feels pain everywhere and he just needs to make it stop.

Cue Eddie wracking his brains, and asking where it hurts the worst. Cue Eddie asking if Steve trusts him (and of course he does). Cue Eddie talking Steve through what he's about to do. Cue Eddie gently reaching out to touch Steve's neck, rubbing his thumb over it gently, holding his breath as Steve goes rigid underneath his hand, only to let it out when a significant amount of the tension just bleeds out of him a few moments later.

Slowly, Eddie works his way around all the sore spots, murmuring soft assurances, gaining more confidence as Steve trembles less, breathes easier, and melts under his touch.

They end up with Steve's face buried in Eddie's shoulder, Eddie's arms around him firmly, but not tightly. And Steve doesn't have the words to explain why he needed this, what had caused this. But it doesn't matter. Because Eddie's got him.

From then on, Steve's always got someone to help him remember his body is his. Eddie doesn't hesitate to welcome Steve with a hug, run his hands over Steve's wrists, trail fingers over Steve's neck, or just wrap him up in a blanket and snuggle with him and watch a movie. It doesn't matter that Steve's not allowed to explain. He can piece enough together himself (and after Vecna, he learns anyway). It just matters that Steve is sleeping easier, and laughing more brightly. It just matters that Steve is his.

[ghostchems]

it feeds - papa v perpetua x f!reader

your night is ruined(?) by an intruder

author's note: v is for vampire :) blood sucking, boob sucking, fucking and scary shadow stuff. death and dying. despair. 1.5k words. 18+! mdni! thank you king kong photoshoot for making me finish writing this. ao3 link.

“Hello? Something there?”

Your voice rings out into the darkness, loud and tinged with fear. The window is open, curtains billowing in the frigid night air. Scratching. Squeaking. You bring the comforter up to your nose. A vain effort to hide, to put something in between you and whatever lurks in your room. The shadows begin to twist and writhe, swallowing up the bright light from the moon.

You’re left in complete darkness.

Eyes squeeze shut and you pray for this moment to be over, for it to be sleep paralysis that you’ll snap out of soon. A hand drifts along the comforter. Gentle. Almost teasing. It starts at your feet, dragging upward, leaving goosebumps in its wake as it travels beside your body. You can feel each individual finger through the fabric, cold as ice.

“Please…” A whimper escapes your throat as the hand reaches your shoulder, long fingers twirling in your hair.

“Shhh, pretty thing,” the creature purrs, “open your eyes. See me.” You don't want to. Every fiber of your being screams at you to keep them closed. But your body betrays you, eyelids fluttering open against your will. There, in the pitch black, you see its teeth first - rows upon rows of gleaming white, stretched into an impossibly wide smile.

Then you see the rest of him, materializing from the dark like smoke . A high-collared coat frames his dark figure, buttoned to the base of his neck with a sleek turtleneck beneath. On the upper half of his face sits a silver mask that gleams in the darkness. His visible eye is pure white. The exposed skin around his mouth up to his nose is painted white while his lips are an inky black that parts to reveal those terrible teeth. His hair is smooth, falling in gentle curls past pointed ears.

He steps closer, and you feel the mattress dip under his weight as he perches on the edge of your bed. His long, skeletal fingers continue their gentle caress through your hair, and you find yourself unable to look away from that bone-white eye.

"You called out to me. Did you know that, pretty thing?" he asks, his voice like velvet wrapped around a blade.

"N-no," you stammer, shrinking away from his touch despite the magnetic pull of his gaze. "I didn't call anyone." It almost feels silly to argue but you’ll try anything to end this nightmare.

"Oh, but you did," he croons, leaning closer until you can feel his cold breath against your cheek. "Life got ya down? Feeling lonely? Lost in the dark?" His voice drops to a whisper, each question like a silken thread wrapping around your throat. Until you realize that his fingers have wrapped around your throat. "Those little whispers into the void - they're all little invitations to creatures like me."

You try to twist away, but his grip only tightens. Your thoughts have been mostly of a depressive nature lately; you feel stuck in your life and unsure if you’ve made the right choices. But your words weren't meant for him.

He knows what you’re thinking, his lips stretching into that terrible smile again. Frigid breath ghosts across your face as he speaks. “It’s not so bad. Let me help ease your burdens." His hand travels up your neck to settle beneath your jaw and he tilts your head to face away from him.

“W-what are you going to do?” Your voice is nothing but a breathless whisper now. Eyes dart around the dark room in fear, knowing that this is wrong. The thought of escape flutters through your mind, but he is overwhelming you. His free hand slides up to cradle the back of your head, an almost tender gesture that makes your skin crawl.

The creature chuckles, dark and silky, like poisoned honey dripping from his lips. "Despair is delicious, to me, anyway," he murmurs, and you feel those razor-sharp teeth graze against the tender skin of your neck. Your heart thunders as his grip tightens. "I'll take it from you, pretty thing. Make you feel…alive again”. He gives a shaky breath before his lips press softly against your throat. A kiss, gentle and cold, sends shivers down your spine. Your hands find their way to his back, fingers curling into the fabric of his coat without any conscious decision to do so. You’d be lying if you weren’t interested in his words.

Another kiss, and another, each one leaving trails of ice across you. You know you should be terrified but you’re subdued by his touch. He shifts on top of you, his kisses growing rougher. Your breathing quickens, eyes wide as you stare into the dark abyss of your ceiling. Thoughts scatter like leaves. The creature's nail catches the collar of your t-shirt and he tears it down the middle to the bottom hem, a clean, slow cut.

You make a surprised noise, unable to choke words out as your exposed to him. His fingers trail down your sternum, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Soft lips press against your collarbone, each kiss punctuated with a gentle scrape of teeth. You’re teetering on the edge of extreme danger and you know it - but you’re almost in a trance. Lost in how his mouth burns like frostbite. You feel his smile against you as his hands slide lower, splaying across your ribs. His mouth continues lower, kisses growing hungry and possessive. Lips hover over your heart, where your fear pounds in a violent rhythm. His teeth press down and you hold your breath, certain that this is the moment he'll tear into you. Instead, he chuckles against your flesh, dragging his nose further down your chest.

When his cold lips close around your nipple, you gasp and arch into the sensation. His tongue flicks against it as his other hand slides up to palm the other. A whimper escapes your lips as his teeth graze ever so slightly, sending sparks of electricity through your body.

His cold kisses and sharp teeth trail over you until his mouth hovers over your heart again.

This time he bites.

A flash of white light explodes behind your eyes and you cry out in agony. You’re transported somewhere else. A recurring nightmare of yours. You’re reaching out for the light as you fall into complete darkness. It moves further and further out of reach but instead of fighting, you let yourself go. Warmth spreads through your body. The darkness that once terrified you now wraps around you like a hug, soothing your fears away. The light above grows dimmer and dimmer, but your hands still extended toward it with no hope of ever touching it again. You don't mind anymore. Your muscles relax, tension melting away as you near the bottom of the pit.

The creature releases you.

Adrenaline explodes through your body, heart pounding against your ribcage as if trying to burst out of it. Lungs fill with a sharp, deep gasp of air. Your eyes fly open to find his face inches from yours, sharp teeth stained crimson with your blood bared. It drips down his chin, landing on you.

Before you can process, he crushes his mouth against yours in a brutal kiss.

The taste of copper fills your mouth as his teeth clash against yours. His tongue traces your bottom lip, cold and insistent. You can taste your own blood. You’ve already established that this is wrong, but everything feels electric. His cold fingers slip beneath the waistband of your pants, dragging them down your legs along with your underwear. The coolness of his touch soothing you. He unbuttons his pants. You feel his length press against your thigh, cold and hard. His mouth finds yours again in another bruising kiss as he positions himself between your legs.

The creature has made you come alive and now he wants to feel it.

He enters you slowly, stealing your breath away. The contrast between his icy touch and your feverish skin is maddening. His hips snap forward and you arch beneath him, a deep groan from your throat as he sets a merciless pace. His mouth finds your throat again, his teeth piercing your flesh once more as his thrusts grow more desperate. The sharp pain mingles with pleasure, making your head spin as you cling to him. Your nails dig into his back through the fabric of his coat.

His growls grow more feral with each thrust, vibrating against your throat where his teeth are still buried in your flesh. Your moans echo in the darkness of your room, unashamed and desperate. You're taking him deeper, harder, your body accepting everything he gives you. He releases your throat with a snarl, blood dripping from his lips as he looks down at you with that bone-white eye. His thrusts become more erratic, more animalistic.

Shadows pulse and swirl around you both. The creature's white eye glows brighter until it’s the only thing you can see. Your body convulses, waves of pleasure crashing through you as you cum. A strangled cry rips from the creature's throat, how you clench around him driving him to finish inside you.

The glow of his eye dims, and the shadows consume you.

“Oh, pretty thing," you hear from the darkness, "your despair tasted divine." His cold fingers trace your jaw. "And your liveliness... absolutely intoxicating."

Consciousness fades.

You do feel lighter.

[on-the-clear-blue]

Champion and King Pt1

(Since yall seemed to want this...)

Danny didn't know why he was doing this, didn't know why he agreed to try this for Clockwork...

He cursed the day he defeated Pariah Dark, that great petty bastard cursed him with something much worse than a missing limb or death.

Motherfucking paperwork

And centuries of it, sure there was some meager efforts done by the Ancients over the years but at some point they just stopped.

And now he was stuck behind a desk reading mind-numbing legal jargon trying to figure out what exactly the Observants wanted him to do, the most he was able to comprehend was they wanted support for an increase of dead from leprosy...from 800 BC.

He slapped it with his decline seal and moved onto the next, another plea for more funding by Walker, accepted and pushed to another bin.

Read, Stamp, put in Bin.

That was his life now.

He had become the lamest office worker whenever he wasn't at school or sleeping, he hadn't seen Sam or Tucker in what felt like years...

His eyes skipped over lines of text, sighing as he let the paper drop, his ink stained fingers rubbed at his eyes, yawning as he did.

Stretching back in his chair, Danny stared up at the ceiling of his office, feeling some calm come over his tired mind, his ceiling was covered with stars on pitch black, his eyes could pick out constellations known and unknown, one (and maybe only benefit) of being the Ghost King was that he had full access to all of the ghosts in the Realms, others who looked up to the stars and felt hope.

Watching the stars twinkle for another minute, Danny groaned before looking back to the piles and piles of paperwork, only pausing as there was a bright pink postit note stuck on the paper that he had recently tried to read.

It was both a welcome distraction and a troublesome thing, picking it up, Danny's eyes narrowed as he read.

'Dear King Daniel, I hope this note finds you well, a pressing matter has come to fruition that need your attention. Come to my tower, I wish to speak to you.'

Grumbling, the teen stood, wincing at the creak of his bones as he stretched, he is barely over 14! Why does he have a worse back then his father!

---

Floating through the purple door of the clock tower, Danny looked around for his supposed mentor.

Letting out a grunt as he was tackled from behind, the teen glared at the pint sized Clockwork grinning evilly up at him, "Sup Unc, took you long enough, were you in Ohio? That's totally not skibidi rizz my guy, never Ohio max Danny, it would destroy the time stream."

How is this the same person thst sent that flowery worded message from before? Simple, it was an older Clock Work, as his body cycles through ages, so does his words and how they are used...sadly.

Rolling the young Clock Work off himself, Danny glared for a moment before sighing, "if you brought me here just to sprout brain rot I am calling Technus and making him ban your accounts..."

The small Clock Work glared at Danny for a moment before shifting to a more mature form, "Truely if my excited form is too much for you I fear for the other citizens of the realm." Not letting Danny defend himself the now man steam rolled on, "But that matters not as of now, for I must instruct you on another Kingly duty that you have yet to do."

Danny sucked in a breath and tried to stop the growl that wanted to come out, he would save it for his office and his mountains of paperwork, "Another? I am already drowning in paperwork! I am this close to helping Vlad get my mom just so he teaches me the duplication trick he does!" Pacing the teen dragged his hands down his face, "I am barely in the 800s BC! Undergrowth doesn't need to help save a certain flower that can only be found on one island because it fucking sunk and became Atlantis! Did you know that's how I found out it was real? Fucking Atlantis is real and I found out through paperwork!"

As he ranted Danny gripped at his hair, tugging at it as he continued "I can't even process that because I have Walker up my ass, every second paper is him asking for more funding! Why does he need more ecto? He only has 5 inmates at a time?"

Clockwork o lyrics crossed his arms, watching as Danny raved onward, after he hit the five minute mark, Clock Work grabbed the teen by his shoulders and shook him lightly, "Daniel this will not be anything like the paper work, will you kindly cease speaking and let me tell you what it is?"

---

Billy yawned and decided that today would be a good day, it wasn't really anything that was about this morning that was unnormally good or nice, but Billy couldn't shake the feeling it was going to be great!

Stretching, as he shucked off his sleeping bag, the teen rolled off his sleeping pad and fumbled for his phone, a small rinky dink flip phone he had gotten with prepaid minutes.

Yawning again as he checked on the time, he nodded, he would be able to stop by the shelter in an hour to get breakfast, he could thr pop behind the general store to see if Mister Mathew had anything he needed help with/ was throwing out.

Shuffling around his makeshift area, Billy packed up his things, slotting them into an old military backpack he had been able to snag out of a dumpster, it only had a few holes! Practically brand new for a homeless kid.

Checking over his League communicator, he made sure that the world didn't end while he was sleeping, and set off for the day, humming a tune as he walked through the abandoned subways under his city.

Coming out to one of the less abandoned places, he waved at some of the kinder homeless population, he had been on the streets longer than most, but for some reason a lot of them still treated him like he was fresh out of a foster home.

Taking a deep breath as he came up into the light of day, Billy hummed, a smile on his face as he set to do his morning rounds.

---

Okay so it seemed like the day was purposely trying to make Billy get in a bad mood, the shelter denied him entry since they were full up, which is fine, he has protein bars in his backpack.

Then it seemed like Mister Mathew forgot to tell his new hire about their little deal so he got cussed out and chased off, which is again, is fine, he will try again later when he knows for sure that Mister Mathew is actually there.

No, what was the serious thing that was trying to make him have a bad day was the twenty story tall tentacles that were whipping around trying to destroy the better part of down town Fawcett city.

"Oh shiz...am heh." Shaking his head from his own little pun, the teen ran into a near by alley, did a once over to make sure there wasn't any unexpected viewers, and then called out the old wizards name, "Shizam!"

Lighting tore through the sky and slammed into his chest, in a flash of light Billy Batson, homeless 14 year old was gone, and where he stood was Captain Marvel, Champion of Magic.

---

He didn't do it on purpose, Danny swears mentally as he flew out of reach of the dark whip like tentacle, he still wasn't used to traveling by the Ring of Rage and well...his portaling wasn't as good as it probably should be...

Sending a blast of ecto at what he could only assume to be a being outside of his comprehension, Danny sneered at it "Oy grippy face! Leave the people alone! I brought you here dammit! Fight me you sad sack of calamari!"

Grinning as his taunts got him a feral grumbling and black ichor bubbling at what he could only assume a mouth was? He didn't really care as he focused on freezing the tentacle that missed him, stopping it before it could slam into a near by building.

But before Danny could attack the beast, he froze, his dead heart suddenly pounding in his ears.

After the portal accident, Danny instinctively had a sense about electricity, he could practically taste it when there was a high voltage.

And right now? His mouth was like an ozone ocean, his arm burned once again along the lines of his Lichtenberg scar, and with a boom that rattled Danny's core and left stars flying around his vision, a bolt of white lightning shot from a figure flying not to far away towards the great tentacle beast, making it squeal in pain.

But Danny was still frozen, eyes wide and hands shaking, as another bolt of brilliant white shot out from the being, a man in a scarlet suit, a snow white cape fluttering behind him, and a golden lightning built across his chest.

Danny was not going to have fun this fight isn't he?

[ice-cream-writes-stuff]

The Nightmare Before Christmas Lost in The Book: Over The Spiral Hill

{1} {2}

Being stuck in a strange book was not what you expected, now you had to worry about your fellow Ramshackle doormates!  You hoped they would be fine, without Yuu or you. You glanced at Yuu and Grim, the two students happily looking over the strange pumpkin patch.

You look away only for a moment, hoping to see what was over the garden wall. Instead what caught your interest was the odd scarecrow hidden in the shadows. Raising a brow, you walk closer, hoping the moonlight would shine on the object.

“(Y/N)! Look at this one!”

You pause, you turn attention back on Grim as you see the little furball try to pick it up. 

You sigh, feeling the wind play with ends of your clothes, about to walk over to the two. An idea forms in your mind!

Kneeling down, you notice the scarecrow seemed much closer than before. Gently picking up the smallest fruit, the unmoving straw body was MUCH closer now!

You tilt your head, eyes shining with curiosity. You notice the sign above its head, “Halloween… Town.”

Reading aloud, you turn away, a sweet laugh leaving you, flustered as you hold the autumn fruit closer. “I… Hope you don’t mind.” You say to the scarecrow, “I promise to return it.”

Turning away, you carefully walk through the pumpkin patch towards your companions. Letting out a cough to grab their attention, you hold the pumpkin as if it were a skull.

“To be.. Or Not! To be.. Such is the question..!” You quote, expecting a laugh. Instead, Grim frowns in confusion. “To be what? A pumpkin?” He questions.

“No. It’s Shaksphere? Yuu, please tell me you know!” The Prefect shrugs, tapping their chin thoughtfully. “It sounds familiar…”

Going back to the scarecrow, you lean up against the wooden pool. Fluttering your lashes dreamily, letting out an over-dramatic sigh, “My bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love as deep; the more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite.” You state, raising the object close to your lips, as they pucker.

Yuu huffs, about to retrieve the fruit as Grim lays on their shoulder.

“I still don’t get it! But whoever this shake-ysphera guy is, sure is dramatic.”

“Well, that line was Juliets… From Romeo and Juliet…” You murmur as you chuckle at Yuu snatching the pumpkin away, placing it next to its brethren on the soil. “Rome and Jule?”

“No… Okay let me explain.”

Heading to the other side of the scarecrow, you say another quote. “A pair of star-crossed lovers take their life; Whose misadventured piteous overthrows. Do with their death bury their parents’ strife.” 

“Hmm… Henchman, do you get it?” Grim questions the other magicless human. They nodded thoughtfully, the wind tussling their hair.

“Kinda like... Christmas and Halloween, two opposites and can’t collide.” Yuu states proudly like they figured out the code!

“Oh so like that made-up holiday you created during winter!” Grim states, pointing a paw at you.

“IT’S NOT-How is that even-?” You groan, moving away from the protector of the patch. You try to explain, or direct the conversation elsewhere.

A glove-like hand grasps your own, as an unfamiliar laugh rings behind you, Yuu and Grim gape in fear while you  freeze. A young man with a grin steps into your view, his grip like a spider's web, strong yet delicate when holding your palm. 

“I greet you with a kiss, for this wonderful encounter..~!” 

-

“Gino! What am I to do with these!?” Foulworth asks his companion, holding the box of decorations in worry. “(Y/N) and Yuu instructed us before, but this not as simple as I hoped.”

The fox-beastman grumbled, poking at a strange velvet hat with a cotton ball placed on top. Mixed in with the other Halloween items placed inside the brown box.

Rollo scoffed from his seat, hiding his sour words into his silken handkerchief. Watching the two fumble with green and purple tinsel as the ghosts aid them.

-

[Ya’ll, I’m head over heels for mister Skele-boi over hear. He’s voiced by one of my all-time va’s. So I’m just in awe! I’ve been squealing all day about him! I might, possibly write for this event if anyone is interested. Let me know!]

[a-d-nox]

pac/pap: your 2026 self's advice for 2025

take what resonates leave what doesn't - nothing is 100% for you because these aren't personalized so please no angry comments or dms about what i am saying not being a good fit for you or that you "don't claim" just keep scrolling if that is the case. be kind, self reflect, and have fun.

last pac/pap: creature feature: ghost - longing and lingering

return to the masterlist of pap/pac posts

paid reading options: astrology menu & cartomancy menu

enjoy my work? help me continue creating by tipping on ko-fi or paypal. your support keeps the magic alive!

pile one

allow yourself to be curious and have new beginnings. your 2026 self urges you to explore the opportunities that ignite your passion and creativity in 2025. trust the process and remain open to learning. small steps will set you up for big transformations.

focus on finding emotional fulfillment and building meaningful relationships. your 2026 self encourages you to cherish and nurture your connections in 2025 - this will be a year where love, family, and/or community brings you immense joy. don’t take any moments for granted...

celebrate your milestones, no matter how small. your future self reminds you that 2025 will bring accomplishments and reasons to feel proud. take time to acknowledge your hard work and enjoy life’s moments of stability and harmony. whether it’s a literal homecoming or a metaphorical one, find peace in your achievements.

let go of past disappointments. your future self acknowledges that 2025 will come with emotional challenges, but advises you to not dwell on losses/mistakes. look for the silver lining in difficult situations and shift your focus to what you can still build and/or salvage. healing is key to moving forward.

balance celebration with responsibility. your 2026 self may be warning against overindulgence or leaning too heavily on social distractions. evaluate your friendships and avoid gossip / superficial connections. focus on meaningful interactions and prioritize your personal growth.

pile two

prioritize balance and adaptability. your 2026 self reminds you that 2025 will be a year of juggling multiple responsibilities, whether in work, personal life, and/or both. time management and knowing when to set boundaries is crucial. stay flexible and focus on what truly matters - don’t stretch yourself too thin.

reconnect with your inner wisdom. your future self cautions that in 2025, you may feel disconnected from your intuition / inner truth. perhaps you’ll rely too much on external validation or suppress your instincts. make time for introspection and trust the quiet, subtle messages within you. avoid ignoring red flags, both in yourself and others.

break free from limiting beliefs. your 2026 self acknowledges that you may feel stuck or trapped in 2025, but reminds you that much of this is mental. the power to free yourself lies within - often you are the thing that stops you from feeling free. whether fear, self-doubt, and/or external pressures - and start taking steps to regain control. small acts of courage can dissolve large barriers.

seek structure and wisdom. your future self advises you to lean into tradition, mentorship, and/or a belief system in 2025 to ground yourself. perhaps this means returning to foundational practices, getting guidance from a teacher, and/or establishing a more disciplined approach to life. ensure you’re not blindly following authority either; question what aligns with your values.

embrace endings as a path to renewal. your 2026 self reminds you that while some parts of 2025 may feel difficult or final, these endings are paving the way for new beginnings. release what no longer serves you, even if it’s painful. trust that you’re shedding what’s necessary to step into a stronger, wiser version of yourself.

pile three

take control and stay determined. your 2026 self encourages you to approach 2025 with focus and willpower. even when obstacles arise, remind yourself of your goals and push forward. balance your emotions and logic to maintain control over your direction. success will come when you stay disciplined and driven.

reevaluate what truly makes you happy. your future self warns that in 2025, you may find yourself chasing goals that don’t align with your authentic desires. reflect on what “wish fulfillment” means to you and avoid settling for superficial happiness. true satisfaction comes from within, not from external validation.

proceed with caution and assess risks. your 2026 self advises you to be mindful of impulsive decisions in 2025. while new beginnings are on the horizon, take the time to plan and evaluate. avoid leaping into situations without considering potential consequences. trust in fresh starts but approach them with care.

let go of resistance to change. your future self sees that 2025 may challenge your ability to release old patterns or beliefs. if you find yourself feeling stuck, it’s likely because you’re resisting a necessary shift in perspective. surrender to the process, even if it feels uncomfortable. true growth comes from seeing things in a new light.

seize new opportunities for stability and growth. your 2026 self celebrates the tangible opportunities coming your way in 2025. whether it’s a career, financial, and/or personal project, there is a fresh start with the potential for long-term success. stay grounded, work hard, and nurture this new beginning - it has the power to flourish.

[bamfkeeper]

Reunion.

RQ: 'I was hoping for some hurt/comfort 🙏🏽. I was never really satisfied with Kurt and Amanda's reunion after he came back to life(aside from the fact that that ship gives me a major ick for ibv reasons). It was so anticlimactic! You would think a woman who knew him all his life would she'd a few tears. I was wondering what your take on a reunion scene with Kurt would be? Like the reader was a member of the X-Men and saw Bastion kill Kurt. Because of her grief she leaves the team unable to cope from the loss. And then after years of being without him he just shows up at her apartment just like he did with Amanda.' - @gildedjerk

Pairing: Kurt Wagner x GN!reader

Warnings: Major character death | Descriptions of injuries | Mourning & grief | Happy ending ofc

A/N: Wooo I had a lot of fun with this one. Angst and comfort, yum. Anyway I did try to give a realistic response to him coming back from the dead. I was stuck between two reactions but I think this one is good. I hope you enjoy! Unedited hehe WC: 3.0k

It had only been a week. A week since your heart became slow, dull, and empty.

The mansion took a hit. The team broken into pieces.

It was unusually quiet around the manor. Normally, the sound of padding footsteps and excited laughter and voices filled the halls, but now...it was silent. You weren't' the only one that lost something, but by all hell, you deserved to grieve.

You hadn't left the bedroom you shared for days, your body curled tightly on the bed, clutching his suit against your chest as if it were a lifeline. Tears flowed endlessly, soaking the pillow beneath your head. The salty streams seemed inexhaustible, leaving your eyes red and swollen, leaving you with a constant headache you ignored. You were likely severely dehydrated from the constant outpouring of grief, but in your state of mourning, those concerns held no importance to you. All you desired was to be left alone with your sorrow, to process the loss in solitude.

His suit bore a large, jagged hole, Kurt's dried blood stained the fabric, a sight that simultaneously pained you and kept you connected to him. You couldn't bring yourself to wash it, fearing that doing so would erase the last tangible traces of his presence. The suit still carried his distinct scent, a bittersweet comfort that you clung to desperately. No amount of spraying with cologne could ever bring back his natural musk that he had, and you would rather die than get rid of it.

Embedded within the flexible fabric were tufts of his fur, some parts adhering more stubbornly than others. As you ran your fingers over these patches, you recalled with a mixture of fondness and anguish his playful complaints about how the suit would cause him to shed. Those light-hearted moments now seemed like echoes from a distant, happier time, making the overwhelming ache of his absence feel much worse.

The team struggled to regroup, attempting to rally support and formulate a plan of action in the aftermath of the blatant slaughter they endured. However, you found yourself emotionally paralyzed, unable to contribute to their efforts. The weight of loss and despair settled heavily upon your shoulders, making even the simplest tasks seem insurmountable. In a daze, you rose from your seat, your movements mechanical and detached from conscious thought. You were on autopilot, nothing else mattered, you couldn’t even think.

You began to pack your belongings, carelessly tossing clothes into a small bag without regard for order or neatness. Your fingers then ghosted over the familiar fabric of his suit, the last tangible remnant of Kurt's presence in your life. With reverence, you gently lifted the garment, cradling it against your chest as if it were a fragile, living thing. This suit, once a symbol of his strength and selfless heroism, now served as a poignant reminder of all you had lost. As you held it close, memories of Kurt flooded your mind, intensifying the ache of his absence and solidifying your decision to depart.

You had no tears left. Not right now.

You took your bag and you left.

The nightmares were relentless, haunting your sleep with disturbing frequency. Night after night, your subconscious mind replayed the horrific scene of Kurt's demise, each detail etched with painful clarity like you were reliving that exact moment over and over again. The vivid imagery of Bastion's merciless act - the brutal impalement - refused to fade. You could still see, with sickening precision, the crimson spray erupting from Kurt's azure lips, staining his chest in a macabre pattern, the life essence dripping down his skin and mocking you. The memory of his lithe form, once so full of life and grace, suddenly tensing and then crumpling lifelessly to the ground as Bastion withdrew his weapon, was seared into your mind.

The physical sensations were equally intense. You distinctly recalled the disorienting waves of heat and cold that washed over you, and the violent tremors that wracked your body as adrenaline surged through your system in rage fueled torrents. The emotional trauma was blatant, manifesting in physical symptoms that left you feeling drained and vulnerable, pathetically and frantically scrambling to get to his side in the middle of the battlefield.

The image of your final moments with Kurt were the worst of it all, your eternal Hell that never ceased. Holding his rapidly cooling body in your arms, you watched helplessly as the light in his beautiful, golden eyes gradually dimmed. Even in his last breaths, Kurt's selflessness shone through, as he valiantly attempted to offer you solace and comfort, despite his own dire circumstances.

Your grief and suffering was a wound that never healed. Each night proved that it would only reopen from the desperate scab it tried to become.

As the years passed, your close friends from the mansion persistently attempted to maintain contact with you, but you deliberately distanced yourself from them. The desire to communicate with them had completely faded, and you found yourself wanting to sever all ties with the X-Men.

Your sole focus became an attempt to carve out an existence devoid of the tumultuous chaos that had been an inherent part of life within that unconventional, misfit family. You couldn’t stand any more pain, the loss you took had been severe, thinking about any of your old friends losing their lives was too much to bear.

You retreated into a life of solitude, taking on a mundane and unremarkable job that offered little stimulation or fulfillment. It wasn't so much living as it was merely existing - a bare-bones survival that felt hollow but required.

Yet, in your current state of mind, this was all you felt capable of managing. The weight of your grief remained a constant companion, refusing to lift even as time marched relentlessly forward. The passage of years did little to alleviate the profound sense of loss that had taken root in your heart, leaving you trapped in a perpetual state of mourning that colored every aspect of your isolated existence.

You tried therapy, for a while.

It didn’t help much.

You were constantly bombarded with well-intentioned but ultimately unhelpful advice. People would tell you to move on, as if it were a simple switch you could flip.

They'd say he was in a better place now, as though that somehow lessened your pain.

They'd remind you that years had passed, implying that your grief should have an expiration date.

But none of these platitudes actually provided any comfort or solace. In fact, being told to move on was perhaps the most infuriating of all. It felt dismissive, insensitive, and completely disconnected from the depth of your loss.

The suggestion to move on ignited a spark of anger within you. How could anyone possibly understand the magnitude of what you'd been through? You couldn't even share the full story with them, the pervasive discrimination and prejudice against mutants still ran deep in society, and you weren't ready to expose that part of yourself.

But regardless of the details you had to keep hidden, the fact remained that you had lost the person who brought light and love into your world. It was as if the sun had been extinguished, leaving you in perpetual darkness. The audacity of someone demanding that you simply move on from such a profound loss was both hurtful and enraging. How dare they trivialize your grief and dictate the timeline of your healing? Your pain was yours to process, and no one had the right to tell you when or how to do it.

You came back from a rather dreary work day, annoyed and angry with the world. It felt so unfair. You wondered if Kurt would be disappointed in the sheer amount of hatred that you allowed to consume you. Did it matter?

As you closed your door, you trudged through your barren apartment, your footsteps echoing in the emptiness. You hadn’t bothered to decorate, it was just you, and when you were home all you did was sleep. No reason to waste money on furniture.

Suddenly, a familiar scent wafted through the air - brimstone. That sharp, smoky odor that had haunted your senses for years now made its presence known once again. The acrid smell tickled your nostrils, bringing with it a flood of memories you'd rather forget. At first, you dismissed it as another phantom smell, a lingering remnant of Kurt that your mind conjured up in moments of solitude. After all, these olfactory ghosts had been your constant companions over the years, taunting and mocking you with their ephemeral nature.

You continued your way through the apartment, your mind wrestling with the reality of the scent. The logical part of your brain insisted it was just another trick of your senses, a cruel joke played by your subconscious. Yet, a small voice in the back of your mind whispered that something was different this time. The smell seemed more tangible, more real than the fleeting wisps of memory you were accustomed to. Still, you pushed the thought aside, convincing yourself it was nothing out of the ordinary.

You were just tired. It had been a long day.

As you rounded the frame of the door, preparing to step into the next room, an inexplicable chill ran down your spine. In that instant, you felt everything around you freeze up. The air grew thick and heavy, as if time itself had come to a standstill. Your muscles tensed, your breath caught in your throat as you looked at the familiar figure laying on your couch.

Kurt smiled at you, his familiar figure rising from his seat. His arms extended in a welcoming gesture, a warmth radiating from his presence that you hadn't felt in what seemed like an eternity. "Liebling...I've missed you so much," he murmured, his voice carrying the same tender inflection you remembered.

Every detail about him was overwhelmingly authentic - from the timbre of his voice to the subtle cologne mixed with that harsh brimstone that always clung to his clothes. Your senses were inundated with evidence of his reality; he wasn't just there, he was undeniably real.

A maelstrom of emotions surged through you, leaving you utterly bewildered.

What the Hell is happening?

The thought ricocheted through your mind, unable to find purchase in the face of this impossibility.

You found yourself frozen, incapable of formulating a coherent response. The shock of the moment had completely blindsided you, leaving you reeling as if you'd been struck. It was as though you were face to face with an apparition, a specter from your past that had inexplicably materialized before your eyes.

But this was no ethereal vision - this was tangible, corporeal.

The absurdity of the situation wasn't lost on you; if this was indeed some sort of phantasm, it certainly had a sick sense of humor.

Your lips parted as you let out a soft, trembling sound, his name barely a whisper escaping through the opening. Your eyes, wide with disbelief, were glued on him, taking in every detail of his familiar yet seemingly impossible presence. His demeanor faltered slightly as he noticed your lack of enthusiasm at his sudden appearance, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features.

"Ah, liebe...I...understand this might be quite shocking to you..." He mumbled out shyly, his voice a mixture of hope and apprehension as he slowly walked towards you, each step careful and measured. "But, I am back. I am truly here, alive and breathing. Can you see that?"

You remained rooted to the spot, unable to bring yourself to move a single muscle. The overwhelming tsunami of emotions that crashed over you felt like it was too much for your body and mind to handle. A wave of nausea washed over you, making you feel as though you were teetering on the edge of consciousness, your stomach churning violently. The sheer impossibility of the situation threatened to overwhelm you completely.

You couldn't fathom how he could be here, standing in your apartment, flesh and blood, after years of believing he was dead. The grief you had painstakingly lived with, the torturous reminders that mocked you every day - it all came crashing down around you in an instant, leaving you reeling in a maelstrom.

Kurt opened his mouth to speak, sensing the overwhelming shock that had gripped you. He anticipated a joyous reaction, but instead, a heart-wrenching, soul-shattering sob escaped your lips, echoing through the air and piercing the silence between you.

Taken aback, Kurt's body tensed, his eyes widening with a mixture of concern and confusion. This unexpected outburst was far from the jubilant reunion he had envisioned in his mind. The stark contrast between his hopeful expectations and the raw, emotional reality before him left him momentarily stunned.

You had always been strong and level-headed with your emotions, but seeing you like this made him realize his absence and sudden appearance again had clearly done some psychological damage. "L-liebling," he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper, thick with uncertainty and worry.

Hesitantly, Kurt extended his hands towards you, offering comfort and desperate support. However, the fear of exacerbating your distress held him back from actually making contact. His fingers hovered in the air between you, trembling slightly as he grappled with the desire to console you and the apprehension of potentially making matters worse.

Kurt bridged the gap between you with a single, desperate motion, not wanting to watch you sob any longer. His arms enveloped you, strong yet gentle, pulling you against his chest. You felt the solid warmth of his body, a sensation you had been deprived of for what felt like an eternity.

As he held you close, Kurt became your anchor to reality, proof that this wasn't just another cruel dream. His familiar scent washed over you, a mix of brimstone and something uniquely him, further cementing his presence. "I'm here, liebe... I'm here," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Es tut mir Leid... I never intended to be absent for so long, but... the circumstances of my return are a mystery even to me. Perhaps this is a divine gift, a second chance from Gott…a miracle. Ja?"

His words were soft, barely above a whisper, yet they resonated deeply within you. "I cannot imagine the anguish you've endured in my absence," he continued, his accent more pronounced in his emotional state. As he spoke, his hand moved in soothing circles on your back, a gesture so achingly familiar it threatened to unravel you completely.

In the safety of his embrace, years of bottled-up emotions finally found their release. The dam broke, and you allowed yourself to experience the full depth of your agony, your body shaking with the force of your long-suppressed grief. Kurt held you through it all, a steady presence as you wept the tumultuous sea of your emotions, whispering words of comfort and love in a mixture of English and German.

You don't know how long you cried for.

You felt your body gradually succumbing to exhaustion, your strength ebbing away with each passing moment. What seemed like mere minutes to your grief-stricken mind had, in reality, stretched into over an hour of uncontrollable sobbing. Throughout this emotional display, Kurt remained steadfast, his arms encircling you in an unwavering embrace, not daring to let you go. He bore witness to your anguish, listening intently to every heart-wrenching wail that escaped your lips, each cry a testament to the depth of your sorrow and mourning. He felt so horrible, seeing just how much you loved him and how the grief had overtaken your being.

Kurt did everything in his power to provide solace. He held you close, gently squeezing you with his arms, whispering soft reassurances, each gesture carefully crafted to soothe you.

"I'm here now," he murmured, his voice a balm to your frayed nerves. "I'm not leaving. I promise..." His indigo lips grazed your sensitive temple while he whispered gentle nothings against your skin. The contact was feather-light, yet profoundly comforting. He peppered your clammy skin with tender kisses, unable to hold back on his affections.

The sudden nature of Kurt's reappearance left you reeling. After enduring the agonizing belief that he was gone forever, his unexpected return stirred up a complex cocktail of emotions - happiness, relief, anger. A part of you yearned for the joyous reunion he seemed to expect, but another part bristled at the simplicity of such an notion.

How could he materialize out of thin air, after all the grief and pain you had endured, and anticipate an uncomplicated, happy welcome? You supposed that is his specialty…appearing suddenly in a rapid purple cloud with that happy smile exposing his fangs.

Kurt wanted that happy reunion. He wanted you jumping in his arms and that loving, passionate kiss he dreamt of and missed since his departure from this plane of existence.

But you couldn't give him that. Not now.

For now, you needed his comforting presence more than anything else. Recognizing your emotional state, he gently lowered himself onto the couch, cradling you in his arms. His embrace was firm yet tender, providing a sanctuary where you could finally release everything that had been weighing heavily on your heart. As he held you close, you continued to sob and cry into his chest, each tear carrying with it a fragment of the pain and stress you had been harboring for so long.

Time seemed to stand still as you remained in his protective embrace, your sobs gradually subsiding as exhaustion began to overtake you. He made no move to interrupt this cathartic process, understanding that sometimes silence speaks louder than words. His steady heartbeat and warm presence served as a lullaby, slowly lulling you into a state of tranquility you hadn't experienced in years.

The conversation you needed to have could wait.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you found yourself drifting into a deep, peaceful slumber - a luxury that had eluded you for far too long. His presence alone had snuffed out the vicious plague that infected your mind, the nightmares that were forced upon you over and over of his gruesome death were destroyed.

For the first time in years, you actually slept.

Thanks for reading.

*BAMF*

Dividers by @/adornedwithlight & @/strangergraphics

Cover image from Nightcrawler #1 (2014)