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themochiverse · 4 months

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The Monster Under the Bed | KNJ

➳ Pairing: yan!nightmare!demon!nj x fem!reader

➳ Genre: Yandere, Horror, Monster Au

➳ Warnings: Swearing, consumption of alcohol, mentions of tera-phphobia (fear of monsters), childhood abuse and trauma, mention of an alcoholic parent, gore, violence, blood, injuries, asphyxiation, gagging, NON-CON kissing and touching (not sexually), Namjoon degrades the reader a bit, supernatural torment, physical harm to the reader, the reader goes a bit crazy, mentions of soul-eating?…. Anyways

➳ Synopsis: When a human falls asleep they face two realms: the dream and nightmare world— where one is controlled by the angels to kiss you goodnight, and the other controlled by unknown creatures that push behind your darkest fears. So when your constant fear of monsters hiding under your bed continues to grow in your life, one peculiar nightmarish friend becomes infatuated to keep it that way.

➳ Word Count: 6.7k+

➳ Disclaimer: This fanfic is purely from my imagination, I do not intend to harm any Idol or person in any way. Nor sexualising them. Please do not steal any ideas from here, this is all of my work and original work. I DO NOT CONDONE THIS BEHAVIOUR.

No part of the story can be copied, reproduced, redistributed or transformed into any other form. Meaning no photocopying, recording whether written or electrically. No methods are allowed that uses anything from this fic. This follows in the permitted Copyright Law. All images and/or gifs go to their rightful owners.

A/N: Fuck my lazy ass, I got it done, and I hope the story is good! I wasn’t bothered to add a banner cuz I was too excited to post, I’ll add one later one. Anyways, enjoy!

Taglist; @minshookie29 @6tslovr @proflyndo @pinkcherrybombs @papijiminfeed @justanotherstarlightmonger @kittykatfey @princess-sunshyn @jinniesjoon94 @trashlord-007

You're asleep.

Head tucked in gently in the crevice of your elbow, the soft quilt tangled by your ankles as you parted your dry lips open, swallowing the icy air. After a long day of work exhaustion crept up on you, and once your head hit the pillow— like a spell chanted on you, you fell asleep. Subtle chirps could be heard from outside your fogged-up window but you wouldn't notice it anyway. As your body was at rest, your mind was yoked within a dream.

The breeze howled in your ear and your legs dangling from the old wooden bridge you sat on. The moon hid behind the thick clouds, ultimately bringing darkness to surround you. The field behind you swayed in the wind, and the tall grass whispered as they shook together.

Snap

Your head spun around to the impulsive noise, and your heart dropped. From a good distance stood an old man. He was decorated with long boots and a hat that covered his face. Your eyes followed his arm, it was clenched on an object so tightly that you recognised it within a second. It was a liquor bottle.

You knew him, you knew who he was.

“Y/N,” his voice dropped and trembled, “have you seen daddy’s new bottle?”

He stomped his foot, walking over to you with rage building up inside him. Instinctively, you got up and ran straight to the empty field, your bare feet facing any prick that came along the way. You could hear his footsteps getting closer but you won’t turn your head. You will never turn your head to see him.

But you stopped in your tracks as the sight of the old man appeared in front of you again. He raised his bottle high in the air, and you cowered in fear, covering your face as he was about to strike. You shrieked waiting for the impact, but it never came. Instead, your mind felt dizzy when your eyes opened to the familiar surroundings.

Old drawings of animals were stuck on the wall, the vanity mirror was disguised with dust and there were the broken scars on a cupboard next to your old bed.

Your childhood room.

With haste, you trudged to the door to leave but it creaked shut, and darkness clouded your sight. Your hands fiddled with a butterfly lamp that was on the bedside table, and your fingers wriggled to find the switch.

The insects cried, the wind roared and something whispered. You froze at that, and your eyes followed the gap under the bed. You gulped, clenching your fist as your nails dug deep into your skin.

Nothing is there Y/N, nothing is there—

“Are you sure?” A hoarse voice rumbled and you flinched. Your heart pounded as you felt your body giving up on you. Your legs shook and they dropped to the floor as you felt yourself being dragged to the dreaded place that has practically haunted you for your whole life.

“No…” you mumbled, “Please no!”

Red eyes blinked at you, and they glinted in mischief. A snarl vibrates and a long black hand appears—claws lingering within the air before it grasps your chin, bringing your face closer to him.

“Aren't you a pretty little thing?”

You couldn't see the creature that spoke to you but you shivered at its touch. The energy was drained from your body and your mind went fuzzy. This creature’s touch left a numb feeling in your head. Void. Alone. But alone with him. Your eyes could only witness the darkness within and your hands weakly clutched onto the dirty bedsheets as you felt this creature pull you closer.

“Still scared? Didn't Daddy teach you enough to not be afraid of monsters?” The voice left hot words in your ear and your neck stiffened at the comment. How the fuck does it know?

With little courage, you spoke.

“What do you want from me?”

A deep chuckle erupted in the room, and the grip on your chin loosened a bit.

“My, my, this is the first question you wanted to ask me? Very well, I’ll answer honestly for you,” his other hand came to caress your cheek, “You see, I'm very picky when it comes to what type of humans I want to devour. There's just something in your soul that's very precious to me, and it would be very precious to any other creature too—“

Your hands grabbed onto the cold claws that held your face, and you tried to get out of his hold. Your breathing quickened. What did he just say? Devouring humans? You struggled futilely in his hold, your clammy palms soon gave up. The grip on your chin tensed this time, and they hushed you with ease.

“Shh, my darling. Let me continue before I let you go,” the creature hummed before proceeding, “In other words, I want you and your soul. I want to be with you forever.”

Your eyes widened at those proclamations and the claw that was settled against your cheek crawled up to your forehead.

“Now wake.”

You gasped as you jolted in your bed. Sweat stuck to the back of your shirt, your body was burning and you felt suffocated. It was just a nightmare Y/N, just a fucking nightmare. You slid off your bed and a fluffy brown tail tickled your legs. Your body hunched as you stared at your adorable cat.

“Morning Max, you need some breakfast?” The cat blinked its eyes slowly before calling out to you as it walked out of your room. You sighed, stretching as you went after your pet into the kitchen. The sun was covered by clouds and the day groaned dimly.

Max purred as you grabbed the packet of food and began to pour it into his favourite bowl. His head dived in, and tiny crunches escaped from his small mouth. You squeezed the packet in your hand, the slippery texture on your palms was still there. You tapped your foot impatiently as the remembrance of the sudden nightmare continued to dawn on you.

This didn't feel right, the nightmare felt way too realistic. And how would a monster know about your past? Maybe it was understandable, you had a traumatic childhood and your combined phobia was already monstrous. It was unsettling though, the way it grabbed your face and talked to you. Especially how you immediately felt weak by its presence..anyone would get chills from it.

Ding.

A chime vibrated from your phone as you checked it.

Rosewood Clinic: Scheduled Appointment at 9:45 am with Doctor Link. Please arrive 20 minutes earlier. If you wish to cancel or reschedule please call us at xxx-xxx-xx

Right, the appointment. You completely forgot about it, and now you have more to discuss with your doctor.

Didn't Daddy teach you enough to not be afraid of monsters?

“Daddy, can we please go to the fair today? Please?” You pouted at your father, begging him to go to the country fair.

“Alright, we’ll go. Call your mama for me?” He asked and you smiled happily as you went to get your mum.

“Mama! Mama! Guess what? Daddy said we’re going to the fair today.” You exclaimed proudly, giggling when your mother picked you up in her arms. Her hair shone in the sunlight, and she kissed your cheek softly.

“That’s great news sweetie, come on your father must be waiting.”

Your family arrived at the fair, and loud country music rang in your ears. There were multiple rides and food stalls, vibrant colours and the laughter of children brought merriment. The scent of fresh food and screams echoed in the background as you had the opportunity to roam free.

“Y/N, come here. Daddy here is gonna win a prize for you,” your father gleefully said before he resumed the challenge he had to face. You watched with big eyes as your father held small darts, his arm flexed before he threw them.

Pop

The small balloons popped and a medium teddy bear is given to your dad.

“Here ya go princess.” With a chaste kiss to your cheek you laugh, holding tight onto the teddy bear. The fun day went by fast, your father had you in his arms and you rested your head on his shoulder. The noises from the fair soon disappeared as your family inched closer to the parking lot.

“Hey there partner, it's been a while, hasn't it?”

A gruff voice spoke out from the shadows and your dad halted in his tracks. The streetlight dimmed the place an ugly yellow. You felt two arms pull you away from your dad’s grasp and you were with your mother now.

“What the hell do you want Rodrick?”

“Have you forgotten to pay your debt? Did ya get too carried away with our money?” The man named Rodrick gestured towards you and your mum, and his eyes travelled to the fair.

“Leave them out of this.”

“Give me the fucking money, I know you have it.”

“I don't have it—”

“Give me the fucking money or I’ll shoot them!”

Rodrick pulled out a gun, pointing it straight at you both. Your mother hugged you, turning your head to the side as goosebumps drove all over her.

“Hey…hey, lets talk about this okay? This is between you and me, leave my family alone,” your dad said calmly as he eyed the gun, “put the gun down Rodrick—”

“No! Do you know the shit I had to go through because of you? They beat me up and killed my brother, you think that ain't enough till they come for me? I need the money now, give me the money.”

Your dad took a step forward, his hands were in the air as he inched closer to Rodrick.

“The fuck you doing man? I said give me the money!” The gun swung to your father as he was close to grasping the object.

“Don’t come closer or I’ll shoot.” Rodrick’s hand shook and his lips trembled. He was going to die soon, he needed the money desperately.

You peeked your head to the side and saw your father lunge at the man as they both fell to the ground. They wrestle on the ground, your father trying to get the gun off of Rodrick.

“Get to the car!” Your father yelled and your mother ran with you. The sight of your father fighting gets smaller and smaller as you're close to approaching the car.

Bang

A gasp echoed in the background, like a silent serpent ready to strike before falling to its own downfall. Crows cawed and the birds flew away from nearby trees. Like a tower descending, your mother fell on top of you.

“Y/N? Y/N?”

Your head shook off the thoughts as you stared at your doctor. You had zoned out before you had realised it, and with a fake smile, you responded.

“Sorry, I—”

“It’s alright Y/N, sometimes we remember the things we don't want to see. Tell me how your week has been.”

A clock ticked in the room and you stared at the pale woman. Her black hair almost went grey as she tried to keep a straight posture.

“Um, nothing much. Just work keeping me busy, and I've been getting a couple of nightmares lately.”

The scritching of paper caught your ears as you watched Doctor Link write down the things you mentioned.

“Nightmares, I see. I assume it's still because of your father or?” A long pause was held in the air before you replied.

“Still because of my dad, which I don't know why because I stopped having them a while ago, so I thought it would stop.”

“Okay, we've discussed this before Y/N, due to the abuse and trauma you faced at a young age, the memories we've collected can sometimes—”

“Monsters too. My phobia of monsters made it worse.”

“Okay, tell me about the nightmare then.”

You squeezed your hands together, the sweat starting to form again.

“…and then I was back at that place, and there was this whispering coming from my bed. For some reason, my body just dropped and this claw grabbed onto my face. It spoke to me, saying that it wants to be with me forever..”

Scratch

A loud sigh poured out from the doctor’s mouth, “Y/N, the phobia you have is because it was transformed by your dad. Ultimately as this is a nightmare, the things you say about this monster, are not real. It isn't real, and it’s not going to harm you. I can guarantee you that.”

You rubbed your palms together, the voice inside you wanting to rip you apart for not speaking up.

It felt real, too real.

You’re back home, frustration building up inside you. Maybe the doctor was right, it was just a nightmare. With past events and your stupid phobia, it just made you a mess. You wondered what the monster looked like, all you could see was a black void and long black hands. But you should be glad you didn’t see its face, after all, only the devil disguises its impurity.

Max is asleep on the couch, the fluff ball in a vulnerable position. You grinned at the sight of him, taking a photo. The house felt quiet since you lived alone, and that nightmare, gosh that fucking nightmare keeps haunting you like a freak.

You decided to enter your bedroom, eyes automatically clinging to the gap underneath the wooden exterior. It’s fucking childish, why would you be scared of something like a ridiculous monster?

They’re not real, they’re not supposed to be real. Your stomach churned uncomfortably as you knelt, crouching and angling your head to the side to get a better glimpse of the number of things you put in there.

Just enough to block the gap, just enough to make you feel safe. It was like a shield to protect you, but little did you know that shield would come crumbling down because of you.

There were a couple of old boxes, empty perhaps, and decorative pieces to make it look messy. You kept staring at the very back endlessly, your room was dark, with the curtains drawn— you made a mistake.

Your breath hitched, fingers gripping onto your carpet thread as you swear you saw something blink at you. The house is dead, and the longer you stare at the dark end, the more you see the eyes. Though, they weren’t red this time but a dull white. Almost grey, but it blinked.

“Y/N…”

No… not now. What you heard can’t be real.

“Get the fuck out of my head,” you mumbled to yourself. A sudden urge grew deep within you, you needed something.

Wine

You needed some wine.

You jumped out of that position, drawing the curtains open to bring some light into the room. You gnawed on your thumbnail as you practically ran out of the room. You could hear your heart racing, the blood pumping faster and faster as you opened the wine cabinet.

Unscrewing the bottle, you poured a full glass, swallowing a tremendous amount of the crimson liquid as it trickled down your chin.

You sunk to the floor as you hugged your knees, your back rested against the cabinet. Fucking phobia, what Doctor Link had mentioned…. Was it true? Did this phobia happen because of your dad, or were you always just a fucking coward?

The grip on your wine glass tightened as you shut your eyes, hellish memories enveloping you like a greedy pig.

“This is all because of you!”

Slap

“Your Mother is dead because of you!”

Slap

“Get the fuck out of my sight, you keep reminding me of her. Get out before I fucking kill you.”

A bottle is thrown in your direction, and the glass stabbed into your skin makes you wobble. You felt numb, your body was bruised and battered at this point, and the blood that trickled from your forehead was damping your broken soul. When you fell with a thud, your father left, banging the doors shut.

Ironically unlike your mother, your father left you instead of running to you. Maybe there was no purpose to live anymore, you had no meaning, no goal or desire.

You should have died instead of your mother that night if you ever knew this would be the conclusion. Warm tears trailed down your face, they mixed with the blood as you stared at the ceiling.

It felt like staring at your mother, the same cold expression on her face as those tears continuously fell from her eyes before her final wheezes ceased.

Your father’s yell echoed in the background as your delicate hands cradled your mother’s soft cheeks. Except this time, there was no one to do that for you.

Your vision blurred, hoping that you would see your mother right now. It didn't matter if she appeared like a ghost, even if it sounded ridiculous.

Maybe she hated you for not taking her place. You're eyes scanned to a clock that ticked silently, and it was midnight. How much longer could you bear this?

You wanted to finally leave this hellhole. But you winced in pain, and the sound of the front doors opening made you freeze. Loud footsteps came closer as you saw your father’s dishevelled appearance.

“You’re still here?” He grunted as he plopped another box of vodka bottles onto a large table.

It was quick and painful as you felt your hair tugged upwards. Your hands weakly slapped your father’s rough wrists as he dragged you to your room upstairs.

“No, Daddy, please… I'm sorry.” Your eyes widened as he pushed you into your room, locking the doors shut. It was utterly dark, all the lights in your room were either torn apart by your father or destroyed by him.

You slid onto your bed, shielding yourself with the dirty covers as you shook. You always heard a voice whenever this happened, and one night you saw the thing that spoke to you.

It looked like a human and you caught the slightest glimpse of it before hell broke loose. Their skin glowed, and a white t-shirt was worn as they walked across your room. You remembered what he wore so well, yet you didn't remember him.

Your eyes opened as your butt began to feel sore. The glass was empty and only the stains of the red wine remained. Your body felt drained, the memories collapsed on you and you struggled to get up.

You trudged to your room quietly, closing the door shut as you crawled into your bed. Like a train coming to its last destination, your memories do the same, you don’t remember what happened after you were locked in your room.

It wasn't too long before you went back again to the realms, too bad they were interconnected.

When you trembled in your bed that night, the blood soaking the pillow, Namjoon grinned. Not because of what terrible consequence you had faced, but because he finally found a perfect person like you.

He spent years devouring the souls of many individuals but neither ever satisfied his hunger at all. He could keep as many humans as he would like, and he had the choice to not kill them. If he had you, he didn't need to waste more years to find another suitable victim.

He didn't know how he was entranced by you at first, maybe it was the way you'd brush your hair or how you tried to smile after suffering from your injuries. But you caught his eye, his heart would race whenever he saw you.

But rage took over him whenever he saw your father beat you, even though he had the power to do something, he already sensed that your father was going to be dead soon anyway.

He was really hungry that night, starving himself on purpose just so he could get a taste of your sweet soul, consume the euphoric feeling of your fear so he felt energised enough to convince you to stay with him.

But would you?

He didn’t mean to go overboard, he just really needed to have a bit of your soul. It wasn’t going to harm you any way and he wasn’t doing anything wrong, he needs to live too.

The sudden harsh whispers and calls of your name made you shiver and Namjoon watched in delight. He needed to transform and watch your beautiful expressions fall into place.

Oh, it was terrible, terribly good.

“Sweetie….my baby, Y/N?” You stiffened at the familiar feminine voice that came from underneath your bed. It couldn't be true, your mother was dead. But… did she listen to your prayers to God?

Hesitantly you replied, “Mama? Is that you?” Your voice shook as you waited for a response.

“My darling, why didn't you save me? Look at how miserable your father is.” Her voice wavered in the air and you swore you could feel her presence right beside you. Her words scarred into your mind, this didn’t sound like her at all.

Without hesitation, you pulled the covers off of you in a rush, and your heart dropped at the sight of darkness in front of you. Your mother was not here, then how the hell did you hear her voice?

“Y/N…?” You froze and your breaths started to become quick. You glanced down from the side of your bed, the voice was coming from there. Your knuckles were tense and white when you gripped your blanket, there’s no fucking way.

Silence clouded your sense of hearing as a long black claw stretched out from underneath the bed, its nails scratched the wooden floor before it rushed back.

Your breath hitched as you felt a cold exhale next to your ear. You bit your bottom lip harshly, chewing on the spot as you craned your neck slowly. Your pulse quickened when you saw the figure.

Their eyes glimmered in the dark and you gasped, an audible yell for help prepared to leave from your throat.

But he lunged at you, one inhuman hand pinning your wrists tightly above your head while the other was clamped over your mouth.

Your screams were muffled by his long black claws as you writhed underneath him. His demonic form took over, and red eyes blinked into yours as he watched your head snap upwards. His red eyes stared at you with adoration, God you were so cute. He shushed you softly as he wiped your tears.

“If I let go, promise you won't scream?”

You calmed yourself down a bit as he removed his hand away from your mouth. He delicately traced your quivering lips, grinning at the sight of your compliance.

“I know you're scared sweetheart, but you need to be a good girl for me, yeah? I've been watching over you for a while now, and you're such a good person. But you need someone, a bit of healing and protection to make you feel less lonely. I've come to offer that, I'll heal you and protect you in exchange for a bit of your soul.”

This thing had been watching you? For how long?

The grip on your wrists loosened momentarily as he leaned closer to you. Your eyes scanned its features—if you removed the black claws and the red eyes, it almost looked human.

“But the thing is, you have no say in this anyway. I nearly killed myself because of you, starving to death to finally have you. Don't you feel guilty? Making a poor monster like me wait for a long time to taste your soul?”

Namjoon wanted you to feel bad, and miserable for him. He chuckled softly, you were a monster too for making him suffer like that.

You felt your body sink into the mattress further, wrists weakly wriggling in his iron-grip hold.

“I just need you to listen to me, and everything will be okay.”

He grabbed your cheeks, squeezing them harshly so you could open your lips.

“Come on baby, open wide for me,” he murmured and he pushed one claw deep inside your open mouth.

You gagged repeatedly as you felt it go down your throat, and your mind fogged with pain. You felt like you couldn’t breathe, your lungs restricting any oxygen to escape. It hurt for a split second like something was being removed from your body entirely. It was solid and rough with jagged edges, your throat started to burn as panic settled in.

You couldn’t breathe.

You watched the thing turn more demonic, and it hovered over you as you helplessly felt too tired and weak to even do anything at this point. Your eyes blurred as you felt suffocated, and your heart pumped wildly.

Your mouth was wide open as you exhaled a heavy breath and a clear cloud-like bubble came out. The claw was soon withdrawn and you gasped for air.

You thought it was over, heck no, you thought it was fake. But he was still here, right in front of you. Black hair covered its demonic look as it devoured the bubble in one go.

You froze in fear, tears falling from your face as it looked at you.

“Such a sweet soul,” he murmured before lowering his face, “would you mind if I had more?”

Before you could even protest or utter a scream, you felt his dangerous hands crawl up your thigh, his sharp claws piercing through your skin lightly. It burned with every stroke, and you whimpered. His touch was numbing your mind, but you could still feel the pain ripping through you.

“Shh, be a good girl for me,” his hand wrapped around your throat, “and don’t fucking scream.”

You felt his cold lips on yours, his claws continued with their marks as they neared your chest. You realised too late that not only was your mind numb, but your body was paralysed. You couldn’t fight him, you couldn’t do anything to escape from this hell.

Your fingertips twitched when he shoved his tongue inside your mouth, and his claws finally reached the centre of your stomach.

At first, it was like multiple thumbtacks were piercing your body that soon felt like large knives sinking inside of you. Your eyes widened when you saw his sharp claws press into your stomach, the blood escaping as almost half of his hand was inside. You felt your insides twisting as a muffled, hoarse scream erupted from your mouth and Namjoon swallowed it all, pressing even deeper.

He was sucking the life out of you, his claws finally grasping onto a bit of your soul. His kiss was a form of intimacy, but it was much easier to consume your fear like this.

Mind numb, body paralysed, all under his control as he shamelessly sucked more of your already broken soul. It almost felt like you were dying. Once he removed his bloody claws, your teary-eyed expression remained as he finally removed himself from you.

“Sweet dreams, my love.”

The soft breeze cooled your body as you sat on a rock, watching the waves crash into the shorelines. It felt peaceful, magical almost. The high view of the far distance between the sea, and the cliff was pretty high too.

He could sense you. He could feel the happiness radiating from you once he stepped into the dream realm. Namjoon successfully got to get rid of the angels that were guarding the entrance of their world.

He must admit that the bright colours of this place were oddly fascinating. Light pink hues dusted with white clouds and scenery? Wow, it was nothing compared to the nightmare world. Nothing.

Namjoon’s land was far more different and special. It was like an abandoned location with monsters lurking around in the shadows. Thunderstorms were constant and daily, the sky as grey as a rock.

Ever since the Lord of Demons was able to break the barrier between the two realms, it has made easier access for any creature to be able to snatch their victims while they were dreaming.

They were ruthless, and greedy and had unimaginable appearances that would make your heart stop. Even if there were Guardian Angels, protecting their realm— demons like Namjoon were always able to come through discretely.

He wondered if he were able to glitch into your world so that he could easily have you to himself. Those sleep paralysis demons were extremely lucky.

He reminisces about the first time he got to taste your soul. You wouldn't understand the emotions that rushed through his body, he felt so high around you that the moment he stepped away after decorating your body crimson—he could only think about you.

With the recent interaction of finally getting to you after a narrow escape from the Guardian Angels, Namjoon felt relieved.

It almost broke his heart when you tried to escape from his grasp that day, his claws menacingly trying to provoke a reaction out of you.

He thought you would have recalled instantly ever since the first night he devoured a bit of your soul and left you with deep gushed marks of his claim on you. He didn't want to show himself deliberately because he thought you would know. That you would recognise him.

Maybe your father hit your head a bit too hard with the metal bat in the barn after he saw the medical bills.

The next day he watched alongside you. He watched the way your father hung from a big tree, the noose around his neck was stout and it was perfectly wrapped around his neck like a present.

Namjoon noticed the dead look in your eyes and a deranged smile crept up on your face.

You and he were a match made in heaven.

Namjoon could see you from afar, the way your body relaxed in this realm… if you could only do the same in his one. He quietly approached you, silently sitting next to you as his fingertips brushed your hand.

You flinched at the subtle contact and you snapped your head, eyes scanning the unknown person.

He looked familiar, with black hair and a white shirt, you swear you've seen someone like that before.

“Who are you?” You stared at the gorgeous man in front of you, his dragon eyes alluring you.

“We met before.” His voice drifted silkily into your ears.

“We did? Uhm, what's your name?” You responded as you thought hard about where you last saw him.

“I'm Namjoon, and you're Y/N.” A pang hit your stomach, how did he know your name?

“How do you know my name?”

“Like I said, we met before.” His voice almost felt recognisable, did you actually meet this man before?

Namjoon sighed, his hand brushing your hair out of your face. “It’s such a shame you don't remember me, do I really have to remind you?”

Your lips almost twitched into a frown, you didn't like the way he was staring at you.

“Listen—”

“Didn’t Daddy teach you enough to not be afraid of monsters?”

Your eyes widened and your breath shook, “what did you just say?”

“I said didn't Daddy teach you enough to not be afraid of monsters?” Namjoon repeated the words deliberately and slowly as he smiled. Your mind went into a frenzy, and your pulse quickened. It was him, the creature that constantly grew your fear.

You get up quickly, and he does too, the next words making you sick in the stomach.

“Were the claws too much? You know I was sorry, I would never hurt you love, it's part of the process for me to live for your soul.”

You began to walk backwards, his words hammering you like a nail. After all these years, the monster that tormented you so badly that your phobia was initially created was here, right in front of you. You finally saw his face. Innocent like an angel, but a devil within the heart.

“Do you remember now? Do you remember the way I had your soul? Shit, your dad knocked you out so hard that after this many years, you finally remember me.”

You stopped in your tracks, your head turning to the side when you realised you were on the edge of a cliff. Out of nowhere, grabbing onto your shoulders, Namjoon’s voice echoed and rang in your ears.

“Don’t leave me, you can’t forget about me again.”

“I won’t leave you alone like your father did, isn’t it good riddance that he killed himself?” There’s no way he’s been with you this whole time.

He pushed you back gently, each wavering step making you sick in the stomach.

“I want to stay with you forever,” he rested his head on your shoulder and you flinched, “you're a precious person to me, you make me feel better that I can have you, in any way I want.” You jerked, trying to elude from his iron-tight grip.

“I love you Y/N, I'm hopelessly in love with you.”

His words come crashing down as you lose your step right at the end of the cliff. You screamed as you felt a hand snatch your wrist. You gripped onto Namjoon’s wrist, your life depending on it. You weren't sure why he wasn't pulling you up—

He chuckled deeply, “Stupid girl, did you forget that you're in a dream? If I let go of you right now, do you think you're going to wake up or drown?” He cruelly stared down at you as he held your wrist.

He kneeled so you were face to face, “But I think it'd be much better if we fell together, don't you think?”

Your eyes broadened at the statement, blood rushing to your head. You shook your head, you pleaded at him,

“Namjoon, wait don't do this—”

Ignoring your words, you felt him let go of you as he jumped off the cliff. You watched him fall as your back hit the icy ocean, the water already trying to engulf your throat.

You jolted awake, shuddering from the nightmare you had just faced. Your back was wet with sweat, and as you were sitting up…

Thud.

Someone grabbed your neck from behind, feeling invisible hands wrapped around your throat. Your head hit the pillow again as you struggled to get up. He was holding you down, there's no way he came like this without a dream.

You claw at your neck, shutting your eyes when you suddenly see yourself back in the ocean. You could feel the water getting into your lungs, and someone had gripped your ankle. You saw Namjoon pulling you deeper and deeper into the abyss as you cried for help, words muffled by the water.

You opened your eyes and they started to blur. Panic grew as your heart pumped, feeling the dreaded emotion you never wanted to experience again. You couldn't breathe, it was like your oxygen was being sucked away.

You wriggled your body to grab anything and your hands stretched to whatever was on the nightstand. You couldn't see but your hands tapped on the lamp that was facing your way, and a ray of light burst.

Within a second, the feeling of invisible hands disappeared and you rolled over, choking as you threw up… water. Lots of water.

You groaned weakly as you heaved your breaths. The door to your bedroom was wide open and the hallway was extremely dark. You needed to get out. You shakily looked through the drawers and found a small torch. Turning it on you left your room to look for your cat, calling his name.

“Max! Max, where are you—”

You came to a halt, and your knees almost buckled.

“Isn’t he adorable?” His voice made your bottom lip quiver. You shook your head, tears rushing to your eyes. You couldn't believe this, there he was, sitting on your couch next to your cat. Namjoon turned to look at you and his eyes were black, a murderous intent glinted from the look on his face.

“You can't run away from me, ever.”

In the blink of an eye, he’s gone and silence filled up the whole house. Max then hissed as his eyes darted behind your shoulder. Your heart sank when you realised who he was hissing at.

An external force threw you back to your room, causing you to shriek. Your back hit the wall, knocking the breath out of you. The door slammed shut and you staggered in pain and your eyes flickered to the lamp. A hushed whisper attained your ear as you heard a crack and the light died out.

It was too dark in your room, and you luckily had the torch in your hand. You tried to open the door but it wouldn't budge. What about the windows? You rush over to the other side of the room, and your hands draw the curtain open only to come to a sight with no window. You almost drop your torch as you bite your lip.

It was just a solid wall.

“No—fuck, why—” Your voice croaked as you slammed your fist against the wall. Soon you realised why the house was so dark and why the lamp broke. Does he hate light? The thought lingered on your mind till you heard a shuffle from across the room. You swayed your torch to the side and held your breath as there was nothing there.

A low growl could be heard from under the bed as you shone the light there. All of the things you placed to block the gap were gone. Impossible, fuck your mind was going crazy. The light on your torch began to blink repeatedly, and you smacked the torch a couple of times.

“No, no no, don't die.” You breathed a sigh of relief as you managed to keep the light until it flickered one last time. Your breath affixed as there was complete darkness, and you gulped.

Screech.

Warm tears sprang free from the corner of your eyes and you quivered in place.

He was going to get you, he was going to get you, he was going to get you.

Maybe you should check the door again, just in case. Even before you could react, Namjoon’s lengthy, black claw snatched onto your ankle, yanking you in fast.

Your screams echoed as you disappeared the moment you were dragged underneath the bed. Your eyes opened to an unknown place, but it was still dark. Your body ached with every movement you tried to muster.

Namjoon appeared in front of you, his demeanour frightening you as he used his claws to turn your head to the side. A dim yellow light glinted in the dark ahead of you and you couldn't believe what you were witnessing.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Did you check the bed? I think I saw a boy my age last night.”

A small laugh vibrated from your father’s throat as he crouched down at your request. He got back up, caressing your cheek.

“Come on sweetie, didn't Daddy teach you enough to not be afraid of monsters?”

Click.

The lights turned off and the door closed shut. It was dark again.

Namjoon shifted around as you felt him lay down next to you, wrapping one arm around your waist tightly and the other still holding your face in place. He could feel your heart pounding furiously as his claw began to recreate the same process when he had you for the first time.

Your mind started to go fuzzy and your body went numb and his claw crawled closer to your mouth.

Namjoon whispered into your ear, and his heart grew at the sight of finally having you to himself, “You know, you shouldn’t fear the monsters that are under your bed, you should fear those that hide under your pillow and crawl into your head.”

#The Monster Under the Bed #namjoon smut #bts yandere #namjoon x reader #yandere x reader #yandere namjoon #namjoon x you #yandere nightmare demon x fem! reader #yandere writing #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #bts smut

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proxima-writes · 5 months

Text

title: a very furby christmas

pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x female reader

rating: t

word count: 3.6k

joel miller masterlist | all masterlists

summary:

it’s christmas eve 1998 and joel miller thinks everything is perfect.

well, until his brother admits he didn’t get sarah the one present she wanted - the furby. now, joel has to go out on christmas eve to find the year’s hottest toy that’s been sold out for months.

turns out, you’re on the same mission. and you’ve both found the last furby in town.

author’s note:

this is just a silly lil feel good holiday fic that’s been plaguing my brain. if you are too young to have experience the furby craze, i implore you to look it up. however, if you do remember, i hope this gives you a happy dose of nostalgia. gingerbread dividers by @saradika-graphics

tags/warnings:

pre-outbreak, no use of y/n, holiday/christmas fic, the last toy trope, no smut, age gap - not explicitly specified but joel is 31 and reader is mid-20s, the great miller gingerbread construction competition, operation get sarah miller a furby, some kissing.

“Dad! Wake up!” Sarah shouts, bursting into Joel’s room. She leaps onto the bed, bouncing on her knees and jostling him around on the mattress as he groans.

“Sarah, baby, it’s too damn early,” he says, pulling the quilt over his head. “Go back to sleep.”

“But it’s Christmas Eve!” The bouncing stops as she lays beside him, tugging the quilt down. “It’s time to make cinnamon rolls. And we gotta make cookies for Santa.”

Joel blinks, his daughter’s face coming into focus, bright brown eyes and a gap toothed smile filling his vision. Her hair is a wild mess from sleep and her unicorn pajama shirt is stained with toothpaste. At eight years old, she’s starting to lean out, her cheeks no longer as round and her limbs at that stage of awkward adolescent lankiness. He wants to sleep, wants a few more hours of rest after a jam packed holiday season of repairs and deadlines and supply issues, but looking at her smiling face and remembering that she’s getting older…

Well, that gets him moving.

“Alright. Let’s get downstairs and make Santa the best cookies he’s ever had.”

She squeals, scrambling off the bed and racing out of the room, light footsteps descending the stairs as he rubs the sleep from his eyes and gets up to find a t-shirt in the pile of laundry he’s neglected to put away, opting to dig through its wrinkled contents for what he needs each day instead.

He makes his way downstairs and to find his daughter rummaging through the fridge and pulling out eggs and milk for their customary Christmas Eve cinnamon rolls and the jangle of keys in the doorknob lets him know that Tommy has arrived.

“Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas, Millers!” His younger brother announces. “Sarah! It don’t smell like cinnamon in here!”

“Dad woke up late,” she shouts back. Tommy grins at Joel as he passes, slapping a hand on his shoulder.

“‘Course he did,” he says with a wink. Joel rolls his eyes as he gets the electric mixer from the top cabinet for Sarah and preheats the oven for her.

“Y’know, Santa can take all those presents he’s got ready for you and leave them at other houses for nicer kids,” he says. Sarah’s eyes go wide.

“He wouldn’t!” She yelps. “I’ve been good all year!”

“Don’t listen to your daddy, sweetheart. He’s just bein’ a sensitive Sally,” Tommy says. She breathes a sigh of relief, her attention returning to her task of cracking eggs.

“I just really hope Santa brings me a Furby,” she says wistfully. “I want one of ‘em so bad. Chrissy got one when they came out in October and they’re so cool!”

“I’m sure Santa will come through,” Joel says, catching Tommy’s eye and winking. Tommy’s brows pinch together as he mouths, “What?”

Joel widens his eyes at him, a look that screams, “What do you mean, what?!”

Tommy continues to look confused and Joel squeezes his eyes shut, turning back to his daughter to help her with rolling out the dough she’s mixed up. She continues to chat about her excitement for tomorrow, especially because her big sister has agreed to stop by in the morning.

“You didn’t forget that she’s coming, right?” Sarah asks.

“‘Course not, sweetie,” Joel replies distractedly. The hours Joel works aren’t always conducive to a prompt after school pick up, so most days Sarah spends time with a volunteer from the Empowered Girls program that she calls her “big sister”. He always forgets her name, but he knows she’s a student working on her master’s degree in elementary education at University of Texas. Did he forget she was coming? Yeah, maybe, but he’s got bigger problems right now.

Like the fact that Tommy is acting like he has no clue he was supposed to get Sarah that damn Furby for Christmas.

Once the cinnamon rolls are in the oven and Sarah returns to her room to get dressed for the day, Joel smacks Tommy on the back of the head.

“Ow! The fuck?” He asks, rubbing the sore spot. “What was that for?”

“Tell me you didn’t forget that perfect little girl’s goddamn talkin’ demon toy or I’ll do it again,” Joel warns, already raising his hand. Tommy scrambles from his seat, hands held up defensively as he backs himself up against the counter to get away from his brother’s assault.

“You didn’t tell me to get one!” He insists. Joel stares at him incredulously.

“I sure as hell did! I gave you fifty bucks three weeks ago and asked you to get one because I’d be workin’ OT until Christmas Eve and it would be too late by then!”

“I thought the fifty was for me. Like an early gift or somethin’.”

Joel closes his eyes and attempts to take a deep breath. When he opens his eyes, he feels no more calm as he looks at his brother.

“Great. Now I’m gonna have to go to the goddamn toy store on Christmas Eve to find one of these things.”

“I’ll go for you,” Tommy offers. Joel hits him with a look.

“No. I ain’t makin’ that mistake again. You’re stayin’ here with Sarah and I’ll go get the Furball.”

“It’s Furby,” Tommy corrects. Joel reaches out and smacks his head again before he can protect himself.

Sarah returns to the kitchen, dressed in her Rudolph t-shirt and jeans and smiling brightly as she says, “I’m ready to make cookies!”

Joel smiles apologetically. “Bad news, sweetheart. I gotta run down to a job site and check in on somethin’. Looks like a plumbin’ emergency.”

“On Christmas Eve?” She asks, smile dropping from her face. “But we have to make the cookies!”

“I know, I know, but Uncle Tommy will stay and help you. Ain’t that right, Tommy?”

“Yep. And we’ll make cookies better than any your daddy has ever made, too.”

Joel’s teeth grind together at the dig but he keeps smiling at his daughter. “Right. See? I shouldn’t be gone too long.”

“I guess,” she says forlornly. Her arms wrap around Joel’s legs and squeeze tightly. Joel smooths a hand over her wild hair, glaring at Tommy.

“Sorry, sweetie. But the sooner I head out, the sooner I can get back, okay?”

“Okay,” she mumbles against his thigh. “I’ll make sure Uncle Tommy doesn’t eat all the dough before we bake it.

“That’s my girl,” Joel says.

________

You knew you shouldn’t have waited this long to go shopping for your little sister’s Christmas gift, but you’d picked up extra shifts at your part time job since you weren’t flying home for the holiday break and time just slipped away from you. Now you’re entering your fourth store on a desperate hunt for the one toy she hasn’t stopped talking about since it came out in October.

“It’s called a Furby and the more you talk to it, the more it learns,” she told you, showing you the fluffy toy in a catalog one day. “Isn’t it so cute?!”

“It’s…something,” you replied, staring at its dead eyes. “And that’s what you want for Christmas?”

“Yeah, I don’t know if Santa will bring it for me. I told dad about it, but he’s been really busy with work and I don’t know if he remembered to tell Santa.”

You wander around the store, looking for the garish pink and blue sign that lorded over the toy display. You finally spot it, crossing your fingers as you quickly approach what looks like a mostly barren shelf. There’s something on the bottom row, but your experience in other stores has showed you that often people abandon their unwanted items in the Furby display, leading to false hope.

“Please, please, please,” You mumble, moving quickly now. You’re trying not to break into a run in the middle of the store but after so many disappointments, you can’t be blamed for your steps turning into a light jog.

A pair of unseeing mechanical blue eyes stare back at you from the bottom shelf as you get closer. Pristine white fur, pointed ears, and a little yellow beak encased in plastic.

The last Furby.

You’re so close to success you can taste it.

You reach for the toy, ready to scoop it into your arms and take a victory march to the lone cashier left working, when a tan hand emerges from your left, landing on the box just as you touch it.

“‘Scuse me,” a deep voice says, southern drawl blanketing the words. You look up, gaze meeting the warm brown eyes of a handsome man, tall and broad with messy dark curls. He smiles, all smooth charm as he says, “I’m goin’ to need this toy.”

You stand firm. “I think I was here first, sir.”

The charming smile drops. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Look, I need this toy for my daughter. I’ve been lookin’ for one all over town.”

You place your free hand on your hip. “I need it for my little sister and I’ve also been all over town today. If you needed it so bad, why didn’t you get it sooner?”

“Pot, meet kettle,” he replies. You roll your eyes. “Come on, please? Ain’t there somethin’ else your little sister is dyin’ to have?”

“She’s talked about this toy for months,” you tell him. “And she’s worried Santa isn’t going to bring it, so I wanted to make sure I got her one.”

He smiles softly. “Sounds like my daughter. She handed me no less than five letters to Santa to mail off askin’ for one.”

“So why didn’t you get one before tonight?” You ask curiously.

“My dumbass brother,” he says. “I‘ve been workin’ overtime for the last few months, so I told him to go out and get one. He didn’t listen.”

“That sucks.”

“What about you? What made you wait so long?”

It should probably feel weird, having a full conversation with a stranger while you’re in a stand off over a Furby, but the man’s smile has your stomach twisting, wanting to know more about him and oddly thrilled that he wants to know more about you, too.

“I picked up a lot of extra shifts since I’m on break. I go to UT,” you tell him. “Time just got away from me.”

“Yeah, I’m familiar with the feelin’.”

A crackle sounds over the store speakers, a bored voice announcing, “Attention Toys R’ Us shoppers. The store will be closing in five minutes. Please make your way to the front of the store to complete your purchases.”

The man’s expression grows panicked. You sigh, taking your hand from the box.

“Get it for your daughter,” you tell him. “Keep that Santa magic going for a bit longer.”

“Are you sure?” He asks. “What’ll you get for your sister?”

You look around the store, spotting a sporting gear display. You take off in its direction.

“I’ll figure something out!”

________

“It’s a Furby!” Sarah shouts, shaking the box in her excitement. “Look, dad! Santa got me a Furby!”

“Is that so?” Joel says, sipping from his mug of coffee with a splash of Bailey’s, his own personal Christmas tradition. “See? I told ya I sent out all those letters you wrote.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She chants, running around the family room in her red plaid pajamas. Tommy, still barely awake, nods as Sarah shows him the list of features on the back.

It’s close to 9 a.m. but the Miller brothers had a late night of wrapping presents and drinking whiskey in order to have the tidy pile of brightly colored boxes ready beneath the tree for Sarah in the morning. Joel had also gotten her a new journal and a pack of Jelly pens, a few bottles of nail polish, and two new Beanie Babies for her collection. Tommy had sprung for a set of shin guards for when she starts soccer in March, something she was excited for ever since the girl she’d been paired with in her big sister after school program had played with her a few times.

It’s not much, but it’s what he could manage. Sarah is happy, her eyes lighting up with each gift she unwraps, and that’s all that matters to Joel.

A knock sounds at the door and Sarah races down the hall, Joel trailing after her trying to remind her not to open the door to strangers. The young girl doesn’t listen, instead throwing open the door and launching herself into the arms of someone surprisingly familiar.

You look up, eyes going wide in surprise he’s sure mirrors his own. Sarah drags you in by the hand, excitedly introducing you, giving Joel a name for the pretty face he’d been thinking about all last night.

“Hi, I’m Joel,” he says, holding a hand out to you. You slip your palm against his, warm and smooth, shaking his hand. The smile on your face is mischievous, the secret the two of you share dancing in your eyes.

“Nice to meet you, Joel,” you tell him. “Hope I’m not too early, Sarah said you open presents around eight and to come after that.”

“No, no, ‘course it ain’t too early,” he assures you. He realizes he’s still holding your hand, even as silence settles between you. With a laugh, he draws back, running his hand through his hair nervously. “You want coffee?”

“Sure.”

Joel leads you to the kitchen where Tommy is pulling a fresh tray of cinnamon rolls from the oven under Sarah’s careful supervision. He whacks her hand with a dish towel when she tries to reach for the steaming hot dessert and she pouts pitifully. She spots the gift bag in your hand and her eyes light up.

“Is that a present for me?” She asks.

“Sarah Elizabeth Miller,” Joel chastises. You laugh, handing the bag over to her. She rips the tissue paper from the top, reaching in for her gift with a wide smile.

“A soccer ball!” She exclaims. “Dad, you can help me practice in the backyard now!”

You share a look with Joel, one where his gaze is filled with gratitude and yours reflects understanding. The moment is made brief by Sarah trying to bounce the ball on her knee, knocking it onto a counter and subsequently being told to go put it away for now.

You introduce yourself to Tommy while Joel pulls you a mug of coffee. Sarah brings her now unboxed Furby into the kitchen, setting it in a place of honor on the dining table.

“Dad, can you put batteries in Snowball?” Sarah asks. She turns to you. “That’s his name.”

“Oh. Hello, Snowball,” you say, voice serious as you regard the toy. Joel laughs while he digs around the junk drawer for the rogue batteries that hide beneath bills and takeout menus.

As breakfast is served and toys are turned on, conversation flows between everyone easily. It’s a wonder, Joel thinks. You fit right in with his little family, like you were meant to be there all along. Maybe it’s the Bailey’s in his coffee, or maybe it’s the spirit of Christmas, but he can’t help the warmth in his chest as he watches you help Sarah with the Furby that started it all.

________

You’ve been at the Miller house since early that morning, through all three meals of the day, many rounds of coffee, a screening of Home Alone and A Christmas Story, and painting your nails with Sarah. Not once does anyone make you feel like you’ve overstayed your welcome. In fact, as the day wears on, you can’t help but think that Joel, like you, doesn’t want the day to end. You keep catching his eye and the crooked smile he gives you leaves you feeling giddy.

After dinner, Joel and Tommy start gathering what looks like cookie decorating supplies. Sarah sighs and you turn to her with concern.

“It’s time for the gingerbread competition,” she says, more solemn than an eight year old ought to be. Joel leaves the room and returns with a caulking gun.

“Why does he have that?” You ask, watching as he loads a saran wrapped bag of icing into the chamber.

“They take this…very seriously.”

Tommy and Joel set up decorating stations on either end of the dining table, shooing you out of your seat. Sarah grabs a cookie from a platter on the counter and settles onto a barstool while you stand by, confused and maybe a little scared.

“Are you ready?” Sarah asks. Both men nod. “Start your construction!”

Joel and Tommy rip into the cardboard gingerbread house kits, determination in every move. Joel uses the caulking gun to lay a foundation for the floor of his house, followed by the sides and the roof in quick succession. While Joel is going for a well built structure, Tommy takes a more avant garde approach, using a combination of licorice and frosting to hold his house together.

“Are they always like this?” You ask, fascinated as you watch them.

“Sometimes they’re worse.”

Tommy chucks a peppermint at Joel’s head, the candy bouncing off his forehead and landing on his gingerbread shingles. He counters with a gumdrop that manages to hit Tommy square in the eye, angry curses falling from the younger Miller brother’s lips as he tries to recover and continue the construction of his mid-century cookie home.

“Quit fightin’ dirty,” Joel says when Tommy whines about him being unfair. “I‘ll only fight dirtier.”

You know that the words aren’t meant to be suggestive but you can feel your cheeks go warm nonetheless. The Furby in Sarah’s arms coos, a string of indecipherable words coming from its little yellow beak.

“What did it say?” You ask.

“I’m not sure. It’s still speaking Furbish,” she says.

“It said,” Joel chimes in, setting down his frosting gun, “that I’m the gingerbread construction champ.”

Joel’s little gingerbread house looks like it’s straight from a magazine. Perfectly built, structurally sound, and classically decorated with candy and sugar. You and Sarah both applaud as Tommy groans. His little house lists to the side and a glob of icing drips to the table.

“Don’t worry, Uncle Tommy,” Sarah says to her dejected uncle, patting him on the shoulder. “There’s always next year.”

“Alright, it’s time to start closin’ up shop. To bed with you,” Joel announces, steering Sarah for the stairs.

“Can’t I stay up later?” She complains. The Furby echoes her tone convincingly.

“I already fell for that last night. You’re not gettin’ away with it twice. Bed, and brush your teeth,” he replies, kissing her on the head. “Tell everyone goodnight.”

She hugs you and Tommy before heading upstairs, the Furby chirping as she goes. Tommy punches Joel lightly on the shoulder.

“You know I let you win, right?” He asks. Joel scoffs.

“The proof is in the cookie,” he says.

Tommy rolls his eyes. “Whatever, man. I’m headin’ home,” he says, hugging his brother. To your surprise, his arms wrap around you in a quick squeeze as well. “It was nice to meet you. Don’t be a stranger,” he tells you with a wink.

When the front door clicks shut, it’s just you and Joel in the kitchen. You’re inexplicably nervous now, despite spending the whole day with the man, and you busy yourself by loading the dishwasher with mugs stained by hot chocolate and coffee.

“You don’t have to do that,” Joel says, gently grasping your wrist. He removes the mug from your hand and sets it on the counter. He pulls you close, your chest brushing his as you take in a surprised breath. “This okay?”

“Yeah,” you murmur. Up close, you can see the stubble that’s grown along his jaw, the slight creases in the corners of his eyes, and that his nose is just the slightest bit crooked. A heavy palm rests on your lower back, the heat of him palpable even through your t-shirt.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, voice dropped low in the quiet room.

You nod, unable to form words, but that’s okay. His hand cups your cheek and his lips press to yours and your eyes flutter shut, a sigh escaping you as you lean into him. It’s soft at first, experimental. A tentative exploration of a broken boundary.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, holding tight as he parts your lips and his tongue tangles with yours. He tastes like sugar - peppermints and hot chocolate and cookies that he’s eaten throughout the day sweetening his kiss. When he pulls back for a breath, he dips his forehead against yours, smoothing his thumb across your cheek.

“Been wantin’ to do that all day,” he tells you. He kisses you once, twice, and is about to go in for a third when a voice from upstairs interrupts him.

“Dad?” Sarah calls. Joel steps back from you, leaning past the kitchen doorway to yell back a, “Yeah?”

“Snowball won’t stop talking,” she replies. Footsteps sound on the stairs and Joel breaks away from you as Sarah enters the kitchen, Furby in hand.

“Take the batteries out,” Joel suggests.

“I did.”

She turns the toy over, showing the empty battery compartment. Joel rubs the back of his neck as he thinks.

“Tell you what,” he says, holding his hands out for the toy, “Why don’t we stick it in the hall closet for the night?”

“Won’t he be scared?”

“It’s…it’s a toy, baby.” You stifle a laugh as he shoves the talking Furby beneath some towels in the linen closet and shuts the door. “There, now you can both get some sleep. You can play with Snowball again in the mornin’.”

Sarah yawns, nodding. Joel kisses her head before urging her back to bed. When he returns, his shoulders shake with silent laughter.

“What a weird toy,” you tell him, eyeing the closet suspiciously.

“Yeah, but it’s what got us here,” he says, pulling you into his arms once more.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel tlou #no use of y/n #joel x reader #no smut #joel miller fanfic #joel miller tlou #joel miller the last of us #joel fic #joel the last of us #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character

302 notes · View notes

ichorai · 10 months

Text

get better ; hobie brown.

track nine of BROKEN MACHINE.

pairing ; hobie brown x spider!cottagecore!reader (gender neutral)

synopsis ; electric guitars and strawberries, leather jackets and quilted skirts, city spiders and cottage spiders. the two of you were perfect for each other.

words ; 5.5k

themes ; fluff, mild angst & action, established relationship (dating)

warnings / includes ; mentions of death, a nightmare/mild panic attack, reader is a mutant on top of being a spider (has the ability to conjure flowers), reader's universe is basically cottagecore universe, pav is there even tho he shouldn't be bcs i wanted to include him, hobie is an amazing bf and affectionately calls reader 'cheeky' :( and a little charles xavier mention bcs <3 the x-men are everything to me

main masterlist.

London was a cold, dreary place. You didn’t belong there, no, sticking out like a sore thumb from the cold, harsh corners of buildings that grazed the clouds and the damp, narrow streets. But you were there anyway, almost as often as you spent time in your own quaint universe, where York was nothing but homey cottages and endless green fields of flowers, strawberries, and farmer’s markets.

You were there for your boyfriend, who cared for the people of the city enough to criticize its leaders—a feat the large portion of the country couldn’t be bothered doing.

Today was a long day of protesting. Inhumane laws were being passed, the government was in shambles, and the PM was a fucking joke. You wanted to be there for him and show him support—it wasn’t your universe, sure, but it was important to you, anyway. Nobody deserved to live in fear of tomorrow.

The two of you made your way back up into Hobie’s dingy little apartment when the sky began to grey with gloomy clouds and cold rain dribbled down dirty rooftops. Hobie slammed the door behind him, the faded Sex Pistols poster loosely tacked on the back warbling with the sudden movement. In turn, you made a bee-line for his bed on the opposite side of the room—really, Hobie’s apartment was just a narrow rectangle, with a cramped bed in one corner, a beaten-up green sofa in another, and the kitchen furthest away from the door. There was another door by the other end that led to the bathroom with cracked mirrors. All the walls were covered with art, posters, random memorabilia, and stickers.

It was a claustrophobe’s nightmare, but it was home to Hobie, which made it your home, as well.

You moaned with relief when you laid down on his thick comforter, shutting your eyes for a moment. Still leaning against the door, Hobie watched you eagle-spread over his bed with a small, amused smile.

He could never get over how funny you looked, surrounded by dark colors and ripped clothes and filthy artwork, when you yourself were the exact opposite—all soft hues and gentle nature and sunshine. Hobie loved that about you. How you were unabashedly so lovely no matter where you were, or what you were doing.

“You falling asleep on me, Cheeky?” he asked, voice lilting with the affectionate pet name, languidly striding over to sit onto the mattress beside you. The bed creaked with protest under the additional weight.

“Mhm,” you hummed in reply, turning your head so you could offer him a tired grin. “Rain always gets me sleepy.”

The silver of his piercings glinted with what little light streamed through his window. “Take a nap, then, yeah? I’ll wake you up for dinner.”

With your final murmur of thanks, Hobie dipped down to sweep the hair away from your face, placing a chaste kiss to your forehead, before standing back up to go fix himself a snack.

Hours later, when you had only begun to twitch with the beginnings of a nightmare, Hobie had gently shaken you awake, beaming at the way your nose wrinkled and your heavy eyes fluttered open to meet his bright ones.

“Rise and shine,” he greeted, smoothing out the creases of the shirt you were wearing. “Well, it’s not really shinin’ out there, innit? Rise and gloom.”

A steaming cup of peppermint tea was pushed into your hands. You didn’t even have to taste it to know that he’d added just the right amount of sugar for you. “Thanks, Hobie,” you mumbled, craning your neck to kiss his cheek.

“Got you somethin’ from the chippie—it’s in the microwave whenever you want it.”

Still groggy, you loosely wound your arms around his neck to tug him into a warm embrace, careful not to spill any of the tea. Half of your body was slung over his legs, the other hanging off the bed. Without hesitation, Hobie’s long arms came around to pull you tighter against him, hugging you close.

“Argh, you’re just too good to me,” you whispered, clutching him tight. “How much was the food?”

“Ah, ah,” he said, pulling away to click his tongue and shake his head. “Don’t worry about it. My shitty universe, my shitty quid.”

With an affectionate roll of your eyes, you pulled away from him. “Alright, well, next time we’re at my place, I’m treating you.”

“Would expect nothing less, Cheeky.”

The two of you shared the microwaved dinner from the chippie together, the large fries nearly burning your tongue and the fish drenched in far too much vinegar for your taste, but the two of you ate it happily regardless.

After the food was cleaned out, you curled up into Hobie’s sofa—which smelled just like the mango perfume you had given to him for his birthday—and brandished the sewing kit you had kept here, hidden beneath the cushions. Your boyfriend took a seat beside you, his guitar situated over his lap and a dull pocket knife gripped in his hand. He took to engraving his initials against its side (and planned on engraving yours right next to it), as you pulled his leather vest closer, stitching one of the patches that had come loose back on.

A comfortable silence stretched over the both of you, like a warm blanket draped over your shoulders. It was only broken by Hobie’s disjointed humming to a song you couldn’t recognize, and the soft pattering of rain outside.

Once he was done with the ‘B’ of his last name, he peered over your shoulder, leaning down to press a kiss to the base of your neck. “How’s it coming?”

You turned with a sweet smile, one that made Hobie’s chest warm. To him, you were the literal embodiment of sunshine. “All fixed,” you chirped, nudging him slightly. “How’s the guitar?”

“Good as ever. D’you mind if I put your name next to mine?”

Your eyes shone. “Go ahead,” you replied, before reaching down to fish something out of your pocket. “Oh, I totally forgot—I embroidered this for you! Made it from my own synthesized silk ‘n everything.”

It was another patch, about half the size of his palm, depicting a bright red strawberry sitting against an equally vibrant yellow backdrop. A genuine smile flickered over Hobie’s countenance.

“Oh, this is wicked, Y/N! Looks fuckin’ fab,” he exclaimed, leaning closer to inspect all the tiny details. Somehow, his beam grew wider. Hobie situated the patch over an empty spot on his vest. “Could you sew it here?”

You nodded whilst humming an affirmative. A rush of heat pulsed over your face when Hobie leaned down to kiss your cheek, pulling back with an obnoxious mwah.

“You’re a talent, you know that? Thank you.”

It was a few minutes later when you showed him his vest—finally ready and decked out with a multitude of both new and fixed patches. In turn, he showed you your name etched right next to his. Overwhelmed by just how much you loved your boyfriend, every single bit of his punk, anarchist self, you threw yourself into his open arms, hugging him tight. A flower appeared behind his ear, and he pinched it between two fingers, pulling it away to inspect its small white petals and smooth green stem. With a hum, Hobie pushed it back onto his ear and returned your embrace.

A week later, you and Hobie were at another underground music concert, filled to the brim with punk rock enthusiasts and anarchists of the very same ilk as him. Seeing as he was the last gig to play, the night ended with an elongated guitar riff, and Hobie’s fist thrusting high up as the final notes crashed against the cheering crowd. It wasn’t long before he was hopping off the rickety stage, immediately greeted with your wide smile and more tiny flowers blooming within the moist cracks of the sidewalk by your feet.

“You did amazing!” you exclaimed, bouncing on the heels of your feet excitedly. “Argh, I’m so proud of you! When you did that thing—with that guitar—and then you just—AH! I loved it, Hobie!”

Your boyfriend slung an arm over your shoulders, briefly pressing his nose against your hairline. “Thanks, Cheeky.” He glanced at the large box you were holding. “What’s all this now?”

“Merchandise,” you chirped with bright eyes. “Made it all myself back in my universe. Free of charge, of course. Everyone deserves to enjoy art without worrying about its price.”

Hobie swore he fell in love with you just a smidge more right then and there.

With nimble fingers, he plucked a bundle out of the box, unfurling it to reveal a dark black t-shirt with a messy crimson scrawl of ANARCHY! across the chest. To his fond delight, there was a little flower drawn just beneath the large text. A touch of him, and a touch of you.

Not waiting another second, Hobie slipped the shirt over his head, one of his piercings momentarily snagging against the collar. You were quick to shift the box onto one arm so you could help him safely tug the shirt down without ripping his earlobe into two.

After murmuring his thanks, Hobie cupped his palms over his hands to yell, “Oi, you lot! Come ‘round here for free shirts! Made by the loveliest person I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing!”

The two of you stayed at the venue until all your shirts were given away, and even then there were a few stragglers left, disappointed they hadn’t gotten anything.

“Come to Hobie’s next gig, I’ll bring some more things by then,” you reassured them with a kind smile.

After another series of goodbyes, Hobie finally pulled you out of the dingy venue, his hand curled over your upper back and your arm wrapped around his hips.

Hobie was a true artist. Everything he touched, he could turn into something of beauty, something raw and pure and breathtaking. When you had vocalized such thoughts to him, he smirked, loose and humored.

“Don’t like labels,” he said, gaze fixed on his guitar and the uncapped marker he was using to draw just beneath the strings. “You sure you’re not biased?”

“Not at all,” you hummed in reply, leaning against him. The two of you were in your universe, laying spread over a checkered blanket on a vast field not too far from your little cottage. The grass was greener than what Hobie had back home, and the air was clearer and lighter than anything he’d ever breathed before. Somehow, the breeze that whistled between the two of you smelled of strawberries and peaches—or maybe that was your perfume. Hobie couldn’t get enough of it, either way. Your universe was beautiful—nearly as beautiful as you were.

Whilst he was concentrating on his scribbled drawings, you were tinkering with one of your web shooters—a series of miniscule gadgets with brown fixings to wrap around your wrist. Once you clicked it back into place, you jutted it out to Hobie, the round capsules hovering only inches beneath his nose.

He laughed, gently pulling your hand away so he wouldn’t go cross-eyed. “You make these yourself?”

“Synthesized them with all natural ingredients. Took a lot of trial-and-error, but I think I’ve finally perfected the colored formula,” you said, pressing down with both your middle and index finger, showing him how the webs shot out so far he couldn’t even see where it disappeared within the swishing blades of grass.

Arching a brow, he echoed, “Colored formula?”

You grinned. “Take a look. I made them green! I think it’s much prettier than plain ol’ white,” you said.

“Green spider webs, huh? You really are something else,” he surmised with a half-chuckle, half-snort, a goofy smile to his lips. Your excitement was beginning to rub off on him, so he took your hands again, admiring your craftsmanship. “These are so fucking cool.”

“I could make you colored webs, too—whatever color you want!” You perked up with the idea, smiling brighter than the golden sun hanging sweetly in the soft pink sky (the skies were pink during the day in your universe, it was trippy as hell). Little flowers bloomed around you, a few appearing in the surrounding grass, some popping into his hair, others materializing on your flowing blouse.

Flustered, you reached over to pluck out the flowers in his hair, murmuring a quiet apology.

“Nah, it’s cute,” he reassured you, shooting you a curious look. “So—does your universe have others that are also called ‘mutants’ or is it just you?”

“There’s not a lot of us,” you admitted. “It was scary, at first. I was completely… normal until I hit thirteen years old—all of a sudden, flowers started blooming everywhere and I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t control it and it only grew worse the more scared I got. A man named Charles Xavier took me under his wing at his school for gifted students—well, that’s just a code word for mutants—and he helped me train to control it. Obviously… not well enough—flowers still sprout when I feel strong emotions.”

Hobie’s nose wrinkled. “My fault. You like me a bit too much, Cheeky.”

With a playful shove, you huffed out a tinkering laugh. “Anyways, while I was at the school, there was a student with the ability to turn objects radioactive. Highly dangerous, and he could’ve been used as a weapon of war if in the wrong hands. One day, he was just fucking around and… he accidentally turned a spider radioactive. He didn’t tell anyone because he was scared he was going to get in trouble. Lo and behold, it got loose, and the next day, it bit me while I was out on a walk. So not only was I a mutant, I became a Spider, as well. I trained with my newfound powers every day in the Danger Room. I graduated top of nearly all my classes. And not too long after, Miguel came popping out of nowhere—the look on his face when flowers started appearing all over his suit was hilarious.” You chuckled lightly, leaning your head against Hobie’s shoulder. “Your powers are much cooler, though. I wish I had electric abilities.”

The marker in Hobie’s hand was quickly capped, and put to the side so he could raise it to stroke the back of your head. “Flower power is cool as fuck, what are you on about?”

You smiled. Another flower, a fragile pink thing, blossomed onto his lap. Hobie barked out a roguish laugh.

“I love you,” you hummed.

“Love you back, Cheeky.”

Nueva York was the exact antithesis to your world. Everything was new and modern and cutting-edge, heavy on minimalism and plain white canvases of nothing. It lacked art and humanity and just… life, in general. You didn’t really enjoy coming to this universe—the only reason you did was to help out with anomalies whenever you were needed. Though you didn’t quite agree with Miguel’s canon theory (it was messy and evidently didn’t apply to every Spider), you had to agree that villains running amok in rogue universes was no good for anyone. You had personal experience with the matter when a glitching Mysterio came tumbling through a farmer’s market in your universe, baskets of fruit flying every which way and bouquets trampled beneath his descent.

Today, however, you were called in because of your boyfriend. His hologram had appeared over your wrist, offering you a loose smile and a two-fingered salute.

“Hey, Hobie,” you greeted, pausing your baking and brushing errant strands of your hair away with flour-covered hands. “What’s going on?”

“I’m at HQ. Heading over to see Miguel. D’you mind coming, if you’re not too busy?”

“Oh, uh, sure,” you said, heading over to the wash basin to rinse off your hands. “Is everything okay?”

The hologram of Hobie hummed, warbling as you rushed to change out of your clothes and into your suit—a white top with beige and green accents, webbing into a spiral around an embroidered collection of flowers on your chest shaped into a spider. Your boyfriend lowered his voice to say, “The original is here.”

“Original?”

“The first anomaly.”

“Oh,” you said, eyes widening a fraction. Oh.

Hobie pursed his lips. Though he was doing well to hide it, you could see the buried worry behind his dark irises. The both of you were well aware that Miguel wouldn’t take this lightly. “Yeah. You’ll be here?”

“I’ll be there. See you in a minute, yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ll be waiting by the Spider-burger place. Love ya, Cheeky.” With that, he flickered out of view. You blew out a breath, snagged a bag from your room, and pressed a few buttons on your watch. A glowing orange portal opened by your kitchen door. You stepped through, and a tunnel, an elevator, and a hall later, you found yourself at the heart of Spider Society.

Hundreds of Spidermen, Spiderwomen, and Arachnids alike were passing by, chattering aimlessly, or rushing to wrangle their anomalies to the Go-Home Machine. After weaving through the crowd, you made your way to the McSpiders booth, where they sold the most delicious burgers, but you didn’t think you had time for that today.

Hobie was waiting at one of the tables, Pav glued to his side, and Gwen on the other.

Your boyfriend waved, shooting you a wink just as Pavitr shot up, dashing forward to envelop you in a tight hug.

“It’s been so long!” the younger Spider exclaimed. “How’ve you been? How are you?”

“I’m good, Pav,” you warmly replied, patting his back affectionately. Then, you waved to Gwen, who looked a little uncomfortable at the predicament she was in, but tried her best to push it down for a moment to say hello.

You gave her a warm embrace, squeezing tight, a nonverbal confirmation of telling her you were there for her. Knowing that she was technically universeless, both you and Hobie would often let her crash over at your respective places. In fact, she slept in one of your extra rooms so much it was practically hers by now, filled with plenty of her personal belongings. She was one of your closest friends, and seeing her so anxious did nothing but fill you with worry.

Once you pulled away from your two friends, you gave Hobie a quick hug, kissing his cheek. Pav cooed obnoxiously whilst Gwen lightly joked for the two of you to get a room.

Hobie shoved at the blonde’s shoulder with scoff. “Come off it, we wouldn’t have the time anyway.”

Finally, you turned your gaze to the last one in the group—Miles Morales.

It was certainly strange to see him in the flesh, when he was such a popular topic of discussion amongst the verse-traveling Spiders. He was a gangly yet handsome boy, with a head of dark, curly hair, and large brown eyes.

He offered you a nervous smile. “So, uh, you must be Y/N! I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“I can say the same thing,” you replied, thinking back to all the times Gwen would lounge in your bed and tell you about her time helping Miles with Kingpin. “It’s nice to put a face to your name after all this time.”

“Yeah, yeah, same.” Awkward as ever, Miles let out something akin to a laugh. His eyes darted down when he noticed Hobie’s hand slipping over your midriff. “So! You’re Hobie’s partner, right? I thought he didn’t believe in consistency.”

You grinned when Hobie drummed his fingers along your hip, shrugging in a nonchalant manner. “If I was inconsistent all the time, that’d be me being consistent, no? Keep with the times, mate.”

Confused, Miles’ lips parted to ask another question but you shook your head. “Just don’t question it. God knows how many times I’ve stumped myself trying to figure him out.”

Hobie shot you an amused look. Before anyone could say anything else, Gwen swung onto her feet, shifting her weight in a fidgety manner. “We should probably get a move on, before Miguel gets mad.”

“Oh, yeah, of course. You guys mind filling me in with what happened on the way?”

And so the five of you set off, with Pav and Gwen taking turns on telling you what had transpired in Mumbhattan, with Hobie occasionally chiming in. Miles was far too enamored by all the other Spiders to really pay attention to what they were saying.

Once you were all informed, you supplied a worried look in Miles’ direction. Stopping a canon event from happening… Miguel definitely wouldn’t be happy about that.

Sensing your eyes on him, Miles met your eyes. “Is there something on my face?” he asked.

“Oh, no. Sorry. I was just distracted.” A flower popped on your shoulder, and another appeared in Miles’ hair. He pulled it out with a surprised raise of his brows.

“Huh. That’s new,” he said with a slightly curious smile. “So, you and Hobie! I guess I just didn’t expect him to be with someone so…”

You tilted your head. “So…?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “You guys look, like, complete opposites.”

Pavitr clapped his hands. “Well, opposites do attract!”

With half a smile pulling at one corner of his mouth, Hobie chimed, “We aren’t complete opposites. We both have a crippling hatred for capitalism and greedy billionaire corporations.”

“That we do,” you agreed, beaming warmly at him. Suddenly, you perked up, remembering what you had brought with you. “Oh, I almost forgot! Pav, Gwen—I made you tote bags a while ago and haven’t gotten the chance to give it to you guys. They’re all made from ethically sourced materials, of course. Sorry, Miles, I would’ve made you one if I’d known I was going to meet you today.”

“It’s no problem. There’ll be a next time, right?” he said, watching as you handed the rolled up bags to an excited Pav, bouncing on the balls of his feet with a litany of thank you so much, this is amazing on his tongue, and a hesitant Gwen, smiling despite being so strung-up to face Miguel.

“Right… A next time…” you echoed, unsure if there’d even be a next time if Miguel had his way with things.

Everything was going wrong.

Miguel went too far, as he often did in his tunnel-visioned haze for order, and trapped Miles in a laser cage, intending to keep him in Nueva York while his father died back in his home universe. A sick feeling curdled within the pits of your stomach—none of this felt right to you. Peter and Gwen were yelling at Miguel, their words washing over you in a blur, like the crashing and the retreat of a wave against an unsuspecting shore.

You watched helplessly as Miles turned around, betrayal lacing heavily across his crestfallen features, staring at the people he had once considered his friends. For half a second, Miles caught your gaze. Anxious flowers—various shades of violet and scarlet—blossomed by your feet. To your side, your boyfriend held both his hands up, gaze fixed on Miles.

“Palms,” he silently mouthed.

Heeding his advice, Miles pressed both his palms against the barrier.

And three beats of a heart later, he had broken free. A blast of energy pushed everybody back a few feet, and you could hear Hobie’s faint laughter echo right beside your ear. You couldn’t help but smile along with him.

Someone had to look out for the little guy, right?

Apparently, Miguel had other ideas. He wasn’t a rational man. No, he was a perfectionist to the core, needing everything to go according to his plan, his theory, his ideology. When the stakes were this high, who was to say no to him? And now, he had somehow convinced nearly the entire population of the Spider Society to chase after a fifteen year old.

Then what? Lock him up? Force him away from his home and wait out his father’s death?

No. It wasn’t right. None of it was.

As pandemonium broke out during the chase after Miles, Hobie gave you a glance. “Just for the record, I quit,” he announced. It wasn’t directed at you, per se, but it was important to him that you knew of his stance. That he wouldn’t sit around and idly twiddle his thumbs at this bullshit.

A portal opened behind him, bathing his dark skin in a bright clementine glow. He unclasped his watch and let it fall to the ground. “You coming, Cheeky?”

“I’ll meet you at your place,” you reassured him. An unspoken trust me hung heavy between you. A white little wildflower appeared in his hair, but Hobie didn’t move to pluck it away. Instead, he ducked his head to press a lasting kiss onto your forehead. You shot him a fond grin before leaning forward to peck his cheek in return, and hurriedly rushed off to go help Miles, canary-hued flowers floating behind you with every swing.

It was by pure chance that you happened upon Miles and Peter, the latter begging for him to hold his baby, which he most definitely shouldn’t have brought along to a chase. You hid behind a large metal pipe, waiting for Miles to leave Peter. It wasn’t long before Miles was running away again, believing his mentor had betrayed him once again, and you were quick to follow after him. Green webs shot out from the fixings on your wrist, and you caught up to the younger Spider in no time.

“Miles!” you exclaimed.

“Please, just let me go back home!” he yelled, stress and panic coiled around his words as he rounded around cars and signs.

Guilt settled around your lungs in a constricting manner. You’d lend him your watch to get home, but with a quick glance behind you, noting the several dozens of Spiders hot on your tail, you realized that there was no way that he’d make it there in time without them following after. There had to be another way.

“That’s what I’m trying to do,” you replied, trying your best to convey that you were on his side. “Trust me, I’m with you on this! If not for you becoming Spider-Man, there’d be no Spider Society, and I would’ve never met Hobie. Of course I’d try to help you, Miles! Listen to me—there’s a bullet train that goes to the moon here—if you draw all the Spiders away from HQ, then you can use the Go-Home machine to get back to your universe!”

Miles shot you an initially dubious glance, which soon melded into one of cautious appreciation. “Where?”

“A couple miles that way! You won’t miss it—it’s a huge glass tube going up to space.” You nodded in the direction he was to be headed. “Good luck, Miles. I’m rooting for you!”

With a shout of his gratitude and a slight smile, Miles swung away from you.

It’s a shame that this was goodbye. Both you and Hobie were really starting to grow on him.

It was raining again, as it almost always was in gloomy London. You were in bed with Hobie, having passed out after letting him know about how you helped Miles, and listening to him tell you about the watch he made for Gwen, knowing she’d most likely need it later down the line if things didn’t work out. He was taking up most of the space on the bed, one arm behind his head on the pillow and the other curved beneath the small of your waist, fingers splayed out over your stomach. Chests rising and falling in synchronized tandem, you were curled up onto your side so that your spine brushed against his side with each breath.

Nightmares weren’t a common thing for you, but when they did slink into your unconscious mind, they were always terrifyingly realistic, and always of the same event. Your canon event.

Tonight was no different.

Soft pink skies. Swinging through the trees after something—someone. Prowler.

The forest gave way to steep mountains. Steep stones and ice and cliffs. The pink above you bled into a menacing shade of purple.

Nets of webbing shooting from your wrists. Desperation. Pleads on your tongue, but you didn’t quite know what you were saying.

The villain tripped over the webbing, rolling down a mountainside that tapered off into a sheer drop. You darted forward, shooting out a web to catch the Prowler.

But it was too late.

They tipped over the edge, stray pebbles tumbling down in their wake. If the Prowler screamed, you couldn’t hear it over the thrumming blood in your ears.

It took over a minute for their body to hit the ground with a sickening thud.

Horror stained your insides black. You weren’t quick enough. You failed.

You made your way down the mountain, wide eyes fixed on the motionless body. You crept forward, checking for a pulse. Dead.

Gingerly, you peeled the mask away from their face. The hazy face of your best friend stared back up at you, beaten and bloody.

Your fault, your fault, your fault—

You woke up with a gut-wrenching sob, jolting up with a broken wail. Hobie had startled from his slumber at the sudden commotion, quick to prop himself up on an elbow, his hand shooting out to properly wrap around you.

Comforting words were murmured into your hair. You only cried harder, gently pushing the blankets away from you, feeling overwhelmingly hot and crowded. It took you another moment to realize that you were hyperventilating, large flowers popping up everywhere around the two of you.

“Breathe,” you could hear your boyfriend say, tracing slow circles along your lower back. “That’s it, love. You got this.”

After a few minutes, your breaths had slowed down, and the tears stopped flowing. You sniffled quietly, turning to Hobie with an apology on the tip of your tongue.

“Don’t apologize,” he said, seeming to know exactly what was on your mind. “You alright?”

“Nightmare,” you whispered in return, voice hoarse with disuse and thirst. “My canon event. It’s my fault Prowler died. My best friend.”

Another circle along your spine. “You wanna talk about it?”

Your eyes, puffy and red-rimmed, blinked back more cresting tears. You nodded, croaking out the tragic story of you and your best friend—the Spider and the Prowler. Hobie listened intently, humming soothingly into your skin.

Once you were finished, he adamantly shook his head. “You can’t blame yourself for that. It’s not your fault.”

But it is, you wanted to say. You swallowed the words, deciding instead to remain quiet and simply lean further into his touch.

“I love you,” he said, voice low and soothing. “You hear me, Cheeky?”

“I hear you. Thank you for… for always being there for me. You’re the punkest punk that’s ever punked.”

A hum rumbled from his throat. “I’ll always be here for you. I trust you’ll do the same for me. We’re all broken, but… it’s a good thing we Spiders got sticky webs to keep us together, yeah?” A pause before Hobie backtracked, “That didn’t come out the way I intended it to but you get my point.”

You wrinkled your nose in amusement. “Yeah. I’m glad we found each other in all this chaos, Hobbes.”

“Mmh. Nothing better than a bit of chaos, innit?”

The two of you sat in silence for a bit longer, simply soaking in each other’s comforting presence. When you arched your neck to press a lasting kiss along the underside of Hobie’s jaw, you could feel his face shift with a fond smile. Before he could reciprocate the gesture, a tangerine glow shone from outside the window, warbling with the rain, but still a stark juxtaposition to the macabre grey of the city.

Both you and Hobie peered out of the window, limbs still tangled.

Outside was Gwen, her cowl pulled over her uneven strands of blonde-pink hair, hexagonal portal rings shifting behind her. Her features were solemn and grim as she locked eyes with the both of you. You and Hobie glanced at each other. Small pink flowers started to bloom along the windowsill, much to your chagrin.

With not another second of hesitation, the two of you leapt out of bed, hastily yanking on your suits and swinging out of the window to join Gwen.

To join her in saving Miles Morales, and, ultimately, the multiverse.

#hobie brown x reader #spiderpunk x reader #spiderpunk fanfiction #hobie brown fanfiction #hobie brown fluff #hobie brown angst #hobie brown imagines #hobie brown drabbles #spiderpunk angst #spiderpunk fluff #spiderverse fanfiction #atsv fanfiction #hobie brown x you

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vienssunshine · 8 months

Text

Obviously It's Cold in the Wintertime

pairing: Josh Washington x gn reader sfw word count: 2.3k alternate universe: no Josh prank author’s comment: Until Dawn is the ideal choice for one of my favorite tropes: needing to be close for warmth/body heat.

The lodge is freezing.

You hold the quilt tight to your shivering body, trying to pull it closer than it already is, but the winter air is uncaring. It slips under your quilt and settles over you like an additional blanket, not one of comfort, but ice.

The only clothes you packed to face the harsh winter up on the mountain were ones you’d wear outside, like your puffer jacket or beanie. You didn’t think you’d need to prepare for the weather inside as well, and your choice of sleepwear—athletic shorts and a baggy t-shirt—reflects that.

You wish Josh had reminded you that despite his family’s profuse wealth, their lodge has no central heating. But, you can’t blame him for your mistake, and he's had a lot going on anyway. Regardless, you’ll still have to bother him about your situation because, despite your best efforts, it's impossible to fall asleep like this.

Sitting up in your bed, you pull the quilt off your legs, removing the little warmth it provided. There’s a relief, though fleeting, from the pervasive cold when a tingle of excitement shoots down your spine from knowing you’re about to go see Josh, alone, and at night.

Your hand reaches out into the dark to search the top of the nightstand for your phone, finding and turning it on after a few seconds of fumbling around. You click on the phone's flashlight—there’s no electricity in this place, either—and use it to find your slippers and the guest room door.

The glow from your phone does little to demystify the dark, empty void staring back at you when you pull the door open. It’s an intimidating task, to navigate the endless twists, turns, and, according to Josh, secret passages of the lodge. Thankfully, the dusty glass of the windows allows the deep blue of the night sky to seep into the cabin and illuminate the general silhouette of things like the main staircase and the circular chandelier hanging above you.

You make your way through the living room, using your phone to avoid obstacles like couches and tables, and head up the tall staircase. Your footsteps echo through the open air as you climb, but aren’t loud enough to wake anybody up.

Keeping close to the handrail lining the hallway, you walk down to the last door, Josh’s door, and place a few soft knocks on it.

You hear his voice through the wood. “Yeah?”

He's awake, perfect. You creak the door open and slip into the room. “Hey, it’s me.”

“Oh, what a nice surprise,” Josh says, grinning. You return the smile.

You turn off your phone flashlight and walk into his room, having to squint to see where you’re going in the dim light. Josh is sitting on his bed, his back relaxed on a large pillow pressed against the headboard. He’s in pajamas too, a black sweatshirt and flannel pants. The only source of light in the room is a movie projected onto the wall by an old-timey camera set up by his side of the bed. He flicks a button on the top of the camera, pausing the movie, and turns to you.

“So, what can I do for you?” he asks.

“Hmm?”

Josh tilts his head, “There must be some reason you’re in my room at,” he glances at his phone, “two in the morning.”

“Oh, right. I came to see if you had any extra blankets or something? It’s, uh, really cold in my room.”

A mischievous smile. “Y’know, I bet I could help warm you up. No blankets necessary.”

“I’m serious, Josh,” you respond, rolling your eyes. Though you don’t betray it, his comment, cliché as it may be, sends a tingle similar to earlier up your back.

“Okay, okay,” he surrenders, throwing his hands up, “I’ll be serious.”

“Thank you,” you respond. It’s not that you would mind if he kept flirting with you, it’s just that you need to warm up, you're barely able to feel your fingers.

Josh runs his eyes over you. “Well, no matter what I do, you’re still gonna be cold in that,” he says, giving your PJs a disapproving look.

You shift your weight under his gaze. “Yeah, well, I forgot there’s no heat up here,” you say.

“Rookie mistake,” Josh laughs, standing up from his bed and walking around it to reach the dresser made of dark wood on the other side. He pulls the middle drawer open by its antique handles and takes one of his sweatshirts out, bringing it over to you. “This should help.”

As he hands it to you, your fingers brush his. “Wow, you do feel cold,” he remarks.

“What, did you think I was lying?” you tease, giving him a light push. “Thanks for the sweatshirt.”

“Yeah, of course,” he says, watching you pull it over your head.

The extra layer was a good call, you aren’t shaking anymore. You note another benefit of the sweatshirt: it smells just like him.

“That’s so much better,” you say, and a pleased smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “And the extra blankets? Are there any?” you ask.

He rubs his neck, “Right, about that…”

“Oh, are there none in the lodge?” you say, holding the edges of the hoodie to your face, trying to warm your ears.

“Well, no…see…” Josh says, “I already gave the extra blankets to Mike.”

You frown. Mike. Your friend group isn’t full of angels, but you have a particular dislike for Mr. Class President.

With a huff, you say, “I don’t see why you did that, I’m sure he and Jess can keep plenty warm together.”

“Mike said he needed all the blankets to make his room a cozy, romantic love den. His words, not mine. My hands were tied, I had to help a bro out.”

Your brows furrow, still baffled by how Mike managed to convince Josh to give him every single blanket there was to spare. That conniving, silver-tongued little-

“But hey,” Josh says, “You can just take some of mine.” He steps back and gestures to the bed with his hand.

“I’m not taking your blankets, Josh,” you answer, despite how persuasive the chilled air is being.

“C’mon, you’re freezing,” he insists, picking your hand up from your side, “Your fingers are as cold as ice.”

Unlike yours, his hand is warm. You press your lips together, your heart in your throat from a simple touch that feels nicer than it should.

“I’ll be fine,” you lie, pulling your hand away. “Really. I don’t want to take your blankets from you.”

He looks at the bed, then you, the bed, and then back at you. “Okay, we can share instead,” he says with a shrug, as if his suggestion were no big deal.

Your eyes widen. “Um…are you serious?” you ask.

“Didn’t I promise I was going to be serious from now on?” he says. When you don’t move, he continues, “Really, I don’t mind. I’d actually love to have someone to watch this movie with.” He smirks before finishing with, “If it’s not too scary for you.”

You scoff, self-consciousness forgotten. “I’m not scared of some movie.”

“I don’t believe you,” he teases, sitting down on the bed and moving over to make space.

“Really,” you insist, “I’m not.”

“Then come join me,” he says, patting the spot next to him.

Your eyes run over the soft bedding with the same caution you’d have for a battlefield. Then, a step forward takes you to the edge of the bed, and you lower yourself down onto the mattress. Josh waits until you kick off your slippers and slide under his comforter before unpausing the movie, a small, victorious smile on his lips. You’d usually be more annoyed, hating to lose, but gratitude takes over as the gentle warmth of the blankets begins to ease the edge of the cold off you.

Josh’s bed is huge, so you’re able to sit a reasonable distance away from him. You doubt a similar thought crosses his mind because, unlike you, he doesn’t seem to think sharing a bed is anything to be worked up about: he’s spread out on his side of the mattress, back against the pillows, hands behind his head.

You steal glances at him, noticing how his broad chest rises and falls with his gentle breaths. He looks so comfortable; it makes you want to close the distance, to have your body pressed to his side and your head resting on his warm chest. Sudden heat singes your ears and you look away from him. As far as you know, this is platonic, just a friend helping a friend keep warm.

A gargled roar emits from the speaker. Though the volume is down, it’s still enough to draw your eyes to the blob monster displayed on the flickering projection. It’s closing in, bubbling and gurgling towards a damsel whose dress is caught on a tree branch. Even with all that action, the movie does little to distract you from the fact that the guy you have a thing for is tucked under the same sheets as you, only an arm’s reach away.

“I’m surprised you’re up this late,” you comment, launching yourself out of your thoughts. “And watching a movie that’s not scary at all.”

“Just wait, the worst part hasn’t even happened yet,” he says, leaning over to give you a playful nudge. His eyes remain fixed on the flickering screen as he finishes responding. “And yeah, I couldn’t really fall asleep, so I put something on.”

“Too cold for you, too?” you ask.

“Nah, temperature’s fine. It’s just, y’know, being up here again…”

Of course. You should have known.

You look down to your hands in your lap. “It’s probably a lot. I’m sorry, Josh. Really.”

“I appreciate it,” he says, letting out a deep breath as if he’s trying to exhale the weight on his chest. “I’m glad you’re all with me, it’s easier dealing with what happened.”

“We’re here for you.” You move a hand from your lap to his shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. “I’m here for you. Anything, Josh.”

“Thank you,” he says, his hand covering yours. “It means a lot to me that you’re saying that. I hope you know I’d do the same for you.” You nod, his kind words making your heart melt like candle wax. “Speaking of, are you feeling any warmer? Your hand, it still feels-”

You drop your hand back down to the blanket, noticing that, though you haven’t shivered since you put on the sweatshirt, your fingertips still feel dull, unable to fully sense the softness of the cloth. “It’s a little better, but I’m still pretty cold,” you admit.

“Well, I can’t have you freezing to death,” he tells you.

“That might ruin the trip,” you say with a small laugh.

“You’re right. I would get in so much trouble.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want you getting in trouble because of me.” You tilt your head, a bashful smile spreading across your face.

He takes a second to drink in everything the faint light of the movie reveals of your expression. “Good thing I have a solution to our problem.”

“Yeah?”

His response is one that diverges from his typical flirty comments as it comes out softer, a little hesitant, even. “You could come closer.”

You eye him, waiting for him to reveal his bluff. But his gaze remains steady, so you repeat his words back to him slowly as if you were trying to figure out which part he isn’t sincere about. “You want me to come closer?”

He chuckles. “Somebody’s nervous.” Josh lets his arms spread atop the row of pillows behind him, opening himself up to you. “C’mon, I don’t bite,” he grins, “hard.”

“Alright, pack it up, cornball,” you say, lifting up the comforter and scooting closer to him, stopping just an inch or two before your thigh touches his.

“You know you love it,” he says.

“Shut it, I’m trying to watch the movie,” you shoot back, reclining until your back meets his arm and the pillows it lies atop of. The hard muscle of his bicep contrasts with the plushness of the pillows, but it doesn’t make you any less comfortable, in fact, you like this position more than how you were earlier.

Being close to him, nearly in his arms, feels better than you expected. The warmth of his body and the steadiness of his breath conjure up a calm haze that settles over you like a spell. You work hard to stay focused and upright, wanting to finish the movie and talk to him some more. But you're exhausted, so as he's explaining the foreshadowing from the first act of the movie, you end up leaning into him, your head falling onto his shoulder and your hand onto his chest. He doesn’t say anything, but his arm shifts behind your back, and then his hand is on your head, petting your hair. Your eyes flutter shut, everything around you fading out aside from the soothing feeling of his touch.

“Sleepy?” he whispers down to you.

“Mhmm,” you mumble back.

“Do you want to sleep in here tonight? It’s much warmer.”

“Can I?” you ask, nuzzling your cheek into his shoulder. He’s just so comfortable, it would be so terrible if you couldn’t stay.

“Of course you can,” he responds. You can hear the smile in his voice and it sends a small wave of warmth through your body.

You move your head so it rests on his chest, your fingers sprawled out just a bit lower, mindlessly playing with the strings of his hoodie. Staying awake is getting harder and harder as the gentle strokes on your head coax you to sleep, and eventually, you give in.

When you wake up in the morning, you’re still curled up next to Josh, and he is still asleep. He has been going through a lot this past year, but as the light of dawn trickles through the window and onto his face, he looks the most peaceful you’ve ever seen him.

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