#you are going to leave such a hole in this world.... a void of a true camp masterpiece...

[moonlightazriel]

Chapter 14: Into the lion's den /// Azriel X F!Reader

Summary: Y/N enters Koschei's lair and finally confirms some suspicions

Word Count: 2K

Warnings: Again mentions of trauma and grief.

Notes: I'm so glad that I have almost all the chapters written cuz my fingers are fucking useless now and I can't write 🙄

Main Masterlist

Worlds Apart Masterlist

The dark living room was immediately illuminated by faelights, papers scattered around the table, potions and a liquid simmering in a cauldron near the fire. She scrunched her nose at the rotten smell. A screeching, like a trapped creature sounded somewhere behind the closed doors that led to the basement, she shivered thinking what could be suffering in his hands. 

Drawings adorned the walls, receipts and terrifying creatures. Her breath hitched as she recognized the circle with wyrd marks used to summon the ridderak. This was even more scary than Baba Yellowleg’s tent, the Matron would send her there regularly to check on the older witch and her home always made her bones cold. 

“So..” He cleared his throat, those golden eyes turned to her direction, pinning her in place. “Tell me what. What troubles your heart?” He once again extended his hand and she quietly placed it onto his.

Mantyx almost gasped with the swirling of emotions that hit him when he touched her skin. Anger, hatred, pain, grief, pain was what burned brighter in that array of feelings that clouded her mind. He tried to take a look but he was met with a wall made of pure steel, unbreakable, unbendable and impenetrable. 

But another thing caught his attention, singing beautifully to no one hear, a mating bond stood, he had learned everything about it in the years he was trapped there. A bond shared by two people that was stronger than everything, once the bond was accepted nothing could break it. He tugged at the string lightly, watching closely as she startled, her free hand flying to her heart. She didn’t understand what this was. 

Near that cabin, a worried shadowsinger yelped in surprise as he felt a tug in his chest, like someone was pulling a string tied to his soul. Lucien looked at him with a raised eyebrow, asking him if he was alright. Azriel just shook his head, hand rubbing circles in his chest, in a soothing manner. His eyes focused back on the cabin door, he wanted to go there and kick it down, rescuing her but he knew he couldn’t.

“I see that you lost someone very important to you.” He pointed it out, going for the easiest approach, usually wasn’t hard to know what troubled people, they were too simple to read, always thinking they were good at hiding their emotions and thinking of him as a god for being able to read them like a cooking book. 

“I lost everything.” She quietly replied, Y/N never really opened up to anyone after the war, just brushing their concerns off and focusing on her work to suffocate those drowning feelings. “I lost my sister, the only person that truly loved me, I couldn't even say goodbye. I lost my way, I lost myself after she was gone, and I don't think I'll ever be able to go back to what I was.” 

Mantyx looked at her, the despair pungent on the tip of his tongue. The shadows in her eyes darkened as she frowned, tears glistening in the corners of her eyes. He took a deep breath, feeling all of her negative emotions fill the void in his chest, he had to suppress a smirk at it, he fed from negative emotions, draining them and leaving the person numb. 

“You can’t ever go back, all you can do is keep  going and adapt to the change.” He offered and she scoffed. 

“I would give anything, do anything to get her back.” Mantyx approached her. It was like the light couldn’t reach it, being sucked into a black hole, not reflecting. If it wasn’t for his proximity she wouldn't even have noticed. 

But there it was, resting with an unsettling melody, the wyrd key that opened the gate atop Ramiel, what she needed to get home. She couldn't risk getting it just now, or else he would kill her and all of their efforts would be useless. 

“What if I told you that I can bring her back?” He offered and her eyes lifted from the key to his gold orbs. She never knew about the extent of the other Kings powers, if Erawan was that powerful she imagined how powerful Mantyx and Orcus would be.

“You can do it?” She inquired, doubt  started to coat her thoughts, she missed Asterin, what if she could see her one last time, or even better, get her back fully? 

“You just need to do me a simple favor in return.” She closed her eyes, that was the only way. She shook her head in agreement. 

“What do you need?” She opened her eyes, determination burning in that gaze. “I’ll do anything.” 

“Bring me Nesta Archeron.” He said and she nodded, Mantyx smiled. His hand extended towards the door that slowly opened to reveal the green island he lived in. “I’ll be waiting for your return.”

Y/N bowed to him, her eyes tracing the key that moved up and down with each breath he gave. She turned around, slowly walking outside, she could still feel his eyes on her when she crossed the bridge, so she didn’t dare to look to where she knew they would be, she kept walking forward until her frame disappeared from his line of sight. Just then she let out the breath she was holding. 

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Azriel and the others reached her halfway back to the Manor, she hadn't even noticed she had walked so much, her tensed muscles and shivering body were the only indications of the fear she had felt alone in that cabin. Azriel touched her arm, making her spin in her heels, collapsing against his chest. Shuddering breaths left her lips as she tried to calm herself. 

“Did he hurt you?” She shook her head and Azriel breathed with relief, his shadows moved around her in a protecting way, ready to strike at anyone who dared get too close to her. 

“We should go back, we don’t know what is lurking around in those woods.” Lucien advised, also worried about the fragile form that clung to Azriel for dear life. 

They all started to head back, being surprised by the giant wyvern baring his teeth at them, poison dripping from his fangs, he looked anxious, like he felt all of her distress through the connection he shared with his rider, and by the way she pushed Azriel out of the way, stumbling until her chest and forehead were pressed against his nose, he probably felt. 

Meraxes instantly relaxed with her touch, sniffing her scent and declaring she was alright. Y/N sobbed against him, her hands rubbing his leathery skin up and down, until she calmed herself down. 

“I’m okay, I promise.” She breathed and the wyvern nodded, giving one last look to the males before stepping aside and allowing their access to the house. She let go of him, following the rest of them inside, plopping herself on the couch. 

“Why did you go inside? You could be dead now.” Lucien slowly started, worry filled his voice, Y/N had become someone important to him and he couldn’t fathom the idea of her being killed by that damned monster. 

“We needed answers.” She simply replied, shrugging. 

“And did you get them?” Jurian asked, leaning against the wall that led to the kitchen. 

“His name is Mantyx, the middle brother of Erawan and Orcus, a Valg King.” She started, all of the males looked at her. “He was the one who summoned the ridderak that attacked me, he was after Nesta and her powers.”

“Does he have a key?” Azriel asked, his eyebrows furrowed as the engines in his brain worked.

“He carries it around his neck.” Lucien cursed loudly, how would they get it? 

“How did you get out?” Jurian once again asked all the right questions.

“I promised him that I would get Nesta.” Azriel's eyes widened. “I just needed to get out to tell you all this, chill.” She said to him, her blue eyes piercing him back in place and he didn’t dare to argue. 

“What do we do now?” Lucien inquired, rubbing his temples.

“I don’t know about you, but i’ll have a bath, i’m feeling disgusting.” She said getting up, leaving the males behind her. 

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Her chest ached as she sat in the scalding water, trying to rub all those feelings away from her, but it was useless. She then reached for the book Morrigan had found in the Hewn City, not having time to read it in the trip until now. She opened the book and focused on the fancy handwriting, allowing her brain to shut down from the real world and just pay attention to the words in those pages. 

“It was during the night that he came, talking with a sweet voice, promises of a better world and absolution to those who bowed to him and allowed his angels a home. The god of conquest was how they called him. 

He brought her, with dark hair and dark eyes, she feeded from life and used the remains to build weapons made of human bones. They called her The Weaver, and her twin, The Bone Carver, one more terrifying than the other. They weren’t angels, they were the gods of death, draining life from the earth and eating our souls. 

They talked about how lucky we were, claiming to be princes and princesses from their homeworld. No one knew how they came or where they came from, but all we knew was that it was all related to that necklace, made of a dark stone and with an unknown shape. They had come from the north, many guessed they were a plague sent by the Night Court to terrorise us, but even the High Lord feared them, he couldn't control them, no one could, so they took what they pleased. 

It was Celeste Vanserra, the Fireborn that brought us hope, the most powerful fire carrier the world has ever seen. She locked The Bone Carver with the help of the cauldron in the prison first. This made the fae wars easier, but their army was too big to be brought down, so they had to change their strategy. 

Divide and conquest is what they called it. They managed to separate The Weaver, and once again, with the help of the cauldron, Celeste and her fire locked Stryga in the woods, in a cabin no one dared to get close to. Whenever a general fell, their army fell with them. 

The High Lords followed Celeste to the battlefield, following her command and doing what she said. The final battle was in the lake, where Celeste used her powers to create a fire circle around Koschei and his monsters, trapping him inside, not knowing this was his biggest weakness, her fire was the only thing that could kill him. But before Celeste could, he killed her, piercing her heart with a sword.

The High Lords seeing their strongest fall, decided that they weren’t enough to kill Koschei, so they used the cauldron imbued by their powers to trap his soul to the island. As long as this world still exists, Koschei cannot be killed, his soul is bound to the Earth itself. Only the power of the cauldron or the fire of Celeste can free him from his prison and finally kill him.

With their failure to end the biggest threat our world has ever seen, they erased Celeste’s name from history. If no one remembered her, no one would remember how weak they were compared to Koschei. But her fire was still alive in the blood of her offspring, and the family Vanserra is the closest we have to a chance of killing him, unfortunately those who don’t learn their history tend to repeat it.”

Y/N gasped, the water already cold as she discarded the book and jumped out of the tub, opening the door to her and Azriel’s room. He sat on the bed, eyeing her up and down, following the droplets of water that ran down her curves, but her sombre expression brought his eyes back to her face, ignoring the temptation of looking down.

“What happened?” He asked and she took a deep breath.

“I know how to kill him.”

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Taglist: @fieldofdaisiies @blackgirlmagicforever @a-frog-with-a-laptop @going-through-shit @asweetblueberry2

@roses-r-red54330 @mis-lil-red @sheblogs @hibye02 @impossibelle

@glitterypirateduck @zeroangelo13 @sekiro1310 @nelapeach14 @annamariereads16

@just-here-reading @celestialend @donttellthecats @scatteredstardustt @snoopyspace

@asterinblacksword @tsumudoll @georginat12 @skyjasper @anuttellaa

@willowpains @quinzzelx @amysangel @fightmedraco @puttyly

@lees-chaotic-brain @thisblogisaboutabook @esposadomd @stained-glass-eyes0708 @brujitafantomatico

@a-cup-of-nightshade @faridathefairy @bubybubsters @krowiathemythologynerd @joey-hoey

#azriel #shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #moonlightazriel #night court #velaris #acotar #azriel shadowsinger #sarahjmaas #azriel acotar #azriel x oc #worlds apart fic

[nekohime19]

Mini Mac #3 : local lil guy being a menace

Let's go for another Mini Mac chap! This Au is progressivly taking over my life.

Even if Sun Wukong proved to be friendly, Macaque wasn't keen on deepening his relationship with him. Giants were unpredictable, they always seemed to view the world as theirs, full of grandeur, and some even found twisted interest in oddities like himself. Granted, he gave his name away, but he wasn't planning on starting friendly conversations with the King. No. They were worlds apart to begin with, Macaque was satisfied with his home in the walls of the mansion and the silence the water-curtain offered, everything beyond that was something he wasn't interested in. He'd been in the outside world before, he knew what to expect, and it was precisely because he knew that he seeked refuge here. On one of the most isolated islands of the eastern continent.

Macaque would remain in the shadows, living in the walls, and Sun Wukong would soon lose interest, at least that was what he hoped for. Turns out the sage wasn't as fickle as he thought him to be. Sun Wukong kept trying to find him, peering at the holes hidden in dusty corners of the stone mansion with a twinkling eye. He was loud, each of his steps reverberating in the floor itself like some sort of landslide. Macaque always knew he was approaching even before seeing him enter a room, and he didn't need six ears for that. More than once this last week, Macaque found the sage crouched before one of his holes, talking in the void, trying to coax him out. Sometimes he left cut pieces of fruits behind him, and Macaque wasn't petty enough to refuse them.

Food was food, no matter where it came from.

The black-furred monkey sighed as he looked at his reflection dancing on a spoon surface (one of the rare silverware he managed to find). He was getting pudgy these days. Usually, he would leave the mansion every two days to restock his cupboards and find food. The water-curtain cave was vast for a being like him and offered many things he found useful. But because the sage was spoiling him with pre-cut fruits, he was getting lazy, which wasn't good at all.

Cautiousness was a sense he sharpened over the years, he couldn't let his guards down simply because one ridiculous golden-furred fool decided to fatten him. Why even was he fattening him? Perhaps, he planned to eat him? One gust of wind slipped through the walls cracks and flipped his ears in mockery.

“What? It's plausible. Some giants tried to eat me before.” Huffed the black-furred macaque, the wind whispered something in his ear and he recoiled in disgust. “Why do you mean he likes me? I think you're the delusional one here. He didn't even know I existed two weeks ago.” The wind flipped his ears one last time before going away, fickle by nature. Talking to the wind was always unnatural. The wind didn't have a voice, it carried words of others and mingled them to create its own sentences. Macaque wasn't born from the wind (usually only those born from the elements would be this privileged) but, according to the wind itself, he was blessed by it at his birth because the wind took a liking to him.

Sometimes, the black-furred monkey swore the element only took a liking to him because his life was a real-time soap opera and he could gossip with him about every dirty secrets he heard. The wind was particularly fond of drama, always eavesdropping left and right anywhere it went.

Macaque turned around and stopped looking at his reflection. He needed to do something before Sun Wukong became a problem. Maybe he could give him a little fright? After all, the sage used to live in the wilderness before, and he didn't seem one to stay at home. The only reason he was there was because of his sudden interest in Macaque. Maybe scaring him would chase him away.

Fortunately, Macaque was an expert in scaring people.

Scaring the sage was surprisingly very easy. For all his gusto, Sun Wukong was easily taken off guard, he never truly watched his surroundings after all. Macaque used all the tricks in his book. He slammed doors, bit the sage ankles, drew messages on fogged glass, and made the floor squeak in the dead of the night. If at first he did it with his utmost seriousness, he lost himself in the game and let his mischievous nature shine through.

But who could blame him really ? Sun Wukong's reactions were hilariously exaggerated. He still praised himself for the Sun Wukong shaped hole he managed to create while surprising the sage by biting the end of his tail.

For all his fun, he wasn't expecting the sage to catch him off guard with a prank on his own.

It happened at dusk, Macaque wasn't usually an early riser but winter was approaching, and while Flower Fruit Mountain had a kind weather, winter still brought storms in its wake. Macaque hated storms, he often decided to stay inside of the mansion walls through each one, but staying inside meant he couldn't restock as often as he did in summer, and that meant he needed more food. Moreover, the local monkeys often decided to leave the mountain lush wilderness and spend more time in the water-curtain cave in winter, and that meant less food for him, and also more reasons to not wander in the cave.

While the older monkeys seemed nice, the younglings were too rowdy for him.

Macaque found mango pieces scattered in a bright green leaf just outside of one of the holes he used to enter the walls. Nothing truly unusual. The black-furred monkey, not one to turn away free food, approached the leaf and began to eat without looking at his surroundings (after all Sun Wukong wasn't one to rise this early).

He yelped when the sage came out of his hiding place and spooked him with a particularly loud “boo!”. Macaque fur fluffed up in fright and he let his piece fall on the floor. He calmed down once he heard the sage rolling on the floor in cackles.

“Aw, don't pout lil guy. You had it coming.” Laughed the sage as he wiped a tear from his eyes.

“I'm not pouting!” was Macaque's only defense as he straightened his fur, the sage laughed harder. “Whatever, I'm a busy man. I don't have time for this.”

“Oh, you're going somewhere?”

“None of your business.” Grumbled the black-furred monkey as he stuffed the rest of the mango pieces in one of his bags.

“Aw, don't be like that. I can come with you. I know the mountain very well, being it's King and all.” Proposed the sage with a wagging tail.

“No thank you.”

“I tried.” Sighed Sun Wukong, ears and tail dropping in disappointment. “You're coming back though?”

“Why wouldn't I come back? I was here even before you became King.” Huffed Macaque, he summoned a portal with a flick of wrist and stepped in it.

“Okay, good luck then. Don't come home too late! I have a plum for you this evening!”

Macaque snorted, who did this giant think he was acting like some sort of worried husband?

At least a plum sounded nice, his tail wagged at the thought of it.

++ Meme dump bc I have free time and nobody can stop me :

The wind watching Mini Mac life :

#Mini Mac Au #Shadowpeach #Mac is a menace #Wukong living inside of a horror movie bc of his mini roommate #Prank war #Lmk #Shadowpeach fanfic

[lesbaurinkos]

genuinely there will never be another show like this ever again. nothing as wacky and campy and unafraid to take massive swings. that does musical episodes with a cast they didnt bother to ask about singing abilities (camp and beautiful forever). that's a love letter to art and the truest adaptation of comics as a medium as we could ever ask for.... that works overtime to make every character gay in some capacity just for fun.... that runs 7 entire seasons for 6 beautiful years.... that forces cole sprouse to sing and somehow managed to unlock actually good singing one single time for his origin of love verse and then never again ever. that has god's most beautifully campy dialogue delivered with utmost passion and sincerity. that's as unabashedly FUN as this. that has cheryl blossom my most beloved cheryl blossom. NO ONE'S GONNA DO IT LIKE THIS EVER AGAIN!!!

#I LOVE YOU RIVERDALE I WILL MISS YOU SO HORRIBLYYYY #you are going to leave such a hole in this world.... a void of a true camp masterpiece... #you will always be famous i swear. we will make you go down in history you will be a cult classic we will do everything in our power #RIVERDALE MY GAY SISTER WHO MAY TROUBLE ME MANY TIMES IN MY LIFE BUT WHO ALWAYS AT THE END OF THE DAY HAS MY BACK #riverdale

[jonathansthickthighs]

Yandere! Fushiguro Toji x Reader: Part Two

Description: You have a one night stand with Toji and now he won’t leave you alone.

Part 1 here

Part 3 here

Part 4 here

Trigger Warnings: yandere, obsessive behavior, female reader, AFAB reader, toxic behavior, stalking, desperate toji, no smut this chapter, implied smut, alternative universe (no curses), age gap (reader is in her early 20’s, toji is in his mid 30’s)

A/N: im so overwhelmed by the amount of notes on my first post, tysm :’). This is a soft, slow chapter. Steamy smut next chapter 🥵

Not edited!

It had been a week.

Disconsolateness spread through Toji’s chest like a wildfire, the wretched feeling not leaving his soul since that damned night. But was it really damned? Toji dreamt of that night from the moment he set his gaze on you, but why. Why did you have to behave like he was nothing to you? He was certain no man would ever make you experience the ecstasy he made you feel, the pleasurable sensations you felt only he could provide. Yet, you haven’t answered a single one of his texts. The extraneous feelings were clouding his mind, making his thinking unclear.

The things you do to him.

If you could squeeze your way into Toji’s mind, you would be able to see the profoundness of his love for you, but he wasn’t sure how long he could let you explore his mind before you fell into an deep abysm of pure darkness. He would never allow that darkness to collide with the love he held for you. He would never in his life time hurt you in any way, nevertheless he would not hesitate to hurt —kill— any man who did as much as lay his eyes on you. You were his one and only treasure and he was never one for sharing.

Would it seem too desperate to call you? He already refrained himself from texting you more than twice a day, but the way you were ignoring him was making the hole his chest feel larger with each painful minute that passed from the lack of notice from you. He spent the last seven days watching you from afar, which was nothing new to him, but he felt the progress he made with you had dissipated. Why did you have to behave like he was nothing to you?

You were right across the street from him.

You were at a local café, sipping on some iced coffee. He knew you lied to him when you told him you didn’t drink coffee; he had watched you enter and leave the place countless times. Thus it was another reason why he felt hurt by you. He was aware of how despicable he was, nevertheless that’s not how he wanted you to perceive him. That’s why when you started making all those excuses, he felt like you were seeing right through him, like you could see how bad of a person he truly was. In the labyrinth of his soul, he felt an inexorable need to reshape your gaze upon him, the same way he would mold clay under the weight of his hefty fingers. Even if the whole world saw him as scum, he harbored a silent hope to be seen through a lens untainted by judgment by you.

Each beat of his heart was chanting a plea for you to fill the void within. He wanted to demonstrate he had a vulnerable tenderness reserved only for you.

He observed you chatting vigorously with your friends —the same ones from that night. He wondered if you told them about him. Would you go into detail about everything he did to you? Would you start getting flashbacks from all the things he did to you? He could envision the supple flesh of your thighs rubbing together, feeling your underwear dampen from the memories of him mounting you, making you squirm under him. Toji felt himself harden in his pants at the picture of you getting all hot and bothered because of him. A recollection of memories of your enchanting body flooded his mind each passing day, his groin aching with a ceaseless desire to be engulfed by your tight, warm cavern once more. He needed you more than he ever needed anything in his entire miserable life.

He decided the only way he could reclaim your attention was in the flesh, so before he could form another thought about it, his large figure plotted his course toward the café with gumption.

He strode into the aesthetically pleasing looking place, with practiced nonchalance, feigning ignorance of your presence as he made his way to the counter to order some simple black coffee. Once he paid for the overpriced coffee, he turned straight to the table you and your friends were occupying. You were laughing beautifully at something silly your friend had said and in an instant, you locked eyes with Toji.

A smirk tugged the corners of his scarred lips. He could tell you were experiencing a sense of inner turmoil running through you. Your friends noticed your shift in mood, their gazes pivoting towards the source of your abrupt change in demeanor. When they noticed what you were looking, they started giggling teasingly questioning if that was “the hottie you banged the other night” quite loudly. It was safe to say your friend weren’t ones for being subtle.

On the other hand, Toji’s chest swelled with pride upon learning that you did, in fact, tell, your friends about him. He was starting to believe that approaching you in the presence of your friends had been a nothing short of brilliant. He was well aware of his talents and it was abundantly clear that the most conspicuous one was his charm with women. He was going to win over your friends so they could influence you into giving him a chance, knowing all too well the powerful sway that a woman’s friends held over her decisions —especially when it comes to men. He was going to use your friends to his advantage with unyielding determination.

Toji could see you visibly tense up as he made his way to your table.

As soon as he was standing in front of you, your named rolled out of his mouth almost seductively, the smirk never leaving his perfectly sculpted face. “I hope I’m not intruding, wasn’t expecting running into ya here. It’s so great to see you!” He exclaimed without forgetting to greet your friends, forging politeness. He couldn’t give two fucks about your friends, but in order to execute his plan it had to be done.

Your lips curved upwards, a hesitant smile forming on your face. “Toji, wow! It’s good to see you too.” You rose from your seat awkwardly extending your arms in a friendly embrace. He instantly enfolded you into the embrace of his strong arms, not denying himself from indulging himself to the irresistible urge to inhale the delicious scent of your hair. Gods, if only he could live in your embrace forever. You were wearing a yellow summer dress that hugged your frame exquisitely. Holding you so close, taking in your scent, plus this little piece you were wearing had him almost coming in his pants. To make things even better for his perverted self, he was certain, by looking at your cheeks flushing with a deep hue of scarlet, that you had felt his hard on press against you while you were being embosomed by him.

Your friends gaze bore into at you expectantly as you jumped momentarily forgetting their presence. With a quick apologetic smile you hastened to introduced them. “Oh! Toji, these are my friends.” You told Toji each of their names and he nodded attentively, inwardly acknowledging that he was going to forget their names instantly. “It’s a pleasure. With all due respect, I have to say this has to be the most good looking friend group I’ve seen, quite frankly.” He playfully danced on the edge of flirtation, his words laced with a charm that clouded the insincerity of his words. And of course, your friends giggled gullibly, already smitten by the Adonis standing in front of them.

“No wonder miss ma’am here went for you. Not only are you a sight for sore eyes, you’re also good with your mouth!” Your friend teased, the rest of them agreeing with her making your cheeks deepen into a brighter shade of crimson, the flush of embarrassment spreading like fire across your delicate face. Toji knew what you were thinking. You knew exactly how good he was with his mouth, having experienced the onslaught of his fierce tongue in your cunt.

“Ah, you girls flatter me. And trust me, your pretty friend here is well aware of what this mouth is capable of.” He joked, eliciting peals of laughter from your friends.

“Girl, he got a sense of humor too? Why haven’t you married him yet?” Your other friend chimed in. In response, you laughed with a hint of discomfort, failing to understand how your friends couldn’t feel the tense atmosphere that surrounded you. You had recounted to your friends how he had been texting you nonstop for the past week, collectively agreeing to label him as nothing short of a creep. Yet, as they now met him face to face their skepticism suddenly melts away and they transform into Toji advocates? You didn’t understand. “Why don’t you sit with us, Toji? Let us get to know you a little!”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Toji chuckled, planting himself in the chair right next to yours, a little too close for your liking. He turned to you, a wide grin lighting up his features, meanwhile you settled into your seat with a frozen expression, like that of a deer in headlights. The morning after your night with him lingered in your mind, haunted by the memory of his hand grabbing your hair. Though he didn’t harm you, a sense of unease lingered, leaving you unable to shake the feeling of dread. You thought you’d never see him again, so running into him here took you by surprise.

As your other friends interrogated Toji, your best friend seized your arm, pulling you aside so she could talk to you closely. “Oh my God! You never mentioned how nice he is! Why have you been ignoring him this whole time, you bitch!” She voice came out in a furious whisper.

“I’ve told you before, I’m not looking to get into relationship at the moment and he’s so persistent. I just don’t want to lead him on.” You replied feeling annoyed at her abrupt change in demeanor. “The best men always come when you least expect them. I think you should give him a chance! Just go on one date with him and see how it goes from there on.” She insisted, her tone pleading. You were starting to feel guilty for avoiding him. Could your best friend be onto something? One date wouldn’t hurt, would it?

“Fine, but only one.”

Your best friend erupted in excitement at your agreement and sprung from her seat.

“Well girls, remember that thing we had to do? We gotta dash.” Confusion clouded the faces of your friends, prompting your best friend to shoot signals with her expressions, discreetly urging them to leave you alone with Toji. “W-wait, wha—“ Stammering in puzzlement, you attempted to grasp the situation. Your friends caught onto the unspoken cue and swiftly began gathering their belongings preparing to leave you two alone.

“Yeah, that’s right. We have plans… without you.” One of them giggled teasingly as they hurried out of the café.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

You couldn’t believe the scene unfolding before you. You made eye contact with Toji and he chuckled at your bewildered expression. “Quite the friends you’ve got.” He remarked casually, trying to hide the fact that he was shaking from excitement at being alone with you at last. He was fighting hard to conceal the thrill that vibrated beneath his skin.

You let out nervous laugh in agreement and joked, “Right. Making plans without me all the sudden.”

An awkward silence settled between you for a moment before you decided to break it, “Toji, about the texts—“

Toji interjected quickly, “Oh, don’t worry about that, sweetheart. I understand if things have been hectic lately. I’m just glad you’re okay. No pressure at all. Although, I do hope we can talk once in a while, I would like to get to know you more.” Toji mastered the art of concealing the ache of your week long indifference, cloaking his wounded heart with a facade of nonchalance. Determined to shield you from the depths of his longing, he masked his feelings, refusing to unveil his yearning for your attention.

You smiled genuinely at him for the first time since he got here. “I wouldn’t mind that at all. But, I would like to clarify that I’m not looking for a relationship right now. If we could keep things casual, I would really appreciate it.”

Toji felt a twitch in his eye; you were going to make things difficult for him. “I get it, sweetheart. No compromise.” For now.

You grinned at his acceptance and suggested, “You mentioned a mean ramen place in your texts. How about we go there now?” The realization that you were asking him on a date sent a wave of anticipation through him. Getting to talk and share his time with you again was the only thing he had been looking forward to the whole week. He let his gaze linger on your soft features, you were undeniably beautiful. He was determined to make your heart his, he knew he had to step up his game.

“I would love to, sweetheart.” Toji replied eagerly, excitement coursing through his veins. Temptingly, he added, “We could also go watch a movie at my place afterward, if you’re up for it.” You squeezed your thighs together, considering the myriad possibilities that could unfold once you two were alone at his place.

“Sure.”

#yandere toji fushiguro #yandere toji #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere x reader #toji x reader #toji x y/n #toji x you #toji x self insert #yandere fushiguro toji #yandere #obsessive yandere #obsessive love #stalking #stalker toji #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu toji #toji zenin #fushiguro toji #toji fushiguro #toji fushiguro x reader #fushiguro toji x reader #yandere toji x reader #yandere jjk #dark toji #dark toji fushiguro

[myun-saidthoughts]

Astrology Observations

💫3rd house synastry increases ease with communication, especially when the Moon or Venus are involved, comfortability with sharing your feelings or thoughts/emotions will come natural.

💫For a woman, if she has an Aquarius Mars she will appreciate her partner to be visually or intellectually different.

Appearance Wise: someone who stands out in some way, someone who is comfortable in their feminine and masculine energy, someone who doesn't need outside validation from others, someone who is confident without being overly aggressive or forthcoming. Another note is someone who has an unique or artistic style, someone who puts effort in their wardrobe, (rings, necklaces, painted nails, accessories) Open-mindedness is very very ideal, and if they have more of a theoretical mindset with how they view the world brings in more attraction for the native.

💫4th house synastry (especially with conjunctions to your IC) will create an energy that brings you a sense of comfort you never knew was possible.

💫8th house friendships can also take on more of an intense dynamic, expectations still arise, especially for the person with more Scorpio/8H influence.

💫If you struggle with accepting intimacy, love, or romance but deal with South Node + water house synastry (along with other indicators of attraction such as aspects/house overlays/more past life synastry aspects) letting them go will feel impossible, especially if they bring you this type of curiosity you hardly feel from anyone else.

💫Neptune-Moon synastry doesn't get talked about enough. If attraction and desire are factors within relationships with harsh Neptune to Moon influence, the dynamic can feel fated. At one end of the spectrum the Neptune person can confuse the Moon person, the Neptune person can showcase as someone the Moon person can't really understand and yet there could be a desire to save or idealize them. Similar to Pluto influence the spectrum of the intensity depends on each souls but someone with a lot of Neptune/12th house placements in their natal chart will feel very drawn to this connection.

💫Vertex synastry comes at you unexpectedly. You could know someone for quite some time with no initial curiosity to know them better, but once they enter your atmosphere in some deep manner, you will feel very very close and comfortable with this person.

💫4th house synastry can elicit intense feelings especially if there are mutual IC conjunctions (bonus if each others Vesta asteroid conjuncts each others IC) as well as have Moon conjunct Pluto in the composite chart. These added factors will add more intense dependent need for this person.

💫Jupiter synastry is so cute. You will feel so optimistic when you're around this person. You can't help but feel like you can handle anything that comes your way, you're excited, content, and trusting of the individual looking at you (especially if you guys share more 4th house synastry).

💫Each water moon can struggle with extremes, in some shape or form.

💫 Individuals with natal 12th house placements (especially Venus) may often turn to music as a means of escaping reality.

💫Capricorn moon individuals struggle with accepting the fact that they have emotion. Often times their mother was absent or emotionally un-nurturing, leaving them to feel uncomfortable with sharing their emotions, they struggle with feeling safe, they may not have a direct resentment link towards their mother, but in some aspects her coldness leads them towards the same void of avoiding emotions they wish to escape from.

💫Libra stelliums are likely to find a partner, and with that partner they may lose their identity or self within them. They feel complete when another is "their person" but with it may also lead to codependency.

💫Libra karma can deal with issues of stating their opinions, thoughts, and desires. They may think it's easier to avoid conflict or disarray but all that does is create a deeper hole of forgetting who they truly are.

💫People with 8TH house natal placements (especially stelliums) are more likely to experience extremes in their life, whether it be with finances, partners, or emotion. It is likely that they can end up being dependent on another for resources/money etc.

💫Gemini placements (maybe even air placements in Gemini degrees) are more likely to be on the spectrum with their sexuality, it's more likely that they would be attracted to anyone they just find attractive. Although sexual attraction and romantic/emotional attraction are very different categories. You can be sexually attracted to someone but have no emotional or romantic desire for that individual, sexuality is a very complexed spectrum.

💫Sagittarius suns with Taurus risings handle pain with grace. More than likely if someone has these two placements with a poor placement Moon or harsh aspects towards the Moon/Sun/IC etc they are likely not to fixate or struggle with the emotional turmoil (compared to others).

💫Water moons typically have blurred boundaries with their mother. These placements manifest differently but boundaries when it comes to their mother or the love within their dynamic is often times more complicated.

💫Fire dominate/Venus individuals are more likely to have physical touch be their love language.

💫Gemini venus's get bored very easily, constant stimulation or some excitement in the dynamic is needed. (But 5H/7H/Cancer/Leo/Libra placements with a Gemini venus are less likely to become bored)

💫Moon-Mars & Venus-Asc synastry will create intense attraction almost instantly.

💫8th house stelliums are likely to deal with large sums of money at one point in their life, or they will owe others money, they will be given money, or other people's money becomes a major factor in their life; someway or somehow

💫9th house placements appreciate other people's culture, beliefs, thoughts, and ways of life that differ from their own.

💫Virgo's placements with prominent 10th house or Capricorn placements can create an individual to be very hard on themselves, the goals they place on themselves oftentimes exceed others, prompting them to feel less than if left unaccomplished or unproductive.

#astro observations #astrology oberservations #astrology #astrology thoughts #astro notes #astrology notes #astrology houses

[heartpascal]

hoping there’s somewhere to go

▹— joel miller x platonic!reader + tommy miller x platonic!reader

▹— summary: you try to navigate life after the rejection of the only family you’d ever had (part two of weight too heavy to hold alone)

▹— a/n: the song too much time in my house alone by leith ross inspired this <3 longer A/N at the end!

▹— warnings: angst (as always), isolation, and then self isolation, mention of christmas time but it’s not christmas, a winter’s dinner that isn’t christmas dinner, fears being proven correct, very little self worth, it has been a long while since i have written/posted/needed to put warnings so let me know if something is missing!!!

▹— taglist: @rhymingtree @sleepygraves @wnstice (everything) @auggiesolovey @just-kaylaa @evyiione @lemonlaides @fariylixie0915  @faceache111 @randomhoex @canpillowscry @pedropascalsrealgf @star-wars-lover @coolchick333 @soobsdior @rvjaa  @sunflowersdrop @definitely-not-a-seagull-i-swear @miss-celestial-being (pedro) — please let me know if you want to be added/removed

MASTERLIST

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

Jackson is cold in winter.

And it’s not just because of the weather.

There’s winter festivities, holidays that you had never really had any experience with. And because of the weather, patrols were undertaken by smaller groups, leaving crowds of people wandering the streets, or trying to find work within the small community. So, not only was it cold and miserable, but it was about ten times as crowded in the communal spaces, with everybody packing into every space possible in order to preserve their warmth.

That’s not even the worst part — there’s the whole focus on family, or whatever a person in the apocalypse might have that’s close enough to it.

Holidays bring people together, Tommy had told you once, about a year ago. It wasn’t long after you had first arrived in Jackson, traipsing through the gate alone, aside from the patrollers who escorted you there.

The thing was, though, that you didn’t have people.

And it wasn’t as if you were wanting them! That definitely wasn’t the case — you couldn’t bear getting close to anybody, after what had happened last time — but you couldn’t help the more prominent feeling of isolation. You knew you weren’t alone in your feelings, after all, there were plenty of Jackson residents who had nobody, or resented the holiday season for one reason or another, but you felt alone.

You’re allowed to feel bitter about it, even if you do want to stay that way. It’s not like you had always felt this way, there was a time when you had thought yourself close to having a family — whatever the hell that was. In spring, if somebody had told you that you might feel this way, you might have disbelieved them, might have had faith in Joel and Ellie, despite your reservations. But then everything there had fallen apart, and you were left like this.

Living on your own, halfway across town, closer to Tommy, but further away than ever.

It was like that gaping hole in your chest had reopened with a vengeance, sucking any amount of trust or affection you had for the man into a void where it couldn’t be found. If Tommy hadn’t stuck you with Joel and Ellie, you might not be feeling like this — feeling so cold, and alone, and frozen despite the world moving around you. If he had just minded his business, or even, maybe, if he had just looked after you himself, rather than passing you off as nothing more than a chore, you could’ve been something at least close to happy.

Instead, you’re here. Making the short trip back from the school he had forced you to start going to, heading back to the little space you were supposed to call home. It wasn’t home, though. You had never occupied a space that had felt anything even close to that before, other than Joel’s. You’re pretty sure you’ll never live anywhere like that again.

You’ll probably live here, in the shitty garage that Tommy had someone convert for you, for the rest of your life. Either that, or until they finally have enough of you, and kick you out. Whichever came first.

Really, you should be used to being on your own. To having to do everything yourself, be responsible for every aspect of your own life, but strangely, after Joel’s, you find it hard to go back to that. Balancing things has never been your strong suit, and this only goes to prove that. And it’s aggravating, feeling as though something within you had changed, feeling as though you’re no longer capable, when you had spent your whole life looking after yourself.

Feeling like this has had you thinking some incredibly stupid things, your mind at one point trying to convince you that the only way to prove that you were capable, was to go back out into the big open world. Luckily for you, your survival instincts are stronger than that, and you’re able to remind yourself that Jackson is the best possible place for you, regardless of whatever thoughts and feelings you were having.

Besides, you wouldn’t want to give any of them — them being Joel, Tommy and Ellie — the satisfaction of your leaving. If they wanted you gone, they’d have to tell you as much, this time.

It was clear to you now, that they hadn’t wanted you there in the first place. And given the distance between you and Ellie since Joel had gotten rid of you, you gathered that, despite what you believed to be a close bond, she had never wanted you around either. She seemed happy enough, gallivanting around the town with her few friends, friends she had never even bothered to introduce you to. At least that meant you weren’t missing anything. Maybe she had actually done you a favour. Although given the way she avoided your gaze like her life depended on it, every time you happened across her, you somehow doubted that.

You’re not sure which loss was worse. Despite how close you had grown to Joel, how attached you had become, Ellie was the first person your age who you had ever trusted. You had told her things that you had never spoken aloud to anyone before. And now, you were left with a constant weight of regret, of dread, in the pit of your stomach.

Selfishly, you wanted Ellie to be angry at Joel for getting rid of you. You wanted her to fight for you, wanted her to remain in your corner when everybody else opposed you. What you really wanted, though, was for somebody to choose you. You wanted to feel important to somebody.

Though, now, you think you’ve outgrown that childish desire. You don’t want anyone around you, anymore.

Not even Tommy.

“Kid, would you just open the damn door?” Tommy asked, speaking to the plain face of your front door. He had knocked three times before opening his mouth, growing exasperated by your cold shoulder. He knew you were in there — had seen you walk home after school, when he was finishing a job just around the corner. Besides, where else would you be?

You stayed silent, sitting on the unmade sheets of your bed, staring at the door as Tommy knocked once again.

“C’mon, open the door. Please?” He repeated, and you could practically picture his stance outside, one arm resting against the doorframe and one hand resting against his hip. “Just wanna talk, alright? Then I’ll be on my way.”

You heard the heaviness of his sigh from your space across the room. But it didn’t change anything for you. How could it? Tommy had sent you to his brother, he had known what his brother was like, and he had sat idly by while you were uprooted and sent across town like you didn’t matter. Just another inconvenience. And if that wasn’t bad enough, he was also forcing you to go to Jackson’s community school, run primarily by an almost 70 year old woman, who was meant to retire a year after the outbreak.

It was ridiculous and unfair.

Ellie didn’t have to go to school.

It just felt like another method of getting you out of the way. After all, what did you need with writing and reading? Mathematics and history? The world had ended before you were even born.

Besides, you knew for a fact that Tommy had volunteered to take Ellie out shooting soon. Despite her avoiding you, you could still hear her boasting about it in the canteen to her friends.

You couldn’t help but feel like it should’ve been you. After all, weren’t you the one without anybody? Weren’t you the one who would be alone, should Jackson fall apart? Ellie would have Tommy and Maria. She would have Joel. Who would you have? Nobody.

If Tommy Miller had ever actually cared about you, perhaps he would’ve helped you work on the issues you’d been facing when you went to him for help, rather than passing you off to his older brother. You had spent your entire life depending on only yourself. Tommy had no idea what it had taken for you to approach him, for you to want help. To have that thrown back in your face, you knew, had done damage. As if you weren’t already damaged enough.

It was something you had been aware of for a long time — that there was something wrong about you. Something rotten. Like something had crawled into your chest, into the gaping cavity between your ribs, and died in there. It had been decaying over the years, leaving an air about you that told everybody exactly what you had always known: you are unsalvageable. Nothing in this world could reverse the decomposition that had occurred inside of you, just like nothing could reverse the infection that had taken the family you had never known.

The whole thing made you feel foolish, really. Your whole life, a voice inside of your head had been telling you that nobody could help you. Nobody would help you. And when you had finally gathered the courage to prove that voice wrong? It was proven right instead. It was a kick in the teeth. A thorn underneath your fingernail. Something bothersome, painful.

Tommy Miller had proven that you were just as alone as you had always felt.

He knocked against your door again, apparently content to wait you out. You had nowhere to go, but the knocking was irritating, the knowledge of his presence outside of that door was grating.

Before you could think better of it, you made your way over, and opened the door.

He looked the same as he always had done. Dressed for the weather, his favourite pair of boots on, and hair pushed away from his face, which held a surprised expression.

“Hey, kid.” He said, finally, after a moment of just staring at you in shock. It had been a while since Tommy had seen you up close. You looked more tired than he remembered.

“What do you want?” You asked, forgoing any sort of greeting towards the man. Opening the door was about as generous as you were prepared to be towards him.

His face morphed slightly, shock ebbing away, regret flowing in at the creases by his eyes, the grimace of his mouth. “Right, uh,” He paused, looking into your converted garage through the gap between you and the door. You pulled the door closer, so only you fit into the gap. “Alright, so, I know things have been… tense, between everybody, but I was hopin’ that you might join us. Me ‘n Maria are doin’ a winter’s dinner, not exactly Christmas, but it’s a day to be with family, y’know?” Tommy rambled on a bit, trying to spit all of his words out before you could decline, or shut the door in his face.

“We’re not family, Tommy.”

You watched his expression fall, which provided you with a sting that you hadn’t expected. But the sentiment remained the same — you weren’t family. Your surname wasn’t Miller. And even if it were, with the state of things between you, Tommy and Joel? It definitely wasn’t something you’d call family.

Honestly, you weren’t sure why he was coming to you with this now. Maybe before Joel had rejected you, before Tommy had watched on as any trust you had was shattered, but now? Now, he was lucky you even opened the door. You didn’t have a family, and it wasn’t a big loss to you. You’d gone this long without one, so what did it matter?

Tommy’s mouth opened and closed a few times, and he shifted uncomfortably on his feet. He was at a loss for words.

“Go home, okay?” You said, when his words continued to fail him. He swallowed, jaw clenched as his teeth gritted together. He was frustrated, though you doubted that was directed at you. More likely, was that it was directed at Joel. You knew things had been tense between the two of them recently, too.

He paused just as he was about to turn away. “Will you think about it, at least?” Tommy asked, though he didn’t look like he wanted to hear your answer. It wasn’t much of a question anyway.

You nodded, with no real intention of thinking about it. Well — no intention of thinking about attending. Thinking about the offer was a different story.

His shoulders deflated as he turned away, hearing you shut the door as he followed the path away from your place.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

Even a full twenty four hours after Tommy had approached you with his invitation, you couldn’t let it go.

It felt as though something within you had snapped, falling from a great height and landing in the pit of your stomach. For whatever reason, one that you couldn’t get into now, maybe ever, you were filled to the brim with dread. It bubbled over, pooling in your limbs and making everything feel far too heavy.

You couldn’t understand why he couldn’t just let you be? Couldn’t he see that he had done more than enough, when it came to you?

Logically, you know it isn’t fair to blame him. Tommy wasn’t in control of anything his brother or pseudo-niece did. He had always tried to look out for you, and deep down, you know that he had truly believed that his brother would be good for you. He must have thought that, given Joel’s pre-outbreak experience, and now post-outbreak too, of being a father, he could’ve been that for you. Tommy couldn’t have known that Joel didn’t want another kid.

But that illogical part of you, the part that cowers away from everybody you meet, the part that was hurt, reminds you that it was his job to know. It was his responsibility to know what he was dumping you into. And more than that, Joel was his brother. How could he not have known?

You were the one who had ended up well and truly hurt from the encounter, not the other way around. So why did you feel guilty, every time Tommy’s expression at your scathing words popped into your mind? You hadn’t said anything that wasn’t true, and you hadn’t said anything that he didn’t deserve to hear. So why? Why did you feel this unending twist of dread and guilt, eating away at your bones, your tissues, your organs?

Even now, as you worked a late night shift at the canteen, washing dishes, every time the water rippled, you could see his face. Distantly, you hoped Joel had felt like this, after what he had done to you. You hoped he remembered what he said, remembered your expression when you relayed his own message to him.

If you were honest with yourself, you think that if it had been Joel, you would’ve revelled in that expression. There’s a part of you, a part that is mean and bitter and full of resentment, that wants to hurt Joel, just like he had hurt you. You settle for staying as far away from him as you possibly can.

Joel had tried to see you a few times, back when it was fresh, with no luck from you. There was nobody in this world that you wanted to see less than him. At the very least, he got the message. Sometimes, you wonder if he had only shown up those few instances just for appearances. To make himself look better. It was no secret to the people of Jackson that Joel Miller was a questionable man, with an even more questionable past. But he did more for the town than most, so it wasn’t spoken about. Nothing more than whispers, anyway.

There had been a few whispers after your outburst at the Tipsy Bison, especially when somebody shared the news of your move across town. But it was chalked up to teenage dramatics, the youth, as if there really was such a thing.

Regardless, Tommy’s invitation to dinner was coming up in a mere two days. The knowledge of where and when it was happening made you uncomfortable, like an itch underneath your collar, it was stifling. Because that part of you, the one that wants to hurt Joel, also wants company. It craves a family, and that was a craving that had only ever come close to being fulfilled once. Still, it was a natural instinct within humans. Safety came in numbers, and there was comfort in having people you could trust. You wish that part of you could just be satisfied being solitary, because you’ll never go to that dinner. Not if you have anything to say about it.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

Two hours until dinner, and the sun was beginning to set.

And here you were, axe in hand, staring down at the dwindling pile of wood that you needed to cleave into pieces. It wouldn’t last two hours. In reality, it wouldn’t even last one. Still, you stare as though the logs might multiply, hoping for the excuse out of a dinner you didn’t want to go to. And you know that you have no obligation to any of those people, you do know that, but it’s hard to believe it. Partly because you don’t want to. Because you’re torn between the satisfaction of succeeding on your own, and the fear of cutting off all ties to the only people you think you’ve truly cared about.

Being alone is a lot easier in theory.

In practice, it’s harder than you had thought. You were doing okay when they all left you to it, left you to live your own life. But an invitation means something, and that’s hard to ignore.

You bring the axe down, letting the severing of wood distract you from all thoughts of invitations and dinners and meanings.

It’s about the most physical task they’ll let you do — courtesy of Tommy, you’re sure — but you relish in it. Something about it is rewarding. Reminds you of your capabilities, your survival. The cold air burns your lungs, and each swing of the axe makes your muscles ache, but in a satisfying way. And doing it like this, alone, makes you feel unmistakably powerful.

You hear the crunch of footsteps behind you, not heavy enough to be Tommy’s or—God forbid—Joel’s. You paid them no mind, leaning down to move the chopped wood into the pile you had already assembled. You grabbed another log and placed it down, and just as you were preparing to swing the axe back up, you heard somebody clear their throat.

“Hey,” Ellie said, when you turned around. She shifted uncomfortably on her feet as you failed to reply, fiddling with the gloves on her hands. “So, uh, you having fun chopping wood?” She asked, apparently trying to clear some of the tension that surrounded the two of you, that clung. You leant the top of the axe blade on the ground, and sighed. Your breath clouded in front of your face.

“What do you want?” You asked, repeating the very same question you had asked Tommy, feeling all the more certain about your adamancy about not going to that dinner. Ellie’s brows furrowed slightly, but she quickly deflated as soon as you could see the defensive air starting to rise within her.

She shifted again, before speaking. “Just wondering if you’re coming to dinner? Tommy said he wasn’t sure.”

You did your best not to scoff, mostly succeeding, as you turned back to the wood awaiting your axe. With practiced ease, your axe rose, and swung down at the wood, separating it with a satisfying crack. “Wouldn’t count on it.” You said, as polite as you could say: no, no, I’m not fucking coming to dinner. You’re not my family. You don’t care about me. I don’t care about you. There’s nothing left here.

It was ridiculous for them to send Ellie to come and convince you to attend, of all people. Their best bet would have been Maria, who had never technically done anything that had hurt you. No, all of the fault laid with the Millers, and with Ellie.

The two of you could’ve remained friends, could’ve been something close to a family, but she didn’t want that. She chose to cut you out, to isolate you even further, to disappear from your life completely, despite being the only reason you had ever opened up to Joel. It was like she had taken a knife, and cut you open, let you warm, simmer, before leaving you out on the counter to cool. To rot.

“What happened to you?” Ellie asked, as if she didn’t know, as if she hadn’t been a part of it. Like there was no reason for your shift from being warm around her, to being ice cold. She had done this to you. At least, in part.

You didn’t say anything at first, choosing to finish chopping the wood in front of you, and piling it off to the side. Finally, you turned to her as she watched you, brows furrowed, lip curled defensively. “You people happened. You all fucking happened. Is that enough for you? Is that enough for why I don’t want to go to some stupid winter dinner?” You said, not raising your voice, but hearing more anger and irritation seep into your tone as you spoke.

She looked like she wanted to take a step back, but she stayed firm. “We all have our own problems,” Ellie told you, voice harsh and unrelenting as she spoke, and her expression hardened. “Everybody does! It’s not all sunshine and rainbows, okay?”

It would have been so easy to continue arguing with her, to descend into childish taunts and quips, to disguise genuine hurt with ridiculous arguments, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You said nothing, turning back to the depleting supply of unchopped wood.

Ellie seemed ready to burst. “Me and Joel have our own fucking problems! It’s not always good. But you can’t just give up on someone!” She said loudly, stepping towards you, ignoring the snow crunching underneath her shoes. It seemed to you that she was trying to convince herself, more than anything. Whatever she came to you with, now, wasn’t really about you. It was about her.

“I’m not the one who gave up, Ellie. You and Joel are more alike than you know. But at least he had the decency to tell me why he was giving up on me.” You told her, staying calm, despite the way your blood was rushing through your body, carrying so much adrenaline you felt like your heart may just burst.

She gaped at you, seeming more stuck on the concept of her and Joel being alike than on how she had hurt you. You figured it would go like this, though, if the two of you ever spoke again. It wasn’t a surprise to you. Everything in your life always turned out the way you expected it to. Even Joel and Ellie, in the end, had done as much, despite surprising you at first. It was inevitable. Your every worry, every fear, even the ones that Tommy had once labelled as irrational, had turned out to be true.

You wouldn’t go to the dinner.

Everything between you and the extended Miller family was in ruins, and like you, it couldn’t be salvaged. It was over with. Done.

Now, all that was left to do was wipe your hands clean of them.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

A/N: hello if you made it this far! it has been a WHILE. but in honour of ITDWS being posted a year ago today (!!!!!!!!!) i thought i’d give y’all SOMETHING!!! it’s not amazing but i hope you enjoy!!! life has been crazy + i haven’t been writing much but i still love and appreciate every single one of you <3 i think of you often.

#heartpascal writes #joel miller imagines #joel miller one shot #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x platonic!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller imagine #tommy miller fic #tommy miller imagines #tommy miller x reader #tommy miller x platonic!reader #tommy miller one shot #tommy miller angst #joel miller angst #ellie williams angst

[blondeboyfriend]

𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈

[ PAIRING ] Vash the Stampede x reader [ AUTHOR'S NOTE ] I turned this thirst into a fic. [ SYNOPSIS ] Vash starts emitting sexy pheromones that leave you desperate for his cock. [ WORD COUNT ] 2.5k [ CONTENT ] Canon AU, porn without plot, dubcon, vaginal sex, rough sex, size kink, mild dumbification, plantfucking, body horror/weird plant biology, oral sex (m receiving), vaginal fingering, nipple play, Vash has a biting kink, self objectification (does that even make sense?), knotting, creampie, cockwarming.

It was just past midnight. The moons were looming high in the sky, illuminating the desolate land surrounding the town you and Vash had taken refuge in. Your face was pressed against the window, gazing out into the sandy void.

“You see the sky tonight?” you asked.

Vash didn’t bother responding. You turned around and saw his dejected form.

“You’re lookin’ more wistful than usual.”

He was sprawled out on the bed, leaving you little to no room. The lodge you were holed up in only had a single room vacant and of course there was but one measly bed. It was a good enough sized one though; it could definitely provide comfort for you and the gangly mess of a man you called a travel companion.

Vash merely sighed in response to your question and stared up at the ceiling.

His gaze was flat, not a hint of sparkle to his blue-green eyes. His sweet face was held hostage by a delightfully adorable pout. Thoughts of biting down on his bottom lip swirled around you, leaving you flustered and throbbing. You hoped whatever was troubling him wasn’t too serious because otherwise your current state would be disrespectful.

“What’s wrong?” you prodded, taking a seat on the bed. You tried to sound as dry as humanly possible.

He turned his head towards you and gave you the weakest, most pathetic smile. A smile that inspired no faith in what it sought to imply.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” he answered sweetly.

You glared at him. “Fine. I—Well… I guess I’m going to sleep.” You paused awkwardly. “Goodnight.”

Vash scooted over, granting you space on the mattress. You crawled into place, not bothering to cover yourself with the musty bedding. It smelled too much like sand.

You rolled onto your side, your back facing Vash. You held yourself in a fetal position in hopes it would keep you warm. In a perfect world you’d just snuggle up next to him and leech off the heat his body seemed to radiate. But you didn’t live in a perfect world; you lived in a sandy, inhospitable land.

“Are you cold?” he asked. Such a perceptive one he was.

“A little,” you lied.

“Get under the blankets then,” he suggested.

“No. They smell like sand and… I don’t know, like, armpit sweat.”

He let out a tiny laugh. “I can’t argue with you there.”

You wriggled your shoulders in discomfort. You wanted to curl up next to Vash like a kitten, but with his current mood it just didn’t seem feasible. The last thing you wanted to do was annoy him so you would have to bear the drafty room on your own. It would only be for a night; you could handle it.

However after about five minutes of shivering in painful silence, you turned over and faced Vash. He was on his side, facing you. His eyes were shut, his dark lashes catching the moonlight streaming through the windows.

You gently nudged him. “Hey.”

He briefly frowned, but stayed asleep.

You nudged him once more, this time much harder.

“Vash!”

His eyes shot open and he jerked back.

“Ouch! Why are you being so aggressive?”

“I have a question,” you said, giving him puppy dog eyes.

“Ask away.”

“Can we spoon, or snuggle, or something?”

“Uh—”

“If you don’t want to, that’s fine. I know you… are like… You’ve got something on your mind and I don’t wanna—”

The radiant grin he gave you calmed your nerves. He pulled you into his embrace, wrapping his arms around you. Your face was buried into his neck. He smelled like freshly washed linens, undercut by a strange earthy, honey-like scent, a creamy florescent. The chills that cursed your body melted away in his presence.

“Thank you,” you muttered, voice muffled by Vash’s sweet skin.

You inhaled deeply and pressed your body up against his. He felt tense, like his muscles were frozen in place.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” you asked.

“It’s stupid,” he whined.

“I don’t care.”

He paused and took a few slow breaths, preparing himself for the question he was about to pose.

“I really like you and—”

“You wanna fuck me, huh?” you asked, your face adorned with a cat-like grin. You had never been so forward before, but something seemed to possess you.

“Of course I do.” He groaned. “But I can’t because… it’s complicated. And intense.”

“Is that supposed to be a deterrent?”

He rolled onto his back and hid his face behind his hands.

“It’s just different, alright?”

You crawled on top of him, unable to help yourself. His aura was whipping you into a frenzy, the lovely scent emanating from his skin growing stronger and luring you in.

“I like different,” you purred.

He gulped. “I should tell you—”

You didn’t let him speak.“I don’t care what happens.”

Vash blushed. “Let me finish.”

You groaned but relented. “Fine. But be quick.”

“I haven’t, uh, you know… in a while. And when that happens my body produces these pheromones that are supposed to attract a mate.”

“A mate?” you asked, voice wavering. You liked Vash and wanted to fuck him, but mate implied somewhat of a large commitment.

“No! Not a mate! It, well, it makes people want to—”

“Fuck you?” you asked, biting down on your upper lip.

He nodded. “And they kinda… drive me crazy too.” He tacked on a nervous laugh. “Sometimes I can’t control myself which isn’t fair because, well, whoever is… uh… they do whatever I want them to.”

Your cunt was growing wetter by the second.

“So that’s why I want you to use me so bad.”

His eyes were wide, almost sparkling. His cheeks were rosy and the scent emanating from him grew stronger.

You felt as if the room was enveloped in a sensuous haze that seeped into your skin, flowing through your veins. It was consuming you, eating away at your thoughts, leaving behind visions of Vash tossing your legs over your shoulders and driving his cock into your weeping cunt. Your body was growing warmer, almost unbearably so. Every inch of you ached for him. You would know no peace until his body was lording over yours and filling you up with his cum.

“I just.” He averted your lingering gaze. “It’s embarrassing. I hate getting like that. When I do all I can think about is pinning someone down and fucking them until they can’t see straight.”

“That sounds amazing,” you said dreamily. 

Your manner of speaking was much more provocative than it usually was. Your tongue seemed to linger on the letters, leaving each one coated in a honey-like tone. There was almost a hint of a tumultuous moan when you said “aammmaaaaaziiingg.”

Vash looked uncomfortable, but willing. His hands were gripping the sheets as if he was holding on for dear life.

“I know you want me,” you teased, rocking your hips against his. “I’m not lying when I say you can do whatever you want to me. You need it. I know you do.” You cupped his face in your gentle hands. “Let me help you. It’s what I’m here for.”

He laughed. “It’s not, but…”

“Hush,” you said, grabbing a hold of his cock.

It was swollen, begging for release.

You lowered yourself down and pulled down the soft, worn cotton pants he liked to sleep in. His cock sprung up, standing completely upright. The tip was engorged and pink. You rubbed it with the pad of your thumb and watched as Vash winced. His brows knitted together in ecstatic agony.

A few thick veins snaked around his shaft. You ghosted your fingers over them and reveled in his desperate whines. You looked up at him with starved eyes, darkened by your devotion and desire. You ran your tongue along the underside of his shaft. You grabbed ahold of his cock and stroked it while you rolled your tongue against the tip, savoring the sweet taste of his precum.

He let out a low groan as you pumped his leaky cock. He placed his hand on the back of your head and gently pushed down. You dropped your hand and decided to let your mouth do the work.

Vash eased your head further down, until the entirety of his length filled your mouth. Spit was trickling from the corners of your mouth and tears crept out from the corners of your eyes. He began to thrust, sending the tip of his cock into the back of your throat. You were steadfast and breathed through your nose, fighting your gag reflex.

“Your mouth fe—feels so good,” he stammered.

You placed your hands on his muscled thighs to push yourself off of his cock, but you felt what appeared to be downy feathers sprouting from his skin. It threw you off for a moment before you remembered what you wanted to say.

“Wait until you feel my pussy,” you bragged.

His eyes almost seemed to glow. He gave you a boyish smile before pushing you onto your back with a swiftness that left you in awe. His hands wandered down your body, pawing at your clothes, desperately trying to take them off. Your body felt electric as he undressed you. Each time his warm, slender fingers grazed your skin your body pulsed with delight. 

He kissed your neck before letting his sharp canines graze your tender skin. You hummed in delight, and laced your fingers through his silky hair. He rutted up against your body, the tip of his cock teasing your clit. You whimpered every time it made contact.

He left a trail of kisses down your neck and chest, stopping at your breast. He flicked his tongue against your nipple. He sucked on it, holding it between his soft lips. You relished in the sound of him lapping away. You held onto his shoulders, feeling spiny quills erupting from his scapulae.

“Vash,” you whimpered. “Are you okay?”

He didn’t respond. The quills from his back grew longer and denser. You pricked your finger on one of the sharp tips. You winced in pain and moved your hand down to the small of his back. You watched as the spiny quills became more feather-like. They were pale and iridescent and they left you transfixed. They were so beautiful. They soon covered his back and made their way down his arms. You ran your hand down the length of them. They were soft and sleek, like nothing you had ever experienced before.

“So pretty,” you muttered.

Vash lifted his head from your breast.

“Hm?”

A cluster of eyes has formed in the middle of his forehead. It disturbed you briefly, but the feeling of his cock throbbing against your thigh was enough to make you forget about it.

“Nothing, nothing,” you said, stroking his cheek.

You kissed him, pushing your tongue past his teeth. He held you close and you felt like your body was melting into his. You wanted to become a part of him. He slid his fingers into your cunt, spreading apart your folds. You groaned in frustration. His fingers weren’t enough. You needed his cock.

“Please just fuck me,” you whined, breaking the kiss.

He looked up at you with all of his dazed eyes and wordlessly nodded. He slowly guided his cock inside you. You gasped as your cunt stretched around it. You buried your face into his neck, hoping to mute your cries of pleasure. His thrusts were gentle and deliberate. You could feel that he was holding back.

“Is it too much?” he asked, planting a kiss on your forehead.

You shook your head. “More.”

He gave you a concerned look. “More?”

“Yeah. Fuck me like I’m a whore.”

Vash nearly choked on his own spit.

“C’mon,” you purred. “You know you want to.”

“I can’t. It’ll be too much.”

“My body can take it.”

He frowned. “I could really hurt you.”

“I like it when it hurts,” you said, tightening your cunt around his cock. You kissed him again and held his bottom lip between your teeth. “I’m your toy. You can do whatever you want to me.”

Vash looked at you, holding your gaze, clearly weighing his options. Once he made up his mind an impish grin made its way across his face and he lifted your legs over his shoulders.

His thrusts were significantly more intense than they were previously. He drove his cock into your cunt with a fervor you had never experienced. His cocktip pushed up against your cervix, sending a sharp sensation to your core. You became a panting, moaning mess. You were falling apart at the seams, your body as limp as a doll’s. Vash was able to manipulate your body with ease, essentially folding you in half, leaving your knees close to your face.

You looked up at him as his wings spread out, nearly engulfing you. It was hard to believe this was the same Vash you wandered the desert with. You never would have thought the doughnut eating dork could be so feral. You knew he wasn’t a human, but his true nature being so alien never occurred to you.

As he fucked your limp body into the mattress, you felt your orgasm begin to bloom in your stomach. Your breathing became labored and all you could think about was coming all over his cock.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” he growled.

“Uh-huh,” you moaned.

He picked up the pace, his thrusts growing more and more frantic. The room was filled with a symphony of his grunts and whimpers. You were lost in his presence, completely enamored and consumed by it. Your vision blurred and you saw nothing but white as you came. A deluge of fluids dripped from your cunt and coated his cock. You felt like you had ascended to heaven, leaving No Man’s Land in the dust.

Vash continued to thrust as his cock swelled inside you. Spurts of his slippery cum filled your cunt. He exhaled deeply and allowed your legs to fall to the side and laid down on top of you. The two of you tried to catch your breath and let the rapture you were entangled in fade away.

“I’m sorry,” he said bashfully, lifting himself up.

His cock was still buried inside you.

“Why…” You struggled to find your words. “Why are you… sorry?”

“Because! I didn’t want you to ever see me like this. I look like a freak.”

You ran your hand along his wings and made an effort to make eye contact with the cluster of ones on his forehead.

“I think you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

“You’re just saying that because you're high off my pheromones,” he scoffed.

You giggled. “Maybe. But you’re still very pretty.”

You rubbed the short feathers that had sprouted along the apples of his cheeks. He sighed in relief and nuzzled his face into your neck. His cock continued to throb inside you and likely would for a while. You didn’t mind though. Laying under Vash, shielded by his wings from the harsh world outside, was all you could want in such a harsh and unforgiving world.

#vash the stampede x reader #vash x reader #trigun smut #vash the stampede smut #trigun x reader #.fics #.trigun #.vash #reader insert #x reader

[topmalereaderblog]

Five More Minutes // Miguel O'Hara

Breathe the air again, it's a beautiful day

I wish this moment would stay with the Earth

Some primal paradise

But there you go again, saying everything ends

Saying you can't depend on anything or anyone

When there is creation, there is destruction, life, and death. The universe has a balance, and when disrupted, it collapses, taking away everything and anything with it, leaving nothing but a blank void.

But Miguel didn’t know that, how was he supposed to. He wasn’t thinking straight, he wasn’t thinking with his brain but with his emotions the same emotions that kept him grieving the same, emotions that made him cry himself to sleep. He had lost everything in his world and was left with nothing. Living a lonely life, but then.

Then there was hope, hope that showed up in another universe, a universe where his husband was alive and they were happy. He was happy. He had a family, a father to a little girl, married to the love he had lost.

His thoughts consumed him, plagued him, and haunted him. Five minutes, that was his most recurring thought. Five minutes is all he needed, five minutes to act like another version of himself, five minutes to hold you and tell you he loves you one last time, five minutes to get to know the daughter he never had even if it was just a little bit.

But he couldn’t, the guilt eating him alive, the pain in his chest swallowing him and consuming him every day. But he couldn’t, it would hurt too much to go and then leave. Going back to his life a life where you weren't there and he was alone.

If the end of the world was near

Where would you choose to be?

If there were five more minutes of air

Would you panic and hide

Or run for your life

Or stand here and spend it with me

If we had five more minutes

Would I, could I, make you happy?

He did everything he could to distract himself while keeping an eye on the other version of himself the pain in his chest filling with hurt and jealousy. Instead, he waited, watched, and observed. Miguel questioned if this version of you would fall in love with him too if he could make you happy. Soon.

His opportunity arose when the version of himself that he grew jealous of died. Shot in the chest and left alone on a sidewalk. He felt guilty but relieved he knew his thoughts were sick when he felt a sense of relief wash over him but sad that the version of himself that was happy died. But it was his turn to be happy to play a role and act as another, taking the place of another as if nothing were wrong.

He was nervous. But as he walked into the house the thoughts in his mind crashed seeing you again. His heart skipped beats you- you’re his love, and you were back alive standing in front of him. A warm feeling spread around his body.

Five minutes, that's what he told himself, having a home dinner with you and Gabriella talking and enjoying the moment, a moment that soon turned into five days, then five months. Distracted with his own selfishness, happiness, greed, and lust.

And we would live again

In the simplest of ways

Living day after day

Like some primal animals

We would love again

Under glorious suns

With the freedom that comes with the truth

His brain couldn't function, and his senses were overwhelmed. His body felt hot sweat beading down and sticking to his body. His ears filled with your grunts as you thrust up inside him while simultaneously hearing the bed creek.

His hole stretched around you so perfectly, like a missing puzzle piece being filled and abused. His tight warmth sucking you inside as if trying to keep you inside him. His prostate was hit multiple times with every thrust you gave.

Grunts turned into sweet talk, your hot breath near his ear sending goosebumps all over his body.

"You like this Miguel- like me fucking you." You asked, watching as his whimpers and moans increased.

"Por favor no pares-," his legs wrapped around you, his hands feeling up and down your body as if making sure you were real, making sure you wouldn’t go anywhere.

Your thrust went faster and harder plunging into Miguel. His cock bounced with your thrust being neglected by stimulation leaking precum onto his stomach.

Your lips and hands wandered his body as words of praise fell from your mouth.

"You are such a good husband for me, fuck~ you're taking me so well," his hole tightened against your cock as he pressed his chest onto yours.

Your hands worshiped his body, treating it like porcelain. Go near the spot where he needed your touch the most but never fully.

"P- please." He gasped just a little more he needed this needed you to fuck him and worship him to take the guilt he had and make him forget even if it was for a little while.

A moan left his mouth as your hand grabbed his aching cock moving it with your thrust. "Come on baby cum with me."

And all too soon enough you came inside his reaching deep within him as your cum painted his hole. He bit your shoulder moaning and cumming with you as his thighs shook by the intense orgasm.

Was it wrong? Possibly, maybe, definitely. It's been five minutes since you fell asleep after another passionate night with Miguel.

How- why, why should something so wrong feel so right? He knew he had to give up the act, but nights like these, where you both could show your love for one another was something he lost, and now that you were back he didn't want it to leave.

You were his husband, his true love, and while he lost you in one world, you were here with him in another.

Nights where you would fuck Miguel were always his favorites. It was the time when he didn't care if he was right or wrong or crazy or sane he was with you and those thoughts that plagued him left his brain with every thrust every word his mind went numb.

If the end of the world was near

Where would you choose to be?

If there were five more minutes of air

Would you panic and hide?

Or run for your life?

Or stand here and spend it with me?

If we had five more minutes

Would I, could I, make you happy?

But then it happened again after spending the day with you and Gabriella. Something weird happened, everything around you started to crumble and disintegrate. He ran, holding onto you and Gabriella. Not again. He wouldn't lose you. He couldn't lose his new life, his new daughter, not now.

As he ran, Gabriella disappeared in his arms. He turned around, holding onto you tightly around your wrist.

"Miguel!"

"Well, be safe. We have to run." He said, not looking back. Tears fell from his face, sliding down his cheek. Five minutes and everything went quiet. He turned around only to see he was alone.

And with that, Miguel was alone again. He stood there sobbing and falling onto his knees for five whole minutes he sobbed but recomposed himself, trying to figure out what to do. Five minutes had passed, and the only thought on his mind was that he was back to square one alone and by himself.

So it finally came to pass

I saw the end of the world

Saw the madness unfold like

Some primal burial

And I looked back upon

Armageddon

And the moment of truth

Between you and me

Five years have passed and a lot has changed. He created his own organization filled with other spider people, each with their own story.

Then hope arose again a new spider person not just any but you, his mind went blank seeing the screen in front of him. Wearing a suit and taking out bad guys. Was this the universe's way of giving him a second chance? Were you made just for him? Did you have your own version of him? If so, could he take them out just like the last time?

The last thought in his mind echoed in his head. This time, it would be different, just five minutes. And with that, he opened a portal and stepped inside. Leaving his lab and getting ready to (stalk) recruit a new spider.

If we had five more minutes of air to breathe

And we cried all through it

But you spent them with me

On our last few drags of air, we agreed

I was, and you were happy

#dom male reader #top male reader #male reader #male reader smut #x male reader #x male reader smut #male reader fanfic #male reader insert #miguel o'hara x male reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x top male reader

[dark-kind-of-mystique]

𝑶𝒃𝒆𝒚 𝒎𝒆 𝑵𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓 𝑳𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒐𝒏 22 𝑺𝒑𝒐𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒔

Okay, so MC lost their magic. Does that mean that the connection of their pacts with the present brothers is gone too? If so, imagine the angst potential

𝑳𝒖𝒄𝒊𝒇𝒆𝒓, who has been desperately striving to keep his cool for the sake of his brothers, felt his blood run cold and his breath hitch when he couldn't feel your connection anymore. His paperwork stained from spilled ink and tears he didn't even realize had fallen from his eyes.

For the first time since you disappeared, he felt paralyzed by his own fear as he could feel himself succumb to despair.

𝑴𝒂𝒎𝒎𝒐𝒏, who refused to even acknowledge the possibility of you not coming back, wailed in pain when he felt your bond fade away from existence. He was forced to face the fact that you may actually never come back.

He felt as though someone had ripped out a part of him, leaving him forever looking for the missing piece.

𝑳𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏, who had submerged even deeper into his games and fantasy worlds to escape the emptiness of your absence, felt like the air was sucked out of the room. His game controller fell forgotten as GAME OVER appeared over his screen.

No amount of escapism will ever be enough to make him forget he's missing his player 2.

𝑺𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒏, who could feel his wrath slowly growing more uncontrollable, reached his burning point when he couldn't feel you anymore. Angry with the universe from taking you away from him, angry with himself for not being able to protect you.

His precious books were scattered across the floor, his room half destroyed as he sat quietly on the floor with silent tears in his eyes.

𝑨𝒔𝒎𝒐𝒅𝒆𝒖𝒔, who had tried to stay cheerful and positive, couldn't help the heartrending lament that left him as he broke down. He curled himself on his bed, sobbing in pain at the stabbing feeling he felt in his chest.

He kept seeing flashes of your beautiful smile, your mesmerizing eyes, and couldn't help but cry harder at the thought that he may never hear your laugh again.

𝑩𝒆𝒆𝒍𝒛𝒆𝒃𝒖𝒃, whose hunger pangs had grown in both frequency and intensity, felt as though a hole was carved in his chest, leaving him emptier than he's ever felt before. Tears blurred his vision as he fell on his knees, hands clutching his abdomen as if that would make him whole again.

Your absence left a void inside of him that his hunger could never match. A void that could never be filled no matter how much food he ate.

𝑩𝒆𝒍𝒑𝒉𝒆𝒈𝒐𝒓, who locked himself in the attic to sleep so he could dream of you, felt the world go dark when his dream version of you disappeared, leaving him alone in the dark void. He woke up with a scream, tears streaming down his face, overwhelmed by the feeling of your absence.

And he knew, even if he tried to escape the pain by sleeping the days away, he would still dream of you. He will never break free of the pain of losing you, not even indulging in his sin.

#obey me nightbringer #obey me #obey me angst #obey me shall we date #lucifer obey me #mammon obey me #leviathan obey me #levi obey me #satan obey me #asmodeus obey me #asmo obey me #beelzebub obey me #beel obey me #belphegor obey me #belphie obey me #obey me hcs #obey me headcanons #nightbringer #om! nightbringer #obey me nightbringer lesson 22 spoilers

[wheeboo]

i miss you, don't call me | lee seokmin

SYNOPSIS. in which a particular boy has been clouding your mind lately, and you decide to drink away the thought of him𑁋when that isn't the right choice. PAIRING. ex!lee seokmin x gn!reader GENRE. angst, hurt/comfort... but also not really WARNINGS. drinking, swearing WORD COUNT. 2.5k

notes: kinda inspired from the song "i miss you, don't call me" by alessia cara. just wanna say i am forever guilty and full of shame for writing angst for this man. it feels completely out of character to write angst for him 😭😭

You hate the taste of alcohol.

You hate the way it lingers a bitter aftertaste on your lips, the way it burns like a smoldering ember down your throat that refuses to be extinguished, the way it wraps its tendrils around your senses and makes the world spin so merry around you.

You hate the taste of alcohol, yet there's a certain fascination in the way it blurs the edges of reality and a strange comfort in its familiarity. You were never usually one to drink in general, but tonight was different, and you find yourself caught between the resistance and the surrender, tip-toeing on the edge of clarity and a spellbound haze.

This is supposed to make you forget. Forget the deadlines, the expectations, the responsibilities, the miniscule hole in your chest that you have been trying to close. This is supposed to propel you in the right direction𑁋at least, that's what you convinced yourself in the hours before you wounded up in the middle of your living room with a half-empty glass in your hand. It's midnight, or something, you don't know for sure, and you couldn't be bothered to even check anyway.

This is supposed to help you forget him. He did nothing wrong, or anything wrong for the matter. His smile was always so bright like the sun, so full of life. He's like a bruise that refuses to fade, yet merely painful to the touch. You take another sip, and the amber liquid seems to carry with it the warmth of his laughter. And when you close your eyes just for a few seconds, you swear you can feel the warmth of that figurative sun on your face. Or maybe it's the alcohol. Or both.

It's been almost a year since you let him go. The reasons were complicated𑁋or simply, you both were just different𑁋and the echoes of that choice still reverberate in the quiet corners of your heart. You were convinced it was for the best for both of you, and all it took was two sentences for that line to be cut right on the same couch that you sat on.

And yet, the ache of his absence persists, leaving a void in your chest that you couldn't stitch up yourself.

Does he... still think about you from time to time?

It's a question you've asked yourself in the quiet moments before sleep. You wonder if he ever glances at the same moon that hangs in the night sky and thinks of the moments you shared under its wake.

You try to bury the thought away under the weight of another sip, but it resurfaces like an insistent tide as you let out a heated hiss to its taste. The room around you sways slightly, your head is starting to pound, and your thoughts are restless with nothing but just him.

The screen to your phone lights up on the coffee table, and you glance down at it, suddenly contemplating the idea of reaching out to him. Maybe it's the alcohol whispering in your ear, urging you to seek closure, or perhaps, rekindle a flame that was never truly extinguished.

The unanswered question lingers like a spectre in the room. Does he still think about you? The question gnaws angrily at your skin, and you find yourself reaching for the phone almost instinctively, as if drawn by a sudden invisible force.

With a deep breath, you unlock your phone. His contact is still there, his slightly blurry name staring right back at you like an open invitation. You tap a few times before landing on his number, and with a mixture of intoxication and courage, you press the call button.

The phone rings, each tone amplifying the drumming in your head. Your heartbeat quickens with each ring, the sound of it echoing in your ears. The haze in your mind seems to intensify, and you realise you might be crossing a line, but it's too late to turn back now.

The seconds tick away, and just as you begin to think about hanging up, he answers.

"Hello?"

His voice reaches through the phone and into your clouded consciousness. For a moment, you freeze, caught between the impulse to speak and the weight of the drunken-induced courage that made you make this call.

"Hey, Seokmin." Your voice comes out smaller and weaker than you anticipated.

A beat of silence follows your words. The weight of his name hangs in the air. You can almost sense Seokmin trying to process the unexpected call.

"Y/N?" His voice carries a mix of surprise and concern. "Is that really you?"

"Yeah," You reply, your words sounding less sure than you intended. "It's me."

There's another pause, and you can almost feel the distance between you two through the phone.

Then his voice comes through again, gentle and cautious, "Is everything okay?"

"Um..." You croak out, your thoughts stumbling over the words. "I just... I just needed to hear your voice."

Another pause. The only thing you could hear is the faint static on the other line.

"My voi𑁋Wait, are... are you drunk?"

A nervous laugh escapes your lips. "Uh, maybe a little," You admit embarrassingly.

Seokmin lets out a soft sigh on the other end of the line. You can't tell if it's from relief, concern, or disappointment, but the weight of it presses against your chest. It's almost suffocating.

"I just..." You start, the words hanging in the air. "is it bad to... to say that I miss you?"

The silence that follows is almost deafening. You can nearly imagine his face on the other end𑁋the ever expressive sunshine Lee Seokmin whom you spent nearly all of your college years with. A faint smile tugs at your lips at the thought of it, the thought of him. Sure, you've wondered how he has been from time to time, but tonight felt different. You can't tell if the alcohol is confusing missing with longing, or if it's amplifying a truth you've kept buried for too long.

"Y/N, you... We don't even live in the same city anymore." Seokmin's voice breaks the heavy silence. There's some suppression to his voice, like he's trying to hold something back, but you don't seem to notice. "Things have changed."

You bite your lip unconsciously, almost too hard you think it might bruise and bleed. The reality of it all settles in𑁋that you live hundreds of miles away from each other𑁋and a knot forms in your stomach. You take another sip of your drink, hoping the alcohol can provide some sort of shield for the vulnerability seeping through.

"I'm... I'm not asking to get back together, I..." Your voice trails off again, and you swallow a lump in your throat. "Things here have been awful, and I couldn't help... couldn't help but think of you, I guess."

Seokmin's side of the line remains quiet for a moment, absorbing the weight of your words. You can almost envision the wheels turning in his mind. There's a siren that wails outside your apartment for a few seconds, before fading away in the distance.

"You're drunk, Y/N," Seokmin states. "This isn't the best time to talk𑁋"

"I just wanted to know if you still thought about me too," You interrupt him, voice firm. The words are forcing themselves out at this point, and there's an urgency in your tone, almost as if the alcohol has taken control of your tongue.

Seokmin sighs audibly on the other end, and you can almost picture him running a hand through his hair.

"This... this isn't fair," he finally responds. "You can't just... call me in the middle of the night and tell me all this now."

His words sting, not because they're harsh, but because they're true.

"You were... you were always so cheery, you know?" You chuckle, words slurring slightly. "Even when I was drowning in stress, you had... th-this way of making everything feel lighter. And right now, I... I'm looking for a new job. Everything's been a fucking nightmare, and you... were the first person I thought of and..."

You stop your track in your words, gulping down an imaginary mass wedged down your throat. When your cast your eyes around your dark apartment, all you could see are the remnants of a life you used to share with him, and the mess you were left to clean up with.

You tighten your grip on your phone slightly. "Do you remember when, um... we used to stay up late, working on our assignments together? It... it feels like a lifetime ago."

There's a soft laughter you hear on the other end, and you think for a moment you might just have made him smile. You feel a little bit lighter at the thought.

"And... the pizza boxes that we turned into little tables because our dorm room couldn't fit all of our textbooks and a decent eating space?" You add on, finding yourself smiling to the visual. Just a tiny bit.

There's some shifting on the other side. He's remembering all of it too.

"We were a little messy back then, weren't we?" he chuckles fondly.

You bite your lip nervously again. "But... it was our mess, right?"

"Yeah," You hear him say, and there's a warmth in his voice. "Our mess that we somehow made work."

You take a sip of your drink again, even though you really shouldn't. But you can't help it. The alcohol seems to fuel your courage, or perhaps it's the shared nostalgia that wraps around your conversation like a comforting blanket. The messiness, the laughter, the late-night talks with his arms around you𑁋they were all part of a chapter that shaped both of you.

Your mind is hazy, but you press on, driven by a longing you can't quite articulate.

"I-I'm sorry, I don't know why I called," You confess, voice trembling. "I just felt this emptiness, and I thought... I thought hearing your voice might fill it, even for just a second."

"It's okay," Seokmin is quick to reassure gently and soothingly. "You don't need to say sorry; it does... feel nice hearing you. But calling me in the middle of the night, when you're drunk... it's not the solution, okay?"

You nod, even though he can't see you. There's some heat that prickles at the corners of your eyes, but you blink them back, trying to contain yourself. You've already made an enough mess of yourself this entire night.

"I know it wasn't..." You clench and unclench your other hand, nails digging into your skin. "I just... needed someone to talk to, and you were that person for me."

"But... I'm not that person anymore," Seokmin clarifies, and his words seems to hit a nerve. "You have to be that person for yourself."

You inhale shakily, realising that you've been clinging to a version of him that exists only in memories. For a moment, you're suspended between the past and the present. The truth in his statement stings, but the pain is necessary. You've been using this idea of him, the memories you shared, to help ground you.

You wish you could reach through the phone and touch the past, rewrite the script, and undo the choices that led to this painful distance. But you already know you can't. It's too late.

Seokmin's right𑁋things have changed.

"Can you... just answer what I asked before?" You ask softly, carefully, tapping your fingers nervously against the glass in your hand. "If you... if you still thought about me."

There's a sound on the other end. You're not sure what it is𑁋a sigh, a chair shifting, or perhaps the subtle closing of his eyes. Whatever it is, it heightens the anticipation.

"Of course I... I do think about you," Seokmin admits, and that particular weakness to his voice paralyses you. Your heart catches in your throat. "I can never forget about what we had. But... we've both moved forward, Y/N. Life took us in different directions."

His words hit you like a cold breeze. It doesn't bring the comfort you expected; instead, it leaves you with a mix of emotions𑁋vulnerability, acceptance, and a tinge of sorrow.

"Maybe... in a different universe?" You hear the uncertainty in your own voice, a wistful hope that hangs in the heavy air around you.

You try to think you imagine a smile to his face when you say that, but the silence on the other end stretches out, and reality settles in again.

"Maybe," he concedes, and the word hangs there, suspended between what once was and what could have been. Just not in this one. "You deserve all the happiness in the world, Y/N. I need you to be happy, even if it's without me. Life keeps moving, and we have to move with it. You're one of the strongest people I know, okay? You can get through this. I believe in you. I always have, and I always will."

You deserve happiness too, Seokmin.

Despite the gloominess to your thoughts, every single one of his words echoes within your head. And it hurts, your head throbbing from the alcohol and emotions. The truth tastes like a bitter pill, and you swallow it down, the sting lingering in your chest.

"I miss you," You admit before you could think straight, slipping out like a confession in the dark, suddenly feeling all too exposed.

"I... I miss you too," Seokmin responds hesitantly, softly; you can hear the small, hint of a smile in his voice. You wonder if he's been smiling like the sun these days. "but... I don't want you to call me like this. Not when you're hurting and drunk. It's not healthy for either of us."

His words carry a gentle yet firm tone, a reminder of the boundaries that now exist between you. You can feel the reality of the situation settling in and the pages that turned since you both went your separate ways.

"I know," You murmur. "I just... needed to say it out loud."

For a minute, you both don't say anything. It's oddly comfortable, yet fragile with an unspoken sadness.

"Promise me you'll take care of yourself, okay?" Seokmin's voice breaks through the quiet. It's a request, a plea.

"I promise," You respond, the sincerity cutting through the haze. "And you take care too, Seokmin."

The conversation lingers for a moment, as if both of you are reluctant to sever the weak tie that binds you in this moment.

"Goodbye, Y/N."

"Goodbye, Seokmin."

When the call disconnects, you sit there for a while, phone in hand, the room now silent except for the distant sounds of the city outside.

You glance down at the almost-empty glass down in your hand, and in a swift movement, down the rest of the drink down your throat, feeling the familiar burn as it goes down. The room seems to sway a bit more than before, and you clutch your phone a bit more tighter as if it might steady you.

Then you shoot your eyes back down at your phone, seeing the way it turns on when you tap the screen, the sudden brightness of the screen stinging your eyes.

Impulsively, you navigate to your messages, and without thinking too much, you find Seokmin's contact and start typing.

[y/n] i love you, i'm sorry

With a deep breath, you hit send, and flip your phone over. Fuck, what did you just do? You're going insane.

Then your phone vibrates again, and you quickly grab it, heart racing.

But then your heart drops. It's not a message; it's a notification.

The number you have reached is no longer available.

taglist (open) ʚɞ @enhazen @haowrld @icyminghao @slytherinshua @jeonride @lockburn-castle @vrnism @weird-bookworm @mhlsymlysn @ryuwonieebae @yeonjuns-redhair @wonwooz1 @woohaeyo @mark-geolli @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts

#kflixnet #k-labels #caratsland #caratlibrary #seventeen angst #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #seventeen fluff #seventeen fic #dokyeom angst #dokyeom fluff #dokyeom x reader #dokyeom fic #dk angst #dk fluff #dk x reader #dk fic #lee seokmin angst #lee seokmin x reader #lee seokmin fluff #svt fic #svt angst #svt fluff #svt x reader

[whalesforhands]

would love to see something ab reader having a nightmare about shoko, geto, and gojo dying maybay? and they wake up in a panic? shuffling off to the dorm kitchen to try and maybe calm herself down only to see geto there and he helps calm them down after they confide in him. could be with your series where gojo and geto are together because those boys are def in love 🥹☺️. BUT YEAH JUST,,, comfort hehe.

really enjoying your writing btw, pls keep up the good work, bub :)

very very very cute idea anon. ily ♥️

yes, i swear they are 100% in love with each other canonically!!!! i love them together sm.

if only my dreams were as sweet as you (geto x reader x gojo)

warnings: angst to comfort, anxiety attacks, depressive episode, gore descriptions

You shook upon the ground you sat on, barely breathing, barely able to move.

Your leg was ripped off, the remainder of what was left of it wrapped tight with Suguru’s coat, his attempt to comfort you, to stop the bleeding. To assure you everything is okay.

You think you’ve lost your sense of touch. Your sense of self. You can’t feel any semblance of their cursed energies anymore.

Geto Suguru laid on the ground, his eyes lifeless, an arm torn off from his body, laying uselessly within the pits of some sick curse’s stomach. A large hole stretched throughout his midriff. He had no chance of survival.

Shoko Ieiri was near your side, body cold, trapped within rubble that suffocated her already dead self, her face unrecognisable, gored from the ferocious attacks of a special grade that she stood no chance against from the start.

Finally, Gojo Satoru, laid on your lap as you screamed and cried for him to wake up. You can’t lose him. His eyes were wide open, crystalline blue dull and gone, his cursed energy barely even there. Your tears fell onto his face, staining his cheeks and seeping into the cuts he sustained.

You shake and shake him with your broken arms, your arms feeling useless as the nerves slowly started to die.

Please. Please. Please!

Don’t leave you alone in this universe. Don’t leave. Don’t leave! You can’t lose the only people you love. You can’t. Your heart shattered when Ieiri fell, crushed to dust when Suguru lost, and now nothing would remain as Satoru was defeated.

You feel the looming shadow of the special grade curse.

You hope it takes you to where your beloved three were.

Jolting awake with a start, sweat dripping off your brow even as the AC ran. Feeling your heart stutter and pound, your senses going into overdrive as you felt the area for the three.

Suguru, Shoko and Satoru. You felt their energy all around you. A strikingly bright, overwhelming energy. An ominous, immense and darker energy. A serenely heart-chilling one.

Alive. They were alive. Your heart never felt such relief.

Thank goodness. It was just a dream. Just a dream.

Your hand scurried to what you thought was your missing leg, squeezing and pinching the flesh that was definitely there. Yep, definitely a dream. A horrible one.

A nightmare.

You hold your face in your hands as you felt tears begin to well up. You can’t believe your mind even conjured that. Bile was rising up your throat as you continued to cry.

You can’t live in a world without them. The thought of losing all three of them was devastating.

A life without them? You’d rather die. You felt the urge to throw up just thinking about this.

Water. You need water. Does Suguru keep his chamomile and valerian tea in the pantry too? You think you need some.

Your shaky legs barely hold you up as you venture out of your room, dressed in your sleep shorts, oversized shirt and fluffy lamb slippers. Your hair was a mess, your face void of most of its colour.

You must look like you’ve woken from the dead. (Your attempt at a joke to lighten yourself up. You need to spend more time around Satoru for his silliness. You suck.)

As you approached the kitchen, you were surprised to see a glowing lamp still on. Is someone in there, or did Satoru forget to turn it off?

You slowly peek in from the ajar door, only to find Geto Suguru, in all his glory, already staring at you. Long hair left down from his usual bun, dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt with Satoru’s face printed on it.

In his hand, a cup of steaming tea.

“I thought that was you. How are you still awake?”

——

Your head was rested on his shoulder, his arm comfortingly wrapped around your shoulders, snuggled comfortably onto the sofa with one empty cup, the other half-way drunk on the coffee table before you.

“And? What happened then?” He softly inquired, voice soothing and gentle as he tenderly prodded your thoughts.

“You all… Were dead…” You began, a sniffle already squeezed out of you. The thought making you want to cry all over again.

“I- I could never handle… Losing any of you…” Your grip tightened itself around his shirt, hand over where his beating heart was, as you buried yourself into his shoulder, trying to press yourself closer to him.

“It’s okay.” He whispered. “I’m here. We’re all here.” His other hand came up to wipe at your tears.

“That will never happen.” He continued to say, hearing your breaths starting to slow and even out.

He was about to continue, until the door to the room was creaked open.

“Suguruuuuuuu, why’d you leavveee meeeee?” A whining Satoru has just awoken from Suguru’s bed. His eyes were still closed, had it made it all the way here just by feeling for his boyfriend’s cursed energy?

Then he must’ve sensed yours too.

Dressed in a shirt printed with Suguru’s sleeping face, and a similar pair of sweatpants, he creaked open his eyes. Picking up Suguru’s half-empty cup and downing the remainder of it.

You felt Satoru plop onto the couch right beside you, snuggling his face into your chest before he stretched over the length of both your and Suguru’s legs, placing his head on Suguru’s lap as he splayed his legs out on your own lap.

(The menace even reached out for your hand, holding it in his own as his eyes closed back, smiling as he threaded his fingers through yours.)

A cuddle pile.

He spoke, feeling Suguru stroke his hair.

“Ya just woke up from a bad dream?” It was an inquiry, tender and laced with a hint of worry.

You remain silent. He understands.

“Don’t,” He yawns, feeling comforted by Suguru’s hand. “Don’t worry…”

“We’re the strongest, after all…” He fell back asleep. How strong of him.

Suguru nods, a smile on his face.

“He’s right, you know?” A kiss to your forehead.

“We are the strongest.”

You think the tea was starting to kick in. Why was there such a warm, soothing feeling within you? You felt the lids of your eyes begin to grow heavy, Suguru opening his free arm more allow your head to loll onto his chest, holding you close as your eyes begin to shut.

You like being here.

masterlist

Notes:

Suguru has trouble sleeping due to the bad aftertaste from swallowing curses. It’s disgusting, the taste haunts his mouth and he gags at the reminder of it.

It was Satoru’s idea to get his and Suguru’s faces printed on shirts. The photo he used for himself was one of him looking charming, whilst Suguru’s photo was one of him drooling onto Satoru’s pillow. The shirts are very high quality, and very expensive.

There is an extra shirt in your size with both of their photos printed on it hidden in Suguru’s closet.

Satoru finds it hard to sleep without a certain someone in bed. If Suguru is awake, they’ll both just sleep on the couch in the shared living room area.

Shoko was the one to find all three of you cuddled into each other asleep on the sofa. She got a blanket she draped over you as she drank her coffee, taking a photo of all three of you that she sent to both Suguru and Satoru.

See? She can be nice. But they both owe her a favour now.

#geto x reader #geto x reader x gojo #gojo x reader #whalewrites #getou suguru x reader x gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #getou suguru x reader #satosugu x reader #dyf au

[perlelune]

I love literally everything you’ve ever written! Could we get an update on the reader in hunger? Maybe on the day of or after poor Henry’s execution

“I want you to see exactly what happens when you don’t do as I say,” Coriolanus whispers, warm breath fanning over your temple as his fingers painfully squeeze your chin, guaranteeing you don’t miss a second of your husband’s execution.

The noose is tied around Henry’s neck, a look of utter confusion and helplessness painting his features as he’s being dragged over the stage.

Adrenaline pumps through your veins, your pulse thrumming beneath the president’s palm.

The peacekeepers tug on the other side of the rope and a void opens under Henry’s feet.

It’s quick. Horrifyingly so. One second Henry’s quivering on the stage, claiming his innocence once more. And the next, he’s hanging lifelessly from the rope, his body limp as his feet dangle in the air.

A shaky breath slips from your mouth.

As you try to look away, Coriolanus’ grip on your face tightens. His body encases yours from behind, his other hand resting on the swell of your waist. He made sure you got the clearest view, on a balcony high above the crowd.

“Watch, dove,” Coriolanus urges softly. Your lips shudder, a hole ripping inside your heart as he forces you to gaze upon Henry’s corpse for long, tortuous minutes. His calm, low whisper against your ear raises goosebumps on your flesh. “I want this image burnt into your memory. So that each time you think of crossing me, deceiving me or leaving me…” His knuckles drag over your tear-stained cheek as he articulates, “You always remember dear, poor Henry.”

Following the execution, the crowd scatters and he nudges your reluctant frame inside the presidential car.

Your tearful gaze lifts to meet his face.

“Can I give him a proper burial at least?” you mumble, still in denial of what you just witnessed. Henry’s dead. Your husband is now a corpse lying on the ground.

You feel as if a sinkhole opened under your feet and swallowed you. None of this can be real.

Coriolanus’ icy stare strays from the tinted window to settle on you.

“Traitors do not deserve one.”

His frosty reply summons chills across your back.

“But he isn’t…Henry’s not a traitor.”

A wicked glint dances in his sea orbs.

“He was to the world, dove.”

“You’re a monster,” you hiss, all the hate you harbor for President Snow bleeding through your tone.

A lopsided smile blooms on his lips.

“Perhaps. But I’m alive, he’s not.” He bends over you, pushing his mouth against yours in a bruising, possessive kiss while holding your chin. “I can do this,” he mutters against your lips. Your breath catches when his other hand creeps under your skirt to tease your folds through your panties. Your appalled expression expands his smile.”…And this. He cannot.”

“Can I please go home?” you beseech.

Coriolanus snickers. “You’re not returning to this shabby place. In fact, I think all of it should burn.” You gasp. “There’s nothing of value there. The only valuable thing, I already have…right here. You will be staying with me, dove, in my house and in my bed.” His thumb sweeps over your parted lips. “Tonight and every other night.”

[brewed-pangolin]

Salvation at the Shelter

This is my first entry into the Soap It Up Challenge by @glitterypirateduck, and apparently I'm feeling angsty. I don't write angst well, but that doesn't mean I won't try. I only used one prompt for this, and I'll let y'all find it. Sorry for the feels on for this Super Soap Sunday.

cw: mentions of loss. also a few callbacks to mwiii if you look closely

Johnny. Your beloved Johnny.

Gone.

Taken away too soon. Leaving an emptiness in your heart and a hole within your soul.

You grieve for what feels like years, yet only turns out to be days. Time standing still as you continually waist away into a fetal crouched mess alone on your tile floor.

Friends, family, and colleagues all tell you to move on. You have to.

But you can't.

For how can one heal from the pain of losing the other half of your soul?

-

It takes you a solid six months to even begin to feel anything again. Feeling everything and nothing all at once. Overwhelming. And not enough.

The emptiness both devours you entirely while continually spitting you back out like a relentless living turbine.

You try to hide the pain behind a smile. It's futile, but it works with most nonetheless. Most.

A few take notice. Those with their own scared hearts and broken stitched souls underneath a practiced expression.

And that's when a coworker confides in you what she did when she lost her husband many years ago.

-

"Go to the shelter," she says plainly over the rim of her glass.

"The shelter?" You question, raising a brow while fumbling with your lunchbox.

"Like, the homeless shelter?"

"No, silly. The animal shelter. Lots of lost souls needing a home. Maybe one there will help fill that hole inside you."

"I'm fine." You bite back. Swallowing your emotions with a gulp of Orange Fanta as you briskly rise from your chair.

"Mhm. Just give it a shot. Might help." She says before turning to walk down the carpeted hall to return to the solitude of her cubicle.

And you're suddenly left alone again with your thoughts, staring aimlessly at the brightly colored face of the vending machine. The color of the Fanta bottle in your hand so reminiscent to the Irn Bru that was consistently stocked in your apartment, you thought you'd break down right then and there. In the middle of your office hallway.

Subtle reminders of him strewn about all through your day you'd nearly become numb to the constant memory of him.

You choked on your emotions once more. Walking as casually as possible back to the devoid walls of your cubicle. Busying yourself in a desperate attempt to rid the tight entanglement of Johnny's echo buried deep within your mind.

You'd take the advice. Go to the shelter. Fill the emotionless void within your soul with at least something. Anything. Hell, even a goldfish would do.

-

The sound was defeaning.

It made your ears ring and your bones tremble. The constant barrage of barks, howls and wails nearly made you spin on your heals and exit before even entering the double doors.

Yet you stood fast. Pushing forward. Perhaps somewhere in this cacophony of canine chaos, you could find solace from your unrelenting heartache.

"I'm just here to look," you tell the attendent with a stern brow. It's a lie, of course. But you muster the strength of poise and composure as your heart and spine wither to dust with every passing moment.

"That's what they all say," the keeper, Jared by the nameplate and probably no more than 18 replies. A wisdom in his voice as he's seen the world come through those doors a thousand times.

"C'mon. And don't get too close to the cages."

You follow close behind. Eyes scanning back and forth between metal bars, taking in the mirage of fur covered lost souls while somehow searching for one that may pull at your broken heart.

German shepherds. Pit bulls. Weimaraners. Jack Russels. Dachshunds. Every breed you could name and so many others you barely could identify.

And they all seemed to mirror your expression perfectly.

Searching. Waiting.

Waiting for an absolution that would never come.

You felt their pain. Their loneliness. Their betrayal.

Still though, non called to you. Marked you.

You were told not to look into their eyes, but how could you not. It had become so second nature to get lost in his eyes you nearly forgot what it felt like to be without them.

You were rounding the corner to the main exit, only a few cages remaining, and a sickening feeling began to boil within your gut. Choking on the bile in your throat with a fruitless attempt at speech.

"That it?"

It was a total loss. Heart sinking to your knees as Jared, the wayward keeper, opened the doors to escort you out of the wing and down an adjacent hall.

"I can show you one more. He's scheduled to be euthanized tonight. He's young. But he's very high energy. And a stubborn little shit. Which is why no one wants him."

He knitted his brow, opening the door to let you in as the overwhelming sound of aggressive barking and growling filled your ears.

Reluctantly, you stepped into the confined room. The solitude had made the poor animal more ruthless and hostile to anyone who stepped through those heavy doors.

Yet something pulled you in. A feeling. A tug at your heart that swiftly moved to wrap around your spine and move you forward.

And as you shut the door, the barking steadily began to settle. The blur of furr and teeth slowed and gradually transformed into a more discernable figure.

And as you stepped up to the cage, you cautiously crouched down to meet the animal at its level and finally met the eyes of a soul you had thought was lost to you long ago.

Blue. A blue so pure yet somehow so misunderstood. An icy cerulean wrapped around tan fur and sharpened teeth topped with blacked edged ears and darkened socks on his feet.

His, because it was obvious. He hadn't been fixed yet.

"Yeah, he's got a thing with doors. He's fine while they're closed but goes ballistic at the slightest movement."

You take note of the dogs calming demeanor. Keeping a close eye on him, scanning across his back and hindquarters, inspecting his conformation for any obvious or detrimental abnormalities.

"Poor thing seems pretty docile once he's settled down," you remark. "Why'd the last family give him up?"

You slid slowly along your feet, edging closer as the canine's demeanor shifts to become more open and submissive. Ears perked with a gradual pull of its paw to expose its tender underbelly.

"They lived next to a railroad or something. Apparently, he hates trains, too."

"What's his name?" You inquire, unable to break the stare as you gently move your hand between the bars in an attempt to gain a physical connection.

"He doesn't have one. And I wouldn't do that, ma'am. He's got-"

He chokes on his words as the fearful pup inches forward to bring the top of his nose your fingertips. You remain calm, quiet. And so does Jared. More out of sheer terror of the inevitable bite that was surely to come.

With a few curious sniffs of your scent, the dog pulls himself forward and against your hand in a desperate attempt to feel your touch.

He curls his back into your palm, rolling his spine underneath the tips of our fingers while moving to lay on the concrete floor.

It's in that moment you know you've been marked. Two lost souls finding one another in the cold and metal walls of a heartache and rekindling the vigor of life within your devoid souls.

"Damn. Never seen him do that before."

You acknowledge his voice, but the only sound reverberating in your ears is the constant strum of your beating heart. Alive once more as the ancient connection between man's best friend heals the scars of an unending loss.

"How old is he?" You ask, turning to face the man standing next to you. Comfortable enough to trust the newly found bond forged as a feeling of warmth and rejuvenation bellows from within your abdomen.

"About six months, I think. Give or taken a few weeks."

Six months. It's purely coincidence.

"I'll take him."

"Alright then. I'll get the paperwork."

You retract your hand just as Jared opens the door, and the frightened pup bolts to cowar in the safety of the corner once more.

But he remains silent. A searching stare locking into your gaze to gauge how to move forward with this unknown terrain.

Slowly, you extend your hand once more into the cage to coax him back to your touch. Rebuild the bond of trust once more as you wait for the inevitable to blow through the door.

With a solemn yet comforted look in the pups eyes, he gradually crawls over and rests his chin within the palm of your hand. Soul blazing eyes staring up within the confines of furr, having a certain familiarity you hadn't seen since so painfully losing that love so long ago.

"That's it. I'll take care of you," you whsiper in a voice akin to haunting within the walls. Rubbing your thumb along his bristled jaw line, not to dissimilar to the affection you showed once before to another blue eyed angel.

The heavy door swung open once more, yet you both remained entwined within an enamored bond as the attendant gently turned the metal knob.

"Think you've found yourself a dog there, ma'am," he muttered with a smile, extending the pen and paperwork for your newly attained ownership.

"You think of a name yet?"

You remained silent for a moment. Knowing full well his name was bestowed upon him the moment you walked through that door.

With one quick glance into his eyes once more, you fell in love with him all over again. And uttered the name you'd thought was destined to become nothing more than a distant memory.

"Johnny. Gonna call him Johnny."

This is hit me just before going to bed and I had to get it out. Love them furbabies. Boop all the snoots.

@deadbranch @sofasoap @d3athtr4psworld @writeforfandoms @punishmepunisher @glitterypirateduck @homicidal-slvt @jynxmirage @obligatoryghoststare @shotmrmiller @astraluminaaa @ghosts-goldendoodle @kkaaaagt @mykneeshurt @simpingoverquestionablemen @queen-ilmaree @thetrashpossum @designateddeadend @luismickydees @foxface013

#soapitup #salvation at the shelter #angst some comfort #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #john mactavish #soap x you #soap x reader #SoftSoap feels #call of duty #cod #cod fanfic #call of duty fanfic

[infinite-orangepeel]

Behind every shitty hole in the wall is a story.

It’s a hysterical combination of luck and determination that lands Eddie Munson in the back alley of a dive bar five years after the world was supposed to end.

It's by chance alone that Steve Harrington is snuffing out a cigarette under his boot. Eyes fixated on a useless point in the distance. Off into space or wandering no man’s land. Distracted and distraught.

He’s never been the same.

He’s never known how to come back home.

He’s punishing himself. Has been for half a decade.

It’s the first anyone’s seen of him, since—

There’s a smudge of grease or soot or black makeup outlining his cheek. There’s gel in his hair—sticky and functional. He’s tangible. Real—somehow. Dusting ash off on his dirtied pants and trying to make the most of a blasphemously humid afternoon.

He wipes sweat from his brow bone, breathes deeply, seems to come to terms with the harsh underbelly of reality.

The sky is orange; afflicted by caustic heat. He doesn’t belong in a place like this. It’s time to bring him home once and for all. Of that, at least, Eddie is certain.

Eddie isn’t certain of much these days. None of them are. Not since Steve left and took their bleeding hearts with him like a dissolute trail of breadcrumbs.

Every moment without him has been spent painfully avoiding the mention of his absence. Setting his place at the dinner table was a habit they all had to unlearn, but sometimes Robin will forget—put out a plate and fracture at the realization.

And, then, the evening is ruined. The evening becomes a sinking ship. Blurry conversations swirling around how to convince him to come back. How to see it through. How to show him he has a God-given right to nestle into their world without making desperate apologies. There’s no need.

The desert’s on Steve’s side. Thinks it can outsmart Eddie by parching his lips, cracking the skin around them, drying out his tongue like the package of liquor store jerky he anxiously gnawed on while driving into town. Kicking up arid soil with his tires and blinding himself to fear—to the voices in his head that tell him to let Steve sulk and suffer in silence, because he’s the one who chose to leave in the first place.

It was a choice.

A fucking stupid choice, but a choice nonetheless—

Steve’s going to go back inside. He’s got a dish towel tucked into his apron pocket. A toothpick replacing the fallen cigarette between his teeth. Eddie’s been trying to muster up the courage to actually approach him for the past three days.

It always ends the same.

Steve’s fifteen minute break comes to a close, he disappears through the door on stage left to clock back in, and, as if looking through a broken kaleidoscope, the scene around Eddie fades into colorless obscurity. Everything else is void of meaning. Without Steve in the picture, life makes little sense. There’s no point. No clear way North.

He’d rather die than go through it again. The loss. Decay. Heartache and rage.

“Have you told your boss about the family emergency yet or do you need me to take care of that for you?” Eddie snarks, hiding his emotions behind a practiced smirk.

Steve looks up. Hand on the door. Stuck between two universes. One in which he hides and another in which he allows himself to be found.

“What are you talking about?” He chokes on a peach pitted fantasy in which he gets to briefly wake up and hit snooze–rub the sleep from his tired eyes, “Why are you—Eddie, you’re not supposed to be here. How the fuck did you find me?”

There’s uncertainty afoot. His chest rises and falls in shaky hesitation. One beat slow followed by two in rapid pace—standard procedure for someone who's been forced to confront his past in broad daylight. Out of the blue and into the unknown. Eddie wants to pin him to the wall and kiss him—drown his sorrows so he never has to feel them again.

But, it’s not time for that.

Not yet.

“Is someone hurt? Is it one of the kids? Robin? Nance?”

Eddie feels cruel for planting that seed in his brain so he cuts him some slack. Pushes past his own frustration, devastation, the scars on his torso that ache when he twists this way or that—reminders of who he was before.

“Everyone’s fine. Healthy and safe at home,” he swallows the gasp that wants to come out when Steve releases the handle on the door—when Steve makes the conscious decision to stay, if only for a moment, “You, however, won’t be, if you don’t march right up to your manager and let him know that you’re gonna have to throw in the towel a little early on this shift. We have plans and—unfortunately, for the big boss—they can’t wait.”

“I don’t understand—”

He starts to say and Eddie can’t help, but soften. Can’t help, but fall apart under his pretty eyes and pouty lips. Gaze catching and tugging on his heart strings when he notices the hint of Steve’s own scars lining his neck. Temporarily exposed by the breeze shifting the collar of his work shirt. Hidden unless you know where to look.

Eddie’s always known.

“Do you know how hard it is to say ‘no’ to a guy who looks like you—especially when there’s a sob story attached to that face?” He leans forward, exhales softly as Steve’s lashes flutter out of control, and bites the opposite end of his toothpick—stealing it and sucking it into his own mouth, “You have a family emergency. You have somewhere to be. You’ll be back tomorrow or you won’t—that part’s up to you. Knock ‘em dead, sweetheart. Go on. It’ll all make sense later. Just need you to trust me for now.”

He thinks of the bats. Of the fight. Flashes of the unforgiving war. The smoke and mirrors and nightmares that never fully went away. The cold sweat and salty tears. Memories that no one can verify, because time and space have made them intangible. Like monsters under the bed. Creatures that stalk the house in the wee hours of the morning. By dawn, they disappear, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t real.

There’s no confirming or denying. Steve doesn’t nod or give a final answer with his hand hovering over a big red buzzer. Instead, he moves forward, steps through the door, doesn’t look back over his shoulder to contemplate if Eddie was a figment of his imagination. Leaves without a trace.

Like he was never really there.

Like he’s a ghost haunting the untethered planes of Eddie’s memory.

—

When Steve climbs into the back of Eddie’s van, it’s comical.

He bangs his head on the roof. Mutters a curse or two. Almost tips himself backwards hopping into the passenger’s seat. The van shakes with laughter—amused by the boy who has grown out of his old polos and button downs, but has somehow managed to maintain his childish humor. Slipping back into an old tattered suit and finding it’s still tailored perfectly to his measurements.

“Are you kidnapping me? Is that what this is?”

“Pretty sure kidnapping implies taking a ‘child’ against their will,” he smirks at Steve rubbing the back of his head, “You don’t fit into either of those categories by my estimation. Try not to get any blood on my seats. I just got this baby washed—I mean, sure, it was ten years ago, but—”

Eddie slings his arm around the back of Steve’s headrest. Talking a lot of smack for someone who feels as protective over his aggravated passenger as he does. The van’s hot. There’s no A.C. It’s stuffy and awkward and all Eddie wants to do is kiss him.

All Eddie’s ever wanted to do is kiss him. Just once more. Once would surely be enough to quench a thirst that’s plagued him for five long years.

“People would come looking for me, y’know. I have friends. People in town who would notice…eventually,” Steve snaps, but his heart’s not in it. Sounds like a luckless penny hitting the bottom of a dried up wishing well.

“Well, you’re worth caring about,” Eddie feels the edge of a splinter graze his tongue off the toothpick, “Always have been. Shouldn’t be such a surprise.”

It’s too honest. God, he knows, it’s too honest.

Steve doesn’t say anything. Eddie half expects him to throw a punch.

A few miles pass and the only interruptions to the weight of their shared silence are the bumpy groan of a shallow pothole and the lonely howl of a coyote on the horizon.

Maybe he's been separated from his pack—

The thought is almost too much to bear.

“How’s business?” Eddie tries to change the subject, turn back the clock, pretend it’s just another weekday on the way home from school.

“Does it matter?”

“Guess that all depends on if you’re planning to stick around this dust bowl or not, but I don’t think you’ve quite made up your mind one way or the other.”

They’re almost to Eddie’s hotel. He can see the flashing bulbs of the sign down the road—The Saguaro Inn. It’s not the nicest establishment. The sheets have moth holes, he’s had to kill a spider or two, but the guy at the front desk gave him a six-pack of beer on the house and that, alone, was worth its weight in gold.

“Where else would I go? I live here. I work here. This is my home, now.”

If Eddie looked over and saw Steve running lines off a Hollywood script, he’d believe it. Authenticity evaporates from his voice like everything else that the blistering desert sun destroys in its wake. The only things meant to survive in such an unbearable climate are cacti, insanity, and dread.

Even the coyotes are lost and out of touch.

“Hmm. Funny,” Eddie raps his knuckles against the peeling steering wheel cover—needs to get it replaced, but in the face of an unearthed Steve Harrington it’s the last priority on his list, “We clearly remember things differently. As I recall, you’re a Midwestern boy. Born, bred, and raised on Indiana corn. Not whatever the Hell they serve at that dump you work at.”

“Fuck off. I’m happy,” Steve argues hotly, fists balled at his sides—tension working through his jaw like a flame on an inevitable collision course with the end of a stick of dynamite, “I’m fine. I’m not some damsel in distress who needs you to come rescue her. I chose this. I want this.”

It’s clear he doesn’t.

If only he had the wherewithal to look himself in the damn mirror and tell the truth. Tell it without leaving out the obvious—the lie written all over his face.

Steve undoes his apron, tosses it in the back, and throws a sidelong glance at Eddie as if sizing him up. As if searching for the minute details that have shifted, collapsed, grown in prominence. Like one of those ‘spot the difference’ games on a children’s menu in the back of an old diner. Illuminated by lightning bugs, grease, and splattered syrup.

Eddie doesn’t think he looks much different.

Eddie doesn’t think he’s much of anything to look at.

Old soul. Dark curls. A leather jacket that’s seen better days. He aims for mystery and shoots blanks. Comes up with mediocrity, a sense of macabre discontentment, the bitter taste that hangs around on the back of his tongue.

He practically jumps out of his skin and bolts when Steve, unexpectedly, runs a thumb over the Demobat scar on his cheek. It’s hyperreal. Throttles him through the past and future. Merging together hopes and dreams that he hasn’t allowed to see the light of day since those scars first got bandaged up at Hawkins Memorial Hospital.

“It suits you,” he hums thoughtfully, “I like it. Gives you an edge.”

Dizzy doesn’t even begin to define it.

In some universes, in this one, he might have fared better if Steve had the guts to hit him instead. To draw a knife, send a bullet flying, be a force of conventional violence rather than whatever the fuck this is.

This is worse.

This is a death he’ll keep reliving until the day he actually finds rest.

Or, perhaps, this is the afterlife and Steve is his eternal punishment for being stupid enough to care.

—

The short journey from the van to Eddie’s room is blissfully uneventful. Mundane.

They chat about vending machine snacks. Steve gets a candy bar and Eddie gets a pack of sour gummy worms. They split them. Share in the sugar coating, the sour bite, the milk chocolate that gets stuck in the backs of their teeth. It’s a dinner two little kids playing house would ‘cook’ up.

Only understanding later why their parents always advised them to save dessert for later. To end things on a sweet note.

Eddie’s room is 111 which prompts Steve to ask about El and the kids while he’s working at the keycard. The scanner’s finicky. Won’t budge unless the plastic’s inserted at just the right angle. It’s fucking annoying, but the place was cheap and, frankly, he didn’t know how long he’d be in town when he checked in.

He tells Steve about their accomplishments. Sounding like the proud father he never had—sounding like Wayne who made up for the lack of one. Max’s studying sport’s medicine at the community college. Dustin’s starting his summer engineering internship. Will’s got an art showcase coming up in October. Robin and Nancy’s new apartment is close to the city. Eddie crashes there most weekends and takes them out for coffee on Sunday mornings to show his thanks.

By the time Eddie’s done recounting the events Steve’s missed out on, their shoes are off. Tucked side by side next to the door.

Steve checks three times to ensure the latch is secure. Blushes when Eddie tells him its’ safe. Its’ okay to rest and close his eyes if he needs to.

Life isn’t what it used to be, but old habits die hard.

Eddie gives him the last gummy worm in the pack. Does it wordlessly. Automatically. Steve goes to decline, but Eddie does him a favor—closes his hand around it and nods.

It’s an act of love. It’s an act of faith. It’s the only way he can figure out how to say that bitter thing on the back of his tongue.

The mattress creaks obnoxiously to announce their arrival upon it. There’s a modest amount of space between them. Left vacant so their secrets have a place to run and hide. So they don’t have to speak them aloud.

“Do you ever miss it?” Eddie bumps Steve’s shin with his foot.

Cartoon sound effects curate the fantasy. Glowing orange and yellow from the rabbit eared television set—out of date and grainy, but that’s part of the appeal.

The screen casts desert colors across the headboard and suddenly, this is their life. A shared life. One they’ve built together. Nothing separates them anymore, but the itchy floral sheets and the inconvenience of clothes. Memory loses its ache.

“Which part?”

Steve looks at him through glassy eyes, marbles rolling across the floor.

“Whichever part you miss, I s’pose, if there is one,” Eddie shrugs and prays to a divine entity he doesn’t know the name of, “I’ve always wondered. ‘s hard not to.”

“Sometimes,” Steve reaches over the nightstand to grab a handful of ice—sets it on his chest over his shirt to cool off, “When I get off work. When I’m on the bus ride home and I’ve forgotten my headphones. Those times, I miss it—the sound of everyone talking over each other in Mike’s basement. It used to be like wrangling a bunch of wild animals. They drove me up the fuckin’ wall, but that sound? That sound was home. That sound was family, to me. No matter where I go, I don’t think I’ll ever find that again, but I was lucky to have it for a little while.”

“It’s not, like, that door over there,” Eddie points to the overly complicated latch that was designed to keep out intruders and cockroaches alike, “You’re not locked out unless you have a special key. The door—back home—it’s wide open. It always has been,” he studies Steve’s grimace; the evident pain he feels at that ‘too good to be true’ promise.

In the cartoon, it’s sunny. Steve’s bathed in a fictional variety of yellow optimism.

The character’s smile, laugh, and dance around in the middle of a playground. The swing’s never swing higher than they’re supposed to and conflict is resolved by the end of each thirty minute segment.

It’s a cruel juxtaposition to pay witness to as Steve’s cheeks become stained with tears. It hurts to see him curl up onto his side. To sit idly by as he goes about the wretched business of breaking his own heart.

“They’ve moved on, Eds. They’re onto bigger and better things. I’d just be holding everyone back. It’s okay.”

“It’s not—”

“Eddie,” Steve inches closer to him; knees knocking together—mirroring each other, “let it go. I’ve made my peace. Why can’t you do the same? Why can’t you let me–”

“Because, watching you leave was the single worst moment of my life. Worse than the bats. Worse than Vecna. Not a day goes by that I don’t replay it in my mind. Not a day goes by where I don’t think about what might have happened if I’d been brave enough to stop you.”

Kissing him is wrong.

Kissing him resolves none of it.

Kissing him tastes like sour gummy worms and chocolate and the satisfaction of finding a final resting place.

Kissing him is anger, spite, love.

Kissing him is the only thing that’s ever mattered and, maybe, that’s okay—

Steve startles. Keeps his lips perfectly still and Eddie thinks he’s really fucked this whole thing up, until he feels him break.

Until he feels him crack wide open like one of those novelty geodes Wayne used to bring back from his trips to mining country.

As the next episode begins and the cheesy theme song plays out in the background, Steve yanks Eddie towards him and sobs. They ground each other through twisted limbs, the rough meeting of lips, and the active avoidance of any moment outside of this.

They kiss and it’s both Heaven and Hell. It’s the promise of what could be and the mounting fear that the second they pull apart, the bonafide shelter they’ve created will crumble.

Steve whines openly. Sighs into Eddie’s mouth and slots a desperate knee between his thighs—a generous offering from a dead man walking.

Eddie grinds against it. Finally loses control. He rides Steve’s thigh in earnest—hips bumping, moans dripping from his lips like saccharine honey, cock throbbing and making a sticky mess in his boxers. Everything tastes like salt and sound and fury.

“Taste so good,” Steve licks over his mouth quickly, “Taste sweet. That part’s stuck with me—Eddie Munson’s real sweet.”

“You bit my tongue when we—”

“You probably deserved it,” Steve jokes and slaps his cheek playfully, “C’mon. Don’t stop. Kiss me, again. Want you to taste me like I taste you.”

He fucks his tongue into Steve’s mouth and the remembrance of a night he’s only been able to dream of, for the past five years, plays on.

He’s kissed Steve once before. Left a violet hickey on his neck. It was the end of June—concrete sizzled, mosquitoes swarmed, an ending should have been obvious, but it wasn’t.

They’d been scared. Afraid for the future. Afraid of how the past would follow them around in the shadow of tragedy. Afraid to press onwards, to lick over each other’s teeth, to make a mistake.

It’s different now.

Eddie doesn’t hold Steve like he’s fragile. He holds him like he believes he’s strong, because he is and he does. He’d have to be to start all over. To press restart in the middle of nowhere.

Steve’s hands roam his body ceaselessly. Wrinkle his clothes. Tug at his belt. He’s possessed by hope and the taboo Mirage and who can blame him? It’s gorgeous and awful.

“I haven’t touched anyone—” he cries, “I haven’t let anyone touch me since you kissed me on the night I left Hawkins. Remember? In my driveway–”

The confession sends a pang of agony racing through Eddie’s chest.

Nobody’s held him. Nobody’s kissed his neck and left behind a brutal memory. Nobody’s taken the time to wash the suds from his soft brown hair or dab the soap from his hazel eyes.

“Shh,” Eddie hushes him, laps at his tears and makes a split second decision, “I’ve never forgotten. How could I? I hardly ever think about anything else,” Steve whimpers from where he’s found a spot to rest his head in the crook of Eddie’s neck, “Shh, baby. Will you let me wash your hair? Will you let me help you clean off? Is that okay?”

Clinging to him and refusing to let go, Steve shudders and nods. Eddie knows this is significant for him—to relinquish the tired role of martyrdom and permit someone else to take care of him. To shoulder the responsibility with gentle hands.

Slack in his arms, Eddie carries him to the dim bathroom. The cartoon characters scramble around on screen—chasing each other around with hammers and wacky laughter.

When the water warms to the point of comfort, Eddie undresses the two of them in tandem.

First, Eddie’s shirt. Then, Steve’s. A breathy kiss in the interlude—they savor this practice. This delicate waltz. Their hands tremble. Steve’s shockingly sensitive. He breaks skin on Eddie’s shoulder when he circles his nipple and bites down just to tease.

“Nobody’s ever done that—”

“I don’t care about anyone else. No one. This is about me and you. Let me be the first. Don’t let there be anyone else. Me and you. Yeah?”

“Yes. Only you, Eds. No one else.”

“There’s my boy. My sweet, sweet boy.”

He cradles Steve’s sleepy face in his hands, pecks at the corners of his mouth as he helps him out of his classic Americana blue jeans. Levi’s or Lee. Brass buttons, deep pockets.

In the humid steam of the shower, they melt into each other. Eddie guides Steve to stand in front of him under the spray of the water and folds his arms around him. He strokes a hand over the flat plane of his stomach, toys with the pretty hair there, and sways with him to the tinny sound of the end credits. Conclusion. Finality. It is decidedly so.

He scrubs away the dirt, tears, grime, and misfortune with the prepackaged bar soap. Supplied by the manager at the front. Handed to him alongside the six pack and finicky roomkey. Steve lets Eddie rub out the knots in his shoulders. Thanks him unnecessarily as if this isn’t the greatest gift Eddie’s ever been given.

“Let’s do your hair, next,” Eddie presses lingering kisses to the column of his throat.

“I’d like that.”

The shampoo isn’t great. It’s in a miniature hotel bottle and opens with a snap. Smells like a pink petaled flower that would never survive this heat. Mildly delusional peonies with a whimsical flair.

“Tilt your head back. Rest on me,” Eddie whispers, flattening his palm over Steve’s heart—swearing an oath, “I’ve got you. I’m not gonna let you fall.”

He listens. Obeys readily. As if having waited his whole life to be instructed to do so.

“That feels nice,” he whines high in his throat while Eddie lathers the floral shampoo and works it through his hair, “Want more. Please, Eds. Please—more.”

“I’ll give you more, sweet boy,” he’s deliberate about the way he subtly scrapes against Steve’s scalp and tugs at the tendrils swooping around the nape of his pretty neck, “You’re so perfect,” he kisses his ear, nibbles on the lobe and revels in the resulting moan, “so kind, so smart, so lovable.”

Love—

Eddie wasn’t supposed to say love.

Shit.

He really wasn’t supposed to mention that.

“Fuck,” Steve sucks onto Eddie’s jaw—groaning and nipping along the full line of it, “Do you?”

“I’ve gotta rinse it,” he pretends to miss the question, “You can switch spots with me or–”

“Eddie,” Steve grinds his ass against Eddie’s dick and it’s no fucking accident, “I wanna come home. I wanna be yours. I don’t wanna be here anymore,” he turns so they’re face to face and Eddie sees Steve’s hard and leaking onto his hand where he’s lazily stroking himself as he crowds into Eddie’s space, “But, I need you to tell me. Do you love me? Do you love me the way I love you, because if you don’t—I can dry off, I can get my stuff, I can go back to the bar—”

“I love you—Jesus fucking Christ, Steve! Of course, I fucking love you! I’m not capable of loving anyone else! Don’t leave—”

“I won’t,” Steve caresses his cheek and wipes away his tears—the years of pent up heartache, “I love you.”

Breathless, Eddie’s back hits the cold tile wall and Steve’s fucking against him. Using the place where his hip meets his stomach to rub, press, and plead. Eddie grabs his hips, pulls him closer, gasps when he feels Steve spurt pre onto his pale skin.

“Say it again. Tell me why, so I believe it. So I know who to call when the voices in my head get too loud. So I can learn how to come home. Please, Eddie, please.”

Taking them both into his fist, Eddie pumps Steve’s dick alongside his own. Slow and steady. He thumbs the slit as Steve’s knees buckle. Grits his teeth and grins dumbly when his boy hisses at the heat and building friction.

“Honey, I dreamed of you. I ran after you a million times. I begged and prayed to whoever would listen. I’m nowhere near religious, but, fuck, I devoted everything in me to finding you,” he slots their lips together and feels Steve’s smile before he sees it, “You’re my home, Stevie. It’s empty without you. I’d rather die, than drive back alone.”

To have him like this is a million times better—a Goddamn miracle, compared to what Eddie’s envisioned night after night alone in his bed.

Moaning brokenly into his pillow as he chased after the punishing gossamer threads knotted in the hair of his phantom lover.

To untie him meant freedom and, at last, Eddie has the filthy pleasure of being the one to make Steve Harrington come undone.

“Gonna make me cum, Eds? Gonna let me be good for you?”

Steve’s thrashing wildly. Thrusting into Eddie’s fist and digging his nails into his back. Babbling sweetly about how badly he wants to shoot off over Eddie’s hands.

“Not yet, angel. I need something from you first,” he catches his breath, forces Steve’s hips to go still, and does his best to keep it together, “Promise me you’ll get in my van when we wake up tomorrow morning. Promise me you’ll forgive yourself.”

Steve’s quiet.

The water’s running cold—you get what you pay for.

The coyotes and cartoons fight for dominance. Lone rangers, lone wolves, trembling in the dust.

The dim bulb flickers—one, two, three; it’s fading fast—

In the pitch dark, Steve traces Eddie’s mouth with his fingertips, peels off his scars, draws whimsical shapes and crisscrossed stars with the very top of his tongue. An odd ritual and not a word to explain it.

As Steve finds the path to Eddie’s goriest scars—those that line his ribs—his curiosity gets the best of him.

“Care to enlighten me?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

Steve kisses the tops of his knees and that makes Eddie horny and madly in love. Even madder than he was with Steve’s cock in his fist.

“Not to me, no.”

His laughter is infectious. Eddie giggles—genuinely giggles like a blushing schoolgirl.

“I’m making a map,” Steve licks the head of Eddie’s cock and he shivers, “memorizing you, so I’ll always know the way back home if I get lost. It’s a promise.”

—

They stay up later than they should for a drive as long as the one they have ahead of them. But, it’s worth it.

Eddie cums down Steve’s throat in the shower. Steve thanks him. Licks up every last drop and kisses his knees like a forbidden secret.

Getting dressed isn’t an option. It never had a chance to be part of the agenda.

Steve falls apart in Eddie’s lap on the bed—fucking himself at his own pace. Deep and perfect. His moans belong on an album. Eddie tells him he’ll make him one some day. Burn a CD and terrorize the neighbors by blasting it in his car with all the windows rolled down.

Afterwards, they brush each other’s teeth and make a mess of the counter. Cackling like crazed animals because the light’s still fucked and Steve can’t find the toothpaste cap. They decide to leave it there—a piece of themselves for whoever rents the room next.

—

An hour into the drive, Eddie reaches for the map over Steve’s lap and looks at it for a moment before shrugging and throwing it out the window.

That gets Steve’s attention.

“What the fuck? Did you mean to do that? Was that on purpose? Tell me that wasn’t on purpose—”

“We don’t need it. I know where I’m going. I have everything I need right here with me,” he winks at Steve and steals a handful of gas station sunflower seeds.

“You’re such a sap,” Steve snorts, “I can’t believe you made me promise to come home with you and now, we don’t even know which direction leads to home.”

“I’m a romantic,” Eddie pats his thigh affectionately, “and, I may or may not have convinced Robin and Nance to fly out for a family road trip. We’re meeting them at the next rest stop. Nancy has another map. Hope that’s okay?”

“As long as you’re there. I’m there,” Steve takes his hand, “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

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[sissylittlefeather]

How the Web Was Woven: Chapter 13

A/N: Woof. This one took me a minute. Also, it's a short bridge-type chapter, but don't worry. Next chapter will be LONG and JUICY. This is just a necessary part of the story. Please don't give up on us! ICYMI this is the soulmate/time travel AU between Elvis and a fem!reader.

Need to catch up? Here's my Masterlist.

Warnings: cussing and angst (a smut-free chapter?! Who am I?! Don't worry. It's coming soon and they will be too 😏)

Word count: ~1.9k

"Why didn't she come for me?"

******

Elvis spends the next few weeks anxiously waiting for you to show up somewhere. It's clear his mind is elsewhere. Everyone around him notices that something is off, but he won't tell anyone what's going on. He just prowls around like a caged animal, nervous and waiting for something that no one understands. He goes back to Memphis before he has to be back in Vegas in August to film his concert documentary. The only thing that gets him out of his room is Lisa Marie. Otherwise, he mopes around or stays inside.

What no one knows is he's grieving. He's pretty sure he's lost you and his son too. The pain almost overwhelms him and he has a hard time living in his real life. He finds solace in music and spends a lot of time at the piano playing a whole catalogue of new songs. His favorite, though, is a song produced by the Beatles' record label, and he eventually asks to record it later that summer. It ends up on his album for the documentary That's the Way It Is and even makes it into a rehearsal scene with him playing it on the piano and singing. For some reason, the song makes him think of you, so he sings it as often as he can.

Even though it begins to look like he's back to himself, the pain of losing you is omnipresent. He resigns himself to the fact that he will likely never see you or his son ever again. As such, he leans into the documentary and even does a photo shoot with Priscilla over Thanksgiving to try to rekindle the affection he feels for her.

But he still feels like part of his soul has gone missing. It's the same old feeling he always has when he's away from you for too long, but this time it settles in his chest and becomes a part of him. 1970 slips into 1971 and he does his best to move on. 1971 slips into 1972 and he throws himself into work and lets his relationship with Priscilla sour. She moves out and he has a hard time even caring, except that she took Lisa Marie and it just twists the dagger of having already lost one child. There are other girls, like there always have been, but they never fill the void that you leave. He has a you-shaped hole in his heart that no amount of sex or romance or even love can fill. 1972 slides by, he films Elvis on Tour, and he plays shows across the United States. He plays Vegas again and then tours again, hoping that by keeping himself busy he'll notice your absence less.

Finally, he prepares for the Aloha from Hawaii concert that will be broadcast across the world. He tries to get back into peak physical shape and does everything he can to throw himself fully into this concert. In the process, he squashes the last hope of you ever showing up again. It's been three years.

You're gone.

******

Covid hits strong in 2020 and your world gets upended. You learn to work from home, host zoom call happy hours with your friends (even though you're pregnant and can't drink), and wear a mask anytime you're in public, which isn't often. In September, you give birth (alone and in a mask) to your daughter and name her Erin Love. She's perfectly healthy and looks so much like her brother you think you've given birth to his twin. And again you weep. Elvis is missing this and you know it'll break him if he ever finds out.

2020 fades into 2021 and you still can't risk going out with a baby. Every time you start to think it might be safe, a new strain or variant shows up and the world cowers in fear again. Vegas opens, but you're terrified, both of traveling and of the possibility of sending Covid back to 1971.

So, you wait. You wait and you wait and you keep waiting until your baby is old enough and the virus seems to slow down. Still, Vegas, with its masses of people, seems too risky. Finally, in December of 2022 you have an idea. You start making plans to head to Hawaii with both kids and your mom in January of 2023. Hawaii is much more secluded and you know exactly where he will be.

When you ask your mom to come with you, she wants to know why. This is going to be a very expensive vacation and she's not sure why you need her. You sit on her couch trying to decide just how much you should tell her. Eventually, you settle on something very close to the truth.

"John is there. We haven't seen each other in three years." You look down at the ring on your finger.

"I was starting to wonder if he still existed."

"I'm not even sure he'll want to see me..." You look at the ceiling to try to stop yourself from crying, but it doesn't work and the tears come sliding down your face.

"Oh, sweetie. I'm sure he does. He loves you."

"I hope so." She pulls you into a hug.

"I will go with you. I'll watch the kids so you two can get reacquainted."

"Thank you, mom."

Once she agrees to go with you, you drop an ungodly amount of money to stay in his suite and pack up both kids to fly to the islands. You decide not to tell John Jessie why you're going, just in case it doesn't work out. He's almost 6 now and he asks about his daddy damn near everyday. Somehow, he remembers him despite the fact that it's been almost 3 years since he's seen him. Erin's too little to ask questions. She doesn't even know she has a daddy, which breaks your heart every time you think about it.

******

After a rehearsal, Elvis heads to his suite to rest. He's 100% invested in what he's doing. But out of nowhere, he thinks of you again. He hums the song he's designated as yours and goes to work changing out of his jumpsuit.

He's got the zipper all the way down when he hears a sound that makes his heart stop. There it is, the old familiar buzzing. He hasn't heard it in so long. He turns slowly, sees the portal, and practically runs through it without thinking about the fact that he has no clothes packed and is wearing a jumpsuit.

******

When Elvis comes through the portal, he stops and stares at you. He's so in shock that he doesn't know how to respond. Your mouth pops open in awe of him standing there in the American Eagle jumpsuit fully unzipped. He looks better than you could've imagined. Obviously, you've seen the footage, but it really didn't do him justice. He zips it back up and gives you a hard stare.

"It's been three fucking years, y/n."

"I know-" You don't get any further though because John Jessie comes bounding into the room. He runs to Elvis and jumps on him. He's supposed to be napping with your mom in one of the bedrooms.

"Daddy! I heard you!" Elvis grabs him and holds him tightly.

"Heyyy buddy, I missed you so much!" You can tell he's trying hard not to cry. You look nervously towards the bedroom. If your mom sees him in this jumpsuit, it'll be impossible to explain.

"Bubby, where's your grandma?"

"She's asleep." You breathe easier and John Jessie turns back to his daddy. He launches into a monologue that only a 5-year-old can follow, but Elvis sits with him on the couch and listens attentively. You stand and watch the scene and Elvis glances at you every once in a while.

After about 15 minutes, you hear Erin cry from the room where she is taking her nap. Elvis looks up at you, shocked.

"Who is that?"

"That's my sister. She's little still." John Jessie answers knowingly. Elvis's head swivels to you so fast.

"Sister?" You nod and duck out of the room to grab Erin before her crying wakes your mom up. When you come back, Elvis looks at both of you and his eyes are shiny with tears. "Is she-?"

"She's yours." He stands up and immediately takes her from you.

"What's her name?"

"Erin Love."

"Love? Like my..." He trails off and looks at her lovingly.

"Yes. Like your mother." He holds her to himself and looks up at the ceiling, trying not to cry. He pulls back and looks at her again while she babbles to him.

"Baby, do you know I'm your daddy?" She looks up at him.

"Daddy?"

"Yes!" She smiles widely and he holds her close to him again. He looks at you incredulously.

"We have another baby."

"Yes, we do." He kisses her cheek and sets her down on the floor, turning to you. His eyes burn through you and he whispers angrily.

"Where the fuck have you been?! We have a daughter?!"

"Please, Elvis, I can explain."

"You better. I'm going to spend the evening with my kids, but you better have a damn good story when they go to bed."

You nod. How will you get him to understand Covid?

******

He changes into some clothes you have for him and helps you put the kids to bed. Despite not knowing the routine, he proves to be pretty helpful. You're amazed at how well John Jessie remembers him. Your mom seems to just know she should make herself scarce through the whole evening and stays in the room. Once you get both kids in bed, you sit on the couch facing him, heart pounding and stomach in knots. He looks at you with a mixture of sadness and anger.

"Tell me why, y/n."

"There is a new virus." You desperately try to explain everything that's happened over the last three years.

"So you couldn't come to me because of a cold virus?"

"Elvis, you don't understand. This was a global pandemic. Everything was closed and people all around the world were dying. They literally shut down Las Vegas."

"I've been other places." He responds, the anger in his voice obvious.

"I know, but I couldn't risk our kids. Or the possibility of you taking this virus back to your time. I finally feel safe here in Hawaii."

"I don't know, y/n, I'm glad you're okay and I'm especially excited to see the kids. But I thought I'd lost you. I buried you in my mind."

"Did you- did you move on?" For the first time, the reality that your marriage to Elvis might be over hits you in the gut and your eyes widen. Elvis isn't sure how to answer. He has a girlfriend, and technically another wife. But he looks at you sitting in front of him and can't help but feel the connection that's bound you together for over fifteen years. He wants to be angry so badly, but really all he is is sad. Sad that he missed the first two and a half years of his daughter's life. Sad that he went so long without all of you. Sad that you almost feel like a stranger now.

You sit on the couch staring at each other waiting for his answer.

******

Come back soon for Chapter 14!

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Taglist:

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#elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley #elvis fanfic #elvis presley fic #elvis presley x reader #elvis #elvis x reader #elvis presley x y/n #elvis fic #elvis fanfiction #elvis x y/n #elvis x you #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley x you #how the web was woven

[galactic-magick]

You’re Not Scary, Johnny: The Spot x Reader

Summary: What if Spot’s family didn’t leave him after the accident? In other words, Jonathan had a spouse and baby daughter and goes to see them for the first time since becoming The Spot.

Words: 1.8k+

Warnings: Some swearing and vague mentions of suicidal thoughts

Author’s Notes: The baby daughter is not specified to be biological or adopted bc I wanted to keep the reader gender-neutral! Also thanks to Julia from The Spot discord server I’m in for suggesting the name Dottie! (haha get it like spot and dot)

-

-

-

Jonathan wasn’t one to immediately give up on anything.

After all, he was one of the top scientists working on Alchemax’s toughest project, full of initial failures and screw-ups. He had numerous opportunities to quit during his lengthy years of schooling and career, but he never did. He was always incredibly self-driven, and having a family in edition to that motivated him to succeed even more. He married you—the most wonderful person in the universe to him, and had a beautiful daughter named Dottie he couldn’t wait to raise with you.

That is, until he woke up on the Alchemax floor that dreadful day, surrounded by debris from the destroyed collider.

He remembers seeing his hands first, ghost white with a couple black spots on each. But they weren’t like a bruise or mole that stayed it place—they were fluctuating and pulsing like dark matter. Convinced he was just seeing things, he tried to rub his eyes, only to feel nothing and instead see his fingers come out through a hole on his leg.

He screamed in terror, pushing his gangly body off the ground and stumbling towards the nearest reflective surface he could find.

“No, no, no-” his voice shook, looking at himself for the first time.

He turns away, too horrified to look any longer. He couldn’t go home to you like this, let alone live any sort of life at all like this. He scans his gaze over the rubble, running to the first intact thing he sees. “I can- I can fix this. There has to be a way to fix this!”

Jonathan wasn’t one to immediately give up on anything.

He got to work searching for anything salvageable from the labs and collider, theorizing and writing equations and running tests for weeks, not that he realized it had been that long. His mind bordered on madness, obsessing over every single detail that could possibly fix him.

“I have to fix this, I have to fix this…” he muttered to himself over and over, voice cracking. Every test and experiment failed day after day, nothing worked. He didn’t want to give up, but maybe this was something not even his genius intellect could fix.

Jonathan wasn’t one to immediately give up on anything—but now he had to.

He slumped onto the floor, wailing into the void of the abandoned building. He screamed and cried as much as he could without having tears, begging to anyone who could hear to be put out of his misery.

His face fell to his hands, or at least what was left of one. His thoughts returned to you, with your sweet eyes and smile he adored so much and the heartwarming memories you’ve shared over the years. You’re his everything, his other half, and everything he’s ever wanted. He thought about holding your daughter for the first time, wanting to give her the world and more.

He couldn’t go back to you like this. He couldn’t even look at himself, so why would you? His daughter would surely be afraid of him and he’d lose everyone he loved in an instant. He couldn’t put himself through that, he just couldn’t. You probably think he’s already dead, might as well let you remember him as he was.

-

You never thought you’d have to deal with being a single parent. You and Jonathan have an incredibly healthy relationship and marriage, so you figured you’d be together forever. You never thought you’d have the unthinkable happen to you, having to go on after the death of a husband.

Each day gets harder and harder, and everything that was fine or even good before becomes a struggle. You know pretty soon your emergency savings will run out and paying rent will be a problem, and you’ll have to start picking up overtime at work and have to spend less time with the baby. You’re more alone than you’ve ever been in your life, and you still don’t even know for sure what happened.

No one dares stand up to Alchemax, not even after a disaster like this. You had asked Jonathan multiple times to consider somewhere better to work, but he assured you it was the only place he could do the full extent of his work, which you understood. Still, if he had left this wouldn’t have happened to him.

He wouldn’t be dead.

All you want to know is how he died. Was it painful? Was it quick? Was it peaceful?

Every night you lie awake, the questions racing through your mind. Most days you’re thankful that Dottie is not a fussy baby, but sometimes you wish she was so you’d at least have something to distract you.

-

It’s been a few months since the accident, and Jonathan is still crippled with fear. He refuses to look at himself, covering himself with layers of clothing to get around the city and avoid seeing his own skin. He tries to keep ignoring the voice in the back of his mind telling him to go home, muffling it with the anxiety of being seen by the one person  who could completely shatter his soul.

But if he did go to see you, at least he’d finally know. He wouldn’t be left wondering his whole life what you’d say and how you’d react. He might not have the both literal and metaphorical hole in his heart aching for closure forever.

He knows you’re usually home by the hour, the baby probably down for a nap while you have some free-time. He approaches the door of your shared apartment, hand hovering next to the door. He knocks quietly, and hears you shuffling towards it.

“Who is it?” your voice is like honey, and his heart wrenches.

“Please don’t—please don’t freak out, okay darling? It’s Jonathan,”

The door swings open faster than he thought possible, and you fling yourself into him.

“Holy shit I thought you were dead, I-” you sob into his chest, your tears blurring your vision enough that you can’t see him clearly. “They said—they said everyone in the building died from that explosion-”

You pull away slightly, looking him up and down.

“Why do you have so many layers on? It’s super warm out,” you reach up to pull off the mask and glasses over his face, but he stops you.

“There’s something you need to know before you do that,” he says. “I survived, yes, but not without enormous cost. The explosion left me severely deformed,”

You try to fight his grip on your hand, attempting to reach up again, “Johnny, you know I will still love you no matter what. Please just let me see you-”

“No.”

A wave of deep concern washes over your features, “What happened?”

“I-I tried to fix it, but it can’t be fixed. I’m a monster now, I don’t even look human anymore. Somehow my body fused with a black hole I was carrying during the explosion, and now that’s all I am...just holes,”

You do your best to take in and process his words, but you know you won’t truly understand until you see it for yourself.

“I’m going to look at you, okay?” you tell him sternly.

He sighs in surrender, awaiting the inevitable. You start by taking off his gloves, interlocking your fingers with his white ones. He hums at your touch.

“I’m still here, Johnny,” you assure him. Next you unzip and slip off his jacket, revealing his torso and arms covered in black spots. It’s certainly strange, you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t, but it doesn’t scare you. The spots look like splotches on an artistic painting, and you already love them.

You decide to wait to take off his pants and shoes, and instead bring your hands to his head. You remove his hat, smoothing your palms over his completely white and bald head. Of course you loved his gorgeous hair before, but you’ll get used to this.

You hesitate your fingers around his face, waiting for a sign of approval.

Jonathan nods, but he grabs your hands once again, “Darling, I literally don’t have a face anymore. You’re not going to see what you want to see,”

“I don’t care. I want you no matter what,”

You rip off his mask and glasses in one go, met with a deep black hole staring back at you.

He sighs again, turning away from your gaze, “I understand if you don’t want to be with me anymore. You don’t deserve a life married to someone like me,”

“Johnathan,” you scold him. “When I married you I promised to love you no matter what. For better and for worse and all that shit, okay? Sure this will be an adjustment, but I want to adjust with you. I’m just happy you’re alive,”

You watch as his face spot fluctuates in size and shape, and you decide to interpret that as his new way of expressing emotions. You appear to be right, because he quickly pulls you into a tight embrace and whimpers into your shoulder.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he mumbles, his body shaking as he holds you closer and closer, to the point you feel yourself going through a couple of his spots. “But what about Dottie? She’ll cry every time she sees me,”

“You don’t know that,” you say, rubbing his back, tracing your fingers around one of his spots. “Her first word was ‘Dada’ you know. I talked about you a lot to her while you were gone,”

“Really?”

“Mmhm. She can crawl now too. I’ll go get her from her crib, this is usually around the time she wakes up anyway,”

Jonathan slowly releases his grip as you slip out of his arms, bracing himself for whatever might happen. He looks like something from a horror movie, of course she’s going to be afraid. He may have lucked out with you wanting to stay with him, but there’s no promises his daughter will feel the same.

You come out of the bedroom holding her, a bit bigger than the last time he saw her. You place her gently on the floor so she can crawl around, and she doesn’t even seem to notice Jonathan at first, more interested in the toy next to her. She grabs it and sits upright, and then finally sees him.

To Jonathan’s surprise, she doesn’t seem phased by his appearance. She simply cocks her head slightly to the side and stares at him.

“Dada!” she finally babbles, giggling to herself.

“She...she recognizes me?” he asks, in awe of her cute little face.

She continues to giggle, repeating his name over and over. She rolls forward onto her hands and starts crawling towards him, grabbing onto his leg. Jonathan leans down to pick her up, and she flails around happily, settling into his arms and poking her hands into his holes on his face and chest.

“How is she not scared of me?” he says, completely dumbfounded.

“Because you’re not scary, Johnny,” you smile, wrapping your arms around the two of them and kissing his cheek. “You’re family. Spots or not,”

Dottie squeals as if in agreement.

“I suppose so,” he hums, resting his head on top of yours.

Jonathan would never give this up for anything.

#the spot x reader #johnathan ohnn x reader #the spot #johnathan ohnn #across the spiderverse #spiderverse