#genuinely my favorite chapter.......tears every time | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mrzombielover · 3 months

Text

- slow ride ch1

feat. sinner!adam x fem!hotel worker!reader

series masterlist | next chapter

warnings: NSFW, enemies to fuckbuddies, adam and reader both suck, unhealthy relationships, size kink oooops, light degradation

a/n: oh my god this is so self indulgent. something is fr wrong with me bc all my favorite men are irrevocably fucked up and toxic and emotionally damaged and would treat me like shit teehee

wc: 2.2k

“You took my shame and you took my pride / And now you gonna take me for a slowride”

When even Charlie is trepidatious about checking someone in to the hotel, you know they’ve fucked up bad.

Adam had shown up, tail between his legs, admitting something about how he’s “desperate enough to try anything,” even this “stupid delusional humiliating hotel.”

Charlie, who’s more like an angel than Adam ever was, had ultimately decided that he could stay. After a lengthy and heated discussion, she’d reminded the group that the hotel’s policy states that everyone deserves a chance at redemption, regardless of the sins they’ve committed. Considering he killed your friend, you thought that was bullshit, but it’s Charlie’s hotel at the end of the day, and you’re just along for the ride.

You like Charlie, which is why you put up with having Adam around. She’s a good person- genuinely, deep down. There’s no hidden motives in her actions. You’ve not met many good people in your life, so she’s won your respect, even if you have your doubts about the hotel’s premise.

But for as much as you love her, you briefly questioned her sanity when she asked you to keep a special eye on Adam.

“…and how exactly is that the job of treasury secretary?” You deadpan.

“Wellll…” Charlie trails off, looking away for a moment. “It isn’t really. Buuut what if I was asking as a favor, for your friend?” She clasps her hands together, giving you a smile. You have to avert your eyes from the hopeful look on her face before your resolve cracks.

“No way in hell,” You say quickly.

“Please!”

“No,”

“Pleaseee!”

You bite your lip as you think. He’s obnoxious, yes, but what’s really the worst that could happen? You close your eyes and sigh.

“…you owe me one,”

You regret accepting every day. Nobody got along with Adam. Well, nobody except for Nifty, who seemed thrilled to have a real bad boy staying in the hotel. You, however, got along with him the least of all.

For someone who’d come to the hotel in his time of need- who was in no position to ask for anything other than forgiveness- Adam sure has a smartass mouth. It seems Charlie just wants to give you a brain aneurysm, that’s why she gave you this job. Even if that wasn’t her goal, that’s certainly the stage you’re approaching, because fighting with Adam everyday is 100% going to make you pop a blood vessel.

You can’t help it. Something about him- the way he acts, the forced proximity, just gets under your skin, makes your eye twitch. He should be groveling, begging for forgiveness, putting his heart and soul into bettering himself, yet all he does is bitch and moan. Constantly complaining would be one thing, hell’s full of whiners, but he also feels the need to voice every thought he’s ever had, which often includes insults and snide remarks about those around him. You’ve never been one to take that shit- though, nobody at the hotel really does. It seems to be much worse with you two, specifically, though.

The problem comes in because, as much as you hate to admit it, you might sometimes occasionally have some things in common with him. No, you’re not quite as loud or crude or obnoxious, you don’t generally insult people for fun, but if someone deserves it?

You’ve tore into people for way less than murdering your friend, showing up on your doorstep and being a pain in your ass 24/7, especially if you’re in a particularly shitty mood. Reduced people to tears for mildly inconveniencing you, having an annoying voice, wasting food, etc etc… all of which Adam does.

Generally, you’re apathetic to what goes on around you, especially at the hotel. You’re fed, don’t have to pay rent, and can pretty much do whatever you want, so dealing with the annoying, traumatized, dramatic residents and staff is a fair trade off in your eyes. Adam should, in theory, be no different than the rest of them to you. So you cannot, for the life of you, figure out what about him makes him so much worse than the rest.

You just try not to think about him as much as possible. But when you ignore him, he just seems to get worse.

“Jesus, you don’t think it’s a bit early to start drinking?”

You mentally groan as you hear his voice, avoiding eye contact as you crack open the bottle.

“I mean, Isn’t this shithole supposed to be for rehabilitation?” You can practically hear the smirk in his voice as he opens the fridge.

“Why don’t you focus on your own rehab first, dick? Been weeks now and you’re still an asshole,” You snap, before taking a swig of your beer. He shrugs, grabbing the orange juice from the fridge and placing it on the counter. He walks past where you’re leaning on the counter to get a glass.

“I mean, damn, you didn’t even try today, huh?”He laughs.

“Why are you pickin’ a fight with me right now?” You raise your voice a little, exasperated and too hungover to deal with this.

“oh, uh, i dunno… i’m bored?” He shrugs again, looking over to you with a self satisfied smile. You groan in frustration, then sigh, forcing yourself to keep it together.

“…and you wonder why your wives left you,” you mumble with a roll your eyes, turning to quickly leave the kitchen. you don’t see his face, but judging from the sound of a crash and footsteps quickly following you into the hallway, you hit a nerve. oh, god, here we go…

“you fucking junkie bitch!” he yells after you as you stomp up the stairs.

“you’re proving my point right now!” you say over your shoulder.

“Like you have room to talk? Let’s bring up your love life, huh?!”

“oh my god shut up!” Angel yells through the door as you pass his room. “Every fuckin’ morning with you two!”

Adam ignores him, continuing to rant as he follows closely behind you, every degrading name he can think of spilling from his lips.

“…fucking whore cunt- whose not even fucking listening to me!” he says as you turn into your room. you turn, attempting to slam the door, but he sticks his foot in the gap and grabs the door, shoving it back open.

“what in the fuck is your problem today?!” you yell.

“it’s you, bitch!”

“oh my god- how do you care about anything this much? Seriously, it’s not that deep!”

you jump a little as he suddenly slaps the beer bottle out of your hands, the glass shattering loudly and the leftover beer soaking your socks. your jaw drops, outraged, and you can’t help the reflex to reach up and smack the side of his head.

“ow!” he yelps, and you raise your fists to hit him again, when-

“you- fucking bitch-!” he shouts. you cry out in surprise as he grabs your wrists and yanks you with surprising ease, shoving you roughly into the wall behind you.

theres a struggle, both grunting with the strain of pushing against each other as Adam wrestles to keep the upper hand. You go to knee him, but he moves quicker, slotting one of his legs between your own and pressing his body against yours to pin you completely against the wall.

then, something changes. he pauses, the close proximity seems to have finally registered in his brain. his eyes widen and you pause too, both panting, faces inches apart. his grip loosens, and a flicker of confusion crosses his features.

“wait, what’s-“

“shut up,” you snap suddenly. before you even realize what you’re doing, your hands are on his chest, and you’re shoving him towards your bed.

“take off your shirt,” you command as the back of his knees hit the mattress and he’s falling backwards. he quickly does as you say, looking up at you with wide eyes as you straddle him and rip your own shirt off as well. he mumbles a nice when he sees you’re not wearing a bra. you reach to tug off the sweatpants you had on, and as soon as you can kick them away Adam’s hands are on your waist and flipping you over. He hurriedly rips off the rest of his clothes before he’s back on you, leaning down to eagerly press kisses down your neck. you have to tilt your head to make room for the horns now permanently attached to his head, and you think of the irony of this situation.

the sound of fabric ripping followed immediately by two of his fingers finding your clit makes you gasp. you bite back a whimper as he begins to rub rough and sloppy circles on your clit. the pleasure doesn’t last long before he’s pulling his hand back, only to shove a finger inside your cunt quickly, and you gasp again. being so unprepared, the stretch burns a bit. fuck, has he always had such big hands? he’s gentle at first, as he works the single finger in and out of you, and once the pain subsides, he quickly adds a second one.

“Oh, fuck,” you can’t help the curse that slips past your lips, and before long you’re rocking your hips against his hand. his movements are rushed and sloppy, impatient as he stretches you out. he chuckles dryly, and you shoot him a glare.

once again, before long, he’s pulling away, and grabbing you by the shoulders to make you sit up with him. you whine involuntarily at the loss of contact, and the cocky bastard laughs again.

“So impatient, babe,” He grins.

“Shut up,” You say again, pushing him so that he’s sitting up against the bed frame. You crawl over to him, and straddle his lap. His hands find your ass, groping it roughly while you grab the base of his cock and align the tip with your entrance.

You both gasp in unison when you swiftly lower yourself to take his full length. A strangled moan escapes from your lips and you let your head fall forward to rest on his shoulder. Eyes squeezed shut, you wait so you can adjust to his size. Seriously, how had you never noticed how big he was before now? Prematurely, Adam angles his hips and suddenly thrusts up into you, making you cry out in pain and pleasure.

“Oh you like that, bitch? Huh?” He says teasingly, running his hands up and down your back before moving his hips again.

“You have seriously got to learn to be quiet,” You retort through gritted teeth, reaching up to pull his hair from the roots. He lets out a groan, followed by a more pathetic whine as you begin to move on his length.

It must be all the pent up emotion, because you’re very quickly unable to speak beyond a few curses and wanton moans. Adam however, can’t seem to stop talking. Mumbling about how good you feel- for a whore, how he didn’t think you’d be so tight, how you’re so fucking sexy he wishes he’d done this sooner.

“Ugh, Adam- shut up!” You groan as you move desperately. He whines as you pull his hair again for emphasis, biting his lip as you feel his hips snap up into yours.

“Oh, god-“ You’re squealing, back arching as you can feel your whole body tense. You’re on top, but as you grow more limp, he’s holding you upright as he roughly fucks into you. “I’m close!” You warn, and it comes out a strangled sob.

You’re so, so close. Euphoria clouds your brain, and collapse onto him as he continues to hold you up to thrust into you.

You fall backwards, and Adam follows, caging you underneath him as he chases his own release now.

“oh- fuck- don’t stop!” You’re practically screaming as your orgasm crashes over you, and you wrap your arms around and claw at Adam desperately, fingernails leaving marks on his fleshy back. You only faintly register the breathless laugh he lets out at your state as he now pounds into you.

He slams into you with an intensity that forces the air out of your lungs, and even Adam can’t form thoughts or speak anymore.

“Oh, fu-uuck, fuck, fuck, oh my god,” He can’t believe the noises that are coming from him, but he also can’t find it in himself to care when you feel this good. You’re so sensitive, and still tight from your previous climax, and he can feel your pulse in the walls of your cunt as you clench around him.

Pleasure quickly turns to overstimulation, and you moan his name again, reaching up to pull at his hair, horns, wings, anything, as tears begin to prick at your eyes. Hearing you moan his name, seeing the look on your face, knowing he’s the one doing this to you is what he needed to send him over the edge.

“o-oh my god-“ he groans, hips stuttering as he presses his body as close to yours as possible, spilling his cum deeply inside of you with an actual moan.

He stays still for a moment, both of your breathing labored, sweat making your hair stick to your foreheads and necks, but you stay holding eachother. While both your brains are still fuzzy, thoughts muddled from the aftershocks, he takes a hand up and wipes your hair away from your face, and the tears from your eyes.

Eventually, he sits up and pulls out of you, rolling over to lay next to you on the bed. Neither of you say anything, too fucked out to think of the repercussions from your actions.

#!my stuff #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #adam x reader #ok how do i tag this…#first man adam #first man adam x reader #idfk idc #!not sfw #female reader #this is like so cringe LMFAO #it’s ok tho idc😜

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cxsmicbaby · 1 year

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something nice - 1

CHAPTER ONE OF A SERIES

pairing : miguel o’hara x fem!reader

word count: 4.1k

warnings : smut at the end! cursing throughout. enjoy :)

you and hobie play a prank. miguel doesn’t like it, but he can never stay mad at you.

𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪

“And then... my uncle died.”

“Mmhm.” The smell of hot coffee grows stronger. It’s mere inches away.. I just have to suffer through this for a moment longer.

“And I realized. I’m not even real! I’m just a clone of the real Peter. And that totally destroyed me.”

“Oh wow,” I say, nodding. Ben, or Scarlet Spider, continues to go on about his tragic backstory, somehow still managing to flex his biceps as he begins to well up in tears.

Finally, the spider in front of me finishes filling their mug and it’s my turn. God, if I had to stand in line with this melodramatic asshole for a second longer I think I would’ve tried to cut my own ears off. He’s still talking as I fill my cup with coffee, but this time I’m not listening. It’s probably some variation of the same things I’ve been through, anyhow. I wonder how Miguel is able to sit through thousands and thousands of these things whenever he recruits a new spider. He’s not a very patient guy.

Miguel. He walks through the lobby at 5:30am, every morning. I woke up early today so that I would run into him. Not like I said anything to him; I walked past him, smiling, and he just grunted. Just about what I expected. But I still woke up early to see him. I feel a little stupid thinking about it. I’ll probably do it again tomorrow.

“Yeah, Ben, that really sucks. Maybe you should see a therapist.” I turn and give him a pat on the shoulder, smiling as genuinely as I can. He nods, and wipes his teary eyes. This guy cries way too easily.

I swing off into the main lobby. Thank god, I can be free. I don’t know what the plan is today, but I’m always up for an adventure.

“Oi!” I hear, and behind me Hobie is swinging forward, his mask already on. That must mean there’s something happening. Regardless, I’m always happy to see him. He’s probably the only person I really talk to here; other than Miguel.

“Hey! Got anything for me?” I ask, as we land on a free platform. Hobie pauses for a moment before he starts digging around in his pockets, and pulls out a bag of my favorite snack from his universe; unfortunately, it doesn’t exist anywhere else, so I depend on this not-so-dependable guy to bring them for me. 5/10 times he actually remembers it.

“What’s with the drink? I thought you hated coffee,” he asks, plopping himself down on the edge of the platform. I do the same, and we watch as the spiders swing and climb all over the place, like a jungle gym. Every time I take a step back from this whole thing like this, it always amazes me. Just a few weeks ago, I was stuck in a universe where I was the only one, and now I’m in a place where everyone is just as corny as me. It’s lovely.

“I do,” I start, taking a sip of it. I fight the way my lips threaten to purse in disgust. “I needed a pick me up.”

“Ah.” Hobie pulls at a loose thread of his shirt and smiles deviously. “Up all night thinking about Miguel, huh?”

Hobie is far too observant for my liking. There’s nothing that gets past him, which is great for combat, but not great for me.

I swallow hard, and shake my head. “No. And you should stop saying shit like that! What if someone overhears? They’ll think something weird is going on.”

“Like?” Here we go.

“Like. They’ll think I’m in love with him or something. We’re just friends. He’s cool. I’m cool. Everything’s cool.” I sound like an idiot, and I know Hobie thinks the same when I hear him laugh. It’s like I’m a fucking teenager again, gossiping about my crush in the locker-room. I hated high school.

“Cool, cool. Everything’s cool,” he teases, mocking me.

We’re both quiet, basking for a moment in the odd sort of peace that comes out of this chaotic place.

Hobie snickers softly, shaking his head at something that he’s thought of. “Heard some of the others talking bout how Miguel’s pickin’ favorites. Guess who’s the favorite?”

I sigh, and down the rest of the disgusting black liquid. “Whatever. I’m not his, uh. His favorite. He talks down to me like all the rest.”

Hobie is quiet. That’s rare. When I look over at him he’s just staring down, a weird sort of smile still on his face. His fingers are drumming against the platform.

“Hey, what’re we gonna do today? Please say you’ve got something fun.”

That seems to get him, because his head perks up and that teasing expression is replaced by one of excitement. Thank god. If I had to talk about Miguel for another second it would not have ended well—I tend to get a little loose with the things I say the longer I’m forced to talk about them.

“Something fun, eh? I’ve got something fun. But only if you’re up for it.”

I smile. “You know I am.”

Compared to a lot of the others, I’ve been here for a very short time. Still, I’ve learned the ins and outs, the dos and the don’ts. Like, do listen to what the higher ups (and Lyla) say. Don’t make fun of Miguel’s tediously slow entrance on that weird platform thing. Do make friends. Don’t be an ass. And for god’s sake, do not pull any pranks.

The thing about spider people; we tend not to really listen to rules.

Hobie and I are perched on a bar above the lobby. We’re trying to figure out the best way to go about things. Me, I think he should take charge, but he seems to think nobody really likes him, so they won’t listen. He thinks they’ll all fall in line with my beguiling feminine charms and do whatever I say. I think that sounds like bullshit, but I don’t really wanna do the other thing, so I agree to it.

I drop down smack in the middle of a group of spider-people in a conversation. Immediately, I put on the most panicked expression I can muster and start running around frantically.

“Jessica’s gone into labor! I repeat, Jessica is giving birth at this moment! Help her get back home so she can go to a hospital... or something!” I shout, trying to get as much attention as I possibly can. Of course, everyone loves Jessica, so everyone starts rushing to her aid. None of them actually know where she is, but they just launch into help-mode, as Spiderman does. Soon, the lobby is basically empty. Sometimes, I think about how gullible I must be if I’m really just a variation of this same person.

“Coast’s clear,” Hobie calls, dropping down from above. “We don’t have a lotta time, gotta make this quick.”

I frown. “We? But you said all I had to do was get them out!”

“Yeah, that was a lie.” Hobie shrugs and tosses me a spray can. “Now, you gonna help or not?”

The idea of getting caught spraying painting the building Miguel has built specifically for us makes me queasy. The idea of being caught doing anything that would make him upset makes me queasy. But if I back out now, then I just made a fool of myself for no reason. I don’t mind looking stupid, but it’s gotta be for a reason.

I sigh, and reach up to tug my mask over my face in case someone realizes that Jessica is not even here right now, and decides to come back. I mean, not like I would really be hiding much, considering everyone knows what my suit looks like, but there’s no harm in it.

The moment I pull it down, the room is doused in red light and an alarm starts blaring. Fuck.

“You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me, mate,” Hobie groans, tossing his head back in frustration. “That old man did not just sound the alarm ‘cause we’re pulling a goddamn prank. Might as well do as much as we can before the rest of ‘em come back.”

That does not sound like a good idea. If Miguel is angry enough to turn on the alarm that signifies intruders, he will definitely not like us continuing in spite of his obvious warning. But Hobie’s already swinging up, spraying bright purple in a strangely elegant ribbon across the walls. I start to hear footsteps, but they’re far enough away that I think I have some time. So, despite my better judgement, I follow Hobie, tagging wherever he’s painted with a green design of my own. Gotta admit, it looks pretty dope. That assuages my fears somewhat and I find myself letting go a little, whooping in excitement as I swing around the lobby.

Then, I hear it again. Footsteps, but I know these very specific footsteps. Heavy, fast, angry. My stomach drops and I land, turning to Hobie to see he’s still painting away. He probably hears it too, he just doesn’t care. I wish I could be as carefree as him. Especially when it came to this sort of thing.

But I can’t. In fact, once Miguel actually appears in the room, hair slightly disheveled, face twisted up in an almost scary amount of anger, I freeze in place. God, he’s fucking fuming. His eyes sweep the room like we just painted Miguel Sux! in somebody’s blood. And then his gaze lands on me, and I feel myself shiver; in fear, in anticipation, in... something else.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Miguel bellows, and that catches Hobie’s attention. Before he can say anything else, the flake is gone. Typical Hobie. Saving his own ass. I can’t even really be mad at him, because if it weren’t for the annoying way my feet were sticking to the ground I would’ve done the same.

The alarm shuts off, and the room goes deadly quiet. I’m still staring at him as he approaches me, his chest heaving as he takes deep breaths, probably trying to calm himself down. He needs to see a therapist, I think, but don’t have time to even smile at my own quip before he’s looming right above me.

“Do you get joy out of causing this type of shit? Out of wasting everyone’s time?” Miguel spits, and I know I’m supposed to be hurt by what he’s saying, but god if I don’t wanna just pounce at him right here, right now.

So I keep my mouth shut. He doesn’t seem to like that. His fists are clenched tight at his sides as he studies me.

“You know, if I knew you were gonna be such a fucking nuisance, I would never have brought you here.”

Ouch. That one sort of hurts, so I take off my mask and I look up at him, trying to keep my composure. I frown. “It was just some harmless fun, Miguel. No need to get so mean about it.”

That was not the right thing to say, apparently, because his eyebrows furrow even deeper. Before he can open his mouth to say something that will probably make me cry, I force a smile and swing up to the wall.

“And it looks great! Don’t you think this place is too... I don’t know. Sterile? Everyone’s gonna love it.” I hope he can’t hear the way my voice is trembling. When I hear my words echo back to me, I’m relieved to find that I sound quite confident. I’ve always been good at that, faking like I know what I’m doing. I think that’s a Spider-man thing.

Miguel doesn’t speak. He crosses his arms over his chest and inhales deeply, hanging his head.

“You are going to clean this shit up. Understood? And when I find that little shit Hobie, I’m gonna tell him the same thing.”

I think that’s the closest I’ll get to him saying he isn’t really that mad about it, and that’s good enough for me. I swing back down to stand in front of him, and this time when I smile, it’s real.

“Are you sure? I’m telling you, it looks super—”

Miguel’s eyes narrow and I feel my stomach twist. “Don’t test me.”

I straighten up and salute him, fighting the urge to run as Miguel’s eyes burn into mine. “Yes, sir!”

I swear to god, he almost smiles, before he just shakes his head.

“Don’t do shit like this again. I won’t go so easy on you next time.”

𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪

“You don’t let yourself have anything, do you?”

Miguel pauses. He finds himself looking up at you, despite the desire to remain stoic and focused and uninterested. It’s always hard to do that, with you.

“What?” he says, his voice slightly biting. He means it to be. He wants to scare you away so you will leave him alone, finally. It’s been mere weeks since you joined them, and in those weeks, you have made it your mission to annoy him more than anyone ever has in his life. It’s like you live to bother him. He should hate it more than he does.

He should hate your stupid fucking pranks and your dumb, unfunny jokes. But he doesn’t. He knew it was you today, even before he got to the lobby, but for some reason he wasn’t that mad. And then the fact that he wasn’t mad about it made him mad about it, and he was mean to you. He wants to apologize, but that’s not like him. Everything he does or feels when it comes to you is a contradiction to the person he has built himself up as. The whole thing is just so muddled up he’d rather ignore it.

You sit on a metal box to his left, swinging your legs back and forth as you scrutinize him. Miguel doesn’t like how you always have this knowing look on your face, like you’re waiting for him to discover something you’ve already found out. Frankly, all the Spider-people have that sort of glint in their eyes, but with you it’s different. He bites the inside of his cheek and forces himself not to look away.

“I mean, you don’t let yourself have anything nice, or fun. The closest you get to letting yourself feel happiness is those empanadas you make me bring you.”

You smile at him, and he thinks to himself that he wishes you would do it more, but the moment the thought passes he stamps it out with a frown.

“And even then, you always scowl when you eat them.” You cancel out his grimace with a little laugh that makes Miguel fucking furious.

“You know, it’s not in your best interest to keep talking about this. If causing a useless ruckus is fun to you, then yeah, I don’t fucking do that.” He practically spits it, and swivels his head to focus again on his work. He doesn’t know if he wants you to apologize or if he wants you to just go. Apologize? He’s kidding himself. You would never.

He can’t help but listen carefully for your movements, wanting to hear if you’ll leave or not. But he hears nothing, and he turns again to see you just sitting there, swinging your feet. Still smiling.

“What are you still doing here? Don’t you have shit to do?” Miguel asks, narrowing his eyes at you. He notices that his tone lacks the sting he meant it to deliver and chooses to ignore it.

You boost yourself up from the box and stand. “Not really. Can’t I just stay? I won’t make any noise, promise.”

Miguel frowns deeply. “That’s impossible.” But he doesn’t tell you to leave.

You sigh, your body swaying side to side. Miguel thinks its a subconscious thing you do when you’re standing; most people would just be still, but he’s noticed that you cannot possibly remain perfectly in place for more than a few seconds.

“Yeah, whatever. I’m gonna get some sleep. You should too.” You send him a small wink and turn, walking off toward the exit. You stop briefly, turning to face him with an expression he can’t quite read.

“And, uh. Sorry about today,” you call, and he says nothing. You turn again and he watches you leave.

Everything has changed since you showed up, and if anything can be taken from his obsession with anomalies, it’s that Miguel hates change. Especially when it seems like there isn’t much changing for anyone but himself.

It was him that found you. He went on a mission to a universe he had not yet traveled; a rare occasion, because it wasn’t to destroy an anomaly, but because something was telling him to go. It wasn’t like a voice, or even a sense. More like a feeling. There was something there for him to discover and so he went without saying anything, hoping he’d be back before anyone noticed.

Miguel found you on the roof of a museum. You were sitting on the edge, swinging your feet back and forth, just staring into the streets. You had your mask off, which he remembered thinking was incredibly stupid, seeing as it was still light out. Your suit was nothing to gawk at, nothing too different than the hundreds of others he had seen, but for some reason he knew it was you he was supposed to find. You, he had been called to. For what, he didn’t know.

You noticed him before he intended you to. When you saw him, you didn’t look shocked, or scared; you looked happy. No one had been happy to see him in a long time.

“How long you been standing there?” you asked, turning your body to face him. You crossed your legs and watched him approach, staring up at him like he was someone you knew, someone you had been waiting for.

Miguel was quiet. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say.

“You know, one of us is gonna have to change.” And you laughed hard at your own dumb joke. Your laugh made him uncomfortable, how truly happy it sounded, how real it felt. You seemed like you hadn’t yet experienced the tragic things that came with being a Spiderman. You seemed innocent. Like you needed to be protected.

And by god, you were beautiful. The suit didn’t leave much to the imagination.

The thought startled him and he stayed quiet.

“Your suit is super cool. Kinda cyberpunk.” You stood and you watched him carefully, walking slowly around him in a circle. Miguel’s eyes followed you, his body on guard as if you were going to suddenly lunge at him.

“Why aren’t you... surprised?” Miguel finally said, his tone accusatory. But you didn’t seem to notice, and if you did you didn’t mind. You stopped in front of him and stuck your hand out, inviting him to shake it.

“Welcome to Earth-72, Miguel. I’ve been waiting for you.”

And that’s how he found out about a Dr. Strange, and how you knew about Miguel already; in fact, you were expecting him. The idea made him irrationally angry. Someone like you, obviously flippant and probably reckless, with knowledge about something as dangerous as the multiverse? You were most likely new to your abilities, to the mask. You were too naive and carefree not to be.

But Miguel was wrong. You had long been bitten, lost your uncle, your sister, your best friend. You just seemed to lack that bitterness that he saw in the others, in himself. You were happy.

Like most things, that also made Miguel angry.

You begged him to let you join the Spider Society. You said you had known about it for a while, and you dreamed of being apart of it, of something bigger than yourself. Your words exactly. He was slightly impressed by that, but didn’t show it. In fact, Miguel wanted deeply to say no. But he didn’t, for reasons he’s not quite sure of himself, and that’s how he ended up with a permanent, relentless distraction. He was starting to wish he never brought you back in the first place.

If you were more like him, he thinks, he probably wouldn’t have this problem. But you’re not. You’re almost the exact opposite. It drives him fucking crazy.

Miguel shook his head, grunting in frustration at his own inability to focus. It seemed even when you weren’t there, he was plagued by the thought of you.

And think about you he did, for hours on end, sometimes. When he would lie awake in bed, his body aching from the strains of the day. He wouldn’t be able to close his eyes, because the image of you was always waiting for him. Smiling, laughing. Looking up at him with those eyes of yours. He would find himself imagining what it felt like to be close to you. Your skin would be soft, he knew. Your lips would be softer. Your hands, calloused by years of fighting, swinging, winning, losing. How they’d touch him. How they’d hold him.

How he would touch you. Make you feel good. Make you think about him, just like he thought about you. Make you want him.

Miguel always lost himself in thoughts like that, and he was usually able to bring himself back to reality. When he got back to his room that night, though, he felt as though he couldn’t push it down. He didn’t let himself have anything nice. And god, did he want something nice.

The water ran over his taut back, soaking his hair and running down his cheekbones. One hand, splayed against the tile wall, and the other by his side, just inches away from an itch he is fighting not to scratch. His cock is aching. He swears he can see it pulse with every second that passes, every drop of water that lands on his shaft, veins prominent and throbbing.

Miguel imagines that you’re there with him. That you stand in front of him, and that instead of the wall it’s you he’s touching, your skin slick with water and sweat. That your hands are on his chest, your nails scratching him just the slightest bit, and god, those eyes, staring into his like he’s the only thing that has or ever will matter to you.

When he finally wraps his hand around his cock, it takes his breath away.

“Jesus,” he whispers, slowly stroking himself, gripping so tight he’s sure his fingertips are white. It’s not enough.

Miguel closes his eyes, and immediately he pictures you. He feels almost guilty to think of you this way, on your knees, with your lips wrapped around his dick. But he can’t stop. His breathing grows heavier as he imagines you taking him deep into your throat, gagging on him, your nose brushing against his pelvis. He thinks about what he’d say to you. How he’d tell you how good you were doing, how perfect you were. He grips himself impossibly harder and is unable to stop himself from relentlessly jerking his cock, his hand pushing so hard against the wall he’s afraid it’ll crack.

“Fuck,” he groans, his voice breathy and deep. More water drips onto his shaft and immediately he thrusts desperately into his own grip, envisioning that it’s you, spitting on him before you take him in your hand, running your tongue over his tip, looking up at him.

He thinks about what you’d say to him. He knows he would be too big for you. But you’d try to take him all, because that’s what you do. He’s sure your hand wouldn’t even wrap around his entire length. And you would tell him how big he was, how beautiful you thought he was. You’d probably tease him too, about how quickly he’d been reduced to a mess, how eager he was. He’s surprised at how close that thought brings him, and he has to bite his lip to keep from letting out a shameful moan.

When Miguel comes, he says your name. It’s not loud; it’s more like a plea, a prayer. His body caves in on itself and he shudders with the force of it, his legs trembling ever so slightly as he tries to bring himself back to reality. He stands there for a moment, trying to catch his breath, feeling a little ashamed at how quickly he finished. He hasn’t had the time to do anything like that in so, so long. He hasn’t let himself.

He washes himself off and gets out of the shower.

When Miguel lies in bed, he’s haunted by the thought of having to see you tomorrow, knowing what he’s done. And then he grows angry. You did this to him. And you’re not even trying; you’re just there. What a nuisance you are.

He tries to close his eyes, but he finds himself plagued by you still.

𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪

CHAPTER TWO

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otomehoneyybearr · 11 days

Text

The Day I Made a Friend

Book of memories Chapter 3

Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch4 | My First Dorayaki

Kagari: "You're weird."

Keith: "Huh?"

After the training—Keith, who had been rubbing his red eyes, tilted his head at Kagari's words.

Kagari: "You cry every day from the training. It's me who's making you cry."

Kagari: "So why do you keep talking to me?"

Kagari: "Most people would hate someone who puts them through unpleasant things, right?"

Keith: "Do you think you're doing something unpleasant to me?"

Kagari: "No."

Kagari: "But… crying means you're either in pain, sad, or scared."

Kagari: "I'm the one making you feel that way, right?"

Keith: "That's not it. I'm crying because of my own inadequacies."

Keith: "When I think about how I could have done better or how I made the same mistake again,"

Keith: "it feels like my chest is being squeezed, and the tears just come out."

Keith: "So I don't think you're the one making me cry. Actually, I'm really grateful to you."

Kagari: "Grateful?"

Keith: "You've put a lot of thought into these training regimens for someone like me."

Keith: "When I don't get it right, you teach me over and over again, staying with me until sunset."

Keith: "…You're the first teacher who's ever paid this much attention to me. There's no way I could hate you."

Keith: "If anything, I'm the one who should be disliked, for being so hopeless and crying all the time."

Kagari: "I don't dislike you. So don't cry."

Keith: "Oh, sorry… thank you."

Kagari wiped Keith’s tears vigorously with his sleeve, as if cleaning a window. Though it made Keith's eyes even redder, he smiled a little shyly.

Keith: "…Did it bother you when I talked to you?"

Kagari: "…"

Kagari: "I don't know."

Kagari: "…But it wasn’t unpleasant."

Keith: "...! Then, can I keep talking to you until you go back to Kogyoku?"

Kagari: "…Sure, I don't mind."

Keith: "R-really!?"

Keith smiled brightly, like a flower blooming, making Kagari take a step back. He unconsciously shook his fluffy olive-colored hair, expressing his joy with his whole body.

Keith: "I don’t often get the chance to talk to someone my age, so I'm really happy. Thank you, Sir!"

Kagari: "…Yeah."

Keith: "Hey, Sir. Can we talk for 10 minutes, or even just 1 minute? Is that okay?"

Kagari: "…Talk as much as you want."

Keith: "R-really? What should I start with?"

Keith: "I want to know about your favorite things, your brother, the types of cherry blossoms, what you usually do, and…"

Kagari: "I'll answer your questions… But drop the Sir.'"

Kagari: "We’re not training right now."

Keith: "Prince Kagari."

Kagari: "No ‘Prince’ either."

Keith: "Then… Kagari?"

Kagari nodded, causing Keith’s smile to become even brighter for some reason.

Kagari, having never experienced such a genuine smile directed at him, took another step back, looking at Keith with a puzzled expression.

Keith: "It feels like I've made a friend."

Kagari: "A friend?"

Keith: "Yeah. Just changing how I call you makes it feel like we've gotten a lot closer..."

Keith: "Oh, but when I say closer, I mean like the relationship between Kogyoku and Jade has increased a bit..."

Keith: "No, I know it’s presumptuous of me to think I could be friends with you!"

Keith: "I just thought that if we could be friends, it would make me really happy, so I kind of wished for it..."

Kagari: "...A friend."

While Keith nervously waved his hands around, Kagari murmured the word as if trying to get used to it, like he was hearing it for the first time.

Kagari: "...Being friends is fine."

Keith: "......"

Keith: "R-really? You'll be friends with someone like me?"

Kagari: "I don’t go back on my word."

Keith: "W-wow...!"

Kagari: "!"

Keith grabbed Kagari's hands with a speed rarely seen even during training, shaking them vigorously.

The unexpected strength made Kagari's body sway.

Keith: "Thank you, it feels like a dream."

Keith: "Can I still think of you as a friend tomorrow?"

Kagari: "...? Of course."

Keith let out a small sigh of relief and, as if he had remembered something, took Kagari's hand and led him somewhere.

Keith: "Kagari, there's a place I'd like to take you to."

They arrived at the kitchen.

Keith reached into a shelf and pulled out an item he had hidden, presenting it to Kagari.

Kagari: "This is…"

Keith: "It's called dorayaki, right?"

Keith: "I found it while I was out in town today and bought it."

Keith: "I thought it would be nice to celebrate becoming friends by eating them together."

Keith: "There's smooth red bean paste and chunky red bean paste, even though the taste is the same. Which one would you like, Kagari?"

Kagari: "..."

Keith: "Kagari?"

Though Keith called his name, Kagari didn’t move a muscle and just stared at the dorayaki being offered to him.

His gaze didn't seem to be one of indecision between the two types of bean paste, but it was enough to make Keith anxious.

Keith: "Maybe you don’t like these… I’m sorry, I should’ve asked before buying it."

Keith: "I got excited about trying Kogyoku’s sweets and forgot something important… I’m such an idiot."

Keith: "Wait, I have other things I bought, so you can choose from those—"

Kagari: "No."

Prev | Next

▼・ᴥ・▼

#ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri translations #ikepri spoilers #ikepri kagari #kagari amagase #ikepri keith #keith howell

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sebsxphia · 5 months

Text

ptolemaea. | spirit in the basement.

preacher!rhett abbott x reader.

￫ description: all you can feel and see is darkness, but someone else is there with you. you pray for your preacher in these desolate times.

￫ word count: 2K.

￫ c/w: heavy religious themes, preacher!rhett abbott, death, love and cannibalism.

￫ a/n: this is it, the last chapter! i’d highly recommend listening to spirit in the sky by norman greenbaum and strangers by ethel cain when reading! i also want to say to every single one of you who have loved and supported this series, thank you, thank you, thank you, from the bottom of my heart. i’m genuinely so proud of this series and please know, that this is never the end either! my inbox is always open for these two! this is part of ‘ptolemaea. | the verses.’ my main masterlist can be read here! 💌

| previous chapter |

What was this?

What was this feeling?

Your muscles in your calves tensed first on instinct to familiarize yourself with this feeling. They squeezed against something and you tensed them again, in an attempt to push against this something and feel it out.

Your forearms and biceps together repeated the same action and once again, you felt them squeeze against something.

No matter how hard and tight you flexed, or squeezed your muscles, they would not move against this something.

Something was binding you together and as you moved against this feeling, it felt as though invisible ties of fraying rope were twisting and turning over your body. You could feel them contort over your ribs, and tug at your ankles and wrists. Your limbs were glued tightly shut to your body in a position that you couldn’t even fathom to picture. And you were cold. You were so fucking cold.

Throughout all of your winters back in your home town, you don’t ever think you’d felt a chill this cold. It was prickling at your skin and covering you from head to toe. But, although you felt this piercing cold, your body wasn’t shaking like it would back home. You wondered if you were moving at all.

You thought you felt your eyelids blinking against each other in an attempt to try and see this something, but no matter how hard you blinked, your eyes remained open and there was nothing to be seen. It was just black. A black, deep, dark void that consumed your vision and everything you knew to be true.

And then you heard it.

There was a faint hum of music above your head. It was muffled considerably, but you couldn’t mistake that tune for anything else. Spirit In the Sky by Norman Greenbaum entered your hearing and swarmed your head with its familiar lullaby. It was a familiar favorite with yourself and soon after, with Rhett.

Rhett.

The song was still severely muffled, but further muffled creaks and groans contorted above your head. They paced around in an un-predictable pattern, and slowly they started to grow louder and closer to you. The sound cleared up and you recognized them to now be rhythmic patterns of footsteps. They were descending lower and growing louder, but something else came with it.

The low hum of the tune playing above you was turning into a whistle as something, came closer to you.

This was someone whistling the tune.

“R— Rhett?”

Your voice was broken and it croaked out from your throat.

“Rhett!”

You screamed louder with desperation, but your throat felt coarse and torn up.

As you desperately pleaded for Rhett to find you, over and over, you could feel the flesh on your neck tearing with your muscles. Your vocal cords were severed as you screamed.

You came to the deafening conclusion that he couldn’t hear you, as you heard his low drawl draw closer to you and hum out the words, “Never been a sinner, I never sinned. I got a friend in Jesus…”

His voice was so close to you now and he was practically on top of you. A crack of light dawned to your left and widened quickly. The darkness was now cut open above you and, you thought, you blinked furiously as your eyes adapted to the light. It was a dim and flickering light, yet it felt as though you had seen this darkness for your entire life. Your eyes adjusted and they went wide as you finally saw him.

Rhett had heard your pleading prayer.

He had always spoken to you about how you would find yourself in the Garden of Eden with him, therefore this wasn’t right. This wasn’t God’s plan for you, nor it wasn’t Rhett’s plan for you either. Your Preacher had come to save you from whatever horrid Hell this was. You would be safe in his arms again. He would hold you tightly against you, so tight his flesh would mould to yours and you would be tethered for eternity. You needed him, you craved him.

You made another futile attempt at screaming his name, but they fell on deaf ears. Your words never came. And Rhett simply continued to hum out Spirit In the Sky as he looked down at your neatly tied together body, which was frozen solid in your freezer, at the bottom of your basement.

You saw his hunting knife twirl in his slender fingers. You felt a blunt thud! whacked against your body and you were thrown back into the darkness.

You had no idea how long you’d been surrounded by this pitch-black, aching, darkness. The concept of time had all but disappeared with the light you saw your Preacher with. You thought it funny how the dim lightbulb that flickered above his head, silhouetted him like an Angel.

Concepts and things were starting to merge. You got confused and you felt yourself forgetting what time was all together, what your Daddy looked like, where your home was, how to breathe… But, Rhett was what you thought of most.

As you thought of him you could feel your heartbeat quicken in your throat and trail down to your heart itself. His initials of ‘R.A.’ thrummed on your hip bone with it. When you thought of him in this darkness, your body would vibrate and the blood in your veins would fizz.

He always made you feel as though you were coming alive. Every kiss, touch and bruise from his hand during sex, made your flesh come alive. Your hearts were tethered together, with his arteries suffocating yours.

You missed him.

And then you saw him again.

The darkness around you knocked down like bricks, before coming back together and forming a kitchen, specifically your kitchen, that you lived in together.

You were home and Rhett was with you there.

It was a sickly sweet, warmth inside your kitchen and it was just as you had left it. Left it where exactly, you weren’t sure of, but the heat made it feel as though wind was blowing gently along your arms.

Still, Spirit In the Sky played on the antique radio and you remembered how it would play in Rhett’s truck during blistering hot drives to the West, with the wind blowing through his rolled-down windows and onto your arms. You would mumble the lyrics to the tune with your knee bouncing in time. Soon you began to notice how Rhett would hum the tune with you, quietly making it known to you that he loved the song just as much as you did. His slender fingers would tap against the wheel of his truck, or his truck door as his hand stuck outside.

You suddenly felt his fingers tapping against you and you jolted with a spark. You watched him in the kitchen as he seared something with his hands in a sizzling hot pan. That sickly sweet, warmth was all you could feel as it clung to your flesh and stuck you to this particular place.

The song died out faintly on the radio and it followed with the town's local news.

“The missing persons case that has been wracking and worrying the people of Wyoming is causing another wave of paranoia as it’s suspected links to the missing persons cases that recently happened in the state of Florida. At this point, it is only suspected and local authorities are questioning…”

The monotone voice on the radio wasn’t interesting to you. It was drowned out from your ears as you gazed fondly, with an emptiness still behind your eyes, at Rhett. Your heartbeat picked up its pace and thrummed heavily against your rib cage as you watched him still. He was so handsome as he walked over to you, and then by you, reaching out to the cupboard that held your tableware.

His forearms now had small freckles splattered over his skin. You adored how they came up darker in the hotter weather. The fuzz of his arm hair, trailing up to his calloused fingers, had got lighter in the sunlight and you felt it softly brush against your cheek like he would when he’d lean in to tenderly press his lips to yours.

You’d only ever just wanted to be his. When you would kneel by your bed each night in nothing but your thin cotton nightdress, you’d pray to be his. You would beg him through prayer to tell you that you’re his. With your hands clasped so tightly together that your palms became damp, you’d mumble against your flesh, “Can I be yours? I tried to be good, Preacher Abbott. Am I no good? Can I be yours? I tried—”

When he told you that you were finally his, his forehead was pressed to yours through your screen door at the back of your house. His lips fumbled over the mesh material as he spoke and you laughed with pure, undeniable happiness that you were his. Through the small holes in the screen door, his familiar scent mixed with Marlboro Reds blanketed over you and wrapped you up with comfort. His tiny glass bottle of aftershave would always be splashed on his pulse point, just under his jaw, which was now tensing tightly as he chewed.

You watched as he devoured his smoked meal sat in front of him, and suddenly you felt an overwhelming and all-consuming love. You felt loved and protected by him, and you came to understand, like it was the most simple thing on this bountiful Earth, that this was his plan to keep his little lamb safe with him.

As he swallowed you thickly, you could feel his heart beating rapidly. You thought it funny because you never considered yourself tough before.

You felt whole as his heart was beating and intertwined itself with yours again. You were turning in his stomach and making him feel lovesick off of you and your tender flesh.

Tender pieces were still bleeding red and you thought, that Rhett had never looked so handsome when you were all over his mouth. His dog teeth that bit the meat off of your bones, were stained red. He groaned quietly, as he occasionally let his tongue wrap around his calloused fingertips. Doing so, he would smear your blood across your chin. His face was the portrait of a lover's rage.

This feeling was euphoric, in some strange and delightful way. You could never blame him for loving you the way that he did, because you were happiest here and because he would always be tethered to you. You’d never be without your Preacher again. Never alone, or fearful. He could protect you now from any hurt, or pain. This was meant to be and you would always forgive him, because he would always come back to you.

This sensation crept up your body, and you recognized the feeling of Rhett’s large hands running along your fingertips, down your forearm, and then up your biceps and to your shoulders.

You watched as the kitchen fell around you again like bricks, before building themselves back up and Rhett’s board arms were incasing you against his bare chest. You felt warm again, but it wasn’t the sickly, sweet type of warmth you’d experienced in the kitchen. This was instead the comforting warmth of Rhett’s flesh, pressed and moulded against yours.

The bricks came back together, stacking atop one another to form your bedroom in your home, where you lay together. Your hearts pounded against one another and you could finally feel his breathing. You could feel how his lungs expanded steadily below your own. The steady thrum of his pulse that you could feel under his jawline. As you scratched over it, his stubble pricked at your fingertips.

But you knew this was different.

In his basement, you would grow cold. The memory of you to everyone who knew you would simply be restricted to the Polaroids Rhett had of you. And whilst you were torn apart by the dog teeth of Preacher Abbott, you would still wait for him in your bed, in Death.

You felt safe, loved and protected with Rhett as you turned in his stomach, and you were held in his comforting arms. You just prayed that he knew how much you loved him.

But, it’ll be okay.

You can tell him when he gets here.

to my muse, jenna, thank you.

taglist: @sunblchdfly @beachbabey @tallrock35 @currentlybradshaw @unmistakablyunknown @iloveprettyboysblog @wkndwlff @flames-thebitch @kmc1989 @randomfandomgirl97 @peachystenbrough

tagging those who may be interested: @attapullman @lewmagoo @floydsmuse @auroralightsthesky @rhettabbotts @hangmanapologist @bradshawsbitch @sugarcoated-lame @becks-things @roosterbruiser

#rhett abbott #preacher!rhett abbott #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott x you #rhett abbott x y/n #rhett abbott fic #rhett abbott fanfiction #rhett abbott angst #rhett abbott drabble #rhett abbott imagine #outer range #lewis pullman #ptolemaea

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blondedmuse · 1 year

Text

DELIRIOUS

part ii of pure heroin.

finnick odair x reader

synopsis. ꩜ your days seem to blur together but Finnick makes time still—at least for a night.

author's note. ∿ I am so sorry about the delay for this chapter. I have exams in two weeks so I have a bunch of studying to do up till then, so I can't promise the next chapter will be on time either...angst warning but again I think that's warranted for like all chapters

word count. ⨾ 2.5k

"You don't understand, he's anything but a darling, I'm telling you!" You complained to Cinna, standing on one of his podiums as he measured whatever part of your frame he needed to. Cinna was your stylist, and one of the few people you could call a friend. Cinna was assigned to you in your games, who you quickly bonded with. He was kind, understanding, humorous, and above all, a great stylist. He was easy to get along with, generous and genuinely funny. Funny in the way where he made your stomach hurt and your eyes tear up, missing the dry, clammed up humor that every capitol citizen used as conversation filler.

"I mean the rumors about his eyes are true, they're like angels. But his heart-"

"Is cold?"

You furrow your eyebrows. "You've met Finnick?"

He laughed, shaking his head. "No."

"Funny," You replied, your lips pressed into a line.

Truth be told, you didn't have to react the way you did. While your watch held much more sentiment than anyone else but you would ever know, it's not like he stepped on it himself. But that was the effect morphling had on you. It made you ecstatic yet absolutely miserable. The euphoria in your veins was ephemeral, the vile that poisioned you was everlasting. Like any other victor, you needed morphling after a while. The highs were sky-scraping and the lows were hell. And when you ran into Finnick, you just happened to be in the comedown, about to crash.

But before its repercussions could take their effect, you took whatever nose candy you could find in your bag, sedating you into stability—at least for a little bit.

"I'm thinking gold." Cinna suggested, shuffling through the pages of his notebook.

"Didn't we do gold for the last dress?" You asked, your memory hazy.

"Silver," He answered. You opened your mouth about to spit a witty retort but Cinna stopped you before you could get the words out your throat.

"And don't try to tell me they're the same thing," He joked.

You didn't say anything, you only raised your eyebrows, your lips turned upward in a cheeky smile.

"You wound me."

"You love me," You tease.

He laughs. "Don't be so sure. Anyways, come look at this," He invites you over and you stepped down from the podium, walking over to the mannequin where your mock dress laid.

"I was thinking a sheath silhouette with cutouts on either ribs, bejeweled chains covering the missing material while connecting the fabric, as well as a harness and strap for the dress. The sleeves would reach your elbow, draping over your arms with a likeness to a cape."

You sighed. "Anything else?"

He smiled. "It's an open back." And you returned it.

"You do love me."

"Only the best for my favorite victor."

Cinna stayed true to his sentiments. Unlike the other stylists you’ve had, he made sure you looked beyond beautiful, used nothing less than high end textiles, and above all else: he made sure you were comfortable.

While the banquet was two weeks away, you were already apprehensive and beginning your disdain. Your dress, however, was one less thing to worry about.

Time passed strangely when you visited the Capitol. The two weeks you dreaded felt like days as they seemed to blur together. Everyday was the same like routine.

You’d begin each day irritable, your body aching in bed sheets that weren’t yours, left with remnants of the night before. You’d spend a day with your given lover, go out and make appearences, do whatever the wealthy citizens of the Capitol did in their free time. When the sun set into the same crevice it rose from only hours before and the night sky set in, you were free to let loose, have some fun. You lit yourself on fire, the substance that flowed through your body was all the same; only some longer lasting than others. But in the end it was all evanescent.

You’d end up in the bed of your client, lover, whatever name you’d decided to use for the night—and it was fun. You felt good. You could go as far to call it Pure Heroin. But like any other drug it was fleeting and momentary, and when it had run it’s course you were left empty and sustaining withdrawal.

The night of the banquet arrived quicker than planned and unlike the regime you’ve involuntarily created for yourself, you felt as though you were having anything but fun.

You looked like it though. Your look for the night lived up to the expectations of luxury as you plastered a smile on your face. You looked like you were having the night of your life.

Despite the lengthy list of victors and elitists, all eyes were on you once you arrived, and they never really left; briefly catching stolen glances and lingering glares.

Each step of yours left an echo that never went unnoticed as you made your way to your seat, especially by the blonde haired boy you’d ran into weeks before. He watched as your face twisted slightly once you’d noticed your seat was assigned next to his and how your expression immediately changed when someone had started to spark a conversation with you.

He watched and he wondered what was under the surface of the spectacle that was you he observed from a far.

Were you having a bad day when he’d run into you or were you just that ill-mannered, just that presumptuous? And if so? He wanted to see how much—how nasty he could get you, how much he could rile you up in return for last time.

You were talking with another guest when you felt a presence behind you.

“God, sweetheart, that’s an interesting getup.” You turned around, having to abstain from rolling your eyes. Once your gaze met Finnick’s, his lips turned up in a wicked smile you knew meant something more.

His gaze shifted to the person you were talking to. “Doesn’t she look-”

“Irresistible? Indeed she does! I’ve practically had my eyes on her all night.” They beamed, clearly knowing where their passions lie.

Finnick laughed. “Sure. Irresistible.”

He was insincere with his words, you knew that, but the way they sounded when they left his lips left something indescribable in your stomach. You had no time to dwell on it, as seconds later everyone had begun to take their seat, the banquet beginning in its own time.

You sat in yours, placing the until napkin in your lap, and you thought you could prepare for a nice night. As mush as you disliked the Capitol and its extravagance, you couldn't help but entertain it. And you were sure Finnick wouldn't mind ignoring you. You'd think it'd be polite.

A guest across from you whose name you learned to be Aurelia asked you to tell the table a story, because of course, such a fascinating victor such as you would have so many. And right as you were about to speak, you heard it; the smooth and silvery, yet self-righteous voice beside you.

"Actually, I might have something up my sleeve," He interrupted and everyone at the table turned to him. The table was small, no more than eight people, so he could captivate everyone—even you. You noted the smug smirk on his face you wondered was invisible to everyone else. Maybe you were past politeness.

Aurelia urged him to tell his story while her question towards you was left in the dust. And with each question directed towards you, it managed to stay that way. He'd find someway to steal the spotlight and make the show his.

The conversation had drifted in many directions, now ending up in a comparison between a few districts and the Capitol. And eventually, someone at the table found their interest in you again.

"Which do you like better, District one or the Capitol?"

This was a question you knew Finnick couldn't answer because he'd never been. At least you'd assume so. While you wish the question had more substance to it, it gave you a moment to engage with the others at the table if you were going to have to sit here for how much longer.

"I think-"

The sound of a utensil clanging against a wine glass interrupted you like Finnick had been doing all night. You found it amusing how frustrating this night has been and apparently Finnick did too, hearing him chuckle beside you.

You didn't hear it for much longer as the politician who was hosting the banquet—whose name you couldn't even try to remember—had begun a toast. His voice was underwater as you drowned his words out, still smiling as if you resonated with each one.

"And to our lovely victors that could be with us here tonight."

You raised your glass along with the others, clanking them together like second-hand nature. Before you could toss your drink back, letting bubbles of champagne burn your throat, you watched it spill from Finnick's flute on to your dress.

For the first time this night the attention could be yours, yet you were too appalled to say anything, only grabbing your clutch and excusing yourself to the bathroom.

You were glad it was empty, free to clean your dress without forged sympathy. You were able to let your emotions go, unfiltered and unsheltered no longer under the viewing pleasure of others.

You were sure you went through at least a roll of paper towels before you heard the bathroom door open, not daring to look up until you were done wiping your dress for what you hoped would be the last time. Once you did look up however, your frustration turned to indignation as Finnick Odair leaned against the door while his face read with concern.

"What is your problem?"

He smiled. "I thought you left.” And it dropped. “Guess not."

You wanted to scrutinize him, you really did. But you held your tongue, deciding to have some humility.

"What?" He cocked his head to the side. "Is your head hollow?" You admit his words only added insult to injury but they sounded better coming from his mouth. You hated it. So, you turned back to your reflection in the mirror, opening your clutch to dig for something you knew would pacify the animosity.

Finnick stood at the door way, watching, like he did earlier that night. Only now he was confused at your apathy and how you seemed to ignore him so easily. There was something so engrossing about you in the way that you treated him. You weren't friends, but you didn't throw yourself at him, treating him like a piece of meat the way everyone else seemed to do.

Lost in thought he hardly missed the small bag of narcotic you pulled from your clutch that he was all too familiar with. And in that moment, he wanted to make sure the white dust stayed in its bag—at least for tonight.

"You know, I think I owe you an apology." He spoke and you craned your head to face him.

You raised your brows. "You think?"

"I know," He admitted, stepping towards you.

"Who would've thought you knew anything?" You retorted, fully facing him now and you could see his dimples form just like they did the first time you met him. Only this time it wasn't sarcasm, maybe something more genuine.

"Well I know a few things," He replied. "I know I'm definitely sorry for spilling champagne on this beautiful dress."

You crossed your arms, holding back a smile. "You should be. It's still wet."

"Maybe some fresh air would dry it?"

You narrowed your eyes. "What are you suggesting?"

"Come with me," He proposed, holding out his hand. "I know you don't wanna go back in there. Not with your dress still damp."

"Which is your fault, by the way," You reminded him.

"I know and I'm sorry. Again," He apologized once again, still offering his hand out to you.

"Alright let's go," You accepted his offer but not his hand, grabbing your clutch from the counter and walking ahead of him. Finnick followed suit but before he left he grabbed the bag of coke from the counter and pocketed it, making a mental reminder to trash it later.

"Where to?" You asked. The two of you were out of the bathroom now, roaming the halls of some Capitol building.

"You'll see," He replied, wary of his surroundings.

"You're not trying to kill me right?" You joked and Finnick stopped in his steps once he reached a grand staircase.

"Worse," He answered. "I'm trying to help you."

You furrowed your brows as he grabbed the small train of your dress, lifting it so that you could walk up the stairs without tripping over yourself. A staircase and another long hallway later, you found yourself on the top terrace of the building. The view was breathtaking and the tranquility was a stark contrast to the commotion of celebration.

You walked to the edge and leaned on the balcony so much so you almost wanted to fall off. Not so much that it was a liability, but in the way you wanted to fully immerse yourself in the scenery, forget about everything else and focus on the green of the trees or how the streets looked under the moonlight.

"I'm not gonna fall off," You told him before his warning could ever be expressed.

"I- I didn't think you were," He lied. Straight through his teeth.

"You did."

"I did." He laughed. "How do you do that?"

"What?"

"Catch me in a lie so easily. Like it's second nature," He explained taking a spot on the balcony right next to you.

"You said it yourself. We're the same—similar at least. We both have the same reasons to lie. You lied because you want me to think you care.” You said, your eyes unmoving from the landscape infant of you.

"But I also see more than you think I do. I saw how you pocketed my coke before we left the bathroom and threw it out in the second floor hallway." You turned to face him. Now he was just like the rest; bewildered and baffled that you were more than what met the eye.

He bit his tongue and quirked his head, silent for a moment before speaking.

"You caught me." And for the first time that night you smiled because you knew he was being honest. You couldn't care less for his compliments and niceties because you knew they weren't reserved for you. You'd like to think they were, though.

"Can I ask why, though?" His question tip-toped around the fact of the matter, but you knew exactly what he meant.

"It makes it easier," You replied. "Being here."

He didn't tell you but he understood, maybe not all of it, but just enough to not have to ask anymore. So he left you alone and did something he would've found absurd two weeks ago: he enjoyed your company.

MAIN MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION

#finnick odair #finnick x you #finnick x reader #finnick ordair fluff #finnick ordair angst #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x y/n #finnick odair x you #the hunger games #the hunger games catching fire #mockingjay #peeta mellark

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plush-rabbit · 10 months

Text

Too Soon

Part 5 to the Pouts and Spots Series

Word Count: 6.1K

A/N: sorry this is so late!! im like going through it and it sucks!! but here it is!! next chapter is gonna be my personal favorite and i wanna finish up cookies and cream mainly to get to one line that i really wanna use

The book is held carefully in your hand, spread just enough for you to catch the words, but not too far to ruin the paperback cover. Words turn over in your head, voices filling those for the characters, cadence heavy in your thoughts, but when spoken out loud to nobody but yourself, the words fall flat- so you’ve chosen to remain silent. Your home is quiet, the moaning of pipes and life outside from your walls echo through, and it’s the perfect background noise save for the barking dog that howls loudly in the confines of its home.

Pinched between your finger and thumb, the page turns, and your eyes skim over the words. Your tongue traces over the letters, and you startle when your phone buzzes beside you. You close the book gently, and place it beside you, careful to not let any of the corners be bent. It rests flat on the armrest of the couch, and you reach for your phone that continues to buzz harshly in the soft of your hand.

The name reads “Johnathan”.

You swipe at the green phone symbol and put the phone close to your ear.

“Hello,” you rasp out, your mouth dry and tongue rough.

Your name is called, nervously with only a hint of confidence laced into the last sound. “Hi, it’s Johnathan.” You can tell that he almost immediately regretted adding in that sentence. “What are- What’s up?”

You smile and tilt your head closer to the phone. “Hi Johnathan,” you tell him, stretching out your hand and looking at your nails, unpainted and pink. “I’m just at home, reading.” You flex your hand and think to yourself that you should paint your nails. “What about you?”

“Oh- I’m sorry. I hadn’t meant to interrupt your reading.” He says it as a nicety, but there’s no genuine sorrow in his words. and you bring your hand down.

“You’re good,” you reassure. “I needed a break anyway.” You glance at the book and trace your finger over the title. Your finger traces over the curves and sharp lines, up and down, and down and up. “The words were starting to look like words,” you mumble, tipping at the last point of the letter. “What are you doing?”

“I just got out of work-” and as if to prove himself, he yawns. “I’m-” the yawn still stretches through the words and you scoff a laugh. “I didn’t mean to yawn. I’m just,” he sighs, “tired is all.”

Pulling the phone away, the screen lights with the call and in the corner, the time reads much later than you had expected it. And to show how late it is, you yawn, and turn yourself away from the phone. You pull the phone close to you and blink away the tears. “You’re out late. Did you get a new schedule?”

“No,” he says dejectedly. “I’m close to something big, and the later I stay, the earlier I can finish the project.” You bite your tongue to refrain from asking anything about the project. “We’re close, but not close enough. But these late nights are killing me.”

“You’re there practically all day and every day. It’s definitely going to take it out of you,” you sympathize. You look over to the book, the spine unblemished and only little indentations give away that the book is being put into use. “You gotta see people other than scientists, ya know.”

He falls silent. “I’m sorry,” he tells you again, and this time, he sounds apologetic. You wait for him to continue. “I know that we’re-” he pauses- “something. I haven’t meant to be busy, but- it’s work and I can’t just stop working and-”

“It’s okay, Johnathan,” you tell him. “I hadn’t meant it to sound backhanded.”

“You said you were reading?” You hum into the phone. “What were you reading?”

“Um.” You turn to your book, mouth pulling into a thin line. “It’s kind of difficult to explain. It’s about cowboys? It’s supposed to be a classic,” you tell him.

“You think I could borrow it once you’re done?”

You snort a laugh, and then slowly let small giggles escape past your lips. “You never struck me as the cowboy type.”

He scoffs. “Why because I’m a scientist?”

“Yes,” you answer without hesitation.

“I will have you know I loved horses as a kid,” he says boldly.

“Really?” You ask not quite believing him.

There’s a pause. “Sort of,” he confesses and you smile, leaning into the back of the couch. “Their teeth freaked me out but I’m sure I owned a toy horse.”

You laugh and stare at the decorative pillow at the end of your couch. “I had these toy lions that I loved. They were like figurines for miniature sets, I think. They didn’t do anything special but I liked them a whole lot.”

“Do you still like lions?”

You shake your head to no one. “I’ll watch a video about them, but I’m not out there buying lion themed things, ya know?”

“Yeah,” he says softly. In the background, you can hear a car honk and you scratch over your knee mindlessly, the sharp curves of your nails leaving your skin with a light sting. “We should go out again.”

“You think so?” Your feet are flat on the ground as you stand up, grabbing at your book gently and letting it rest flat over the coffee table. You walk away from the living room. The bedroom door creaks open and it clicks shut. You’re in complete darkness, and only memory serves to be your guide.

He clears his throat. “I want to take you out.”

You step on your rug, the plush soft and a comfort compared to the cold floor. “Now it sounds like you want to kill me, Johnny,” you mumble.

“We should go on another date.” Your hands stretch out, the pads of your fingertips touch against the edge of your nightstand, and your fingertips bump against a candle that sits close to the edge. You hum in encouragement. “We can get coffee and go for a walk.” You find the body of the lamp and trace up the cool glass. “Afterwards, we can come back to my place-”

Your hand bumps against the lampshade harshly and you feel the lamp tumble. You gasp and both of your hands reach. The phone falls to the floor and you can hear his concern, cracked and trembling with static, through the phone. You rush to turn the lamp on and a warm glow fills the room. You blink away from the light and reach to grab your phone. You wipe the screen against your shirt and clear your throat.

“Sorry, sorry,” you repeat. “I um- I accidentally tipped the lamp over and I let go of my phone-”

“You’re okay?”

“Mhm,” you hum. ‘I’m good, sorry.” You pat the palm of your hand against your cheek, and in your chest, your heart drums rapidly. “You were-” your voice comes out in a squeak and you clear it away- “you were saying?”

“You know, after coffee, maybe we could come back to my place and-” he lets out a shaky breath- “watch a movie?”

Your smile stretches and you collapse onto the bed, trying to stave off the burning feeling that you have. “Yeah, definitely. When are you free?”

“Would you like to meet this Sunday? I should be able to have a day off.”

With your arm stretched out, you grab at your pillow, the silk case crumpled into your hand, and nails scratching at the fabric and feeling the soft cushion that rests underneath. “Sunday works,” you say quietly. He makes a noise, and you stare at your ceiling, a patch of white paint stains the blade of the fan. “How was work?”

“Work was good,” he answers softly. “I’ve been closer to figuring out how the-” he stops himself and you frown. “I’ve been busy and things are making more and more sense, but I still need to figure out how to actually make it work.”

He doesn’t want to tell you about it. That sentiment doesn’t stray away once you acknowledge it, it only lingers, and it feels like a heavy weight on your chest. You let go of the pillow case and rest your hand over the soft swell of your stomach. Your hand finds comfort over the fabric of your shirt. “I hope you figure it out soon,” you tell him earnestly. The lack of information that he shares with you can only be blamed on your profession and the way that the two of you had met. You sit yourself up, the bed creaking under the change, and you notice how the dog had stopped barking, leaving you in silence save for Johnathan on the other side of the phone.

“I just got home,” he tells you and you hear the car turn off. His words linger, and leave room for you to talk.

“I’m glad that you got home safe.” You stare at the corner of the bed, where the comforter is wrinkled and where your blanket is folded neatly, corners meeting corners. “I think I’m going to head to bed. You should do the same.”

“Oh- Yeah, of course. I- I’m sorry for keeping you.” You don’t reassure him this time, instead, you keep quiet, not a click of your tongue nor a sigh escapes from you. “Goodnight,” he says your name with the same gentleness that he always has, and you lean into it.

“Night, Johnathan.” The bed whines as you move, and in the corner where the wall and the ceiling kiss, you spot a spider, still and silent, and you watch it. And in the darkness, it disappears, and you can only imagine it in your mind until you think you feel something phantom over you.

The door clicks behind you, and you roll your lips to stop a smile from forming, but the effort is futile as your grin grows. “Johnathan,” you chirp, taking a step forward to look around, “your place is a mess.” You catch his eye and he visibly winces.

“I- I haven’t had the chance to tidy up.” He picks up a pillow, and attempts to fluff it. It’s placed delicately on the corner of the couch, and you both watch as it flops over. You huff a silent laugh over it.

You hum, taking a peek over to the kitchen. “Do you want me to take off my shoes?” You tap your heels against the floor and grab at a severely thinned pillow. The pad of your index finger traces over the edge, the fabric worn and threads pulled along.

“No, no. It’s fine. It’ll give me motivation to clean after I return.” He edges further into his home, and you follow, tossing the pillow back onto the couch without much care for delicacy unlike the one given to its match.

“Oh, so knowing that I was going to visit wasn’t motivation?” You cock your head to the side, and lower yourself to a squat to read over a stack of books that are cluttered onto the end table.

“That’s not- I was busy.” You give him an impish grin, and he rolls his eyes. “I haven’t been home in a minute, okay?”

Your smile falters, and your fingertip traces along a spine. Looking over to him, you quickly turn away when he catches your gaze. “Long days at the office?” You ask, focusing on a book. “Hah, “Does Any Of This Matter?’” You tap the spine of the book. “That’s funny.”

His gaze is resting on you, a soft look that makes your skin itch. “Yeah,” he breathes out. There’s movement in the corner of your eye, and you force yourself to read the other titles despite the lack of amusement. “Long days.”

“If you want-” you rise slowly, bending your leg behind you to give yourself some relief- “you can just rest and we can go out some other day.”

He shakes his head. “I’m fine.” And with his body betraying him, he lets out a yawn that he hides behind his hand far too late. Looking at you and your disheartened smile, he waves his hand. “I want to go out today.”

You force yourself to look at a whiteboard that is mounted over a counter. Black marker draws equations that only make your brows knit together. Orange and green are contrasted against the black and white. In the bottom-left corner, there is a crudely drawn person near a black swirled circle.

“Hm-” you cross your arms over your chest- “I don’t understand any of this.”

He laughs loudly, and his hands cup over your shoulders. “Don’t hurt yourself,” he tells you, giving what you’re sure is meant to be a reassuring squeeze.

Your mouth drops and you practically hurt your neck to whip around to look at him. He refuses to meet your eyes, and can only smile coyly. “You are so rude to your guest.” You pull away from him and swat at his arm. You can’t help but want to wander all over his flat, to peek at every nook and cranny, wanting to see more of him, the him that he is when he’s alone and no one is watching. Glancing at an empty water bottle, you find that he lets things clutter around him. A part of you entertains the idea of getting to clean his home together, to sit with him after a long day and have his arms wrapped tight around you. You shake your head at the thought and turn your attention elsewhere.

A bulletin board decorated with various images and newspaper clippings catches your attention and you let yourself be taken to where it hangs. There are sticky notes with random numbers stuck to the bigger poster that’s been layered with other items. You pinch over the edge of an old newspaper, and suck in your bottom lip. “I didn’t know there’s gonna be a new Alechmax in India.” You turn to him, your smile a poor mask for the anxiety bubbling in you. “You’re not getting transferred, right?”

“No!” He yelps, before clearing his throat. “No,” he says in a more controlled tone. “They’re hiring in the area. I might have to visit in the future, but even then it's just a possibility.”

You nod to yourself, and walk around his flat, peeking at every loose leaf of paper, and you can feel his eyes on you. In the kitchen area, you look at the refrigerator. You smile, looking at him with your finger pressed against the photograph. “Awe! Is this you?” He stands with other scientists, all pressed side-to-side, and his smile is small and stiff, shoulders hunched and head slightly bowed.

Soft footfalls quickly approach where you stand, and when you look up, he’s peering at the photo. “It was taken around the time when the new batch of scientists- including me- had started.”

You bump your back against his chest, and his hand wraps around your hand. “I didn’t know you were so sentimental,” you muse. Against you, he shrugs. “We can always take pictures together, too, ya know?”

“We can?” He asks in a timid voice.

“You know, I may be a writer, but I can also take really good photos.” You lift up your free hand and make a motion of pressing a camera button. “Haven’t gotten any complaints about my skill.” His hand squeezes around yours and your grin stretches. “Anyways, you gotta go change, remember?

“Hm? Oh- Yeah. Right, right.” He lets go of you and you turn around. “I’ll be-”

Something else grabs your attention, if it were just one, you could have spied on it on your own, but when grouped with so many, you have to ask. “Why do you have so many cages?” You brush past him and lower yourself, trying to find something inside the clear plastic boxes. They’re not labeled, and nothing seems to be inside. “They’re all empty,” you mumble. You tap against the clear screen, and your fingerprint is left behind.

He grabs you, pulling you away and putting your attention elsewhere. You gasp in shock, and give him a confused look. “Snakes,” he answers, practiced and perfected.

Your reporter senses tingle. “Snakes?” You ask, not believing the story, giving a side glance to the cages.

“Yeah, snakes.” His hands leave your body and you watch him. “Do you want a drink? I never offered you- That was my bad. You want water? I’ll get you water.”

“Johnathan,” you start, and he turns towards you. His eyes are scanning you, and he takes a brief look over to the empty cages. You follow his gaze, and return to him. Taking a deep breath, you take a step closer to him, and pull down the hem of his shirt. “We’re already getting drinks, remember? You need to change. I have an appointment early tomorrow, so I can’t really be out so late.”

“Right,” he breathes out. His eyes glance to the cages and you bite your tongue to avoid asking him anything more. “Let me go get changed,” he mumbles. “I need- I’ll be quick.” Without waiting for an answer, he brushes past you, and behind you, the cages sit empty.

Left alone, you walk back to the couch, grabbing at the thinned pillow and placing it on your lap. You fiddle with the corners, and turn to the end table, the lamp surrounded by books and binders, and giving a quick glance to the room that Johnathan disappeared into, you grab the binder and have it rest on top of the worn pillow.

You’re careful to open it, and your caution pays off when loose paper is at the front of the binder. It’s scribbled out notes, corners bent and highlights made upon certain lines. There’s a business card stuck through a ring. You read the name- Dr. Owens. You stick your tongue out and move on. You find more of what you found in the beginning. Notes that are scribbled out, some crossed out in angry pen strokes or in permanent black marker. Equations that make your head spin, and you flip through each page with care to not let anything slip out. Some pages are decorated with sticky notes that are wrinkled and brightly colored against the black and white pages- letters, question marks, exclamation marks, and doodles decorate each sticky note.

Whatever Johnathan has chosen to write about in this binder is not your concern. You don’t stop to read past a few words of what you can recount from what he’s said previously. In the middle of one page is a recipe, the words smudged, and smeared across the page. You wonder if he’s already made it, and another wonder passes in your mind if it’s something that he would like to do with you. On one page, is a roughly drawn picture of a spider. You stare at the black-inked spider, your finger tracing over it, practically covering half of the drawing.

You hear a rush of steps, and when you look up, the binder is snatched from your hands, and it is snapped shut, and held protectively in his arms.

He wears a white button-up, decorated with black squares and black outlined squares. It’s tucked into his pants. “Oh, you’re ready,” you chirp. The pillow is placed beside you, and you walk past him, standing by the door. “You got everything?”

“Why did you look at it?”

You scoff, a thin smile stretching across your face. “I was bored-” you shrug- “it was just there and I thought-”

“You thought what? You thought you could take a look at my things?” His tone makes you stand a bit straighter, your hands curling inwards, and your mouth goes dry.

You brows knit. “Johnathan-”

“I invited you here so you could wait-”

“You didn’t mind me looking around before-” You spit out, confused about what is unfolding.

“Because I was here,” he snaps. “I was letting you walk around, not open up my things. I don’t look through your things.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumble. “I just- It looked interesting. I’m sorry, Johnathan.” You know that you shouldn’t have looked through it and he has every right to be upset, but you don’t enjoy this feeling of him looking down at you.

“His hand slides through the air and you bite the inside of your cheeks. “Don’t touch things that aren’t yours. I shouldn’t have to tell you that.”

You feel your ears burn. “I’m sorry-”

“What did you see?” You turn your head, and your nails bite into your palms. “What did you see?” He repeats.

“Just equations and doodles. Nothing else that I could have understood,” you say meekly. You hate how you feel right now. You hate that it’s him that’s making you feel so small.

“I don’t know why you thought it was okay to look through my things,” he hisses out, and you never thought you’d see him so upset- “but I didn’t give you permission. You come into my home and touch everything and-”

“I’m sorry,” you say loudly, stomping your foot on the ground, and finally he stops. “I can’t do or say anything more about it.” Your face burns, and your hand has begun to shake and even with your nails piercing into your skin, you can’t stop the trembling. “You know what-” you turn your head and try not to feel cold in his home- “you said it yourself that you’re overworked and tired, and obviously I’m not helping, so I’m leaving. We can-” you turn to him, and the stress is leaving, his face softening, and worry replacing any previous emotion- “pick this up some other time. But I’m gone. I’m going home.”

The doorknob is cold in your hand, and it twists softly and you let it go with suddenness when a hand holds your wrist. “Wait, no.” You stare at the door, finding paint staining over the metal. “I’m sorry. I don’t know- It’s just that there are important notes in there and I shouldn’t have left it out-”

“It’s fine, Johnathan,” you say in a tone that makes it quite obvious that it is indeed not fine. “I’m just gonna go home. It was my fault; I shouldn’t have looked through it.” You stay silent, and weakly, you pull your arm free, and he lets it go without resistance. Your teeth glide over your bottom lip. “Good luck with your research or whatever.” You give a wave without looking back, and keep yourself focused on the doorknob, and your hand wraps around it once more, and it opens easily.

You don’t hear the door close behind you, nor do you care to look back. Your ears burn and your chest is hot. The outside air is crisp, and you keep your gaze on the sidewalk, carefully stepping out of people’s way by the position of their shoes. You focus on the weeds that bloom between the cracks. And you only stop when a hand grabs at yours.

Tears prick your eyes, and you pull your hand back to you, ready to spit venom at the other person, only to find Johnathan looking at you, out of breath, and glasses askew.

“You walk fast when you’re upset,” he says between breaths. You stare at him, your eyes wandering to the other side of the street. He follows your gaze, and he reaches for you again, only to stop when you step away from him. “Can we talk, please?”

“I’m going home,” you tell him. “Go get some rest or something.”

“Let me buy you a drink. I- I told you that I wanted-”

“I don’t want a drink,” you snap. And just as quickly, you regret it. You turn away from him, and wait at the crosswalk. You watch the pixelated red hand, and when it turns into the off-white figure of a man, you walk quickly, rushing between people, hoping that he isn't following you, but wishing that he is. You hope that you’re someone worthy of being chased.

Your stomach drops when he grabs at your hand and walks with you. “Then let me take you home,” he says in a whisper. “At least let me do that.”

“I don’t want you to,” you tell him, still walking with him hand-in-hand.

There’s far too many people, your body is growing restless. You walk without purpose, your steps quick and heavy and he follows without a sound, his hand neither tightening nor softening his hold as if in fear that once you’re reminded of him, you’d pull away again. You round the corner of a building, the back of it is empty save for the stray cat that naps over the dumpster. With his hand still wrapped around yours, you step away from him, your arm stretched and your hand clammy.

You take a deep breath and look at him, eyes wide and already filling with tears. He takes a step closer to you, concern creasing over his features. “I’m sorry,” you say in a choked voice. “I shouldn’t have looked through your place.”

Johnathan shakes his head. “You were just curious,” he tells you in a low voice. “I shouldn’t have gotten upset with you.” You turn your head and blink rapidly. His hand lets go of yours and he cups at your face, his thumb arching over your cheekbone. “Please, don’t cry.”

Shaking your head, you tilt your head away from his hand. Your fingertips find themselves pinching over the bridge of your nose, your eyes shut tight where light doesn’t peek, and where organic shapes are the only thing that you can see. “I just wanna go home, Johnathan.”

“Let me take you home, then. We can walk back and-”

When you open your eyes, the sun blinds you for a second. “No.” You hold your hands in front of you, your palms facing him. You turn your head, and let your hands fall. “I just want to be alone for a minute. I know that if I go back with you and we talk, we’ll just-” you stop yourself- “I just-”Your hands shake, a trembling that’s rapid and and makes you feel too seen, too vulnerable, and with the way that his hand stretches out as to grab yours, only makes you want to retreat away from him.

Something speeds by, a gust of air and a mechanical whir to it that has Johnathan reaching towards you. His arms wrap around you, and you’re pressed against his chest, your vision clouded by blue until you shift, pushing yourself away from him. You look up in time to see Spider-man swing by, his attention focused on whatever had just rushed by. Your hands reach for your phone, and you glance at the battery- seventy-eight percent. It’s enough.

You turn to Johnathan, and stare down at your shoes- while not ideal for chasing around the city’s web-slinger, it’ll have to do. Looking back up at him, you find that he’s staring at you, no movement, and no sound. You turn to look the way that Spider-man had just swung towards. You turn back to him, your phone held tight in your hands. “I gotta go,” you tell him.

“You’re going to chase after Spider-man and some villain of the week rather than talk to me.” His tone is a mixture of hurt and accusatory, as if you’re doing something wrong- again. And you know for sure that you are this time, you know that you should go back with him and talk it all out, but the thought of being alone with him right now makes you upset.

“Yeah.” You shrug. “Yeah, I will. I am. Get some sleep or something, we’ll talk later.” Your heels spin against the concrete, and you rush to chase after Spider-man.

As you trudge down the sidewalk, your camera is heavy around your neck and despite the padding, the straps make the soft flesh around your neck raw. All you want right now is to collapse on your bed, or take a shower. You hum, a shower would be nice. In your pocket, your phone buzzes- something that it’s been doing all day. If it’s not emails, it’s notifications from social media, and if it isn’t that, it's phone calls and messages. You answered the people who you wanted to talk to but when the name ‘Johnathan’ appeared, you promptly ignored it, the buzzing thick in your pocket and continuous.

You should talk to him. It was a fight- an argument, really. But you can’t look at him right now, nor do you have the energy to talk to him. You’ll figure it out in the morning. You’ll have a light breakfast and message him some type of apology and then he can make the difficult decision of replying or not.

Closer to your home, on the steps you see someone and you halt. Your hands grab at your camera, and you tap your fingers against the sides. You could turn around, find some other entrance. If people can use fire escapes for something other than their intended purposes, so can you. The heel of your shoe scrapes against the concrete, and before you can spin on your heel, the person looks up and sees you.

Jonathan stands up and pulls the hem of his shirt down, and you hold on tighter to your camera. Canines worry at your lip, the flesh soft and tender underneath the sharp points. He takes a step toward you and you glide your foot against the concrete, ready to run, ready to look at anyone but him. But he falters, and his shoulders slump, and the sad look on his face makes you walk nervously up to him.

You say nothing, and he stands at the bottom of the steps, and you stand above him, and he says nothing. Neither of you make a motion to talk to the other, and a part of you wants this to end. You don’t like the difficult bits, you like it easy. You like not having to worry about what the other person is thinking of you, but now, it’s all that you can do. You hold your breath, unable to think of anything other than the beginning of your supposed coffee date.

He points towards his neck. “When did you get your camera?”

Covering the lens of the camera with the palm of your hand, you tap your foot against the stair. “I was lucky Spider-man was near the office. I was able to pick up a spare.” He nods, and you move down a step when another tenant enters the apartment complex. “Do you want to come up?” He nods, and follows closely behind you.

Your apartment is cozy- littered with personal objects and mail that sits at the coffee table. The spare camera joins the mess of your stuff on the table. He makes a motion to his shoes and you wave your hand, not caring at the moment, only wanting to distract yourself. He nods, and slips them off. You keep him in the corner of your vision, watching as he walks gently to the couch, sitting at the end of it with his legs bent and knees and thighs close together. The blanket that you use is crumpled and he sits beside it, grabbing at the corner of it and testing it between his fingers. You hold your breath and walk toward the fridge, opening it and pulling out two bottles of water. The frost over its wipes away with your touch.

“Were you waiting long?”

“Since 8.” You look at the clock on your stove. It’s 9. “You didn’t answer my calls.”

“I was busy with work.” You're quick to get to the point. “Where there’s Spider-man and a villain, there’s always bound to be some sort of danger.” You place the water in front of him and sit a cushion apart from him. Your water is in your hands, the cold slowly numbing and wetting your palms. “Got some good pictures, still and all.”

His eyes scan you over and you look away. “Are you okay?”

“Peachy.” You press into the bottle and a droplet of water traces down your arm.

“I’m serious.” He turns himself to look over to you.

You hunch over, your forearms resting over your thighs. “I’m not in a hospital, am I?”

He swallows. “I don’t like how we left things.”

You sigh and dip your head down, before lifting it with weariness. “I already apologized, what more do you want?” The water bottle is placed carefully on the floor, and even with your carefulness and gentleness, it still falls over.

“I shouldn’t have talked to you like that.” Your lips pull into a line and you grab a bunch of the blanket and dig your hands into the soft plush. “That was wrong of me. But-” you push yourself against the back of the couch and he stops. “I apologize.”

Your chest rises with your inhale, and falls down at the quick release. “What more do you want me to say, Johnathan?” You turn to him and he pushes his glasses up by the bridge. “Let’s just forget it happened. I won’t go to your place and look through your things. We’ll just- I don’t know- meet at my place. It’s not like I’m doing anything other than journalism.”

He says your name delicately, whispered as if saying it out loud would be too much and said with strain as if your name is too heavy for his tongue. “That’s not it. I’m really sorry.” His voice breaks and you flinch, looking away. “Work’s been a lot, and Dr. Octavius and Mr. Fisk are breathing down my neck-” he waves his hands, rolling his hands and flexing his fingers- “but- but that’s no excuse as to how I talked to you. I don’t want- The less that you know, the better.”

“I know,” you say curtly. “I remember our conversation from before.”

He sighs. He crosses over to sit beside you, the blanket held in his hands, the corner edge of it now held tightly. “I’m sorry,” he tells you. “I’m not good at this. I’ve dated before, but that was before things at Alchemax were getting serious. I’m not- I like you a lot. When I saw you reading through it, I-” he shakes his head, and his knee touches yours. “We met because you were determined to know more about Alchemax.”

“I told you before that I’m not using you to get to that.” Your back is straight, and your hands curve over your knees, the knuckle of your littlest finger grazes against his knee. You want to take his hand. “I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything else.” He takes your hand, and holds it tightly between the two of his. “We can put this behind us if you want, but I promise, I won’t talk to you like that again. I- I didn’t like getting mad at you. And I didn’t like the feeling that it left me with.”

“I didn’t like it either,” you mumble. “It felt like you were talking down to me, rather than to me.”

His hands tighten around your own. “I won’t do it again. I promise.” You nod and you feel much more tired than you had before. “Is it okay if I hug you?” You nod, and he lets go of your hand, and embraces you.

You lean into him, your hands fisting at his shirt, clawing into him to keep him against you. Unlike your feverish grasp onto him, he holds you gently, his hands laid wide and flat against your, curving over your body, and holding you close to him. He leans into your touch, whereas you push yourself against him. His hair tickles at your nose, and you keep your eyes close, full intent to sit there until he’s ready to pull away. You’ve made your peace to sit there, to let vines grow and keep you tethered to the couch, to not let go of the smallest comfort that he's given you. When you feel his lips press against the side of your head, you press a faint kiss over his shoulder, content when he runs his hand upwards and presses another kiss against you.

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tranakin-skywalker · 6 months

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Fuck it, fic rec list time!

I'm bored and can't sleep so here's a non-exhaustive list of some of my favorite Star Wars fics. I'm leaving the really well known ones off, wanna share some of the more obscure gems.

Not Placid Stars But Singularities by iceplanet

He stands before Sidious, head bowed, helmet pinching at the back of his neck where he hasn’t yet gotten the med droid to file down the sharp edges. Sharpness is another fact of life, now: the feel of metal digging into flesh defines his every motion. Given the time and the opportunity, he himself could probably have built prosthetics better than the ones he currently wears. “Your task, Lord Vader,” Sidious is saying, “is to transform this heap of antiquated softness into a palace worthy of our new Empire.” In the weeks after Mustafar, Vader must come to terms with his new body and the remnants of his past. In the process, he has a few conversations that he does not expect.

This one has everything I love: ghosts, mutilation, Vader being the saddest wettest murder meow meow, Sith Lord batshittery. What fun.

Skin Graft by HENST33TH

“ I hurt you.” killed her, Vader's stomach roiled. Bile clawed at his throat as he looked at her. He wasn't making any sense. Her face softened some. “ Dreams…?” she said. Padme thought she understood. It was sick, it was corrosive. He was unfaithful. For twenty years he was unfaithful. He hurt her children. He needed to spit it out. Explain. She deserves it. She needs to know. Vader needed to crack himself open. Padme needed to tear him apart. For her safety. He got out of bed. Twitching with the need. Shaking with the pressure inside of him. Taught like a noose. He stood before her. She placed her hands on his arms. “Then what, Anakin.” Anakin, Anakin, Anakin. Vader sank to his knees. Resting his head against her middle, he breathed. The shame clung to him and coated his throat till he was choking on it. “It’s so much worse than that.” all at once the future loomed over him. Daunting, a beast of its own. How can he explain it? *** Or, Anakin Skywalker gets thrown back in time. He has to learn: 1 how to have a body again 2. To curb his Raging insecure attachment style. 3. That his wife should be the one making the important galactic decisions.

A newer fic that I am quickly becoming obsessed with. The way it's written is perfect. The characterization is perfect. Everything about it is perfect imo. And the ending of this latest chapter. Masterpiece. I want 10 more.

Nameless, On the Edge of Nowhere by Taxonamie

Following the presumed death of the evil Emperor and his hulking henchman Darth Vader, the fledging Alliance stands on the verge of victory! But as they press their advantage against a destabilized Empire and manifest from the seeds of Rebel resistance, can this new government survive their own instability? Among the scattered Imperial forces of the second Death Star, Darth Vader's disapparence is not so final as they would hope. Worse yet, the Rebel Hero Luke Skywalker has gone missing! Alone and disadvantaged, what will Anakin Skywalker do to find his son? Will he walk the razor's edge of tentative alliance with the Rebel Forces, or succumb to the draw of Imperial power? Free from all Masters, can Anakin Skywalker learn who he wants to be, at last? Princess Leia Organa must navigate this minefield of clashing obligations and dripping grudges, all the while attempting to understand a heritage she hates, a brother she loves, and a mysterious mother she cannot understand.

I think this fic is the most successful at bridging the gap between Prequel Anakin and OT Vader that I have ever read. They genuinely feel like a continuation of the same character here rather than a disjointed Before and After.

trust displays by AshToSilver

Rex meets Luke and Leia for the very first time the night they are born.

I love how sweet but also horrifically fucked up this one is. Cannot express how much this fic has influences the way I write the clones.

in morsum ardeo by astarsdarkheart

A fallen Jedi and Lord of the Sith burns in a pyre on the banks of a river of fire. Something else rises from the ashes.

This series rewired my brain. Like, holy shit. Holy shit. I don't think I could ever actually choose a top favorite fic of all time, but honestly? This one makes a strong case for itself. It has haunted me every day since I first read it over a year ago.

Forever War by yujacheong

Vader has trouble distinguishing between the past and the present. Fortunately, it rarely matters in the context of the Empire's forever war.

Love me a good Vader character study.

this place loves what it eats by roadtripexpert

What could be called but isn’t death, or Leia Organa doesn't kill the man formerly known as Anakin Skywalker

I know I've already recommended this one but it is just. So fucking good. The note from my bookmark: Father-daughter roadtrip results in about as much murder and bitching as you would expect.

relieved to live in the wreckage by niniblack

When Obi-wan doesn’t follow Padmé to Mustafar, she’s able to convince Anakin to run away from everything with her. But this doesn't prevent his nightmares from coming true, and he's left alone in a hostile galaxy with the infants she begged him to protect. “Master Anakin,” Threepio says, still hovering in the doorway. “Might I suggest bouncing the children?” Anakin stops pacing around with the twins, head swiveling to look at Threepio. He doesn’t have to ask what the fuck Threepio is talking about; Artoo does it for him. Threepio seems to draw himself up as straight as he can. “I have conducted extensive research on the subject of human childrearing in anticipation of Mistress Padmé giving birth. Holding an infant and gently bouncing them in the parent’s arms is thought to be an excellent calming method.” “Oh,” Anakin says. “I thought you meant… bouncing them on the floor or something.”

The note from my bookmark: Single dad Anakin. Congratulations buddy, no one's ever done it worse.

Send the Whole Damned Thing Down the Drain by handstitchedanarchist

“Are you a conscripted soldier or a battle slave?” General Skywalker asks him one day. Rex thinks about it. And then thinks about it a little longer. And then he has to admit, “I’m not sure what the difference is.” The general looks distant and… sad? “Yeah, me neither,” he says.

This is another one that has greatly influenced the way I write the clones.

Gonna end the list here cuz my meds are starting to kick in and I feel like I'm going to fall over

#fic recs #pretty sure i only picked fics with less than 1k kudos #some of these are criminally underrated #not going to think about what this list implies about me lmao #there is definitely a running theme with the fics i chose

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trans-queen-administrator · 10 months

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Worm Fanfic Recs

No rankings at play here, just my favorite fics that I think other are really good. There are fics I like that aren't listed because I have a bad memory, but everything here is something I really really enjoyed. I have biases obviously, this isn't objective.

The Fics

Our Private Crises - A nailbiting murder mystery with unique and well done POVs from a different character each chapter. The mystery and reveal at the end were stellar, and it got me attached to characters I never thought I'd care for. 29k words. Complete.

It's Cold Out There Every Day - Missy is trapped in a time loop on her birthday. Genuinely stellar characterization, it has the best Missy and Aisha I've ever read and its such a creative and well executed premise. 41k words. Complete.

Tilt - Unpowered homeless girl Taylor fakes a thinker power to get in the Wards and secure housing. She's even more self destructive and self deprecating than in canon. 10/10 characterization for a slew of POV characters including Taylor, every ward but especially Sophia, Rachel, Lisa, and a ton of other characters. Despite not going through all of what canon Taylor went through, this fic nails her character better than pretty much any others. 220k words at time of posting. Updating consistently.

Tear Apart, Stitch Together - Taylor triggers with Shatterbird's power and kills thousands. Short and sweet, everything that's there is great and it wraps up well I think. 13k words. Complete

Memories of a Simurgh Victim - The Simurgh attacks Brockton Bay. Has two storylines, one following Taylor and one following Amy and Vicky. Among the most fucked up things this fandom has to offer, a terrifying showcase of the Simurgh and her power. 62k words. Taylor's story is incomplete but the Amy and Victoria story is done.

Desperate Times Call For Desperate Pleasures - Cherish altpower Taylor tries to consensually fix Amy's incest fetish. A trainwreck I can't look away from, the worlds first psychological horror romcom. It's so fucked up and so amazingly funny, and has good well written characters. I don't like Pillbug and I'm not a big fan of altpowers, but this fic is still one of my favorites because it's so damn compelling so definitely check it out if you actually like either of those things. 211k words at time of posting. Updating consistently.

Roots - The Slaughterhouse Nine attack a small town with a roster of OC capes, but something is very off about the place. POV shifts every chapter, and the OCs are interesting and unique. The S9 are also wonderfully characterized here, I've never had a fic make me sad for Crawler of all people. 67k words at time of posting. Ongoing. Criminally underrated.

Roma Fade - Ciara and Fortuna both try to grow past who they were as capes and find themselves as people in a small town post Gold Morning, having found common ground posing as moms to a recovering Taylor. I'm sure fake dating would never end in real attraction, that would be absurd. Incredibly gay, incredible characterization for everyone, the best post-GM fic around in my opinion. 87k words at time of posting. Ongoing but currently on hiatus.

Case - Lisa and the Simurgh start a detective agency. It's just great humor and a lovely story and wonderful despite being short and deceased. 14k words. Dead.

Silence is not Consent - Taylor intervenes and saves Victoria from Amy and gives her a place to stay, Victoria massively struggles dealing with what happened. Amazing characterization, Victoria's POV is unique and incredibly well done, and her seeing Taylor from an outside perspective is interesting. Be warned that this is a very heavy fic emotionally, but it's really fucking good. 212k words at time of posting. Updating consistently.

A Word - Altpower Taylor is obsessed with writing a story. I don''t know how to describe this fic honestly it's hard to do justice, but it has perhaps the best conclusion to Gold Morning I've seen in a fanfic. 11k words. Complete.

Scarab - A fantasy AU where powers are thought to be magic, and the Faerie Queen takes an interest in Taylor. Filled to the brim with creativity and passion, this fic is teeming with fresh ideas and interesting depictions of canon characters. The worldbuilding is great as well, no other fic on this list has a map, so this is clearly a cut above the rest. 139k words at time of posting. Updating consistently.

Swallowtail - Ok I lied this one has a map too. Taylor with an incredibly interesting stranger power joins Faultline's crew. There is a truly astounding amount of AU elements and alternate powers for canon characters, it feels like a new world while still being recognizable and distinctly Worm. Has a large amount of alternate POVs and the first arc can be rough, but it's creative and amazing. 360k words. Ongoing but currently on haitus.

Soliloquy - Ex-Slaughterhouse 9 Taylor is in prison, bitter at the world and herself and especially her clone who saved the multiverse. A heavy fic about someone slowly recovering and becoming a better person when they're convinced it can't be done. Made me cry. 71k words. Complete.

TWNY - Post-GM Taylor finds herself in the world of RWBY with a pair of moth antennae. Multiple POVs, all very interesting despite me knowing nothing of RWBY. Probably the best characterization of Taylor in any post-GM crossover fic, she's heartbreaking in the recent arc, and it feels like the fic has barely scratched the surface of what it'll eventually cover. Also it's very gay. 136k words. Ongoing.

The Great Escape - Eidolon is struggling after his reputation is destroyed and Cauldron is revealed, and then the Birdcage opens. Amazing use of seldom seen characters, great POV with Eidolon, well done and interesting fights, has String Theory. 107k words. Ongoing but currently on haitus.

Happiness Is Inevitable - NSFW. The only damn erotic mind control Simurgh smut in the fandom somehow. Besides the porn (which is a lot of the fic, who woulda thunk it) the story itself is actually pretty interesting and has a lot of creative parts, and it has better characterization than most fics. 29k words. Ongoing?

Oneshots

Break me so that I can be whole - This accursed fandom is tragically bereft of QA / Taylor fics, but this one shot is great, love an eldritch take on shards. Probably fucked up but I'm not actually a good judge of that so be warned. 1.8k words.

Book Worm - Dragon helps teach Taylor how to read and speak and understand language post-GM. Bittersweet and lovely. 2.5k words.

Defiant Didn't Dox Saint For Nothing! - Taylor goes back in time and the first thing she does is kill Saint because he sucks. Cracky but I like it, fun little oneshot. 1.6k words.

Ruling Ash - Glory Girl flees Brockton Bay during the Slaughterhouse Nine and ends up living with Damsel of Distress. Cute, and Starsong before Ward is very interesting. 2.8k words.

My Sunshine - Leviathan goes worse and Brockton Bay is destroyed. Taylor and Victoria survive. Very somber, but well executed. 3.4k words.

Cherry on Top - A character study of Cherie Vasil, showing how she went from running away from Heartbreaker to joining the Nine. Extremely well written, absolutely incredible depiction of her character. It depicts abuse and actions typical of Heartbreaker and Cherie, so be careful reading. It's a lot emotionally. 12.7k words.

Devil in a New Dress - NSFW. Shatterbird / Reader, I'm not explaining myself on this one. Neat Shatterbird characterization, hot, pretty fucked up so be warned. 1.7k words.

#worm #parahumans #wormfic #idk why I spent two hours on this but I don't regret it #all my opinions are OBJECTIVE FACT #i have NO biases or preferences #I am simpley correct #made this because im so fucking sick of sifting through anime altpowers and woobified characters and the infinite period guy #so i might as well make it easier for others who may be sick of that #hope yall enjoy and maybe find a new fic from this #also full transparency #im behind on a few of the updating fics #but I loved what i read enough to rec them

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definitelynotshouting · 5 months

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Ask game #25?

mcytblr writer ask game

25.) What works and/or authors in the fandom do you recommend?

OH MAN..... GODS OKAY well this is about to become me gushing about my friends, but i think everyone and their mother should be reading @raichett, @droidofmay, @good-chimes, @sillyfairygarden, @sisyphean-writes, @renardroi's writing. Like holy shit i know some incredible authors. Grim in particular went and fully changed my brain chemistry with his fic Total Apogee of the Heart, which i do believe i described to him as "like reading an oil painting," and "like you've taken an axe to my chest and deftly split it down the middle to show me the inner workings of my heart," which is truly the palest of terms i can use to describe something that ended up feeling so soul-shocking to me /pos. The skillful way he twists words to layer these rich, saturated themes into his stories makes me INSAAAAAAANE, its pretty much the epitome of how i want to write when it comes to thematic elements and imbuing my narratives with symbolism. I genuinely dont know how to describe it, but the way he crafts sentences and weaves in references to other media is like reading a fairytale, and it leaves me feeling like ive just resurfaced from a dream every time.

And, ofc, my very good and dear friend Raichett with their ACP-verse-- oh my gods what an incredible read. Reincarnation fic with modern minecraft worldbuilding FUCKING SIGN ME UP..... i think this might be my favorite fic in the fandom because truly you can just feel the heart-wrench of how long Grian has been waiting, of all those words left unsaid during his and Scar's initial conversation that we the reader happen to be privy to. AND THE SEQUEL!!! THEE SEQUELLLLL THE ONGOING SEQUEL RAAAAAAAHH okay im normal im normal im normal <- lying. It just manages to hit every fucking trope i love all at once so i start frothing at the mouth whenever it gets updated or they send me snippets. I could read Raichett's writing for hours and hours and just feel so warm within it, truly beautiful prose and characterization :]

And ohhhh Sisyphean my beloved..... if you havent been reading their anonymous scarian fic series then please please do so, especially Bread and Butterflies, a fic they gifted me that made me simultaneously want to cry and also curl up into for the rest of my life. Something about the atmosphere in their fics, along with the juxtaposition of their unique form of humor, really just knocks it out of the park for me. And, of course, the gut-wrenching wing scene-- trust me, you need to read this fic. The reveal is so incredibly well done that it feels like a gauze being lifted from your eyes so you can finally see more than the lurking silhouette of what's been hinted at. Beautiful fic and evocative writing, i dont feel like i can do it justice you're just gonna have to go read it for yourself >:]

Sorry i told you this was gonna be me gushing so i am going to gush can we talk about Droid's fucking fics please. Can we talk about those. I've always been captivated by their writing, worldbuilding, and the way they so deftly weave implications into their prose to present a fic that feels so neatly-woven it practically breathes. Every work i've ever read from them, regardless of fandom, is some of the most engaging writing ive ever read before. Not to promo a fic inspired by hunger au, but im especially enamoured with their gift will the curse be reversed if you say it backwards. Reading that was like getting kicked in the chest a billion times until it ached, and the way they portrayed the two Grian's dynamics brought me perilously close to tears multiple times while reading, which is admittedly very hard to do. Also i think reading that fic is the closest ive ever gotten to what yall experience whenever i upload a new hunger au chapter-- i stg the dread i felt as the fic progressed had me HOLLERING in their dms like "IS THIS WHAT THATS LIKE. OH MY GODS" truly just a phenomenal fic all around

Thello, oh Thello, my beloved friend, her fic you are here to risk your heart had ME heartbroken in the best of ways when i first read it, and every reread since has only solidified it as a stunning cross-section into 3L!scarian's dynamic. Thello's writing in general is always so deeply elegant and refined-- reading it feels a lot like shoving the world's richest, gooiest, most delicately-layered cake into my mouth to melt on my tongue. She just gets intimacy in a way i rarely see done, highlighting the fragile way people can come together while straining to stay apart. Her writing is so deeply, utterly human in the details she chooses to focus on, and that level of groundedness paired with her fantastical prose makes me feel like what im reading is both very real and also the whisps of a beautiful, colourful dream.

And, last but very much not least, my wonderful friend Telk. Telk's writing is so utterly unique, bursting at the seams with both humor and a quiet rawness that punches me right in the ribs every single fucking time. They're also so deeply, insanely skilled at being able to say so so much in a story while dancing around the actual core of it, drawing you into understanding whats really going on below the surface like an event horizon. Their fic A Certain Je Ne Sais What is, in my mind, a particularly good example of the subtle and skillful way they weave implications into their work-- im perpetually in awe of how meticulously they poured Grian's cognitive dissonance between how he really feels about Scar, and how he wants to feel about Scar, into the narrative. That, and their characterization is genuinely flawless, im not sure ive ever read better character voices that capture the inherent humor of their owners than in Telk's writing.

Gods i have so much more to say about so many more of my friends and their fics but i'll stop here otherwise i will never shut up. Local guy loves his friends so fucking much i will shout it to the sky any chance i can take<3

And as a bonus, here's the hermit/trafficshipping collection i run on ao3, affectionately nicknamed The Body Count!! Its chock-full of incredible authors and writing, all of whom are my close friends, and its recently expanded to contain 60+ fics!! 60+!!!! INSANE. MY FRIENDS ARE INSANE AND I LOVE THEM PLEASE GO READ AND COMMENT ON THEIR WORKS BC THEY DESERVE THE ATTENTION :] THANKS FOR THE ASK AAAAAAAAAA OKAY BYE ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

#shouting speaks #asks #ask game #fic recs #hermitcraft #traffic series #hermitblr #trafficblr #hermitshipping #trafficshipping #mcyt #this ask is basically me dancing around jingling like a silly little jester while aggressively gesturing to my friends #PLEASE PLEASE GIVE THEM COMMENTS THEY DESERVE IT #EVERYTHJNG THEY WRITE IS PURE GOLD #long post #txt

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wendigonamecaller · 29 days

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Can't Forget To Love You.

Desc: Azure, Alastor’s darling wife, died tragically and suddenly one night from tuberculosis. Ever since then, Alastor had become ruthless in his killings. Finally, he meets his end and hopes the pain from losing his bird would end, only for it to hurt tenfold when he wakes up in Hell with Azure nowhere to be found. Almost a century later, his thoughts are once again captivated by her essence just as an Angel falls and decides to help Charlie out with her dream.

TW: cannon type violence, death, angst, Azure is a fallen angel, Azure is secretly unhinged, emotional Alastor, Alastor in denial, Azure doesn’t realize Alastor was her Alastor at first, Azure falls because she defends her husband against Adam and Sera. Eventual smut, cursing, both Alastor and Azure try to beat around the bush, Alastor tries to protect her by pushing her away.

Taglist: @redfoxwritesstuff @blobin456drawz

LIKES AND REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!

DM TO BE ADDED TO TAGLIST.

Chapter tw: Cursing maybe? Emotions, suggestive towards the end, but only a tiny bit, the usual angst.

Chapter 5: I'm Learning, I Promise.

Azure was restless, her heart ached once again, missing the man she still couldn’t name. Charlie had been wracking her own brain trying to come up with ideas for exercises to help with her amnesia, and Husk had been trying to help her remember different drinks.

Alastor was secretly a mess. Nobody had seen how many times he’d broken down since Azure had come to the hotel.

She was the woman he’d prayed for restlessly for almost a century, and yet when he manages to get her back she doesn’t even remember him.

A part of him thought this was an omen that he’d only ever be able to hurt her if she remembered. Hell, she only died from Tuberculosis because he was arrogant and put his work above being home with her. The stag felt like an utter fool, and he didn’t know if he even wanted the ex-angel to even remember him anymore.

Slowly, Charlie began to initiate more and more activities for the ex-angel to help with her memory.

Between trying different types of dancing, to art therapy, even music, and they’d barely made any headway. Until Husk decided to make a suggestion.

“Why not try cooking?” He asked, leaning against the couch that Azure leaned against. “We know her husband’s name starts with an ‘A’, so why not try somethin’ I’m sure she did for ‘em given it was the 20’s?” He finished by taking a sip of his booze.

Charlie beamed at him. “That’s actually a great idea, Husk!”

And that was how Azure found herself standing in the kitchen over a large pan of jambalaya, the spices flowing up and drowning her new senses in nothing but the savory scent of the meal she could just barely remember cooking and eating with her husband every friday night.

The hind closes her eyes, seeing flashes of her kitchen in life flashing beneath her eyelids. She blinked again, seeing her husband’s tight grin turning soft and genuine as he peers down at her, and when she blinks again she can see his eyes. Not just his eyes though, his whole face. From his fluffy brown hair and caramel skin, to the way his pouty lips flattened in his tight grin and then plumped up once more as his smile became genuine when he looked at Azure.

The ex-angel blinked again, tears swelling in her eyes as the scene changed to her wedding. Her husband wore a black and white pinstripe tux, Azure’s favorite flower; a black iris, was tucked into his breast pocket. The officiant of the wedding was her uncle, who happened to be a priest, and his aged brown eyes beamed at Azure as she stood next to her husband with the veil over her face. And then she’s brought out of the memory by Alastor.

“My dear, are you alright?” He asked, brushing his claws against her cheek gently. The hind nodded, brushing her tears away before pushing her hair out of her face.

“I’m fine, just really pushing myself to remember things.” She tells him, and he hums absently.

She notices his pupils dilate slightly while looking at her, before he clears his throat and turns, facing the pan of food. “Why, is that jambalaya??” He asked, his smile turning genuine as he turned to look at her with those same dilated eyes her husband would give her, except these eyes were like blood, not warm whiskey. The deja vu hits her, and Azure can’t help but compare Alastor’s face with her husband’s face. The overall structure was nearly identical, how could this demon be so similar to a man she’d been so utterly devoted to?

Later on, Azure had been getting ready for bed and was sitting at her vanity with her black silk thigh-length nightgown on, preening her wings, when Charlie knocked and opened her bedroom door.

“If you can’t sleep, Alastor is telling stories about the thirties.” She said, and Azure hummed, thinking for a moment before tossing her sweater over her nightgown and following Charlie down the stairs.

Once in the lobby, all of the residents were crowded around a large cushioned chair where Alastor sat, happily telling a story. Sir Pentious and Husk made room between them for Azure while Charlie sat next to her girlfriend.

The hind settled down, Nifty quickly curling into her arms like a toddler while Husk rested his head on her thigh. She held Nifty close and gently scratched one of Husk’s ears, otherwise giving her attention to the stag in front of them. Her white eyes peered into his red ones,

Once again, Alastor’s smile turned soft as he looked into her eyes, but this time they also roamed her figure before settling back on her own eyes with a heat he attempted to hide. Azure was too intelligent for her own good, and could read him like a book.

She barely knew him, yet could tell when he was upset, hoping for something, disappointed, in awe, or just downright hungry for touch.

The hind smiled and felt a blush crawl up to her face, burning her neck and she looked down only to see Husk grinning up at her mischievously. She wrinkled her nose at the bar-cat playfully.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel oc #alastor x oc #alastor #writers on tumblr

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rkistars · 4 months

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Every Valentine’s Day - p.js

stars message | i know im 4 days late but like! 😹 also my smau will have 2 (maybe 3) chapters tomorrow!

genre | fluff,angst

warnings | kissing, y/n is a huge overthinker, this kinda sucks

Playing 🎧 k. By cigarettes after sex

—————————————— 🌷

valentines day. the most romantic day of the year.

well, you disagree because if it was the most romantic day of the year you wouldn't have found your ex cheating on you!

Because of that, you have always avoided Valentine's Day. But you were excited because your current boyfriend Jay, was the sweetest and most genuine man you've ever known.

you didn't expect anything from Jay. Your ex never asked you to be his Valentine nor even acknowledge the holiday.

But what hurt you is that a few days before the romantic holiday, you saw your loving boyfriend with your best friend, Vanessa. Laughing.

You were always an overthinker but this one made your mind explode with negative thoughts.

You felt pathetic believing a man like Jay would stay with you.

but while you were overthinking, you got a text from Jay.

—————————————————

Text

Jay | hey pretty

Jay | can you come over?

Jay | it's important

—————————————————

Oh no. This can’t happen.

Jay was the only guy who cared about you throughout your messy dating life. What if he wants to break up with you? What if he doesn't like you anymore? What if he's leaving you for Vanessa?

Well, you can't really blame him.

Vanessa was always smarter and prettier than you.

While tearing up in panic, you sign while thinking about how to convince jay to give you another chance like you did with your ex.

Your ex always threatened to leave you whenever you did something he didn't like. And you always begged him not to. It worked most of the time but you got silent treatment.

When you finish getting dressed, you head out the door wiping your tears away.

—————————————————

When you arrive at jays house, you hesitantly knock on the door.

“Hey prett-”

“Please don't leave. I know I might be boring sometimes but I can change. Please..” cutting him off.

“What are you talking about?” jay giving you a confused and concerned look.

“You're leaving me right..?” tears leaking from your eyes.

“Wha-? Love come here.” Jay pulling you into a tight hug while whispering comforting words In your ears.

“You're not leaving me for Vanessa?” sniffing your nose while wetting his shirt.

“Of course not pretty. I could never leave you.”

“The reason why we were together is to surprise you.” Jay taking you to the dining table filled with your favorite foods, rose petals following the balcony with karaoke, and a bunch of gifts on the kitchen counter.

“This is for me?..”

“All for you.” Jay pulling you into a soft kiss.

As the kiss gets deeper, he carries you to his bedroom.

And now he's kissing you while lying in his room.

And holding you until you fall asleep,

Every Valentines day.

#enhypen #enhypen angst #enhypen fluff #enhypen smau #fluff #enhypen comfort #spotify #angst #jay #park jongseong

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magnus-fierro · 3 months

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FIRST TUMBLR POST WOOHOOO

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

CW: Identity crisis, terrible singing by a sword.

₊˚ෆ Identity

A fierrochase oneshot ₊˚ෆ

⋆⁺₊⋆ CHAPTER ☀︎ 1 ⋆⁺₊⋆

Alex’s head was buzzing. The thoughts were on loop. I’m not real. I’m not real. What am I? Am I even human? Why can’t i decide one form to be in? Do i even have a favorite color anymore? This had been happening for a while. Alex Fierro, the child of Loki, a shapeshifter, was questioning what he was.

Of course, he could ask for help. He had his boyfriend, Magnus. That absolute living sunshine of a man. But he didn’t want to seem weak, or vulnerable. Everyone saw Alex as the tough, stubborn, unwavering, sassy warrior of floor 19. He can’t be weak.

So he hid away from everyone. All his friends, his lover, even his sister Samirah. He screamed into pillows and sobbed into his sleeves, asking himself over and over, ‘Who am I? What am I? Why can’t i figure it out?!’, and hating himself every time. Normally, his meltdowns were quiet enough. But not today.

⋆⁺₊⋆ CHAPTER ☀︎ 2 ⋆⁺₊⋆

I was just taking a stroll with my magic sword—did i say magic? i meant magic, talking, TERRIBLY OFF KEY singing, sword. Named jack. Who flirted with Percy jackson’s sword. YES, YES WE ALL KNOW PERCY JACKSON BUT THIS ISNT ABOUT HIM. And of course, Alex had been acting like his blocked off, emotionally challenged self. It was so routine by then it’s not even funny.

But lately, it’d been worse. He didn’t even sleep in my room anymore, which was routine just as much as him changing to a her. And that was often. So, being my nosy self, I knocked on his door. And knocked. and knocked again. And again. That’s not normal. Normally he tells me to go away if i knock more than twice.

“Alex? Are you okay?” No response. “Alex?” No response. “I have food?” No response. That’s when i knew something was really wrong. Alex always opened the door for food. “Jack. Break the door.”

God i shouldn’t have told him to. I should’ve just grabbed him and broken it down myself. Why, you may ask? He started singing wrecking ball by Miley Cyrus. In a terrible a-minor that would make that one greek god mad. Annabeth told me about it. Good thing jack is a sword.

Once the door was broken down, jack skedaddled. Because of course he did. I looked around, but Alex wasn’t near her bed, at her pottery station, or climbing the tree in the middle of her room.

⋆⁺₊⋆ CHAPTER ☀︎ 3 ⋆⁺₊⋆

When i tell you i panicked so hard, i mean it. Because the second i realized Alex wasn’t in the main part of her room, i heard crying and mumbling from the bathroom. Loki must be messing with her, I thought. Trying to drive her insane. I won’t let that happen. So, in true Einerjar fashion, I broke the handle off the door.

But i saw something i never would’ve expected. Alex was genuinely breaking down. And the mumbling? She was asking herself a question most Einerjar don’t bother with anymore. “What am i? what am i? what am i? what am i?”

My first instinct was to power of Frey it, but i don’t think that works on identity crisis’. So, i did the next best thing. I sat down on the ground with Alex and pulled her close. “Alex. Breathe. Try to breathe, okay?” I think i snapped her out of it just enough to stop hyperventilating, because her breathing slowed. She was still mumbling, but she was at least a bit steadier.

“I don’t know what i am..” she said softly. I could barely hear her. “M-Maggy..what am I..? Was i ever really human..?”

I took her face in my hands, her face cold from being covered in tears. “You, Alex Fierro, are the most kickass, amazing, strong, independent, intelligent, gorgeous being in the nine worlds.” I kissed her head gently, intertwining my fingers with hers. “And no matter what form you take, you’re mine, and I love you.”

She smiled and squeezed my hand. “You are such a dork, beantown.” she said in a cracked but happier voice. “I’m staying in your room tonight, Mainly because you and your sword broke my doors.”

“Fine by me, beautiful”

short as Lokis leash with the gods but you know

*+:｡.｡　　｡.｡:+*

FIN

#magnus chase #fierrochase #alex fierro #mcgoa #rick riordan #pjo #writers on tumblr

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corrodedseraphine · 1 year

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have mercy on me | #3 hold me while you wait

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

chapter summary: As the tears from your cheeks dry up you find yourself longing for someone who was once your favorite person in the world. Eddie still doesn't give up and fights for your attention. In between, there is a tender moment of weakness, and an irresistible proposition appears in front of you. Also, you begin to realize things you hadn't thought of before.

the story is also avaliable on ao3

previous chapter | masterlist | eddie munson masterlist | general masterlist

song that I used: Lewis Capaldi - Hold Me While You Wait

@i-me-mine thank you for being here and looking at my stuff with your talented eye before it gets published, dear ♥

I think we can say that this chapter will focus on Eddie a little bit more, I hope it's fine! Plans have changed a bit and instead of three chapters, there will be four, thank you very much to everyone who shared their opinion about it and helped me decide! Thank you also for being willing to wait for one more chapter!

It took a very long time before you stopped crying. You were no longer able to count all the nights you had cried. However, the fact that the tears had stopped flowing did not mean that the pain had stopped. Now, instead of crying into your pillow, you spent hours before bedtime staring aimlessly at the ceiling and couldn't help thinking that all you wanted at that moment was his arms wrapped around your body. You longed for him. Longing was fighting with pain, you didn't know what you wanted anymore. Part of you didn't want to see him ever again, while the other part couldn't stand the craving. The two contradictions were at war within you driving you crazy and causing sleepless nights.

Eddie took a completely new plan. Since you actually needed the space he wanted to give it to you, but he also made sure that he didn't completely disappear from your daily life. He paid special attention to always make at least one appearance. When your eyes met in the school corridor he immediately smiled genuinely and waved at you. Even if at first your gaze immediately escaped in a completely different direction, it didn't matter. The important thing was that you noticed him. That you knew he noticed you. Every few days, first thing in the morning when you opened your locker little notes flew out of it, which always wished you a good day. You knew perfectly well who was writing them, you would recognize the handwriting anywhere. When you entered the class you shared together a carefully wrapped cookie was waiting on your seat on the desk, and attached to it was another piece of paper. A slightly larger one, on which he left various drawings or silly riddles and rebuses. At first you guarded against it. You gave all the cookies to Robin, and quickly hid the riddles and drawings at the bottom of your backpack. Eddie, however, did not give up. There were days when he was your daily routine, when you spent almost twenty-four hours in each other's company, and it still wasn't enough. Now he had to fight for every second, but he didn't mind. He knew it was worth it, especially when, a few weeks later, he saw you once again roll your eyes at the sight of a cookie, but this time you didn't immediately throw it into your backpack. Instead, you ate it and then looked at the attached piece of paper, where there was a particularly silly rebus. When he noticed the gentle smile that flashed across your expression he felt like getting up from his seat and falling to his knees in front of you begging for forgiveness, because he again wanted to be the reason for your smile. This time, unfortunately, he couldn't take the shortcut, but that didn't scare him anymore. Lately his life had consisted of quick, convenient and reckless decisions that did not end well.

After a whole week of barely sleeping nights, Friday was a challenge for you. You felt as if you were behind a fog, completely like the outside world was not reaching you. Like a shadow you roamed the halls following Robin and trying to keep up with her. At each class your eyelids became incredibly heavy, and the teachers' voices seemed to become much more monotonous and soporific. To make matters worse, after class you had to deal with an essay that had a deadline on Monday.

A pleasant silence greeted you in the library. All the tables were occupied so you were not the only one who left everything to the last minute. You moved straight to your favorite place. In the fantasy section you sat on the floor between the shelves, looking around. Whenever you came here with Eddie you sat in exactly the same place looking here for inspiration for songs or his new campaigns. You involuntarily smiled at the memory of the hours you shared together between these bookcases. The closeness that was between you, the warmth that filled you from the inside but also enveloped you on the outside. You missed it so badly.

Giving in to nostalgia, you reached to the very bottom of your backpack where all the messages and drawings he had left you recently were still lying. Of them all, one in particular caught your attention. A sketch of a lighthouse with sea waves crashing against it. Feeling the familiar sting in your heart, you put the rest back in your bag and took out your textbook, wanting to change the course of your thoughts. Unfortunately, it wasn't easy because the thought of whether the storm was definitely over came back like a boomerang. Resigned, you closed your eyes for a moment, resting your head against the cold wall. Inhale, exhale...inhale...exhale...everything will work out. Someday. Eventually.

The Hellfire campaign had just come to an end when Steve walked into the drama room to pick up the kids and drive them home. When everything was cleaned up everyone left the school. Eddie kept a few steps behind the teens and Steve.

"Steve! Holy shit, Steve!" Robin ran out of the school panicked. "I can't find her anywhere!"

"Robin, calm down. Who can't you find?"

"y/n! We were supposed to meet after band rehearsal, she was supposed to be waiting for me in the library because she was working on some essay, but when I went there all the tables were empty, I searched all the classrooms but she's nowhere to be found, I even called her house, but her mom said she's not back yet, I'm already running out of ideas!" Robin's worry was justified. The three of you met when you started working at Scoops Ahoy, and what you went through together made the very worst scenarios pop into your friend's head.

"Calm down, I'm sure you must have passed each other somewhere, or she just forgot that you were supposed to meet." Steve tried to calm her down.

"We need to split up and look for her!" said Dustin.

"I'm sure she's somewhere in the area!" added Lucas.

Eddie listened to the conversation. He knew that you would never forget meeting with Robin, which also began to worry him. While the others were conferring about where you might have been he unnoticed returned to the school.

You were standing on the beach at the shore. The water was gently brushing your feet and the sun was pleasantly casting warm rays on your face. Eddie was calling your name from afar, you turned with a smile in the direction of his voice but you didn't see him anywhere. You started looking around but still couldn't see him anyplace. Suddenly the sky was obscured by dark storm clouds, and in the blink of an eye the calm surface of the water began to storm, and the waves piled up and smashed with loud bang against everything they encountered in their route. Only then you saw him. He was fighting the element, trying with all his might to stay afloat. The water swamped him at every moment, he was desperately catching air waving his arms while still calling your name. This time, however, it wasn't in a warm and cheerful tone like the one at the beginning, now he was begging for your help, with horror in his eyes as he watched you stand motionless on the edge. It's not that you didn't want to help him. You wanted to, in fact, so badly, but you couldn't. You were paralyzed and, despite your inner struggle, you were unable to overcome the force that held you down. You felt like screaming, but your mouth wouldn't open either. "He is drowning. He's drowning because of you." some voice whispered it in your ear. You were a prisoner of your own body and of a voice you had never heard before. His cries for help were getting shriller and shriller, the more you wanted to move you were met with more resistance. Suddenly, the light of a lighthouse was pointed straight at him. "This is your fault. Now take a good look because this is the last of the breaths he will take before the water floods his lungs and consumes him."

"y/n!" Eddie immediately knelt down next to you when he found you hunched over and leaning against the bookshelf. You were mumbling something under your breath; he could see you were having a nightmare. When Robin said you were not sitting at any of the tables in the library he knew where to look for you. He knew perfectly well that he would find you in your place. Nevertheless, he did not expect to find you sleeping there. Beside you lay a textbook and on the textbook was a drawing of a lantern he had left for you.

He gently grabbed your arm and, repeating your name over and over, began to shake you slightly. After a while you woke up terrified. Your eyes jumped around the room quickly and in panic until they finally stopped on his face.

"You're alive." you said still not fully conscious. Not in control, feeling as if it was still a dream you threw your arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.

Eddie was in shock. Why would he be dead? This question, could wait. After a moment's hesitation, he reciprocated the hug feeling as if he was on cloud nine having you in his arms again. He nuzzled against your neck, snuggling his face into its bend. He felt like crying. The warmth that emanated from you instantly chased away the coldness in his heart that was there, it was overwhelming. He did not say a word for fear that the slightest whisper would frighten you away.

Your breathing was still rapid and irregular. Whatever you were dreaming about must have been really scary. With one hand he began to stroke your back, remembering that this was one of the gestures that always calmed you down in nervous situations.

Neither of you expected the moment of closeness, but you both allowed yourselves to enjoy it. No matter how much he broke your heart it was still only in his arms that you felt safe. You wanted to melt into his embrace and stay there forever. Unfortunately, when you finally calmed down, the shock of the dream passed and you realized everything that was happening you quickly moved away and got up from the floor. Eddie with sadness in his eyes watched as a thick, unbreakable wall grew between you again.

"I'm sorry. It was a moment of weakness." You said quietly picking up your things from the floor.

"Right..." He didn't even hide the sorrow in his voice. "You should...uh- you should go to find Robin, together with Harrington and the rest are out of their minds what's happening to you." You nodded and in silence you both walked back to the parking lot.

"Where the hell have you been?" shouted Robin running up to you.

"In the library, I kinda fell asleep..." you replied embarrassed.

"Robin was already thinking that the Russians had kidnapped you." Dustin laughed.

"Fortunately, no. Can we go home now?" you asked looking at your friend.

"On condition that you will stay with me tonight. Someone has to see to it that you finally get some sleep." replied Robin rolling her eyes. "Since you won't take care of yourself, someone has to do it for you."

Eddie and the rest of them watched as your silhouettes moved away as you walked faster toward your bikes. He was glad that you had Robin with you and that Robin wanted to help you, wanted to take care of you, but he couldn't overtake the desire to be in her place. He was the one who wanted to take care of you. He would give a lot to be able to take you home now and tuck you to sleep in his arms.

"How did you know where to find her?" asked Steve.

"She was in the library." Eddie shrugged his shoulders.

"Robin said she wasn't there," he said.

"She said she wasn't at any table, and she was right, which doesn't change the fact that she was in the library all that time." he smiled nostalgically. "She was, um... In our favorite place," he said.

"You have to be patient." Steve sighed and patted him on the shoulder. "Thanks for your help."

He knew patience was never his best side but what else could he do? Even if he never gets you all back like he wanted, maybe one more moment of weakness like today will come along?

"Robin! Holy shit, Robin!" you ran through the corridor straight towards your friend. On the opposite side of the corridor stood the entire Hellfire Club looking at you with curiosity. You were bursting with excitement.

"What happened?" she asked catching you in the middle as you stumbled and almost fell over.

"Do you remember The Soul? Where the competition was?"

"yeah, I remember."

"This morning they called me and asked if I'd like to perform on Friday night! They are organizing some kind of 'evening for the broken-hearted'" with your fingers you made a gesture of quotation marks. "And they said they would love to hear more similar songs performed by me like the one I sang at the contest."

"Oh my gosh that's wonderful!" Robin exclaimed and the two of you started jumping up and down with excitement.

"Hey y/n!" shouted Gareth after overhearing all your conversation. "Congratulations!" he and the rest came up to you.

"When is the performance?" asked Simon.

"Saturday at 8 pm." you replied. The smile didn't leave your face. It had been a long time since Eddie had seen you so radiant. At this sight, a smile pressed itself to his lips.

"Can we come?" asked Dustin.

"If you guys want to, sure you can. I could use a little support." You laughed nervously, and after a moment your gaze fell on Eddie who was standing at the back. He smiled at you. I'm proud of you. He wanted to convey that. You only reciprocated the smile slightly and turned towards Robin saying that you must go now.

Saturday turned out to be a very hard day. Eddie had not had the strength to get out of bed since early morning. Overwhelmed by everything, he lay hugging his pillow letting his own brain plunge him even further. Stupid. Worthless. Hopeless. These and many other unpleasant words scrolled alternately in his mind. The hatred he felt for himself was slowly beginning to scare him. As it reached four in the afternoon, he heard a quiet knock on the door.

"You okay, son?" Wayne asked, stepping inside. Not knowing what to answer, the younger Munson remained silent. "Listen...I don't mind you spending all day in bed, but why don't you at least eat something? I made soup." The man sat down next to him on the bed.

"What if I'm the same as him?" a whisper filled the room.

"Who?" Wayne answered only after a longer moment.

"My father."

"Eddie what the-"

"No, Wayne. Listen." The boy quickly broke off and sat down, interrupting his uncle. "Problems with the law? They're there, I'm a fucking drug dealer, just like him, I hurt everyone who loves me, I destroy everything that comes across my path, I'm a goddamn failure, just like him! What's next, will I kill someone too? Maybe I should sooner do it to myself-"

"Edward Munson!" Wayne cut off before Eddie could finish his sentence. He hadn't raised his voice at him in years. The last time was in his teenage years when he started to get into selling drugs. "Under this roof, you don't have the right to talk about yourself like that, do you understand?" His voice was serious and firm. "You're not like him, and I know because-" the man was at a loss for words for a moment. "Because I raised you! And I raised my boy well enough to know that he didn't do these wrongs on purpose. You have a good heart, just like your mother, and nothing will change that, no matter how large of a monster you think yourself to be." He sighed. "You lost your way son. You had a right to it, but just because you got lost doesn't mean you'll never find your way home again. I know it's hard to deal with, but never in your life compare yourself to that man. You can't." His uncle's stone face was now replaced by a worried expression. They had always avoided the subject of his father like a fire, and both probably didn't expect such a strong reaction.

"'m sorry." Eddie muttered.

"It's alright, son." the man replied more calmly. "Do you want to come out of your den and eat soup with your old man?" He smiled slightly.

They both sat down at the table and began to eat in silence. It was a pleasant family silence, during which they simply felt comfortable in each other's company. Eddie knew that no matter how hard he tried he would never in his life be able to show his uncle how grateful he was for his presence in his life.

"Y/n has a gig tonight, she's going to sing her songs." said Eddie looking at the table.

"Aren't you going to go?"

"I don't know... I don't know if he wants me to be there."

"Listen to me boy, even if things haven't been very good between you two lately...That girl has always been there for you, I think you should be there and support her no matter what."

Just then, a knock on the door sounded in the trailer. Without waiting for an invitation, the entire Corroded Coffin rushed inside greeting Wayne.

"What the hell dude? You don't mean to tell me you want to go to her show looking like that!" Gareth made a disgusted face looking at his friend. Wayne involuntarily snorted with laughter. "Go take a shower and get dressed somehow nicely so we don't embarrass her!"

"Don't even try to say you're not going, that option is out of the question." Jeff added while threatening him with his finger. Munson just nodded his head and disappeared behind the bathroom door.

When they arrived at the place you were slowly getting ready to go on stage. Robin held your shoulders and Steve said something quickly while you took deep breaths. Eddie immediately remembered how it was you who calmed him down before his first performance by holding his hand and repeating over and over that it would be okay. That girl was always there for you. Wayne's words rolled around in his head. Unfortunately, no matter how much he wanted to do the exact same thing for you, he knew it could have made things even worse, so he sat down at one of the tables in the back without taking his eyes off you. You looked around nervously, stopping your gaze at all the familiar faces that were there. The kids were sitting in the front row stealing all your attention by smiling at you and waving. You could see with the naked eye that their presence and excitement touched you. Your gaze traveled farther until it found Gareth, Jeff and Simon who also gave you wide smiles of encouragement. At the very end, your gaze stopped on a familiar storm of curls and dark brown eyes that you would have found at the end of the world. Good luck. He mouthed and placed his hand slightly above your heart on his guitar pick necklace that you had given him. I'm here for you. You're going to be great. There were so many things he wanted to convey to you with that one simple gesture.

You sang some covers and songs, and those songs you wrote yourself. He was proud of you. Your songs were so beautiful that they touched everyone in the hall, looking around the room he saw some people wiping away tears surreptitiously. He himself found it hard to hold back, still remembering that he was the main inspiration for writing these songs. The last song was a new one, he certainly hadn't heard it, but like each of the previous ones, it went straight to the heart.

I'm waiting up, saving all my precious time Losing light, I'm missing my same old us Before we learned our truth too late Resigned to fate, fading away

So tell me, can you turn around? I need someone to tear me down Oh, tell me, can you turn around? But either way

Hold me while you wait I wish that I was good enough If only I could wake you up My love, my love, my love, my love Won't you stay a while?

Tell me more, tell me something I don't know Did we come close to having it all? If you're gonna waste my time Let's waste it right

And hold me while you wait I wish that I was good enough If only I could wake you up My love, my love, my love, my love Won't you stay a while?

I wish you cared a little more I wish you'd told me this before My love, my love, my love, my love Won't you stay a while?

This is you, this is me, this is all we need Is it true? My faith is shaken, but I still believe This is you, this is me, this is all we need So won't you stay a while?

And hold me while you wait I wish that I was good enough If only I could wake you up My love, my love, my love, my love Won't you stay a while?

I wish you cared a little more I wish you'd told me this before My love, my love, my love, my love Won't you stay a while? Stay a while Stay a while My love, my love, my love Won't you stay a while?

Somewhere in all the hurricane of pain, he noticed something else. Listening to the words, he saw things he had been yearning to see for a long time, but was still unsure. Did you miss him? Were you missing the same old you? He would hold you and stay a while, he would stay for as long as you wanted him to. My faith is shaken, but I still believe. These words were his lifeline. He grasped at them like a drowning man grasps at a razor. Yet it wasn't that simple. What if he misunderstood everything? What if he interpreted everything wrong and is only getting his hopes up unnecessarily?

When you finished playing people stood up to start applauding you. He felt himself starting to run out of air, it was too crowded. Taking advantage of the moment of chaos, he quickly walked out in front of the building. With shaking hands, he lit a cigarette and leaned against a brick wall. Deep breaths, Munson. Deep breaths. He repeated to himself in his mind, but those inhalations were getting shallower and shakier.

"Eddie?" at the sound of your voice he jumped up and quickly extinguished his cigarette by throwing it into a trashcan nearby. He looked at you as if you were a ghost. A figment of his imagination, because after all, it was impossible for you to choose him out of everyone who was there for you, right? His intrusive thoughts started working at top speed saying that you were definitely here just to yell at him for coming here. To remind you that he shouldn't be here because you don't want to see him anymore, and that he should finally give you a break and disappear from your life.

"I know that because of what I did to you you think that I didn't care about you and that's why I chose her. But that's not true, I did care and still do." he said. He was losing control of himself, something inside him was breaking. He couldn't hold it in anymore. "You think you were not good enough, but that's not true. You were more than good enough."

Now you were even more shocked than he was. In fact, you had come here with the intention of talking, but you didn't expect such sudden confessions on his part. His cracking voice made you want to approach him, but you still stood motionless waiting for his further words.

"I am not...I am not worthy of your love. I think I chose Chrissy at the time because I was afraid that you, too, would in time find that you were treating me too good and would stop." He began walking nervously around while combing his hands through his hair. "And if I had already felt all the love that you wanted to give me, if I had let you- I would not have been able to give it up. She broke my heart, but if the same thing would happen with you, if I would let you love me the way you wanted to, and then you would see that I don't really deserve it because I'm as hopeless as everyone says, and you would decide to take it away- It would kill me. It would also kill me that I will never be able to give you what you deserve. I'm a walking life disaster, and you deserve a life like a fucking fairy tale!" Pandora's box opened releasing all the demons out of him. "Chrissy never treated me well, never made me feel loved. She treated me like everyone else all my life, she just covered up well with that- She treated me the way I deserved to be treated. She treated me like the worthless piece of shit which I am, that's why I chose her. I was terrified of all the good that was connected to you. It still scares me. I'm trying so hard to control it all, you don't even know how hard it is for me to pretend that it's okay. Nothing is good without you y/n" he felt himself falling apart. With each new tear, a piece of his heart flew out of him. "I would give a lot, really a lot for one more moment of weakness, y'know? But the worst thing is that I have nothing to give! I have nothing valuable in my life that I could give away, and I don't deserve it. I am fucking unworthy."

"Eddie..." His confession opened your eyes to things you hadn't noticed before. Your own pain focused all of your attention, causing you to overlook what effect this whole situation was having on him. You reached out wanting to grab his hand but he moved away.

"I would die for one more moment of weakness like that, but I know that since it was just a moment of weakness you didn't really want it. And I don't want to force you to do anything. I can't. I'm sorry. I am so fucking sorry. For everything." He wiped his tears with his sleeve and turned away.

"Eddie, please wait!" you shouted after him, but it did nothing. All you could do was stare at his receding silhouette. At the same moment, you began to realize many things you hadn't thought of until now. They began to bombard you with unimaginably great force.

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