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emeraldborealis · 2 years

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Ghost Under My Bed

Pairing: Poly!Ghostface x Fem!reader

TW//CW: Hurt/comfort, depictions of agoraphobia, intrusive thoughts, light angst, Ghost Billy and Stu.

Words: 4,653

When I first moved in I noticed when strange things started to happen, but I honestly just tried to convince myself I was going crazy, seeing things, gaslighting myself when I found things in places I didn't remember leaving them. Because how else would they get there?

I knew the houses grave history, it was how I could afford the house in the first place. But I didn't expect for two boys to have stuck around. There was one who was more active, the other being more passive, unless aggravated. But I'd see them both in every corner of the house, places it was too hard to make them out sanely.

When I accepted their presence I was fearful, I was unsure of their intentions, but I soon learned that it was misplaced. I'd speak to them sometimes, just out of boredom and to fill the deafening silence. But they wouldn't respond, I wasn't sure they even could.

My mental health was decaying, their was a loneliness growing in my bones. I was existing in a state of constant hypervigilance, paranoia. Everywhere I went I felt eyes on me, it wasn't just from the ghosts haunting me. It felt like something else was haunting me, some other unforeseen force, one I knew deeper than I could explain. One I had a history of- problems with. One that deep down I wanted nothing more than to lay to rest.

I wasn't sleeping at night either, every time I tried I'd just lay there for hours, or if I somehow managed to fall asleep I'd wake up in a cold sweat. I was growing dark circles under my eyes like mold, I was starting to look like the dead myself. A corpse. An empty shell of who I once was.

My curtains remained shut at all hours, the sun was just too bright. And there was a thought whispering in the back of my mind that if I looked outside I'd see something staring back at me, even if I didn't look, I'd feel the eyes of that something on me. So they stayed closed.

The only thing that seemed to be occupying my mind was death lately, which I guess is what stemmed the question that lingered in my mind like an uninvited guest, one that just wouldn't leave.

Staring up at the ceiling on another sleepless night I thought I'd let the burning question in my mind try to find an answer. "Ghost under my bed?" I called out, seeing if my unexpected roommates would respond.

"Yeah, that's me." A voice echoed in my ear startling me, I wasn't prepared for an answer. Collecting myself and my thoughts I pressed on.

"What's it like to be dead?" I whispered out, it was a morbid curiosity really. But one I couldn't shake from the forefront of my mind even with a bullet.

"It's pretty sweet." That same voice cooed again.

Like a rocket I sat up from my bed turning on my small bedside lamp. The light it radiated was dim and flickered ever so slightly from the old dying bulb, but it typically did the trick.

I clawed at my tired eyes trying to get them to adjust to the new light and searched around my room. There was no one there. Sighing, I sat my feet on the cold wooden floor, I placed my head in my hands looking down to the ground. "I think I'm losing my head." I spoke to myself thinking my sleep deprecated mind was losing it's grip on reality.

"That's too bad." A different voice filled the room making my skin crawl with gooseflesh. This was all really happening. I wasn't just overly tired. I slowly looked up to see a ghostly figure before me.

Practically jumping out of my skin I crawled to the other side of my bed, attempting to put as much distance between us. "We can't hurt you, don't you think if we wanted to we would have by now?" The first voice spoke, a ghostly apparition shining in the bits of moonlight from the cracks in my curtains, he was hard to make out, but his figure was tall, and wearing a sweater.

"I guess." I eyed the specter curiously, allowing myself to relax slightly before I thought about his choice of words more. "Can't or won't?"

"Can't." My head rapidly turned to see another apparition appear from the most tenebrous corner of my bedroom, he was more obscured and indistinguishable than the taller one, standing in shadows rather than the moonglow. But his mere presence gave the atmosphere an uneasy edge to it.

Uncertainty laced my movements as I slowly climbed off my bed and towards the one in the light, I'd never seen anything like him, I mean I'd caught glimpses of them both in my peripheral before, but I'd never really seen them. Not like this.

This was all so bizarre, to say the very least. Unsure, I reached my hand forwards, expecting it to go straight through him with a cold sensation like in the movies, maybe even a jump scare. But instead my fingers came in solid contact with the sweater clad chest. He was as cold as the grave his body was undoubtably lying in somewhere.

I quickly retracted my hand shocked, looking from my hand to the boy himself, he seemed just as surprised. I blinked my eyes in disbelief and when I opened them he was gone. With a new adrenaline pushing through my veins I whipped myself around to the dark corner where the other one was standing, only to find he was gone too.

"Hello?" I whispered suddenly feeling very exposed in the dim and now distressing feeling atmosphere. There was no response, the only noise audible was the earie whistling of wind outside and the scrapping of dead leaves across eroded concrete and gravel, pairing with the endless ticking and clicking of my clock.

I stood in the middle of the room for a long time, too petrified to move. I could still feel the chill on my fingers from touching him and the hairs on the back of my neck still stood. Every small noise was amplified in my state of paralyzing fear.

Slowly and reluctantly I made my way back to my bed, laying myself down with shaky movements. I buried myself in my blankets and looked straight at the ceiling not daring to move to turn off the lamp, it felt like a Jack-o-lantern on Halloween night, warding off evil spirits.

At some point I must have passed out from exhaustion, the sun was leaking into my room through the thin curtains, and my lamp had been turned off at some point during the night. Rising from my blanket wrappings I stretched, the sound of popping and crackling of stiff bones filled the room. I had been as still and motionless as a cadaver all night. Terrified of moving even a single inch.

If it weren't for the chill still lingering on my fingers I could have convinced myself that nothing had happened last night, that it was all a dream. Maybe I still could, it just wouldn't be as believable.

Dragging myself from my room I traveled down the stairs, holding onto the railing trying to stop my still stiff creaking joints from giving out on me. Once at the bottom I made my way into the kitchen looking for something to eat.

The day went painstakingly slow, it seemed to inch along as smoothly as nails on a chalkboard. Maybe it was dread making it pass so unusually. Dread that at the end of the day I'd have to crawl back into bed and do the same thing again tomorrow, and the day after that. And the day after that. Until one day I just don't wake up again.

One day I could lay peacefully under the elms, pushing daisies. I could rest. But until then I would have to continue to drag myself around like a living corpse. Dreaming of the day I would cash in.

Laying myself down among my sheets and pillows I tried to find a comfortable position, one I couldn't see the darkest parts of the room. I didn't want to catch a glimpse of someone from the past.

As the time ticked by the persistence of the clock started to drive me mad, no matter how I tossed or turned I couldn't find the position to unlock hypnagogia. My mind was filled with pointless thoughts and memories I didn't want to bring up outside of therapy. I was trying to disassociate from my own thoughts but just like the ticking of the clock, they persisted.

The coldness on my fingers from what happened the night before came to my mind, and I was once again pondering the question. "What's it like to be dead?"

"It's really rad." I turned my gaze from the dark ceiling to the side of my bed, I came face to face with a boy. He was, pretty. I wasn't frightened seeing him, but a strange part of me was relieved. Relieved I was no longer alone, alone with my thoughts.

Fully turning on my side I continued staring at the boy kneeling to my level on the mattress, he was unmoving. But he watched with interest at each of my movements. Lethargically I raised my hand and caressed his cheek, seeing if he was really there. Even with my actions he still didn't move. It was odd.

"Are you really here?" I asked questioning my sanity in the situation.

"Sure am." He replied leaning into my touch ever so slightly.

"Why?" Slowly retracting my hand I laid it on the mattress beside my head, it was chilled and gooseflesh crawled my arm spreading over my body from the point I had made contact, there was a strange sensation in my lower spine, the kind you might get when the dentist is drilling in your teeth, and a static in my brain.

With a blink of my dark sunken tired eyes he was gone. Just like the night before. "I'm sorry." I whispered, I hadn't meant to offend or hurt him. I shouldn't have said anything.

"He gets touchy with that." The figure I had only seen in the darkest part of my room made himself seen, he stood above me, crossing his arms. "We don't know why we're still here, but we are. He thinks it's some kind of punishment, he had to watch his parents move out and away from him, leaving him here. They didn't know we were still here. But I think they would have still left if they did."

"Oh." I whispered sitting up to be more level with him, I sat cross legged on my bed my hands clasped loosely in my lap. The hand I had caressed the boys face with was still cold, and tingled with the sensation of pins and needles. "I hadn't meant anything by it."

"It's fine, he'll be over it by tomorrow." He let his arms down, laying loosely at his sides. His posture wasn't straight, but something about it made him more alluring and intriguing. It worked for him.

"Can I ask you a question?" I held my hands tighter together, nerves shooting through me.

"I guess." Lazily he took a spot next to me on the bed. I noticed how he didn't dip the mattress with weight.

"What are your names?" It felt unnatural to look at him directly, so I watched us from the mirror across the room instead, he was pretty too.

"I'm Billy, the one you keep touching is Stu." His eyes locked with mine in the mirror, he was leaning in watching me like a predator, his stare was dark and unnerving. It made me question if he was still sitting beside me on the bed or only sitting in the mirror. I dared a glance, and there he still was, sitting beside me, in the same relaxed, laid back position from when he first sat down. A contrast to the way he sat in the mirror.

"I see."

Shortly after that he vanished too, leaving me sitting alone in the dark once more. I sat hunched over with my legs still crossed under me for what felt like hours, just letting my mind reel. Until my back forced me to give it a rest and move. I laid myself back down and waited for sleep to succumb to me.

I slept poorly but more at ease than the night before.

Staring vacantly at myself in the steamy mirror after a warm shower, I still looked like something that belonged six feet under ground. A phantom of who I should be. I pulled at my eyes in frustration, before sighing deeply and giving up on ever looking lively again.

Leaning down I cupped the cold water in my hands to wash my face, my hand sightlessly patted around me looking for my pale blue towel, finally after bumping into a few random objects on my bathroom counter my hand came in contact with the soft fabric of my towel.

Patting my face dry I looked into the mirror, standing behind me in the unlit doorway was a figure in the dark. Turning from the mirror I looked down the hall trying to see who I saw in the mirror. No one was there.

Wrapping my towel tighter around me I walked to my room to get dressed.

Laying around the house was getting tiring, no movie sounded interesting to me and I yearned for the ability to sleep. But I knew it'd never happen. I felt like I was decomposing into the couch, always unmoving as my eyes zoned out on something I wasn't really looking at somewhere in the room, while my mind eroded every productive or positive thought from my mind.

I considered going outside, getting some fresh air. But the sun sounded too bright and unappealing, not to mention the overwhelming fear of crossing the threshold of the door into the outside world. The outside where peoples eyes always seemed to linger, burning holes into my body. Their whispers, laughs and giggles I was convinced were about me. No, I wouldn't leave my house today.

My mind was too unfocused and inattentive to focus, my ears began to ring and I remembered to breath, taking a deep breath my eyes focused themselves again. The sun was long gone and in its place came night, everything inside and out was now covered in an inky blue hue.

Sitting up on the couch I looked around me more, everything was in it's rightful place, the thin layer of dust on my trinkets on display made me wonder the last time I really looked around was.

Was I even real if no one knew I existed? Was I really any more alive than the ghosts in my house?

Pushing the thought from my mind I stood up, and made my way to sit at the counter to ponder what to eat for dinner instead, if you could still call it that at midnight. I sat there for an hour before giving up and going to get ready for bed.

I didn't bother turning on the lights as I moved through my house, there was enough natural light to see where I was going. Moving through the dark house made me feel even more like a ghost. Like someone forgotten and left in someone else's past. It was oddly comforting and extremely self distancing.

I was struck with a feeling of emptiness and indescribable loneliness standing in my dark empty hallway, knowing I was going to spend the rest of my life in dark empty hallways. Pretending like I was ok living like this, and that it didn't hurt when I got left behind. Or when I let myself become isolated because the real world was just too much for me. I let myself decay into ruin because I couldn't face the delusions my own mind made me believe, so instead I became content to never progress, to be at a standstill.

It was all just too much for me so I let myself give up. I allowed myself to give up.

Sinking slowly to the floor my body filled itself with tremors, a pit of anxiety and fear of living grew in my stomach. I was suddenly so aware of how uselessly I was living, and that my life held no meaning, other than that I was simply alive. No one knew I existed. I wasn't even sure that made me a real person.

My breathing was short and quick, I was lightheaded and losing all rational thought, I was losing all thought together actually. I didn't want to be just alive. But the thought of ever leaving to resume my life was too much. I didn't know how to live anymore.

I sat on the floor until I felt myself go numb again. Then I picked myself up and finished getting ready for bed.

Sinking into my mattress I stared at myself in the mirror, tired and devoid of living color, and I came to terms with the fact that I was a floater. I floated through life like a body down a river, coldly and without control, I didn't want to be a floater, and I'm sure they didn't either.

"Ghost under my bed, I think I'm losing my head." I sunk from the mattress to the cold hardwood floors, letting the bite from the cold be something to help ground me from my intrusive thoughts.

"We all go a little mad sometimes." Billy took a seat above me on the mattress, his feet beside me on the floor. "I think I've said that before, I think it's from something. But I can't remember exactly."

"Anthony Perkins, Psycho." I moved myself back onto the mattress to sit beside Billy, it didn't feel as weird looking at him now. He gave me a confused look and I elaborated. "It's a movie, came out around 1960 I think, that's what the quotes from."

"Oh yeah, I liked that movie. I liked a lot of scary movies." He stared blankly into the mirror as if trying to look into his past, to re-watch his memories on replay.

"We'd watch scary movies together and take random notes here and there, we liked watching the extras and behind the scenes stuff too. It was fun." Stu sat on the other side of me, he seemed a bit melancholy recalling it. "But anyway, I think it's normal to lose it sometimes."

"You think?" I asked tilting my head trying to read him more.

"Yeah, happens to the best of us. I think it happened to us." Stu pointed from himself to Billy.

"What do you remember? Like, from life?" I asked meekly bringing my knees to my chest.

"Bits and pieces, it's all pretty abstract. I remember blood, a lot of blood, and feeling lightheaded, and then pain surging through my body like currents, I think that's when I died." Stu looked down to the floor seemingly lost in thought, or maybe reliving a fuzzy memory.

"The tragedy." I mumbled out looking to the mirror, not knowing where else to look.

"Yeah, I guess so." He turned his head to me, observing what he no longer had. A body. A living breathing body. He couldn't help but feel envy, but if he was being honest she didn't exactly look any more alive than him.

"My parents didn't want me around anymore, so I took what I had and got a job out here, I found this house and ran with it. I had nowhere else to go. They couldn't stand being around me or dealing with my problems, it really hurt at first, knowing my parents didn't love me, but I've gone numb to it now." I fiddled with my fingers awkwardly, not knowing what else to do.

"Sounds like my dad." Billy chuckled beside me, I turned to look at him, he was sprawled back on the mattress looking at the ceiling. "He was a real ass. I hope I ruined that pricks life as much as he ruined mine."

I wasn't sure what came over me but I reached for Billy, and I touched him. It was a reassuring touch, one of understanding, but it felt weird. I'd never touched him before, unlike Stu. He held the same deathly chill as Stu, a reminder to me that he really was dead. And that I was somewhat still alive, a reassuring and damning thought.

He didn't flinch or try to move away from my touch, he simply let it be.

Slowly he raised his hand to mine and laid it upon the dorsal side of my hand, his fingers encapsulated me, the cold quickly sunk deep into my bones and through every nerve in my hand, the chill crept up my arm and flowed in my veins leaving an unearthly cold in my whole being. Yet, it was comforting. It was him.

"I'm sorry." I whispered turning my head to stare at him and my hand in his, now sitting on his abdomen.

"It's alright, I'm dead now so it's not like it really matters." He spoke without care or real interest in pity or sympathy. But, I could tell he didn't want to let go of my hand.

"I got left behind a lot when my parents would go on trips, and when I died they left me entirely. Just- up and left, I could tell they were disgusted by even standing in this house. I knew they were mad with me, and I knew that they grew to hate me. That's why they left, I just know it." Stu turned on his side to look at me, and I looked at him. His eyes were dull, lifeless, but held so much residual pain and sorrow from the life they no longer lived.

"Is it really actually cool to be dead?" I asked not knowing if I really wanted to know the answer, if I really wanted to shatter my fantasy, the fantasy that I'd known for longer than I could remember. Something I lived by, something I used to get through things, through my day, something I used as comfort in an otherwise comfortless world. The knowledge that I'd die someday, that when I died everything would be alright, that the pain would stop. But seeing these two now, and the pain they still were forced to carry, my fantasy was beginning to waver.

"No, not really." Billy spoke honestly, not thinking of sparing my feelings or the world I had built off of this ideal. Something my brain had reinforced so much it was all I had anymore. The thought of dying.

"Oh." Maybe it was a good thing for this fantasy to crumble, it was all I had been thinking of for a long time. I became so dependent on the thought of dying I had forgotten to live. And now I wasn't sure if I still had time to try and live. If I still knew how. I could still find peace in death, hold tightly to the belief I'd one day go to some sort of Valhalla. Somewhere- anywhere I can be at peace, even if just the cemetery, under the trees, in the shaded cool breeze of an eternal autumn. But I was beginning to wake up to the fact I needed to live while I was here. I had a whole afterlife to be dead, but only one life to be alive.

"Don't worry too much about dying, just try and live while you can. You never know when it's all going to end. In the end no matter what you do you're going to die, take comfort in that if you want. But just try and live while you're here. Being dead isn't bad, you get to exist without responsibly or anything, you can just be alone and be left alone. But living is what's really good, I'd do and give anything to be alive again." Stu placed his hand on my shoulder bringing me from my thoughts, I looked towards him with understanding. I knew he was right, I knew I was wasting my life. But as I pondered his words more, a despair settled in my heart, I didn't know how to stop decomposing. I didn't know how to live anymore. Can being alive be defined by more than a pulse and breath in your lungs?

"I don't know how to live anymore, and I don't know how to stop being a floater. I want to live. I want to live. I want to be alive and experience things the way someone should, I want to feel and I want to live like I should have been this whole time." I brought my knees to my chest holding them tightly against myself as my mind began to spiral once more.

"Then let us teach you, we can teach you to live. Help you not make the same mistakes we did. Teach you not to care what people think of you, or how they look at you. You exist, and you exist for yourself. The only person who needs to see you to exist is you. No one else matters, don't live to please people as I did. It only leads to pain and suffering, until you can't feel anymore pain and snap." Stu leaned in closer trying to fit himself into my field of vision, trying to get me to see him.

"Is that even something that's teachable? Somewhere along the line I went numb to everything, I stopped feeling and lost the very thing that makes you alive, makes you human. I've forgotten what it is exactly that makes you 'alive'. And I'm afraid it's too late for me to find it. I don't know if I even could find that sway and glow again. I'm scared it's already too late for me, I'm scared I had the world in my hands, scared that I had the power to choose any fate I could have ever desired and I just chose wrong, I'm scared It's too late for me to change. For me to choose to live."

"It's not too late. You're still here, you're heart is still beating, pumping five to six liters of blood per minute through your living veins. You're still alive. You still hold the ability to choose. So choose, choose to live. And when you die, you can just hang out with us." Billy spoke softly seeking out my hand once more. "We can show you a hell of a way to live."

Smiling softly at Billy and the necrotic cold touch of his hand, I accepted life, and that hollowness growing in my bones subdued ever so slightly. Over time I could weed out the erosion from my mind and body, and use all the decomposition as fertilizer for a healthier life, a healthier mindset. I wasn't alone anymore. I didn't have to do it alone, I had help from the dead, from where I would end up one day. Maybe that was the most comforting part. I had somewhere to go if I failed. I could shine a light on the thoughts compelling me to think of the grave, and finally face them, I no longer had to allow them to haunt me. I could set myself free from the ghosts of my past.

I could open my curtains and stare right back at the world, I could feel the warmth of the sun on my skin, let it seep deep into that hollowness in my bones. Allow the healing process to begin, it'd be a long one, but the first step could be taken, when morning comes with a new dawn I could cross the threshold that's been taunting me for so long, even if just one step past it. I could get some fresh crisp air.

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spicy-pears · 7 months

Note

In your series did we bond with johnny or do we stay scared of him forever?

𝒚𝒆𝒔, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒐 𝒃𝒐𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒕'𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒂𝒑𝒔 𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒖𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚. 𝑰 𝒇𝒊𝒈𝒖𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒚-𝒃𝒂𝒔𝒆𝒅, 𝒏𝒐 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒖𝒕𝒆 𝒃𝒊𝒕𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚. 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒚𝒂 𝒈𝒐!

𝓟𝓻𝓮𝓬𝓲𝓸𝓾𝓼 𝓣𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼

𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓲 𝓢𝓽𝓸𝓻𝔂

𝔀.𝓬: 1.3k

𝑪𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒙𝒕: 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒋𝒐𝒉𝒏𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒏 𝑵𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒚'𝒔 𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒉. 𝑰𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒈𝒖𝒚𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝑰 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒅𝒐 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒊𝒕.

Drayton/cook: We should've never let him keep that girl! We can barely get a handle on him!

Nancy: What are you on about now?

Drayton/cook: he can't control that girl! She's a wild thing! She threatened me!

Johnny: -snorts-

Drayton/cook: are you laughing at me boy!? Because of you we have strangers wandering about the properties!

Drayton/cook: I told you to leave them darn girls alone! It's always some girl sending us down the cropper!

Johnny: I said I'll fix it.

As the days passed you learned each family member's unique gait. Sissy's steps were soft yet silent, the old cook just shuffled about, and Johnny's displayed his strength with each hard stride. You kept an ear out for even the slightest sound of a shuffle, preparing to face off with the old man again.

You taunted his poor old soul, with snake's blood saying it was for your fraudulent dark craft. That soon he'd be sending the devil your best regards if he didn't leave you be. even though you grew up in New Orleans, the heart of dark practices. You knew nothing about those things, you were a harmless church girl at heart, who was raised to memorize and live by every scripture. Fortunately, the old annoying coot didn't know that much about you. You wanted him to stop twisting your ear with useless judgments, and if the fear of a hex got that you would happily play the part.

The signature of Johnny's confident footsteps made you sit upright on his bed. Waiting like an obedient lap dog, your hands hastily went to work hiding the small snake under the pillow behind you. Suddenly the door frame would creak lightly as he leaned his weight against it, his arms folded across his chest.

He wore his smug grin while his eyes admired you, "I heard I caught myself a voodoo queen?". You would evade his eye contact, as the cobwebs on the windowsill became more captivating than his mocking. He would chuckle at your seemingly meek behavior, "Come on, let's get you some fresh air.”.

His words made joy radiate from your eyes, as you followed his every step closely. Then the realization struck you, you haven't left the room during the day for the past 3 weeks under Johnny's care. As the search for you trickled all the way down to the small town of newt, you were sparingly allowed to venture outside during the night. But he gave you this rare treat, probably to avoid more bickering with the cook.

Curiously you examined all the morbid bones that hung on the walls, you wondered how many were human and how many were indeed from an animal carcass. You were used to cruel decor like this, as it was displayed often in the back alleys of New Orleans.

The familiarity still didn't help calm your frightened nerves. Especially with the knowledge of the household's preferred "tastes." Johnny would finally open the garden door for you, granting you momentary freedom under the sun.

Overwhelmed by the sunlight you were once accustomed to Your hands blocked the light, as your eyes slowly focused on the sun. But once they did, the clear summer sky was such a beauty, causing you to be overcome with childish joy.

Johnny would take in your adorable, delighted smile. Putting his hand on the small of your back guiding you along to his daily tasks. He took you through a field behind Nancy's property, where the grass began to grow tall and dry out in a yellow hue under the punishing sun.

As you continued to tread through the tall field, the crying crows caught your full attention as they circled around in the sky. Instantly you knew that what you were being led to was no longer living.

Before you could ask Johnny any questions, the strong smell of lingering copper and the undeniable stench of death forced your hand to quickly cover your nose and mouth. Hot tears began to collect on your bottom lashes, instinctively you kept your back to Johnny.

Knowing very well, whatever he began to drag through the grass was heavy and was no animal. The unfortunate man began to gurgle through his blood, fighting for a single breath of air. “Oh? I like it when they’re still awake!” johnny would begin to eerily laugh, making your blood run cold.

"You know death is natural, right? You'd have to get used to this at some point." He spoke with a mocking yet patient tone, his voice showing no weakness or strain against the weight of moving his struggling victim. You took a deep breath having no stomach to argue about such a morbid topic. While you walked back to the ranch, still avoiding the gruesome sight, Johnny painted the grass dark red with the man's blood.

You began to realize he was right. There was no taming or changing a man like Johnny. His nature was clear as day, accepting that would become part of your survival. Once you were finally back, you sat on the Poarch within Johnny’s watchful view. While he hooked the body up in the barn, meant for butchering. With the poor soul's mangled body out of your sight, you could finally go back to admiring the sky as best as you could. Giving a silent prayer for the poor man, unlucky enough to find himself on the property.

"Is skinning a rabbit too much for you, too kitten?" Johnny would sit on the Poarch with a few rabbits tied together to be skinned and gutted. To his surprise, you raised your brow and took his taunt as a challenge. You held your hand out to receive his knife keeping your cunning expression, and Johnny obliged, handing over his knife. He crossed his arms again as he leaned back in his chair, maliciously trying to apply watchful pressure on you.

Unfazed by his antics you took the blade and slid it under the soft skin of the rabbit's pelt, and swiftly began to skin it halfway. Taken a back Johnny would reclaim the blade and the rabbit while wearing a proud grin. He took his fingers under the rabbit's pelt where you left the delicate cut around the neck, and with one smooth jerk, he peeled the pelt clean off.

"I was going to be able to skin it." You wore an impressed smirk, feeling bested by him underneath it all. He would reclaim his seat, giving the remaining two rabbits the same treatment. "If I wanted a killer, I would've picked one of my kind in town." His alluring gaze peered up at you while he was busy at his trained craft.

His words made you realize that people like him were abundant. You weren't a choice out of random convenience or desperation. Like a rabbit you held all the innocence and grace, he was never allowed to keep before. With enough edge and Witt to keep him entertained.

While this felt flattering for a moment, it was equally unfortunate. If only a similar girl crossed his path before you did. You wouldn't be spending your days tied to his headboard, viewing your favorite things he collected from afar. Reminiscing about the freedom you had that made those things so special to you. All the stolen opportunities, played as fantasies in your head every night. You would've been married by now, enjoying your career, and starting a family by your own choice.

As you were left pondering, he assumed you were stuck deep in a daydream. Your gaze wandered catching a glimpse of johnny taking his blood-soaked shirt off. While he was wiping his hands clean with it, he felt your eyes staring at him like a thirsty whore.

"You best stop looking at me like that" his deep eyes dripped with inconspicuous lust, as he offered his shirt for you to clean the blood off your hands. You'd let out a short laugh to yourself, this man who'd go from bar to bar chasing your tail like a hungry wolf. couldn't even meet the minimum requirements of being shy.

Now demanded you to take your eyes off of him after making a purposeful display for you. Foolishly, you took the rare moment to taunt him back for once, "What? Are you shy?".

-𝑴𝒊𝒏𝒊 𝑺𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚 𝑬𝒏𝒅-

#johnny slaughter x oc #johnny slaughter x reader #johnny slaughter #tcm johnny #slasher x reader #texas chainsaw game

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loving-delusions · 10 months

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SAMS Lunar headcannon <3

I'm putting it under the cut bc there's blood and talk of killing and murder and yadda yadda.. I got kind of carried away/descriptive with it at the end tho :(

also i made a lil drawing of it but it's pretty cartoonish, but still, blood <3

and a smidge of dynamic between the Blood twins and Lunar :)

Okay so! This little headcannon was just made in my lil brain moments ago so forgive me if i got some parts wrong but then again this is a headcannon and im just some random guy online brainrotting over a fictional character

As we all know, Eclipse made Lunar since Eclipse didn't like Bloodmoon very much. Bloody was too violent for him (apparently.) so he made Lunar (hooray for the creation of our lil guy yaayyy~)

But I've been thinking

What if Eclipse still gave Lunar some form of violent-ish tendencies that Bloody has? Sure, it's not very visible or maybe Lunar just has better control of this ability

But since Eclipse never really seemed to mention this to Lunar (maybe from fear that Lunar would end up like Bloody), Lunar never really got to use his ability or acknowledge this want to kill since he isn't made to be very violent, like how Bloody was

But timeskip somewhere to when Lunar and Bloody got pretty close, maybe when he was able to give Bloody their own body, he decided that:

Yeah sure, he could come with and watch what Bloody is really doing when they kill people or hobos in the street (like what Lunar said lmfao)

And that's when it would click, i think

The moments when he'd watch the twins kill and mutilate someone over and over and over again, he'd grow some sort of fascination with it.

There's, like, this sense of curiousity, as morbid as it is

But then again, I never thought Lunar as all goody two shoes or even lawful good.

He would then come along and just watch from the sidelines, never actually participating in Bloody's little activity, but he is thinking and is brewing some thoughts in that little head of his

But when Bloody says something when they don't actually like killing and is just driven by the unwanted need for it and wants to do it less even with how much it pains them, Lunar would respect that ofc

At the end of the day, Lunar still sees Bloody as family and still shows care and concern (or whatever other familial feelings) for the guy

But he couldn't help but think about killing people, and just rewind the lil recorded memories of him watching Bloody out in the street while he stood a few feet away

dark red splattered on the pavement

the humans just seeing him behind Bloody and yelling at him for help before getting dragged back to the red animatronic

the strong metallic smell of the blood

Lunar couldn't help but smile at the thought :)

#rambles #more sun and moon show rambles #sams lunar #lunar sams #the sun and moon show #sun and moon show lunar #sun and moon show #bloodmoon sams #sams bloodmoon #bloodmoon twins #sun and moon show bloodmoon #i was thinking particularly Violent Thoughts and thought to myself #you know what? im gonna project these into one of my kins #and here we are #Lunar is the equivalent of “Oh He's A Little Fucked Up Actually” meme to me

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liz-allyn · 1 year

Text

sugar and vice, pt. 17 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: time for a reckoning.

words: 9.5k

chapter warning: angst. bitter feelings.. description of a shooting.

series warnings: mob-typical violence, bang bang shoot shoot, whomp. hurt/comfort. s*xu*l situations. spousal ab^se. family trauma. dr^g use. coercion. manipulation. kidnapping. gore. blood. toxic/yandere!peter (maybe, sorta), negative self talk, shameless forced proximity trope. ‘only ten one bed oops’ trope, imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions. extremely toxic relationships.

This version of TASM Peter is not canon. The relationships and characters here are not healthy.

Don't date a mob boss.™️

18+ You’re responsible for your own media consumption, but if you don't remember when TVs were square, you should not be here.

Back to Part 16.

Part 17

Twelve hours after she last saw Peter, she emerged from her bedroom for the first time. It was already past lunchtime, but she didn’t have much of an appetite. Wearing a comfortable athleisure set with a soft fleece half-zip pullover (with plenty of pockets), she took only a glance down the hallway at Peter’s door. The door to the primary bedroom was closed, shrouded in shadow.

“If you’re lookin’ for ‘em, he’s not here,” a feminine voice called from downstairs. It was Felicia.

Honey followed the sound and padded down the stairs to see the other woman standing next to Rex’s terrarium. With her long, silver hair flowing down her back, she leaned down and curiously watched Rex chase after a tiny swarm of crickets. Her eyes were focused with morbid curiosity, tongue poking slightly out of her lip as she studied how the lizard moved. He darted around in the blink of an eye, gobbling up the tiny insects and crushing them in his jaws. He was so much faster when he had something to hunt.

“Didn’t know you were here,” Honey said, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. “Got a meeting or something?”

“Nah, I’m on my lunch break,” she smirked. “Mafia stuff works up an appetite.” She straightened her back and let out a long sigh. “Wanna go do somethin’?”

Her brow furrowed. “What?”

“Well,” Felicia explained, “I was thinkin’ we could hang out. Just us girls. Get some lunch. Go get our nails done. Do some shopping. Stop by the hospital and snap a few x-rays?”

Honey’s shoulders slumped, her face falling flat. “Thanks, but I’m fine.”

“That’s not what I heard,” Felicia replied teasingly. “I heard you almost took a flaming bumper to the face. Pretty close call. Then again, I’ve had worse dates, though—”

“What did Peter tell you?” Honey asked sharply, her lips pressed together.

Felicia furrowed her brows. “All he told me was that you should probably see a doctor,” she frowned, disappointed at the hostility. “Nothin’ else.”

Honey rolled her eyes. “You ever get tired of doing what he tells you to do?”

Felicia blinked her long plush lashes several times, then replied calmly. “I’m not here because he told me to be. I’m here because I thought you needed a friend.” Honey swallowed hard, glancing away toward the bright windows and letting the light burn her eyes. “But if that’s not something you need right now, I get that too. Just say so.”

She sighed, and when she faced Felicia again, her eyes were red-rimmed. A lump settled in her throat, and her voice was a weak murmur. “It’s not the pain that bothers me. It’s the fear.”

She bit down on her jaw to steady it, attempting to ward off tears with her loathing. She looked over at Felicia to see the woman watching her patiently, brows pinched together with concern.

“For a second there, I thought I was gonna die,” she explained grimly. “I saw the flash... and I felt the heat— and I-I thought I was already dead.” Her eyes misted over, and she brought the back of her hands up to rub them angrily. She sniffed. “I was going to die and couldn’t do anything about it. I’d rather break every bone in my body than feel that again. I’d rather die, th-than feel...”

She couldn’t finish the sentence, biting down on her tongue. She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head. She flung out a million curse words in her brain, admonishing herself for crying in front of Felicia. Self-loathing bubbled up in her chest. A cruel, bitter chuckle escaped her throat as she reminisced over her suggestion to ‘embrace her power.’ It was a joke to think she had anything of the sort.

“Helpless,” Felicia supplied solemnly.

Honey glanced up at her. Blinking with surprise, she observed how the other woman held herself. Arms crossed tight in front of her chest. Whatever difficulty Honey had with eye contact, Felicia had it worse. The taller woman pressed her lips together, grimacing.

When the two women finally met each other’s eyes, Honey was perplexed. It wasn’t pity on Felicia’s face—not like she’d feared. Instead, there was a painful solidarity between them.

As Honey opened her mouth to speak, Felicia strode up to her, arms extended. Then, too quickly and perhaps too awkwardly, the taller woman hunched down and pulled her into a tight embrace.

Honey gasped at the action. She was hugging her. Honey wasn’t tall enough to place her chin on Felicia’s shoulder. Instead, she leaned into the hug, resting her chin against her clavicle.

Awkward as it was, it was a very pleasant hug. The smaller woman returned it as best she could, despite the throbbing ache in her side. At that moment, she could look past that pain and allow herself to feel the embrace.

Felicia gave good hugs, she decided.

Tears welled up in Honey’s eyes, and she allowed herself to feel those, too.

Thirty-six hours after she last saw Peter, she curiously poked her head into the empty primary bedroom to see it untouched. Sheets were pristine and smoother than glass. His toothbrush and toiletries were missing from the bathroom.

Peter had granted her wish. Both of them—it appeared, including the request she made before their shoot-out at the arcade. She wanted space, and now she had it.

Not only had Peter not made an appearance, but every faceless guard had strangely vacated the penthouse. It was quiet in the morning haze. Peaceful.

She spent the day alone with Rex on her shoulder. They found plenty of things to do. After all, they were in a million-dollar home. They had endless hours of TV to watch. They had access to a full home gym (which she hadn’t bothered to enter until now and wasn’t going to while icing a hairline-fractured rib, no matter what Rex said about accountability). She had a library of beloved novels to read, a heated infinity pool on the roof, and a $5,000 coffee maker.

What more could she possibly need?

Thirty-seven hours after Peter, she noticed no more lights coming from the camera in her bedroom. Or in the hall. Or in the primary bedroom, or the great hall, or the terrace entrance, or the kitchen, or anywhere else she looked.

Thirty-eight hours after Peter.

Thirty-nine hours after Peter.

Forty hours after Peter.

Forty-six hours after Peter, she tucked herself into the covers of her own bed. She was exhausted, and the doctor-prescribed 4-6 hour pain medication had worn off.

She embraced the pain like it was her child. It was grounding and balanced the self-righteous anger that burned in her chest.

Peter wasn’t coming back tonight. It’s probably best, she thought.

He’s probably fucking someone else, she thought.

Probably best.

The third day without Peter brought a pleasant surprise. Hearing a knock at the front door, she rushed into the foyer with Rex on her shoulder. The knock itself was odd since no one ever knocked. No one asked for her permission to enter. The place wasn’t ‘hers’ to grant people entry to. Or was it?

Curiously, she pulled the door open, and her heart filled with joy. “Miles!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around the teen. Rex skittered around almost up on her head, displeased with the lack of personal space.

“Hey,” he chuckled, surprised as he returned the embrace, “whassup? I mean, I know I’m a sight for sore eyes, but—”

Grinning wide, she pulled back. “Hell yeah, you are! I’ve missed you so much! How are you? What are you doing here? What have you been up to?”

“Whoooaa,” he replied, hands outstretched. “We’ll get to all that later. First, can I come in?”

Honey flexed a brow. “Can you—you’re asking me?”

“I was asking Rex, but he doesn’t have thumbs.”

She blinked, stunned. “Ye-yeah, sure. Come in!”

“Cool! Alright, second thing—I’m hungry.”

Honey and Miles sat together on the floor in the TV room with empty boxes of Filipino takeout around them. Miles took the last lumpia roll after Honey insisted that she was stuffed. She had yet to learn where the skinny kid was putting all the food.

They spent several hours catching up on the latest teenage drama. Miles did most of the talking. He filled her ears with everything from his college applications, an opportunity he received to paint a mural at a local Boys and Girls Club, to the pretty girl he ran into (literally) while leaving a bodega. She was amused and engaged—and overall honored that he would share his stories with her and allow her to be a sounding board. She lamented not being able to do the same with her sisters.

On her part, Honey didn’t have much to say about her recent experiences, nor did she really want to. However, a question kept prickling the back of her mind.

“So. Um.” She cleared her throat, wiping her hands with a napkin as the hour grew late. “Have you, um, talked to Peter lately?”

Miles pressed his lips together, glancing at her briefly before his eyes fell to the ground. “Nah. Not directly.” Several moments of silence passed. “Haven’t seen ‘em since—” He bit his tongue. “For a while.”

She hummed in acknowledgment. “Probably a good idea,” she said.

Another pause. Miles watched her curiously. “I miss him.”

A bitter laugh she couldn’t contain burst from her lips. “I can’t imagine why.”

He raised a brow. “He’s not a bad person.”

She turned towards him accusingly. “How can you say that? You know what he is.” She connected the memory of Miles storming out of the penthouse after accusing him of being ‘on something,’ and the horrifying picture of Peter sticking a needle in his arm and becoming—something else. “You’ve seen what he’s done.”

“I have,” Miles nodded knowingly, although his tone didn’t suggest that he agreed with her. He shifted his position and gazed down at his shoes, losing himself in thought. “I’m worried about him, y’know.”

Honey rolled her eyes. “Miles. Seriously. You need to worry about yourself.” She connected with his eyes, imploring. “Peter is dangerous. The life he lives is dangerous. You need to stay as far away from him as you can.”

Miles fixed his gaze on her, studying her reaction. “I’ve known Peter since I was a kid.”

“You still are a kid—”

“I mean it,” he declared. Honey observed the resolve in his expression and silenced herself, allowing him to speak without interruption. “I’ve seen him when things are bad, yeah. But I’ve also seen him at his best. There’s good and bad in him. In everybody.”

Sighing, Honey listlessly nodded. “Two wolves. I know. I know.”

Another long silence filled the air, prompting her to look over at him. There was a darkened expression in his eyes, mouth in a tight line, as he gazed at the wall.

“Did I tell you I almost went to jail?” he asked. A crease formed between her eyebrows. She shook her head in confusion. “Yeah,” he added, nodding sadly. A dark cloud rested over him. “It was, um—It was a few years ago. Not long after my mom got hurt.” He crossed his arms tightly. “It was when we moved from Brooklyn. Things sucked that first year. I was in a school I didn’t like. Didn’t have any friends. My dad had to start dropping me off at the front because I didn’t want to go. It was embarrassing.”

The slightest glimmer of amusement tweaked his eye, and Honey grasped at it with a warm smile. Then, just as quickly as the light appeared, it went out again like a flame in the wind.

“I got into fights a lot,” Miles said without pride. “I was angry, y’know? A lot.”

With solemn eyes, she bit her lip, nodding. Violence was still somewhat new to her, at least from the perpetrating side. Anger she knew intimately.

“Everyone tried to talk to me about it. My counselors at school told my dad that I needed to see a therapist. But how was I supposed to talk to anybody? I couldn’t even tell them who I was, or what happened—”

His voice clipped. He swallowed hard. Her brows furrowed with concern as she watched tears well in his eyes.

“This one day, I don’t know. I lost it. I was walking home from school, and this kid from my class saw me. He was older than me, like 17 or something. This dude... sucked. Just not cool. Always messin’ with me. But on this day, I-I guess I wasn’t havin’ none of it. And I hit him. He went down, just one hit.” A smirk formed on his face. “It felt kinda good to shut him up.”

His half-smile faded, eyes darkening. “And then I hit him again. He was on the ground, and I-I just couldn’t stop.”

His voice was wracked with shame. Honey reached out and grabbed his hand, wrapping her fingers tightly around his.

“Next thing I know, I feel hands pulling me off,” he swallowed dryly. “I’m tryin’ to fight all of ‘em. I don’t know, I guess I thought— Like, I was back there? Where they took me.”

Tears welled in her eyes, as she sadly nodded with understanding.

“I kept fighting. Everyone. I wanted to hurt everyone—”

“Miles,” she said, heart aching. “None of that was your fault. You were probably having a flashback, you weren’t yourself—”

“Let me finish.”

She silenced herself, stowing her pity.

“Pete was the one that stopped me. He stopped me. He hugged me. Told me to go home. So I did what he said. When the cops came, they weren’t lookin’ for me. They were looking for him. He told them that he was the one who beat up that kid. Said he was a punk that needed a lesson.”

She sat motionlessly, stewing over the information. Miles looked up at her. “He took the fall for me. I asked him why. He saved my life, he got my family outta New York. Why do more than that? He said he believed in me. He saw what I did and believed I could be better than that. But if I had a record, no one was going to see past that.” His voice sounded tenser, stretched thin with emotion. “He saw me at my worst, and still—he tried to protect me. All he’s ever done since he got me outta that warehouse is try to protect me. Protect the people he cares about.”

Honey glanced away, her brows furrowed. Then, gently, she replied, “I understand why you feel that way, Miles. But he’s not just doing all this to protect us. He’s not keeping us safe.”

“Nah,” Miles nodded, shrugging with a half-smile. “Pete does what he does because he’s crazy. He’s messed up. Seriously.” She smirked back for a moment, the gesture failing to reach her eyes. “But I love ‘em, too. He’s family. That’s what families are for.”

Her heart cracked at his admission. She felt an overwhelming sense of pity for the teen. He was so pure. So naive.

Carefully choosing her words, she gently replied, “Miles, I’m not sure you fully realize what Peter’s capable of.”

He nodded, then said, “I am, though. He saved my life. That’s what he’s capable of.” He added thoughtfully. “That’s the Peter Parker I believe in. The kinda guy that’s gonna make a good dad someday.”

She observed him quietly, biting her tongue. The image of Peter holding a baby branded itself into her brain. She pictured him taking a hike near the mountain retreat with a small child sitting on his shoulders.

Was Peter a boy dad or a girl dad?

He was great with Miles in the moments that she saw them together. Peter had a knack for teaching. He gushed with enthusiasm when he’d explain a concept to Miles, whether nuclear fusion or chemical bonds. He made it sound interesting—even to her.

She could imagine Peter taking his boy by the hand and guiding him through the woods. Through adolescence. Struggling with the need to show them the world and all of its wonder and simultaneously wanting to shield him from it.

Then Honey remembered how Bella clung to Peter at her mom’s apartment. The child tugged on his pant leg, and he’d crouch down to meet her eyes. He didn’t patronize her when he spoke to her. He gave her his undivided attention, and Bella lit up inside to have it.

The memory of Bella pierced her heart, leaving a pang in her chest. “I don’t know about that,” Honey replied to Miles, her tone darker. “This is the same guy who has my niece hidden in a bunker somewhere.”

When she glanced over, Miles stared at her like she’d grown an extra arm. “What are you talking about?”

She sighed, eyes misty. “My niece, Bella. I miss her so much. Peter has her hidden somewhere, and he won’t tell me where.” Her brows furrowed in pain. “She’s just a baby.”

Miles blinked at her. Several times. “It’s not safe to know.”

She groaned with frustration. “Yeah, so I’ve heard.”

“No, you don’t get it. Peter can’t tell you where she is because he doesn’t know. No one does. That’s the whole point.”

Her head snapped towards him, eyes wide. “What?”

He shifted his body around, turning his shoulders towards her. “Only one person knows where your family is, and they’re not talking.”

She gazed at him, perplexed.

“They’re not gonna say anything.” He wore a knowing look. She stared at him, her mind spinning. When she opened her mouth to speak, Miles raised his hand, silencing her. “That’s enough heavy stuff for one night. Let’s get back to the game.”

With that, he turned towards the OLED panel in the room and grabbed one of the two Nintendo controllers next to them. Waking up the Switch, he navigated to a new screen, pulling up a character selection.

“I got Bowser this time. You wanna be Yoshi again?”

Honey stared at him, deeply confused. Miles turned to her, picking up the controller and putting it in her hands when she didn’t reply. “C’mon, we gotta get started. My neighbor’s gonna play us online.” He poked her in the arm to get her attention, then nudged his head towards the Mario Kart selection screen.

Confused, she glanced over at the characters. There was a Third Player.

“Cat Peach,” Honey said, staring at the Third Player’s character selection. “Bella loves Princess Peach.” When she looked back at Miles, he was a brick wall. Complete silence. Face neutral. Staring straight ahead at the TV screen, waiting for Honey to pick.

She curled her brow upwards, glancing at Miles, then back to the Third Player. Tears welled in her eyes as she observed the avatar on the screen. Her niece’s avatar. Her niece. Miles’ neighbor. Miles—mostly likely with his father’s help—had hid Bella and the rest of her family.

Tears flowed down her cheeks as she turned back to Miles, her jaw agape. He avoided looking straight at her, taking a sip of his third Mountain Dew. “C’mon now. Some of us have an early bedtime.”

One week after she last saw Peter, another surprise guest appeared. Because Felicia had been by every day, that’s who she expected to find at the door. Honey gasped with delight when she saw who it really was.

With twinkling eyes and hands deep in the pockets of his hoodie, Eddie smiled back. “If it isn’t Nancy Reagan.”

They spent the next half-hour catching up. Honey profusely apologized—unnecessarily—to him for being the cause of another fallout. He rejected her apology—repeatedly— but accepted her offering of two-thirds of a strawberry cheesecake.

Honey eventually got around to addressing the splinter under her skin.

“So. Did Peter send you here to spy on me?” she asked, unsure if she wanted the answer.

��Nope.” He shook his head. She couldn’t help the strange way her heart sank at his answer. Eddie peered at her suspiciously. “But it would be nice to know what you want me to tell ‘em when he inevitably asks about you.”

She pressed her lips together, eyes suddenly interested in the granite of the countertop. She wasn’t sure what she wanted him to say. She wasn’t even sure of what she wanted.

After an hour passed, Eddie explained that he was sent to the penthouse for a reason. To deliver a package.

Her eyes bulged, heart tripping, as he handed her a smartphone. The only thing that kept her from fainting was that the device was much smaller than the one she was hiding in her pocket. A model at least ten years old. It had a simple case with one of those artist-drawing stickers. A red spider. She looked up at him, eyes full of confusion.

“For emergencies,” Eddie said, shoving his hands back in his pockets. “You’re a big girl. I’m sure you’ll be fine. But just in case.”

Three weeks after she last saw Peter, she reached for the spider phone for the first time.

It was shortly after lunchtime at a chic, New American restaurant off of West 51st, adorned with a crystal chandelier, neon lights, and lush botanicals. Honey and Felicia were seated at the bar finishing up lunch (and a bottle of champagne) when the silver-haired woman excused herself to the restroom.

Being left alone was no longer strange. In the past three weeks, Honey had experienced more freedom than she had in the last four months of living with Peter Parker. She was permitted to travel wherever she pleased. Just as long as she had the emergency phone. And guards to scope the area ahead of time and transport her. And Felicia or Miles as an escort. It didn’t feel like she was being escorted. After three weeks of lonely days in the penthouse, she longed for companionship.

After the incident at the arcade, she tried to stay vigilant when left alone. But when she looked up to see Felicia return to the bar, a strange man sat on her stool instead.

She’d never seen him before. He was at least sixty, but the expression lined in deep trenches on his long face made him appear centuries older. The scent of stale cigarettes enveloped him. With graying, auburn-sand hair and intense eyes that seemed to radiate disappointment, he fixed a hard gaze on her.

“I know who you are,” he quietly declared in a bitter tone.

Every muscle in her body froze, and she fought the urge to scream for help. Instead, she kept one hand on the bar near her nearly-empty plate, resting over her steak knife.

He glanced down at her hands, unimpressed, and he gave her a sardonic smirk. “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to help.”

She remained nothing more than a statue, lips pressed tightly together.

“More importantly, I know who you’ve been with.”

She swallowed hard. Eyes wide, she flicked them cautiously toward the corridor Felicia had disappeared through as violent images filled her mind. The food began to creep up her esophagus.

She shook her head. “I-I don’t know what you—”

“Don’t lie,” he sneered, light as a feather, while his eyes screamed in a fury. “I know you’re Peter Parker’s new girl.”

Her heart thrummed in her throat. She opened her mouth.

“If you make a scene, I’ll throw Miss Hardy into a jail cell so deep under this city she’ll be in New Amsterdam,” he glowered. Honey snapped her mouth shut while piercing sirens rang out in her head. “Did I mention I’m a cop?” he added with a cruel casualness.

She felt dizzy, her heart sinking in her chest. Her brain ping-ponged between John Walker, and Wilson Fisk, and whoever planted the car bomb, and the corrupt officers that cut down Peter’s aunt and uncle in a spray of bullets.

A long list of enemies. And by the look in this man’s eye, he wanted to be at the very top.

“My name is George Stacy,” he muttered, eyes dark. “Peter Parker killed my daughter.”

Something inside her shattered as she connected the distraught rage emanating from the man seated next to her to the angelic face in Peter’s photo box.

“Did he tell you about her? Did he tell you about Gwen?” His voice made a sound like glass breaking as he said her name. Grief and anger swirled in the blue depths of his eyes. A deep crease formed between Honey’s brows.

“Excuse me.” Felicia’s biting tone caught their attention. “You’re in my seat.” They looked over to see the silver-haired woman glaring daggers at the older man, fearless in her stance. Honey had never felt so envious of her courage in her life.

George fixed her with a disgusted sneer. “Well, well. If it isn’t the Black Cat. Parker’s still your favorite place to sharpen your claws, isn’t he?”

Felicia didn’t flinch, crossing her arms. “Aww, Georgie. Didn’t know we were already at pet names. Get out of my chair.”

Anxiously, Honey glanced back and forth between the two heavyweights. George stared up at her through narrow eyes. “You’re lucky I don’t throw cuffs on you right here,” he said.

Felicia rolled her eyes. “Kinky. Got probable cause?”

“You’re a thief who gets on her knees for a murderer.” He side-eyed Honey. “You both are.”

“I don’t really like your accusations, Georgie,” Felicia snarked. “‘Specially the criminal kind. Got proof?”

George’s jaw clenched. His eyes were black with rage.

“Didn’t think so,” Felicia answered, then turned to Honey. “How ‘bout we get outta here? I’m sure Georgie here can settle our tab.”

The man suddenly came to a stand, his full height bringing him to eye level with her. “You disrespectful little smartass.” He leaned in close, pouring venom into her ear. “You’re trash. Standing behind a man who pushed his wife off the Brooklyn Bridge. She was going to leave him! And he killed her for it.”

Wild-eyed, George turned to face Honey. “Y’know what she looked like when they pulled her body from the river?” His eyes welled with tears as he ground his teeth together. “Y’know what she looked like when I had to identify her? I couldn’t do it! The fall crushed every bone in her face!”

“That’s enough,” Felicia declared with a cold tone. “We’re leaving.”

She took Honey by the shoulder, guiding her from the bar. She could feel the tears running down her cheeks once they stepped out into the frosty air.

“You’re protecting a monster!” George shouted after them, his voice, heart, and soul obliterated.

Honey was quiet in the back of the car as they sped home.

“Was he telling the truth?” Honey asked with a mouse-like whimper, unsure if she wanted the answer. Unsure if she wanted Felicia to lie.

The woman’s gaze darted over, appearing shocked even behind the giant, black lenses of her Givenchy sunglasses. “Are you kiddin’ me?” Felicia snapped with indignation. “Of course not!” The woman sounded offended at the accusation.

Honey stared at her in silence, trying to decide which version of the truth she wanted to believe.

Twenty-three days after Peter, Honey sat across from Miles at a bistro table in front of a streetside cafe. To her right sat Bella—wearing a princess dress. Delightful as she sketched out a cat on a piece of paper. Black crayon was smeared everywhere. Miles leaned over, giving her pointers on her cat drawing, showing her his sketch of a spider.

Honey wanted to say something. She really did. But couldn’t find the words.

She couldn’t speak.

Her eyes filled with terror as she recognized the tall figure stalking towards the table, wielding a shotgun in his hands.

She couldn’t scream.

John walked up to the table, pointed the shotgun at Miles’ chest, and fired.

When she awoke, she was screaming. Her chest landed hard against a warm, firm body. Her mouth was open and dry, and her eyes were clouded with nightfall, and her throat was raw, her skin sweaty, and her face was wet with tears.

“It’s okay! You’re okay! You’re okay. It was a dream. I gotcha.”

She shuddered with relief, her heart still racing with terror. She gasped in short breaths, grounded only by the warmth on her chest, the sturdy oak branches around her body, and the soothing hum of Peter Parker’s voice.

“Shh, s’okay,” he cooed at her.

Honey buried her face in Peter’s neck, full-body sobs overtaking her. She squeezed his shoulders tight, digging her fingers into the fibers of his shirt. The scent of cinnamon and cedar filled her nostrils. Like some magic spell had been cast, she felt her muscles melt, cradled in the warmth of his hold.

“It’s okay,” Peter whispered, rocking her gently. “You’re safe. You’re okay.”

Another cry ripped through her chest at the idea. “M’not,” she stuttered over hiccups. “I’m not okay. Nothing is okay...”

She felt his fingers glide down her spine, smoothing down the tank top on her back. He softly replied, his breath tickling her ear, “It was just a bad dream—”

She was incoherent, crumpling in a pile of broken ‘no’s’ and ‘I can’ts’ and ‘I’m sorrys’ and ‘it's my faults.’ He chased away the shadows, his fingertips alternating between rubbing her back and running through her hair.

“‘S’not your fault, Honey,” Peter murmured, resolve in his voice. “None of this is your fault...”

Trembling with tears, she pulled away slowly. Hesitantly, Peter released his grip, handling her like an origami flower left out in the rain.

The scruff of his beard had grown back in, and he wore a black pullover sweater that made him appear soft and gentle in a way she was unused to. She looked up at the golden-flecked, whiskey hue of his concerned gaze. Her own eyes were bloodshot and bleary. Her heart swelled and ached at the sight of him. Distressed, his eyes flitted over her face.

The spell wore off. As soon as Honey’s body heat left Peter’s hold, they both mourned the loss. He dropped his gaze to the comforter, his cheeks flushed disconcertedly.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out, pulling his fingers away from her. “M’sorry, I-I wasn’t tryin’ to—I wasn’t watching you or anything.”

His eyes darted around, hands fretting. “Of course not,” he muttered under his breath. “Who says that? Th-That’s stupid.”

He looked back at her earnestly, “I-I didn’t want—didn’t mean to intrude, I didn’t... I-I know ‘m’not supposed to be here. I just... I came by for some stuff, and... And I-I heard you scream, and I... I thought— Uh... I, um... I’ll-I’ll leave you alone now.”

Tears spilled in rivers down her cheeks. “Why are you protecting me, Peter?” she whimpered. “Can’t you see I’m not worth saving?”

He paused, eyes going wide.

“You can’t love me,” she wept. “You don’t know who I am. You don’t know what I’ve done.” She shook her head, racked with grief. “I keep trying to protect everyone, but-but I can’t—I... I’m killing them. I’m gonna get them killed.”

“What are you talking about?” Peter whispered. He squeezed his hands together, fighting the urge to cradle her face in them.

“‘M’not a good person, Peter. And I keep waiting for you to throw me away.”

He was dumbstruck into silence, shaking his head. Brows pinched together in horror.

“Don’t say anything,” she sniffed. “Please... don’t say anything. Just... just please. I need you to hold me.” He gazed at her blankly, as she closed the gap between them, pulling him into a kiss.

Both of her arms circled his shoulders. She nudged her chest up against his. She pried open his mouth with her lips, slipping her tongue through. His breath hitched at the taste of her, his hands outstretched safely away from her body.

She pulled her lips away with a heated smack, “Please, Peter. Please just touch me.” When she leaned in to kiss him, she felt the expanse of his broad hands on her lower back. He scooped her into his embrace, letting himself sink beneath the depths of her kiss.

He could feel her heart beating up against his own, both of them like rabbits darting through prairie brush. She paused only briefly for air, resting her forehead against his before dragging her wet touch across his tongue.

He could feel her everywhere. In every artery. In every cell. Drifting within his lungs. Swimming through his brain until he was dizzy. Whenever he felt himself floating, faint with desire, she snatched him tighter. Crushing their bodies against one another.

She emerged from the shell of her bedding, crawling into his lap. Threw her leg over him, pressing her heat against his belly. The sensation drew a gasp from his lips, and he seized her hips gently. He held them steady in place.

“Stop,” he breathed. He felt her go still. He squeezed his eyes closed, pulling his lips away. “We can’t.”

His words twisted a knife in her belly, her soul bleeding out.

“I can’t,” he muttered apologetically.

She found his eyes, hers full of dismay. A punishment for her cruelty. She was afraid to ask. “Why not?”

His eyes glistened in the city lights outside of her window. He stared at her, the corners of his mouth downturned. “Because if you push me away, it’ll break me, Honey.” He swallowed heavily. “And I don’t have anything left to break.”

She squeezed her eyes closed, tears breaking through her lids. She lowered her head, grieving the innocence of when they’d first met. She’d give anything to go back to that moment.

“Stay with me,” she whispered urgently. She met his eyes again. “Just stay here,” she said, softly begging. “Please. Just hold me.”

She nudged the tip of her nose against his. He gazed up at her with somber adoration and mourning, eyes achingly tender.

“Just for tonight,” she pleaded. She wore a desperate expression, like she would perish if he let her go.

It hurt to look at her. It hurt to touch her, almost as much as it hurt not to touch her. Pain was a mutual friend.

Tears shimmering at his eyelids, he nodded softly.

Wordlessly, she gripped him tighter. As if she could physically hold on to the tiny bit of relief. She wanted to hold on for as long as she could.

They hung on to each other, curled up together beneath the darkness. She rested her cheek on his shoulder, her hand resting above his heart. Fingers outstretched, she studied the slow rise and fall of his chest. He buried his fingers in her hair, rubbing tiny circles on the nape of her neck. The sound of their hearts beating in sync soothed him, like rain pattering on a rooftop.

Just for tonight. They slept in peace.

Her limbs felt heavy, but she was warm. She snuggled against a firm body toasting her like a furnace, as tendrils of daylight pulled her from slumber. Her eyes blinked open. Curiously, she lifted her head.

Peter dozed softly with her body nestled against his side. Her eyes softened as she gazed at the way the light danced across his freckles. She studied his image, memorizing each aspect of the moment. His hair was puffy and wild. She observed flecks of amber and gray in his chestnut beard. His lips were chapped with a plump cherry pout. And while she was mapping the lines of his face, she realized that this was the first morning she’d ever woken up next to him.

Like he could hear her thinking, his hand twitched, tightening his grip on her lower back as he stirred awake. Coffee eyes wandered quickly and found hers, lighting up with warmth. A sleepy, half-smile stretched across his features.

“You’re here,” she said dreamily, returning the smile.

“I am.” His voice was thickened by deep sleep. He watched her with fondness for several moments, before adding worriedly, “Did you not want me to be?”

Her smile dimmed for just a moment. She shook her head. “It’s nice.”

It was the truth. They gazed at each other, silent and starry-eyed and lost in a pleasant peace. He brought his hand up slowly to brush a piece of hair from her face. Her skin hummed at the brush of his fingertips. A shadow darkened her eyes. “I saw George Stacy yesterday.”

She felt his muscles tighten faintly, and his eyes fluttered shut. When he opened them, he drew a measured breath. Concern dimmed his gaze. “What’d he say?”

She pursed her lips. “He told me that you pushed Gwen off a bridge.”

A sharp pain flickered on his face like the sting of a wasp. A cold shadow fell across him, like the dark side of the Moon. “You believed him.” It wasn’t much of a question.

“I don’t want to hear it from him,” she said gently. “I want to hear it from you.”

His vision drifted. Melancholy and grief swallowed him, pulling him under a dark tide of painful memories. She felt his hands release her as he shifted to a sitting position. Her heart ached at the loss of his hold, and she hopelessly tried to seek comfort by wrapping her arms around herself.

“Gwen and I—we met in high school.” The hoarse creak of his voice startled her. He sat with slumped shoulders, leaning over a bent knee. “She was the only one that knew me, before my aunt and uncle died. She stuck with me after. Even when she saw what I was becoming.”

Bitterness accentuated his tone. Delicately, Honey sat up in her sheets, leaning enough to be able to see his gloomy profile. “She tried to save me,” he said. “But what happened, happened. I told her what I had to do. And that I am what I am. She couldn’t stop me, and I told her not to try.”

He swallowed hard. “I pushed her away, tried to break it off. But that just pissed her off more. Made her double-down. She was so damn stubborn. So she tried to help me.”

A pang contorted his features for a moment. She saw a faint tremor in his lower lip. He bit down on the flesh to still its movements.

“Her dad, though,” he continued. “He was a cop. He already hated me, even before I was a criminal. It was only a matter of time before he found out who I really was.” He sniffed, lifting his chin with a rueful look. “I knew he’d protect her, but he could only do so much. Eventually he was going to find us out, and if he wanted to protect her, he was going to have to pit her against me.”

The last part of his sentence cut through him like a razor. He paused for a moment, wetting his lips. Shoving his voice out of his pained chest. “So when she turned 18, she asked me to marry her.”

The sharp lines in her forehead faded at the revelation.

“She said if we were married,” he said, haunted by grief, “she couldn’t be forced to testify against me.” He gulped again, and by the look on his face he was swallowing rusty nails. “I didn’t care that it was part of a plan. It was the happiest I’d ever been since... even since before, I think.”

He went quiet for a while, before adding grimly, “I tore her family apart. He never forgave me for that.” A dark bitterness contorted his features, the familiar echo of self-loathing returning to his voice. “And I looked that man in the eye and swore that I would protect his daughter. But I failed.”

His eyes fell closed, and for a moment she thought his memories were tattooed on the insides of his lids.

“She fell,” he ground out, tears welling up. The dam was in danger of breaking. “I tried to catch her in time.” The breath sucked out of his lungs. “It was a matter of inches. Milliseconds. But it wasn’t enough.”

He slowly turned to face her, eyes shimmering with tears. “You asked me who was responsible for her death. I didn’t push her. But I’m the reason she was up there to begin with.” A pained flicker of a smile ghosted across his lips—a cruel impersonation of acceptance, of resignation of his guilt. “She died because of me,” he declared. “I let the woman I love die. I can’t let that happen twice.”

Eyes misty and red, he let the statement rest, as if dictating words he wanted written on his tombstone.

With a heavy heart, she replied, “But I’m right here, Peter. I’m not dead. Why wouldn’t you tell me the truth? Not just about Gwen, but Bella, too? Why would you make me think you knew where she was?”

Peter looked away, gazing down at his hands, pinching his lips closed. A false light returned to his tone. “My uncle used to say that one of the two keys to success was never telling everything you know.”

He didn’t follow up with anything after that. Her face slumped in disappointment.

“Bella means the world to you,” Peter explained, meeting her eyes again. “And I’d never put her life in the hands of just anyone.” He swallowed painfully. “Not even myself. I can’t be responsible for destroying someone else I love. I won’t.”

“Destroying me—you-you really thought the solution was pushing me away?” She sounded frustrated and betrayed. “That didn’t work with Gwen. Why did you think it would work with me—?

“Because I’m afraid I already have,” Peter affirmed. She fell silent as he gazed at her mournfully. “I know what rage does to people. I know what it looks like. That night, when we were fighting—I saw it in your eyes. Saw it when you looked at me. Hatred is... it’s a flesh-eating parasite. Never satisfied.” He gazed at her, eyes grim. “That’s all me, Honey. I did that to you.”

She sighed as regret seized her lungs. “Peter,” she pleaded, “let’s go back to the mountains.” His brow furrowed with confusion, as she explained more urgently. “Let’s go away. With Miles, and-and Felicia, and Bella, and everyone, and just—just hide?”

He shook his head. “What do you mean?”

“I’m scared, Peter. I’m scared that something awful is going to happen.” She felt the thick serpent crawl up from her belly again. “I’m-I—I don’t feel safe here anymore. Between the bomb, and... then George Stacy walked right up to me in broad daylight. What if that had been someone else?” His gazed at her worriedly, and she implored, “I’m... I’m afraid someone’s watching us. Watching me.”

She swallowed hard to keep the bile from spilling out of her mouth. Her skin felt clammy. Reptilian. Lying to Peter now made her physically ill.

“You’re gonna be okay, Honey,” he replied with gentle affirmation. “You and Miles, your family—I’m gonna protect you. You don’t need to worry.”

“Please, stop telling me that,” she declared firmly. “We both know it’s not true.”

He studied her silently with a frown, eyes flitting over her face. “I’m not good with flashing lights and loud noises.”

She blinked at him, brows pinched.

He met her eyes, as if continuing a confession, “Too much stimulation has always been an issue with me. Sorf of a-a weakness, I guess.”

“What does that—?”

“The cops could tear this place apart, but they wouldn’t find anything. It’s not here. It’s in a place underground. We call it The Bunker. It’s in an abandoned subway station that nobody knows about. Roosevelt. That’s our fallback position, a strategic planning base. Weapons, cash, files on every corrupt bastard in this city. It’s all there.”

Her brain was spinning with confusion.

“Inside a bank in Queens off of Woodhaven,” he added, casual and matter-of-fact in a way that made her feel unsettled. “There’s a safe registered under the name Ezekiel Sims. Inside, there’s $63 million in cash. Unmarked bills. Untraceable, clean money. It’s my cut. Nearly fifteen years’ pension for my sins. But it’s not for me. It’s for Miles and his family. The combination to the safe is his birthdate.”

“Why are you telling me this?” she blurted, overwhelmed.

Peter stared at her, eyes soft. “Because I’m done hiding. I’m through with hiding who I am. Especially from you.” Her brows furrowed as he explained, “If you wanted to turn me in, to drain me dry, take Bella and run—you have everything you need to know. As long as you and Miles are safe. Felicia. Johnny. Everyone left alive that matters to me—all I care about is that they’re safe.”

He swallowed hard, gazing at her solemnly. “Nobody can hurt me, Honey. No one but you. If that’s what you want.”

She felt the sting of tears brimming her eyes, her heart sinking in her chest. In under a minute, he’d given her the key to her freedom, to everything she could have ever wanted. It was also the key to his destruction. The nail in his coffin. Diametrically opposed to what she could ever want.

Why her?

That’s the only thing she could think about. It was a record running on repeat, slowly driving her insane. Why trust her? Why choose her? Why risk his life and legacy for her?

Not just material things—but his family was on the line. Secrets had already been divulged. Blood had already been spilled. Why would he love her when the weight of her betrayal made her want to die?

She cast her eyes downward, unable to meet his gaze. In her mind, she wanted to scream at him to run away. She wanted to scream at him for being so blind. For foolishly choosing her, when he could have anything else. Or anyone.

“Were you with someone?” she asked, as timid and quiet as a mouse.

His eyebrows pinched together. “With someone?”

“Someone else,” she replied, a little clearer. Again, she was conflicted at whether or not she wanted the answer. “Another woman. Or man.” He was silent as she stared down at the black polish decorating her nails. “You were gone for days,” she said, idly. “I mean, n-not that I expected you to just... y’know.” She took a deep breath. “It’s okay, if you did.”

When she looked up at him, Peter was staring back at her like she had grown an extra head. “Are you asking me if I’ve had sex with anyone since I left?”

Her eyes went wide, embarrassed by the bluntness of his question. “I mean, I’m not—” She stuttered, struggling. “No, I mean, I am. I just—”

She cleared her throat. It was like wet cement surrounded her vocal cords. “I get it,” she stated, her eyes darting from his face, to his chest, to the blanket, to the wall, and back around again. “You’ve got—your-your face is, it’s nice.” She was flailing. “And your rest of you, is, um, is—”

A heat wave traveled up her neck, making her feel faint. Her breaths were coming out short. “It’s okay,” she explained apologetically. “If you did. It makes sense. I just… you can tell me.” She met his eyes, trying to steal herself. “Please. If... if you don’t mind.”

Peter stared at her for a long time. He was quiet. Contemplative. He could have grown moss. Just when she was about to pass out from the anticipation, he shifted in his seat. His umber eyes fixed on her. “Honey. Since I met you, I haven’t looked at anyone else.”

She pressed her lips together, chewing on the inside flesh. His words were like a glowing, hot blade, slicing her open. Tears rimmed her saddened gaze. Her voice came out as a whimper.

“You don’t have to lie.”

His brows furrowed. A dreary expression leveled him. He turned his shoulders towards her.

“There’s not anybody else,” he softly declared. It felt like a whisper that only she could hear. “There’s not another woman. Or a man.”

His hand came up, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear. “Not another sunrise or sunset, no fancy car, no drug trip...”

The warmth of his lungs ghosted over her face like a warm mist. “No cute puppy, no breathtaking waterfall, no flower, or beach or mountain—not a single moment of joy on this Earth—that compares to how you make me feel.”

Her muscles seized, eyes wide. Tears brimmed that she was unaware she could even feel. Added to that, was the rough touch of his thumb brushing at the edge of her mouth. He stared down at her lips like he could read lines of poetry written on them.

“I was in the dark,” he murmured. “After Gwen, I was asleep. Thought I was already dead. Until I saw you. Thought it was a crush. But then... I met you.” His warm gaze heated into a small smile, thawing out his features. “I watched you sing and dance and make food, and play games with Miles, and talk about animal facts, and tell stories to Rex, and apologize to the house plants when they didn’t get watered.”

He chuckled softly, like a candle flickering on a winter night. “I listened to you talk about everything like it was—like it was a gift. Like no matter how dark it was, there was gonna be a sunrise. Like you could already see it.”

She met his gaze as her eyes welled up. No one had ever looked at her like that.

“Bringing down Fisk was always endgame for me,” he murmured. “Didn’t ever see past it. Figured I didn’t need to.” Timidly, he leaned closer, as if sharing his biggest secret. “When you touch me, it’s like I can feel the sunrise. Like I can reach out and touch the future.”

A tear trailed down her face before he wiped it away with the pad of his thumb. Her lip wobbled and she felt as if he was holding her upright. Like her life had been a perilous journey and she’d finally found rest.

“You once told me that you had all the power,” he said with a coy smirk. Embarrassment kissed her features, before he soothed it away with his hands. “That’s not the half of it,” he said. “You’re my tomorrow. You have the rest of my life in your hands.”

They gazed at each other, eyes shimmering, hearts swelling with emotions they couldn’t begin to describe.

“How could I look at anyone else?” Peter said with a profound wonder. “You’re the first and last thing I wanna see every day. There is no tomorrow for me if you’re not in it.”

His hands were holding onto the sides of her face, but inside, she was buckling. Her walls crumbled. She searched his eyes through her own blurry tears. Desperately looking for a catch. Seeking a reason not to believe him.

But she was right about another thing—she knew what it sounded like when he lied to her. And in every cell of her body, she knew that this was not it.

“Peter,” she breathed, with a wary tremor in her heart. It was like she was standing on shaky legs at the edge of the Earth, ready to dive into its core. “I think—” Her voice shook timidly, until she willed it to be steady. “I… I think... I’m in love with you.”

His eyes glowed, momentarily weakened by a fleeting helplessness. He closed them for a moment, as if to steady himself. “No,” he softly replied. Opened his eyes to stare at her like she was the answer to everything in the universe. “You’re not.” A gentle smile played upon his lips. “Not yet.”

Her insides melted for him. She wanted to fall into him and be consumed by the blaze.

“It’s okay, though,” he whispered with a subtle, teasing grin. “I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make it happen. To be worthy of it.”

The cheekiness of his smile triggered an even wider one from her. She breathed out a small laugh, tears falling. He gazed down with eyes that spoke louder than his words. It left no doubt in her mind.

Peter Parker loved her.

It hurt to look at.

Her smile dimmed. “Peter.” She swallowed hard, mustering the strength to crawl across a mile of flaming coals. “I... I have to tell you something.” His light never flickered. He gazed at her, half-entranced, half-heartedly listening. “I’m... I’m not the person you—”

A phone buzzed.

Her heart seized in her chest. A full stop. It felt like the touch of death.

Peter flinched nervously, snapped out of the spell. He dropped his hands to his pockets, digging the buzzing device from his slacks.

She sealed her eyes closed, withholding a silent scream.

Peter gazed down at the screen with a frustrated sigh, looking up at her apologetically, and put the device to his ear. “What is it,” he answered, quietly seething. As he listened to the muddled voice on the other end, Honey was dizzy with conflicting emotions. She wanted to curl up and die.

“What do you mean he’s here? We’re supposed to meet in Brooklyn.”

That was the last straw. She needed to say it. She needed to come clean. She needed to tell Peter the truth about everything. To bare her soul and confess her sins the way he had. The only problem was that her heart was stuttering in her chest, shaking her stomach so much that she was going to vomit on her bedspread.

“Fuck,” she idly heard him mumble. “Alright. Let ‘em in. Make ‘em wait. I’ll be down in a minute.”

She was drowning in sorrow as he ended the call. Oblivious to her distress, he shoved his phone back in the pocket of his jeans. He looked back at her, disappointment twisting his face. He read the look on her face as frustration at the interruption.

“I’m... I’m sorry,” he winced. “I...” His eyes darted to her door. “I... I have to—”

He didn’t need to say it. Duty called. Her opportunity to resolve herself was slipping away. Maybe it never even existed.

He cupped her face with his hands, gazing at her tenderly. “You get cleaned up, okay? And I’m yours the rest of the day. We’ll go anywhere you want. Just gotta take care of this one thing. It’ll take me less than an hour.”

Less than an hour.

She had less than an hour until her world crumbled. Until she revealed to the one person that ever really loved her that he was wrong about her. She was never worthy of his love.

“I promise,” he repeated with soothing tones and gentle touches. He leaned in slowly, as if requesting permission, and pressed a delicate kiss to her forehead.

She responded with something that sounded vaguely like words. He removed his hands. His touch. His warmth. Finally, he removed himself from her presence.

Dread filled her, along with a cold fear that she’d never see it again.

She followed instructions with an empty brain. A hollow heart.

When she emerged from her room, she was clean. Her stomach was empty of its contents. The color had faded from her skin. She was an apparition, walking aimlessly among the living in the waking world.

Rex. She went down the stairs to check on Rex. Maybe he needed his terrarium cleaned. Maybe she could clean it. Maybe she could scrub the whole penthouse with a toothbrush while she waited for the sensation to come back to her fingers and toes.

Her feet guided her closer to Rex’s tank, and she stopped suddenly. Aware that someone was blocking her path. A tall, beefy figure leaned down over the terrarium.

They turned to face her.

Her eyes went wide.

Her heart jumped.

Her breath seized.

John Walker fixed her with a pleasant smile—cheeks rosy, shark-blue eyes twinkling with amusement.

“So, this is what you’ve been hiding away, eh?” he grinned snarkily.

The world was spinning. The earth was shaking. She thought the whole building would come down on top of her.

“I don’t think we’ve had the chance to meet,” John said.

Her brows furrowed. She was frozen stiff, barely registering Peter as he walked up into her view. Stood shoulder-to-shoulder with John.

“No, I, uh... I was saving it for a special occasion,” Peter replied. He glanced over at John with a fond expression, then faced her.

A rat caught in a trap.

A snake stretched between the fangs of two wolves.

Torn apart.

“This is, uh, an associate of mine,” Peter told her. “A friend, really. I'd like you to meet Steve Rogers.”

Continue to Part 18

[back to masterlist]

a/n Thank you everyone for your patience and support! Things are going to heat up and move very fast. I appreciate your positive feedback.

171 notes · View notes

ozarkthedog · 9 months

Note

💀marc has a blood kink and a bit of a sadistic streak i said what i said

warnings: 18+ only. mdni. dark!Marc Spector x f!Reader. sparring. blood kink. pain kink. no beta.

word count: 588

author's note: idk what this is but i love it & am not ashamed. p.s., hi, sorry i haven't posted anything in months. :) p.s.s. sorry this is so late @moonknightly but thank you for the dark! thots.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 · 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

“You gotta keep your hands up.”

You respond with a pained gasp when Marc lands another punch. This time it’s to your jaw. It aches and pounds beneath your skin. You try to shake the pain away despite your world spinning.

“Again. Let’s go.” Marc commands harshly before circling your disorientated body as you try to regain your balance. “You won’t last long in a fight if you can’t take a few hits.”

You raise your fists and bounce on the balls of your feet. Marc smirks at your determination to keep up. “It's cute you think you can beat me.”

A growl rumbles in your chest and you strike without a plan.

He easily dives under your right hook before planting a savage fist in your belly. Air is ripped from your lungs forcing you to keel over. Marc sees his advantage as you choke on gasps of air and kicks your feet out from under you.

You let out a sick grunt as you crumble to the ground. The hard training mat nicks your cheekbone when you fall face first against the flooring. Sweltering heat burns your body as bile races up your throat from the pain.

Marc stands over your heaving frame and clicks his tongue in disappointment. He roughly nudges your frame until you're lying on your back before crouching down over your body. His thighs encase your arms leaving you with no way to fend for yourself. You can barely breathe with his weight on top of you. No matter how much you struggle, you can't get free.

Darkness creeps into the warmth of his eyes as he sits on your chest and stares at your frightened face.

“Stupid little girl. What am I gonna do with you?”

Marc spies blood pooling to the surface of your cheek. He thumbs harshly at the wound rubbing the spilt crimson into your skin. You whine from the pain and struggle once more under his massive thighs.

“You look good in red.” Marc smirks something deadly down at you before landing a devastating backhand.

White light flashes behind your eyes as your already abused cheekbone blazes like hot coals. Your lips part in a yelp as the room spins making you even more nauseous than before.

“Hey, hey, come back to me,” Marc husks, cupping your face in his hands. “I wanna see how much you can take.”

Your face burns with searing pain as he grazes his thumb over the welt and tugs on the skin, opening the wound further. Marc watches with morbid fervor as crimson pours from the broken skin.

He covers your mouth with a weighty hand dulling your screams to muffled moans while he works not caring that you writhe beneath him. You kick your legs towards his back hoping to land a blow but the angle is wrong, you can’t even graze him.

Marc barely feels you moving under his weight, he’s so invested in your turmoil. He drags two thick fingers through the fresh wound making you vibrate with a scream under his palm before curiously bringing the coated digits to his lips and sucking on them.

He moans around his fingers, eyes dropping closed for a beat, from the tangy, metal taste before sucking on the tips like after a delicious meal.

“Shit.” He groans from deep in his chest before leaning down and pressing his forehead against yours. “You know,” He begins, licking his lips and flashing his crimson stained teeth. “I can taste your fear.”

💌 send me mail - feel free to scream at me

#marc spector #marc spector x you #marc spector x reader #dark!marc spector #oscar isaac

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yaeggravate · 5 months

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Theory: Kaeya's Mom is a Scion of Nabu Malikata

you know it's funny how we've gotten zero information about the other half of kaeya's family… unless??

warning: slight crack

Kaeya: According to the merchant I bought it from, mysterious spirits called Jinn often live in lamps like this, and this lamp in particular once housed a very powerful Jinni.

in kaeya's hangout, we are gifted a mysterious lamp. kaeya says the merchant who sold it to him claims it once housed a powerful jinni. this lamp is called Mysterious Lamp of Fate Ordained. (remember this.) kaeya then explains what the jinn are as if he just discovered brand new information which is odd because kaeya has told klee a story about a jinni trapped in a lamp before.

aforementioned story is a reference to the story of The Fisherman and the Jinni from One Thousand and One Nights and also to the in-game book The Shepard and the Magic Bottle, a four star quest item that permanently stays in your inventory.

both stories concern a jinni being freed from a magic bottle upon which they grant three wishes. curiously, kaeya uses the last wish of the in-real-life story instead of the game's. in his version, the jinni gets trapped, in the book of the game, the jinni stays freed.

Kaeya: He said to the Jinni, "Wait, how could your massive body fit inside such a small bottle? I won't ever believe it unless I see with my own eyes!" The Jinni became angry, and said, "Mwahaha. Foolish boy, you dare question my powers!?" The Jinni then returned inside the bottle and the boy swiftly sealed it shut.

The Shepard and the Jinni The young man hesitated for a moment, and asked the last question. "What's it like to live in a bottle?" Seemingly having never heard of such a question before, the spirit was slightly surprised before she answered slowly.

strangely enough, it's not the first time kaeya has been connected to lamps. in the furniture description for Trusty Portable Lamp he went around telling children that the souls of fireflies are trapped inside lamps.

No thanks to the Cavalry Captain's jests, a rather morbid children's tale exists in Mondstadt concerning these lamps. The nuns have had to explain to the kids that no, these lanterns do not contain the imprisoned souls of fireflies.

furthermore, his ascension material is The Spirit Locket of Boreas. probably just another coincidence but nothing can ever be taken for granted when it involves this guy. perhaps all of these strange associations with imprisoned spirits is foreshadowing something bigger, who knows.

still, in the context of his hangout, kaeya's gift being a lamp is actually pretty random compared to gifts of other companions.

so i started thinking, the play and the intaglio showed us his ties to the alberich clan while the other routes showed his ties to mondstadt so it stands to reason that we should have hints towards the unknown maternal side of his family right? could this be the lamp?

before we dive into crack territory let me explain what the jinn are first. they're spirits born from night-blue water lilies that were nourished by nabu malikata's blood. jinn can take the appearance of blobs like dori's spirit or that of humans, and they can even reproduce with them as seen with everyone's most behated lamp, liloupar.

we have no idea how kaeya seemingly dodged the curse but what if he was blessed by a jinni? maybe someone made a contract with a jinni and this is how he's able to age normally. it could even be connected to his lucky coin that can land on any side he wishes. if guoba can be a stove god, it's not too far-fetched to think the coin could house some kind of spirit.

Kaeya: Of course, this whole arrangement hinges on a preexisting amount of trust between the two of us. I can't just get any strange coins to listen to me.

also, liloupar said something interesting about jinn being able to take someone's pain away from them:

Jeht: Can Jinn feel pain too? Liloupar: The Jinn have little need for a vessel, and even less need for senses. But should we begin to connect with others… Then we will take from them their pain… Even should we not comprehend the source of it.

who knows, perhaps this could even extend to a curse.

moving on to the good stuff:

these tcg cards show an unknown woman wearing the Vourukasha's Glow artifact set that is associated with nabu malikata. her outfit resembles nilou's outfit, which is modeled after nabu malikata's, but is noticeably lacking the horns nabu malikata was said to have.

the description for this card is Scions of Khvarena, which means that this lady is most likely just a follower or heir of nabu malikata.

(however, columbina, who is very likely to be a seelie survivor like nabu malikata, has bits of dark pink hair and is also lacking the horns, meaning we can't exactly determine that this woman isn't nabu malikata.)

in any case, the loading screen for khvarena is also called Scions of the Khvarena and it tells us something interesting: that khvarena can dwell inside humans.

Scions of the Khvarena Thanks to the nourishment of the Amrita, the Khvarena split apart to manifest countless forms. Some can find themselves dwelling within individual humans, while others might develop an awareness of their own…

khvarena are spirits that can purify abyssal corruption. they were created by nabu malikata. another interesting bit of trivia is that khvarena used to be localized as Soul Light.

taking a gander here but what if this lady and other human heirs of the khvarena are people who have the khvarena inside of them? i have actually speculated about this before that kaeya's mother might have had khvarena inside of her which ended up neutralizing or suppressing kaeya's curse.

you see, khvarena can reverse the effects of the abyss. and it was said that the oasis could cure all ills. though i should add, it probably isn't very effective on khaenri'ahns who are already cursed, as we've seen with dainsleif who was actually there recovering at the amrita pool but is still zombified.

(khvarena is green energy, and what i found curious is that the lamp kaeya gives you actually emits green smoke when you touch it. kaeya's favorite drink is death after noon, which is green due to the absinthe within. in literature, absinthe is known as The Green Fairy...)

to me, the most intriguing part is that khvarena is based on khvarenah, the divine royal glory.

Khvarenah is an Avestan word for a Zoroastrian concept literally denoting "glory" or "splendour" but understood as a divine mystical force or power projected upon and aiding the appointed. The neuter noun thus also connotes "(divine) royal glory", reflecting the perceived divine empowerment of kings. The term also carries a secondary meaning of "(good) fortune"; those who possess it are able to complete their mission or function.

when you read this, does it not remind you of kaeya's character? we all know by now that kaeya is associated with nobility/royalty, and good fortune (with his lucky coin and some of his dialogue).

Mona: Kaeya Alberich? He's a Pavo Ocellus. Destined for greatness and grandeur… and to hide ugly realities behind a layer of charm and elegance. He believes he has made a clean break with his past, but one day fate will catch up with him. When it does, he will have a major decision to make.

we don't know what kaeya's name is derived from, but it could be from the legendary Kayanians, who were also said to possess khvarenah!

anyway, back to the scions, i think it's possible that the following tribes are the scions of khvarena.

The matriarchs of the Tanit, Uzza, Shimti, and other tribes besides all refer to themselves as "Daughters of the Flower Goddess."

the Flower Goddess is nabu malikata who also calls the khvarena daughter of flowers, meaning these tribes are very likely to be the scions.

"My Khvarena, daughter of flowers…"

and like the lady on the card, matriarch babel of the tanit tribe has light pink hair.

(though, as a reminder, unbeknownst to her, babel was not actually born into the tanit tribe so we can't use her as a reference as she most likely did not have the blessing of khvarena, which is what i suspect is the reason she had to use poor JEHT.)

unfortunately, there's zero information about the other two tribes but shimti caught my eye here.

Ashima was a West Semitic goddess of fate related to the Akkadian goddess Shimti ("fate"), who was a goddess in her own right but also a title of other goddesses such as Damkina and Ishtar.

shimti means fate!!!

FATE!!

mysterious lamp of fate ordained!!!!

peacock accessories, gold accents and dead mom sidebraid!!!!

Traveler: I never knew you could inherit eye patches. Kaeya: My! (Traveler), how could you not know such common knowledge! This is no different from children inheriting their hairstyle from their parents!

kaeya last name shimti REAL you heard it here first-

ok you can laugh now but wouldn't it be nice if kaeya's mom turned out to be a pretty pink haired lady who is a descendent of nabu malikata? i think it would be nice 😌.

#.txt #lore bytes #kaeya alberich #who is kaeya's mom #where is kaeya's mom #WHY NO KAEYA MOM!!!

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hanasnx · 10 months

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“Oh, c’mon. You serious?” The distant voice of a former school yard bully grabs TERRY MCGINNIS's attention enough to pivot his head. Not only does he recognize the back of Nelson’s red head in the courtyard, but his friends too. He strides over, a hand on his pack slings and one in his pocket.

“What’s up with Nash over there?” Terry quips, coming to a halt after he invited himself to the group. From afar, they resembled zoo occupants, judging animals from behind thick glass. Up close he realized it’s more personal than that, and crueler too.

“Trying to get Blade back.” Max answers, inclining in Terry’s direction to keep her voice low. Her, Dana, and Chelsea couldn’t take their eyes off the arguing ex-couple. Blade clutching her comp-book close to her chest, and Nelson as irritated as Terry’d ever seen him. If he isn’t mistaken, a malicious curl to Blade’s lips has him deducing she’s asked her ex to prove himself.

Nelson emits a loud and jarring noise of frustration. Blade’s unaffected, but Dana clutches onto Terry’s arm out of habit.

Terry glances curiously between the girls. It’s not unlike Nelson Nash to cause a scene, and it’s not unlike Terry to remind people like that to cool off. “Maybe I should step in.” he suggests, that determined tone of his accentuated with his one stride toward the situation. Not only does Dana clutch tighter, but Chelsea catches his other limb, effectively arresting him.

“No way, McGinnis, you’ll make it worse!” Chelsea chides under her breath, and surprisingly meets his questioning gaze to place emphasis on her request. “Besides, Blade’s handling herself just fine.” She gestures her chin discretely towards how Blade’s countenance shifts to a mischievous shade.

“She’s makin’ him do something— what’s she makin’ him do?” Terry addresses the throng at and unacceptable decibel, and all three of them shush him in response. His brows upturn; he had no time to apologize before the girls exclaim and corral him elsewhere at the sight of Nelson’s head turning their way because of their noise.

The thrill of narrowly escaping had the three of them snickering to themselves. Not to mention the reminder of what Blade is asking of the bully.

Dana wraps herself around Terry’s bicep, closing in so she could confess the secret. “She’s making him wear a bra.” No sooner had she finished her sentence than they erupted in a fit of giggles. It’s a particularly innocent dare, yet they drew such joy from it.

Terry crosses his arms, cocking a brow as if to sell a playfully scolding persona. One that made Dana and Chelsea specifically think they’d stumbled upon comedy gold. “Why? ‘Cause he’s a chauvinist? It’ll teach him some sort of lesson?”

“I think the more appropriate term you’re looking for is ‘misogynist’, McGinnis.” Max corrects, unable to stifle her own grin. “You gotta admit, you’d’ve never thought Blade would make him think he’s got a shot, just for a silly little prank like that.”

“It’s so simple but he won’t do it.” Chelsea predicts, leaning back against a wall, shaking her head at the ordeal.

Terry’s morbid curiosity gets the better of him, and he maneuvers to peer around the corner, spying on the topic of their conversation. Blade doesn’t seem so amused anymore, and Nelson’s taken to gripping her wrist to keep her from running away. She yanks it out of his reach, and Terry’s jaw clenches. It’s better if they work it out, she’s not in any real danger. “If I were Blade I’d make him jump off the roof for me.” the phrase slips out, an exaggeration at worst, no way he means it.

Chelsea scoffs. “Oh, c’mon, Terr, he’s not that bad.”

Terry flashes her a look. “Maybe not.”

#this was stuck in my head #indy: drabbles #ch: terry #terry mcginnis drabble #terry mcginnis #dana tan #batman beyond #batman beyond fanfiction #terry mcginnis fanfiction #not x reader #no y/n #batman fanfiction #terry mcginnis fanfic #terry mcginnis fic

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m0thmellow · 5 months

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The Heat of your Scales | Astarion x M!Tav

Spending the last couple weeks in the sun has Astarion realizing just how cold the mountain air can be at night. He searches for warmth by the campfire and is joined by their dragonborn leader.

And an excuse for me to write more of this sassy vampire, considering I'm planning on writing a full longfic in some alternative universe or something. Also cross-posted on my archive account

Astarion was quite used to the cold, whether it was nature or not, he never shied away from it. After all, Cazador believed any kind of additional warmth was a luxury none of them could afford. So the cold air nipping at his skin, through the weathered blanket that laid over his body shouldn’t actually bother him as much as it did.

Yet, it did. The cold air was seeping into the marrow of his bone, leaving a rather unpleasant ache behind whenever he proceeded to move or wiggle to create more warmth. For a corpse, he shouldn’t feel this uncomfortable. It wasn’t even that cold either, nor was it winter. The day had passed without a cloud and Astarion could even remember the sweat crawling onto his companions faces, as they huffed and puffed, complaining about the sun's harsh rays.

Astarion hadn’t noticed the heat whatsoever, he had relished the fact he could feel it after two whole centuries. Now though, the cold was taking its toll and Astarion was beginning to miss the fire-y ball in the sky. Astarion tossed and turned, trying his hardest to get the small blanket to cover at least half of his shivering body, only to whine in frustration when he realized it wouldn’t work that way.

Defeated, he crawled out of his tent, ruffling his hair back into shape before taking a seat next to the campfire. He shivered again, the breeze nipping through his frilly shirt. It was wearing thin, especially with the amount of washing Astarion had done over the last week. Eventually the cloth would disintegrate into nothing, Astarion knew that. But it was hard to let go of something that had meaning, no matter how morbid the meaning really was.

“Hello,” Startled, the spawn twisted around, ruby eyes darkened as he searched for the voice, only for his eyes to settle on his white dragonborn companion. The dragonborn gave an awkward wave, gestured down to the ground and slowly began to sit down. “Mind if I join you?”

Tav.

It was Tav, like always. The dragonborn hardly seemed to sleep, and when he did it wasn’t for long. Tav preferred to sleep near the campfire anyhow, claiming the confinements of his tent made him worry about their safety, no matter who stood guard. Blame it on his dragonborn senses, at least that’s what Tav eventually told them. Astarion knew no one believed the man, but it also seemed that no one was interested in trying to convince him otherwise.

“Of course.” The spawn smiled, shuffling a little closer to the fire. “It’s a lovely evening af-ter all.” Mentally, the spawn kicked himself for the stutter. He hadn’t meant to, the chill just nipped a little extra hard on his nape, something he didn’t expect with his curls normally covering it. Astarion rubbed his hands together, fingers curling around one another, and squeezed.

Then, the silence returned. The fire crackled weakly in front of them, painting the area around it in a soft orange glow, occasionally expanding when it bit into a fresh piece of wood. Tav was feeding it, throwing small sticks and dead grass into the fire and watching it be engulfed by fresh and large flames. Astarion found himself staring at the man in front of him, white and green-tinted scales reflecting the orange and making him even brighter than he already appeared.

The leaves on his shoulder shook in the small breeze and Astarion shivered at the reminder of the aching cold inside, huffing as he shuffled closer to the growing fire again. Tav caught sight of this, his green eye shifting over to glance at the spawn and raised his eyebrow curiously. He didn’t speak, the silence around them was comfortable and Astarion didn’t feel the need to fill it.

It was always comfortable. From the point he held a knife to the dragonborn’s throat - who absolutely let Astarion drag him to the ground - to the evening where Astarions teeth sank into Tav’s neck, seconds away from killing him. The druid just.. trusted too much, at least that’s what Astarion told himself.

Annoyed, he turned his head back to the wilderness in front of them and reminisced about the events of their day. The creche, the zaith’isk, the slaughter of the entire githyanki force inside that followed after.. The dream visitor and Tav’s curiously but saddened look when he returned from his venture into the prism. Now they settled on top of the mountain, overlooking the monastery - or what was left of it after Tav accidentally took the mace - and the valley below. They managed to watch the sunset, after Karlach was determined to stay up long enough to watch it.

Astarion was grateful for it, in the forest below they never managed to see more but the golden sky above them. With the wide mountain range now though and the perfectly framed split where the sun descended, it was almost sentimental.

The moment was over when a small movement in the corner of his vision caught his attention. Tav was still beside him, still feeding the fire. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary at first, so Astarion dragged his eyes back to the mountains in front of him, ready to drift off into his thoughts and hopefully warm up from them-

Again

Another small movement caught his attention, this time enough for his eyes to fully turn, keeping their gaze steadily fixed on Tav and their surroundings, waiting as his entire body filled with tension and anxiety. What if it was another monster hunter, another Gur. What if-

Oh.. Oh.

He watched as Tav’s mouth slid open just a bit, his green tinted tongue slithered out, wiggled and quickly slipped back in when those mixed-matched eyes met his own. “Are you okay?”

The question caught him off guard, tilting his head so he could look at the druid with a confused frown, only to realize that Tav was… scenting. He had been scenting the air and had tasted Astarion’s tension after he noticed it the first time.

“Oh yes,” Astarion hummed, leaning over to tilt his head a little further. “I.. I suppose I wasn’t expecting that.” The dragonborn let out a laugh, shaking his head, frills relaxing once more. Tav, however, didn’t seem to buy his answer. The dragonborn shifted, feeding the last small bunch of grass to the fire before bringing one of his larger hands to cup the spawns cheek, who in return flinched at the contact.

“You are cold,” Astarion shivered, unsure whether to relax into the warmth of Tav’s hand or to pull away entirely. Warning bells were going off, the intense gaze he was under made him feel watched in more ways than he would like to admit. On cue, another breeze rustled through the trees, settling over their camp and Astarion took this opportunity to lean further into the hand on his cheek. “Come here.”

The vampire snarled, eyes fluttering open to glare at his dragonborn companion with defiance. Neither of them moved an inch, Tav’s eyes settled on Astarion with a look of fondness and amusement before he curled his fingers into the spawn’s white curls. At the contact, Astarion flinched once more, but allowed the bigger man to gently coax him over.

Following into his hold, Astarion held his tongue on any kind of comments, not wanting the risk of this.. this gift being taken away from him. As he curled up within Tav’s lap, the large dragonborn pulled both of them down to his bedroll, using his free hand to grab one of his many blankets.

A laugh escaped his pale lips, leaning up just enough so he could look the dragonborn in the eye, raising one of his perfect eyebrows to playfully glare at the man. One hand splayed itself over the large surface of Tav’s chest, the scale plates beneath his fingers pulsing with every heartbeat. Tav was so.. scorchingly hot, even with those armored plates hiding most of his actual flesh. Even those radiated a heat Astarion could only dream about.

“If you wanted a cuddle, you could also just ask, darling.” Tav’s eyes widened and his tail thumped against the floor below them. Astarion settled in anyway, moving to curl into the other side, laying his head down on one of the chest plates before trailing small shapes over the other. “You know, I’ve never laid with a dragonborn before.”

Below him, he could feel Tav stiffen, the hand formerly on his waist retreated to the bedroll behind him as a frown made its way to Astarion’s face. Had he done something wrong? Had he said something wrong?

He didn’t believe he had, after all Tav was his conquest for the moment and his other marks often enjoyed hearing that they were his first. It was a fool's errand though, anyone with a bit of knowledge could tell it wouldn’t be Astarion’s first time doing anything like that. This time however, he wasn’t lying. Dragonborn were rare in the city, one of them going missing wasn’t something Cazador could afford.

His master had specifically drilled it into his head - and skin - that Dragonborn and Tieflings were off limits due to rarity within the city. Anytime Astarion as much as looked at a dragonborn, Cazador would interrupt his thoughts and make sure he wouldn’t dream of doing so again. Traveling with Tav was thus the first time in 200 years that he’s seen a dragonborn without repercussions.

It was liberating.

“Don’t get shy now, my dear.” He evidently purred out, nuzzling his face into the dragonborn’s neck, right under those dangerously sharp jaw spikes of his. “You have me right where you want me.”

Tav hissed under his touch, but didn’t fall for the trap. Instead he wriggled his clawed hands into those white curls and tugged the spawn backwards, tilting his head to cover his neck for a moment. “I want you here, sleeping, or trancing, whatever you elves do.” Astarion could hardly believe his ears, but the look in Tav’s eyes said enough. So he nodded, huffed and accepted his defeat before laying back down on the man’s chest.

Tav settled again, arm wrapping around Astarion’s waist to twist him around. The spawn was about to object, feeling the cold nipping at his shirt again, only for his entire back to be engulfed with heat soon after. Realization hit him like a brick. Tav’s smooth scales pressed into the sensitive skin of his back, his arm was coiled around Astarion’s waist with his larger hand splayed over Astarion’s entire front. From the bottom of his collarbone to the top of his navel.

“Is this really all you want?” The spawn spoke softly, fingers moving to trace the small scales on Tav’s hand. Part of him feared the answer that was coming, of course this wasn’t all Tav wanted. It was never that easy and it would never be. Not even for their ‘knight in shining armor’, who despite his heroic deeds, managed all due to sheer luck. Astarion would consider himself a downright fool if he were to genuinely believe that all Tav wanted, was a cuddle.

A thousand thoughts flitted through his broken mind, a million things he still owed the dragonborn, which included his life and his sudden always full appetite. There was no way he would ever fully repay what he owes, but he could start to make a dent into it tonight, or perhaps give the dragonborn one very good night to have multiple debts paid at once.

All to save his own skin from a relatively worse fate than this one. After all Tav seemed like a gentle dragonborn, hopefully that carried into other areas and Astarion wouldn’t have to worry about-

“Yes.”

“Yes? That’s all you have to say?” Tav nodded behind him and Astarion fell silent again. Yes. All he got for his worrying was a singular word. Somehow that made warmth pool in his chest, his long dead heart daring to skip a beat if it could. It felt .. nice, very nice in fact. To know he could just lie here for the evening, engulfed in the dragonic heat of his companion and not have to worry about repaying his debt in the only way he knows how. The silence must’ve pleased the Dragonborn, his frills shuttering in content against the spawn’s curls, sending him into a small fit of uncanny giggles.

Tav flicked his tongue against the other’s ear, coincidentally coaxing a gentle hum from the elf’s lips. “You’re warming up. Good.”

And he definitely was, the warmth was soaking into his skin and down to his chilled bones, waking up feelings and spots he hadn’t felt in a very long time. Astarion twisted and turned in Tav’s hold and nuzzled his face into the smooth surface of Tav’s scales once more. All he could muster was a hum of approval in return, eyes fluttering closed as he slowly slipped into the warmest trance of his entire life.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------

“Shhhh!”

“We can’t stay here forever, someone needs to wake them up.”

“I know but look at them.”

Astarion’s eyes fluttered open at the sound of voices right behind him. His vision took a while to register what he was seeing. Still, he was laying with his head snuggled into the dragonborn’s white and green chest, Tav’s arms wrapped tightly and securely around his body, bringing him in even closer. His head was tilted ever so slightly, Tav’s chin was resting on top of his head with little resistance.

"Tck!" We should not indulge in pleasures of the flesh when there’s a battle to be had.” Lae’zel. And from what Astarion could tell, she definitely wasn’t pleased with their position.

“Lae’zel, there’s no reason to wake them up like that either.” Wyll. The knight in shining armor spoke with a soft but rushed tone. The rustling of grass and fallen leaves told Astarion that the warlock is probably physically keeping the githyanki woman from waking them up.

“I’m awake.” Before he was able to announce his presence, the dragonborn above him spoke up, his voice hoarse and raspy with sleep as one of his hands released Astarion to rub along his face. “You woke me up with your quarrel.”

The dragonborn moved very carefully, leaning up to look at what was going on, yet he made sure not to disturb Astarion’s ‘rest’ any further. The githyanki opened her mouth and Astarion waited for any noise or complaint to come out, though nothing ever did. He could only assume their dear leader had given her a look. “Tsk’va. Fine, we’ll leave you two lovers to it.”

A hushed ‘thank you’, followed by a heavy sigh and footsteps stepping away was the tell that everyone had left. Soon, the dragonborn’s hand returned to the spawn’s hair, carefully caressing the skin below.

Underneath Astarion’s hands he could feel the other’s chest starting to rumble, a purr-like sound slipping from Tav’s lips as they laid there. Astarion wondered for how long he could pretend, pretend to be asleep and just lay there with the dragonborn. Unbothered by their companions or their current affliction, unbothered by his own troubles and past that seemed so far away, yet so so close. He wondered just how long Tav would indulge this disgustingly sweet fantasy of his.

“I know you’re awake Astarion,” Not long it seemed, not long at all. “I would enjoy lying here with you for an entire tenday, however…” The dragonborn trailed off until silence covered them again. The spawn didn’t move, not when Tav’s fingers left his hair, not when they left his back and definitely not when Tav’s fingers found his chin. Astarion groaned, but let the dragonborn tilt his head up after a while.

Ruby eyes met those gorgeous mix-matched green and yellow, the dragonborn tilting his head with an amused smile spreading on his scaly face. “Don’t look at me like that,” Astarion huffed, sitting up fully and instantly glancing around to get his bearings. Right, the middle of camp. lovely. “Don’t speak a word to anyone about this.”

Tav snickered, chest heaving underneath Astarion’s lingering palms before they fully left the smooth scales alone. “I don’t think I have to.” Without another word, the dragonborn druid gestured behind his back, the spawn turning very slowly to see exactly what he feared. “Shit.”

#tav x astarion #bg3 oc #druid tav #male tav #astarion one shot #astarion #astarion my beloved #baldur's gate 3 #late act 1 #No beta we die like Gandrel #Cross-posted on ao3

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experiment-dsmp · 4 months

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How could you not care?

"That is a bold assumption." He says, crossing his arms slightly. "What makes you believe I didn't care?"

You didn't need to see his face in order to feel him staring into your soul. You gulp and take a deep breath, nerves rising as you know you couldn't run off. But you do answer.

"You said you held back Wilbur's mom to see what would happen. Sounds pretty uncaring to me."

There's a pause before he looks away. "I'll admit, I will let my curiousity get the better of me sometimes, but I'm not heartless."

"You seem that way to me..." You mutter, shifting in a way that irritates your broken leg. The Master hums and takes a few steps closer.

He then rests a fully gloved hand onto your shoulder.

"You're emotional, Tommy. But you also seem smart. So I'm going to ask you a question, if you don't mind."

You let silence and the like hang before nodding, allowing The Master to ask his question.

#dream smp #dream smp au #dsmp #dsmp au #experiment dsmp #poll

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qqquib · 4 months

Text

All Time Fav Fics

multi-fandom + continual updates :3

DSMP + SBI

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Tommyinnit: The three endings and two beginnings

- 142,401 words, abandoned

- also taken off ao3

- TW: torture, suicidal ideation, suicide, self harm, manipulation, death, child abuse, neglect, war

- Rating: 9/10

- all DSMP characters are thrown into a room to relive tommy’s life

Nights Like These by ChelseaFrown

- 107,946 words

- TW: child abuse, self harm, suicidal ideation, fire

- Rating: 8/10

- Foster Care tommyinnit AU

Godling by dancewiththewaves

- 66,761 words

- TW: kidnapping, violence

- Rating: 8/10

- tommyinnit and tubbo are godlings, however tommy is missing and tubbo needs him to get his powers. they are calm and chaos

Ours Poetica by zeeskit

- 77,502 words, abandoned

- TW: neglect, self harm, suicidal ideation + actions, child abuse

- Rating: 10/10

- tommyinnit is suicidal and abandoned by his family. he turns to poetry to cope

Cigarette Paper by anonymous

- 149,118 words

- there is a sequel <3

- TW: drugs, self harm, overdose, suicidal ideation, child abuse, religious trauma, rehab, neglect

- Rating: 9/10

- wilbur is deeply traumatized and addicted to drugs, tommy just wants to help

Home is Where The Heart Isn't by ThisB_tchEmpty

- 25,211 words, abandoned

- series!

- TW: neglect, suicidal ideation, character death, grief, child abuse

- rating 10/10

- Tommy was never loved by his family, he turns 18 today

The Children's Rebellion by Aria_Cinabun

- 257,877 words

- sequel out!

- TW: child abuse, graphic violence, suicide attempt, main character death, genocide, prison, disordered eating, bullying, starvation, manipulation, bullying

- rating 9/10

- Tommy Innes was born to touch the stars, but instead is the former leader of the children's rebellion

Mon Dieu by s_mol

- 114,945 words

- TW: torture, character death, Stockholm Syndrome, graphic violence, starvation, paralyzation, suicide attempt, self harm, religious trauma, gaslighting + manipulation, cults

- rating 9/10

- exile Tommy gets revived and is now dream's "angel."

Hand in Unlovable Hand by whoknowsidont

- 20,956 words

- everyday I pray for a pt 2

- TW: foster care, graphic violence, prison, character death, manipulation, mentioned suicide, police

- rating 10/10

- Tommy gets removed from his placement, and lives with a murderer

the funeral was a bleak affair by @jazzintown

- 71,306 words

TW: major character death, self harm, suicidal ideation, suicide, grief, alcohol abuse, neglect

- rating 10/10

- Tommy was born into a broken family

Theater Major by Annex

- 85,169 words

- TW: parental issues, bad family life, suicidal ideation, bad portrayal of foster homes, self-harm, death in general

- rating: 10/10

- Tommy has to make it through his last semester of high school, last show with the school that has done so much for him and now his entire schedule and life has been thrown to the wind by his family. And why are they acting like nothings wrong?

would you miss me in the end, if i run out of oxygen? by roboot

- 9,381 words

- TW: suicidal ideation, self harm, heavy depression, loneliness, coming to terms with how bad you've gotten

- rating: 10/10 accurate description of mental health issues

- I’m going to kill myself. His mind decides, and his stomach lurches. His breath trembles on the next intake, “how’s Ranboo doing?”, “Hm?” Tubbo says, pitching his voice curiously as his mind catches up to the question, “oh! They’re really good! Our projects are actually kind of joint- he’s doing death, which I thought was kind of morbid but Smith really liked it, so.”, “Why couldn’t they have helped you then?”, Tubbo scoffs, “you really think the guy capturing death would have an eye for life? If I let him touch my project he’d corrupt it or something.” He kicks his head back to meet Tommy’s gaze, setting his camera into the grass, “besides, we haven’t had a chance to really hang out lately.”, “You mean you haven’t had a chance to use me as free labour.”, “Technicalities! Hey, we should get moving again, I want to stop by the fountains.”

there’s stardust running through your veins by always_an_anxious_mess

- 125,040 words

- TW: abuse, torture, child abuse, foster homes, loneliness, graphic descriptions of violence, suicidal ideation, imprisonment, human experimentation, disassociation, character death

- rating: 10/10 love humans are space orcs

- When he was little, he’d dreamed of being an astronaut, of going to space, like every kid did. Space was fun, exploratory. Or it was supposed to be.

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UNDERTALE + AUs

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Winter in Your Bones by cryptic_jack

-67,506 words

- TW: violence, technical breaking and entering

- rating 9.5/10

- super fluffy alaskan reader x sans trope

Masquerade by TeaLeafe

- 160,404 words, unfinished (abandoned?)

- TW: major character death, self harm, rebounding, references to game canon events, violence, asshole behavior

- rating 7/10

- Underfell and Undertale universes collide into one, reader "loses" sans to fell!sans' girl.

Bullies by CurlySugarSkull

- 168,408 words, unfinished (abandoned?)

- TW: bullying, gangs, violence, rape/non-con, child abandonment, referenced suicide, drug use, referenced self harm, anxiety, underage drinking/smoking

rating: 8.5/10

- Jamie Hopkins gets put into Bullsworth Academy for troubled kids... into the boys dormitory.

You Matter To Me by @myownpersonaldemons

- 139,370 words

- TW: unhealthy relationships, accidental pregnancy, parental issues, smoking, legal battles, cheating

- rating 9.5/10

- reader moves in with the skelebros + co. after finding her boyfriend fucking her sister...

The Burning Mountain by Kassykins

- 110,941 words

- TW: emotional + psychological abuse, graphic violence, mentions of child abuse, alcohol abuse/alcoholism, rapid reality switching

- rating 8/10

- reader is a mage living in hiding. suddenly, the world as she knew it is changed indefinitely and only few can remember.

Tilikum by @llamagoddessofficial

- 54,456 words, unfinished

- TW: graphic descriptions of violence, abuse, murder, obsessive love lol

- rating 9.9/10

- llama goddess always hits.

- the Trio(tm) are all sirens living in an aquarium, Y/N is assigned as their caretaker even though they have no prior experience. Good luck!

Aggre(g/v)ation by @llamagoddessofficial

- 180,230 words

- TW: graphic violence, non-con, referenced cannibalism, referenced murder, referenced starvation, referenced child abuse, kidnapping

- rating 9.6/10

- reader lives in an apartment with sans, who kinda hates her... sorta? and then his "cousin" shows up, and then another...?

These Are Our Days by @Rehlia

- 642,238 words (WOW)

- TW: graphic violence, PTSD, body horror, terrorism, politics, human/monster war, disassociation, memory loss

- rating 9/10

- reader gets a job working as a social media manager for the monsters, after applying while shitfaced, and gets swept into something much bigger than anticipated.

Chill or Be Chilled by @tricktster

- 484,012 words, abandoned

- TW: graphic violence, body horror, weird science

- rating 8/10

- reader and sans meet, a classic slowburn (that's not very slow), and then shit hits the fan.

—

SOUTH PARK

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Oh My God, They Were Cellmates by Absolute_Trash_Fire

- 149,689 words

- TW: rape/non-con, drug addiction, murder, graphic descriptions of violence, sexual assault + harassment, jail, gang activity, suicidal thoughts, bad parents

- rating: 10/10 one of my fav South Park fics

- Tweek Tweak is a mild-mannered young man. He practices sex in carefully considered moderation. He holds no ill will toward his fellow man. This is his gospel...But it's all thrown out the window when he is arrested. Arrested for his ongoing meth abuse. Specifically, arrested for murdering his own dealer.As his false identity is peeled away, he must find himself while under the anxiety-inducing protection of his rage-prone cellmate, Craig Tucker.

Ladies and Gentlemen We Are Floating In Space by gremlinteeth

- 136,649 words

- TW: bullying, homophobia, child abuse, drug abuse, bad parents, fighting, kinda graphic violence

- rating: 10/10 high school but its actually accurate

- The epitome of apathy, Craig Tucker has never been anything but nonchalant when it comes to his life and other related catastrophes. As long as he's not missing his favourite tv show or being hassled into another one of his classmates' ill-advised schemes, the boy truly doesn't care. Why should he? He's almost halfway through his Junior year at South Park High, which he's already figured out means he's only trapped there for another year and a half. Yet, there's only so far flying under the radar can get you, and unless he can get his grades up before the end of the school year, he won't be graduating with the rest of his class. Luckily, there's a blonde-haired recluse who might be able to help him - in more ways than he'd hoped.

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STRANGER THINGS + STEDDIE

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stereoscope by seraphy

- 60,836 words

- TW: child abuse, graphic violence, canon typical violence, PTSD and its effects, alcoholism, kidnapping, bullying

- rating: 9/10

- Here's Steve Harrington's biggest secret, though: It's not the alternate dimension brimming with monsters or the impossible girl with powers. It's the fact that he and Eddie Munson have been friends all along. In an on-and-off, tangential, fucked up kind of way. Never on his own terms. But still friends.

the game (SERIES) by schlatt (@669b)

- 78,658 words

- TW: self harm, drug use, death, canon typical violence, PTSD, gore, slightly graphic violence

- rating: 9/10

- 5 years after vecna died... but he's back??? make it gay and full of healing and relapses and trauma.

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HOW TO TRAIN YOUR DRAGON

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Phantom of the Arena by @aleteia-ff

- 277,913 words

- TW: animal cruelty, talk of rape/non-con, talk of sacrifices, graphic violence, bad parents, slight suicide ideation at some points, pregnancy, general vikingness

- rating: 9/10

- Dragons and Berk have been at war for generations; one year ago however, strange things started to happen during raids, which cannot possibly be the work of a dragon. Refusing to let her village be haunted by what they call the Phantom of the Arena, Astrid sets out to find the culprit.

Persephone by sunflowerb

- 222,161 words

- TW: bridal kidnapping/sacrifice, graphic violence, pregnancy (I think), bad parental relationship, general vikingness, animal cruelty

- rating: 8.5/10

She was meant to be the price for peace; her life in exchange for the mysterious Dragon Master's mercy.Her captor wasn't supposed to be a ghost from her past, and she wasn't supposed to become his ally...or his lover. And when news spreads of a blonde-haired girl at the Dragon Master's side, there will be repercussions for dragons and Vikings alike.

—

MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE

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The Lost and Forgotten by Litcraz

- 272,143 words

- TW: homelessness, suicidal thoughts, cannon typical violence, graphic violence, depression, loneliness, rage, self-worth issues, death, threats

- rating: 9/10

- In order to save everyone's lives, Peter is forced to give up memories - their memories of him. As a result, he is left entirely alone in a world where no one knows he exists. After finally moving on with his life, a new threat arises, bringing Peter back directly into the Avengers' path.

A Peter Parker Problem by spagbol99

- 176,955 words

- TW: child abuse, graphic violence, child neglect accidentally, canon typical violence, self-worth issues, bullying, lots of lying, guilt to the max

- rating 9/10

- Peter Parker was back from the dead. At least that is what everybody told him. He comes back to find May has a husband and a kid. A new family he has to fit into. The only thing that feels solid is Tony: the Blip and fatherhood have mellowed him and Peter loves the bond they have now, but Tony needs to focus on his own recovery - not small time Peter Parker problems. When things at home take a turn for the worse, Peter decides that he'll handle it himself. After all, if May is happy, he is happy, right? Right?

The Third Option by Uncertainty_Principle

- 222,949 words

- TW: child abuse, sexual abuse, rape/non-con, death, graphic violence, canon typical violence, homelessness, loneliness, guilt-complex, cancer, trust issues

- rating: 10/10

- Peter goes into foster care. It takes just a tiny taste of superpowers for Peter to decide he doesn’t want to put up with his horrible foster father anymore—the streets are infinitely more appealing. All he wants is to be Spider-Man anyway. So he leaves. Simple. Simple, that is, until Iron Man needs Spider-Man’s help. Peter will help Tony. In return, the mask stays on. And that’s when things get complicated.

Peter and the Jailbirds by beautifullights

- 86,427 words

- TW: human experimentation, child abuse, canon typical violence, the Raft from MCU, forced isolation w/ sensory deprivation, torture, gunshot wounds, graphic violence, self-worth issues

rating: 10/10

Peter gets tossed onto the raft after being caught as Spiderman, it does not go well for him at all

Constant Internal [Spider] Screaming: Semi-Connected Scenes from a Graduating Senior’s Life by @isadancurtisproduction

- 141,489 words

- TW: stress, canon typical violence, bullying, fear of moving on, PTSD issues

- rating: 9.5/10

- When Peter's Teacher announces that his Graduating Class's Senior Trip is going to be to Stark Industries, he is... less than enthused. No one believes his Internship is real and frankly, he just doesn't want to deal with it, but between May and Mr. Stark, he doesn't really think he's going to get much of a choice. He has a month till the actual day, maybe he'll fall into a pit or get carried away by a stork-themed villain or fall into a Coma or something before the dreaded Field Trip

Fill My Veins With Terror by ManyGayUmbrellas (SERIES)

- unfinished (currently ~90k words)

- TW: graphic torture, child abuse, graphic violence, emetophobia warning, self-hatred, self harm, eating disorder, character death, murder, rape/non-con, suicide,

- rating 10/10!

one shot series following whumptober 2023 prompts, will rip your heart out

Spaghetti and Red Wine by atrhopodwithapen

224,770 words

TW: character death, graphic violence, rape/non-con, child abuse, canon typical violence, food issues, bad portrayals of the foster care system, torture, suicide attempt,

rating 9/10!

May dies on her way to get food for dinner, Peter gets placed in foster care, it doesn’t go well.

literally anything under the "Peter Parker's Field Trip to Stark Industries" tag

—

SIDEMEN

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Catharsis by dontlookup

- 20,234 words

- TW: sex as self harm, consensual but not safe or healthy, sub-drop, unrequited love, incorrect portrayals of content creators!!!!

- rating 10/10 its like. a perf vent fic

Vik shrugged. "Cathartic," he mumbled. "I felt bad. It felt good." In which Vik doesn't know how to process his feelings for Tobi and JJ helps by beating them out of him.

#dsmp fanfiction #sbi fanfic #httyd fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #south park fanfiction #undertale fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #ao3 #quib rambles #fanfic rec #fanfiction #sidemen fanfic

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