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plush-rabbit · 11 months

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It's Always Coffee

Request: Hello!!! I was wondering if you could write a like enemies to lovers between The spot before he becomes The spot (so basically Jonathann Ohnn) where the reader is a journalist who is investigating what is going on at Alchemax? And it would be nice if in the end you could include a part whit the reader and The Spot after he becomes it. Thank you so much!! <3

A/N: I’m on a fucking high for this guy!! Hope you like it<3 (this isnt necessarily an enemies to lovers but its something!!)

Word Count: 3.2K

You sit at an empty chair pushed against the wall of the coffee shop, your gaze focused on the screen of the laptop, the cursor blinking as the words stop. The bell dings, and you look up, catching a look of a familiar doctor walking up to the counter and fumbling with his wallet to pay. You smile, keeping your eye on him, a part of you hoping that he would turn around and see you.

No doubt feeling the gaze of someone on him, he peers around as his transaction ends. His eyes meet yours and your grin stretches, a cheeky grin stretching over your features. You wave at him, dropping your gaze to return to your work, a newfound hit of inspiration causing you to type away at the keyboard.

Keeping your attention on the screen, you bite down the smile as someone takes a seat in the chair next to you. You can feel his gaze on you, and you keep your gaze focused on the screen. The cursor stops and blinks at you, and as you type, your backspace, unable to make the sentence flow as you’d like. With a sigh, you grab your drink and take a sip.

“Are you following me?” He asks, and finally you turn to face the doctor.

“You know, a hello is usually a common way to greet people, Dr. Ohnn.” You place your cup down, turning your attention towards him. He narrows his eyes at you. “Technically, I should be asking you that. I was the first one here. If anything, I should be accusing you of following me.” He stays silent and you smile at him. “I can assure you that I am not following you. Honestly, I didn’t even think you knew about this place. You seem more like the type to make your drinks at home.”

He pulls his lips into a line and fixes himself in his seat. “Usually, I am. I only recently found this shop. It’s one of the few shops that offers distinct blends of coffee.” You snort and he shoots you a pointed look.

You hold your hands in front of you in mock defense, closing them and returning them to your keyboard. You don’t miss the glance that he gives to your screen. “I never took you to be such a connoisseur of coffee,” you admit. “How long have you been frequenting this place?”

He stays silent, and turns his attention to where the baristas work behind the counter. “Past two weeks,” he tells you, returning his gaze to look at you.

“Ah,” you sigh. “I found this place maybe a month ago.”

“I didn’t know you enjoyed coffee,” he admits.

You shrug. “I’m a reporter. It’s kinda in the requirements to enjoy coffee.”

Silence befalls between the two of you, and he turns his attention to where the baristas work. Your fingers dance over your keyboard. You chew on the inside of your cheek when you feel his gaze on you once more. He turns to look at your screen where you type, fingers slowing down as you turn to look at him with an expecting grin. “Can I help you, Dr. Ohnn?”

He doesn’t look the slightest bit embarrassed about being caught, instead, he shoots you a narrowed look. “What are you writing about?”

“If you must know-” his eyes dart over the words, and you grab the top of your laptop, pulling it down to block him from reading any further- “it’s about a local animal shelter.” You lift the screen back to its standing position, and take a sip of your drink. He huffs and looks away, crossing a leg over the other. You take a peek through your peripheral vision, and return to typing. “The shelter is doing a little event where you can walk or play with an animal for an hour, and each person will receive a five-dollar gift card to a coffee shop.”

“Oh.” He clears his throat. “That sounds nice.”

You scoff out a laugh. “Does that satiate your curiosity?” Your fingers tap over the keys as you try to come up with the finishing sentence. “Honestly, no wonder you dislike me when I question you as you do your job.” You give him a teasing smile, and he straightens, pushing up his glasses from the bottom rim with his knuckle.

“I don’t-” he clears his throat at your expectant gaze and shakes his head. “What coffee shop is allowing that? I’d assume it would have to be a local one.”

“You’re correct.” You point at him, pulling away from your screen and leaning against the back of the chair. You tilt your head, raising your brows at him with your smile growing. “Wanna wager on it? If you guess the shop, I’ll buy a coffee from there.”

“Do you know how many coffee shops are in this area alone?” He glowers at you, uncrossing his legs and leaning back against the chair. “Unless I have unlimited guesses, I won’t be able to figure it out in such a short amount of time.”

You hum, turning to look at your screen. You click your tongue and tap a finger against your chin.”Okay,” you draw out, “I’ll give you a hint.” You turn to look back at him, arms crossed over your chest. “It’s one of the only shops around that offers such distinct blends of coffee,” you raise the pitch of your voice, an awful attempt at mimicking the words once said,

“I do not sound like that,” he pouts.

You snicker, dropping your head and giving him a wide grin. “Ah, so you’ve guessed it?”

He turns his head, and back at you. “Obviously,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “Why would this place partner with a random shelter?”

“The shelter is a family friend with the owner from here,” you explain. “So they partnered up since the shelter is low on staff.” You grab your drink, swishing the liquid around. “It’s a nice idea-” you place your drink back down- “and they have ads placed all over, so I’m hoping that this article just boosts it up a bit more, you know.”

“Will you be participating?” he asks.

“Probably not,” you answer. “I like animals as much as the next person, but I get attached much too fast.” You turn to him. “I don’t think I could part with a dog. What about you?”

Dr. Ohnn lifts a hand, twirling a strand of hair around his finger before letting it fall back into place. “Probably not. As is, I don’t have the time to myself. What little time I do have, I much prefer to spend it by myself.”

“You’re worked to the bone, huh?” You give him a sad smile, turning your attention back to the screen. You feel his eyes on you. “That blows.” He says nothing. “I get it. You enjoy what you can. In this case, while it’s a noble cause, it’s definitely more for the people who have the time.” You turn to him. “And those who enjoy coffee.”

“I hope your article is able to put the word out,” he tells you without a hint of sarcasm laced into his words. Your ankles cross, and you pull them close to the underside of the chair.

“Yeah-” you backspace a word, only to rewrite it- “me too.”

You hear his name get called, and the both of you turn to where a barista places the drink on the counter. He stands, and stays in front of his seat. Craning his neck, he looks to you, and you blink up at him.

“Hey, you already paid for your drink, I can’t cover this one,” you say, raising your hands in front of you. “Maybe next time?”

“Next time?”

Another name is called, and in the corner of your eyes, you watch as the person scurries to pick up their drink. “Sure. Next time,” you confirm. You suck in a breath, and hold your drink in your hand, nerves causing your stomach to flip upon itself. “I’m uh, free tomorrow.”

He frowns. “I’m not.”

You cringe upon yourself, and bite the inside corners of your lips to stop from wincing. “Then, whenever. Or I could just pay you now for your drink. I think that’ll even it out. That way we won’t have to meet again.”

“No,” he blurts out. You look at him with raised brows. “I’d rather meet. I did win your little wager,” he says. “I’ll try to find time.” He bites his bottom lip, and clears his throat. “I believe I’m owed that after all.”

Hope makes your heartbeat quicken, and you can’t stop the smile that grows. “Okay. You’re welcome to sit by me if you’re not in a rush.” He stutters for a second, and you smile up at him. “Relax. I won’t question you. For now.” He pulls a face and you let out a small laugh. “It’s a joke. We can just be two people who met at a coffee shop. Not a reporter or scientist, just me and you.”

Without an answer, he walks towards the counter, and you watch his movement. You watch as he grabs the cup and places the rim against his lips. You watch as he pulls out his phone, and looks to the door and looks back at you. You aren’t sure what’s compelled you to invite the scientist to sit with you- it isn’t as if the two of you are friends, or anything of the sort. However, in the short conversation where work for you and annoyance for him was absent, you enjoyed talking to him. Just a bit. Not enough to admit it, but enough to invite him to sit with you. He turns a foot towards the door, and you give him a final smile, raising your hand in a goodbye, looking down at your screen.

It’s no bother. All you really are to him is a reporter with pestering questions about his line of work, it would be a no-brainer as to why he wouldn’t want to sit with you. However, it doesn’t stop the disappointment that weighs you down. You write the last sentence of the article and sigh.

Someone sits by you, and you give a glance, lifting yourself straight when you find the scientist perched at the seat, holding his drink in his hand with his body turned towards you.

“Are you almost done with your article?” You nod, glancing back down to save the file despite the automatic save feature working on its own. “Good, good.” He turns to look at the door, and back to you. “Would you like to go for a walk?”

You close your laptop, and hold it by the edges. “As a reporter and a scientist? Or as-”

“As me and you.” His feet tap against the floor. “I understand if you’re busy or-”

“I’d love to go for a walk.” You hadn’t realized how tense he was, until his shoulders fall at your words, a small smile tilting the corners of his lips upwards. “You got an idea of where to go or do you want to walk aimlessly?” You grab your messenger bag, delicately placing your laptop into its designated sleeve.

You follow behind him, clutching your nearly empty drink in your hand. Your bag pats against your side, and you bend to walk underneath his arm as he holds the door open.

“You’re supposed to wait for the door to open fully,” he tells you, fixing the sleeves of the black undershirt.

“And you’re supposed to answer someone’s question before walking away, Dr. Ohnn.” You pull yourself straight. “Guess we both have some learning to do.” He rolls his eyes, and continues forward, and you follow behind him.

The air is warm- not uncomfortably so, but enough to know that summer is creeping in. You smile at people who you make eye contact with. Dr. Ohnn walks without saying a word, but when you stray far too behind to peer into a window full of jewelry, he walks back to you.

“I didn’t take you for a jewelry person,” he admits.

“I’m not usually,” you answer, “but I have to admit that some of it is pretty.” You straighten yourself and look at him through the reflection. “I much prefer dainty types of jewelry. What about you?” His brows furrow at the window, and you take his answer through the reflection. “Are you a jewelry person?”

“I’m a fan of watches, does that count?”

“Huh,” you click your tongue. “I think so.” Pulling away from the window, you walk down the crowded street. Soon enough, he walks beside you again. “I never really could find a watch that suited me.” You flex out your hand and twist at your wrist. “I think I’m just bad at choosing things.”

“How do you tell time then?”

You let out a small laugh. “Dr. Ohnn, we live in a place where most people have cell phones.” His shoulders perk at the words, and a flush deepens the hue on his face. “I’ll manage to tell time without a watch.” You take a sip of your drink, and all that remains is ice and a bottom rim of a watered down version of your drink. “I’m not sure how you’ll manage, though.” You exchange the cup to your other hand and raise your now free hand, flexing your wrist. “Naked wrist and all.” You jerk your head over to his, and he covers it with his hand.

“I forgot,” he answers defensively. “Simple mistake. Anyone could have made it.” He clears his throat, and takes a swig at his drink.

“Oh, I’m sure,” you tease.

Peeking a trash can further up ahead and no longer wanting to hold your cup for the next few minutes, you rush forward to toss your drink. You dart through the crowd, mumbling apologies and sticking your tongue out a person who mutters a curse towards you. Tossing your drink into the trash, you wait for Dr. Ohnn to catch up to you. He stands by you, downing the drink before tossing the empty cup into the trash.

“Why’d you want to work for Fisk anyways?” He gives you a look. “Off the record, I swear!” You raise your hands in front of you in mock surrender. “I’m curious. You’re a scientist, and I’m positive you’re good at your job. So why work for him? Why not work for anyone else?”

“Why write articles?” You frown at him for avoiding your questions. “Plenty of others do it. Plenty of other agencies will offer to help you write the story you so desperately chase. So why stick to that one agency?”

“Okay, Dr. Ohnn. I’ll let you escape answering my questions, only-” you point your index finger at him- “and only because I’m feeling quite open to speaking. If you must know why I stick to my agency, I do it because I’m familiar with it.” He stops for a second, and continues his strides. “I like it there. Fluff pieces and all. We can’t all be journalists willing to die for a story, and while I’m very curious about what you do, I am willing to at least push the limits of how far I can go.” You look at him. “It’s not the most meaningful sentiment, but it’s mine, so if you make fun of it-” you falter, unable to come up with some threat- “I won’t buy you your coffee,” you conclude with the threat. You begin to pull away, one step in front of him when he stops you.

“I wouldn’t make fun of you,” he says with his hand wrapped around your elbow.

“Oh,” your voice comes out softer than intended. You turn to give a weak cough. “Cool. Thanks. I guess you get to keep your free coffee then.”

“You think I’m good at my job?”

You smile at him, and standing on the sidewalk- even if pushed close to the building- does the two of you no favors. A stranger rushes by, and you’re pushed closer to him. The grip on his elbow tightens, and you take note of his hand. His fingers are long, and thick, and they hold onto you tightly, nails scratching at your skin. You turn your gaze.

“Yes, and before we get shoved again, let’s continue walking.” You pull ahead, and his grip on your arm falls. Turning your head to make sure that he’s behind you, you start. “I do think you’re good at your job. That’s why I try to do mine.” You give him a glance, and smooth out your shirt. “It is how it is. Too bad you’re good at it, you had to meet me.”

“What else?” He asks and you tilt your head at him. “What else do you think of my work?”

“I don’t know. I tried to read the papers that you’ve written along with a few other scientists that study along the same lines, but it was all words to me. No offense.” You give him an apologetic smile. “I’m sure you know what you’re talking about, and in some pages, I could feel the excitement, ya know? Like- Like when you started to talk about black holes and stuff. Were you always interested in stuff like that?”

His hand reaches to the back of his neck and he scratches at himself. “Mm, not necessarily black holes, but other stuff. One thing led to another.” He turns a corner and you follow close behind, catching at every word that escapes from him. “Not many people outside of my profession read what I have to offer,” he says in a low voice. “Thank you,” he says your name gently and you can feel heat burn at the shell of your ears.

“Yeah, no problem. It was a long read, but um- it was interesting and stuff.” You try to stop the grin that grows, and tug on the strap of your messenger bag. “If you have the time, I wouldn’t mind-” You're cut off by a phone ringing and you stay silent, watching as he pats his pockets.

“Ah,” he pulls out his phone and quickly reads the message. Looking back up at you, he seems almost apologetic. “I apologize. I- I have to go. Something work related just came up.” He lifts his phone as proof, but you can’t read the words with the glare of the sun. “We’ll continue this later?”

The words take a second to process, and when they do, you can feel your heart race. “Oh!” You perk up. “Yeah- yeah, of course.” He smiles at you, and takes a step forward. He’s close enough where you can smell the cologne on him. “Um-” his voice squeaks, and he clears his throat. He lifts a hand and pats at your shoulder. “This was fun. Thank you for accompanying me on the walk.” He gives you a tense smile and walks away without a goodbye.

You stand on the sidewalk and watch. He turns around, and you lift your hand in a wave, and he does the same.

You frown when you realize you never received his number.

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sweetlyticklish · 8 months

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size kink be going feral when you think about someone bigger and stronger than you sitting on your hips and squeezing your sides mercilessly while you feebly struggle and try to pry their hand(s) away with both of yours to like,,, no avail. 🫣

#mine #like is it too much to as for to just be made to take torture like #finding a really bad spot that just makes you fucking l a u g h and panic and then they just like are so strong you can’t stop them or they #like take your hands and pin them down and go right back to it so you can panic even more because you can’t move no matter how hard you try #IM #tickling community #tickle community #size k!nk

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pettyeti · 6 months

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Would that I could sink into the earth, the sand, the sea. Breathe deep my last breath and return home.

#my edits.#etienne.#Some context:#Eti d*ed once. Mama H plucked him from the Lifestream right before he was about to dissolve.#While he's not technically undead there's a general sense of “wrongness” he constantly feels within his body/soul.#On top of the survivor's guilt. It's agonizing for him to be alive until shb.#Once ew is over and he gets closure with Mama H and his clan he is in a much better spot mentally/emotionally.

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poop-me-a-flower · 3 months

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Bc Rustic Spots H&R opened another flower for me! Only one this time but it’s ok. I’ll never complain about a flower from this plant.

#plantblr #houseplant #houseplants #flowers #orchid #orchids #bc rustic spots h&r #brassocattleya rustic spots h&r #brassocattleya

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thecopperkidd · 1 year

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Guys be like 'I know a spot' ...

#fear&hunger #F&H #fear and hunger #game #gif #comic #yellow mage #Enki #dark priest #dungeon nights #Guys be like 'I know a spot' and then take you to the blood pit

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iero · 1 year

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(x)

#hayley williams #paramore #my edit #paramoreedit #musicedit #userparamore #usercaro #userallisyn #tuserrobin #Had to crop these weirdly because T*ktok insists on putting their logo in separate spots throughout the video.#Anyway she's so weird. I adore her.#Also I know these look bad but I giffed this at like 1 in the morning half asleep LMAO.#Sorry. She's just weird and so h*t. SO h*t. Taylor is a lucky man. Who said that?

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bonefall · 5 months

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As a big sibling with a lil sib with epilepsy, when they read TBC they Honestly thought if they got struck with lightning reciting the lord's prayer they'd be cured like Shadowsight is from their epilepsy. I had a discussion with them on how that's not how it works, but ge was so upset they took it away from Shadowsight that he hasn't picked the books back up and has stated that 'he hopes Ashfur wins and starts a new religion.,'

I do not even know how to respond to this besides saying that your little sibling is 100% right to be pissed and I now also hope Ashfur wins and starts a new religion.

#Legit I did not know that Shadow's epilepsy being taken away was so deeply upsetting to SO MANY people #I put it back because putting it back was just the right thing to do (even asked the small following I had at the time what type to portray #(they picked the full tonic-clonics. I would have just done localized or absence if they'd asked me to)#And I did all that research for one single anon who asked for an epilepsy herb guide #So holy cow I didn't know that SO MANY people were snubbed and upset by canon's choice to do that. I'm so sorry #Your little sib isn't missing anything btw they do just go on to confirm that Shadow no longer has seizures.#In book 4 of TBC they say that it was all Ash all along and that's what they've stuck with into ASC #I'm sitting on an essay about... That plot thread. The Ashfur Grooming one #But it's in my drafts because I was a bit afraid of controversy #because i think it was written poorly. Even on top of Book 4's pivot to retcon away Shadow's seizures #I know a lot of people like and are invested in the grooming subplot of TBC. But. I think it was executed AWFULLY #and its really telling that THIS is the plot they tout as grooming *by name* in-canon.--#--and that Shadow has to 'pay' for what he 'did' in some way as if there was ever a choice in the books they wrote--#--But seemingly didn't even seem to clock that what was happening in Spotted's H was grooming until there was intense backlash #and a big part of my contention is the way that Book 4 suddenly tries to retcon that Shadow was groomed from the time he was a child #when it was actually part of book 1 that Shadow was able to personally tell the difference between a real vision and Ash's suggestions--#--BECAUSE he didn't have an accompanying seizure #So like... just know it's also NOT just 'you' if you connected to the character that was epileptic. It WAS there. It was a BIG part of him #Book 4 retconned it so that his epilepsy was part of a long scheme when before that point it was part of him #''ohh ur destiny is to see into the shadows'' BULL SHIT!!#bone babble

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sindar-princeling · 7 months

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also bye I saw Blind Guardian live and I'm never going to recover I've actually ascended

#I MEAN I. SAW T H E M. LIVE!!!!!#THEY WERE SO GOOD #I'm gonna be riding this high for the next year oh my GOD #we managed to get a nice close spot so after the show my ears were ringing and I was hearing myself so weakly aksjxjdjdd 10/10 #in addition to a sore throat of course #like I said 10/10 I wanna repeat it already #blind guardian #it's mine my own my precious #not lotr #ALSO THEY PLAYED THREE NIGHTFALL SONGS AND THE LORD OF THE RINGS AND SACRED WORLDS I'M!!!!!!!!!!

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grossion5z · 9 months

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sbemail 124:

#homestar runner #h*r #istg ive seen this meme before #i dont know when #if its real and you made it #im sorry for ripping off your meme #strong bad #the cheat #euurrrmmm #other tags #by me #i almost forgot to put the cheats spots on him #i have a version where he doesnt have them #so thats a thing

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babyblue-mind · 4 months

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you ever think about how castiel has seen dean at his worst in way sam never has.

you ever think about how gabriel has seen sam at his worst in a way dean never has.

#dean torturing in hell before he is saved #sam being at his lowest after dean dies on the wednesday in s3:e11 mystery spot #ugghvh b h h h h h. i'm going to. explode #blue posts #text #spn #spn spoilers #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #gabriel #castiel spn #gabriel spn #destiel #sabriel

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plush-rabbit · 10 months

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Phantoms and Memories

Continuation to Spots and Stops

Word Count: 3.4K

A/N: If i let if go any further, it would have been well over 5K so I had to cut up the chapter ( ◕ᴗ◕)っ✂ (its also in his pov this time!! and so will next chapter)

As Johnathan runs, he’s thankful that the effects of the Super-Collider had given him longer legs. He doesn’t think he’d be able to run as long if not for the long strides that he takes as police chase after him. This most certainly isn’t fair- he hadn’t even stolen anything! When the cops had stopped and shined their light at him, he panicked and immediately set off.

The lights of the vehicle flash behind him, red and blue filling the night and people move out their way as a cop shouts at him to stop. One in the cruiser and the other pursuing him on foot.

Turning a corner, he grabs at a spot near his wrist- the jacket he wears pushed to his elbows- and holds onto it. He doesn’t trust himself to throw it and jump into it- knowing his luck, the hole would be much too small, and he’d just get stuck in it. No. Not again.

Instead, he jumps up, and the creaky ladder of a fire escape bangs down. Once more, he’s thankful for the long legs that allow him to climb easily and take two stairs at a time compared to the cop who is trailing behind. Reaching the roof of the building, he puts the spot in front of him, and taking in a shuddering breath, he stops. He hasn’t done a long jump with one of his holes before. It’s been something quick and nearby- nothing faraway. But hearing the cop behind him, there isn’t much time to ponder about where he’ll end up, he just hopes that wherever the spot leads him to, is home.

Like blinking, it’s a moment of darkness, falling into nothingness, until he realizes he is falling. His legs kick out until just a second later, he falls onto a soft surface- bumpy, but soft. He lifts himself up on his forearms, scanning around what appears to be a dark room. Maybe he did manage to control where he went this time.

His hand pulls at whatever it is that squishes under him. In the dark room where the only light comes from a streetlamp behind closed blinds, he sees that it’s a pillow shaped like a flower. The fabric stretches down where his hand has fisted over one of the stuffed petals. He turns, and he freezes. He holds tightly onto the pillow and he can barely make it out, he can barely make you out, but it’s you. Asleep on your bed and asleep in your room.

How you didn’t hear or feel him fall onto your bed is beside the point- even with being a heavy sleeper, that must be a stroke of luck for him. Why are you here? A better and appropriate question is why is he here? He doesn’t want to be here. He can’t be here. Sure, you had invited him to come if he needed something but he doubts that you actually meant it- more as a nicety than anything- and even if you had meant it, he doubts that you meant it like this.

The flower goes behind him, and he waits- quiet and still, he hopes that you don’t wake up. Please, don’t wake up. To whatever deity that listens to him, he promises that if you don’t wake up, he’ll never see you again. He can’t handle seeing your reaction if he stopped by unannounced. Crawling slowly, he moves to get off of your bed. Even with you being such a heavy sleeper, every time the bed creaks under his weight, he pauses, the bed creaks under his weight and every creak has him go rigid.

His feet are flat against the floor and he turns, your phone lighting up as a message enters. His curiosity gets the best of him and he takes soft footsteps to peek. It’s from an unsolved number that simply asks if you’re awake. Hurt grips at him in unforgiving claws.

The time is ten past two. Your phone is fully charged, and he takes another look at you. You still sleep soundly and undisturbed. He unplugs your phone, and lets the cable hang over the drawer knobs. No matter how many times he told you that charging your phone overnight is harmful for the battery, you never seemed to listen. You continued to charge it.

Turning to you, he sees that the blanket is askew, draping over the side of the bed. Adjusting it, so that it now covers your body, he tucks you in, pulling it up to your shoulders. He lifts his hand up and hovers your head, and as his fingertips brush against your skin, he pulls back. The memory of you reacted when he last touched you is fresh in his mind. You recoiled away. He wonders if you washed yourself of his touch right after he was kicked out. Instead, he watches you, asleep and unaware of him. Your phone lights up again, and he frowns. Taking another peek, it’s the same unsaved number. Looking back to you, he fists his hand at his side. He wishes that he could touch you one more time- just a final touch, a final kiss to allow him to let go of you. But he can’t do that- he’d feel awful knowing that he did something to you. You’d probably be disgusted with him if you knew what he was doing.

He should leave.

You didn’t wake up. He did promise that if you didn’t wake up, he wouldn’t return- he wouldn’t see you again. You’ve moved on, and he should too.

Still, he can’t pull himself away. He wants to look at you like he would before. He wants you to look at him like you would before. He wants to slip into the bed beside you and pull you to his chest and feel you rest your hand over his stomach. You sleep, and he stares and it’s creepy and gross and an invasion of your privacy, but he can’t help it. He needs to look at you, needs to engrave you into his memory until he can picture you without even trying.

His hand lifts again, shaky and unsure as it reaches over, and just as he’s about to trace over your features, your phone rings. Scurrying, he hides himself behind the bottom edge of your mattress. He pulse himself down, making sure that not an inch of him is seen over where you sit.

The ringing stops, and he hears your voice.” Hello?” It’s raspy and heavy with sleep. He can’t hear the other side of the conversation no matter how much he tries to strain his hearing. “Yeah, well I was asleep.” You mutter something under your breath too light for him to hear. “I’m listening, I’m listening.” You pause. “Yeah, no I’m not really in the greatest mood considering that I was woken up in the middle of the night.” You never liked being woken up- he’s made that mistake a few times. “Look-” you exhale- “I’m sorry that I led you on-” it doesn’t sound sincere but rather annoyed- “but it’s over, okay? Like for good.” Another pause. “No, no. It’s over. I’m done. Good luck or whatever. Bye.”

Your phone lights up the room in a bright glow and as quick and blinding as it came, it’s snuffed out. He hears you fall back into bed. You groan and the bed shakes as you turn.

Silence fills the room and Johnathan’s heart beats in fear. He just has to wait a few minutes until you’re back to sleep. It won’t take long. You’ve always been quick to fall back to sleep and after being rudely woken up, you’ll slip off into slumber in no time.

He waits and waits, and after what feels like eternity, he hears soft thumping- you’re kicking into the bed. “Fuck,” you whine. “Fuck.” You toss and turn, and he can hear the assault on the pillow as you try to make yourself comfortable.

Oh no. You can’t fall back to sleep.

He should have left when he had the chance. This is his punishment.

Carefully, he peels off a hole, and places it beside himself, maybe he can slip away like this, he enters his hand into the hole. Keeping his gaze fixed looking above, he pushes his hand into the hole, fingers outstretched, fluttering about looking for a flat surface. He’s elbow deep, the hole on his face contorting into what would be frustration if he still had his face. He can’t find it, and you’ve already begun to kick at the blankets and grumble at yourself.

You’ve already lost your sleep- taken away by a phone call from someone who you used to date.

Johnathan tries not to dwell on that. It’s too fresh of a wound. You’re too fresh of a wound.

As he reaches further down, his body presses against the floor. All he needs is to know that something is on the other side, something that might break his fall or would at least get him out of your room. Too focused on looking up to see if you’d peep your head over, he feels something ghosts over the side of head, fleeting and spindly, and he yelps.

Oh fuck. He turns, hoping to find a spider, but it’s just his hand, the portal made to just be a few feet away from where he made it

“Hello?” Your voice is alert. Even if he were to be quiet, you’d never buy it.

The light clicks on, and he can hear you rummage through your nightstand. “Hello? No, fuck. I- I have a weapon.” Your voice is shaky. He stays silent, pulling away the spot and making another one that ends up on your wall on the opposite side. “I'll call the police.”

He lowers his head and lifts an arm. “It’s me. It’s just me.” He hopes that he’s the only one with white skin that you know.

“Johnathan?”

His head knocks against the wooden frame of the mattress, and he lowers his hand. “Yeah. Sorry. I didn’t mean to pop in unexpectedly. I just- I got myself into a pickle and I just threw a spot and now I’m here.” He pauses. “I’m sorry.”

He had wanted to go home. Or at least pop in anywhere but here. He can’t believe that his holes would betray him like this.

The bed creaks, and he pulls his arm back from the spot, watching above him, seeing if you’d peek over to see him. You don’t. “A pickle? Are you okay?” He can hear the soft rustle of the blankets. “Are you hurt?”

He shrugs, but you can’t see him. “Oh, um. Yeah, yeah.” His knees feel as if they’re on fire and he’s ready to put this day behind him. “I’m okay.”

You stay silent.

“I’ll get out of your hair, I just- It’s hard to control my holes and where they take me.” He fumbles with another spot. That one pools on your ceiling.

“Jonathan?”

He pulls the spot back. “Yeah?”

“You can say no, but um, can I see you?”

The spot of his face stretches, and he feels his body tense. He remembers how you reacted to him the first time. And the second time- granted he did catch you in a vulnerable moment, but it was because of him that you were so- so vulnerable. He should tell you no. He should leave and never look back, and never think of you. But then you call his name, and his resolve crumbles. When the two of you were together and happy, he could never tell you no; he could never deny you anything that you had wanted.

His hands brace themselves against the edge of the bed frame, and he stands, looking down at the ground, unable to see you. Never has he felt so bare and exposed.

The bed creaks, and he sees a shadow approach and a familiar shirt peeks in the corner of his vision. He can feel your eyes on him, and your hands flex and unflex in want. He should look at you. He should give himself that grace, he should take one look at you while you look at him. When he looks up, he’s tilting his head down, head cocked to the side, as you look at him with doe eyes shining in unshed tears. Your hands fist into his old shirt, and you look at him.

“It’s rude to stare,” he mumbles.

You still continue to stare. You suck in your bottom lip, your teeth teasing at it, and he hates that he can’t kiss you, that he can’t touch you without one of you resulting in tears. You swallow, and part your lips once more. Would you still taste like mint? Or would you taste like sleep? Would you close your eyes and pretend that he was someone else if he leaned towards you? Are you pretending that he’s someone else right now? Are you only able to stomach him and his appearance because you think of someone else?

“Can you eat?” You ask, and it’s almost laughable that all that you could tell him, and it’s that. A simple, curious question. It’s entirely you.

“Yes,” he answers. What would you say next? Would ask if he could chew? If he still has teeth that would tear apart meat and grain? Would you ask if he still has lips? Would you continue to ask him questions so that he could stay a little while longer in the comfort of your bedroom? “Why do you ask?”

“Are you hungry?” Your hands fist over the stomach of his old shirt. “We- I can make you something if you’d like.”

He’d eat glass if it meant that he could stare at you some more. “I can eat.” You give him a ghost of a smile, and he takes it eagerly. “What do you have around?” Is he allowed to be greedy? Can he ask and ask until you can no longer give him what he wants?

You climb off the bed, adjusting at the shirt and pulling down the legs of your shorts. He follows you out of your room, and now as a stranger in your home, he feels like a ghost invading your space- walking past memories that he no longer has access to. He walks past the living room, the weight and tension a swirling mess, threatening to pull the both of you in and keep you stuck forever in a loop of grief. He holds his breath until he enters the kitchen. Motioning for him to sit at the table, you open the fridge, a cool blast makes goosebumps prick your skin.

Turning your head, you look just like how he remembers you. “Are you okay with sandwiches?”

“Do you have chips?” He’ll be greedy and gluttonous- stuffing himself full of food in order to sit with you longer.

Nodding, you begin to pull out the ingredients to make sandwiches and he watches from the chair, stiff and cold, wanting to believe that he won’t be back after tonight. But as you bring out the plates and pull out the drinks- his favorite is still in your fridge even after all this time remains unopened and cold. You place the ingredients in front of him and alongside you, he prepares his sandwich.

You’re done with yours fairly quickly, and you turn on the television, and a late night show fills the room. Fake laughter, and fake applause is all that rings in him, and in his hand is a sandwich made with a gluttonous desire to take all that he can.

When he takes a bite, it’s sour.

“We probably should have toasted the bread,” you tell him, peeling off the crust. “Untoasted is fine and all it if we were going to make sandwiches-”

“-We should have done it properly,” he finishes. Looking up at you, he can’t finish the sandwich- not when it tastes like it’ll give him heartburn. “Chips?” The drink remains unopened, collecting condensation on the side and dripping onto the placemats on the table. Hissing comes from the soda, and he looks at the opening.

“In the pantry.” You take a bite of your sandwich and glance at him through the corner of your eyes. “You’re free to check.” You close your eyes, humming at the mouthful of food in your mouth.

He stands, and searches through the cabinets, a brand new bag of chips sits, and he grabs at it, the colors popping against his skin. Reaching down into a drawer, he pulls out a reusable straw. A metallic one, the silver distorting his image in the reflection. It sits beside yours- iridescent and solid colors.

The chips sit at the table and the straw- his straw- sits in his drink. He turns his head every time he takes a sip. You don’t look at him. This entire time, you haven’t casted a glance towards him except in the beginning. You make small conversation as you eat your sandwich and place a few chips onto your plate. Your drink is opened, and you never take your eyes off of it. The television still plays. He’s only taken small bites of his own, the taste not returning, and the bitterness staining him.

“Why did you ask me to stay?” His holes are shifting, swirling and constricting as he waits for your answer.

You cast him a glance. Finally, you look at him. “I just-” you let out a long exhale- “You want the truth or a lie?”

“The truth.”

Shrugging, you take another sip and look at him, turning your body in the chair to fully face him. “I-” the words get stuck in your throat and you look away- “I have no right to say it, but I missed you.” He stills. “I know what I did was awful, but-” you hold the can and the aluminum bends under your touch- “you were right. It’s still you.” You look at him again, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen you look so saturnine. Even your tone is sorrowful and empty, and the words hang in the air, unanswered to.

He stays silent. And you continue, keeping your gaze on him. It must be taking all of your willpower to even do so.

“Do you think you could stay a while?” He’s silent. “You can say no.” You turn away from him, and push yourself away from the table. “I know that I shouldn't be asking you anything of the sort, but I hope you’ll say yes. If not, then you know, just lock up when you leave.”

You have the gall to ask that of him. You open your home to him, and offer him food, and he takes it with acid poisoned in him, with hands stained with muck and gunk, and his pale white skin is stained with holes and spots. And still, as if it were the first night that he spent with you, anxiety chills him to his core and roots him in place.

He’ll get up and lock the door behind him. Johnathan will rid himself of you, and let all of this be some dream that felt too real. He’ll do it. His chest fills with air, and the chair scrapes against the floor. He’ll leave a mess behind, and when you clean it in the morning with the bird chirping outside and the soft rays of light shining against your table, you’ll miss him. Every step that he takes is heavy, and slow, weights placed on his ankles to pull him back so as to not make a dumb mistake. You can hope that he’ll say yes, and he can hope that when morning comes, you’ll still miss him. And he stands in the living room, back where he stood before you all those nights ago.

The room looks so different. Emptier.

Every step has him hoping that he’s making the right decision. What more could you ever say to him? What words could ever mend him back together? What tenderness could ever replace the cold and callous nature that you bared at him in his weakest moments? He holds the doorknob in his hands, and he hopes that he’ll never get to find out. He hopes that when he closes the door behind him, he’ll have it all figured out.

#the spot #the spot x reader #johnathan ohnn x reader #johnathon ohnn #jonathan ohnn headcanons #johnathan ohnn #im gonna start using the h in the fics #but will i go back and fix the rest #probably #porbably not #i dont know #im lazy #i have to go to work so tags are rushed but yeah #hopefully the next part is tonight or tomorrow #i had to split it up #it was gonna be way to long #as a single chapter #plus the mood shifts so ya know #i think that was a good break

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summertimemusician · 7 months

Text

Linktober Day 7

Sky(loft)

*throws rose* For the First lovers.

Soft and sweet drabble with just the barest hints of tragedy, and more set on Skyloft than anything but I'd say it counts.

This chapter was brought to you by me getting emotional about the First Hero and his fate again due to the rain, the fact I believe all Links deserve to have love and appreciation but specially him. And the fact I think it's an absolute CRIME that we don't get anything more on him and that he and Sky don't get to have what Time and Twilight have, no I'm not bitter Nintendo I just want to talk, y'all can't just keep giving us like four Links before the actual heroes and then expect us NOT to want to elaborate with the crumbs we are given. If you ask me First and Sky deserve to interact and for First to have closure.

Anyway, as always can be read as romantic or platonic, up to y'all, and can be read in or outside and LU context, I just use Sky and First for simplicities sake but if you don't gel with LU then feel free to interpret this as something else, this is all highly self indulgent before I pass the heck out lol

If there was any place in Sky’s Hyrule that you could confidently say you adored with all of your heart and soul, Skyloft would be the most likely pick.

Even so high above it all in a way that would have you catastrophizing had you think too hard about what could happen if anyone ever accidentally fell from the isle even with all of the knights trained to not allow that to happen, you’d be lying if you said that it’s a wondrous mix of empyreal beauty and the comfort of safety and the wonder of touching the sky, a true breath taking haven that could soften even the hardest of hearts with time. Fitting of the warmth of the reincarnated goddess in Sun and the vast nature of Sky’s kindness, for all you knew he could be as frigid as the title of Godslayer demanded.

Looking at the way First let himself be tugged along the isle as soon as they’ve arrived in Sky’s land in a tour just reinforced that notion, you couldn’t help but chuckle a little. First was one of the harder Links to read, even more so than Time or Warriors, but looking at the way the stars of his azure eyes brightened with the fire of life hearing Sky talk about life in his home and about the many people made you feel so, so warm, like finding a nice sunny spot for a afternoon nap.

What could you say? First was such a wondrous person, calm and charming and perfectly polite and oh so kind in the way you knew all of your boys were. If there ever was someone who embodied chivalry and the ideal side of knighthood, he’d probably be the one to come to the forefront of your mind, and you’ve been insatiable for his happiness ever since.

When he first arrived to the Chain, he was as cold as the howling blizzard winds, heart a cold fort left in ruin and remade as best as a single man could for the sake of remaining kind, to do the right thing no matter what, it was a sentiment you knew far too well in your other boys, but specially so in First, who tried so, so hard to distance himself from getting attached. But who you knew loved the sight of the sky, as cold and numb it was in it’s distance, whom cared so so much he would driven himself into an early grave just to make the Surface a safer for the people who’d shunned him, whom after a long, long period of adjustment and effort from the Chain, allowed you to hold him close as he shaked from nightmares at night, allowing you to chase away memories of being held up by cold chains until the impression of them became one with his skin and subconscious, of being entombed and imprisoned in uncaring stone and iron to starve alone, being bitten at by hungry, crawling rats all because he wished to keep his people safe, made sure he could tell that your presence was tangible and real through telling stories from your world and singing him into dreams even through the fortress’s that was his stubborness. Trying your best to make lilies bloom on what looked like a most hopeless winter.

The day he actually chuckled and smiled, safe and healthy and alive in the presence of the Chain felt like the biggest victory you’d ever had.

He deserved to know love and to be loved as much as any of your boys, something real and tangible and that was actually properly reciprocated rather than used to justify an end. So seeing him being able to visit Skyloft with his descendant with a whispering, hidden smile was more than enough for you. And you can’t blame Sky for being equally animated about it, bless his heart, always wanting his people to be happy, always so, so kind, wanting to bring some solace to the older hero but being carefully attentive so his mood was still good

After all they went through they deserved it.

“Oh! There you are, I was just about to show First to the waterfall, want to come with?”, Sky snaps you out from your thoughts, touching your shoulder with a gentle smile.

“Unless something is ailing you, you did look quite deeply in though.”, added First, soft as the warm breeze on the isle in the sky.

You shake your head, smiling as you take First’s offered arm, an instinctive motion when he wished to be close but wasn’t quite ready for any other touch yet, and Sky’s hand in yours, which he swings with a hum, ears twitching, how precious. “Not at all, lead the way.”

As Sky leads you along, and you catch the ghost of a smile in First’s otherwise stern countenance and you take in the warmth of the late afternoon sun in Skyloft and the soft, eternal spring breeze. You think there’s quite a bit you’d give to keep witnessing these moments indeed.

The road to recovery was long and arduous, but you’d be there, and you knew the Chain would do their best to be there too.

#linked universe x reader #First Hero x Reader #I have so many emotions about First and the fact he died not knowing if his work was enough or not #He deserves more love and closure from all the trauma tokens he has stacked #Also really missed opportunity to have more of Sky and First interacting round here #you can't tell me that in a different situation with the right setting First wouldn't have a soft spot for Sky #Who is just a sweetheart in general when not being a gremlin #Something something sleep deprivation is keeping me from psychoanalyzing First's situation and I have so many thoughts about him #I want a game about this guy #and also the 10k hero and the hero of men or one in the drowned timeline.#heck at this point I might just write those adventures out myself /h /j #... unless? lol We'll see what the sleep deprived muse says after Linktober #summer writes linktober 2023 #summer writes

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