Y'all I'm Feeling Like Writing For The Spider Verse Into/Across The Spider Verse. Especially For The

Y'all I'm feeling like writing for The spider verse Into/Across the spider verse. Especially for The spot/Johnathan, Miguel, and Spider-Noir so requests are welcome 🤗 But don't just say 'I want Miguel fics rn' give me a actual scenario because I'm out of creative juice rn

What's your favorite scary movie? 🔪

Please no reposts, referencing, reusing, or edits, please feel free to reblog ❤️ Click for best resolution!

For @sometimesiwanna-disappear : "arm wrestling and other minor contests.. amanda REfuses to lose ANYTHING but danny just cant believe he tricked her into holding hands"

WHAT’S YOUR FAVORITE SCARY MOVIE ? DO NOT REPOST.

Pleaseeee I need us to get back w him😭😭😭

Spots and Stops

Continuation to Cookies and Cream this isn't really a fix-it fic, cause like i got like a request to do so and i'll defs try to, but also i got like two people who wanted a part 2 so here it is

Word Count: 3.6K

A/N: People wanted a part two and i want to please the masses, and i have ideas so like here you go

-

Regret is all that you know. It consumes you, starting at your chest, making it ache the entire day, and settles in your stomach to the point that you can’t consume anything without it tasting bitter. You should have reacted better. You should have held him and told him that him being spotted wasn’t a dealbreaker. 

But you didn’t.

Instead, you did everything wrong. He needed you. He needed someone, and he came to you. Somewhere, he thought to himself, that you would have accepted him, past your fear, past your hesitations and desires. He thought that you would want him. 

In your entire relationship, you never thought that he would have ever been wrong. But he was, and in the worst way imaginable. 

You have to force yourself to hide what belonged to him. You can’t bear to look at it- at him, at what used to be his. You hold his nightshirts in your hand, staring at them for far too long, lost in thought of what could have been. You really did think that you two would be together for a long time. 

The fabric is wrinkled, the tag of the shirt curled in on itself and frayed at the edges. His toothbrush is still next to the faucet, and his face wash remains untouched. You can’t bring yourself to throw it away. 

He won’t return. You won’t see him again, and as selfish and awful it is of you to keep something of the man that you rejected- you need to keep his things. You need to keep his shirts, and pants. You need to keep his skincare products. You need to keep his toothbrush. You need to keep some part of him with you. 

A part of you wants him to return. You want him to come back; you want to take him up on that deal of starting fresh, of how he won’t hold what you said against you. How he was so willing to hide himself, just to stay with you. At some point, you expected to come into your home and find his stuff gone- the final sign that he has left your life- that he took what was his when you weren’t home. But he hadn’t. And he won’t. He would always listen to you. Always respected your wishes, and the final one was for him to leave.

You’re an awful person. You’re sickening. Tears dot on his shirt, and you place it beside you on the edge of the bed. Your knuckle wipes harshly at your eyes.

Taking in a deep breath, you force yourself to think of something happy. You don’t deserve to grieve the loss of the relationship. Not when you still have a home. A job. Loved ones. You have it all. He doesn’t. If anyone deserves to cry, it’s Jonathan.

You think of kittens and puppies.

You think of how his voice broke when he called your name.

You think of a memory with a friend where you had a picnic.

You think of how you couldn’t handle his touch.

You think of how he would hold your hand, and act as if it were the greatest honor to do so.

You think of him crying without a face.

You think of him lonely, and cold out in the night. 

You bite your lips harshly, desperate to bring yourself back to your senses. 

The sound of the city is alive outside your window. Lights flash, colors change, and you stand in the middle of your room, willing yourself not to cry. 

-

You unlock the door, and throw your jacket on the couch. It slips and you pull a face at the audacity of having to pick it up. In your hand, you clutch the phone and listen to your friend talk.You shake the jacket, ridding it of any dirt that could have attached itself from the floor.

“Mhm,” you hum, kicking off your shoes and turning on the standing lamp, turning the knob to let a warm glow illuminate the room. You think you hear something somewhere, but you reason to yourself that it must be a pipe. “No, no. I get it. I mean, if it were me, I think I would have liked died.” Your grin is sharp when you hear your friend laugh.

“Exactly. So, that’s why I can never return to that specific bubble tea shop. Honestly, I just- it was so embarrassing,” they whine. You hear them sigh over the phone, and you stretch yourself over the couch, letting your head fall back. “Anyways, how was the date?” Your mouth pulls into a frown. “It’s been a good minute since-” they trail off, not wanting to mention his name, and you whisper a silent “thank you” at the courtesy. “Did you have fun?”

You straighten yourself back on the couch, pulling yourself close to yourself. “It was okay,” you mumble. “I don’t- I mean, he was nice and stuff, but I don’t know. I don’t really see it going anywhere.” You ate across from your date, and you wished that it was Jonathan.

“It doesn’t have to go anywhere,” the counter. “You can just have fun. You’re allowed to have fun after your last relationship.” You clench your jaw. “I know you really liked him, but he’s- you know.” You’re trying to find your words, but none come to mind. “You’re a catch- honest. You’re allowed to go on dates and enjoy yourself.”

Tears sting in your eyes, and you swallow the lump that’s made itself into your throat. “Yeah, you’re right,” you agree, without even trying to add faux emotion into your words.

“You uh-” they clear their throat- “Have you heard from him? Or about him? It’s kinda hard for a guy covered in-”

“I gotta go,” you mumble, not waiting for a response before you end the call. You toss the phone to the other end of the couch. You close your eyes, trying to steady your thoughts, and on the other end of the couch, you hear your phone buzz. 

There’s another sound in your apartment, and you hope that it’s an intruder. You hope that they rob you blind and leave no witnesses. You hope- selfishly hope- that you can be put out of your misery without having to do anything. Then maybe, you wouldn’t have to feel guilt and regret eat away at you. You wouldn’t have to go on anymore dates or live in an apartment with items that don’t belong to you. 

The room spins and closes in on itself and it’s difficult to breathe. Your chest feels as if it’s being crushed, held tightly with the palms of guilt and regret, squeezed until your ribs would splinter and heart would burst. Your breaths are quick and uneven. A hand clutches at your chest, and the other muffles any cries with the palm. You haven’t grieved, and the date that you went on, only confirmed that you shouldn’t. You tossed out your previous partner when he needed you the most. He cried in front of you, begged for you to accept him and you couldn’t. You’re able to continue your life as if nothing happened, he doesn’t have that same luxury. Even if you weren’t the one to cause the incident, you’re positive that you caused something worse to happen to him.

You miss him, but you shouldn’t be allowed to miss him.

Loneliness covers you in a warm blanket. It’s suffocating, and burning, holding you down as you wrap your arms around yourself. There is no comfort that you bring to yourself. There is no one that you can call. You wheeze and hold yourself. Tears burn themselves onto your face, and drip down your chin. You close your eyes tightly, biting on the bottom of your lip. You can’t cry. You won’t cry. You won’t allow yourself to feel bad about the ending of a relationship that you brought upon yourself. 

Nearby, you hear a door click open, and footfalls thump softly against your floor. There’s a knock somewhere- too rhythmic to be a pipe or anything of the sort. You cry more, hiding your face in your palms, hoping that whoever is there will take pity. There’s another knock, and you shrink in on yourself. You can’t mumble anything other than a plea for nothing and anything. Finally, the other person speaks. 

Your name is said softly, and you don’t respond. “I- I know you don’t want to see me, but are you okay?” Your chest shakes and heaves. You’re being tortured, you have to be. You’ve thought about him for far too long that you’ve begun to hallucinate his voice. “Do you need anything? I can um- I can get you a drink?” You take in a wheezing breath, one that hurts your lungs and chest. You hear rushed steps that echo away and come back in a flurry, and something blue is placed in front of you. You peek through the gaps between your fingers, and grab at a tissue.

Time seemingly doesn’t pass for as long as you cry. You sit there, whimpering and sniffling. You must look pathetic to him. And even then, he stands there. The thought of his previous form is what you picture. Picturing him as who he is now, only makes you cry harder. 

You tried to get over your silly fear. You forced yourself to look at spots and holes in clusters. You forced yourself to eat cookies and cream flavored snacks. Even after all that exposure therapy, it still made you sick to look at spots. 

This isn’t fair. None of this is. You wish that he had met someone better before he became what he is. 

You bite the inside of your cheeks and look at him through wet lashes. You can’t even tell if he’s thin or not. His body is too off- too stretched at the limbs and compressed at the torso. You can’t remember if he looked like this all those nights ago.

“I know you told me to get out but I needed some stuff.” His voice rushes at the end, and he shifts his weight, tightening his hands around the clothes and pulling it close to his body. You watch as their clothes and other items fall into a hole, and fall in a crumpled pile near the door. You turn back to look at him. “I meant to do that,” he says weakly. He clears his throat, and stands taller. “I’m allowed to come in here and get my stuff. Okay? That’s fair.” The holes swirl around, thin black lines that wrap around the edge of the circle, smaller, black dots that linger around the bigger holes. You turn your head, tears still making their way down over the curve of your face. “But um, are you okay?” He connects his hands, and fiddles with his fingers, and you can picture who he was before. 

Even after everything, he still asks if you’re okay. He does the one thing that you didn’t do for him. 

You should tell him no. You should be honest. It’s not as if lying will do any good, especially at this state. Your face is wet, and you’ve cried. In the corner of your eye, you see your former partner stand and tilt their head, trying to get a better look at you.

Looking at him hurts in a way that it hadn’t before. “I’m sorry,” you say in a quiet voice. He doesn’t respond. “I’m so sorry,” you repeat, lowering your head. “I’m really sorry.” You cry, hiding your face in your hands once more. “I’m so sorry,” you wail, gasping for breath. Your shoulders shake, and your chest hurts. “I’m sorry, Jonathan,” you say as you gasp for breaths.

He stays silent, and you hope that for his sake, he left you. You hope that he’s the one who gets to leave. 

Only quivering breaths that are coupled with a flushed face and teary eyes are the remnants that you mourned. Faintly, you remember a time where he held you, where he came home to find you crying, and how he raised over still in his work attire to hold you and rock you to sleep. You blink rapidly to rid yourself of that memory. 

He sits beside you, and he’s made sure to keep his distance, perched on the other side of the couch. He turns to you, and your tissues crumble and drop to the carpet. “You look nice,” he compliments. “I always liked that color on you,” he mumbles, looking away.  

You nod. “I went on a date.” Bile burns your throat at the admission. 

“Oh.” Jonathan pats his thighs, and his nails claw, the spots seemingly swimming away from his touch. “Lucky guy.” He pauses, and clearing his throat, he turns to you. “How did it go?” He asks slowly. 

“I didn’t like the guy.” Your shoulders slump, and tears prick your eyes once more. “Um-” your voice cracks, and in the corner of your eye, you see his hand jump, reaching over to comfort you, before having to pull himself back. “He was nice. But I wasn’t-” You stop yourself. You weren’t what? You weren’t ready? After all this time, after the break-up that you initiated, you weren’t ready to put yourself back out there. You weren’t feeling the date because it wasn’t what you wanted? You didn’t want him. You wanted-  You clear your throat. “I don’t think I’m going to see him again,” you mumble. You cast a glance over to where he watches you, the hole where his face should be, spiraling and growing smaller under your gaze. “Have you been seeing anyone?”

He snorts despite the lack of features. “People aren’t really fond of my new look.” You wince and turn back to look at the floor. “But it’s fine.”

“How have you been?” You grab at another tissue, folding it into little squares. 

“Well you know me, I’ve just been here and there. Messing with my holes and stuff.” You give a small smile, turning your head to look at him. “Money’s been a bit tight, but-” he lifts his hand in the air, doing a see-saw motion with it- “Eh. What can you do, ya know?” You force yourself to look at a small cluster of spots that have congregated at his shoulder. He turns to look at you, and when noticing where your eyes have landed, he covers the spot almost self-consciously. “And you? How have you been?”

You give a shrug. “My boss has been a bit of a dick as of late,” you mutter. 

“The one with the mole?”

Your smile brightens up a bit. “Yeah, that one.” You look to the side, and back to him. “Cut my hours after I asked for a day off.” The tissue in your hand tears. “I probably should quit.” You tear the tissues into strips, letting them fall to the floor. You’ll worry about the mess later. “But after the lack of hours and the rent, I really can’t afford that.”

Jonathan stays silent for a moment. “You think you’ll be okay?” You give another shrug as your answer, and when you don’t elaborate, he presses on. “I have some money saved up. I wouldn’t mind- it’s you, you know. I know-” His offer only makes the tears start up once again, and he stops. 

You take in a quivering breath, and rub at your eyes. “You shouldn’t,” you mumble. “I’ll figure it out.” You look away from him. “Plus, I’m sure you got your own things going on. Um-” you turn back to him- “where are you living?” You hope he gives you an address. You hope he has an address to give.

“Turns out, when you work for seedy people, they know even seedier people.” He doesn’t offer anything more than that.

Silence befalls the both of you. You should say something. You should close the gap between you. You should do anything. 

Your hand slides beside you, reaching out, and you see his spot, lower itself, acting as his eyes, lowering his gaze to watch you. Sucking in your bottom lip, you turn your head. Your nails claw at the couch. 

This is wrong. You shouldn’t do this to him. He deserves better than what you can give him. You haven’t even gotten over your trypophobia. But you still want to kiss him. You want to reach over and hold him, and beg to be forgiven. You want to cling to him like you used to after a long day. You want to kiss him, and hold his hand.

To whoever is listening to you, you plead for him to reach over. You want him to take another leap of faith and beg for you. You want him to need you as bad as you need him. The box of tissues becomes blurred, and your cheeks are wet. 

“I should go.” The silence is broken, and you watch as he stands. His spots seem to drag, weighted at the bottom and stretching as he walks further away from you. “I think I got most of my stuff.”

The hole is his stomach bubbles around the rim, the circle wavy and imperfect. You rise with him, and he stands so much taller than he did before. “Do you want to borrow a tote bag or something?” He tilts his head at the offer. “It’s just that when you hold onto things, it um- it looks like they fall into you. I thought a tote bag would make it easier to carry,” your words trail off, softer and softer by the syllable. 

“I’d appreciate that,” he replies.

You nod your head and rush to your room, grabbing at a tote bag from the closet, holding and running your thumb over the stitched handles. He’s going to borrow it. You bring the handle close to you, and press your lips softly against it. 

When you walk back to the living, he stands at the end table, holding a photo frame of the two of you on an early date from what seems like a lifetime ago. You let your gaze linger on him, and when he turns, you scurry to the door, grabbing at his clothes and items, placing them delicately in the bag. You take your time to make sure everything is neat. 

He meets you halfway across the room, and when you hand the bag over, he makes sure to hold the bag above your hands. His pinky touches briefly against your index. You clench your jaw, and try not to look at him.

“Thank you.” He pulls the bag close to him, and you give a curt nod.

“Anytime,” you answer.

Turning on his heel, he walks further from you, and he stops. “I’m going to use the bathroom. I don’t want you to see what I’m going to do.” You want to see. You want to get desensitized. “It won’t be long, I promise. I’ll be out of your way soon.”

“Jonathan?” You ask, tears springing to your eyes once more. 

“Yeah?” 

“I-” You need to apologize to him. You need to tell him that you’re sorry. You need to tell him that you miss him. You need him. “You can- You can always drop by if you need something.” 

He visibly deflates. “Oh. Yeah- cool. Um, Thanks.” 

All he has to do is say that he wants you. He needs to just say it, to ask one more time- that’s all he has to do. You can’t do it. Not when you broke his heart, not when you’re unsure about where you stand in his life and his wants. 

He just has to look back, and you’d tell him that you need him. You’d kiss him, again and again. You’d plead for him to stay. You’d get over your dumb fear, and you’d be happy with him. He takes another step away from you, and you need for him to hear your heart beat against your ribs in an attempt to bully itself out of you. You need for him to stand there for a second longer, to watch and look at the lines that wrap around his body, and the holes that sift and move. You’d get over it, all for him. 

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. He’s walking further away from you. He grabs at his body and pulls out a spot. Your stomach churns at the thought. Over the sound of cars and life, he needs to hear your heart break. He needs to understand that you need him the way that you need air. You’d die without him. You’d let yourself suffer. You stand, and lift your hand up, wanting to reach out for him. 

Turn around. 

Please.

Turn around.

That’s all he has to do. Nothing more. He doesn’t have to be someone else. He’s yours. He’s already himself. 

The door to your bathroom closes, and you suck in a breath, tears springing to flood. “Jonathan,” you croak out, finally, and you rush to open the door to the bathroom, and when you do, he isn’t there. 

You rush to your bedroom, and move the pillows, and you cling to the one shirt that he missed. The one that you hide underneath your pillows. The one that no longer smells like him, but still belongs to him. With all your might, you wish that he would return, but your prayers remain unanswered. Instead, you sit alone in a bedroom, clutching a shirt that no longer belongs to you. A shirt that has no owner. A shirt that is all that remains of someone who you need.

Yandere Alphabet w/ Gyutaro

Affection — how do they show their love and affection?

He makes rude comments but in a loving way. Like how some friends are rude to each other but in a joking way. He doesn't mean to come off like he hates you, he doesn't! But it's just how he acts he truly loves you and thinks your gorgeous and he doesn't deserve you but that's how he shows affection.

Blood — how messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Extremely messy. He doesn't care who they are (except Muzan and sometimes Daki) they will die pay if they ever touch you or harm you or even breath in your direction. Your his and he'd be damned if someone hurts you.

Cruelty — how would they treat their darling once abducted?

He would be harsh at first never letting you leave and yelling at you when you don't obey him. But as you warm up he is more softer especially when he trusts you. He still doesn't let you leave unless when he is feeling extremely nice. And he Gente with his touches but can be harsh. His words don't soften but you can tell that they come from a loving place.

Darling — aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

Yes. Don't want to cuddle? To bad he's got you all curled up and squished underneath him. Don't want him to bite you and get a taste of your blood? To bad he's got your arms pinned and his face buried in your neck while he drinks some of your blood like a vampire.

Exposed — how vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

He wouldn't be vulnerable right away but after some time and a lot of trust on his end he would slowly open up. He would trust you more to be around Daki. Now he wouldn't be some softie but he isn't harsh and cruel you get to see a loving side to him.

Fight — how would they feel if their darling fought back?

Hates it. Despises it. If he could he would chop your limbs off but that would be a pain for him because then has had to take care of you 24/7 he wants a partner not a patient, he isn't a nurse.

Game — is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

It's would start as a game something to entertain him but he then started to really fall hard. Then it wasn't so watching you try to flee him wasn't amusing and started to annoy him.

Hell — what would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

When you first got there. Gyutaro was manipulative (still is) and toxic. He would yell at you and insult you and Daki hated you.

Ideals — what kind of future do they have in mind for their darling?

You, him, and Daki living somewhere nice and comfortable, safely without having to worry about anything.

Jealousy — do they get jealous? How do they handle it?

Yes he does get jealous. He likes seeing you get along with his sister but sometimes he gets jealous or her and just snatches you away. He'll take you to his room and hold you and pout.

Kisses — how do they act around or with their darling?

He can be really sweet and kind and take care of you but sometimes he can be harsh because something set him off.

Love letters — how would they go about approaching their darling?

He would go into your house at night and kidnap you. He knows you wild never accept him so he will have to force you to.

Mask — are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

Nah. Well not at first. Like I said until he trusts you he'll be harsh until he softens up.

Naughty — how would they punish their darling?

Insults and screaming. Now I don't believe he would ever truly hurt you unless absolutely necessary. He may grip your arms and leave marks/bruises or leave a few scratches but nothing major.

Oppression — how many rights would they take away from their darling?

Most of them if not all. Gyutaro just simply doesn't care. He'll barge in on you changing and just blames you for not locking the door but even if you did he would break it down.

Patience — how patient are they with their darling?

He has hardly any patience if any. So darling needs to know how to be submissive and not press them.

Quite — if their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

If darling dies he would be devastated and poison the person who did it. If darling escapes he would search forever. You have a good chance of successfully leaving but if he catches you he'll make sure that it will never happen again.

Regret — would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling?

No 💀

Stigma — what brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

Most likely childhood and his upbringing.

Tears — how do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

He could care less sometimes but other times it pisses him off. He doesn't want to hear your screams and pleas and isolating yourself is pointless because he can just break the door if needed.

Unique — would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

He doesn't like to hurt you but will if needed. He's gotten the worst of the treatment and knows how it feels and he views darling as something precious. So he wouldn't want them to get dirty because the scars won't go away and he doesn't want to be reminded of how he beat you.

Vice — what weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

He can't go out in the day time so if darling can somehow manage to escape then they will have to run fast because we it comes nightfall Gyutaro will hint after you.

Wit’s end — would they ever hurt their darling?

He would try not to but do it as a last resort if you don't behave.

Xoanon — how much would they revere or worship their darling?

He doesn't worship you but you are someone high in his eyes. Not as high as Daki but almost on her level.

Yearn — how long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

Maybe a couple days at the most a month. He isn't patient.

Zenith — would they ever break their darling?

He would if you didn't behave and never fell to Stockholm syndrome.