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dwreader · 2 days

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Post-Season 1 IWTV Podcast Transcript

Special Guests: Assad Zaman, Rolin Jones and Mark Johnson

"Armand is someone who comes into Louis's life in the second half of IWTV, they meet in Paris and Armand is immediately like most people completely entrhalled by everything about Louis and what he stands for. He's changed from the person he was before he met Louis, which is a person who's a bit lost in the monotony of his life is the way I would describe it. -Assad Zaman

[intro chit chat with Assad]

Assad: Armand is someone who comes into Louis's life in the second half of IWTV, they meet in Paris and Armand is immediately like most people completely entrhalled by everything about Louis and what he stands for. He's changed from the person he was before he met Louis, which is a person who's a bit lost in the monotony of his life is the way I would describe it.

N: Its been 500 years its definitely been monotonous. [514] Ok yes 514. Ok we get it. You need some love in your life. Now did you know from the beginning like when you got the sides, were you told you were going to be playing Armand.

A: I think if I knew I was auditioning for Armand, I wouldn't be here. I think just the prospect the notion would send me over the edge and I would crumble. I got the audition, a couple scenes with Daniel Molloy, a character named Rashid, I know who this guy is he's highly efficient and he's got skills, very clear part to play in. I kind of went in and did those tapes fairly confidently. Then I got a recall and another scene added, with a bit more subtext. Rashid has a bit of a sting to him with his status. Then I got a third recall and Rolin asked to have a meeting with me on Zoom, give some notes... I was thinking why is he wasting his time talking to me about Rashid when he's got Louis and Lestat to worry about so I'm terrified I get onto Zoom with him and okay okay so basically Rashid is in disguise, he's not Rashid he's actually the vampire Armand and he proceeds to tell me all about Armand. I'm think just don't lose your cool. This has to be a secret and we don't want to leak it but we want to see a bit more from you. And I got off the call and I almost started crying.

N: So how much time did you get then? between that first audition to the recall? You have to go from a no nonsense assistant to I am a vampire king?

A: They gave me maybe 8 or 9 hrs between the call with Rolin and the next tape I sent over. And then I did another 4 rounds after that... it was a grueling process.

N: Once you get to set, everyone knows or its still a secret you're witholding?

A: Apart from the main cast, a lot of the crew didn't know.

N: Sit quiet in a corner and don't attention?

A: That' was my initial approach to Rashid before I knew he was Armand. All he wants is to keep his job and not get killed.

N: Now while you're filming the first season, what convos did you have with Rolin about the plan for Armadn in the show?

A: We did discuss wth events in IWTV and where we're gonna see him in season 2, a lot of that is very important. Where Rolin has curiosity is when we look into Armand's past and where he came from, there's some obvious differences to me in what to explore and to see what we want to pick from it. His story.. its complex. He's messed up. He was messed up even before he became a vampire. The events that makes Armand have to be complex enough to see how he turned into what he is. .... I was also very aware as an actor a duty to the story being told in this moment, it's Louis's story and him recounting it to Daniel, their story is very important as well. As much as Armand is sizzling in the background, I have to honor their story as well. We don't want the audience to draw too much attention to it right now cause it deviates from the story and the themes that are important to explore in the season.

N: When Rashid revealed himself, I screamed. It only works cause Rashid has so cleverly.. you almost forgot about him.. "love of his life"? Louis?? Not another old vampire and this one who can stand in the sun.

A: We hope that he hasnt made the same mistakes all over again.

N: Why is he pretending to be Rashid this whole time?

A: I think it's incredibly painful for the love of his life describing another love of his life. There is also curiosity with Daniel about why he's allowing this interview to happen.

N: And Rashid was there in that first interview so that whole thing makes sense.

A: We actually don't know what transpired in SF, cause he was not there in the book. How far did Louis get and what Armand had to do to stop him? That could also be why this interview is happening.

N: A little taste of what's to come in s2?

A: Theatrics, vespas and romance is in the air. We're in Paris. It's a gorgeous part of the Paris and the journey they take to get to Paris and the showdown that has to happen in Paris.

Highlights of Rolin Jones/Mark Johnson

N: How are you feeling about Season 2? Is there pressure? Is there a feeling that OK we did one and now we can really dig in?

R: Actually I'm just sort of being excited about Season 2 and not being scared out of my mind with it. The second half of iwtv, there's some lovely passages but there's a lot of people sitting around talking.

M: It's a whole new continent, but it's characters Rolin has already created. Im feeling quite confident and excited and abuzz about what we're going to do next season.

N: I'm very curious what attracted you to vampires and the world of AR.

M: I was not familiar with AR to begin with, my excitement has to do with what Rolin did with it for the pilot and thought this is extraordinary and I read AR and realized all of the treasures, of what Rolin took advantage of and what needed redressing.

N: Rolin, can you explain to me the process, you know, how did you pitch yourself as the showrunner of this?

R: I had an overall meeting with them about a list of things I wanted to do and as I was leaving they said we forgot to mention our boss bought the Anne Rice books, I stopped and I put everything and I said we're gonna take another 45 min for the meeting. By the time I left, I knew that's what I was going to do. They put me thru the gauntlet to prove if I was a guy. It wasn't just about whats a good poilot or first season it's what does this look like 8 seasons from now.... I was really excited cause I wanted to do something grand and big. I had some of my theater pals create a visual world.

N: Let's talk about Louis being black. I feel as though we are in this age of adaptation or reboots if there will be a gender or race swap and that's the extent of it. It felt as though you making this change meant you got more story, you were able to mine that fact for more story points and a new dynamic. These two men are famously white... and I'm wondering about the choice to do that and what it was to execute that.

R: I came around to his ethnicity a sort of interesting way which is through Lestat. There's a famous rewrite of Lestat in book 2, he's sort of an aggressively different character than what he was in book 1 and that's the Lestat she carried on for the rest of time. So that's our Lestat. So we tried to take the given circumstances and put him back in this time period, so he had a super emo relationship wtih this guy with Nicki, then he had uhhh a very excitable relationship with his mother as his second companion choice (we'll get into that in season 3 y'all), and then I was like lets give him a legitimate a third attempt at figuring how to be with somebody for the rest of his life and how to not repeat your mistakes. And I started from there so it had to be someone with some money cause he had to be with his own folks and I thought he wanted someone who could fight back and who could be a challenge and would force him to restrain himself. And nobody at AMC was interested in 7 seasons of the regretful plantation owner, so we made Louis come from a lineage that did have a plantation and did own slaves. And the second thing was aesthetic if you take away the ruffle shirts and all the swampy goodness and you wanted to make this new, whats the new hot time and birth of jazz seemed right on. And there was a spot when a black man could get in on some business and have some morally gray thing that owning a plantation would. It all clicked into place pretty quickly. ... and the other thing is you're trying to build as much inherent conflict, enough not to burn thru in a season you want 7-8 years of conflict and distress and vulnerability in both of them. I wanted to load Louis with as many contradictions and things unsettled as possible.

N: How did you decide when to deviate from Anne's books? Were there rules in what you could invent ?

R: There were a couple caveats make it here and now, make it grand and big but we said she wrote a very transgerssive book in 1973 and tried to put her in the room in 2021 making a TV show... there's no point in making it if you're going to make a roughshot of it. You're constantly revisiting the book. That's when you're in draft, in after produciton draft, dropping in as much Anne as we could. We were going to write the heightened language thats in the novel.

N: Can you tell me about how you found Jacob and Sam?

R: Obviously 9 billion people auditioned. It was very clear something very dynamic was happening when they got in the Zoom. For Jacob, there's this genuine warmth, kindness, for a character who's going to make a number of questionable choices, how do you make you want to love him? .

...

N: Did you always know the season was going to end with the reveal of Armand and the "murder" of Lestat?

R: Very early on, we were talking about making this thing in the writers room and pre-production. A lot had to do with lumber and covid. We were wrting scripts for the entire book and we got a lovely call from AMC "is there enough in this story to stay in new orleans this whole season?" So what we ended up doing, we made the first 4 into the first 7. We did that 50 days before we shot our first day.. it was a lot. And it was to the benefit of the show, we made a better product. We were not going to be able to do Europe in the same beautiful detailed way we were doing New Orleans. What was originally 8 episodes is now a 15 episode book. Was that the ending of my season 1? Not originally but it became the ending.

M: Now it's hard to imagine how we were going to pack all that into one season.

N: There's such a movement to that finale.

R: For me, that kind of episode. It's one for the people, the one for everyone else. you're doing twists and turns like a thriller. My favorite scene is the one that stops the action, the balcony scene...

N: Thinking this is all from Louis's memory.

R: Memory is a huge part of the show. We are only 7 episodes into a 15 episode story.

Audience Q: How sympathetic do you think Lestat is? Obviously this man has some major flaws like the whole next book is a whole lot of backpeddaling like he's not so bad he's not so bad. How sympathetic do you think he really is?

R: The more you spend time with it. I find Lestat wildly sympathetic. and the way it's built... You're not gonna see Lestat speaking for himself until season 3. Its a big deal right? You go ahead and have someone else tell the world about you from their POV. Who had the most traumatic entrance into the world of vampires? It's Lestat. You have no idea the baggage going into North America. We are playing with POV. Stick with Lestat, he's got a lot of pain.

Q: Why is Louis truly doing the interview? He says I wanna redo, but yet he's doing the same thing, he's dodging, cagey. Why did you bring this man to Dubai to do this?

R: It is absolutely THE question. IF you wanna know what we're still digging out, it's the why of it. There's a reason why this is the second interview. The first interview is very important. Something signifcant life altering happened in 1973 but they weren't the right people to do back then. There's a lot if meat on Louis's side, Daniel's side and most important Armand's side.. who's become the most fascinating character of season 2. There's a lot in Dubai left to be revealed.

Q: Do we think we've seen the end of Lestat and Louis's sexcapades?

R: So it's AMC, we are trying to sliding as much under the door as we possibly can. We are interested in the whole thing - the sex sure, the love story, the psychological torment, we are trying to write a love story that doesn't disappear after book 1. There's Armand coming..

N: Can we talk about what's to come? You're hinting this show can go on for many seasons, how long?

R: The real reason I wanted to do this show.. season 3. The Vampire Lestat. I really know how I wanna do The Vampire Lestat and I couldn't be more excited about it... and as goofy as body switching is, I think there's something in the tale of the body thief. QOTD... you gotta think on that one, how to do such a massive object, if you do it in one or two seasons.

#vampterview #rewind the tape

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sapphire-weapon · 1 year

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so i completed RE4 remake today

i’m not done with the game by a longshot and will probably continue to play it every day for the foreseeable future, but i don’t want to hear no shit from nobody about nothing

my perfect shooting gallery game was probably the achievement i was proudest of tbh because that took practice and patience and actually felt like a real display of skill

#resident evil 4 #so i hit the 100% completion mark on my 10th run #and at about run 6 or 7 lily gao finally grew on me #i still don't think she's great #and ada's very first cutscene in the game is still a flat horrible mess of a delivery #but it's mostly ada's radio transmissions where lily shines through #those actually sound really great #i was lowkey dreading separate ways because of her performance but #she definitely does have it in her #so i'm actually looking forward to separate ways now #if for no other reason to see how she does with a more focused campaign #so for now i'm going to focus on S+ing every character on every map in mercs #until separate ways comes out #and the game will FINALLY FUCKING GIVE ME WESKER IN MERCENARIES #(i've mained wesker in mercs since RE5)#(me and a buddy were actually in the top 100 ladder in the US for mercs with chris and wesker)#(and i just want to play a new mercs game with him goddamn it)

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ddejavvu · 7 months

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wait your new hotch blurb got me thinking what about they got secretly married and everyone knows that hotch is married they just don’t know it’s to bau!reader because he seemed very genuine in the wanting privacy so (after complaining) they respected that, and maybe one of the team members sees hotch and bau!reader kissing in the hallway of a hotel or something and confront him about cheating on his wife

"How could you cheat on your wife?"

Penelope's harsh, degrading accusation hits Aaron directly in the chest, through the layers of stoicism that he's come to forge over the years of working in criminal investigation and straight to his heart.

All Hotch can manage is a, "What?", and Penelope's eyes dim further.

"Don't do that, Hotch. I saw you. I saw you and Y/N kissing in your office. How could you do that to your wife?"

She looks so crestfallen that Aaron's chest actually aches, so unprepared to see the famously bubbly Penelope Garcia close to tears. Close to tears because of him, no less.

Aaron might have chosen his words more carefully if he hadn't been so startled by Penelope's unusual devastation, but his jumbled brain forgoes its job and his mouth takes over, uttering the thoughtless statement, "That's- that's what she's there for."

And in his mind, it's true, if not the complete truth. You are there for him to kiss, you're there to be kissed and loved and appreciated and cherished, but he's momentarily forgotten that Penelope doesn't know that you and his mystery wife are the same person, and his words so easily warp into possessiveness and disregard.

Her face contorts into a mixture of disgust and rage that could take out a serial killer, and he seriously considers recruiting her as Chief Lecturer of the BAU, "Hotch? How- how could you say that? That your wife is just- just some thing to wait on you while you run off with someone else? You- Aaron, I can't believe you, I thought you were better than that!"

She tries storming away, tears budding in her eyes but Aaron catches her elbow, ignoring the way she flails and squirms at his touch.

"Let go of me!" She tearily demands, but he grabs her by the other arm now, holding both of her shoulders.

"No, Penelope, listen-" He tries, reminding himself to send her to Derek later for a self-defense lesson, because the weak shoves that she's pushing at his chest with do very little.

"No! No, I'm tired of listening to men," She shrieks, "You were supposed to be better than that, Aaron! I trusted you, you were supposed to be the kind of man that I could admire, and- but you're not! You're just like the rest of them, you're some egotistical, possessive, heavy-handed, domineering son of a-!"

"Y/N is my wife." Aaron cuts her off, his voice slightly raised, but not harsh. Never harsh, not to the sniffling mess of ruffles and glitter in his arms that handed him her resume on pink stationary all those years ago.

She falls silent, finally, but her lips still tremble. Aaron squeezes her arms tighter, not rough but comforting, "Y/N is my wife. We married privately late last year. We kept it secret for safety reasons, but I'll admit we didn't need to hide it from all of you. I was not cheating on my wife, I would never-" He thinks momentarily of Haley, of the gut-wrenching sound of her cell phone ringing with a call she wasn't brave enough to answer in front of him, "I would never do that to Y/N."

It's a lot of new information to process, and Aaron grants Penelope all the time she needs to work through it. When her red-stained lips part again she breathes, "You married Y/N?"

"I did." Aaron nods, and though it's not the time to smile, he can't help that a ghostly one flits over his features at the mere thought of the day he'd married you, "I'll show you pictures when we're done here. Penelope, you can trust me. I don't blame you for accusing me- in fact, I'm glad that you did. I'm glad that your loyalty isn't blind. But Y/N is my wife, and that's why I kissed her."

A very wobbly, "Oh." Is all that Penelope can manage, and she sniffles again, staring at his tie rather than his face as he holds her steady in the hallway. He's glad that they've both shown up early for the day, but you're due to return with coffee for the three of you any minute now, and he offers her his pocket square to wipe beneath her eyes.

"You said-" She chokes out sheepishly, voice unsteady as she smears the tears off of her cheeks, "You said you have pictures?"

That's how you find them when you return, seated on the couch in his office peering down at his phone. You have to set the tray you'd been carrying down on Aaron's desktop before you can properly greet either of them, but you're immediately alarmed by the tears streaked over Garcia's cheeks when she stands to face you.

"You-" She starts, not giving you a second to speak, "-are a rat! You got married," She gushes, and Aaron chuckles deeply from beside her, standing and pocketing his phone.

"You got married to our boss, and you told me nothing," She hisses, but slumps so easily into your chest for a hug that you're more than willing to give her.

"I'm sorry, Penny," You gush, squeezing her tight, "We just- we were worried about safety. The more people we told, the more dangerous it would become, so we didn't share it with anyone. But- but we should have told the team, I know."

She sniffles and you draw back to pick up her drink from behind you, sugary and pink and topped with a thick layer of whipped cream, "I got you a drink. Forgive me?"

"Reluctantly," She tries scowling, but she's never been very good at it. She takes the drink from you huffily, jamming the straw inside and taking a drag at the thick liquid. It's barely nine in the morning, far too early for the concoction she's sipping, but she nods after she draws back from the straw.

"This is delicious," She decides, "And you two are traitors, and I'm telling everyone about this."

"You should," Aaron laughs, stepping up behind you to press his shoulder to your own. It's comforting just having him there, and you relax against him as Penelope takes her leave.

"I mean it," She warns, wiping another stray tear from her cheek and sipping at her strawberry drink, "I'm telling everyone. I'm- I'm gonna hire some guy to fly a plane over the city, and the banner is gonna say, 'Y//N Y/L/N and Aaron Hotchner got married without me'."

"That's fair," You nod, not bothering to bite back a grin as she lingers in the doorway of Aaron's office.

"And so help me god," She narrows her eyes at you, once more falling just short of intimidating, "If you try to take some extended-sick-leave time, and I find out you're hiding a pregnancy from me? No amount of frappuccinos in the world will make up for it!"

"Noted," You call out as she leaves, and Aaron's hand comes up to press against the near-indiscernible bulge of your belly before the door even clicks shut.

"She's good." Aaron observes, and you reach for your own non-caffeinated drink with a grin that's hard to drink through.

"Let's tell her about the baby at lunch," You propose, "I think she's more than earned a secret to keep."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner scenario #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner one-shot #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner headcanons #aaron hotchner headcanon #aaron hotchner hc #aaron hotchner hcs #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner dialogue #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x reader fanfiction

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ridingthatd · 4 months

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-ˏ͛❥ FILTHY GIFTS FOR ITADORI /FT. GOJO

-ˏ͛⑅ itadorixfem!reader, gojoxfem!reader, heavy smut, masturbation, kinky, filthy, pervert, stroking cock with panties ⑅ˏ͛-

itadori yuji. here he was standing cock rock hard as he stares at non other then his sorcerer mrs. y/n panties. yuji has always had a huge fat crush on you. he can't count how many times he had to beat his fat cock at night to the thought of you. how many times he had to excuse himself to the toilet just because of his ragging hard on.

"here take it as a gift for completing the task I gave you" gojo saturo cheekly says. grinning from ear to ear as he hands his student the panties of non other then his lover.

"what are you-" itadoris cock twitch in his pants when gojo place the panties on his palm- it was wet. it was wet. it was wet. yuji repeats in his mind, not believing what's happening. did you squirt in these panties? was it your pussy who made this mess?

he gulps nervously as he glance at gojo who was still smirking at him. clearly amused by his student reaction. oh this is going to be fun, he thought.

" you don't need to be suspicious about it, it's simply a gift for your good work" saturo speaks out while laughing, waving at the boy as he makes his way out.

itadori finally breaks, groaning as he palm his painfully hard cock and bring your red panties to his nose sniffing the scent of your pussy in. his eyes roll back as his hips twitch. fuck- fuck- fuck, he's going to cum in his pants just at the scent of you. unzipping his pants, he pull his fat cock out, whining as he touch his red sensitive tip ready to explode and ruin your little panties.

"fuck! fuck! I'm going to ruin your fucking panties" itadori moans into ceiling as he spit into your panties and place them on his leaking cock, clearly lost in pleasure to give a fuck if someone finds him this way. his cock twitch, throb, the fabric of your panties is drenched with his spit and cum.

your pussy was in those panties. your pussy was in those panties. he keeps repeating to himself till white liquid squirt out of his cock, shooting directly into the panties that was wrapped around his dick. tears of pleasure slip down his face, his thighs giving out from how the force of his shaking.

he lays down trembling, the only thing on his mind was that he had to complete all his tasks so he can receive more of these gifts from gojo saturo.

itadori yuji. itadori stands at gojos office like last time, but he was nervous chewing on his lips as he thinks about whats going to happen. will he give him another gift for completing his mission? or will he mock him?

his thoughts were caught of once he hears the door of the office open then close, revealing gojo, who was clearly as excited as itadori was to see him. he makes his way toward his desk before speaking out.

"so? mission done" he questions already knowing the answer, itadori nodes to nervous to even speak a word. gojo hums as he place his hand into his pocket. "I guess it's time for your gift" his words make itadori stiffen, cock already hard- excited on what kind of gift he's going to get this time.

gojo remove his hand from his pocket revealing the special gift- your red bra. it was a matching set with the panties. itadori fights of a whimper that was about to slip past his lips as he stare at the big bra- your breasts were always so huge, so plumpy. they looked so soft. he just wanted to suck, knead, grope, squeeze them. he wanted to have a taste of those hard nipples of yours that popped out of your shirt whenever you didn't wear a bra.

his cock starts leaking, so eager to have a hold of your bra. his minds running a million thoughts- thoughts about filthy things he's going to do with this bra just like he did with the panties. he was a pervert. a pervert who slept every night with the new gift of his. licking, sucking on your panties every night. sniffing it before he leaves his room to go on a mission.

gojo grins, he was excited- so excited to see where this is going to go. oh little y/n, oh if you knew how much of a pervert your favorite student is.

and gojo promise that soon enough you will see this side of your student yourself.

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murdrdocs · 1 year

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plsss do fem!reader getting a call from ethan!ghostface 😩 could be smutty or maybe 16+!! also ur writing is so good wtf

ahhh thank you so so much i'm glad u enjoy it! i rlly liked this request :)) this is SUGGESTIVE 16+ but not smut

Sometimes, truly, if you sit in silence for long enough, you start to consider that maybe you aren’t the best person, morals wise.

You have your good qualities: helping old ladies cross the street, dog sitting for your friends, helping out sick relatives, doing good deeds without having to be told so.

But the one bad trait, the one you were currently indulging in, seemed to outweigh everything that was good about you.

Allowing some sick joke between you and your boyfriend to continue.

As soon as Ethan switched from his usual, saccharine sweet voice, to the raspy, demanding tone of Ghostface, you should’ve told him to knock it off. Seriously. Not with that light, airy tone in your voice that showed how easily persuaded you are.

But you couldn’t help but let him convince you to continue. Plus, you could’ve pretended that you hated it. Instead…

“Isn’t your line supposed to be: ‘What’s your favorite scary movie’?”

Ethan, or Ghostface, chuckled.

“See, you know the rules, sweetheart. Now, what’s your favorite scary movie?”

You took a second to think, fiddling with the half completed puzzle that you and your roommates have been working on at the coffee table for two weeks now.

“Probably Get Out. Does that count?”

“Is that the one by that comedian, Jordan Peele?”

“Yeah. It’s not really that scary, which is why I like it, but the plot and storyline is horrifying enough.”

Ghostface hums and you decide to take a leap.

“My boyfriend likes those traditionally scary movies, with the jumpscares and excessive gore.”

He takes the bait. “Boyfriend? You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend.”

“You didn’t ask.”

You take a seat on the couch, your eyes glancing over the window. Briefly, you considered drawing the curtains, but then Ghostface continued to speak.

“Hm, maybe I should’ve. Does he treat a pretty girl like you right?”

“Yeah, yeah, he does.” A beat. “How do you know I’m pretty?”

“Because I’m looking at you, sweetheart.”

Your breath hitched. You should have known as much, but just considering the possibility is one thing, having it confirmed is another.

Attempting to play it cool, you stand to your feet and approach the window. “Really? Because I’m calling bullshit.”

You pressed your face to the glass and used the hand that didn’t hold your phone to your ear to shield your view from the light inside of your apartment. You scanned the streets below, the windows across from yours, and anything else your eyes could reach, but you couldn’t see anything. It was late, there wasn’t much activity in your complex, and the streetlight that previously illuminated your section of the complex was still out.

Ghostface chuckled condescendingly. “There’s no point in looking. You won’t find me.”

Stepping away from the window, you surveyed the apartment. Nothing there, save for the organized mess left by yourself and your roommates.

“But you can trust my word. I see how delicious you look in that little number. That tight shirt, those tiny shorts. Looking like a whore, begging to be fucked,” he spat the last bit as if the words were venomous. "maybe gutted," he toyed with the idea, “your boyfriend know you walk around like that?”

Your eyes met the cameras in your apartment, the ones that your roommates decided were needed in this big city. You’d never been more thankful to have them.

“He does,” you took a seat on the couch again, propping your feet up onto the coffee table and positioning yourself to where you could be seen by the camera. Your legs crossed, and you ran a hand along your thigh. “And he loves it. If he could see me right now I bet he would be cumming in his pants.”

There was a hitch in his voice, barely noticeable, but there.

You took his hesitation to spread your legs and trail a hand down to the waistband of your shorts. Your eyes flitted up to the camera, you smiled softly, lifted your hand in a wave, then stuck it into your shorts.

“You said you’re watching me, right, Ghostface?”

#ethansworld!#ethan landry x reader #ethan landry smut #ethan landry x you #ghostface x reader #ghostface smut #ghostface x you #celeste writes scream

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bukuoshin · 1 year

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AGHGHAGAGA

I'm almost finished making cookies, yayyyyy!

\(^〰^\)

#rae rants #my back hurts from having to lean down to put the dough on the pan;;;#i just have to ice about 1/4 of the sugar cookies and i'll be done... but idw do it rn cuz my back is killing me.#i have to figure out where to put the peanut butter cookies (currently cooling) bc Space...#i have never had him misbehave this bad. he took a frosted cookie (that was out cuz it was drying) and threw it on the floor #and then ate all its legs off. theres still frosting on the tile...#it was a reindeer i forgot to mention that and i only had 5 of those turn out correctly so i was even madder lol #i do think i have a problem of coating shit too much. like a recipe will be like 'make sure its completely coated' so i do but...#my end result always looks so so so different than how its supposed to. and this goes for both my snickerdoodles and how much sugar i #put on the pb cookies. oops. my bad.#also... relatedly. i slipped on one of Kami's toys yesterday and the only reason i didnt get hurt was cuz my right elbow hit this #futon thing i use as a chair. before the rest of my body hit the floor. so. my arm kinda hurts from the jolt.#AND i've been having real bad carpal tunnel the last week. im a mess man...#and my sister literally just told me LAST NIGHT that she'll have her kids for xmas eve so i have to get everything done like. now.#and i have to hang up my bras to dry so i can shower and buy dog food and icing and kitchenware for my sis and presents for my niece #and i have to pick out an outfit for eve now and so on... i'm so busy;;;;;;#AND. I ALMOST FORGOT. I HAVENT SMOKED IN 2 DAYS CUZ ITS SO COLD OUT THAT I HAVE TO WEAR 6 LAYERS TO GO OUTSIDE FOR MORE THAN 2 MINS.#im gonna layer up in a minute here but. i need some time for my back to like. stop hurting.

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eddiemunsons-missingnipple · 3 months

Note

LISTEN. HEAR ME OUT. eddie and Best friend!reader petty arguing, right, so reader says 'ooh you wanna kiss me soooo bad' and he does.

Hear ME OUT!!

What about we sprinkle in some jealous!Eddie too give it the ol'razzle dazzle.

Jealous! Eddie Munson x Bestfriend!reader

Warnings: fluff, some cursing, kissing that's about it.

Not proofread ignore mistakes.

Eddie has been in a pissy mood all damn week. He was short with you. He was snappy and just passive all around. The bottom line is that he was being a real asshole to you. You couldn't pinpoint exactly what made him this way. You chalked it up to him, barely getting any sleep. Maybe he cut back on smoking and is dealing with those withdrawals.

Doesn't matter at this point he was a dick and taking it out on you specifically. Ever since you went out on that date with his friend, Eddie has been insufferable. Little did you know that's the exact reason he's been moody with you.

He was jealous. You were his, and he had to watch his friend pick you up for a date. He sat in his room thinking about his friend kissing you. His friend holding your hand, and God knows what else you two did on your date together.

But you've had about enough of his attitude. You were sitting on his bed flipping through his heavy metal magazine while he tuned up his guitar.

"Hey, eddie, can you turn on the tv?" You looked before turning another page. You weren't even reading the comic. You were more interested in the artwork than anything the plot.

"Turn it on your damn self." He already sounded aggravated with you. "And stop turning those damn pages like that you'll rip them."

He rolled his eyes and turned his chair to face more away from you.

You huffed immediately, getting fed with him now." Alright, what hell is your problem?"

You slammed down his magazine, crossing your arms over your chest. You felt your face heating from the anger rising inside of you. You've dealt with his mood swings before, but that's because they were never directly pointed at you. Not until recently.

"I don't have a problem." He shrugged, still refusing to face you.

"Oh yes, you do. You've been a complete douche all week."

He smirked and finally turned around. "I've been a douche? Me? Maybe I wouldn't be such a douche if you weren't so fucking annoying."

"I'm not annoying!" You defended yourself, raising your voice slightly.

"Oh, but yes, you are. All you do is yap all day long, and I gotta listen to it." Eddie, let out a condescending laugh after you argued back with him.

You squinted your eyes, "Yeah, well, at least I'm not walking around with a stick up my ass."

You could hear him growl something under his breath. His lips were pressed in a tight line.

"You're right. I do have a stick up my ass. How about you get your ass up and turn on the TV because my ass is currently busy with a stick rammed up it." His voice was dripping with sarcasm while bickering back and forth with you.

You rolled your eyes and got up off his bed to turn on the TV. You messed with the volume until it was as high as it could go. You were purposely trying to press his buttons. You wanted a reaction out of him. You wanted that last word, and you were going to get it. He couldn't hear himself think or focus on what he was currently doing.

Eddie jumps up from his chair and turns down the TV. You just stay standing there, twisting the nob to it turn back up. You're both staring each other down in the process.

"You're bein- he went to speak, but you raised the volume up again, cutting him off.

Eddie let a deep breath and turned the tv back down once more. His face is all red, and sets his guitar back against his dresser. "You're being reeeeeally petty right now. I'm trying to tune up my guitar."

"Yeah?...so?" You slowly turn the TV up again with your eyes locked onto his.

His jaw tightens, and his nostrils flare. You decided to mess with him. You wanted to rile him up some more. He rubbed his hands down his face.

You watched him closely, and a little idea sparked in your head. You don't know what really came over you. Probably, his attitude with you has finally made you lose your mind or something.

"Ooh, you wanna kiss me sooo bad right now, huh?" You taunted him.

There was always this unspoken crush between the two of you that was mutual. You were being mean, and you didn't care. You were past your limit right now. You wanted to get under his skin, and it was working.

He doesn't say anything he just looks at you. He steps closer, leaving very little room between the two of you. Without any warning, his lips came crashing down into yours. His hands go up to hold both sides of your face gently. His soft lips locked with yours as his tongue slipped past them.

The kiss was sloppy but passionate. He didn't care if your teeth clashed a little bit. He needed to do this. You felt light-headed while your tongues fought for dominance. Your face felt all tingly, and your hands moved up to grip onto his forearms. Only a few seconds have passed, but it felt like hours. Time stood still as you made out with your best friend in his bedroom.

He let go of your face and moved his lips slowly away from you. He had a smug expression on his face. Your eyes flutter back open, and you swallow. You're breathing heavy, and you don't know if it's from the kiss or from the fight you and Eddie were getting into. Or a combination of both.

"Why have you been so mean to me all week?" You whispered your fingers, move up to trace over your own lips. You could still feel traces of him on your mouth.

Eddie looked at you and with a sad smile. "I couldn't get over the fact that you went on date with my friend Cody."

Your eyebrows raised. "You-- You were jealous of Cody?" You were in disbelief. Here you thought he was just annoyed being around you.

You couldn't believe he would be so irritated over that date. It was one date, and you were miserable. Plus, it's not like you haven't seen him take home his fare share of women from the bar.

Those nights where he would be out with a made you feel sick to your stomach. But you never once took it out on him like this. You shake those thoughts and try to listen and understand where he is coming from. Right now, it's about him, not you. He was never good at expressing his feelings, and because of that, he was more prone to lashing out.

"Well, yeah, just the mere thought of him being so close to you really upset me. I know I've been a dick but I just couldn't help it." He plopped back down in his chair.

You moved to sit at the edge of his bed. Your legs felt like they were going to give out after kissing him.

"Why didn't you say something?" You sighed and picked at your chipped nail polish.

"I don't know.. I don't want to mess up what we have." He gestured between the two of you. His voice was a lot softer now than is has been all week.

You nodded and understood why he felt like he couldn't express his feelings. "Can you kiss me again?"

Eddie's eyes dart up, and he looks a little surprised. "Can i?"

You couldn't have actually wanted to kiss him again? He thought to himself. He was already feeling guilty for just happened. He felt his heart start to race again.

You smiled and nodded, "I wish you would have kissed me sooner."

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #joseph quinn #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x you #eddie x you #eddie munson fluff

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lvlyghost · 11 months

Text

Cold Nights

Pairings: Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

Summary: Reader doesn't show up for morning training. Ghost doesn't know what to think.

Word Count: 794

Tw: fluff, angst, mentions of being sick, soldiers being scared of simon lol, ooc simon probably, he calls reader kid, i think that's it🤭

A/N: I'm sick and this came to my mind, I just want simon to take care of me okay???🥹🤧 this is super bad as usual. still hope you like it. pls remember english isn't my first language, corrections are welcome ✨💖

Masterlist✨

Ghost doesn't see her at the cafeteria, nor the training room. He's disgruntled. His eyes keep drifting apart from the soldiers in front of him, waiting for the next round of endless push ups he's gonna make them go through.

Why isn't she here?

His body feels restless, pacing back and forth.

Soap doesn't say anything, just shifts his weight from one foot to another.

"Johnny," he calls him. "You're in charge."

"Lt.?" He quirks a brow, not understanding. That's so unlike him.

"Got things to do."

He storms out of the room, the walls rattle when he closes the doors.

It's a cold day. Just like the day before.

Days used to mean nothing to him.

Time.

Until she came along. Three years ago.

That woman... he sighs.

Was it something he said? Didn't they talk about it last night?

Everything was fine.

Or so he thought.

"We shouldn't be out here, kid." He mutters. It's freezing, he can see her trembling even beneath her hoodie. Well it was actually his. The hoodie completely swallowing her small form.

"I know, I know!" She laughs. Her cheeks a beautiful shade of pink. "I just... it was too loud inside." That he can agree on. "Is it true?" She asks a few seconds later.

Simon stills. Choosing his next words carefully.

"What?"

"What Soap said." A heartbeat. "About us."

There's a silence that falls between them.

"Those were the words of a drunk man."

"Were they?" her smile is contagious. Damn her and her beautiful soul. "Would you come with me if I asked you to?"

He stares directly at her, trying to find any sign of doubt. He's always mesmerized by her gentle nature. That's something he never knew. Perhaps that's why he was so drawn to her. Longed to be wherever she was. Breathe the same air.

"I'd say that's highly inappropriate." He states. "And that you've had too many shots of whatever poor excuse of a whiskey Johnny made you drink."

"Price called it piss water." She shooks her head. "You're changing the subject!"

Simon chuckles. He really does.

"You've got such power over me no one else could ever have, kid."

And he's doomed.

He's trying so hard, going through the events of the night, trying to remember. What happened? Nothing out of line was said. She seemed content when they parted ways, right after he had kissed her good night outside her room. Simon saw the way her eyes lit up with a spark he never saw before. The longing stare. Remembers vividly how she had stopped him, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt pulling him down for another heated kiss.

He walks down the corridor with long strides. Hands balled into fists. He shouldn't be this mad. But that was the effect she had in him.

He tries to cool down. Ghost was scared too. What if she had changed her mind and didn't want anything to do with him? He was messing up his head at the mere thought.

He finally makes it to the room, knocking twice before her soft voice tells him he can come in.

Inside the room, all the curtains were closed, not a single ray of light made it inside apart from the lamp casting shadows around. Furrowing his brows he closes the door behind him with a low click.

"Kid?" He calls her. Immediately rolling on her side she welcomes him, red eyes, stuffy nose and looking disheveled.

"Sorry I missed training." She apologizes. Changing to a sitting position and waits for him to sit next to her.

"What's wrong?" He demands with a soft voice. She's still wearing his hoodie from last night. Rubbing her eyes she gives Simon a tired smile.

"I'm just really sick Simon." She answers, he can hear her hoarse voice now.

"Bloody hell, love." His hand goes straight to her face, caressing her cheek. "Did you go to the infirmary?" Closing her eyes, she rest her head against his hand.

"Mhm. Got some painkillers prescribed. Still feel horrible."

"Good, it'll take some time for you to feel better. You need to rest, okay?". The look he gave her leaves no room for discussion.

"Wasn't planning on leaving my bed you know?" He smiles ever so slightly. "Would you stay with me?" When he doesn't answer right away she adds: "never mind you'll catch whatever this bug is and i don't ..."

"Sweetheart," he interrupts her rambling. "Scoot over."

She looks at him wide-eyed.

"You... you don't," she stutters.

"No, I don't mind at all. If there's anything you need just tell me, copy?" She nods, staring at his blue eyes. "Told you we shouldn't have been outside last night."

"Even if it meant catching a cold, I'm glad we did, Simon."

#call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mwii #cod #cod mw2 #cod x reader #cod ghost #ghost x reader #call of duty ghost simon riley #simon riley imagine #simon riley x reader #john price #john price x reader #cod konig #cod mw22

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penny00dreadful · 11 months

Text

So does anyone remember that post that was like "Robin and Eddie meet when she does that thing that's like 'hello, please pretend you know me so I can get away from this person' then Steddie happens?" Because I do. I cannot for the life of me find it. If anyone knows the post I'm talking about please let me know so I can link it, this is very much not my idea, it's that persons idea but the brain worms got me so here we are. 🤷‍♀️

We found it! It's this post by @wynnyfryd Thank you Anon! Obviously I went in a different direction with it but this post was 100% my inspiration so thank you for helping me find it!

AO3 link for those asking! 🖤

Robin should be royally pissed off with herself right now. She would be if she wasn’t so damn scared.

That guy was still trailing behind her, no matter the twists and turns she’d taken down different streets trying to lose him and the only thing she’d gained from it was to get totally and completely lost. It could be something completely innocent, the guy might be coincidentally going in the same direction as her but she wasn’t willing to give him the benefit of the doubt if it meant keeping herself alive.

The distance between the two of them was slowly closing as she was followed through the dark and empty streets of the city, hoping, praying for some kind of shop or restaurant or something to make an appearance so she could hide inside but apparently Robin was able to find the one street in this city where everything was either closed for the night or boarded up.

Her heart was pounding in her ears and the beginnings of tears were starting to sting her eyes and all she could think of was how sick with worry Steve was going to be in the morning when he woke up to no missed calls, no missed texts and no Robin. She’d scoffed at him hours earlier when he’d offered to go to the ‘work thing’ with her but she'd told him she was a big girl and she could look after herself and not to be such a worrywart mom.

And now she had no idea where her phone had gone, if she'd left it behind or dropped it somewhere, no idea where she was and no idea of what she was going to do.

If she’d been a bit more present in her head she probably would have noticed the loud, braying, male laughter coming from just ahead of her and crossed the street to avoid them before it was obvious she was avoiding them. But as it was she could barely see straight through her tears and panicked tunnel vision while simultaneously trying to keep an eye on the slowly encroaching guy behind her. She was practically already in the group’s space and one of them had definitely already seen her though he didn’t pay her any attention.

But even through her blurred vision and panic, she finally registered what exactly she was looking at. Four men standing around the entrance to what looked like the diviest of empty dive bars, chain smoking and being as loud as humanly possible, but that’s not what caught her eye.

Long hair, chains, leather, denim, tartan, rings, tattoos, subculture. If Robin had to choose a group of men to approach, any kind of subculture would be the best option. They knew what it was like to be other. There was no guarantee these guys were safe, but they were probably safer than a group of frat boys.

The next thing that caught her eye that nearly made her cry in relief as she got closer were the patches and pins.

A rainbow ‘A’ against a black and white striped background pinned on one guys collar, a yellow-white-purple-black patch on another's arm, a pink-yellow-blue patch over the third guys heart and a progress pride flag pinned to the largest guys pocket.

Her people.

Without a second's hesitation she made a bee-line for them, planting herself firmly next to yellow-white-purple-black patch person who had a mess of thick light brown curls that reminded her of Steve’s hair. They fell painfully silent at her arrival.

The four of them blinked down at her, with her tearfilled eyes and wild aura of panic around her they were probably, understandably freaked out.

“Hi guys!” She called out to them, probably a little too loud, hoping her voice carried back to the fucker following her, tensing as she could actually hear his footsteps approaching now.

The guy with the longest hair and the pink-yellow-blue patch standing directly in front of her glanced quickly over her shoulder before returning his gaze to her. His face split into a wide warm grin, tapping her shoulder lightly.

“Hey girlie. We thought you weren’t coming, we’ve been waiting.”

The footsteps behind her audibly slowed down. Robin laughed, a little maniacally, keeping her frantic gaze on him, not daring to turn around. “Yeah, I uh- g- got sidetracked.”

“Eddie, what-”

Pink-yellow-blue patch guy, Eddie she supposed, slapped ‘A’ patch guy lightly on the stomach with the back of his hand, shutting him up as her pursuer passed them by, giving the group a wide berth.

“Hey, no worries. You’re here now, right?”

Pride patch guy kept his eyes on the guy who’d been following her the whole time, only looking away when he eventually turned the corner, disappearing into the night.

Robin immediately felt her posture slacken now that he was finally gone, the full weight of everything coming down on her. Her tears began to spill over and her whole body shook as hysterical sobs started to pour out of her body.

“I’m sorry. I’m- I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do. I think I left my phone behind and I don’t know where I am. We only moved here a couple of weeks ago and I got lost trying to get away and- and-”

“Hey, hey. It’s okay.” Yellow-white-purple-black patch person squeezed her shoulder lightly, keeping their distance. “You’re okay. Don’t worry about it.”

“We can call someone for you, if you want?” Eddie asked, crossing his arms tight like he was trying not to reach out to her, probably worried it would freak her out more. “Boyfriend or girlfriend-”

“Or romantic partner.” The person with their hand on her shoulder interjected lightly.

“Alright Baron from the Baronies.” Eddie snorted. “But fair point, Gareth. Romantic partner or friend or whatever?”

“Um,” Robin’s voice was still shaking. “I don’t… I’ve never been good at memorising numbers…”

“Me too, terrible at them.” Eddie smiled again, pulling his phone from his pocket. Robin’s fear and panic was almost entirely gone now even though she was still hiccuping and sniffling underneath their concerned gazes. They were all firmly keeping their distance, keeping any touches short and fleeting, not moving too suddenly, trying their best to make sure she knew they weren’t a threat and it was really helping her to start feeling safe again. “But we could try to find them online? Instagram or something?”

“Yeah. Yeah we could try that.” She wiped her eyes roughly against her sleeve as she shuffled over to Eddie’s side. “My best friend, Steve, he uh- he’s probably asleep and I don’t think you can call him if you don’t have him added…”

“You can send him a message.” Eddie replied easily, handing his phone over. “And if he doesn’t wake up, we’ll try something else.”

“Don’t worry we’ll get you home.” ‘A’ patch guy smiled down at her while pride patch guy nodded along.

Robin sniffed again. “Thanks.” She was able to conjure up a small watery smile as she opened the app and found Steve’s profile, shooting off a quick message begging him not to freak out and explaining the situation as concisely as she could.

“Here.” She handed Eddie back his phone who glanced down at it for just a second before his eyes widened slightly as he scrolled through Steve’s profile.

“Oh shit. This is your friend?”

Robin nodded. “Mm-hmm.”

“He’s… he’s really pretty.”

That managed to pull a startled laugh from her. “Oh god, don’t tell him that, you’ll give him a big head.”

“Let me see?” Gareth asked, whistling low when Eddie turned his phone around showing a photo of Steve and Robin at their last pride parade cheering with the crowd, Steve with the pink-purple-blue of the bi flag smeared across each cheek and Robin with the pinks, oranges and white of the lesbian flag draped around her shoulders. “He is really pretty.”

Eddie snatched the phone back, cradling it to his chest. “Fuck off, Gare. I saw him first.”

Robin smiled again. “Any response from him?”

“Hm?” Eddie asked distractedly, scrolling through Steve’s photos before pride flag guy punched him in the shoulder. “Ow! Wh- oh, sorry!” Eddie frantically scrolled back up before clicking into his messages again and shaking his head. “Nothing yet.” He held the phone out to show her.

“Okay.”

“What’s your address? If he doesn’t respond, we'll find a way to get you there.”

“Uh…” Robin was drawing a complete blank, only able to remember her parents home address hundreds of miles away.

“Or tell us something nearby.” Eddie added, not missing a beat, clearly picking up on Robin’s lack of an answer. “What’s on your street?”

“Um,” she closed her eyes, trying to picture it in her head, “there’s a couple of Chinese take outs, Asian food store, paint store… there’s… I think it’s a tattoo parlour? There’s designs painted on the window, a tower on either side. I think they’re from Lord of the Rings?”

“Inklings? Is that the place?”

Robin opened her eyes. Eddie was grinning at her conspiratorially. “That’s it. You know it?”

“Would you believe me if I told you I work there?”

“No way.”

“Way.”

Hope was starting to grow feathers inside Robin’s chest. She could go home, she didn’t have to stay out all night waiting for Steve to wake up and never let her out of his sight again, she could hug her best friend and drink coffee out of her favourite mug and curse at their finicky fridge and steal his hair products again. She could go home.

“Is it far?”

“Nah, only a few streets away. Ten minute walk, tops.”

“D’you- I mean… do you think you could-” Could she really ask them to walk her home after they’d already done so much for her? Would she be asking too much? Could she be putting herself in more danger?

“I can take you there if you want? Let you get back to your… Steve.” There was a slight blush dusting over Eddie’s cheeks. Maybe he did have an ulterior motive, but it wasn’t an ulterior motive involving her. If she wasn’t so wrung out and aching to crawl into her own bed she’d be thinking up teasing material to lambaste Steve with. But as it was, she was desperate to get home.

“Would that be okay?”

“Yeah.” Eddie replied, bright and easy. “It would just be me and you though,” he held his hands up in surrender, “and you can totally say no, like if you're uncomfortable or whatever. Gareth is Grant and Jeff’s ride home and you’re still on the clock, right?” He turned to Gareth towards the end of his sentence.

“Yeah, but I get off shift in about an hour so could come in if you wanted, wait around in the back room until then if you wanna go as a group?” They answered.

“I think… I think I just want to get home.”

“Okay, cool. No worries I’ll get you there safe and sound. Here,” Eddie pulled his phone out again, “I’m gonna message Steve to let him know we’re on the way in case he wakes up,” he showed her the short message only sending it off when she gave a nod, “and I’ll get you to navigate just so we don’t get lost.”

He handed his phone to her with the maps app open, directing them towards Inklings tattoo parlour. He was playing it off like an easy joke, instead of another way to assure her she was safe. He was making sure she knew exactly where he was taking her at all times, he was making sure she had the ability to call the police or whatever if he turned on her, he was making sure she knew he didn’t need or want her address if she didn’t want to give it.

This fucking guy.

He definitely wouldn’t be the worst choice Steve had ever made if it did go that way.

“I don’t know how to thank all of you, seriously. I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t run into you.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Grant smiled at her before hesitating. “Uh, I just realised we don’t have your name.”

“Oh!” She laughed at herself, feeling lighter. “I’m Robin.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Robin.” Grant held his hand out, shaking hers once she took it.

“Likewise.”

“And don’t worry about thanking us, just pay it forward, yeah?” Jeff said.

“Plus.” Gareth took on a nonchalant tone even though they had a smirk plastered over their face. “We’ll see you again at Steve and Eddie’s wedding.”

“Shut up!” Eddie scowled but didn’t hold onto it for long in the wake of Robin’s giggles.

She sighed once the giggles subsided, a weight lifted off her shoulders. “I look forward to it.” She raised her hand in salute as the three of them headed back inside, turning to Eddie as he held his elbow out.

“Shall we?”

Robin tried to suppress her smile but took Eddie’s arm anyway. They only made it down one street and around one corner, Robin clutching tight to Eddie’s phone before he finally asked.

"So."

"Best friend Steve." Eddie twirled his rings around his fingers. "Is he…"

“He’s single.” She answered lightly. “But you might be arriving into his life at the wrong time. He’s recently sworn off men.”

“Well we’ve all sworn off men once or twice. Men are terrible.”

“Agreed.”

“Is it because of a bad ex?”

Robin threw her head back with a groan remembering the giant breakdown that had finally finally ended it. “Tommy was the worst. He’s the reason we even moved out here, there’s nowhere to get away from an ex in a small town, you know? They’re everywhere. I’m not going to go into what happened, it’s not my business to say but it was bad.”

Eddie nodded, his eyes down on the ground, running through everything in his head.

Robin could see the tattoo parlour up ahead, the glorious sight of their apartment building just a few buildings away.

“Do you think… with time… he could open himself up to men again?”

Eddie had such a tentative hope in his eyes, it was adorable really. Looking over him, she thought about the type of people Steve would constantly thirst over, blip in the matrix Tommy Hagan notwithstanding.

Lithe bodies with full lips and giant eyes, hair he could run his fingers through and something unusual about them. Something odd.

He’d never explicitly gone for someone so heavily into a subculture before but he’d never turned them down either. And based on Eddie’s job at the tattoo parlour and the way he was dressed, he almost definitely had some ink on him. That alone would be enough to make Steve swoon.

“I think he might. Will you walk me up?” Robin asked, holding the door to the building open, offering Eddie the same kindness under the guise of doing a favour that he had offered her so many times tonight.

“Yeah, sure.”

They’d managed to make it up to the third floor, walking down her hallway before Eddie’s phone started to ping incessantly.

She turned the phone over in her hand, looking at the screen. “He’s awake.”

Robin, where are you?

Are you okay?

I’m on the way.

Please be okay.

Their apartment door was flung open just as they reached it. Steve was standing there panting and terrified, his hair a mess, his glasses askew, his jacket and shoes thrown haphazardly over his pyjamas.

“Robbie.”

Steve slammed into her, holding her tight before immediately letting go to inspect her face and running his hands over her body, checking to see if anything was wrong.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt? What happened? What do you need?”

“Steve.” Robin caught his fluttering hands in hers and squeezed, nearly crying out in relief just to have him with her again. “I’m okay. Eddie and his friends helped me.”

“Eddie-” Steve looked to the side, noticing her saviour for the first time. “You’re Eddie.”

“I’m Eddie.” Eddie gave him a short little wave and a dazzling smile that quickly dropped in shock as Steve pulled him into a crushing hug, his blush returning with full force.

“Thank you, thank you so much. I don’t know what I would’ve-” Steve took a big breath in and loosened his arms from around Eddie’s shoulders. Robin saw his eyes slowly trail over his face before very briefly flicking down to the pink-yellow-blue patch then back up. “Come inside, the two of you. Can I get you anything? Tea? Decaf coffee? A glass of water? Like, literally anything to say thank you.” He asked, ushering the two of them into the apartment.

Steve caught Robin’s eye behind Eddie’s back and mouthed ‘oh my god he’s fucking gorgeous!’

Robin snorted and thought to herself ‘sworn off men, my ass.’

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arminsumi · 7 months

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req are open and idk how to act Σ(ﾟДﾟ；

reader putting on megumi's make up for their couples costume? he'd begrudgingly let her messed around with his hair/face but plans to be recompensated after hehe

"can i kiss you?"

megumi めぐみ x fem reader

megumi's needy for your kisses, but you don't want smudged lipstick

note : lol ur kaomoji got me gigglin 🤭 also omg i've never written for megumi i don't think? i have this draft about stargazing with him that i never completed lol. anywayssss hope i did this right and enjooyyyy :)

content : fluff

"can i kiss you?" megumi asks.

"no. you'll smudge the lipstick."

"maybe i want to smudge the lipstick." he frowns.

the poor boy has been nearly begging for kisses in the whole hour you've been doing his makeup. he has sat there with a small pout, letting you stroke brush after brush around his face. the little dabs of glitter shimmer on his cheeks. he's such a pretty boy.

"how about a quick kiss?" he sounds like he's begging.

there's an itch in his soul that he needs to... you know... scritch scritch. of course, with your remedy lips.

"no kissing. be patient."

"i'm already being patient letting you fluff brushes on my face. i feel like a canvas under an painter's hand."

"nooo kissing. be. patient." you smile. aw, that smile makes it even harder for him. your smile is the most irresistible aspect of you to him.

he bounces his leg. there's silence. you keep applying makeup serenely to his face and he looks to the side, forcing his vision anywhere but your pretty lips.

"can i have an air kiss at least?" he's got his lips parted for you to add a layer of sheeny shiny lip gloss.

"mwah." you blow him a kiss as per request.

his heart flutters. "thanks." there's a blush on his cheeks that the sheer foundation barely conceals.

"aw... you're blushing, pretty boy."

he grumbles. "i'm not a pretty boy..."

it takes all his self restraint to not kiss you and be patient. the way you parade your delicious, painted lips in front of him for the night makes him feel like a puppy beggingly drooling for a treat.

"can i kiss you now?" he asks, coming up to you with his hands behind his back. his tallness makes him cutely intimidating.

"no..." you tease with a smile. "be patient, 'gumi."

he groans so hard when he hears you use his favorite nickname, "gumi? really? in public?"

"yes, really, in public."

he groans again when he looks at your lips. it's like he's in pain at this point.

"you're killing me... just one kiss can't smudge lipstick that badly. come on. just a peck?"

you look at him, and look at his prettiness; makeup just makes him all the more kissable and yet you've been holding in your urges just to preserve lipstick. seriously?

he encourages by whining, "come on, i let you put aaaaall those products on my face... so you owe me compensation... with your lips."

"ah... okay.. one kiss then. just a light peck."

he dives in, you halt him warningly, "a light peck, promise?"

he nods, eyes wide with eagerness, "mhm."

and he definitely doesn't just give you one light peck. he smudges the lipstick on both his and your lips.

"megumi."

"sorry."

"come here."

"i'm sorryyy!"

"let me smudge my lipstick on you some more." you say, and tiptoe up to speck kisses all over his face.

oh boy, his heart neaaarrrrlyyyyy jumps out of his chest. he freezes up. it's like sometimes you're still his crush who makes him nervous and not his girlfriend.

you can bet that yuji and nobara die laughing while pointing at his face, teasing him for having kiss marks all over it. he doesn't mind the teasing; he's satisfied. in a daze after getting all that attention he so badly needed from you.

Do not plagiarize / repost / translate / copy layouts / etc.

Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

#🎃 ~ oct. reqs #fluff #megumi fluff #megumi fushiguro #megumi x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk megumi #jujutsu megumi #jujutsu kaisen megumi #megumi x you #megumi x y/n #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi fushiguro x you #megumi fushiguro fluff

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r3starttt · 18 days

Text

PUT AWAY THE PRIDE

Summary: fucking ur bff who's in a relationship with a man, ew!

cw: hate sex. comphet abby. homophobic bf ew!!!!. dom!abby sub!reader. fingering. sissoring. pet names. (baby, pretty girl) finger sucking. prasing kink(?

an: creds to @atyourmerci for the Abby pic!!!

If you want it, you can have it. If you need it, we can make it

"Are you fucking- god abby" he'd crossed the line. That line that was invisible to you but still the thiniest for abby, until now, or so you wished because she'd go back to him once you've made your 'shoulder to cry on' function.

Abby was mad, even behind a phone you could feel how she couldn't bare him for now. You had no clue what happened just knew Abby's boyfriend had fucked it all again and she needed you, again.

The usual routine you forced yourself to not get used to but somehow became it, a routine. "Yeah, you know you can always.... just hurry" you ended the call abruptly. Otherwise, abby would not only be mad at that man, and nor you or her could take that kind of encounter currently.

You knew she was on her way already. So once more, with legs crossed on top of your coffee table, you did nothing but wait for her to arrive at your appartment. It always made you feel pathetic.

Her boyfriend despised you to say the least, from the moment you first met. And honestly you never knew why, even though you begged abby at one point to ask him herself just to not cause any trouble yourself. It didn't work.

You've had some alone encounters with him whenever Abby took you out and he had to be there. Nicely asking how his week or day had been, trying to make a small conversation with the typical 'long time no see, huh' or directly asking him - at one point, what the fuck was his problem with you. He was so stupidly manlish with his demeanor towards you it made you think if maybe abby wasn't using the proper words to describe you. Like he wasn't the problem.

On the other hand, your relationship with abby became confusing as her relationship with him grew bigger. Like it's toxicity was slowly getting to her, to you.

And not the type to ruin the friendship forever but just ruin the platonic. The one where sometimes spending time alone ends up in you drunk not moving your eyes away from her lips as she speak, or the one that makes her rest her hands somewhere on your body whenever you go out with friends. The one that ends in a weird exchange of words whenever you try to talk about it.

It was still unbearable tho. Always third-wheeling, then fighting with eyes only every time you made accidental eye contact with him, and eye fucking abby whenever he didn't pay attention to her, or you. Or feeling abby eating you alive with the eyes, just for denying it all later but not completely because you two had always been in the type of friendship where you're close with your friend to a point there's no shame about anything and you can make those type of jokes.

Jokes that somehow turned passive aggressive, not only between you two but also between abby and that men you equally despise.

"The fuck did he do now, mhm?" You sighed, resting your face on top of your shoulder, letting all your weight press over the shared couch. Drunk eyes paying detailed attention to Abby as she spoke. "I'm a fucking mess, that's all" she seemed off, something that genuinely troubled you considering how stubborn she was. "You're not, well, a... decent, nice mess" her laugh was gorgeous, it made you smile the moment you hear it. Her eyes met yours, as if you could talk with just that, a look. "Thanks"

"He's the problem. Even with that personality of yours, you've done no wrong" she pouted, it could only mean this was getting awkward for her. You couldn't care any less. "You're fucking charming abby, and it kills me youre with such person. Also, a man? Be for real" it was a joke, but that look on her face, it wasn't such simple for her. "I'm just saying, you're hot and so young and you have so much shit to live, he's holding you from that"

Abby turned around, her usual braided hair danced along her back, resting near her face. A sudden smile elicted on her face, she was about to bother you. "You think so?" You furrowed your brows, confused at what she meant "I'm hot?" She cleared herself. You just laughed, nodding while desperately trying to readjust yourself in a less compromised position, so near to her. "I know so"

"Yeah?" She left the glass with alcohol in it resting somewhere beside her. You smiled back at her, feeling her weight get overwhelming over you every second. You had to stop it. "Want more?" You didn't know bit alcohol would eventually become your one salvation from sin and fall into temptation.

Abby went home that night, just to hear him talking shit about you, and it clicked. She tried hard to give him a chance, because that meant she could have a chance as well. A chance for what? To prove she wasn't fantasizing about you in a way more than a friendship, to give all but you a taste and make her mind on what she liked and how she liked it. It failed, abruptly.

Because she lost time and wasted her persona in such men like him. And after running to you every time she couldn't bare it anymore, looking at your hands, neck, lips, eyes whenever she got drunk, after having so many late night talks with you whenever the awkwardness she felt wasn't rough enough to not keep her sober, she realized she could not run away from you, in fact, she needed you and needed to run in your direction every time. She had to give you a chance now.

That's the reason behind his hate towards you. No matter what, you'd always be her biggest priority. And god, she changed so much when she was with you, she'd transform into the girl he fell in love with, the one he lost once they actually started dating.

You had such a delightful effect on her, and he hated the idea of not being able to be the one for her.

Yet whenever he'd ask about you, abby would only say how close you two were since forever and how you wouldn't be a bother in the relationship. All of that was pure lies to keep it calm.

And those replies eventually got to you, like a day after that night you swore she wanted to kiss you. "I was drunk, doesn't mean anything" "what? You think I'll kiss you?" You wanted to dragg her back home with that man she'd found and make it clear you wouldn't let her be such an asshole. You didn't of course, both just laughed it off.

Until now, you couldn't wait for her to come and make it all clear, she was mad and it might not be the greatest idea but why should you care if she's not in the mood? You weren't the one behind that mood, not guilty of any of her shit.

Or that was the plan, because seeing the tears contained on the corner of her eyes, right about to fall and make a mess on her face. You simply couldn't.

"What did he do?" It wasn't the typical scenario. This was an unexplored rage, as if there was some sort of attraction that grew stronger as every second passed by. Maybe this was it, you thought.

Abby's red eyes met yours in such a relieved way, like she'd found something she felt eager to find. It was just you.

It caught you out of guard the way her hands travelled to the sides of your arms. " I realized I needed you"

The only thing you could come up with was a stupid 'huh'. Wandering your eyes all over her face and body. Abby had her own locked on you, probably as confused as you.

She had to. Her salty lips pressed on you, followed by the palms of her hands. You reciprocated, standing still but trusting your lips to do all the work necessary.

It's sloppy and messed, a silent fight between the silence that fills the ignored pain you're feeling and the anger she's been carrying all the way here.

It was miserable, her palms on your body, trying to find a way to bring you closer as you tried- not to step back but to prevent yourself from getting into it. Abby was only yours for a couple of hours and it was painful to have her so close to you but not having the actual chance to claim her yours.

"Fucking hate you for this" you murmured. Her eyebrows scrunched, there was such an euphoric feeling inside her, a mix of fear, confusion and anger. All for you

"Yeah?" She mocked you, resting her hands on the inside of your clothed stomach. "It could've been different"

"It will be" her lips smacked aggressively over yours again, trailing a path down your jawline.

Her fingers moved up your back, getting rid of your bra in such a pathetic way. You took her shirt off, trying to take the closest and clearest look of what you would never be able to have you you craved so much.

She laughed at it, doing the same for you. Her hands swayed all the way down your ass, gripping it with such force it burned. You let out a chocked breath, feeling her lips move on their own way down your body.

Her knee stepped in between your legs, so easily you could feel the vibration from her chuckle right in the middle your breasts. Fucking torture you've got yourself into.

She couldn't get enough but had to, running her fingers along your waist, down your cunt. Her fingers slide in between your slicked folds, slowly outside your cloathed arousal, begging for her.

Her palms slapped over it severely times, eliciting open mouth whimpers out of you, deliciously filled with her tongue against yours to shut you.

You tried to get her to stop, only receiving groans as a response. Until she got tired of it "fucking shut up and take it, be good, can't you?"

There wasn't a specific idea on her mind but take as much as possible out of you, to make a memory in honor to that gross man she ever felt the slightest of attraction to. Mocking you and him for her own pleasure, once in her whole life she thought.

Her fingers finally touched your clit, ager for it. The circles over it were so slow, you kept bucking your hips on her hands, attempting to get more friction. "Fucking stay still" abby groaned, thrusting her fingers inside you. God it felt glorious.

You voiced the most perfect whimpers for her, the way her name came out of your mouth, followed by the most prettiest pleads. It was driving her insane.

The sounds coming out of you were so obscene. Abby couldn't be in such good paradise

She made sure to curl her fingers at every thrust, speeding enough to make it painfully confusing for you.

Her lips kept busy shushing you, taking a taste of your nipples, your clavicle, every inch of your body.

"Shit- c'here" you demanded, dragging her by the jawline as the knot on your stomach grew overwhelmingly fast. She tastes better than anything you've ever had in your life, something worth the pain it'll cause you later when she's gone.

You let out a loud cry at the abruptly of her actions, leaving you empty. "Open" her middle and index finger fully covered in your wetness. You obeyed, feeling the palms of her fingers rest in your tongue, forcing you to take a taste. "Doing so good f' me, such a pretty girl"

She dragged you to the couch, the one that brought you closer that day she'd first approach to you in this way, whatever this was. The one that brought you closer when she left that day, and whe she laughed this off. Such an ironic situation.

It all brought a series of conflicting thoughts to your mind. Distracting you from such pleasure you should be enjoying.

Her hands grabbed the hooks of your jeans, dragging them down your legs. She made sure to get in charge of all the hard work, you should've notice-

Her weight was already on top of you. The way her eyes wandered all over you face, it was different. Your hands got locked by hers, breathing heavily at the sudden sight and feeling that ran through your body, that made you forget whatever was keeping your mind busy some seconds ago.

"Spread 'em open, be a good girl f'me" Abby groaned the moment she could finally get to be so close to you. Letting all of her weight rest over your body, aggressively humping in between your legs, rubbing her clit against yours.

Your ears were filled by her whimpers, groans whenever she got too overwhelmed. There was nothing you could to but let her use you for her own pleasure, not that you weren't use to it.

"Fuck baby... so good f'me, so so good" she whined, speeding her moves in between your legs. There could never be a better sight than this.

Some locks of her hair starting to stick on her forehead, the sweat covering her abs, her arms flexing to support her own way and oh, all this just for you to see. Sure he'd never seen such scenario.

She sounded so fucking pretty, on top of you, crying at how deliciously your clits rubbed together. You, on the other hand, felt like just cumming by the sight, by the idea of her body displayed like this.

Your thighs were ridiculously covered in both your and her slick, it increased at her every move, sloppy and messy, such a desperate disaster.

Your pleads and whines were completely ignored, she'd already given you what you needed and ni longer cared about whatever you felt you needed or deserved. This was about her.

Still you managed to wrap around her, feeling her drench your thighs even more as a breathless 'fuck' came out of her lips, letting go of your hands, already getting numb at her grip.

"See? Promised you it'll get better"

#dom abby anderson #Abby smut #abby anderson smut #abby anderson x chubby reader #abby anderson x black reader #abby anderson x y/n #abby anderson x you #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson x reader #abby x masc!reader #abby x y/n #abby x fem!reader #abby x you #abby x reader #abby x black reader #abby x reader smut

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strangersteddierthings · 4 months

Text

"I think we should break up," is what Eddie blurts the moment Steve opens the front door to reveal him.

Steve's first reaction is anger -how dare he?- but he doesn't do anything with that anger. Instead, he takes a deep breath through his nose, crosses his arms, and looks Eddie over.

He's breathing heavily yet his van is parked along the curb. He didn't run here. His hair, while never tame, looks rougher. He is fidgeting but in a nervous way, not his usual too much energy way. His eyes are wide and scared. It's the last bit there that drains Steve's anger.

Something's happened.

He drops his arms and says, "well, you're not dumping me on my porch. Get in here."

This doesn't seem like the response Eddie was expecting. Even though he has been looking at Steve this whole time he still manages to do a double take at him. Steve just shoves the door open a bit wider when he turns and heads back to the kitchen, where the dishes are not washing themselves because he doesn't have a dishwasher.

"I-I'm serious, Steve," Eddie is stammering behind him, which is good. Means he did follow. Steve hears the door shut and the shuffling sound of what he assumes is Eddie trying to pull off his combat boots without untying them, like the animal he is.

"Don't shout at me in my own home! Get in this kitchen," Steve shouts, then smiles and relishes in the offended huff Eddie lets out because Steve is the one shouting. Steve picks up the dish towel he'd deposited on the counter and throws it back over his shoulder, then get back to the dishes. There's just a couple bowls and a pot left, might as well get them done.

The sink is perpendicular to the doorway, so he watches Eddie slink into the small galley kitchen, stopping just inside the doorway to frown at Steve. "I'm breaking up with you and you're just, what, gonna wash dishes?"

"You're not breaking up with me, but yes. Look, one bowl down already. Just two more dishes."

"I- what. Yes, I am!"

"Edifer, you are 24 years old. That's much too old to just show up, yell 'we're over' at someone and run away. We're going to talk about this," he's not sure if it's the nickname, or the scolding parent voice he's put on, but it gets a huff of laughter from Eddie, and he counts it as a win.

"Alright, dad."

Steve grins, "I'll be dad if you be Daddy."

There's some sputtering from Eddie, and Steve gets the final dish done before Eddie says, "you can't just say that when I'm breaking up with you! That's- that's manipulative!"

He shrugs in response. "Seems fair. You're messing with my feelings; I'm messing with your feelings."

Those words freeze Eddie, and Steve can see him processing the words. Did Eddie really not consider that Steve had feelings involved? "I- that's... um."

He takes his time to unplug the sink, rinsing away the left-over bubbles before drying his hands and turning around. Eddie looks less wild and scared, now. More conflicted and uncertain. Which could be a good or bad thing. "Did you think you would just come over, break up with me, and I'd be, like, completely fine with it?"

"No," Eddie is quick to say, "Not completely fine but like, fine enough. It's- we've only been together for a month."

Steve frowns at that. He's not going to take offense to the 'only' added in there, because he's grown a lot over the last four years. He's mature now. "Sure, but beyond that, we've been friends since the world almost ended. I don't understand. I thought we were on the same page, here."

Eddie's fidgety again, in the bad way, pacing up and down the length of the kitchen. "What if this was a mistake?"

"What if it wasn't?"

That stops Eddie in his tracks, whipping around to look at Steve. "What if this goes bad? What if you meet someone else and they can give you everything I can't? What if-"

"Whoa, Eddie!" Steve shoves off the sink and gets to Eddie in two steps. His hands come up, hovering. He wants to touch, comfort, but... well, if he allowed to? "I- where's all this coming from?"

"Dustin and Suzie broke up!"

"What?"

"Dustin and Suzie broke up!! They were the forever couple! Perfect for each other! If they couldn't make it work, how am I supposed to be able to?"

Ah. The root of it. Eddie, afraid he's not good enough. Fuck it. Eddie can shove him off if he doesn't want Steve to touch him. He slides an arm around Eddie's waist, his other hand going up to caress his cheek before cupping it, a move he knows makes Eddie melt like cotton candy on the tongue. "Eddie, baby, we make it work by working on it. Not just giving up."

Eddie does melt into Steve, his own arms wrapping around Steve (probably against Eddie's will). "I- I don't know what I'm doing. I'm gonna fuck this up and you'll hate me, and everything will be ruined."

"Well, that's melodramatic."

Eddie glares at him even as he nuzzles into Steve's palm. "Rude."

"Baby, so long as you just talk to me, we'll be okay. Don't just show up and declare you're gonna break up with me. I think there's some steps we can take before it gets to that."

He watches Eddie swallow thickly before he nods his head. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."

"So, we okay? You aren't gonna break my heart?"

Eddie whimpers at that, throwing himself forward to shove his face into Steve's neck. Steve settles his hand on the back of Eddie's head, idly scratching it while his other arm tightens its hold. When Eddie speaks, it's muffled and directly into his skin. "No. No breaking hearts."

"Hmm, good," Steve says, content to hold his boyfriend in his kitchen for however long Eddie wants to be held.

He'll call and check in on Dustin a bit later, too.

#steddie #my fic #just needed to write something. anything!!#slice of life #steve is so used to eddies over reactions by now #thankfully he can talk him down #also it has come to my attention that the timeline of this is vague #it's supposed to be in 1990. it's 4 years after season 4

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stawbeemilk · 26 days

Text

⤷ insecurities they think are beautiful; part 2 – hq

✩ characters: various

✩ warnings: none

✩ a/n: i've been super busy with work but i'm finally back! i decided to write a part 2 to this bc i've been feeling pretty down lately. but yeah these are once again all things i personally struggle with or have struggled with in the past ◡̈

⭑ bare face

every time he gets the opportunity to see you without makeup, he swears he feels his heart beat twice as fast. of course he appreciates all the time and effort it takes for you to do your makeup, but he just thinks there's something so intimate about seeing you fresh out of the shower, your hair still damp and your face entirely bare. he doesn't miss the way you tend to avoid eye contact, how you shy away from him and subconsciously try to hide your face, and it makes his heart sink because how do you not realise how cute you are? his favourite part of the day is waking up next to you and getting to see your pretty face, imperfections and all— it never fails to make his heart flutter.

⤷ hinata, fukunaga, iwaizumi, tendou, suna, osamu, ennoshita

⭑ messy hair

he thinks your unruly hair is adorable. he knows that it can sometimes make you feel a little self-conscious, worrying that you don't look presentable with your hair a mess and finding yourself becoming frustrated with it because of how long you spend trying to style it in the morning, but he loves the way it sets you apart from everyone else. he might occasionally tease you about it, but it's always intended to be lighthearted and he never means anything by it. likes to ruffle your hair for his own amusement, making it even messier than it is already and enjoying the way you pout at him and try to smooth it down.

⤷ kuroo, tsukishima, matsukawa, yaku, akaashi, daishou, hoshiumi

⭑ beauty marks

he finds himself drawn to the pretty marks on your face, unable to take his eyes off you because you're so beautiful. whenever he goes to kiss you he always starts off by letting his lips trail over the points of your face where your marks reside, before softly pressing them against your own. he loves how unique they make you look, and he thinks they compliment your features perfectly. it makes him so sad when he sees you trying to cover them up with makeup, and the fact that you don't see them the way he does genuinely hurts him. he loves the idea that your beauty marks are where your lover kissed you the most during your past life, and he likes to kiss them in hopes that he'll be leaving those marks on you in your next life too.

⤷ sugawara, kai, oikawa, tanaka, konoha, kita, hirugami, asahi

⭑ cellulite

he loves to randomly grab your thighs at any chance he gets, enjoying the way the supple flesh feels under his palms. he thinks you look amazing in thigh high socks and cute little skirts, and whenever he sees the small amount of pudge at the top of your socks he'll definitely have a hard time keeping his hands to himself. to be honest he probably didn't even realise you had cellulite until you pointed it out to him, too preoccupied with how absolutely gorgeous you look to notice such a small detail. reminds you that it's completely normal and natural, and will reassure you that he thinks it's beautiful as many times as it takes until you start to believe him.

⤷ daichi, bokuto, yamamoto, kyotani, atsumu, nishinoya, meian

⭑ being thin

he honestly can't understand why you don't like your body, because in his eyes you're literally perfect. he knows that you tend to wear baggier clothing most of the time, the loose fabric swallowing up your figure and concealing the parts you dislike the most about yourself, but he would be lying if he said he didn't love those days when it's really hot outside and you opt for something that's a little more revealing than usual. he adores the way tighter clothes look on you, and the way they show off and accentuate your beautiful figure. he thinks you look so pretty and delicate, and the fact you're smaller than him makes him swoon.

⤷ kageyama, kenma, hanamaki, sakusa, yamaguchi, goshiki, kunimi

⤷ please do not repost my works on any other sites!

#★彡 elle’s writings .ᐟ #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #various x reader #haikyuu various x reader #iwaizumi x reader #suna x reader #osamu x reader #kuroo x reader #tsukishima x reader #akaashi x reader #sugawara x reader #oikawa x reader #bokuto x reader #atsumu x reader #kenma x reader #sakusa x reader

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sarahghetti · 2 months

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moving day; m.k.

pairing: marc spector x reader, steven grant x reader, jake lockley x reader

summary: how marc and steven learn to live together, how you come to live with them, and how jake finally lets himself live at all.

warnings: basically a BIG character study into our boys, fluff, hurt and comfort, angst, insecurity, mentions of marc's childhood, mentions of violence, suggestive content but nothing explicit.

word count: 9.9k

notes: this one got away from me and might also be the best thing I've ever written (i'm very proud of it 😭). part of the @MOONKNIGHT-EVENTS bingo! prompt: “'is that my shirt?'”

MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST | ALL MASTERLISTS

Even though it was (and still is) under Marc’s name, the flat was Steven’s first. Marc just helped set it up a little.

He rented out the first decent unit he found in the city and kept every piece of mismatched furniture the previous tenant left behind. The essentials had to be filled in himself—a bed, couch, and desk. A table to go with that rickety stool to eat meals on, a coat rack near the doorway. The only belongings of his own that Marc left behind were his old Egyptology texts, unceremoniously shoved into a corner of one of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that he hoped Steven would like.

(The fish was unexpected, though. Steven already had everything he would need, and it was Marc’s mistake to be scrolling through Facebook Marketplace on one of his last days before he handed it all over to his alter. A complete aquarium set was being offered for next to nothing; attached: a photo of the original poster’s late goldfish. Backlit from the tank light, blank faced and innocent.

He just couldn’t move on.)

But it was Steven who then took Marc’s—their—card and ran with it. Every free surface was prime real estate for another journal, another tomb. The used bookstores of London never stood a chance; it was almost impressive to watch him scour the shelves for the most esoteric topics and still come out with his arms full of what he was looking for. Marc would wake up in the body to find Steven’s collection a little bigger than before and ghost his fingers over the spines during those brief moments of respite before having to put on the suit.

It didn’t stop at the books. Of course, it didn’t. Steven’s always had an affinity for oddities. Marc wasn’t the least bit surprised to see the new paper lantern hung over the living room, or the pumpkin-esque footstool that was coloured as though it was plucked off the vine just a tad too early.

The pieces were quaint at best. If there were any psychological meaning as to why his alter gravitated towards dingy, threadbare upholstery instead of an IKEA like a normal person, it was beyond Marc.

However, he couldn’t not admit that it all kind of worked once put together; the clashing mix of materials and colours sort of became its own style when combined under the wooden rafters. Even when the books started overfilling the storage capacity and ended up in piles on the floor—it only added to the charm.

Marc was sure to erase every trace of his presence around the flat to avoid interfering with Steven’s life, but that didn’t stop the sense of longing to return to their—Steven’s—home during missions.

It was still a mess. A mess where everything has its place, yes, but there was no way that Steven could trip over several odds-and-ends in one day and claim that he was any degree of neat or tidy. Marc silently griped to himself about it all the time, but he’d sooner eat that dusty-ass rug Steven got for free before he saw anything get thrown away.

(It was like this back when they were kids, too. Marc’s childhood bedroom in Chicago—a room he never finds himself thinking about outside of his nightmares—was filled with joy. Medals from peewee baseball. Posters from his favourite movies, carefully smoothened out and taped to the walls by his dad. Drawings by him and Randall piled at the corner of his desk.

Right after the—the accident, all his stuff remained, immortalized in place. As if keeping everything the same would somehow also make Marc’s life the same as it was before, and Randall would come bursting through his door at any moment to ask him to come play. It was an overarching belief in their household. Even on her worst days, his mother’s anger never touched their home. Only him.

But then things began to change. His old action figures, collecting dust, would be strewn about the floor, waiting for someone to continue the battle. A collection of particularly smooth rocks began appearing on his windowsill despite the fact that he hadn’t gone outside in days. He’d wake up to grass-stained jeans and a scraped knee which Marc didn’t know how he got, for once.

Steven has always been like a crow, bringing all these little gifts for Marc to enjoy—these signs of life—even when he wasn’t aware of it.)

Coming back from Cairo feels like it should’ve been a bigger deal than it was, but after the dust settled on Harrow and Layla decided to return stateside alone—a decision that seemed a long time coming, if Steven’s being honest—there was nothing else to do other than to go home.

They have one blissful, uninterrupted day of sleep. Steven was the one to wake up sixteen hours later, mouth dry, and instinctively panicked at the thought of losing days again before realizing that Marc was also (and still is) out cold.

When he finally woke up a few hours later, half-asleep even in the reflection of the mirror, Steven couldn’t help himself from asking, “What now, Marc?”

Because Marc was the original. Marc was the one with a real life and legal status. He might never want to walk the streets of Chicago again, but that didn’t change the fact that he only came overseas to run away. Everything around them was a temporary measure.

Marc straightens. “I won’t bother you too much, I promise.”

“You still have your own life,” Steven reminds him.

“Still—”

“Oh, don’t start—”

At least they agreed on one thing: they were going to stay in London.

Marc cleans out his storage unit, bringing home an array of bins and duffel bags and that shitty fold-up cot that he still refuses to toss. Steven immediately got him his own dresser when Marc tried to insist that he ‘didn’t have much’; that was a blaring warning that he was about to do something stupid and sacrificial, and Steven had to put his foot down before a nearby charity got a donation of some well-loved button-downs.

It’s almost funny, how predicable Marc was when unpacking. Steven watched as he pushed all their new furniture against the walls then methodically unpacked bin by bin, stacking the empties inside one another like Russian dolls. Like Steven, everything he owned had a place, even after months spent stored away. Marc was just a lot more neat about it.

“Move my stuff if you want,” Steven pipes up. Marc doesn’t react, only continuing to store his notebooks on top of a filing cabinet. “Really, I’ve already read everything on that middle shelf there—we can put them somewhere else.”

Marc glances around the bookshelves. “Aren’t these alphabetized?”

“Well, mostly, but give me an hour or two and I’ll free up some space.”

It’s like a puzzle, and Steven’s always liked puzzles. Marc’s gone quiet in their head, out of excuses as to why he can just shove all his belongings out-of-sight so that Steven wouldn’t have to go through the effort. Now, if he would just believe Steven, then he’d know that reorganizing his books was hardly any effort at all.

And even if it was—he’s been meaning to do this for a while. An alphabetized collection is great until he gets a new book, because then everything has to be shifted over, and—well. There’s a reason why there were so many books languishing on the floor.

They pass off the body like that for the rest of the day, moving things around in the flat in order to accommodate Marc. It looks no less hectic in the end, despite Marc’s best efforts to tidy up a little, but it also doesn’t look any worse, which Steven sees as a win.

There are still so many things they need to talk about. Scheduling, routines, the fact that they’re currently both out of a job—either one would be lying if they said that this new life didn’t make them a bit nervous. But when Marc finally flops down onto their bed, a movement as easy as breathing, the pieces begin to settle into place. The last of his bins have been put away. His jacket hangs beside Steven’s as if it’s always been there.

In the headspace, Steven beams. Whatever comes, however hard—they’ll face it together.

Somehow, Steven wakes up one day and feels great.

There are a few minutes more until his alarm goes off, but he turns it off early. The usual grogginess that accompanies him this early is completely absent, and he rolls up to a seated position without a single mental or physical protest. He feels so good, in fact, that he even considers skipping his morning cup of tea.

(He doesn’t, of course. They quickly figured out—well, Steven did, Marc already knew—that they differed in their caffeinated beverages of choice. Steven, a strong cup of Yorkshire Gold with a healthy splash of milk and a teaspoon or two of sugar. Marc, a simple drip coffee, black, made from the most generic-looking brand of medium roast beans.

Not to say that he wishes to be separate from Marc or anything of the sort, but Steven imagines his feelings to be like that of a sibling who was always dressed in matching clothes as his brother. Marc might’ve graced Steven with an interest in Egyptology from his mercenary work and Gus from his—their?—brother’s drawing a lifetime ago, but as far as they know, his preference for tea was just a quirk.

Steven likes having something just for him.)

Marc had the body last night—he must’ve gone to bed early. Must’ve drank camomile tea and avoided blue light the entire time he was fronting because Steven could run a marathon like this and still go into work afterwards. He’s about to ask Marc for his secret when he spots an unfamiliar rumple of fabric on the pillow where he laid his head.

“What’s this now?” Steven murmurs, gathering the soft material in his hands. A woman’s sweater, obviously, with its feminine cut and style and faintly sweet scent that short-circuits his brain for a moment.

It doesn’t take a genius to realize how it got inside their flat, what with how there’s a whole other person living in his head, and it would explain the strange marks he found on his neck the other day—

Heat blooms in his face and Steven nearly drops the sweater back onto the pillow in embarrassment. Distantly, he knows that he should’ve seen this coming. Marc is Marc; Steven’s witnessed the quiet confidence the man extrudes from inside their headspace and the resulting, ah, attention it attracts.

In the corner of his eye, his reflection stills. Steven doesn’t even bother turning around—just holds up the offending sweater and asks, “Fun night?”

Marc, strangely, is quiet. It’s not like he’s one to talk about his romantic pursuits, but Steven at least expected a dry comment or two. He shakes the sweater like a bag of treats until Marc scowls. “Stop that.”

“Not judging,” Steven says, “but don’t suppose you got a number? Should I make a run to the donation bin for you?”

“No.” There’s an edge to Marc’s voice, and he purses his lips when he realizes that he responded a little too fast; Steven’s questioning look is pointedly ignored. “Just leave it on my desk for now.”

“Is she coming back or is this just like a—” Steven makes an ambiguous gesture, full of innuendo “—thing for you?”

“What? No—what?”

“Okay, okay,” Steven finally lets up because the groove between his alter’s eyebrows has become something fierce. He slips out of bed to place the sweater on Marc’s desk as requested, then throws one more comment over his shoulder for good measure, “Bring her home for dinner one day, would you?”

“Steven!”

“Is that my shirt?” You move towards the armchair, a smile tugging at your lips as you pick up the folded garment. It’s been freshly laundered. Marc wouldn’t burden you if he could help it.

“Mhm.” He doesn’t stir from his seat on the couch, tracking your movements with fondness in his eyes. You’ve been to their place plenty over the past few months and quietly, he relishes in the domesticity.

They’re simple things, like knowing your preferred spoon in their drawer or how you like your toast; the ease in which you curl into the cushions next to him—your spot, he can’t help but note—draws a contented little sigh from him.

“You know, if you want me to do your laundry, you can just ask.”

He would. Steven would prod endlessly as he does with all things related to you, but Marc’s managed to get this far with vague explanations and stubborn hand-waving. He’d endure the nosiness if it were for you.

“Although,” he continues, giving you a once-over. His eyebrow quirks at the familiar cotton long-sleeve enveloping your torso. “I’m not even sure you have laundry anymore.”

“Well, maybe if your clothes weren’t so comfortable, I’d stop stealing them,” you tease.

(His clothes aren’t boring, Steven, just—utilitarian. Between Khonshu and his mercenary work, Marc needed plain, flexible pieces; ones that made him blend in anywhere and ready for anything. Nothing that he could get too attached too, either. Everything he wore was at risk of getting ruined by grime and/or blood and/or tearing from various weapons. Of course, he doesn’t own anything ‘nice.’

Not like Steven. Not with his hodgepodge closet filled with colours and patterns, everything just a tad too large on their frame. Marc groans about it every time he takes over in the middle of the day—just a size down, just one. But the issue is that Steven likes it like that, likes the comfort and roominess he finds in his thrifted pieces, and so Marc dropped it as a serious topic, even though he still doesn’t quite get it.)

“This why you had to wear my jacket the other day?”

Steven’s sudden appearances don’t phase Marc anymore, even when you’re around. He just gives him a slight nod without missing a beat. “At this rate, I won’t have any clothes left for you to take.”

“Guess I’ll just have to borrow something from Steven then, hm?”

Before Marc can even begin to think about what to say to that— “I think my white jumper would suit her really well.”

He shoots a glare into a nearby mirror and just barely catches a glimpse of Steven’s grin in the reflection. Part of him wants to tell Steven to stop hitting on his girlfriend, but hesitates when you look at him expectantly, still waiting for his response.

He’s not ashamed of Steven, far from it. Still, a sliver of self-consciousness worms its way into his chest at the thought of talking to him in front of you. He’s done it before, but—he knows how it can look.

You’re more perceptive than he’d like. Marc sees the moment when it clicks in your head. “Is he here right now?”

Excitement bleeds into your voice. You’ve been wanting to meet Steven for a while. Marc showing up to a date with tousled curls and a colourfully-printed button-up instead of his usual streamlined style, a slew of scribbled papers piled onto the armchair you like to lounge on, a sticky note left on one of your books (‘oooh good choice! x’)—all these things that sent panic strumming through his veins were only ever endearing to you, for some reason. It’s lessened his worry by orders of magnitude.

Still. Letting you meet Steven is one step closer to talking about his childhood. His mom. His brother. He’s given you a high- high-level view of things (“It wasn’t great.”), but the thought of going any further makes his throat tighten. There’s a whole failed marriage that proves his inability to be vulnerable.

So, it must truly be a bout of madness that makes him say, “The white one.”

“What?”

“The white sweater,” Marc continues, because he’s already thrown himself off the bridge—there’s no use trying to backtrack now. “He says you’d look good in his white sweater.”

Your face slowly morphs into an expression of pure joy; you do nothing short of jump off the couch to bolt to their bedroom. Steven chatters excitedly in his ear, only pausing momentarily when you slip off Marc’s shirt.

“Oh! Um! She’s—she’s very—wow—" Marc feels the strangest urge to punch himself in the face again—

—And then you reappear into their field of view, a dream in fine knit. Steven’s sweater be damned, your beaming smile is more than enough to render them both speechless.

“How do I look?”

The sweater isn’t his, but it stirs the same syrupy feelings in Marc anyway. You’ve spoken about it before—and him privately with Steven—where Steven stands in your relationship with Marc. All he’s ever let himself hope for was for you and Steven to be cordial, maybe even friends. Of course, he’d have to actually let you guys speak to each other for any of that to be possible, but you two seem to have grown comfortable with each other regardless.

Now, he sees you in Steven’s clothes and his thoughts run rampant. Ours. He tests out the word and his heart skips a beat. It’s always been a possibility; one you all were open to if it ever happened. But he could never ask either of you to try to love each other on his behalf.

God, that word does something stupid to his brain—Steven’s rattling off compliments and other things of his you should try on and invites to go thrifting—and Marc just sits there, dumbfounded by his own hypothetical scenario. “Come on, Marc, say something!”

You move to stand in front of him, and his thighs part automatically to have you close. It takes your hand on his cheek, gentle as you stroke your thumb over his skin, to pull him back to reality. “You okay?”

“You look incredible.” His voice dips in the way he knowsmakes your stomach swoop, and is promptly rewarded with your flustered smile. The moment doesn’t last—not with Steven cooing in his ear over you.

A pang of possessiveness runs through Marc. That smile was for him, thank you very much.

His mouth works faster than his brain. “Steven has something to tell you.”

You light up. “Really?”

“Wants to tell you himself, actually.”

Steven splutters, nerves coming on in full force. Marc bites his tongue to keep a straight face. “Well, now, hang on a minute—”

Steven’s introduction was always going to be a well-thought-out but casual event, as to not make a circus out of it. It was just who they were, after all. They wouldn’t switch in front of you—Steven would change into his wardrobe and ‘do’ his hair beforehand; Marc worried it might be too much for you to see him but hear Steven. He would’ve prepped you both plenty in the preceding days, regardless of how necessary it was.

It definitely would not be the stunt he’s pulling right now.

Your eyes narrow at the placid look on his face, too casual to not be suspicious, but meeting Steven must outweigh the want to catch Marc in the act of whatever he’s planning because you don’t call him out, hands frozen on his face. It’s cute, watching you struggle between overt enthusiasm and not wanting to pressure them into anything.

Marc would even enjoy it a little longer if it weren’t for the confused and alarmed word vomit spilling out in his head.

“Stop messing about—I mean, it’s not—not odd, yeah? For me to front a little? Just a little chat, can’t be all that bad. Please be messing with me, but I can do it, s’not a big deal. Yeah, yeah, it’s whatever—oh, boy."

Taking pity on the poor guy, Marc quiets him with a steady glance into the mirror. “You sure, buddy?”

Slightly shrill but no less serious, “Are you sure, Marc?”

And then Marc’s fun little charade teeters on its head—is he ready for this? You and Steven wouldn’t hold it against him if he pulled the plug on it all right now, but this is the closest he’s ever gotten. The band-aid has to come off, lest he lets this fester for the length of another relationship.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his flare of panic comforted by the patience in your eyes. More confidently this time, “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Steven’s smile is clear in his voice. It mirrors your own.

“About time, innit?”

Moving into their flat isn’t a decision you make all at once, but rather a slow, steady conclusion that you’ve been unintentionally working towards ever since you first visited.

The clothes were just the start. It’s not like you didn’t have perfectly good clothes before you met Marc, but his were just better somehow. Soft and simple, all in that neutral colour scheme he seemed to gravitate towards. The warm, woodsy scent of his aftershave clings to the fabric, making you want to bury your nose into the garments and go right back to the source—

You just couldn’t help yourself from borrowing something whenever you came over.

(That pleased, half-lidded gaze you receive each time you slip on his shirt, or his heated touch whenever he drapes his jacket over your shoulders during chilly morning afters—well. Those are just a bonus.)

So, maybe you left a shirt or two behind in the process. And maybe you realized that you should probably have a pair of sweatpants there as well, and a good book to read during quiet nights in. Once, you forgot your toothbrush only for Marc to pull out an extra from their medicine cabinet; now you have a toothbrush in their bathroom.

After you finally met Steven and his adorable, eclectic self—all bets were off. You bond while scouring vintage shops and finding new pieces for the flat. A little basket of throw blankets gets added to the living room (always neatly sorted by Marc, without fail). Candles—tall and stout, festive and fruity and spiced—start to litter the shelves. A particularly good haul at a used bookstore, a bit heavy for you to carry home, is instead slotted amongst their collection; the contemporary fonts and colourful covers are a stark contrast against the yellowing older texts, and you love it.

Your fingerprints are all over the place by the time Marc officially empties some space in his dresser for you, uncharacteristically avoiding your eyes as he speaks, “Just in case you wanted to keep some more stuff here.”

You were already using their closets before then (in both the storing-your-clothes sense and the stealing-their-clothes sense); you’ve practically taken over one of his drawers. But to give you one outright, to admit that he’s carved out some space just for you instead of silently accommodating your things as he always has—

“Thank you, Marc,” you whisper, brimming with emotion that you wonder if you’ll ever be able to fully express. He’ll flit about and clean and care for you because words will never capture the depth of his feelings. You see this for what it is, like all the gestures that have come before: a declaration.

“Thank you,” you repeat, and press a soft kiss onto the corner of his mouth. “I love you, too.”

It’s not much long after when Steven comes home from work grinning like a madman, one hand held behind his back. He beelines towards you, not even bothering to put his bag down.

“Hey, you.” You peck his lips and feel his smile stretch impossibly wider. “What’s got you all riled up?”

The words come out in a rush. “Havesomethingforyou.”

“Oh?”

“Close your eyes.” You can’t help but laugh a little as you follow the direction; Steven’s excitement is utterly infectious. “Okay, now hold out your hand.”

“If you give me a bug, I swear to God—”

“I would never.” His seriousness is a bit too heavy-handed, and you get a feeling you’re going to need to be on guard for a while.

You’re distracted, however, by the brush of his skin as he places something small and rigid into your palm. The metal is warm from being clasped inside his hand, but the shape is so familiar that you recognize what it is immediately.

“You can open—”

You’re already looking down—at the silver key to the flat nestled in your hand. Lonesome without the Koala plushie on Steven’s keyring, without the little charm you got for Marc’s—no, it’s meant to be your copy.

“We were thinking, right,” he starts before your heart has the opportunity to beat right out your chest, “Marc and I—well, you’re here with us most of the time. You should have your own key. Beats having to come grab mine from the museum, right?”

You let out a choked little laugh, too caught up to remind him that the only reason why you went to the museum was because else he would’ve dropped everything to deliver the keys himself. Spent his entire break and then some to commute back home so that you wouldn’t have to wait for his shift to be over, even though you could’ve amused yourself just fine outside until then.

“Yeah,” is all you manage to get out before stepping forward, burying your face in his chest as you wrap your arms around his torso. Steven’s love is unbridled; he holds you close, going on about how glad he is—how glad they both are—to have you, how he was practically bouncing off the walls at the locksmith, waiting for the key to be cut.

They’ve been your home for so long now that while the new addition onto your keyring makes you giddy and smile stupidly whenever you get to use it, it also just feels right. You go grocery shopping with Marc and watch him scrutinize apples like they personally offended him. Steven tangles your legs together as you wind down in the evenings, and always always smiles whenever he catches you looking at him. You rank the restaurants around the neighbourhood and line your favourite mugs beside each other on the shelf; you sit in the comforting quiet of the flat and wonder how you got so lucky.

When it’s eventually time to renew your lease, there’s no decision to be made. You’re relieved from dinner prep to write the email to your landlord on their couch. It’s sent off with no fanfare and quickly forgotten about when Marc’s voice rings out, asking what you want to eat.

“Anything,” you say, the ghost of a smile on your lips; he hates it when you say that. Marc grumbles a little, but you mean it this time. You have them and they have you. Curled up in one of Steven’s sweaters, Marc’s playlist on low in the background—anything is just fine by you.

You are the bane of Jake’s existence.

First, you meet Marc. Terrible. Khonshu is riding his ass about a mission in Liverpool—they’ve now been geolocked to stay under the radar—and Marc plans a date. An actual, Godforsaken date with a set time, throwing a wrench into their plans because Steven’s been scheduled to work on the surrounding days as well. How is he supposed to sneak off to the other side of the country now?

Even worse, you stick around. There are more dates between the two of you. For how much he hates texting, Marc responds promptly whenever you send him something. He frets over what to wear before picking you up. You stay over at the flat and he holds you in his sleep like he’s afraid you’ll disappear; Jake has been unluckily enough to wake up in the middle of the night, planning to slip away, only to be hit with the scent of your shampoo in his nose.

Then—and then—Marc has the bright idea to introduce you to Steven. The hope that this is just a casual, temporary thing is dashed away the second Jake sees that lovesick expression on the idiota. It’s more overt than Marc’s, but still the same blaring warning sign that Jake’s life is only about to get harder from here.

Keeping a low profile has become incredibly difficult since the others decided to be normal. Marc never questioned whenever Jake took over in a tight spot, too hyped up on adrenaline and too stubborn about their condition to follow up on his blackouts after the fight was done. Steven was clueless about everything for those first few months, then just blamed his blackouts on Marc.

But now? They talk to each other. They have a year-long calendar on the fridge with a magnetic pen holder to keep track of their schedules, colour-coded blue (for Marc) and green (for Steven). They’ve gotten distracted and added another consciousness for Jake to deceive in order to do his thing. He can’t take the body for more than a few hours, and certainly not by force, without drawing suspicion.

Jake’s happy for them. Really, he is. They’ve finally begun to move on from the trauma of their childhood into something that resembles a normal life. Steven’s gotten rehired at the museum as a tour guide. Marc’s taken up security consulting. And despite their respective anxiousness and ten-foot-walls, you bring them peace.

But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s Khonshu’s avatar now. That a lifetime ago, when the work began to wear down on Marc in all the worst ways, Jake was the one who cut a deal with the god for his release. All he had to do was take his place.

(Foresight might not be his strong suit, but he refuses to take responsibility for what happened next. He could never have imagined all the puppetry that’d occur with Layla in the mix, or that they’d actually divorce one of these days and end up with someone new.

Except this time, you know about their system and not about Khonshu. He wonders how well you’d take that whole mess.)

In short—Marc and Steven still need him. He can’t just up and disappear into the recesses of their mind; he has a job to do.

So, when Steven presses that fucking key into your hand, Jake’s so frustrated he could scream. Unfettered access to the flat—as if you weren’t there enough already. As if he weren’t already jumping through every hoop imaginable, just to keep his existence a secret. He would’ve made them drop the copy down the nearest gutter on the way home if he didn’t know that they would simply go right back to the locksmith and ask for another.

Steven watches as you slip it onto your keychain; that all-encompassing, vibrant burst of joy in their chest be damned—you are the worst thing to ever happen to Jake, even if you might be the best thing to ever happen to them.

Steven had the flat, Marc had his storage unit, and Jake?

Jake has his car.

Multiple, actually, but the limousine is the legal one (thanks for your identity, Marc) and serves as his homebase. Supplies are stashed in compartments around the cabin—weapons, clothes, cash—and with its heavily tinted windows, he can do anything he wants inside and passersby would be none the wiser. When Khonshu’s booming voice echoes around his brain about some new target, at least Jake can recline into a soft leather seat.

The only issue is that he can’t keep everything there. No, the parking garage is a fair distance away from the flat and sometimes, he doesn’t have the opportunity to make the trip before setting off. This means that he has to keep a change of clothes in the flat to avoid accidentally ruining some of Steven’s or Marc’s. He’d never actually wear anything of Steven’s to begin with (at least, not on a mission), but Marc’s wardrobe is minimal by choice—if something went missing or got a new, unexplained hole in it, he’d notice.

That’s why Jake is currently slinking through their living room, ready to change back into Steven’s pajamas before hiding his clothes on the loft above their bed. Nothing up there but empty bins and poster tubes. Marc regularly dusts the area during his monthly deep cleans, so Jake doesn’t even have to worry about leaving behind any tracks.

It was an easy job tonight, done in little less than an hour and not a speck on Jake to show for it. He could take a shower if he wanted—you’re staying over at a friend’s place right now, as noted in red on the calendar. But he shouldn’t keep the body for longer than necessary; they still need sleep, after all.

He slips off his flat cap, groaning as he runs a hand through his hair. God, they’re getting old. Even this stolen hour will be felt by whoever wakes up in the morning, slightly slower and groggier than usual.

(Jake doesn’t think about the future—has never needed to. The only future that exists to him is the next minute, and the minute after that, and what he has to do to ensure the body makes it there. Him and Marc were similar in that aspect for a long, long time.

That calendar on the fridge, while helpful to his vigilantism, stirs something uncomfortable in his gut. He’s seen them flip through the months to mark down birthdays and reservations. Vacations, work events—Marc’s going on a completely normal, non-violent work trip, which Jake still can’t quite wrap his head around—and it’s all so far ahead.

How can they be so sure that nothing will change between now and then? That their life won’t blow up again, and force them on the run? Everything they add is just another handful of salt to be pressed into the wound when it all goes to hell. But they still write things on that stupid calendar. Confident, excited even, about the plans they think will come to pass.

How do they know?)

There’s a rustling in the bedroom.

Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck—

“Marc?”

You shift a little under the covers, trying to peer at him through the darkness. Jake’s never been more grateful for Marc’s sensible taste in fashion; with only a silhouette to go by, of course you’d mistake him for Marc—straight-cut jeans, a collared jacket. His flat cap would tip you off though, and he presses it into his chest to hide it from your line of sight. Marc would never wear a flat cap.

He forces a casual tone. “Hm?”

A small sigh of relief escapes you as your head falls back onto the pillow. Still watching him, though, you mumble, “Bad dream?”

You know about Marc’s time in the military and as a mercenary. Not everything, obviously, but enough. Jake nods, and can imagine the worried purse of your lips in the shadows. In the best impression he can manage, his accent turns Chicagoan. “Just had to take a walk.”

If he were really Marc, he’d already be in bed by now, letting you brush curls away from his face and press a kiss against the furrow of his brow. If he were really Marc, he’d ask you why you were back here instead of with your friends as expected, and you’d talk things out until dozing off in a tangle of limbs, comforted by each other’s presence.

But Jake’s not Marc. He brushes off the subtle tightening of his chest as just a lingering remnant from his alters. The body knows you, even if Jake doesn’t. It doesn’t mean anything to him.

You whine, a sleepy and pitiful but inviting noise from the back of your throat as he continues to stand in the living room. Alarm bells go off in his head; he has to placate you before you get up and try to drag him over yourself.

“Just need to change,” he says, soft and low, warmth injected into every word. Nausea courses through him, to his own confusion, as he continues to play Marc. This should be easier—he’s been hiding for as long as he can remember. This is probably the tamest thing he’s done to keep his cover. “Go back to sleep, I’ll be there in a second, okay?”

He takes two steps towards the kitchen then stops, feigning—feigning something, fuck if he knows—waiting for your breathing to level out again. Silence falls over the flat, but Jake’s mouth runs dry.

There’s no way you don’t bring this up to them in the morning, and there’s no way they won’t immediately suspect another alter. They know he exists, have seen the aftermath of when he fronts. It’s only his secrecy that has kept them off his back for this long, and it will all come crashing down in a few hours.

For better or for worse, he’ll have to meet the others soon.

Marc will never tire of waking up beside you. Even though there’s a heaviness weighing him down, body aching for just a few more minutes, he pushes through because you’re already awake. With one hand on his chest, the other tracing over his jaw—the small, lazy smile on your face has already made his day.

You turned over while he was asleep, but his arm is still slung over your waist; he pulls you closer to press a kiss onto your forehead. Lips moving against your skin, “Morning, baby.”

“Morning,” you murmur. “Feel better?”

Mind hazy from sleep, Marc doesn’t question the odd wording. He just let’s himself settle into the lingering fatigue, leaning into your touch as his eyes flutter shut again. “M’tired. Stay with me a little longer?”

Concern laces your tone. “Was the dream that bad?”

That breaks through to him. He peers at you curiously, more alert than before. “What do you mean?”

You blink, confused. “Your nightmare last night. You left to take a walk?”

Marc sits up, furrowing his brow. Reality seeps in, and he checks the date on his phone. Aren’t you supposed to be—? “I thought you were staying over at a friend’s place.”

“I was going to, but she had a family emergency—I came back here around three. Don’t worry, they walked me home,” you explain with a soft pat of your hand at the end. That—that is one mystery solved, and he is glad to hear that you weren’t walking alone at night, but his shoulders remain taut with tension. His mind gets caught on a detail.

“Three?” He’s a light sleeper, he would’ve woken up when you came into bed. But—your words replay in his mind. He wasn’t here when that happened, was he? “I went on a walk?”

His stress begins to spill over to you, and you prop yourself up on an elbow, fiddling at the blankets. “Um, yeah. We spoke a little when you came back—I was already in bed, remember?”

A pit opens up in his stomach, and the words die in this throat. Marc does not, in fact, remember. He apparently went outside in the middle of the night, long enough for you to come home and settle in without him, then had a whole conversation upon return—and none of it is familiar to him. Not even a hint of déjà vu.

He throws off the covers, on his feet in seconds despite your protests. All hisblackouts, the ones he thought were finished after traversing the Duat—

That third sarcophagus—

Is this what it was like for Steven? To wake up, not knowing what your body has done, where it’s been—if it’s hurt someone?

Marc might actually puke if he thinks about it for too long. And God, you live with them now: him, Steven, and what Marc wishes was a complete unknown. But the truth is—they aren’t an unknown. No, Marc is fully aware of what this alter is capable of.

“Oh, bugger, what’s going on?” Steven must feel his panic, reflects it in kind. He must be expecting bloodshed with how fast their heart is racing.

Marc says nothing and flings open the tri-mirror on the wall, bracing himself with both hands on the sink below. He sees himself in the center, a bull primed to fight. Steven’s to the left, so fearful he’s nearly frozen still. And to the right—

To the right—

So. Jake hasn’t really prepared for this situation, to be honest.

He’ll face anything head-on to keep the body safe, but imagining himself as the threat? Never crossed his mind. There’s anger in their blood, and Marc’s liable to cracking the porcelain with his grip. If looks could kill, Jake would be dead ten times over.

The few times he wondered what it would be like to actually meet Marc and Steven, the worst that could happen was that they disliked him. Unfortunate, but he’d live. He didn’t need their approval to do his job.

But through the blood rushing in their ears, he can hear you; still in bed, barely breathing as you watch everything unfold. And that’s when he remembers—

You are the bane of his existence.

Because Marc and Steven aren’t just thinking about their own self-preservation. No, now they have you to protect, and the lengths that they would go to do that, well—Jake begrudgingly has to admit that they might rival some of his own efforts for them.

He’d let them stare at themselves forever in the mirror if it weren’t for that fact. They would never give up on trying to talk to him. Steven was clever enough with the sand and tape and ankle restraint; he doesn’t want to think about what sort of traps they’d create with Marc in the mix. Jake would probably still evade them all, but they’d drive themselves crazy in their attempts.

They’ve really left him no choice. For the first time, he lets himself be seen.

You’ve watched Marc and Steven talk to each other plenty of times. It’s really no big deal. They’re just normal conversations where you can only hear one side, and usually taken through the nearest reflective surface.

But this? This is an interrogation. Marc slackens his jaw for just a moment before everything in him tenses again. He speaks through clenched teeth, as if barely controlling the severity of his thoughts—you can’t help but brace yourself for impact. “Who are you?”

The pause as he waits for the other alter, whoever they are, to respond is maddening. It wasn’t quite fear that gripped you when you realized that it wasn’t Marc last night—to be honest, you don’t know what to feel—but the scene in front of you has you reevaluating your initial reaction.

That initial reaction being, well—the same thing you felt when you Marc told you about Steven: curiosity. You wanted to meet Steven. Almost begged for the chance near the end. Whoever this is—

“Jake.”

The name grates itself out of Marc’s throat, and you cling to the information like a life raft.

“Jake.” You can’t help but test it out on your tongue, squinting a little as you look at your boyfriend and try to see yourself calling him that. Marc looks towards you. There’s a storm of emotions in his eyes, but there’s no time to decipher any of them—a moment later, he turns back towards the mirror with a scowl.

“Why should I believe you?” The lines on his face deepen; Marc grits his teeth so hard you yearn to hold him, but you’re frozen to the spot.

“I don’t know that. After you—” his eyes dart between you and his reflection so fast, you might’ve imagined it “—after what you’ve done?”

A wave of dread washes over you.

He’s not talking about last night.

No, Marc—Marc has interacted with Jake before, and whatever happened must’ve crossed a line. Must’ve crossed several lines because of how he’s acting right now, and you want to bury yourself under the covers, still fisted tightly in your hands.

He laughs bitterly. The sound rakes through your ears. “You call that protecting us?”

Your blood runs cold. With no real context and spiked with adrenaline, your mind runs rampant with the possibilities, connects all the worst dots.

There’s no way—

“Lay a hand on her and I swear—”

You want to run and you want to hide and you want their arms around you, assuring you of—of anything. You need to leave this building and also never go outside again, because your head begins to pound with each thought that passes through.

You can still see the worry flare in Marc’s eyes when you accidentally grabbed the handle of a hot pan, the dutiful and tender way he held your hand under the tap for no less than fifteen minutes—

You can still hear Steven’s babbling when your new shoes rubbed your ankles red and raw while on a walk, distracting you from the pain the best he could until you got back home—

You are just so acutely aware of their love—that Marc and Steven would never dare hurt you. It’s impossible to reconcile your memories of them with the picture that’s being painted of Jake right now.

No. You can’t believe it.

You’re not even hearing their conversation anymore, your heartbeat is too loud. Breathing returns to you in a rush—you never even realized you stopped—and your vision swims with light-headedness.

None of it makes sense.

It—it can’t—

The mattress dips beside you, but you barely feel it. Someone’s cupping your cheeks, grounding you back into the flat, your home, and you know these hands. You know this voice, soothing in your ear, even as you shut your eyes.

They say that they’re sorry. They say that you’ll be okay.

They call you princesa.

It feels strange walking around the flat, knowing that he’s welcome there now.

Jake’s seen every nook and cranny through Marc and Steven, but to actually be able to explore the place himself—he’s like a kid in a toy store. He can’t help but run his fingers over everything. The spines on the bookshelves, the mismatched dishware in the cabinets. That velvet throw pillow, which you are so fond of playing with during movies—yeah, he gets it.

He’s not going to be talking to you for a while, though. After his rocky first meeting with Marc and Steven, which also coincides with the absolute worst possible first meeting with you—

It’s best to steer clear for a while.

Jake let the other two do the explaining. He watched silently as Marc told you about his past—told you about why he was discharged from the Marines and the scenes he’d wake up to after Jake had fronted—hands shaking as they held onto yours. He watched as Steven took over when it got to be too much, adding in the finer details and clarifications, steadier but no less genuine than Marc. Their arms were gentle as Steven held you in their lap, patient as you stumbled through how you felt.

“Marc seemed so mad at Jake.” You clutched at Steven’s shirt, sniffling into his neck. “I didn’t know what was happening, I—I was scared.”

No. Jake furiously shakes his head as if it would jostle the memory out of his brain. Just thinking about it threatens to unravel him, and he has to keep it together. He’s on thin ice as is.

You had been the one to temper their emotions—the sight of you panicking on their bed grinding all other issues to a halt. The conversation couldn’t continue until you were okay, and this time, Steven kept you in the loop.

Steven is wary. Steven needles him about what he’s been doing all this time, asks him what he’s going to do now with short little mhms. Steven is also the one to buy a new set of pens (because black is already used for non-individual specific events) and designates him as orange.

Marc doesn’t trust Jake at all and admits it outright. It’s—it stings more than he thought it would, but he understands. He always knew that Marc would take a while to come around, especially with you to consider—

Jake doesn’t know why he worries so much about your opinion. Protecting you is an extension of protecting the body, but he never used to care about what Marc or Steven had to say. He hates the caution in your voice when you talk about him and can’t help but appreciate you trying anyways.

He pinches himself. You’re not his to think about, period.

Acknowledging his existence also, sort of, comes with accepting it. Steven somehow finds the space for another dresser in their already cramped bedroom. Jake doesn’t even have enough possessions in general to fill that thing—not counting all the weapons and ammo that Marc would definitely have their head for if he brought them into the flat.

It’s an olive branch on both sides, though. They’re committing to having him around. He’s committing to being around, instead of lurking in the background of their lives.

His clothes only fill up the first drawer but—it’s nice. Jake stares at the thing a lot more than a used, scratched-up piece of furniture probably warrants. He can barely admit it to himself but this, all of it—going outside during the day, eating a freshly-cooked meal, even just relaxing in bed without immediately trying to go to sleep in order to Protect the Body—it really is just nice.

(Since when did he describe anything as nice?)

Then—your keys turn in the door.

Jake hits the eject button so fast, Steven’s probably going to get whiplash.

“Nice reflexes,” he grumbles as you enter the flat. It was funny the first few dozen times. Now? That twat’s just being a coward.

“I’m home!” You call out as Steven rounds the corner to greet you, tote bag nearly bulging in your hand. He pecks your lips as he helps you out of your jacket, then hangs it up beside the three others on the rack. “There was a little creators’ market in the park—you should’ve seen it!”

“Think I’m seeing it now,” he chuckles, moving to help you with your tote. You slink past him at the last second, grinning. “Come on, love, show us what you got!”

“They’re gifts! Just hang on.” You place the bag on the dining table and enraptured, he pulls up a stool. His head rests on his chin as he waits for you to unpack. “Okay, first, for Marc—”

You reach your hand inside and reveal a pair of black leather gloves. Not driving gloves like Jake’s—there’re far less embellishments all around. But they’re warm and flexible, perfect for colder weather. Inside, the lining is made with a material so soft that when trying one on, Steven can’t help but laugh a little in disbelief.

“Treading on my territory, pendejo?”

Marc snipes back, “Like you own a monopoly on leather gloves.”

Steven lets Marc pull to the front. An easy smile spreads on his face as he flexes his hand, testing his movement. “Thanks, baby. I really like them.”

He takes your chin into his gloved hand to thank you properly, slotting his lips against yours with no shortage of appreciation. His grip is an anchor, holding you in place as he kisses you, deep and languid. Like you have all the time in the world despite the heat flickering across his skin. When Marc gets like this, it’s not long before you start squirming under him, and your hands paw at his neck for something more.

That’s his cue to finally pull away, smirking as he traces your bottom lip with his thumb. Whether it’s the leather or him or both, he can see the effect on you, the dazed look you give him when you bat your eyes open.

Let Jake try and beat that.

“Oi! Share!”

Marc sighs. Drops his forehead to yours and reluctantly doesn’t continue any further. “Steven wants his gift now.”

“Oh,” you laugh a little, realizing the situation you’ve put yourself in. “Maybe I should’ve done Steven’s first.”

Marc steals one more kiss before retreating again, and Steven is back, clearly eager for many different reasons now. After putting Marc’s new gloves to the side, you don’t make him wait a second longer; you pull out a stunning new button-up, deep navy with a pattern of large teal palm leaves and hints of salmon accents all over.

All traces of joy disappear from Marc’s voice. “Oh, my fucking God.”

“She’s an enabler. I can’t believe it.”

Steven gapes, amazed. “How did you—”

“I had to go digging,” you admit, gesturing widely. “There were so many racks, we need to go back! I only had my one bag!”

“There’s no way people actually buy this stuff.”

“Ahh, well, it’s not that bad—"

“Are you kidding me?”

Ignoring the fashion police in his head, Steven immediately switches shirts and tosses the old one somewhere behind him. Based on Marc’s grunt, he missed the couch, but also can hardly find himself to care.

He doesn’t even bother doing up the buttons, because he knows where you’ll put your hands when he descends upon your face. Kiss after kiss on your cheeks, forehead, and nose, and soon enough you’re giggling loudly into the air. Your hands are warm against his bare torso, pulling him closer even as their stubble tickles your skin.

“Stevie—Steven! There’s one more!”

He’s not letting you off that easily, though, and finally captures your lips with his. That does buy him a few more blissful seconds until you manage to push him away; breathing heavily, you point sternly in his direction—behave.

Steven schools his expression into one of perfect obedience, teasing, but you barely even react. With one glance back down at the table, it’s like the tote bag sucked away your excitement, leaving shy uncertainty in its wake. You’re biting your lip as you reach for the last gift, quiet.

Marc hums, trying to figure out what’s wrong. Steven offers you an encouraging little smile and is about to say something when you produce the last gift in a rush, still not meeting their eyes.

It’s a simple wool scarf, colour-blocked in soft browns and greys. He waits as you fiddle with it in your hands, trying to find the words.

“He doesn’t have a scarf,” you blurt out. When Steven doesn’t respond immediately, you continue. “Jake, I mean—I don’t think he has one. I thought it would be nice.”

He follows your gaze to the coat rack near the door, filled with four sets of outerwear. It clearly doesn’t fit all the jackets owned in the household, but his favourite is hung up next to Marc’s, which is hung up beside your overcoat and Jake’s collared jacket. Various cold weather accessories are layered onto the hooks as well, multiple pairs of gloves, hats—but there are only three scarves.

Come to think of it, Steven hasn’t seen Jake ever wear a scarf either. “You’re right, love. Doesn’t his neck get cold? I know our neck gets cold.”

The corners of your mouth tug up a little and he grins, triumphant. He tunes into his head, making sure he doesn’t miss any of Jake’s reaction, but nothing comes. That’s odd. It doesn’t feel like he’s gone, more like—holding his breath.

“Think he’ll like it?” You tilt your head, though your true question is clear on your face.

The words can’t come out of Jake fast enough. “I’m not here right now.”

“Jesus, man.”

Steven huffs but covers for his alter; they’ll press him about it another time. “Once he sees it, I don’t think he’ll ever take it off.”

The gloves and scarf are added to the coat rack, which is liable to falling over one of these days due to the heavy load it’s carrying. With no shortage of complaining from Marc, Steven picks up his discarded shirt and tosses it into the laundry basket. It’s almost full—he makes a note to do a load later this week.

He must look ridiculous, parading around in an undone button-up, but you have nothing but fondness for him when he returns to cuddle with you on the couch. You’ve changed into Marc’s sweater and have to move no less than five decorative pillows in order to make enough space.

Marc makes a distressed noise when Steven throws one of them to the side. “It’s fine—”

It hits the standing lamp and you both freeze as you watch it teeter on its base, creaking ominously. After a moment, it steadies again.

“It’s only fine because of your weak throw.”

Steven splutters as he pulls you into his side. “We have the same arm!”

They bicker about the mechanics of their body, whether muscle memory crosses over when they switch or not. Marc is squarely of the opinion: No. Steven reminds him of when he punched the Jackal, and the conversation continues to devolve. Jake refrains from getting involved but spurs them on regardless with a well-placed snicker here and there.

It’s an aimless argument that has you burying your face in your hands because you’re laughing too hard; one of many that have taken place and one of many that have yet to occur.

In the morning, Marc will cook you breakfast and throw an eggshell into the bin from across the kitchen just to prove a point. Steven will go back to the market with you to buy armfuls of his favourite clothing and home goods, and he’ll add one more to his bag for every snide comment Marc makes. And Jake—

Jake will take a little while longer until he feels ready to speak to you, but you see the scarf gather raindrops and the warm, woodsy smell of their aftershave as he wears it every time he goes outside. Always see it hung up neatly on the rack, on top of his jacket so it can properly dry.

And with all four of you settled in, their cluttered little flat in London—long overflowing with books and clothes, your favourite comforts and some truly unique furniture—finally started to feel complete.

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