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sokkigarden · 8 months

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dancing with our hands tied (part iv)

jamie tartt x female reader // nsfw 18+ // fwb

masterlist // read on ao3

summary: an emotional spiral sends you to jamie's doorstep… again

word count: 3k

this chapter took it OUT of me but i actually think this might be my fav chapter so far?? eeeee excited to share w you guys :) thanks to @hopefulromances for challenging me to write and trade feedback last night! sometimes u just need a lil extra motivation 😩🫶

༻✧✧✧༺

“Hey, you’re friends with Jamie, right?”

You looked up from where you were sitting at your desk to find Zach in the doorway. You were startled by his appearance.

After getting drinks last week, you’d gone back to his place and fell into bed. He was fun and flirty and you both had a good time, but once it was late, he asked if you needed a ride home. You’d left after calling a ride, trying not to overthink it. It was just the beginning after all.

But it had been a week since then. Zach had been keeping his distance at work and hadn’t been responding to your texts that much. You figured he was busy with the new job, so you kept yourself busy as well. But that didn’t resolve the sinking feeling in your gut.

And now Zach was standing in front of you. Asking about Jamie Tartt of all things.

“Huh?” You knew you sounded dumb but you weren’t sure why Zach was asking if you were friends with Jamie.

“Did I do something to upset him?”

“What?” you sputtered. “Um, I don’t think so.”

Despite your confusion, you had also noticed Jamie’s coldness toward the new nutritionist. Richmond had a big facility and a lot of people employed, but after Ted Lasso brought his camaraderie and positivity to the entire club, it was easy to see when someone was being off-putting.

Since last week, you hadn’t spoken to Jamie outside of your scheduled physio treatments. You weren’t typically alone during your appointments, and it was always after his ludicrous amount of training which left him tired, so you hadn’t had the chance to talk to him much.

“Maybe you’re reading too much into things?” you suggested. “He’s always been kinda rocky– you’ve heard the stories.”

You didn’t mention that those stories were from more than two years ago. You didn’t mention that he had been much better in recent months.

“Maybe….” Zach replied, scratching the back of his head.

You clearly didn’t have the answer he wanted, and the room fell into silence. You looked back at the work you had open on your computer screen, before taking a deep breath and being brave.

“Hey, so I had a fun time last week,” you started with a smile. “Would you, maybe, want to go out again?”

Zach suddenly looked like he wanted to be anywhere but in the treatment room with you. You tried not to let the feeling in your gut sink even further, but you could feel the smile falling off your face.

“Oh, um, I’m gonna be busy for the next few weeks, so….” he trailed off.

You pressed your lips into a firm line, nodding once. You didn’t need to hear anything else; he was clearly not interested in pursuing you further.

The insecurities that had lingered for a week resurfaced from the corners of your mind. You’d gotten your hopes up again, and he clearly wasn’t on the same page. It was fine. You were getting the brush off. Nothing you hadn’t experienced before.

You just wished you’d known this wasn’t going to be anything when you went into it. It had taken time, with each heartbreak, but you thought you had built up walls to prevent yourself from getting hurt again.

“Okay, yeah,” you said, “Don’t worry about it.”

Zach gave you a smile that looked more like a grimace before leaving you alone.

How had everything gone to such shit?

There’s a reason you’d made it clear with Jamie that your relationship was just sex. If it was explicitly just sex, then you wouldn’t let yourself form an emotional attachment. No point in letting your brain drift into romantic feelings. It never worked out anyways.

Thinking of Jamie brought you back to the first thing Zach said. Was there a reason Jamie was being a dick to him? You hadn’t seen them interact much other than at the bar last week. While you had wanted to bite Jamie’s head off at first, by the time you had a chance to say something, he had left. There was a lot left unsaid.

And if here was anything that would get your mind off things, it would be bickering with Jamie.

You checked your watch, realizing most of the players were gone by this time of evening. You finished up the report you were working on. It was probably time for you to head home too.

And maybe you’d pay Jamie a visit on the way home, too.

༻✧✧✧༺

Not even twenty minutes later, you were knocking on Jamie’s door unannounced. You hadn’t been there since last week, but there were no cars except his parked outside, so you assumed he was the only one home.

When he opened the door, he seemed surprised to see you, his face going through about half a dozen different expressions before settling on raising his eyebrow in question.

“Stop being a dick to Zach,” you said in lieu of greeting, walking into his home.

Jamie shut the door and pursed his lips. He clearly hadn’t expected to be instantly berated, but it was easier to act mad at Jamie than deal with being upset with yourself.

“Aren’t I a dick to everyone?” he asked.

“No, you aren’t,” you rolled your eyes, and said in a smaller voice, “Not anymore.”

You crossed your arms. “But you are acting like an asshole to Zach. Everyone sees it.”

Jamie scoffed, shaking his head.

“Sorry,” he said, with a defeated tone, “You can tell your boyfriend I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Now it was your turn to sound defeated, “He’s not my boyfriend.”

Jamie’s face perked up at that.

“Oh yeah? Thought you two were gettin’ cozy. Gettin’ drinks at Bones and Honey.”

If it was anyone else, you’d think he sounded jealous, but there was no reason for Jamie to be jealous over you. He was just poking your open wound at this point.

You huffed out a breath of air, letting your arms fall to their sides.

“He brushed me off,” you said, “If we didn’t work together, he probably would’ve ghosted me by now.”

All the frustration from the past few hours, the past few days, the past week, felt like it was bubbling to the surface. It wasn’t even like this was a new thing. You were just tired of the same thing always happening. Even when you tried to protect yourself, you still ended up getting hurt.

You were so focused on blinking rapidly to dispel the tears in your eyes that you didn’t notice Jamie wrapping you in a tight hug. You stood frozen for a moment, before wrapping your arms around his torso and nuzzling your face into his shoulder.

The hug was so tight and warm and surprising, but it made you feel the best you’d felt in weeks, months. You didn’t even realize you were fully crying until you moved slightly and felt the wet patch of fabric on his shoulder.

You pulled away a bit and tried taking some deep breaths, while Jamie brushed his fingers through your hair. As soon as he whispered your name, you pulled back further, still enveloped in his arms.

“Sorry, sorry, I know this isn’t what we normally do,” you said. Your relationship consisted of arguments and sex, not tears and warm hugs.

He shook his head, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “What’s wrong?”

The tender tone, the soft look in his eyes, the delicate physical contact, made you start crying all over again. He gently led the two of you over to the couch, sitting down with you in his lap.

“I just–” you sniffled, and it all came spilling out. “I just don't know what I'm doing ever. Everything I do seems wrong. I try to go after the things I want and it's never enough. I give too much, and yet not enough, and- and it's all shit.”

Jamie’s brows furrowed together as you stared at his face. You focused on the line of his jaw and the grooves of his nose instead of his eyes. You didn’t want to meet his eyes. His hand gently grasped your chin to direct your gaze.

“You’re okay,” he murmured, as you held eye contact. “Things are hard, but they’ve always been hard, and you’ve made it through. You deserve good things. You’ll get them. You have them.”

Those words were tender and sweet and all you wanted to hear, but a part of you refused to let yourself believe them.

“Yeah, okay,” you rolled your eyes lightly. “I guess.”

He let out a huff of frustration, before rearranging you to straddle his thighs. His arms squeezed your shoulders, but not in a domineering way; it felt soft, comforting.

His hands were warm as they ran across your skin to your cheeks, holding your face to keep your eyes connected. He wiped the tears from your cheeks. His face held a hundred emotions and you weren’t sure what to make of any of it.

“You have me,” he said.

You took a sharp intake of breath at his words. The words burned into your mind.

It was true. You did have Jamie. And he had you. In some sort of way. And for now, it would be enough.

He placed a soft kiss to your forehead, and then to both of your cheeks, lingering so close you could feel his exhales and swore you could hear your heartbeats in the space between.

Then, he seized your mouth in a kiss, and it was like no other kiss you’d shared with him. While others were passionate and full of angry emotions, this was full of something raw, something untethered to your pre-existing idea of Jamie.

As you explored each other's mouths, you found yourself grinding against his lap, letting a moan out as you felt overcome with emotion. His hands ran through your hair, and you flexed your fingers under the fabric of his shirt, feeling the expanse of warm skin on his stomach.

You tugged his shirt over his head, which broke the kiss, but you took the moment to take a breath. He kissed your cheek, your jaw, your neck, as he moved to remove your shirt as well.

“Fuck, angel,” he said, and it felt like you were seeing each other for the first time.

It didn’t take long to remove more clothes, explore more of each other, before you finally sat down, feeling his dick slide into you.

For a brief minute, you were frozen, breathing in each other’s air, staring at each other, taking in the moment. Then, he’s rocking into you and you’re meeting his thrusts, but it's slow, it's choppy in a heavenly way that you didn’t realize could exist between the two of you.

“This feel good, yeah?” he asked, and you replied with a whimper of an affirmation. “Tell me this dick makes you feel good.”

“It does,” you managed to say, “You make me feel…”

He moved his hips in a way that made you see stars, leaving the last of your sentence unfinished. You scraped your nails through his hair, hearing something like a growl at the back of his throat. The sound spurred you on, rocking your hips with more determination.

“That’s it, baby, that’s a good girl,” he panted, reaching to connect your lips once more.

You wanted to swallow him whole, wanted this moment to never end. His words were hot, but also flooded you with a different kind of warmth. You wondered if he even knew what he was saying.

He tore his lips away after a moment and while you tried to gasp for breath, his next words made you nearly come on the spot.

“My good girl,” he whispered across your ear, before gripping your hips and focusing on where the two of you were connected.

The possessiveness in his voice tracked fire through your veins.

You were close. You had to be. Despite how much you wanted to make this last forever, the heightened emotions were making things too much. You were feeling everything so intensely.

He knew you were close, as he said, “Hey, look at me.”

You caught his eyes, watching each other’s faces as you finally came. Your jaw hung open, gripping his shoulders. You clenched around him as you rode out your high, and he came soon after.

You sat there for a few moments, listening to your breathing and heartbeats mixing together.

His hands drifted across your back in lazy motions as you nuzzled your cheek into the crook between his shoulder and neck. Jamie’s heartbeat was in his throat, his pulse racing. You could barely process everything you were feeling. What must he be feeling?

You had definitely calmed down after your spiral earlier this evening. Being with Jamie seemed to make everything else melt away.

He readjusted you on his lap and pulled up his underwear. He grabbed his shirt from earlier and slipped it over your head. He cleared his throat, but didn’t fully pull away from you.

“I know you usually leave but,” he picked you up as he stood from the couch, “Not lettin’ you go home and spiral more. You’re staying tonight. Come on.”

He led you upstairs to his room, grabbing some new clothes from the dresser before guiding you into the bathroom.

You didn’t do anything as you watched him turn on the shower and wait until the temperature was hot. It had been a while since you’d been in a shower with someone else, but you had a feeling this wasn’t going to be like those times.

As soon as the shower was a good temperature, he stepped in, beckoning you to join him. He was offering without forcing you. You fought the smile creeping onto your face at his gentle expression.

He guided you under the stream of water, combing his hands through your hair and lathering it with shampoo. The entire bathroom filled with the familiar smell of his hair products, and you felt a sense of satisfaction at knowing your own hair would smell like his soon.

You took turns washing each other, nearly silent the entire time. It was an intimate act, and you found yourself clinging to Jamie maybe even more than earlier.

You could feel the trails of tears across your cheeks from earlier wash away, but you could now barely remember why you’d been crying. Over some boy at work? You were all wrapped up in Jamie in the present moment.

But this is what you’d been afraid of all along. This thing with Jamie was no longer just sex to you. And you’d known from the beginning, that if you let yourself fall for Jamie, it was over. He would ruin everyone else for you.

What, with his silly outfits, and funny yet frustrating conversations, and the way he seemed to know your body even better than you did.

You doubted this was anything else for him, you didn’t fit the profile of people he dated, you told yourself not to get your hopes up. You had shoved those feelings in a drawer at the back of your mind and hoped if you told yourself it was just sex, you wouldn’t fall for him.

But somewhere between the arguments and the sex, you held real conversations with him, confided in him, looked forward to seeing him each day.

Maybe it was already too late. The thought had your eyes welling up with more tears, but luckily you were facing the shower wall, as he rinsed the conditioner out of your hair.

By the time the both of you were done, the tears had subsided, and you turned around to give him a watery smile.

When you stepped out of the shower, Jamie wrapped you in a fluffy towel and your heart squeezed at the domesticity of it all.

“Better?” he asked.

You nodded. You were feeling a lot better. Even if you were finally acknowledging the romantic feelings wedged deep inside of you. Even if those romantic feelings ended up being your downfall.

He grabbed the clothes he’d brought into the bathroom and divided them between you both. Two pairs of sweat shorts and two t-shirts. You knew you were going to drown in the fabric before you even put them on. You were proven right as he slid the shorts up your legs and tied off the drawstring to keep them up. You both chuckled at the sight.

After brushing your teeth, stealing some of Jamie’s skincare, and drying your hair, you didn’t have any objections as you both got into bed. He pulled you halfway across the mattress, to wrap his arms around you in the middle of the bed.

“I’ve got training with Roy at four a.m., but I’ll be back before you wake up. Usually get back for breakfast around seven.” Jamie mumbled as he turned off the bedside lamp and wrapped his arms around you.

“Four in the morning?” you asked, “What are you going to do, bury a body?”

He chuckled, “Wouldn’t put it past Grandad, but no, we usually just go for a run.”

You shook your head at the absurdity. Even though you worked at the football facility, it was easy to forget that Jamie was a professional athlete when it was just the two of you, tucked away beneath his sheets.

As you felt yourself getting sleepy, you traced the tattoos across Jamie’s forearm in the faint light, feeling his breathing deepen as he drifted off to sleep. The lull of his exhales across your earlobe soon brought sleep to you as well.

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt smut #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x ofc #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt fanfic #jamie tartt imagine #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fanfiction #my works #dwoht fic

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bookshelf-dust · 1 year

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really know him

part i part ii part iii part iv

eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 3,987

warnings: swearing, slight sexual innuendos, mentions of past trauma, reader has tough relationship with parents, fluff (let me know if i missed anything)

a/n: hi!! yeah, yeah, it’s been an entire month since you got the first part of this and i’m sorry, i swear!! but school has been kicking the shit out of me. anyways, i’m happy with this, and i think it’s given this story a good sort of push in the right direction. there is one line that is hopper’s dialogue that you might catch. i hope you like it!!! love you and happy reading <333

“You see things, and you understand. You’re a wallflower.”

————

Eddie’s mouth is full when Wayne speaks. The food hasn’t even cooled off enough for anyone normal to eat it, but Eddie doesn’t care. He’s so fucking hungry. He swears he feels like this—like he’s never eaten before—at least once a day.

“How long you and Y/N been seein’ each other?” Wayne’s got his arms crossed on the tabletop, letting his dinner cool some while his nephew allows noodles and cheese to burn the shit out of the roof of his mouth.

Eddie knows it’s just Hamburger Helper but it’s so fucking good. He swallows, and takes a sip of his drink before he responds.

Eddie’s leg starts to bounce and Wayne gently kicks his calf to get him to quit and take a breather. It works, like it always does.

“How do you know her name? And we aren’t seeing each other. We’re friends.” He shoves more noodles in his mouth and chews for a minute while he thinks. Wayne just watches him, the beginnings of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Well, acquaintances, I guess.”

Wayne snorts. “I don’t think you have acquaintances at twenty, Ed.”

Eddie rolls his eyes and stabs his fork into the center of his bowl. He wipes his hands and moves his hair from where it’s slipped over his shoulders.

His hair is wet.

Ever since Eddie was a kid, a little while after Wayne got him, he’s tried to take his shower while Wayne fixes dinner with the goal of being finished by the time the food is on the table. He did that very same thing today.

He does it even when they get takeout and tries to shower in the time Wayne is gone. He does it in the time it takes his frozen pizza to cook when he has to eat alone because Hellfire runs past the time Wayne leaves for work.

Selfishly, Wayne hopes Eddie keeps this up. It makes him happy to see that childlike attitude run rampant.

“I know her name because she’s lived here since her parents had her. I know everybody in this godforsaken park.”

Eddie takes a sip of his Dr. Pepper, slurping it obnoxiously. “Pulling the old and wise thing, huh?”

Wayne reaches the slim distance across the tiny table and wacks Eddie on the head, though it’s absolutely void of malice. “Ow!” Eddie exclaims as if he’s been brutally beaten.

“And we aren’t seeing each other. I haven’t talked to her since before she graduated, actually. I just saw her the other night and we’ve just been…” Eddie gestures with his hands, flailing for a word or anything to describe what’s happening between you and him.

You’re not friends. Right?

And you’re definitely not anything more, but it’s not like Eddie would mind that. Being more. He’s sort of always had a thing for you. He’s never told anyone that.

Maybe it had been a little subdued, but seeing you the other night had it rushing back, a wave crashing over and toppling him.

Eddie’s been kind of worried about you since, actually. You didn’t want to talk about why you were upset, and he respected that, but he still wanted to know. He really didn’t like seeing you that way, and he wants to fix it, but he can’t if you don’t let him in.

“Hanging out,” Eddie finally finishes, dropping his hands.

Wayne takes the last few bites of his dinner and looks at his nephew. It’s not hard for Wayne to see that his boy feels something for you. Not with the blush spreading across Eddie’s cheeks.

It’s like when Eddie was young and he’d ride his bike through the trailer park, or to a friend's house and he’d come back flushed. He looks out of breath. But he’s feeling this way because of you.

Wayne thinks that’s pretty damn special. He thinks there’s something in you that’s opening up a part of Eddie he’s never seen before. Like you’re cracking open his boyish soul.

“Hanging out?”

Eddie chugs the rest of his Dr. Pepper, pretending like he’s not being interrogated. He gets up and pulls another from the fridge, setting the other by the sink where he can rinse it out later.

He spoons more food into his bowl. They’re definitely not going to have leftovers.

“Yes, Wayne.”

“Does it still count as hanging out if you haven’t even gone out?”

“Jesus H. Christ, we’re friends okay?”

Wayne laughs. It’s one of Eddie’s favorite sounds in the world, but he’s never told his uncle that.

Wayne stands, taking his dishes to the sink to wash. He rinses out Eddie’s can and tosses it in the recycling bin.

“Hey, I was gonna do that!” Eddie whines.

“No you weren’t, Ed. But anyways, your friend can come over anytime she likes.”

Eddie drops his forehead against the countertop, face burning. He’s supposed to be too old for this shit.

————

Your parents aren’t home. In fact, they’re gone for the weekend, which means you’re alone. It means that the trailer is quiet and you don’t have to lock yourself in your bedroom or storm outside and cry on a rickety picnic table.

You’re taking advantage of the free couch when you hear the mailman outside. You hop up, knowing that if you don’t collect all of the mail you’ll hear about it. But this also gives you your chance to be nosy and see what kinds of things your parents are being sent.

You hop down the steps, wishing you’d put on a jacket because it’s a lot chillier than you’d expected. You meander down the road a little ways to the row of mailboxes containing yours.

You’re nose deep, retrieving the newspaper and a small stack of what you’re sure is mostly junk, when a car door slams and makes you jump.

You use your elbow to close the mailbox door, and when you spin around you’re met with a cheesy grin and a mess of curls belonging to one Eddie Munson.

“Jesus Christ,” you smile, “Hi, Eddie.”

He grins, spinning his key ring around his index finger. “Hey. How are we this afternoon, m’lady?”

“Okay. Just get done with school, buddy?”

“Oh fuck you,” Eddie laughs. It makes you grin and Eddie thinks he’s swooning. Like, big time.

Your eyes crinkle and these sweet lines form around your mouth. You’re so pretty. So pretty, he thinks.

“But yeah.” Eddie scratches his nose like he wants to say more but he needs a second before he goes for it. “Passed a quiz today and everything,” he finishes.

He doesn’t usually talk about his academic-related endeavors with anyone, but he’s got this feeling that you’ll be supportive. You’ve never once looked at him like he was stupid, or didn’t deserve your time.

One day towards the end of your first and only senior year, the both of you sat in the back of the class, your nose buried in a book, and Eddie had placed a finger against the page to get your attention. He’d said he wasn’t graduating, and you didn’t judge him. Maybe that’s why he’s always had this thing for you. Because you don’t think he’s this piece of shit freak.

Your grin gets bigger. It’s so much better than the sad way you looked at him the other night.

“Oh yeah? That’s so good! I’m proud of you, Eddie.”

Eddie blushes. You see it. He feels it. There’s no going around this and suddenly he’s afraid you’ll point it out.

You don’t. You just tuck that little bit of information—that Eddie seems fond of praise—away for another time.

A letter slips from your hand but Eddie is quick to catch it, before it even hits the ground.

“Sorry,” you say.

“It’s okay.” He slides it in between two other pieces of mail from the stack tucked in the crook of your arm.

The both of you stand there awkwardly then, you not knowing what to do next, Eddie realizing he didn’t really have a plan for what he was going to say when he came over here.

You turn a little, like you’re going to walk back towards your home, and Eddie freaks out inside. He doesn’t want you to go. Again. Dammit. He’s totally done for. And even Wayne had seen it, hadn’t he? Fuck.

You decide to go for it. “Do you wanna come inside for a while? I mean, of course you don’t have to, at all, but you know, if you wanted to…shit, I don’t know,” you falter. “I guess I just thought, since you’re here—”

“Sure. I mean, as long as you’re sure, but yeah,” he drags a hand over his face, lashes leaving shadows on the skin under his eyes, to hide the fact that he’s gone shy at your offer. “Yeah, I want to.”

The words hanging out flash through his mind and Eddie has the sudden urge to bang his head against a wall.

You take that as your queue, walking towards and then up your porch steps. “I’m assuming you’re following me,” you say, pulling the screen door open.

Eddie was not, in fact, following you, too off in his own world. He clambers up behind you, holding the door open above your head while you push your way inside. He pulls it shut after he steps up, watching you toss the mail on the counter and move around your home.

There’s something interesting to him about watching you like this. Where you look calm.

You flop down on the couch, patting the cushion beside you. Eddie follows your flop with an even more aggressive one, leather and chain making quite the noise as his weight settles into the sofa.

Eddie notices how quiet it is, and he can’t stand that. His brain doesn’t allow quiet.

“Your parents at work or something?” He inquires.

You move so that your back is to the arm of the couch and you’re now facing the boy you’ve just let in, pulling your legs up underneath you.

“They’re out for the weekend. Visiting in laws or something like that. I said I had too much homework to do so I could get out of it, which is true, I do have homework, I just didn’t want to go.”

Eddie shifts to mirror your position, lanky limbs splaying out a little less gracefully. He’s smiling at you again. It starts small, a slow grin spreading across his face.

“What are you smiling for, dumbass?”

He tosses his head back and your gaze falls to his neck for just a second. Though a second long enough for you to think about what it would feel like against your fingers—

He looks back at you. “Didn’t you just say you were proud of me for making an academic achievement?”

“I did. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t still a dumbass.”

Eddie snorts. “Well, at least it’s not ‘freak.’”

You cross your arms, feeling a little angry about how people have treated him in the past. “You’re not a freak.”

He scratches at his chin and you notice it looks like he might not have shaved in a few days. “Maybe in some ways I am.”

You run both hands over your face, trying to suppress the burning deep in your belly. “I bet so,” you mumble. You lower your hands just enough to look over them and Eddie quirks a brow at you.

You start to laugh behind your fingers and it makes him do the same until you’re both sitting there giggling like children over an immature joke.

“So you’re gonna be alone all weekend?” Eddie manages to ask through a breathy laugh.

“Yeah,” you sigh. “It’s not the first time, Munson.”

Eddie is home alone all the time, but for some reason he doesn’t like the idea of you being alone like that. He wants you safe. Comfortable.

The words are tumbling out of his mouth before he can stop them. “Why don’t you spend the night with me?”

“Huh?”

“You know, so you don’t have to be alone and whatnot.” He gestures with his hands. He’s scrambling for even a fraction of proper brain function at this point. It’s evading him.

“Eddie.”

“Come on. You literally have to walk across the road.”

You stare at him and he stares right back. Eddie studies the lines of your face, the color of your eyes, the way you’ve got a crease between your brows because of how hard you’re thinking this over. It looks like you’re contemplating a life or death situation. That situation is Eddie. Spending the night with Eddie Munson.

“Are you sure about this? You literally watched me sob a few days ago and now you want me to just hang out in your house? I could be a murderer.”

Eddie spins the ring on his marriage finger around and around. “Are you? A murderer?” “Not last time I checked.” He laughs. “Then I don’t see the problem here.” “We barely know each other.” “How are we supposed to get to know each other if we don’t hang out? Isn’t that what sleepovers are for anyways?”

“That makes it sound like you’ve never had a sleepover before.” Eddie pulls his knee up and rests his chin on top of it, pale skin peeking out from the tears in his jeans. “Does being too stoned to drive home and passing out on your friends couch count? Or on his bedroom floor?”

That makes you laugh and the sight of your smile makes Eddie feel exponentially better. He’s starting to think it could heal any ailment. “There she is,” he says, swatting your calf with the back of his hand. It makes you burn and you think about when you actually held his hand. You want to do it again.

You look around your living room, trying to avoid the big brown eyes you can feel boring into you. One look and you’ll give in–you just know it.

“Okay. I’ll spend the night with you.”

“Ha! I knew you’d say that.” Eddie jumps up, clearly excited. He juts out a hand in your direction and you just look at it. “Come on,” he says, tilting his head to the side.

You slip your hand into his and let him pull you up. “No more m’lady’s?” you ask.

Eddie grins brilliantly. He looks boyish, like he’s just found some new bug he needs to show you. “I’ll give you as many m’lady’s as you want. Now come on and pack your shit. We’ve got bonding to do.”

————

“Is this really necessary?”

“Lift that corner, yeah! See? You got it.” Eddie watches you step around the mess that is his bedroom floor and help him heave his mattress up off the box spring. Once you’ve got it up, he starts to walk backwards and guide the both of you—sort of blindly—down the hall. “And yes, this is completely necessary.”

“If you say so,” you grunt, almost knocking a picture frame off the wall.

“Let me live for fucks sake,” Eddie says. He’d already moved the coffee table out of the way, so you’re able to just drop the mattress on the floor in front of the couch.

Eddie stands across from you, slightly out of breath which you find a little funny. “You can go put your pajamas on if you want,” he tells you.

You grin. “Oh, can I?”

The both of you had already eaten, Eddie having ordered a pizza because there was legitimately nothing to eat anywhere. His sleepover planning was admittedly very poor. But yeah, he wanted you to go put your pjs on so he could actually do something he’d come up with.

“Yes. You can. Hurry it up m’lady, we have shit to watch.”

You give him a two finger salute. “Whatever you say, boss.”

Eddie waits for you to make it to his room and shut the door behind you before he gets to work. He changes the bottom sheet–the only sheet he uses because he finds top sheets obnoxious–on his mattress and shoves it in the washing machine to take care of later. He’ll probably forget and Wayne will berate him, but it’ll have been worth it.

He opens the linen closet and pulls out a new sheet and some of the others that are in there. He pulls out the best blanket for you too, the really thick one that they don’t use all that often. Eddie looks at it for just a second before tossing it on the couch, remembering the day he came to Wayne’s. The day that this became his home too. Wayne had done something similar to this, actually. He’d let Eddie sleep with him. That night had been so hard and Eddie was just a kid.

Finally he gets back to work, sheet having been changed, dining chairs moved to either side of the mattress closest to the couch.

Eddie puts one end of the sheet he’s using on the back of the sofa, stacking his D&D handbooks on top of it in hopes that it will hold. He steps back tentatively, hands up like he’s surrendering. “Stay,” he mutters, eyeing the books.

He stretches the sides of the sheet over the backs of the chairs, using chip bag clips to keep it in place. The end result is a sort of canopy over his mattress. Eddie thinks it’s one hell of a fort, actually. He’s sat on the edge, looking through a stack of VHS tapes when you come out.

Eddie looks up at you, doe eyes on full display. He looks so pretty, and even prettier when you realize what he’s made. You bring a hand up to your mouth, automatically sticking your nail just in between your lips to hide your growing smile.

Eddie thinks you look gorgeous like this: pajamas too big for you, socked feet shuffling across the floor. You look comfortable.

“Eddie.”

He stands. “You like it? I mean, it’s definitely unstable and we’re gonna have to be careful, but I think it’s kinda nice. I gotta get pillows, though.”

“I do like it,” you say, moving your hand from your face. You’re trying not to be nervous around him when he’s being so kind to you. So welcoming. “You didn’t have to do all of this just for me.”

Eddie crosses his arms. “You think I did this for you? I hate to break it to you, but I do this sort of thing all the time.” You giggle at him, seeing right through his antics. He likes that—that you don’t seem scared of him. That you don’t look at him like he’s mean.

He grabs for your sleeve where you’re tugging at a loose thread on it, trying to get you to quit from fidgeting. He knows what that feels like. But he wants you to know that it’s just him. It’s just Eddie, and you’re more than safe with Eddie, contrary to what the rest of Hawkins might think.

“I’m just kidding,” he tells you, eyes boring into yours. “I wanted to.”

You fight to keep eye contact with him. He really shouldn’t hold this kind of power, but he does.

“Thank you.”

“The pleasure was all mine, m’lady.” He bows, and you swat at his shoulder. He’s still snickering when he disappears into his room to change.

————

You hadn’t meant to match pajama bottoms, but when Eddie had seen yours, he knew he should put his similar ones on.

So now, here you sit, in your designated fort, and wearing matching plaid pants. Eddie has his arm around your shoulder, and you’ve tucked yourself into his side. Your hand keeps creeping along his stomach, and Eddie knows you're working up the courage to wrap your arm fully around his waist.

When you’d felt the weight of him settle over your shoulders, your breath had hitched, but Eddie took it in stride. “It’s just me,” he’d said. And that had seemed to calm you down.

Eddie had let you pick the movie, and you’d chosen Gremlins, which he was more than happy to watch with you. He thought watching something the both of you had already seen would not only ease some tension, but make it so that you could talk during the film if you wanted.

On the screen, Gizmo propels himself upward on a snow shovel, and you giggle at his screams as he flies through the air.

“Sorry,” you say to Eddie, chest shaking with laughter. He snorts at your hysterics.

After you’ve finally hooked your arm around him fully, and the movie is coming to an end, Eddie decides to breach the topic that’s been bugging him since that night.

“Any chance you might wanna talk about why you were so upset the other night?” He hopes he hasn’t overstepped, that he hasn’t pushed too far too quickly.

You move your hand and he worries you’ll retract it completely, but you just sit up, still pressed next to him, just no longer clinging to him. You tuck your fingers under his knee where his leg is stretched out beside you. He welcomes the gesture.

“I just had an argument with my parents, is all. Got upset, but you saw that.”

He turns to look at you, and you look back for a second before continuing to watch the movie. “Was it bad?”

“Just loads of yelling, on their part. They’re very good at hurting my feelings.”

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says, and he means it. You look at him then, and you smile. It’s soft, but it tells him all he needs to know. You’re hurting, but you’re used to it. He hates that he understands.

“It’s okay. It’s just that college is hard, and then I come home and I’m tired, and then they want to fuss at me for everything and nothing. Sometimes I feel like I’m some kind of black hole or something.”

Your fingers squeeze Eddie’s knee a little. He pulls your hand from his leg and intertwines your fingers with his. There’s a little part of you that warms, that screams, hand holding, hand holding! You’re glad he’s holding your hand.

“They fucking suck for making you feel that way, you know.” That makes you grin, so Eddie keeps going. “You don’t deserve to feel that way. Not even a little bit. The entire time I’ve known you, even if we haven’t been more than acquaintances, you’ve been a sweetheart. You’ve been kind, and understanding.”

Your eyes water but you refuse to cry in front of him a second time. He’s just being so nice.

“Thank you, Eddie.” You drop your forehead against his shoulder, and he kisses your hairline. You burn at the feeling of his lips, full and warm, against your skin.

“You’re safe with me, you know. You can come over wherever you want. And we can watch Gremlins,” he finishes with a breathy laugh.

“I really appreciate that.”

Eddie looks into your eyes. There’s something sweet behind them. He nods.

“What do you wanna do when you’re done with school anyhow?” he asks, realizing a little too late that you’ve probably been asked that a hundred times, but how else is he supposed to figure out the answer.

“I’d like to write,” you tell him.

“Like, books and shit?” He’s not teasing. He’s really asking.

“That’d be nice, yeah.” It really would. The big unattainable dream.

“That’s very metal of you. Maybe I’ll get you to help me plot a campaign sometime. The stories can get a little tricky in this fucked up brain of mine,” Eddie says.

“Really?” You look excited at the idea.

“Sure thing, sweetheart.” The smile on his face is brilliant.

“Maybe I’ll even teach you how to play. If you want.”

“That’d be nice too, Eddie.”

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

tagging: @ajkamins @golddustwitches @copycatkillerfics @prestinalove @zaypay @clovermunson

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson comfort #eddie munson fluff #wayne munson #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson series #eddie munson angst #savannah’s fics

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miya-rin · 1 year

Text

"i can't believe you got in a fight.”

“he hit me first, you just expect me to stand there and take that?"

a small chuckle leaves his mouth at your choice of words, standing between you parted legs osamu has been patching you up after a ‘small mishap’ with one of your classmates.

"obviously not, its just…" his voice trails off as he rummages around in the first aid kit until he finds an alcohol wipe, gently tearing it open before swiping it across your cheek, you wince in discomfort and he gives you an apologetic look. "sorry — its just, you're not really the type to hit someone, like i know you can defend yourself but cmon, you knocked him out."

"deserved."

"you really are something else." he laughs as he starts to dig around to find something else to slather over your face.

"thankyou."

"not a compliment."

“i'm gonna take it as one."

"i knew you would."

"yeah yeah whatever, you would have done the same.”

“oh yeah totally.” he picks up a tube of antibacterial cream and gently starts to apply it to the cut on your cheek, making sure to be extra careful as to not put too much.

“thankyou by the way.” he tilts his head up to look you in the eye for a split second before focusing back on the cream in his hand.

"hm?"

"for cleaning me up and that, thankyou."

"yeah well you probably wouldn't have, the blood would just be dried up all over your hands and face.”

"oh shut up," you let out a light laugh and by god you sound amazing "i'm not that bad."

"sure, whatever you say.”

the room elopes in silence — comfortable silence, the kind where you're not too worried if someone speaks or not, and yet you do.

"say, how long have you been dying your hair?"

"oh, i'm not sure, wh-" his words are cut short as he feels your hands snake up his undercut and into the dyed strands atop his head. shit he thinks, he so badly wants to look up at you, but he knows that if he does he won't be able to look away.

"it's really soft, what conditioner do you use? it must be good for it to not be completely dead."

"yeah." he stutters slightly, but just enough that you might not have been able to hear it. god he hopes you didn't hear it.

he still doesn't answer your question, staying quiet for a good minute or so before you decide to take action. gently tugging at his hair, an indication for him to look at you, he puts down whatever he was fiddling with and his eyes meet yours. they're a lot wider than normal, he almost looks scared, but from the dusting of pink spread across his cheeks you can tell it's something different. hes nervous.

“osamu, did you hear me?” the way you’re lightly scratching at his scalp turns him to putty in your hands. “i asked you a question.”

“uhm..i started dying it when i was like 13? so about 5 years now. and whatever conditioner my ma brings home.” you hum in approval as you continue to mess around with his hair.

“you know…i should probably finish bandaging you up.” he makes a start at grabbing some plasters to put over your bruised and bloody knuckles, avoiding eye contact even harder than before.

“wow, you wanna get rid of me that quickly? youre cold osamu.”

thats gets him to look at you.

“i never said that.”

“dont act dumb now, i heard you loud and clear.”

“youre putting words in my mouth.”

“oh so you’re accusing me now? this isnt the osamu i know and love.” as soon as that last word falls from your lips osamu burns a crimson red from his face to his neck and probably lower, choking on his spit and trying to catch his breath. if only you had your phone on you.

“you what?” he can finally speak by the looks of it.

“i love you. dont act like you didnt know.”

“yn, tell me youre joking.”

“are you rejecting me right now? thats a mean way to do it dont you think?”

“are you kidding me? ive had a crush on you since we were 15.”

“i know, why dont you do something about it?” you say with a sly smirk. he still looks on edge at the whole interaction, but theres no time like the present.

he lifts up his large and calloused hands to grab both sides of your face before bringing you into a sweet but passionate kiss, it doesnt last long as you are both conscious of the fact that anyone could walk into the schools medical room, but it is just enough to leave you both satisfied after years of pining. pulling away you are met with that boyish smile you fell in love with all those years ago.

“now that i think about it, im kinda glad you got into that fight…”

“so am i.”

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damnedbeauty77 · 6 days

Text

leon kennedy x fem!reader

!MDNI!

cw: smut, p in v, reader a little traumatised, vanilla and protected, swearing. idk how to do this

summary: reader meets leon, her possible future boss, in a bar with jill and chris.

notes: this is my first time writing smut, did proofread and edit before publishing, if u have any ideas for improvement just dm me x

words: 2.1k

i sit at the bar, leaning over to ask the bartender for a pink gin. what can i say, it looks pretty. my friend went home with some girl already, leaving me with myself at 10.30 at night.

it's fine. it's whatever. i could meet someone. i could have fun.

"hi there."

a guys takes the stool next to me.

i smile. he's cute. he has light, silver-y hair, parted to the side in a messy style. very much, my type.

"hi there." i respond lightly. i might be little drunk.

"i'm leon. what's your name?" he asks, putting an elbow on the bar to tap his fingers on his wood. i have to stop myself from giggling.

"y/n... are you going to buy me a drink?" i twirl my my hair lazily and leon almost copies my movements, brushing his hair back with his left hand. i wonder if he has a bald spot.

"of course. what are you having?"

"well, i'm actually looking to try something new. ive been drinking gin since i was 16. what would you recommend?"

"well, for a pretty girl like you, id have to say a cocktail. vodka, maybe... sex on the beach?"

...

"you work in the bsaa? i literally applied there yesterday!" i laugh. "yeah, well, kind of. i work with them in the dso."

my mouth drops a little in shock. "no way, you're leon kennedy? one of the—"

"founders, yes." leon sighs, laughing. "i really didn't expect all of this to come up when i decided to come talk to you."

i stop and blink a little. i forgot what he was really here for, at least for a moment. "well, shit. sorry. i mean like.. we can still go somewhere, if you want." his eyes widen a little. "no, no i'm sorry. i like talking to you. i was going to ask for your number- my friends are still here." he signals to a table in the corner of the bar. a man and a woman laugh together as they drink.

i smile. "oh, i've been keeping you from them."

"not at all, they told me to talk to you - encouraged me."

"well i hope you don't have a bet going, because i was starting to like you."

leon laughs. "really?"

"don't be smug. do you still want my number?" it feels so normal. "yes."

i wrote it out on a napkin and gave it to him.

"can i meet your friends? that guy is pretty hot." i tease him, making him bit his lower lip. a tinge of jealously emanates off of him. "i thought the girl would be more your type." he replies. i nod. "she is."

i follow leon to the table. he introduces me.

"this is y/n." he says to them. "hi. it's nice to meet you." i reply. "that's chris redfield, and that's jill valentine."

"hi." the girl says to me. oh my god, she is actually really gorgeous. "sit with us." she says, opening the seat next to her as leon takes a seat next to chris. i look at chris. he makes eye contact for a second, then looks away as he drinks his beer.

"i love your jacket." i tell jill. she's wearing black leather, i'm assuming faux based on her haircut.

"thank you, i got it from a thrift store, i think..." she replies. knew it. "i love your top. it's really sexy." she says. i look down. i'm wearing a black mesh top with a black bra underneath. "oh shit. i really forget whenever i wear this shirt.. then wonder why everyone is staring at my tits." i take a drink. i notice jill looking at my tits for a second before clearing her throat. "totally. i see the appeal." she says. then she puts a hand to her head in embarrassment. i laugh. "you're very brave."

"chris, y/n said she was applying to the bsaa." leon changes the subject, turning to me. "he works there right now."

i straighten up my posture, "oh well, i hope you forget everything i do tonight and put in a good word for me."

chris nods. "I'll ask about you." he replies. i feel a bit shouldered. is he emotionally unavailable? is that why i'm so attracted to him?

"what do you do, now?" jill asks me. "i was in the airforce, for just about 4 years." i say. "i've been kind of working a bunch of different jobs, i was in the nypd, until last month."

"airforce. you hear that chris?" jill laughs a little, looking at me. "i was in the airforce as well, when i was younger." chris elaborates. "what base were you?"

"active duty. but honestly, they kind of kept me behind the scenes. i can fly a jet, but i guess i'm just better on a computer."

"see, us girls gotta stay together." jill pushes my shoulder. jesus christ, how many drinks has she had?

"yeah, of course. girl." i smile. "what do you guys do?" leon spluffs. "oh, you know. just bsaa stuff. bioterrorism, security..." he trails off. "what are the two a's again?" he asks chris. he laughs a bit, letting out a little sigh.

...

by around 12am, i start to feel exhausted. we've been talking and drinking for hours, and i just want to... i don't know. go home? but i want to stay with them at the same time...

i check my watch. "it's getting pretty late. i think i might go home." i look at chris for a reaction. he does give me a look of respect, i know when to stop.

"no way, you've drank way too much. i'll call you a cab." leon protests.

"no, no, i only live like a mile from here."

"then i'll walk you home." he insists. i smile. "really? you'd do that?" jill and chris talk in the background. leon smiles in return. "yeah. of course."

i nod.

he walks me out the bar, at one point placing a hand on the small of my waist at one point, making me let go of consciousness.

"you know, i'm staying just down that way." he points with two fingers to a lane next to us. "if you want, you can stay at my place for the night."

my face totally flushes. "um, i wouldn't mind that." not the first time ive fucked someone i met the first night after meeting them. leon's nice though. i think he would call me.

"okay.. good." he says. he turns to me for moment, looking into my eyes. then, kisses me softly. i feel blood rush to my brain in satisfaction and arousal.

"thanks for coming to talk to me tonight. i probably would have left if you didn't." i tell him, putting my arms around his neck as he lets go of my ass... when did he managed to slip his hands there??

he leads me down the streets, his hand around my waist as he flirts shamelessly. then as he's about to open the door to go inside, he stops and looks at me.

"this isn't.. going too fast, or anything, right?"

"i'm fine with it as long as you are. we don't have to do anything you don't want to."

"no, no- i want to. i want to." he almost whines. his tone makes me smile. "good." i repeat him, kissing him again as he fumbles to get the door open.

he tastes like liquor.

i clear my throat, leaning into him. "can i go freshen up?"

he stammers a bit, face red. "yeah, the bathroom is down the hall to the left." he says. i nod, kissing him again before going. i wash under my eyes a bit for makeup, do my business, wash my hands again, then go back out.

leon is on the couch, tv on. he's put on closer. one of my favourites that i mentioned in the bar!

"oh my god, this movie is so sexy." i say, sitting down next to him. "well, i wanted to see what the fuss was about." he says, leaning back and taking a smoke.

"natalie portman, is the fuss." i say, placing my head next to his shoulder on the couch. "wow. you're right. they are all hot." leon laughs a bit, putting a rough hand on my thigh. he draws circles with his thumb over my skin. i look up at him, biting my lip.

i start unbuckling his jeans quickly, kissing him again, this time it looks sloppier, messier. "fuck, y/n." he groans as i palm him through his black calvin kleins. "these are hot.." i comment. "did you know you'd come home with someone to fuck tonight?" i ask innocently. he denies it. "wanted you as soon as i saw you."

i take off the mesh top jill complimented earlier. leon runs his hands all over my hips, waist and plays with the straps on my bra. i take off his shirt before he can do anything with my bra, then strip down my skirt as he pulls down his trousers. he lies sideways on the couch as i crawl over him, kissing his neck, trying to find the spot that makes him moan the most. "do you.. do you have a condom?" leon breathes out.

"yeah, hold on." i say, turning to the side of the couch with my bag leaning on it, opening it rapidly to take out the condom.

i rip it apart, seeing as he's already hard, i put it over his dick without even thinking. it's pretty big. like 7 inches at least. leon fingers me from underneath me, pushing my thong to the side. i moan and kiss his chest, licking a strip from above his dick to before the little line of blond hair at his bellybutton. he loves that, gripping my hair and pulling it up a little. "should i give you head or something, before?" he asks quietly. i shake my head. "i'll be fine. thank you, though." i smile through kisses down his chest, his fingers brushing over my clit. i line myself up as leon takes out his fingers, sinking down on him as i grab onto him shoulders. he sits up a bit, taking my waist with two hands to guide me back and forth on his dick. i roll my hips, kissing him roughly as i run my hands through his hair, combing it through my fingers. his neighbours had to have been hearing us.

leon rubs my clit with one finger as i start lifting myself up and down on him, legs wrapped around him at this point for the best angle. "please, please say my name." he asks quietly. i smile. "what? i can't hear you, baby." i tease him, kissing his ear. he leans his neck back, kissing my lips. "say my name, y/n." he asks again, a bit more commanding this time. and perfectly, he hits my g-spot with a thrust. "leon.. ughh, leon." i moan softly, and he replies by digging his nails into my back. "can i go on top.." he asks a little shy. i nod, letting him push me into my back, landing my head flawlessly onto a loose pillow. he pushes into me again, going significantly faster as he holds up the back of my knees beside his hips.

i see his eyes close for moment, and i feel his dick twitch a little in me. is he about to cum? i can barely read his face.

"fuck, you feel so fucking good." he says. i lean my head back a little, encouraging him to drive as far into me as possible. "oh my god, leon.." i groan, grabbing onto the sofa, scratching the fabric. i moan loud as i cum.

leon quickly follows with a low guttural groan to pair with his stalled thrusts.

i give him a kiss as he pulls out, almost immediately passing out on the couch. he throws the condom in a trash can, collapsing next to me, still naked.

"that was good. you're really good at that." leon says, wiping his forehead a little. i smile, thanking him. "it wasn't your first time, right?" i joke. he laughs, shrugging. "first time having sex with someone i met the same night. also, first time having sex pretty drunk." he confesses, making me laugh a bit. "my apologies if i have trouble remembering this. if i get the job, i mean."

"fuck, i totally forget that you might be working for me in a week... don't mention it to HR, right?" he slides on his boxers again. "so, you're my dirty secret now?" i ask. "if it helps to think of that way, then absolutely." he puts his shirt back on. "you want something else to wear? can't imagine that's comfortable." he points to my tight lace bra and panties.

"if you got a big shirt, i'll take it. want to finish the movie?"

"sure, but you'll have to catch me up." leon smiles coyly.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #resident evil fic #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy/reader #smut #first fic #one shot #resident evil smut #leon s kennedy #re4 leon

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kuni-is-daddy · 1 year

Note

Hear me out- fluffy comfort sex with scara bc y/n's severe daddy issues are acting up and it gets rougher... idk ive just been fantasizing about this 🤭

"For me~"

Tw: daddy issues, Signals of depression.

Scaramouche x GN reader PUREE comfort! :)

1.3K Words

scara masterlistt wanderer comfort

Fluff+smut

MINORS DNI---

Please make sure your taking care of yourself! I might not know you but your a beautiful person inside out who deserves the best and an amazing life no matter your age. Either young or old, things will get better. Have faith in yourself ❤️ I hope scara helps you feel better here💜

Art credit!

Even though scaramouche has a interesting personality. I feel like he truly can relate to MANY people regarding their problems and that's why he's one of my, if not favorite genshin character.

He's on break from his most recent mission in inazuma and treats you out and catch up as another date. He brings you a couple of gifts and some dango he kept cold just for you. "I thought you weren't a fan of dango scara?" "I'm not but.. figured I might as well bring something sweet for you besides myself" you giggled but that soon turned into a sad expression while you played with the box of dango he handed to you. "What's wrong y/n?"

Unfortunately, hearing about what's going on with your father was the last thing he wished to hear. Your his everything and you getting treated or viewed as nothing is something that makes his skin boil.

"tsk, how about I teach that old man a lesson? Humans are all the same. Taking it out on others because they can't handle the fucking truth or their own shit life. Where is he?" Scaramouche stood up from the table and looked at his surroundings.

"S-scara baby please it's fine its fine.." he sits back down. "Being with you already makes my day a blessing." You cup his cheek and he sinks into your warm touch. Looking at your beautiful eyes. He sighs, "you don't deserve this y/n. And..I'm not going to be here all the time for you. Fuck...this is already pissing me off"

"I don't even fucking have a father, but if I did I sure as hell wouldn't let myself get pushed around like this." You frowned. "Hey. Look at me. Your not a push over okay? I-im just saying this isn't right. Your beautiful and deserve the world y/n. I'd give you all of teyvat in a heartbeat" which you assumed he could after seeing the 'Shouki no kami' he and 'the doctor' have been working on. "Is he always home and like this?" "Yeah.. it's just like this when I'm around... So I'd just find something to do to try and take my mind off if it but..it still hurts." He held your hand. "Its going to hurt my love, it hurt when my mom abandoned me as well. Leaving me alone, but you have to find hope. Be it something small or anything. The fatui was.. a revenge thing you can say but. I found hope within you to be different..even if I am still in it. For now." You blushed "wow kuni~ I never knew you could be so nice." And there went his ego, "I just tell it like it is. And like I said, you are beautiful my love. And you certainly are worth it. Every hour, every second and every breath I take by your side."

It grew silent for a couple of minutes. Scara got up and paced back and forth thinking of a way to help you, to make you understand he loves you. He knew that deep in your thoughts we're tragedy and pain, that you we're alone. And he didn't want you to feel how he felt when his life crumbled due to the stoned face of a god.

He wanted to hurt that man, make him regret it. But he knew that wasn't the right way. Sometimes violence isn't always the answer and he learned that from you. You we're the yin to his yang, the beat in his heart. He loved you more than anything and you guided him into the 'happy' man he is today more then anyone could ever hope to become.

He didn't take you home, rather to his own home. It was dark, black painted walls and only 1 or 2 pictures he took with his 'buddy, Childe' and the rest we're all pictures of you. Even in his room he had taped up letters you'd write to him during his abroad trips. "Look. Come here." He was a little stern but you can tell it was because he was angry at how you we're being treated. "You see all of this here? I read these everyday. When I wake up, to be reminded that I'll always have you y/n." He held your hands and sat on the bed while taking his hat off. "I want you too feel the same way, even with that piece of shi- 'annoying parent' around. You don't have to read my letters my love, but please. Stay strong. For me. And for the future we will have together, side by side. Always."

SMUT🤪

Scaramouche laid you onto the bed and let out a groan "god look at this beautiful body of yours. How dare you look at yourself like this.. your fucking beautiful" he rubbed his hands along your body and took licks around your neck "I'm gonna treat you well t'night baby. And tomorrow I'm going to ask that brat Childe to take the rest of my missions for a bit(months) love." "B-but scara then your going to be so busy after-" he kissed you to keep you quiet. "Mmm mmm.. don't worry about that, trust me you'd be surprised to see the things he'd do after I put on a show for him(scara means killing a buncha people. Childe loves that shit😩)

Scara moved down to your private part, licking and kissing it "Scara~ stopp..your tongue~"

"Want me to stop baby? I know you like it." "N-no" you said while rubbing through his hair "you feel so good~" he smirked. "Good you like it. How about my fingers, you want that to?" "Y-yes daddy..wanna feel your fingers." Scara licked at his fingers and put two inside. "Mmm your so tight around my fingers baby..." He took his other hand and held your leg up while biting at your thighs. "Scara~ please~ ah...hah...." biting and sucking on your thighs until you got a hicky "Yes? What does love want." "I- I want you inside." He stopped biting at you and laughed. "Mmm and here I thought you wanted me to be gentle. And cherish your body." "I-i do but... I want more of you scara" "then take what you want of me, my love"

"Oh fuck baby..L-look at you, bouncing on daddys cock so well." Scara's praises made your body heat up. You two interlocked hands as you chased your orgasm "Yes y/n..Fuck yes. i love you. I love you so fucking much, Please cum for me. Let me hear those beautiful moans." "S-SCARA~ OH sHIT~" You cum oozed onto scara as he kept praising you, "Mm..fuck baby you did so well..So fucking well.. lay down f' me." Your body grew weak as your high started to fade and he guided you to the otherside of the bed. Scara licked off some of your cum while cleaning you up. "Shit.. and you taste good too baby." You threw a pillow at him "You pervet-"

You awoke to your boyfriend soundly asleep next to you. Already in his fatui attire. "S-scara...Your still here" He ruffly opened his eyes. "Of course id be here dumass.. But i do have to leave in a bit.. Otherwise how else am i gonna get that ginger idiot to take my work for a bit." You we're shocked that he still committed to what he said earlier, You thought he was just speaking to boost you up but scara was serious about it. You gave him a hug. "Im so glad to have you in my life Kuni. I love you."

"My god, my mother, humans. They've all abandoned me. Because I was 'weak. Not good enough.' But now I understand my love, I don't need them. Or what they say... All I need and want is you. I want to wake up to your beautiful smile. I want while I'm away for you to be happy. So please keep trying, not for those that dismiss you like they've done me. But for yourself and me. I believe in and love you. Just the way you are and the person you strive to be. I love your kindness, the way you smiled even when you we're sad on our dango date and wake up everyday even if it's the bare minimum. Dont hide those emotions anymore my love, When your hurt, Fall in my arms. Please stay, don't listen to that old bastard or the pain in your heart. I love you and I will stay with you until the bitter end to pick you up. Just like you always did for me"

Ps: I will be home Early, Tomorow evening most likely. Apparently, childe sees me as his 'best friend' and is willing to help regardless. What a looser. Anyway, I have to prep up for the fatui's grand dinner. I hope you ate today my love, Farewell until then.

-Kunikuzushi.

#genshin smut #genshin headcanons #genshin x you #genshin fluff #genshin scenarios #genshin x y/n #genshin impact #scaramouche smut #scaramouche fluff #scaramouche headcanons #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche x reader #scara x y/n #scara x you #scara x reader #scaramouche #kunikuzushi #kunikizushi

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seretoningghost · 9 months

Text

Tomura Shigaraki x Male Reader

Warnings : SMUT.

You can also find my new - and older works posted on my Wattpad! AnonymousN3rd!

I'm still super unsure if Tomura is exactly yay or nay just yet... Like yeah he's hot but... The shit he does..

I- I just love mafia bosses so fucking much- and his outfit at the end of season 5???? WOOOOOF!

(IVE ONLY WATCHED UP TO SEASON 6 SO NO SPOILERS)

Also I listened to Lovejoy - Portrait of a Blank Slate, its just soooo Tomura's vibe. 😎

Power Bottoming specifically mafia boss Tomura at the end of season 5 is literally my brainrot rn.

Y/Ns quirk is vibration where they can make their body or just select parts of themselve vibrate - lightly to super intense, like useful level intense.

His body naturally vibrates at a unnoticeable different level and it makes it so Shigaraki's quirk doesn't work on him.

THIRD PERSON POV

"What can I do for you hmm?!?"

"... Leave..."

"YESSIRR!"

A deafening silence settled in once re-destro left.

Shigaraki stood, propped against his crutch, unsure what to do all by himself.

His comrades were eating sushi, and this was the first time he felt good and was left alone.

Shigaraki turned silently, his crutch making clicks as he walked down the hallway.

Absently rubbing his right hand against his pants, all feeling hadn't returned exactly yet - but that was only temporary.

Walking down the silent hallway he could hear destros followers cheering get quieter.

Until they were practically unheard.

"Well... The capes nice."

Shigaraki paused, turning to the voice.

"Yeah? Well you did always say I was like a mafia boss..."

"... Fuck your voice is hot..." Y/N growled, smirking.

".. Would you like me to say more words?" Shigaraki grinned, teasing.

Y/N stepped forward, circling Tomura and drinking in the new outfit.

"Why did you get something so hot when you know your just gonna destroy it?" Y/N purred, his eyes clouding with lust as he practically roamed Tomura's body.

"Thats the best part, they get me all the suits I need."

"Oh?" Y/N's eyes glinted as he snapped his gaze to Shigaraki's, Y/Ns body vibrating breifly with unbridled lust.

Shigaraki had been fuck buds with Y/N enough to know what that meant.

"Well... How is everything going with LOV?" Y/N shifted.

"Its going good, I'm going to initiate your plan soon... But I think I need some compisation.... For it...~" Shigaraki grinned.

Y/N smirked, looking over Shigaraki again.

Y/N's hand vibrated breifly as he gestured to Tomura.

"You sure your doctor said your allowed to receive payment?" Y/N said with a shit eating grin, almost as if he was gonna snicker.

Shigaraki grinned wide.

"Well... If they didn't..... Who cares? They'll just have to patch me back up when were done~..."

...

The air was hot and unbearable.

Loud bed squeaking and creaking as Y/N slammed his hips down on Tomura, wet slaps could be heard - Tomura's raspy voice moaning beneath Y/N.

Shigaraki laying on the bed, groping tight on Y/Ns voluptuous hips.

Shigaraki's cape discarded and forgotten on the floor, lube haphazardly thrown to the floor without regard to possible future need.

"O-Oh- Oh god... Y/N! More!" Tomura moaned, a high pitched whine leaving his lips soon after.

Pushing his head further back into the matress with euphoria, his hair sprawling across the bed.

Y/N desperately wanted to tease Tomura about how Y/N actually ran LOV now, and how his mentor might feel - but a long winded tease didnt seem fitting.

But something about riding the ex leader of LOV, the same guy who handed it over for some sex - while all the members of the orginization didnt actually know that Y/N ran it... Just really made it even sexier.

Y/N moaned softly, back curving in pleasure as Y/N bounced his hips.

Y/N grabbed hold of Shigaraki's tie again, holding it like a leash as he grinned - moaning and whining as he rode him.

Shigaraki's breath hitched, before it was almost cut off - enough where he wouldn't pass out, but his body still begged for more air - it was-

"So... Sexy..." Shigaraki moaned, squeezing his nails into the supple flesh of Y/N's hips.

Shigaraki's cock twitched deep within Y/N.

Shigaraki stared at the view, Y/N was so damn sexy in the dim lighting of the room.

Shigaraki's eyes clouded with lust as he stared with longing, desire, and hunger.

Y/N reached his free hand down, taking a firm grip of his own cock and giving it a ample stroking.

"Ah..." Shigaraki moaned, eyes glinting with lust at the scene.

Shigaraki would be thrusting right now to deepen the pleasure - but he tried earlier, his body is still too achy.

"M-More~... Aah!" Shigaraki moaned.

Y/N using his quirk to vibrate his body.

Shigaraki gasped for air, back arching roughly.

"F-fuck-"

And with a final moan Shigaraki came, Y/N whimpering and riding a bit more.

Y/N mewled, cumming, slowing down his pace to allow the two of them to ease down from their high.

Both panting when Y/N finally stopped, his thighs shivering as he panted heavily, Tomura still deep inside his guts.

Y/N had his head hanging low as he slouched forward, his hands on Tomura's abdomen.

It was quiet as the room slowly lost its heat, Tomura could feel the heat of his orgasm slowly leaking out of Y/N and down what little of his cock wasn't inside Y/N.

"So... I hope your ready for more~.... Because I'm not done yet~..." Y/N grinned, looking up to Tomura.

Shigaraki stared quietly for a minute, then grinned as he ran one hand up from Y/Ns thigh to his hip.

"Your so dirty... You know that?" Shigaraki teased.

#x male reader #mha x male reader #bnha x male reader #bottom male reader #tomura shigaraki #oneshot #+18 content #+18 only #smut #male reader smut

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softlyspector · 1 year

Text

Credence

Summary: A year after his mother’s death, Marc travels back to Chicago to face his father. He doesn’t expect it to be easy but he also doesn’t expect it to be so hard. He especially doesn’t expect to find refuge from the hard moments in a little known witch’s shop a few blocks over. And definitely not in one keeping watch over the family’s piano.

This chapter: You meet Steven, and learn a lot about Marc.

Tales Untold; Part IV - Series Masterlist

Pairing: eventual Marc Spector x Reader (eventual minor Steven Grant x Reader and Jake Lockley x Reader)

Word Count: 6.7k

Warnings (this chapter): mental health issues, feelings of guilt, angst, mentions of past child abuse

A/N: I want to give a big thank you to all of you who have been keeping up with this series. I love you so much, and thank you for all the continued love and support. It means so much. Comments and feedback are so appreciated! Please let me know if any additional warnings need to be added. For full series warnings, please check the series masterlist, which will be updated as parts are posted!

IV.

Tales Untold, Chicago 2:41 AM

The silence of the street is deafening in the wake of Marc’s words.

Nothing on the street moves. The warmth of the spring breeze ruffles the hem of your robe and all you can do is blink at him, not sure how to respond to Marc telling you he’s not Marc. You slide your gaze away from him, eyes tracking over the dark street, like the answer might be hidden in the tree leaves or between the gaps of the paving stones.

Your storefront has never looked more empty, and the memory of Marc laboring in the sun a few days prior comes unbidden. He’d been so careful, repotting the flowers that could be saved into new homes until he could get the supplies to rebuild the flower boxes. You’d sat on the front step, your help vehemently refused by him again and again as he broke down the old flower boxes and took down your sign.

You’d liked watching him, the shape of his hands so capable and strong. The least you could do was keep him company and so you’d sat there on the step, long into the slow afternoon, only occasionally getting up to get him something to drink.

Marc often forgets to take care of himself. He doesn’t think to eat sometimes, nevermind drink something to keep hydrated.

His words ring in your ears again and you blink away the memory.

I’m not Marc.

You glance back at Marc, eyes flicking over him, still not sure what to say, still not sure how you’re meant to reply.

Confusion and just a tad of hurt, spikes in your veins. What was with the accent? The apologetic shine in his eyes?

I’m not Marc.

Maybe you’d heard him wrong.

He opens his mouth to continue, fingers still anxiously twisting together in front of his chest.

“Marc?” you shake your head slowly and cut him off before he can speak. “Are you okay? What’s happening?”

“Sorry, sorry, doing a shit job at explaining myself, yeah?” He chuckles nervously then wipes at his cheeks, the briny residue of tears still staining his skin. “Dunno what happened. Somethin’ bad must have.” Marc shivers even though the early morning air is warm and humid.

Sweat beads along his brow, pearling against his skin and slowly rolling down his temples and into his mussed hair.

You swallow, trying to place the accent in his mouth, trying to place why he’s speaking to you in an accent at all.

It’s one that’s unfamiliar to you - London or just British you can’t tell.

I’m not Marc.

The sudden unfamiliarity of him makes you want to pull back from him. The confused hurt burbling ever higher in the back of your throat.

Marc’s shoulders twitch in another violent shiver that finally breaks you out of your shock.

Odd accent or not, he’s shivering and obviously distressed. “Marc, honey,” you beckon him forward, stepping back from the door. “C’mere, come inside. You look like you’re freezing.”

He hesitates, mouth opening and closing a few times before he finally manages to make the words come out. “I’m - I’m, please listen,” he pleads gently with you. “I’m not Marc. My name is Steven Grant. I’m not sure what’s happened, yeah? Just…I just woke up on your street.”

For one defensive, mean moment, your heart folds in on itself and you consider slamming the door in his face. After you’d spent so much time together, opened your home to him, he was…what? Fucking with you?

You tighten your grip on the door, prepared to shut it and tell him to fuck off. How juvenile, and cruel. And for what purpose? To get back at you for what happened outside his father’s house?

Everything you know about Marc flashes through your mind's eye. It just doesn’t sit right with you, weighs oddly on your heart.

It’s not something Marc would do.

Distress lines the body in front of you. Your eyes trace over those broken capillaries again, the tacky sweat and tears drying on his skin. His shoulders hitch a little as he sniffles and you realize he may start crying.

You relax your hand on the edge of the door, taking a long breath.

That did leave the question of what was actually happening, though.

He’s disheveled and distressed, swiping the sweat away from his temples with a shaking hand while he waits for your judgment.

You think briefly of the stress Marc always seems to be under, the fear in his eyes when he’d found you conversing with his father, how you’d considered his reactions far too exaggerated for someone with just a tense relationship with a parent.

Maybe, maybe the stress had finally caught up with him.

It didn’t matter really, you wouldn’t leave him standing there on the street no matter what.

You glance back at Marc - Steven, you mentally correct yourself - and smile. He still looks nervous, like he’s afraid you’re going to turn him away. Like he’s been rejected before, like he’s been accused of lying before, and he fears it's about to happen again.

“Okay. Steven,” you give a firm nod, the name an odd taste in your mouth. It feels strange to see Marc, and call him something else.

You just need to understand, you think. You just need to understand what’s happening.

“Steven,” you repeat his name, trying to get used to it. Deciding you should treat him like someone you don’t know, if he’s insistent that he isn’t Marc. And if you don’t know him, he might not know you. “Are you comfortable coming inside?”

He nods, stepping closer to you and his voice wavers, “Don’t think I can go back there…not while I don’t know what’s happened. I’ll explain everything! Honest, I will. Sorry, I know how confusing this all must feel. I’ve-I was, when it first happened.”

When what first happened?

You don’t ask just yet, smiling again instead while you hold the door open wider to let Steven step inside.

“You’re shivering,” you fuss at him, closing the door gently and twisting the lock back into place.

You reach out and cup your hands around his shoulders, rubbing his arms lightly. He’s wearing a black t-shirt and jeans. His skin is clammy and chilled, tacky with a dried anxious sweat.

It’s something you never do with Marc, you don’t usually touch him at all. But the action doesn’t feel strange with Steven, and he leans into it, accepting, stepping closer to you.

“Explain what?” You ask as gently as you can, the dark of the shop hemming you in close, cocooning you together. “Steven?”

“Something must have happened with Marc and our dad…that’s the only thing that could explain it, yeah? Why I was - this doesn’t usually happen. Not anymore. He must be really upset.” He seems anxious at the thought, and you find it hard to keep up, to understand what he’s saying when he’s talking about himself like Marc is another person.

Which, you suppose, he must be.

An idea fractures in your mind, something you’d read about online once. Back when you were still thinking of finishing college, when you thought getting a degree in psychology might be a good idea.

“I’m so sorry,” you say as gently as you can. “I still don’t understand. I don’t know what’s happening.”

Steven takes a breath and meets your eyes, frowning apologetically.

And it is Steven.

Because the longer you look at him, at the sloped curve of his shoulders, the soft cast of his gaze, and the fluttery nervousness of his hands, the more you realize this truly is not Marc Spector before you.

It can’t be.

He doesn’t even look like Marc, not really.

“Steven,” you trail your hands down to his wrists, note that his hands are still shaking. “What happened?” And then, not quite knowing if it was the right thing to ask, “Is - is Marc alright?”

Steven nods at you, nods and nods and doesn’t look away from you, his eyes growing round and soft. “Bloody hell, you are gorgeous. Marc doesn’t tell you that. He thinks so too.”

“Oh,” you feel something pleasantly warm pool in your gut. “No, he doesn’t. Tell me, that is.”

It’s strange, to be speaking to Steven about Marc, like he isn’t there.

And he isn’t, you suppose.

You just need a bit of time to adjust to that.

“Okay, Steven,” you repeat his name, trying to convey that you’re starting to understand just a little. “Would you like to come upstairs?”

Tales Untold, Chicago 3:04 AM

Steven is much chattier than Marc, and much more willing to part with information.

You settle him on the same stool Marc usually takes at your kitchen island, and go about making a cup of tea for each of you. “Sorry, I only drink tea at night so I only have chamomile. It helps me sleep.”

“That sounds lovely, actually,” he says, his eyes soft as his gaze follows you around the apartment. He’s much calmer now, the hitch in his breath gone.

So you make the tea, and find that Steven takes his with just the slightest amount of honey.

You’ve only ever seen Marc drink coffee, and always with too much sugar and a splash of milk.

With the first sip of tea, his shoulders loosen just a fraction, the muscles in his face and neck relaxing.

Even so, his limbs are looser than Marc’s ever have been and you realize you’ve never seen Marc fully at ease. “So,” you move around the counter and grab the blanket from the sofa to drape around Steven’s shoulders, worried that the shaking in his limbs might never stop. “You’re Steven.”

Steven nods at you, hands cupping around the warmth of the mug in front of him. “I’m sorry about bothering you so late,” he falters. “It was very kind of you to let me in at all…I know how I must sound to you.”

“You don’t sound any particular way,” you quickly chirp. “Really. It was more of a shock than anything. I should be apologizing to you.” Before he can contradict you, you continue, “And it’s no bother that you’re here,” you assure him. “Really. Uh -,” you hesitate. “Marc is here all the time late. He was drunk on my doorstep the first time.”

Steven chuckles. “Yeah, I remember bits of that. What an absolute plonker he was.”

You stifle a laugh, and then wait, sensing he’s going to get to explaining things to you without your coaxing, in his own time.

Very different from Marc then.

“Not sure - I mean if you’re confused then obviously - obviously Marc never talked to you about it.”

You tilt your head and wait for him to continue. “Talked to me about what?”

“Us. Me and Jake. Why would he though? No need, yet, yeah?” He chuckles uncomfortably.

“Jake?”

“Sorry, I’m still not, not explaining things right. Probably just makin’ it more bloody confusing.” He shakes his head, eyes clenching closed briefly.

You smile, “Just a bit.”

Steven blinks back over at you, watches you for a moment, not looking away like Marc would. It’s odd to feel his eyes linger for so long, gaze trapped on yours.

His brows are tilted out and up, rather than lowered over his eyes, divoting that little space between his brows with tension.

“Well, I guess it's better to just say it, innit? Marc didn’t explain things to me properly and that turned out just bloody brilliant, didn’t it? No.” His smile is warm. The brown of his eyes is warm, like melting molasses to Marc’s umber.

You don’t try to hide the laugh that bubbles up. Strange as the situation is, it doesn’t feel wrong. It feels like something that was always meant to happen. You reach out and lie a hand against Steven’s forearm, silently encouraging.

“Marc has Dissociative Identity Disorder,” Steven says, watching your hand, the slow stroke of your thumb against his skin. “Well, I suppose we all do, really. I didn’t know about Marc for a long time. It was an accident that I found out at all. He would have kept himself a secret from me if he could have.”

His skin feels warm now, and you’re glad the chilled feeling has retreated. Your heads are bent close together, and when you look up, Steven’s nose nearly brushes yours. So, you’d guessed right earlier, that fleeting thought. “What happened?” You ask.

His brows quirk up. “You…believe me?”

You blink, not expecting to be questioned. “Should I not?” Then, a hot anger creeps in, “Do people usually not?”

He swallows, and you release his arm and lean away from him, trying to remember he’s a stranger, that Steven and you do not know each other despite how familiar he is to you. “Just, just a bit strange.”

“I believe you,” you reassure him. “Of course I do.”

He hesitates, then continues, his words stilting and slow. “Marc is protective,” he explains. “He’d rather shoulder everything alone.”

You smile, and drum your fingers against the counter to quell the urge to touch him again. “That does sound like Marc.” When Steven takes another sip of tea, tucking the blanket tighter around his shoulders, you continue, worried you were making a mess of things or not reacting appropriately. “It’s really nice to meet you, Steven. I’m sorry about how I answered the door.”

Steven’s face relaxes, his shoulders loosening a bit more. “You couldn’t have known. I’d say you’re taking everything rather well.” His face is loose, a curious expression tilting his features. “You are really very kind. I see why Marc likes you.”

A nervous flutter beats in your belly and then moves up to knock against your ribs. It’s an innocent enough sentiment, still, you find yourself oddly delighted to know Marc does actually enjoy your company.

You can’t imagine what makes Steven say it, though, so you just smile. “That’s such a strange thing to hear about yourself. Thank you all the same,” you move off the stool and back around the counter, giving him a little more space.

You retrieve your own cup of tea, watching the familiar body glance around your apartment with curious eyes.

His gaze lands on the piano in the corner, the key lid still slid back from the last time you’d played for Marc. Steven opens his mouth and you expect him to question you, but instead he merely murmurs, “I see why Marc likes coming here so much.”

You nod, “I play for him each night. It’s why he decided to do some repairs for me. He’s pretty closed up about the piano though. Think maybe it’s something to do with your mother.”

Anger you don’t expect wells up inside you, wriggles between your teeth. You tuck your robe tighter around yourself with a sudden chill, thoughts of Marc’s insistence that you not get out of the truck, his body physically blocking yours from the house, flashing through your mind.

You know the origins of DID, and a lump forms in the back of your throat.

He must be so angry at you, for not listening to him.

Angry, or terrified. You can’t decide which is more likely.

You’re brought out of your reverie when a crisp piano note floats through the room.

Steven has moved to stand by the piano, staring down at the keys with a soft expression. When he glances up, he looks a tad embarrassed. “Has Marc told you why this is so important to him?”

“No,” you take a few steps forward. “He won’t even touch it.”

Steven depresses another key, decidedly not sitting down. “Does he know how to play it?”

You laugh and move to sit on the piano bench, feeling the ghost of all the times you’ve sat next to Marc there, his shoulder gently pressing into yours, the contact so light it was almost nonexistent, like he was afraid to take too much, make too much of a mark. “He said he used to know.”

“Maybe when we were children then,” Steven surmises, taking a seat next to you. “Reminds him of something.”

“You don’t know?” You ask, surprised.

“Won’t bloody tell me, no. Said he would sometime.” He continues quickly, “And he will, just needs a bit of time.”

You watch his hands, not touching the keys now but hovering over them, tapping out a silent song. “Looks like you know how to play it. Maybe you should try.”

Steven hesitates, hands hovering still over the keys suddenly, fingers frozen. “Not sure I should. I don’t know why Marc won’t.”

“He’s trying to protect you from something,” you guess.

Steven slowly shakes his head, fingers lowering and knotting together in his lap, “Not this time, no. I don’t think so. Usually I’d say yes, but I don’t think he’d keep bringing us over here around it if it were something bad.”

“He said he’d tell me,” Steven repeats, anxiously, like the words aren’t quite coming out the way he wants them to. Like he’s preemptively trying to protect Marc from your judgment, though you have none to level against him. “He - he tries to tell me things. But he’s not good at it yet. Talking about things, that is.”

You nod, “Yeah, I understand.”

Steven’s hands hover over the keys again, tapping out music you can’t hear. “He hasn’t told you anything? Nothing at all?” You shake your head and Steven rolls his eyes, but it's with a gentle affection. ��Bloody hell, Marc,” he mutters to himself.

“It’s okay,” you murmur. “We don’t know each other that well.”

He turns to stare at you, his knee pressing into the side of your thigh. “Hang on,” he blinks at you, “Marc, he’s here everyday, yeah?” You nod. “What an absolute twat. Really? Nothing?”

You find yourself smiling, leaning closer to Steven, “Yes, well, I haven’t exactly asked. And like you said he’s kinda closed up. I know a little but I try not to push him.”

Steven fidgets, glances around the room. “I could tell you - just a few things.”

You hesitate. Though you want to know more, about Marc, about Steven, you don’t want to know if Marc doesn't want you to.

“I’m not sure-,” you start to hedge.

“Just about me then,” he smiles. “Nothin’ to do with Marc. He can tell you when he gets his head out of his arse.”

You snort, the laugh that bubbles up so unexpected. “Alright then. Just about you.”

Steven is beaming at you, “You have a nice laugh.”

He smells like Marc, of course he does, wide brown eyes watching you with an unearned amount of affection. “Sorry,” he chuckles, just a bit self-deprecating. “I do feel like I know you, just a bit.”

“I understand.” You look away and clear your throat. “I feel like I know you too.” You meet Steven’s eyes again and then turn to the keys, slowly playing the song you always tap out for Marc. “Can I ask who Jake is?”

“As far as we know,” Steven answers easily. “There are three of us. Jake, he’s rather elusive. Rarely around really.”

You nod, and Steven leans into your side, much more heavily than Marc ever has. The warmth of him against you is nearly hot but not unpleasant. “Mm,” you hum so he knows you’re listening to whatever he wants to tell you.

Steven tells you that they don’t usually switch without the other’s knowledge, not anymore. “So, something must have happened, that the switch was involuntary, yeah? It only happens when we’re upset.”

You tilt your head, beginning to see why he’d been so anxious. “When things get too much,” you tread lightly.

“Yes,” Steven smiles at you. “Exactly.” His grin fades, “Don’t remember anythin’, though. Just - just staring at your shop.” You don’t have time to contemplate that, your body reacting on instinct as you suddenly turn and take his hands, a horrible thought occurring to you.

“Are you-,” you glance over his hands, press your fingers up his arms. “Hurt. Are you hurt?”

His smile is sad and gentle. “No. Not physically anyways. That’s somethin’ we don’t have to worry about anymore.” He avoids your gaze when he says it, an odd grief lodging in his eyes.

You find it hard to breathe for a moment, something hard sticking in the back of your throat.

Their mother, then.

Anger pools in your gut but you swallow it. It’s bitter. It burns going down.

“Well,” you release him. “That’s good to hear.”

It’s silent for a moment, in which you stare at Steven and he stares back at you. “He must feel very safe. To come here to you.” He swallows. “To bring me here. Us.”

“You’re always welcome,” you say. “Any of you. Even Jake. You’re all safe here.”

You’re surprised to see a tear streak down his cheek, before he leans in and takes your hands and deposits them back on the keys. “Keep playing. Please.”

Tales Untold, Chicago 5:13 AM

The sky is starting to lighten when you finally stop playing.

Steven offers to leave, or to sleep on your couch.

But all you see is the grief in his shoulders, the cast of shadow beneath his eyes, the broken capillaries, the pin pricks of red. You imagine how hard Marc must have been crying and decide you can’t let either of them be alone.

Steven doesn’t protest so much, or outright refuse when you tell him to sleep in your bed. It’s big enough, you argue, and you don’t want him to be alone, not even across the room.

Something in his face crumbles when you say that, and a torn, aching, raw hole of loneliness in them makes itself known to you.

You imagine Marc, if he could even be convinced, would lie stiffly next to you.

But Steven relaxes, laces his fingers with yours across the stretch of sheets between you and tells you how much he likes the stained glass that hangs in your window.

“I’ve been thinking of making some, for downstairs in the front window.”

“You made those?”

“Yeah.”

“Bloody brilliant. They’re beautiful.”

You smile.

Steven’s eyes are on your hands in the dark, his thumb tracing over the back of your hand. “Maybe I could help you? Since Marc is helping with everything else.”

“I would love that.”

He tells you about his job, about London, until his voice slows and slurs and eventually stops altogether.

You stay awake until his breathing evens out and slows. Only then, do you let a couple tears slip out and take a shuddering breath.

Tales Untold, Chicago 7:24 AM

Pale sunlight streams from between the slats of the blinds. It bends around the stained glass hangings, purples and reds splotched against the far wall.

The light wavers over the floor in long ribbons. The room is warm, the threat of the first truly hot day looming.

And Marc can’t make heads or tails of where he is for a moment.

His last memory is the heaving, soul crushing grief blocking his throat, the divoting fingers of the past gripping his lungs in tight fists. He remembers staring up at the front of your shop, empty and dark, without your sign and those pitiful fucking flower boxes.

The worming hurt had seized him again. He couldn’t brother you, not like this, not again.

Not after you’d seen too much, not after he’d frightened you and made you flee. You had wanted nothing to do with him. You had been eager to be away from him, and that’s something he could never blame you for.

Another howling sob had climbed up the back of his throat, so hot and hard he’d choked on it, swallowing down the sound until the pressure behind his eyes felt like it might bleed.

And then -

Nothing.

Just flashes of what came after, of you opening the door to Steven, your hands on piano keys, the twist of your mouth when you smiled.

Now, bright sun.

He blinks into it. Something heavy and warm rests over him, something soft and weighted with fragrance.

Marc freezes when he recognizes the scent.

Lavender and rosemary. You.

The sun retreats, his eyes adjusting to the light, and he finds himself blinking at the changing screen patterned with baby’s breath and tulips.

The thing on his chest is a cream colored duvet.

He’s in your fucking bed.

Surely not.

Surely Steven had not-

Slept next to you. Imposed them on you like that.

He shifts, and finds the bed empty. But the sheets on the other side of the bed are rumpled. And when he slides his hand across the mattress he finds it still warm with fading body heat.

Marc jerks his hand back like he’s been stung.

A headache begins at the base of his neck, the weight of this, of you knowing about Steven, of you and Steven bonding, combined with the night before, is too much.

He's not upset you've met Steven, he's more concerned with what Steven might have told you.

The conversation with his father floats back through his mind. The way you’d been all too keen to get away from him on the street. You hadn’t let him take you home, you clearly hadn’t wanted him to come over for dinner like he normally did.

He’d been trying, so fucking hard, not to let you see, not to let you get too close and see too much. You don’t deserve that, no one does, to have to carry inside them the things that he already did.

What had Steven told you? Marc doesn’t know. His memory is nothing but random flashes.

Marc sits up slowly, rubbing at the back of his neck as he tosses the duvet back and swings his legs over the side of the bed.

“Steven?” You call out at the sound of him moving around.

He freezes, the cut of your voice light and hopeful.

Do you always sound like that? He suddenly can't remember. Maybe it was a tone reserved for Steven.

Fuck.

He clears his throat, disentangling himself from the sheets. “It’s me,” he rumbles.

You appear around the side of the screen, eyes wide. “Sorry, I wasn’t sure who-,”

“It’s okay,” he interrupts, not quite meeting your eyes. A hard knot of shame swells in his chest, choking him. “So,” he grates. “You met Steven.”

He sounds irritated to his own ears, but he doesn’t correct his harsh tone. He doesn’t move to meet your gaze, training his gaze on your sock clad feet instead when he stands.

“Yes,” you say, stepping back when he moves from around the changing screen to face you fully. “I did.”

Marc huffs out a self-deprecating laugh, his headache increasing in intensity. “Great.”

A long silence slips between you. Tension floods his shoulders and rakes up his spine. Shame makes a familiar home in his heart, curling tight around the arteries.

He finally turns his eyes up to yours.

But you’re just watching him with a quiet intensity. Gently, like you’re speaking to a wounded animal, you say, “He’s lovely. Me and Steven got along well. I’m glad I got to meet him.”

When he doesn’t answer, you continue, “Are you okay? What happened? Steven didn’t seem to know.”

“No,” he lashes out, hating himself even as the words spill forth.

It’s easier. Hatred and embarrassment are easier to swallow than your acceptance. He wants your hatred and rejection and embarrassment. Because at least that makes sense. “Still told you plenty though, huh?”

Marc curls his hands into fists at his sides, waiting for you to snap back at him. You just shrug and step back, circling your kitchen island. “Yeah, we talked. Nothing important really.” You pull down two glasses from one of the cabinets. You have to stretch and your shirt slides up, revealing the soft skin of your lower back.

He shifts his eyes away from you, trying to hang onto the fraying threads of the shame and anger welling up inside him.

But you aren’t rejecting him, that’s clear. Not in any sense of the word. You aren’t treating him any differently than you normally do.

He feels inadequate, bad. Guilt lingers long against the wings of his lungs.

“I’m going to make some iced coffee.”

You don’t ask if he wants any, and Marc doesn’t answer. The acrid emotions floating inside his lungs like black smoke, starts to fade when he realizes you aren’t going to engage him at all. You aren’t going to entertain his anger or his shame. There’s nothing to be angry or guilty about.

“Come sit down,” you direct. “You don’t have to tell me what happened. But you should probably talk to Steven if you can. He was pretty upset.” You fill the glasses with ice, the clink loud in the quiet early morning. “He really didn’t tell me anything,” you add quietly. “Really he didn’t.”

Marc takes a long breath, closing his eyes for a moment, before he crosses the room to sit on his usual stool. “I shouldn’t have come over here,” he rasps, dragging a hand down his face, elbows braced against the counter. “You didn’t want us here.”

You turn and offer him one of the cups, sliding it over the counter to him. You plant one hand on your hip and tilt your head at him. “Really, Marc? Who said I don’t want you here? It certainly wasn’t me. Steven just explained that you have DID. Okay? That’s it. And that’s nothing to - to be ashamed of. Okay? And I don’t think Steven remembered what happened so he didn’t tell me anything else. He couldn’t.”

The glass is patterned with bumblebees. Marc traces a thumb over one of them. “Yeah? Wasn’t that enough?”

“Enough?” You ask, confusion coloring your voice.

He doesn’t answer, doesn’t know how to tell you that he’s crazy, even if you don’t recognize it yet. You don’t know everything, but this should be enough. Enough to put distance between the cradle of your care and him.

And how much he’s come to rely on you.

“Oh,” you whisper suddenly. Because you’re smart and intuitive and you just seem to always understand, even when he doesn’t say anything. “Oh, Marc, no. No.” And then, your voice light, filled with a strange levity, “I really like Steven and you promised to make me planter boxes.”

He chokes down the laugh that threatens to burst free. “Yeah, I did.” His shoulders loosen, the adrenaline flooding his system eases out and leaves him feeling exhausted, wan and dried out.

“Right. So you aren’t allowed to go anywhere just yet. I don’t want you to anyways.” You push a bottle of coffee creamer across the counter to him. “Here. I saw this one at the store and thought you might like to try it. It’s probably sweet enough for you.”

He just nods and takes it from you.

You round the counter and sit next to him with your own cup, fingers sliding up and down the sweating glass nervously.

“Can I tell you what I felt when I touched the piano?” He freezes, doesn’t dare look over at you. “My…I don’t like to think about it like a power. Because it doesn’t feel that way, and I don’t control it. I don’t want to control it. I trust it to know when I should know something.” You pause, swirling the straw in your glass. “And the piano wanted me to know.”

Marc turns to look at you, and finds himself reflected in your eyes. You look ashamed, guilty. Your smile is warped, sitting on your skin like you expect to be rejected. He remembers that first time you’d mentioned it, that the piano remembered him. You’d looked embarrassed then, too.

And the next time. So, shit talks to you, huh?

You’d snorted, avoided talking about it.

He must be silent for too long, because you nervously continue, fingers drumming on the counter. “I know it’s weird. It’s okay if-,”

“No,” he interrupts. “No. Tell me.”

“It’s weird, I know-,” you repeat again before you pause and take a breath. Your mouth opens and closes several times, like you don’t know how to continue.

He wants to tell you it's okay. Instead, he says, “Tell me.”

You blink and then smile, taking a sip of your coffee and watching from the corner of your eye to see if he does the same. He rolls his eyes and lifts his own glass.

You’re right, he likes the coffee creamer. White chocolate mocha, the bottle says.

It’s so sweet it makes his teeth itch. He loves it.

“It’s good.”

“I knew you’d like it,” you chime before you clear your throat. “When I touched the piano that first time, and everytime after that really, it felt like peace. Like happiness. Maybe like gold and mornings. To me, it’s like a conversation. And all it wanted me to know is that it was not ready to leave it’s home.” Marc stares at you, eyes flickering down to your hand which rests next to his, not touching his skin, not quite. “It was waiting for someone. Wouldn’t say who.”

You swallow. “So I never suspected, Marc. About your mother. I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened but I’m sorry and I understand why it’s so complicated for you. The piano and being here and how it used to be hers.”

Steven might not have told you anything, but you’ve been able to guess, at least about some things. He fidgets, pressure spilling down his sides, raking over the skin of his belly. He inches his hand into yours, so your pinkies are touching. “You weren’t supposed to know.”

“I’m sorry,” you say and you sound like you mean it.

Marc moves his hand until it’s settled fully over yours. Your skin is soft beneath his calloused palm. “There’s a lot you don’t know. You don’t have to be sorry about any of it.”

The shame has retreated, replaced by this odd acceptance.

You flip your hand up and press your fingers through his.

Tales Untold, Chicago 6:59 PM

He’s repointing your brickwork, or starting on it at least, digging out the old mortar from between the bricks and letting it lie where it falls.

You’re sitting on the step up to your shop, quiet in the setting sun. You look content, capable hands sanding down the sides of the first completed flower box he’d brought over the day before.

“Before…before things changed, we were really close.” You look up but Marc doesn’t look at you. He speaks to the brick. “My mom and me. We played the piano together. All the time.”

You carefully set the box down, leaning your elbows against your knees as you listen. “She started drinking a lot. Piano got covered up. We never played it again. Maybe that’s why you feel good things from it. Because that’s all it knows. That’s all I remember.” He jams the chisel into the mortar hard, sweat drips down his temple, slides along the curve of his cheek.

“I’m sorry for - for what happened the other day with my dad. I didn’t mean to scare you.” You shift, sitting up straight but Marc still doesn’t look at you, shoving the chisel between the bricks again without preamble. His arms strain, and he thinks he should stop, that he’s digging in too far.

“After you left,” he continues, even though he can see you opening your mouth in his peripheral vision, probably to contradict him, but he doesn’t want you to have to lie for his sake. “After you left, my dad asked about you. Too many questions. Why I didn’t want you to come inside. He asked like he didn’t know how hard it is for me to go inside.”

Marc knows, he knows you’ve already guessed at the abuse. Steven had told him how you’d asked if he was hurt. And Marc remembers, can see your face in his mind’s eye, the gears turning in your head as you put the pieces of who he is together.

You’re too intuitive for your own good.

So he might as well just get the words out.

“I…usually handle it better but I was so -,”

He was so fucking scared. Anxious.

“Stretched thin,” he says. “That I couldn’t - that the truth just came out.”

You haven’t moved, and Marc sets the chisel down, his hand shaking. “What happened?” Your soft voice asks as he sits on the pavement and leans back against the ruined brick wall.

“I reminded him,” Marc says, bracing his forearms on his knees. “Of why this has been so hard. I reminded him of everything that happened in that house.” He manages to look over you, fastening his eyes on your ankles, the old pair of sneakers you wear. “Told him that’s why you’ll never fucking visit. Not as long as I’m there.” He swallows, “Especially now that I know…I don’t want you to touch something, see something you won’t be able to forget.”

When he finally drags his eyes up to yours, the last part is easy to say. “Went to bed. I shouldn’t have tried to sleep, not when I felt the way I did.” He swallows, thinks briefly about how pretty you look in the sun. “Nightmare, from the stress probably. I could feel how close I was to slipping but I couldn’t stay there and - and I’m trying not to become her, so I can’t drink and -,”

Marc doesn’t finish that thought, and the silence stretches for a long minute.

“What was the dream about?”

What it’s always about. Rushing water. Begging cries. Bruised hands. Slamming doors.

“Doesn’t matter,” he shakes his head. “I shouldn’ta come here. But, maybe I knew - you and Steven would put things back together.”

You stand, hesitating for only a second before you join him on the ground. You push your head against his shoulder and let out a long breath. “You can always come here. You’re safe here. Steven and Jake too.”

“Not sure you wanna leave the door open for us like that,” he tries to joke.

But you just nod fervently against him, “Yes, I do.”

He should let you go. He shouldn’t tell you these things.

Instead, he twists his fingers with yours. “You gonna paint that one tonight?”

“No,” you squeeze his hand. “It’s almost dinner time. I thought we could order Chinese.”

He nods, presses his nose into your temple even though he shouldn’t accept your comfort.

“We gotta get out more,” you say suddenly. “Outta this shop and you outta that house.”

He nods against you, eyes closed, breathing in the lavender and rosemary of you.

His hands are dirty but you still clutch at him like he’s not sweaty and gross. You inhale against him like he’s made of something much more valuable than flesh and blood.

“Do you want to reconcile with your father?”

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly.

“Well,” you start. “You could bring him to dinner here. It’s a start. It’s neutral ground.”

Marc doesn’t answer but you don’t demand one from him. Like you know he’ll answer you sometime, eventually.

“We gotta go to a Cubs game,” he says. “I haven’t…there’s a lotta stuff about Chicago I miss.”

“Like the Bean.”

He snorts, “Oh yeah.”

“Pizza.” You lift your head, “Navy Pier. Skydeck. Shedd.”

“Yeah. Mostly the pizza though.” Then, hesitant because you’re like a mirage, like something too good to believe. He squeezes your fingers, feels you echo the touch, squeezing right back. “Wanna go to a Cubs game with me?”

“As long as you buy me pizza afterwards.”

He can feel you smiling against his arm when you duck your head.

Marc huffs out a gentle laugh. His chest feels distinctly lighter. “Okay.”

“It’s a date.”

Thank you for reading! Another special thank you to those keeping up with the series, and for all the continued love and support.

Comments and feedback are so appreciated. New parts will be posted Saturdays at 3PM EST! You can add yourself to the tag list on the series masterlist.

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#marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x you #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight fanfic

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peterparkouryo · 1 year

Text

rebound iv, the teaser | ✧.*

prompt; You had been in a relationship with Peter for months until he broke up with you. It was tough at first, but over time you began to move on and eventually found someone new. However, Peter couldn't handle seeing you with someone else and it was clear he was still harbouring feelings for you.

warnings in this teaser: maybe angst nd small argument?

a/n: this teaser is nothing special, it just prepares you for the absolute shit show you will be getting :D

✧.*

You were starting to believe someone was out to get you. Maybe fate wasn't actually falling in your hands and you just had this habit of attracting bad things whenever something good came your way.

This time around, it was not your fault for the bad things happening to you, it was Peter's.

You thought you two had this silent agreement that after you found your closure, you'd never have to talk to each other again, which was going well for the past few months, avoiding each other like the plague or just simply pretending either or did not exist.

For some reason though, the boy couldn't take the hint and it was bringing back old nightmares you didn't want to relive.

Peter had this habit of sticking to you like a bug (no pun intended) and you were worried it had something to do with the still lingering feelings he clearly still had for you, which is something you did not know until you started seeing Miles.

When you said you hadn't thought about Peter in a very long time, you meant it as three days sober without the boy trying to ruin your life. You really had no idea why it was a problem for Peter to be happy for you when you were more than supportive for his now ex relationship with MJ.

Michelle wasn't too keen on telling. you the details of why they broke up after two months of dating, but you had this feeling it had something to do with you, which is so selfish, but Peter being Peter can't help but make the obvious, well, obvious.

Every conversation you have with him ends in an argument, a petty one at most.

So, when he approached your locker, you were prepared for the worst.

"Are you still coming to the decathlon meeting?" Is the first thing he asks you, and it's not like you're expecting an 'hi, how are you?', most of your conversations nowadays are usually straight to the point.

"Why?"

"Because, you never go anymore? Like, what type of question is that..." Peter mumbles the last bit, but you hear it, and you take a deep breath in to not say anything back.

"We'll see, I might hang out with Miles after school." You shrug as you close your locker and you see Peter roll his eyes from the corner of your eye.

"If you're gonna keep ditching, what's the point in being on the team?" Peter questions almost hypocritically.

"You're one to talk." You argue.

"That's different. I have a reason to, you? Not so much." He shrugs and you let out a scoff and turn to walk away, not wanting to be predictable and provoke an oncoming argument.

And as also predicted, Peter follows you like a lost puppy.

"Do you always have to hang out with him after school?" He quizzes, and you stop in your tracks, to give him a questionable look.

"Well yeah, that's what boyfriend and girlfriends do Peter. Once upon a time, we use to do that exact thing." You narrow your eyes at the boy as he looks anywhere but at you.

Again, you're not the smartest person alive, but it was painfully obvious Peter for some reason still harboured feelings for you and you were all sorts of confused as it was him who broke up with you in the first place.

You just wanted him to leave you alone, you've been through so much because of him, but yet, he can't take the hint no matter what you do.

"I know, and I still feel bad about breaking up with you." Peter sighs and you shake your head quickly.

"No, please Peter, stop while you're at it." You warn, watching the boys face visibly deflate at your rejection.

Peter was not stupid (most of the time), so you knew that he knows just how good he was at being a manipulator. His favourite technique was obviously guilt-tripping and being the best at putting the blame on others because he's "been through so much". You learned that the hard way, and now you were glad you could point out the red flags whenever he tried to do exactly that.

"What? I'm not doing anything." He shrugs innocently and you roll your eyes at his faux innocence.

Before you could voice your comeback, the bell rings and you let an all too familiar feeling settle in your stomach.

You decide to keep the silence in between you both, turning around to walk to your class and dare you even try to look back at Peter.

You both knew this was not the end of it, if anything, only the beginning of something worst.

lol

#peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #peter parker angst

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ritz-writes · 6 months

Text

@asleepyy so sorry for tagging u twice in one day and i hope im not bothering u with my brain rot 😅

but yes, i did actually dissect the lyrics. yes, i am actually insane. and yes, i love this au quite a lot.

here are my notes and what i think each song represents, tho its mainly just the vibes i get. i made notes as i listened to them (note: i see songs almost always in animatic form. idk if that will effect how i imagine what each song means, but i thought it might be worth mentioning)

join me as i lose my mind over the course of an hour and a half

say what you think: def making me think of them both in heaven and jophiel wanting to ask questions.

running up that hill: AHH this one hurt. very obvious as well. jophiel seeing that azazel shouldnt be a demon. "And if I only could I'd make a deal with God, and I'd get Him to swap our places." i am sobbingggg

what difference does it make?: at first i was going to say its jophiel wanting to figure out what went wrong but azazel makes them promise not to, but i think its better suited for azazel understanding hes a demon, but he cant help but still have faith in the almighty

please please please let me get what i want: fuckkk is this about azazel being a demon but still wanting to do good 😭 short but still painful

ever fallen in love (with someone you shouldn't've): my first reaction to the title alone was like the second image of the kambucha girl meme. anyway i think this one is about them becoming friends (or more?? 👀) but knowing its seen as wrong. "And if I start a commotion, I run the risk of losing you and that's worse" makes me also think of jophiel talking to the metatron and realizing he shouldnt ask about azazel lest he risk the poor thing being smited.

nothing critical: ohhhh this one gives hella vibes of jophiel not trusting heaven and knowing "something isnt right here" in regards to the fall-- HOLD UP "I know, someone had to go, If not him it'd be me instead" HELLO??? aziraphale asking for jophiel??? is this like after he finds out what azazels name used to be??

flowers never bend with the rainfall: hmm... i feel like this is a plot point song. not sure why. but "And I hide behind the shield of my illusion" makes me think it pertains to azazel

bird in space: oh this ones a bit tricky. i think ive reached the songs that no longer fit the lore we've been given thus far. so the only thing i can think rn is jophiel enjoying earthly pleasures? not rlly sure

angel, won't you call me?: oh fuckkk is this about a fight they have? "I fled at the face of my rival. When I felt his breath at the back of my neck. Angel, won't you call?" theres no way that isnt about azazel saying smth and then leaving, only to be scared he severed his tie to the only person thats been nice to him.

the stranger: first of this is a bop and im loving it. very groovy. the first thing that comes to mind is the "choose your faces wisely" prophecy. ooo is this about jophiel trying to convince azazel hes still meant to be an angel? that he wasnt meant to fall? also, the last verse is sticking out to me... not sure why

all i think about now: fuckkkkk this is giving me the vibes of jophiel finding out azazel Fell cuz of him and feeling guilty about it. "If I'm late, can I thank you now?" FUCKING OW?? oh yeah for sure this is about jophiel finding out and being sucker punched with guilt

ill be your mirror: oh goddd this song. i know crowley listens to this song but i cant remember what its about so lets see. AH SHIT YEAH THATS RIGHT. okay so jophiel reminds azazel that he is inherently good, regardless of if hes a demon. thats what im getting from this (also just tihnking of that ask i sent about the reflective sunglasses bthwjegkrw)

me and my husband: okay all im getting from this is "they r down bad". they r very very very much in love. getting vibes of this being after they stop the apocolypse. or maybe their feelings developing thru the centuries

time in a bottle: oh man this song always gets me. okay so, this and the last song r giving the oh-shit-i-might-be-in-love vibes. but this one is with jophiel's pov, while me and my husband is azazel's

ritz note: the last couple songs have been cute and lovey and i am now terrified of what the next ones r gonna be. cuz i know this fandom. and i am not ready for the pain. i am afraidddd

lonesome town: i fucking called it i knew the happy wouldnt last 😭😭 they had a fight didnt they. yeahhh they had a fight. FUCK why is this so sad but so pretty

across the universe: is this one sad too??? hang on theres a bit thats not in english, what does that mean... "Hail to the Heavenly Teacher." okay so i assume this is an azazel song. this is just making me think of the bookshop fire, but its azazel thinking jophiel died 😭 ....i am staring at the lyircs. i am glaring at the lyrics. this song MEANS something. i just dont know what. but its important. im squinting at it very hard (note: i came back to this song and am STILL glaring at it. its like. its like im seeing it covered in sand but i know theres gold underneath. i cant SEE the gold, but i know its there. this is driving me nuts /pos)

no wonder i: hm.. im not rlly sure with this one. OH?? is this azazel finding out heaven isnt that good?? "Suddenly I'm not so sure. That intentions can be pure." hmmmmmmm

what do they know?: holy shit okay this is a completely different kind of song than the others. im.... glaring at these lyrics too. feels like a plot point but cant tell what it is. i think its about jophiel? maybe heaven too?? idk im grasping at straws with this one

sea of love: oh yay a happy song again 😌 okay this is just short and sweet. gives me forgiveness and/or confession vibes.

who are you, really?: this one sounds important and i am glaring!! makes me think of "we dont need heaven we dont need hell" and also "a demon/angel that goes along with hell/heaven as far as he can". also just makes me think of jophiel speaking.

the moon will sing: i fucking love this song but i dont think ive ever looked at the lyrics so lets goooo. right away i see "I could have been anyone, anyone else. Before you made the choice for me" and think of aziraphale asking and falling for jophiel, and in a way making the choice of jophiel staying an angel. "Instead, I made a bed with apathy" jophiel trying not to care about a random demon. "I shine only with the light you gave me" jophiel giving azazel ideas on how to do "good" while being "bad". also with that line, thinking of azazel saying that to god and being sad about having fallen AUGHH i have a whole animatic in my head with this song and im losing my mind

matephor: hnnnn another important sounding song. jophiel vibes. fight song perhaps?? "Don't look too hard 'cause you won't like the scars he left in me" azazel vibes??? this one is elusive to me but i love it. okay im slowly getting more azazel vibes. like azazel trying to convince jophiel that he is a demon and fell for a reason

providence: right away getting "heaven and hell r bad" vibes. OHH okay okay this is giving me hella jophiel vibes, but specificly snarky and sassy jophiel vibes. of being like "oh yes heaven is oh so great, we kill children! but its for the greater good, of course. gotta beat hell and all that, even at the cost of innocents. all for the almighty and her ineffable plan." (this song is a bop omg)

earth angel: oh i know this one but only with crowley and aziraphale, so im excited to listen to it with an oopsie omens mind set. omg wait why does it hit HARDER. love sick azazel is such a cute image 🥺🥰

what more can i do: hmm.. them being in love but knowing its "forbidden"? cant tell who i imagine with it more

starman: this is just them. classic good omens song, regardless of the au. love to see it 💖

a pearl: AH FUCK ANOTHER SAD ONE. mitski whyy. hm.. azazel song? jophiel?? i think jophiel... tho my mind might be turning to mush at this point so im not sure. one of them is sad

duvet: oh def azazel vibes. oh maybe some jophiel vibes too?? i can see it swaping povs. i think it fits azazel more tho.

ritz note: OKAY the next song is in a different language and for a split second i legit thought i was having a stroke when i pulled up the lyrics ngl bgkewrrkjq

différent de toi: no idea what this song is about but its pretty 😊

oh thats all of them! i think the first half is more coherent observations, while the second half is just... rambling a bit lmao. idk if any of this makes sense. i might also be looking for things that arent there with these songs, but oh well. this was fun!

and now, after looking back at them all, i really does just slowly derail near the end lmao

#kinda hesitant to post this #but i think i put too much work into it not to so #here we go <3 #good omens #good omens au #ritz rambles #long post

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