#ok tagging things now additional thoughts OVER

[biasomnia]

Ignore me if I am getting stuff wrong but I’ve recently begun to think of Viktor’s journey throughout Arcane in the context of the classic gothic sci-fi novel Frankenstein (I specify novel due to not watching any of the movies). It’s fascinating how Viktor is both the creature (“Adam”) and, uhm, Victor Frankenstein himself.

~Essay below the cut for your scrolling ease~

Firstly, it’s clear in season 1 how Viktor = Victor. Both are bright eyed students yearning for knowledge and to make change with professors warning them to not get lost within the ideals to the post they lose their morals. Unlike Victor Frankenstein, Viktor sees the horrors of the Hexcore only after it as killed, yet like the tale of yore he has no strength to beat his creature alone. So Viktor asks Jayce for help.

Now, Jayce is our Frankenstein. Another bright eyed inventor, doomed to create. He brings the dead to life with an unexplained science. Yet unlike Victor, Jayce sees his resuscitated creature with awe at first when it awakens. All his theories are true. Yet it, Viktor, languishes. An unnatural life, an unnatural body, fused with his creature into something new. Like the creature, he flees, desperate to find out who he, who it is.

I would consider Viktor in act 2 of season 2 a continuation of him as the creature, if the creature was seen as a messenger of god. As the creature once said, “.. I ought to be thy Adam, but I am rather the fallen angel..” (Chapter 10). Viktor is if the creature were truly allowed to be Adam, to be the first of the new mankind. The next step of Evolution. One could argue he still represent Victor within his scientific pursuits, but I’d retort the creature has as much of a smart mind as his creator, willing to push himself.

Sadly for Viktor, Jayce has no awe left. He has fully embraced being Frankenstein, seeing his choice after the bombing as an inhumane mistake. Jayce declares his goal: to right his wrongs. Unlike both Viktor and Victor, Jayce has the strength to do so. He brings himself infront of his creature. Something made with his friend’s body, wearing his friend’s face, his friend’s memories recognizing Jayce and feeling safe. So Jayce must tighten his grip on the hammer kill it.

When act 3 begins, Viktor is now an amalgamation of both the creature and Frankenstein. He is something new and feared, something that wants and begs for its creator’s love and acknowledgement. He is someone exploring a new field, seeking praise as he delves into waters too deep for people to handle, not noticing the air leaving his lungs as he drowns in the knowledge around him. He creates many a creature, each a cherished doll.

I’d say that Jayce is also a similar amalgamation, something touched and formed by something, someone, higher than him. Someone else’s creature, a horrid reminder of everything that world lost nestled within his hands. He is still Frankenstein, as seen with “My partner died in this room.” (S2, Act III). I think there is more to be said on Jayce’s journey in the context of Frankenstein but it’s 1am and I could make a more official essay later. I felt it important to include this short paragraph, however, before we delve into our conclusion.

The two finally stand face to face once more, the lines are blurred on who is the creature and the creator, but that does not matter now. No matter which of the two they are, they want the other dead. So they fight and the lines blur further and further till the two have to look at eachother, at their human faces in the cosmic plane. The line is gone. Both Viktor and Jayce are the creators of Hextech, the new science that was a piece of ever tragedy. Both are creatures made by Hextech, unable to live without it. So like Victor and the creature, Jayce and Viktor realize they have no place left in the world. So they leave it, letting the world distort and contort their story as time passes by.

[always-just-red]

A multi-headcanon request please. How the boys react when they discover their s/o has been hiding a wound from them because she had it under control and didn't want to give them something else to worry about

Hi! Thanks so much for the request and all the support! Have written a little fic for each of the guys, starring... - Xavier, Deepspace Hunter extraordinaire ✨ - Linkon's worst best baking partner, Zayne 🍪 - Drama queen Rafayel 👑 - King of self-care, Sylus 💅

Putting On A Brave Face

L&DS Boys x Reader

Summary: Sometimes, a certain hunter likes to say things are fine when they definitely aren't...

Genre: A lil bit of angst, mostly fluff + comfort!

Warnings/Additional tags: female reader, established relationship, swearing, canon pet names, some injury details/blood mentioned, teeeeency bit of suggestion (I'm looking at YOU, Sylus...)

| Word count: 4k (1k each!) | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Xavier ⭐

This is bad. Not ‘end of everything as we know it’ bad, but definitely ‘an obscene amount of paperwork’ bad.

You clutch one of your pistols to your chest— deep breath— and you listen carefully, your head leant back against the rock you’re using as cover. Your mind latches on to every sound: each growl, each rumble of earth that marks the movements of the Wanderers that have trapped you here.

You’ve fought worse odds, but then again, you don’t usually have to do it with a broken leg.

Or maybe just sprained? You shift a little, trying to move, and the pain that sears through you settles the debate in an instant. Your teeth sink into the back of your hand to keep you from crying out.

You hope Xavier’s ok. You sent him your co-ordinates minutes ago, and the lack of response has worry gnawing away at the deepest parts of you. You check your hunter’s watch.

Still nothing.

Another deep breath, and you readjust your position as much as you can. Balancing on your good leg, you manage to peer over the top of the rock to get a visual of your surroundings.

There’s four, no— five Wanderers. Stupid no-hunt zone; you’re never not outnumbered.

You can see your second pistol, abandoned in the middle of the clearing where you’d dropped it. There’s flickers of movement, too: further in the woods. More Wanderers. Shit.

You duck behind the rock you’re starting to think might be your new home. Then your watch flickers, broadcasting a map of the area, and there’s the co-ordinates of another hunter, closing in fast.

Something flashes in the clearing, lighting the dark of the forest like a stutter of lightning. Then again. Then again. There’s a blood-curdling roar, and it ends— abrupt— with another flash.

Everything goes silent, save for a familiar voice calling your name.

“Xavier!” you call back.

You peek over the rock to see your partner jogging towards you, dead Wanderers littered behind him. “Are you alright?” he asks, his voice soft as always, but his sword is still dripping blood.

“I’m ok.” You clamber up, using the rock as a seat when the small effort almost breaks you. “You?”

Xavier draws close— his gloved hands on your face, cupping your cheeks. His thumb grazes over a shallow scrape on your brow. “Yeah,” he answers.

“Did you find that weird Wanderer?”

He shakes his head: no. Steps back to check his watch. “It’s probably moved on to a different zone by now.”

“Then we should look for it,” you say, standing up. All of your weight is on one leg.

“Ah,” Xavier ponders, rubbing his neck, “really? I thought we should maybe head back.”

“No need.” And what’s the plan here, exactly? You can’t walk. You definitely can’t fight. Maybe you can wait here while he— no. He’s never going to leave you. “I told you I’m ok.”

“But you’re not.”

“I am,” you assert. You’re determined to convince him and your own, useless body. It’s just a sprain. It is just a sprain. You take a step forwards and stumble, your bad leg crumpling beneath you.

Xavier catches you, strong and solid, and he's holding you like you’re something delicate. He sets you down on the rock again. The pain is making your vision swim.

“You’re hurt,” he reasons gently, even though the truth of it is a knife that’s twisting in your heart. He seems to sense your reluctance: “There’s no shame in admitting that. It happens. Let’s go back.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m slowing you down, Xavier!” you gush. Your heart is split open and it has to bleed somewhere. “You have no idea what it’s like… being your partner.”

He’s looking at you with so much guilt and gods, you wish that somewhere was anywhere but his hands. “What do you mean?” he asks on a shaky breath.  

“I love working with you.” Soften the blow. “I love being with you, but you don’t need me. You’re this incredible hunter. This figure of legend, of everyone’s stories. You can do so much on your own and I just don’t know how to keep up. I mean, look at me— I can’t.”

You feel sick. Empty. “You shouldn’t have to hang back for me,” you finish limply. “You’re you, Xavier. You can fight like a hundred Wanderers and still come out unscathed.”

The blue of Xavier’s eyes has grown understandably more turbulent, though it settles a little. He seems to relax. “Yeah… about that,” he mumbles hesitantly.

He turns around and your mouth drops. A savage cut drapes like a crimson sash down his back, splitting the white of his uniform. It’s not deep enough to be fatal, but it’s not good, either.

“Wha— Xavier!” you exclaim, trying to surge forwards, but your pain keeps you rooted. “You said you were ok!”

“So did you,” he frowns, bewildered. “Can we get out of—”

“Yeah, yeah.” You let him take your arm and help you to your feet.

He leads you through the clearing and into the forest, supporting your weight as you hop along beside him. There’s a murmur about how he should carry you, but you’re quick to reassure him he’s doing enough. You’re both hurting; you both just need to survive the short walk out of the no-hunt zone, where a med team can take over.

“You don’t slow me down, you know,” Xavier says quietly, after a minute of silence. “You’re the reason I can keep going.”

You squeeze his arm affectionately, mustering a smile even though you’re nauseous with pain and the idea that he’s been dwelling on your speech this whole time. “Well,” you chuckle through gritted teeth, “you’re gonna have to learn how to get by without me.”

“Huh?” He gives you a curious look.

You glance down at your leg. “Zayne’s gonna kill me...”

Zayne ❄

“I’m a doctor.”

You stop what you’re doing to fix Zayne with a questioning stare. “Ok…?”

“I’ve published dozens of research papers. Pioneered new surgical techniques. My work on Evol-based regenerative properties still has lasting implications for my field, and I’ve the accolades to show for it. The Starcatcher Award. The Linde Award, too— I was the youngest ever recipient.”

None of this is news to you, and you can’t help chuckling at this change in your usually-humble physician. You humour him: “The youngest ever recipient, huh?” There’s a crack as you split an egg on the side of the bowl in front of you. “That’s very impressive.”

“Is it?”

Zayne stands from his seat at your kitchen table: you hear the chair draw back. You feel his presence arrive behind you as you continue to stir your soon-to-be cookie dough. “Yeah,” you lilt with a smile.

“Really?” he pushes again, and his arms wrap around you as he bends to speak into your ear. “Because someone seems to think I can’t even recognise a—” he nips at it— “sprained ankle.”

His breath is warm on your neck and you let out a giggle. “Keep speaking to me like that and these cookies are never making it into the oven. Or your stomach.”

The man relents. He releases you, not returning to his seat but opting to lean against the kitchen counter instead. You glance up at him; he stares back, waiting for an actual answer.

“My ankle is fine, Zayne.”

There’s a sigh as he crosses his arms.

“It is,” you insist, even though you did sprain your ankle at work today, it does hurt like hell, and you do just want to sit down. You reach for the flour you’d measured out previously, tipping it into the larger bowl. “If it wasn’t, would I really be here— making you cookies?”

“Yes,” he says plainly.

“You’re delusional.”

“Ok.”  

Well, that was a little too easy. Don’t overthink it, and definitely don’t read into the fact that he’s standing there oh-so-smugly, like he knows something you don’t. You finish stirring the flour into the mixture, then add the last of the ingredients. Just a pinch of salt, and then…

Where did you put the chocolate chips? You glance about yourself but they’re nowhere in sight. “Hey, Zayne? Have you seen the—”

“This cupboard,” he indicates with an upwards nod of his head. His eyes are relentless. “Top shelf.”

Ah. That’s ok. You’ve totally got this. You move beneath the cupboard, opening it and gazing up into the contents. You can see the pack of chocolate chips. You can get up there somehow, right?

“Would you like me to—” Zayne starts, but you cut him off:

“Nope.” You put your hands on your hips. “Please— if I can climb the back of an alive, awake, and very angry deluge wyrmlord to put a sword through its skull, I think I can make it onto the kitchen counter in one piece. Lemme just…”

Your knee lifts. You make it about a centimetre from the floor before Zayne’s hands are on your waist, grounding you. “Stop,” he instructs, and it's not a tone that allows for any rebuttal. Satisfied by your silence, he brings the chocolate chips down to you.

“Thanks,” you say quietly as they’re placed on the counter.

“You’re welcome."

Sheepishly, you spill a generous amount of chocolate chips into the cookie mixture. Your throat hurts in the way that keeps you from saying anything more. You already feel like an idiot, and your eyes are watering, threatening to make you look like even more of one.

Zayne’s hand appears in front of you, hovering over the bowl. You laugh in understanding: giving the half-empty bag another shake so chocolate chips fall into his palm.

“You… don’t have to explain yourself,” he says as he lifts them to his mouth. His next words are muffled: “But you can tell me anything, my love. I never want you to feel as though you can’t.”

You chuckle again; you can’t help yourself. Look at him: your oh-so-serious doctor shovelling chocolate into his mouth. He raises an eyebrow at you, his lips still on his palm.

“I know I can tell you anything,” you smile, the ache in your throat receding, however much the rest of you hurts. “I did sprain my ankle. It’s not that I wanted to hide it from you, it’s just—” you stop stirring the mixture— “it’s just that your whole life is taking care of people at the hospital. You should get a break from it. You should get to be Zayne, here… at home. Just Zayne, not Doctor Zayne.”

Zayne’s hazel eyes have taken on a hue of regret. He pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, buying himself a few seconds as he contemplates. “Are you a doctor?” he asks after a moment.

“No?”

“And yet, here you are, taking care of me.” He reaches for the abandoned packet of chocolate chips. “Tell me, does it feel like work to you?”

“Yeah,” you tease, drawing the packet away from his stretching fingers in explanation; you’re both grinning.

“Well, it never feels like work to me. Just Zayne likes taking care of you. And right now? He wants to bundle you up on the sofa and finish these cookies for you.”

You purse your lips: that’s some dubious wording. “Zayne, hell will freeze over before I leave you and this cookie dough unsupervised.”

He shushes you, pulling on the cord of your apron until the bow at your back comes loose. Before you can protest, he’s wearing the apron himself.

“Zayne, I’m not kidding. I know what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna get rid of me, and then you’ll—”

“Shh,” he coos again, whisking you carefully off your feet, because it’s time for a taste of your own medicine. “You’re delusional.”

Rafayel 🔥

“Mmhmm. Mmhmm.”

“Raf, who are you—”

He holds out a finger to shush you. “Mmhmm.”

You cross your arms impatiently. Who is he even talking to, anyway? His lilac eyes are locked on you as he continues humming away, apparently very invested in whatever the person on the phone is saying; you’ve never seen him go this long without talking.

He narrows his eyes at you. You narrow your eyes right back.

All around you, guests of the exhibition are milling about, all dressed to the nines and minding their business, however much they want the attention of the man in front of you. A few of them linger as they pass him, like they want to say something, like they’re going to say something…

But they don’t.

It’s a wonder that Rafayel stands out in the crowd as much as he does. You’d seamlessly located him, back from your third trip to the bathroom to check on the bandages you’ve managed to conceal beneath this dress. He’s still holding your purse for you, his phone in his other hand, except—

That’s your phone. That’s your phone! “Rafayel!”

He shushes you again. “I understand,” he says solemnly, notably not to you, “thanks for letting me know.” The call is ended. He takes a deep, collected breath, then looks at you. “I knew it!”

“Knew what? Who was that?”

“Zayne.”

“You called Zayne?”

“Like I had a choice!” Rafayel retaliates. It is true; he’s spent the entire evening trying to get you to admit something was wrong, and you had no intention of giving him that pleasure. “You’re supposed to be in the hospital! What kind of idiot breaks out of the hospital?”

The lack of irony in the question almost breaks you. “Umm… you?! Like every other week?!”

He shrugs. “That’s different.”

“Rafayel, I swear, I’m gonna— ah!” you gasp in pain. You’d stepped forwards too quickly— maybe to strangle him, but that’s neither here nor there— and the wound on your side is clearly on his side. It stings like hell: punishing you, and you know the pain is self-inflicted.

Rafayel frowns in concern, maybe even guilt, and that’s why you didn’t tell him. “C’mon, we should go,” he insists gravely.

“It’s fine, Raf. It doesn’t even—”

“Stop lying! You said you wouldn’t hide stuff like this from me. You promised, remember?”

You’re losing track of all the promises you’ve made to the Lemurian, but you do remember that one. Guilt has its teeth in you, too. “I know,” you grumble, “I’m sorry, ok? I just knew—”

“What?”

“That you’d act like this! You’ve been working on this exhibition for months, Raf. Tonight is supposed to be about you. Not me— you. And I want it to stay that way. Everyone’s here to celebrate you and your work, and that’s how it should be. That’s what I want. To support you. To be here for you.”

Your voice has gone timid. You finish meekly: “Can’t you let me do this for you? Please?”

Rafayel’s eyes are wide and still the prettiest things you’ve ever seen, even in a room full of masterpieces and jewels you could never afford. They shine with uncertainty, but soften as he smiles, full of fondness and affection. “That’s sweet. But also? Really dumb.”

“Raf—”

“The only— and I mean only— reason I’m here tonight is because you are. I don’t care about what anyone thinks about me or my paintings. Just you. And you can see this?” He gestures around the gallery. “Anytime. My life’s your private exhibition, cutie. Exclusive access, 24/7, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

He steps closer to you: close enough that he can see the tear that’s made it halfway down your cheek. He wipes it away with a chuckle. “Plus,” he adds, “I know you know I’m amazing. You don’t need these old sourpusses to tell you that, do you?”

You laugh tentatively. “No, I don’t.”

Your injury protests as you use the lapels on Rafayel’s blazer to pull him closer; you have to stand on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. He’s still grinning as he draws away, a light blush on his cheeks, but the sweetness of the moment vanishes as his gaze drifts lower.

“My eyes are up here, Rafayel.”

“Yeah…” he concedes mindlessly, but then he points: “you know you’re like, bleeding, right?”

You glance downwards to where the red of your dress is turning darker. There’s just a small splotch, but it’s growing. Shit. You must have reopened the wound.

“Thomas?” you hear Rafayel call, and then he’s stuffing a silk handkerchief into your hands— helping you apply pressure. “We have to get out of here,” he explains as a figure joins you.

His agent folds his arms; this is not dissimilar to stunts you and Rafayel have pulled before. “Fake blood, guys? Really?” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You can’t leave, Rafayel. I can just see the headlines tomorrow…”

“Dashing artist selflessly flees exhibition to save devoted bodyguard,” Rafayel concurs with a nod.

Thomas groans. “That’s not what they’re going to—”

“Help me out with this, cutie?”

“Yes, sir,” you mock salute.

A moment later, Rafayel has scooped you up into his arms. Your hero; he gives you a conspiratorial wink before glancing about frantically. “Quickly!” he cries out. “Everyone out of the way, please!”

“For the love of—” Thomas starts.

“Oh, gods!” you shout in agony. “It hurts. It hurts!”

Heads turn. Cameras flash.

Tomorrow morning, half of Linkon will be talking about one of their favourite celebrities and his long-envied bodyguard. A news article will pop-up on her doctor’s phone, and he’ll see the pictures and sigh.

Sylus 🩸

“It’s not too late to back down, sweetie,” Sylus sneers.

“Aw, but you got all dressed up for the occasion.”

Your eyes rake over the outline of the man’s abs, courtesy of the tank top he’s wearing, and it does take the sting out of the fact that he’ll be trying to hit you. He holds his wrapped hands before him, ready to defend, ready to attack. He’ll probably attack, right?

“Last chance,” he growls.

“Is it, though?” This is the third ‘last chance’ you’ve been given in the five minutes you’ve been teetering on combat. You beckon him with a curl of your fingers. “Come on, Sylus. This is getting old.”

He scoffs: “How do you think I feel?”

“Like you’re about to get your ass kicked?”

“Alright, enough.” His hands drop and it feels like you’re back at the academy, about to be scolded for not taking something seriously. Sylus turns his back on you. Moves to the edge of the boxing ring so he can retrieve a stool from outside of it and sit down in a huff. He starts peeling the wraps from his knuckles, and— wait, is he mad? Like, actually mad?

“What’s wrong, Sy?”

He laughs as though you’re missing something dreadfully obvious. Maybe irony.

“Sylus?”

“You really are heartless, sweetie. You know that?”

The words steal your breath away, if only for a moment. Yours is a relationship of pulled punches, but he won’t meet your gaze and that one was real, wasn’t it? He wanted it to sting. “Why—”

“I could have hurt you,” he snaps, his dishevelled, snowy hair falling to cover his eyes. His discarded wraps slide from his hands, pooling by his feet like blood. “You were going to let me hurt you.”

He looks at you, finally, but it’s not in the way you want. His gaze is cast low, trailing over your body and making you feel every bruise, every closed cut that wants to reopen and every ache, rooted almost to bone. You’d done your best to hide it, even going so far as to press make-up hastily over your purpled skin.

That Wanderer really did a number on you yesterday.  

“You should have told me,” Sylus says, since you’ve made it onto the same page. “Honestly, kitten. Why would you—”

“Because Luke and Kieran told me, ok?”

Oh, they’re going to kill you. It was supposed to be a secret, and here you are, spilling like a fresh wound because you can’t stand the thought of Sylus being upset with you. You step closer, scrambling to dissect what you’ve done right in front of his eyes— holding it out to him: this is why. This is why. “They said you had a rough week. Some deals of yours had fallen through or something. And I’ve been too busy. I haven’t called, I haven’t even texted, and…”

You need him to understand, but the truth is a mess in your hands and how do you even start to explain it to him?

“You wanted to do something for me,” he finishes for you, and you don’t have to explain a thing.

“Yeah…” you confirm, bittersweet and still sad. “You do so much for me, Sylus. I just wanted to do what you wanted, for a change.”

Maybe it’s a round of boxing. Maybe it’s a dozen illicit dealings where he needs you to play enforcer— it doesn’t matter. As long as he’s happy.

“Come here,” he orders gently.

You close the rest of the rift between you, letting him reach for you and pull you closer. His knees have spread so you can slot against him, and his arms circle around you— trapping you— as he nuzzles into the warmth of your stomach.

“I’m sorry I called you heartless,” he speaks into you, his voice muffled as he gives you a chaste kiss. He then cranes his head upwards, resting his chin against you so he can profess more clearly: “I do worry about you, kitten.”

“I know—” your hands move to his head— “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have lied to you.”

“Mmm,” he hums in accordance, maybe even forgiveness, and his eyes close as your fingers card through the soft of his hair. “I lied too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he confesses on a contented sigh. “I didn’t want to spend today… boxing.”

“What do you want to do today, Sy?”

His eyes flicker open and his hands find your hips. “What I really want…” he contemplates, as his thumbs slip under the hem of your shirt to rub circles on your skin, “is to take care of you.”

There are lifetimes of need in his gaze.

“Won’t you let me take care of you, sweetie?”

…

“If he finds the terms so disagreeable, then he’s more than welcome to take his business elsewhere. Although—” Sylus’s voice is cold— “he might find his other options less… amenable than when he saw them last. Less communicative, too. You can tell him I said so.”

He ends the phone call. Smiles. “Sorry about that, sweetie.”

“Are the boys ok?”

The smile widens, even though you can’t see it. “They’re fine.”

Phone set aside, Sylus carries on with the important business Kieran’s call had distracted him from. You’re half asleep, your head in his lap as he brushes your hair: rose-scented and soft from the bath he’d drawn for you, hours ago. Every bandage is fresh and clean. Every ache has been dulled with a lazy massage and more chaste kisses, for good measure.

“Perfect day,” you mumble blissfully.

“Perfect day,” Sylus agrees.

[the-soliloquies-of-sadists]

#376

“Hey Caleb.  You were in that bathroom for a while.  Big shit or were you giving it a tug?  Considering your swim trunks is showing no bulge whatsoever, I doubt you were enjoying your right hand.  Or do you use the left?  Me personally, I’m a lefty….

“Your dad and I were just talking by the pool.  I asked him how long he knew you were gay….  Oh I wish you could see the shocked look on your face.  So you haven’t told him.  He was shocked too.  He said you weren’t.  I told him that I’ve been around sperm burpers all my life and you were a classic pole rider.

“You haven’t said much.  Not one word of protest.  You are just trying to figure out what your next step is going to be.  Don’t worry, I love fucking with your dad.  He’s worked for me for ten years now.  He knows my sense of humor and just brush it off.  Besides he’s been drinking.  But I got enough out of him to convince me that you definitely gob the knob.

“You wanna swing on my dick, or not?  Here let me take it out for ya.  I can see by the lump forming in your shorts that you want it.  Am I right?...  Your dad likes to say that you are quiet and keep to yourself.  I can see that.  Just nod then.

“Ok, let’s do this then.  This guest room’s toilet serves as the overflow bathroom.  Someone will interrupt us.  Come with me.  My bedroom will offer us some more privacy.  Your dad already thinks you are off reading a book on your phone.  Nobody is going to miss me for a while….  It’s a large house.  When I bought it, I had an addition put on for my master suite….  When you enter my bedroom, lose the swim trunks.  Boys are to be naked at all times in my bedroom.

“Damn boy, you are rock hard.  So, were you jerking off or taking a dump in the toilet?...  Look, when it comes to sex, I cut to the point.  There’s no need to be coy.  I’m going to be fucking that pussy of yours, and I want to know if you are empty first.  Good.  Did you also give it a tug?...  Of course, you did. 

“Come here.  Point to the guy you were jerking off to….  You are at a construction company pool party where 80% of the men here work for me.  There are more muscles out there from hard work than a fag like you can take in.  Which one?...

“…Of course, you would go for Stan.  So you like big guys?  He’s six four and built like a brick shit house.  Have you talked to him?...  He can be a bit of an gruff asshole.  The guys call him Ox.  He has a dick to match.  Not the brightest guy, but damn he’s a hard worker and a brutal fucker.  Yeah, he’s tag teamed with me a couple of times.  He can fuck for hours.

“Come with me.  This closet door leads downstairs to my hidden playroom.  I had it specifically designed and loaded up for just about every kink my dick was interested in.  You’re what 20?  You probably don’t know about all these things.  I do know this: you are leaking up a storm. 

“Don’t touch yourself.  Let the leak flow.  Why don’t you have a look around?  I need to text a few of my guests to let them know that I had to step away for a bit.

“That’s a St. Andrew’s cross.  If you have an interest in being whipped, I’d be happy to oblige….  Didn’t think so. 

“Those are my four rim seats.  They are for eating ass.  Depending on my mood, they vary based on how secure the boy is underneath.  That last one secures the boy’s legs up so he can get fucked while he’s eating my shithole. 

“No. No.  Leave your dick alone.  I want you to leak….

“There.  All the appropriate texts have been sent.  Now, we’ll have some time to really have fun.  Come over there.  This is a fuck bench.  Simple.  Easy access both holes.  Climb up.  Knees go here; elbows here.

“Oh, you have a pretty cunt.  Nice….  Oh, you are not as tight as I thought you would be; my finger just slid in.  I take it you are not a virgin.  That’s fine.  I get it, a cunt needs to be fed.  You get fucked at college?...  Kinda figured. 

“Ever been tied up?...  No?  There’s always a first time. 

“Ok, so here’s the situation.  I’ve applied a small amount of lube to your cunt lips.  Your mouth, or rather your throat needs to put some slime on me.  I will probably go between your holes.

“I put a sludge plate under your dick to collect your pre-cum and when I eventually allow you, your cum.

“Open wide…. Oh fuck.  Your mouth feels good.  Oh shit, you know how to work your tongue.  You little faggot whore.  Oh man.  Fuck.

“I gotta try that cunt.  If it’s as good as your throat, boy…

“…Right to the root.  Right to the fucking root.  Wait.  What the fuck?...  Do that again….  Boy you are something.  I could just stand here, and you can squeeze my cock like that all day.  It feels like you are jerking me off with your hole.

“Where the fuck did you learn all this?  No twenty-year-old stumbles on how to treat a cock like you.  Who taught you?

“…Your math professor?  Damn, I never would have thought a math professor would have been so twisted. 

“Say faggot, you have a job?...  Living off your dad, hunh?  You probably go out looking for dick when he’s at work.  You fucking faggot whore.  How would you like to come work for me?  It’ll be in my main office.  It’s a tiny office, just me and my manager Dwight.  You’ll actually have office responsibilities in addition to servicing me and Dwight.  Yeah, he’s another guy that I work with that I play around with.  I employ four or five guys that also enjoy using faggots like you, although Dwight also uses bitches too.

“This is a serious offer.  Your dad doesn’t need to know anything other than you are working in my office.  I need to have these holes accessible.  You want to do that?...

“…Fuck yeah!  I’m getting close faggot.  Keep doing what you are doing.  Oh shit.  Oh shit!  Here it cums!  Shit yeah!

“You keep performing like this, and I’ll pay you what I do your dad.

“So, did the math professor teach you other kinks?…  Eating ass and piss drinking!  Hell yeah!  So you have been under a rim seat?...  No, he just sat on your face.  Did he tie you up, or get rough?...  He wanted to?  Boy, when a man wants to use you the way he wants you need to let him.

“Oh fuck, climb down.  And keep my load in you.  Here hop up on this fuck table.  I want to sample that tongue.  Legs go in the stirrups.  I will be securing your legs in them….  Wrists will be secure at your sides in these cuffs.

“You still in contact with the professor?...  Good.  I want to invite him over some weekend so we can use you all weekend long. 

“This table was designed for butt play as well as eating ass.  Your head goes here onto the head rest off the end.  I can lower the head rest and your head back so that opens your throat to a deep straight throat fuck, but I primarily use it by lifting it up like this to support your head when I straddle it like this.  Now your face is wedged in my ass, with me just standing here.  Get that tongue going.

“Oh fuck.  Fag, this will definitely be part of your office responsibilities.  Dwight will love it too.  As will Ox….

“Hey Ox….

“Faggot, I took the liberty of telling Ox to join us when I sent out those texts.

“Holy shit Ox, this is Murphy’s boy.  He’s a total cunt pig.  I just hired him to work for me in the main office.  Wait until you try his holes. 

“Shut up faggot!  This doesn’t concern you….  Get back to sticking your tongue into my shitter.

“He does this pulse thing with his cunt muscles.  You have to try it.  My load is still inside.

“Hey fagboy, you ever have a baseball bat in your cunt?...  No?...  Well it would have been practice for what’s about to be shoved into you.  You know that bulge you jerked off to is going in your twat.

“Scream in my ass.  Keep that tongue going in deep.  Oh fuck! 

“Look at how much he’s leaking.  Give it to him.  Hard.  He’s shaking.  Keep plowing….  Oh shit!  He’s fucking cumming.  Without his hands, that’s fucking amazing.

“Fag, I don’t care that you shot a huge load.  Ox takes a while to get going.  I’ll be right back.  Ron Owens needs to try you out. 

“Fag, while I’m gone, I want you to focus on the man you jerked off to—the man that is tearing up your cunt.  Here, let me undo your hands.  Run them over his chest.  Feel those muscles and that chest hair.

“Ox, don’t you dare cum before we get back.  Keep pile driving into him, and don’t let up, even if he begs.”

“Faggot, this is only the beginning….”

[noroi1000]

Hi! It's me ...again hahaha.

I hope you're ok, I'm really glad see your updates again.

I see you have open request and I want to try it. I'm in love with werewolf Suguru...what about a mating and heat cycle with his lovely mate? And jelousy scene because other werewolf it's just nice with Y/N, not in romantic way, just being nice.

Basically shameless smut. Hahaha I'm really sorry if it's uncomfortable for you, my apologies. But I'm in ovulation week so... I'm just hot v: and I love Suguru so much.

Really my apologies if it's make you uncomfortable.

Please stay healthy and have a lovely week!!good luck in school!!

I'm in heat

•°-Shameless smut-°• +18

Werewolf Geto in heat cycle x mate reader

NSFW: breeding, rut, pussy eating, possessive sex, knot fucking, marking

Words:3k

His body was sweaty when you touched him. And he just woke up. Was he too hot at night?

Maybe werewolves have different temperature needs?

After all, werewolves stand out even in appearance from other people.

For example, your partner and his best friend. And others too.

If he has any other temperature needs, why aren't you informed? You are his mate!

"Suguru? Are you too hot?" you asked, rubbing his bare back gently.

He was sweating.

"Hot..." he muttered as he sat on the bed with his back to you. "I'm going to take a cold shower."

"Are you okay?” you asked, placing your hand on his muscles. You ran your fingers over his skin, gently scratching his back because he liked it.

His low ponytail lay loose on his back.

He turned his head to the side to look at you.

You smiled slightly at him. Your hair in a mess as your soft thighs were clearly accentuated by the fact that the sleeping shorts he bought you were really short.

A camisole hugged your breasts and one strap fell off your shoulder.

He forgot he started the heat cycle today...

Why did he forget again...

Last time he lied to you that he was going to another city for a few days. And at the time he was in his apartment trying to survive his heat.

Since he's with you, his heat comes on so intensely. That's what happens when you have a partner.

You have been his mate for two months, but the first month you managed to avoid his several-day rut.

Last month, because he didn't want to hurt you, he went on a trip to wait it out.

And this month? He can't... He can't come up with an excuse to go anywhere.

In addition, your smell intensifies what is happening in his body.

Your neck looks so pretty and appetizing. Bite that spot and tag you again. Just like he did for the first time during sex. However, he didn't have a heat cycle back then. So he could control himself.

And now he knew it wouldn't work.

Your appearance was so striking to his eyes. His pupils dilated so much, swallowing the violet in his eyes.

My heart sped up. His body was so eager to pounce on you, and mark his mate again. To cover you with its scent. To mark yourself as his.

Your scent entered his nostrils, and he thought he was drooling.

Your scent so intense and sweet.

He failed to calculate everything correctly.

Because you also ovulated.

His body reacted to his partner's body.

That's why his heat kicked off very intensely because your heats were in sync.

Damn werewolf body...

His body lines up with your cycle only to impregnate you at your most fertile time.

And since your cycles were close in time, his body aligned itself with yours.

Your scent signaled it to him.

Because every werewolf in heat would like to have a sweet and fertile mate under him that he can breed so much.

That's why werewolves are so flexible about this sort of thing.

And since you are his mate, his body has become so used to you. Now his heat will always be when you ovulate.

A partner for life...

However, your rut synchronized very quickly.

And because he lives with you, and is beside you daily, he will no longer escape your cycles.

Although werewolf cycles run much more intensely than human ones.

Because if you were a werewolf too, and you were in heat, you'd be jumping on him to breed you by now. Especially if you felt he was in heat too.

The longer you've been with a werewolf as a human, the more you'll get used to the pheromones he gives off.

And as your body gets used to it, your body will respond.

You will be like his little partner.

You may not react as much to the smell, but it will be stronger for you than it is now.

His mind veered very quickly to think about how you'd be moaning when you asked him to come inside you.

„My Alpha... Please..."

"I want you now... Please... Breed me..."

He would love to hear his mate beg him for it.

If so, he'll probably jump on you in a few days anyway and fuck you into oblivion when your smell becomes unbearable to him.

As his hormones take possession of his body.

When all he has in mind is how soft your thighs look. Same with breasts.

He will only think about stroking that soft pussy and listening to you purr for him.

To put his cock in your tiny tight hole and stretch his shape inside you.

Because there is no werewolf who does not think about having sex with a partner during the heat as if the world was about to end.

He thought of it at first as something that's probably not pleasant, because you only think about sex and you only want sex.

But when he experiences it, he feels how pleasant it is. So very pleasant.

Even though he feels an irresistible urge to strip you now and fuck you until you're dripping with his scent. His body tells him to put his puppies inside you.

"Are you okay?" You asked him, hugging him lightly.

Your slightest touch made him feel like you were only touching his cock.

He was more sensitive. Your tiny touch was so pleasant to him.

It made him want more of that touch.

The lower your hands were, the more he felt pleasant shivers as your scent also reached his nose stronger.

You may not notice that right now his pheromones are attacking your body to show you that your alpha wants you now, but you clearly felt something between your legs. Your neck was a little irritating where he last bit you.

Your cute body, even if you're a human, next to him, which is a powerful alpha, you too can very easily start to act like a little omega.

Werewolves are not much different from humans.

Its pheromones act as an aphrodisiac for you.

A few more months or a year and you will be like his little omega when his pheromones get you.

"Sugu... Don't ignore me... Are you okay?"

"I'm fine..." He replied with a small smile.

His hand reached for his erection that had formed in his sweatpants.

It was so hot... Outside and inside.

He wanted your warmth to soothe his warmth.

Do what his body wants.

Mark you and breed you.

"Really? You're sweating." You said.

"I'm just in heat." He laughed as if it was something to joke about.

The heat cycle has never been something to laugh at, especially between partners.

Because heat for partners is endless sex for almost several days.

"Heat?" you murmured. "Oh, rut yes?"

"Yep." he laughed.

He really wanted to laugh about it, because maybe you will laugh about it too?

"Are you... are you..." you pulled away from him blushing.

Everyone had biology in school.

Everyone knows that rut is the period when creatures reproduce.

You sat behind him with your knees bent on one side of your body.

You felt warmth between your legs and also on your cheeks.

You feel the sexy heat emanating from his. His scent is so erotic.

Well, you ovulated. Maybe that's why you found it sexy that he was sitting next to you shirtless...

But you felt something pulling you towards Him.

Is it because he's in heat as a werewolf?

"Do I what?" he asked with a smile. Roses on his cheeks.

Not because he was ashamed.

Only his blood flow is so fast that his skin is pink.

Blood flowing to his crotch.

The veins on his body are starting to become more visible.

"Do you want to... you know..." You muttered rubbing your hand over your thigh.

"Haha... I look like I don't want to?"

Suddenly, he turned completely sideways to you, and showed you the taut muscles of his torso, as well as his taut pants underneath which his hard erection stands, waiting for his partner's touch.

Your face was red when you saw it.

But you couldn't help the fact that the sight of him so lecherously made you feel wet between your legs.

"So I'm going to take a shower. I need to get some rest." He said as he stood up.

"Suguru." you called him.

Your finger between your teeth as you briefly wonder if this is a good idea.

He told you that werewolf heat is no small thing. Because it lasts almost up to one week, and it's an intense period, both for the body and for the emotions. Because it's thinking about your partner and about sex all the time. Taking care of your partner and sex. And then there are the periods of possessiveness. The alpha partner does everything to keep the omega partner with him. In your case, you are the omega partner and Suguru the alpha. And that means he'll be jealous of everything for a few days, he'll be so needy of touch, he'll drive any other "alpha" away from his mate, and will always be somewhere with you to take care of you. And every day he'll think about pinning you under him and fucking you.

What will your few days look like?

You've been his girlfriend for a long time, but you've been his "mate" for over two months.

Which means he just tagged you as his lifelong partner recently. Even though he already felt you as a potential mate he would love to have. But he preferred to wait for your permission so he could mark you as his.

Since you've agreed to be the alpha werewolf's mate, you must attend to his needs.

Besides, if his estrus affects you like that when you're ovulating, you can't ignore it.

He was looking at you, waiting for what you would say.

He was so hard to control himself not to throw himself at you now. You were so lovely.

So fertile~.

He could very easily keep you in bed and mean so much. Shove his cum inside you.

However, this will be your first time together when his heat reacts to his partner. This will be your first time with him so wild.

Even more than it was every time you had sex.

There's also a chance you'll say no and he'll spend a few days fucking his hand...

The heat cycle activates when the werewolf gets a mate.

There is always rut.

But the heat comes when you have a partner.

Once a month.

His heat is here because you are in heat.

So he's in heat, his heat, because he's feeling your body.

Theoretically, alphas don't have the same as omegas that get heat and wait for their partner.

Alphas have an estrus once a month, which is simply associated with a great desire for sex.

But when the alpha heat synchronizes with the heat omega, then it's like heat. That's why he is like this now.

Alphas go crazy when they feel their partner is fertile and willing.

Just as internally there is a war within him. Control yourself and also pounce on you.

His body wants to pounce on you, but his wits stop him because this would be your first time he's like this.

During estrus, alphas are more brutal, but not so much as to hurt their partner.

He's more like a hungry animal.

You let him once, and he'll be like this for a month.

When he knows your body can handle it.

And he knows your body will last forever.

"Come, if you want..." you said spreading your arms. By inviting him to you.

Your face was red as you looked to the side.

You still knew his dick was stuck in his pants so tight.

"Are you sure?" He asked. "Once you agree, there's no going back."

"I'm your mate... right?"

"Are you not afraid?" He asked smiling as he knelt in front of you on the bed.

"Why should I be afraid of you?"

"I'm unpredictable at a time like this. You don't know what I would love to do right now."

"My partner won't hurt me. After all, a partner never wants to do anything bad for a mate, right?"

His body suddenly towered over you, his fingers digging into the softness of your thighs.

His lips were immediately pressed against your throat.

He ripped your shorts off your legs, doing it with your panties. They landed in tatters on the floor.

As his fingers dug into your pussy without warning, stretching you.

A sweet scent reached his nose, and he felt his cock throbbing in his pants.

Keeping his fingers inside you in one place, he felt your soft, hot walls tighten around his fingers.

Moisture trickled down his palm as he pressed the palm of his hand against your clit.

Your body really reacts so sweetly to his estrus. And your rut is so beautiful. That nice smell.

He moved his mouth to the side of your neck and sank his teeth in.

He groaned at the sweet scent that enveloped his sense of smell.

He unconsciously moved his fingers inside you lightly, massaging your g-spot. Listening to your sweet moans as he didn't stop.

He felt like he could come just by listening to your noises.

His mind was clouded by his instincts, so he was surprised when more of your juices spilled onto his hand moments later. And your walls squeezed his fingers.

With a wet sound, he pulled his fingers out of you, feeling the one thigh he was holding shake.

He put his wet fingers to his lips and licked everything clean, savoring the taste of his mate.

He wanted more.

Without warning, he dived between your legs and began to lap up your folds aggressively.

Your legs jumped in susceptibility to the sudden attack.

"S-Suguru...!" You groaned as you grabbed his hair.

Causing a pleasant burning sensation in his head.

It was so good.

His hand reached for his cock, stroking it, keeping his hand under his pants.

His hips moved on their own, swaying his length in between his fingers.

You saw the very lascivious sight of his tongue leaving your pussy, with a thin line of sticky fluid connecting your sensitive body to his wet muscle.

His fingers tightened around its broad base.

His long fangs began to bite your thigh, savoring the softness of his mouth.

"I can't hold back anymore." He said in an intense voice.

The purple of his eyes was completely devoured by his dilated pupil.

You didn't want him to hold back.

Since you were his mate, you had to do everything for him to help him with his rut.

He's so crazy about how cute you are. How much you got his attention with your body and smell. Because your ovulation was showing him how willing and tasty you are.

Your short shorts digging into the fat of your soft thighs. Ah... That was all that made him go crazy right away.

He stood up, hastily lowering his pants.

If he took it off, it would take too long. He wanted to be in his tight mate right now. Feel yourself sucking it inside. Feel how nicely you take all of him, trying to contain every inch of him.

To watch later as his wick spreads inside you, ensuring not a drop of his cum comes out of you.

You saw a furious red tip that cried a lot of precum. Pulsating thick shaft. Certainly long and thick enough to destroy your pussy.

Especially since you know who that heavy dick belongs to.

As he quickly moved closer to you, he tore off your shirt with his hand. You felt him pull on the fabric and then suddenly your chest was exposed to him. Your nipples are stiff from everything he does to you.

With a sigh, he immediately placed his mouth on your tit, biting your nipple lightly with his sharper teeth.

His hips thrust blindly into yours and your wetness running down your skin very quickly led him to your willing hole, which greeted him with a very pleasant hug.

He didn't even have to enter you slowly because your walls offered no resistance whatsoever. Letting him find the bottom right away. His balls pressed tightly against you.

Its tip was releasing precum inside you to facilitate the breeding process, but that wasn't necessary at all because you were dripping.

His hips quickly settled into the rhythm of hitting you. His pubic bone was pressed against your clit, and his pubic hair gave an extra prickly and soft touching sensation as he thrust into you.

He was in a hurry, chasing to fill you up.

He didn't try to make you moan the loudest, he didn't change the rhythm. Because he just wanted to fill you up.

Every move he made made your body squirm. Waves of quivering pleasure ran down your spine.

His lips reached for yours, catching your tongue to kiss you deeply.

He caught all your moans that came out of your mouth like music.

As he felt your moans increase, he didn't slow down. You felt his knot slowly forming, a sign of his forming orgasm.

Your pussy was getting more and more stretched. But the pinching disappeared as quickly as it appeared.

Particularly when his knot brushed against your g-spot, pressing it hard you clenched his entire cock. Feeling that way, his body squeezes your clit between your bodies.

Your head throbbed as he bit your neck, inhaling the ethereal scent.

Sucking your pussy as well as the feeling of you stretching around his knot made him shoot copious amounts of cum into you.

Your legs trembled around his hips as his dick extension ensured nothing would leak out of you.

But at some point he pulled out of you and your pussy spat out a wider chunk of his flesh with a loud sound.

But what is it supposed to be? Why isn't he soft?

Is that how his rut ​​works?

Why did you have to be in the heat?

"S-Sugu... How long is your rut...?" You asked quietly, breathing to calm yourself down.

He chuckled briefly with a heavy breath before thrusting into you again.

"Five days." He whispered against your lips before kissing you.

____

"Wow, Suguru, I know you can have rut or whatever now, but don't be so aggressive towards me. I'm not going to take your mate." Laughed the White-haired man with whom you were talking a moment ago.

Your alpha wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you to him.

His nose rested on your shoulder, inhaling your scent, mixed with his.

"I'm not taking your partner. Even though she smells pretty sweet. She's not an omega, is she? Is she human?" he asked with a smile. "(y/n), how long will he keep doing this?"

"A bit more. Sugu, do you want to go home?" You asked, stroking his head.

You moaned as he squeezed you tighter.

"Fine... Sorry (y/n), we'll talk when his rut ​​is over, okay?" Your friend waved to you.

"Bye." You waved at him. "Suguru what's up?"

"He's a werewolf too..." he said kissing your neck.

"But we are friends."

"He is the alpha. And you are my omega."

"I guess you're too used to be a werewolf." You laughed quietly. "I'm a human, not an omega werewolf."

Suddenly his tongue licked your ear.

"But you are my omega partner~. And as an alpha partner, I want my mate for me. That's why I will mark you."

[writtenontheport]

Just a Night at Portland Row

(pt.1) (pt.2)

Anthony Lockwood x (gn) Reader

Warnings/Tags: Literal romcom, These people are silly, Everyone’s so sillycore here, teary confessions, someone accidentally confesses, nothing dramatic happens he’s just silly, Childhood friends to lovers, Lockwood is kinda stupid (affectionate), no smut or suggestive content, Lockwood and co and reader friendship, whether or not what Lockwood says at the end actually happens is up to you!!

Notes: I have quite a few issues with this one, and I’m not entirely satisfied with it, but I think it’s one of the better ways I could go about it. I also put all the flowers meanings at the bottom, so if you were curious I did in fact plan the flower meanings (I am a nerd). This finale has gone through about 20 revisions on the first day alone, so if anything seems jarringly out of place, I am so sorry 😭 I was all over the place with my ideas.

Summary: Just before supper time, you and Lockwood have a heart to heart, and it starts as it always has: with flowers, with tears, and a little funny thing called love.

word count: 2.4k+

“George,” Lockwood says seriously. It’s the first time George has ever seen him so serious about something that isn’t Lucy or him dying and it shocks him how quick he is to steel himself for whatever it is. “I need you to get Lucy to bring them down here, if you can, please.”

Now, ‘them’ is obviously referring to you, who’s laughing away upstairs with Lucy so loud they can hear it ring through the vents. If this wasn’t something George has genuinely been excited for, he would have smacked Lockwood upside the head for using that terrifying tone. “Don’t say it like that, prick. Thought someone was dying there.”

Lockwood grins at him from where he’s messing with the bouquet stood up on the table. The paper wrapping hasn’t been removed, courtesy of the empty vase and that water would most likely melt it; ribbon still intact. They stand, not quite fully in bloom (which is the best way to buy flowers, because otherwise they wilt right away) but just on the precipice of it. It’s packed with other, smaller additions, but at the heart of it, well. Maybe Lockwood did know something about the language of flowers.

“How’d you even pick them out?” George asks instead, watching Lockwood’s grin wobble.

“I made friends with the shopkeeper. He wouldn’t tell me what any of them meant, but he said they were good flowers— like the carnations. One of them though… these white ones here, just felt familiar somehow.” He kept messing about with the bouquet, meddling with any loose leaf or bud. “Can you please go get them? I want them to be able to see the flowers before they wilt.”

George does swat Lockwood for that, but he goes upstairs to get you. You and Lucy have moved to her room on George’s urging (he made Lockwood wait outside before coming in to make sure you didn’t know) and were lying in her bed on your stomachs, reading and sharing books. Lucy’s the first to look up at him, raising a brow as she nudges you.

“George? Everything ok?” You ask, propping yourself up to sit criss cross on the mattress. “Has Anthony come back yet?”

“He has,” he says simply, “He says he needs you in the kitchen. Lucy should stay since she must be tired from the case yesterday.”

From behind you, Lucy has a moment of realization that has her tucking her lips to hide a smile. Quietly, she puts a hand up to her forehead in a salute to George.

“You should go check,” she says, “Who knows what kind of trouble he might be in.”

“A lot of trouble,” George adds, nodding slightly along. You narrow your eyes in suspicion, but you get up off the bed.

“I’ll save your place!” She calls just as you’re headed down. George walks 2 steps behind you to hide his expression before he can school it, feeling giddy with nerves that aren’t even his to have. He wonders how Lockwood’s doing, stopping just at his bedroom door.

You turn back, asking “You aren’t coming?”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine.” He rocks gently on his feet and pulls his hands behind his back, reassuring you with a calm nod. “Off you go, Lockwood’s probably burnt himself making tea by now or something.”

“I’d hope not…” you mumble, each step down like a crescendo in the world’s most suspenseful piece of music— every floorboard creak like the lead instrument and your heartbeat acting a steady base. On a sheet you’re sure it looks hideous, but it levels out when you open the door and Lockwood’s waiting there by the counter, looking like he’s straight off a magazine. The silence creeps in, but the piece rises to new heights as the sound of everything— the floorboards, the vents— suddenly dulls out.

You step into the kitchen, and let the door shut behind you.

There is your Anthony, standing there in the middle of the kitchen with a bouquet full of dazzling pink tulips, red roses, and spots of white jasmine flowers. There is Anthony, the boy you’ve known and loved for years— looking at you like he always does: like you’re the whole world and sky and everything he wakes up for.

Neither of you speak for a good minute, but it’s not without trying. Lockwood spends that pregnant pause fumbling for words, before—

“I love you,” He says.

The words come rushing out his lips, hurried and desperate. It shocks you how simply he puts it, like a sudden rest in the notes that takes you by surprise. He looks surprised too; horrified, really, that he’s just blurted that out. He swallows thickly, steeling his expression into something determined.

“I—“ you pause, the words caught in your throat, blood pounding in your ears. You think you tear up, but you can’t really tell when the whole world narrows down to Anthony Lockwood across from you in the kitchen of Portland Row, professing his love in the spur of the moment. You grow warm with affection, taking a step closer to him as the music of your singing heart drowns out everything but his words.

He takes a deep breath, his face pale with fear as he swallows and says quietly,, “Today, when I went down to the shops to get you these flowers, I met the really old man tending to them. Don’t look at me like that, he was really old, alright?”

“Anthony,” you scold quietly, tutting at him as you wrap your hands around his.

He bites the inside of his cheek before he keeps going. “Anyways he isn’t the point— I brought him up because he made me realise that I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I never gave telling you a shot. He lived loving someone else until they died— even after they did, and if… if there was a chance I could have that with you, I wanted to take it. I can’t promise you that I’ll be alive for as long as you will be, but I can promise you that I will love you for everyday I live and breathe if you let me.”

“Anthony,” you start, breathlessly. You take his face in your hands and he puts the bouquet down to cover your hands with his. He looks so scared like this, fragile like glass in your hands and pale with nerves.

“I can’t promise you forever,” He says solemnly, “But I can promise you my heart for as long as it beats.”

You take a deep breath through your nose, and will yourself not to kiss him. Years down to minutes— minutes to seconds. The silence hangs like a winding note. You glance back quickly at the bouquet, picking out one of the jasmine flowers before sliding it behind his ear and resting your hands on his face.

“Do you remember the first flower I gave you?” You ask just as quietly. He shakes his head, cheeks rubbing against the skin of your palms. “We were… quite young at the time, and I must have been mad, because I stole it from the neighbour’s garden. Yes, the grumpy one, you remember her. Well, I ran straight over from all the way from home with this crumpled little thing in hand— stop giggling. I’m telling you an important story— and you lit up like a light. Cheeky little thing you were, finding a way to give it back to me when I got scolded the same day for stealing and I was awful sore about the whole thing.”

“You looked all sad,” He cut in, voice hoarse in a mumble, “It made me happy, so I wanted it to make you happy too.”

You laugh, just as breathless, “And it worked, Anthony. It’s still one of my favourite flowers. Did you know that? They were the first flowers I read up on when I learned flowers could have meanings.”

“What’d you find?” He asks, the nerves fading into a hopefulness that fills his eyes with stars. It’s helplessly endearing where you see them shine, nearly nose to nose with how close you’re holding him.

You hum and close your eyes, pushing your forehead against his. “We gave each other white jasmine flowers, that day. A lot of people say they mean purity or innocence, but the one that stuck out to me was that people say it meant “everlasting love” too. When I look back on it now, it must’ve been fate.”

“Cause I always loved you and you probably realised that with how stupid I get about you?”He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you close.

You chuckle quietly, just as helplessly lost, “Not quite. I didn’t even think there was a chance you could love me back, though that does make everything a bit easier… because I’ve always loved you, Anthony.”

Like a child on Christmas day, Lockwood’s eyes grow wide; he’s helpless to the grin that splits his face. “Really?”

“I’m no liar, Anthony, and certainly not about this,” you laugh, unable to help yourself as you tip back and rest your nose lightly against his.

“No like— you mean it?” He asks, voice cracking with hope as he searches your face, “You love me? You love me?”

You’re helplessly endeared, helplessly in love and helplessly lost to it, so you just whisper back with a grin as wide, “Yes, Anthony. I love you.”

What little space between you both is gone in a second when he pushes his lips against yours. It’s a desperate thing, all relief and comfort and love pouring out. At some point, you’re both smiling too wide and too much for it to be anything more than just pushing your lips against each other’s and you pull away with a wet laugh.

He grins wider, and you didn’t think it was possible but he manages it. “I’m so glad, because if I had to go back to the shopkeeper with a terrible story about how I got rejected by the love of my life—“

You giggle and swat at his arm, wrapping your arms around him, “Of course that’s what you worry about. This is all a publicity stunt, yeah? To boost your ego.”

“Of course,” he says, with no weight to the words as he sniffs and blinks away the last of his tears, “Though that just means we should make it a bigger stunt and get married. I’ll even invite Kipps just to rub it in his face.”

You hum, helplessly amused, when the door slams open and George shamelessly walks in with at first his usual deadpan, then a pleased expression. From behind George, Lucy is brimming with happiness, smiling cheek to cheek.

“Gross,” George says, simply and without malice. He steps around you and Lockwood, patting you both on the back sincerely and pulling out pots and pans. It occurs to you a little late that he’s starting on supper. “Took you both a while to actually confess. Mental, the two of you.”

“It was cute,” Lucy says kindly, taking you from Lockwood (he does pout lightly, but she just sticks her tongue out at him) hugging you dear. “George just means that we’re both very happy you two finally got together. He was starting to go bald actually from pulling his hair out too much, look at his hairline—“

“You can’t even pretend like you weren’t too, Lucy.” George sends her a glare as she separates from you. Lockwood quickly fills the space at your side again and all but wraps himself around you. Lucy pats him on the back with a congratulatory smile.

“You can’t go bald before my wedding, George, that’d just ruin it,” you say, clicking your tongue as you reach over (not without struggling over Lockwood) and pat his curls into place. The pot nearly slips out of his hands while Lucy’s eyes grow big as saucers.

“Wedding?!?” They ask simultaneously. Lockwood giggles into your neck, the cheeky bastard.

“This one here,” you gesture at Lockwood with a look, “said we should get married since this whole thing is a publicity stunt or whatnot. Said he might even invite that Kipps bloke he hates.”

“That is the lamest proposal I have ever heard,” Lucy immediately cuts in, the most disappointed scowl pointed at Lockwood’s head.

“I’ve got to agree. You could absolutely do better than that, Lockwood. Also, Quill Kipps? Do you want to have start a fight at your wedding?” George asks, his back turned to everyone. You pull away from Lockwood to pick up the flowers, but not without him frowning as you do. He stops frowning as soon as you smile at him, though, before he turns his attention to Lucy and George when they both pretend to gag.

“I gave them flowers, a really sentimental bunch I think, then I had a good speech,” He says to Lucy first, who raises a brow at him.

He turns to George next. “I need to rub it in his face that he’s probably miserable and forever alone.”

“I thought it was gonna be a publicity stunt, not a revenge plot,” You mutter, clicking your tongue.

“I’m not letting you have a lame wedding, Lockwood, because that means they—“ she points to you “— will have a lame wedding and I will not let that happen.”

“But you’d let me have a lame wedding if it was just mine?” His face is scrunched in offence as he ‘discreetly’ wraps himself around you again.

“Yes,” Lucy and George say simultaneously.

“I’d marry you at a lame wedding.” You play with his hair where you can reach it, pressing a kiss to his forehead where he’s dumped it again on your shoulder. Lucy and George gag, Lockwood beams so bright you’d think he won the lottery that night.

They manage to convince you that it’s too dark out to leave (it was past curfew, the sun had set already) so you spend the night recounting everything you can with them until the stars had gone to sleep and the sun started rising.

The next day, he brings down the bouquet of carnations you’d first given him, and you mix both the bouquets into one. A year later, Portland Row becomes home to not only to the people living in it, but a garden full of flowers blooming with love, laughter, and a lot of hard work. White Jasmine flowers bloom on the veranda and a house of three becomes home to four.

A/N: Finally finished this series!! Whew, that was… hmm!! And just because I couldn’t add it to the story without it getting clunky, have these idk, headcanons? fun facts?:

Reader tells Lockwood all about the flowers after, and informs him about why the Jasmine flowers were so familiar

The grumpy neighbour reader stole the white jasmine flowers from was actually the old man gardener’s wife

Lockwood goes back to tell the old man, and they have a laugh about the whole thing

It is so hard to get one straight meaning for a flower, but if you dig enough you can find flowers that mean so many cute things:

Red carnations mean deep love and affection

Pink tulips mean caring and affection

White Jasmine flowers can mean many things but for this story I went with: Eternal love, persevering love, and new beginnings

Everyone knows red roses, but I also like to think Lockwood’s bouquet had thornless red roses because they mean love at first sight

Yes he one upped the reader even without knowing what all the flowers mean because he’s a competitive little freak (affectionate) and I love him

This series has been very dear to me, and I am especially thankful to @tangledinlove <3 Thank you for your kind reblogs, I hope you know I read them and always look forward to seeing how you find each part in the series even if I don’t respond to them <33333

Also @milesmorals asked me to tag her too!!

[birdofmay]

30 Days of Autism Acceptance 2023

Hello, apparently I act as a substitute teacher this autism acceptance month 😄 @autie-j is busy, so my therapist and I spontaneously thought of 30 questions for 2023 - to be "published" before 1 April 2023 starts in the timezone UTC+14. Which... wasn't much time. If you see this, we made it! 😎

Rules:

Copy and paste the question you want to answer into an own post - this means don't answer via reblog!

You can answer as many or as few as you like. No force, for real.

Tag your post as #30daysofautismacceptance and #2023

1 April: The typical introduction question! Tell us something about yourself. If you can't think of anything, try these: What do you enjoy to do in your free time? What music or series/show do you like? Are you happy with your current living situation/the people you live with? What's one of your favourite foods?

2 April: When were you diagnosed and when did you know that you're autistic? If you're self-diagnosed, when did you first suspect that you're autistic and when were you sure?

3 April: How good or bad is your memory for things people say? For example verbal instructions. If you're deaf: Can you lip read? Do you think your autism influences your ability to lip read?

4 April: Were/are you in special education? Regular school? Home schooled? A private school? Did it change over time? Did/do you like it?

5 April: Did/do you have accommodations at school/IEP? If not, do you think it would help/have helped you?

6 April: Can you understand what people say when they talk fast, or do you lose track after a while? Was it different when you were younger? Additional question if your hearing is aided: If your hearing is aided, does that trigger sensory overloads sometimes?

7 April: Do you have other diagnoses? What are they? Do you think that some could be incorrect?

8 April: Do you struggle to read long texts or are you one of those people who can read everything with ease (Braille counts too of course)? If you're blind, do you struggle to pay attention when a screen reader reads a long text, or is it ok?

9 April: Did an interest ever turn into an "obsession" for you? If not, do you regularly experience hyperfocus when you engage in your special interest? If nothing applies, tell us about your longest interest, no matter if it's a special interest or not!

10 April: Can you understand speech when there is background noise? If you're deaf: Could you understand speech when you were younger? If your hearing is aided: Does the sound make listening to speech uncomfortable to you?

11 April: If you learned to speak as a child (definition for this post: the ability to use spontaneous speech (mouth words) to communicate in at least two-word sentences), did your ability to speak improve after that, stayed the same, decrease, or did something happen that you can't speak at all anymore now?

If you never learned to speak, did it take you a while to find a good communication method (for example sign language didn't work, communication board was too confusing, but AAC device is ok)?

12 April: Were/are you in speech therapy? If so, for what? If not, do you think speech therapy could have helped you?

13 April: How important are routines to you? Are your routines more based on time ("I always do this at 6pm!"), on habits ("I always drink from this cup!") or both?

14 April: If you learned to speak as a child, were you a late talker, average age, or did you speak at a really young age? If you never learned to speak, how do you communicate? For example an AAC device, sign language, a communication board, etc.

15 April: If you can perceive the facial expression of others and learned to recognise the meaning to a degree, did you learn that in social skills training, by your own "hard work", or was it a mix of both? Are there patterns that you understand intuitively (for example recognising fear because it's not so different from how you behave when you feel fear)? - if this question doesn't apply to you, you have a day off! :)

16 April: If you can perceive the facial expression of others, but struggle to learn the meaning, are there strategies you use to at least guess if the person reacts in a good, neutral or bad way to you (for example to spot if you made someone angry by accident)? Do you rely on how their voice sounds as a backup? - if this question doesn't apply to you, not even in your childhood, you have a day off! :)

17 April: If you can't perceive the facial expression of others (for example because you focus too much on details, struggle to perceive people in general, or because you're blind), do you pay attention to the tone of their voice? Can you hear if someone is angry if they don't tell you? - if this question doesn't apply to you, you have a day off! :)

18 April: If you can perceive the facial expression of others, how long does it take you to spot a pattern in new people (for example you observe someone for a while and at some point you know "This person is insecure because they always have that look when they're insecure")? - if this question doesn't apply to you, you have a day off! :)

19 April: Did your ability to express yourself improve or worsen/deteriorate over time? Or did it stay the same? Is it different depending on how you communicate (spoken language, written language, signed...)?

20 April: If you can (or could when you were younger) say words with your mouth (echolalia counts), did/do you have a monotone or "odd" voice, speak too loudly/softly, etc.? Did/do you practice to modulate your voice?

21 April: If you can (or could when you were younger) say words with your mouth, did/do you struggle to pronounce words or sounds? For example r, th, s, etc. - if this question doesn't apply to you, you have a day off :)

22 April: If you can speak (the ability to use spontaneous speech (mouth words) to communicate in at least two-word sentences), do you experience speech loss/verbal shutdowns, etc.? Meaning that you normally can speak, but sometimes you suddenly can't anymore. Semiverbal/semispeaking people and unreliably speaking people (apraxia), you count as "speaking" if you can use spontaneous(!) speech most of the time.

If you can't speak, are there times when communication suddenly is harder than usual? If not, was it different when you were younger?

23 April: Do you have balance issues? If not, was it different when you were younger?

24 April: How did your fine motor skills develop? Were you one of the first kids who could tie their shoe laces or do you think you'll probably never learn it? This is an "open question", if you want to ramble, start rambling.

25 April: How did your gross motor skills develop? Did you walk early or did you struggle to walk (if you can walk)? Do you have a bad posture? This is another "open question".

26 April: If you're interested in other people/want contact, how do you normally make contact with others? Do you stay where you are and hope that they approach you, or do you approach them?

If you're not interested in other people, do others respect and understand that? Were you negatively affected by the "autistics are very social actually and want friends, they just don't know how to do that!" mentality (for example that everyone tries to force social interactions because they think you secretly want social contacts)?

27 April: If you have/want real-life friends, how much contact is important for you and when is it too much? Do/would you miss your friends if you wouldn't see each other in person for a while?

28 April: As a child, did you tend to express yourself overly formally? Or did you struggle with grammar? Did you "borrow" words and expressions from other people or media, or did you make up your own words? Or both?

29 April: Was your hand-eye coordination delayed or maybe is still impaired? This includes things like throwing and catching a ball, putting a key into a lock without missing it, etc. Everything where your brain needs to process what your eyes see so that your hands can adjust what they do. If you're blind, tell us if you think your autism made it harder for you to estimate where things are, using your hands.

30 April: If you're interested in other people/want contact, did you try to make friends on your own when you were younger, or didn't you initiate anything because you didn't know what to do?

If you're not interested in other people, did/do you still enjoy online contact? If not, did/do people assume you're lonely and try to interact with you all the time?

[mythicalmagical-monkeyman]

so, so this spawned from talking to @hyperfixation-tangentopia and my own brainrot over this au and these two nerds lol

under cut @murkystarlight & @fruity-legos

Summary:

A recently reformed Mateo has to carry Cooper home after he passes out while ignoring his own growing feelings and Snivel

Additional Tags:

Villain Mateo au, post redemption, what if. Developing Crushes. Snivel is a Menace. Sleep Deprivation, Cooper is sleep deprived and suffers the consequences. Implied Lore. Snivel used to be Mateo’s henchman. T for light swearing and talk of murder. Mateo’s in denial. Fluff with under lying angst tones. Cooper drools and it’s gross. Alternate Universe, VM Au adjacent. no beta we die like the nightmare king. Mateo being a little shit.

A light breeze ruffled at Mateo’s clothes and hair as he walked along an abandoned path in a random park in Brooklyn. The night was cool enough that wearing a hoodie was within the question yet the sweet smell of summer was on the air and the promise of hotter days to follow grated on Mateo’s consciousness like a million little knives, amongst other things of course. 

Summer, it was almost summer. He’d been stuck as The Nightmare King’s slave for almost two whole years. Gaw, he couldn’t even remember what it was like not to feel Nightmare King’s mind control crawling around inside his head. To be able to exist peacefully in the dream world without having all of his moves constantly monitored. Honestly even to just be able to hang out with Cooper and go get ice cream with his old friend without his mind screaming ‘Enemy, he is the enemy! Do not trust himmm!’ at him was a breath of fresh air. 

With a small smile, Mateo shot a quick glance back to see Cooper still trailing a little ways behind him. The taller teen was dragging his feet slightly but still seemed to be keeping a steady pace so Mateo didn’t dwell on why his friend had fallen behind, instead he tuned back into to listen to whatever Snivel was yapping on about to Z-Blob. 

Snivel waddled along, Z-Blob who was balanced on his head bobbing with every little step, as Snivel stuck an entire stray napkin in his mouth. 

Through a mouthful of tissue he then got out, “So then they found out the killer had been the one to place the anonymous call and got the police to dig up that patch of land because then they took the body of the victim and just buried them where the police had just dug. It was a smart move at first but then it SO backfired when it turned out the burial was right above a water line and the neighbors started getting decaying human tainted water coming out of their taps! So stupid!” 

Snivel laughed to himself like he thought the whole thing was hysterical and Mateo felt a small laugh bubble out of his throat too. Yeah ok so his sense of humor was definitely still tainted by his time under Nightmare King. 

A squilish came from Z-Blob as the slime shook himself like he was much less amused by Snivel’s story. Mateo hid a snicker behind his hand before patting Z on the head. 

Mateo opened his mouth to offer some words of comfort to the slime only for a loud thump to sound out behind the three. 

In sync Snivel and Mateo whirled around, Mateo reaching a hand towards his belt to grab his knife but instead he grasped air. Old habits die hard, he guessed. 

“Hey, uh, Boss? Your friend, he kinda…” Snivel trailed off, pointing towards where Cooper had just been standing where now the blond was face first in the ground, his butt sticking up into the air like he had simply collapsed. 

“Is he dead?” Snivel asked. 

Mateo instantly responded to his small grimspawn friend by slapping him lightly upside the head while sending a miffed expression in Snivel’s direction. 

“Owww,” Snivel whined. 

Mateo rolled his eyes, “You’re fine. Come on,” he then started walking over to Cooper as Snivel hurried to catch up to Mateo. 

The pair stopped short as they reached Cooper, Mateo rubbing his wrist nervously as he looked down at his passed out friend like he wasn’t quite sure what to do. Snivel cast a wide eyed look up at Mateo and then reached out a small little hand where he poked Cooper in the side. 

Cooper let out a snort and Mateo relaxed as he realized his friend had simply fallen asleep, collapsed from sleep deprivation if Mateo had to guess. 

With a small sigh, idiot, Mateo knelt down cautiously and hesitated before rolling Cooper over onto his back. Cooper let out another snore as his mouth fell open and spit began to dribble out. 

Eugh, Mateo felt his nose wrinkle up in disgust as he took in his mess of a friend. 

Cooper’s messy yet matted hair like he hadn’t showered recently, the scarring on his neck peeking out from underneath his shirt collar, the spit and dust clinging to Cooper’s face, and the dark eye bags under his eyes that left a gross feeling in Mateo’s stomach. Gaw, Cooper must have been so tired if he could just collapse like that, but Mateo had to admit his friend looked… 

Snivel spoke up just as Mateo noticed his hand had started to hover over Cooper’s stomach. 

“He looks so weak , if only Nightmare King had told you to attack him in the waking world while he was asleep. Could’ve solved a lot of struggles,” 

Mateo shot Snivel a scowl, who only shrugged. 

“Hey I’m just saying. You know what my brain is like, can’t help what slips out.” 

Shaking his head, Mateo turned back to Cooper and watched his hand shake slightly as it continued to hover. 

Mateo exhaled, “‘Kay Mateo, it’s just Cooper. It’s just Cooper.” 

At that Cooper let out a sniff and rolled over onto his side, and whether Mateo wanted it or not his hand brushed against his friend. 

Mateo drew his hand back and clutched it like it had touched hot coals and gapped at Cooper. 

Shit. 

Snivel did a full body waddle turn to look at Mateo as he forced himself backwards onto his butt, trying to keep his distance from Cooper. Wordlessly, Mateo stared down at his hand as he began to cradle it. 

Snivel blinked slowly, one eye and then the other, before tilting his head back slightly to try and look up at Z-Blob. 

“Boss is acting weird again,” Snivel pointed out, “What do we do?” 

Z-Blob shook himself and patted the top of Snivel’s head with what Snivel figured would be what the slime would consider feet. The slime then pointed his head in Mateo’s direction before hopping off Snivel’s head and landing next to Cooper. 

Snivel waddled himself around again to face Z-Blob, “Ugh, I get ‘knock some sense into boss’ duty again?” 

Z-Blob nodded. 

Snivel groaned loudly, “UGHHHH, fine but you seriously owe me Boogers,” 

There was an annoyed chirp and Z-Blob narrowed his eyes. Snivel held up his hands in defeat, “I uh mean Z-Blob,” 

Z-Blob’s mood seemed to lighten and Snivel was sure if the blob had a mouth he would’ve pulled out an award winning smile. 

Snivel backed off, restraining himself from rolling his eyes and hopped closer to Mateo who was still transfixed by his hand. The flame headed grimspawn did a quick once over of his ex-superior. Making a split second decision Snivel planted his feet and launched himself at Mateo, crashing into him head first and causing Mateo to end up sprawled on the ground as he grunted in pain. 

Yeah, Snivel was never one to think about things too much. He was the brawns, other people were the brains. 

“What the hell you little-“ Mateo started to yell, struggling to get back up into a sitting position but Snivel was quick to grab him by the hoodie collar and get right up into Mateo’s face. 

Mateo stopped short as he locked Snivel with his infamous glare but the grimspawn was unfazed. 

“BOSS GET A HOLD OF YOURSELF IT’S THE WAKING-DAMMED RACER BOY, YOU’VE TOUCHED HIM A MILLION TIMES!!” Snivel yelled loud enough Mateo was sure people outside the park heard him screaming as Snivel put everything in his small body into trying to shake Mateo. 

Mateo bit back a growl and grabbed Snivel by the sides to pull him away so the candle looking grimspawn would stop yelling directly in his face. Snivel began to wriggle as he was manhandled but before he could begin to bite Mateo set him down harshly. 

“Get. OUT of my face!” Mateo ordered.

Snivel grinned crookedly, “Welcome back boss man,” 

Mateo shook his head and glanced around. His sight eventually landed on Cooper for a split second before he fixed Snivel with another glare. 

“What was that for you animated candle stick?” Mateo bit out. 

“You decided to be all weird cause you touched Racer Boy over there so obviously I had to knock some sense back into you,” Snivel explained. 

Mateo squinted, “I was not… Cooper’s just a frr-SHUT UP!” Angrily, Mateo got up and walked back over to Cooper while Snivel watched him with an eat shit grin on his face. 

“Oh yeah, sure, sure. Friend !” 

“I will send you back to the dream world the hard way!” Mateo called over his shoulder as he crouched down again. He chewed on the hairs on the back of his thumb as he noticed that Z-Blob had snaked under Cooper’s head and was now allowing himself to be used as a pillow. 

Cooper for his part hadn’t changed much in the last minute but his drool flow had significantly increased. 

A small sigh escaped Mateo as he held out his hand where he let it hover again. 

Snivel was right, he’d touched Cooper a million times, in friendly ways… and unfortunately some not so friendly ways, so why now was it suddenly so hard? 

A slightly stronger than normal breeze cut through the air and Cooper shivered, curling into himself some more. 

Dammit, so cute. 

Mateo blinked, wait where had that come from? He didn’t… 

Z-Blob let out a muffled chirp and Mateo came out of his thoughts. Right, Cooper needed him, he couldn’t just let his friend sleep away on the ground in a shitty long sleeve. There were a number of things that could go wrong if he left Cooper here. 

Now, if only his body would respond. 

Mateo stayed frozen where he was trying to mentally will his body into working with him. He had been in charge of an entire legion of the Nightmare King’s army. He has fought Dream Chasers, Grim Wolves, hell even Zoey who was a notoriously tough fighter. So why, oh why!? Was he flaking out so badly right now? Why did his heart feel like it was going to beat out of his chest if he touched Cooper? 

“Why are you being such a wimp right now? Just touch him!” Snivel was suddenly at Mateo’s side, startling him as he spoke up. The flame headed grimspawn was looking down at Cooper with disinterest as he chewed on a leaf that was half hanging out of his mouth. 

Mateo sneered at Snivel, “Oh screw you, I’m not a wimp! And I’ll show you that I’m not too,” 

There was a brief hesitation but Mateo forced through it, he had a Snivel to prove wrong. 

Mateo slipped an arm under Cooper’s armpit and began to half lean over the blond as he worked to sling Cooper over his shoulder without waking him. There was a bit of a struggle but Mateo eventually got Cooper over his shoulder and stood. 

Z-Blob unsquashed himself and hopped back on to Snivel’s head. The two then cast Mateo twin looks of what Mateo almost wanted to clock as disappointment. 

Z patted Snivel’s head and the grimspawn tried to glance up at the slime as the slime let out a squiem . 

Snivel nodded, “Uh yeah, Boss, no offense or ‘nothing, but it looks like you're kidnapping him. And trust us, we know kidnapping.” 

Mateo frowned and with a sigh that was dripping with embarrassment he let Cooper slip back down into his arms. He quickly fixed his grip, slung an arm under Cooper’s knees, and took up holding the blond bridal style. 

Some happy sounding noise came from Cooper and he rested his head on Mateo’s shoulder while curling his fingers into Mateo’s chest. Much to Mateo’s dismay he then nuzzled his face into his shoulder as drool started to seep into Mateo’s hoodie. 

Mateo could already feel the red coming to his face. 

“Not one word,” he muttered at Snivel and Z-Blob as the two started to giggle. 

All he had to do was endure this long enough to get Cooper home. 

Mateo started to walk off down the path, vaguely trying to remember where Cooper lived now, as Snivel quickly found himself running after Mateo to keep up with his swift pace. 

As Snivel’s head bobbed wildly as he tried to keep up with the other, Z-Blob wrapped a small section of himself around Snivel’s strange antenna-like head protrusion so as to not risk falling off. 

Within no time the three found themselves at the entrance to the park where they were greeted with the still lively city of Brooklyn that existed right outside the hidden green haven of the park. Thankfully for Snivel and Z-Blob’s sake there didn’t seem to be very many pedestrians around but Mateo still adjusted his hold on Cooper for a brief second to untie the fireproof windbreak that was wrapped around his waist. 

“Z,” Mateo said, moving his arms back to their original position as Cooper began to shift uncomfortably, “Windbreaker.” 

Z-Blob let out a chirp of agreement and stretched a part of himself out so he could grab the back of the windbreaker and pull it free. The blob then draped the windbreaker around himself and Snivel. 

Snivel groaned unhappily, “Not the jacket,” 

“Yes the jacket,” Mateo commented, “And unless you want to be scooped up by government soldiers and experimented on I suggest you wrap that thing around you tighter.” 

Snivel grumbled unhappily but he zipped up the windbreaker and threw the hood over his head thus extinguishing the flame coming from the end of his antenna. 

Snivel’s color instantly started to dim, “Let’s just hurry up and get Racer boy home,” 

Mateo nodded numbly and looked down at Cooper who was somehow still fast asleep, drooling all over Mateo’s shoulder and yet completely unbugged by the noisy city surrounding them. How sleep deprived was this poor boy? Or perhaps he was just a heavy sleeper. 

Mateo wasn’t sure which one was worse. 

There was a squish from Z-Blob that reminded Mateo what they were currently set out to do so against the loud screaming in his head to ‘ no don’t do that’ Mateo nuzzled his nose against Cooper’s chin before tilting his head upward. Cooper let out a little cough as his mouth closed and the drool stream cut off. 

There. That was much better. 

It was less so that the drool was gross, Mateo had touched more gross things in the dream world than he’d like to admit, and more so that he’d hate to be caught like this. Ex-second in command of the Nightmare King’s army, reduced to being drooled on by one of the saviors of the dream world. Albeit Cooper was his friend but it still felt very unbecoming for the both of them. 

About five seconds later, just as Mateo started to walk off again, Cooper’s mouth fell back open and the drool stream came back. 

Welp, he had tried. 

Begrudgingly Mateo accepted his fate as Cooper’s drool covered pillow and kept walking as Snivel waddled along behind, trying his best to keep up without tripping on the sleeves of the windbreaker. 

Though it took awhile to remember where Cooper lived, once Mateo saw it again after wandering around for a bit and risking one too many close calls with someone accidentally seeing what Snivel actually looked like, a wave of familiarity washed over Mateo and in an instant he knew the house was the right one. 

Snivel started to take off the windbreaker as Mateo walked up the steps to the house but after a quick wack from Z-Blob he stopped himself from taking it all the way off. 

“Is this the place boss?” Snivel asked as he struggled to climb up the front steps. 

Mateo cast a glance at the numbers nailed into the wall of the house, yep this was that place, he was sure of it. 

“Yes,” 

Snivel finally reached the platform of the stairs that was level with the door and struggled to stand without tipping back over. Once he did he squinted up at the door in front of them. 

“It’s all dark, is anyone even home?” 

Mateo let the question simmer for a bit before responding, “I don’t know,” 

Mateo knew Cooper lived with his brother now after his parents had been arrested for fraud and his brother was a nurse who worked odd hours so if Mateo had to guess no one was probably actually home. 

There was a chirp as Z-Blob freed himself from under the hood of the windbreaker and hopped up onto Mateo’s shoulder so he could also look at the door with the two. 

Mateo wasn’t sure how long they all stared at the door until Snivel pulled at his pant leg and asked, “What do we do?” 

Mateo blinked and looked down at the welcome mat under foot. 

As he took a step back off the mat he informed Snivel, “It’s probably locked but the Williams always used to keep an emergency front door key under the welcome mat,” 

“Ohhhh,” Snivel cooed curiously. The grimspawn then bent over and ripped the welcome mat from its resting place that it flew over the railing on the sides of the landing and went crashing into a bush. Thankfully however the key underneath was left undisturbed. 

Mateo sighed, rolling his eyes at his friend’s brutish behavior, “Thanks Snivel, I wanted to do more things tonight.” 

There was a laugh as Snivel picked up the key and waddled over to strain up and stick the key into the lock, “Nice sarcasm boss!” 

With a bit of a struggle Snivel managed to turn the key and the door opened. 

“Aww yeah,” Snivel cheered and without even waiting he sauntered into the Williams house. 

“Hey wait-“ Mateo started to protest but Snivel had already disappeared into the depths of the house. 

Mateo grumbled some Spanish swears under his breath only for Z-Blob to nudge the side of his face. Mateo tilted his head to the side as he watched his little blob friend jump off his shoulder and into the bush below. 

“Ah, yeah, you’re dealing with the mat now?” 

There was a chirp. 

“I see, well thank you,” Mateo told the slime, “I’ll go put Cooper in his bed and be back in a bit.” 

Mateo shifted his grip on Cooper before turning to the side so they could both fit through the door. Once inside Mateo looked around the dark house, keeping an eye out for Snivel but after not finding the candlestick akinned grimspawn he continued on to the stairs. 

Though a feeling of fear cropped up in Mateo’s stomach at the thought that he could lose his balance and fall down the stairs as he climbed, he eventually made it to the second floor and began to duck his head into a few rooms to find Cooper’s bedroom. 

After about the third door Mateo found Cooper’s room; the yellow and red walled room cluttered with a bunch of instruction manuals, race car and F1 posters, invention bits a bobs, piles of dirty clothes, and so many other things that had Mateo questioning how much of a hoarder his friend actually was. 

Mateo wrinkled his nose and entered the room, stepping over an empty box of twinkies that had a model car sitting on top of it, and dancing around a cacophony of other items to make it over to Cooper’s bed without tripping. The one pro to come out of working with the Nightmare King: night vision. Finally he made it to the bed and tried his best to gently place Cooper down on his side while his arms screamed at him to just drop the blond. 

With a huff Mateo freed his arms from underneath Cooper and began to rub them. Gaw why did he carry Cooper all the way here? He should’ve just woke him up. 

Cooper let out a pitiful whine and Mateo felt himself freeze up as Cooper moved his arm to rub it against his pillow thus pushing up his sleeve and revealing the lightning scars crisscrossing up his arms. 

Ah, those. 

Mateo ignored the guilty feeling that started to stir in his gut. He knew that Cooper and his sister were covered in a patchwork of what were called Dream Terror Scars; which were scars obtained in the dream world from nightmare creatures that would carry over to one’s waking world body. Mateo had his fair share too but he felt more pain over the ones Cooper and Izzie had as unfortunately plenty of those ones Mateo himself was responsible for. 

Mateo shook himself, he was a good guy now. Izzie and Cooper knew he was sorry for what he’d done and they forgave him, he didn’t need to dwell on it. Silently he turned and sat on the edge of Cooper’s bed, raking his eyes across the room. 

“Why is your room such a pigsty?” Mateo muttered though he knew Cooper wouldn’t respond. 

There came a snore from Cooper, followed by some shifting and Mateo felt himself go red as Cooper curled into the lower half of his back.  

Mateo looked down at Cooper, gapping slightly, “What are you doing?” 

Cooper curled in a light tighter as he shivered. 

“Oh you’re cold,” Mateo hummed, carefully he detached Cooper from himself and stood so he could grab the crumpled up blanket from the end of the bed and throw it over Cooper. 

Cooper let out a happy hum and wiggled himself deeper under the covers. Mateo couldn’t help the small little chuckle that came from him and before he knew it he found himself brushing some of the dirt away from Cooper’s face with his thumb. Too little too late did he realize what he was doing and Mateo yanked his hand away. 

Why did he do that? 

Mateo stared. Cooper was screwing with his brain he swore, why else would it feel like his heart was going to beat out of his chest whenever Cooper smiled at him? 

A distant clatter came from downstairs and Mateo was shocked back into reality. 

Dammit Snivel. 

Mateo looked down at Cooper one more time before giving the blond an awkward pat on the head and with that he carefully made his way back over to the bedroom door to leave. 

Mateo shut the door quietly as he left and then made his way downstairs. 

What he found was the door of the Williams brother’s fridge wide open as Snivel, who had ditched the windbreaker on the floor, dug around inside it as Z-Blob struggled to catch everything Snivel threw aside. Apples, pudding cups, and a carton of milk all went flying and Z-Blob hopped around to catch each item before they could go spilling to the floor but just as quickly as the slime managed to catch the item another went flying. 

Mateo watched the chaos for a moment but as an entire bag of carrots was thrown he stepped in. He caught the bag of carrots midair and set them on the counter only to then stride over to Snivel and rip him out of the fridge by the antenna. Mateo bit down on his lip as he felt Snivel’s antenna squish around his hand like he was touching a living hard boiled egg. 

“Hey!” Snivel complained. 

“Stop raiding their kitchen,” Mateo ordered as he grabbed Snivel by the sides like a hamburger and Snivel began to wiggled around in his hands. 

“I just wanted some cheese!” Snivel yelled, struggling to reach out and grab the block of cheese that was still sitting in the fridge. 

“Uh hu, sure,” Mateo commented as he started to walk away, signaling to Z-Blob that the slime was free to put everything back in the fridge, “We have cheese at home if you really want it but I know you’re just being a menace.” 

Snivel shoved his feet against Mateo’s stomach, struggling to free himself, “It’s Racer Boy, I have to torment him somehow!” 

Mateo scooped up the discarded windbreaker and threw it over his shoulder, “We’re not even enemies anymore, leave him alone.” 

Snivel finally managed to wiggle all the way around and grinned up at Mateo, “Force a habit!” 

There was a clatter from behind them, followed by a squish and the sound of the fridge door closing as Mateo reached the front entrance. Mateo turned slightly and watched as Z-Blob hopped out into the hall and then again to jump up onto Mateo’s shoulder. The slime gave Mateo a gooey head bump once he had landed. 

Mateo smiled, “Thanks Z,” and with that he shoved a complaining Snivel under one arm so he could exit the Williams house and lock it up behind them. 

[dreamscaperover]

Rating: General Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: M/M Fandom: 9-1-1 (TV) Relationship: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Tommy Kinard Characters: Tommy Kinard Evan "Buck" Buckley Christopher Diaz Eddie Diaz Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort

Summary:

a little tie-in to season 7 finale Buck says Cap is going to be alright, but Tommy senses that something else has happened in these two days that's bothering Buck. He hates seeing Buck like this and wants to help, so he presses for answers. Buck says it's about Eddie.

or read here:

- So maybe we both have daddy issues.

- I don't.

- But you think I do.

- God, I hope so.

The moment words left his mouth Tommy regretted it.

"God, why did I just say that? He's gonna think it's weird, or gross, or... He's barely gay, he's innocent, he's nowhere near ready for that kind of..."

- So, is the food OK?

- What? Oh, yeah, no, it's great. Everything is delicious, Evan, thank you.

Buck is smiling, but it's doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"Great! Now he's uncomfortable, and it's all your fault, you idiot!" For the rest of the dinner it's awkward, Buck is being hospitable but something is off and it's palatable.

They finish eating, clean up and move to living area. Once they land on the couch, Tommy decides that it's pointless to pretend and it will be better to just bite the bullet.

- Evan, look, about my remark earlier... the whole "daddy issues" innuendo... I shouldn't have done that, it's clearly made you uncomfortable and I'm sorry. I get that it's all still very new to you and I sometimes do or say things that make you feel...

- What? What are you talking about? Innuendo... I don't... Tommy, no. You didn't make me uncomfortable, why would you think that?

- If it's not that, then what? I can see you're clearly bothered by something. I mean, Bobby is fine, he's going to be OK, you got nothing to worry about. Unless... is there something else you're not telling me?

There it is - that deer-in the-headlight look. Tommy's insides make a flip, and Evan not saying anything for a few minutes doesn't help matters at all. Finally, Buck speaks.

- Look, I can't tell you everything... It's about Eddie, and it will be best if you talk about it with him.

"Eddie? What's he talking about? Did Eddie say something to Evan about me? I though he was OK with us dating. What's happening?"

- Evan, please... You're starting to really make me worry here. Did Eddie say something about us?...

- What? No, no, Tommy, no, it's not that! It's... I know you have more questions, but I don't think it's my place to tell you... Unless Eddie gives me permission.

- OK, I hear you. I don't like it, but I get it. We'll talk about it when we can.

~~~~~~~

Next time they see each other is when Buck shows up at his doorstep in the middle of the night.

He looks awful. He mumbles something about being in the area, and Tommy just pulls Buck inside and beelines them both for the couch.

- OK, Evan, spill. I can clearly see that something big is going on with you. Talk to me, baby, please.

- Look, all I can say is that something happened and as a result Christopher is very angry with Eddie. He asked Eddie's parents to take him to live with them in Texas.

"What the hell?! How, why... Christopher loves his dad, and that boy is Eddie's whole world, his heart... What could possibly have happened that Chris would run away like that? I mean, it's gotta be something really, really bad..."

Tommy's frantic train of thought is interrupted the moment he looks up at Buck. Shoulders slumped, hanged head, wriggling hands... When Evan speaks again, it's fast, words tripping over each other, voice trembling.

- Look, I know he's not my kid, not really... Still, I hate this! I hate that he's a thousand miles away, that he's hurting, and I can't be there and I can't hold him and I can't... I know I'm not his dad, but every cell in my body is screaming that I gotta do something! That I shouldn't be away from him, that he needs me, that... that...

- Pretty sure that's how a dad feels. A good one, anyway. And you're a good one.

This sucks. Evan's heart is breaking right in front of him and so does his own, in tune. It's all Tommy can do to cover those wriggling hands with his own. And hope to god that feeling the strength of his grasp and hearing conviction in his voice will be enough to at least take the edge off the pain no parent should ever feel.

- Evan, look at me. Christopher is your kid. Nothing, and I mean nothing will ever change that. That boy loves you. Trust me, I've seen it. Hell, you'll need to bу blind deaf and dumb to not see how much the two of you love each other.

Buck is looking up at him, and it's almost overwhelming how much raw emotion is in those beautiful wide open eyes... how much pain, and fear, and anguish...

"It's not fair! Such a beautiful, loving, kind, amazing human doesn't deserve suffering. And there's was so, so much suffering in your life already... I wish I could stop it, I wish I could make it all go away! My job is to save people, but how do you save a person from this?"

- He left! He's gone, Tommy, he left..

"..you. People keep doing that - leave you."

- Christopher is not gone. You're a family. You'll always be a family. Miles or no miles. You'll see each other again, you'll get to hold him again. Hell, I'll fly you to him myself if I have to! He's not going anywhere.

"And neither am I. Ever. No way I'm adding my name to that too long of a list. I love you too much for that."

Tommy feels the body next to him starting to relax, face expression softened. He lets go of Buck's hands only to envelope him in a bear hug and squeeze as tight as he can. He might be hearing some muffled quiet sobs and his shirt might be getting a little dump where face is buried in the crook of his neck. Tommy doesn't mind. He'll sit here and hold this man as long as he needs him too. No place else he'd rather be.

He doesn't know how much time passes, doesn't really care. Having his man in his arms is definitely something he wouldn't mind doing for eternity. Because here in his arm Evan is safe. Here, the world can't touch him, can't hurt him. So when Buck finally stirs and gently pulls away, Tommy actually feels disappointed. This time when that beautiful face turns to look up at him, there's that little adorable smile and tiny sparkles in bright eyes that never fail to turn Tommy's insides into mush.

- Would you really fly me to Texas?

- Pick a day, Evan. Kinard airline is at your service.

When that tiny smile turns into wide bright happy grin it's all Tommy could do to lean down and drink in the joy by pressing those soft red lips to his own.

[lucagray813]

Shadow - Chapter 11

Title: Shining Brightly

Rating: M (M rated section is marked with the line break --M-- and can be skipped)

Word Count: ~10,000

Characters: Wukong, Macaque

Minor Characters: MK, Bǎi Hé, Red Son

Relationships: Macaque/Wukong

Minor Relationships: Macaque & Bǎi Hé

Summary: Overdue conversations about Wukong's complicated feelings about sex, Bǎi Hé being the star of the show, serenading, Mac acknowledging the Journey and its importance to Wukong and finally a little bit of drama in Red Son's lab.

Additional Tags: Developing Relationship, Acquired Disability, Slice of Life, DBK is called Niú, PIF is called Gōngzhǔ

CW: Sex talk, feelings of shame regarding sex, religious guilt, implied praise kink and light D/S dynamics

Link to AO3 Version

Chapter Navigation: First | Prev | Next

----

--M--

The couch had long been established as the place to have deeply personal conversations. And generally, being incredibly vulnerable while sat here with Macaque resulted in a positive development in their relationship. But knowing that didn't make it any easier to speak about his insecurities.

He was sure Macaque had sussed out that something was up by now, even if he wasn't actively squirming, his heart rate and magic were probably giving him away - he wasn't sure however if Macaque was being merciful or not by not calling him out.

He looked quite content, lightly dozing on the other end of the couch with his feet on Wukong's lap and he was loath to break the peaceful silence but he knew if he didn't say something soon it was going to come out on it's own, and no doubt it would be in the worst way possible.

So taking a deep breath, his voice was surprisingly level as he called Macaque's name. He got a quiet hum in acknowledgement and gently grabbing Macaque's tail so he could fidget with it, he asked, "You're not, er, disappointed with our sex life, are you?"

Macaque snorted loudly, "That's what you've had your tail in a twist over? And here I thought it was something serious."

Annoyed at the flippant response, he pulled at his tail, "You're such an ass. Just answer the question."

Macaque sat up slightly before pointedly not answering the question, "What's brought this up?"

His voice rumbled slightly in reproach, "Macaque..."

"Look, I'll answer the question once you tell me why you brought it up - this about the other night?"

He felt his face redden as he started twisting Macaque's tail a touch aggressively, before denying a little too quickly, "No."

He didn't even have to look at Macaque to know he was raising an eyebrow at him, "Sure, it isn't. Alright, what is it then?"

He backtracked slightly, "It's...Ok, maybe it's a little bit about the other night but it's more about- Well, I'm not really into anything weird, y'know?"

He was slightly relieved that Macaque didn't look offended. In fact, far from it if the amused grin was anything to go by, "And you think I am?"

Despite a lack of tangible evidence, he didn't doubt his gut on this one, "Absolutely. No part of me believes you're not into something super weird."

Macaque laughed, easily confessing, "Yeah, I think even by "normal" weird standards some of the things I've done would be considered a bit out there. Although admittedly, I think my days of depravity are pretty much behind me."

Reluctantly, he asked, "Right... And that doesn't bother you?"

Macaque considered him for a moment, "Want to try asking that again?"

Bracing himself, he bravely asked instead, "It doesn't bother you that I'm not into whatever you're into?"

"No, honestly I'd be shocked if you were. And besides, given my current condition there's a lot that's no longer feasible or appealing anyway. But that aside, this does segway nicely into something I have been meaning to talk to you about."

Extremely wary, he asked, "What is it?"

"You not being into whatever I'm into is fine but you know you are allowed to be into things, right?"

This was not the way he wanted this conversation to go but in hindsight he really should have seen it coming. Flustered, he replied, "Yeah, I know that! But that's what I was trying to get at because it turns out that I'm not into anything! Which is fine! Er, right...?"

Macaque snorted, "It would be fine. But you know that's not true."

"It is true! I mean, obviously, I like, y'know, the "normal" stuff but that's it!"

"Oh really? You don't like it when I tell you what a good job you're doing?"

He spluttered, "That's not- That's just good communication! That's normal! It's not, like, a thing!"

"Uh-huh. And what about when I boss you about?"

Trying not to give away how mortified he was at the implication, he refuted, "N-no! I don't like when you do that at all actually!"

Even if it was true, which it most certainly wasn't, Macaque had no hope of getting him to admit to that out loud. There was substantial evidence that in pretty much every instance he hated being told what to do, and there were absolutely no exceptions, especially not in the bedroom.

Macaque wasn't impressed, "Sure. Well, how about the other night then when-"

He flailed his hands as if to physically stop those words being spoken into existence, red faced he urgently explained, "That wasn't anything! That was- That was a fluke! A caught up in the moment sort of fluke! Not a thing I'm into! No way!"

Macaque's disappointed sigh had him curling in himself slightly, abashed at his behaviour.

That disappointed sigh was exactly why he had started this terrible conversation in the first place. He'd heard it two days ago and it had been haunting him ever since.

The night had been going exceptionally well, right up until the moment it hadn't and it had all been on him. Shame and panic at a surprising but pleasurable discovery had brought everything to a screeching halt but he knew that wasn't what had had Macaque sighing and rolling away from him.

No, it had been the way Wukong had immediately shut him out and refused to talk about why he was freaking out. And here he was doing it again.

Macaque pulled his feet from his lap and he looked up in panic, afraid he was going to walk away despite the fact his tail was knotted around his hands. But he was relieved when he realised he was simply moving to sit next to him and he soaked up the comfort of having him lean against his arm.

"Alright, let's try this another way. Tell me what you do like then." Before he could even start to protest again, Macaque added, "The "normal" stuff that you like."

He really wished he could talk about sex as easily as Macaque did. Before this relationship he wouldn't have said he had any problem talking about it but he was realising that was because it had never involved him. This wasn't just a statement of fact, a frank discussion about the "birds and the bees". This was personal in a way he'd never had to think about before.

But for all that Macaque liked to tease him, he'd never actually made him feel bad about his inexperience, he just got a kick out of him being embarrassed and Wukong was equally guilty of enjoying that when the roles were reversed.

So eyes focused on his hands playing with Macaque's tail, he did his best not to let his bashfulness get the better of him, "I like... I like being close to you and... making you feel good?"

Macaque hummed encouragingly, "What else?"

"Uh, I like kissing you? I mean, I really like kissing you, er, all of you that is and touching you. I... I like the sounds you make when I do something good with my magic or when I whisper into your ears."

Macaque laughed quietly, "I like that too. What about when I'm touching you? What feels good then?"

There was an uncomfortable feeling starting to stir in his chest but he ignored it as he tried to answer, but he felt his face burn, "It feels good when you, uh, kiss my chest? And when you, er, when you..."

He covered his eyes with a hand with a groan - this shouldn't be this hard. There was a never ending list of things that Macaque did that made him feel good, and while he may feel slightly embarrassed about actually saying them out loud, he knew that wasn't why he was struggling.

He lowered his hand and started tapping nervously on the arm of the couch, "Look, you do so many things that feel good but the problem is that sometimes I sort of feel bad about feeling good...?"

He saw Macaque nod in the corner of his peripherals and he had a feeling that he had already figured that much out and was waiting for him to elaborate.

Swallowing thickly, he did his best to explain, "It's just, what we have is pretty special, right? I mean, before this I had never even considered having sex with anyone else and part of that was because I just wasn't interested but I guess I maybe have it in my head that I'm not supposed to want to have sex? I'm no monk or whatever but I've been sort of Taoist and then Buddhist for a long time and sexual desire is, like, the first thing they tell you has to go. And I think I'm able to rationalise having sex with you as being ok because it's about the intimacy and the connection but I think I get a little messed up when that's not all it is...?"

He had finally found the courage to look at Macaque properly and he seemed to me mulling over his answer thoughtfully. He did however miss the mark entirely when he asked, "This isn't about your immoralities, is it?"

For a moment he could only stare at him - not sure whether to be incredulous, offended or even a little amused that was his first thought.

He settled on an odd mix of the three, "No, it's not about my immortalities! Why would you ask that! And that's not how it works!"

In reality, he wasn't actually a hundred percent sure how it worked - he hadn't technically obtained his immoralities via Taoism and Buddhism the traditional ways but he doubted they were at risk. Because strictly speaking if either one required him to follow their practices to the letter then he had a lot more to worry about than just sex stripping him of his immortality.

Not that it mattered too much, he did have plenty of other immortalities to fall back on, and he wasn't at all prepared to think about how he could possibly lose any of them. Not today, thanks!

Macaque held his hands up in surrender, "Well how am I supposed to know? I don't think that was that unfair a question. Immortality is famously a big deal for you. And besides, it's not like you ever mention caring about Taoist or Buddhist beliefs other than meditating."

He had a point, although he'd be lying if he said his renewed commitment to meditation hadn't also sparked thoughts of his master and his teachings.

It was hard not to think that he wouldn't fully approve of his relationship with Macaque.

Macaque crossed his arms and leaned his back against his arm, "So what's the problem? Because you don't seem upset about all the other ways you're not a perfect Taoist or Buddhist."

"I- I don't know. I guess I feel like I can justify some of it? I don't feel any shame over loving a handful of individuals more than anyone else. And maybe it's also because it's new? Like, being a glutton or violent or whatever - that's old news. I've been lectured for that hundreds of times but I never broke the no sexual desire rule."

It had actually been a point of pride - he couldn't be swayed by attempts to proposition him, and he had scoffed at those too weak to resist the allure.

But that aside, he knew that his logic didn't make sense - if he was going to be upset about being a bad Taoist or Buddhist he shouldn't be cherry picking what to feel bad about, he should feel bad about all of it. But he didn't and he probably needed to have a good hard think about why that was.

For just now though, he spared a thought to how glad he was that Macaque had his ears unglamoured. Because even when the emotion in his voice was hard to parse, their subtle tells could provide a lot of clarity. They drooped ever so slightly as he asked, "You feel ashamed when we have sex?"

He scrambled to refute such a claim, "No! It's not like that! I just-" Oh, this was bad. How did he explain this?

"Ok, it's more like I have this set of made up rules in my head and as long as we follow them when we have sex then everything is great but if something happens that doesn't follow those rules then I feel bad for breaking them? Like thinking about my own pleasure when I should be thinking about you and how intimate what we're doing is. That's against the rules. I never feel ashamed of you or the sex. It's just me, I'm the one that's done something wrong - feeling something I shouldn't."

The rules were not well defined and neither were they set in stone, he had a number of examples of "just this once" or "well, this is okay because we're not doing this as well", tiny little exceptions that were really adding up if he thought about it.

Macaque's tail twitched in his grasp and his ears were quivering ever so faintly - he was upset, angry even but he was clearly making an effort to calm down before he said anything in response.

He tried to put himself in his shoes, if Macaque had told him that the intimacy they shared had been a cause for any shame, regardless of the reasoning... Well, he'd probably be devastated, not to mention hurt and angry that he'd never said anything.

He quickly tried to do damage control, "I don't feel that way all the time! Most of the time I have no problem at all! It's just every once in a while I get in my head about it and I... I should have said something. I'm sorry."

Macaque let out a slow, controlled breath before asking, "What are the rules?"

"What? No, forget about the rules! The rules are dumb! I- You don't need to-"

Macaque interjected, "The rules are dumb but they aren't just going to go away. You think I want to do something that upsets you? Tell me what we're working with and then we can take it from there. Together."

"You've not done anything to upset me! You don't need to do anything different. I'm the one that needs to sort out my head. I just need to get over it."

Macaque made a frustrated noise, "Wukong, you aren't just going to "get over it". And if you just force yourself to power through this you're going to do more harm than good. Look, you're allowed to have boundaries, you're allowed to have things you don't like or don't want to do. That's fine. But right now that's all mixed up with shame and that is an issue. We can work on that but you really think I would risk making you feel ashamed of yourself in the meantime? We either find the safe baseline or we don't have sex - simple as that."

A little panicked, he got out, "I don't want us to stop!"

Belatedly, he felt somewhat embarrassed about is declaration but he didn't want to lose that intimacy, that connection, it felt like they would be taking a massive step back in their relationship.

"I don't either but we need to talk to each other. You need to be honest about what you like and what you don't and why. If you're nervous about something because it's new or whatever, tell me. If you feel ashamed about something for any reason, tell me. We can stop, we can talk about it. Don't just freak out about it and keep it to yourself."

He finally let go of Macaque's tail to wrap his arms around his waist as he brought his head to his shoulder, "You're right. I know you are. I just... I'm sorry about the other night."

He felt Macaque sigh and lean against him, "I am too. I thought you were just nervous, if I'd realised I would have done things differently."

He hid his face as he admitted, "It was almost ok, I- I do like it when you tell me I'm doing good, that I'm good. It was almost enough to make me forget about feeling bad about, y'know... You didn't do anything wrong. It's on me, I should have said something. I will from now on, I promise."

He felt him nod, and he was fully prepared for more reassurance or further discussion about the other night but instead Macaque asked, "This whole feeling bad about feeling good thing... Is this why you won't let me suck your dick?"

He felt his fur puff up in sheer embarrassment as he all but pushed Macaque away from him, "Don't just say it like that!"

"Well? Is it?"

He buried his burning face in his hands, and mumbled, "That's a part of it, yeah."

He could feel Macaque's expectant gaze upon him and gathering all of his courage he peaked his eyes over his hands to admit, "But that might also be part of my whole not being selfish, not being able to return the favour and not liking you, er... submitting? To me? Thing I have going on too?"

Man, he had more hang ups than he realised. But he was distracted from that thought by a low laugh and a sharp grin that sent a shiver down his spine, "You really think being on my knees means you'll be the one calling the shots?"

Bewildered and increasingly unsure, he responded, "Uh, yeah? That's how it works? Right...?"

Macaque shook his head, still grinning, "You have so much to learn." His expression softened, "But I have a feeling we've got some other stuff to work through before you're ready for that particular lesson. Let's just take it slow, alright?"

Oh sure, because that vague comment wasn't going to consume his thoughts or anything but as curious as he was Macaque was probably right. It wasn't the first step to take here. So, with a huff, he dragged Macaque back to him and held him tightly, "How are you both the best and worst all the time?"

Macaque laughed, "Just talented that way."

A thought suddenly struck him, "Uh, you know the talking about this stuff goes both ways, right?"

Macaque huffed fondly, "Yeah, I know but you know pretty much the only hang up I have about you touching me and we've already worked through the whole magic sensitivity thing. If anything else comes up I'll tell you. Trust me, I've well and truly learnt my lesson about not being upfront."

"And trust me, no-one is more glad about that fact than I am." He sighed, his chin resting on Macaque's shoulder, "Why do we always have to learn things the hard way?"

Macaque shrugged, "Who knows. At least we get there in the end, right?"

Thank heavens for that.

----

Wukong couldn't say he had any interest in amateur theatre - whether that be participating or watching. But he was hard pushed to say no when Macaque asked him to come with him to attend the play that Bǎi Hé was starring in.

He had been surprised to hear that she had taken an interest in performing, confused that Macaque hadn't told him about it. But it turned out that he'd had no idea either - the whole thing a surprise she had specifically planned for him.

Macaque had known she had been working on something as she had outright told him not to snoop in particular places at particular times - a smart preventative measure because with Macaque's ears and shadows he could easily find out things quite by accident.

But even still he was impressed she had kept it a secret all the way up until the night of the first show. Macaque had just thought they were going out for dinner and had been absolutely floored by the real plan.

The show was running for a few days and Macaque hadn't missed a single one, he came back home on cloud nine every night and gushed all about it until they went to bed. Nothing could bring down his mood and as repetitive as he was getting, Wukong would be lying if he said he didn't love it.

Macaque wasn't necessarily stingy with physical affection but he definitely didn't initiate it nearly as often as Wukong did. These last few days though he couldn't seem to stop himself from kissing or touching him - apparently just bursting with affection.

Although, he was being forced to share all of this positive attention with the monkeys - all of whom were ecstatic at Macaque's suddenly cheerful and enthusiastic demeanour and as such were clambering to spend time with him.

He had been a little unsure about going to see the show however questioning if Bǎi Hé would really want him there. They'd had a couple of run-ins recently and while she no longer seemed wary around him, they weren't close by any means. At best, he was a friend of a friend and at worst, he was that guy your friend/pseudo-parental figure was dating that you weren't super keen on.

But Macaque had reassured him that she had been the one to suggest he tag along and once that had been revealed he really didn't have a good reason to say no.

He did however need a disguise because the Monkey King couldn't just show up somewhere unannounced - he'd ruin everything by unwillingly stealing the spotlight.

It really shouldn't have been that hard to decide who to be - he could literally look like anyone and it didn't matter who it was as long as it wasn't himself but he'd stared at the mirror for at least an hour trying different forms before Macaque had shown up to give him a hard time over it.

After much cajoling, he eventually settled on a generic, but distinct, monkey demon and he and Macaque had had quite a bit of fun coming up with a name and a backstory for him and how he and Macaque met. For this evening, and this evening only, he was Jiāng, a mechanic that often had to repair a certain ex-delivery boy's tuk-tuk.

From there it was a story of a friend of a friend in common and a chance encounter to kick off their "whirlwind romance".

There was absolutely no reason to have spent so much time on this fake alias - the chance of him having to actually do more than look the part was slim to none but he wouldn't put it past Macaque to find a way to somehow put him on the spot.

It was sort of nice to be able to be in public and hold Macaque's hand or tail without having to worry about people recognising him. Although he couldn't quite stop himself from checking every reflective surface they passed to make sure his disguise was still in place.

It was also a little easier to ignore his general dislike of crowds when Macaque was almost skipping with excitement beside him. Wukong, of course, teased him about it but it was water off a duck's back, he was far too thrilled to care.

He couldn't say he was really looking forward to seeing the show because for all that Macaque had sung Bǎi Hé's praises it hadn't stopped him from also critiquing every other element of the play and it sounded very likely that while it was pretty good for an amateur performance, it wasn't going to be to the Broadway standard he had become accustomed to.

He probably wasn't even going to be able to have any running commentary with Macaque to keep him entertained but it was only for a couple of hours, not even that, he would live. He'd stocked up on snacks if nothing else.

Overall, it hadn't been as bad as he was expecting - there had been a couple little moments that had made him cringe but generally everyone on the stage had been pretty talented. And he couldn't put into words how incredibly relieved he was that Bǎi Hé was actually good. He's not sure what he would have done if it turned out Macaque had just been so smitten he'd been delusional.

He mostly certainly was smitten though. During her first song he had turned to Macaque to comment that she really was good and he'd been momentarily stunned to see actual tears in his eyes. He recovered from his shock quickly however, a massive grin spreading across his face.

Oh, he was never going to let him live this down. He'd attended every show so far, he must have cried at every one.

What an absolute sap.

He nudged his side wanting to let him know that he'd been had but Macaque wouldn't even look at him until the song was over and even then he didn't look remotely ashamed. Just wiped at his eyes as he leaned closer to Wukong so he could start a very quiet commentary on her performance.

You know, with behaviour like this he could understand why Chóu could have mistakenly thought Macaque was good father material.

He got in some good-natured ribbing during the intermission but he mostly let Macaque be during the rest of the show - he'd have plenty of time to tease him about this once they were back home.

Once the show was over, they, of course, had to meet with the star herself and Macaque could scarcely sit still as they waited for her to come to find them a little ways outside.

As soon as she came into view, Macaque abandoned him to meet her half way and he just grinned as he slowly followed after to join them.

It struck him how much Bǎi Hé had changed - she wasn't the frightened little girl that clung to Macaque's cloak anymore, she had all the makings of a confident young woman and he couldn't help but feel a little bit proud of her too.

He wasn't a part of her life but he knew her well through Macaque, and MK's, stories. And she'd come such a long way, to have gone through what she had and to be standing here proud and pleased with Macaque's adulation? It almost felt unreal.

His expression was fond as he reached her, "Bǎi Hé, amazing show. I thought Macaque was overselling it but you really knocked it out of the park!"

She grinned and winked, "Thanks, Jiāng. Glad you could get away from the garage to come see me."

He did a double take and looked at Macaque, "When did you find time to...? No, wait more importantly, why did you tell her?"

He couldn't explain why but he felt faintly embarrassed by the whole thing . Macaque just laughed, "What are you talking about, Jiāng? And what do you mean you thought I was "overselling it"? I have impeccable theatrical taste and integrity - I tell it exactly how it is."

He rolled his eyes but Bǎi Hé beat him to a reply, "Really? You don't think you're the tiniest bit biased?" She looked at him knowingly, "Did he cry?"

He met her grin and nodded, "Bawled like a baby the moment you appeared on stage."

She laughed, "Mac, this is, like, the fourth show! When are you going to get over the fact I'm on stage?"

Macaque shrugged, "It's not my fault that stars shine so eye-wateringly bright."

They went out for dinner together after that, and despite Macaque's warnings that Wukong would be the third wheel, they actually both made sure he was included and it wasn't nearly as awkward as he worried it might be. Bǎi Hé apparently on her way to being as talented as Macaque at smoothly and subtly curating the conversation.

While it was nice to be involved, he would have been content just to watch the two of them interact with each other. He couldn't help but wonder how Macaque had ever thought Bǎi Hé might not want him in her life. She clearly adored him as much as he adored her.

When they finally parted ways it was with a declaration that the final show tomorrow would be the best of all of them and Macaque promised he wouldn't miss it for the world.

They took the scenic route back, sitting side by side on his nimbus, disguise finally gone, as they reflected on the night.

Macaque and Bǎi Hé had really went all in on his temporary alter ego - he couldn't say anything they deemed out of character. And they had a great time adding to his established back story. Despite, being the butt of the joke he couldn't help how achingly fond he felt as Macaque laughed as he recounted his favourite moments.

It was a beautiful night, and the view was no doubt breathtaking, but he couldn't take his eyes off Macaque. He only vaguely regretted that gently placing a hand against his cheek caused his words to trail off but he couldn't resist the urge to kiss him.

He swore it was one of the sweetest they'd ever shared.

----

MK was forever involved in heroic feats, even if he wasn't saving the world, he was out there doing some good. But very rarely did he work alone, he was always with either his closest friends or he was teaming up with new ones.

He'd worked with heroes of all ages with a diverse range of backgrounds and motivations - not all of them a hero by choice. This was the case for, Yīng, a young girl who'd had very little control over the terrible situation she'd been forced into but had played a crucial role in saving hundreds of lives.

And as such, MK had wanted to do something nice for her and as it transpired she was a massive Monkey King fan. And so today, at MK's request, he had donned his finest armour and worn his most charming smile.

There had been no way Wukong could have said no after hearing her story and together, he and MK had planned the ultimate Monkey King experience.

A guided tour of the island with his nimbus as their mode of transportation was a given, as was spirited retellings of his greatest achievements and fights, but with a bit of help from Macaque they had really elevated the whole thing.

He and MK had transformed and played the roles of various demons from his long, long list of enemies so that Wukong could act out how he had defeated them, they even had shadows and clones act as minions or bystanders to really bring the story to life.

Yīng had been ecstatic with their performance, and even her stoic guardian, Wèi, had been begrudgingly impressed by the demonstration they had put on.

The day an irrefutable success, the five of them had eventually retired to the house for tea and snacks and the promised Q&A.

Most kids Yīng's age got the child friendly, simplified version of his adventures but given just how many versions of the Journey to the West there were over a variety of different forms of media - it wasn't too surprising that such a big fan knew of some of the more violent or morally ambiguous parts of the story.

They'd had a good chat about her favourite Monkey King shows, movies or comics and Wukong had commended her on her excellent taste, easily able to discuss each one at great length but then they had started to drift into somewhat dangerous territory.

She wasn't just a fan of his - she was a fan of all of the Great Companions. He was, of course, very pleased that his brothers were so beloved and while he might have felt a bit melancholy afterwards he would have happily discussed them with her at length.

If it hadn't been for the fact that Macaque was here with them.

His answers became a little strained as he tried to toe the line between being honest and entertaining without saying anything that might inadvertently upset Macaque. MK and Wèi had definitely picked up that something was suddenly a miss and given the nervous glances he kept shooting Macaque it wasn't too hard to guess what.

Macaque's face gave nothing away but after a few minutes, he made a show of tilting his head as if listening to something and stood up with a sigh.

He bowed slightly to their guests, "My sincerest apologies but it sounds like there's some monkey drama I need to attend to. Forgive me but I think this might take some time to sort out. I will try to be back as soon as I can but failing that... Yīng, Wèi, it's been a pleasure and I hope you enjoy the rest of your day here."

One slightly disappointed and one knowing goodbye later and Wukong felt like he could breathe a little easier and he took to responding to Yīng's questions with enthusiasm now that he didn't have to worry about upsetting anyone.

Predictably, Macaque didn't return and it wouldn't surprise him if he'd left the island altogether but he'd worry about that a little later. Right now, he and MK were congratulating themselves on a job well done. They'd given that kid the greatest day of her life so far no doubt.

They'd seen her off with plenty of photos, autographs and exclusive unreleased merch and she couldn't have been happier.

Eventually however a small frown appeared on MK's face and he hesitantly asked, "What was up with, Macaque?"

He tried to keep his tone light, "Ah, he's just not the big JTTW fan everyone else is - he just reached his limit for us going on about."

MK clearly didn't believe him but didn't quite call him out, "Really? But he knew all the stories? He knew some of them even better than me!"

That gave him a moment of pause. How did Macaque know all his stories? Wukong had always been pretty careful to avoid talking about the finer details of the Journey around him, usually only mentioning it to highlight a skillful or clever take down of a particular demon, because he was certain that Macaque didn't want to hear it.

Had he read the book? Or consumed some other piece of media that told his story? When? Why?

He had a sinking feeling it was probably as recon and fuel for revenge.

Trying not to let on to MK the depressing realisation he'd just made, he shrugged, "Couldn't tell you, bud. Probably just read through the book a couple times to see if he could find anything embarrassing he could hold over my head."

MK persisted, "But why doesn't he like it? Has it got something to do with why you two fell out? You know, back before I first met him and you two were doing that whole snarky exes thing?"

He didn't know how to feel about the fact that MK had boiled down the tragedy and anguish that he and Macaque had faced, and largely overcome, as them being "snarky exes". It was insulting and enraging but he couldn't really blame MK - he had no idea of the magnitude of what had really happened.

So taking a calming breath, he replied, "Snarky exes is really downplaying it but yeah, long story short we had a bit of a... falling out while I was on the Journey."

The words left a bitter taste in his mouth but it was all he was willing to offer.

"What happened?"

Not in a million years was he getting to know the truth.

"That's between me and him. You don't need to know."

His terse tone had MK considering him seriously before very quietly asking, "It was bad, wasn't it?"

He looked away, "Bad doesn't even begin to cover it."

He glanced back at MK's shifting and he looked contrite, "Sorry, it's none of my business. I shouldn't have asked."

He sighed and tried to shake himself out of the funk he was falling into, "It's alright, kid. No harm done - it's just a touchy subject."

Concerned MK asked, "Do you think he's ok?"

"Don't worry about him - at worst he'll be in a bad mood for a little bit. And to be honest, he was probably aware there was a risk that this might happen."

He had probably been banking on Yīng having the normal amount of interest in the rest of the Great Companions that most kids did and they wouldn't get mentioned much other than in passing. Maybe he even thought he'd even get to enjoy her complaining about them.

He was disappointed in himself for not having realised that Macaque probably wouldn't be that comfortable with today's agenda but at no point had he said anything and he'd even looked like he was having a lot of fun at times - both during the planning and the actual execution.

Despite briefly touching on such a heavy subject, the mood hadn't been totally unsalvageable and he and MK had spent another hour together chatting amicably before they said their goodbyes.

Once MK was well and truly out of sight however he couldn't help but sag. Now he just had to wait for Macaque to reappear and who knew what sort of conversation awaited them when that happened.

He'd argue the waiting was the worst part of it and in an effort to shorten it he did message Macaque to let him know everyone was away. He was almost certain he wasn't on the island but he supposed it would do no harm to see if he could sense him close by.

He'd check once he got back to the house.

As he slowly made his way back as he let his thoughts start to ruminate on what Macaque might think about his beloved brothers.

He probably didn't hold too much contempt for Shā Wùjìng, Zhū Bājiè or Áo Liè but his master? He wasn't sure he was prepared to hear whatever Macaque might have to say about him. Especially not if it was a reflection of the vitriol he'd spat all those years ago - all the blame for their fight placed squarely on Sānzàng's shoulders.

He sighed heavily as he pushed open his door, stripping off his Monkey King getup and shedding his glamours, so he could drop face first into the couch.

For all they made a big deal about talking things through he wasn't sure if this was the one time where it would be better not to address it. He couldn't foresee there being a positive outcome, not if Macaque's opinion on his master hadn't changed. It would just cause an awful lot of unnecessary pain.

He felt a familiar shift in the room and for a moment he simply froze not prepared to face the music so soon. But gathering his courage, he pulled himself up to peek over the back of the couch to see Macaque leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed. The deliberate physical distance between them couldn't be a good sign.

"Hey."

He sat up, and nervously returned the greeting, "Hey."

An awkward silence followed and Wukong couldn't stand it, "Uh, where did you end up going?"

Macaque looked away, "Didn't go anywhere."

His heartbeat kicked up a notch, "You didn't...? You were still on the island? Were you... listening?"

Macaque shrugged stiffly, "Left because you were stressing out. But I... I wanted to hear what you had to say."

He didn't know what to make of that at all. Had he been wrong? He was so sure that Macaque still thought the worst of his master. It felt too good to be true that he'd had a change of heart. Maybe he had just taken an aggressively neutral stance to it all?

Warily, he responded, "Oh. Did you, er, I mean... What did you think?"

It wasn't quite what he wanted to ask but it was along the right lines.

Slowly Macaque answered, "It was fine."

"Fine?"

Macaque's tail swished a little agitatedly before he amended, "Nice. It was nice you had a chance to talk about them."

It felt like they were trying to navigate a minefield, both of them keenly aware of how one wrong step could result in them both getting hurt. Cautiously, he asked, "You weren't, I don't know, upset by anything I said?"

"Like what?"

Ok, clearly neither of them wanted to be the one to bite the bullet and he couldn't blame them. This topic strayed dangerously close to one they had agreed not to address - a day they would both like to forget.

He was sorely tempted to take the easy way out - say something along the lines of "Oh, nothing. Thanks for giving me the chance to talk about them. Sorry, I thought you wouldn't want to hear it - you know me, I'm a worrier." But if Macaque really didn't want to talk about it then he would have already said.

He took a breath and decided to have some faith in them both to navigate this conversation, "I didn't think you would think too highly of them. I... I know you didn't used to. I thought it might be upsetting for you to hear about them?"

Macaque chose his words carefully, his expression complicated, "I don't think particularly highly of them, no. But I... I know they were important to you and I..." He ducked his head, breath a little uneven, his voice wavered slightly, "And I know that you wouldn't be who you are today without them."

That admission was more than he could have ever asked of Macaque - to have him actually acknowledge the positive impact they'd had on his life? He felt himself get a little choked up, "Macaque..."

He stood and tentatively made his way over to him, he was still hunched over himself but he let Wukong take his hands, "Macaque, I can't tell you much that means to me. I... Thank you."

Macaque nodded once shortly. Only reluctantly looking up at him once Wukong brought a hand to his face. His eyes were wet and the sight of it made his heart ache.

Macaque brought up a hand to cover his own before turning his head to chastely kiss his palm, "I can't say any more than that. If I do... I- I won't be able to keep it together."

Part of him wanted to say he didn't need to keep it together. Hearing his admission had sparked a hope that they could actually talk this through but he could also hear the echoes of Macaque's desperate words from all those years ago.

Accusations of the pain and suffering they had caused and of how they had turned him against his own.

He stood firm in the belief that the Journey was the only way he could have changed for the better but it had most certainly not been an easy or pleasant experience. Even if he, and the world at large, had benefited from it in the end, he couldn't imagine how he would have felt if he and Macaque's roles had been reversed.

No matter how necessary the circlet may have been, or how much he may have or have not deserved it - the thought of it on Macaque's head made him sick with fury. He could understand, regardless of the logic or justification, why Macaque would despise anyone that would have used it on him.

Macaque, who had loved him at his worst and couldn't comprehend how he could defend those that hadn't.

He stroked his thumb across Macaque's cheek, as he quietly soothed him, "It's ok. We don't have to talk about it."

Macaque released a shuddering breath before standing up straight so he could wrap his arms around his shoulders and he didn't hesitate to hold him around his waist in response.

He didn't know how long they stood there, holding each other, as everything that went unsaid hung above their heads but he'd be damned if he would be the one to let go first.

----

Quite a while ago now Macaque had promised him the serenading of a lifetime - he was going to write him a song, he was going to have them dressed up to the nines and create the single most romantic love declaration the world had ever seen - and all just in the name of embarrassing him.

And since this declaration Macaque had written him many songs and painted a number of scenes for them to truly shine but each one was apparently never the promised serenade.

All of them just a taster, or a test, or a tease and Wukong was convinced it was purely because Macaque just really enjoyed planning and executing them so much he just wanted to keep doing it. Which honestly was fine by him - they were always either entertaining and/or enjoyable.

He was actually a little impressed by the sheer amount of original songs that Macaque had put together and from a wide range of genres as well. He'd even written a couple of duets that he either sprung on him in the moment or forced him to learn before the deadline he had decided on.

Most of the performances were lighthearted, often teasing or amusing affairs, with an underlying hint of affection hidden within them. Although for some of them Macaque really did go all out on the romance factor, again all just for the purpose of flustering him.

Very rarely though, he put together such genuine and loving pieces that Wukong was left speechless, the effect even more pronounced by the fact he never saw them coming. Macaque would joke and tease as he always did before viciously pulling the rug out from under him.

It wasn't hard to guess how most of those nights ended.

He was however haunted by one particular melody and it wasn't one that had ever been used "officially". It was the first song he had ever caught Macaque practicing for him and if he'd never heard it again after that he would have just thought Macaque had decided it hadn't made the cut. But every once in a while, he caught a whisper of it's melancholy sound.

It wasn't beyond reason to think that while it hadn't made the cut for serenading, Macaque had liked it enough that he just enjoyed playing it. But despite that almost certainly being the answer, Wukong was convinced that it was actually the song that Macaque had promised him.

And eventually he was proven right when I, one evening, while out on the island enjoying a pleasant evening, Macaque had pulled an èrhú from the shadows and had quietly started to play, one song seamlessly becoming another while Wukong had lazed in the tree branch above him and listened contently.

A handful of the monkeys surrounding them had made some requests and Macaque had acquiesced to all of them. Feeling strangely nervous, he asked, "Hey Mac, can you play that one song?"

Macaque had huffed, not pausing his movements, as he retorted, "I'm good but I'm not that good, Wukong. You'll need to give me more than that."

He tapped his fingers on his stomach as he said, "You know, the one that goes..." Before humming a small portion of it, "That one."

Macaque hummed, "Sure. I'll add it to the list. You need to wait your turn just like everyone else though."

He put up some token protests about how that rule shouldn't apply to him but he wasn't actually upset. Although, he was getting increasingly antsy - anxiously anticipating it every time a song ended. He was grateful Macaque didn't call him out on his squirming.

Although he did laugh a little at the small gasp that was surprised out of him when that familiar song finally played. He watched Macaque intently, looking for any hint that his suspicions were correct but he found nothing.

The song had scarcely finished before Wukong quietly asked him to play it again, this time lying back with his eyes closed and really appreciating every note. He resisted the urge to ask for it to be played a third time and instead said, "I really like that song."

He knew Macaque was smiling, "Yeah, I could tell."

He swallowed, "Does it have any lyrics?"

"It does but they're not quite right yet."

"Could you show me what you've got so far?"

Macaque was silent for long enough that he almost leaned over to look down at him but finally he said, "Not yet. Soon but not yet."

Disappointment was easily squashed by anticipation. He knew soon didn't actually always mean soon but he couldn't help but feel vindicated - he'd known this song was special.

Macaque huffed, "That excited for it, huh?"

Belatedly, he realised his tail had been thumping excitedly against the branch but he was only feeling slightly sheepish as he tried to get it to stop, "You've been working on it for forever - of course, I'm excited about it."

A little hesitantly Macaque confessed, "It's not like the others."

He turned around so he was lying on his stomach, now able to see Macaque fidget with his èrhú.

"Yeah, it doesn't sound like the others. I'm still looking forward to it though. Even if it's, like, really sad or something. You never miss when it comes to music."

His words brought a small smile to Macaque's face, "High praise." He then turned to face him, "Hey, I know you're no slouch with music either - where's my love song?"

He couldn't help but laugh, "You sure you want that?"

He didn't have much experience writing songs or lyrics but he could probably throw something silly and simple together if he was out on the spot.

Macaque teased, "Obviously, I'm not expecting my level of talent from you but it's really the thought that counts."

Oh, there was a hint of challenge in there and despite the fact he was no match for Macaque in this area he could feel his competitiveness being stirred.

He sat up as he declared, "You want a love song? Fine - you just wait! You're never going to be able to write another piece of music again without lamenting over how it will never be as good as what I'm going to make!"

"Ooh. Big talk. Am I getting the full works to go with it? Outfits, scenery, the lot?"

Outfits he could have Macaque beat on but everything else he had no chance. But far be it for that to be enough to stop him crowing, "I am going to serenade the hell out of you! I'll have you swooning before I've even started singing!"

Macaque just laughed, "Oh, this ought to be good. Don't keep me waiting too long now, I'm not sure I could handle the suspense."

God, he was going to regret this but he couldn't back down now - he was all in.

----

It really wasn't often that Wukong found himself in Red Son's lab but on a recent hero outing MK had responded oddly to a strange material they had found and he had been called in so they could see if his magic responded similarly.

He'd been reassured that it didn't appear to be harmful - it just did things like: make MK glow, switch out the colour palate of his animal transformations and make his voice echo - but it wasn't having any effect on anyone else as far as they could tell.

So, obligingly he and Macaque had made their way here although he did feel like he'd been summoned under somewhat false pretences. He had been under the impression he would just have to hold a rock while he used his magic, he had not agreed to be hooked up to a hundred cables while he did so.

He eyed them warily as Red Son and MK tried to persuade him to be plugged into the former's computers. MK was all reassurances - "It looks way worse than it is!", "It'll only be for a couple of minutes!", and "Look! I did it and I'm totally fine!" Red Son's tactic however was to berate him - "The "Great Sage" afraid of some measly wires?", "Surely even your inferior mind can see the necessity of running accurate tests?" and "You are wasting my time!"

He was getting increasingly annoyed with both of them, although definitely one more than the other, "Just hand me the rock. If I don't react like MK did then there's no point in doing these tests."

Red Son was incensed and turned to the other monkey in the room, "Macaque! Make this fool see reason! I cannot understand how you can stand to spend your time with someone so ignorant to the value of the controlled and measured scientific method!"

Macaque just sighed and made a show of drawing a horizontal circle in the air, leaving a trail of magic and Wukong was ready to catch the rock that fell into his hand, "Sometimes, we need to make compromises. There's no harm in letting him check it out first, if needs be he'll do your tests after."

He hadn't agreed to that but at Macaque's sharp look, he nodded. Fine. Macaque must have been plugged up to these machines loads of times, if he could do it then so could he.

Red Son not-so silently seethed but Wukong ignored him as he transformed into a bird, the rock held in his talons. He held up his wings and did his best to twist and turn to look at himself but he couldn't see anything amiss. He transformed a couple more times and nothing.

No matter what magic he used, he never reacted in the way that had been described to him and he sat back, smug in his victory.

Red Son wasn't impressed, "This gives us even more reason to test you! We need to isolate whatever element of MK's magic is causing this and that will be made vastly easier by comparing his magic to yours!"

He frowned, "What does this even matter? You said it yourself that it's not harmful and how likely is MK to run into this stuff again? You just want me to be your lab monkey! You probably want to steal some of my magic and use it in some crazy experiment!"

"No! You imbecile! I don't want you or your magic anywhere near my lab! We don't know for certain that this isn't dangerous! We need to be absolutely sure that it's harmless! Are you truly willing to risk the wellbeing and potentially the life of your successor because you're afraid of a couple of wires!?"

How dare he suggest he wouldn't go to hell and back for MK. He stood up ready to give him a piece of his mind when MK came between them, "Alright, everybody calm down. This is getting us nowhere. Red Son, go take five and cool off, alright? I'll talk to him."

Red Son looked like he'd rather clamber over MK and strangle him instead but whatever look MK was levelling at him shortly had him huffing, turning on his heel, and marching straight out of the door Macaque was holding open. Who then offered him and MK a little salute before following after the walking fire hazard.

Wukong crossed his arms, aggravated, "Can you believe how that little brat was talking to me? Unbelievable!"

MK wasn't impressed, and he was more than a little cowed as he ranted at him, "Don't call him that! Sure, he could have handled that better but you weren't helping! He's really worried about this thing - I know that doesn't give him the right to snap at you but you're literally thousands of years his elder! You didn't need to rise to it!"

He tried to defend himself, "You both told me this thing was nothing to worry about! If he'd explained things properly in the first place we could have avoided all of this. Bud, I'd move heaven and earth for you. If you need me to do this then I will but you can't just keep me in the dark and then yell at me for not knowing what's going on."

MK kept up his glare for half a second longer before dropping it entirely. He let out a long breath as rubbed the back of his head, a little contrite, "You're right, I'm sorry. This whole thing has been sort of stressful and I- I guess I just wasn't thinking."

Wukong forgave him immediately, "I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have been so difficult but in my defence - look at that thing!"

He gestured emphatically to the horrifying monstrosity of technology beside them and MK winced, "Yeah, I think I've maybe forgotten how scary all this stuff can be. Like, I'm in here all the time, seen all this equipment used a hundred times over... You've probably never even had bloods done before, huh?"

"I've never even been near a hospital - let alone attached to whatever that's supposed to be."

MK was empathetic, "Would it help if we explained what everything does? I mean, I don't actually get all the science behind it but I can show you how everything connects and tell you how it feels?"

He conceded, "Yeah, actually I think it would."

And so that was how Red Son and Macaque found them - both of them hooked up to various machines as MK talked him through it. MK was quick to try and untangle them, "We weren't messing with your stuff! I was just showing Wukong that-"

Red Son held up a hand, "I know what you were doing." He then turned to him and standing tall issued a formal apology, "Sun Wukong, my handling of the situation was substandard. You were not presented with all the facts and responded accordingly." He gave a shallow bow, "I apologise for my shortcomings."

Wukong was taken aback and a glance at MK showed he had been equally unprepared for whatever this display was but he didn't need to see Macaque's face to know how he should respond. Hand on heart, he briefly bowed his head, "I'm sorry too, kid. I know better than to fly off the handle. Let's let bygones be bygones, alright?C'mon, finish explaining what all this stuff does."

Off to the side, MK had sidled up to Macaque, voice somewhere between awed and threatening, he asked, "What did you say to him?"

Macaque shrugged, "Nothing much. Our young prince was more than capable of assessing the situation and determining the appropriate response. Not that I would expect anything less."

Red Son may as well have been glowing with pride at Macaque's statement. He was doing an impressive job at maintaining his professional decorum but it wasn't hard to see how pleased he was and it seemed to do wonders for his mood.

He shot a grin Macaque's way and was met with an unimpressed look in response. Ah. He had a feeling Macaque's lecture was going to be a lot less forgiving than MK's.

Well, that was a problem for later. Right now, he had some tests to run.

--Chapter End--

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LMK Fanfic Masterlist

[jerzwriter]

Tobias took his friend Casey to see his hometown of Washington, DC, all decked out for the holidays; then, she showed him how her hometown of Philadelphia did it. Now, they make one pitstop on the way back home and decide what city does it best... and wrestle with what they mean to each other.

Book: Open Heart Characters: Tobias Carrick & Casey MacTavish (F!MC) Rating: Teen Words: 2,400 (sorry) A/N: This series is a rewrite of a fic I originally wrote in 2022. But, as I fill in the gaps in my Tobias/Casey headcanon, I needed to make some adjustments - and wanted to make some improvements. I haven't tagged my full list for the other parts, but I'm going to do so here because this is the part that had the most alternation - and will lead us back to the question: "So how did they actually end up together?"

Thank you to anyone who has read this - it really means so much to me! :)

Series Masterlist | Tobias x Casey Masterlist Masterlist

“Last stop!” Tobias jumped out of his Jaguar, eagerly tossing the keys to the valet. There was no denying he was as excited about the last minute addition to their itinerary as Casey, perhaps even more so.

As she gingerly stepped out the passenger side, her enthusiasm was diminished, and concern was written all over her face. “Are you sure this is a good idea? The traffic was worse than we anticipated, and you have to be at work early tomorrow.”

“No worries,” Tobias chuckled. “I can sleep when I’m dead.”

Unamused, she stood her ground. “Well, I’d like to keep you around for a while, and you need your rest! So we’re not staying too long, all right?”

“Whatever you say, ma’am,” he nodded, and she couldn’t help but crack a smile when he animatedly gestured toward the street that would lead them to their next adventure.

The cold air and aroma of roasted chestnuts mingled with jingling bells and car horns blaring at tourists who blocked intersections made it clear... it was Christmastime in New York City. Casey was mesmerized, stopping at every store window to peruse the holiday displays. She was so enchanted that she didn’t notice the minor miracle that had taken place; Tobias Carrick was... quiet.

While his mouth had stopped moving, his mind was in overdrive. Amid the joyful chaos, he could focus on only one thing: fighting the visceral urge to take Casey’s hand in his, and not out of fear of becoming separated. His internal debate was relentless... would it be so wrong? Friends do hold hands sometimes, especially in crowds like this. It would make sense. Perfect sense. It wasn’t like he was leaning to kiss her. Not that they hadn’t done that recently. They had! Less than a month ago, they declared they’d be friends with kissing benefits. Of course, it hadn’t happened again, and if it did, Casey would have to initiate it, not him; fortunately, his rambling thoughts came to a halt along with the rest of him when he walked directly into a light post.

Casey turned around, startled, but began to laugh once she realized he was OK. “You OK there?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” he recovered. “Just a little... disorientated.”

In desperate need of a distraction and wishing to prevent further injury, Tobias started a conversation to occupy his mind for the rest of their walk.

“So tell me, how did you manage to attend NYU for four years, yet you never saw this tree?”

“Well,” she shrugged. “I had intended to but never made it. Christmastime is also final exam time, and you know me, I had to get straight A’s, so my mind wasn’t fully on the holidays until I finished the last exam... then I was usually on a train home to Philly.”

He shook his head with a chortle. “Didn’t anyone tell you all work and no play is bad for you? Man... you really needed an influence like me in your life  back then, kid.”

“Oh, that’s probably the last thing I needed,” she laughed. “And I managed to have a lot of fun in college. I saw the Bryant Park Tree. Of course the Washington Square Park tree and I were very well acquainted. I just never saw this tree.”

“Well, as much as I am surprised, I’m kind of glad you didn’t... this way, we get to see it for the first time together.”

Casey gave Tobias a side glance; it was now her turn to fight off visceral urges, but she merely gave him a tender smile. “I am, too.”

Then, with the turn of a corner, there it stood, towering above them in all its glory: the world-famous Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree.

“Holy shit!” Tobias exclaimed as Casey gasped in awe. “That thing is huge! It’s twice as big as I thought it would be.”

Casey playfully nudged his side with a giggle. “That’s what she said.”

“Really, Casey?” He mocked. “Really? It’s Christmastime.”

“Well, I’m not going to stop being a smartass just because of that,” she winked. “That wouldn’t be fun at all.”

After a moment, it was Casey who made the final determination.

“Well, I hate to admit it, but that guy was right.  I think this Christmas tree is the winner. It beats Philly, and it definitely beats DC!”  

“I’m so glad you said it,” Tobias chuckled.  “I’m done conceding loss on this trip! I just wish we could see it at night.  Can you imagine how beautiful it must be then?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. But we can’t stay that late today. Maybe we can come see it again next year.”

Next year.  Those words from her lips took his breath away. Mere months ago, they didn’t know if Casey would survive to see this Christmas, much less next. Yet here she was, full of vitality and right at his side... smiling. Next year. She was thinking ahead, and she was including him in her plans. He wasn’t one for Christmas lore; he sure felt like that red-suited, white-bearded old man had dropped a present right into his lap. But as he felt a swell of promise rising inside him, he also felt something else: fear.

He promised he wouldn’t let this happen. Yet here he was... the happily confirmed bachelor was smitten; he couldn’t even deny it anymore. So he made a new promise: to keep his feelings to himself. Casey had made it abundantly clear that she wasn’t ready for any romantic entanglements, and even if she were, he didn’t know if she’d want those entanglements to include him. He had bungled their first chance together badly. He knew how much it had hurt to lose her and didn’t want to face that again. He was lucky to be in her life at all. Friendship was plenty, he convinced himself. Still, as he watched the tree lights flickering on her beaming face, his heart filled with a warmth previously unknown, and he had to wonder... if the time came, would he be able to watch her fall in love with someone else, knowing how much he already loved her so?

“Well, we’ve declared a winner,” Casey said. “We should start heading back to Boston.”

But Tobias had an impish glint in his eyes. “We could.... unless…”

“Unless what?”

“I have always wanted to take a carriage ride through Central Park... and how often will we be in New York. What do you say?”

Casey turned to him, and he could just see the little angel and devil battling over her shoulders. In the end, he was delighted that the devil won.

“You!” she said with a gentle shove. “Leave it to you to find something impossible to say no to!”

“Well,” he smirked, “that is kind of my specialty.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard,” she laughed. “Now, let’s go!”

As much as Casey insisted they make haste, that didn’t prevent her from having a lengthy conversation with Joel, the carriage driver, and she refused to step foot inside until she was satisfied.

“No, Ma’am, I promise you, George here is very well cared for. It’s not like it used to be.  He only rides through a special route in Central Park. It’s perfectly safe.”

Petting George’s beautiful mane, Casey continued her cross-examination. “And what about at the end of the day?” She demanded. “How do you get him back to his stables?”

“In a trailer attached to my truck that I drive very carefully.  Would you like to run my license?”

“Please, don’t give her any ideas! She just might,” Tobias laughed.

“Ma’am,  George, here is family to me. I assure you, he’s the most spoiled horse in the City.  I wouldn’t let anything happen to him.”

“OK,” she nodded. “Then we can take the ride, but can I feed him a carrot first?”  

“You sure can,” the driver smiled.

When she was done, Tobias helped Casey step into the carriage. “You’re incredible,” he smiled. “You know that, right?”

“Really? Incredible in a good way or a bad way?”

Tobias’s eyes crinkled as the driver gave them a blanket to help keep them warm.

“In the very best way.”

“Thank God for this blanket,” Casey said with a shiver. “I didn’t realize how cold it was until we sat down.”

“I did,” Tobias laughed. “In fact, I’m thinking about striking a deal with Joel so we can keep this thing for the walk back to the car.”

While they were seated closely together, Casey eyed the tiny gap between them with caution.

“Well, if you’re that cold, we could huddle together. You know... for warmth.”  

“We could,” he replied nonchalantly. “Anything to stave off frostbite, right?”

“Right,” she smiled, sliding closer to him.

Tobias cautiously lifted his arm and wrapped it around her shoulder, pleading with the universe for the gesture not to upset her, and the universe delivered. Casey nuzzled her head into his shoulder.  He didn’t think this trip could get better, and just like that, it did. 

The clip-clopping of George’s hooves cut through the crisp air, providing the soundtrack as the carriage meandered gentle curves through the park. About halfway through, delicate snowflakes began to fall, and Tobias and Casey agreed this was better than anything they had ever seen on screen. They were approaching the end of the ride when Casey looked up and nervously giggled.

“Yes,” Tobias asked with a raised brow.

She pointed to a small sprig of mistletoe dangling between the red fringe that lined the carriage’s hood; it would have been easy to miss. Biting her lower lip, she turned away. The scene was too perfect, the moment was too ideal, but should she take the chance? Not allowing herself to give it further thought, she turned to Tobias with abandon.

“So... remember that day back in Cambridge? When I asked if we could kiss... you know... with no strings attached... and you said we could be friends with kissing benefits?”

“I do,” he smiled mischievously.

“Well, we are under the mistletoe, and this is such a special day.  Don’t feel obligated... you don’t have to... but if you want, I thought maybe we could.... mmmhhhh.”

Just like last time, she didn’t get to complete her sentence. Tobias’s soft lips were upon hers, his hand gently cupping her cheek as her arms wrapped around his neck. The kiss was sweet, warm, filled with a tenderness that each longed for but was afraid to claim as their own. This time, when the kiss broke, Casey was unwilling to let it end, pulling him back for one more.

When they silently parted, a blushing Casey diverted her eyes, and perhaps because he wasn’t ready to face the moment either, Tobias pulled her close against his chest, placing a loving kiss atop her head. They remained like that for the rest of the ride, each with a million thoughts swirling in their heads, but not a single word could make its way to their lips.

“Well, this is it, kids!” Joel yelled as he hopped off the carriage. “Did you enjoy yourselves?”

“Yes,” Casey said almost too quickly. “It was... it was beautiful!”

Tobias shook Joel’s hand, slipping him a tip, before he and Casey began their trek back to the car. The usual easiness between them was replaced with an awkward silence punctuated by small talk about the frigid temperatures and how they could no longer feel their toes. But each attempt to quell the discomfort faded too quickly, and quiet was upon them again. Finally, Casey grabbed Tobias’s wrist.

“T, wait a second,” she insisted, tugging him to face her.

“Is everything OK?” he asked.

“Yes... It’s more than OK. This weekend was just magical. It was more than anything I could have imagined, and I will always treasure the memories I made with you.”

“I’m going to do the same,” he smiled.

“I just hope,” she nervously chewed at her lip. “I hope I didn’t ruin things.”

“Ruin things?” he asked, with a creased brow. “Casey, you couldn’t ruin things if you tried.”

Looking up from under her lashes, she gave a tantalizing little smirk. “Wanna bet? The kiss on the carriage... I... I just got overwhelmed; everything was so beautiful, it was so romantic, and then the mistletoe was there, and I...I....”

“Casey, Casey...” he said, taking her hands. “It’s all right. Everything’s fine.”  

“It... it is.”

“Sure,” he comforted. “Look, it doesn’t have to mean anything.”

He watched as the relief that just settled on her features turned into something different, something that looked like hurt, and he was quick to recover.

“Let me correct that. Of course, it means something. Everything with you is very special... because it’s with you. That was a beautiful moment, and I’m glad we got to share it together, but it doesn’t have to mean any more than you want it to. I know where you are right now, and I respect that. We can just leave that tender moment alone.”

“You know... I am feeling better every day,” she insisted. “On this trip, for the first time since the attack, I felt like my old self again. In fact, I went two whole days without even thinking about it.”

“I could tell,” he smiled. “And it was beautiful to see.”

“But, I’m still not... I’m just... still not...”

“Casey,” he whispered. “It’s OK. I promise you...it’s OK.”  

“Good,” she smiled. “Thank you.”

“But maybe,” he stalled, already kicking himself for what he was about to say. “Maybe we should hold of on that friends with kissing benefits stuff. You know? I don’t want it to confuse you, and I really don’t want it to hurt what we’ve built between us.”

“Well, I don’t see how they could hurt,” she faltered. “But... but... maybe you’re right, at least for now. But hug... hugs are still allowed, right?”

“Oh, hugs are always allowed,” he grinned, pulling her into one of the tightest ones he could offer.  

“Good,” she sighed with relief. “Because I always need those.”

Then, the two friends stood in the middle of the busy street as the cold wind blew. The sounds that made up the City's symphony- laughter, arguments, honking horns, and sirens blaring in the distance surrounded them. But Casey and Tobias didn’t recall that they were on an island of nearly two million people, for there were only two who mattered, and right now, they were clinging to the moment for as long as time would allow.

“Come on,” Casey smiled, taking his hand. “We need to get you home to Boston.”

“You got it,” he nodded. “But I have a feeling we’ll be back to visit.”

“I think so, too. Oh, and Tobias?”

“Yes?”

“I know it’s early, but... Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Casey,” he smiled, tenderly bopping her nose. “Merry Christmas.”

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Will tag others in reblog.

[paranormaljones]

Ok so, for reverse unpopular opinion, MAWS and Stranger Things :).

I genuinely laughed out loud when I saw the second thing in this ask. Evil evil evil 🤣

BUT FIRST WE START WITH MAWS

@dangerously-human BLESS YOU for also asking me about MAwS, I'm gonna do a two-for-one here and tag you in this one (and then answer your other one afterwards)

I'm gonna try to keep my thoughts brief because I'm gonna make an incredibly long post about it later but main points:

I absolutely adore the way MAwS portrays physical and emotional attraction between two adults while balancing both of those aspects of romantic attraction in a way that never makes the viewer feel it's unrealistic or uncomfortable, or like either party is objectifying the other. This is what my long post will largely be about because the way it's done in MAwS feels incredibly rare and valuable.

This has been said by so many other people but I also just adore Clark Kent's character in MAwS. Until now I have never once found myself significantly compelled by any mainstream superhero media besides Megamind. I tried with Marvel and it didn't take. I saw less of DC and didn't really see anything that drew me in, though to be fair I didn't really look. I didn't grow up reading comics and only knew the characters by their stereotypes or their gritty, subversive adaptations that no one likes.

And then I watched MAwS and it changed everything. XD I care about all of it now. I want to know so much more.

I also really really love this adaptation of Lois Lane. I'm really not familiar with the others, but she's such a fun and real-feeling character. She's larger than life and also so down-to-earth when she needs to be. She makes mistakes a lot and does her best to right them, and it's so comforting that she really feels like exactly what she is: a 23-year-old intern with the energy of a caged comet, trying her best to live up to extremely high expectations and her own aspirations. Sometimes that energy goes in the wrong direction, but she is well-intentioned and genuine and really a sweetheart. I love her to death.

I just. ugh. I love them so much. 😭

Okay. Now for part two.

Stranger Things. Can I talk specifically about the first and second seasons? Because those two seasons, for the most part, felt like such a beautiful embodiment of the "love conquers all" trope that we both love. The boys protecting Eleven at the start and doing everything they could to help her, Mike especially doing his best to communicate with her and be a source of safety and comfort for her, and at the end of the first season, her sacrifice to protect all of them. Good gosh. I still can't watch that scene without crying. AND THEN IN THE SECOND SEASON us finding out that Mike tried to reach out into the void for Eleven every single day for 353 days straight?? Destroys me. Utterly. I love Mike so much. (also fun fact, if you add up the digits in 353 it equals 11. i remember binging the second season on the night it came out and screaming to myself about that when it came up.)

I'm gonna throw this link in here because it's one of the best fan edits I've ever seen in my entire life and it encapsulates all of my feelings about Mike and Eleven in season one. I remember watching it over and over again seven years ago and it still brings back all of those emotions. It's so good.

Additional things I love about Stranger Things:

The music. Oh my gosh, the music. The soundtrack from season one is often on repeat in my car. It's freaking beautiful.

Steve. Best freaking redemptive character arc I've ever seen in anything ever. He goes from being perfectly hate-able to someone I would die for in the span of two seasons, and just continues to get better.

Steve's hair. It's great.

It being the reason that we have the infamous "category five woman moment" post about Joyce Byers. I think about it all the time. One of my top five favorite phrases ever.

There are more things but I think I've talked about Stranger Things more than I talked about MAwS at this point, ironically. XD

Thank you both so much for the asks!! These were so fun!! :DDD 💙

[always-just-red]

Please make a story that zayne is very clingy, sweet , romantic

For Mc

Pretty please

Make it long

Please

Please

Need a food 🥺

Food is served!! (One of these days you guys are gonna see an 'only accepting requests for Rafayel now' post and it'll be Raf hijacking my computer because WHY WAS I CATCHING FEELINGS FOR ZAYNE WHILE WRITING THIS??)

Doctor's Orders

Zayne x Reader ❄

Summary: Zayne has suggested you skip work today, which isn't suspicious at all...

Genre: Fluff (with a *pinch* of angst)

Warnings/Additional tags: gn!reader, established relationship, some kisses, some mentions of death (just a real mixed bag, you know?)

| Word count: 2k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Do you really have to go?”

Zayne was a lot of things: caring, even doting, but never normally this… clingy.

You pretend not to hear the question, feeling the weight of his eyes on your back as you get ready to leave. You will answer it— you’re not ignoring him— but you have so much to do, and you’ve answered it three times already. Yes, Zayne. It’s work. You finish lacing your boots. And no, Zayne, I can’t get out of it.

And since when was he an advocate for skipping a shift, anyway? Like blood from a stone, he’d calmly pleaded with you to come up with some sort of excuse and you’d stared back, eyes wide, because you didn’t know stones could bleed.

An excuse? You’d repeated in disbelief.

Yes. You could… tell them you’re sick? I could write you a note.

You’d thought it a joke until he drew out a pen and started scrawling something on the nearest scrap of paper. He’d pushed it into your hands, his gaze earnest, as though he were trusting a co-conspirator. Here, he’d said matter-of-factly, you can give it to your captain tomorrow.

The writing was barely legible.

It’s still crinkling in your pocket now: your little ‘get-out-of-your-Sunday-shift-free’ card, courtesy of Doctor Zayne, and yes, you are going to hold onto it, but it’s not for Jenna. It’s for your apartment wall, where you’ll be mounting it in a golden frame, because absolutely no-one is going to believe you when you tell this story.

You collect your guns from a nearby drawer, checking the sights and the safety on each before holstering them at your sides. “The sooner I leave, the sooner I’ll get back,” you shrug.

A nice sentiment— not entirely true. “Or you could stay.” Zayne is looking at your weapons, not you.

He’s sat at the kitchen table, watching you over an untouched breakfast. Yours also sits around him: plates upon plates of every food you could imagine, warm and cold, savoury and sweet. You’d suffered a brief heart attack when you’d first laid eyes on it, presuming you’d forgotten some occasion or another.

There’s even a vase of fresh flowers, flourishing at the centre of it all.

It’s one of the most romantic things you’ve ever seen, but you’re starting to think that’s the point. Like a hand on your heart, squeezing; it’s urging you to sit back down, to relax, to surrender and let him take care of you. Are you the worst person in the world? It feels like you are.

Ready to take on anything but more of his gaze, you return to the table, fully-armed, and pluck a strawberry from the edge of a plate. You pop it into your mouth, savouring its sweetness as you stroll behind Zayne’s chair. “Try not to worry,” you mumble, resting your hand on his shoulder while you lean in to kiss his cheek. “Ok?”

“Ok.”

You go to pull away, but his hand lands on your hand, anchoring you to him. His fingers wrap around your wrist, lifting, guiding your fingers in front of his mouth so he can press a few, brisk kisses to each. Your heart is in a vice again— tightening with every brush of his lips. You can’t take it. You can’t.

He knows, and he’s turning in the chair, slipping his free hand around your waist and tugging until you’re crushed up against him. “Stay. Please?” his voice entreats. You can barely hear it from where his face is nestled into you.

You have to remind yourself to breathe, and you sigh as your hands move to cradle his head and run your fingers through his hair. You want to enjoy this. Why can’t you enjoy this?

His breath is fanning against you and all you can think about is the fact that he’s making you late.

…

You’re marching to headquarters twice as quickly as usual, and you’ve crashed into three people already. Every time there’s been an impulse to scream “get out of the way!” but you’re wearing your uniform, so you have to apologise, smile sweetly, and pretend you’re not one incident away from turning in your badge and leaving them all to fend for themselves.

Someone steps out in front of you and you have to swerve to miss them, almost dropping your phone in the process. It had just started ringing, and the noise persists as you fumble with it.

“Hello?” you answer, putting it to one ear as you plug the other with a finger.

“Hi!” It’s Greyson, finally, and he’s surprisingly chipper for someone you know is just coming off of his graveyard shift. “I saw your texts. Is everything ok?”

“Yeah! Thanks for calling. It’s just…”  Everything’s too noisy for you to concentrate, and you’re still essentially running an obstacle course. You peel away from the crowd, ducking into the quiet of an alley. “I’m a little worried about Zayne. He’s been acting weird all weekend, ever since—”

“Friday?”

“Yeah.” That couldn’t mean anything good. Your brow furrows. “Did something happen?” 

A drawn-out sigh makes it through the phone, and you know Greyson well enough to know he’s pinching the bridge of his nose, wondering just how much he should tell you. “We had a patient transferred to us on Friday,” he caves, “a young woman— a hunter, injured— she was… not in a good way. Recovery odds next to zero, but Zayne? You know Zayne. He had to try.”

You nod, even though Greyson can’t see it. There’s dread in the pit of your stomach; you can tell where this is going.

“She didn’t make it,” he states with the rehearsed evenness of someone who’s spoken the words too many times before. There’s another sigh, then he hastens to add: “Zayne was incredible, though— he did everything he could, really. He was her best chance, he just… wasn’t enough. You can’t save everyone, you know?” He chuckles awkwardly. “Yeah, you know.”

And you do: you’re just as haunted by that truth and all of its ghosts. “Yeah,” you speak at last, seeing their faces. Your throat hurts. “Thanks, Greyson. Really.”

“That’s ok,” he yawns. “If Zayne asks, you didn’t hear it from me.”

“You think he’s gonna believe that?”

“No.” He’s smiling, now— you can tell. “But it’s worth a try! You take care of yourself, ok?”

“You too. Thanks again.”

“Any time.”

…

You’ve only been gone for half an hour, but Zayne is fast asleep. Though you’d practically burst through the front door, his head is still lowered— dipping over an open medical journal— and his dark hair has fallen over his eyes. You can’t help but smile. This wasn’t the nervous, pacing-the-apartment man you’d expected to find, but it eases the guilt in your chest for the first time all morning.

You sling your bag from your shoulder and set it gently down on the floor, all the while easing the door closed behind you. You unfasten your holsters. Shrug yourself free of all their straps. You don’t make a sound; you’re being very careful.

Slowly, you make your way over to where Zayne’s lying on the sofa. You lower yourself to his level, reaching to pry his book from his fingers. His glasses are next: you ease them from his face like you’re handling a volatile protocore. Your breath is baited. Your hands almost shake, but you’re an expert at this sort of extraction: you’ve done it a hundred times before.

With your mission accomplished, you allow yourself one small reward. You want to see his face— all of his face— so you card your fingers through his fallen hair, smoothing it back into place. He looks like a dream: the kind you’re glad to carry through daylight, long after you wake. The kind you write down for fear of forgetting a single detail.

You want this, this, this. Every morning. For the rest of your life.

And maybe even the next life. Is that possible?

(You hope it’s possible.)

Standing softly, you smile again— a smile between you and the universe, the gods, and the night sky, in all its infinity. There are things you cannot know and even more things you cannot have, but you are more than content with your consolation prize. This:

One minute of peace, for you and your doctor.

You have a funny feeling this is more than you were ever meant to have.

When your minute is through, you watch as Zayne’s face changes, and he is no longer at peace. He frowns, his whole body suddenly tense. There’s a murmur of… pain? It sounds like pain— he winces like it’s pain. He doesn’t tell you where he goes, but you wish you could hold his hand and make a breakfast big enough to keep him from going there.

“Zayne,” you whisper, resting a warm palm on his cheek. A little louder: “Zayne.”

He stirs in his sleep as your voice brings him back to reality. He’s yours— yours— and the inevitable can have him later. Sure enough, his eyes flutter open, lost for a moment, but then? Home. Safe. With you.

“Hey,” you grin.

He squints against the daylight. “Hmm? Oh. What are you doing back so soon?”

You scoff. “Some doctor you are! I’m at death’s door— can’t you tell?” Your hand leaves his cheek, indicating your not-pallid skin, not-flushed cheeks, and not-sunken eyes with a wave. Then you find his hand, pressing his fingers to your forehead.

There’s a second of hesitation. “Ah,” he says warily, “yes, you’re… burning up.”

“Right?!” 

Despite the severity of your condition, you find the strength to clamber on top of him. It’s anything but graceful, and he groans as you shift and fidget, taking your time getting comfortable. Eventually you settle, your head resting against his chest and his arms holding you close. You’re not tired, but you close your eyes, and this is so much better than patrolling for Wanderers.

He draws you higher so his chin can rest on the top of your head. “Greyson told you, didn’t he?” he ventures aloud, because he’s awake, now, so he’s connecting dots.

“Yeah,” you nod against him. “But if he asks, I said it was Yvonne, ok?”

There’s a hum of agreement, then he’s silent. Thinking again. “I’m sorry,” he finally speaks.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. It’s sweet that you worry. You don’t need to—”

“No,” he stops you. “I care about you a lot, and I’ll never apologise for that. What I am sorry for, however, is that a romantic gesture from me is so unusual that you feel you have to call my colleagues. I know I’m not always outwardly affectionate, but—”

“No.” It’s your turn now, and you twist, angling yourself so you can look up into his eyes. “You always make me feel loved, Zayne. Everything you do, everything you say… it’s for me, and no-one has ever cared about me like that. No-one has ever showed me they care like that.”

“Then why—”

“Because you get it, Zayne— the importance of what I do, because it’s what you do, even if it’s different. We’re both saving the world a little, right?”

“Right.”

You draw out his doctor’s note and shimmy it in front of his eyes. “So what the hell is this?”

He admits guilt with a chuckle, his hand moving to catch the evidence, but you’re one step ahead, stashing it back into the sanctity of your pocket. He issues a short hmph, defeated.

“Come on,” you prompt, escaping his arms. “Let’s not let all that food go to waste. You kept it, yeah? I’ve been dreaming about those chocolate-chip pancakes since I left.”

Zayne had been helping you up, but he slumps back as you finish your sentence. “Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Oh,” he confirms with the trademark nod of a doctor, and it can only mean one thing:

You’re about to receive some very, very bad news.

[petite-guignol]

hoo boy OK

didn't want to dump this in the fan week tag because it's TECHNICALLY not FFIV but "crossover" did make me think of it.

this also isn't technically a "crossover" given that its entirely in-universe and just happens to be directly RELATED to FFIV but i wanted to talk about it and i figured out how to use my 6yo chromebook as a drawing tablet last night so here goes

i have this FFXIV OC who is quite literally "Edward but an evil bug demon" and i got so attached to him i'm making a whole-ass doll, with some help from my friend for some of the more complex engineering parts. here's some of my design sketches and color tests and what will eventually be his torso (he's being made out of a kind of butterfly-skeleton lookin BJD). It's mostly head shots because i was clearly struggling a lot with how to do the hair and the placement of the eyes, though i think i've sorta figured it out. the final outfit will have a diadem that kind of incorporates the eyes and antennae.

the strings-between-arms idea was from before i was offered the doll with the hollow torso, and i ended up abandoning it for structural reasons anyway. he still has four arms, though, two with human hands and two that are more mantis adjacent, which will have those white-and-blue stripes found on the Antlion's mandibles in Amano's concept art. It will be a bit difficult to rig on the torso, given it's just a ribcage held up by a spine, but i think it's doable as long as the additional arms are smaller

i'm not sure on the actual SHAPE of the antennae -- was kind of thinking something feather-like, but that might be too far into moth territory.

i was like "oh i definitely need the hairstyle to resemble Edward's so it's obvious who he's supposed to be riffing off of!" but as it turns out: Edward does not have an "iconic" haircut. Most every image of him has something different.

the character's name is Prince Orfeo of the Heartless Harp, once the sovereign of the Golden Principate of Damcyan before the world fell into darkness, now a voidsent whose beautiful face and enchanting voice mask the rapaciousness of a predatory insect.

He has a heart of gold, they say, but when has gold ever loved anyone back?

FFXIV lore and how it relates to FFIV lore under the cut but the short version is: i saw the words "damcyan antlion" in a dungeon and went fully insane

OK SO the 13th/the Void ended up with a lot of FFIV inspiration. That's perfect for me as the Void has been kind of my Thing since i started playing

the basic concept of the Void is kind of like, it's a world where the heroes failed -- one way or another, by deception or hubris or simply dying and being reborn as twisted monsters, they all became the villains. to this end we get the hero version of Golbez, of course, but like...

in the Lunar Subterrane dungeon, you delve into the hero Golbez's memories of his final moments, in which he and Durante are struggling to repel an invasion of Baron. the environment is a little...desert-y to be a one-to-one match for the FFIV Baron, which i already thought was interesting, but then Durante laments "nothing is exempt from their avarice" right before we get to the second boss fight of the dungeon: Damcyan Antlion

i thought it was really interesting that it was specifically a DAMCYAN antlion, because that immediately made me think -- wait, if this is effectively the "opposite" of FFIV, is Damcyan the invading force here? the antlion's boss mechanics involve dragging you into sand pits and crashing into pillars to bring them down, so it sure does make an effective siege weapon... hey, didn't they mention "avarice"? Some supplemental FFIV stuff mentions that Damcyan is extremely wealthy, to the extent that money is literally named after their ruling dynasty...

oh my god is there an evil version of Edward on the 13th

given the lack of permanent death once the laws of physics were broken enough over there, does that mean there's specifically a DEMON version of Edward that exists in the Void right now

so i immediately mapped out a basic concept for Bugward, gave him an Italian mythological name to go with all the Dante's Inferno stuff, and somehow got so fixated on it that now i'm balls deep in an expensive doll project.

transcription of the COOL BUG FACTS i scribbled on one of the earlier sketches

That is not his face

palace full of shed skins [was imagining like a cicada here]

don't listen to his words, he is incapable of love

not because he's a voidsent though, he was like that before

originally prince of the world's wealthiest nation

corrupted by Durante after his invasion of Baron, an act which fused Golbez's armor to Durante's body permanently [direct revenge for the death of Golbez obviously]

favorite methods of execution: quicksand, carnivorous worm pit

known to disguise himself as a commoner, seduce peasant girls, then feed them to his pet antlion when he gets bored of them

"i'd die for you" "then perish"

summoning method -- murder your lover and allow the corpse to be consumed by blowflies

[bullet-prooflove]

Choices!Series Part Eleven: One Day At A - Nestor Oceteva x Reader

Tagging: @camelia35 @annetje @anime-weeb-4-life @danzer8705 @drabbles-mc @alwaysachorusgirl @witches-unruly-heart @mysoulisasunflower @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @est1887 @the-wandering-lunatic @vannabanana1995 @multifandomloversworld @lilvampirina @creativitybeware @genius2050 @gracerosaleigh @mortal--soul @buddinglinguist @spookyboogyuniverse @nessamc @corruptedcoffin

Part One: First Date (NSFW) - Nester and you have an unusual first date.

Part Two: Familia - (Feat: Marcus Alvarez) - Marcus discovers your relationship.

Part Three: Fair Trade (Feat: Miguel Galindo) - Miguel puts you in a tough position.

Part Four: Slaughterhouse Rules - Miguel feeds you to the wolves.

Part Five: Stay With Me - Nestor deals with the aftermath.

Part 6: Run - Nestor can’t give you what you need.

Part Seven: Partners in Crime (Feat: Coco Cruz & Marcus Alvarez) - Marcus asks Coco to reach out.

Part Eight: What Happens In Reno - What you got up to in Reno.

Part Nine: Don't Give Up (Feat: Coco Cruz & Marcus Alvarez) - Marcus takes Nestor under his wing and Coco reaches out.

It’s 2am in the morning and you’re asleep on Nestor’s bed, back where you belong. His sheets tucked neatly around you, an additional fleece blanket laid carefully on top because the thing with blood loss is, it makes you feel cold. Nestor’s been there, he knows what he’s doing.

Nestor’s sitting beside you, his back against the headboard as he reads from one of the books you’d left on your nightstand. He’s tried to keep a respectable distance but as always you seek him out. You’re tucked up against his side in the foetal position, the low rhythmic sound of your breathing in his ears. He thinks about the nights the two of you had spent apart and how he craved this, you back with him, in his bed.

You moan, shifting slightly and Nestor puts the book down on his end table because he can see your eyes flicking awake. You’re groggy and disoriented, you passed out in a hotel room with a dragon water stain on the ceiling and now your somewhere else, somewhere that feel familiar but not at the same time.

“Hey.” Nestor’s voice rumbles through your consciousness as you struggle to comprehend your surroundings. “You’re safe, you’re at home with me. Coco and Stitches brought you back.”

The words penetrate through to your foggy brain as your hand reaches for his, fingers entwining. You need something to ground you right now, everything is fluid, your thoughts ebbing through your mind like fast moving river. They flow through your fingers like water, slipping away before you can grasp them.

“I’m sorry.” You croak, your eyes burning as he squeezes your fingers to reassure you. “Christ Nes, I’m sorry. I…”

He shushes you, his hand cupping your face, his thumb ghosting over the bruising that mars your cheek. You look like hell, and he knows it’s only going to get worse over the next few days as you start to heal. His lips brush over the tears leak from your eyes, he can taste the salt on his tongue before his forehead comes to rest gently on yours.

“It’s ok.” He whispers as he looks into your eyes. “You don’t have to explain it to me.”

There’s an honesty in his words and it touches something deep down inside of you. You’re wild, and messy, borderline feral. Anyone else would have called it quits after you’d disappeared but not Nestor, when he says he loves you, he means it. To him that means showing up, sticking around. He’s loyal to a fault, this man, ride or die.

“I don’t deserve you.” You murmur as the tiredness overtakes you again. It’s heavy, like a wave cresting over your head, forcing you down, shoving you under. You’re eyes are fluttering closed, you try to fight it but the comfort of Nestor’s presence and the weight of the blankets are too much, you can feel yourself slipping away.

“Yes, you do.” Nestor whispers into your hairline. “You deserve me, the same way that I deserve you.”

******************************************************************

It’s late in the afternoon when you finally make it out of the bedroom, despite the hours you’ve slept you still feel exhausted. You feel weak, barely able to force yourself out of bed. Getting changed is something akin to agony, you manage to strip off and toss your clothes into the bin alongside the dresser before taking the time to examine yourself in the mirror. You’re a mess, a patchwork of bruises from the body blows Eddie had rained on you. You’d thought your face was bad, but your torso is a hundred times worse. No wonder you’re stiff and sore as hell. You take a minute to examine the stab wound, you’re appreciative of Stitches work, she’s cleaned you up nicely. So long as you behave and don’t make any erratic movements you should heal up well. You manage to slip into one of Nestor’s t shirts, the scent of fresh laundry clings to it and soothes something deep inside of you. Being here, around his things, wearing his clothes, sleeping in his bed, it feels like home.

You lean in the doorway watching as he moves through the kitchen with his headphones on, head bobbing to the music. He moves with the gracefulness of a large feline predator, his motions fluid and in sync with the rest of his body. His long dexterous fingers caress the handles of the knives in the chopping block before he selects one and oddly it does something to you. Everything he’s doing is innocuous. He’s simply chopping spinach and mixing eggs but there’s beauty in the domesticity, it makes your pulse quicken, which in turn makes you dizzy.

When you collapse into one of the chairs at the dining table, he catches the movement, turning to face you, removing his headphones and setting them down on the counter. You know you look like a horror show but Nestor doesn’t seem to see it, he looks at you the same way he always has, with reverence and tenderness. Your mouth goes dry as you drink him in. It’s been over three months since you actually laid eyes on him and it makes your heart hurt to actually be sitting here in his presence.

His hair is loose, untamed curls falling over his shoulders, he’s wearing the Method Man t-shirt that David bought for him. It had been the last gig they had attended together before the accident. He opens the fridge and pours you a glass of orange juice before setting it down on the table in front of you.

“It’ll help with the weakness.” He tells you before returning the carton to the fridge.

He knows, of course he knows. He’s been here at some point, banged up, bruised and bloody. You sip from it gratefully and he gives you a look as you set the glass back down on the table.

“All of it.”

You roll your eyes before picking up the glass again and gulping it down. Nestor watches with satisfaction before taking the glass and putting it into the sink.

“You can take your medication after you’ve finished this omelette I’m making.” He tells you, gesturing at the various pill bottles on top of the microwave. “Taking them on an empty stomach will make you sick.”

“You don’t have to do this.” You tell him. “You don’t need to look after me, give me the day I’ll find somewhere…”

Nestor freezes, you see the tension in his shoulders before he fixes you with his gaze, his voice firm as he speaks.

“Rosa, I need you to stop running.”

He calls you by your first name, something he never does and it hits you like a gut punch because it means that something has changed, and you know that’s on you. He exhales as he leans back against the counter and crosses his arms over his chest.

“I just need you to stay in one place and let me take care of you.” he tells you. “You’re injured right now; it’s going to take some time to recover. You have a place here if you want it…” His palm rubs over the back of his neck as he regards you, because the truth is, he doesn’t know what you want anymore. “Whatever is going on with you, I want to help but you’ve got to stop shutting me out, this thing between us only works if we’re honest with each other. If you don’t want that, if it’s too intense, that’s fine but you still have this place as a sanctuary, a place you can come to when the world doesn’t make sense.  That is unconditional.”

There’s a ferocity in his words, you can sense the honesty in them. This is Nestor putting his cards on the table because you can’t go on the way you have been, you realised that in Reno. So, you decide to tell him the truth, because you can’t go on pretending that things are ok anymore.

“What happened in the slaughterhouse, it put me in a backslide. There were things about Afghanistan that I don’t remember, my memories of that day are hazy, there are fragments missing, I made peace with that, it’s part of the trauma.” You pause, remembering how your therapist explained it back when you were still attending counselling. “However since that day, I’ve been getting flashbacks, nightmares, things that don’t make sense to me and I drive myself crazy trying to fit them all together. Sometimes I feel like I’m back there, reliving what happened to me and…”

You trail off, pressing your fingers to your lips to hold back the rush of emotion you can feel threatening to overwhelm you.

“I blame Miguel for it, I was ok before that. Things were good, I was in the best place I had been in a long time and it feels like he took that from me… “

You look at Nestor because you want him to see the truth in your eyes when you tell him the next part.

“I wanted to kill him Nes, I planned it, I fantasied about it, but whenever I got to the point of putting it into practice I couldn’t do it because I knew what it would do to you and that tore me up inside. The man I love and the man I hate, so fucking intertwined.”

“So, you left.” He said softly.

“Yea.” You tell him, focusing on the colourful fridge magnets that weren’t there before you left. “And it didn’t help. Everything is still the same. I’m still broken, still a mess, I still can’t sleep, things that didn’t used to bother me still do. I just… I don’t know what to do anymore, I don’t know how to live with this.”

Nestor sighed before stepping towards you and sinking to his knees on the linoleum, his fingertips grazed your chin lightly, tipping your head up to meet his gaze.

“One day at a time.” He tells you. “We deal with it, together. One day at a time.”

Love Nestor? Get added to his tag list!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[eybefioro]

Hiya love- for the ao3 wrapped game:

3, 16, 29, 30 🩵

Hello angel 💛

3. What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?

I won't choose only one, bc I'm proud of them in different ways.

Tsunami: it was my first one, and I'm proud of it bc of that. It took me a fair bit of courage to actually write it and seven more to post it, and regardless if I don't like it that much anymore if I didn't write it then I wouldn't be writing now.

TBAG: this is an ambitious one (from my standards). It's the longer one I've written, the focus is not a romantic pairing (Aziraphale isn't even there!) and the plot evolved to be big enough that it needs other parts so I can expand it. But most of all – I'm proud bc I finished it. I have problem with that, but I did it and I prove to myself I am able to write longer fics than just one shots.

Forgive me, Father: this is the most straightforward one lol the fic is good. I think it's my best writing so far.

16. What’s your most common “Additional Tags” tag?

Aziraphale loves Crowley/Crowley loves Aziraphale

Almost all my fics are tagged like that 🤣 I'M SORRY I AM A SAP OK??

29. Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

That's... a difficult question. Mostly bc I don't remember much of my own writing. Hm. If unpublished works count, I think this is a pretty powerful passage:

Oh, how she had over indulged. She had let herself wrap in Aziraphale’s arms, she had let herself hope and dream of a future. Let herself believe that he would always be by her side; she had been caught by a trap of her own making. No, the only thing persisting, the only thing endless, was this nasty and purposeless love. This feeling that had sprouted inside her core without her noticing, that had spread its tendrils like fungi until there was no difference between her own flesh and the infection, no difference between the hunger and the satiety.

Actually this certain work that will soon be posted that is full of good passages. I think I did good job writing lots of grief LMAO

If you want something published, this one is good too. This is from Marionette

[Dread]. He could feel the word crawling on his skin with its spidery legs, could feel its sound filling the marrow of his bones with cold, brackish water, and the weight of each letter nailing his foot on the ground and his hands by his sides; the noun turning into verb in his veins.

30. Biggest surprise while writing this year?

I. Finished. Things. Really. I was able to keep writing, and every so often posting something. I did poetry. I did collabs. I wrote things that are very softy and fluffy, and I wrote things that are angsty and hard enough to write that made me cry while writing. I experimented a lot, and I went till the end with it. I never thought I'd be able to do so.

THANK YOU DEAR

ao3 wrapped

[23raccoons]

let me bleed (you're losing me) Ao3

Fandom: Naruto (Anime & Manga) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con Relationships: Haruno Sakura/Uchiha Sasuke, Haruno Sakura/Nara Shikamaru, Haruno Sakura & Uzumaki Naruto, Haruno Sakura & Yamanaka Ino Characters: Haruno Sakura, Uchiha Sasuke, Nara Shikamaru, Hatake Kakashi, Yamanaka Ino, Sai (Naruto), Karin (Naruto), Uchiha Madara Additional Tags: Dubious Consent, Blood and Violence, Unhealthy Relationships, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Dark Uchiha Sasuke, Dark Nara Shikamaru, Protective Hatake Kakashi, Rough Sex, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Self-Harm, Akatsuki (Naruto), War, Konoha 11 (Naruto), Everyone is Problematic ok?, Heavy Angst, Domestic Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fourth Shinobi War (Naruto), Memory Loss, PTSD, Manipulation, Bullying, Suicidal Thoughts, Degradation, Dacryphilia

Chapter 7 (chapter list)

The harsh bite of winter slips past, the land unthawing. Birds, bees, blooms. Baby bunnies that dart around the yard. A fox kit at the edge of the clearing late one evening. One of the almost-bucks steps much more into Sakura’s line of sight than usual, bulging muscles, skin twisted with scars, disrupting the way the fur lays along its body. The antlers are already massive, even now, right in the middle of the growth season. It startles the small fox, sending it darting back into the woods. The buck lets out a few short sounds, alerting the other members of the herd. Almost like the barking of a dog.

A dog?

Sakura has a dog. Doesn’t she? She rises, walking into the bedroom to look for her little book of answers. Unable to find it. 

“Shikamaru?” She calls, unable to remember if he is home or out hunting. Walking down the hall, opening door after door as she passes by them. “Shikamaru?”  

Sakura passes into the kitchen. No luck. The skin on her chest itches, scratching at it through her shirt. She turns back, back to the bedroom, and out onto the engawa. She had been looking for someone. Who had she been looking for? 

She steps barefoot into the soft grass of the yard. Walking out toward the tree line. There’s a flash of orange. Her cat? No, she doesn’t have a cat. She has a dog. She follows the streak of orange deeper into the forest.  

One foot after the other. Deeper and darker into the woods. She walks until she cannot, falling to her knees. She’s sure she is supposed to have a dog now, one of the ones that works with sheep, to guide her back home.  

The orange thing comes back. A fox kit, small and orange. It grins wickedly at her, reminding her the animals that reside in these parts of the forest aren’t to be trusted.  

“Hello Sakura,” it tells her. A speaking fox? “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” 

Thanks not right, she had been the one looking for something. 

The fox jumps, hard enough to dent the earth below it, landing just in front of her. She can feel how hot it is from here. Bubbling, boiling, blistering. It jumps at her, mouth open, in an attempt to bite her. She screams, tumbling back as something appears between her and the fox-thing. A man, lean and tall, dark-haired and red-eyed, driving a katana through the thing's body. It bubbles and pops, turning to smoke and ash.  

She is shaken. The man kneels down beside her, gently picking her up. “Everything’s ok. Let's get you back to your home.” 

She doesn’t know where home is. She doesn’t know who the man is. Or why they’re in the forest. She falls asleep in his arms, the rushing of the wind as he jumps through the trees lulling her to a semi-sleep. He takes her to a house, tucking her into a futon, pulling a thick, heavily quilt over her.  

“Thank you,” she mumbles to whoever has her perfectly snuggled into bed. The man leans over her, his face just inches above her. He smiles softly down at her. 

“So handsome.” She lets slip with a yawn.  

“Perfect, perfect Sakura,” he whispers, coming in closer, hovering his lips just over her forehead, hesitating a moment, like he’s unsure. He ghosts her skin before pulling back. Double-checking all her blankets are secure before leaving her to fall asleep alone. 

She doesn’t think she usually sleeps alone.

“We will have a guest today,” Shikamaru informs her over her bland breakfast; she’d kill for a bowl of sugary cereal. Dango. A candy bar. One of those old lady candies grannies always seem to dig out of the linty depths of their purses to try and feed her. 

“A guest?” They’ve never had a guest, not a real one that Sakura can remember at least. Madara has stopped by a handful of times. Short interactions, where he pretends her muddled thoughts are great poetic bouts of wisdom. Shikamaru says that their friends, alongside his parents, are all fighting in the war. Off to various bases across the nation. That Sakura’s parents have been evacuated, relocated with the other civilians of Konoha.  

She thinks they have been gone a very long time. 

“Yes, an old friend,” Shikamaru smiles warmly at her, pulling her in for a kiss. on her head. “You’ll like him.” 

Shikamaru even runs her a bath, making sure she is clean and tidy. Fresh clothes. (Shikamaru’s too-big-for-her hand-me-downs.) Relaxed. 

The visiting man joins them after lunch. Standing in the main entrance to the house, Shikamaru has said each of their names, introducing them to each other, though the nervousness at the thought of a guest has the visitor's name already slipping from her mind.  

Tall, taller than Shikamaru, and much taller than herself. Dark-haired and handsome. In another life, he might be the type she has a crush on. He doesn’t draw up the desire to itch to scratch until she draws blood, at least. No tingling sense that she should recognize him.  

“Nice to meet you,” She bows to him, politely, as he’s slipping off his shoes. She might not know him, but Shikamaru has assured his friend will do her no harm. He hums his response. Neutral to her. Sakura feels a bit uneasy, using her shoddy memory like some kind of party trick, but Shikamaru assures her the man is here to help her. And in order to do that, he needs to see the extent of the damage.  

The little cat hates the man, hissing until Shikamaru scruffs it, tucking it in his arms and petting at its orange fur until it calms itself to a respectable grumble.  

Sakura sits next to Shikamaru at the table, the little one they eat at in the kitchen, not the big one in the formal dining room. The man sits across from her. Shikamaru sets a pile of pictures in front of her. A stack of about a dozen id photos, her least favorite of the games he plays to check on how well the state of her memory is improving...or not.  

The first photo is, as it always is, Shikamaru, and enough to give her reassurance that she’ll be ok. She knows Shikamaru, even if she is unable to recognize the rest. “This is you, Nara Shikamaru. You like cloud-watching, napping, Shogi, and cigarettes.” She tells him, tapping her finger on his paper face. “Your favorite thing to eat—“ 

“Names will be just fine for now, thank you,” Shikamaru interrupts her before she can finish her sentence, flipping to the next photo. Giving her a wink to ease her discomfort. “No need to spill all of my secrets.” She knows the deal; some will be people she knows, some will be strangers. He tells her there are actual strangers in the pile, not just the ones she’s forgotten, but she’s unsure if he says it because it’s true or just to make her feel better. She already feels frazzled today and has little hope for how well this will go for her. 

Shikamaru flips through several others Sakura can name, Yamanaka Ino and Hyuuga Hinata, before she reaches one she cannot, a dark-haired, bowl-cut boy. She shakes her head, and he moves on, placing it in its own pile. The process continues until one picture lays left in the pile, different from the others.  

A group of four ninja. Three children and an adult. A Genin team. 

“That’s… me?” Confused, Sakura leans forward to pick up the picture, to look closer at the little faces. She is younger in the photo. Twelve or thirteen maybe. She has a forehead protector on, tied in her hair like a headband; her hair is long, down to her waist. Impractical. She runs her fingers through the ends of her own short hair. Is that why she cut it? She can’t remember. 

Shikamaru turns the piles over, spreading them out, revealing to the man how right or wrong she was. People she knows have details, information on the back; the ones she does not know are left blank. She does not look at her results, not wanting to know how not together her head is today. 

 A grumpy-looking blonde boy, arms crossed with a scowl dressed in bright orange to one side of her. A dark-haired boy on the other, sneering at the camera. They both look so angry compared to Sakura, like they’d rather not be there at all. 

Shikamaru gently pulls the picture from her hand, laying it back on the table. “Yes, that’s you.” 

“And Kakashi-sensei?” It’s the first time she’s referred to someone as nothing friendlier than just a full government name since the game started. Kakashi stands behind the boys, one hand on each of their heads. His visible eye crinkled like he finds the whole situation humorous. 

“Yes.” Shikamaru agrees again. 

“I am mad at Kakashi-sensei,” she tells him; it sort of slips out, accidentally . This feels wrong; Sakura’s not one to hold grudges against her loved ones.  

“Most days you are,” he informs her. She hates how good he is at not supplying her with extra information, hints she can use to twist her answers to dig for more. Forcing her to think, to divulge the answers for herself instead of him spoon-feeding them to her.  

“Why am I mad at Kakashi-sensei?” She asks, knowing she will not be given an answer, and if he does, it will be cryptic enough to give her a headache. 

 Shikamaru does surprise her when he lifts a hand to shake his wrist at her. Telling her, “You do not like remembering.” 

“Oh.” She looks down at her own wrists, her chakra cuffs covered by the long sleeves of her shirt. “Yeah. He put the cuffs on me.” 

“Do you remember why?” Shikamaru leads.  

Sakura thinks hard. “Something about...the team? Something happened with someone on the team?” 

“Yes,” he agrees.  

“He was mad at someone on the team... Was he mad at me?” Sakura looks at the Kakashi in the photo, scrunching her eyebrows together. The anxiety swells, an uptick in her heartbeat.  “Was he upset with me? Did I do something wrong?” 

“Not you, sweet girl, never you,” Shikamaru rubs her hand, grounding her a little, staving off her urge to dig her nails into her skin. Reaching over to wipe a stray tear from her cheek. “The cuffs are for your safety, remember? Not a punishment.” 

“Who was he angry with then?” Sakura asks; she needs to know, to ease the ache growing in her heart.  

“The others,” Shikamaru nudges, drawing her attention back to the picture. Two remaining boys. As different as night and day, even if she does not know anything about them. She must, though. She’s in the picture with them; Kakashi-sensei is there; she’s smiling. Happy. She knows them... and yet... nothing.  

Sakura’s crying. Warm, wet tears slide down her face. She doesn’t know.   

“I don’t know,” she whispers, trying to bite back a sob, as she admits what she fears every time Shikamaru chooses to show her this photo. Half of its subjects unknown to her. Loved ones, teammates missing from her memory. “I don’t know.”  

Shikamaru lifts the picture, pinched between two fingers to dangle it beside the dark-haired man across the table from her. The dark-haired boy in the picture. The man. The boy. The man is the boy.  

She struggles for anything—any bit of memory of someone she once knew. Drawing a blank.  

She still doesn’t know. Not even with their faces side by side. 

“I think I am done playing this game,” she says, before rising to exit, so hurried she bumps into the corner of the table with her hip on her way out the door. Making it just into the hall before she collapses, sobbing—wailing—to the ground.  

“Let’s get you to bed, love,” Shikamaru coos as he follows her out. Petting at her hair as she cries. She hits at him weakly as he scoops her up to carry her to his futon—already out, waiting for her—he’s paying little mind to her fists. As if she's not stronger than the cat that keeps her company. Tucking her in snuggly, giving her forehead a kiss, leaving to tend to the guest as she cries herself to sleep.  

She doesn’t truly fall asleep—not really, more of a cat nap. And she can hear their voices when they move outside to play Shogi in the chilly air.  

“…Madara keeps…” 

“…best to keep him away…” 

“…only until he finds the jinchuriki…” 

“…not concerned himself with an injured girl..” 

“…leave Konoha to you…” 

She closes her eyes, the pressure of a headache building. All the pain meds are locked away; Shikamaru will have to get them out of the medicine cabinet for her.  

The conversation silences as she rises, fumbling as she makes her way over to slide open the door to the outside. The two look at her, sitting across one another with the house's nice heirloom Shogi board—the only set in the house with all of its pieces still intact—the forgotten man closer to her than Shikamaru. She pouts, leaning against the doorframe for support. “ ‘Maru, my head.”  

He beckons her with his hand; she walks over. The cat tottering along after her. Dizzy from her headache, she sways slightly. Resting a hand on the man’s shoulder to steady herself.  

The shock that pops under her hand is visible—a blimp of blue static, the sting enough to cause the tears that were welling in her eyes to pour over as she plops down to lay her pounding head in Shikamaru's lap. The cat hisses until she is settled. 

“Does that happen often?” The man questions, eyeing her carefully. Is he talking about the headache or the static shock?  

“Yeah,” Shikamaru says softly, always one to know what she does not, running his fingers through Sakura’s hair. “Yeah, it does.” 

Days pass. The man—Sasuke—she does her best to try to remember, stops by a few more times, bringing papers and documents for Shikamaru to look over. Lingering around where Sakura has chosen to lay about for the day.  

It’s almost odd, the way she remembers him day-to-day, but not anything from before her head injury.  

He’s not very chatty, and he sort of stares at Sakura a lot. He won’t talk about the team they shared, but it is probably weird to have someone that you’ve known for years have no idea who you are, so she lets that one slide. Sometimes she’ll catch him out of the corner of her eye and think his eyes seem red, like blood, but then he blinks, and they are just the same shade of onyx they always are.  

Despite his unfriendly demeanor, he always keeps himself close to Sakura. Often standing close enough to her, that she’ll turn and bump into him, causing one of those electrostatic shocks to pop lightly.  

He starts touching her too, light ones. The back of his hand across her shoulder. The brush of his arm against hers. Or his foot running along hers under the table. These don’t always bring the shocks, but when they do, they’re often harsher than the others.  

Sakura’s half-napping in Shikamaru’s bed, petting the cat as it lays curled beside her on the futon. Maybe a week after the man- Sasuke’s arrival. Shikamaru’s outside on the engawa, playing Shoji against himself, watching the clouds of the overcast day.  

Shikamaru calls out a hello, and she can vaguely hear bits and pieces of the following hushed conversation.  

“… inside her?” 

“…stored it somehow…” 

“…a whole fucking Chidori, Shikamaru!” The voice raises, well above a whisper.  

Chidori? Stopping her petting to reach over her shoulder, to run her fingers over the sprawling lightning-shaped scar.  

Had she been hit with a Chidori? She remembers the Chidori. Ozone and Lightning. Bird-like chirping.  

Kakashi-sensei uses the Chidori.  

She reaches back to the cat, going to brush her fingers over its fur. A shock jumps between them, strong enough to have the cat up and howling, and at the same time a migraine sparks, full force, out of nowhere. Leaving her gasping for breath already crying from pain.  

The door slides open, and both men come flying in. Shikamaru darts for the locked med cabinet, fumbling for pain pills and water. While the… Sasuke starts pulling curtains, ridding the room of daylight. 

They whisper in the corner for several minutes, debating on bringing out someone to look at her.  

“…trust him?” 

“I can assure you…” 

“Fine.” 

Sasuke has to go back into Konoha almost immediately, leaving Shikamaru to care for her. Helping her manage the migraine, helping her bathe, and tucking her back into his bed. Kissing her goodnight.  

Sakura is alone when she falls asleep and alone still when she wakes. Unusual, Shikamaru likes to sleep in. (And also assess how she’s feeling that day.) 

She pads barefoot out to the kitchen, where she finds Shikamaru and two men. One of them is Shikamaru's friend, Sasuke, and the other draws a blank. Unfamiliar. Grey hair. Glasses. She can tell immediately she does not like this man.  

She freezes in the doorway, wanting to retreat. To go back and hide in the bedding like a small child.  

“Love,” Shikamaru rises to pull her into the room, setting her in the seat he had been occupying, next to the unfavorable man, taking the empty seat on her other side.  

Sasuke moves to hover over her. “This is Kabuto. He is a doctor, one who’s here to check on how your head has been healing.” 

Sakura would like this man to be nowhere near her head. It takes several minutes of convincing to get her to agree to the physical inspection before she decides if she’ll let him scan her brain with his chakra.  

He checks her eyes first, a small flashlight to check her pupils dilation and eye tracking. He’s needlessly right on top of her as he does his examination, in a way that has Sakura goosebumping, despite the warmth of the kitchen.  

He checks her ears, her nose. Her mouth and teeth. Neither of which have anything to do with her injury. Shikamaru and Sasuke both look about as displeased with this as she feels. She immediately turns down a full-body physical. And yet, they talk her into letting the doctor lower chakra-coated hands on her head.  

The chakra flows through her brain; Sakura can feel it creeping its way along the scarred tissue. It’s been healing itself, autonomously, slowly , the worst of the damage in her frontal lobe. He's not keeping it tight to the organ, not the way Sakura’s own is spread cellularly thin across the surface. Like he’s searching for something other than her hastily healed wound.  

She cycles her chakra alongside his, flowing along at his search. He says nothing, but his lips are pulling down in a deep frown.  

She finds the spot he’s searching for just before he does. A patch in her chakra paths, right in the center of her forehead. It's ragged and cauterized, and the scarring is fresh enough chakra is still swirling around it.  

Kabuto’s chakra catches up, pooling over the spot; suddenly his chakra is sharp, cutting through the scarred tissue.  

She tries to physically push him off her, but she’s not nearly fast (or strong) enough as the bolt of electricity chases his chakra, jumping from her to him. Sasuke moves nearly as fast as the bolt in between the two, one hand on Sakura and one on Kabuto, pulling the shock from her and sending it into the other man.  

Sakura slumps in her chair, letting her chakra heal her as it sees fit. Taking deep breaths to try and calm herself. She had known the man had ill intentions and let them talk her into it anyway. 

Kabuto lies on the ground, recovering from the shock. Sasuke hovering menacingly above him. 

 “You’d better have something good to say.” His voice is cold, like the hard freeze of winter. 

“What the fuck was that?” Kabuto shakily rises to his knees, adjusting his glasses.  

“You tell me, doctor ,” Sasuke hisses, grabbing the doctor by his collar and shaking him.  

“Right here,” Kabuto taps the center of his forehead. “It’s right here. It’s trapped. She’s healing the damage storing it is causing as it’s happening. Autonomously.” 

“How would one store a…something like that?” Shikamaru asks doubtfully.  

Sakura closes her eyes. Tired. So tired.  

“Exceedingly good chakra control. Unbelievable amounts of skill. Years and years of training specialized training to handle lightning chakra. You would have to already have the systems in place, the ability to siphon off chakra, and somewhere to place the chakra already set to go.” 

That would be an insane thing to try and do. Lightning chakra is notoriously fickle. Storing it long term would be nearly impossible.  

“Either her body’s trying to diffuse it out slowly, in small controlled bursts,” Kabuto pauses, pushing up his glasses.  

“Or?” Shikamaru asks worriedly. 

“Or she can’t keep up with it. The chakra is burning its way out faster than she can heal it.”

Chapter 8