#this is kinda rambly anyway without that but at least that rambling is part of it by design since ro is dealing with his new senses

[author-chan06]

Remrom Trick or Treat!!

Hello, anon! I’m so glad to have a trick or treater, so I spun the wheel I’m using and… Treat it is! And for you I have a fic, filled with pining, supernatural creatures, found out secrets, and a happy ending! Pairing: Remrom/ Roman Sanders/Remus Sanders Wordcount: 2,848 A/N: This was supposed to be short. O-o What happened??? I think I just really lovedddd writing Fae Roman and doing world building and so… this happened. I hope you guys like this too, since I had way too much fun with it ahah Tws: Possessiveness, Codependency, Worry about being Abandoned or Hated, Implied and or Referenced Supernatural Bigotry and Hatred

Hidden Underneath

Summary: Roman gets turned into a fae, and struggles with the way this has changed him while trying to keep it from his brother who he is in love with and who makes his fae instincts go feral.

“Okay,” Roman whispers to himself, staring at the mirror and taking a deep breath, “I’ve got this. Everything will be fine. Remus has always been fine with the strange and absurd, and I’m his brother, it is not as if he will think me some kind of monster.”

Roman’s reflection shimmers as if covered in water or as if the mirror is mesmerized, something otherworldly peeking out from behind his eyes as he runs a hand over his skin and notices how any blemishes or scars or roughness that were there before have simply vanished, leaving him soft and kind of warm, as if he’s never even set foot in danger or as if he effortlessly glided through life without so much as a scratch. He remembers enough ridiculous dares to counter that though, and it just makes him panic even more, wondering how he’s going to explain this to anyone. And— 

Oh Hera, how is he even supposed to ever look away from the mirror when he looks like this? 

Truly, staring at himself is almost hypnotic now. His skin shines and his eyes seem to glow a stunning red. And he can almost hear music rising in his head. If he just presses his hand against the mirror, it would go through, he knows, the other fae would be there, and they could dance for years, they could shimmer and shine and play so many tricks on the humans nearby, he could be everything for millennium—

“Ro! I know you’re vain, but you’ve been ‘getting ready’ for like two hours, and if you don’t hurry, I’m throwing a molotov cocktail at the church!” 

Roman jolts, curses falling from his lips as he stumbles backwards— he only barely registers that they aren’t English curses as he turns to the door and glares at it. He quickly turns his words to English again to yell back, “I’m almost done! Remus, you promised no more fires this year! Don’t dishonor yourself, keep to your word and wait a minute!”

He takes another glimpse of himself in the mirror, and swallows as the call of the otherworld swells into something almost too much to resist— a Siren song that promises everlasting desires and excitement abounds, anything and everything and nothing and he wants it, he wants— But he rips himself away, dropping his eyes to the ground and swinging the door open.

Remus is standing outside, hand already curled around a bottle— though, Roman does note with relief, it is not a molotov— as he looks Roman up and down and his lips twist into a grin, “Looking good, Ro! Guess all that time wasn’t a total waste.” 

A glamor covers all his less human extremities and aura, and though it itches, Roman leaves it on, only letting some of the more just uncanny valley vibes be felt, just enough that he feels a bit off.

That sure is one way to explain this transformation, and all of the ways that it has affected him.

Roman sighs, and cocks his hip out, letting his hand sit there as he looks pointedly at the bottle, “We weren’t supposed to be drinking tonight.” 

Remus doesn’t know that Roman made that rule because he thinks it’ll be hard to explain his new found ability to drink five entire glasses of hard whiskey without as much as becoming tipsy or gaining one wobbly leg. But Roman has really been hoping he wouldn’t question it, since Roman has never been much of a drinker anyway— he was always quite the lightweight— He should have known that was a foolish hope.

“C’mon, Ro,” Remus whines, throwing an arm around Roman’s shoulder, “Don’t be such a stick in the mud! It’s Halloween, don’t we deserve to let loose? It’s basically the supernatural’s holiday! Their fucking— their spooky type of fucking Christmas!” 

Roman tenses, but he doesn’t push him off, if anything he finds himself leaning into it, the scent of ocean and fire engulfing him at the same time that feelings of amusement excitement and something almost warm hot bubbling need want need slam into him, sliding under his skin and making him shiver.

He tries to ignore it, and to ignore the way that the touch feels different in a way that Roman cannot quite classify, in a way that’s hard to explain, in a way that’s inexplicably more.

Roman shakes himself and lets out a sigh, though it feels forced, “Even if that was true, that means nothing for you. You are not supernatural, Remus. And we still have school tomorrow. You will regret it when you are confused— yet again— about how you ended up face first in the forest with a pack of werewolves, and haven’t finished your homework.”

“Now I know you’re full of it,” Remus grins, “I don’t regret anything about that. Those guys— and the Enby one, oh fuck that one fucked fun— were my best lays of this decade, Ro-Bro!”

Roman swallows down the flash bang of anger that bursts across his skin, having to yank Remus closer— he starts walking to make up for it— to stop Remus from noticing the way his eyes flare, his teeth baring themselves as if to bite him into shutting up about them. The pull also has the added benefit of getting Remus closer to him— so everyone knows they’re together, he thinks sharply— though he didn’t do it with that in mind, and it’s ridiculous really. Roman has never been the jealous type; especially not with Remus. He didn’t have a need to be; ever.

But oh he feels it now, and he’s sure he’s projecting it as strong as the smell of Remus’ faux cologne.

If anyone nearby has a sense for supernatural elements then they definitely felt that sharp spike, and will probably still be able to sense the angry type of biting look away stay away mine mine mine that he can feel surrounding them as they make their way outside, and for once since the disaster that started this, Roman is glad that Remus hadn’t been involved; he isn’t sure how he would explain this strong urge to him without outing himself as having feelings that he knows he should not. Though he may have been drumming up the courage for that talk before, now… Now Roman is not quite so sure that is a good idea.

“Yes, they may have been good,” The growl in his throat is hard to talk around, and he suddenly has quite the admiration for other supernaturals who he knows from experience have learned to work around these limitations and use them to their advantage. “But it was not a good situation, do not kid yourself. One of their claws slashed through your sternum like tissue. I do not want to spend another after Halloween morning in the hospital, or urgent care.” It had been excruciating, terrifying, and of course the first thing that Remus had said when he’d woken up, cotton mouthed and stitched up:

“So, who cleaned me out? Cause I know there was a lot of cum, and I don’t feel it anymore, kinda a shame—” Roman’s pillow hit his face before he could say more and Remus laughed, coughing as doctors and nurses rushed in and glared at Roman.

He’d dropped the pillow, but he had never apologized. And Remus never asked him to either.

“Okay maybe it wasn’t a good night,” Remus finally concedes, his grin not faltering for a minute as he curls an arm around Roman’s waist and the night air hits their faces. The cold openness of the air tastes like salt and dry ice, and it’s strange, because he doesn’t exactly feel cold, nor does he start to shiver, or gain goosebumps, but he does feel the chill settle over his skin, forcing him to seek warmth in his brother's side, his skin a light warmth against Roman’s, his eyes a burning sensation against the chill. “But this is just some wine! No claws will be near my dick— or ribs— tonight!”

A vampire— one that looks kind of familiar but he finds that they’re too slippery to recognize, as if all of their colors and limbs are curling around themselves, their scent and look not distinguishable between the rest of the world, and that’s alarming, because he should know them, he should, the feeling of it is right on his tongue, but he cannot—  does a double take at them, and Roman narrows his eyes— panic and protective instincts surging in his chest and into his aura, until the supernatural ducks away, clearly deciding that whatever they want or need simply isn’t worth the risk of setting him off.

His breathing shutters, something terrifyingly satisfied rising in his chest that he tries to ignore as Remus continues to ramble at his side, “— If anything I’ll have some flippers around me if you know what I mean,” He wiggles his brows and Roman blinks, brows furrowing as he looks over at his brother.

“No, actually. I do not know what you mean.”

“Ro,” Remus practically deadpans, “That mermaid I’ve been flirting with for months now? You know the one that was in my Interpersonal Comm Class, and did that whole speech at the supernatural rights rally talking about how the school needed to have better ways for them to get around in water if they wanted or had some type of emergency; the one that you specifically called: A Cutiepie? You know, that one?”

Patton Hart, Roman remembers, his stomach twisting, because— yes, he had called him that, and he doesn’t even disagree now— Patton is objectively the sweetest creature on campus, and has light brown hair that matches his eyes, and a face that’s soft and round like mermaids often have, and he has seemingly never so much as had an argument with anyone about anything— but something about Patton is now unsettling, as if something underneath his skin is rebelling against the idea of Patton being just sweet without something wrong going on. As if he’s now inherently more suspicious than he was just a few days before.

The idea of Remus anywhere near Patton makes Roman’s blood boil, and he has to violently push away the urge that tells him to curl around Remus tight enough that he cannot move, that he cannot leave and go see a mermaid—

“Are you sure that is a good idea?” Roman chokes out instead, reeling from the intrusive, strange, out of character, borderline hateful bigoted thought that has jumped from his mind. “Don’t mermaids have a curfew? I thought they were supposed to be back in the water by twilight? Are you saying,” Don’t, don’t, don’t. “You’ll be going back into the water with a dro— Patton?” He stares wide eyed at the ground at that slip, because that’s something he would never say, not in a normal situation, not even if the mermaid was cruel, he would never be so cruel back himself, but oh he really cannot stand the idea of Remus with a mermaid, with another supernatural that is not himself— And it feels like ants under his skin; denying himself the ability to tell Remus as such and make sure he stays with him, to make sure that everyone knows he’s taken—

And surely, he would be better company, he can do so much more than Patton, he knows Remus so much more than Patton

He can give Remus so much more; the Earth, the Land, the Sky. He can show him the highest peaks of the world and shield him from all harm. He can immortalize him in the most beautiful of ways. He—

Remus pokes Roman in the arm and he jolts, eyes swinging over to catch his brothers, who looks vaguely concerned, hand looping around his elbow as he leans against him and asks, “Bro, are you okay? You’ve been kinda… spacey tonight.” He pauses, “And yesterday too, actually.”

“I—” He doesn’t know how to say it. How does one tell their twin brother that they were tricked into becoming a fae? A fae that has so little control over their powers and instincts that even a slight look in their direction makes his aura scream to look away from them. A supernatural that many of the world despises. A creature that is known for being immoral and tricking people into sinning for amusement or pure boredom. How can he say such a thing, to admit to such a thing, to such power. Will Remus think he’s horrible for having it? Will Remus be scared of him? It makes his hands shake.

Roman is, it seems, at a crossroads. Though this one is more complex than two different paths to take, and all of them seem to run right to Hell. 

Perhaps finding a crossroads demon would be easier than this. … Not that Roman believes in those— he knows the history of those myths and how stereotypical they are— but he now understands why so many, humans and supernaturals alike, have seeked them out.

Roman curls his fingers around his brother's arms, savoring the warmth as his resolve wavers and then hardens. This may be the last time they ever touch, after all, and so he wants to remember it, to imprint it in his skin, for as long and as well as he can.

“Something happened,” Roman starts with, both of the brothers stopping in the alley they had been cutting through to get to the house party, “A couple days ago. On Wednesday, I believe?” He shakes his head. “That doesn’t really matter, but yes, I was approached by a, by—” His face flushes in embarrassment, and he takes a breath to try again.

“A fae?” Remus offers, brow quirked in amusement.

“Yes, thank you,” Roman rolls his eyes, “I was approached by a fae and—” 

Roman freezes, stomach plummeting as his heart jumps, rounding on Remus and staring as his brother laughs, leaning into him. The flush of his face burns up his skin and he hisses when he asks, “How long have you known? Why didn’t you say anything! I’ve been fretting about talking about this for days, struggling with what to do daily and how, and if I would lose you, and you—” His voice cracks and Remus finally stops laughing slowly, sighing as he pulls Roman closer and they tumble to the ground of the alley way. Roman’s nose scrunches but he shifts closer to Remus, and clutches at him hard, almost desperate in the way he has to stamp down the urge to bite and press them so close their ribs knock together, to get the reassurance he wants and bind him in some way he cannot escape—

“Sorry, Ro,” Remus mumbles, “I didn’t really know how to bring it up either. Thought you would eventually, and hey you did!” Roman sends him a withering glare and he giggles awkwardly. “Right, but uh, yeah, I kinda was gonna drop some hints tonight at the party, and see how you reacted but uh,” He glances around the alleyway, “I don’t… think I’m gonna be doing that anymore.”

“And you’re not gonna be going home with Patton either.” Roman growls, finding that now that that secret is out, his lips feel loser, the glamor shimmering away just enough that Remus is hit with the overwhelming aura that now surrounds Roman. 

It also lets Roman smell him more thoroughly.

Excitement. Curiosity… Desire.

Remus curls his own hand around Roman’s neck and leans closer, his eyes shiny and dark at the same time. The smell of fire rises with the tide and Roman’s chest feels warm warm warm and his fingers itch to touch, and with the way Remus is looking at him, he knows he can. 

He scrambles to press his fingers to his brother's stomach and feel the way it moves underneath. Mortal and alive and right here with him. Not gone, not angry, because Remus knew the whole time, and still invited him out; he hadn’t treated him any differently, he hadn’t had any problem with it whatsoever. Roman falls a little more in love, and kisses Remus right on the lips, swallowing the surprised but excited noise he makes and threading their fingers together beside them, as he breaks out into a giddy grin, canines flashing.

This is going to be confusing and frustrating, surely. Roman still needs to learn how to control his powers and himself, and he still needs to actually get information about how Remus knew about him, to know if anyone else is privy to that information. But for now, Roman is more than happy to just let himself indulge in Remus, and just be fae.

Roman does end up binding Remus to him for eternity— he doesn’t even need to ask. 

Remus stays, and he comforts, and Roman… Roman presses kisses to his skin and thanks him for it for eternity, forever grateful to have someone so understanding and so very his.

@remrom-trickrtreat

[sun-marie]

It's been a while since I last thought seriously about Dr*gon A*e (even prior to falling in love with BG3) and I think a big part of that is I'm not as big a fan of the setting and the worldbuilding as I used to be. Like to me it really does feel like BW looked at typical fantasy settings and went "hmm okay but what if there was Catholic-enforced racism and abelism". And like. Cool thought experiment bro. Do we really need three games made by primarily white guys about that.

[comas-are-for-sleeping]

growing up and watching my mom radicalize and realizing that my dad is less left than i thought he was

[silverselfshippingchaos]

the way she looks at him here... goodness...

[arolesbianism]

Ok so good news I have finished unlocking all the oni lore, bad news there wasn't as much left as I was hoping. But on the bright side, Jean and Nails got to do more stuff hell fucking yes

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 2

in which fem!reader is feeling insecure about how inexperienced she is around spencer's friends and seeks his expertise to amend the problem

series masterlist

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: inexperienced reader, oral f receiving, (MUNCH!SPENCE RETURNS), fingering, (very) insecure reader, softdom!spencer, sub reader, nipple stuff, kinda sorta implied age gap, god i'm probably forgetting things pls lmk if i missed something important a/n: i've been laboring at this bad boy every day for so long i had to immediately post once it was completed lol. there will be a part three ... maybe i already started it ..... anyway i love u guys and i hope this is a satisfactory part two!! PLS lmk if you liked it!! hearing from u makes my day :')

When Spencer dropped you off at Penelope’s apartment for your first girl’s night—the hostess had promised you, JJ, and Emily lots of gossip sans 'icky men'—you had been ecstatic. You wouldn’t stop rambling to him about how excited you were. 

When he picks you up two and a half hours later, he can hardly get a word out of you. 

It’s not his fault, of course—well, not really, anyway. It’s just that all the girls had wanted to talk about was sex. A topic on which you held very little expertise and had essentially nothing to contribute. Out of the four, you were the only non-FBI agent, the youngest, and undoubtedly the least experienced. It was like high school all over again, except you actually desperately wanted to impress Spencer’s friends. All in all, you weaseled your way out of sharing without giving away that you were still very much a virgin. Sure, you could have said ‘we did hand stuff two weeks ago’, but you had a feeling these women wouldn’t consider that very impressive. 

But you can’t easily relay that information to Spencer—even when he immediately picks up on your sullen mood. He asks you what’s wrong as you make your way down the echoey staircase, but you hold back, muttering something along the lines of we’ll talk about it later. 

Later doesn’t come on the sidewalk outside. It doesn’t come in the car, or at any point during the twenty minute drive, but you feel it rapidly approaching as you climb the stairs to Spencer’s apartment. He unlocks the door and holds it open for you, doesn’t speak as you kick off your shoes and wander aimlessly into the living room.

“Did you eat?” He finally asks, hanging his keys on a hook by the door and glancing over to where you linger in the center of the room like a ghost. 

“Not hungry.”

You both know that wasn’t the question, but he lets it go. 

“Alright... well, I was thinking—“

“Why haven’t we had sex?”

The question flies from your mouth before you can stop it. It tastes like metal and you wish you could take it back as you stand there, cheeks hot and awaiting a reply. It seems you’ve thoroughly astonished Spencer as he gapes at you like a fish out of water for several silent moments, eventually opting to shove his hands in his pockets and shake his head at the wall as he processes the question. 

“I… I don’t know. We just haven’t. Does that bother you?”

Suddenly your whole body feels intolerably warm. Your fingers twitch against your thighs. Of course it bothers you. 

“Do you just not want to? You aren’t attracted to me like that?”

God, you despise how fragile your voice sounds—how much you obviously care, how insecure you clearly are. Spencer picks up on it, despite your most fervent wishing that he wouldn’t, and approaches, stopping a few feet away. You stare at the span of oriental design on the floor between your feet. 

“That’s not at all what I said, angel. I wish you wouldn’t put words in my mouth.”

“Well, then… say something else,” you plead quietly, childishly, still unable to meet his eyes. Prove me wrong. 

He sighs, which does not bode well for you. You wonder if you accidentally triggered the early demise of your relationship and christ do you wish you could rewind. When he steps closer, when his hands find your arms, you’re not sure where to look. But the low, sweet tone of his voice entices you to finally meet his gaze, charmed like a snake as his eyes dart between yours. 

“You know that’s not how I feel.”

You shake your head earnestly, looking up at him with wide eyes as he slowly rubs your arms. 

“No. No, I don’t know that.”

Spencer frowns, glancing at your lips as he speaks. It’s impossible to not do the same when he’s standing so close. 

“But I’ve told you. I don’t understand how you couldn’t know how far from the truth that is.”

You think back to two weeks ago—the first and only time he’d ever done anything more than kiss you. A different kind of flush replaces the shameful one in your cheeks as you try to make your case and not get distracted by the memories of his hands all over you.

“So why won’t you prove it?”

It’d been intended to come out cool, but instead you sound a little desperate, a little out of breath as you realize you and Spencer somehow ended up so close to each other you can feel the warmth radiating from his body. 

“Is that what you need from me? More proof?”

He speaks so lowly, his fingers press into the flesh of your arms portentously, and you think maybe you’ve poked the bear one too many times. But you won’t back down now—not when you think you might actually get what you want. 

So you look up at him and nod, throat too dry to speak. His eyes are deceptively soft, but you don’t miss the big bad something lurking just beneath the surface of the placid hazel. 

“And how do you think I should prove it?”

“I told you what I want,” you whisper, speaking above your pounding heart. 

“Not tonight, honey. Choose something else.”

“Well—that’s not fair,” you stammer, “the whole point is for you to want to have sex with me.”

Spencer smiles a little, tucking hair behind your ear. “I do want that. I promise you I do. But there are other things I want us to do first.”

“Then I want to do that, too! I just—I don’t know what I’m doing, and you do, and I’m already out on a limb by asking for this much. I know this is what I want but I need you to take the lead here. I trust you, Spencer.” You top off the monologue with an imploring gaze—hoping it delivers even a fraction of the impact that his puppy-dog eyes always have on you. 

He seems to study every square inch of your face as you wait in suspense for him to say something. At long last, his lips part—to no avail for several more seconds as he regards you. 

When the words finally do come, they’re an immense relief of pressure. 

“You’re going to promise me that you’ll communicate honestly. That means telling me if we need to slow down or stop, or if you don’t like something—”

“I promise,” you say, perhaps over-eagerly, offering him your extended little finger. 

An incredulous smile narrows his eyes. 

“Is this a pinky-promise?”

“It is.” You wiggle the finger in emphasis, and he shakes his head, smiling wider as you link pinkies. 

“I left you with Garcia for far too long.”

You shush him, disentangling your hands to cup his jaw and press your lips to his. It’s sweet and smiley until it isn’t—until everything slows down like sticky molasses and his hand is ghosting over your cheek, your neck, the curve of your waist, finally substantiating itself on your hip—the other encouraging you to tilt your head back as he deepens the kiss and you feel yourself melting under the heat of his touch. 

The pressure of his body against yours builds until you’re forced to take a step back, and then another, and another. Without question you allow yourself to be herded toward the bedroom, walked slowly backward as he keeps kissing you and blindly trusting he’ll make sure you don’t run in to anything. The bedroom door clicks shut behind him, and it is in all practicality a pointless gesture—but you find it incredibly comforting nonetheless.  

It’s too warm beneath your sweater and his hands are cool as they slip under the hem, sliding against the curve of your hip. Spencer’s never seen you without a shirt, you realize, as he pulls away from the kiss by only centimeters.  

“Off?” he mutters, thumbing at the knit fabric. And while you’re far from confident, you’ve certainly been making progress in this area. You help him tug it over your head without a word, noting a distinct and surprising lack of terror within yourself as you watch for his reaction to you. Hands glide slowly up your waist and you find yourself enchanted by the slight furrow of his brow, the parting of his lips. He traces down the lacy edge of your bra, skimming sensitive skin as he goes. 

“Pretty,” he murmurs. “You’re… so pretty.”

It seems you’ve rendered him uncharacteristically prosaic. The reaction might be underwhelming if it were anyone else—but Spencer Reid is a man who probably knows every synonym for pretty in the English language. Looking at you, he can’t think of a single one. In an odd way, it’s the highest compliment he could pay you. Your cheeks heat and your stomach flips as he drags a knuckle up the center of the cup, and you can feel it through the layers of lace and fabric. He leans forward, ghosting his lips over yours and continuing to run his fingers over the sensitive spot. “Do you know how pretty you are?”

This is one argument you will not be winning—one he’ll keep bringing up at the most inopportune times until he gets his way. 

“Spencer…”

“Don’t Spencer me. I’m asking you a question.”

The words don’t seem nearly as harsh as they really are when they’re delivered velvet-soft, with his lips and hands on you—when he’s so deftly popping the button on your jeans and dragging the zipper down with all the quickness of a slight-of-hand. It makes it hard to focus, even harder to speak. 

“We have… we have differing views on this matter.”

Generous handfuls of your hips and ass are taken as he helps you tug down your jeans before you kick them off, now left just in your underwear. 

“I thought I argued my point fairly well last time you were here. You didn’t learn anything from that?”

“Mm… maybe you just need to remind me.”

“Oh, I think I have to,” he agrees through a smile you can only hear. Gentle fingers skim up your back and tap the clasp of your bra. “How about this? Can we take this off?”

Any confidence from earlier crumbles and you loose a nervous hum—which is not the enthusiastic yes you’re sure Spencer will be seeking all evening. He pulls away, features etched with the beginnings of concern and a searching gaze. Asking would be unnecessary; the words simply come tumbling out of you. 

“What if you don’t like how I look?”

Spencer doesn’t even blink.

“That’s not going to happen.”

How you wish you could have the same assuredness in yourself that he seems to. 

“But what if… what if you’ve been with other girls who are more, like—I don’t know, just—better? Prettier?”

“Honey, you’re—” a sigh, a pause as he searches for the words—his eyes dart up and down your form, assessing, and when he looks back up at you, they’ve cleared and softened. He pulls you a little closer, rubbing circles into your back with his thumb. “I’m not thinking about anyone else right now. I’m not interested in anyone else right now. I already think you’re perfect, and I’m going to keep thinking that regardless of how you look. When I look at you, I’m not looking for things to critique. Do you understand me?”

As far as sentiments go, it’s a nice one. But the pressure of being seen still feels like an impossible burden. You whine, leaning your head against Spencer’s chest. He accepts your weight and runs his hand over your back as you look up at him. 

“But what if I’m hideously deformed?”

His eyebrows raise. 

“You’re not.”

“But what if I am?”

“Okay. It seems like you don’t feel ready yet, which is completely fine, we just won’t—”

“No!” you protest. “I am ready. I am. But… you have to promise to be nice to me no matter what. Or break up with me if you don’t like what you see so I don't have to wonder.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he says, kissing you, “and the only thing I’m willing to promise is that I’ll think you’re perfect. Me being nice will come as a natural byproduct of that which is very different than being nice by artifice. Take it or leave it.”

A moment of hesitance—but it’s short-lived. This is more important than your insecurities. Spencer is more important. 

“Take it,” you mumble against his lips. His fingers trace up the smooth skin of your back, all the way to the fabric and metal hooks on your bra. 

“Thank you.”

You wouldn’t have thought Spencer’s genius would manifest in being really good at undoing the clasp of a bra, but you can truly say you’re impressed by the ease with which he does it. It falls to the floor, leaving you completely shirtless for the first time in front of him. 

“Well?” you murmur, arms crossed defensively underneath your chest, because you understand overtop would sort of ruin the whole thing. “What’s the verdict?”

“You,” Spencer manages after a moment—you literally watch him memorizing every square inch of your body— “are ridiculously beautiful.”

The way his voice gets quieter makes your stomach flip. It sounds genuine. Too genuine to be faked. 

“So… no breakup?”

It seems that the more vulnerable you feel, the less likely you are to take a compliment. Spencer, who is always seeking patterns, probably recognizes this one, and doesn’t push you so hard this time. After a silent moment, he sighs and cradles your face in his hands. 

“You’re gorgeous. I hate how incapable you are of seeing that. We’re going to talk about this.”

“Yeah, but not right now, right?” you murmur, standing up on your tiptoes to kiss him. 

“Not right now,” he agrees. 

His lips are so soft and gentle against your own it feels like love, it feels like being talked down from the ledge of your own insanity. Somehow the way he strokes your hip feels more nurturing than sexual. It’s like he has sex and chaste affection on tap, able to turn them on and off at will. You’re happy to drown in either. Ideally, both.

After a while, his hands begin roaming farther, become bolder in their excursions over your flesh. Up, down, over your waist and ribs. Clearly Spencer had been trying to ease you into it, but you still can’t hide your sharp inhalation when his thumbs graze the sensitive skin of your breasts. He pulls his lips from yours, hands splayed over your sides. 

“Sit down.”

It’s much too gentle to be a command, but you frown. 

“Without you?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he chuckles, lightly squeezing your waist. “Just sit. Utilize patience.”

You sit on the edge of the bed with an atypical reticence—you’re just a little too nervous for a snippy comeback. Spencer picks up on this, features softening sympathetically as he undoes his tie with nimble fingers. It lands somewhere on the bed and he leans over you, resting his weight on his fists and offering you a quick kiss. His voice is soft and designed to soothe as he speaks, mere inches away from your face, and so quiet it could only be heard at this range. 

“Are you nervous?” Cloth from the duvet pinches between your fingers. For a moment you don’t reply, dropping your head to watch when Spencer runs his hand over your thigh. “It’s okay if you’re feeling anxious, baby. We don’t have to do anything tonight.”

You expel a frustrated huff. 

“I want to. Just because I’m nervous doesn’t mean I don’t want this. I can handle a little bit of anxiety.”

He hums, dropping to a crouch and inserting himself directly in your line of sight. 

“I know you can. But you don’t always have to push yourself so hard.”

“I’m fine pushing myself a little. I pinky-promised I would tell you if I wanted to stop, remember?”

“Oh, how could I forget a pinky-promise?” he smiles. 

How could you forget anything, you think, becoming flushed and silently insolent at his dulcet teasing. 

“Please, do something.” It’s a whisper, brushing his lips as you lean down until you’re nose to nose. His hands are on the back of your legs. 

“I’m working on it.”

“It doesn’t look like it.”

“You’re smart, angel. Tell me why I've got you naked on my bed and I’m kneeling in front of you. Where could I possibly be taking this?”

Oh, you have a pretty strong inkling—but you’re scared to voice it and be wrong. Instead of risking it you shake your head slowly, shyly. What you’re not expecting is for Spencer to duck his head down, slide his hands up the side of your thighs and press kisses to the delicate skin there. It feels good—better than you’d have thought. 

“You don’t know?” he asks, looking up at you through burnished gold-rimmed pupils. “No guesses?”

“No guesses,” you agree breathlessly, hotter than you were when you had your clothes on and all the energy in your body condensed into one point between your legs. Spencer hums like he’s considering your answer, smoothing his thumbs over the soft skin of your thighs so gently it feels like burning. 

“I don’t think you’re being entirely truthful. Lie back, sweetheart.”

You do as you’re told, scooting up on the mattress and falling back on your elbows. Spencer wastes no time in climbing over you, leaving you in much the same position as the last time you’d been in his bed. The sheets feel cool against your bare skin, but he is exceptionally warm and solid over you. 

“I’m being honest.” Lie. “I don’t know what you’re going to do.”

Lips find the most sensitive spot of your neck, dancing over it torturously. The front of his shirt brushes your chest. Your thighs clamp together. 

“I don't like being lied to. Just say it, baby. I know you know.”

“Spencer,” you whine, fists bunching the excess fabric around his waist. Warm breath condensates on the skin of your neck as he chuckles. 

“You don’t like being teased, huh?”

“Please, Spence,” you whisper. You notice the pattern of his breathing pause momentarily before it all comes rushing out at once—and you catalogue that particular plea for later usage. 

“I can’t say no when you ask me like that.”

You push your fingers into his soft hair. 

“I know.”

It was a lucky guess. 

He’s still for a moment, relishing the feeling of your hands in his hair, before darting up to kiss you. 

“I’m going to use my mouth this time,” he murmurs against your lips. Though you knew that was what he intended, your heart stumbles in its perpetual march. “Is that okay?”

“What if I…”

You trail off. This is a very intimate situation which you’re not quite sure you have delicate enough language for. Or maybe you’re just stalling. Either way, Spencer is eternally patient with you. 

“You need to stop worrying so much, pretty girl. I’d love to do this for you. But it’s your call.”

“Love is a pretty strong word.”

“Sometimes I think not strong enough.”

The way he’s looking down at you so tenderly, brushing hair from your face, makes you think maybe he’s not just talking about how much he would love to go down on you. Regardless, it fortifies your trust in him. Spencer is the kindest person you know. He’s so clearly an enthusiastic giver. Why not allow him to give you this? 

“Okay,” you breathe. “You can—yeah.”

As usual, you’re impressively awkward, but he doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, you think he not-so-secretly delights in being the one to fluster instead of the other way around. Rarely has he mentioned his past romantic and sexual exploits, but gathering bits and pieces, you assume he was a fairly late bloomer. He probably knows what it’s like to be nervous and so deeply unsure of yourself. 

“Do you remember what you promised me?” he whispers, pressing butterfly-light kisses to your jaw. Your eyes flutter shut as his lips traverse down your neck, teeth skimming over the delicate skin while your breath catches. 

“Mhm.”

“You’re not gonna break that promise, are you?”

His voice, soft and muffled by your skin, is the most exhilarating and disorienting high. Your entire body buzzes with anticipation, satisfied only where his lips soothe and his body presses against yours. It takes a moment for you to remember to reply. 

“No.”

Reward comes in the form of his thumb brushing over the peak of your breast at the same time as he murmurs, “good girl.”

Your stomach flips at the endearment—you squeak and arch into him slightly. Spencer’s hand slides down your ribs as he chuckles, lips pressed just above your collarbone. 

“You’ve never called me that before,” you shudder as he continues kissing over your neck. 

“It’s not appropriate in most conversational contexts. But I can tell you’ve always been good.”

“Really? How?”

Spencer pauses, pushing himself up to regard you with searching eyes. The places he’d kissed feel cold without him. 

“I just can. You’re thinking too much, baby. I need your focus on me.”

“It is on you,” you huff. 

You watch his expression shift minutely. He loves games. Of course he’d love playing with you. That knowledge is why you’re only partially surprised when his thumb catches on your nipple again. 

“Is it? You’re only thinking about how it feels when I touch you here?”

A stammering nod. 

He toys with the sensitive flesh only a second more, amusement lighting his eyes, before dragging his hand down, down, down until it’s between your legs. Fingers trail over your clothed core, skimming the most sensitive part of you while your breath hitches.  

“Tell me how it feels when I touch you here.”

“Really good,” you admit, a heavy exhale escaping parted lips as he pins you with his gaze. 

“Really good, right. I can make it feel even better. Do you want me to make it feel better?”

Your thighs drop fully open and he adds just a bit more pressure until you’re pushing against his hand in search of more friction. 

“Yes please.”

“Then no more questions. I need you to trust me.”

Your answer is a breathy, dreamy sigh—you’d do anything, say anything for him. 

“Okay.”

Spencer kisses you, absorbing your noises of protest as his hand ceases between your legs and settles on your hip. But you’re trusting him. No whiny complaining. No unnecessary questions. 

Things go much quicker once you’re not interrupting him every twenty seconds to say something. His lips reattach to your neck, retracing their path (albeit quicker) until he’s below your collarbone. You watch in rapt fascination, twisted brows and parted lips as he peppers kisses down over your breast before dragging his tongue over your nipple. A jolted little moan spills out because you hadn’t been prepared to hold one in. Waves of hair fall over Spencer’s face, obscuring him from your vision, but you don’t think to push it away—your body is too busy processing the sensation to be much use on any other front. He darts his tongue over the peaked flesh, eliciting more little open-mouthed exhalations of pleasure from you. Earlier you hadn’t really thought it necessary for your bra to come off—you had no idea this could actually feel so good. A moment later he begins toying with the other nipple and you gasp as a bolt of heat goes straight to your core. 

You curse, further words catching in your throat as he suddenly switches, mouthing at your other breast and letting the cold air chill the other until you have goosebumps. It feels a little like hypnosis—you’re unable to move or speak as his tongue laves over you. Soon he’s replacing his mouth with a thumb again, sucking a mark onto your tit just above your nipple. You whimper a little at the pleasant brutality of it, hoping as he releases that it won’t soon fade. Spencer swipes over the stinging skin and presses a tender kiss to it, almost like an apology—but you sincerely doubt he’s actually sorry. 

Then he resumes his descent, leaving soft kisses down between your breasts, over your ribcage and stomach—when he reaches your hips, he doesn’t pull off your underwear all at once. Rather, he slides the fabric down centimeter by centimeter, kissing the revealed skin like it’s precious. 

This time you don’t need to be told to lift your hips. He helps you slip the final piece of clothing down and off of your legs, flinging it somewhere blindly before getting comfortable between your thighs once more. Your heart pounds with arousal and anxiety as his arms wrap around your thighs and his hands rub up and down the tops of them slowly. 

“God, you’re fucking beautiful,” he mumbles, loosening his hold on one leg to thumb at your folds. They glisten in the dim light of his bedroom as he gently reveals your clit. A soft whine escapes you when he nudges at the aching bud, slipping over it a few times and alleviating a bit of the pressure that’s been building. “Shh, baby. I know. I’m gonna take care of it. You’re being so good for me.”

Fuck. The way he talks to you makes your brain turn to mush—you’re utterly incapable of forming an intelligent thought. Spencer has rendered you a complete idiot, and you’re not upset about it in the slightest. 

He presses more gentle kisses to the creases between your thighs, just above your clit—everywhere except for where you need him most. Everything aches for him in the best way and at least you’re too turned on to be very insecure anymore. All you want is relief. But you’re trusting him. 

Thankfully, he delivers. 

The tip of his tongue grazes so lightly over your clit that if you weren’t this worked up you may not have felt it at all. In your current state, however, the stimulation echoes through every atom of your being. Every muscle is tense, frozen in place—you can’t even breathe for a second. He does it again, a little flatter, with a little more pressure, and you whimper. It’s a delicate thing, almost pained and definitely overwhelmed as he gently begins working his tongue against you. Your head cranes up to watch, your jaw drops. Approximations of curse words try to form, but come out only as, “f-fu—oh,” so whiny and soft it doesn’t even sound like you. He hums sympathetically, but you suspect it morphs into a chuckle as you continue to gasp and mewl. 

There are times where you can hold back sounds of pleasure. When you’re by yourself, it’s typically not a problem. Two weeks ago when Spencer was knuckle deep in you for the first time, it had certainly been a challenge, and you’d pretty much given up. But this—this is something else entirely. It feels like religion. It feels like compulsion. Even if you had the slightest modicum of control over yourself, which you currently don’t, you wouldn’t want to keep quiet. You want him to know what he’s doing to you. 

So you let every cry, every whine and whimper drag from your lungs, unbidden and unshaped. You’re new at this, after all—every broad lick feels so good that you have no fucking idea what do to with your hands or how to stop rolling your hips or how to censor your sounds. 

“Spencer,” you keen in one of the moments you remember to breathe. He moans against you, taking you into his mouth and sucking lightly. Your hips buck. “Oh, my—fuck!”

The hand that’s still around your thigh rubs soothing lines up and down. The one that’s spreading you open pulls your folds apart a little bit further, granting him more access to your clit. He flicks his tongue and you almost come then and there, vision going gray for a split second. 

“Wait, wait, Spence—“ you squeak, writhing and trying not to squeeze your thighs together for fear of hurting him. He pulls back and looks up at you, lips shining with your slick and eyes glazed with lust. Fuckfuckfuck he looks so fucking good. “Please, just… slow down, or I’m gonna… or it’s gonna be over.”

The corner of his mouth twitches as he rubs circles into your inner thigh. 

“It’s over when you say it’s over. You don’t have a refractory period. We don’t have to stop at one.”

“Oh—you don’t—you don’t have to do that,” you stammer. 

“I know I don’t have to. But if you want me to, I want to. You taste so good, angel girl.”

Well, shit. 

He looks absurdly sexy between your legs like this. You have no idea how you got so lucky, but you don’t plan on taking it for granted. Your fingers tangle in his hair. 

“I don’t know if I can do more than one,” you admit shyly, slightly embarrassed by how little you know about yourself and in general compared to Spencer. Hazel eyes sparkle in the warm light. 

“How about we start with one and see how it feels?”

Your voice is breathy when you respond, “okay,” already impatient for him to get back to it. Spencer seems just as eager, immediately kissing between your legs with a passion that makes your lips jealous. 

The flat of his tongue presses circles against you and your hips buck, already ramping up to that point you’d been at before calling a time-out. Slowly his fingers find their way to your entrance and he teases you with them, dipping in to the first knuckle before withdrawing again. If you could form words, you’d beg him to just do it already, but all you can manage is an affronted whine as you tilt your hips down, hoping he catches the meaning. 

Of course he does—pushing two fingers inside you at once. The intrusive stretch adds a sharp edge to the pleasure, makes it more interesting, as your brain short-circuits and you choke out a moan. It only takes a few slow pumps of his fingers in tandem with the pressure of his tongue until your hips are writhing and you’re and mewling desperately, more overwhelmed with pleasure than you’ve ever been. You push his hair back, able to see him for the first time, and fully appreciate the hollow of his cheeks, the way he looks up at you with perfect, glassy half-lidded eyes, the rhythm of his hand and tongue—he takes your clit between his lips once more, sucking lightly, and you’re done for. A pornographic sob escapes from deep within you as you come, but he doesn’t stop. The orgasm lasts longer than you knew one could—although, it’s only your second time, so you don’t exactly have a lot of data to go off of. Your entire body feels warm and floaty, and what he’s doing feels so good you want him even deeper—but you know he won’t give you that yet. Instead you focus on the slow burn of your orgasm, allowing him to carry on for a while until you begin slowly drifting back to earth and it becomes a bit too much. He recognizes the barely-there whine for what it is and pulls his fingers from you carefully, pressing one final kiss to your clit that makes your legs twitch and summons a weak little moan. 

Spencer’s lips find other avenues, over the delicate skin of your thighs and hips and stomach as he slowly drags himself up again. By the time you’re face to face again you’re still breathing hard. You sort of feel like prey underneath his weight, studied so scrupulously, known far more intimately by him than anyone has ever known you before. But there is so much light and kindness in the way he looks at you that you almost can’t make sense of it. 

Maybe it’s possible to be known and still wanted. The possibility spins like a coin on its edge in your mind. An idea you spent so much time trying to nurture and is only just now beginning to sprout. Maybe someone could see you at your most vulnerable, and still find you worthy of kindness. Appreciation. Affection. 

Spencer certainly could, it seems, as he ducks down to kiss you. You dodge it, turning your head demurely. He nudges his head against yours, speaking so, so softly, utterly cloying as he teases, “what? You’re not gonna kiss me now? Is that how it is?”

“No!” you balk, equally as quiet and especially bashful. “Not when you… no.”

“Let me kiss you,” he pleads, so earnestly you turn your head back to face him. His big eyes are hazy, reflecting all the warmth and dizziness you feel. “Let me kiss you. Please.”

You whine.

“I don’t wanna… taste… myself.”

Spencer doesn’t miss a beat. 

“Hm. We’ll need to work on that. Because one day, I’ll make you come just like that again, and then I’m going to fuck you, and you’re really going to want me to kiss you then, angel.”

Something flickers in your core. 

Suddenly you’re not so squeamish. You really want him to kiss you now. But it seems he’s going to have his fun, first. 

“Open.” Without even thinking about it, your lips part. He really ought to be careful with what he tells you to do—you’re all too compliant. Even as his fingers slip between your lips, you’re obediently hollowing your cheeks around them, watching him with big eyes as his own mouth falls slightly open. “Oh, baby,” he croons. “What are we gonna do with you?”

That flicker has returned to a full-fledged throbbing once you open your mouth again, slightly dizzy from lack of oxygen. 

“Can you make me come again right now?” you whisper, grasping lightly at his shirt. He grins like he loves the idea—and you let him have his way, accepting his lips on yours with no complaint. After a few moments, (the taste is surprisingly unobtrusive), he pulls away.

“I would love to.”

-

part three

[somewhat-insane]

Can we get some general jealous headcanons for Sun Wukong, Macaque and the Nine headed demon? Pretty please?

OH MY GOSH ABSOLUTELY I LOVE THEM AND I LOVE WRITING THEM JEALOUS (even if I suck at it, we're not going to talk about that)

I try my best to balance fluff and stuff with more realistic traits like the more toxic aspects and stuff, and that might not be everyone's cup of tea. With a subject like jealousy it tends to skew more towards angsty traits because all three of these men have issues.

Per usual, I'm sorry if I go off request, I can not focus while writing for the life of me and I always get sidetracked. I'm working on it though. That's part of the reason this took so long- I had to keep deleting and rewriting everything because it didn't fit the theme-

~*Jealousy SWK, SEM, NHD*~

~Sun Wukong~

Surprisingly the least jealous of the three... on the surface, at least

Separation anxiety; he's a monkey so physical affection is really important for him

Poor clingy insecure whiner boy :(

Loves having his arms around you; will carry you if you let him

doesn't like sleeping without you close and if he wakes up and you're not there he's 100% panicking. Safe to say it will take a lot of convincing to let you leave his sight that day

He doesn't really mind much if other people flirt with you, he trusts you and doubts a couple of pickup lines from a friend or coworker or whatever will be enough to take you from him, he traveled with Zhu Bajie during the journey after all, he's used to watching people flirt and nothing come out of it

He uses disassociation as a coping mechanism so he doesn't get super upset if your attention isn't on him 24/7 because he's usually thinking about something else anyway, but in the times when he is present, he'll shut down and be pretty sad if you don't give him attention

He's a bit more... intense when it comes to physical contact though

In the case that you're touching someone else, hugging them, or patting them on the back or whatever, he'll get all pouty and won't stop looking at you like a pathetic wet cat until you give him attention instead

If someone touches you though he'll death glare them

Not afraid to show he's jealous

He wants you to know that he wants you by his side exclusively

If anything he's afraid of not showing you enough

Constantly trying to walk the line between "not being too controlling" but also "not seeming like he doesn't care"

On one hand, everything he's learned from his master tells him to take a step back and let things happen as they will, but on the other hand, he's tired of losing the people he cares about, ESPECIALLY when there are times he could've prevented it

Really just wants to be good for you

Hates the idea that there's someone out there who's better for you than him, but knows letting you leave would be the right thing to do (even if he cries about it)

~Six-Eared Macaque~

Kinda possessive and controlling but is doing his best to improve for you

Unlike Wukong who will sometimes be affectionate with the rest of the crew, Macaque only really trusts you, and sometimes Mk (Mk's a bit too loud and energetic for him most of the time though)

Abandonment issues incarnate (though he usually displays this by pushing people away before they can leave him... just expect a lot of silent treatments from him)

Wraps his tail around your wrist or ankle to assure himself you're close. He'll wrap his tail around your waist if he's feeling particularly possessive

Prefers to have you close by but doesn't rely on physical affection as much as Wukong

Likes being in the same room as you while you both do your own things

Wants to be the first person you tell any big news to (though knowing him he already knows from slinking through the shadows...)

People flirting with you ticks him off

How could anyone else think they deserve you? (This may or may not be him deflecting his own thoughts about how he doesn't deserve you onto other people)

He loves listening to you ramble or lore dump but he'll get all tense and cagey if you start talking about something you did with someone else

Doesn't mind if your attention is on something else, but does get kinda upset when your attention is on someone else

Feels the need to one-up anyone you say anything positive about

You liked the waiter's dress at that restaurant you went to? Macaque's showing up in an even better dress the next day

Will not hesitate to bad-mouth someone he's jealous of

Sees anyone touching you as a threat and he immediately feels like he needs to protect you

Sees you touching anyone else as him not being good enough and will either close himself off for a few days or obsess over being perfect for you

Afraid to show he's jealous

Has to keep his aloof demeanor or you'll think he cares too much and you'll leave :(

Still kinda believes power and manipulation are the best way to get what you want but is working on more healthy ideals like "communicating his thoughts" and "not sending people to the shadow realm whenever they get too close to you"

Doesn't want to hurt or scare you but he will fight to keep you by his side

He'll eventually relent if you really want to leave though, I don't think he would be able to handle trapping you with him if it's not what you want

~Nine-Headed Demon~

Pretty possessive and controlling and doesn't really plan on changing

Superiority complex

Has decided you're his and if you think otherwise you're just confused

The most manipulative on the list

I'm not entirely sure where to begin with his issues but there's definitely some insecurity

Gives you the illusion of choice and freedom

"You can choose whatever you want as long as you always choose me and no one else :)"

He knows he's better than everyone else but he's afraid of you not seeing that

Even if he's not the most affectionate person, he'll definitely get upset if anyone gets too affectionate with you or vice versa

Needs to know where you are 24/7 or he goes on a rampage in his full dragon form

Kinda the Mother Gothel of partners

If you tell him he's being too overbearing he'll get offended and try and convince you he's just doing what's best for you

He does genuinely think he's doing what's best for you

The only way he would ever change is if he failed to reach the chaos, but that's a story for another time

He refuses to admit to being jealous and instead insists he's just keeping you safe

I don't even think he knows he's jealous

~

Despite how much I adore NHD's design, I am incapable of writing him as a healthy partner-

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it! Thoughts are appreciated. I'm sorry NHD's was so short writing for Wukong and Mac is just a lot easier since we have multiple seasons worth of content with them.

[solarmorrigan]

So this started out as some scribbly thoughts on FTM Steve and devolved a little bit into smutty Steddie rambling. As happens. So anyway, explicit text below the cut, click through at your own discretion, et cetera

Warnings(?) for some clumsy language and hints of period-typical transphobia; some discussion of Steve and Nancy together, but only for Steddie purposes. This is mostly just silly

-

“So, wait, you slept with how many girls in high school, and still managed to keep this a secret?” Eddie asks, brows climbing his forehead.

“Not as many as rumor would’ve had you think.” Steve shrugs. “Like maybe four? The rest, I just… didn’t discourage when they exaggerated. Helped my image.”

Eddie can’t help but snort. He’s glad Steve outgrew that image. “Still, four is a lot to keep a lid on. All of them agreed not to tell and then just – didn’t?”

“Actually, most of them never found out. It was only–” Steve pauses, eyeing Eddie cautiously, as if talking about his past female sexual conquests with his current boyfriend is fine, but what he’s going to say next will be a bridge too far. “It was only Nancy who ever knew.”

Ah.

Ah, yes. Nancy. Nancy Wheeler. Steve’s one true love.

Until now, Eddie fiercely reminds himself. He eyes the t-shirt that is very much his that Steve is very much wearing and slides over the jealousy to address his more pressing question.

“Okay, how did you have sex with at least three other people without them finding out you don’t have a–” Eddie stops short, fumbles for a moment, “a, uh, conventional dick?”

Steve snickers. “Nice save. And, uh – I never actually took off my pants. My talents are in other areas, and I always provided enough of a distraction that they didn’t seem to notice when I just… took care of myself.” He wiggles his eyebrows at Eddie, who can’t help but give him the laugh he’s looking for. “It didn’t say flattering things about my stamina, but multiple orgasms are a pretty good bribe. I got good reviews.”

“Huh.” Somehow, Eddie can’t help but feel impressed; he doesn’t quite understand why Steve had felt the need to do it at all—still doesn’t really understand Steve’s drive for popularity when he’d been in high school—but he can admit the skill in the subterfuge. “But you told Wheeler?”

He’s not sure why he’s asking. A part of him, he thinks, wants to make sure Steve had been able to tell her on his own terms, rather than having his hand forced.

Steve shifts, shrugs. He doesn’t look sad, but he’s maybe a little melancholy.

“Nance wasn’t… temporary, for me. She wasn’t a fling, and I didn’t want to hide from her. And it’s the same with you.” Steve’s gaze falls heavy on Eddie. “You are the… third? person I’ve ever told. I want you to know just– all of me.”

Eddie reaches out, grabbing for Steve’s hand; he’s pretty sure he’d be physically incapable of stopping himself from somehow touching Steve after an admission like that.

A thought is beginning to form, however, leading back to what had started this conversation in the first place. Eddie would bet anything that if Wheeler was the first person Steve told, then Buckley was the second.

And that meant only one person Steve had slept with had ever known all of him – but just how much of all of him had Wheeler been interested in?

“How’d she take it? Wheeler, I mean,” Eddie asks, as casually as possible while his thumb is still stroking Steve’s knuckles.

“Uh… pretty good, actually. She was kinda surprised, and she wanted a little bit of time to come around to the idea, but I think she was mostly just bothered that she didn’t figure it out before I told her.” Steve smiles, distantly fond. “But after that, she was cool. We didn’t talk about it much, but I knew that I could talk to her if I wanted to. I’d never had that before. It was… nice.”

It does sound nice. It had probably been the first time anyone had ever been close to accepting every part of who Steve is, and Eddie feels almost bad about turning the memory to sex.

Almost, but not quite.

“So… she was cool with…” Eddie’s eyes flash down below the belt, obvious and significant, “getting involved?”

A sly grin spreads over Steve’s face as he catches Eddie’s eyes. “Are you trying to ask what Nancy and I did in bed?”

Eddie throws his hands up in defense, forgetting for a moment that he’s holding one of Steve’s hands and pulling it up with him. “I’m just trying to figure out what I’m working with here,” he insists, smiling a little too hard to be innocent. “Now, you insinuated you have talents in the oral and digital departments—which I am very interested in, by the way—but what I want to know is what’s been done for you.”

Steve eyes Eddie like he’s considering whether or not to answer, but the way he’s licking his lips says he’s already decided, even if he doesn’t quite realize that himself.

“She… definitely didn’t mind being involved,” he says finally; there’s a slight stain of pink gathering at the tops of his cheeks that Eddie sort of wants to bite. “She would finger me. Sometimes she’d go down on me, but I think we both enjoyed it more the other way around. I think she liked seeing me get myself off while I did it, and I– definitely liked that, too.”

Eddie makes the mistake of imagining it: Steve on his knees, fingers buried in his cunt, wet and dripping, his hips jerking down onto his own hand, maybe kneeling between Eddie’s legs while he does it, maybe looking up through his lashes while he sucks Eddie’s cock.

A little noise escapes Eddie.

“How about… toys?” he manages after a moment. He’s leaning closer now, raptly watching the way the flush on Steve’s face darkens. “You ever try those?”

“I have a… a couple,” Steve says, voice gone low and rough, his eyes fastened now to Eddie’s mouth. “We didn’t use them together, though, they’re just mine.”

Oh, they’re going to revisit that. They are absolutely going to revisit that, but right now Eddie is on a mission. He won’t let himself be distracted.

He slides closer, practically on top of Steve now, one hand on his hip and the other spread warmly over his ribs.

“Never thought about a strap?” he asks.

Steve shrugs, not nearly as nonchalant as he’s pretending. “Thought about it, never quite got there.”

“Which way were you thinking? Would you have worn it? Or…” Eddie is going out on a limb here; just because Steve has a pussy doesn’t mean he likes the idea of penetration, but Eddie has a hunch. “Or would it have been the other way around?”

A sharp breath escapes Steve’s chest. “Do you want that?” he asks, soft, almost hopeful.

Eddie strokes a thumb across his ribs. “Want what?”

“To fuck me.”

This time it’s Eddie who goes breathless. “Is that even a fucking question?” he demands, and then, in case he wasn’t clear, adds, “I would want very much to do that, yeah. If you want me to.”

“I wasn’t sure if you would,” Steve says. “I mean, I know you’re strictly into guys, and I don’t exactly have… a conventional dick.”

“You’re not gonna let that one go, are you?” Eddie asks, eyeing Steve’s smirk.

“We’ll see,” Steve says, which likely means no.

“Fine. But Steve,” Eddie reaches up, cupping Steve’s face in his hands, “I am one hundred fucking percent into you. You are a guy. You are an incredibly hot guy whose pants I have been wanting to get into forever, no matter what you’ve got in there.”

Steve smiles, and Eddie caresses the corners of it with his thumbs.

“Well, you do seem to prefer the weirder shit, anyway,” Steve murmurs.

“Not weird. Different,” Eddie says, and Steve makes a face at him but readily allows him the kiss he presses in for after that.

“So have you…” Steve starts, once they’ve broken apart, “ever been with a guy with my, uh– sort of equipment?”

Eddie would make fun of how awkwardly the words had tumbled out if he hadn’t suddenly been feeling a bit awkward himself.

“Not, uh, exactly.” Steve raises an eyebrow at him and Eddie amends snappishly, “okay, fine, not at all, no.”

“But you’re open to it?” Steve checks, as if the way Eddie has pressed against him like a needy cat has left any room for doubt.

“More than open,” Eddie says. “I might just, y’know– need some direction? To start with?”

“Directions, huh?” Steve smirks. “I can work with that.”

Eddie has no doubt that he can – and that Eddie will enjoy every second of it.

[crybaby-magic]

His princess

macaque x soft cute reader

contains:fluff,unedited

masterlist

It was a normal morning at pigsys noodles.Mk doing his job(even though he’s really not).Mei on her phone totally not distracting Mk with puppy videos.Tang eating noodles and Pigsy slowly ticking away to blowing up at Mk.There’s no crime out,no training with the Monkey King,and no evil overlords trying to take over.

So far everyone is minding their own business.Well at least till the restaurants door opened.The bell ringing alerts everyone that a customer has entered.Pigsy the restaurant owner spoke up in a delighted tone. “Welcome in what can i get started for you!”

“O-oh w-well umm”You stutter out in flushed embarrassment. “I really don’t know, m-my boyfriend recommended this place.I’m kinda new here.Well not new but i don’t go out much so i didn’t really knew this place existed and uhmmh sorry i’m rambling”you muttered out the last bit while lowering your head.While fiddling with your bag that’s in your hand.

Anybody can tell that your misplaced.Tang spoke up breaking the anxious bubble around you “If your new i would suggest going for a large bowl of ‘Pigsy’s zha jiang noodle soup’ it’s his best seller,i would know.”You eyes lit up before nodding at the suggestion.Pigsy starts to make you noodles but not without insulting tang’s ability to not pay under his breath.

You attention was soon dragged by the two young adults waving you over towards them.you looked behind you at pigsy making your food and decided he’ll be awhile.You head over to the table there huddled at and sit down smoothing out your light purple frilly dress.

“Soo where’d you come from,you’d did say you moved”Mei had asked in a dramatic questioning tone.

“oh um the city of lights.I actually met my boyfriend there oddly.”

“Oh we went there too!It was during the Ring of light festival”Mk exitedly spoke up.

“Really?!I heard the ring was stolen by some randos.Quite odd to be completely honest but i don’t really leave the house much.”you awkwardly giggled the last part bit paying to much attention to mei’s and mk’s grimiaces about the ring being took by them.

Mei quickly shook her head and leaned a bit closer to your face you inching back as she questioned “So how’d you meet you boyfriend if you don’t leave the house during the festivities?”

You blinked for a moment then blushed “Well actually i had heard som groaning pained noises behind my house.So i went out and there he was,but he was—”You paused for a moment trying to find the write words “injured?Well anyway i went to go help him buuuut…”you drifted off your sentence.

Mk and Mei invested in the story starting shaking your body while yelling a mix of “Tell us” or “What happened” Eventually Pigsy got red in the face and yelled out “oi Stop terrorizing my customers!!”Before turning back to make orders.

The young adults stopped shaking your body and sat in silence for a moment while you gathered yourself.Once you fully gathered yourself you continued on telling the story “Well it’s kinda embarrassing but he had kinda attacked me—”The two gasped dramatically, gaining a ugly glare from pigsy once more.

“i can’t believe this how could someone as shy as you date such a monster” Mk stated like you had just disappointed him.

mei decided to add on from the comment with a questioning “Did he kidnap you are you being held hostage sho-”

You frantically shook your head before yelping out “No i haven’t been kidnapped.Yes he did technically hurt me but he was startled beside a couple days later he came and apologized.So it wasn’t all bad”You blushed out the last part.Your mind starting to drift to the memory.

it didn’t last long seeing as Pigsy snapped you out of your daydream “Was this for here or togo”

“Oh to go.I have to get back before my boyfriend notices i’m missing.He can become quite the worry wort.”

Pigsy just nodded his head and started to pack up you food in the correct containers.He then set the bag on the counter.You hopped up from your seat and headed too the counter to collect your food.

Reaching into you small purse you pulled out money and handed it to Pigsy with a smile.

You headed to the door as you opened the door you turned your head and spoke up “Thanks for the suggestion with the food mr tang,and you pigsy for making it im sure it’s delicious.Bye mk and mei you were great company we should hang out again”and you were out the door.

“Hey how she’d know our names we didn’t tell her”Mei questioned

everyone paused for a moment looking at mei then the door before shrugging it off.

————————————☆————————

After sometime you made it to your home aka your boyfriends dojo.you dig into your purse to find the keys once you do you unlock the door and head inside.While removing the keys out the door you annoce you arrival home.You we’re greeted with silence looking up you scan the room.

you don’t see him any where.you questioned if he left to find you seeing as you did leave without notifying him.Heading into the kitchen you set the food down on the counter before checking your phone to see if you got any messages.While checking you suddenly fell through the ground only to appear into fuzzy arms.

You relax once you mad contact with his body.Macaque wrapped his arms around you while shoving his face into your shoulder.He start to muffle something out that you couldn’t comprehend.

“Eh?”you only got more muffling words thrown at you. “I don’t understand you when you do that.”you giggled out.He gave a glare before moving his face off of you and sighed out on you neck making you skirm.

“You left without telling me princess.”he said in a monotone way.You moved you head back a bit to look at his annoyed face.You giggled a bit at how much he acts more like a cat than a monkey.Pulling you body out of his hold you face him to give him a hug.

“I just wanted to get you food before you woke up.”You started while you let go once more to go head to the kitchen.He was following a few paces back.He leaded against the door way while you got the food out of the bags. “I even met some of your friends that you talked about!”you gleefully cheered out.

“Not really friends…more like ideas aligned up”he said with a pointed look.You just rolled your eyes at his stubbornness.

Macaque’s ears started to twitch suddenly hearing noise in front of his dojo.He glanced at you before quietly leaving you to your devices for a moment.

As he got to the front door he opened it before the person could knock.In fell a mk and mei while the rest of the gang was just standing there even wukong oddly enough.He looked at everyone before landing on pigsy with a bag probably filled with food.

“ummm did y’all need something?”

Mk and mei popped up scrabble to fix their disheveled appearance.Mk spoke up first “Well we haven’t hung out in awhile since the whole lady bone demon incident so-”

“so we decided to check up on our pale”mei interrupted mk while slowly peeking her way into the house.She was grabbed by Macaque’s tail and put out.

“Look that nice and all but i really don’t have my house ready for guest.”

wukong scoffed out a of course while rolling his eyes.Before macaque could counter back he could hear you calling out his name.Mk noticed his poster stiffen.He eyed him for a moment before gasping out dramatically “You have someone over how scandalous!!” This cause mei to gasp too and the others giving an odd look at mk’s accusations.

“Pfft!I highly doubt it bud.Who’d want to be with Mr.emo over there?!”Wukong announced out loud.

“Mac?”everyone perked up hearing a feminine voice.You squeezed past mac looking to see his friends at the restaurant with additional friends too.Your eyes gleamed up “Eek! You didn’t tell me we had guest!!Please come in,oh lemme take those bags i’ll get more plates and drinks out for us!”You quickly grabbed the bag and headed in despite the protest of your boyfriend.

“Just come in I guess”Mac sighed out.The crew followed you in noticing how the dojo was redecorated with cutesy stuff here and there.

The gang sat at the table you had quickly set up in the living room with video games set up too.After a moment they snapped out of shock.

“Wait she’s your girlfriend?!”Wukong whisper yelled out.

“Yeah,problem?”Mac questioned sarcastically.

“Yes actually how did you a no good villain manage to get her a cute sweet princess for a girlfriend!”he frantically pointed out.

Mac rolled his eye before you suddenly came in with food and drinks.Setting them on the table then you sat next to macaques kinda oblivious to the looks that were thrown towards the too.

“So this is how you know us.”Mei pointed out before messing with the video game you layed.You nodded your head before eating the noodles provided.

After some time everyone settled down to eating,talking,or messing with the game.But all around it was a peaceful atmosphere with the occasional banter between Mac and Wukong.

[euovennia]

I am yet again requesting headcanons for the 141 (or whoever you want <3) with a reader who has an angry resting face. And to add onto that, they are very expressive with their love but it comes off as aggressive (not on purpose) because they always look, you know, mad. Like when reader says "I love you," it sounds like a threat and really, they look like they wanna kill them, but they don’t.

whew, i'm so sorry for the wait on this! i took a small break from tumblr so i could focus on finishing some assignments i had for my classes, but they're all completed and turned in so i should be good for now! also i wasn't 100% sure if you wanted this to be platonic or romantic, so i tried to write it to where it could be interpreted as both. thank you for requesting and, as always, i hope you enjoy :)

warnings: none other than the fact that i don't know how to stop myself from typing more than i need to

summary: the 141 learns to adjust to life with their newest recruit; you.

john 'soap' mactavish

when price first introduces you to the group, he can't help but feel like he's done something wrong

and honestly no one can really blame him for feeling that way

the expression that paints your face when you make eye contact with him practically screams, "sleep with one eye open"

and while it is mildly terrifying, he only sees it as a challenge

because in his mind, if he can get the mighty ghost to warm up to him, he can get anyone to warm up to him

so as soon as price cuts you loose from the brief introductions, he's already right by your side pestering you with various questions

and while it was a bit off-putting, you weren't really surprised because price had already told you all about soap before he decided he wanted you on his team

so you just kinda stood there and let him fire off his questions while answering them with that angry expression and bored monotone voice that he can't help but love

like you're standing there, arms crossed with perhaps one of the most pissed off expressions he's ever seen in his life but all his mind can think is >:(

needless to say, he doesn't take your prickly exterior too seriously and it's because of this he's able to get closer to you a lot quicker than the other members do

and it's because of this he tends to vouch for you a lot more to the other members when it comes to getting to know you

"they're not that bad, i swear!"

"johnny, they look like they wanna rip your arm off every time you're near them."

"but they don't, that's the funny part!"

best believe this man is fighting for his life whenever your rbf gets brought into the conversation

and i imagine that one day you actually manage to overhear one of these little debates/conversations (tbh they could go either way with how divided they can be over it, especially when it's gaz vs soap)

and you can't just ignore the way your heart warms as you hear soap valiantly defend your honor

it's one of the few times you're genuinely thankful for his big mouth

after listening in to the conversation for a few more minutes you eventually decide to walk away, heart full and the smallest of smiles pulling at the edge of your lips

i think it goes without saying that you go a little sweet on him after that encounter

well

as sweet as you can go when you're the human embodiment of >:(

at least in the opinion of soap

you don't really see the resemblance tbh

anyway

you start doing little things for him

things like offering to take watch for him when you're both on a mission because you noticed that he hadn't really bothered getting any rest

sitting by his side and letting him ramble on about his family, especially how he always begged his parents to let him stay with his nan over the summer because she owned a little family farm that he absolutely loved to run around on

and even the time you learned how to make scotch pie using his mom's recipe he had tucked away in his room

no matter how much he may deny it, that last one had him tearing up as soon as he took a bite

but honestly, can you blame him?

the man barely gets to visit his parents back home because of his work and it crushes him

honestly, it was probably one of the first few things he confided in you when you first started talking

so naturally when price announces that the 141 has been approved for a two week leave, you don't hesitate in logging onto the computer and buying him the first tickets back to scotland

what you do hesitate with is actually giving them to him

so you decide to gloss over that part completely and instead opt for shoving the tickets inside an plain envelope with his name scribbled on the front and a small note that simply reads, "go." before sliding it under his door the night before everyone is scheduled to depart from base

the moment soap gets his hands on those tickets he can't help the way he runs through the halls and bursts into your room to give you the biggest hug you've ever had in your life

unfortunately for you both, you'd already left base by the time he discovered the tickets

and so with a heavy heart, soap makes his way back to his room before packing his bags with a new vigor

the plane leaves in six hours, but he's so excited he can't help but want to arrive early

needless to say those are probably the best two weeks of his life

and while the others are interested in hearing all about his trip, he simply brushes them off in favor watching the door so he can be there for the exact moment you walk in

and after making him wait more than what he felt was necessary, you finally walk in

and this man

the way he shoots up from his seat and runs over to hug you

it's almost enough to send you both flying to the ground

but luckily you've got some stellar balance and manage to save yourselves from being teased by the rest of the team

but with the way soap is squeezing onto you while repeatedly whispering, "thank you," into the nape of your neck, you don't doubt they'll make fun of you for that

even with the mild embarrassment you feel, you simply wrap your arms around the scottish man and offer him a few pats on the back

and as sweet as it is for the other men to witness such a tender scene, they can't help but notice how upset you look

it's almost laughable

and as much as they want to step in and tell soap to back off, they can't help but notice the way you cling onto soap with that soft look in your eyes

so they remain quiet as you and soap hang onto each other, hearts full of warmth

kyle 'gaz' garrick

i'm gonna say it now

out of anyone in the 141, he was probably the one most intimidated by you

he's the youngest out of everyone and so it stands that, naturally, he has less experience than others

it's for this reason i think he's so keen on staying close to price

i mean the man practically plucked him off the streets and said, "you're mine now," so i think it's reasonable that gaz grows a tad more attached to price than the other members

so when he catches a few glimpses of you around base barking orders at the recruits and slamming them into the mats during sparring sessions, he's not exactly dying to meet you

even so, he finds he's not too worried about the possibility

with how often the 141 departs base to go on various missions and how you always seem to be too caught up in whatever you're doing at the time to be bothered to even glance his way, he eventually comes to the conclusion that you'll never meet

until one day price strolls into the common area where he and the rest of the team are minding their own business with you trailing right beside him looking aggravated as ever

he's already a bit uneasy with the fact you now know where the team goes to relax, but that unease slowly shifts to downright horror when price reveals that you're the newest member of the team

now gaz is usually a pretty easygoing and friendly guy so any chance to meet and bond with new people is always bound to be a good time in his book

but he can't help the shiver that crawls up his spine whenever you're around

seriously, who or what made you look so pissed off all the time?

anyway

because he's so hesitant of being around you, he tries his hardest not to bother you

which basically means he tries not to be in the same room as you

and while you may not really notice or care, the rest of the team certainly does

especially price

he's the type of man who prides himself on having a team that knows they can all rely on one another on and off the field and so he'll be damned if you and gaz are the ones to ruin his little streak

so guess who gets assigned to accompany you and the recruits on your morning workouts from now on?

gaz!

and while he's not necessarily thrilled about the idea of being forced into such close proximity to you, especially first thing in the morning, he respects price enough to not question his decision and just ends up going along with it

and at first he doesn't really pay you much attention in an effort to not do anything to accidentally make you even more upset than he already assumes you are

but then he starts to notice something

he notices the way the recruits light up whenever they see you, whether it be during the morning workout sessions or when you're walking around base

and it baffles him because you just look so upset, he can't possibly imagine why they're all so keen on sending you wide smiles or enthusiastic waves

but one day he looks just a little bit closer and he can see the faintest hint of amusement on your face as your lips showcase the ghost of a smile

that's when he really starts to pay attention

and suddenly he can't help but feel a little ashamed of himself

because now he can practically feel his heart melt every time you interact with the recruits

like how you would bring extra ice-cold water bottles to the morning workouts for the recruits who'd forget to bring their own

or the way you wouldn't hesitate to slide them some money if they mentioned being hungry while you were around

and especially how you don't hesitate to lend an ear for them if they seemed to be troubled by something

it's in those few little moments that he can see just the tiniest cracks through your annoyed expression and heated glares

you're not angry at all, he decides, just real shit at expressing yourself

and upon deciding this, he realizes you're not so scary anymore

so now instead of avoiding you like the plague, he actively seeks you out

at first it's to help you out with carrying the extra water bottles for the recruits in the morning and planning the workouts for the week

but then it turns into him asking to sit with you at the mess hall over dinner and keeping each other company in the commons area

and as much as he tries not to, he can't help the giddiness that floods his body when you start to show him that aggressive love he sees you dish out to the recruits

shoving snacks into his hands when you notice he hasn't eaten in a while

quietly sitting with him while he goes through paperwork because you both know he has a tendency to get distracted

and his personal favorite, draping your jacket over him when you walk in on him sleeping anywhere that isn't his room

he always wakes up with a smile tugging on his lips

and despite how cold and distant you may look while doing these things, he doesn't give it much attention anymore

not when he can see the love and care that's reflected in your eyes

simon 'ghost' riley

despite you and ghost having similar exteriors, it becomes more and more apparent to gaz and soap that you're actually quite different

which isn't a bad thing, of course! just a bit unexpected

but it's because of this striking difference that you and simon tend to keep a majority of your interactions on the field

and you both are more than happy to keep it this way

gaz and soap however, are not

so naturally they put together a plan; a plan that consists of soap giving you his most treasured tactical pen so you can use it to write away in that little journal of yours on the ride back from missions just so he can later "confront" ghost and admonish him for stealing said pen

and during all this, gaz simply remains on the sidelines just looking pretty

anyway

after laying into simon for a good ten minutes, soap walks away from the encounter with a small smile before walking up to gaz and saying something like, "now we wait"

and they do wait

patiently

but after a full two weeks pass by and neither gaz or soap can find any evidence of their so called "master plan" working, they can't help but feel a little discouraged

unbeknownst to them, it totally worked

just not in the way they envisioned

you see, by the time soap came up to simon to lecture him about stealing his pen, ghost had already come to notice you scribbling into your notebook with it

so once soap had finally decided to leave him alone, he immediately confronted you about framing him for such a crime

but you just kinda stare up at him with that annoyed look of yours before revealing soap had willingly given it to you

and things just kinda click into place for the two of you; soap wanted to get you talking

and while you and simon had to admit it wasn't a bad plan, you didn't want to give the scotsman the satisfaction of knowing it had actually worked

so whenever you and simon find yourselves in the company of the rest of the team, you decide to remain distant

but when it's just the two of you?

you're straight chilling

especially when you visit him in his room or vice versa

like just imagine the two of you drinking tea that simon was nice enough to make and watching war movies while bashing all the inaccuracies and bad calls the characters make

or when the two of you are out and about on base free from the prying eyes of gaz and soap because they're out doing their own thing

you and simon love finding random groups of rowdy soldiers just to intimidate them

i don't know about you, but i can definitely see simon just standing there with his arms crossed and eyes narrowed while you rest your hands on your hips with your lips pulled into a frown

price definitely gets complaints about the two of you

he does nothing about them

and for a while that's pretty much the gist of how you and simon spend your time together

but i like to imagine that after a particularly rough mission, simon would seek you out just to sit with you

and i can see him as a stress smoker so when he finally does manage to find you and take a seat beside you, you slide him a pack of cigarettes and a lighter

he doesn't ask how you know his cigarette preference, but instead gives you a small nod of approval before pulling up his mask over lips and taking a drag

and that's how you spend your night

just sitting beside each other as you watch the evening sky gradually begin to fill with stars

i think it would depend on how bad the mission went in order to determine exactly how long the two of you stay sitting under the stars, but it doesn't matter because it'll end the same way; you reaching over and giving simon's hand a quick squeeze with a small, "get some sleep, simon. you need it," before you walk away

and he finds himself confused to two reasons

reason one: why did you grab his hand why did he like it?

reason two: how can you say such sweet words but still look so mad?

as much as he wants to play that moment over in his head just to make sure he was remembering things right, he decides against it in favor of heeding your words and getting some sleep

but it's after that moment he can't help but notice how your mannerisms have changed

not only are your words of reassurance more apparent than before, he's also noticed you have a tendency to give his hand/shoulder a reassuring squeeze every now and then

he can't help the small smile that threatens to pull at his lips when you do

but he also can't help but notice how distant and reserved your face looks when you do all of these things

he doesn't really mind it though

but he eventually does bring it up to you one day

it's probably after he tells you one of his god awful dad jokes

like he'll look over at you and notice your sour expression and say something like, "don't look so pissed, they're not that bad."

and you'll respond with a tilt of your head as you tell him, "i'm not pissed. i like your jokes."

then he'll nudge your shoulder before telling you, "with that face? coulda fooled me."

and you'll roll your eyes in faux annoyance as you brush him off with a simple, "that's just my face."

and then he'll look down at you, thankful for his mask so you can't see the small smile making its way onto his face

he might even say something dumb and cheesy like, "i know. i like it."

and you give him one of your rare smiles

and i could end it there and say the two of you are bffs

or i could sprinkle in something about soap running up on the two of you chanting, "my plan worked, my plan worked!"

that's for you to decide

[pricegouge]

Hiding in Ivory

part one of my horrtober collection | on ao3 | taglist

Synopsis: Simon goes in for a shave, Ghost just keeps shaving

Cw: gratuitous blood and gore. Body horror. Suicidal ideation, kinda. Body dysmorphia. SELF HARM. Please let me know if I've missed anything. MDNI

Divider by @/cafekitsune

There are no locks on barracks baths, but Simon's always found his mask hung on the doorknob makes for a good enough deterrent. It's served as a decent warning since his time as a rookie, the endless shift of bases all coming to learn what would happen if his privacy wasn't respected.

The line of showers isn't as long now as it once was - the prestige of a position well earned reducing the shared space from twenty maximum occupants to five. Still, big brother had only sourced the one manufacturer and the scenes all seems the same, images blurring across the years.

He's no different now from who he was when he enlisted, stagnant and moribund, but at least the grout isn't moldy here.

Simon bathes quickly, a hard-hammered routine which takes him less than five minutes. Efficient, necessary. He's uninterested in gaining attention, especially that of his commanding officer flexing archaic rules like nail inspections just to prove a point. He's fairly certain Price would never, but he's had enough of testing that theory. There'll be no Price to protect him from a court martial if Price is the officer he's assaulted.

The bath is wide and rambling, a cold front that dissipates the heat of his shower before it can even reach his clothes. Simon doesn't shiver as he pulls his trunks on, too used to the cold and damp. Balkans, winter training, permafrost - it's not something easily forgotten. Bare feet tread silently over cracked tile, fractured edges left ragged and untended because no self respecting serviceman would walk through a barracks bath without a pair of thongs. Simon relishes the razor's edge against his peroneal tendon, the satisfaction of knowing he was the only one who dared to immeasurable. Garrick had caught him once like this, scolded him for tempting fate and fungus alike. Simon didn't see why he should fear the rot that's been coming for him his whole life anyway.

Much more threatening is the mirror.

Wide and iminent, it spans the stretch of sinks along one wall, meant to be shared with a pile of other recruits. Simon takes up nearly half of it, hulking form unavoidable in his periphery. It does no good to play coy with himself anyway, dark eyes training on his own reflection like he's staring down an enemy combatant. Neither flinches, not even when Simon takes his tote out, splays it across the runner. It's a simple kit. Unlike Garrick and his sandals, Simon does not require much grooming, his mask effectively negating the need. Still, the cover came with its down sides and a thick weave which caught his stubble irritatingly placed high on that list. 

It was Price that taught him to shave properly, the finicky old bastard taking so long to clean up his scruffy neck it was hard not to pick up some tricks along the way, watching silently under the guise of surveillance as his captain pulled a bowie knife down his own throat after days spent in the humid jungle had left him desperate for relief from the coarse grow out. Price had used aloe as cream at the time, the irritation of razor burn calming even as he worked, nicks from the remaining bumps coagulating into the gel. When he was done, Price wiped everything clean and started it all again and Simon resolutely refused to think about what it meant that it had never occurred to him to shave twice. 

He can go longer between visits with the mirror now, his beard fine and fair enough to last nearly a full week between reappearances. Simon keeps a habit of it when he can, holing himself away to pull a straight razor over his skin in hurried strokes. Cuts weren't uncommon, though he supposed it didn't matter much when the purpose of the exercise was to help him hide his face with more comfort. It's no different now, a small rotary of blood blooming under his nose when the heavy razor fails to properly navigate his philtrum. If it scars, it will blend with the pre-existing network there, just another tributary. Simon washes the excess shaving cream from his face and starts again. 

Practiced and methodic, it goes smoothly until the razor catches a gnarled edge of his lopsided Glasgow smile, knotted skin tugging hard enough to make his cheek snap back against his teeth when his deadened nerves finally relay the issue. It's not just a nick this time, though he only realizes that when the blood wells high on its raised edge, spills over along the wide line of scarring. It fills the hollow of his cheek, paints the bagged tissue dark. Surrounded as it is with fresh shaving cream and pale skin, it makes for a strangely familiar sight. Ghost pulls the razor down his other cheek impulsively, the angle all wrong. 

Without the benefit of cicatrix, there are no dulled receptors. Ghost feels every centimeter as the blade slides across his cheekbone, cutting down until it matches the scarring on the other side, leaving his top lip cut up at the corner. It would be enough to make him wince if the satisfaction of the mark didn't drown out the associated pain. He takes a minute to look himself over, head tilting this way and that. The cold, wan lighting gleams in the wells of blood along the uneven cut of his scarring, a crooked row of molars.

The next cut is straight down instead of across, a long scrape back along the hinge of his jaw which leaves a flap of skin dangling there, the gruesome sight making his breath hiss between his teeth more so than the actual feel of it, and despite all his years of training for moments like this, there's no helping the base parts of your brain which can't be overwritten, the simple little lizard parts which see a dangling tail and decide to drop it in order to fight another day. The razor rides the bolt of his mandible and the tag of skin is caught in its track, sheared off in one smooth cut. Simon inspects the blade clinically, thumb pulling down to safely remove the blockage. When his eyes roll back up to his own reflection, he's able to assess the damage without flinching. The same could not have been said mere moments ago.

A swath of exposed dermis now decorates his jaw, red-welled and stinging where the shaving cream drips into it. Roughly four by four centimeters and deep as his subcutaneous layer over the jut of bone, it's possible he'd need a graft to heal it properly, if he even bothered. Ghost would be quite as happy to cover it in gauze and keep it hidden away behind his mask, just one more spot of skin he'd never have to shave again. It would heal badly, kept damp and unaired for long hours of the day. There was a burn on his thigh which had suffered a similar fate, now a quiltwork patch of hard, angry red scarring which never seemed to pale no matter how much time passed. He eyes the bloody contrast between the dark hollow of his jaw and the pale white ridge of cheekbone above it contemplatively and then draws the skin of his cheek taut and makes another scrape. 

Pain swells and ebbs in the passing minutes, adrenaline dulling his senses until he's able to work methodically across his jaw: a lathing pull from cheek to mandible, and a strong cut to shear off the excess. It comes off in sheets like matted hair, just as much a relief to be rid of. His hands shake as he works - shock or excitement it's hard to tell -, making him sloppy, cutting down to bone on a few stripes. He takes calming breaths when needed, adjusts his grip to be more careful. 

Ghost doesn't want to die, he just wants people to understand he already has.

Blood and tissue collect in the sink, red rivulets thinning where they combine with the condensation. It leaves delicate spider web designs across the porcelain, veins and stains it much like him. Ghost barely even notices, eyes trained on the face slowly taking shape in the mirror. He's never been much of an artist, but he imagines this is the thrill a sculptor feels when the unwieldy blocks of excess fall away and the rough-hewn silhouette they'd had in mind begins to form. His chin is the hardest part, bleeds the most. With it darkened and visually recessed, he doesn't like the look of his top lip at all and briefly debates cutting it off in favor of showing the neat row of teeth there instead, but he'll be removed from the team if he can't properly communicate on comms anymore, and a lifetime of drooling uncontrollably wouldn't make up for the aesthetic benefit so he leaves it be, eyeing his handiwork critically when he gets his whole jaw pared down to the basest layers of skin. 

It's a terrible visage that stares back at him, the planes of his skull stark white and pale where they jut out above the exposed recesses of his jaw. Blood flows down his throat and over his chest, the thin fine lines of unmarred skin he'd left on his chin continuing down his gullet until the chords of his neck tunnel blood into their path, lines becoming convoluted and smeared somewhere over his Adam's apple. He traces cleaner lines down with the tip of the blade. These will heal neatly, unnaturally straight and white. It's familiar, as close as he's gotten to a recognizable reflection since -.

Well, since.

Shame about his nose, but he can't cut it off without again risking his position, and he thinks with its protruding nature, skinning it to a pink mess would only make it stand out more anyway, instead of visually receding so he skips it. For now at least. Could always see about cutting it off later, when he has the proper tools to hack through his cartilage. No need to be rash. The hollows of his eyes, however…

Ghost pulls the skin below his left eye taut and brings the razor to his lash line.

[666writingcafe]

New Voice Messages (Part Three)

Lucifer

"Hey. I know it's late and you're probably asleep, so you don't have to respond to this right away. I should be asleep, but I keep tossing and turning whenever I try, so I gave up on that hours ago. I'm currently sitting on the rooftop, looking up at the night sky. Well, and recording this message, but that's self-explanatory, I feel. *sighs* Don't mind my rambling. I'm both incredibly tired and slightly tipsy. I finally got around to trying the bottle of Demonus that Diavolo gave us as a housewarming gift, and it's pretty decent. I had a couple glasses of it before coming up here, thinking that it'd help put me to sleep. Obviously, it hasn't, but it was worth trying, I suppose. I at least feel like I can respond to your note without choking on my words or banging my head in frustration. *briefly pauses* Given the way you signed off on it, I'm going to assume that you trust me enough to not abuse your old name. That's also why I'm outside. Less likely to be overheard using it by my brothers. If that's okay with you. If it's not, feel free to tell me off for it the next time we meet. So, MC. *pauses again before lightly singing MC's name* Have I ever told you it's a pretty name? Saying it is comforting somehow. *clears his throat* Sorry. Like I said, I'm a bit drunk."

"Feeling more in control now. Might still ramble a bit, but hopefully not as much as before. *takes a deep breath* The first time I read your note, I ended up crying. Not because you said something wrong, but because it was...sweet? Is that the word I'm looking for? *briefly pauses as a gust of wind gets picked up on the mic* It'll have to do for now, I guess. Anyway...it's interesting how you and Diavolo said more or less the same thing, and yet I'm more inclined to listen to you than I am to him. Perhaps it's the difference in tone? I could definitely tell that he was getting frustrated with me towards the end of our phone call. I know there's a part of him that sees me as a really shiny toy, one that he's quite territorial over. If I were to leave his side, he'd throw a massive fit, I'd imagine, and he might start a war over it. Which is silly. I'm not worth fighting over. *pauses* And yet everyone seems to for some reason. It's like I cause people to lose their minds. I don't know if it's due to the amount of titles and prestige I've had or my physical appearance or something else entirely, but they seem to all go into hysteria after spending any significant amount of time with me. Except for you, MC. You don't care about Lucifer Morningstar, former Lightbringer, Avatar of Pride, yadda yadda yadda. You simply see me as me, if that makes sense. You want to make sure that I'm okay, and you don't expect anything in return. It's a way of repaying back the kindness bestowed upon you in your situation, I suppose. And it'd be cruel of me to ignore all of that and still plunge to my death. So I'm staying. *pauses* You're right. This does feel weird. You better make good on your promise, MC, or I may end up changing my mind again. *chuckles* Don't take that last part too seriously. I'm merely messing with you a bit."

"You know, I wonder what my brothers are thinking about this...offer being made to us. I already know Mammon and Beel would stay, and Belphie's going to do whatever Beel does, but I'm not sure about Levi and Asmo. I mean, you were there when Asmo was yelling at me about leaving the Celestial Realm. Do you think he's eagerly packing his bags as we speak, or--"

A Few Hours Later

"Sorry about the abrupt ending of my last message. Mammon caught me on the rooftop. We ended up talking for a while. *pauses* The two of us have an interesting relationship. Kinda similar to the one I have with Satan. Mammon's sort of my brother and sort of my son, except he didn't spring out of me like Satan did. He's the first angel I felt the need to protect. Everyone else was prepared to throw him away, even though he was merely a child. I couldn't sit back and let them treat him like that, especially not after I held him in my arms as he was crying. He was around the Chihuahua's age when that happened. *clears his throat* I apologize. I know you don't like me calling Luke a chihuahua. I really am trying not to. *pauses* So yeah. Satan's technically the third oldest, since he came into existence in my mind shortly after I took Mammon under my wing. Levi came into the picture when Mammon was a teenager, and the others when he was just becoming a fully-grown angel. *pauses again* It was actually Mammon that insisted that we take care of them, and he was so earnest about it that I couldn't say no. I mean, the fact that he was willing to do for others what I've done for him...I was quite proud of him. Still am, even though he insists on putting on a persona these days. I know deep down, he still cares about everyone. *pauses yet again* Is it weird that I feel comfortable sharing all of this with you, MC? It might be the alcohol still affecting me, but somehow I don't think it is. I...I think I've come to trust you. Completely. I haven't even gotten there with Diavolo yet, and I've known him a lot longer. *chuckles* You truly are special, little lamb. *silence* Shit. That wasn't supposed to be said out loud. I better go before I start calling you more silly nicknames. Good night, MC."

Taglist: @lost-in-time-wanderer, @fuzztacular, @dianedancer18, @sweetbrier2908, @flare-love, @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf, @thunderlightning351, @l3v1chan, @anxious-chick, @5mary5, @expressionless-fr, @tenkobitch, @interconnectedmatrix

[getvalentined]

Honestly I really like your thoughts on Angeal and his flaws, and it sucks that most ppl and even SE want to sweep said flaws under the rug. Plus i can get why you dislike him as a person in-universe, his actions make everything worse for everyone including how he hurts and dimisses Genesis despite being childhood friends (and having a whole fandom excusing his bad actions while blaming your fav for daring to exist is Obnoxius at the bare minimun).

In any case, people keep asking for complicated morally gray stories yet can't handle the angelic noble manly guy not really being a good guy and the odd mean redhead not really being a bad guy. And that's the whole point of Crisis Core isn't it? Going in with Shinra colored glasses and then seeing the illusion crumble and get crushed beneath the weight of its sins, and how you need to free yourself of its lies least it drags you down with it.

Anyways, apologies if my ramble got too long, the point is that you get him aka he sucks and owes the mother of apologies to Zack, Gen n Seph

Thank you so much!

I honestly find Angeal to be a super compelling character—his story is a tragedy from the very start, not just because of how he was made but because of how he was raised, because of who he is and how he interfaces with the world around him.

They actually nailed it in First SOLDIER, which was a surprise to me after how he's been handled in the EC version of Crisis Core; he's arrogant, sanctimonious, self-important, and genuinely believes that he's right every step of the way because that's how he was brought up. You can see the pressure he had to prove himself to be as good as his mother presumably told him he was, and how it's shaped him into this person. You can also kinda see how people without a lot of personal interactions with him could end up viewing him as a self-motivated go-getter with a heart of gold, but it's just as clear that even a cursory focus on his actual behavior that he's terribly flawed in very specific ways even as a teenager, and those flaws only deepen with time. He doesn't have the gruff-voiced mystique used to cover up his demeaning treatment of others in the future, the facade is less comprehensive at this point than it will be by the time Zack comes into the picture, but you can see how he's building it up, and it's super interesting.

I don't like Angeal as a person, but I find him so compelling as a character—this is someone who was brought up by a woman whose entire history is a mass of grey to black morality without him knowing it, and rather than ever question that maybe this isn't how the world works, he decided that the entire world was wrong. That's what ends up breaking him in the end, and it's really fucking sad. If Gillian had been different, I think he'd be a much more pleasant character to interact with, but I honestly really like the juxtaposition between his abrasive self-righteousness and his perfect honorable good boy presentation.

My major issue honestly comes from fandom refusing to admit that his behavior is anything but what he insists it is. He's honestly kind of a bully, but he's "nice" and he says that he's honorable, so very few people ever want to discuss it. The standard claim is that the writing in CC is just bad and that's why he seems so inconsistent, but the same "inconsistency" presents in EC, nine years prior to his death in Modeoheim, eight years prior to Genesis defecting in Wutai. This "inconsistency" is consistent in how he's written, whether in CC or EC or even DFFOO.

It's not inconsistency, it's hypocrisy. He's a hypocrite, that's part of his character. Honor and responsibility and nobility are what he says they are, and only what he says they are, and if he behaves in any way to the contrary, it's still good because he did it and he can't be anything else. It's really interesting to see this sort of personality portrayed so well, and I wish more people were willing to explore it! This is part of what makes him so compelling! The tragedy of his own self-loathing being what tore his whole world apart! Amazing. Brilliant. I love that. He's terrible and it's great.

[py-dreamer]

Idea just popped into my head-

Idk I just feel like Nezha wouldn't like spiders. He wouldn't have a phobia, just doesn't like them.

Also these 5 need to have a name

I know bai he shows up very little after s3 but even so!

As a group, they give off such sibling vibes. You can't tell me that canon tired god of children Nezha doesn't give off older brother vibes at least in lmk.

I also just realized, my boi just went from being the youngest of 3 siblings (ie being the third lotus prince, younger brother of muzha and Jinzha) presumably the chaotic wild one without as much responsibility and probably lil brother figure to Wukong later on-

to being a full blown guardian of a map to one of the most destructive weapons and (in my headcanon) babysitter to red son

Like big switchup man and I do think of lmk nezha specifically as an adult (mentally and physically) like jeez sometimes I think he kinda (subconsciously, he would never admit it aloud) misses being taken care off.

Ngl (excuse my mini rant here) I feel the same way about wukong. Like mans went from probably (I believe) one of the younger members of the brotherhood or at least one of the most immature to being the "older brother" to the pilgrims. They all call him elder brother I think (if I'm wrong pls correct me) and I think the turning point to kinda take on responsibility was the journey yes but also, the aftermath of the burning of flower fruit mountain.

I'm not saying he didn't care about them before, no I'm sure he absolutely did and part of his reasons for becoming stronger for protection is genuine. But I think the moment that hit the hardest as a consequence to his actions is the dwindling numbers of his subjects upon his return and it really settled in his job as their king

but yea...rlly puts things into speculation huh?

How the hell did I just ramble bout SWK in a post bout the children. He is my boi and all my friends and parents flame me for it but I digress-

anyways nothing new bout the drawing techniques but hey, hope u enjoy

[0kayblue]

Choices

Choices 

A drunken kiss, unspoken feelings, and a nasty argument leaves Leon in a cracked state. Painfully stuck in the crossroads of realization that nothing is going to get better until he starts talking and actively takes the steps to come to terms with his past and his disjointed emotions. 

Word count: Almost 5k (not throughly proof read)

Angst. Language. Gun mentioned. Drinking mentioned. Happy ending. Partners to friends to lovers? The timeline is a little funky so let me explain: the events of Raccoon City take place in 2004 and that places this story towards the start of 2011.

A/N: Long time no see, huh? Things got heavy and they got heavy fast. Between vacation, moving, and the holidays; I’ve kinda fallen off the face of the planet. But it is what it is and I’m back for a minute or two. 

As far as requests are concerned I’m working on them, but I get distracted with other ideas. My google doc is full of rough outlines and unfinished works in progress. I don’t have any idea when things will come out, they just will. I apologize, but damn, life is stressful. 

Anyway, I hope you all are having a lovely day, week, month, and year. Please enjoy!!

“Hey. . .” Leon starts, his voice low and like gravel with uncertainty. A sense of deprecating self-consciousness following in the silence, before he lets out a frustrated huff. “You didn’t pick up, not that I’m surprised. . .but still, it hurts.” He admits as his grip on his phone grows tighter before it loosens and a conflicted sigh leaves him. 

“I’m. . .sorry.” He struggles with the apology as he shuts his eyes and another exasperated sigh leaves him, “Truly, I am sorry. I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did and I shouldn’t have pointed the finger at you. It’s not your fault and it never has been. I need you to know that, I need you to know that I know how I’ve been acting lately is stupid and. . .” He stops as he opens his eyes and looks around the dim space of his empty living room, the loneliness of this moment threatening to swallow him whole. The numbing silence of the room mixed with the silence on the other end of the phone became too much to handle causing him to swallow the confession on the tip of his tongue. 

He licks the dryness from his lips as his other hand goes to massage his forehead in a stiff and irritated manner. He sucks his teeth as his hand falls while he lets out a disheartened sigh as the words fall from his lips, “I can’t do this without you here.” He admits with frustrated sorrow, “I need to see you. I need you to look at me. I need you to. . .I just need you.” 

The static of the other empty line cuts through silence like a rusted combat knife through brittle sheet metal. Leon’s lips part for another sigh to escape him, but it never does. The air stays lodged in his throat before he painfully swallows. 

“Look,” The word came out dry and somewhat short, before he clears his throat. “I’ve got some things I have to deal with, but if you could come over just for a moment—or at least call me back– it doesn’t have to be tonight; but sometime.” He can’t stop it from sounding like a desperate ramble; a plea for your silence to be broken.

“I don’t know when I’ll be back, but it probably won’t be until the early hours of the morning so if you could just at least call me back tonight. Let me know you’re okay. You don’t have to give me any other information and I won’t ask, I just want to make sure you’re okay.” He explains softly, biting his tongue to keep himself from making the accusations that scream at him. 

He opens his mouth to say more, to at least say ‘bye’; but he can’t, so he pulls the phone away from his ear and he ends the call. A frustrated grunt leaving him as he peers down at your contact photo, his gaze softening as he studies the smile on your face. The photo one that he cherishes with every heart string he has; a moment he was able to capture without you knowing. The rarity of being able to capture a genuine smile on your face. He recalls the day fondly and for a moment a smile curls at his lips until he eyes glance at the time in the top left corner of the thin device. He locks his phone as he stands from the loveseat you often perched yourself in whenever you were over, the seat cushion practically molded to only sit your frame comfortably. 

Putting the phone in his pocket he makes his way through the kitchen and to the door that leads to the garage; grabbing his car keys from the key hooks by the door and opening the garage door. 

The dark of night not holding its usual tranquility as the earthy smell of the heavy rain floods his nostrils. It’s eerily fitting given his current circumstances and it makes his skin crawl slightly as he gets into the driver seat and starts the car. Putting the car in reverse he backs out of the garage, his ears starting to ring slightly as the quietness of the night floods the car. A slight scoff leaves him as he goes to shut the garage door and he heads north towards his destination. 

—------------------------------------------------------------

Leon drives for hours in silence trying to put his head together. Trying to string together what exactly he wants to say while also remaining focused on the road ahead. All his thoughts scattered and disorganized; any sense of pulling it together immediately wiped out whenever his phone buzzed. A thin line of hope is always shattered when he glances at it and it’s just another notification about god knows what. It didn’t matter and he didn’t care because it was never your name on the screen. 

It felt as if you were playing this silent treatment thing as if your life depended on it and it was killing him. Suffocating him. Each ping brings him above the tidal wave for just a moment before being dragged back under by the force of the freezing crisp waves. He could almost taste the bitter salt water with each defeated sigh of disappointment. 

His glare on the road sharpens as he sees the abandoned gas station, slows, and makes the sharp right turn into the parking lot. The sound of stray gravel gritting against the tread of the tires as the car reaches its destination, Leon on the other hand still has another hour until he reaches his. 

A single unmarked cruiser awaiting him parked perfectly in between two faded and barely visible white lines. He parks his own car a couple spots away from the cruiser before he shuts it off and steps out of the car, grabbing his phone and keys sliding them into his back pocket as he takes calculated steps to the cruiser. The rain only becomes more intense as he tries not to be affected by the cold laced into every drop that hits him, soaking his clothes slightly. 

“Should’ve brought an umbrella.” He mutters to himself as he opens the driver’s side door of the cruiser and gets in. He shakes slightly in an effort to get any excess water off before running a hand through his damp hair, the water slicking it back for just a moment before his bangs fall back into place. 

He leans over the center console and gets into the glove compartment on the passenger’s side. A single car key and a beretta 92fs pistol sit exactly where they were supposed to be. He opts for the cool metal of the hand gun as he picks it up and inspects the weapon briefly, leaving the safety on before he sets it in the passenger seat. He then takes the car key and starts the car, whereas his car was quiet the cruiser engine debates on whether or not to come to life and he almost took it as a sign to give up despite not being a superstitious man; but he digresses as the old cruiser decides that Leon is worth the ride. 

Just as he goes to put the car in reverse his phone pings and he immediately takes his hand from the gear shift and fishes for it with a grunt from his back pocket. A moment of relief leaves him as this time the contact that greets him is yours. Quick to unlock the phone he is greeted with a text of only one word:

 ‘Maybe.’ 

“Maybe?” He grumbles, “What the hell does that even mean?” He asks no one but himself and yet is met with the low rumble of the cruiser’s transmission. Before really thinking he goes and types a reply, staring at the message with a puzzled expression. 

‘Maybe what exactly?’ 

Surprisingly he barely moved before he got a reply.

‘Just maybe.’

He takes in a deep breath before letting it out in a shaky manner. Stubborn, you were always so stubborn. Of course he was too, but he was the one actively trying not to be this time. He was the one trying to get you to open up and not the other way around. Trying to get you to communicate with him, trying to get you to be vulnerable with him, trying to repair the rift between the two of you.

‘Can I get more than maybe?’

‘Please.’ 

He knows it’s his fault. He understands that regardless of how you left he still hurt you and you still had every right to be upset with him. Neither of you made anything official, never committed to anything, and he was a fool to think that a drunk kiss meant that his feelings were reciprocated and defined you both as an unit. He should have known that your avoidance of him the next day meant that something was off, but he convinced himself that you understood everything. That you knew everything he’s wanted to say for months. So, when he was informed of you being around someone who clearly was no good for you; he snapped.

‘I’ll be by.’

It wasn’t much, but it was something. A crumb that would subside the ache he felt. He lets out a sigh of relief as a small and soft smile finds his face. It was confirmation to him that he hasn’t lost you completely. He hadn’t lost you. 

‘When?’ 

‘Tonight. Please.’

He stares at the screen waiting for a reply he doubts he will get; so he isn’t surprised as agonizing seconds turn into minutes. Glancing at the time he knows he needs to move, and he will. Just a minute more. 

A minute passes, then two, and still no reply. He runs a hand through his hair before it finds the steering wheel, gripping it with force. Trying to let out some of the agitation he felt in the least harmful way possible. He tosses the phone into the passenger seat before taking his leave. 

—------------------------------------------------------------

Leon pulls up to the agreed upon meeting spot, the headlights of the cruiser reflecting off of the multiple ‘WARNING’ and ‘DANGER’ signs. All signs informing the public to stay clear of the abandoned wreckage that was the nightmare that started his adult life. 

He clenched his teeth as he parks the cruiser and before killing the engine he scrutinizes the rusted, faded, and graffitied sign that read: 

‘Welcome to Raccoon City

Home of Umbrella’

He can’t help the cold unforgiving glare that hardens his features as he stares intensely at that damn sign. A sign that he once was looking forward to seeing, a sign that was supposed to harken in a new beginning for him. A chapter of his life that he never got to write the way he intended too. 

He forces himself to look away as he kills the engine. All that anger and contempt in every movement he makes; the emotions barely subtle as he grabs the pistol and makes his leave from the cruiser. Uncleaned debris crunching under the harsh step of his sturdy weight. The former storm subsided to a gentle drizzle. As if the weather was deciding to be gentle towards him, to be kind as he faced the location of so much of his trauma. Dulled screams and flashbacks of all the things he saw that night flashing throughout every corner of his brain. He grits his teeth as he slams the door of the cruiser shut, the heavy bang ceasing the noise. The memories. 

He keeps his focus trained ahead as he strides closer to the steel chain fencing with sturdy steps, the dim yellow light from aged street lights illuminating his path with a dull hum. Unclenching his jaw he puts the pistol into the tight waistband of his jeans as he starts to climb the rusted fence that murmurs whines underneath the weight of his body. 

Getting to the top he throws one leg over before deciding to make the jump to the other side. A grunt leaves him as the soles of his shoes make contact with the pitch black pavement, a sharp yet brief pain shooting up his legs. Standing up straight he pulls the pistol from his waistband, shuts the safety off, and proceeds forward. Acutely aware of his surroundings as his stomach starts to turn and bile threatens to creep up his throat. 

Luckily he doesn’t have to travel far as the person he is set to meet waits in the shadows, the click of her heels against the damp pavement making Leon fully aware of her presence as he points the gun at her out of fear. It isn’t until she steps closer that he lowers his weapon. 

“Leon.” Ada says as she looks at him intently. Giving him a once over before she speaks again, “Someone is jumpy, I see.” 

“Yeah, well, it’s the location.” Leon says as he stands up straight, his shoulders remaining tense. Ada nods in a sense of understanding. 

“You went through it to track me down and I’ll admit I’m impressed; but I have to ask: why?” Ada’s voice is smooth and low, clearly guarded. 

“There’s something I have to talk to you about. Something I need to address.” He admits. 

Ada studies him, the tension he carries nearly slapping her across the face; and she knows all the blame can’t just be put on the location. The rubble on the street is a physical representation of the crumbs of trust that was shared between the two of them. 

“So, then why go through the trouble?” She inquires, her brow raising slightly, “I’m certain whatever it is you are here to-.” 

“No, I need you to hear what I have to say.” He says cutting her off. Clearly uncomfortable, unfamiliar, and direct with her; this whole situation reeking of a rotten smell that they could practically taste. 

“Different.” She simply states, very different from their previous meeting six months prior in the rural misty mountainous region of Spain. A change that was lost on her is now clearly present. It’s rough, jagged; and not something she is used to when it comes to him. 

The two stare at each other in silence, trying to piece each other together. A clear lack of communication ringing out into the night, something that wasn’t uncommon between the two. 

“Do you-.” Leon starts but suddenly stops the question in its tracks. He knew the answer and it was pointless to even ask; so he opts for the next question, “Why didn’t you try and reach out?” 

The question takes Ada aback and it shows physically as her eyes widen just slightly before returning to that uncaring gaze. She ponders on how to approach this. On what to say. Coming up short she decides not to say anything regarding the subject; so she changes it. 

“Is this about them?” She asks and immediately Leon plants his feet. Knowing that her them meant you; and the feeling didn’t settle well in his bones. His teeth gritted together as his jaw locked. Yet, the fact of the matter remained: she was partly right. 

“It is, isn’t it.” Ada states as she crosses her arms, a sense of pride finding her as she figured him out so quickly. 

“And if it is?” Leon asks, hoping in vain to throw her off the scent by playing this with a harsh coyness. 

“You’re still hung up over a kiss?” Ada asks, the question slipping from her lips without thinking. A rarity from her, so much so that it takes her aback as the harshness of her words hits Leon with a pang of disappointment. 

“That’s not what I’m hung up on.” Leon answers, bitterness clinging to each word, “I’m hung up on the fact that after everything I—everything we—went through you didn’t even try to tell me you survived that fall. That you survived and you didn’t bother to at least leave me something to show you were still alive; and don’t even try and say you couldn’t find me. You could have. Easily.” His voice grew stronger with every word he spoke, his conflicting emotions present in each syllable. 

Ada is stunned by his candor, the hurt that she caused him present leaving her baffled and grasping for straws. He was being raw here, he was showing her his cards that he held so tightly to his chest. 

“That night was the ending to so much. That night—to me— was an unimaginable horror I was not prepared to face; and you…you were right there. You knew so much more than I did and you remained cryptic.” Leon states with a defeated and heavy breath, “It’s easy to direct my anger there; but I know that’s not where it belongs. That isn’t where my heart places it, even though it probably should be because you played it like a fiddle; but that’s not it. Not the way you used me. Manipulated me. What it is in all honesty is the fact that I couldn’t save you. That you slipped from my grip, but yet you still cling to me.” 

Silence falls between the two again, but this time it’s different. It’s not a burden even though it remains heavy.  

“So you tracked me down to tell me this?” 

“I tracked you down so you can let me go.”

The statement left Leon in one breath as he looked at her with a softness to his eyes. A vulnerability in his gaze that swallowed Ada whole. The lack of light behind his eyes shadowing her in a darkness she never expected to feel from him. Her own emotions are becoming hard to keep in check, as her insides start to simmer with an almost forgotten feeling. 

The silence clings to their clothes as the night time air becomes lodged in Leon’s throat. Nearly choking him as he examined Ada intently, trying to guess her next move. Trying to put himself in her shoes long enough to figure out what she might be thinking; but all of this was so foreign. So he retreated back into his own head and just decided it was best to let her move from here. He decided it was best to just stop; and that decision flooded his body with relief. His jaw relaxing, his shoulder falling slightly, his knees no longer locked; the utter relief he felt just voicing how he felt was something he least expected.

“Okay.” Ada said, breaking the silence. This newfound development changed something in her that she couldn’t pinpoint. Something half of her refused to pinpoint. This growth she sees from him changes her perception of him. 

“Okay.” Leon repeats with a small nod as the subtle rain drops that have been hitting him start to increase. They stand in a tense awkward silence as the wind starts to pick up and begin to howl a broken howl that wavered like a gasped sob. Leon turns to leave before the rain starts to heavily pour again, but the question that falls from Ada causes him to stop. 

“Are you doing this all for them?” She asks, crossing her arms. While Leon looks at her with confliction, still not pleased with her need to keep you in the conversation. 

“Not completely.” He answers; and that is the truth. He needed this for himself, he knew that; but it would be a lie if you didn’t inspire him to take the leap. That you didn’t assure him that he didn’t have to constantly be fighting this inner turmoil, that he could form some type of peace with it; and most importantly that he didn’t have to do it alone. He deserved to care for himself, something he never considered until he felt the gentle warmth of your care. 

“I’d prefer if you would leave them out of it.” Leon says, a protective pitch in his tone that packed a subtle bite. It didn’t catch her off guard, it was him she was dealing with; and she knew that regardless of the strengths she had briefly seen from you in Spain that Leon would still be protective of you. 

So, Ada just nods, turns, and takes her leave,“Goodbye, Leon.” Ada says as Leon watches her walk back towards what he assumed was her entry point was located. 

As her form disappears into the black of night Leon lets out a deep breath with a slight shake of his head; his limbs heavy from the strain of the stress he carried in them.

“Goodbye, Ada.” 

———————————————————--------------------------

It was nearly four in the morning when Leon pulled into his garage. Your vehicle was nowhere in his line of sight as he pulled up to his house. Not that he was surprised, your answer was just a maybe, and he didn’t want you to push yourself out of the realms of something you weren’t comfortable doing just yet. At least he let you know that you weren’t ignoring him completely and that was enough for the time being. 

He shuts off the car as an exhausted sigh leaves him while his hand runs down his face. His head starts to gently pound as he pinches the bridge of his nose. The emotional rollercoaster he has been on starts to churn his stomach, reminding him why he didn’t bother with this stuff for so long in the first place. It hurt. Everywhere. 

He closes the garage as he gets out of the car and makes his way inside. Placing his keys back on the hook, kicking off his shoes, and starting to remove his jacket he stops as he hears the muffled sound of a sitcom laugh track coming from the living room. His chest swells with hope as he quickly disregards his jacket and shoes and with large gentle strides he makes his way into the living room. His heart nearly stops when he sees you asleep on the couch. 

Stopping in his tracks he watches the soft rise and fall of your chest, you were completely and utterly lost in what he hoped was a peaceful slumber. Your arms tucked close to your chest. Your hair fanned out over the couch cushion and the arm of the couch. He fought back how he wanted to run his hand through your hair. How tempting it looked, how he knew nothing brought you more comfort than the feeling of gentle fingers working their way through your hair. He wanted to do that for you, he wanted to comfort you. He wants to give you whatever your heart desires. 

His breath hitches in his throat as he carefully sits on the edge of one of the couch cushions. His heart swells with so much love that it is overwhelming and for the first time within all of this his eyes start to glass over. Tears threatening to spill as a shaky hand slowly makes contact with the warmth of your scalp. His fingers intertwined with your hair as his thumb gingerly brushes the top of your head and a small breath of relief leaves him as he watches your body relax. He stifled a sob with a scoff as a smile found his face while he fixed his gaze on you. The person he holds the most dear. The person he would do whatever it took to just have by his side. 

A craving to show you the utmost love and affection, a craving to care for you so much deeper than what the two of you already had. He hoped with everything that you wanted more. That the ghost of your past hadn’t swallowed you up. That you would choose him. 

He finally sniffs, the sound of distress pulling you from sleep as your eyes open and find his piercing blue ones glassy with tears. You move to sit up as even in your groggy state your arms wrap around him to comfort him.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright.” You coo as your torso presses against him while one hand rubs his back and the other makes its way into his hair as you rest your chin in the crook of his neck. “It’s okay.” You soothe while Leon takes in a strangled breath his arms wrapping tightly around you as he pulls you into his lap. 

“You came.” He utters, his voice breaking slightly. 

“You called.” You answer softly. 

Leon’s grip on you tightens as he buries his head in the crook of your neck, fresh hot thick tears starting to roll down his face. You gently mumble sweet reassurances as you rub his back, allowing him to cry, allowing him to let go of all the shit he has been holding onto. The fight. The end. The struggle. He’s letting go of all of it as he keeps a firm hold on you, clinging to you as if his life depended on it. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed anything and I shouldn’t have gotten mad at you for- for being with them. I- I shouldn’t have yelled. I should have told you how I felt. I should have-.” He chokes out his apology, the saltiness of his tears finding the pallet of his tongue.

“Shh, Leon, it’s okay.” You coo rubbing his back, “Don’t force yourself to speak when you aren’t ready. Take your time.” He fists the soft fabric of your shirt as he wonders what he ever did to know the comfort of your patience. 

As Leon begins to calm down his grip on you loosens, his breathing returning to normal as his chest no longer hitches with quiet sobs. You feel him start to relax and in turn your body loses its own stiffness. You continue to hold him to you, trailing the tips of your nails gingerly up and down a patch of his back. You had no idea where Leon had been, but whatever he did has obviously left him worse for wear. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” You ask in a quiet whisper, concern ever present in your soft voice; and Leon can’t help himself.

“I love you.” He responds as he places a strong hand in between your shoulder blades keeping you pressed against him as he screws his eyes shut trying to commit this moment to memory. The feeling of your body pressed flush against his, the addictive pleasant scent of your perfume, the soft gentle flesh of your neck pressed against the scratch of his stubble. 

“I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have yelled. I should have talked to you directly. I should have seen everything.” He says as he regretfully pries himself away from you to look at you fully, his hands moving to cup your cheeks and hold your face gently in the palms of his hands. He watches the gears in your head start to turn through sparkling big doe eyes and his heart starts to melt. The realization that he wasn’t the only one that needed improvements becoming ever present as he brushes the side of his thumb over your cheek. 

“I love you and I am unbelievably sorry. Please, please, don’t shut me out.” He pleads as he studies your face, noting the way your bottom lip quivered ever so slightly. 

You both sit there in silence as he admires the sad beauty that are your features in this moment. He allows you to just sit there and feel, and think, and breathe. With all the patience in the world he waits for you. 

“I love you too.” You finally say quietly, the words falling from your lips in a hesitancy before you speak up again; but with more strength and convection, “I love you too.” 

A soft wide smile finds Leon’s face as he brings your lips to his in a soft, but desperate and passionate kiss. The taste of your lips are so much sweeter without the bitter taste of alcohol on them. Your arms snaking their way around his neck as you kiss him back the way you wanted to the first time he kissed you. His hands move to your waist to pull you closer to him as his tongue ghosts over your bottom lip. 

You part your lips allowing him access to explore the warmth of your mouth while crooking your head to the side as his tongue makes its way into your mouth. His tongue runs briefly over your teeth before it coils with your own and he sucks slightly causing a deep moan to reverberate from your chest and up your throat. 

The sound causes a smirk to curl at the corner of his lips as he parts from you regardless of how badly he wants to continue. He couldn’t help it, he had to see you; and the sight was worth it. The blissful peace on your face as you opened your eyes to look at him was worth it. A smile plastered on his face as he noted the tiredness in your eyes, the slight bags underneath them, and his hand finds your cheek as he places a kiss on your forehead. 

“Let's save the rest for tomorrow, okay? Let’s get you to bed.” He says as he moves to pick you up bridal style. He stands from the couch as your grip around him tightens as he makes his way to his bedroom.

“Leon.” You scold him slightly, but with no real seriousness to it. 

“Tomorrow.” He assures with a little nod, a playful smirk on his face. 

“Tomorrow.” You repeat with a little roll to your eyes.

[mochiiniko]

i just realized that i never actually made a whole analysis on 4-4N?? i technically did in first art post i made of the level last november, but the actual original post had it and i. cant find the rambles on it anymore 💀 so i decided i might as well start fresh and share my thoughts without keymashing every two sentences (unskippable cutscene under the cut <3)

i like to think that the “you can be my muse, ill write these songs for you” line from att is a parallel of sorts, in murmurs being from nicoles perspective instead. i mean cole is the whole reason she even picked up her guitar again, and she doesnt play it just because shes inspired since she even thinks about playing FOR him judging by her dialogue which is. crying rn im still not over that because GIRL

with the whole thing about night shifts "being part of the story but not really" im kinda bothered about murmurs being a night shift since what happened might not be brought up later in the story 😭 if it somehow does tho, im thinking of a buildup to a hypothetical 2-XN where its mostly from nicoles perspective

like being a parallel to 2-X with her being the lead singer and the instrumental having her signature acoustic instead. or partly acoustic with coles edm, since most night shifts are supposed to harder counterparts and i dont know how an acoustic boss fight would work lol (actually mental image of nicole beating us up with her guitar that would be funny)

the line "at least i hope you will be" at the very end of att is mostly sung by her, and from what i can gather it seems like shes pretty hesitant or just unsure that cole is the one who could help her get through her addiction. i also noticed that the after clear dialogue has cole (indirectly) talking about nicole being his inspiration instead of having to rely on caffeine, though nicole doesnt say the same thing about her smoking, and im gonna be honest if there was a 2-XN i would love to see her admit it too 😭😭😭

lmao this basically turned into a 2-X ramble but anyways im going back to crying over midterms i just wanted to post this before i forget again wbhwbhuwubhw