#i wanted them to feel a little otherworldly and a little bit like temptations

[dazzelmethat]

Messy ideas for a Dionysus/Bacchus and a Pan design. I've been compiling face shape ideas for them for a while, I've been wanting to make faces that would easily translate to masks to wear at a festival.

[cursedcola]

A Hopeless Lovestory: Malleus Draconia x Reader

A/N: Piggybacking off of my “Malleus is exactly like Gomez Addams as a partner,” post. Why? Because I will die with this. This is Malleus, or at least my interpretation of him. Yes yes, I love picturing him as the cute dorky fae that’s behind with tech times and wants friendship. It’s cute. But this? This. I stand with. Man lives in Victorian Fae land, surrounded by dark magic, will never work a day in his life, and is a hopeless romantic. This is my tribute to how much of a SIMP Malleus is.

From the moment he saw you, he was utterly entranced. Naturally he hid his affections for a time, as a man only grovels when given permission. He had not once yearned for another until you. Never felt  blood run through his veins like wildfire against his cold skin. Merely being in your vicinity makes him wish to be in constant contact

The moment you appeared in the outer garden that fateful night. In his once secret escapade, surrounded by fireflies and gleaming with an otherworldly aura. He did not miss the fear in your eyes at his appearance, yet you did not fear him - no, you were merely startled.

Yet for a brief moment, his heart shuddered in tune with your surprised yelp. The way your cheeks flushed a brilliant hue and pupils doubled in size. Lips slightly parted and a bit chapped from the crisp night air.

Vulnerable. At his mercy. In that moment Malleus knew, he would soon court you.  

He merely bides his time, waiting painfully long for you to discover his true identity. Yet, love is torture. Sweet, blissful torture that he absolutely relishes in. Your words ebb at his heart with a searing blade and it feels divine.

"Tsunotaro" he wants to hear his name, Malleus, fall from your lips. Yet the pseudo-name is a badge of honor, and he wears it pridefully.

The day comes when you find out his identity - and he wastes no time in requesting your courtship. You do not understand the absolute agony he has undergone while waiting. To not openly love? A sin. Not the Briar Valley way, and surely not befitting of a Draconia. He has passed the first trial of waiting for your hand, and now is willing to be destroyed further on the path to becoming your lover.

and yes, courtship is necessary. He would ask permission of those you hold dearest, as is noble custom. Alas, you have come to Twisted Wonderland alone and so -

Ah - - the feral beast and first-year guardsmen do indeed exist. Alright, merely another hurdle to prove his love. He will shower them all with riches and offerings to win their approval. If that does not work?

Well, the Draconia do not give up. He is not adverse to more, let's say, macabre methods of welcoming them into his inner circle. Pray tell Sir Grimm, will unlimited tuna suffice or would you like to decide the matter over chess? Oh no, not the boorish tabletop game. Malleus was thinking along the lines of live-action; where is the fun without a little adrenaline rush?

Your world is suddenly turned awry. Every meal is prepared with the highest quality ingredients, a new jewel adorns your figure every day - if it shines too bright, he discards it for over shrouding your beauty. If it is too dull? He scorns the seller for thinking such dreary gems could we worthy of touching your skin. Fresh flowers coated in pixie dust appear at your door every morning, and make your entire body glisten when tucked behind your ear or in your hair.

Any interest you have he is suddenly a connoisseur in. Even if it is not something he enjoyed before, now he does because you love it. As money is no obstacle, he often funds your hobbies while hiring private tutors to become involved. You enjoy gardening? Suddenly, he is raising many Venus fly traps. They remind him of your relationship, and how you managed to lure him in just enough to strike. To you, he is merely one possible prey in thousands. To him, you are an irresistible temptation that he willingly offers himself to.

You enjoy art? Allow him to take you on a tour of all the paintings in his mansion. You can admire them together, sipping on light alcohol and existing under the dim moonlight shining through the open windows. Allow him to paint you. He will practice for hours to get every feature right, and will allow no other to attempt. Only he can stare at you for so long.

What of music? Would you be willing to waltz on the day, across the velvet carpet of his bedroom floor as music drifts in from the orchestra in the garden. Lay your head against his chest as he hums along, listening as the vibrations of his vocal chords mix with his erratic heartbeat - which can only be steadied by your gentle caress.

or do you take to sport? He is quite the active fellow. Apprehensive to dangerous activities, his heart stills as you fly through the air racing on your broomsticks, nearly running each other out of the sky. Or as steady jabs hit too close to dangerous zones during swordplay.

Yet the fright is exhilarating all the same, keeping his lust for your company alive

He is at your beck and call. As he will be your king.

Malleus continues with his courtship until the end of your final year at Night Raven College. His graduation occurred long prior, yet he spends more time at the school than at Briar Valley.

"A moment without you is a moment spent in purgatory," no noble or advisor could keep him in the valley beyond his duties. Even then he did not want to perform, and often was caught penning lovesick letters to send your way. A master magician turned into a functionless machine.

Said advisors dared not to question their master's choice. Not after fair warning from general Vanrouge and threats of the Draconia bloodline running dry.

After graduation awaits a carriage. At the coach's seat is Silver, sitting atop your favorite cheeky murderous vampire (soon to be step-father), and in front is Sebeck. The moment you step outside all three are kneeling at your feet with one hand on their chest.

Out steps Malleus, eager to welcome you to life beyond NRC walls. With a vast new world to explore, he senses your wings just beginning to spread for flight. It is then he strikes, dismissing his found family and kneeling at your feet. He takes your hand and produces a singular blood-red rose from thin air. Thorns still attached and stem long. He holds it out and requests you as his lover.

"I dare not clip your wings at first flight, yet can I trust in your homecoming to my side on land?"

You take the rose gently from his fingertips, and as the thorns prick your skin he smells fresh blood. Another trail surpassed, and he cannot fathom a life without you in it. Still kneeling on the floor, he takes your hand and places a soft kiss on each knuckle.

You become the lover of the future king. His weakness, and bargaining chip. Malleus's devotion to you is unquestionable and known throughout his entire kingdom. You would one day become their (King/Queen/Ruler), and any who dared to speak against it were snuffed before rumors could reach your ears

Malleus has his study extended to accommodate two. It is the only way he works proficiently, guided by the sound of you going about your own responsibilities across the room. He'd prefer you to never lift a finger - for you to be spoiled. Alas, you insist and who is he to deny? Especially when you are studying his native tongue to better communicate with his people

Well, that is the reason you gave. He knows better.

“Mon amour, je t'adore. Je tuerais pour toi. Je mourrais pour toi. Quoi qu'il en soit, c'est le bonheur”

Malleus insists on speaking to you in French. Not only because it is the language of his people, but because he delights in the way it sends a shiver down your spine. Your unhinged pleasure from the vibrations of his voice as he places kisses along your arms - he knows what it does to you.

After all, it has the same effect on him. Whether you reciprocate in his preferred language, or another that you've chosen to study. Somehow he knows exactly what you're saying (magic? who knows)

He cannot share lodgings with you quite yet. Ever the gentlemen, his desire must remain curbed until the day comes when he can chain you to his soul forever. Yet he knows you are not prepared for the process

Yet he does not hold back from sharing his displeasure on the matter. Every night ends with heated kisses at your door. His hands roaming everywhere you’ll allow as he pecks incessantly from your eyes to your cheek to your collar. Torturing himself, knowing that he must let you go in the one room he cannot enter. 

You are escorted everywhere in briar valley by him personally or his family. Malleus does not trust anyone other than himself, Lilia, Silver, or Sebeck to keep you safe and happy. His stubbornness has lead to government officials begging you to pacify him, or at least make him complete his work before going out 

If you eye anything for the briefest of moments while out, it is being purchased and sent to your living quarters. He has instructed this of the other three as well. 

Fresh flowers are cut each morning by his hand. They are arranged in a vase of his choosing and sent to your room along with breakfast. Malleus does not miss a day, and each arrangement has a specific meaning in the language of flowers. He feels extra smitten when you guess correctly. 

When at your side, you are his priority in all aspects. If it begins to rain then he enchants a waterproof bubble where you sit. If the ground is dirty, he would rather you step over his coat than tarnish your shoes. If you become tired then he will carry you throughout the kingdom without shame, be it on a stroll or flight. If you wear glasses, then he will always carry a handkerchief for you to clean them. 

If you say his tie looks lovely, then suddenly it is his favorite item in the world and he has five exact replicas. 

When you share a meal together, he offends his butlers by tending to your every need. Pulling out your chair, pouring your drink, and you are always seated at his side no matter if it is a social gathering or just the two of you 

Eventually there will come a day where not only are you a necessity for him, but for his people. When his self-fulfilled prophecy finally becomes reality and his final act of service begins 

For Fae, everlasting partnership begins with a quest. The more difficult the quest, the more bountiful the union will be. He had been biding his time for the day you’d ask something of him, and you did not disappoint. As future partner to the King, he would need to complete a life-changing quest in order to wed you 

Malleus once again finds himself in a firefly filled garden behind a rickety old dormitory. With stone gargoyle's glaring down at him from each corner, he presents you with the one thing no other in Twisted Wonderland succeeded in doing 

A gateway to your homeland. A mirror taken from the very room you once called home. How funny that the most confounded things end up coming with the simplest answers 

He gets on one knee, placing the mirror at your feet and pulling a ring from his breast-pocket. Its gem is fashioned from a piece of his personal mage stone, glowing bright green in contrast to the obsidian band it rests within. 

“On this night, I ask you to become my beloved. For eternity, until the stars fall from the sky and magma scorns us beneath the earth’s crust. Choose now, to join me in the future or dwell in the past. Know that my heart will beat only for you, in this world or any other,” 

Love is pain. A sin. Punishment. Malleus accepted this pleasureful agony the day he laid eyes upon you. He has placed you above all worldly desires. 

Now he asks for you to do the same. Destroy the gate you have been searching for and tie your life to his. His quest. 

He watches in satisfaction as your foot cracks glass, and slides the ring upon your finger with ease. He eyes the jewel with eyes full of love, knowing that you will never part. 

[daisydevorak]

New oc who this. 👀

This is Elur, my newest addition. They use all pronouns but prefers to go by they/them.

More infos under the cut, as always. 👀 +bonus alt outfit

[Their identity and backstory is a mystery but one thing I can say is that they’re blind]

Full name: Elur Age: "Not everything needs to be known.” Voice claim: TBA, but it's a deep, soothing and honeyed masculine voice, one you'd want to hear forever. Pronouns: Any, but prefers they/them Sexuality: Demi/Pan Height: 7'5" Familiar: None

"Patron" Arcana: Major Arcana Name: Temptation Upright meaning: Self care/love, attraction, sensuality, love of oneself and others, protection. Reverse meaning: Uncontrollable desires, greed, sacrificing selflessness, obsessive tendencies. Appearance: The centerpiece of the card is adorned by a golden snake guarding a jewelled sword. Wings sprout from its head only to cover its eyes, blinding it from the anthropomorphized feeling of temptation. The scaled creature guards the sword as if it's life depends on it, symbolizing how one must keep guard and cherish themself like a prized possession without falling into temptation to either give it to another or fail to protect it. Fav food: Anything warm and homemade Fav drink: Water Fav flower: White anemone

Positive Traits: Kind, avid learner, looks over others in a 'silent protector' way, wise, fond of children, generous, they possess an otherworldly beauty they must hide. Neutral Traits: Silent, gives off ethereal vibes, speaks in fleeting manners, avoiding most subjects that would reveal too much about them/their past, a little cocky on main, just a little bit out of touch, hyper-aware of their surroundings. Negative Traits: There's always a particular aura lingering around them, very secretive, can potentially trick you if your motives are unjust, grudge holder, completely blind.

Magic abilities: Revolves around wish making. If they judge the wisher's intentions to be pure and just, they will fulfill it with a bargain. Most often than not, they'll fulfill the children's wishes since they're mostly free from the feeling of greed and temptation adults relishes on, but there could be exceptions. Their walking stick is also a jewelled sword in disguise they can call upon if the need presents itself. The sword is golden in color and the handle is adorned by a myriad of colorful and precious gems.

History: "There are things that needn't to be told, this is one of those and I'd appreciate you don't tamper with my past."

[sunshineseung]

Sinner Part 2 // Felix

💌 Info: Stray Kids Felix x female!reader smut 💕 Includes: dom!reader x sub!felix, themes of religion, teasing, exhibitionism/fear of being caught, first time, loss of innocence, establishment of safeword, degradation and praise, oral/fingering (receiving), unprotected sex, riding, cum play, slight aftercare ✏️ Word Count: ~4.2k

Please read part one of this series first :) Thank you!

The rain was pouring in the pitch black outside, but the lights inside the church hall were bright as day. The only occupant of the church on this night was Lee Felix deep in prayer, oblivious to the storm outside. With hands folded and head bowed, he whispered his prayer through his lips, a slight echo of his words spreading through the otherwise empty room. 

Felix jolts up at the sound of the main entrance being opened and slammed shut quickly after. A feminine sigh can be heard, and Felix lets out a shy “hello” to the intruder of his private repentance time. 

“Oh, you’re here?” You say while entering the main hall, throwing your wet jacket over one of the pews. “I thought this place would have been empty.”

“What are you doing here?” Felix retorts immediately, slightly offended that of all people to walk in at this moment, it had to be you. 

“I should be asking you the same thing, little boy.” You shuffle the hair on his head, earning an annoyed grunt from him. “The bitch ass pastor’s making me clean the archives in the basement since I... caused some trouble earlier this week.”

“Caused some trouble? Is that all you have to say for yourself?” Felix was beyond offended at this point. If it wasn’t your name-calling of the pastor, it was your dismissal of your actions. “You and your group of friends painted sinful phrases on the side of the church!”

“It was all in good fun, damn. Chill out.” While, yes, spray painting God Loves Lesbians on the wall of the church was questionable, it was fun! And best of all, the pastor said he wouldn’t call authorities if you cleaned the basement. “It was worth it anyway. Did you see the look on his face? Priceless!” 

The boy was boiling with rage, but he held his anger back in fear of cursing or saying the Lord’s name in vain. Despite hating you, part of him wanted to save you. While not being the healthiest mindset, Felix felt like he could save anyone from sin, and he was going to try to save what he called the rodent of the congregation. 

“Now, if you don’t mind me asking, why are you here?” Your tone of voice edged on sarcasm, you having full knowledge of his nightly prayer. He had calmed down, remembering that he was in a place of the Lord. His face returned from red back to it’s normal hue, and he looked to you with gentle eyes.

“I was praying. I did some questionable things this week too.” His admission to sin took you aback. You didn’t expect everyone’s favorite boy to openly confide in you that he committed an act against his God, something you never thought he would do.

“What kind of questionable things?” Your interest was piqued, and his sudden bluntness was just what you wanted to see. What resides in the mind of Felix?

“I shouldn’t be telling you this.” He looks into his lap, a sudden wave of shyness clouding him. You sit next to him on the pew, patting his back to comfort him. Despite him being so critical of your actions, you did have a soft spot for the sweet boy. “I... pleasured myself.”

You almost burst out into laughter, but you had to suppress that for now, because the most holy person you knew just said he masturbated, and he felt bad about it. As someone who was not shy to doing that specific act among other ungodly things, to see someone repent for doing something totally natural in your eyes was otherworldly. 

“It’s okay, Felix. Sex is natural.” You attempted to comfort him, but you could tell by the deepness in his eyes that he still regretted what he did. Also, when you so casually said the word sex, he winced a bit since he hated the word so much. “You have nothing to be ashamed for. Everyone masturbates.” 

“You don’t understand!” The raise in his voice boomed through the desolate church hall, and you darted your look towards him in shock. “It wasn’t just that.” His voice got soft again, almost a whisper. You lean in to hear him. “I watched the most sinful videos. I thought about myself doing those horrid things. I feel filthy.”

“Lix, I understand completely. Do you think I haven’t done those exact name things?” You raise your eyebrow at him, and he timidly shakes his head. “You’re a young adult. This is normal. Don’t let it eat you up, okay?” 

“Okay.” His deep voice sent shivers down your spine, and it just hit you that you were basically giving him the birds and the bees talk. A comforting smile graces your face as you get up from your seat next to Felix. 

“I should go start cleaning the basement. Mind helping me?” You hold your hand out to him, offering some more time to spend with you. He reluctantly takes your hand, and you help him stand from the pew. You two silently make your way into the damp basement of your church. 

Dust, cobwebs, and the sent of mold cover the dreary basement as you and Felix step down. The conversation in the basement is much more lighthearted, but you can’t shake the image of Felix masturbating out of your head. You’ve never thought of the star child like that before, but his confession made you see him in a new light. He wasn’t above you. He was a teenager driven by sex and hormones like everyone else. 

Once the basement was tidy, books arranged on shelves and dust swept away, you exchanged phone numbers with the boy and headed on your merry way, but that was far from the last time you would hear from Felix.

Over the next two weeks, Felix would text you casually. It started as a nice, wholesome friendship: discussing classes, complaining about personal things, and sharing homework. No matter what the conversation topic was, your mind would wander to the more dark and depraved side of your persona. You wanted to pick his brain on a multitude of topics, but most of all: sex. Since confessing his scandal to you, you wanted to know if he did it again, what he’s into, or even if he’s thought about you.

One night, in a heightened state of mind, you text him a simple question: Have you jerked off since that night? Sure, you regretted it when you sobered up, but you got the answer you wanted... sort of.

I’ve wanted to, but I also want to get into heaven unlike some people. Wow, pointed. However, I have watched more... pornographic films??? Sometimes the girl puts the mans... in her mouth, and it’s scary. Why would someone want to do that?

After explaining to the poor boy what a blowjob is and why it’s amazing, he takes two days to respond to your text, something he’s never done before. It was radio silence, and you didn’t bother to try to garner a response, because you knew Felix was busy

After waiting what seemed like an eternity for a response, you got what you were praying for, and you were worried this would happen.

I’m sorry if this comes off as aggressive, but will you show me a blowjob? Like, perform a blowjob on me? I take back what I said about getting into heaven. I can always beg for forgiveness, but right now, I’m really frustrated. 

You’ve created a monster. 

When Felix escapes the attic after you give him what you believe to be his first sexual encounter with another person, you quietly reenter the congregation as if you didn’t just cause the prettiest church boy to bust a load on himself minutes before. 

“Darling, there you are!” Your mother holds her arms out to you after what you presumed to be a particularly moving speech from the pastor. “We’re having dinner with the Lee family tonight, and I’d expect you to be on your best behavior. Would you like to join us?” 

“I’d be happy to go, mom.” Fuck fuck fuck. This was supposed to be a one time thing, and as much as the idea of teasing Felix in front of his family excited you, you’d hate to get caught by your own family, although the devil in you was very willing to take that risk for the slightest bit of sexual satisfaction. 

“Great! We’ll head over at 5 o’clock. Please dress up, dear. Your current shirt looks wrinkled. What were y-” 

“I’ll dress up, don’t worry!” You cut her off, and her face scrunches, but you’d rather not have to deal with the wrath of your mother. Your father returns to your mother after having a short conversation with Felix’s father.

“Mr. Lee said Felix could be a good influence on you, Y/n.” The temptation to roll your eyes was strong considering the preceding events. “Pay attention to how he talks to his parents. You could learn something, sweetheart.”

As much as you wanted to cause a scene in the church from your father’s condescending tone, you were more focused on getting home and changing your soaked, ruined panties. Your family says their casual goodbyes to the other churchgoers, and you make your way back to the family car, hoping your father speeds home. 

“Honey, it’s time to go!” Your mother puts in her second earring as she yells up to your room from the bottom of the stairs. Your door wings open to reveal you in a short red skirt, low-cut white shirt, white dress shoes, and bright red lipstick. “You’re wearing that?”

“It’s fine, ma! Nothing they haven’t seen before!” You whisk past your mother and slide into the backseat of the family car, ready to have dinner with the boy of your nightmares. 

When you enter the Lee family household, you can tell Felix’s parents are judging you, but you didn’t dress like that for them. When Felix turns the corner and faces you, his eye practically bulge out of his head. His gaze is glued to your thighs, hips, bust, and lips, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. Judging by the sudden tightening in his pants, he clearly enjoys the view.

“Hello! Welcome to our house,” Felix’s mother escorts you inside to the living room. “Make yourself at home until dinner is ready.” She disappears into the kitchen while Felix’s father sits down on the couch and invites you and your family to sit with him. Felix shyly sits next to his father, although there was hardly any room for him to sit there. 

Your father and Felix’s father start talking about sports, while your mother goes on her phone. You make eye contact with Felix from across the couch, and his whole body tenses and he breaks into a nervous sweat. Aw, she’s so pretty, what do I do, what do I do, frick, frick, fuck.

Without saying a word, Felix gets up and runs out of the living room. Everyone darts their attention towards him, but no one tries to stop him. 

“Dinner’s re- where did Felix go?” His mother enters the living room, but her announcement is halted by the absence of her son. Everyone looks at each other, no one having answers for Felix's tantrum. "Would someone go get him please?"

"I got him." Your devious smirk should set the crowd off, but you make your way up the stairs to where you see Felix's bedroom door. His door had his name on it, so it was pretty clear what room was his.

"Go away." The second he hears your knock, he throws a pillow at his door, as if that would stop you from barging in. You see him sat on his bed, arms crossed, another pillow over his crotch, and his lip in a pout. "Why did you come here wearing that?"

He was definitely on the defense, and you've never seen Felix this angry since the night in the church. "I just thought this outfit was cute." Playing innocent might not have been the best idea at this moment, but you just had to calm him down and get him out to dinner.

"Yeah, it's a nice outfit, but I can see your butt whenever you turn around, and your cleavage is out, and I'm just very confused." He was frustrated at himself more than you. You sit next to him and put your hand on his shoulder, a familiar scene.

"Come down for dinner, and afterwards, I'll show you what I have under this outfit, okay babe?" Felix was so painfully tensed, every nerve of his was on edge. Your words were filthy, but he loved it so much.

He can't stop thinking about you. He wants to do everything to your body: eat you out, fuck your tits, spank your ass. He wants to do every sinful thing he's seen in those videos. Just imagining seeing you in your underwear makes him want to bust in his pants. You're driving him insane, and if Felix from a few weeks ago had seen what he has become, he would be disgusted.

You two make your way downstairs, Felix staring at your ass the entire time, and take your seats at the table. The dinner table was a circle, so you were seated right between Felix and your mother. Not the sexiest setting, but that wouldn't stop you.

The food was delicious, but halfway through, you placed your hand on Felix's thigh, and although you had him pecking the back of your throat earlier that day, he was still extremely sensitive to every touch. When your hand slid up his leg, he let out the quietest moan, and although the table was full of chatter between your parents, you were able to hear the precious sounds leaving Lee Felix as you swiped your hand across his twitching bulge.

Felix grabs your wrist and throws your arm back to you. He gives you a death stare, but his eyes are dark, and he looks so fucking needy. You meet his gaze and adjust your top, pulling it even lower than it already was. His eyes are glued to your tits, but you point down to your crotch, where you're fingering your self under the table. Felix bites his lip, but goes back to eating his food.

You take your wet finger and wipe it against his pant leg. Jesus fucking Christ, you were breaking this boy. His bulge was painfully large, and again, he felt like he could bust in his pants.

"I'm wet for you, baby boy. When dinner's over, do you want to taste me?" You whisper in his ear, and he closes his eyes tightly, trying not to fully fall for your tricks. His pathetic nod is all you need to go back to finishing your dinner, and he does the same, but his mind is fogged with the image of your naked body bouncing on his cock. So pathetic. So, so pathetic.

Dinner ends, Felix's mom takes the plates, and you and Felix disappear back into his room while the adults have their alone time to drink and chat. When he locks the door, you pin him to the wall and lick your lips. You stare him up and down, watching him as he panics. Everything he wanted to do to you escapes him, and he's putty in your hands.

Speechless, Felix rests his hands flush against the wall and tilts his head backwards, giving you full access to his neck. You take the opportunity to make dark hickeys along his neck, which will definitely be visible to his parents later. Your tongue against his skin makes him shudder, and mindless whimpers escape his lips.

"If you ever want to stop, the safe word is red, or snap twice. I'll only go as far as you want to, Lix." He nods, repeats what you said, and you go back to work on his neck.

"C-can I taste you?" His words are feint, but you're more than happy to take his request. You slip your skirt down to the floor and take off your tight shirt, giving Felix a full show of your lingerie you wore just for him.

"You've become such a whore for me, Lix." You traced his body with your hands, sliding your fingertips over his abs and chest. "Do you even know what to do with my pussy, huh? You're so innocent, I doubt you'd be able to make me cum."

His heart was racing, and he wanted nothing more than to prove you wrong. While, yes, he had no idea what he was doing, he wanted to taste your sweet release coat his tongue.

"Teach me." He was being bold. You'd never thought you'd see Felix this confident in this setting, especially since he was admitting to being inexperienced. You took his hands in yours and lead him to the bed. He watched you as you sat on the edge of the bed and spread your legs, giving him full access to your dripping cunt.

"Get on your knees, baby boy." He did as instructed, but this was the first time he was on his knees next to his bed to do anything other than pray. His hands ghosted over your thighs, scared to touch you without your permission.

"May I take off your panties?" You nod and lift your hips, allowing him to slide them down your legs. A string of wetness connected you with your panties, and Felix's mouth was watering. Your panties were discarded across the room, and you unhooked your bra and tossed it with the rest of your clothes. "Woah, you're so gorgeous."

You pet his blushing, freckled cheek, and coax him closer to your heat. His lips are hardly centimeters away from you, and you gently tangle your hand in his hair. "Lick my pussy, naughty boy. I know you want to."

Felix bites his lip before diving into your pussy, his tongue exploring every fold. Even though he doesn't know where the clitoris is, he knows that when he licks the top of your pussy, your thighs shake around him, so he circles his tongue through your cunt, and you give him the sweetest praise.

"Such a good boy for me, yeah?" You smile down at him, and the eye contact is intoxicating. You tighten around nothing when his tongue perfectly flicks over your clit. "Finger me, please, baby.”

He inserts his index finger into your core, and it feels like heaven to both of you. Felix imagines it's his cock inside you, and the thought of you tightening around him urges him to take his tight pants off without removing his mouth from your pussy.

"Bend your finger, my slutty little boy. Make your mistress cum on your pretty face." Your high was approaching, and you wanted Felix to work for it. He fucked his finger into you, adding his middle finger in the process. The more he looked at your heat, the more nervous he got, but from the wetness covering his fingers and lips, you didn't notice how nervous he was.

His fingers perfectly pushed into your g-spot, and your orgasm got miles closer. Your moans got louder, and no matter how close your parents were to hearing, you didn't quiet down. Felix loved your moans, and his cock twitches in his underwear.

"You're so hot, Y/n, please cum for me." His voice was hoarse and desperate, but you weren't that easy.

"Suck my clit. Make me cum all over your face, cutie." He aimlessly sucked at your folds, but when he found your clit, he never left that spot. Your violent moans of pleasure made him groan onto your clit, sending you over the edge. Your essence covered his fingers, and he lapped up every bit of your release. "Good boy."

You were out of breath, but Felix just started. He stood up and sat in your lap. You placed your hands on his hips, squeezing him and making him jolt. His erection was painfully pressed against his tight boxers, and you hooked your finger around the waistband and pulled them down his thighs. Although it had only been a few hours, his length never failed to impress you.

"Please fuck me, Y/n. I want to feel you on me." He was so desperate for any sort of touch. You lazily wrapped your hand around his cock and started stroking, but he grabbed your wrist, stopping you. "Ride me."

"Very demanding for a little slut, don't you think?" You throw him off your lap, his back harshly slamming onto the bed. Your legs surround his hips as you line your entrance with his cock, and he squeezes his eyes shut. His hands held onto your thighs as if it were life or death, and for him, it was.

Right before you lowered yourself onto him, he felt every negative thought enter his mind. What if I'm not good enough? What if I cum too soon? What if she hates me? What would my parents say if they caught us? God, please forgive me.

You see him grit his teeth, and you stop. You gently pet his cheek again, bringing him back to earth, and more importantly, bringing his attention back on your dripping core hanging over his cock.

Without warning, Felix grabs your hips and pushes you down onto him. He loses all control, and you love it. You stay still once he bottoms out, his face contorting into questionable expressions from the pleasure overwhelming him. He calms down, and you start to ride him, his cock sliding against your walls and filling you up perfectly.

You throw your head back and quicken your pace, chasing your second orgasm. Felix feels himself on the edge, but he holds back, fearful of what will happen if he cums inside you.

"Fuck, Felix, you feel so good." Your moans are so load, and the creaking of the bed is deafening. Felix's deep grunts and growls sound amazing, and his grip on your hips is tight enough to bruise. "So good, baby boy, so good."

His finger lingers to the familiar spot that is your clitoris, although Felix doesn't know that fully. He circles his finger around your sensitive bud, and his other hand grips your tit. His hands feel so good, and with one more press into your g-spot, you coat his cock in your cum. He thrusts into you when you tighten around him, and his orgasm is threatening to release, but he refuses to be the father of a child with someone who he is not married to.

You ride out your high on his cock, and when you return back to earth, you remove yourself and harshly wrap your hand around his cock. Your pumps are violent, and his body is aching for an orgasm. You bend over and lick the tip, his cum coating your tongue and face. He opens his eyes, cum squirted onto your face, and he's sure you'll be mad at him, but you lick your lips, collect his cum from your face, and swallow every last drop.

Without a word, you topple over next to him, and you rest your head on his chest. He hesitantly wraps his arm around you, and you muzzle into him.

"You're so good for me, Felix." You whisper into him, but he hear every word. He smiles, unable to speak after the intense orgasm he just experienced. "We need to go back downstairs, you know?"

After a few moments of silence, Felix speaks up. "Y/n, this is... wrong." He sits up, your head falling onto the bed and his arms holding him up. "We shouldn't have done this."

"Did you enjoy it?"

"Yes, b-"

"Then nothing is wrong." You pat his back, admiring the defined muscles. You sit up with him and look at the clothes scattered across the room. "Sex isn't bad, Lix."

"This just goes against what I've been taught my entire life." He pauses, deep in thought. "Sex is good." He repeats under his breath.

You stand up and stretch, your ass catching Felix's eye. He sighs and accepts his actions, clearing his floor of the discarded clothing and getting dressed again.

"Felix, can I borrow a hoodie?" You hold up a hoodie from the local Christian radio station, and Felix shrugs. "Thanks, babe."

"Y/n, do you like me?" You stop in your tracks after Felix's question, and you honestly don't know how to answer. Did you like Lee Felix?

"I'm not sure, but maybe we could go on a date sometime." Your tone was casual, but your mind was racing. Before this, you thought you didn't have feelings for the cute little church boy, but now that you've been confronted with it, you didn't know how to feel.

"... Sure."

[purekesseltrash]

My Fic List

Whelp, decided I should do one of these.  I have mostly written for Hockey RPF and BNHA, as you have likely already seen!

My BNHA Fics

Bury Them Deep

- “Shouji Mezou's entire life has revolved around being a goalie and playing hockey since he was five years old. After being drafted in the third round in the NHL, Shouji has two more years of college before moving on to playing professional hockey like he's always wanted. Or at least like he always thought he wanted. An injury that ends his season throws him into a tailspin, forcing him to take a look at his life and how he is going to live it, especially after meeting his fascinating new goth history tutor.”

(This bad bitch is 81k total and is chock full of my red hot hockey takes and midwestern references.  I love it very much and it is a sweet baby.)

The Rooftop Necromancy series AKA my black metal band AU:

Downhill from Here 

- “ Hizashi just wants to tour the country with his best friends with their metal band in their shitty van like they've been planning for years. He'd successfully hidden his crush on one of them for years, after all, he would definitely be able to make this work and keep things fun and uncomplicated. Until Aizawa decided to start acting weird. “

(In which I take you all on a nostalgic trip to 2006-2008 metal culture and you can see the black metal love song that my dumb ass wrote.)

The Perfect Mistake

- “ It wasn't as though Hizashi had planned on breaking up with his boyfriend while they were on tour in a tiny cargo van with no room and no peace. He would have much rather preferred to do it when they were home and he could easily go and crawl back into his mom's basement. But he didn't have a choice. “

(As relationships tend to do, theirs goes through problems.)

Rooftop Necromancy

-"He’d even ended up leaning into the crowd when someone’s elbow had connected solidly with his nose and thrown him back. They’d gone quiet as Hizashi got himself up to his feet, ripped off his now bloody ‘Within Temptations’ tshirt from 2004, whipped his hair back from his face and screamed, “That’s what I’m FUCKING talking about.” into the mic.

They went wild for it, cheering as blood ran down his nose, past his mouth and dripped onto the stage, leaving him feeling like an otherworldly monster performing an occult ritual. Metal, he thought dazedly to himself, why in the fuck had he ever stopped doing metal."

(I hyperfocused so hard at the idea of Mic as a metal head that I wrote this in seven straight hours and WROTE THROUGH THE ATTEMPTED COUP ON DEMOCRACY WITHOUT KNOWING IT.  It’s a bit rough, but it’s got some good parts and it spawned the whole damn series.)

Hands Up

- "But of course he had, they had always been able to read each other and what they meant. That had often been their problem, if he was going to be honest."

(In which they figure their shit out.  Basically it was written when I was thinking alot about how my own mental health had evolved through the years.  It’s basically the story of two people who are both very good for each other and also very bad and how they deal with that.  It’s probably the most personally meaningful thing I’ve ever written.)

The other BNHA fics:

Waking Up With Ghosts

-"Hizashi opened his eyes to a world that belonged to ghosts. His headphones were gone and the gray, grimy world that he felt more than saw was muffled and still. This was bad, he hazily thought."

In which we follow Hizashi shortly after the events of 296. How he's found, how he finds out and how he has to tell.”

(I fished this one out of the garbage of my Google Docs because I’d written most of it and forgotten about it.  I dragged it out, prettied it up a little and threw it up on AO3.  It is by far my most well read BNHA fic, go figure.)

Leave Her Johnny

-”Captain Hizashi Yamada has combed the Seven Seas looking for the elusive smuggler Eraserhead. He has spent years searching for him, tracking his movements and trying to anticipate where he would be next. But he had never considered what would happen when he finally found him. “

(I wrote a paragraph of this and was immediately like ‘I MUST CREATE THIS’.  I take some chances writing wise in this as the whole thing is done in a Victorian Era ish style of writing.  But I think it’s effective and the ending is likely one of the best that I’ve ever managed.  I’m proud of it.)

Gold Rush

-”"That earned him a laugh and Mashirao’s smile made something in his chest ache, something that made him want to hurt. Why had he ever left?

“I’m really not,” Mashirao was saying but Shinsou just shook his head and kissed him once, twice and wished he could take the sunny afternoon and make it stay forever. Make it stay forever like Mashirao somehow had, while the neighborhood had adjusted without Hitoshi’s permission.

“You are,” he said, “And I love it.”

I love you, he should have said.  But as Mashirao’s eyes softened and the blonde pushed him back against the bed, Hitoshi knew he didn’t need to say it."

(You know how sometimes you listen to a Death Cab for Cutie song about gentrification over and over until a fic comes out?  Because that’s basically what happened here.)

Black Sun

‘"But then he remembered the way that Shouji had eaten the night after, one hand curled into his hair as he hung back in the corner. Shouji hid when something was wrong, like a wounded cat trying to find a dark place to either live or die and he was being released tomorrow. Now was the time to push or he’d find Shouji right back on his bed, staring at nothing."

Something happened to Shouji on the beach. Tokoyami is sure of it.‘

(Aaaaaand Death Cab for Cutie strikes again.  But heyo, my first published ShouToko and it is SOFTTTTT)

In the Far and Mighty West

Mic came closer and despite himself, Shouta could not find it in him to feel afraid. “You won’t understand, not really. I’ll try, though. I’m like Pecos Bill or Paul Bunyan or a jackalope or that fish that your friend caught that he swears he brought in but that you’ve never seen proof of. I’m the herd of dogies moving sweet and steady in the right direction, I’m no stragglers to worry about, I’m that perfect dog that’s there to keep them in line. I’m that group of good friends that you would kill for, I’m the woman who you’re dying to come home to, I’m that promised home of milk and honey. I’m Mic.”

Shouta stared at him dazedly and licked his lips, feeling drunk and stupid as he stared at the man. “You’re… magic?”

“I suppose you could call me that.”

(Cowboy!Erasermic.  Inspired heavily by American Gods and my own love of folk heroes.)

In Your Violence

- “'Mezou frowned, eyes narrowing. “Are you trying to say that you’re scared that I’ll be killed by having faith in you?”

“It would be in your best interest to stay away from me,” Fumikage finally said, his voice falling flat and quiet. “I am destined to be a monster.”

'Mezou gets the call he fears, the one that says that Fumikage has lost control again. But this time it's different, in more ways than one.”

(I listened to Silence by Marshmello until I went insane in this is the result.  Featuring some of my super depressing headcanons about Shouji!  But it’s not awful.)

My hockey fics that I still like:

Hufflepuff Halfwit  

- ““Zhenya, the wind is coming from the west, I will not remind you again. You shut that window before the house stinks of factories!” She snapped and Geno stared at the owl as though maybe it would know what to do. But instead, it had given a little hoot and wiggled inside, only to drop it’s letter on the counter.

He turned his head very slowly back to look at his mother, who had suddenly gone very quiet. “It… just showed up, Mama. And um. It brought a letter.” He waited again, looked back at the owl who had begun to nose at the pirozhkis in interest and then looked back at his mother with the best puppy dog eyes he had ever attempted. “Can I keep it?”

(This is a part of my hockey/Harry Potter au that still legitimately haunts my dreams.  It’s basically a Sid/Geno in Hogwarts but I really love the world building I got to do with Koldovstoretz, the Russian school of wizardry.  Don’t read ‘On the Word of a Slytherin’ though, I’m not as proud of that one.)

The Prince  

- “What the fuck.” Matt breathed out, sitting back heavily onto his hotel bed as he stared at his phone.

‘This is Henrik.’ The text read. ‘I would like to meet you. I will book a room in Pittsburgh at your convenience. Let me know what time will work for you.’  - 

(Listen, it’s Henrik Lundqvist/Matt Murray smut, I feel like that is novel and interesting and worth your attention.  I wax poetic on goalies in this, as you do.)

The Zoo of Toronto 

- “No one missed it when a massive porcupine had shuffled in between the reporters with a single minded focus, pushing media away until it was able to grip onto Phil’s suit pants and try to pull itself up. He hadn’t been able to do more then besides pick the animal up before it could shred his pants to shreds and walk out of the locker room before the decision had been made with the Toronto media.

Phil Kessel was guilty.” 

(Not gonna lie, this is probably my favorite of the hockey fics I’ve written.  And it’s Phil/Carl, which is never found anymore but it was a good pairing.)

[sylverstorms]

Forbidden Fruit

Pairing: Priya x MC (Rose) x Kamilah

Warnings: Heavily! NSFW aka pure sin. Minors, avert your eyes. The rest, prepare to be tainted.

Words: ~1800

A/N: Another request fic, I hope it’s everything you wanted. Enjoy!

Prompt by:

Loud bass. Strobe lights. The comfort of alcohol.

Questionable choices.

Those were the only things Rose was aware of as she raised the forth shot of the night to her lips and downed it in one go. A trail of fire slipped down her throat, its burn more tolerable by the minute. The empty glass was pushed towards the bartender with a vague gesture for a refill. The handsome man regarded her cautiously for a moment, the ‘you sure this is a good idea?’ type of look, before complying.

Of course, Rose was sure.

She was certain going to Priya’s club to drink, dance, let loose and forget how shitty her life had gotten within the last months was most definitely not a good idea. Adrian had warned her to stay away from ‘that place’, Kamilah had pretty much forbid it. Which was exactly what made Rose go, in the end, against all common sense.  

Defiance was as sweet and toxic as the tequila slipping down her system.

Perhaps Kamilah would know –she probably would and Rose was counting on it— the following days and be irritated over it. The secretary dared even hope upset, but that was a long shot for the stone-faced ancient. She was fine with getting even just a mild rise out of her. Anything, other than the cold-shoulder treatment the queen had been giving her, as of late.

‘This won’t work for us. It’s too dangerous. It was a mistake.’ Kamilah had said. Only she’d said it a tad too late, after the human had gone and developed feelings for her she was stupid enough to think were returned.

“Ah. I thought I smelled something delicious.” A familiar voice came from behind, light and throaty.

Rose made to turn around to meet its owner, but a cold, unyielding body blocked her movement. Priya, as always, had zero regard for personal space. Rose hated that she never quite hated it. The designer’s expensive, chocolaty perfume and subtle hair conditioner were impossible to ignore, even over the many scents of the club. Impossible to dislike. The human caught herself breathing in a little deeper.

“And what are you doing here, little bird, so far from the safety of the nest?” Full, dark lips leaned tantalizingly close to her ear.

“Well, it is a club…” Rose gestured, greatly appreciative of the liquid courage in her veins. She couldn’t push Priya off if she tried, so she didn’t even attempt it. Merely turned back to her drink, trying –failing— to ignore the fingers playing with the very tips of her wavy hair. Come on, Rose, you’re drunk enough to focus on the shot…    

“That it is.” Priya slipped from her back to her side, casually leaning against the counter, never too far.

Rose shouldn’t feel the loss of contact so acutely. She willed her eyes to stay glued on her drink, but they didn’t obey, turning of their own volition to the designer, in awe of how good her silver dress looked against her caramel skin. She glowed like an angel. Or, more accurately, like a demon in the guise of one.

Priya raised her long fingers in a deliberately slow motion, knowing, too well, she held every bit of Rose’s attention. She took a sprinkle of salt between them, then turned to lick at her other wrist, never breaking eye-contact with Rose. The secretary had to hold her breath, while an ache settled low in her stomach. She pressed her thighs a little tighter together. Priya dropped the salt onto her wrist and held a lime between her teeth with a sexy little wink.

Her arched eyebrow was a challenge; ‘do you think you can play?’

Rose shouldn’t. She knew she shouldn’t. Indulgence with Priya was fatal, but she made temptation so difficult to resist. The secretary did not shy away from the hunger in her eyes. She leaned in, licking the salt off the designer’s smooth skin, lingering just a tad over non-beating veins. Then she downed her shot… and went for the lime.

Priya smirked as the secretary sucked on it, both loving its sourness and loathing the fact it was between them. The vampire fixed the problem for her, taking the lime off her mouth to replace it with her lips. 

Oh. Rose’s brain halted. 

She didn’t think it was possible for a kiss to feel so slippery and so good, but the way Priya moved, the way her tongue coaxed hers only to leave her wanting more, proved otherwise. Cold hands once again framed her waist, crushing their bodies together, sharp nails digging in.

Rose hissed from the sting, but Priya only chuckled, following her for another prolonged liplock. By the time she pulled back, the secretary could barely stand. She was pretty sure there would be crescent marks on her skin the next morning, but they were not as insistent an ache as the one between her legs.

The vampire seemed to notice, her gaze an abyss as she stared at Rose, ready to devour her. Her fingers closed around her wrist in a vice grip, pulling, too fast, towards the back room.

“Stop right there.” A growl came from behind them, halting their steps.

Rose whipped around to see Kamilah, far more agitated than she’d ever imagined. There were ominous shadows around her eyes, a petrifying coldness to her aura. She was furious, like a wildfire about to burn everything to the ground. Holy…

Priya, however, only laughed. Her chin dropped to Rose’s shoulder, an arm around her waist. “And why would I, stick-in-the-mud? Have you forgotten this is my kingdom?”

“It’s my human you’re laying hands on.” Kamilah took another step forward, a clear warning. Rose gulped. That was terrifying…ly Hot, her horny brain added. “Drop them before you lose them.”

“Yours?” Priya smirked challengingly. “I don’t see your mark on her.” she guided her hair out of the way to make her point. “I don’t smell your scent.” she said it against Rose’s neck, just to anger Kamilah further. “But she’s a big girl. If she doesn’t want to have fun with me, she can walk away before it begins.”

“Come, Rose. Let’s go.” Kamilah said.

But the secretary… wasn’t so sure. “You can’t just toss me and pull me back on a whim.” she stated. “If you’re going to let go, then let go.”

Priya smirked victoriously and began leading her to the next chamber with deceptive gentleness. Backward steps, so she could gloat at Kamilah’s look all the way. 

The vampires feeding on their every desire in the Red Room looked up with hungry eyes when the pair passed them by, but the look their clan leader gave them was an order in itself –‘this one is for me alone’.

The final room was a decadent space filled with dark tiles and black sheets, a wardrobe Rose wasn’t sure she wanted to open out of fear of what it contained and a four-poster, queen-sized bed whose purpose was clear. There were no windows. No means of escape.

“Welcome to my sanctum, doll.” Priya spoke by her ear, from behind. A cold finger traced across her shoulders, to the zipper of her dress. The human shivered. “Now come, let me see you.” The fabric pooled, crimson as blood, at Rose’s feet. The designer’s lips latched onto her neck as though they couldn’t wait to drink from it. “Let me taste you.”

Rose could only moan at the feel.

Half a second later, the room was spinning; she was pushed onto the bed and harshly pinned there. The vampire, out of her own dress and clad only in black, lacy lingerie, pushed up between her legs, biting underneath her jaw with blunt teeth. Rose bit her lip not to cry out, but she was certain she’d already stained through her white underwear and her control over her body’s primal cravings was fading fast.

Priya pulled back to regard her with glowing red eyes. Rose wanted to commit the wild beauty to memory, though wasn’t given time to. The designer moved fast, ducked, pushed twin needles into her skin. 

Rose really did cry out, then.

The sensation was different with every vampire, but no less addictive for both parties involved. Priya hurt, at first. A lot. Enough to drive the human to tears. Then all the cutting chill and pain shifted into boundless pleasure, mind-numbing, toe-curling, deep and so very dark. Rose wanted to push her fangs deeper into her veins, as far in as they would reach. She was already on the edge of her orgasm…

When Priya’s head was extracted from her neck. 

Rose was shocked to see Kamilah there, fangs bared and hissing, followed by the younger vampire’s animalistic growl. And yet, somehow, even the sight of Priya with her fangs stained red and trails of blood down her chin only served to ignite Rose further.

It occurred to her they were one step away from pouncing on each other, so she did the only thing she could.

She pushed herself up and between them.

Priya’s eyes flitted from her body, to her wound, to Kamilah. The elder queen leaned down to lick the blood as though she couldn’t help herself. Rose groaned. Then the designer was pressed to her front once more, tipping her chin up to kiss down her throat, a slender finger hooking into her panties and pulling them to the side.

Rose had no time to wonder what was happening. Everything was touch and slippery chill and heat and she couldn’t tell who was caressing her where. Kamilah’s nails moved up her thighs. Her fangs barely prickled at a lower spot on her neck. Priya was toying with her center, lips and tongue at her breast.

“I –ah!— I can’t—!” she panted –cried?— one hand finding purchase on Kamilah’s hair, the other on Priya’s shoulder. She was burning with the need to crumble into pieces in their arms. To come all over Priya’s fingers while Kamilah was biting her, but she wasn’t even certain if she could take that—  

Both vampires moved, then. Two sets of fangs sank into opposite sides of her jugular and Rose lost her mind, her body, the bed beneath her knees. She screamed against the tidal wave of pleasure, coating and clenching around Priya’s fingers. It was too much, otherworldly, enough to shatter her mind. 

Her orgasm felt never-ending… until the world started to grow dark.

Kamilah was the first to pull away, then pushed at Priya to stop. The designer leaned back with a satisfied hum, licking her full lips. Her sexy smile and red eyes were hypnotizing in the blur settling over Rose’s mind, the exhaustion crawling across her limbs…

Her eyes began to droop. Her body to fall. Kamilah’s hand curled around her head and gently guided her to the plush pillows. Rose fought down the urge to surrender to sleep, yet it was overpowering.

The echo of Priya’s soft, insistent mouth and Kamila’s caring, firm touch followed her to the land of dreams.  

[lexsssu]

Shall We Date: Worship Me AU - Uriel (Avatar of Chastity)

What if the MC gets transported to the Celestial Realm instead? What if the angels were the love interests?

GENERAL HCs

Uriel — “The Flame of God/God is my Light”

Has a penchant for perfection

Give him a task and you bet your ass he’ll come back finished with results so phenomenal you’re sure that if you did it, there’s no way it would turn out this great

Reserved, but not exactly anti-social

It’s not that he doesn’t want to talk about himself whenever people ask about him, but it’s just that he thinks there are a million other things that are worth more to converse about than his exploits or the things he enjoyed

Chastity doesn’t just mean staying pure by abstaining from sexual relations and the lack of temptations one experiences, but being placed in the face of temptation and yet staying true to one’s morals. This is why Uriel doesn’t condemn anyone who decides to engage in such acts, whether within the sanctity of marriage or not, whether it is done because all parties hold sincere feelings for one another or not.

Gone is the ancient time and the rules that once applied then cannot be the same for current times. This is why Uriel has made it his mission to continuously study about humans, to stay up to date with the way they thought and felt so as he can better serve as a guiding beacon to them

When he’s not busy with his regular duties, you would normally find Uriel at the Celestial realm’s library with stacks of reference books on his table. Time is nothing to them, which is why for him it felt as if humans changed too quickly in so little time

An ideology that may have taken decades or centuries to form is but a blink of an eye to them which is why Mr. Perfectionist can’t help but immediately want to be informed in the hopes that it will help him improve himself

If he doesn’t keep adding and updating to his knowledge then how can he even hope to be one of the guiding virtues of humanity with outdated ideals?

Ideals can and will change over time, but his morals are the one thing that Uriel will never change.

His mind and body may be corrupted over time, because eternity is such a long time indeed, but the morals that made him who he is, what HE is will always stay the same

Tbh you can’t tempt this guy with anything

If you do manage to “tempt” him, know that you didn’t actually succeed but he just liked/pitied you enough to go with whatever fuckery you wanted him to commit

That's why he normally agrees with whatever bullshit his twin brother, Gabriel, tries to wrangle him into

Uriel ain't doing it because Gabriel tempted him, but because he loved his twin so much that he's willing to indulge him whenever he wanted to fuck shit up

Gabriel is the one who starts messes and Uriel is the one who just lets him be, because he's a supportive big brother

...Much to most of the other virtues' ever increasing stress

Is an advocate of "actions speak louder than words"

He's a serial head-patter

Will boop your nose when he notices you're a bit too lost in your thoughts

Azrael is normally the victim of his headpats and nose-boops

Since he makes it his job to know all that IS known, he finds some modicum of interest in that of the UNknown

Things like extraterrestrial beings for example. Basically, anything that didn't belong to any of the 3 worlds was within his scope of interest

If you check his YouTube history you'll see it's filled with UFO sightings, conspiracy theories, UMAs, etc.

Probably joined that raid in Area 51 while undercover—

Asks Gabriel to bring him souvenirs and pictures whenever his job takes him to a location near hotspots for UMAs, UFOs, and other strange otherworldly phenomena

Reminds Azrael every now and then to inform him if he ever ferries a soul that had come across any UMA and ask them about their encounter

As the virtue of chastity, it's up to him to teach the little cherubims about the birds and the bees as part of their training to become full-fledged angels

More often than not, his terminology and clinical way of explaining has traumatized most of the little ones…

...much to Raphael's increasing stress

"And then the man will place his pe*** inside the woman's va**** where he would start thrusting continu—"

What's worse is that he even has diagrams for it

So many little cherubims lost their innocence to Uriel-sensei…

He doesn't purposely try to annoy Raphael unlike Gabriel, it's just that his actions and way of going about things aren't the way most people would fo it and what's worse is that he unintentionally traumatizes people

And it's usually up to Raphael to do damage control on all the virtues' behalf

Raphael almost killed him that day he had to give that talk to Luke and his batch

"...What's wrong about telling them what happens between a man and a woman? It's biology and something that's done frequently by humans"

He doesn't see the point of beating around the bush when their purpose was to teach the new recruits about humanity and everything about them, including how they reproduce

Favorite food is pancakes…

...because they look like flying saucers

Uriel enjoys stargazing at night, not just to look at the heavenly bodies but to spot any UFOs if he's lucky enough

He isn't particularly bad at cooking, but he's not great either

Pancakes are what he's most confident in cooking and he makes the best darn ones in all of the celestial realm

If he's the only one left at home and you're sick, don't expect chicken soup and be ready instead for a stack of warm and fluffy pancakes topped with some butter and generous helping of syrup, whipped cream, berries, and etc.

When the day finally comes that he falls in love with someone...the 3 worlds will know true fear—

But legit though, all those millennia of being a single pringle and practicing so much restraint flies out the window when this man finds himself utterly and deeply in love with you

JP VA: Daisuke Ono

ENG VA: Matthew Mercer

ROMANTIC HCs

He's read so much about the different forms of love and has felt them all except for romantic love so he's a bit rattled at first

Probably coops himself up in his room for a day or two to get his bearings

When he does finally step foot out of his room, there isn't any obvious changes at first but you can't help but feel that there's something different about Uriel

Uriel is now a man on a mission

As perfectly as he executed his tasks for millennia, as fierce as he wielded his flaming sword during the Great War against the rebels, and as ruthless as he was when he faced the truly wicked…

…Uriel will have you

Of course, regardless of how much he wanted you to become his that didn't mean he suddenly turned into some sort of barbaric brute that kidnapped women for sport

He will study you so thoroughly that at times it almost feels like he knows you more than you know yourself

The little mannerisms you make during your everyday life that escape your notice? It's a given that Uriel has seen and already safely filed them away in his mind for future reference

"...She likes pointing with her lips?...Cute…" What he wouldn't give to catch you doing that while he was with you so he could partake of your lips as well—

Once he’s interested in you, only God knows at this point what has to be done for him to even lose a small bit of it

You have essentially become a key figure in Uriel’s world

Uriel always has you at the back of his mind to the point that it could even be called obsessive

However, he’s still the virtue of chastity so you don’t have to worry about him ever forcing himself upon you or anything of that sort

He’s super clingy and sorta weird, but he loves you and the last thing he wanted is for you to become sad because of him or anything else

Though he honestly can’t deny that seeing the myriad of expressions on your face, from happiness to sadness, to surprise, excitement, anger, and etc. was one of his favorite hobbies ever since falling for you

Despite his earnest wish to make you his, Uriel surprisingly takes a long time to even confess

He’s a perfectionist so it’s a given that he’ll take everything into account, including how he’ll make you fall for him first before he even thinks about confessing

Bothers Raphael for some “research material” on how to woo you a.k.a. borrow some romance manga despite Raph’s initial protests

For the sake of his own sanity, Raph begrudgingly lends Uri his stash of romance manga

It’s both hilarious and somewhat disturbing to see how taken he is with something other than work and UMAs

Amused: Michael, Cainabel, Gabriel, Simeon

Scared/Disturbed: Raphael, Luke

Neutral/Confused: Seraphiel, Azrael

Secretly plays the alto saxophone, but doesn’t deem his skill worthy enough for you to hear so he practices when he’s absolutely sure that no one is there to hear him when his skills aren’t yet up to his standards

Lowkey jealous when you hangout with the demon brothers and tries to find ways to distract you from hanging out with them

“ I seem to have seen a creature most extraordinary earlier. I believe it was one of the UMAs detailed in the tome for mysterious dwellers of the nether. Mayhaps you’d like to accompany me on a hunt? ”

His face is as straight-laced as it always is, but if you knew him long enough and looked closer, you’d notice that his ears seemed to have the slightest twinge of redness to them.

Honestly speaking, he tries to be a smooth and cool boi when it comes to you, but this dork seems to lose all his tact when faced with the radiance of your eyes and the intensity of your smile

With how long it takes him to make everything perfect before he woo’s you, time and space itself will cease to exist before he finally deems himself ready

So you have to do the wooing yourself and show him that you love all of him, imperfections and quirkiness included

[dboliklover]

Tainting The Angel So That She Falls: - Sakamaki Brothers

These ended up being long - typically for me - but since I’ve been a bit slow in pumping out content lately (*cough* here is a link to chapter 2 of my Yandere Zuko x Reader x Yandere Azula fic that has been occupying my time. Chapter 2 has links to both the Prologue and Chapter one at the start of it) I decided that I’d publish these seperately for each boy as I write them, and add links to the other boys’ headcanons as I write them.  So far I have Shu and Reiji done. Will add Ayato’s, Laito’s, Kanato’s and Subaru’s shortly, I’m working on Ayato and Laito’s ones as I publish these. 

Shu

You were a righteous angel. A high-ranking celestial presence amongst filth of the Earth

Everyone, including yourself, believed you were incorruptible. You were the perfect, ideal angel; one of God’s favourites, even.

The first time you met Shu was when he was a young boy. You had landed on Earth during a mission and fell in a forest near a village, where two young boys rushed over to you, asking if you were okay.

You noted one was a vampire but felt no malice from him - if anything he was even pure of heart for a being such as himself.

He was friends with a human child, too, so you figured that you wouldn’t even try to harm him. He was young, and perhaps there may be some good to come from him in the future.

They helped you, and then you assured them you would be well.

The vampire boy was on your mind for several days, but then you moved on with your existence onto other matters.

Seasons passed as fast as decades and you were back in the same place as you had been a century or two prior, this time having heard reports of “dark influences” across the town, you were tasked with helping a junior angel learn how to ‘take care’ of ‘demonic’ beings as her supervisor.

In order to do this, however, you soon found you’d have to “fit in” with the other humans - most notably - an academy for teenagers.

The idea was less than entertaining for you. The thought of pretending to be a 16-year-old Girl, to you, was...not ideal.

Still, you and your assigned lower-rank angel (who was basically your student, really) disguised yourselves as students to track down specific otherworldly beings and ‘destroy’ them.

The moment your eyes met with his, you knew who he was. He’d grown well, at least on a physical level. Then again it had been at least two centuries since you had last seen him when he was oh-so-tiny and young.

His eyes were tired - a tiredness of the soul, hardened by life.

You didn’t think he knew who you were, though.

It was bittersweet for you. You’d let him be when he was a child but now he had become a fully grown vampire - and your new task was to rid of him.

But you were dutiful, and so that was exactly what you were going to do.

Posing as a young teenage girl, you attempted to try to get close to him, it was no easy task; he couldn’t know you knew who - what - he was, and he couldn’t find out you weren’t a human.

With time and much effort, you managed to “get to know” him. Did you feel bad for lying about who you were? Perhaps a little, but it was in the name of the divine.

As time passed, it got harder to lie to him, not because he was more suspicious of your intentions but because you found yourself actually beginning to like him, feeling emotions that were certainly forbidden.

Any advances were ignored by you and you feigned innocence and naivety that you were none the wiser of his attempts. They weren’t exactly subtle - he had the filthiest of minds, you found. But with every month you spent on Earth befriending him, the harder it got for you to try and kill him - and his brothers.

What you couldn’t have expected was that he was going to trap you in your own web of lies. You were alone with him in the Music Room after almost an entire year on Earth. Your assistant angel was beginning to become worried - wondering why the two of you haven’t killed the vampires and moved on with your task, yet.

You assured her that time held little significance in the scale of things, but that was a lie towards the divine, now. The truth was you desired more time with him.

He was strange and unbecoming and yet you found yourself falling for him - disgusted by yourself for it. He was a creature of the dark, and you could never be. You reminded yourself of the fact you’d have to betray him.

And in the Music Room, you were as he slept by the windowsill. The two of you sat in silence, no words required, and with a burdened heart you pulled out your heavenly blade and stood carefully, ready to strike him while he was still docile. He was a tired individual, so you hoped to make this quick and that he wouldn’t fight back.

Just as you swiftly moved your arms down to strike him in the heart, his hand grabbed your wrist with bone-crushing tightness. He scoffed and opened on of his eyes, as though this was nothing more than a small annoyance.

“Did you actually think it would be this easy to kill me?”

His words tore through you and you desperately tried to get your wrist out of his grasp

“I know who you are, (Y/N).”

Freezing and wide-eyed you stared at him. He manoeuvred the blade from your hands so it fell onto the floor and pushed you away, then pulled you up only to pin you against the wall, glaring at you.

Tears welled in your eyes, and you found yourself unable to fight him; you didn’t want to hurt him.

He seemed to realise this, realise you could destroy him where he stood but you were emotionally unable to bring yourself to do it.

You were in love with him.  

He kissed you. Bewildered you tried to push him back but then found yourself falling down into temptation, seduced by this gorgeous creature of sin.

It wasn’t until after the fact that you realised your mistake, but it was too late; your excellent pure wings that you’d been hiding in your human form revealed themselves by force, the glamour you held over them breaking. You gasped and wept in desperation was they rotted from a snowy white to a deathly black.

You have sinned.

And Shu wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Reiji: Click here for Reiji’s “Tainting the Angel so that she falls” headcanon/scenario

Ayato: WIP

Laito: WIP

Kanato: WIP Subaru: WIP

- Mod Rozalia 

[utterlyinevitable]

Hurricane

Paring: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Rebecca Lao)  Word Count: 1.5k Warning: Nothing but the story will be rated T+ Summary: A hurricane is falling over Boston and Edenbrook and it’s surrounding area has been evacuated. 

Author’s Note: This was inspired by an anon prompt request for “protection”. I hope I did it justice! This will also be a multi part story.

Taglist: @ohchoices​@dulceghernandez​ @aylamwrites​ @binny1985​ @ramseysno1rookie​ @interobanginyourmom​ @queencarb​ @imactuallytheceoofthecompany @rookiefromedenbrook​ @eramsey28​ @choicesficwriterscreations​ @heauxplesslydevoted​ @schnitzelbutterfingers​ @purpledragonturtles​ @ramseyandrys​ @ermidc​ @mrsdrakewalkerblog​

________________________________________

There’s a hurricane encroaching on Boston in the early-autumn evening; the sky was ominous as bullets descended in every which way. The moon is full and the tide will be high at 8PM. A seemingly cosmic prank. Although Edenbrook is technically five feet from the flood zone, after the destruction that was Hurricane Sandy a few years prior the board was not taking any chances, deciding to evacuate all patients and staff. 

Harper was in charge of triaging patients, scattering them to three other hospitals closer inland. Ethan was reviewing cases for any patients who aren't in critical conditions and can be discharged into their families care immediately. As Chief, Naveen was delegating staff; he had his assistant send a precautionary page to all employees who live in the flood zone to return home and get their affairs in order. He’s already assigned almost all of the senior attendings, nurses and interns to assist alternate hospitals in the area. Once half of the eager staff members were assigned, all others would be on leave until Edenbrook opened their doors in three days or when FEMA came barreling in - whichever was safest. 

They have six hours to evacuate. 

Tension ran high as the wind increased pelting anything in its path with egregious amounts of rain. The sky was dark, making the bright and stark interior of the hospital seem otherworldly. The familiar sensation of pre-calm washed over Becca as she remembered her mother’s hurricane preparations every year. Pack a bag and some food and a sleeping bag, and take refuge in the primary school on top of the hill. Get as high as you can and away from the bay. 

But where is there to hide in the middle of a small city? 

“This is my first hurricane. Oh my god am I going to die?” Elijah panicky asked Becca as they conversed in the middle of the hallway after quickly doing their second set of rounds that day. 

“You’ll be fine, Elijah,” she reassured. She’d made it nearly 28 years without dying in a hurricane, statistically they will survive this natural disaster. “Has Farley said anything?” If Edenbrook is being evacuated then their building was surely in the flood zone. 

He checked his phone to see the message from their building manager. Farley has sent an emergency email out to all residents that he recommends tenants seek shelter at higher elevation elsewhere as a precaution. 

“We’re going to die.” 

Becca put her hands on her friends shoulders, staring right into his eyes hoping to regulate his breathing, “We’re not.” Elijah nodded his head letting her determination sink in. “Who else do we know that lives away from the hospital?”  

“No one with accessible access if the power goes out…” Elijah trailed off.  

It dawned on Becca then and there that Elijah was afraid. He was terrified of getting stuck somewhere, unable to escape because of his chair. The thought never passed Becca’s mind. She felt immensely guilty. 

Her eyes softened as she encouraged, “We’ll figure it out. I’ll meet you in the locker room in ten.”  

Becca made her way to the nurses station, making sure for the fourth and final time that all her patients have been allocated to another hospital and were already on the buses out. She noticed Ethan had taken command of the station and was sitting there alone going through his files. 

He looked up briefly at the approaching footsteps. “All of your patients have been evacuated,” he informed with his attention back on the computer screen.  

A smile immediately perked at the corners of Becca’s lips at his inane understanding of her behavior - he knew exactly why she was still at the hospital and what she was doing here at the nurse’s station. Becca rounded behind the desk to fully take in all he had left to do. There were three piles set before them and a split screen on the computer. 

Her hand trailed over the leftmost pile of unfamiliar names, “Do you need any help?” 

He shook his head and then asked, “What are you doing?”  

“Haven’t really gotten that far,” she shrugged earnestly. “My main concern is getting all our patients out of here safely.”

That was true. Becca wanted her patients and her friends to be safe. But she also wanted to make sure Ethan was not putting himself in any danger.  

He looked at her. He took in her runaway hairs poking out all over her head, the humidity making them more unruly than usual. The dark rings under her eyes were more prominent given her current ten-hour shift, but her brown eyes still glimmered in the fluorescent lighting. Like always his heart beat just a little bit faster when she’s around.  

His blue eyes turned to her, effervescent and full of a clarity Becca craved. 

“Come stay with me,” he said as if it were any other evening and the world wasn’t falling apart outside. 

Ethan and Becca had been delicately exploring their feelings, stepping over the line between professionalism and temptation every now and again. Ever since that evening of the Mass Kenmore and Edenbrook softball game - the night he finally kissed her first. That was months ago. Since then the pair kept their indulgences secret - not even her closest of friends knowing where she’d spend some of her evenings. They never defined their relationship or came to the conclusion that they even had one. 

They were two people who enjoyed the company of the other. Two people who also sometimes kissed.  

As always she couldn’t contain the butterflies in her stomach and the weightlessness of her chest whenever he looked her in the eye, like he was looking straight into the depths of her soul. She wished she could close the gap between them caress his cheek. 

“I can’t.” 

He looked at her as if she just said the stupidest thing imaginable. His mouth was agape but Becca was quicker to clarify, 

“You don’t live that much farther and I can’t leave Elijah alone.” Her selfless eyes told him all he needed to know. 

She was right. He knew she was right. 

Ethan couldn’t believe what he was about to say, “Bring him.”

Becca took a step back, trying to ground herself because right now she felt like she was hallucinating. “What?” 

He noticed her hesitation and began to stand. 

“Take my car,” he began to explain in his authoritative voice. Ethan was not taking no for an answer. “Go home and pack a bag. Then drive up to Naveen’s cabin. You remember how to get there?” 

She nodded. His words were not fully settling in. Was she even still speaking with Ethan Ramsey?  

“If not it’s saved in the car’s navigation. Also pack some food, knowing Naveen I doubt he has much stored.” He took his keys out from his trouser pocket and took off two keys - his car and the cabin - handing them to her. 

She was still in shock as he took her hand and placed the cold metal into her palm. 

Ethan couldn’t help the light chuckle that escaped his lips as she stood there flabbergasted. “Okay?” his left hand gripped her shoulder trying to coax her out of her daze, his right hand with the keys still lingering against her palm. 

Their eyes locked, reeling Becca back to reality. Even in the uncertainty surrounding them Becca felt an overwhelming sense of comfort.  

“Okay,” she smiled up at him. 

***

Downstairs Elijah was sitting outside Becca’s locker with his backpack in his lap, ready to face the music of his first east coast natural disaster. 

“Hey,” he greeted her nervously once she finally stepped foot into the locker room.  

“Ready to go?” Becca asked.  

“Where are we going? I haven -” 

She grabbed her things out quickly and said with a coy smile, “Come on, pal.” 

Her confidence did nothing to settle Elijah’s uneasiness. She was behind him and moving them along quickly through the halls. 

“What - where are we going?” 

They made their way to the staff parking lot and she unlocked the car door before leaving the awning so they wouldn’t get too soaked. 

“Why do you have a car?” he asked incredulously.  

Elijah was beyond confused.  

Becca threw on their hoods and prepared to dodge the droplets as best they could. “We’re leaving the city!” 

The two made it to their building, luckily getting a spot right out front. They shook off their wet clothes by the front door and noticed Sienna sitting motionlessly on the sofa.  

“Sienna, What are you doing here?” Becca quizzed in confusion, “Aren’t you going to Danny’s?” 

Sienna put her book down and smiled effortlessly at her friends, “He’s taking an extra shift at Mass Kenmore and staying with his parents. It didn’t feel right staying there by myself. And Bryce is at capacity between him, Jackie, Aurora and his sister. So I’ll stay here and man the hatches.” 

Behind her best friend's cavalier attitude Becca knew better - she knew she was scared.  

Without a moment's hesitation she instructed, “Pack a bag and some food, you’re coming with us. I’ll explain in the car.” 

With that all three doctors ran to their rooms and packed their most prized possessions and enough clothes for four days - just in case. Sienna nearly emptied the contents of their kitchen into her bag - all the snacks, alcohol, perishables and baking supplies being of utmost importance. 

It was going to be a very intriguing few days.

_________________

A/N: What do you think is going to happen with all these weirdo’s under one roof??

comment and reblog i need the validation.

[bubonickitten]

Summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Previous chapter: tumblr // AO3

Chapter 10 full text & content warnings below the cut.

CWs for Chapter 10: brief panic attack; some vague JonMartin apocalypse angst. SPOILERS through S5.

Chapter 10: Pending Arrival

It’s okay, Jon tells himself, forcing himself to breathe the way Martin taught him: Four seconds in; hold seven seconds; eight seconds out.

Well… okay, it’s not okay. It’s very, very not okay.

…but – four – it – five – will – six – be – seven… okay, exhale.

Some time later – eight minutes, thirty-six-point-eight seconds, he Knows, though he didn’t ask – his breathing evens out and his thoughts clear with it.

That interaction with Martin wasn’t unexpected. There’s little reason to expect things to be different this time around, especially this soon after Jon woke up. He knows this.

There is a wall between him and Martin right now, constructed from a lifetime of rejection and loneliness that Jon himself contributed to for far too long. It’s been recently expanded by a mountain of grief, loss, and mourning – what should have been years’ worth condensed into the last six months – and it’s been further reinforced by Peter Lukas’ manipulations.

It will take some time to coax Martin away from the Lonely. Hopefully it won’t take as long as it did the last time, especially now that Jon knows that the hypothetical threat of the Extinction is not as imminent as Peter claims, but still: Martin needs time and space. Besides, Jon simply can’t force the Lonely out of him with a few words and a prayer. Martin has to choose to reject it of his own volition, or it will always cling to him.

And most importantly: Martin deserves to make his own choice. Jon has no right to take that from him, any more than he did when they passed through the Lonely’s domain.

It would have been nice to be able to physically see Martin, though. Or even just hear his voice outside of his own head. Memories can only provide so much reassurance, and for so long.

Jon had every intention of continuing yesterday’s strategy meeting this afternoon, but already his brief conversation with Georgie and painfully brief interaction with Martin have left him fatigued. The migraine he had expected yesterday failed to reach fruition, but the threat of it still lingers, accompanied by a painless but still unpleasant sensation of pressure in his head, making him feel off-kilter. As of right now, he can still pull on the Archive to speak. Sitting down and strategizing, though, is another matter entirely. Planning ahead has never been part of his skill set. Anxiety, sleep deprivation, and a supernaturally-imparted speech impediment aren’t doing him any favors.

“Let me guess: you’re out of commission.”

Basira looks him up and down, taking in his hunched gargoyle posture in his desk chair, his half-lidded eyes, his restless hands: one resting uneasily on top of his desk, fingers twitching and tapping with no discernible rhythm; the other wound up in the scarf Georgie gave him, still draped over his shoulders.

Jon can’t tell what characterizes her more in this moment: frustration with him, or simple exhaustion. Despite his own hypersensitivity to how others perceive him, he has a feeling that in this moment, it’s the latter.

“I think it can wait until tomorrow,” says Georgie, perched on the edge of Jon’s desk.

“Fine,” Basira concedes. “Tomorrow, then.” She knocks twice on the doorframe. When Jon looks up on reflex, she catches his eye. “Get some actual sleep tonight, Jon. It’s not just your personal mental health on the line here.”

“She is right about you needing to sleep,” Georgie says as Basira leaves. He avoids eye contact. “I’m serious. You look exhausted. I can get you a sleep aid –” Jon shakes his head slowly. “Why?”

With a sudden burst of energy, Jon stands, grabs her hand, and leads her to the entrance to the tunnels. He waits until they’ve both descended the ladder and the trapdoor is closed behind them before he turns to her and blurts out:

“…too afraid to go to sleep.”

“I can sit next to you while you fall asleep if you –”

“…would serve no purpose except to start me having the nightmares again,” he mumbles, sinking into the nearest chair.

“You’ve been having those for a long time now,” Georgie says, following his lead and sitting across from him. “And you’ve figured out how to cope with them. What’s actually scaring you?”

Jon bites his lower lip and bows his head.

“Then I would watch – once again –”

“– paralyzed with fear –”

“– tried to scream but I couldn’t find my breath, I couldn’t move –”

“– I couldn’t talk to anyone –”

“– unable to move its body, though – its eyes darting around wildly –”

“– unable to move – to cry for help –”

“– unable to look away –”

“– could only stare at him as he slowly, achingly crawled towards his doom –”

“– being unable to reach him –”

“– stare at it, knowing how your – friend suffers, knowing how powerless you are to help –”

“Slow down. You’re worried you’ll go back to how you were before?”

“…could only watch from the sidelines, getting a… a –”

He stops, leaning forward with his head in his hands.

“What is it, Jon?”

“And the worst part was that, somewhere in me, I – I liked it –”

“– it drew me in almost as much as it disgusted me –”

“– getting a… a sad vicarious thrill from –”

“– when people look at me… that fear“ – Jon’s breath hitches – “it feels amazing.”

He looks up at Georgie.

“Underneath all that awful fear, it felt like… home,” he whispers in a haunted tone. The shame crashes over him and he breaks eye contact, ducking his head again.

Georgie is quiet for a long moment. Then, she leans forward, reaches out, and takes his hand. He flinches and freezes.

“It sounds to me like you don’t want to like it,” she says. “People sometimes have feelings and urges that they aren’t proud of. Things that would hurt other people, if acted on.” She takes a breath. “But… I think it says more about a person’s character when they fight back against it.”

“…a presence within myself, inside my being –”

“– will strip us of what it means to be human, and leave us something alien and cold.”

“I know your circumstances are… different –”

“…it was the product of an otherworldly evil and called to me,” he says miserably.

“I know,” she says again. “There’s something in you, something that came from outside of yourself, and it’s trying to change you. Consume you.”

“…should have fought harder against the temptation –”

“But you’re fighting it now, aren’t you? You want things to be different.”

“I suppose I had to believe that the darkened natures of our terror could be kept in check – a rather feeble hope, for my own salvation –”

“– as if it might ward whatever awful thing waited inside that door.”

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think it’s a feeble hope. This is the most sure I’ve ever seen you be about anything.” She jostles his hand until he looks up at her. “You’re not a bad person, Jon. You’re taking extreme steps to make sure you don’t hurt anyone. It might not change the things you’ve done in the past, but neither will beating yourself up over it.”

Jon laughs, wincing when it comes out sounding a bit tear-choked.

“I try to think that I’ve left my past behind, but that sort of denial doesn’t help me sleep.”

“Maybe not. But you don’t have to deny the past in order to move beyond it. You can remember your mistakes and learn from them without letting them define you. And I think… I think you’re going to have to do that, if you want to move forward.” After a moment, Jon nods. Apparently unconvinced, Georgie adds: “Also, I don’t know if you need to be told this, but getting better means actually taking care of yourself.”

Jon chuckles at that, some of his tension bleeding away. “Thank you for indulging me, you’ve been very patient.”

“Stop that. You’d do the same for me. You have done the same for me.” He opens his mouth to argue. “Yeah, you’re not great at comforting people, I know. But I’ve seen you try.”

He must still look dubious, because Georgie sighs heavily.

“Do you remember when I was going through that medication change in uni?”

Jon nods warily.

It had been before they started dating. Jon has never made friends easily, but somehow Georgie had managed to tolerate his company long enough for him to start letting his guard down. At that point in his life, she really was the only one who he could confidently call a friend.

So when the antidepressant she had been on for over a year lost effectiveness and she had to start the arduous process of finding a new one, Jon had a front row seat to a depressive episode – and he felt irretrievably lost. He had no script to follow; he worried incessantly that he was making things worse, that he wasn’t making himself useful enough, that he was intruding on her personal space and she just didn’t have the energy to tell him the truth. He would pace restlessly and trip over his words and lapse into uncomfortable silences, wringing his hands and brooding – being more of a nuisance than a help, he was certain.

“You didn’t know how to help,” Georgie says, as if reading his mind. “You couldn’t make me better. I could tell it was driving you mad, not having an answer, because there was no simple answer. It was just… something that had to be lived through, coped with – and you’ve never been able to tolerate that concept, I know. You’re not good at waiting.” Jon huffs – only because she’s right. “But,” Georgie says emphatically, “you spent time with me, even though I was no fun. Brought me takeaway, set alarms to remind yourself to ask me if I’d taken my meds, did all this – this reading and research on how to support a loved one in crisis, which was” – she chuckles – “very you.”

Jon focuses intently on the weave of his scarf, petting it absently with his free hand, tracing the knit with his fingertips.

“You stayed anyway, even though you were uncomfortable. You didn’t say as much, but you’re fairly obvious when you’re anxious. At one point I told you I didn’t want you to fix it, I just didn’t want to be alone, and… you respected that. Which surprised me, to be honest. I was certain you’d be stubborn about it, act like you knew better than me.” Jon smiles at that. It was a fair assumption for her to make, especially back then. “Probably never would’ve considered dating you if you hadn’t proven me wrong then.”

“Until he became me –“

“– moody, short-tempered, constantly on edge.”

He gives Georgie a wry look as he says it, though, and she laughs.

“You’ve always been moody and on edge, including then. That wasn’t a new development that grew up overnight. What I’m saying is you’ve never been just that – which is why I have expectations of you, because I know what you’re capable of.” She gives him a serious look. “Like I told you years ago, you need to stop seeing things in black-and-white – including when it’s about you. Not everything has a clear-cut answer. You’d be happier if you could make peace with that.”

“And he was aware of it always – could not disagree,” Jon says with an exaggerated eye roll.

“Of course I’m right,” she quips back. “But you’re trying, and that’s all I ask.”

The ensuing silence is a comfortable one. Jon uses the lapse as an opportunity to search for a way to ask after Melanie.

“Statement of Georgina Barker regarding –”

Jon pauses. There’s really no way of saying the next part without accidentally drawing on more than one statement, but… Georgie is safe, and the phrase only appears a couple of times in the Archive, so it shouldn’t be too powerful.

“Statement of Melanie King.”

There is a reverb to the words, but the lightheadedness that comes with it is mild and passes quickly. Georgie appears to notice the odd tenor of his voice, tilting her head slightly to track the sound, but she doesn’t pursue it.

“You’re asking how Melanie is?”

“I wanted to check in with them, find out what happened.”

“She’s… having a rough day. I don’t think it’s my place to say more than that.”

Jon nods again: I understand. Then, he repeats again: “Statement of Georgina Barker.”

Georgie leans forward, elbow on knee, chin propped up by her fist. Her other hand continues to hold Jon’s, but she loosens her grip somewhat. The crease between her eyebrows is familiar to him – Georgie is taking her time to inventory her thoughts before speaking. He waits.

“I’m… hm. It’s been a lot to process,” she says carefully. “I think I’m doing okay for the moment? I’m mostly worried about Melanie. I’ve been worried about Melanie, but… after what you said about quitting – it’s complicated things a bit. It’s – it’s something we needed to know,” she adds, seeing Jon’s guilty expression. “I’m glad you were honest with us. Actually, I think Melanie was surprised that you told us about the, ah, second way to quit. It… hmm. It doesn't fit with the image she has of you.” Jon snorts at the delicate phrasing, and Georgie gives him a sheepish smile. “Sorry, but she still thinks you’re a self-serving prick.”

Jon shrugs, unperturbed. He already knew that, and it’s not like he’s done much to dissuade Melanie of that assessment. Not yet, anyway.

“Oh, but she told me to reassure you that she isn’t going to kill you in your sleep, so that’s something? I told her that’s not why you pulled an all-nighter, but she said to let you know anyway.”

Jon laughs, and Georgie’s eyes crinkle when she returns a smile. After a moment, though, it fades.

“I did want to ask, though… did Melanie find out how to quit in your future as well?” Jon nods. “In that case – I’m not sure if you were planning on it, but in case you were… don’t tell me just yet what her decision was where you came from. I’ve been tempted to ask, but I haven’t talked it over with Melanie yet, and I think that’s her call to make. Okay?” Jon nods again. “And… she’s still angry with you – with a lot of things, really, but especially this place, and she sees you as inseparable from it.”

“They’re not entirely wrong,” Jon accedes.

“I did talk to her about it. She asked me to let you know that she does want to talk to you – I know she has some questions to ask – but that she doesn’t want you near her right now. She’s trying to sort through her feelings towards you – figure out how much of it is a you problem versus a her problem versus a both-of-you problem. She needs some space to do that. And it’s not the only thing she’s working through right now.”

Jon can appreciate that. Honestly, it’s better than he could have hoped for. Last time around, Melanie had eventually softened on him, had even tentatively called him a friend – but at that point, everything in his life felt like too little too late, and she deserved better than to have him poison her life again. He really had only been looking for someone to help him parse Martin’s intentions – Jon has always struggled with anything less than direct, explicit communication – but Georgie was right to be angry with him. Regardless of his intentions, he was inseparable from the Institute; there was no way for him to ask for advice that didn’t involve dragging Melanie back into exactly the kind of toxicity she was trying to escape.

When he left that day, it was with the intention of staying out of both of their lives from then on. They both set a firm boundary, and they deserved to have it respected. But he had plenty of time to brood during the apocalypse, and there were so many things left unsaid between him and Melanie and Georgie. Even if the world hadn’t ended, he probably wouldn’t have approached them again – they seemed happy, and showing up on their doorstep to talk, even if it was just to apologize, would have only been for his own benefit. It wouldn’t have felt right to intrude on them again and open up old wounds just for the sake of securing closure for himself.

Now, though? Truth be told, he could use some space, himself. He’s rehearsed it many times before – all the things he might say to the people in his life, both living and dead, if he had a chance to see them again – but now that he actually has that chance, everything he’s drafted in his head feels inadequate. It may take some time to get his thoughts in order before sitting down and openly discussing his and Melanie’s fraught relationship.

“So… Martin?” Georgie says, snapping Jon out of his thoughts. “Have you seen him yet?”

Jon makes an uncertain tilting motion with his hand, finding no succinct way to explain that yes, he did have a brief encounter with Martin, but it was a one-sided conversation, and Jon expected as much, but it still hurt; and moreover, Martin was invisible when he visited, no doubt intending to just see for himself that Jon was awake, check in on how he was doing without being noticed; and Jon wishes he had been able to do the same, to have some irrefutable physical reassurance that Martin is alive and real and here and now, because it’s been so long, and…

“…he seemed determined to avoid – me,” Jon settles on instead.

“You care about him a lot, don’t you?”

“I need him to be okay –”

“– the easy, charming man I’d fall in love with.”

“Oh,” Georgie says, sounding stunned. Jon meets her eyes and gives her a quizzical look. “I just – knowing you, I figured you’d still be in denial about how infatuated you are? Or, at best, you’d grudgingly admit you maybe, possibly had a little crush? I was not expecting a declaration of love.”

“Everything about being with him felt so natural that when he told me he loved me, it only came as a surprise to realize that we hadn’t said it already –”

“– and together it seemed like we would get past our pain.”

“Holy shit,” Georgie murmurs. “You’re absolutely besotted. I mean, I knew you were, you talked about him all the time and you’re not as subtle as you think you are – but actually acknowledging it?”

“…honestly it’s one of the few decisions I’ve ever made that I completely understand,” Jon replies, not bothering to hide his small smile.

“Wow. You’ve… changed more than I thought.” Georgie mirrors his expression, but then she falters, chewing the inside of her cheek for a moment. “Can I ask how it – if it…” Jon’s smile fades too, but he makes a beckoning gesture: It’s okay; go on. “Regardless of whether things worked out between you, I… well, I have a hard time thinking you’d come back to this time if it meant leaving him behind in your future?”

Jon looks down at their linked hands, expressionless as he begins to construct a response.

“I’ll skip over the bit where –”

“– taking me in his arms and giving me the last and longest hug I would ever get from him –”

“– he was gone. Just gone. And I was alone again. There was no one I could talk to about it –”

“– I had plenty of time to mourn him –”

“– it took all my self-control to keep a grip on that anchor, as I slowly dragged myself away from the edge of my lonely grave.”

Georgie gives his hand a reassuring squeeze, which he returns gratefully.

“I’m so sorry,” she says. “For what it’s worth, I… I’m glad you have this second chance. You… are going to tell him how you feel this time as well, right?”

Obviously, he wants to say, but it’s not as simple as he wishes it was. He frowns thoughtfully as he searches for a way to explain the situation.

“…he’s been so lonely –”

“– embraced the loneliness like an old friend –”

“– for a creature of the Lonely, the urge is to isolate, never to communicate or connect –”

“– I wanted to say something reassuring, to reach out and let him know I was still there –”

“But it was like this last time you woke up, too.” She waits for his affirmative before continuing: “So you can do it again.”

“…I managed it eventually, but my inability to speak –”

“– I found him difficult to talk to at length.”

“But,” she persists, “you aren’t going to give up, right?”

“…I knew he would return eventually,” Jon says.

“Good,” Georgie says with a relieved, somewhat exasperated sigh. “I swear to god, if you’d gotten fatalistic right there, I’d have had some words for you.” Jon chuckles. “Seriously, though – you’ll figure this out. You’ve always been stubborn. Every now and then, it’s even an asset.”

“I’m grateful to her, of course.”

“Again, don’t mention it. As long as you keep trying, I’ll support you. I might set limits on how much I’m willing to get involved with the actual supernatural bits – I haven’t decided just yet – but when I need to step back, I’ll tell you. I’m not going to ghost you just because you don’t grovel.”

Jon groans at the pun, which gets a self-satisfied grin out of Georgie.

“Oh, shut up. It was a good one.”

Right, I forgot: comatose people don’t need pens, Jon thinks irritably to himself the next day, turning his office upside down looking for a writing utensil.

He’s so thoroughly preoccupied with rummaging through his desk that he doesn’t notice Basira standing in the doorway until she clears her throat, startling him so badly that he jumps and slams one of his fingers in the drawer. He yelps in pain and pulls his hand back, shaking it out to distract from the throbbing. A moment later, the realization crosses his mind that it’s the same finger he’d tried to cut off the last time he was here.

It’s a coincidence, he tells himself before his mind can wander too far down the rabbit hole. He has enough to worry about without getting caught up in the hypotheticals of time travel and sci-fi tropes about the changeability of the past. Besides, the Coffin hasn't even arrived yet; there are still a few weeks before the original date of his failed self-amputation attempts.

“Sorry,” Basira says, eyebrows raised. “Didn’t mean to scare you. Honestly, I figured you’d just know I was here.” Jon has nothing to say to that. Trying to explain the fine details of Knowing has never been a pleasant experience, and he couldn’t tackle that subject now even if he’d wanted to. “What are you looking for, anyway?”

“…think of me as an idiot who turned up to give a statement without a pen,” Jon says distractedly, opening another drawer and sifting through it. “I can’t find it anywhere.”

“Pens?” Jon nods without looking up. “Yeah, I threw them all out – don’t give me that look, Jon. Half of them didn’t even work, and the others looked like a puppy’s chew toy. Anyway, most of what I threw out in here got touched by the Flesh. You didn’t want any of it back, trust me.” Jon grimaces. “Yeah. Anyway, there are boxes in the supply closet – but I think I can do you one better.”

She tosses something at him. He notices the movement belatedly and just barely manages to catch the thing, nearly dropping it.

“Guess knowing things also doesn’t extend to being able to catch without fumbling,” Basira deadpans.

Jon looks down at the phone in his hands, then back up at Basira.

“Got the Institute to cover it as a work expense. I have no idea where the one you had before the Unknowing ended up; I’m assuming it blew up along with everything else.” Basira leans back against the doorframe. “I’m sure texting will go about as well for you as typing has, but Georgie downloaded a few AAC apps for you to try.”

He gives Basira a tentative smile.

“You’re welcome,” she says with a curt nod. The look she gives him then is curious – almost like she’s still trying to get a read on him, debating how much closeness she can risk. Then her guard goes back up and her tone turns authoritative again. “You can practice with them later. Meeting’s in a half-hour.”

Before Jon can respond, Basira turns and leaves.

It’s uncertain how the Archive will take to this newest workaround, but there’s only one way to find out.

“Here, let me take –”

Jon unceremoniously drops the box of statements down through the trapdoor, where it hits the ground below with a dull thud and a puff of dust.

“…or not,” Georgie finishes.

“Was that really necessary?” Basira calls from the bottom of the ladder.

Completely pointless, Jon thinks to himself a bit giddily, ignoring the stabbing pain in his temples with relish. The Beholding can complain all it wants about him mishandling statements; right now, he’s too tired and too delirious to care.

He’d had plenty of time during the apocalypse to develop methods of coping with the Eye’s intrusiveness. The most emotionally satisfying one he’d happened upon basically amounted to random acts of spite. It had no material effect on anything – aside from triggering varying degrees of headaches, but he already got those anyway. It was no different than a petulant child slamming a bedroom door, but it gave him that fleeting feeling of being in control of something, and it felt good.

“Let me go first,” Georgie says. He gives her a questioning look. “You’re using a cane, Jon. There’s a fifty percent chance you’re going to fall on your ass going down that ladder, and I’d rather keep you out of the hospital for the rest of the year.” Jon averts his eyes and frowns. She must interpret it as reluctance, because she clarifies: “You need a spotter.”

Jon signals agreement and she starts down the ladder ahead of him.

The thing is, he wasn’t trying to contradict her. It’s just… well, he’s still getting used to the idea of being cared for again, especially when it comes to insignificant things. Yes, his leg is acting up today, but it’s not that bad – the cane is just to keep it from getting any worse. And if he did fall, it’s not like it would kill him. It would be inconvenient, unpleasant, and probably embarrassing, but too temporary to really register on his distress scale.

Anyway, he’s grown desensitized to physical pain. Or… no, that’s not quite right. What he’s desensitized to isn’t the pain itself, but the experience of being harmed. He’s come to expect it, and these days only the only permanent injuries he receives are those inflicted by one of the Powers. Everything else heals too quickly and completely to feel consequential. Most things don’t even scar anymore, and those that do – well, what’s one more scar?

He knows it’s not a healthy mindset. Even before the world ended, he’d come to regard his body with a sense of detachment. In retrospect, he should’ve known that his rib wouldn’t work as an anchor. Most days, his body didn’t even feel like it belonged to him. Then, as if to confirm that inkling, Jonah possessed him; the Watcher’s eyes started manifesting on and around him; his presence became synonymous with the Eye to anyone who beheld him. He confirmed on several occasions that he wasn’t able to die. Even the Hunt couldn’t kill him. Jon would end one day, like everything else, but a mundane physical death was beyond him.

He doesn’t Know if that’s still the case now, and he’s too afraid to ask.

So, yes: he’s developed a cavalier attitude towards personal safety. Avoiding minor injuries feels almost on the same level as what temperature the water is before he steps into the shower: relevant in terms of his own comfort, but otherwise unimportant. He’s always spared little thought as to his own comfort, and it’s only gotten worse since becoming the Archivist. And the apocalypse didn’t exactly have much to offer in the way of comfort anyway, especially after…

Jon cringes as he stops to reflect on that train of thought. It took him fewer than thirty seconds to rationalize… well, Martin would have called it self-harm. Or self-sabotage, at the least. Georgie probably would, too, if she could see inside his mind right now. His judgment of what counts as worthy of concern is decidedly skewed, especially to an outside observer. It was easy to justify it to himself when it was just him alone at the end of the world, but employing a mindset forged in hopelessness and tailored to a doomed future is only going to be maladaptive here and now.

He should probably take some time later to unpack all of that. It would be easier if he could write it all out; it’s always difficult to keep track of his own thoughts without a visual aid, but –

“Jon?” Georgie calls up to him. “You can come down now.”

Deal with it later, he tells himself, tossing his cane down for Georgie to catch. As he makes his way down the ladder, his leg does twinge a bit, but it holds his weight well enough, and he reaches the bottom without incident.

“Where’s Melanie?” Basira asks.

“Resting,” Georgie says, handing Jon his cane. “She had a bad morning. I’ll fill her in on everything later.”

“Fine.” Basira nudges the box with her foot. “What’s this then?”

“Statements,” Georgie says. She’d watched Jon throw them haphazardly into the box before coming down here. “Not sure why, though.”

Jon moves the box to one of the chairs that they left in the tunnel last night. It isn’t too heavy – just some pertinent statements and tapes that he thought might make this discussion flow more smoothly. Taking a seat in the next chair over, he removes the lid from the box and begins rummaging.

“Statement of Joshua Gillespie, regarding his time in possession of an apparently empty wooden casket,” Jon says after a moment, holding up a folder labeled CASE #9982211 and containing the respective written statement. One page sticks out crookedly, and Jon’s heart skips a beat when he recognizes Tim’s handwriting. This had been one of his cases to follow up on.

He shakes his head and sets the folder aside, reaching into the box for the corresponding tape. Instead, his fingertips brush against a different loose cassette, and his breath catches in his throat.

“Statement of Detective Alice ‘Daisy’ Tonner,” he says quietly, removing the cassette. “Traffic stop of a delivery van.”

“This is the statement Daisy gave you?” Basira says. “She said you compelled her.”

“I didn’t realize that was what had happened until afterwards,” Jon says softly. He pulls a tape recorder from his pocket and gives Basira a questioning look.

“Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, go ahead.”

Jon inserts the cassette and fast-forwards, stopping when he Knows he’s reached the right timestamp. His own recorded voice begins to play.

“If you don’t mind me asking, h-h-how long have you been sectioned now –”

“I do mind,” comes Daisy’s clipped voice. Then, immediately: “Fourteen years.”

“I don’t suppose you’d like to make a statement?”

“About what?”

“Whatever you like. Fourteen years – you must have seen a number of paranormal things.”

“And you want me to tell you about them.”

“Uh – I-I-I-I-I –”

“Okay,” says Daisy.

“What?”

“Okay. I’ll give you a statement about – how I got my first Section 31.” A beat. “You look surprised.”

“I mean, I was largely asking as a formality. Basira didn’t give me the impression you were the sharing sort.”

“Maybe you caught me in a good mood.”

“Right, well… good. Do you need me to go over our non-disclosure policy –”

“Not as long as you understand my policy: if it gets out, I’ll break every bone in your body.”

“There are worse things that could happen to them,” the Jon on the tape mutters.

Jon hits stop and looks up at Basira. There’s a sheen to her eyes; he does her the courtesy of looking away and not drawing attention to it. After a long few seconds, she clears her throat. When she speaks, her voice is even and impassive.

“So you really didn’t know you were compelling people back then.”

“…he had no idea what was about to happen to him.”

He probably should have noticed sooner, but he was always so fixated on listening to the answer to a question that he paid comparatively little attention to the asking of it. Insensitive of him, really – far too like the detached fascination of the Ceaseless Watcher, in retrospect. The reality that he had the power to compel others didn’t really sink in until after his conversation with Jude.

Jon notices belatedly that the other two are watching him expectantly. He hadn’t planned on playing Daisy’s tape first, but since he already has it prepared to go, he fast-forwards to the beginning of her statement and lets it play through to the end. No one makes any comment in the few seconds it takes for him to swap the cassette out for Joshua Gillespie’s statement.

“So the Coffin makes people want to enter it,” Basira says as the second statement ends. “Is that why you went in, the first time? You were compelled?”

Jon shakes his head no. Daisy had asked him the same question last time. It’s true that the Coffin called to him, but its compulsion never got beneath his skin – not like that of the Beholding or the Web. In the end, going into the Buried was his decision.

“Why, then?”

“…survivor’s guilt,” Jon says. “I should be dead, really – it’s hard to reconcile yourself with avoiding a death that you feel should have been yours.”

There was more to it, though. He takes a minute to rifle through statements, to piece together his state of mind the first time he entered the Buried.

“I felt a great deal of guilt over my involvement with –”

“– the path of the Eye –”

“– when they looked at me, their eyes were full of – anger – blame –”

“– looked at me with a mixture of hate and helpless terror, as though I could do something to fix it –”

“– cut off effectively all human contact –”

“– I decided I had to do something – anything to get out of the fog –”

“– to lose myself in something that is not the absence of humanity –”

“– desperate to remind myself that I could still feel something –”

“– desperate for any human connection.”

He pauses for a breath. Looking back, if Jon hadn’t been so thoroughly claimed by the Beholding already, he may have been a candidate for the Lonely himself back then. Peter Lukas didn’t have to lift a finger.

“I was starting to fear that if I didn’t manage to do something –”

“– I would lose myself – forever –”

“– I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t at least try –”

“– it was – the most human part of it remaining –”

“– to act, to help, to do something –”

“– I need to not lose any more bits of me –”

“– and worst comes to worst –”

“– at least I felt useful.”

Georgie’s eyes are on him now, reading between the lines.

“Did you even have a plan? Or did you just… rush in by yourself, not even tell anyone?” He nods. “Which?” He gives Georgie a pointed look, nodding a second time. “Both? Figures. Don’t know why I bothered asking, really.”

“…but this time was different,” he assures her.

“How did you get out?” Basira asks.

“It took all my self-control to keep a grip on that anchor.”

“Meaning?”

“…her anchor. The thing weighing her down, tying her to this world,” he tries again.

“Something to ground you,” Georgie says questioningly.

“…to make finding my way back – that much easier.”

“And you can do the same thing this time?” Basira waits for his confirmation before moving on. “What about the delivery itself?”

Jon pulls out another folder and cassette, both labeled CASE #9961505.

“Statement of Alfred Breekon, regarding a new pair of workers at his delivery company.”

“Breekon and Hope?” Basira asks.

Jon nods, inserts the tape, and depresses the play button.

“They’ve been in a few statements, haven’t they?” Basira says afterwards, forehead creased in thought.

As an answer, Jon removes one last cassette from the box before tilting it forward to reveal a handful of case files sliding around at the bottom. All of them contain minor references either to Breekon and Hope or the Coffin, but none of them struck him as significant enough to bother bringing the accompanying tapes.

The remaining cassette in his hand, label reading CASE #0020406, is only relevant for the last minute or so of the recording: Martin’s encounter with Breekon and Hope on the day they delivered the NotThem’s table and the Web’s lighter. Jon pops it into the recorder, fast-forwards to the relevant timestamp, and hits play. Breekon and Hope’s voices echo in the tunnel, finishing each other’s sentences in an uncanny back-and-forth volley.

“Hm.” Basira frowns. “And they just… got into the Archives without anyone seeing them?” Jon nods. “I’m assuming we can expect the same this time?" Another nod, but Jon holds up two fingers, gives Basira a meaningful look, and then puts one down. “Only one of them.”

“Statement of the surviving half of the being calling itself ‘Breekon and Hope,’” Jon says. Then: “When that Hunter killed him – took him from me, made us a me – the casket – was waiting – I fed her to it.”

“Do we have to worry about a fight?”

Jon shakes his head no. “We did not kill them, did not lift a finger. We were bringers of their awful fate, not its executors – and we both tasted it together.” He fast-forwards the statement in his head. “I am without him now – can feel myself fading, weak, no reason to move, nothing to deliver. But I am no longer tied to the casket, so you can have it – climb in, and join her.”

“So we just, what, let it deliver the thing and leave?”

“I told her that any real danger had passed –”

“– fading, weak, no reason to move, nothing to deliver.”

“And then you go in.”

Jon nods. There are more details, of course, but the basics of his plan are the same as they were last time: equip himself with Daisy’s tape, follow the pull of her voice, rely on his anchor to find the way back – albeit hopefully with fewer hiccups this time.

Or fewer lost ribs, at least, now that he has a better grasp on anchors.

Several days later, a visitor arrives in the Archives, albeit not the one they’ve been expecting.

Head pillowed in his arms on his desk, dozing and half-conscious, Jon is roused from a shallow sleep by voices in the hallway, filtering through the open crack in the door.

“This area is off-limits,” Basira is saying.

“I’m just looking for the Head Archivist. Jonathan Sims? He still works here, doesn’t he?”

Is that…

“What do you want with Jon?” Georgie’s voice, sounding genuinely curious, but anyone familiar with her would recognize the protective edge to it.

“Look, is he here or isn’t he?”

It is.

Rubbing bleary eyes and shaking off the remaining wisps of brain fog, Jon stands, his joints cracking in protest. He grabs his cane, heads for the door, and peeks out into the hallway.

Naomi Herne is here, standing in the doorway at the bottom of the stairs between the Archives and the rest of the Institute. She looked his way when she heard the creak of the door opening, and their eyes meet for a brief moment before he reflexively averts his gaze.

“Jon?” She sidesteps Basira and Georgie and starts walking towards him.

He digs in his pockets and brings out his phone. So far, the AAC app has turned out to be a decent workaround. Prolonged use will still give him a headache in much the same way that communicating through illustration does, but it’s helpful for making specific requests, asking direct questions, and conveying simple or general concepts. He’ll accept a headache if it means not being forced to use some convoluted metaphor just to say I don’t know or I’m short-circuiting, please give me some space or I’m going to make tea; would you like some?

“YOU ARE – HERE,” comes the computerized voice as he prods at the screen. “WHY.”

For a long moment, Naomi says nothing, staring at the phone in his hand.

“It’s been over a week since I last saw you,” she says slowly. “At first I thought it must be because you woke up – which was a good guess, it seems – but then days went by and no dreams, and… I was worried.” Jon tilts his head, confused. “What’s with that look?”

Jon opens and closes his mouth a few times, debating on whether to reach for a statement. It feels wrong to be dishonest with her, and a hopeful part of him suggests that Naomi wouldn’t react too badly. She’s seen worse from him, and none of that seems to have scared her away, so…

“…I wasn’t worth worrying about.”

Naomi rolls her eyes. “Why are you so stubborn?”

Georgie laughs at that. When Naomi glances in her direction, she starts approaching the two of them, apparently satisfied that Naomi isn’t a threat. Likewise, Basira drifts off down the hall and into the break room. She leaves the door open, though – Jon Knows she still wants to listen in, just in case.

“He’s always been like this,” Georgie says.

“Figures,” Naomi says, then looks back at Jon. “So, why haven’t you been around? Did you find a way to sever the dreams, or…?” Jon shakes his head no. “Then what?”

“It’s not like I sleep enough to worry about dreams,” he says evasively.

Naomi opens her mouth to reply and at that moment Jon’s phone goes off. He nearly drops the thing as he fumbles to dismiss the alarm. Once the noise is silenced, Jon sighs and looks at Georgie.

“You want me to…?” Jon nods, giving her permission to speak on his behalf. “Okay then.”

Georgie looks at Naomi.

“Jonathan” – Jon huffs at the use of his full name – “has been depriving himself of sleep. But no matter how stubborn he is, he’s still human.” Georgie gives him a stern look, daring him to contradict her. He doesn’t; it isn’t worth getting into this discussion, especially in front of Naomi. “Now he’s started nodding off in spite of himself, he’s been forced to admit that he can’t go without sleep forever – but instead of actually sleeping, he’s decided that the best course of action is to just set alarms at forty-five minute intervals, to wake him up before he enters REM sleep. Which means he’s not getting any restful sleep.” She looks at Jon and smiles disarmingly. “Does that about cover it?”

Jon rolls his eyes – she really didn’t need to offer the detail about his new alarm routine – but he nods all the same.

“And why don’t you want to sleep?” Naomi asks.

“The only thing that worried me was sleeping. I think it gave me bad dreams,” he says.

“Not to be rude, but…” Naomi hesitates before blurting out: “Why are you talking like that?”

“He’s been having… some speech difficulties,” Georgie says, glancing at Jon. He makes a circular motion with one hand: It’s fine; go ahead. “Ever since he woke up, he’s only able to speak in quotes from the statements? It’s… challenging, to say the least.”

“Ah,” Naomi says, chipper, “just some new spooky developments, then.”

Out of habit, Jon glares at her for her word choice, but there’s no real ire in it. If anything, it’s a relief to find that Naomi’s attitude toward him seems unchanged despite said new spooky developments.

“But…” Naomi frowns. “You’ve been having these dreams for two years now, and you said you’ve mostly gotten them sorted. So how is sleeping now any different from the last few months?”

“He’s afraid that things will go back to the way they were before.”

“O…kay,” Naomi says slowly, “but you told me that most of the others have already learned to stop the nightmare sequence without you. And everyone knows now that you aren’t as scary as you look – which, by the way, is it weird that by now it's almost more unsettling to see you with only two eyes? Sorry, not the point. The point is, it won’t be the same as it was before.”

Jon stares fixedly at a scratch on the floor. Left over from the Flesh attack, maybe? He could Know, but –

Focus, he tells himself before his thoughts can wander too far afield.

He isn’t sure how to explain that the other dreamers may not be as forgiving or fearless as Naomi is. Even if they were to find it in themselves to overlook a relapse, even if they don’t start viewing him the way they did before… the prospect of having his bodily autonomy stripped from him again is more than enough to fill him with dread.

It feels too much like the way the hunger pulls him inexorably toward a victim. It will probably feel like how it does when the Archive takes control. And it will definitely feel like it did when he was made a conduit for the Watcher’s Crown. Jonah wearing him like a glove. Locking him in place, forcing his eyes open, hijacking his voice. Making him into a possession, only to cast him aside like a broken toy once he had served his purpose.

“– Jon?”

With some effort, he drags himself back to the present.

“Something not moving but that wants to move. Wants to be free –”

“– stopped being able to move under his own power – walk him like a puppet – directed and controlled –”

“– unable to move – to cry for help.”

Hands shaking, he inputs a response on his phone.

“I AM – SCARED.”

“That’s… okay, that sounds properly horrifying,” Naomi admits. “But you don’t know for sure that’s what’ll happen, right?” Grudgingly, Jon shakes his head no. “So you could be fretting over nothing.”

“So far, so normal, right?”

“Smartass,” Naomi says, but with good humor. “Still, you can’t go without sleep forever – you’re going to have to face it eventually. You may as well get it over with sooner rather than later, and then you’ll know for sure. If nothing else, you’ll get some sleep out of it. But,” she says with a longsuffering sigh, “I have a feeling you’re going to keep pushing it, so…” She holds out her hand and crooks her fingers. “Phone. I’m adding my number to your contacts.”

It isn’t until Jon hands it over that he even consciously processes her words.

“Just so you know,” Georgie says, “he can’t really text, either. Unless it’s in statements.”

“That’s fine,” Naomi says, typing rapidly with her thumbs. “You can just reply with emojis or whatever, Jon. Just something to let me know you’re still alive.” She hands the phone back to him. “And this way I can send you pictures of the Duchess.”

Jon perks up at that.

“The Duchess?” Georgie asks.

“Yep. Adopted a cat last week.” Naomi’s smile is wider than Jon has ever seen it. “She’s settling in nicely,” she says to him before looking back to Georgie. “I almost changed her name, but Jon insisted I leave it as is. Said I shouldn’t deprive her of a title she’d rightfully earned.”

Georgie snorts. “He said the same about the Admiral.”

“Oh, you must be Georgie, then? I’ve heard a lot about… uh –”

“Don’t worry; I’m well aware you’ve heard more about the Admiral than me. Pretty sure Jon prefers his company to mine half the time.” She ignores the indignant look Jon shoots her and holds out her phone to Naomi. “Jon was notoriously terrible at answering texts even before all of… this. Feel free to direct any, ‘Is Jonathan Sims still alive?’ queries to me.”

Jon watches in bewilderment as the two of them exchange numbers. Not for the first time, he wonders how this kind of socializing seems to come so naturally to other people.

“I also wouldn’t mind seeing a photo of the Duchess.”

“What about a group text?” Naomi says. “Spooky-free zone, cat-related updates only. Everyone gets their daily dose of cat antics, I get to honestly tell my therapist that I’m not self-isolating, and Jon can just like things to let me know he’s still breathing. Three birds, one stone.”

“Good idea.” Georgie gives Jon an exacting look. “It’ll give you something nice to obsess over. I’ll have to ask Melanie if she wants to be added, too. She could use the distraction.”

Jon can feel a smile tug at his lips as he hurriedly taps out a response.

“YES – PLEASE – THANK YOU.”

Jon and the others try to retreat to the tunnels as often as possible – every other day, if they can manage it – even if there isn’t a pressing matter to discuss. More than anything, it’s a ploy to throw off Jonah. There’s every possibility that he would grow suspicious if the group only held their secretive meetings just prior to major events. Meeting frequently likely won’t alarm him too much, though. Jonah is likely to write off Jon’s furtiveness as paranoia, or simply his near-compulsive tendency to retread the same ground in aimless circles, obsessing over a single question ad infinitum.

Jon isn’t sure whether he Knows this, or if he’s just become uncomfortably familiar with Jonah’s thought processes. Either way, Jon is well aware of what Jonah thinks of him, of how the man can effortlessly dissect and predict Jon’s every outward action and inner experience. If he's honest with himself, Jonah’s scrutiny may terrify him even more than the Ceaseless Watcher’s.

At least the Eye is alien, operating entirely outside the bounds of human morality and emotion. It and all of the other Fears just… are what they are. Predictable, instinctual, amoral – or operating on a sort of blue and orange morality, at least. It brings to mind something Michael said to him, all those years ago: “Am I evil, Archivist? Is a thing evil when it simply obeys its own nature? When it embodies its nature? When that nature is created by those which revile it?”

Someone like Jonah Magnus, though – born human, raised human, spending several lifetimes embedded in human society – can understand his fellow humans much more intimately than any nonhuman Entity ever could, and he uses that understanding to torture his victims, knowing full well how it feels. On the one hand, Jon and all his other pawns throughout the centuries are nothing but means to an end; he cares little for them outside of their usefulness to him. On the other hand, he isn’t fully detached: there’s no denying the sadistic glee he took in gloating as he forced Jon to open the door.

Even in a world devoid of the Dread Powers, monsters would still exist, and a mundane human monstrosity is almost as dreadful as a supernatural one. Daisy derived joy from the Hunt with more complexity than a wolf would. Jon’s own hunts may have felt instinctual, but they also felt morally wrong in a way that tearing the legs off a spider would never feel to a cat – and he did it anyway. Even Gertrude embodied a certain flavor of monstrosity, despite never fully giving in to the temptation of the Beholding. She did not need to embrace any supernatural power; her ruthlessness damned innocent people all the same, as thoroughly as the Desolation and with as much precision as the Web.

Georgie and Martin – and Helen, even – may have a point about humanity and monstrosity not following a strict either/or dichotomy. Whether the Fears were birthed by humanity or preceded it, in the world as-is they would be toothless without human imagination to fuel and interpret and inspire them. The apocalypse demonstrated that fact rather starkly the more and more the human population dwindled.

Jon shakes his head, interrupting that line of thought. There are more important things to worry about right now. Namely: it’s the third of March, and the Institute is expecting a visitor.

Basira is with him in his office; Georgie is off keeping Melanie company, away from Breekon and any possibility of a confrontation. They’d all agreed to this arrangement last night in the tunnels, and since they’ve been having those clandestine meetings so regularly, it should look like a coincidence to Jonah, rather than a prearranged setup.

And Breekon arrives right on schedule, though this time he cannot catch Basira alone. He comes directly to Jon’s office, dragging the Coffin behind him.

“Jon,” Basira says urgently, not taking her eyes off the hulking figure darkening the doorway.

They must tread carefully – not seeming so unconcerned as to let on that they were expecting the delivery, but not overselling the act so much that Jonah would sense something was amiss.

“I wish I could say that was the last I saw of them – but they did return – started to make deliveries – Breekon and Hope.”

“Where’s the other one?” Basira asks.

“That copper took him from me,” Breekon says balefully. He drags the Coffin over the threshold, lets it fall to the ground with a thump, and jerks his head at it. “So I fed her to the pit.”

“Daisy’s in there,” Basira says, bristling.

“That’s its name? Then sure, ‘t’s in there, whatever’s left. Find out if you like.”

“…get out of my office –”

Jon’s voice crackles with static, and Breekon takes one step backward.

“What are you doing? Stop that.”

“Jon,” Basira says warningly.

“– as soon as they’d placed the box on the floor, they turned around and walked out –”

The static continues to rise in volume.

“I said stop it!” Breekon grunts through gritted teeth, even as he turns and steps back over the threshold.

“– the door slammed behind them” – Breekon does indeed reach for the handle and pulls the door shut after him – “and I was left – with this package.”

The static cuts out abruptly, and Jon exhales heavily, winded.

“What the hell was that?” Basira demands, rounding on Jon. “Did you just – compel him to leave?”

“…apparently this was how it was done now,” Jon says quietly. That at least answers the question of whether he can still effectively use that power. He isn’t sure how to feel about that.

“Knew you could compel people to answer questions. Didn’t know you could compel actions, too.”

Jon shuts his eyes, still catching his breath. There were limits on his compulsion abilities even during the apocalypse; there are bound to be just as many now, if not more. He doesn’t have the mindset for muddling through a complicated explanation right now, though, so he opts for the AAC app instead.

“LITTLE,” he selects from the screen. It should be enough to get the general point across, at least for now.

“Great. I’ll just put that in the ominous column, shall I?” Basira sighs. “Is it really okay to just… let him leave?”

“I told her that any real danger had passed,” he says simply.

“If you say so.” She stares intently at the Coffin, arms crossed. “So, what now?”

Without another word, Jon stands and beckons for Basira to follow. As he locks the office door behind them, Basira tells him to go wait for her at the tunnel entrance while she fetches Melanie and Georgie. He nods absentmindedly, but she’s already left without waiting for a response.

The last time, two weeks spanned between the delivery of the Coffin and the day Jon actually opened it. This time, there’s no need to wait. He still has some preparations to make – there’s no need to visit the Boneturner, but Jon does still want to leave some tapes running to serve as physical anchors. He also has to plan for the possibility of something going wrong, even if he is fairly confident in his ability to find his way back again. Mainly, he’d like to leave a letter behind for Martin, though the Archive might make that difficult.

Other than that, it’s just a matter of mentally preparing himself for another trip into the Buried.

Knowing what to expect doesn’t make it any less terrifying, though. If anything, it might make it worse.

End Notes:

Soooo I thought I'd be able to cover more plot in this chapter, but I was too attached to the scene with Naomi to scrap it, and I wanted that conversation between Jon and Georgie to happen pre-Buried. The result is that this chapter feels a bit scattershot. But that means next chapter I can just focus on the Coffin. Thanks for bearing with me! (Hoping to have next chapter ready by this weekend or early next week. Depends on how busy work is.)

For anyone unfamiliar with AAC (augmentative and alternative communication) devices/apps and wondering why it's different from typing/texting for Jon - the app he's using has preloaded phrases and images he can select from, so he doesn't have to type/text character-by-character. It still has drawbacks for him - difficult to use for long periods of time, less likely to work the more specific he tries to be, like with drawing - but at least there's another communication option for him to reach for now.

Citations for Jon's verbal dialogue are as follows, broken down by section. Section 1: None. Section 2: 009; 036; 050/027/008/153/010/015/009/124/056/128; 112; 045/005/112/131; 045; 020/134; 157; 017; 138/130; 059; 029; 101/024; 135; 094; both 028 & 076; 148; 094; 042; 054; 117/013; 013/009; 150; 013/009/013/007/013; 146/092/151/063; 002/050; 009; 062. Section 3: 038. Section 4: 002; 061; 050; 056; 051; 019/138/013/105/113/013/092/122/102; 019/048/011/123/124/014/145/139; 051; 013, 145; 023; 096; 128; 128 (again); 008/128. Section 5: 014; 113; 002; 032/136/015; 025. Section 6: 096; 006; 002; 002 (again); 005; 008.

The taped banter between Daisy and Jon is from MAG 061. The Michael quote is from MAG 101. A few bits of Breekon's dialogue were borrowed from MAG 128.

[duchesstart]

From {x}

wanderingwolfwitcher:

“First of you’re kind I’ll have ever kissed... but who would I be to complain about that? The Witcher’s life has its job benefits, new experiences. More detailed notes for the codex never hurts either...”

Eskel’s deep, calm voice observed, studying the attractive, if dangerous, Daedra named Aanrietta. Her enticing, otherworldly figure... towering, as tall as him or taller. For all he knew she would turn into a spider and try to eat him, or do something worse. She was still something of an unknown factor, a mystery, and he already knew she was inclined towards murder and eating human flesh. To say nothing of her titles. He’d managed to avoid eating her pies... but if he wasn’t careful might end up in one. But then if she wanted to kill him, likely she would have attempted it by now. She was fairly up front about what she wanted and desired. Nor was he a stranger to taking risks. If the worst came to pass, he could always Quen up and flee. Ah well, hell with it. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Leaning in, wrapping both arms carefully around her form, hands spreading along her back and trailing up and down it slowly, the Witcher leaned in and kissed the strange being. Slowly and intimately, taking his time, gentle at first, a bit more passionate as it went on, tasting one another. A sample, for a good starter, if more was desired on her part. Anything was possible. Despite or because of her danger, he could see how easily it would be to want more. His amulet buzzed in her close proximity, sensing her great power... he felt it as well. But was more allured by it than intimidated. At last he drew back... considering her and her gold and black eyes, his own yellow, bestial pair thoroughly pleased with the result. Speaking again as thoughtfully as before with some faint amusement. Languidly.

“Mmm... not bad at all, your highness. Quite the opposite. Would have done this sooner, if I’d known this was part of your tea parties. Different taste to royal demigods, I think. Unlike your human meat pies, I could get used to it... more than that, perhaps...”

      Aanrietta smiled at the mutated man - Witcher’s they called them. So elusive and rare was her kind yet none that had been pulled to this world was nothing like her. Trickster, demon, Goddess of Insanity. Names to fill their void of understanding. “Don’t be a tease now, dearest.” Aanrietta purred. Eager to see him fall to temptation, embrace her, and love her. A kiss or two. More if he so desired all the pleasures, she could give him. She would be his best, willing and capable to perform the primal dance for hours. Could be his last too if he wasn’t careful. She was a frickled lover, mood shifting from one emotion to another. To harmless to homicidal.

      An entity better off slain, buried and lost to time. If left unchecked, her madness and thirst for power could devour the world. If she could set her mind to it. Let the pieces fall where they may. Allow the prey to wander near. She wanted to play. As the Witcher leaned in, seemingly leaving caution to the wind. Dark painted lips parted briefly to reveal pointed like vampiric fangs. She could sense his desire, did not miss how is eyes roamed her shapely body. It was not the ‘perfect’ body women oft dreamed for and men drooled over. Aanrietta had a bit of meat on her bones but that only meant there was more of her to love.

      Strong arms came to embrace her. Calloused hands roamed the bare flesh of her back. Clawed hands came to rest on the sides of his face. Golden and black eyes gazing longingly into his.

       She half expected his kiss to be hesitant, weary as if she were to bite. Yet she was pleasantly surprised at his boldness.

      Quite liking it in fact as her lips moved with his. A slow and intimate gesture. Yet as they waltz the steps, he grew bolder and she hungrier. Oh, but a tease he was as he pulled back. Her lips chasing his for but a moment. A slight pause and then a smile. Serpent eyes gazing at his scarred lips before flickering upwards towards his calculating ones. A talon thumb stroked the scar that ran across his cheek. Hips pressing more against his, black tresses draping over her shoulders that did little to hide her dresses plunging neckline. A large open V-shape that stopped near her middle. Yet like any god deserving of worship, she was adorned in jewels. Thin golden necklaces along her breast and rings of precious, precious jewels.

      “Ooh? Would you now? Its not everyday that you meet a god so I suppose I can forgive you. Would you embrace me once more? Love me and treasure me? You could hurt my feelings about my pies. If you would have tried it, you might be surprised by the taste. How would you ever make it up to me…”  

@wanderingwolfwitcher​

[split-n-splice]

This chapter picks up the scene where Ch25 Welfare Check left off. Ya, it's a short one, ya, it's fluffy (I think so anyway), but it leads into things. Not exactly romantic things, but we'll get there. There’s a reference to Bad is Good and Good is Bad (a precursor to this fic) in this chapter, so maybe check that out if you haven’t yet.

Ao3 | FFn | Chapter Art!

[Chapter Guide]

27. Aura of Others – 1

Drakken smirked back at her for a moment, until she wiped her own smile off her face. His gaze hardened to somber stone then and turned down to the cutting board, and Shego had to wonder inwardly if he was imagining it was his competition’s fingers he was slicing through, given the newfound vigor with which he was chopping.

“We leave Friday,” he said decisively. “ASAP.”

Normally she’d be inclined to pluck a slice of pepper from the board and pop off something like, “What’s the rush?” but instead she crossed her arms and bit her lip to stifle a groan. “Mmm, no can do,” she regrettably informed. “Can it wait until Saturday?”

Drakken’s brow creased. “Why? Have a convenience store to rob, do you?” he shot.

She reached for the little paper in her pocket but stopped herself. Her hands were just beginning to spark – her nervous tell. She hid them under the countertop as she reigned it in. “No,” she snorted. “I have a date.” Though maybe angel boy wasn’t so innocent after all. Maybe he’d be down for a little burglary.

The sound of the knife chop-chop-chopping through veggies paused. From the corner of her eye, she could see him staring. Her stomach lurched – she didn’t want to look directly at him – but she shot a frown his way. “You have a problem with that, Doc?” she snipped after a moment.

His eyes snapped back down. “No. Not at all,” he said brusquely and spun around with the cutting board to focus on the stove instead. He flapped a dismissive hand. “Go hog wild. As long as it doesn’t interfere with what I have cooking.”

She watched his back as he worked, grabbing the olive oil and spices from the cabinet to throw in a pan, moving awkwardly as if determined to keep his back to her. She got the sense she wouldn’t be the only one keen on a change of subject. “What are you cooking?” she lazily wondered. She meant to stay perched on the barstool. She didn’t mean to hop off and open up the fridge beside him or steal a glance at the pan.

He shrugged, eyes flickering as he threw a sidelong peek her way. “Fajitas. Do you like fajitas?”

“Better than fish tacos,” she mumbled under her breath.

Shego reached for a can of root beer but caught herself eyeing an elaborately marbled dessert sitting on the shelf below, protected by a sparkling glass lid. He either had a knack for it or he’d been working on his presentation, she mused to herself. She caught a distinct whiff of pumpkin. No wonder it smelled so sweet in the lair. Unbefitting for a villain as it was, her partner was unabashed as ever about his sweet tooth.

“Enough for a guest?” she piped wryly, ignoring the twist in her gut as she leaned back on the fridge to watch the rogue doctor’s frown give way to a strained smirk. For the moment, she focused on the relief that her family had left – which meant she could stick around for dessert.

With something other than value-menu Chow in her stomach, plus an artfully-plated slice of sinfully decadent cheesecake to top it off, she was happier still to sink down in the soft corduroy cushions of Drakken’s couch that evening, hugging a throw pillow under her cheek. She was even content enough to sigh and say nothing in objection when the goober of a man eagerly tuned in to a Space Passage film on television.

The movie was tough to focus on. Shego barely followed, though her droopy fatigued stare straying off toward Drakken time and time again that may have been to blame. He sat slumped in his recliner nearby, absorbed in the franchise sci-fi flick and oblivious to her eyes continuously straying from the hunky Commander Cain. Eventually she tore her eyes away and shut them, nuzzling into the throw pillow and trying not to consider how much it smelled like him, staving off the smirk when the very idea infected her brain.

The room was mostly dark by the time her eyes opened again. The television was off, and only the lamp on the end table was left on to dimly light the den. There was a hand gripping her shoulder, and she turned her bleary eyes up at the dark shape of Drakken kneeling next to her. He smelled of booze again. He really shouldn’t have been leaning close enough she could smell it on his breath, but there he was, ballsy as ever when he’d had a bit to drink.

He swayed unsteadily before plopping over to sit on the floor, and just about melted against the edge of the couch. Shego scooted back a little bit as he rested his cheek on the cushion, his sickly-dark eyelids falling shut. “Why don’t you ever sleep in your own bed?” he grumbled to the corduroy.

She shifted, propping up on an elbow and rubbing her eyes to distract herself from how close his face had been. “Because I hate the springs,” she fibbed, and stifled a yawn. She didn’t want to admit that the mattress was one more bad night away from being completely unusable, if that. She slept better on the couch anyway.

The boozy man heaved a long sigh and hefted himself to sit in an almost upright position. She might be inclined to lecture him if the drinking habit kept up. “I suppose you want a ride home now, hm?”

“You couldn’t ask before you started drinking?” she groused. She bit back further chiding for now, giving a grimace and shake of her head. Even if he was in a state to drive, she wouldn’t want to go. She wasn’t ready to be tempted so soon by an addictive sleep aid, one of the scarce few things that promised relief. Too bad it came with side effects. Sinking back down into the pillow, she grumbled, “Go to bed, Doc.”

Drakken grunted as he stood up on wobbly legs. “Yes, ma’am.” He spun toward her as he backed away, kicking the coffee table and nearly falling as he went, and Shego wondered if he even knew what he was saying as he gave an awkward bow and made an even more awkward offer. “Well, if you care to join – i-it’s fit for a king – I mean, um – there’s room. ‘Night!”

She stared as he quickly retreated, shuffling and tripping his way out of the room. She didn’t hear his door click shut, and she stared for an extra moment as she deciphered the invitation before her face flushed pink.

The whole point of crashing at the lair tonight was to escape the temptation of popping another special little pill. And the whole reason for the temptation in the first place was a lack of control over an accursed otherworldly gift she was still battling to tame.

So it didn’t make a lot of sense to sit up, kicking away the fleece throw blanket that had been courteously draped over her. Her eyes remained on the door tucked away in the niche, and she gripped her knees tight enough her nails dug through the denim. She drew a deep breath. She wasn’t warm. He didn’t make her warm. She inwardly repeated it like a mantra, even as she tugged the collar of her blouse, blowing down it in a futile effort to cool herself.

It didn’t make sense when she stood either, and it made less sense to gravitate toward that door when she really should have been turning around and heading out the other to go home, or to her own room, or something.

It was cracked – she’d expected that – but she didn’t expect herself to raise her knuckles to rap lightly and push it open. Curiosity reeled her in, hook, line, and sinker.

Like the den, Drakken’s bedroom was dark, save for a reading lamp perched on the shelf built into the headboard of the oversized bed, casting a warm yellow glow. She’d stolen a peek once before when the lights were on, weeks ago, and silky scarlet bedding indeed fit for a king had been alarming then, but the bedspread had since been replaced with something more suitable to the new season. She could barely see his shape beneath the puffy blue comforter, and she couldn’t help musing how small and lonely he looked in the huge bed. Fidgeting anxiously with the beads around her wrist, her feet carried her forward before she could think twice.

The spring water stream cutting through the room was like a clear line warning her not to come any closer. Shego paused at the edge as a distant sense of déjà vu echoed at the back of her mind, and she couldn’t help reaching for her throat.

There’d been a warning line before, years ago. He’d crossed it with zero regard, though it had been clearly painted across the floor of her chamber at the research facility, marking how close was too close to the volatile subject she’d been reduced to. Maybe she should have taken the trench as a similar warning.

She crossed it anyway.

But not before clipping off the stupid bracelet and stuffing in the pocket of her jeans. It hadn’t felt so much like jagged rocks digging to her wrist until now. It didn’t even feel right in her pocket, and she had half a mind to discard it in the flow of murky water.

Heat rose around her collar again, but each step closer had yet to feel like an outright mistake as she circled cautiously around to a vast open side of the bed.

Drakken lay bundled on his side, something fuzzy and brown tucked under his chin as he scratched away lazily in his little leather notebook. He licked a finger and flipped a page to start on another before Shego cleared her throat softly, and his heavy-lidded eyes cut up to her through the skewed glasses. The book snapped shut and was quickly tucked under his pillow, one of several heaped on his bed, all bearing miss-matched pillowcases in shades of blue or red or grey.

Shego took half a step back when he jerked upright, catching his spectacles before they could fall off his face. He fixed the glasses on his nose, jaw unhinged, and she tried not to stare back. The once-over he gave her didn’t help the rising warmth she had to steel herself against with a deep breath.

His mouth moved, and she didn’t catch what came out, but she was sure it was confused gibberish anyway.

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously on him. The open space was inviting, offering ample room to toss and sprawl. “Do you promise not to touch me?” she asked carefully. It shouldn’t be hard to keep to the edge. The size of the bed was absurd really, at least for someone so solitary.

She shouldn’t be considering.

Drakken both shook his head and nodded, and looked rather confused himself in that moment. He all but tore off his glasses then, folding them up and discarding them to the shelf, as if to willingly blind himself so he wouldn’t have to look her in the eye. “Ah…yes?” he practically croaked.

“Pinky swear?”

Without question, he raised a hand and stuck out his pinky, but retracted it and pursed his lips with a hum. “That would be touching you,” he said absolutely, sounding a little too straight-laced and polite for a guy wearing an old rock-n-roll shirt to bed.

“Good catch.” A smirk pulled at the corner of her mouth. Shego fidgeted, but the buttons of her blouse shouldn’t have been what she fidgeted with. “I’ll kick your ass if you do,” she added without the conviction to back up the threat, and bit her lip as she hoped he wouldn’t prove crossing the line to be a mistake. She hoped he was as blind as she suspected he was, but even if he wasn’t, she might not mind the gawping as long as he kept his end of the deal.

She didn’t know what she was thinking, because the sake of comfort couldn’t be the sole reason for shedding her layers. She was warm, sure, but she could ignore the fact as she smirked impishly at the alarmed stare snapping down to her waist as her fingers popped off the last button in question. She almost laughed when stark uncertainty dawned on the tipsy man and he bit down hard on his lip, completely frozen and holding his breath. No sooner had Shego stripped down to her camisole did he throw himself back down, back to her before he could witness her stepping out of her jeans as well.

She couldn’t say she was all that let down he’d lost the brazenness that seemed to come hand-in-hand with alcohol lately. She wasn’t terribly offended by the cold shoulder either. If anything, it came as a comfort, as she could breathe easier when she wasn’t being watched. She was pushing her luck already, and she didn’t need to cross anymore lines tonight. She’d gone far enough. If she could just withstand this without the drug, then she could withstand Friday night.

A deep breath to calm her nerves once more, and Shego slipped into the soft cushy bed and under the heavy cover. She tried not to think back on the unwelcome wakeup call she’d had the last time she’d nodded off somewhere she shouldn’t have. Staring at Drakken’s back well out of reach, she relaxed, convinced he wouldn’t prove this to be a mistake after all.

The inferno of alien fire raging to be let out died down and she felt a few degrees cooler as she unwound with remarkable ease. Maybe she was being just a little too trusting, but she’d grown foolishly comfortable with this scientist over the past several weeks. She was banking on the rising villain to stay trustworthy.

Every blink stung, but rather than shutting them for good, her tired eyes strayed from Drakken’s back to the brown thing that had been discarded, forgotten on the sheets between them. She raised her brow but decided not to mention it until his own measured breathing had relaxed. By then, she couldn’t hold a small laugh back any longer. “You sleep with a teddy bear?”

By the level of irritation in the man’s harrumph, he’d nearly been asleep. She caught a glimpse of his purple face as he patted around behind himself for it, grumbling unhappily, “It was my dog’s.”

The room felt cold suddenly, which might have been a welcomed sensation if she were at home battling the resolve not to pop a pill. The thought of Drakken all alone in the great big bed crossed her mind again, and she tried to imagine him in the lab with a dog around to remind him to take a break for fresh air and a walk. She kept her mouth shut about the little memento, muttering instead, “I didn’t know you had a dog.”

“Yes, well, there are a lot of things about me you don’t know.”

“But I could know them,” she whispered over, watching his shoulders tense. She wriggled a bit to get comfortable, and maybe a couple inches closer. “What kind of dog?”

Drakken deflated with a long weary sigh. “He’s…was a beagle.”

She decided not to press it further. Now was the time for sleep, not for idly chitchatting like middle-schoolers at a sleepover. She was ready to shut her eyes, but suddenly Drakken shifted and her heavy lids snapped back open as he reached for the lamp. “Leave it on,” she blurted.

“Why?”

“Because – um.” She zipped her lips. Because she didn’t want to be sitting in the dark, with pinpricks of her nerves standing out like stars in the night. But wasn’t that why she was lying here anyway? To challenge her nature? She didn’t need him accusing her of being afraid of the dark. That would only worsen her condition and get her wound up again. “Nevermind. Whatever. Hit it.”

And the room went dark, save for the red glow of the digital alarm clock on the shelf.

As her eyes adjusted, she heard the shuffle and felt the slight shift across from her, still safely out of reach. He’d turned to face her now, the faint glint of light shining off his lenses indicating he’d donned his spectacles again. Nerves fluttered back to fan the alien fire at the thought that maybe he only needed the dark to get gutsy again. His pensive hum didn’t help. She was ready to snap at him to take a picture, it would last longer.

“You’ve got freckles?”

“What—”

“Like radium,” said Drakken between yawns. “Radium freckles.” No doubt about it, he was looking at her.

She wanted to roll over and bundle up so he couldn’t see any of her skin whatsoever, but she couldn’t even tuck a stray arm under the cover, momentarily frozen. She didn’t need to glance at herself to know the little pinpricks of plasma were firing off. Even her breath felt hotter now, the more she tried to restrain it. She shifted, hugging herself and rubbing a bare arm as if she could rub away the pinpoints of plasma looking for an exit. She wished for a fleeting second that she had the damn bottle of pills handy after all.

“Doesn’t it freak you out?” she wondered a little too crossly.

“Nah,” Drakken grunted. “It’s rather pretty. Dangerous things tend to be.”

Her brow furrowed. It was reassuring, and comforting, and it made her warm in the worst way – but it was midnight. It was time to shut up. So she grabbed one of the many pillows piled up and threw it in the general vicinity of his head. “Go to sleep, Doc.”

[pascalpvnk]

20 from the prompts list please

This didn’t end up the way I wanted it to…I hope it’s still okay ahh (masterlist is linked in my bio)

3.1k of some fluff with some pretty shitty angst

20: “Protective is different from being possessive!”

With one final swipe of mascara, and a last minute decision of a glossy lip, you’re about ready to go. Even though you’ve been looking at yourself in the mirror for about an hour, you haven’t had the chance to fully take in your appearance until now. You have to admit it; you look pretty good. Correction, really good.

There’s nothing crazy happening tonight so you’re dressed up for the part. A loose, low cut top is tucked into your favorite pair of worn jeans—the ones that really accentuate your figure the way you want—and a pair of Converse solely for comfort. Well, that is after you looked up how to properly dress for a night out. The key points you picked out were to know your setting, to feel good, and be comfortable. All three of which you definitely aced.

It’s been a while since you’ve had time to go out with work being up your ass all the time. In the times when you had some peace in your life, you wanted to spend it at home either alone or with your boyfriend. You’ve been trapped in your cycle of work, Shawn, and sleep that you’ve neglected your friend group more than you could’ve ever imagined. But tonight is your night. All of your guys’ night and you’ve been giddy about it since it was planned.

The bedroom door slowly opens and Shawn pops in as you shamelessly continue to admire yourself in the full length mirror. He plants himself behind you, peering over your left shoulder and drinking in your reflection. His stare finds yours and his lip slips its way between his teeth. He sucks in a breath and finally allows himself to touch you. You feel his fingertips trace up along your spine and delicately run across the silver chain adorning your neckline.

“Mm..you look gorgeous, honey,” he compliments, leaving a chaste kiss at the base of your neck, covering the cool metal.  “Do you have to go?”

You chuckle at your needy boyfriend, who would cling to you like a koala if he could. “Yes, Shawn. We’ve had this all set for weeks. And I want to get out of the house for once and not have to be in work clothes.”

“Maybe if you stayed, I could help you get out of these clothes.” Shawn gently wraps his arms around your torso and sways the two of you from side to side, his breath hot in your neck. 

Don’t fall into his trap. Of course you would love to stay and have a steamy night with him at home, but you have plans. Plans with people you haven’t seen in forever. The people that you’ve been neglecting more and more since you’ve let yourself become used to your routine. You never wanted that to happen and you’re definitely not allowing it to continue. 

“As tempting as it sounds, it’ll have to be another time. I’m not flaking on my friends again.” You let your arms rest on top of his, rubbing the pads of your thumbs against his skin.

“Maybe when you get back?” Shawn buries his nose into the crook of your neck and shoots doe eyes at you through the mirror. The temptation to give into him is very strong, but you just can’t.

“Yes, maybe, but I’m making absolutely no promises. I’ll probably be back a little bit after midnight so I might just wanna go to bed. I can only for sure promise cuddles tonight if you’re down,” you smirk, fully knowing that Shawn has never turned down cuddling and probably never will.

“I’d say that’s a deal.” His voice is muffled by your shoulder, but you can see the crinkle in his eyes when he smiles. It’s crazy how this man can turn you on in a flash but then you blink your eyes and he’s the cutest person to grace this world. Saying you’re lucky to have him is such an understatement.

The two of you bask in the silence and presence of each other for a moment. It’s intoxicating, really. The level of intimacy that you share is otherworldly; something you’ve never shared with another person before. Honestly, you could stare at his beautiful self for eternity and never become bored. And what’s even better is that you know that he feels the same way about you, and you couldn’t dare to ask for anything more than that. 

“I’m gonna miss you,” he pouts, bringing his chin up to rest against you. His arms slightly tighten around you, like he was going to lose you if he were to let go. 

You gently spin around in his hold and place your hands on his chest, “I’ll be back before you know it. It’ll only be a few hours and then you’ll get the cuddles I promised.”

“Okay. I might call Brian and some other guys and see if they wanna go somewhere or play video games,” he shrugs. You’re aware that he doesn’t like being alone, so this isn’t odd. At least he’s not pleading for you to stay.

“Look at you being social,” you beam. “I really gotta go, though. I’ll let you know when I’m on my way home.”

After patting his chest a couple times, you stand up on your toes just to give him a peck. His frame leans down to capture your lips into another, longer kiss, humming into your mouth. He’s really not making this easy, huh.

“Text me when you get there too, yeah?” Shawn tells you once he pulls away. “Just wanna make sure you get there safely.”

“I can definitely do that. I love you.”

“I love you too,” he replies with the cheesiest grin plastered on his face. 

Shawn turns to grab your purse for you. With his back to you, you can tell that he’s reaching inside. Not questioning him—completely trusting that he’s not digging for information—you let him search for whatever he’s set to find. He turns back to you and comes up with a stick of gum along with your tube of lip gloss.

“You’ll wanna reapply, babe,” Shawn smirks, popping the gum into his mouth. That’s when you see his lips shining from your gloss. A giggle escapes from you when you take it from him. He plants one last kiss on your forehead and lets you on your way.

You arrive at the sports bar and immediately hear the droning sound of sports announcers on the televisions and drunk patrons reacting loudly to them. Quickly, you grab your phone from your pocket and shoot Shawn a text, letting him know that you arrived safely, before searching for your group. 

It takes mere seconds before the overpowering cheers of your friends completely fill your ears. Your wide eyes find their table, all three of them waving in your direction. There are already multiple empty shot glasses on the hardwood and you can tell that they’re already way ahead of you. This is what I get for being late.

“You made it!!” Rubie exclaims. “I was about to drink your shots but I did not! Here you go, lady. You’ve got some catching up to do, alcohol-wise and in general.”

She pushes three glasses towards you and you take a seat next to her in the round booth. You immediately feel a weight lift off of your shoulders and for some reason, it’s easier to breathe. After settling in, you greet Aila and Milo. 

“So how’s life been treating you? It feels like we haven’t seen you in forever,” Milo pouts, taking a sip of his beer. The guilt of not seeing them has been eating away at you but now you feel kind of awful. You let the first shot of what you now know is tequila glide down your throat before answering his question. 

“It’s been okay, but I feel really bad about not spending time with you guys. There’s really no excuse-“

“Hey, you’re okay,” Aila interrupts. “We’ve been busy too and all of our schedules don’t always line up. But we’re all here now, so I think we should celebrate that.”

That’s Aila. She’s always been the mom friend and you’ve known that since you two were little. Her role is completely necessary since Rubie is rowdier than hell and you and Milo both tend to be emotional wrecks. You make a mental note to thank her later and just show her that you’re appreciative of her in general.

The four of you talk more while you finish the other two shots and some lighter stuff until you start to feel a buzz. Your “superstar boyfriend,” as Rubie called him, was brought up into the conversation a couple times, followed by a “you lucky bitch” and an “I’m so single” or something along those lines. You honestly do feel lucky to have him, but it’s nice to have some time away and you weren’t really planning on talking about him. Then again, you talk very highly about him and it makes you kind of miss him.

“Helloooo,” Milo is stretched across the table and waving his hand in front of your face. “You left us and went to a completely different dimension and I’d like you to return please.”

“Sorry,” you mutter into your glass. Stop thinking about him and just live in the moment, dammit.

The food that Aila had ordered for all of you finally arrives and your mouth starts to water in an instant. In that same instant, Rubie is speaking with not much of an indoor voice because she’s excited to “finally fucking eat something.”

As you all dig in, Aila’s eyes keep wandering behind you. Her cheeks turn rosy and she puts down her fries.

“Either that guy behind you is checking you out or is checking me out but I can’t tell,” she tells you, her eyes adverting to her plate. 

“Well one, he can only see the back of my head and two,” you pause as you start to turn in your seat, “he better be eye fucking you because I’m tak-”

You cut yourself off and stare at the redhead at the bar. Unsurprisingly, you see a head of curly brown hair right next to him. Brian, your boyfriend’s best friend, points at you and nudges the broad shoulder to his left. Quickly, you turn around to meet three pairs of very confused eyes.

“Do you know him?” Milo asks. “He’s kinda cute, not gonna lie.”

“It’s Shawn’s best friend, and he saw me and I think they’re coming over here,” you spit out. 

It shouldn’t bother you that he’s here, in fact it’s probably a complete coincidence, but it’s supposed to be your night with your friends. The friends that you’ve put off hanging out with because you’ve always been with him.

“Ohhh,” he responds. “Well it’s okay. The more, the merrier, right?”

The rest of your friends agree with him just as the two men approach the table. Shawn looks so happy and surprised that you’re here that it has to be a coincidence, right? He was just looking for a place to hang out with his best friends and it just happened to be the same place that you took yours. It happens. 

“Hi, honey. Fancy seeing you here,” Shawn chuckles, leaning down to kiss your forehead. You introduce him and Brian to everyone and offer for them to sit down. Shawn is now squished between you and Brian, whose eyes are lingering on Aila for maybe a few seconds too long. 

Everybody converses with each other, but you can’t help but feel an unsettling feeling in your stomach. There’s almost no way that out of all of the bars he could’ve chosen to go to, he picked this one. It’s the most public one in the area and it’s a decent distance away from your home. The bad feeling settles deeper and you’re worried that the alcohol is also contributing to that. You excuse yourself to go to the restroom and Aila and Rubie insist on going with you. 

Once inside, you pull your hair back and run your hands under the cool water of the sink, dabbing your neck to try to help you cool off.

“Are you okay, hun?” Aila rubs your back and you look at her through the mirror. “I can take you home if you’d like.”

“No, I should be okay. I just needed a breather. Super stuffy in there, yunno?” You give her your best attempt of a smile. Aila nods and takes a step back. 

“I may be a teeny bit drunk,” Rubie slurs, “but I know for a fact that you were just fine until you realized your superstar was here. Trouble in paradise?”

“Rubie!” Aila scolds in a whisper. The drunk girl just shrugs and waits for you to answer. Quite frankly, you don’t know how to answer. Yes, you two are doing great and you haven’t fought much but sometimes it can be suffocating. You didn’t really realize that until you were with your friends. It feels like he’s stuck in the honeymoon phase whereas you want to move on to the next level of the relationship. It all confuses you so much because you do love him so, so much, but you were so happy to finally be away from him. 

“I think everything is okay…it was just supposed to be our night as friends. It’s not like I don’t want him here, it’s just hard to explain, yunno?” You fish around in your purse for your lip gloss, feeling the need to retouch it. Aila agrees with you and so does Rubie, although you don’t think she caught anything you said. 

Confusion hits you like a truck when you find one of Shawn’s wireless earbuds on your purse. Not just one, but both and the case is nowhere to be found. Now, you know for a fact that you can track them, since you’ve had to do it for yours before, but it only works when they’re not in the case. You’re not one to assume, but with everything that’s happened tonight, it’s the only thing that makes sense to you.

“You know, I’m actually not feeling too hot. I’m gonna tell Shawn that I wanna go home. We need to do this again soon, I really had fun,” you shove your findings back into your bag. With no questions asked, they just nod and you lead them back to the table. Shawn is quick to his feet to let you back into the booth, but you stop him short.

After explaining yourself, well lying really, the two of you go home, leaving behind your confused friends and Brian, who was elated to have more time to chat with Aila.

Shawn tries to make conversation with you in the car, but you brush him off and stare out the window. And man, is it the longest twenty minute drive you’ve ever experienced. The air in the car is thick. Not even the quiet music could help you calm down. You’re internalizing your anger but with each passing second, it grows within you. You can’t believe he would go out of his way to do all of this. To ruin your time with your friends. You’ve never done that to him once.  

Once you’re inside your shared condo, you immediately kick your shoes off at the door and throw your coat on the back of the sofa.

“What the hell,” you dig into your purse to find his earbuds and hold them up for him to see, “are these doing here, Shawn?” 

“I must’ve dropped them in there, or I asked you to carry them for me? I don’t know,” Shawn responds, scratching the back of his neck. 

“I never use this purse on a regular basis, and I just got it out for tonight. They’re not mine because mine are on my nightstand. You put them in my purse before I left and tracked me.”

“I was just trying to protect you, hun,” he mumbles, dropping his head so you can’t see his eyes. 

“Protective is different from being possessive! I wasn’t in harm’s way. I was with a group at a bar and guess what, Shawn. I’m a fucking adult and I can take care of myself.” Your voice raises, and you aren’t sure if you meant for that to happen. There’s no going back from here. 

“I was not being possessive,” he defends himself poorly. It’s clear that he doesn’t appreciate your tone, but you don’t appreciate the way he’s treated you tonight. 

“There is a thin fucking line between being protective and possessive and you crossed it, Shawn! You followed me to the bar and you sabotaged my time with friends that I haven’t seen in months. If I did that to you, you would be livid. Don’t give me bullshit responses because you did something wrong and you don’t want to admit it.”

“Honey, calm down, it was a mistake,” he says after a minute of silence. “I shouldn’t have done it and I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

For a second, you contemplate on arguing him for telling you to calm down, but you decide that it isn’t worth it. He seems sincere and you don’t wanna make him feel worse.

“I accept your apology. I don’t want this to come in between us, but I want to be alone right now.”

You move to your shared bedroom, and prepare for bed. Every emotion is running through you, and you don’t know how to deal with it other than isolating yourself. Either that, or blowing up in his face, which isn’t some you want to do again.

“But what about our cuddles? You promised,” he whines, clearly trying to find a way to stay with you. Shawn’s tall frame blocks the doorway, his eyes locked on you.

“I feel like I’ve gained the right to break that promise the second you broke our trust. Just because I accepted your apology doesn’t mean I don’t still feel hurt,” you inform him. “I’m going to go sleep on the couch.” You try to push past him but he makes you come to a halt. 

“No, please stay here. I fucked up, so I’ll go sleep on the couch. I love you and you didn’t deserve any of this, I’m sorry. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Shawn gives you a light kiss on the forehead just before he leaves you alone for the night.

[forkanna]

NOTE: Guys... I appreciate your interest in FTF III. Really. But poking me about it repeatedly will not make it appear faster. Especially stop asking on a completely different fanfic, it is a bit rude. Thanks in advance!

[AO3] [WATTPAD] [QUOTEV]

The room fell deathly silent. Chie had already known she made a mistake the instant the words left her lips, and the knowledge only hit her harder the more seconds ticked by. A little at a time, her head creaked around to look at her best friend.

Yukiko was crouching on the top step, legs out to one side. She still looked so elegant in her pretty kimono, despite the look of pure shock marring her flawless features. Helpless again. Chie knew her shadow had a point — that she did enjoy being able to protect her friend when she couldn't protect herself. The point of contention was that she didn't specifically want Yukiko to be helpless.

But who wouldn't feel a certain pride in being someone's Prince?

"Chie," she was breathing in dismay, the full blush flooding her cheeks bringing her crashing back to the present. "You… c-come on, you know I don't like those kinds of jokes. This isn't funny."

"You say that like she's joking," Other-Chie laughed harshly as she forcibly bent Other-Yukiko over, hand already twisted into her silky black locks. When did she get up there? Her princess only gasped and obeyed; no resistance whatsoever. "She's wanted to bang you since forever."

"I have not!" Swinging back around, she assured her, "Seriously, I haven't. That's a straight up lie!"

"It's really not. This right here? What we're doing?" She brought her hand down on the black lace-clad hindcheek, and both Yukikos yelped in response. "You've been dreaming about doing it for a long, long time, haven't you? Almost a year. Every time you look at this plump little ass."

"STOP. That's a lie! I d-don't even know about this kind of stuff!"

"Neither do I," her best friend whispered.

"We sure don't," Other-Yukiko giggled. "But we like it. And we're really, really curious about more…"

Other-Chie grinned wide, leaning against her princess's hip for a moment to gaze at the two best friends. "Ohh, Yukiko's too simple to lie, and too pure and naive to ever have a kinky thought in her whole life. She really means that. But her prince is another story. She knows about this stuff, and she keeps thinking about it." Now she ran her fingers down to press against the lace-shrouded crotch, earning a gasp and a whimper from its owner. "Every time they were in the showers together… every trip to the pool, every time they tried on outfits in the Junes clothing department… the prince was checking out the princess. Dark little thoughts swirling around in her head."

"You got it all wrong," Chie growled through her teeth. "She's my best. Friend. I don't think those- c'mon, I'm not that kinda girl! Really! This… this fucking thing is lying!"

"You know I'm not." Other-Chie was suddenly next to them both, sitting on the floor. Yukiko drew back in shock but Chie stooped down to catch her hand up, trying to lend support.

"You are. I never did that! NEVER! I don't 'check her out' every time!"

"Well…" With a tiny shrug, the shadow relented, "Maybe I'm stretching the truth. But you also know I'm not lying. I'm you, after all."

Before Chie could bite back that she most certainly was NOT her, Yukiko whispered, "What is she talking about?"

"Double-you… double-you… double-you." Other-Chie was smirking demonically as she went on, "Ex, aych, ay, em-"

"Whoa, whoa," Chie laughed nervously, holding up her other hand to ward off her double. "Y-you don't need to keep going! That doesn't matter, i-it's no big deal."

"Why not? You afraid sweet, chaste Princess Snow White will find out you're the Prince of Darkness?"

The remark on her name was almost cute. Chie could appreciate it; "Yukiko" meant "Snow Child", after all. But given that it was coming from this vile creature, she couldn't quite enjoy the turn of phrase as much as she might normally.

"What is she talking about?" Yukiko asked. When her friend didn't answer, she gripped her hand a little tighter with both of her own. "Chie…?"

"It's nothing. Really." Silence. "It was one time."

"One time that lasted a few hours," Other-Chie added, examining her nails as she rose to her feet, towering over both of them. Intimidating them. The real Chie kept her eyes on the floor while she explained; better that it come from her than this sham standing in front of them.

"S-so… I, um… I overheard some of the boys in class talking about some porn site one day. And that night, I went to it, and- but I was only curious, okay? I wanted to know why so many guys do that! Like, what was the big deal?" Swallowing hard, she felt her breath coming faster and shallower as she went on, "Wh-what she's talking about is… I watched one video with two girls… and… it was… really weird, but I couldn't look away, and uh…"

She had been trying to build up to it gently. Leave it to her doppelganger to blurt out with no filter, "And I couldn't help thinking, 'Would Yukiko do that with me?'"

"NO! That is not what I thought!"

"The fuck it isn't, you liar," she laughed. "It's exactly what you thought."

"I thought it for one second. Like, because one of the girls had long black hair! I-it wasn't something I wanted to try with her, not really, it was just a… I'm not like that! Really, I'm not a pervert, and I'm not a yuri! Everybody has thoughts that just… push… into their brains, even when they-"

The moment she felt Yukiko's hands pull away was the moment a light inside of her went out. Her voice fell silent, and her eyes swivelled to see pure disgust radiating off Yukiko. To her credit, she wasn't doing it in a condescending, holier-than-thou way. Her friend was genuinely shocked and alarmed by any such thoughts about her — which was no surprise. Even Yosuke simply commenting that she looked 'hot' in her kimono one day had earned him a slap across the face.

"Yuki-chan… I'm…" Her face began to crumple. "I didn't mean it… I… didn't…"

"Can we leave?" she asked her, eyes averting. "Th-this place is… terrible. I think… we should just get out of here, a-and forget we were ever anywhere besides Inaba."

"Listen to her, pretending she doesn't want to leave Inaba," Other-Yukiko giggled as she pushed her hips backward, eagerly awaiting more pleasure.

"Listen to both of them," Other-Chie cooed as she ground her hips against one of her fellow shadow's. "Is Prince Charming gonna cry? Because she got caught with her hand down her pants, thinking about bending her best friend over and eating her pussy like breakfast?"

Teeth gritting hard, she snarled at the other one, "STOP. I never, ever did that."

"But you wanted to. Can't lie to yourself, Prince; just because you didn't give into temptation doesn't mean you weren't tempted. Just talked yourself out of having some fun for once."

Completely defeated, Chie simply curled in on herself. Eyes watering, heart tight in her chest. And the worst part was… she could tell she was vaguely turned on. Too much attention had been called to her dalliances in the past, and knowing Yukiko knew was part of it. Being able to see Yukiko's exposed body — even if it was a copy being controlled by an otherworldly monster — was another. Either way, it only added to her anguish instead of being anything she could remotely enjoy.

"I'm sorry," she finally croaked out. "Yukiko… I didn't… you're my best friend, I…"

"She is not. She's our pet dog that we can do whatever we want with, remember? Just like Muku! And with this dog, that should include… a little show and tell. Like this." One hand pulled the leash now attached to the other Yukiko's collar taut as the other glided in a wide circle on her ass, then slapped it again — earning a squeal from its owner. "Which you love."

"We both love it," Other-Yukiko moaned aloud with a shiver.

"What?!" the real one gasped. "I do not! And I've never done such things, anyway, so how dare you claim I w-would ever like something like that!"

The doppelganger's golden eyes narrowed as she scoffed. "Really? So maybe you aren't chomping at the bit to join me up here. However, as much as you want to pretend your only reaction is disgust, we both know the idea is… interesting. You've never seen anything like this before, thought about it before, or had anyone confess to finding you attractive. Well, no one that you find attractive in return. And this calls to you in a way you've never experienced before. Right?"

Now, her best friend's deep, dark eyes were wide as dinner plates. "Attractive? Chie? I… sh-she is, but I'm not interested in other women. So that… doesn't count. Right?"

"What?" Chie blinked up at her. "Wait, whoa, really? You think I'm hot?"

"I didn't say 'hot'!" she hissed. "I said you're attractive!"

Waving that notion away with her hand, she said, "Come on, I am not. Like… you're so much prettier than me."

"Took the words right out of my mouth," her clone chuckled as she gripped the other clone's pussy hard through her panties, grinding her fingers against it. Both of their originals looked away in shame at the display, trying not to hear the quavering moan that resulted.

"That's not true," Yukiko whispered. "You're very pretty. And cool, and strong — and funny! And I don't think I'm as cute as you do, I'm… so plain, and uninteresting. You're unique, like a glorious peacock."

Chie's eyebrows shot up. "A peacock? Who, me? No way!"

"Yes, you are." For just a half-second, Yukiko smiled, and everything felt like it was alright again. Then the smile fell away. "Oh… is that not acceptable to say? Because you like women?"

"No, it's fine. Wait! Wh-what I mean is… I'm not into women, either! Like, why would I be?" Then she laughed a little too loud to be believable, which eventually turned into a sigh. "But I guess… I've never thought about guys that much, either."

Her shadow kissed her way up Other-Yukiko's thigh as she muttered, "You won't admit it for some reason. Why, you may ask? The answer might surprise you!"

"Don't…"

"It's because you're scared. Aren't you? That all your friends and family will see you differently if they know you're a dirty, dirty muff-diver."

"I am NOT, though! Seriously, what muff have I dived- doved. Doven?"

Yukiko giggled a little. When Chie looked at her in shock, she shrugged and whispered, "What? That phrase is already funny, and you can't… change the tense, so you…" The snickering got worse.

"This is SO not the time to have one of your giggle-fits!"

"Okay, okay." But despite her assurance, she started giggling again, anyway. In no time, her arms were wrapped tightly around her sides as her entire body shook with laughter. It was ridiculously unsuited for their current situation, and yet…

And yet, all of her fear and anxiety and self-disgust seemed to grow smaller. To lose its edge. That vortex of negative emotions within her became little more than the fog that settled over Inaba after a few days' rain; not nothing, but nothing to be overly concerned about on its own.

"Awww, look at you two, bonding and sharing a moment," Other-Chie cooed as she rubbed Other-Yukiko's crotch harder and faster, lips getting closer and closer. The clone of her best friend was becoming unmade, just as the girl in the video she had watched did. Almost exactly like that, in fact…

And that was when it really hit Chie. This was an exact repeat of the scene she had watched in the video, with one or two slight variations and some supervillain dialogue thrown in. As much as she had tried to deny it before, how could she pretend otherwise with so much evidence stacked against her?

"CHIE!"

Both of them whirled to look behind them at the doors as they burst open. In the lead was Yu Narukami, his washed-out grey head of hair gleaming in the light from the chandelier and torches lining the walls. In his hands was a golf club, which looked no more badass than his usual school uniform, but somehow he cut an imposing figure regardless. Right on his heels was Yosuke Hanamura, floppy brown hair flying out behind him as he skidded to a halt behind their leader, ever-present headphones adorning his neck like a bizarre ascot as he raised two gleaming daggers.

"Yukiko!" Yu demanded. "Are you alright?"

"OH NO!" Chie gasped out as she shot to her feet, took one look over her shoulder at the scene still being re-enacted on the dais, and held her arms wide. "Wh-what are you guys doing here?"

Yosuke looked confused, though still alert for any sign of a shadow attack. "What do you mean? Like… we're here to rescue Yukiko, right? And maybe you, since you ran off like that, you idiot!"

"I'm not an idiot! And… and everything's fine, you can leave! Go on, shoo!"

"Y-yes!" Yukiko said as she finally stood, doing the same as Chie. Apparently, they had tacitly agreed that they didn't want the boys seeing what their doppelgangers were doing just behind them. "We're fine! In fact, if you… will please immediately leave, we will follow you! In just a few seconds!"

"Leave?" demanded Yu, his eyes narrowed. He never said much, all things considered.

"Dude, so not gonna happen," Yosuke scoffed. "We're not letting you out of our sight! This place is totally dangerous!"

"Listen to them," Other-Chie cackled in her strangely out-of-sync voice from behind them. "Soooo dangerous… for your reputations."

Chie had to grit her teeth and slam her eyes shut for a moment. There would be no pretending that was her talking; the tone was too different, too paranormal and bizarre. Plus, they had been watching her like a hawk and would have seen that her lips didn't move.

"Are those… your shadows? Behind you?"

"Don't look!" Yukiko urged, and Chie grimaced; she had been hoping not to draw more attention to them, which was exactly the kind of thing a phrase like 'don't look' would do. "Please, look away! This is too obscene!"

"Obscene?" Yosuke asked, genuinely surprised. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It means none of your business, you jerk," Chie snapped. "Come on, just… we can deal with this, a-and you guys-"

"Let them decide for themselves if they want to see the show," her clone purred as she stoked her counterpart's flames of passion higher and higher. "After all, you want them to know, don't you?"

Other-Yukiko giggled, "Not me. I don't want anybody to know how much I love what you're doing to me. But still… kinda curious what their reactions would be. So why not?"

Yu and Yosuke glanced at each other, shrugged, and began to approach the steps cautiously. Chie held up a hand to stop them, but she couldn't seem to get any more words out; she was too terrified of what they would do once they got to the top.

"Alright," Yu said firmly as they climbed. "Whatever you do… do not deny that your shadows are you. It will enrage them and cause them to become stronger, and turn on us."

"What do you mean?!" Yukiko gasped, trying to move her arms to cover the show behind them more completely. "Th-there's no- wait, please, just stay where you are!"

"Now you got me curious," Yosuke teased lightly as he smirked up at them. They had stopped halfway up the steps, but it was obvious they wanted to keep going. "What's going on back there? It sounds a little, uh… different than it was with my shadow."

"Nothing's going on! Please, just go back the way you-"

"Wait." Clearing her throat, Chie asked them, "What you said, a second ago… about not denying them. Like… aren't these just monsters, trying to copy our faces and do upsetting things? Like… like that one thing in Harry Potter?"

"Well, kinda," Yosuke sighed, becoming serious again. "They're a part of you. Like, something about this place, the world in the TV… it brings out the thoughts you don't wanna accept. Makes you face them. But if you reject them, you just gotta actually fight them with your fists instead."

"If we reject them… then they get upset…"

"This is insane!" Yukiko was babbling. And Chie could almost feel the two behind them listening intently, thirsty to hear said denial. "How can you think these things are us? Th-that's- you can't be serious! This is not m-"

"WAIT!"

Everyone fell silent, watching Chie carefully as she trembled on the spot. Then she pointed at the two boys, silently commanding them to stay put, before she turned back to look at the shadows.

"May I help you?" her own mocked with a slight smile. And now she could see that she had finally moved her Yuki's panties aside and had two fingers deep inside of her. The sight sent a mighty surge down to her own lower extremities, but she had to stay strong — had to ignore that heat and focus on what needed to be done. If she couldn't even do this, then she had no right to call herself Yukiko's Prince.

"You really are me, aren't you?"

Other-Chie smirked and nodded. "Yep. Sorry to burst your bubble, but this is all you."

"No… not really. But it's… things I've thought about. Isn't it?" She took a step forward. "You're what I would be if I didn't care about what other people thought… what my friends think. Like, a totally selfish version of me."

"Nothing wrong with being a little selfish now and then," she countered with a shrug as she caused more and more screams to spill from Other-Yukiko's lips. Just like in the video. By the tone, it was obvious she would be finished soon.

"Fine. Maybe… maybe you're right. But I accept you, so it's time for you t-"

"Wait, hang on," she asked, and an uncharacteristic pleading look had entered her expression. "Let me finish her off. Please… I probably won't get another chance, you know."

Chie didn't know that, because she didn't understand most of what was going on, but she was definitely caught off guard. But it seemed cruel to deny her this; they had already gone so far as it was. "Um… f-fine, hurry up."

"What… are you doing?" Yukiko herself turned, and her eyes went as round as her mouth once her jaw dropped open. "Oh! Oh my GOD!"

Now they were both watching their other selves engage in this display of debauchery. A quick glance over at Yukiko showed that she was definitely not hating it as much as she protested, even if the disgust had been genuine. As she said herself, she hated 'jokes' like these. Anything remotely sexual had been met with stern disapproval in the past. Maybe this would change now that she had been confronted by the darkest desires of her own heart.

"Uhhhh, girls?"

"CAN IT!" Chie snapped back at Yosuke. "Just… we're going to let them finish, since they're us, a-and then we'll accept them! That's supposed to stop them from hurting anyone, right?"

"Sure," he said, and a glance showed that his cheeks were flushed. "But like, it's cruel for us to hear what's happening and not be allowed to look…"

"You don't get to see this! Like, no way, are you crazy?! Just get out of here, already!"

"We can't," Yu said, even though he was clearly a little flustered. "Not when your safety is a concern." And from Yu, she actually believed him.

"Yeah, your safety." Yosuke, she did not believe.

"Yeah!" Other-Yuki was gasping out, hips rolling back against the punishing fingers. "A-almost there, Chie-chan! More! Give me more!"

"You got it!" Harder and harder, she punished her insides. "And you're going to call me 'Prince', aren't you?"

"OH! Yes, my Prince! YES! MMmhhhHHHHH!"

By now, there wasn't a face in that throne room that was any colour besides scarlet. The real versions of Chie and Yukiko watched their counterparts finish up their carnal act, sweat running down the sides of their faces… and something else running down the insides of their thighs. Both of them. It was obscene, but also somehow romantic; it felt like a lot of that animosity between them had dissipated once she started admitting that this wasn't purely a lie.

"This… is so unseemly…" Yukiko couldn't form words. She glanced up at Chie's blushing face, then pushed a hand against her own mouth as she looked at their clones again. "How can you think they're really us? Look at this! It's… so…"

"They are," Chie sighed — and it would have been weary, except she felt anything but tired. "It's… really messed up, and I'm sorry. But she's a part of me. I just haven't wanted to admit it, because… I'm so disgusting. But it's true. She's me."

Other-Chie stood and withdrew her fingers as her clothes melted back into the same outfit the real one was wearing. And then she started getting lighter, and lighter. A transformation was taking place within the spectral form: a yellow jumpsuit taking the place of the metallic bikini, a pointed white helmet covering her head, and a double-bladed ko-naginata in one hand. While she could still be seen, she laughed warmly.

"Wow. We're stronger than I thought we were, Prince. Maybe there's hope for us yet."

And then she was gone. No, that wasn't quite right; she had become part of Chie again. She could feel it settling into the pit of her stomach; guilt, nausea, desire. Not that it had ever really been gone from her while the shadow-clone existed — it was just a little harder to ignore now than before. Plus she felt fatigued as if she had just run a dozen meters, but it was nothing that a good nap couldn't cure.

"She's gone!" Yukiko gasped.

"Yeah, thanks a lot," her own clone whimpered, frowning. "Only got me off once and now she went away. And my Prince won't play with me; only the other Prince."

"W-we already played with you," Chie sighed. "And I did help, like I promised. I put the collar on you, and… and I let my shadow make you feel good. Right? So can't you go back into Yukiko now?"

"That's not how it works. She has to accept me, remember? That I'm part of her. That she loved what she saw just now, even if she's so confused by most of it…"

Distressed, Yukiko shook her head back and forth. "P-please, stop all these games. This isn't true! You're not mhhhgg!"

It was Yosuke's hands that wrapped around her mouth to stop her. Yukiko started punching at them but he had a decent grip. The clone had flickered for a second, become brighter, and then lapsed back into the post-coital depressed creature she had been again.

"Whew!" Yu sighed as he came up to stand beside the others. "That was close."

"Yukiko, stop!" Yosuke told her urgently. "I know this is probably… weird, and a lot to take in, but you can't reject her! Or she'll attack! Just… just accept that she's part of you so we can all go home now!"

When Yukiko looked not only distressed, but angry, Chie came to stand in front of her and clamped her hands down on both of her shoulders. "I… I know. I didn't want to, either, because… because I didn't want you to see. I didn't want to admit I've ever thought such terrible things, a-about you, or about our friendship. They suck. But it's me who sucks, Yuki-chan. Seriously, I'm a jerk, I… most of the time I do okay, but sometimes really stupid stuff goes through my brain. And it's not on purpose but it's still not right. I'm gonna work on it, okay? I'll do better, I…" She cleared her throat and set her face in determination. "But Yosuke's right. You can't fight this; that is you down there. It's a piece of you that you don't like very much, but she's you, and… and if you deny it, you'll only make things worse."

It seemed to do the trick. Yukiko stopped struggling, and her two friends let their hands fall away. Hoping desperately she would make the right choice. It took her a few seconds of shivering and thinking before she took action.

"Um…" Hands on her knees, Yuki stooped down and knelt by the sobbing princess-clone. "Yukiko?"

"Y-yes?"

"You really miss your prince, don't you?"

"Of course!" she bawled. "One minute, I felt amazing, and n-now… now she's gone! I hate it! I need my prince — I need my Chie! What am I going to do without her?! I… nobody can tell me what to do but her!"

Fresh embarrassment sprouted in the real Yukiko's eyes, but she powered through. "It's okay. We'll stay by her side together. Is… is that what you want?"

"You… you promise?"

"I do. I'll do my best from now on. You and I will together, since you're… me. I guess."

Even though Yukiko's face could only be described as a mask of disgust, it still seemed that her clone was thrilled with her. A look of pure elation was on her features as she faded from existence… turning briefly into the image of an ancient priestess that took Chie's breath away. Beautiful pink-and-red flowers with long petals fanned out from her hands, and the white shape of a heart covered her rose-tinted chest. Her features were very nearly… alien.

But she barely had enough time to register that she had seen it before they heard a vaguely echoing "thank you", and she was gone.

"Oh wow, that's a-" Yosuke didn't get any further than that before Yukiko started to sag toward the floor. "Whoa! Hey, be careful!"

Chie was just able to help him keep her from whacking her head, and they gently lowered her to the steps. They had won; they beat those annoying shadows into submission and got them to vanish! Even though she was still a little worried about the way they transformed into someone else before fading back into the host bodies, it was better than fighting them, at least.

But now they had to get out of here. Through their combined efforts, all three of them were able to carry her all the way to the entrance of the throne room.

"Whew!" Chie gasped, sweat rolling down her temples. "When did… she get so… heavy?! She's taller than me but weighs the same!"

"And there's three of us," Yosuke grunted. "Like, somebody put this girl on a freakin' diet!"

"S… sorry," she just barely mumbled.

"It's okay, Yuki-chan," her best friend assured her as she staggered to a stop. "But I think I… need a little… break… m'kay?"

That was the last thing she could manage before the floor was surging up to meet her, two voices were crying out in shock, and total darkness stole over that other world.

                                                To Be Continued…

[sinfullytempting]

Temptations (Filler)

Tag list:  @chanberrys​ / @a-revolution-teez / @sailor-san​ / @needyateez / @hotnoodle / @marooneclipse / @mans-ayyye  / @sominniej / @choisanz / @ktt-nz / @miyaboo103 / @deanvocals / @youseissi / @iwantdiemii / @rxsetemptation / @pookawrites / @sailor-san / and @princessvalencia1 /  @iwantdiemii​ / please ask if youd liked to be tagged for when i post chapters.

San (Lust 1) / Yeosang (Gluttony 2) / Seonghwa (Greed 3) / Wooyoung (Envy 4) / Chapter 5 (no introduction) /

Wooyoung glanced at San before back towards you, his lips pulling into a grin as he walked closer, humming. You closed your eyes as the scent of evergreen trees hit you, relaxing just barely as the boy grinned wider. "Won't you open your eyes for me?" You opened your eyes and you took in the sight of Wooyoung as you put another gummy in your mouth.

Bright green eyes, almost intimidating and black hair. The necklace around his neck had the symbol of a snake and you glanced towards San's neck. His own necklace with the symbol of a fox. You tried to think back on Yeosang, trying to remember if Yeosang had his own necklace. You couldn't think...or remember much about Seonghwa other than him being otherworldly, gold eyes and a soft caramel scent.

The other flustered you too much to get a good look at him. You rubbed your eyes and sighed quietly, not noticing San coming up behind you and snaking his arms around your waist, lips automatically dusting against your neck, hands pressed flat against your tummy, almost pulling you back into him, flush against his chest.

Yelping you trying to pull yourself away from San only for your attempts to be rendered useless. You sighed, angrily shoving a gummy in your mouth as San nuzzled closer. "Why are you so clingy? If I get out and you're attached to me, people are going to think we are dating." San hummed quietly, lips brushing your ear as he spoke.

"Let them." You shuddered and San snickered.

"The sentence still stands love. Let me fuck you and I'll be sated for two weeks. Depending on how good you are it could be more." Did he just- "even longer if you're a virgin." He purred, sliding his hands under your shirt and digging his nails into your hips.

He giggled and pushed himself closer but Wooyoung whining made him chuckle and stand up straight, only to shove you towards Wooyoung, who grinned and caught you. "Sannie is a tease isn't he?"

Your jaw had dropped the longer San had whispered into your ear. "What-" You rubbed your face, groaning. "You're a rollercoaster." San smirked. "Y'know what is better than an emotional rollercoaster?" He laughed, shrugging.

You rubbed your forehead, the pair already giving you a headache. "Don't say it." San was full of obvious innuendos and he knew it.

You sighed, looking up at Wooyoung who had laid his hands on your shoulders. He was warm, soft and definitely adorable. He grinned down at you and scanned you, humming.

"Hey Woo, do you smell Felix on her?" Wooyoung frowned at the name, leaning closer and sniffing. "Kinda yeah...why?" San stared at him. "You can't be serious? Why do we have her if Felix was her guardian angel?" He rose a brow and Wooyoungs mouth opened. "Oooooooh you're right!"

He nodded silently and turned you around to face San, hands still on your shoulders. "C'mon princess." Red eyes almost beckoning you closer, hands reaching out towards you. You blinked, walking towards San, hands reaching for him like a string was attached. Once close enough San wrapped you up in his arms, almost immediately your headache dissipated. You blinked a few times. "hello sweetheart, I know Wooyoung is hard to take in." You stated at him, lips pressing into a line. "It's both of you together. It's like Yeosang is the only sane one." He chuckled and a soft warmth appeared on your forehead, disappearing just as San leaned away.

Did he just kiss my forehead? He grinned. "I did." Your head had stopped hurting entirely. The soft smile he aimed at you had you melting into his arms, your own coming up to wrap around him, eyes hazy.

"Princess. Can you give me what I need?" Your mind cleared and you blinked a few times. The thought of San kissing you didn't sound too bad…

You hesitated before glancing behind you at Wooyoung, who didn't look bothered before nodding faintly. Soft lips connected with yours and electricity shot down your spine and towards your fingertips and toes. You melt into his touch as he tugs you closer, hand splayed across your lower back as he leans closer into you, biting on your lip before trailing kisses down your neck and you tilted your head back, giving him room as he went towards your collarbone, biting down hard enough to leave indents of his fangs.

You helped and jerked, San's grip keeping you from moving. "San!" He purred, grinning softly. "That's music to my ears princess, hearing you call my name like that." He whispered and he pulled his head back. "I can't wait to mark you up angel."

You covered your face and squirmed, getting away from San and taking a deep breath. San made you light headed, hazy, weak and a little too relaxed. You easily get swept away. He wasn't a rollercoaster, he was like the ocean, calm and almost rocking you to sleep, other times it's full of waves but still calm. Rarely, so far, it's stormy, angry waves and faint thunder. Smelling of a thunderstorm.

San smiled teasingly at you and closed his eyes for a moment and inhaled. "You still smell so good." He purred and Wooyoung nodded. "He's right...you smell so delicate and innocent." He murmured, falling onto the couch.

Staring for a moment you pulled out your phone and texted Min, asking him to write notes for you as you weren't feeling good. San chuckled, breath hitting the back of your neck and you jumped, turning and glaring. When did he get behind you? "Don't do that." He took a step back, hands up in a teasing surrender. "Sorry princess." His lips twitched, the corner pulling into a smirk.

"How about you get to know Woo? You'll see him a lot." You furrowed your eyebrows before turning to look at the grinning boy- or was that a lopsided grin, half a smirk? You turned to look back at San who ushered you to the younger, pushing you to sit next to him. "Wooyoung will protect you if I'm not...available per say." San hummed and said boy nodded. "It'd be rare, but he's there, you won't know unless you smell him around, he's good at hiding." Wooyoung smiled and lit up at the praise. How cute, like a puppy.

"Thank you Sannie!" Your lips twitched, almost forgetting they were sins, demons, deadly beings with how childish and...human they were. Wooyoung turned towards you and grinned. "So I'm like your bodyguard when Sannie isn't around. You can summon me easier than Sangie, but not as easy as San." He leaned closer. You had to admit, he was utterly adorable. Enough that your hands twitched with the urge to squish his cheeks.

Your phone went off with a text message and you grabbed it quickly, a message from Min reminded you that you had a party you were going to that night. You looked up at the boys who were bickering with each other. You pursed your lips, wondering if you could manage to sneak out later, your outfit was in your closet and ready to go as soon as seven hit. You bit your lip and glanced at the time on your phone.

10:39

That gave you roughly 9 and a half hours toget yourself together, meaning get away from these sins and into the party at Min’s frat house. You squirmed before tilting your head to the side. A text from an unknown number had you squinting. You recognized that number. You jolted when your phone buzzed in your hand and you quickly answered and disappeared outside. “Hello?” You spoke before freezing at the voice on the other line.

“Y/n?”

“How did you get my number? I told you to delete it.” The voice sighed before the rustle of clothes told you he moved.

“You told me to, but doing it was up to me. The same goes to you, why didnt you block me?”

You clenched your jaw and gripped your phone, tightly but kept quiet.

“Come to the party tonight Y/n. I’ll see you there, dont forget to wear your costume.” The voice chuckled, voice rumbling across the phone to you.

You wanted to throw your phone across the room. But, remembering that you had sins, hot ones at that, made you feel the slightest bit better

You stood, fuming as you faced the balcony, clenching your free hand as you huffed angrily.

“Dont contact me again. Stay away from me if i do come.” You hissed quietly into the phone, pulling the phone away from your ear as he laughed, itching to reach through the phone to punch him in his pretty face.

“C’mon princess.”

“Dont call me that Changkyun.” You honestly didnt know how Min was friends with him before he found out what he had done to you, you didnt understand how anyone was friends with this douchebag.

Kihyun, Minhyuk’s best friend, was utterly adorable, and maybe you had the slightest crush on him- Thats right! Maybe you could convince Minhyuk to give you his number and you could ask Kihyun to play as your boyfriend so he would leave you alone.

You hung up and smacked your phone on the table next to you, glaring outside. The smell of evergreen trees surrounding you as well as the addictive scent of San’s cinnamon spice close behind.

“Are you ok?” Wooyoung appeared in your vision, eyes soft as he took in the anger in your eyes. You rubbed your eyes and sighed. “Who was that on the phone?” You heard San murmur as he picked up your phone, eyeing it.

“My ex boyfriend.” He hummed, eyes turning to Wooyoung and smiling, lips pulling into a grin as he looked over your shoulder. ��Why was he calling Y/n?” You sighed and turned to look at San. “There’s a party tonight that im going to with some friends tonight, its a party that you can dress up as anyone you’d like. Im going as Harley Quinn from the DC series.” San hummed, red eyes scanning your face and tilting his head. “Can we come with? What time is it?” You tilted your head and turned to lock eyes with San.

“Im going with Minhyuk, its at 7pm...and no you cant go, i might need you though, just incase my ex tries something...” Both nodded and smiled. “What should we go as?” Wooyoung chirped, leaning against the table and humming. “How about someone from this ‘DC series’?” You scratched your cheek and shrugged. “Go look for it yourself.” You grunted before heading towards the couch and falling onto it, snuggling into the pillow and sighing, closing your eyes. “You woke me up and now im still sleepy.” You grumbled when you felt San’s presence close to you. He laughed and sat by your feet, pulling the blanket out from under you and humming. “I guess you could go back to sleep for a little bit, ill cook you lunch then wake you up when its done later.”

You rubbed your eyes and turned on your side, facing the couch as San covered you with the blanket, Wooyoung took a seat on the floor, humming as he turned on the TV. “Sleep well, Y/n.” You mumbled nonsense before falling asleep quickly, San’s hand stroking your calf slowly, helping you fall asleep.

-----

You stirred as the couch pressure moved, a quiet ‘Shhh’ lulling you back into sleep, the whispers or the two sins fading.

San sighed and covered you with the blanket before he turned around with Wooyoung following as he walked into the kitchen, looking around as he thought about what to cook for you. He scrunched his nose. “Should we call Seonghwa?” Wooyoung rose a brow and chuckled. “You’d willingly ask Seonghwa to come in here and help you do what? Cook?” San rolled his eyes before he went to the fridge to cook some lunch for a human.

San had to think hard, he had seen something about the DC universe that you had mentioned, he did have to say that Harley Quinn was indeed his favorite character. Although he did not like the relationship between her and Joker. Poison Ivy and her were a pretty cute couple. But was there a character that would go well with Harley? There was only one character that was coming to mind and that Batman. San scrunched his nose. There were plenty of girls around Harley that would work.He glanced at Wooyoung who was looking into the fridge for a drink for you. “Wooyoung, have you seen any movies from the DC universe shes talking about?” He stopped, remembering that The Riddler was a character. Thinking harder for a character for Wooyoung.

San shrugged and looked at Wooyoung. “We can dress you up as Robin.” At Wooyoungs whine San laughed quietly as he dug out some food and started cooking.

Moments later you trudged into the kitchen. “What are you making?” You mumbled, voice thick with sleep. “Brunch. Pancakes or waffles?” You hummed at San’s voice, rubbing your eyes as you moved closer to him, watching him cook with half lidded eyes, forgetting Wooyoung was there as you leaned against San tiredly. “Smells good…” You mumbled before jumping when Wooyoung grabbed your sides. “What the fuck?” You whirled around and half glared. “Hi angel~” You huffed before a glass was shoved in your hand by the male in front of you and you looked down, sighing softly. “Why are you guys spoiling me?” They shrugged and you sat down at the table, watching the two interact as they moved through the kitchen, a faint smile pulling at the corner of your mouth unconsciously.

Humming you rested your head on your hand that was against the table, eyes half lidded, still tired. A plate was placed in front of you, right as your eyes closed, the smell of waffles invading your nose and you sat back, opening your eyes to see both of the sins on the other side of the table, watching you. “We decieded who we are going to as this party.” You rose a brow, cutting the waffle up as you hummed. “You know you dont have to dress up from someone in the DC universe or at all.” San’s lips curled, smirking. “Alright then. We can be someone from Alice in Wonderland.” You blinked before placing the utensils down and looking up at them. “Mad hatter and the Cheshire Cat?” You hummed at their question. “Sure…” You grinned faintly at the image that popped up into your head.

San cocked his head and chuckled softly. “Minhyuk might be able to let you wear his outfits, we did them last year. Whos who?” San glanced at Wooyoung at your question before smiling. “I’ll be the cheshire cat, Woo will be the mad hatter.” Wooyoung shrugged and nodded. “Fine with me.” You smiled widely, glancing at the clock. Twelve thirty. Pulling out your phone, texting Minhyuk and confirming that he still had the outfits.

Continuing to eat you hummed, cocking your head to the side and closing your eyes. “This is good, you know how to cook? I thought you didnt need to eat.” San shrugged, smiling. “Ive claimed enough humans to learn how to cook.” You pursed your lips and nodded, finishing off your food.

All you had to do now, was stop at Minhyuk’s dorm, grab the costumes, come back and shove the sins into their costumes then get yours on. Getting up you put your plate in the sink before heading towards your room to change. “Im changing then im heading out.” San hummed in response from his spot, watching you turn and leave.

Throwing on some black ripped skinny jeans and an oversized hoodie of Minhyuk’s that you had stolen borrowed you shoved on socks and shoes before walking to grab you phone and your keys. Wooyoung appearing infront of you halted your steps. Lips were in a pout, eyes in puppy dog form. He was giving you puppy dog eyes. “Can i come with?”

“Do i really have a choice?” Wooyoung hummed. “Not really, but its nice to ask...” You nodded, leaving with Wooyoung as San shook his head and waved you off. “I’ll stay here.”

“Dont burn my place down.”

“No promises.” San teased, a smirk on his face.

Now all you had to do was get to Minhyuks place without having anyone stop you. You knew his spare key was ontop of the door fram, and you could just barely reach it. Maybe it was a good thing Wooyoung came along, he was a little bit taller then you. But maybe, trying to summon Seonghwa wouldve been better, he was taller then both of the sins currently invading your home.

Debating on driving was what was going on your head, it was only a 15 minute walk so you turned around, locked your door and headed towards Minhyuks place with Wooyoung trailing behind.

“Can you stay outside while i run in?” Wooyoung didnt answer, too focused on the hoodie you were wearing. “That doesnt smell like you.” You frowned. “It’s Minhyuks, why does it matter to you?” Wooyoung huffed. “San might care.” Its then that you remembered that Wooyoung was Envy. He was jealous that you were wearing Minhyuks hoodie ontop of San getting to you first.

“Are you jealous?”

“No.”

“Envious?”

“...are we almost there?”

You laughed at Wooyoungs blatant ignorance of your question before you turned and stop on the sidewalk at the sight infront of you. You took a few steps closer to Wooyoung, unconsciously gripping his sleeve.

“No way...”

[devnny]

CHAPTER TWO.

JTRM — THE “R” STANDS FOR RECOVERING!

PREVIOUSLY.

This is it fellas; the MEAT, the starting point that actually matters. It's all a damn mess hereafter. Devi, babey... forgive me, the Hell begins now! (And Johnny... please fucking behave yourself.) 

Dear Diary,

I’m back from vacation.

I have a date FUCK meeting with Devi. Yes, that Devi. Weird, no?

She grew a head-thing too, but she can control it, and she’s going to try and help me do that too… We’ll see how well that works out. She yells a lot… scary.

I haven’t totally given up on my emotional enema idea, though! Just gotta work on my temper. Why does everything have to be so aggravating?

--

3:00PM:

“I must be out of my fucking mind, Tenna.”

“I thought you just got over being out of your mind.” Tenna replied from the couch, squeaking Spooky as punctuation to her sentence.

“Don’t chastise me.” Devi moaned, loosely draped over her armchair. “Sickness has nothing on Nny.”

She dragged herself into an upright position to continue her complaints.

“AN ART LESSON FOR A MURDEROUS LUNATIC, yeah, innovative idea there, Devi!” She cried to the gods in vain. No gods could save her from the bed she’d made so neatly for herself.

“Maybe he won’t show up?” Tenna tilted her head further off of the couch in an attempt to make eye contact with her forlorn companion. Devi only melted further down her seat.

“That’s my only hope.” She sighed. “But knowing my luck, he’ll show up with a bouquet of severed hands for me. God it was so… weird talking to him again. Besides the topic being about personal insanity and death, it was sorta like old times.”

Tenna sat up to stare at her skeptically.

“Don’t tell me you missed him.”

“NO, no! Nothing as stupid as that.” Devi insisted. “Well, I mean, I did miss the Nny I thought I knew, but that’s kinda “sucks to suck”, seeing as that Nny wasn’t… really him.”

“And what if that was the real him? And you’re going to slowly scrape Mister Nice-guy out of his skull with your bare hands, like some kind of monkey artist-therapist combo?”

“I doubt that even more.”

Devi got up from her chair to scoop up the art tablet that was besmirched with Johnny’s drawing from off of the coffee table. The little stick figure he scribbled down had stayed there, mocking her, since his creator had left in the early morning hours. Johnny had only shared a couple of his “Happy Noodle Boy” comics with her long ago, likely because he was embarrassed about them. He had said he used to paint and sketch very detailed pieces, but as “something” – which she now knew was the “Doughboys” and wall-demon, and whatever else was involved with these brain parasites – overtook him, he lost all ability to create beyond these meager doodles. She couldn’t imagine a more horrid fate for a creative. For herself.

To some degree, she pitied him, but then she would remember he that tried to murder her and felt a lot less pity. Even if she understood now that he was hapless pawn, set forth to do obscene violence in the name of some otherworldly creature, all that said about him was that he was too weak-willed to stubbornly commit to his art the way she had – so could she even help someone like that?

It was irrelevant, she decided, since his new little “voice” wanted to involve her in his scheme to eat the last remaining bits of Johnny’s brain. If she didn’t try and aid him now, he would probably just manifest in a couple of months to try and either murder her or… worse.

She shook her head. Disgusting!

“I don’t have a choice with this Tenna.” Devi grumbled. “Or rather, I guess I do, and I’m choosing to deal with this now, instead of trusting Nny to have any mental wherewithal to fight this off and not turn into a puppet again.”

“That’s very brave of you, Devi. You’re an inspiration.” Tenna joked, wiping a fake tear away. Devi groaned.

“Thanks. Now get out of here, before the creature himself shows up.” She tossed the tablet back onto the table haphazardly. “I know how he acts around me, relatively anyway, but I don’t need extra company throwing him off-balance, and this ends up a double murder.”

“Okayyy, but if things get hairy, give me a code, like, three stomps on the floor, or eerie silence, or something, and I’ll call the cops!” She grinned from the doorway.

“WHAT GOOD WOULD IT DO!?” Devi steamed and slammed the door shut. She still had very bitter feelings about the city’s useless police force – demon intervention or not.

--

6:01PM:

Johnny sat with his knees up under his chin in the driver’s seat of his car. He pressed his shins against the steering wheel anxiously while he tried to think about what to do. He had gone home and bummed around – the house was still as he’d left it, only dustier, which was to be expected -- until the afternoon, after which he started panicking like the madman he was. What the hell was he supposed to do, actually show up to this thing against his wishes? An ‘art lesson’ with that intimidating woman that he didn’t particularly enjoy being around anymore, mostly because she berated him with scathing honesty now!? Ridiculous!

Yet he was here, parked behind a 24/7, less than a block from her apartments, at the time she requested he come. Curse her, and curse her rightness about all of this. He didn’t want to go.

Hesitantly he moved a hand over and grabbed a small bag of his own art supplies from home. Nothing fancy, but he preferred his own pens for inking comics, as he knew how they performed. Small increments of control was better than none, after all.

Johnny, bag clutched to his chest, exited his vehicle and kicked the door shut. As he walked from the alleyway to the sidewalk that lead to Devi’s building, he questioned all the uncertainties that he was headed directly towards.

The most basic of those worries was his timing for this meeting – arriving early was out of the question, but he had arrived almost exactly on time, which also seemed kind of pathetic. He hated getting caught up in these sort of social dilemmas – but since it involved another person, and one that he kinda-sorta respected in the highest regard, he wanted to make a good impression! What if she was irritated that he was even a minute late? Or what if that made him look totally creepy, and arriving loosely around 6:00PM was more of what she imagined? Stupid social cues!

Amongst his inner-monologuing, he failed to realize how close he was to Devi’s apartment until he was at the steps of the building. He cursed to himself, then treaded up into the lobby and checked the time on the digital wall clock that hung lopsided by the elevators. 6:14PM.

“Shit.” Johnny mumbled again. He didn’t want to hurry if this was supposed to be a casual timeframe, but he didn’t want to doddle either! He decided to take the stairs, but briskly.

--

FOUR FLOORS UP:

Devi had just started to think that the glimmer of a chance that Johnny wouldn’t show up was plausible, when the door knock came.

“Shit.” She griped from the kitchen. Her chest heaved out a sigh, and she aggressively set down her glass of water on the counter. This was going to be a long night, surely.

A few short strides to the door, and she opened it up to her expected guest. At least he didn’t have a bouquet of human limbs.

“Hi.” Johnny shot her a sideways smile. Devi did her best to hold in any unhappy noises, and tried to force what little optimism she had out from the very bottom of her soul.

“Hey, Nny.” She replied, only a little dryly. Johnny smiled wider at that.

“No bat tonight?” He pointed to her bare right hand. Devi looked down to it, then back at him.

“Don’t tempt me.” She stepped aside and let him in, hoping that the act wasn’t just as good as signing her death certificate. Johnny strolled in much too casually for her liking, but she ignored that, hoping to put off any bursts of maniacal rantings from him as long as she could.

Johnny looked around her apartment, like a normal house guest might, seeing as he was one this time. He inspected a few of her paintings with a thoughtful smile on his face and his hands crossed behind his back, still clutching his pencil bag. Devi’s eyebrow ticked in annoyance.

“I didn’t really get a good look at your apartment last night. It’s nice. Very you.” He hummed.

“Thanks.”

“These are your paintings aren’t they? I like them.”

“Thank you, Nny.” Devi rolled her eyes tiredly. “Can we focus here, a little bit?”

“I’m only trying to be polite! You were so kind to invite me back despite desperately wanting to smash my skull in yesterday.” He smiled at her again, almost arrogant, as though trapping her in small talk was a necessary evil, and if he had to suffer this social outing, so did she. Devi snorted.

“Your immense politeness is noted. Now let’s get on to what you’re here for.” She tilted her chin in his direction as she walked by, leading him further into the living room. She sat with a leg tented up on the floor, and Nny followed, sitting across from her with his feet together.

“I see you came prepared for this. That’s good.” She noted the little bag in his lap, choosing to assume it was art supplies and nothing sinister. Johnny grinned while Devi took up the same drawing pad from the night previous. He eagerly opened the pouch to spill out his pens and pencils onto the table. Devi held in any relief that she was right in her assumption.

“So. You just want me to draw?”

“Yeah.”

“And you really think that’s the key thing here?” Johnny questioned skeptically.

“Sickness always talked about how annoying my work ethic was for her. While she was trying to form, I guess, I was using too much of my brain for painting stuff, so she couldn’t grow right, or quickly, or whatever.”

“I see…” Johnny brought a knuckle up to his mouth. “So it’s not so much using your brain, but using it for creative endeavors? Writing, drawing, thinking?”

“Seems like it.” Devi leaned back on her palms. “And to a further extent, not giving in to the temptation of sitting around and doing nothing. There were times where all day I’d be thinking; “I need to work, I need to work”, but I just sat there on the couch thinking about it, never actually got up and did anything, which is what she wanted. For you, it was probably a little different, seeing as – as far as I know – the only supernatural thing that lived in the apartments besides Sickness was the psychic fat of a morbidly obese woman.”

“…What?”

“Nevermind.” Devi looked around before settling her eyes on the paper again. “Just draw, for like, an hour. I need to get some work done too, so I’ll just sketch concept crap while you do that.”

“What should I draw?” Johnny inquired while he jammed the eraser of his pencil up against his gumline.

“I can’t tell you that, that defeats the purpose.” She sighed. “Just, draw a comic, I don’t know. It doesn’t have to make any fucking sense, just something.”

“HAH!” Johnny laughed. “Well I have good news about my Happy Noodle Boy comics, then.”

He seemed a little more enthused at that and pulled the tablet in his direction, before hunching over the table and skritching away at the paper beneath him. Devi watched him curiously a moment before returning to her art room to retrieve her own sketchbook.

--

45 MINUTES IN:

Devi looked up from her perch on her armchair at her struggling ‘student’. She’d already watched him wad up and throw three separate sheets of paper around him, and he was looking more unhinged the less his drawings were coming out like he wanted. Johnny stared at his current page with his lips pursed and his eyebrows furrowed tightly. As he lifted a hand up to the spiral of the tablet, Devi interrupted him.

“Ah.” She scolded. “Keep going.”

“But it’s STUPID. It makes no SENSE.” He argued at her from the floor.

“I told you that’s fine. Don’t get frustrated on the details, it’s fine if it looks like crap as long as you finish.”

“IT’S NOT!”

“Nny.” Devi’s eyelids lowered, indicating as ungently as possible that she wasn’t budging on the subject. Johnny responded with collapsing across the table dramatically.

“THIS IS TOO ANNOYING, I WON’T CONTINUE.” He seethed. “I’m going to the 24/7 and getting a Brain-Freezy!!”

“No, you are not. Finish your stupid comic, you only have like, ten minutes until ‘break time’ anyway.”

“YOU CAN’T MAKE ME STAY!” He screamed back, raising up to glare at her with his hands flat on the table. “I’M TIRED of being controlled, this is idiotic!!”

Devi frowned and set her sketchbook aside.

“Don’t be such a baby!” She chided him. “Think of the goal you’re working towards, you moron! Complaining about not being free when working toward freedom? HELLO?”

Johnny kicked his legs out and let himself fall backwards onto the floor, glaring at the ceiling as though it had called him a slew of cusswords. After a few moments of heaving breaths, Devi watched his chest slow to childlike huffing.

“But… I HATE it, Devi. I HATE IT!” Johnny clenched his fists tightly. “I hardly even enjoy drawing these ASININE Noodle Boys anymore!! I want to draw the way I used to, and this just reminds me that I can’t!! Sometimes it’s still fun, but mostly it SUCKS! COMPLETELY SUCKS!”

“Jeezus… don’t look at it like that, Nny.” She sighed. Tenna joked about her being a therapist monkey, but that was barely an exaggeration if this was going to be how things went every encounter. “Look at your scribbles like the first step back to your previous talent, not a continuous path of stagnant shit you have to walk. I swear, Johnny, this is going to help.”

She hoped that she was swearing to something she could actually bolster, especially after Johnny rolled his head over to give her an immensely forlorn expression. After a moment he sighed and sat back up, lamely picking up his pencil to continue drawing. Devi watched him again, a pinch uncomfortable with the sudden seriousness of the mood, and tried to think of something funny to say.

“Well,” She picked up her work again. “I guess if all else fails, you can just die again.”

Anyone else might have thought the comment cruel, but Johnny burst into a fit of muffled hysterics. Devi smiled against herself, but did her best to hide it behind her sketchbook. Johnny’s giggling tapered off as he settled his hand back onto the page he was working on.

“You know,” He began as he started scribbling. “the funniest thing about the whole dying incident… the method was so stupid.”

“I told you about the RadioShack arm and all of that, but the way I rigged it, it shouldn’t have ever worked! It was hooked up to the phone, and would activate when I got a phone call, but wouldn’t actually go off until I picked up the receiver and said “hello” into it. As Psycho-Doughboy so kindly said, it was a load of shit! I never get calls, not even wrong numbers, and especially not at 2 o’clock in the fuck-all morning!”

Devi’s hand stopped moving mid-stroke, her eyes wide. Johnny didn’t notice, and continued speaking while he drew.

“But, out of all the shit luck I’ve had, the phone rings, right then, right when I was screaming with the Doughboys, saying I was calling the whole thing off! Now that I think about it… I don’t know why I didn’t just… not pick it up – BUT, thank fuck I did, right?”

Devi remained silent, her throat suddenly, and increasingly, dry. It couldn’t be, it just could not be. Her mind raced; maybe it was wrong, she was mistaken – but there was no way, it fit too well. All she heard was that fucking “hello”, then a bang – a gunshot. A thud. A scream. If Johnny was still talking now, she couldn’t hear him.

“It was me.” She said suddenly, bringing Johnny out of his thought.

“Huh?”

“…It… was me. It was me, I was the one that called you that night.” Devi’s widened eyes lifted to stare at him as she spoke. “Tenna said… I was just… checking if you still lived there.”

Her mumblings died off as her eyes wandered away from Johnny’s face to bore into the drywall across the room. Johnny blinked, barely processing what she was saying.

“What? You called me that night, Devi?” He wondered only briefly how she could know it was that exact night, but quickly rationalized that he hadn’t received any other phone calls besides that one, before or since. It was Devi. His eyes grew impossibly larger as the reality of it dawned on him.

He stood up, unable to keep still with the sudden surge of energy pulsing throughout his body.

“You, you – YOU called me Devi!” He paced as he handled the information. “You did – oh my God, I can’t believe I never thought of this before!”

Devi’s attention made it’s way back to her now manic guest, and she watched him uncomfortably from her seat. Johnny smiled uneasily, holding his head while he walked.

“The entire reaction, I gave the reaction the credit for removing those shitty horrors from me, but I never thought of the action! The call itself! It wasn’t just the GUNSHOT, it wasn’t just DYING, it was that phone call! MORE IMPORTANTLY, it was the one that placed that phone call!! My God, all this time I’ve been ambling around, a slave free from his shackles, thrust into a world unknown, when the KNOWING was right there!! It was so obvious!”

He stopped his frantic pacing to kneel into a lunge at the foot of Devi’s armchair, startling her further into the fabric of it’s back. Johnny grabbed the corners of her sketchbook, which she was using as a pathetic shield between her frazzled self and the man before her, and he smiled wide with excitement.

“Oh, Devi! Devi it was always YOU – who else would it be!? Who else COULD it be!” Johnny breathed through a laugh. “Devi, you KILLED ME.”

She could only stare at him in silent horror. It wasn’t like she meant to kill him! She did say that she wished he would die for making her like him so much and then letting her down so horrendously but – Christ, it wasn’t meant to be so literal! She didn’t want to be the cause of it! If he wanted to just go vaporize and leave her alone, that’s what she would have preferred back then. Johnny didn’t seem to realize her discomfort on the gruesome truth to his ‘demise’.

“You stripped me of those wretched little monsters – even the WALL-THING!” His smile didn’t waver. “I should have known; there was a reason you escaped! No, a reason I MET you!”

Devi wanted to interrupt before he convinced himself of some soulmates bullshit, but her throat felt clogged, and nothing would come out.

“And here you are, helping me again… Fuck’s sake, I’ve been so foolish! So BLIND!” Johnny’s fingers gripped onto her sketchbook harder, pulling it down so the top was under his chin as he leaned in further. “All this time, it was always you; you made me happy, you escaped, you released me of that Hell!! If fate’s a real thing, THIS is it! How else would I get aligned with the one person, after all of that previous shit, that has the mental fortitude to withstand an attack from those disgusting vermin!?”

“J… Johnny.” Devi managed finally, through her barely functioning jaw. The sound of her voice seemed to reel him in a ways, and he slid back to sit on his heel expectantly, but with a much less wild look in his eyes.

“Oh, I beg you, please don’t be nervous Devi! I don’t hold any resentment for your hand in my death, not at all!” He chuffed. “And I’m so sorry for… for yelling, and being an overall pain in your ass since visiting you. I swear, after this, that’s it! Whatever you say, goes.”

Devi blinked in surprise at that. Was he honestly pledging his loyalty out of sheer gratitude that she inadvertently kind-of murdered him? She could only stare at his eager eyes, unsure of whether to be horribly afraid of this new measure of weirdness in their relationship, or to feel safer in that she was his so-proclaimed Angel of Death.

“Um… uh…” She tried to think of something to say, but was still panicking internally. “Um, y-y’know what, Nny?”

She hated how his head perked up, like he was waiting on her word.

“A uh… a Brain-Freezy sounds good, actually. You wanna go grab us a couple while I… think about what kind of existential bullshit I’m experiencing right now?”

“YUM. Yes, okay! I will!” His smile pulled up on one side, letting his gums peak out, before he ran to the door. He halted abruptly and turned to her again. “Is Cherry Doom okay? That’s the flavor I get.”

“Yeah.” Devi didn’t even think about her answer, and watched him leave with an uncertain, disturbed look in her eyes. She melted unceremoniously against the chair, arms and legs splayed out, and continued to stare at nothing in particular. She didn’t want Johnny to like her so immensely -- she didn’t even want for him to like her much at all! The way this was going, she might be stuck with him as long as his gratitude lasts. How long could the frenzied gratefulness of a homicidal maniac last, exactly?

--

NEXT.