#like wanted to throw my phone into a river and never speak to another human being ever again

[judasofsuburbia]

what is it about my uterine lining shedding that makes me want to fucking self destruct

[cjsinkythoughts]

A History Lesson

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 4741

Warnings: Vulgar language, I think that’s it (it’s mainly fluff like Bucky’s)

Summary: You never were fond of history...but if history gives you a man like that? Maybe you could deal with it.

A/N: Here it is! A little later than I had hoped, but my brother is visiting, it was his birthday this week, work’s been a bit hectic, and I ended up writing a little something for Bucky’s birthday on Wednesday, which I didn’t mean to. I got it done, though! First Date with our dear Cap’n Spangles! I have all the First Date ideas for the other Avengers lined up, but I think I’m gonna put this on hiatus for now. I’m gonna try focusing on my College!AU at the moment. If you guys want, I’ll share my First Date plans, though. If I find time, I’ll write the next one. If you haven’t noticed, I have a fondness for collages, so I might do what I’m doing for my College!AU Project and make collages for the other First Dates before writing them. Anyways, enough with my ramblings. Enjoy the date!

You keep checking the clock, waiting for this lecture to be done. You typically enjoy school, but history isn’t a strong suit for you. You try in history, you really do, but all the information - the dates, people, places - it’s too much. You constantly mix things up, no matter how hard you study. And you don’t really get the hype. Who cares what these dead guys did? It happened, it’s done, and it’s time to move on.

“That’s all for today! Don’t forget your papers are due on Monday! You’re dismissed!”

You let out a groan at the mention of the cursed research paper. You had stayed up for hours the previous nights working on it, but so far you have squat. The essay is on the Second World War (more specifically the differences of life between Americans and Europeans at the time), and you know you should’ve done it when it was given a week ago, but your shitty memory makes it difficult to write a paper without five million textbooks in front of you and you don’t have time to go to the library every night between work, friends, and other projects. So, you haven’t done it yet.

Exhausted, mentally and physically, you collect your things and head out of the lecture hall. You pull out your phone to text your friends, telling them you have to work on a paper tonight and you can’t meet up for dinner like you all usually do on Fridays. Deciding to take a breather before working, you start out to the bench overlooking the Potomac River, which you always sat at to relax and just…be. The scenic walk through DC and the sight of the steady river flowing besides the busy city always calms you. 

You sit there for a few moments, letting the slight breeze chill the skin that’s warmed by the sun, listening to it ruffle the trees. The blush pink blossoms that appear when Spring sings her song and chases away Winter flutter to the newly grown, bright green grass below. You enjoy all the seasons, unable to help but love the unique beauty each brings, and Spring is no exception, despite the allergies and tests she brings.

And speaking of tests…

A soft sigh passes your lips as you get out your laptop. You might as well start writing, or at least researching, that paper. You never were good at relaxing when there’s work to be done.

You’re so engrossed in getting the stupid essay done and over with that you don’t notice the jogger who pauses in his run by the very bench you are slaving away on. “Savin’ this seat for anyone?”

“Huh? Oh, uh, no. Go ahead.” You answer distractedly, not even looking up from your screen as the owner of the deep voice sits besides you.

A few more minutes pass in comfortable silence, before you ruin it with a grumble and delete half the paragraph you just wrote. “That doesn’t make sense.” You change tabs to look over the information on the page you have pulled up again, only to furrow your eyebrows. You’re pretty sure the information is wrong. You may have a shitty memory, but you’re sure that the information given on this page is in contrast to the information given in the book you were reading a couple days ago.

“What’re you workin’ so hard on there, honey?”

You let out a huff, throwing your hands up in the air in defeat. “Some dumb research paper for school! It’s on World War Two, and I can’t remember what’s right and what’s wrong and it’s a stupid topic anyways that my stupid teacher assigned! Who fucking cares about a hundred years ago? And how the hell am I supposed to know this? I wasn’t alive! You know what I…”

The words die on your tongue as you finally glance over at the stranger keeping you company.

Blonde hair that seems gold with the way the sun is hitting the strands, which are damp and in slight disarray due to his exercise. Bright blue eyes reflecting the sky above, hidden beneath long lashes that you’re immediately envious of. Pretty pink lips, matching the cherry blossoms on the trees surrounding you, pulling up into an amused sort of smile. The makings of a beard lining his jaw and littering his cheeks.

Steve Rogers. Captain America. You just ranted about how stupid history is to Captain fucking America. You just ranted about how you have to write a dumb essay on World War Two to Captain fucking America.

Ignoring the way your body heats up, starting in your toes and climbing up your legs, chest, and neck to reach the tips of your ears, a nervous little chuckle is all you can give. You clear your throat, trying to think of how to apologize. “I guess you wouldn’t know what I mean, huh?”

What in the ever loving fuck was that? That was not an apology!

You clear your throat and try again. “I-I mean…sorry. It’s not - I didn’t mean-”

“No, no. It’s fine, sweetheart.” The grin he shoots you makes you glad you aren’t standing up, knowing full well your knees would’ve buckled if you were. You open your mouth to apologize again, but he shakes his head before you can speak. “Really. It’s okay. I get it. I used to be a student too. And you’re right; it was a long time ago and there’s a lot of things that happened. Even I have a hard time keeping track of everything that went down.”

You merely blink at him, nodding slowly. Say something. For the love of God, please just say something. Anything! “Yeah. I can barely remember what I had for breakfast this morning.” Really? You’re sitting besides the one and only Captain America and that’s what you decide to say?

You feel yourself slump your shoulders slightly, trying to shrink down into absolute nothingness. But even that wouldn’t work because he’s got that friend of his that could shrink and he’d find you. It seems that you were destined to be embarrassed in front of one of the most beautiful human beings on the planet. Screw the universe.

Instead of teasing you or embarrassing you further, he chuckles and nods in agreement, his eyes lighting up. “You’re not the only one. My pal Clint has got the absolute worst memory. We tease him all the time for it. How he became an agent with the memory of a goldfish, I’ll never know.” You laugh at that, your muscles relaxing and your anxiety easing up.

“Yeah, well, I’ve gotta get through college before I’m in the clear.”

“Don’t worry about it, honey. I’m sure you’ll be fine. Uh…so, a World War Two paper, huh? Need some help? I’m kind of an expert on the topic.”

Breath hitching as he scoots closer, you swallow thickly and shrug. “I don’t want to bother you. You look like you’re in the middle of a run.” You gesture to the tight ass t-shirt hugging his torso that you’re sure is sizes too small for him and the joggers hanging off his hips.

Following your gesture, he looks down, before shaking his head. “Nah. I’ve already ran a few more miles than I was going to today.”

“Are-are you sure?”

There’s that grin again. You’re not sure you’ll be able to survive him tutoring you if he keeps  giving you that adorable toothy smile. “Honest. I’ve got the rest of the day. We can go to the library if you want. Or we can stay here. Whatever works best for you. I don’t mind either way.”

You blink again, like an idiot, as you process his words. Whatever works best for you. What a gentleman. “Uhh…I was about to head to the library anyways, but I really don’t want to bother you-”

“Trust me, honey. It’d be my pleasure.”

“If you insist.”

“I do.”

You let out a soft laugh and nod at his insistence, starting to pack up your things. “Okay. I’m Y/N, by the way.” You stand up as he does and offer your hand.

“Steve. But I guess you figured that out.” Taking your hand, you expect him to shake it, but he squeezes it softly and brings it to his lips instead.

Clearing your throat, you tease him a bit to hide your bashfulness at his actions. “You’re a real gentleman, aren’t you?”

He shrugs with a slight smirk, gently dropping your hand and letting it go after another squeeze. “My momma raised nothing less.”

“I’m sure she’d be proud.”

His playful eyes go slightly more somber at that, his smirk morphing into a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

Giving no reply, you smile softly and nod your head to the path. He nods back before quickly falling into step besides you, asking you more about your paper as you walk to the library.

* * * * * * * *

Giggling behind your hand to stay quiet, or at least attempt to since you both had already been berated by the librarians for being too loud, your attention is once again diverted to Steve and his stories.

It started out fine; he helped you find reliable books and told you which things were true. But not even half an hour passed before Steve told you a story about the Howling Commandos after something in a book reminded him of it. Your concentration since then has been split between your paper and Steve’s retelling of his past.

“Sorry. I keep distracting you. What’s next?”

You snicker again and shake your head. “No, no. It’s okay. I’m almost done anyways. I’ve actually written down a few things you said, if you don’t mind me using them. My professor can’t exactly argue with Captain America, now can he?”

His lips pull up and his shoulders shake in silent laughter. “I guess not. Of course I don’t mind. You can quote me anytime. See?” He nudges you with his shoulder playfully. “History isn’t so bad.”

“Not when you’re telling it.” You respond earnestly, grinning up at him.

“Eh, Bucky’s always been a better storyteller than me.” He gives a little shrug and rubs the back of his neck.

You shake your head at his modesty. “Well I think you do just fine. You’re the first person to get me interested in history. Hey, can you read this over for me? I just need to finalize this paragraph and do the conclusion.”

When you receive silence as an answer, you look over at the blonde with an eyebrow raised. The ocean eyes scanning over you make you a bit self conscious, so you shift slightly in your seat, making him come back from whatever thoughts overtook his mind. “Sorry. Of course I can, honey. That’s what I’m here for. Let me see.”

He gives you a few pointers on what to add and what to get rid of, before you finally finish, saving your work and closing your laptop with a huff. 

“What a mind workout. I’m sure my brain’s got abs now.”

Heads swivel towards you two as Steve guffaws, a lady a few tables down shushing him. He apologizes, still snickering. “Abs, huh?”

“I mean, not as good as yours but…” You freeze, inwardly facepalming. And you were doing so well.

He gives you a cheeky grin. “I’ve got good abs?”

“Oh don’t give me that!” You hiss out quietly. “You know you have good abs. I’m just stating facts is all.”

Another soft chuckle leaves those pretty lips and he twists in his seat to crack his back before standing to collect the books you both got out. “When’s the paper due again?”

You stand to help him, but you get a case of the butterfingers just as you go to pick the books up, making the pile tumble to the floor. “Ah shit.” Steve smiles gently at you as you huff and give him an exasperated look. “My bad.”

He snickers, bending down to help you despite having his own books to carry, like the gentleman he is. “So? Due date?”

“Monday.” You answer with a sigh, straightening up. You carefully set the books on the table to pile them better. “We should get the grade back by Friday.”

He hums, taking a few more books in those strong arms of his. “Ah, well, you’ll get a good grade. I believe in you.”

You smirk at him as you shift your bag so you could carry books under your arms. “I’m sure I will with your help, Captain.” He scoffs and rolls his eyes at your teasing manner. “Thank you, by the way.”

“Of course. I had a good time.” He sends that stunning smile your way and this time you are standing. Luckily you have a table to lean on casually instead of falling on your face. “Plus, now you’ve got a free weekend.”

“Ugh. I wish.” You shake your head. “This is my final semester before I graduate. There’s loads to do. But this makes it easier.” Heading through the aisles of the library, you catch sight of the time on a clock on the wall and your eyes widen. You’d been there for a little over three hours! “Damn! I’m sorry I took up your Friday, though. I’m sure there’s things you want to do before you have to go back to New York, huh?”

Shrugging his broad shoulders, he runs a hand through his golden locks and drops the books he had in his arms on the desk for returns. “Not really. I’m here for the next couple weeks, actually. Meetings and stuff. Plus, it doesn’t even take me an hour to get here, so I can really come whenever I want.”

“That’s nice.” You follow his lead and set your books down, readjusting your bag on your shoulder. “I wish I could go to New York whenever I want. I’m way too poor for that.”

He chuckles again. You’ll never get tired of the sound of his laughter. “I’m sure you’ll get there one day.”

You shrug half heartedly, not really believing him. You’re barely making it in DC. There’s no way you could make it in the Big Apple. “Sure. Someday. I’m serious, though. I’m sorry you wasted  your time with some stressed out college student instead of enjoying time with your friends.”

“I’m serious too, honey. It’s no problem; I enjoyed it. And it’s not a waste of my time. Not as long as you get a good grade.”

You laugh as the two of you head out of the building, stopping on the steps and facing each other. “How will you know if I get a good grade?”

He purses his lips in thought. “Meet me at the bench next Friday.” He finally said, his eyes sparkling. “Then we’ll see. Until then, Y/N.”

You grin, taking the large hand he offers you, firmly shaking it before he can kiss your knuckles, making him snicker. “Until then, Steve.”

* * * * * * * *

Feet pounding against the concrete, you practically jump when you spot the man already sitting at the bench. “Steve!” You shout happily, waving your paper in the air. The blonde shoots up, a brow raised in curiosity. “I got a 97!”

You come to a halt in front of him, but it’s too quick, so your clumsy feet trip over each other. Before you can fall, he catches you with ease, smiling down at you in amusement. Small pants leave your lips as sweat trickles down your spine. Where’s that breeze when you need it?

“Uhm…oops?” What the hell was that?! That was embarrassing, that’s what it was!

He chuckles, straightening you up. “You were saying?” 

With pride lifting up the corners of your mouth, you shove the paper at his chest, once again grateful that he ignored your blunderings. “97%!”

“I told you you’d be fine. And I knew it wasn’t a waste of my time.” Steve looks up from the paper to give you a toothy grin.

“Thank you again.” You take the paper he hands back to you and shove it in your bag. “I probably would’ve failed the class without this grade. Is there really nothing I can do to pay you back for your time?”

He taps his chin in faux-thought, before tilting his head innocently. “You can loan me some of your time on Sunday.”

You purse your lips, confusion written over your features. “My time? On Sunday? Oh!” You light up, figuring he just needs help with something. “Yeah, duh. Okay. What do you need help with? I can promise I’ll try my hardest, but I might not-”

“No, no. Honey, that’s not-” he laughs, shaking his head and grabbing your hand to make you stop rambling. “I’m askin’ you out.”

“Out?” You pause, registering what that meant. “Like…on a date?” Is he serious? There’s no way he wants to go on a date with you. You pretty much called his life story boring, to his face, and then made him spend three hours on a Friday evening at the library working on a college paper with you.

He snickers with a nod. “Yes, on a date. So whaddya say, sweetheart?”

“Yes!” You blurt out without thinking, before you shy back, feeling yourself heat up as you tend to do around this God of a man. “Y-yeah. Yeah, I’d love to. Sunday. I can do that.”

He beams adorably, like a child being allowed to buy his favorite candy bar. Or a puppy with his favorite toy. Yeah…he reminds you of a puppy. Which only makes him that much cuter.

“Awesome! Meet me here at noon. Does that work?”

You nod vigorously. “That works perfectly.”

“Perfect.” He repeats, before taking your hand and bringing your knuckles to his lips once more.

* * * * * * * *

You’re sitting on the bench, tapping your toes nervously and checking your phone every minute. He said noon and it’s only eleven thirty. It’s a bit inconvenient, to say the least, when the place you go to relax is the place you’re meeting the person making you anxious. You could barely sleep the previous night, too many doubts lingering in your head. You seem to always be making a fool of yourself in front of him, but he was the one who asked you out, so that had to count for something.

You try not to think too hard about it, instead thinking back to last Friday in the library and how his features lifted when he told stories of his childhood and the Howling Commandos and the grin he got when he told you about the things they used to do that would get them in trouble.

“But I’m Captain America, and who’s gonna say no to this face?”

A little giggle leaves your lips as you remember his words, before you’re startled back to reality as a familiar smooth voice sounds besides you.

“Whatcha giggling at, honey?”

You whip over to see Steve grinning in amusement, leaning on the back of the bench. Your eyes drag down his figure. Another too tight t-shirt showing every ridge and curve on his torso, a jacket over his broad shoulders along with a casual pair of jeans. You had seen a meme about Steve having the proportions of a Dorito and, looking at him now, you can see how true it was. It almost makes you laugh again, but you remember what exactly is happening, and you suddenly can’t find anything funny.

“Sweetheart? You alright?”

“Huh? Oh. Yes. Yeah. I’m fine. I was just…thinking.”

He raised an eyebrow, smirking and leaning his forearms against the back of the bench next to where you’re sat. “And those adorable little giggles?”

There’s that familiar flush that you’ve learned to ignore, praying to God he didn’t notice your heart skipping a beat. “Uh, I just remembered something. That’s all.”

He gives a little hum, before hopping over the back and landing besides you. “Seems like we both had the same idea. Gettin’ here early.”

“If you must know, I was just…” You shrug. “To be honest, I’m a little anxious.”

“I’m not that scary, am I?” He teases, nudging you gently.

You roll your eyes and give him a look. “I don’t think there’s a bone in your body capable of being scary. I’m just…I’m nervous I’m gonna embarrass myself…again.”

Steve shakes his head, looking at you earnestly. “You’re not gonna embarrass yourself.”

Picking at the hem of your shirt, you scoff, shaking your head. “I already have. The amount of times I’ve tripped or said something stupid or rambled, which I’m doing right now, or-”

“Honey, honey. Slow down.” The blonde chuckles. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I find all of those things endearing. Now, the amount of times I’ve seen my teammates slip and fall on their faces while chasing an enemy? That’s embarrassing. Just the other day, Buck tripped on the roof of a car. Sam has it recorded.”

You let out a laugh at that and nod. “Okay, okay. Sorry. I didn’t mean to get all insecure on you-”

“It’s fine, Y/N.” Steve insists. “Now,” he stands and offers his hand. “Let’s go get some lunch, yeah?”

You look at his hand before looking up at him and taking it without hesitation. “Okay.”

* * * * * * * *

After rounds of questions during lunch, Steve took you around the Smithsonian to all the different museums. Just like history, you had never been overly fond of museums. You typically walked around for a little bit, never really reading the information, only enjoying the pictures.

It’s different with Steve. Just like how it was different writing the research paper with him. He makes everything interesting, telling you his own facts and stories. Especially once you get to his exhibit in the Air and Space Museum.

Once you arrive, he puts on a hat and ducks his head, trying not to bring attention to you both while on a date. You tease him a bit, swinging your linked hands as you walk in with a cheeky grin. He nudges you with his elbow, his own smile painted on his lips.

You can’t help but listen and hold onto his every word, as if you’d die if you forget a single sentence. The light in his eyes as he talks about his past, showing you the pictures and plaques excitedly. Like a child during show and tell, he’s practically skipping from exhibit to exhibit, dragging you along behind him.

Giggling at his elation, you eagerly, and with no resistance, let him take you through his story. “They keep updating it.” He explains as you leave the area with World War Two and the Howling Commandos, entering through a corridor with modern pictures of him and the Avengers. “Every couple years or so they call me and tell me they’re adding another thing.”

“Doesn’t that get annoying?” You wonder, reading a wall about the Battle of Manhattan with interest. “Your whole life being put on display for everyone to see?”

Steve shrugs. “I dunno. I’ve never really minded. They don’t put in personal things, so it’s not too bad. You could learn more from the internet about me.”

You nod, knowing how true that really was. “You’ve got a point. Still. It must be a bit weird being a national icon.”

“I’ll admit, people stopping me on the street is getting a little old. I used to wish to be someone who changed the world. Now I have and sometimes I wish I could be normal. But I wouldn’t change what I’ve done. Who I am. Not if people can learn from it. Not if I can keep people safe.”

Turning away from the wall to glance at Steve, who has his hands in his pockets studying the wall, you smile and tilt your head. “You’re a good man, Steve Rogers.”

He turns to you, his lips pulling up. “That’s all I hope for.” His voice is quiet, earnest, before it becomes lighter as he gestures back to the wall. “You know the first thing we did after winning was go out for shawarma? It was Tony’s idea.”

“No way.” You laugh. “All six of you?”

“Yeah! We go there for every Battle of Manhattan Anniversary, now. I’ll take you some time. It’s a nice place.”

“Is that a promise?”

He smirks at your teasing tone. “Absolutely.”

* * * * * * * *

After your museum hopping, he takes you to Arlington Cemetery to show you a few friends and fellow soldiers he met all those years ago. It’s such a personal intimate thing that he shares, and you think you shouldn’t be there to witness it, but he’s quick to reassure you that’s not the case. That he wouldn’t have anyone else by his side, listening to his stories.

By the time you get back to the city, it’s getting dark, so you two head out for dinner before Steve takes you up the Washington Monument to look at the city lights. He makes sure you have the top all to yourselves; there’s perks of being an Avenger - especially one of the leaders.

“Alright, alright.” Leaning on the rail, you turn to him with a smile. “So maybe history isn’t as bad as I originally thought.”

“Yeah? I convinced you, did I?”

You roll your eyes at his smirk, shoving his shoulder lightly. “Maybe a bit. But only when you’re telling it. You think there’s any way you could come to history with me?” You joke with a laugh, feeling yourself flush at the chuckle and grin he gives you.

“I wish I could, honey.” He spoke softly, running a thumb over your knuckles. “Unfortunately, I’ve got work to do. I’m heading back to New York tomorrow. I’ll be back on Friday, though. If you would want to-”

You beam and nod energetically. “I’d love to go out again, Stevie.”

Giving your hand a squeeze, he beams back. “Fantastic.” He looks back out to the window and gives a little sigh. “It’s gettin’ late and you’ve got class tomorrow.”

“Yeah. I should probably get going. Do you, I mean, would you mind walking me home?” You blink up at him through your lashes hopefully.

“Of course!” His eyes - which you found throughout the day weren’t entirely blue, but had some green hues to them - lit up as you two start towards the elevator. He tucks you under his strong arm, pulling you close. “You wanna get ice cream or something on the way?”

“You read my mind, Captain.”

* * * * * * * *

By the time you reach your door, you’ve both finished your ice cream and he’s telling yet another story while you laugh, once again swinging your linked hands. 

When it comes time to say goodbye, you can’t help but wish your hand could stay in his for a while longer. Knowing that you’d be saying farewell, you hold on a bit tighter. “Pick me up on Friday?”

He nods, squeezing your hand before letting it go and brushing his fingertips along your cheek. “I’ll call you later too, alright, sweetheart?”

“Okay.” You agree eagerly. “You gonna kiss me goodnight now, soldier?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He chuckles softly, before gently grabbing your chin. Using his other hand, he pulls you closer by the waist, pressing his lips to yours. It’s soft and sweet and perfect, just like him, but it ends too quickly for your liking. He pulls back, nudging his nose against yours, and murmuring against your lips. “Sleep well.”

You smile, leaning your forehead against his. “Good night, Stevie.”

Stepping away, he lifts your knuckles to his lips. “G’night.”

You stop him before he could turn all the way. “Steve?” He pauses to look over his shoulder at you with an eyebrow raised. You have a question, and you can’t help but ask it, it having been on your mind for days. “Why’d you stop your run just to sit by me?”

“And leave a beautiful dame like yourself before I could get your name? I may be a super soldier, honey, but I’m still a man. Abyssinia Friday, Y/N.”

[alteridolriley]

"In awe, the first time you realised it" with rivya pretty pretty pleaasee

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MAXI!!! this ask is old af but I was inspired so I wrote you this rivya drabble fic thinggggg idk i hope you enjoy it!!

(These characters are our own ocs based on the Sanders Sides from this blog. This is an irl AU so enjoy!! Some Sides might show up idk why don't you read and find out hehe)

On mobile so sorry for no read more :(

---

River felt himself waking up; the stream of his consciousness pulling his thoughts to the real world around him. He slowly opened his eyes to see the glow of the early morning sun peeking through the edge of the curtain he swore he had tucked behind the bookshelf so it wouldn't get him right in the face, but alas, it had failed. River sighed, pulling their comforter over their head in denial.

Mondays sucked and River did not want to pull themselves out of bed, but within seconds of stretching their arms above their head, a shrill alarm from their phone began to sound on the side table next to their bed. River slapped around until successfully snoozing the alarm before throwing the blanket off.

There was one reason and one reason only River was getting up for class on this day. He had that one class today - economics. And that one boy was in it. The transfer student.

He had the gall to talk to River the day before, and several days before that. As well as the day the teacher had given him the seat next to River.

"Hello." The boy had said as he sat down. His hood covered most of his face but River could see his right eye and a soft smile on his face. "My name is Arya. It's nice to meet you."

River had glanced his way, their chin balanced on their palm. With the intent to simply brush him off, River had opened his mouth only to feel his words caught in his throat once he had made eye contact with the gentle boy.

"I'm River." River had managed to cough out that day. "Pleasure."

It was a dry introduction, but it didn't seem to offend Arya at all. He had smiled again and turned to his bag in front of him, pulling his notebook and pen out as River heard the teacher begin to speak.

River had been brought back to his dorm room by a jolt of him missing his pant leg while trying to get dressed. Arya had left him feeling weird that first day and every day after that, Arya had continued to say hello and be super kind to him. River didn't really understand why Arya was acting that way-- if Arya knew River at all, he would know that River didn't deserve that kind of kindness.

River zipped his jacket up and heard his cell phone begin to chime again, but this time it was a text tone. He absent-mindedly reached for the phone, unlocking it in one motion.

He bit his lip as he saw a message from his brother- his twin, Meph. Meph had chosen not to go to college but to work at a friend's laboratory. River sometimes regretted going to college but since he was there on a scholarship, it only made sense to stay. Besides, Meph had only chosen not to go to college to help River actually go for his dream: to be a marine biologist.

River loved the ocean. It was his favorite place to be and if he managed to put his past behind him and become a marine biologist, he'd never have to leave the ocean again. Meph had gotten the job with his friend to pay the bills so River could focus on school.

Meph the Grump: Hey so Nic needs me to stay late again this weekend so I won't be able to come up to visit. Maybe we can work something out for next weekend. Just let me know.

River sighed and locked his phone, shoving it into his pocket. That makes the 3rd time Meph canceled on him in the last month. River didn't really know what Nicolaus did for a living but Meph was apparently very important to the lab. It paid for the roof over his head so River ignored the pain of disappointment running through his chest.

He grabbed his bag before stopping by the mirror near the front door. Messing with his hair for only a few moments, he sighed and left the house, locking the front door behind him. His college was a mere three blocks away so walking was the simplest way of getting there.

River began the trek down the semi busy street, staring at the ground as he walked. From the corners of their sight, River watched the world go around him: People walked solo past; some girls in groups crossing the street laughing together; a single mom holding her baby while opening the door to a store.

The world kept going despite of all the troubles people had. River knew this and yet he always wondered what he looked like from that perspective. Was he intimidating? Were they interesting to the world around them or forgettable?

River adjusted his back on his shoulder as he stopped at a crosswalk. Several people lingered around him as they all waited for the traffic light to change. As he considered his plans for the weekend now that Meph wasn't coming into town anymore, he realized he was staring across the road at a familiar face.

It was Arya. However, Arya was standing against a brick building with another few men around him. River scrunched his face in curiosity and confusion. He had never seen Arya outside of class and he walked this street everyday. Wouldn't they have crossed paths before?

River heard the chime of the crosswalk allowing pedestrians to pass as suddenly one of the men grabbed Arya by the shoulder rather roughly. Arya stumbled into one of the other taller men who shoved him back towards the building. River felt his blood boil nearly instantly as he took off across the street. He was still fairly far away but he picked up the pace as the three men pulled Arya down an alleyway behind the brick building.

"I promise I'll have it to you soon. I will. I will." Arya's voice filtered through the air as River got closer. It was staggered and breathless; shaky and soft. He was clearly scared. "I know I said today, but my job hasn't paid me yet so--"

CRACK.

River dashed around the corner, hearing a bone crushing noise as they did so. It took River's eyes a few seconds while blinking to adjust to the darkness of the alley only to see Arya on the ground, unmoving.

"You bastards! What did you do to him?" River shouted as he stomped forward, leaving barely any space between himself and the strangers. His heart was racing-- Arya still hadn't moved. "Arya! Hey!" River shouted as the men laughed.

"Arya has a friend? Haha, that's the funniest thing I've heard all day," said the tallest man, turning to face River. "You should scram, kid, if you know what's good for you."

"Kid? I'm not a child, and I'm not scared of you." River said confidently, even though his hand was trembling. He was convinced it was his anger peaking. "Get away from him." River snarled through bared teeth.

The leader looked at his two friends and all three of them laughed.

"Kid, I don't think you understand the situation you're in." the Leader scoffed before suddenly darting towards River with his fist reared back.

In one step, River bent down, dodging him swiftly and flattening his right hand, shoving it perfectly timed onto the man's elbow forcing it the wrong direction. River heard the satisfying snap of the bone.

"Sonofabitch!" The leader shouted, falling to the ground, grasping towards his left arm. His partners ran to his side as he struggled to stand. "I won't forget this!" He growled as the three of them took off out of the alley.

River relaxed his stance, releasing a deep breath before spinning on his heel and dashing back to where Arya lay still unmoving. River fell to his knees, picking Arya up gently.

"Hey... hey Arya." They whispered, shaking the boy. Within a minute, Arya's eyes opened and he immediately pushed away from River, the innate fear of the other men still fresh. "No, Arya, it's okay-- it's me." River held his hands up.

Arya's breathing slowed as he realized the other three men were gone. His hand snapped to his head, his left eye closing in pain. Silence fell between the two of them. River wasn't sure what to say, and Arya... he looked like he might pass out at any moment.

"What are you doing here?" Arya broke the silence. His voice was scratchy but still the soft, kind tone River was used to hearing in class. "This doesn't concern you."

River scoffed, "The hell it doesn't! Who were those men? What did they want from you?" Arya stayed silent, choosing to look anywhere but River's face. "Fine then, I guess it doesn't matter..." he stood up to leave.

"Wait!" Arya jumped to his feet.

River turned to see Arya reaching out towards him only for the boy to be overcome by his injuries. His eyes rolled back and he fell towards the ground. River was quick enough to catch him before he made contact with the pavement. The momentum of the fall had caused Arya's hood to reveal his full face. River blinked in surprise-- the right side of Arya's face was covered with a severe burn scar. How had they never noticed it before?

Out of respect, River pulled Arya's hood back over his head and held the boy close.

"Excuse me."

A voice from behind them both caused River to whip around, holding on to Arya even tighter.

A man stood there, holding his bowler hat in front of his face. His cape like top blew in the wind of the alley and his yellow gloved hands nearly look illuminescent in the alley.

"Who are you?" River demanded.

"I am that boy's guardian, and I would appreciate you giving him to me." The man said as he put his hat on his head. It revealed his face to be similar to Arya except the left side of his was... a snake, wait what?

River stood, holding Arya in his arms. "Why should I believe you? Maybe I should take him and run away?"

"No, that's not necessary. You see... that boy is not human, my dear." The man began to walk closer. "Well, not anymore." He stopped walking. "Ah, how rude of me. I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Janus."

"Okay... Janus what do you want with Arya?" River questioned, backing up a step.

"Oh no. You misunderstand. Arya came to me, you see. Alone and with nothing to lose, he made a deal. A deal with a snake." Janus explained, the snake side of his face never losing the grin it held. "Losing your entire family in a fire you caused and leaving yourself scarred for life is a rough thing to go through. He wanted to forget-- however it comes with a price."

"Yeah well... he needs medical treatment from whatever those assholes did to him so I'm taking him to the hospital. He's not going with you." River said firmly. "So I'll be leaving now."

River adjusted Arya in his arms before brushing past Janus toward the main street. River never once looked back and kept walking, avoiding the busier streets with nosey people. A regular hospital would ask too many questions. It was time to pay an old friend a visit.

After a ten minute walk, River arrived at what looked like a simple flower shop. He walked inside. A boy stood behind the main counter and turned to face them.

"Oh River! It's been awhile." He said. "Oh... is your friend hurt?"

"Yeah... can you help him Gabriel?" River asked as Gabriel held a back door open for them to walk through.

"Of course. Let's get him checked out." Gabriel assured.

River placed Arya on a rather large bed and sat down across from him and Gabriel in a plastic chair. River could feel the tension leaving his body finally and the realization of everything that happened was making his mind race as he watched Gabriel check Arya's vitals. Who were those three original men? Who was Janus? Was Janus telling the truth when he said Arya wasn't human anymore? What did that even mean? Nothing about this morning made any sense.

"River?" Gabriel's voice called them out of their stupor and River could see Arya was covered by a blanket now and his hoodie has been removed. "Are you okay? Do you need me to check you too?" Gabriel reached and felt River's head before they could lean away.

"No I'm fine." River assured.

Before Gabriel could ask again, a chime went off above their heads: a customer had walked into the flower shop. Gabriel excused himself and left the room. The room became silent other than the ticking of the clock on the far wall.

River stood up and walked to look at Arya. He looked peacefully asleep and more relaxed than before. Gabriel must've given him some medication. River pushed Arya's bangs out of his face and Arya stirred a bit, as if he was going to wake up.

"River.... wait.. please..." Arya murmured, his eyes still closed but tightened in fear. A dream. "I can explain... don't go... I need you."

River grabbed Arya's hand, intertwining their fingers. Arya seemed to relax and stopped talking. River was an idiot-- why hadn't he noticed it before? All of those feelings towards Arya... it was love. A need to protect.

"Don't worry, Arya..." River sat down on the side of the bed, brushing their fingers down the side of Arya's face. "I'm not going anywhere."

FIN.

[thewidowsghost]

Fox - Chapter 20

Previously on Fox:

"What am I supposed to say?" Natasha asks. "That sucked and your powers suck and you suck? Nope, because none of that is true," Nat adds and (Y/n)'s eyes widen slightly. Realizing that the rain was ruining the mood, (Y/n) snaps her fingers again and the rain stops, the clouds dissipating.

(Y/n) summons another chair and sits down beside Natasha. "Hey, so, we're supposed to leave tomorrow night," (Y/n) begins. "What do you say we go on that date on Saturday?" Natasha looks up from her lap and smiles.

"That sound's nice," Natasha says, a soft smile spreading across her face.

The two sit there for a while before (Y/n)'s phone rings. She pulls it out to answer, "Hello?"

(Y/n)'s POV

"Captain," Fury's voice comes from out of the phone. "Are you still with Romanoff?"

"Yes sir," I put the phone on speaker so Nat could listen too.

"Good, we need you and Romanoff to come in, ASAP," Fury orders.

"Yes sir," Natasha responds.

"Where do you need us? Back at base?" I ask, the two of us standing up, and I wave the chairs away.

"Yes Captain, you have four hours," Fury says, ending the call.

"Guess we're not going on that date anytime soon," Natasha says as the two of us sprint towards the house and up the front porch stairs. I grab my sketchbook, tear a piece of paper out.

"Go pack our stuff," I order, and Nat nods, darting inside.

I scribble something to the Bartons'. It says:

Dear Clint & Laura,

Fury called us in for a mission. Hopefully, we'll be back soon. We love you, see you soon. Tell the kids we said bye. Love, (Y/n) and Nat

I take the note and set it on the dining room table before darting upstairs to help Nat.

"Leave the guitar," I tell Natasha as she goes to grab it.

"Are you sure?" she asks and I nod.

"Just grab the bare minimum," I say, throwing my sketchbook and pencils haphazardly into my suitcase and zipping it up.

"Let's go," Natasha says and I nod, grabbing each of our suitcases.

The two of us jog down the stairs and sprint out to the field where we had landed the Quinjet a few days previously.

We get in and throw our suitcases into the storage area before heading for the pilot and co-pilot's seats. We sit down and I pull the Quinjet into the air.

3rd Person POV

"We're never going to get there in time at this rate," (Y/n) mutters, staring at the time till destination: 5 hours. "Only one way," (Y/n) says and Natasha looks at her.

"What?" Nat asks.

"You'll have to see," (Y/n) answers, closing her eyes. She summons a jet of wind and the Quinjet speeds up. She opens her eyes to see that the time has gone down by half an hour. "Jeez," (Y/n) mutters. She grabs the stick and begins to pull the Quinjet up to an elevation of about 20,000 feet. Once at the elevation, she pulls the stick gently back down so the Quinjet is flying level. (Y/n) relaxes when she sees that the time has gone down to three and a half hours. "That's a lot better," she murmurs.

"Nice job," Natasha says and (Y/n) smiles.

"Hey, since we can't do that date Saturday, how 'bout we do it now?" (Y/n) offers.

"Sounds interesting, I'm in," Natasha says and (Y/n) stands up from her seat.

"Sounds good, I'll be right back," (Y/n) darts back to where she keeps the coffee maker and opens a cabinet. From the cabinet, she pulls out a few bags of chips. "This is all we've got now, but here," (Y/n) says, setting the chips on the middle console before running over and grabbing some sour cream and onion dip.

"It works," Nat says, opening a bag of plain Ruffles.

"So, Miss Romanoff," (Y/n) says, opening the dip, setting it on the middle console then sitting back down. "Tell me a little about yourself."

Natasha takes some of the dip and eats a chip before starting. "I was born on November 22nd, 1984 in Russia. I wasn't a great human being until a few weeks ago," Natasha continues and (Y/n) frowns slightly. "What about you?" she asks.

"My birthday is October 5th, 1985. I was born in Malibu," (Y/n) begins. "My mother died when I was 17 then I went to live with my dad until I was old enough to join the Air Force. During my time in the Air Force, I went on a couple missions for the US government. While I was in Sokovia, one of my partners died, I still keep in touch with the the other though. After that, Clint and Fury recruited me to work for SHIELD," (Y/n) pauses and Natasha nods encouragingly for her to continue. "Clint brought me to the farm to meet Laura and the kids, then about a week later I left and Clint flew me home. That evening Fury called me for an urgent mission," (Y/n) smiles at Nat, "you, of course," Natasha rolls her eyes playfully. "Clint and I spend a couple of weeks trying to find you, and well, you know the rest." (Y/n) meets Natasha's emerald gaze, "And you're not a bad person. From what I can tell, you're smart and brave and it seems like you are willing to do the right thing at whatever the cost." At (Y/n)'s words, Natasha looks down.

"How can you be so sure?" Natasha asks softly.

"Well, it's the fact that you decided so quickly to leave for a fresh start. The fact that you and Clint came to help me with those evil dudes that attacked me back in Belarus. The fact that you're here, on this jet right now, ready to go on a mission to help change what happened in the past," (Y/n) finishes and Natasha looks up, seeing the serious look in (Y/n)'s (E/C) eyes. "And like I said, I don't judge people on their past mistakes, but what they do in the present. Whatever you did in the past doesn't matter to me, it's what you do now that counts."

"Thanks, (Y/n)," Natasha says. "That means a lot. Since I was little, I was told that I had no place in the world," sensing that (Y/n) was about to speak, Natasha holds up her hand to keep her from interrupting. "But since I met you, I realized that you helped me find a place in the world, and I will always be thankful to you for that."

"You don't have to thank me for anything," (Y/n) says, and Natasha meets her gaze.

"Yes, I do. If not for you, I might still be in Russia -" (Y/n) cuts Natasha off by grabbing her hand.

"Don't, don't do that to yourself," (Y/n) says.

"But-" (Y/n) cuts her off again.

"Don't," Natasha meets (Y/n)'s gaze and relaxes a little.

"Okay," the redhead murmurs. "I won't," she vows.

"Good," (Y/n) says, still holding Natasha's hand.

"You can let go of my hand now," Natasha says, not really wanting (Y/n) to let go.

"I'm trying to figure out if I want to let go," (Y/n) says and Natasha smiles. "I'm leaning towards no," Natasha entwines her fingers with (Y/n)'s.

"Good," Natasha says and (Y/n) smiles.

The two sit there for a while, talking about random things until they hear someone from SHIELD radio into the jet. (Y/n) gently removes her hand from Natasha's and pulls on her headphones.

"Captain Stark? Agent Romanoff? Come in," A man says.

"This is Stark," (Y/n) answers. Go change into your uniform, she tells Natasha and the redhead nods.

"Good, we thought it was you two. You have clearance to land," the man says.

"Right," (Y/n) pulls back on the stick, the Quinjet hovering in the air for a moment. She gently makes it so the Quinjet will auto-park and she jumps up from her seat. She runs over to the storage area, opens her suitcase and pulling out her SHIELD uniform before quickly pulling it on. Natasha walks in from the bathroom in her jet black uniform as (Y/n) is tying up her combat boots.

"Let's go," Natasha says and (Y/n) nods. The two jog back to the front of the Quinjet and (Y/n) presses a button as the Quinjet lands on the ground. (Y/n) nods to Natasha and the two jog off the Quinjet, matching each others' steps.

"Stark, Romanoff," the two stop in front of Agent Coulson.

"Agent Coulson," (Y/n) and Natasha say in unison.

"Follow me," Coulson says and (Y/n) and Natasha exchange a look before following the brown haired man into the SHIELD facility. "Enjoy your break?" Coulson asks as he leads the two women to the briefing room.

"Yes actually," (Y/n) answers for her and Natasha.

"Good, because you might be gone for a while," Coulson says and (Y/n) and Natasha exchange a look before walking into the briefing room.

"Stark, Romanoff," Maria Hill says.

"Agent Hill," Natasha answers, and Hill signals for the two to sit down.

They settle down in chairs across from each other.

"We need you two to escort a nuclear engineer out of Iran. It will need to be an undercover mission. Leave the Quinjet about a hundred miles from the facility, and drive the engineer back to the Quinjet," (Y/n) nods. "You need to get there as soon as possible, but tonight if you can," Hill says. "Try to have him here by Sunday."

"Yes, ma'am," Natasha and (Y/n) say in unison, standing up.

"Good luck," Hill says, nodding to dismiss the two women.

With a nod from (Y/n), her and Natasha run back outside to their Quinjet and pull it into the air.

Word Count: 1630 words

This chapter is a little shorter then the past few chapters, but if y'all have seen Captain America: The Winter Soldier, you should know what happens. BTW the next chapter will have violence in it, but not extreme, rivers of blood kind of things.

Anyway, Nat and (Y/n) are still so cute!!!! I love it!!!

See y'all!

Love,

Kaitlynn 😍❤

Imma tag peoples now: @confusinggemini612​, @gay-disaster826​, @thelastavenger-3000​, @osugahunnyicedtea​, @night-howl199​, @minicastle​, @happilyeverafterfantasybooks​, @billiebanner​, @me-and-sweatpants​, @scottjudah​, @scarlet-raccoon​, @whore-for-charlynch​, @nyx-aria, @night-howl199​, @brittanyrenne2004​, @juegamiri29​, @minicastle​, @peggycarter-steverogers​, @gay-disaster826​, @guitargodme, @avengers-avenging

[pricetagofficial]

Ghost -Part Seven

Warnings: Language, angst (lots of it), light bending of cannon

Masterlist

Word Count: 3.3K

Tag List: @kishony-the-geek @idkmanicantenglish @unknowntoanyone @subtleappreciation @catxsnow @spxder-mxns @river-bottom-nightmare @screennamealreadyused @woahjaybird​ @bikoncon​

A/N: There are some more familiar faces here! Maybe a few new ones? 

Rory opened her eyes with a groan, the sedative that Bruce had given her was brutal. It made her body weak and her head hurt. Slowly she sat up and saw that she was in one of the cells they kept in the cave for times they needed to hold someone like her there.

There was a shuffle outside her cell and she looked through the glass panel to see someone she did not recognize.

He was sat in a chair playing a game on his phone while he tapped his foot. From the first observation, she could tell that he was older than Damian but not much younger than herself.

She narrowed her eyes. "Did Bruce take in another stray?"

The person in front of her jumped and looked at her. "Oh, hey you're awake. Bruce wanted someone down here to keep an eye on you and they are all out right now, so I took the job," he explained.

"How long have I been here?" she asked.

"Only about twenty-four hours, he gave you a big dose. Said something about you being dangerous or something." he shrugged and looked back at his game.

"I'm locked in one of these cells, pretty sure that means I'm dangerous to Batman's standards." she snapped.

"Well, dangerous or not I doubt you can get out of this cell," he said, leaning back in his chair.

Rory looked him over. Maybe this kid wasn't so bad. "I like you, what's your name?" she asked.

"Duke, Duke Thomas. You?" he asked.

"Ghost."

"So when you were born, your parents named you Ghost?" he grinned, looking at her again with a smile on his face.

"Yup. It's how all of us assassins are born. Fully grown and equipped with weapons ready to kick ass." she chuckled.

Duke laughed at her comment. "At least you laugh like a human, there was a theory that you were from another planet."

Rory bit her lip to try and keep herself from laughing. Even though she had her mask on still, Duke could see what she was laughing. "Another popular theory is that you are from the future, that's how you kept slipping away."

Rory leaned forward. "I am not an alien, nor am I from the future. Who even came up with those?"

"Jason and Steph," he replied. "But of course, after he met you Jason changed his mind. He's actually been really grumpy since then."

"Well, that's because I shot him in the leg." she chuckled.

Duke laughed at her statement, he couldn't see why the rest of them were on edge around her. So far she made no moves to escape and was holding a pleasant conversation, but then again he was on the opposite side of the glass door. Who knew what Ghost would try to do to him if he pissed her off.

Rory was about to open her mouth to speak once more when a bike pulled into the cave. She held her breath, this was what she was not looking forward to. Dick took off his mask and looked over, his expression neutral upon looking at her.

Yeah, he was still upset with her. What did she expect, that he and Jason were going to forgive her? Rory had a feeling that Roy would forgive her, but she had crossed lines and things weren't going to be the same between them.

"I see you're finally up. Batman has questions to ask you." Dick said.

"You could at least look a little happy to see me, Richard."

"Let's go back to last year and sure, I'd be happy to see you. Ro- Ghost, you've murdered people across the globe. That doesn't just go away." he said.

"Oh, but it goes away for Jason when he slips up or just flat out ignores Bruce's rule. You still accept him." she snapped.

Duke sat in his chair quietly, watching the two of them fight. He might have only been around for six months, but he had never seen Dick snap like that at someone; ever. Not unless they did something to hurt his family. Looking at the girl in the cell once more, the pieces started to click.

Dick knew her, and he knew her well. But what was it she did to make him so upset at her?

Dick clenched his jaw, there were many things he wanted to say to her. Most of them consisted of yelling at her for what she did to Tim, dumping him, and then dropping off the face of the earth. It was something he wasn't ready to forgive her for, and from where he was standing it didn't seem like she regretted it at all.

Rory glared, he might not be able to see her face but it was obvious how she felt. Her body was as stiff as a board and her hands were clenched tightly on the edge of the cot she was sitting on.

Neither of them spoke, only glared at the other leaving a very confused Duke in the middle. Several minutes had passed before he went to open his mouth. "Is anyone hungry? Because I am starving," he asked.

"I would love something to eat, I've been locked in a cell for twenty-four hours. At this point, I would eat anything," Rory said, her gaze not leaving Dick.

Duke quickly got up from his seat and went up to get some food, once he was gone was when Rory spoke again.

"Why don't you tell me what this is really about Grayson? I'm sure there are many things you want to say to me, and nows your chance." she taunted.

"You don't want to know what I have to say, it's not very nice," he said.

"Oh, afraid that you'll make me cry?"

"No, afraid it'll make you change your mind and want to stay."

Rory raised a brow at him. "Why would I want to stay in the hell hole of a city?" she asked.

"The same reason you did the last time, but I am not going to let you hurt my brother again. Not if I have anything to say about it."

There it was. Dick was worried that she had come back for Tim, or at least try to talk to him. Little did he know that that was the last thing she wanted to do. Seeing him in Venice was hard enough, and he was distracted. Rory came to Gotham for one reason, and one reason only. She was going to find Samantha Wilkins and stop her.

"That's not the reason I'm here."

"Then what is?"

The two of them looked behind Dick and saw Bruce walk in, the cape swaying behind him. Damian was off to the side with his arms crossed, looking over at them.

"I was wondering when you would get back Bruce, Dick over here has been keeping me company. Along with that new kid, Duke.  He seems smart, resourceful." she commented, getting to her feet.

"Why are you here?" he asked, his tone stiff and firm. It was clear that he was not going to let up on any of this until he got the answer he wanted.

"Relax Brucie, I'm not here for the reason you think I am. I won't go anywhere near him, I don't want to." she clarified.

Damian's eyes narrowed from across the cave. This situation with Ghost was getting weirder and weirder; she knew their identities and Grayson and his father both seemed to be at least kind of comfortable around her. It was like they knew she wouldn't seriously hurt them, but didn't want to push it anymore than they had.

"Then tell me, why are you here Ghost," Bruce questioned, narrowing his eyes at the girl in front of him.

"That's my business, next question."

"Why were you in Venice?" Dick tried.

"Again, I had no idea he was there." Rory huffed as she began to pace in front of the glass door.

"Why were you in Venice?" Bruce snapped. "There was a League base there, and you were seen inside it. Why were you there?"

Rory stopped pacing and stared at him from where she stood. "Do you really think you can intimidate me?" she laughed. Bruce really thought that he could scare her into talking, but Rory was smarter than that. From all the things she had seen in her life, Batman was not at the top of her list. Hell, Deathstroke no longer scared her anymore. Not after he was locked in Belle Rev Prison and she had almost killed him, it was almost poetic how she had quite literally conquered her fear that night.

The thing Rory feared the most, she couldn't get away from.

"I'm beginning to understand why you locked me in here, and it wasn't for your safety." she grinned. "I was for mine, to make sure none of them or you would try and beat me up for what I did is that right?"

Bruce's glare darkened, she was as smart as he remembered if not smarter. The Rory they all knew a year ago was long gone, she was a completely different person now. It was like she enjoyed seeing the pain on their faces, knowing it was her that had caused it.

"Come on, why don't you let me out? I've learned a few tricks, let's see how long it takes me to kick your ass."

"Why the fuck is she here!?" Jason took off his helmet and stormed over, his face contorted in anger. Rory was the last person he wanted to see, especially in the cave. He had been out of town for the last few days and didn't know that she was in Gotham, but when he saw her white suit from across the cave he got pissed.

"Jason, don't," Dick said, moving to stop his brother.

"Did you forget what she did, what she said to him? Or the fact that she shot me? Does any of this ring a bell in that bird brain of yours?" he asked, knocking Dick on the head with his knuckles.

"No none of us forgot, but this isn't the time for grudges. There's a reason she is here, and the quicker we find that out, the quicker she can leave the city." Dick said, trying his hardest to hold Jason back. He was physically bigger than him and could easily throw Dick over his shoulder if he wanted to.

Damian listened to the whole conversation, looking up when Duke came back with two plates and a sandwich on each. Duke decided it was not a good idea to get tangled up in all of that and thought it was a good idea to wait by Damian. He set the sandwich that Alfred made for Ghost down and began to eat his own, watching as Bruce, Dick, and Jason tried to get answers out of her.

"Do you know who she is?" he asked, leaning over towards Damian.

"I have my suspicions, but I want to wait before I voice it. If I'm right, she's an old friend." Damian said, closing his eyes and dropped his head. "But this one time, I don't want to be right."

"Who you think she must be, was pretty important to all of you then?" Duke asked, taking a bit of his sandwich.

Damian gave him another nod. "Yes, but to no one more than Drake. She was his beloved, and about a year ago now she broke his heart and left. None of us has seen her since."

"What if you're right, will you tell Tim at all?"

Again, Damian shook his head. "It's better he doesn't know what became of her."

"Not to be that guy, but that sounds kind of fucked up. Shouldn't he be the first to know, considering that they were a thing as you said?" Duke asked, his brows raised in confusion.

"You didn't see what had happened after she left. Father brought you in several months later, Thomas. The Manor wasn't the same and we all felt it."

"So why do you think she came back then?"

"An excellent question, but I think I can find the answer." Damian pushed off the wall he was leaning on and walked over to the bat computer and began to type things into it, trying to find what it was Ghost was following that night.

Before she had said that she had business to attend to and that they needed to stay out of her way. What he wanted to know, was what exactly it was that she was doing. Whether Ghost was Rory or not, that didn't change the facts that were laid out in front of them.

She was going around, killing members of the League of Assassins. The ones with links to drug trades, trafficking, and other shipments across the world. Damian had already informed them all of this connection, but things got a little weird when she went to Venice, Italy. Up until that point, she had been hunting ring leaders and not attacking bases.

Drake had gone there to try and get some information, hoping that Ra's was in a good mood and willing to cooperate. He wasn't of course, but that didn't matter. What mattered was that she was there for another reason, but why?

Scanning the footage, the voices of his father and two brothers were drowned out as Duke stood there and watched. Damian's eyes didn't leave the screen, let alone blink afraid that he might miss something if he did. There had to be something that gave her away, there had to be. Watching the footage as he followed her, was when he saw a car. It had been in every shot of his footage and Ghost was going in the same direction.

Tracing the license plate, he found who the car belonged to and tracked the name down. Printing the paper, he grinned to himself and walked over with it held tightly in his hand. Pushing past Jason and Dick, he pressed the picture to the glass.

"Who is Samantha Wilkins and why are you following her?" he asked.

"Where's my food? Duke said he was going to get me something to eat," she answered, looking him dead in the eye.

"You'll get it once you answer the question. Who is Samantha Wilkins and why are you following her?" he asked once more.

"Listen here kid, bring me my food and I might talk. I haven't eaten in over twenty-four hours and I am starting to get a little pissed." she crossed her arms, shifting her weight to one leg with a triumphant look to her stance.

Dick turned to look at Duke and waved him over. "Bring the assassin her sandwich," he called.

"One sandwich for the scary-ass assassin coming up," Duke said and slid it through the flap in the door.

Rory's mouth salivated at the sight of the food in front of her, she went to pick it up when she stopped mid grab. The mask she wore covered her entire face, there was no way she was going to eat and keep it on.

Slowly, she looked to the side and glanced at the people who stood in front of her. Most of them already knew who she was, and if Damian hadn't figured it out yet then he wasn't paying much attention.

"I know who you are Sonnet, just take the damn mask off and eat the sandwich." Damian snapped, crossing his arms and glaring at her.

Rory let out a sigh and unclasped the mask from her face, her vision going from the red of the lenses to the natural coloring of the real world. Her hair was a mess of tangles and loose strands hung in front of her face, as she tried to blow them away.

She looked worse for wear than the last time Dick and Jason saw her. The bags that hung under her eyes were more prominent and, there was no life to her face. Her cheeks were sullen and her lips seemed to be in a permanent frown. This new life she led was kicking her ass and slowly killing her, but Rory wasn't going to stop until the job was done.

Setting the mask to the side, Rory sat on the cot and ate her sandwich. They were all watching her, she could feel their gazes without looking up. After taking a few bites, she let out a sigh. "Samantha Wilkins is my next target," she answered.

"So you're here to kill her?" Dick asked.

Slowly, Rory nodded her head refusing to look up. "Yes, but there is more to it than that. She is more than what she seems, Samantha has ties to the League of Assassins and is not a very nice person." she took another bite. "I have no idea how dangerous she really is, but a person with those kinds of connections is not good."

"So you've been trying to take down the League of Assassins then?" Jason questioned.

Rory stayed quiet, that was only partially true. Yes, that was what she was doing, but it wasn't why she was doing it. It was why she left Gotham in the first place, and it was ironic that it was the reason she came back almost a year later.

"You're not going to answer that one?" he asked.

"You won't like my answer, and the fewer people know the better," she said shortly.

"That's bullshit, you just don't want to tell us." he snapped.

She took a deep breath before finishing her sandwich. "I told you before, there's more to this than either of you know. I can't explain because it would only put a target on your back."

Bruce stood there silently, going over the evidence in his head. Rory was smart, smart enough to avoid them all for a year. If she said that there was more to this than they knew, and it was safer that way. It had to do with the League, but she was the one who started hunting down the League members first.

Or, were they the ones hunting her?

That group of assassins from the night before seemed adamant to take her out, but why?

The sound of two more bikes pulling in snapped them all out of their trance. Every single of them turned to look at Tim pull in with Stephanie behind him and they were laughing about something that had happened.

Hearing his laughter, Rory dove for her mask only knocking it to the floor with a loud clatter. Tim stopped laughing and looked up at the cell, dropping the items he held in his hands.

Everything about her was different, from the color of her hair to the color of her eyes but he would know that look from anywhere. She always had that look about her, she wasn't looking at you or through you even. Her gaze was locked inside you, taking in every bit of information she could as she listened. Looking at her now, how could he have not noticed who she was before?

He had spent the better part of almost three years with her, to the point Tim had her body memorized in his mind's eyes. It was either the time away, or the pain she had left him in that pushed those memories away not wanting to make the connection to protect his heart from her.

Stephanie was frozen in place as she stared at the girl behind the glass and then looked back at Tim who wore the same shocked expression she did.

Tim swallowed and opened his mouth. "Songbird?"

[dontasktheradiodemon]

Thrill Me, Chill Me, Fulfill Me

Sir Pentious a.k.a. Telly (@usedhearts​) finishes shedding and goes to show Alastor, who’s been hanging out at his place the last week and a half fretting over him helping him out. Stuff that happens:

💕 MUTUAL CONFESSIONS 💕

Telly’s shed has given him some interesting new mutations! 🐟 

Alastor makes a deal with his own soul on the line! 🔥 

Things Which Are Unsafe For Work 🍆🍆

❤️❤️❤️ AND MORE! ❤️❤️❤️

Look I pulled out the emoji and everything, that’s how exciting this is.

(For y’all that want to keep up with the plot but don’t want to read lewds, I’ll mark where it begins and ends in the chat.)

Sir Pentious

The steam in the room was finally being released, dissipating the fog as the air began to circulate again. Telly felt refreshed, and much, much better, now that all that was over with. He smiled as he grabbed his phone, shooting a text to Alastor.

🎩 I'LL BE OUT MOMENTARILY! IT'S FINALLY ALL DONE!

And then he called the Eggs in to take care of the skin that lay across the floor.

Alastor

And Alastor was a mere room away from the bathroom-turned-sauna, flopped back on Sir Pentious’s bed, waiting—*just in case,* see. The other Sir Pentious had had a hard time with the last day of his shed, Alastor had wanted to be on hand in case this one was struggling too. To sing, to distract, to massage, to hold hands, to offer a few shadows to carefully slide off the shed... Whatever he was needed for.

But so far it hadn’t been necessary, so he’d mainly ended up singing to himself, rewriting a song that Valera had started on during the aforementioned prior shed: “*I’ll peel you, banana... I’ll peel you... I thought that you’d overripened, and I’d make a bread out of you; now my mouth and eyes are opened, banana... I’ll eat you, banana—*“

Alastor sits bolt upright. That’s his phone! He can feel the signal of the incoming text crackle against his hip. He pulls it out, reads the message, and rather than returning the text yells into the sauna, “I’m right where you left me! Need me to grab anything?” Probably not, but maybe Telly needed a fresh change of clothes or something. Alastor had gotten used to grabbing odds and ends for Telly this week.

Sir Pentious

He's moved on to the other area of the bathroom now-- what he liked to call the 'false lead' as there were no baths in here! Just the toilet and the sink and the mirror. Which he was now staring in, his arm held up as he looked at the three lines in his side. Those were new. Edged with black against the yellow, they stood out. He ran a finger over them and gave a soft gasp at the sensitivity. Like touching his fingers to his lips, these new....things were much more sensitive than the rest of him.

Telly lifted his other arm and sure enough, there was a matching pair on the other side-- and that's when it clicked. These were gills. He had _gills_ now. Well. That was something.

He finally broke out of his trance to respond to Alastor. "No! No need, I'll be right there." He slithered quickly toward the door and almost threw it open, beaming at Alastor.

"Ta-da?" He offered, suddenly feeling a bit self conscious, his smile turning a bit shy.

Alastor

He stuffed his phone away before a handful of eggs could toddle by and spot it, and then all but forgot the eggs when Telly himself emerged. “And here’s the top banana himself!” Alastor telling jokes that only he’s gonna get, he’s a riot.

And he immediately regretted the comment, because “banana” did not come close to adequately describing the appearance of Sir Pentious immediately after a shed, scales all shiny and new, colors vivid and bright. He’d thought Telly had looked lovely a couple of weeks ago, with sparkling copper and iridescent green polish painting his scales; it didn’t come close to how he looked now, at his most naturally brilliant. Alastor could only stare a moment; before he managed to choke out, “... And, like a banana, you’re looking very a-peel-ing.” No, Alastor, bad, flirting did *not* make it better.

Sir Pentious

Telly momentarily got distracted by the Eggs as well, watching them toddle into the bathroom to collect the skin. But then his attention was drawn back by Alastor and just how....struck he was. Not speechless, of course, Telly hardly thought anything could strike the Radio Demon speechless, but struck all the same. A small bubble of pride inflated in his chest.

"Yessss, look at thisss!!" He slithered more fully into the room, stretching out his tail behind him. "I think I got a few extra inchesss now! Come here, Alassstor, come feel-- I'm ssso sssmooth now, too!" His excitement was in full force now and he gestured for him to come over.

And as he did, the Eggs reappeared with the skin hoisted over their heads. Look at that skin, that's a nice, nearly whole skin. And there they go, toting it out the door.

Alastor

Feel? *Feel?* He was being invited to *touch* immediately after a shed? He sure hadn’t gotten that honor when his *other* snake friend had shed, and for a moment his immediate wariness—*What’s the catch? Is this a trap? Will Telly be watching Alastor’s reaction?*—was enough to balance out his yearning to do *exactly* what Telly had asked for him to do.

Which let him get distracted by the eggs passing. He watched them go by, with *another* snakeskin he’d love to get his hands on but definitely was afraid to touch. If the eggs were just throwing it out, they’d probably have crumpled it up, wouldn’t they? “What in the world are they doing with that?” Look, a diversion!

Sir Pentious

He looked at the Eggs, tilting his head. "Probably going to dry it and then do....whatever it is they do with them! I don't know and I have never thought to ask. The Egg Bois, you know, they're..." He put his hand at the side of his mouth to stage whisper. "_Weird._"

Telly shrugged, and then reached out his hand again. "Anyway, come here!! Come here, Alastor, feel my ssscalessss!!"

Alastor

Dry it! Alastor’s grin widened with glee as he started playing a crackly song—“*Tan me hide when I’m dead, Fred, tan me hide when I’m dead; so we tanned his hide when he died, Clyde, and that’s it hanging in the shed.*”

Alastor remained convinced that he was, in fact, the funniest person in Hell.

And he was also stalling. He needed to talk to Telly about *them*��as in the *two of them*, and the wildly confusing signals that Telly was sending (THIS ONE already quite solidly ranked among them!), and he’d told himself he’d do it after Telly’s shed was over and he was feeling better, but how do you say “stop everything, I can’t feel you up until we talk about our relationship status to make sure that we’re in agreement on the exact implications of said groping”? You don’t say that. Nobody says that. Every love story Alastor had ever heard, seen, or read had both parties just blunder along until a *moment* presented itself when it had to be said, and those moments didn’t happen by interrupting different moments—

And while Alastor mused on the intricacies of confessing attraction as modeled by Hollywood, he’d run out of goofy music to play and been staring for a bit longer than he should have. “Are you sure? Isn’t it, you know, *tender* right after shedding?” Maybe that was tarantulas.

Sir Pentious

Telly laughed at the song, a hissing giggle, his tongue sticking out between his teeth. His head tilted as he waited for Alastor to speak, or move-- but he just stared. Was this weird? Had he made it weird? Oh, god, he'd made it weird, hadn't he? He was about to speak again when Alastor finally spoke.

"Oh! No, it'sss not. The scales are quite firm." He snickered, and then slithered over to his nightstand. He dug around in it, finding the bottle of scale lotion and slithered back, this time closer to Alastor. "If it helps, I could give you a job? I need to put on lotion to help make sure I stay nice and shiny as long as possible." He smirked and hummed.

Alastor

Alastor watched far more closely than he should have as Telly slithered across the floor—oh God, were those gashes on the side? Alastor had noticed that some of Telly’s deepest wounds hadn’t healed completely with the shed, but he hadn’t noticed the gashes on the side—no, wait, those didn’t look like gashes—were those *gills?* “Do you have *gills?*” Look, another diversion!

Because he was *not* ready to answer a request to lotion up Telly’s body.

Sir Pentious

"What?" He blinked and then grinned, nodding. "Oh! Yes! I _think_ they are, they certainly look it!" He lifted an arm to let Alastor get a better look. "I suppose my body decided I needed them? I don't know, but I'm certainly not going to look _this_ gift horse in the mouth!"

He laughed and lowered his arm. Telly took Alastor's hand and placed it on the back of his arm. "Feel my sssscalesss, already!"

Alastor

“All right, all right.” That was as much procrastinating as Alastor could manage. He was going to touch *extremely lightly*—and oh even with his gloves on he could tell, yes, Telly’s scales *were* smooth, and it was a fight not to touch *more.* No, that was crossing a line.

Sir Pentious

"Feel some of the bigger onessss," He said, guiding his hands again to his hip area. "The big ones feel like a smooth river stone to me. Makes me think of what a dragon woud've felt like, were they real."

He hissed a soft laugh and purred.

Alastor

“Right,” Alastor murmured, hardly registering the comparison—dragons, rivers, yes. He’d felt a jolt shoot up his chest at the feel of Telly’s hands on his hands and Telly’s scales sliding beneath his fingertips, and now all he could think about was the shape of his hips and how Alastor wanted to trace them, wanted to satisfy a half-century-old yearning to learn where the skeleton beneath the snakeskin shifted from human to serpent, wanted—

He pulled his hands back. “Yes, I see what you mean! An astute comparison.” He laughed uncomfortably.

Sir Pentious

Oh. That laugh, he could practically smell the discomfort radiating off of Alastor. Oh, he made it weird again, didn't he. He moved back a little and then spread himself out on the floor, popping open the lotion bottle to start getting some on his hands.

"Did you want to help me with this?" He asked, his voice a bit smaller.

Alastor

Oh, and now Telly was uncomfortable, Alastor made it weird.

They should stop and talk. Alastor had overthought every interaction to the point that he no longer had any idea where he stood with Telly, and if Telly knew where he stood with Alastor he was doing a damn good job of not admitting it, and there was the whole girlfriend deal, and neither of the prior Sir Pentiouses Alastor had known had ever asked him to *lotion their scales* but was that a personality difference between this Sir Pentious and the others or was it a difference in how much he *wanted* out of Alastor, and—

—and right now, Telly’s voice sounded like it ought to be coming out of an anthopomorphic cartoon flower wilting beneath a vicious blizzard, and Alastor couldn’t stand it. He had to fix that first. Not *because* the sight of Telly stretched out so tantalizing across the floor filled Alastor with an *itch* to touch, but *in spite of* it.

Alastor knelt next to Telly, forcing his usual energetic cheer back into his voice. “Of course! I promised I’d help you through this shed start to finish, didn’t I?”

Sir Pentious

The cheer brought his smile back a little, and he offered the bottle of lotion to him. "The sooner I put it on the longer my post-shed glow will last," He said, with a soft chuckle.

"You'll be able to see a sparkly serpent for longer." Another laugh and he started rubbing what he had on his hands onto his arms. Ooooh nice and cool, felt good after being in that sauna for a day.

Alastor

Well, preserving the sparkly serpent was selfless enough, wasn’t it? The fact that Alastor would enjoy the sight didn’t change the fact that Telly would benefit from it. He scooted to sit behind Telly, squeezed some lotion into a hand, rubbed his hands together as he told himself to Not Make This Weird, *Please,* and then started where he figured it would be hardest for Telly to reach by himself—between his shoulder blades.

Sir Pentious

He shivered at the touch, but smiled, and purred. Oh, that felt nice. He continued to rub in what he had onto his arms, and his eyes (on his face) closed a moment, just enjoying the feeling of Alastor's hands on his back. Telly made a soft noise of contentment, letting his head droop forward a bit as he moved his hoot out of Alastor's way.

Alastor

Sure. This was easy. Alastor could do this. And then after this they could discuss—they *really* should have discussed this before—but there had never been a moment when he could. Just do this without doing anything out of line.

His hands slid down Telly’s back, running over the ridge of each vertebra and rib. This wasn’t the first time he’d seen Telly totally naked, but *oh* was it a rush to just revel in him like this. Like painting on the polish had been, but far more so.

Sir Pentious

His eyes are closed and his breath is catching with every little traced of bone. He could feel his heart beating so much faster already and he wondered if Alastor could hear it-- it was so quiet, after all. Had he struck Alastor speechless, now? He didn't know, but his mind was on other things, like the feeling of his hands against his back. A purring rumble cascaded through his chest, a very pleased snake, yes, that was what he was.

Alastor

Alastor had stopped breathing entirely as he listened to each little change in Telly’s breath, ears twitching at every change. The rumble made his hands tingle from fingertips to wrist and ears tingle from tip to base and down the back of his scalp. Oh, if Alastor could get Telly to make that sound every day... His hands worked down to the small of Telly’s back, where they separated and started to creep around his waist, seeking out again the spot Telly had shown Alastor earlier, eager to grip him tight and pull him closer—

*No.* Alastor vanished, a shadow ghosting across the floor, to rematerialize sitting on the far side of Telly’s bed, faced away. “I—sorry.” His voice was far too weak for his tastes.

Sir Pentious

He was reveling in this, soaking in every touch like a sponge to water-- and then the touch was gone, and his eyes flashed open, blinking rapidly at the sudden absence. It made him feel cold.

His head turned to see Alastor all the way across the room and he frowned. Telly slithered over to him slowly, circling around to get in front of him. His head tilted and he moved with even more exaggerated slowness to take Alastor's hands.

"Sorry for what, Alastor?" He asked, holding his hands reverently.

Alastor

Ohhh they were having the conversation *now.* Okay. It wasn’t exactly Hollywood, but what ever was? He reflexively squeezed Telly’s hands, then had to let his grip go slack again.

Voice strained, eyes shut, head tilted back like he was hoping God might take pity just once on a poor damned sinner and telegraph some divine inspiration straight into his brain, he said, “You should know—that—doing this, it... means *quite* a bit more to me than I think you realize. Possibly *far* more than it does to you, but I, uh...” He let out a choked wheeze of a laugh. “I’m having a hard time figuring that out, actually.” Somebody smite him, please.

Sir Pentious

Oh. Oh! _Oh._ Things were starting to click in that brilliant, dumb brain of his, the wheels were definitely turning-- and stalling and catching fire and he was pretty sure smoke was going to start pouring out of his head.

Alastor liked him. Alastor _like liked_ him. More than friends, liked him. His heart began to swell as his brain rapidly repaired the wheels to think of what he should say here. What _should_ he say here? How did you tell someone you liked them, as more than a friend? God, he was awkward.

But Alastor didn't know that _he_ liked him! How was that possible? He thought he'd been....pretty blatant about it. But whatever, that didn't matter. What mattered was this....

"Alastor," He said, releasing one of his hands to cup his cheek, to make Alastor look at him. "I like you. More than would have been proper in my day and age or yours. I've, ah, I've liked you for some time now, but I wasn't sure if _you_ liked _me_ in that way and I--" His jaw snapped shut. Shut up, stupid, don't ramble.

"I have feelings for you, Alastor. Romantic feelings."

Alastor

And what do we find hidden at the bottom of Pandora’s box but small bright little hope! Alastor’s heart let out a single heavy booming *thud,* like a timpanist waiting for his cue had gotten startled and dropped his mallet. His eyes flew open and he exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for half a century. Breathless, he whispered, “*Do* you?” That couldn’t be true. That couldn’t.

But by God if Alastor wasn’t good at playing his assigned role in absurd situations, then what *was* he good at? His throat and lips worked for a moment, but he couldn’t say the words back—so instead, he simply... lifted one of Telly’s hands. And kissed the knuckles—a knight swearing fealty to a king. And turned Telly’s hand over to kiss the palm. This couldn’t be real; this was going to end any second. He tried to press his whole face into Telly’s hand.

(Everything tasted like snakeskin lotion.)

Sir Pentious

He'd been about to do that! You beat him to the punch, Alastor. But he smiled, and decided, fuck it, he was going to do it anyway. Telly lifted Alastor's hand and repeated the motions. A kiss to the knuckles and then to the palm. He held it against his cheek after that, and leaned in, giving a little blelele against his cheek.

He felt so light, so relieved, like someone had attached balloons all over him and he was floating.

Alastor

Alastor took the tongue flicking at his cheek as an invitation to return a proper kiss; and so he did. As close to silent as Telly had probably ever heard a Radio Demon—all his white noise trapped in his lungs, no sound but the rare stray distant unintelligible whisper of Alastor’s invisible audience. The kiss was light and tentative, as if he still suspected he might have misinterpreted the words “I have romantic feelings for you.” (He did, in fact, suspect exactly that.)

Sir Pentious

His arm wrapped around Alastor's waist, drawing him closer as he returned the kiss. It was soft and slow, as tentative as Alastor started it, but he certainly was returning it. And then his tongue made another appearance, flicking against Alastor's teeth-- oh, really, right now? Don't worry about that Alastor, it had a mind of its own sometimes.

Alastor

And the kiss was *returned.* White fireworks went off just behind Alastor’s eyes and he laughed, as much from the sensation of a forked tongue flicking at his lips as from relief and from half-hysterical disbelief. He broke the kiss to embrace Telly, bury his face in the crook of Telly’s neck, and murmur, “*Really?*” His voice was a small, muffled thing in the dead silence.

Sir Pentious

Telly's other arm wrapped around him and pulled him up off the bed. No more sitting for you, Alastor! Fully embraced in the snake's arms is how it's going to be now. Telly squeezed him, nuzzling back, and giving a flick of his tongue against Alastor's neck. "_Yes, really._"

Alastor

And up he’s pulled! Enjoy the sound effect of... a startled elephant? A man sneezing into a trumpet? The one lone sound effect was almost out of place in the dead silence.

He tugged off his gloves with trembling hands and pressed his fingertips to Telly’s back again, chasing some half-developed whim to attempt to keep rubbing in the lotion but really just retracing the scales and bones he’d explored earlier, this time without a thin layer of deerskin dulling the sensation. And he kissed, slowly, almost experimentally, along Telly’s collar bone.

Sir Pentious

Oh, the gloveless hands, he's honored. And purring. And reveling in the kisses. This was really happening. It was really happening, Alastor was _kissing him_ and it was better than he'd dreamed it. His arms squeezed him again, and his tail began to coil around his legs. Sorry, Alastor, you belong to the snake now.

Alastor

“I’ve never liked the touch of someone else’s skin. I hate how other people feel—the hair and sweat and oils of human flesh, pores and nipples and bellybuttons...” His voice was almost silent, but it was also entirely human, all distortion gone. He whispered fervently, like this confession was something else that had been trapped in him half a century, waiting for that long exhale before it could come out. “But scales...” Another kiss. “I’ve always thought snakeskin is so smooth and cool and—*perfect.* And even more beautiful now when it’s all new.”

Sir Pentious

Telly's breath hitched at the kiss, and the words. Oh, he was glad that he couldn't blush. He did purr instead, though, and his claws kneaded at Alastor's sides. "You think I'm beautiful?" He asked, his voice soft. "I--" He paused and smiled, letting his tongue flick against his cheek again.

"I love your voice. Being able to hear it all this week, while I couldn't see anything...It was the best thing to hear. You helped keep me grounded, with every word and every song." He leaned in to press a kiss against his clothed neck. "And red is one of my favorite colors."

Alastor

And now Alastor’s breath hitched. *Grounded*? He’d done that? With the rarefied airs he put on, he’d helped keep Telly firmly tethered to the world around him?

When was the last time his voice had helped anybody feel *connected*?

This was real. All of this was really happening. Alastor felt a lump forming in his throat, and he fought through it the best way he knew how: by talking. “You’re beautiful beyond words. Always. When you’re fresh from a swim, scales still *glistening* with with beads of water—or painted up like a temporary work of art—or practically glowing with vivid new colors...” He started slowly kissing up Telly’s neck every few words. “Haven’t you ever heard the phrase ‘curves in all the right places’—“ Kiss. “—you’re nothing but curves.” He delivered the punchline with a hiss of his usual static and a polite chortle from his studio audience. He was still absolutely terrified—but if he could make jokes, he’d work through it. “Curves covered in gold and onyx and rubies...” Kiss. And then, awkwardly, haltingly, he said, “...I don’t think anyone’s ever said something nice about my color palette before.” It wasn’t what he wanted to say, but it was what he could get out.

Sir Pentious

Every kiss brings another hitch of his breath, and his eyes slide shut as he listened to Alastor talk. His claws still kneaded against him, and his purring turned up a notch. His tail squeezed Alastor's legs and he laughed softly.

"I like it. Despite everything around us being red most of the time, you make it work for you. It makes you stand out and blend in at the same time. And anywhere that's not swathed in red already, you pop. When I could still barely see, the red and your voice where how I knew where you were." He laughed again. "And if I have curves all over, I suppose that I only _have_ right places to have curves, hm?"

His eyes opened and he looked at Alastor, smiling. "You're handsome, fun, exhilarating...I could go on and on."

Alastor

Hah, of course, this airship was probably the only place in Hell where a pure red getup *would* stand out. “Exhilarating?” He laughed half breathlessly. “You want to talk about exhilarating, talk about—talk about the man who’s conquering Hell! Good God! You don’t get more exhilarating than a laser the size of a Cadillac!” He pulled back suddenly—not far, just enough to make eye contact, to hold Telly’s face in his hands. “Tell me if I’m being too forward, but—I want to see it. Everything Poseidon said to Amphitrite—I meant every word. I want you to raise Hell and raze Heaven—I want you to dethrone the infernal and the celestial with nothing but the mechanical—I want hubris to win. And I want to be there with you. I want to be your personal broadcaster, your royal jester and royal executioner, your herald. I want to eat God’s flesh off of the same plate as you.”

Sir Pentious

Oh, he's nearly panting at that, eyes wide and locked on Alastor's. Every word seeped into his brain and down through his spine to his lungs and his gut. And something unknotted down there, and released, and the doubt that constantly niggled in the back of his brain fell quiet. And was replaced by Alastor's voice, Alastor's encouragement, Alastor's partnership-- Alastor's.....

He surged forward and kissed him, hard, once, twice. His tail coiled up further around him and his hands held Alastor's face. "I meant it all too. Everything I said then, in that moment. I want you with me, every step. I want you by my side. I want your laughing lips on mine as I tear down the Kings and Princes. I want to tear out God's heart and present it to you on a silver platter." And he kissed him again, breathless.

He chuckled softly after and stroked Alastor's cheek with his thumb. "Now, tell me if I'm being too forward, but for someone without ambition, you're being very ambitious with me." He slyly smirked and winked. And then another kiss.

Alastor

His heart fluttered and his eyes slid shut as all his conscious awareness rushed out of the rest of his body and to his mouth, and for a moment that was all that existed, two sets of lips and fangs and the promise of a universe caught in between them.

When Sir Pentious accused him of having actual ambitions, he only managed to get out “Well, I—“ before being pulled into another kiss. During a brief pause for breath, he hissed, “Didn’t I say Poseidon’s only an unfinished demigod without Amphitrite?”

And then he dove back in. He hummed into the kiss, a near-century-old love song caught in the back of his throat, ghostly voices singing as an invisible record skipped and repeated—“*When I’m calling you, will you answer too?—You’ll belong to me, I’ll belong to you—You’ll belong to me, I’ll belong to you—*”

Sir Pentious

There's nothing now but this. This kiss. What a rush it was, kissing him. Telly's hand slid back and his claws tangled into his hair, threading through and scratching at his scalp. Slowly, his body started to move, lowering them back and down, onto the floor, Alastor on top. He didn't want to stop this kiss for anything, never again wanted his lips separated from the Radio Demon's. His tongue flicked into Alastor's mouth, teasing and quick, before he pulled back at last, panting for breath.

"Kissing you....feels very....mm....very right," He said, as he tried his best to gulp down air. Telly held Alastor against him and purred.

Alastor

The tongue flick turned Alastor’s hum into a sound that was half static hiss, half longing groan. He tried to catch the Telly’s tongue between his lips when he drew back.

Alastor shut his eyes, pressing their foreheads together. When did Alastor end up laying on top of Telly? Did Alastor push him down? “It does.” Those claws running through his hair sent a wave of shivering tingles across his scalp, down his neck, halfway down his back. He held himself up with one arm, and with the other traced his hand down Telly’s side, careful around the new gills. “I’ve missed—“ *He missed having this with Sir Pentious, the scheming, the intimacy, the ability to hope for a future.* The words caught in his throat. None of what he missed was with *this* Sir Pentious. This Sir Pentious didn’t know anything about the first one—only that he’d succeeded in life and that Alastor believed in him.

Alastor’s heart sank. Telly needed to know so much more than that. “I need to—I have to say something.”

Sir Pentious

The hand down his side sends more sparks down his spine than it would've used too-- and when Alastor's hands pass over the gills, there's a deeper gasp, and then a low groan. Just how sensitive are those? He'd have to do some tests to figure out...

He refocuses on Alastor, blinking as his brain catches up with the words he's saying. "Oh? All right. Then please, say it."

Alastor

“I’m getting déjà vu.” He tried to take in a deep breath; it was shorter and sharper than he would have liked. “I... tried this before, with another version of you. Not our mutual acquaintance, long before that. It went wrong.” He let out a very small, but very terrified laugh, talking faster, trying to finish his confession before Telly could start drawing conclusions. “We didn’t get much past this when I ruined everything. I won’t again, I won’t, I promise. But...”

Sir Pentious

Things sort of click when Alastor says that and Telly gives a little gasp and a little 'Oh.' He's quiet a moment and he takes a few breaths, before sliding his hand back to hold Alastor's cheek. The gesture is tender, and his thumb strokes over his cheek.

"It wasss your Pentious, yes? The one you told me about, from your universssse? The one who ssssucceeded?" He nodded and gave a hum. "May...May I asssk how? How did you ruin it?"

There's no accusation in his voice, just curiosity, but his hand stays on his cheek, his tail still wrapped around his legs. Everything about Telly was gentle here, in this moment. He didn't want to ruin this either.

Alastor

He owed Sir Pentious this—*some* Sir Pentious somewhere. Someone had to hear his confession, hear him acknowledge his sins. “We got—this far. I spent the night. But I panicked before morning. I’ve never—I’d never wanted somebody before. I didn’t want to become the kind of person who—*wants.* So I... left.” He took a deep, shaky breath, pressing his face into Telly’s hand. “And I... You can be a stubborn, determined man, Sir Pentious. If I wanted to get away, I had to—I *thought* I make sure he wouldn’t want to try to bring me back.” Disembodied sound clips play around Alastor—the distant, dull sounds of multiple explosions; an out-of-context news broadcast: “And it's crashing!—It's burning and bursting into flames—and the frame is crashing to the ground—Oh, the humanity—“ and then a far more familiar voice, choked with rage and disbelief and hurt: “No. We fought ssside by side. You hhelped me—"

The clips are all cut off with a whine of feedback. He didn’t mean to share that last one. He didn’t mean to share *most* of those sounds, the reinterpreted broadcast should have been enough—but some self-destructive part of him had to go too far with it. Sir Pentious who had died in an airship crash so traumatic he couldn’t even put on mascara without remembering spending his last moments blinded—and Alastor who had taken Sir Pentious’s love and trust and in return brought down his airships. How could this one forgive him for his crimes against the other one? “I’m—sorry.” It wasn’t enough.

Sir Pentious

His face falls and his heart breaks-- for both of them. For Alastor's panic induced destruction, and for the other....the other him that was hurt by it. His touch is still gentle, though, thumb stroking Alastor's cheek. Telly's breath hitches a little, and one small tear escaped the corner of his eye-- a tear shed for what Alastor had done, for what Sir Pentious had lost. His hand slides back to the back of his neck again, and brings his head in to press their foreheads together. And then he swallows the lump congealing in his throat to speak.

"It's okay. I....I understand. That panic, that feeling of needing to push someone away. I understand it. I'm sorry it happened, to both of you. I'm sorry that you hurt him, and yourself." He takes another breath, and his arm winds around Alastor's waist, pressing him closer than before.

"I want this. I want us. But there is something I need from you before we go further with this. I need you to promise me, to _swear_ to me there won't be a repeat performance. I--" He feels the tears then, bubbling up in all his eyes. "I don't think I would be able to take the heartbreak, Alastor. If you were to betray me like that, after we begin this, after everything you've done for me, it would be too much. So, please, promise me you won't do that again. Not with me."

A little hiccup and he used a hand to wipe at his eyes. "I want to give you my heart, but I'm not going to hand it over if there's a chance you could turn around and crush it. I need you to swear to me, that we won't end up like that."

Alastor

And there, Telly’s starting to cry already—Alastor’s ruined it. Fifty-four years ago he ruined this before it ever had a chance. His smile starts to wilt, corners threatening to turn down. If Alastor had to break Sir Pentious’s heart again, this was the most responsible way to break it, wasn’t it?

But then Telly starts to speak. And Alastor can’t believe his ears.

Just like that? That’s all it took? Telly *understands?* No, that can’t be. There aren’t second chances in Hell. But— “I—I promise. I promise. I promise.” He slides an arm under Telly’s shoulders, clutching him tight, eyes squeezed shut and face pressed against Telly’s shoulder. Please, let Alastor have this! “I’ll shake on it if you want—my soul and every soul I own if I ever betray you!” There’s only the slightest tremble to his voice, professional that he is—but hot tears are trapped between his cheeks and Telly’s scales.

Sir Pentious

Alastor's crying. Alastor's _crying_ against him and that's all he can focus on for a moment, until he processes the worlds. Then there's a gasp from Telly at that-- all the souls and Alastor's own? Just hearing that fills him with a confidence in this, in them, but there's still that fear. He hates to actually ask for it......

"Will you? Shake on it? Make a deal and make it binding?" His hand is on the back of his head, petting at his hair, and he hiccuped a little, his own tears running free. "I don't-- I don't want to force you into sssomething like that, but....and I'm ssssorry I don't have more trussst in you, but I-- I'm-- My mind, my anxiety, it will alwayssss be whissspering if we don't, I think." He sits up slowly, prying their bodies apart just enough to get his hand between them, offering it in a shake.

"You swear to never betray me like you did the Sir Pentious of your own universe, to not destroy this relationship and my heart, or you forfeit your soul and all those you have to me?"

Alastor

“I *never* want you to worry about trusting me. If this takes that fear away—yes.” Because Alastor is risking nothing. He *knows* he’ll never do that again. He knows he *couldn’t*, even if he wanted to. If it gives Telly something and costs Alastor nothing—well, Alastor is a dealmaker, and that’s a good deal.

He listens carefully to Telly’s terms. They go beyond what Alastor said, with the sort of ambiguous wording that devils and dealmakers could use to run in circles around a victim. Alastor knows Telly doesn’t mean them that way; but he’s not leaving any open loopholes that might see him, for example, trapped in some nightmare marriage a thousand years from now because some judge ruled that Alastor couldn’t file for divorce without “destroying this relationship.” He might have been raised Catholic, but he happens to think divorce is a pretty good option to keep on the table.

He chooses his words carefully. “I... can’t swear that I’ll never end this relationship or never break your heart. As much as I want to vow that—maybe in a hundred years we’ll decide we’re incompatible, or maybe I’ll break your heart through some unforgivable, unpredictable accident—and I won’t risk my soul on things I can’t prevent.”

He pushes himself up again, cheeks still wet, and slides his hand into the scant inches between their chests. “But I swear I will never knowingly and deliberately or callously break your heart; and I swear that if I do ever leave, I’ll leave with kindness and honesty; and I swear I’ll never betray you like I did the Sir Pentious of my universe; or I forfeit my soul and all those I have to you.”

And if that’s good enough for Telly—not a promise to control the uncontrollable but at least a promise to control his own actions—then here’s Alastor’s hand, glowing green, ready to be taken.

Sir Pentious

He listened to Alastor's words, his tears drying on his cheeks. Yes, that made sense. He wouldn't want to be stuck in a relationship with no out if he were in Alastor's shoes, and things did change. But he nodded, face serious.

"I can accept those terms. I'll accept them happily. For you and for us." He smiled softly.

And then Telly took his hand and shook it. He didn't release it, instead using it to pull Alastor back in for a kiss. It's harder than before, but in a happy way, and the hand that's not still clasped in Alastor's tangled into his hair to hold him.

Alastor

He pressed into the kiss immediately, the tips of his fangs and tongue immediately teasing at Telly’s lips—*let me in, please*—as he felt the magic behind the contract shooting up his arm and pooling in his chest, pounding in his heart, hot and electric.

Of all the things he anticipated, he didn’t expect the bargain to make HIM feel safe. But it did. He could be sure he’d never lose his nerve and betray Telly. He *couldn’t* betray him. He felt lighter.

Sir Pentious

Telly's mouth opens to him, and his tongue flicks out to play against Alastor's. Then back it goes to let him smell, and then back out-- like it has a mind of its own. He lays back again, taking Alastor with him, and he finally releases Alastor's hand to instead grip at his jacket.

He pulls back after letting the kiss linger against his lips. "How-- Ah, how far do you--" God, he couldn't even get that question out and he nips at Alastor's lip instead. "I need to know....where I should....stop....with this...."

Alastor

It’s hard to leave that kiss behind, but he lifts himself just enough to let his brain sort itself out. How far—? It’s hard to think about; he still has tears dripping off his cheeks and onto Telly’s. He’s still reveling in this sense of *security.* But the fact that Telly asks makes his heart flutter. Give him a second to try to remember where the Venn diagram circle of what he wants ends and what other people tend to want starts. “Let—let me keep my underwear on. Everything outside that is...”

Good enough, he’s back in the kiss. He wants those fangs on his lip again.

Sir Pentious

He lets Alastor kiss him again, and does give him a few more nips, but then another thought presents itself and he's pulling away again to speak.

"I-- Ah, you should know that my-- my anatomy is-- it's the same as a snake's in, ah, below the belt regards. I have--" He looks away and his hand rubs the back of his neck and then over his face. God, this is embarrassing, but it's something he should say.

"I don't know how comfortable you are with other people's....anatomy. In that way. Please tell me if anything makes you....uncomfortable? I don't want that for you....I want whatever we do to be good for us both."

Alastor

“—two? Were you going to say two?” Because if he was, then Alastor really is gonna have a case of déjà vu—and he’s trying not to start laughing.

He pushes himself up again. “I’ve never wanted to get that close to anybody *else’s* anatomy before. But I want to see every last inch of you.” His smile turns self-conscious after that. “And... we’ll figure out what I’m inclined to do with it from there. Sound fair?”

❤️📻🐍❤️ The Naughty Bits START HERE! ❤️📻🐍❤️

Sir Pentious

Telly laughs, covering his face with a hand again. "Yes. Yes, I was. I take it you're familiar, then?"

He moves the hand and then nods, very seriously, before giggling again. "Yes. That sounds good. But do you know the first place I want you to explore?" His smile turned downright sultry as he took Alastor's hand and lead it back to the gills on the side of his chest.

"Why not start somewhere new for both of us?"

Alastor

Oh, Alastor could listen to that laugh forever. Every single one of Sir Pentious’s laughs, from the self-conscious giggle to the maniacal cackle. "It's come up once before! Under similar circumstances, in fact! Although we were never properly introduced—I'm still only familiar with the twins by reputation." He thinks he's hilarious.

Alastor blinks in surprise as Telly moves Alastor's hand to his gills. "Really? It doesn't feel like I'm trying to stick a finger up your nostril?" He experimentally runs one finger along the outer ridge of a gill.

Sir Pentious

"No--" The rest of his sentence is cut off by a moan and then a full body shiver-- and that's a lot of body for him! How sensitive those gills seem to be, and quite the erogenous zone.

"That-- Um, ah, the gentle touch feels....I can't quite describe it, but it's....very good. I think the closest is probably when you, when you touch something to your lips? But more..." He laughed again, breathless. "And well, you will get to see them tonight, especially if you keep touching me like that..."

Alastor

Oh, Alastor feels that moan in his very bones. He’s not used to that—most sexual noises are the auditory equivalent of someone chewing up their food and then carefully spitting it in his ear. But from Sir Pentious, it’s... well, it’s still pretty goofy-sounding, sure—but it’s a sound *Alastor* elicited on purpose. It’s the positive result of Alastor trying to make Telly feel good. And *that*... He thinks he likes that.

The shiver is like sitting atop a mechanical bull as it powers up, right before it starts bucking. Alastor pauses just a moment to absorb the new sensation, and then continues, tracing lightly along the gills with two fingers, then three. "That sounds like a fine plan to me! Especially if it gets another noise like that out of you."

Alastor focuses on Telly's face and chest as he continues, watching every change in his expression, every twitch of his muscles. And listens intently to every single sound out of him.

Sir Pentious

With each stroke, there's another shiver, another moan, and one of Telly's hands briefly scrambled for something to hold before landing on the tail of Alastor's jack. He scrunches up the material and takes a breath. His brain can hardly keep up with the sparks it sends through his body, he feels punchdrunk from the sensation, hardly registering Alastor's words.

"T-That is something. W-Who knew gills would be so sensitive?" He chuckled. "You're going to get so much out of me tonight, Alastor. Everything you want to pull free from me, I'll give willingly."

Alastor

“Here you are offering to sing opera for me”—a few seconds of Christine Daae’s wailing at the end of the “Phantom of the Opera” theme—“and me without my recording equipment!” Alastor sighs woefully, to laughs from the studio audience. "Who knew! Gills aren’t the place *I'd* choose for an erogenous zone. But then, I wouldn't have merged the entertainment center with the sewage system, either." More studio laughter and a flushing toilet sound effect. Can you tell this man has never done dirty talk in his life. Can you tell it has not occurred to him that he SHOULD be trying dirty talk right now. "It still feels like I'm threatening to stick a finger up your nose."

For a brief moment he wonders what it WOULD be like to try to dig up into Telly’s gills. It wouldn't be hard, he thinks, to reach his ribs. To taste Telly’s blood and lungs. To hold his heart in Alastor's hands...

That, he decides, is a fantasy he probably ought to keep to himself. But when he bends in for another kiss, there's a little more fang behind it.

Sir Pentious

Telly can't help but snort, and roll his eyes (all of them) at the commentary. It seems like Alastor's back in form-- not even emotional confessions and desperate make outs could keep a good radio host down. He kisses back, though, and Telly finally starts in on Alastor's clothes. Jacket unbuttoned, he starts tugging the shirt out from where it's tucked in and then reaching up to remove the bowtie.

"You know," He says when their kiss breaks again. "You really are incorrigible. You have me at your mercy, nude and writhing, and you're making toilet jokes." There's fondness in his voice though, and he laughs. He removes the covering on Alastor's neck and then immediately is attacking it with kisses.

Alastor

"I've got to keep you laughing somehow, don't I?" What kind of a radio host would he be if he couldn't switch stations at a moment's notice? Just don't ask what the other stations are broadcasting right now. There’s a fair amount of emotional turmoil still brewing beneath the surface.

As Telly moves in on Alastor’s neck, he says, "Careful, I've got—ah." The bandage on his shoulder just past the crook of his neck—an unhealed bite wound made by another Sir Pentious in anger. Never mind, it can wait, his undershirt covers the bandage. He awkwardly shrugs off his jacket and starts unbuttoning his shirt, exposing the ancient band t-shirt he's using as an undershirt and offering more of his neck to Telly.

Sir Pentious

Telly makes sure to leave his mark-- a little scrape of teeth and then some sucking has a lovely hickie appearing against Alastor's skin. He smirks as he pulls back, pleased at how it looks-- and then he notices the t-shirt.

He blinks. "What'ssss that?" He points at it. He is perplexed. The Radio Demon wears t-shirts under his suit?

Alastor

Tease. Barely grazing his skin and sucking a little at it without biting down? Telly probably hadn’t even broken the skin. Alastor bites his lip, don’t stop there—

—what was that? “Oh! My undershirt!” He sits up, straddling Telly’s hips (pause to consider how amazing and miraculous that is), and pulls the shirt straight out. “They started printing slogans and artwork on undershirts in the 50’s, I thought it was fun! Adds a bit of entertainment to the most boring part of one’s wardrobe.” (He still considers t-shirts a form of underwear.)

The t-shirt in question looks like it was painted by a fantasy novel cover artist and ostensibly displays the name of a metal band, although the name looks more like a tangle of barbed wire than like actual words—and it’s so old it’s falling apart at the seams. This particular piece of high fantasy heavy metal art features a murderous-looking cobra menacing some sort of tiger person. Alastor glances away, momentarily self-conscious. “The local version of you—he also plays pipe organ, obviously—he started playing organ on rock-and-roll bands’ albums in the eighties.” (He still considers heavy metal a form of rock-and-roll.) “One of the only traditionally trained pipe organists in Pentagram City who’s willing to play modern music, I’m given to understand. I can’t stand the sound of it, but... I... like to listen for his solos.”

Sir Pentious

He's careful as he touches the shirt, tracing a claw along the familiar looking cobra. Well, that's something. A smile touches his lips and he chuckles a bit.

"He plays for rock bands? Hm. Never thought of doing that. But I bet it's a fun time for him, being able to play for others. I'm glad you were able to hold on to something of him, even if it's just organ solos in rock music." Telly laughs again, getting his hands on either side of the hem of the t-shirt.

"Arms up, I'd rather not tear something that is important to you." But before that, Alastor gets another kiss, this one a touch sweeter than the others.

Alastor

Another point of difference between the Sir Pentious that Alastor once knew and this one. He files it away carefully. “I’d tell you how he got into it, but I haven’t the foggiest!” A slight grimace. “We... weren’t on speaking terms by that point.” *Even if it’s JUST organ solos.* Yeah, that just about sums it up. He wrenches himself off of that station and leans into the kiss, trying to let it distract him. “Pity, though—I was kind of hoping you could explain the appeal of that music to me! I just don’t get the sound at all.”

He tilts his head so his antlers don't catch the shirt as Telly lifts it and tries not to think about how exposed he is. And there's Alastor half naked. He has a bandage on his shoulder near his neck. Patches of thick red fur on his chest and trailing down the center of his stomach to his belt line do little to hide how bony he is. Almost as soon as he's uncovered, he automatically crosses his arms.

Sir Pentious

The crossed arms were pretty hard to miss. Alastor was clearly uncomfortable being without his clothes, which was fair enough. Not everyone could be as comfortable being nude as a giant snake, after all.

His eyes were drawn to the bandage however, and he very gingerly touched the edges of it, careful not to press. "What's this? Was this from when you healed me? I thought you would've healed it by now..." He arches his brow, and lets his hand trail down to rest on Alastor's arm. Then an idea strikes, something that might make them both more comfortable.

"Oh! Oh, a moment, I think I have something..." He gently took Alastor by his upper arms, easily and quickly, but still gently, moving him off and setting him on the floor. He slithered quickly to his dresser, throwing open a drawer and digging through his clothes. He returned, beaming and triumphant, holding a soft, very large, grey t-shirt.

"If you're not comfortable without something to cover you, then why not this? I just don't want anything to happen to that shirt that you like so much, and I have many shirts of different kinds." He offered it to Alastor, leaning down to kiss his cheek as he did.

Alastor

An ear twitches at the touch to the bandage. "Oh! No, that was here.” He taps his inner arm, see, the skin’s already smooth and only slightly discolored by what looks like long-faded bite marks. “Nothing to worry about—it's not bad, just pierced a bit deep. It's healing fine, so I elected not to waste any magic on it.”

He willingly moves aside and watches curiously as Telly rummages around. What's he looking for— "Oh! No no, I'm fine! I'm just getting used to the chill, that's all. You don't have—" He looks properly at the shirt. He sees the text on the shirt. He takes the shirt. He puts the shirt on.

He loves this shirt.

Sir Pentious

Yes, Telly thought he might. He smiles and settles back on the ground, taking Alastor's hand to pull him back to his lap.

"That's better, yes? And if I should bite through it, well, it'll give the shirt some character. That's what getting blood and bite holes in a shirt does, correct?" He laughed again, his Pentious™️ laugh. He did still slide his hands under the shirt, though, letting his claws dig into Alastor's sides a bit.

And then he leans in for another kiss, rougher this time, testing the waters as it were. He scrapes his fangs hard enough to draw blood at least, and the points of his claws sharply dig in further. He certainly wants to see if Alastor likes that...

Alastor

“Well, they certainly thought so in the nineties.” The shirt isn’t getting blood and bite holes without Alastor getting bloody bites, though—and the thought of it makes his dead heart pound harder, drumming in his ears.

When Telly’s fangs draw blood, it triggers a searing, white-hot, knife-sharp euphoria right behind his eyes, and he leans in hungrily, desperate for more, shaking hands scrabbling for the back of Telly’s neck and head, fangs digging into Telly’s lip.

Sir Pentious

He wasn't expecting quite that reaction, but it was hardly unwanted. His own hands wound around to Alastor's back to pull him closer, smashing them chest to chest. His claws dug in, scraping down Alastor's back, hard enough to leave bloody red lines behind.

Telly pulled from Alastor's lips to return to his neck, and the hickie he'd already left. His mouth opened and he bit, overcome by the urge-- forgetting for a moment, his venom. The thought struck him like lightning, though, and he pulled away cursing.

"Shit! Fuck, oh no, Alastor, hold on--" He rushed off again, this time to his bedside table, to grab a vial and syringe. "I have the anti-venom, let me give it to you, hold on, just a moment--!"

Alastor

He shudders as he’s clawed, the static background noise that surrounds him jittering between stations, grabbing snatches of disconnected voices and half-words. When Telly pulls away from him, he has just enough time to hiss “Please—” before fangs sink into his throat. His voice cuts off completely with a gasp, replace with distorted song clips—“*I've tasted blood and I want more—*” “*OH~ touch-a touch-a touch-a TOUCH me~—*”

He nearly swoons when Telly disappears to go get the anti-venom. For a moment he sits there, blinking, dazed smile on his face, before he registers what happened and gets to his feet to follow Telly. His knees are like jelly, is that from the venom or is it just him? “Give it to me straight, doc, how long until the venom does me in?” He sits on the bed, bats his eyelashes dramatically, and gives Telly a bloody smile. “Short enough that I’ll die happy?”

Sir Pentious

He's torn between laughing at that reaction and pure panic, but his hands don't shake as he gets the dose of anti-venom into the syringe. He takes Alastor's arm and locates a vein, plunging the needle in and then pressing the plunger. Once that's done, he sighs in relief, sinking down to the floor. He rubs his hands over his face, and his breath is shuddering, but after a few more moments, it settles. And then he laughs, a bit choked and a bit manic, but otherwise calm.

Telly lifted his head and then took Alastor's hands in his. "If you want me to bite more, then we're going to have to figure out what to do about my venom. You'll...ah, you'll become resistant eventually, but I certainly don't want to panic after every love bite. Maybe-- is there some magical way to counteract venom? Or make you immune? I am afraid that is not my area of expertise."

Alastor

So fast. Alastor automatically glances away when the shot goes in. Then he leans forward, pressing their foreheads together as Telly laughs, draping an arm over his shoulder—everything’s fine, no harm done. This certainly isn’t how he expected this visit to go; but then he didn’t expect... any of this. He expected to help Telly flake off some dead skin, congratulate him on a shed well done, and go home.

Alastor slides off the bed and seats himself on Telly’s coils. “Well, I most assuredly want you to bite more, so we’ll just have to figure that out! I’ve got a few tricks that can help draw it out, but they’re only partially effective. I could go to some of the higher demons to buy full immunity, but I don’t like making such large purchases from them unless I have to. Beyond that—if you tell me how you make your anti-venom, maybe I could brew up some potion that does the same thing? Or I could go to your local me, see whether he might be able to give me a blood transfusion to pass on whatever immunity he’s started building up?” If Telly panicked that much, Alastor wonders just how much suffering his alternate was in. (He needs to ask Telly about his relationship with the local Radio Demon some time, now that Telly knows a little bit about Alastor’s local Sir Pentious.) He winks, “Or maybe you just need to keep biting me until I get that natural resistance.”

Sir Pentious

He purrs when Alastor presses their foreheads together, and smiles at the gesture. God, he loves this, he loves touching and being touched, so very much, especially here and now and with him.

"I can give you my formula for the anit-venom, yes. I could also make some larger doses of it, perhaps just have more prepared. I could also come up with a device that could maybe automatically inject you, so we don't have to do the bottle and needle dance every time. Maybe an armband of some kind..." He made a face at the mention of the local variety. "I'm not sure if I've bitten him enough for him to gain one." He sniffed a bit haughtily, and then hummed, cupping Alastor's face to lean in to kiss him.

"Also, I could give you just some bottles of my venom, to try and figure out your own version of the anti-venom. Might even be fun, if you want to help milk it." He grins. "But that dose should counteract any more bites tonight-- but tell me if you feel nauseous, or if you get the chills."

Alastor

Alastor tightens his one-arm embrace when Telly kisses him again—he never thought he’d have a chance at this again, smooth scales under his bare skin. It feels so right.

“Oh, I get the chills just looking at you!” The song’s back—“*Thrill me, chill me, fulfill me—*” “What other symptoms should I watch out for? A racing heart? Lightheadedness? Sudden swoons? It might be too late for me!” He melodramatically presses a hand to his forehead—then laughs. God, it feels so good just to *say* that—without having to filter his words. “*Would* you let me have some of your venom?”

Sir Pentious

"Well, then, just tell me if you start to get nauseous." He laughs, and then slithers up onto the bed, taking Alastor with him. He lays among the pillows, letting his hand snake back under his shirt to start scraping against his skin again.

"Of course, as much as you wanted-- though I'm not sure if the classic 'drop in your drink' method of gaining a tolerance would work." He smiles, leaning in to let his tongue flick over the wound on Alastor's neck.

"Didn't know you liked Rocky Horror, darling. But I will _touch-a, touch-a, touch_ you all you want."

Alastor

He rolls onto his side so he can face Telly; and then, realizing that he’s still fully dressed from the waist down, lifts his feet one at a time so he can unlace his shoes and toss them aside. The flick over his wound stings lightly; it sends tingles up and down his neck.

“So you know it!” His face lights up. “It’s not one of my favorites—but it’s a place to go at midnight when all the other picture houses are either closed or showing porn!”

Sir Pentious

"Yes, I do! Sad to say I've never gone to a midnight showing, only ever watched it on my projector here. But I enjoy it, it's very odd." Telly lets out another laugh, watching Alastor toss his shoes. He presses his lips to the wound, smearing some of Alastor's blood there, before moving down to where his neck and shoulder meet. There, he opens his mouth once more and bites down-- if Alastor likes this so much, well, he's more than happy to give him more now that he's had the anti-venom.

Alastor

“Really!” He beams eagerly. “We ought to fix that sometime. *Oh*—with costumes! *We can wear costumes.*” He could already imagine a beautiful future ahead of them: attending every silly little costume event the Pride Ring has to offer, dramatically playing with each other in character... stumbling home together through dark streets in the wee hours of the morning.

Alastor gasps again at the fresh bite—then lets out a giddy laugh. “All my life I’ve heard ‘he treated me like a piece of meat’ being used as a complaint! Please, if you ever feel the urge to bite a whole chunk out of me, don’t hold back.” He wraps an arm around Telly’s waist, drawing him closer—and then starts exploring his body again, running his fingertips up and down his back and dragging his thumb along the outer edges of his new gills. Every time he moves his arm, he can feel it deep in the shoulder muscle that Telly bit.

Sir Pentious

When he pulls back, mouth bloody, he smiles. "Costumes! Yes, absolutely. We both seem to love them, it seems, what better way for us to have fun." He coos.

The touches to his gills made him gasp, and he licks his blood covered teeth. His claws dug in again, and he kneaded, similarly to a cat. He moves his head, and then uses a hand to shift the collar of the shirt, letting him get at another piece of unmarred flesh. And he's biting again. At the end of this, Alastor would probably be covered in blood, but so would he, and he didn't mind that one bit.

"If I feel the urge, I'll be sure to indulge. Right now, all I want is to mark you up all over."

Alastor

Mark him—he likes the sound of that. He likes the idea of having proof that this really happened—something he can look at in the mirror tomorrow and SEE. Incontrovertible evidence.

He nearly digs his claws in when Telly bites again—without his gloves on, his claws are short and black, but still more than sharp enough to break skin—but he freezes, barely restraining himself. No, not that, not now. Instead, he nuzzles Telly’s face and murmurs, “Wasn’t I lotioning you before we got distracted? I believe I still haven’t gotten to most of you.”

Sir Pentious

He blinks. God, the lotion seemed like an eternity ago, he hardly remembers it. He flops back against the pillows and then nods. "Yes, you were. We got caught up in the euphoria of kissing, and biting, I suppose."

He laughs and his tail shifts, searching on the floor. A few moments later, and the tail fully returns to the bed, the lotion coiled in the very tip. "There it is~ Why not get back to it, and then I'll reward you with more bites. And perhaps it will bring forth the twins, as you called them." He snickers.

Alastor

"More? I'm going to leave here looking like Swiss cheese!" It's not a complaint.

He sits up, squeezes a bit more into his hands, and looks over Telly greedily. Oh, where to start? Every last inch available for him to touch as he sees fit. "Let's see... I think I got your back already... So let's start with..." He leans forward, running his hands along Telly's shoulders and collar bones, feeling the bones and muscles underneath, trying to memorize the shapes of them with his fingertips.

Sir Pentious

"Yes, as many as you can stand." He laughs.

When Alastor picked his spot to start, Telly shifted to allow him to reach whatever he might want. His tail moved as well, flipping to expose the bright yellow underbelly. The bed only fit ten feet, and usually he was coiled on it, so spreading out like this really showed just how long her was.

Alastor

"Oh, you're going to regret saying that! I have an amazing tolerance for pain."

His gaze travels down the length of Telly's body, drinking in the two-tone scales and the many eyes—he'll get down there soon enough. He returns his attention to Telly's upper body, moving down to his chest, carefully tracing around the central eye. Oh yes, this was *much* better than nail polish. Better smelling, for one thing. "You know, I wasn't just flattering you earlier. You truly are the single most beautiful being I've ever seen."

Sir Pentious

"I'll have to test it, then." He laughs, and then he bit his lip. He chewed a moment, forgetting his fangs in the need to chew on something. Compliments had that affect-- either a chewed lip or a tear filled eye.

But he stops after a moment and mutters a soft 'Ow.' as his tongue flicked out to lick at the wounds.

"You say that, but, I--" He makes a soft noise and sighs. "I'm sorry I'm still unused to compliments...I always find them hard to accept. But thank you. I know you mean it, and that means a lot to me."

Alastor

"So sorry!" He leans forward to kiss the wound—and get a taste of it himself while he's there. "Does that mean I should keep the compliments to myself? Or should I make sure you get used to them?"

Sir Pentious

"No, please, keep complimenting. I'd rather get used to hearing them, so that when it comes time for the rest of Hell to join in the flattery, I won't be coy about it." He laughs and winks.

Telly smirks slyly as a thought comes to him, and he wipes some of his blood onto his thumb. Then he leans over to spread it on Alastor's lips.

"Mm, that shade's is quite flattering on you." He laughs again and then reclines once more, pleased with himself.

Alastor

He'd hoped Telly would say that.

Before he resumes exercising his God-given right to ramble endlessly without ever shutting up, he lets Telly paint his lips, presses them together like he's smoothing out a layer of lipstick, and runs the tip of his tongue along the inner edge of his lower lip to taste it. It's going to be difficult resisting the urge to lick it straight off. Maybe he ought to start wearing lipstick regularly.

"In that case, I'll have to tell you all about how utterly mesmerizing you are when I watch you swim! Or how bone-chilling your villainous laugh is, or how spectacularly well megalomania suits you! Or how much you awe me with those brilliant machines you put out—so casually! And so quickly! Why, if you worked in magic rather than machinery you'd already be a god, if only you could build your private menagerie out of molecules and cells rather than clockwork parts. I truly believe you have a mind to rival God's, and if I'm wrong I dare Him to smite me for it!" He pauses to wait. He is not smote. "I guess I must be right!"

Sir Pentious

Telly can't help the nervous and almost embarrassed giggles that erupt from him, but his smile is wide. To think, Alastor thought that highly of him when the one of his own universe could spend hours on espousing the opposite. But he wouldn't let thoughts of his local variety sour any of this. He didn't belong anywhere between them. No, this space was theirs and theirs alone.

A contented purr came next and he wiggles against the pillows. He takes one of Alastor's hands and kisses it, leaving a smear of blood there, though the wounds are already starting to stop bleeding.

"You're truly flattering me, Alastor. Soon my true ego will match my bravado." He laughs again. "But please don't let that stop you!" His laugh turned to a cackle.

Alastor

That cackle is enough to give him goosebumps. "I hope they will match! Egomania would *also* look good on you!" He bends down to lick the blood off his own hand (pff, tastes lotiony), then kisses Telly again—and resumes trailing his hands down Telly's body, caressing his chest, his abdomen, and sliding around to his gills again.

Sir Pentious

He returns the kiss and really is loathe to let Alastor go back to touching him if it meant Telly had to break the kiss. But he did, giving another contented purr-- and then a sharp groan when Alastor got near the gills again.

"If these things are that sensitive, I truly wonder how they'll fair when I'm in my suit," He huffs. "They are interesting, though. I want to try them out soon."

Alastor

Oh, those beautiful sounds. It was almost too easy. "That *would* be distracting. I wonder if there's some avant-garde fashion designer somewhere who makes suits with open sides?" He laughs. "Or maybe it's because they're new! Right after I died, my ears and tail were much more sensitive. Not THIS kind of 'sensitive,' but..."

He continues his caresses throughout his talking, slowly trailing lower down Telly's sides toward his hips, back toward that spot Telly showed him earlier that he could now feel with his own bare skin. Hmm. River stone. Yeah. Maybe he could sneak Telly into the mortal realm—take him somewhere *nice* to try out swimming...

Sir Pentious

His breathing is mostly under control, though he can't help the small, downright needy noises that come out with every touch. He just wants to lay here forever, being touched by Alastor.

"I remember my eyes being extremely sensitive before my first shed, but I think that was more just irritation than anything."

Another gasp and he could start feeling the twins as Alastor so named them, starting to peek their heads out from their hidden spot in Telly's sheath.

Alastor

He wonders if the sensitivity was some sort of aftereffect of the way Telly had died—but he wasn’t about to ask and ruin the mood. "I've always wondered how you stand all those eyes everywhere! I suppose you've got some sort of protective layer over them, don't you—but even so! It can't be comfortable slithering around on them all the—oh, hello." He rests his hands on Telly's hips. Guess what he's just noticed?

He goes still and silent for a moment as he studies the emerging equipment, not with a look of lust or hunger but a sort of excited curiosity—eager to see now that the sheath is opening how it usually keeps itself so well-hidden, eager to see the shape of what it contains.

Sir Pentious

God above, he really truly was happy that he couldn't blush, or he'd be even more embarrassed. With how intently Alastor is staring, he can't help but feel self conscious. But he keeps that to himself, biting his lip again.

But despite the burning embarrassment he's feeling, his dicks still emerge, slowly, as they were wont to do. Compared to the rest of him, they don't look the most impressive, but at a solid nine inches, they were on the large end for any human measurements. Not to mention, well, there were two.

They glistened with the slick self lubricant Telly's sheath produced, and he took a short breath once they fully emerged.

"What do you think?" He asks, and immediately the embarrassment is tenfold. Wow, Telly, that was lame, that was super lame. He pressed one hand to his face to hide himself a bit. This was just....a lot.

Alastor

"... Uh." For a moment, he's at a loss for words—not because he's particularly awed or flustered, but rather because he ISN'T, and he knows full well that under the circumstances he's EXPECTED to be. He thinks they’re kind of strange, in the way that one would expect a rarely-seen human part that’s been partially mutated by an animal part to be before one gets used to it; and he also thinks they’re kind of pretty in the same way that he thinks all of Sir Pentious is kind of pretty. But neither of those seem particularly remarkable.

What's a good partner supposed to say when they see someone else's dick(s) for the first time? That question isn't covered in sex ed. Or maybe it is, Alastor wouldn't know, his school didn't have sex ed.

He's read pulp novels and smutty comics, what do they usually say when the dick comes out? Something about the size, typically. "Well," he says, "you're bigger than me." A beat as he rummages around for something else to say. "Good job!"

Sir Pentious

The hand comes off the face, and he just....blinks at Alastor a moment. Then he laughs, loud, deep laughs. It takes time a few moments to calm enough to speak.

"Oh, Alastor, I'm sorry, that was--" He giggles a few more times. "I've never had someone tell me 'Good job!' for having above average sized penises.....Penii? What's the right plural?"

He snaps himself out of thinking about that little conundrum and reaches to take Alastor's hands.

"I must say, you're adorable. Don't worry about figuring out the  right words-- Penii are awkward to talk about." He leans in to kiss him and then smiles, more shy this time.

"Did you....want to touch them? You can, if you wish..."

Alastor

Alastor laughs too, near voicelessly and shoulders shaking. “I didn’t know what else to say! Bigger is generally considered better, isn’t it? It’s—you know—something most men are proud of? It seemed like something worth congratulating!” He laughs again, yes he knows it’s silly.

Adorable? He smiles self-consciously; he’s not sure about this whole *being adorable* business. “You’re one to talk, which one of us got distracted by grammar?” Kiss. “... I think it’s penes, actually.”

He glances back down at The Twins. “I suppose that’s the direction I was headed, isn’t it?” Yes, he does want to touch—but this is another one of those moments that has a bunch of pressure and expectations piled onto it, a weight granted by society at large’s obsession with things that have never mattered to Alastor. He’s not sure how he can touch without it being a disappointment to Telly.

Then better to get the disappointment over with and recover from there, isn’t it? If he puts it off that’s just going to further build up an inevitably underwhelming moment. “Do you have a preference? Or both at once?”

Sir Pentious

He still laughs a little at the grammar comment and shrugs. "What can I say, I'm a Semantics Snake."

He laughs at his own joke and then settles again, taking a deep breath. Well, here it was, the moment of truth, as it were.

"Oh, ah, whichever you wish. I have no preference, nor do you need to....do both at once. The feelings tend to blend anyway." He gave a slight shrug and settled back to....watch, he supposed?

Alastor

Surprised, he asks, “Blend, really? What, does touching both feel like only touching one? What happens if I try to rub circles on one and pat the other?” He wraps his hand around the nearest one like he definitely knows what he’s doing—sure he can handle a dick, he handles his own all the time—immediately lets go in surprise when it’s a lot wetter than he expected, and quickly grabs on again. “What is that—that’s not pre, is it?” It’s a lot, if so—but really, what does he know about how much other men have? He isn’t a doctor.

Sir Pentious

"Yes, them being so close together on my body makes the feelings sort of...combine? Like if you were to grab both, it would definitely feel more than just one, but--" He gets cut off when Alastor wraps his hand around and he gives a little gasp.

"O-oh, ah, um, no, it's not, it's....a sort of natural lubricant that my body produces. Otherwise it would be very uncomfortable when they...came out and whatnot." He laughed, a little breathlessly. "It certainly saves on buying the stuff in a bottle or what have you."

Alastor

“Oh! Makes sense!” He lets go to lick some of the lubricant off his hand to see what it tastes like, then grabs on again to explore the shape of it with his fingertips. “‘Twins’ wasn’t quite right, was it? More like a two-headed turtle, pulling its heads in and out of its shell.” He grins cheekily as he tugs at the edge of the sheath with his pinky.

Sir Pentious

The taste would be....actually quiet similar to Telly's blood, if a bit blander. He's about to say something else when Alastor grabs him again, and a groan comes out instead.

His breath hitches when he touched the sheath, and Telly starts breathing harder, just in general. "The-The sheath is also sensitive, it's full of nerve endings and the like, v-very sssensssitive."

He whines softly, arms shaking a little as he grabs the sheets. Boy is too sensitive for his own good it seems.

Alastor

“Is it!” Alastor leans across Telly’s tail, propping himself up with his elbow on the bed and his cheek in his hand, grinning sweetly and oh so innocently. “So, you’ll be able to feel it particularly well if I do... this?” He runs one finger around the sheath, tracing it from one side of the double dicks to the other.

Sir Pentious

Telly gasps and shudders, his claws tearing the sheets as he gripped them tighter. "Yes!"

The shout is more involuntary than answering his question, but there's another reaction far more exuberant than that-- Telly's tail, rushing to curl from its stretched out position, to coil around Alastor, around the waist, and then his legs. It gave a squeeze, but luckily, not one too hard.

Alastor

Alastor’s gaze darts to Telly’s face when he shouts, and stays there, watching him. Each little noise makes his ears twitch.

The coil wrapped nearest Alastor’s waist serves to alert him to the fact that he has, in fact, developed a boner himself—which is, as far as he’s concerned, an unsurprising but unwanted physical inconvenience in the middle of what’s been an otherwise good time, not unlike sitting in an odd position too long and standing to find one’s foot has gone numb. When he shifts in Telly’s coils to sit up and lean forward, he absentmindedly adjusts Telly’s coil to keep the pressure off of the party crasher so Alastor can stay focused on Telly’s reactions. “Keep making those beautiful sounds, would you?” With one hand he traces around the bases of Telly’s dicks and runs along the sheath, and with the other he reaches up to play with his gills on one side—and the whole time he watches Telly so intently he might not even be blinking.

Sir Pentious

Telly is too consumed by the pleasure to notice Alastor's boner, fortunately for Alastor. He's also not used to being told to be loud. More often, he's asked to keep it down. He keeps himself from biting his lip again, so as not to stifle the noises. His panting is the first noise, and then, moans and groans pour out of him, with every touch and stroke. And then--

"Alassstor!" Halfway between a whine and shout, he writhes on the sheets.

Alastor

He nearly claws into Telly’s side at the sound of his own name—and again just barely restrains himself. “Yes!” He leans half over Telly, gaze darting like a spotlight between his face and his writhing body, eyes shining bright with hunger and adoration. “Oh, let me hear that again!” Like the Phantom compelling Christine to keep singing, if the Phantom sounded like an overexcited 1920s radio broadcaster.

Sir Pentious

His tongue sticks out and stays out, as he pants, and his eyes meet Alastor's, wide and red-pink.

"Alastor, please, more." He whines. Telly's able to release the sheet with one hand, and reach over to press a claw against one of the bites he left.

"I want more."

Alastor

Alastor shudders as wonderful pain lances his shoulder. “Anything you want, *ma reine*.” As long as Alastor knows that he’s the one giving Sir Pentious that pleasure—as long as it’s his name being panted—Alastor will do whatever it takes to give him more of it.

Both hands move to Telly’s dicks and sheath—he might not have any conventional sexual experience, but he certainly knows how to give hand jobs, he’s been giving himself those for well over a century—and his arms’ shadows peel up and slide up Telly’s waist to wrap around his sides.

Sir Pentious

The shadows are odd, but not any stranger than the fact that Telly was a snake and Alastor a deer. They do, however, feel odder than actual flesh and blood hands, and that pulls his attention for a brief moment. At least, until Alastor's attention focuses on his dicks. A whine catches in his throat and he shifts under him.

"Please, _mon roi_," He murmurs, eyes shifting from Alastor's hands to his face. He didn't think today would be ending with him in bed with Alastor, but well, he certainly wasn't going to complain. Especially not when his hands were doing so much for him.

Alastor

Alastor didn’t think *any* day was going to be ending with him in bed with Sir Pentious. Although, to be fair, he sometimes forgets that “in bed with” is an item in other people’s lists of priorities until someone else reminds him. It’s still remarkable.

“Tell me what else you want.” He’s going to keep stroking, keep caressing, keep repeating the things that get the loudest groaning and most dramatic squirming, and pushing them farther wherever he can.

Sir Pentious

It takes him a good few moments to get his brain together enough to remember things he liked, other than everything Alastor was already doing.

"Bite me. I-I like being bit, too. I want some to match what I left on you." He pants and arches against his hands, moaning softly. "Otherwise, just keep going. It feels so _good_, Alastor."

Alastor

To this point he’s been loathe to spill more than a drop or two of Telly’s blood—but at the explicit invitation, his smile stretches even wider. “We’re going to be quite a pair, aren’t we.” He chuckles, straddling Telly’s waist so he only has to let go with one hand to help him keep his balance. He kisses Telly’s neck and collar bone—and then sinks his teeth in. Oh, *delicious*. He wishes he could take a chunk of muscle with him, he’d commit a thousand murders to find out what Telly’s flesh actually tastes like. The blood will have to be enough.

Sir Pentious

"Yes, we will--" He gasps when Alastor's teeth sink in, and then his eyes squeeze shut and he shouts out Alastor's name again. Now that he was closer, Telly's hands move around to Alastor's back, under the shirt, and rake down again-- a sure sign of approval from the snake.

"If anyone asks you...if you got into a fight... you have to answer 'You should see the other guy.'" He wheezes out a laugh, breathless as he is.

Alastor

He shivers under the claws. He can’t remember the last time he got torn up like this, but whenever it was, it couldn’t have been half this good.

His laugh is muffled—his fangs are still buried in Telly’s shoulder almost up to the gums. He releases his bite, licks up the first blood to seep out, and plants a kiss on Telly’s lips. “And if anyone asks, who won the fight?” He doesn’t wait for an answer before switching over to Telly’s other shoulder and giving it a matching bite.

Sir Pentious

He returns the kiss, hungry for the taste of his own blood on Alastor's lips. The bit he's smeared there earlier was now covered up with a fresh coat, that was nice. He laughs, his head tilting to give Alastor more space for his next bite.

"Hm, I think--" He gets cut off yet again by a moan tearing itself through him. His hips buck a bit underneath Alastor, begging for more attention.

"I think we both win..."

Alastor

“Mm-hmm!” He moves his second hand back down to Telly’s dicks—which means he can’t prop himself up anymore, but he can live with that. He can get up on his knees to give himself enough space to access the dicks; it’s an awkward angle, but it works.

And it means he’s resting on his chest with his head right next to Telly’s, letting Alastor listen to every lovely laugh and moan.

Sir Pentious

And purr, which is the sound that comes next. Telly turned his head to kiss him again, moaning against his lips.

"I think I'm close, Alastor. Go all out, make me climax," He whispers, his claws dragging down his back again.

Alastor

He thought he WAS going all out. He’s new at this, “bite” and “jerk” are the only two tools in his toolkit. He panics for half a second—what does Telly want for the grand finale, a musical number? (he could handle that, actually)—before he realizes he can just pick up the pace, can’t he?

That, and return to kissing, deeply and eagerly.

Sir Pentious

Turning up the pace certainly works, quite well, in fact. As does the kissing. Their mouths are pressed together when Telly is finally pushed over the edge, and he gasps into his mouth, muttering Alastor's name. His entire body shudders, hard, and that is a lot of body to shudder. His hips jerk up, and both of his dicks spurt in time.

"Ah...Alastor...."

Alastor

He keeps on jerking through the length of Telly’s orgasm, reveling in the sound of his own name and the feel of Telly’s entire body moving beneath him. Success! Mission accomplished!

At last he lets go and murmurs back, “Telly.” A light kiss. “Sir Pentious.” Another kiss.

Sir Pentious

"Alastor," He mutters in return, a blissed out smile on his lips. And then. "Torry." A giggle and then a kiss. "Or maybe....Astor? Do you like that?"

❤️📻🐍❤️ The Naughty Bits END HERE! ❤️📻🐍❤️

Sir Pentious

"Alastor," He mutters in return, a blissed out smile on his lips. And then. "Torry." A giggle and then a kiss. "Or maybe....Astor? Do you like that?"

Alastor

He’s silent a moment, trying out the nicknames in his head, listening to the sound of them. “Astor,” he repeats. “Astor, huh. Makes me sound like a star, doesn’t it.”

Sir Pentious

"It does. And it's fitting because you are one." He takes Alastor's chin in his fingers and kisses him again. "I figured that since I have a nickname, you should too. Would certainly help to make things less complicated when referring to you, rather than one of the others."

Alastor

Huff. He returns the kiss, then says ruefully, "Not for a long time, I haven't been a star. But it's a fine sentiment! Maybe again soon, who knows? Maybe as Marquesident Laufeyefferson." He laughs. “If my being in the show doesn’t scare the audiences away from the theater.”

Sir Pentious

"Mm, mm, none of that talk. You are a star, you're my star, and I'll see you shinning again." He smiles and pokes Alastor's nose as he speaks. And then there's another kiss and his arms wrap tight around the Radio Demon. "And you'll have at least," He pauses, mentally tabulating. "Three people there to see you in it."

Alastor

“Why, throw in duplicates and the hotel crew—who I’m *going* to make come—and we might have a dozen! You can fill the rest of the audience with eggs!” HUFF! "So you'll make me a star and I'll make you king of Hell. That's the deal, right?"

For some reason, saying it out loud like that makes him feel strangely emotional. He returns the embrace just as tightly and presses his face into Telly's shoulder, blood and all.

Sir Pentious

"I'll have to get cloning then!" He snickers.

"That is indeed." He laughs softly, his hand going to the back of Alastor's head, to pet his hair. "You're mine, now. I'm yours. We're ours." He's not quite sure what he's actually saying right now, more just rambling in the afterglow.

Alastor

"I'm yours. You're mine. And this is real." That's the hardest part to believe. That the snakeskin under his hands is attached to an actual moving thinking person, not a piece of python-printed leather. That he didn't imagine all the words playing back in his head. That he was given a chance, in spite of everything. *You’ll belong to me, I’ll belong to you.*

Sir Pentious

Telly purrs in contentment, one hand resting on Alastor's back as the other pets over his hair. "Do you want to sleep here? Don't have an other engagements to attend to, _mon roi_?" His tone is light and playful as his fingers massage the base of one of Alastor's ears.

Alastor

"You couldn't pry me off with a crowbar." He pauses. "Except to use the bathroom. We should probably both wash off, shouldn't we?" And Alastor needs to take the opportunity to jerk off. The human body, he's found, is something like a battleship with very poor communication between the sailors: if the men belowdecks peep out their portholes and see other ships nearby firing their cannons, they hasten to ready their own ship's cannon even if the captain above has no interest in using it.

Sir Pentious

"Yes, I think we should. I do not like letting it, uh, dry on my scales." Telly shifted, coils loosening to free Alastor. He got up and moved towards a door on the far side of the room.

"I'm going to fill up the tub to wash, and you may join me or clean up in the sink if you'd rather that." He smiles. "But I absolutely would not mind if you joined me, were you so inclined."

Alastor

"You think that's bad, imagine letting it dry in your hair." He runs his fingers through the fur on his lower stomach.

On the one hand, getting to be with Telly in a tub. On the other hand, being in the tub, totally naked. "I'll take the sink! I need to look for bandages, anyway. And snoop through all your cabinets." Studio audience laughter. (No but he's definitely going to snoop.) "But I'll come bother you once I'm cleaned up."

Sir Pentious

"All right, then, I will be awaiting you in the true bathroom-- that is, the one with the bath in it." He let out a hissing laugh before slithering through the door, and then to the other at the far side. He started his bath, humming as he put his favorite mix of fragrances in.

Alastor

In the false bathroom, Alastor quickly disarms the uncooperative cannon, pulls off his shirt to wash it in the sink, scrubs off the mess that managed to get beneath the shirt hem... and then, in the process of cleaning off his wounds, stops and stares at himself in the mirror. That really happened, didn't it? How does he feel about that?

About a dozen different ways. None of which he has time to examine right now. Mute those stations and save them for when he's by himself—TRULY by himself, not a room away from somebody who's waiting on him. He digs out some first aid supplies, properly cleans and covers up his bites, and magically dries out his new shirt so he can pull it back on.

Then he pulls off his socks and garters so they won't get wet, tosses them at his other discarded clothes in Telly's room as he passes, and ducks into the true bathroom. “Tired of hanging out in here after a week of it?” Studio laughter. "Well? How do the gills work?"

Sir Pentious

Telly isn't even in the water when Alastor comes back-- but he is dripping and, for some reason, sneezing.

"I may have forgotten about them and put scented oil in the water and now it feels like I snorted it up my nose." Another sneeze.

"So I am rerunning the bath, this time without the oils, and hopefully that will clear things out." He smiles over at Alastor and gives him a once over.

"You clean up nice," He jokes.

Alastor

Alastor laughs loudly. "Oh, and to think I missed it! I chose the wrong bathroom!" He flings an arm around Telly's shoulders. "You poor thing. I guess chlorinate pools are out now, aren't they!" Pity, Telly did so love his fragrances—Alastor wonders whether any of his stock of plants, whether culinary or magical, could serve as an adequately fragranced substitute that wouldn’t irritate Telly’s gills.

Sir Pentious

"Most likely, until my body can adjust to having those sorts of things pass through the gills. I'll have to perform some tests."

He turns his head to kiss Alastor's cheek, before smiling as he slid back into the tub. He did love this in ground design-- so much more convenient for a snake.

Alastor

He sits on the floor next to Telly. "I don't know a lot of fish sinners, unfortunately, or else I'd recommend them to you to ask them questions. Learn from other people's mistakes and all that." After a moment of thought, he rolls up his pant legs so he can stick his hooves in the tub.

Sir Pentious

"Oh, I've missed those hooves," He coos, sliding over to where Alastor sat. "They're so cute, you should take off your shoes more." Under the water, his gills flared and then settled, repeating as he breathed the water.

Alastor

Cute, huh? He crosses his legs to lift one hoof up where it's easier for Telly to see them. The red fur that climbs almost to his knees is currently wet and slicked down and probably less cute than when it’s fully fluffy. “I haven’t had much reason to take them off! Just at the beach and in the bathroom. Although I suppose if I’m going to be spending—“ He realizes what he’s saying halfway through, stops himself, then sheepishly continues with his volume lowered, “... nights over here, from time to time...” It still seems too much to assume.

Sir Pentious

He pushed himself further out of the water to kiss Alastor, softly, and with love. "You're welcome to spend as much time here as you want-- You should know that I can't get enough of you." He winked-- and then his brain clicked and reminded him of something that was dreadfully important, especially under current circumstances.

"Oh! I need to tell you about Hel! Oh, I completely forgot to mention it before we started-- well..." He cleared his throat and chuckled. "She's fine with it, with this, with us. I spoke with her when I first was starting to develop feelings for you and we talked about it. Apparently, in her culture, it's actually quite normal and mundane to be polyamourous! But you don't-- you don't mind either, do you?" He suddenly looks QUITE nervous.

Alastor

OH GOD HEL. *OH GOD HEL.* OH GOD **HEL.** Alastor’s heartbeat sounds less like a timpani and more like a drum roll. He entirely forgot, in the excitement of the everything, that Telly is a taken man. What would his mother think of him. Alastor’s a home wrecker. Or—*worse*—Alastor is some rich British noble’s idea of a fun time before going home each night to his far more powerful and important wife—

OH no never mind, God, everything is fine. “Thank *goodness*.” Alastor’s muscles give out and he flops backwards onto the tile. Listen to the chirping of those invisible birds flying around his head. Now the back of his shirt’s wet. “I...”

...*Does* he mind it? He doesn’t know. He’s imagined what it would be like to be with Sir Pentious more times than he could begin to count, but he’s never considered the possibility that Sir Pentious might simultaneously be with someone else. Alastor’s rarely heard anything nice said about polygamous folks, but he’s noticed a high correlation between the kind of people who go out of their way to raise a big fuss about polygamy and the kind of people who raise a big fuss about queers and the mixing of the races, both of which Alastor happens to be heartily in favor of himself, and that makes him disinclined to put too much stock in such people’s criticisms of any *other* amorous arrangements. He’s known a few little trios or quartets that seemed perfectly happy, although he knows very little about their inner workings. But how does Alastor feel about being *part* of one?

He’s deferring that decision until later. “If she’s fine with it, I want to hear it out of her own mouth. No offense, I hold you in the *highest* esteem, but as a general policy I’m not going to take *any* man’s word for it if he says his lady is fine with him bedding random entertainers he happens to fancy.”

Sir Pentious

Telly watches as Alastor processes it and then as he flops back against the tile. He pulled himself up a little more, and a little bit out of the tub, to flop down beside him. "I will happily arrange that. She'll be glad to hear that we've both finally figured things out." He can't help a little snicker.

"I've been talking with her about my feelings for you this whole time almost, and she's been supportive of it. I just....didn't tell you sooner because I didn't know if you liked me in the same way. I think it's obvious now that we both were a bit blind, weren't we?" He slid closer, laying his head next to Alastor's. He took his arm in one hand and squeezed it, his other twining his fingers with Alastor's.

"I mean, how awkward would it have been for me to just blurt out 'my girlfriend is fine if we start dating!' and then it turned out you _weren't_ interested in me like that? I would've been mortified and it might've ruined the friendship we'd been building. I didn't want to do that. But well, now....now is a good time because now we both know, and that needs to be clear. And don't worry, I'm not expecting you to do anything romantic with her and I doubt she'd want to anyway. It'd just be that I'm dating both of you. I find it quite a novel thing, no one ever openly did such things when I was alive."

He hummed, taking a deep breath and letting it out. "I should finish washing up. You....do still want to stay the night, right?"

Alastor

Alastor laughs. “That’s the worst pickup line I’ve ever heard! Granted, it would have worked on me, but...” He trailed off as he processed the rest of what Telly had said.

“Blind, worried about reading too much into things, either or. Sure, I noticed you were... affectionate, but so’s the Sir Pentious I’m friends with, and it’s entirely platonic out of him.” (Either that, or he’s a much better liar than Alastor thinks. Which he refuses to believe is possible.) “What do you mean, ‘this whole time’? How long, exactly?”

Sir Pentious

Oh. He pauses in getting up, and instead of sliding back into the water, sits there on the edge of the tub. He'd hoped Alastor hadn't caught that. "Ah...well, I've....I've had feelings for you since....since the extermination vacation. That's when Hel and I first talked about it-- I talked with her after our swim and talk. And I've just been feeling more and more since then."

He looked sheepish, looking at the far wall as he drew his hood over his shoulder to pet in a self soothing way. "I wanted to tell you sooner, but again, I didn't want to make things awkward...."

Alastor

*That long.* Alastor marvels at that, staring at the ceiling. They could have had this torrid encounter on a beautiful beach... “Wicked Game” on the wind and Chris Isaak’s ghost smiling in approval... a giant alien sea serpent watching...

“You know, I think I’m glad it took this long! I probably would have gone with it then, but I... don’t think I knew you well enough to do this then.” He honestly still isn’t sure he knows Telly well enough to do this *now.* “I’m used to this whole process taking more like... fifteen years.”

Sir Pentious

"I understand. It seems I tend to move a little fast-- Hel and I met at the speed dating and then that grew fast, too. But one thing I know is my own feelings. Most of the time." He shrugged, turning to look at Alastor.

"We can slow things down now, if you want but I can't say that I'm not happy that we're here now. I like....everything being out there, all these feelings I've been holding inside finally where you can see them. I'm glad we don't have to tiptoe around one another, wondering if the other feels the same." He took Alastor's hand and brought it up to kiss.

"There's a lot we still need to learn about each other, but we can do it now without constantly wondering about our feelings."

Alastor

He squeezes Telly’s hand. “And believe you me, that *is* a relief.” He shuts his eyes, sigh. “But I wouldn’t mind slowing down a little now that we’re here.”

Sir Pentious

"Slowing down," He said, nodding and smiling. He leaned in to kiss his cheek. "I'm more than fine with that." He released his hand to slide back into the tub, grabbing a washcloth.

"Just give me a couple minutes and I'll be ready for bed, darling. I think I'll forgo the nightshirt tonight."

Alastor

Alastor cranes his neck to meet the kiss without having to sit up. "Fine by me." What’s *he* going to wear? Same as usual, he figures—boxers and t-shirt.

He props himself up on his elbows to watch while Telly cleans himself—and the way water rolls down his scales, and the way his muscles move and flex... "You know, you're pretty good looking from this angle, too." A disembodied wolf whistle plays.

Sir Pentious

Telly snorts and looks over his shoulder, giving Alastor a half hearted glare. He finishes up and then slithers from the tub and over to the heated towel rack-- freshly replenished by the Eggs when they'd taken away his shed. He started drying himself and then smirked at Alastor.

"Why not make yourself useful and grab a towel, hm? Instead of just oogling me like I'm a steak still dripping blood."

Alastor

He laughs. "Fine, fine!" He pulls his legs out of the tub, stands, and magically dries off the back of his shirt and seat of his pants—and takes two steps on his now-wet hooves, and immediately slips and lands face first on the floor. He lays there for a second, stunned. His shirt is wet again. Then he rolls on his back, lifts a hand into the air, and says, "You know, maybe I should just..." A towel flies across the room and into Alastor's hand. He holds it out to Telly.

Sir Pentious

Telly can't help the laughter that escapes him and his hand flies to his mouth. He slithers over and offers his hand to help him up-- at least to a sitting position.

"Oh darling, I'm sorry, but that was hilariousssss." He giggles more before offering the lower end of his tail for Alastor to dry. "No wonder you don't like walking on those hooves on tile. Hardwood is probably just as bad. Maybe I should get some rugs."

Alastor

"This is why I went into radio instead of musical theater." He accepts the hand, chuckling at himself. “That’s the great thing about shoes: traction!” Studio laughter. “How well does slithering work on rugs?”

Oh, Alastor gets to dry it? He does so almost reverently. They got "distracted" partway into the lotioning, Alastor never got an opportunity to lavish attention on Telly's tail. Time to make up for that.

Sir Pentious

"If it's something like an oriental rug, I should be fine."

Telly hums as he dries, and if Alastor listens closely and knows the tune, he would recognize it as part of your world from the little mermaid.

Every eye that Alastor approaches with the towel doesn't blink, but they did follow his movements, pupils dilating a bit. They watch him intently, almost adoringly, if eyes embedded in Telly's body could look at anyone with adoration.

Alastor

He doesn't see why they shouldn't be able to look at him adoringly. He makes direct eye contact with one and winks to see whether it winks back.

It takes him a moment to recognize the song—Disney musicals usually fall into "I'll watch it once to say I did" territory—but when he does, he cracks up. "You ARE a mermaid now, aren't you! Merman? Not a little one, though!"

Sir Pentious

It unfortunately doesn't. Not having eyelids will do that to an eye. It does, however, dilate a little further.

Telly's humming stopped when Alastor spoke and it took him a moment to understand what he was saying. He laughs after and shrugs a little.

"I suppose so! The Little Mermaid is my favorite of the Disney fare."

Alastor

"Really! I would have pegged you for more of a..." A moment of thought, then he admits, "Actually, I wouldn't have pegged you as a Disney fan at all.” He supposes the mermaid movie makes as much sense as any. What with the taste for sea shanties. And sea monsters. And sea. “Why The Little Mermaid?"

Sir Pentious

Telly gives him an affection, if sort of suffering look and lifts his arm to gesture to the gills.

"Thought that would be obvious by now, darling. What's not to love about a movie revolving around the sea with musical numbers and quite stunning animation?"

Alastor

"Okay, fair! Hah! I just wondered if there was *more* to it than that! Besides, a movie about trying to escape the sea? Why, you're more of a reverse Little Mermaid."

Sir Pentious

"It's more than that, more than even it's connection to the sea, it's a story about love and sacrifice, and it is decidedly queer, both versions of it-- I also loved the written version when I was alive. It resonates with me on many levels than just the surface." His face lights up a moment, and he laughs.

"Like the sea! More under the surface!" He giggles more.

Alastor

He gives Telly a surprised look. "Really? Girl meets boy, girl falls for boy, girl elopes with boy? Where's the queer part?" He pauses. "Besides the fact that the octopus is clearly a drag queen."

Sir Pentious

Telly looked at Alastor, his head tilting. "Have you never read about Hans Christian Anderson or Howard Ashman who wrote the songs for the Disney film? They were both homosexual, Alastor. And both put their own feelings into the character of The Little Mermaid herself. Part of your World is even Ashman lamenting that he wishes to be part of a world that would accept him for who he was and who he loved."

He slithered closer and cupped his face. "_I don't know when, I don't know how, but I know something's starting right now. Watch and you'll see, some day I'll be part of your world._"

Alastor

Alastor probably originally had something intelligent to say, but then Telly took his face and started singing directly to him, and now Alastor is automatically playing the orchestral accompaniment and utterly transfixed.

Sir Pentious

Telly almost loses the song when the orchestra kicks in-- well seems he'd have to get used to music accompaniment when he sang instead of his usual acapella.

"See? When it is sung by a man, doesn't it feel different? It's a song for everyone who ever felt like they didn't belong in the world to which they were born."

Alastor

Alastor probably originally had something intelligent to say, but then Telly took his face and started singing directly to him, and now Alastor is automatically playing the orchestral accompaniment and utterly transfixed.

Sir Pentious

Telly almost loses the song when the orchestra kicks in-- well seems he'd have to get used to music accompaniment when he sang instead of his usual acapella.

"See? When it is sung by a man, doesn't it feel different? It's a song for everyone who ever felt like they didn't belong in the world to which they were born."

Alastor

"Uh." Garbled stations as Alastor clears his throat. "It certainly feels different when *you* sing it." At the moment he's a little too twitterpated to register deeper nuance than that.

Sir Pentious

He laughs and kisses him. "Well, I hope you get used to it, because it's often what my mind latches on to when I am distracted by other things."

Telly strokes Alastor's ear once before shifting his tail towards him. "Now, let's finish getting me dry, and then we can lay down."

Alastor

Kiss! His lips are going to be numb by the time he leaves. “I, for one, hope I never get used to it.”

Right, back to work—hah, work. He continues lovingly drying every inch of Telly’s tail.

Sir Pentious

It doesn't take long with the both of them, to get him dry-- certainly less time than when he's alone. And once they're done, Telly's leaning down to, ayup!, lift Alastor into his arms bridal style.

"Don't want you falling again, dear."

Alastor

He reaches up toward Telly, expecting he’s about to be given a hand to get to his feet. He does NOT expect to be lifted into the air. He flails in surprise, arm flung around Telly’s neck, heart hammering in panic, until he registers what’s happened and stares at Telly. Oh. *Oh.*

A disembodied song clicks on: “*Sha-la-la-la-la-la, music play, do what the music say, you gotta kiss the girl—*”

Sir Pentious

Telly laughs softly, and hums along with the song for a moment. Then he leans down and does as the song says, and kisses the ~~girl~~ deer demon. He lets his lips linger there and then pulls back, slithering towards the door. Through it and then through the next, and they're back in the bedroom. But Telly doesn't set Alastor down, nope, he carries him all the way to the bed and then lays him down with a large amount of gentleness.

"Ready to get out of those pants?" He asks.

Alastor

Telly could toss Alastor down like a sack of potatoes and he’d be happy. He’s not used to all this gentleness. He’s not sure how to register being treated tenderly.

“Oh, very ready!” He reaches to unbuckle his belt, pauses, then laces his hands behind his head. “You know what? I bet you’d enjoy doing the honors a lot more than I would.”

Sir Pentious

Telly's brows raised and his smile took a turn for the salacious. "Oh my, getting to remove the Radio Demon's pants? What an honor~"

His hands moved to Alastor's waist, sliding down slowly to grab at his waistband. Telly tugged them down, and off, tossing them aside. "There we go, the Radio Demon, pantless."

Alastor

He lifts his hips a little to give his tail room to slide out of the slit in the back of his pants, then flops back down. Behold, the Radio Demon’s underwear. He wears red-and-white vertical-striped boxers that are so old-fashioned they’re held up with tiny buttons instead of an elastic waistband.

He removes his monocle and tucks it away... somewhere? “Not half the honor of spending the night in the great Sir Pentious’s bed!”

Sir Pentious

Oh, he hadn't even noticed the monocle had stayed on until Alastor removed it. Interesting. He slithers up onto the bed, coiling around Alastor and then tugging him close to his chest. "The first of many, hopefully."

He laughs, and kisses him again, his hand rising to stroke at Alastor's ears. He sighs softly and then speaks once more. "I could....sing more, if you wish? I don't do it usually around other people, but I will for you. Again."

Alastor

He wraps his arms around Telly and shuts his eyes. “I cannot begin to tell you how much I want to hear you sing more.” He shivers pleasantly and his ears twitch contentedly under the stroking. He really gets to stay here, all night.

Which is as frightening as it is thrilling. He opens one eye a slit. “It won’t bother you if I’m fidgety or wander off during the night, will it? I’m restless at night. I promise I’ll come back, I just need to move around.”

The last time he tried this, he spent the entire night wide awake in bed, unable to distract himself, staring at the sleeping form next to him, going over what had just happened again and again and again until by dawn he felt like he had no choice but to run. He ISN’T going to repeat that mistake this time. Maybe taking a 3 a.m. walk rather than just lying there will help keep himself from panicking again.

Sir Pentious

"That will be find. I'm a light sleeper, so if you need me to move my coils, just wake me. I'll fall back to sleep soon after, too. Feel free to explore, though there's not much you haven't seen already. But you know where I keep the violins, so if you feel like doing something, feel free to play." He smiles and kisses his forehead. "Just make sure to come back to me."

Telly settled back down, holding Alastor against his chest. "All right, any requests? If not, I may just default to some more Disney. They write some earworms for those animated features!"

Alastor

“I will, never you fear.” Violin, would that steady his nerves? Couldn’t hurt. Might take it outside so he doesn’t wake Telly. “If I need to wander around, I’ll go check them out.”

He lets out a slow sigh, static rushing out of him in a gush. “Whatever you want to sing. I want to learn what you like.”

Sir Pentious

Telly nods and settles down on his back, making sure Alastor close as he thinks. He lets out a little ah-ha! as he starts to sing.

"_I know you/I walked with you once upon a dream/I know you/That gleam in your eye is so familiar a gleam/And I know it's true/That visions are seldom what they seem/But if I know you/I know what you'll do/You'll love me at once/The way you did once/Upon a Dream._"

Alastor

He has just enough time to register the lyrics and affectionately think oh, how fitting, and then he’s gone. Bam. Mr. I’m Just Too Restless There’s No Way I’m Going To Fall Asleep And This Entire Night Is Going To Be A Tense Anxious Trial is out like a light one song in.

Which means Telly gets to find out some very interesting trivia: when Alastor falls asleep, his constant passive radio broadcast shuts off. And when it shuts off, Alastor does what every other station in the 1930’s did at the end of the nightly sign-off: play the national anthem.

Which means one second Alastor’s drifting off peacefully, and the next second—without Alastor stirring at all—the air is filled with the song Lucifer picked as Hell’s anthem: a nearly-but-not-quite-dignified marching band cover of a polka song.

Sir Pentious

He's surprised by the anthem, certainly, but then a fond smile comes across his lips. He waits for it to end before he starts humming Once Upon a Dream again, settling down to get himself some shut eye too.

[rudysrings]

Adapt or Die (Prologue)

A/N: This is a new series I’m trying out. If it’s a go then yay! If not--Well, I’ll let it fade away into nothingness then, I guess... :(

Summary/Blurb Here

SO, the main character/reader was essentially inspired by Darwin from the Marvel comics/X-men. However, I will be adapting (HAHA adapting, get it? That was totally by accident I swear) the abilities and back story to fit what I’m writing; so, die-hard Darwin fans, please know I’m not trying to misportray (is that even a word? Eh, I don’t care. I think y’all know what I mean) the original character, but I simply wanted to draw from the bomb-ass root idea of what he can do. 

For those of you who don’t know who Darwin is, here’s a quick blurb from Wikipedia on what his abilities are:

Darwin has the power of "reactive evolution"; i.e., his body automatically adapts to any situation or environment he is placed in, allowing him to survive possibly anything; the exact nature and limits of his powers have not been revealed.

Examples of his powers include: gaining night-vision after a few seconds in the dark; functional gills after being submerged in water; fire-proof skin after being exposed to flame; increasing his own intelligence; converting his body into pure energy; no longer requiring oxygen after being sucked into space; morphing into a sponge when shot at with a weapon designed to destroy the subject's nervous system; and acquiring comprehension of the Shi'ar language merely by looking at written samples. His power may concern itself with more efficient methods of survival than Darwin himself might choose; for example, instead of continually increasing Darwin's powers when taking punishment from the Hulk, his body simply teleported him away from the fight.

His power can also work when dealing with non-immediately-life-threatening situations, such as rendering it impossible for Darwin to get drunk by allowing his body to process alcohol faster than humans would normally.

It’s pretty fucking cool, right? Let me know what you think. By the way, this part is pretty short because it’s the prologue, but I expect the other parts to be longer. 

Oh! I almost forgot: the reader is desi :) Thanks to @parkerpeter24​, who wrote an awesome Peter Parker imagine here for Holi, I felt inspired to post this WIP. 

I realize that makes the writing not truly an all-inclusive one, but I thought it would be cool to bring this aspect in. Obviously, you don’t have to be desi to read it and the whole thing won’t be about being desi. Just a little background I felt like adding to the character. If you absolutely hate it... then maybe don’t read it? :) please and thank you.

Anyways! Sorry for the rambling. Enjoy and thanks for reading if you’re still here <3

Warnings: There’s for sure going to be some swearing in this series :) Also, It’s gonna be a little steamy ;-; But it’s not revolved around smut and probably won’t be all that graphic. Probably. No promises O.O Only implied sexual happenings and for once, no swear words in this part.

Words: .957 k

ON WITH IT:

You blink your eyes against the startling light that is pouring through the thin curtains. Surprised that it’s morning, you sit up quickly, looking to your side to see no one there.

Ok, so that’s two surprises in the first ten seconds of the day. We’re off to a great start today, Y/N.

You sigh, brushing your hands through your unruly turquoise hair and swinging your legs out of the bed. You slip on your jeans and look around for your shirt. The black lacy thing you had worn the night before is laying over a lamp and you quickly shuffle over to it. Your eyes flick down to the nightstand and see a flip phone. Confused, you pick it up, opening it to see a single message from a private number.

We’ll be in touch.

Your stomach drops and you hastily pull your shirt over your head and clear the hotel room. Your better judgement tells you to get rid of the phone. Toss it in a river. Run over it. Throw it into a passing car.

For some reason, against that better judgement, you tuck it into your pocket and check out of the hotel.

You remember the previous night perfectly; the alcohol that had done absolutely nothing to dull your acute senses.

                                                                ~

You slam the shot back down on the bar counter, not even wrinkling your nose at the sharp taste of tequila that should have burned your throat.

The bartender gives you a look of obvious judgement. Next thing you know, he’s asking for your keys.

“I don’t have ’em. I walked here,” you lie.

“Wasn’t that you on the motorcycle?” There’s a smooth voice behind you and you turn to see a woman with fiery hair and an enticing smile.

“No.” You reply shortly.

She shrugs. “Hmm. I could have sworn…You know,k I always did have a thing for a woman on a motorcycle.”

She approaches the bar beside you and asks the bartender for some sort of fruity concoction.

She has an accent. Italian, maybe. It’s obviously fake. She’s doing a helluva good job of over-enunciating every single word an Italian would. However, no Italian who’s lived in London for more than a week would continue to cling to those pronunciations. So, you decide she’s either a tourist or a spy.

When you smell metal—vibranium—on her, but don’t see it, given it’s probably hidden underneath her tight-fitting clothes, you decide it’s the latter.

“Do you ride?” You asked her.

“Motorcycles? Nah. I just hang on to the one riding,” She flirts.

You finger the rim of your drink. You can hear someone speaking to her through her earpiece.

“You got her, Natasha. Close in.”

“Y/N.” You stick your hand out, unafraid.

Natasha takes it immediately, giving you a firm shake and lingering on your ring a little too long.

“Sienna.”

You can’t help but giggle out loud. Wow. She had to choose the most cliché Italian name to ever exist. You covered your outburst with a cough. “Beautiful,” you complimented her fake name.

“Classic.” She shrugged. “So, what’s a gal like you doing in a bar like this?” She asked, gesturing to how run down the area was. The bartender gave her an incredulous look, but even he probably knew the kind of reputation the place had. You had to admit that it was unkempt and clearly not maintained--not to mention the types of sleazes that seemed to frequent it.

“I could ask you the same.”

“Deflect,” said the voice in the earpiece. You furrowed your brows slightly; you could usually judge by the timbre of the voice what a person’s age was, but this one stumped you. The inflections were outdated for sure, but the man spoke like velvet, far too young to be using that old-time Brooklyn accent.

“You first,” Natasha pushed.

Shrugging, you replied, “It’s more low-key, don’t you think? Wouldn’t want to run into anyone I know when I’m clearly trying to escape the real world right now.”

The bartender slid over her drink in a cocktail glass and Natasha took hold of it, taking a sip and staining the edge of the glass a deep burgundy. “And what exactly has the real world done this time?” She asked.

You smacked your lips thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s more about what the real world hasn’t done this time. Or maybe about what it did the other time.”

“Oh,” Natasha said simply.

“Can you get her somewhere alone, Nat?” The wannabe 40s Brooklyn man in the ear piece asked.

You smiled, showing your teeth. “How would you feel about helping me escape the real world a little bit more, Sienna?”

She moved closer, brushing your elbow. “Y/N, are you suggesting we get out of here?”

You were a couple of inches taller than her and you leaned over, close enough that locks of your ocean hair brushed her forehead. “What I’m suggesting is that I know a hotel with nice sheets not too far from here.”

Natasha smirked. “Nice work, Romanoff.” 

Romanoff? Sounds more Russian than Italian, you thought.

                                                               ~

It wasn’t the first time that somebody had attempted to con you, be it for information or for money. You didn’t mind the game. So, you let it happen. Undeniably, you enjoyed the spy’s touch and the numbing feel of her pillowy lips on yours. 

However, you did not expect to fall asleep. That had never happened before. Your body didn’t do that. Your body never failed to do something that would strengthen you. You had never, not once, fallen asleep in the presence of another.

That scared you.

You had been careless.

You straightened your shoulders as you walked out onto the streets of Southwest London. No big deal, you just had to be a bit more careful now.

я иду за тобой Natasha Romanoff.

A/N: я иду за тобой = I’m coming for you (Russian) 

(I used google translate, which is probably wrong; so, if anyone catches a mistake in that, please let me know, and I will change it :) )

*PSST*: Isn’t Natasha so fucking stunning in that picture on my sucky ass moodboard? Those eyes? That barely there smile? I’m melting. 

[bensakindofmagic]

Chapter Twenty One

Warnings: swearing, angst, mentions of smut, and possible heartbreak content here folks (i honest to god nearly cried writing this — should not have done this to myself while pms-ing. i thought i would find it really easy to write but i was actually so sad i really struggled)

w/c: 2.8k+

Chapter Twenty One

“Wait, so she’s moving to the States?” Joe bleated through the phone. 

“Yeah man, for three years.” 

“Are you breaking up?” 

Ben groaned, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I think so.” 

“You think so? What the fuck does that mean?” 

“We haven’t really talked about it. She only found out a couple of days ago and she’s been so busy getting ready to go, you know. She’s been sorting her visa, looking at apartments out there, doing all the research and everything. They want her there in less than three weeks. 

“I thought the shoot was a month away?” 

“Yeah, but they want her there early to get settled first, and meet everyone.”

“Christ,” sighed Joe sympathetically. “I suppose she’s gotta pack as well.” 

“Well she only moved in here a couple of months ago, so it’s not too bad. It’s not like she’s got to figure out what to do with all her furniture ‘cause she already did that.”

“Right. Handy,” Joe deadpanned. “And how do you feel about all this?”

“Like shit. Like actual human faeces. But it’s her life, Joe.”

It felt good for Ben to talk things out with someone. More than anything he wanted to talk to you about where this whole thing left your relationship, but you were stressed enough with the move that you barely had a second together. Even when you did, you were always too busy stressing about something or another, some item on your to-do list that took you one step further away from him, to pay him too much attention. It made his heart ache, to see you readying yourself to leave him, but the part that really killed him was the fact that it didn’t seem to upset you.

The days were lonely and seemed to drag, but before Ben knew it you were due to leave in a matter of days. You were curled up on the sofa together, enjoying the way the dying summer sun draped the room in gold. Ben was strumming absentmindedly at his guitar while you rested your legs across his lap, Frankie curled up beside you, ticking off the tasks on your to-do list. Finally satisfied that you had done all you needed before you left, you closed your eyes and hummed contentedly, listening to the soft tune Ben played. It was a rare moment of calm and warmth in what had been an otherwise chaotic and stressful couple of weeks. You had barely allowed yourself to stop because you knew the second that you did you would crumble. The thought of leaving Ben was too much to bear, and you knew if you let yourself imagine your life without him you would unpack everything and stay exactly where you were — with him. So instead, you did absolutely every possible task to keep yourself busy. But finally you stopped, and enjoyed a moment of stillness. You felt the waves of music drifting over from Ben, and in them all the love and light in he world. You watched him, and drank him in, determined to remember every detail; the crease between his eyes as he concentrated, the way the light caught the waves in his hair, the way he licked his lip after every line. You imprinted that perfect image into your mind for safe keeping, knowing how much you would need it once you were more than 5,000 miles away from him. You quickly batted away the sense of loss that came creeping in, but somehow Ben read your mind and sighed, setting his guitar down and letting his limbs fall heavily. 

“Can we talk, Y/N?” 

You stifled a groan, “Do we have to?” 

“We’ve barely spoken for weeks.” You saw the hurt he was trying to hide. 

“I know, I’m sorry love. I’ve just been really busy...” It wasn’t necessarily a lie.

He turned to look at you for the first time, and the look in his eyes made you shatter. “I need to know what’s happening. Are we staying together?” 

“I don’t want to stop you from being happy.” 

“Then stay.” 

You rolled your eyes but he continued, “I know what you’re saying but I don’t want to be with anyone else. I love you.” 

Your heart sank to your stomach: that was exactly what you didn’t want him to say. It wasn’t that you felt differently — he was the love of your life — but you couldn’t bear to not be with him properly for three years. You had struggled enough for three months in Scotland, where you could hop on a plane and be in his arms within a few hours. LA was different. You would need at least a week to make the trip worth it, and you’d be so busy who knew when you’d get a whole week off. Besides, it wasn’t like you had the money to be flying back and forth all the time. It could be a year before you saw him again. No, that would be too hard. You would be tearing yourself apart, the agony was too much to even contemplate. It had to be a clean break. You had to move on completely. If it was meant to be, he would be waiting for you when you came back.

“I know. I love you too, but I can’t split myself in half.” 

“You won’t even try long distance? You’re going to do to me exactly what your ex did to you?”

Your jaw clenched, “Don’t compare me to Matteo. This is different Ben, we tried long distance and it was awful.”

He mumbled, “Not as awful as breaking up.” 

You removed your legs from his lap and sat beside him, “I don’t think that’s true. This way we can both move on. We can have our own lives for the next three years, instead of living half a life, waiting for someone on another continent.” 

His eyes started to sparkle with tears. “I would wait for you.” 

“I know you would, Benny, but three years is a long time. I can’t do that to you. Or myself.” 

“So this is it? We have two more days of you being my girlfriend?”

You nodded, fighting back tears. The thought of not being his anymore stung like a bullet to the heart.

He shuffled closer to you, cupping your jaw, “Then I guess I should make the most of you, while you’re still mine.”

Your voice was weak and feather-light as you whispered, “I’ll always be yours.”

He kissed your forehead softly, “No you won’t.” 

Tears finally tell and you collapsed into his arms. “I wish it didn’t have to be like this.”

“I know, baby, I know,” he hushed, stroking your hair. 

You sniffed, trying your best to pull yourself together, and looked at Ben. You wiped the wetness from his cheeks, and kissed him as fiercely as you knew how, letting him pull your body closer. You were breathless when you pulled away. “Take me to bed.” 

There was no urgency in the way you made love that night. There was no clawing at each other, no chests heaving and moans ripping through throats. It was slow and deliberate, like you both wanted it to last forever. His mouth on yours was warm and possessive, but the way he locked eyes with you was vulnerable in a way you had never seen before. He stripped himself bare before you. Your hands roamed every inch of skin you could find, tracing each ridge and wrinkle, committing every touch to memory. And when he thrust into you, every movement in slow-motion, you shuddered, knowing you might never feel that whole again. Ben’s heavy, ragged breathing was a symphony in your ear, his lips on your neck like liquid gold. Even with him inside you, you didn’t feel close enough and clearly he felt the same because he kept wrapping him arms around your waist, tight enough to make you forget that the thing you’d miss most was the weight of that embrace. When you reached your climax it was poetic; you clasped him to your body, drinking in the warmth of his skin on yours. You buried your hands in his hair and your face in his neck, desperate not to let go, to soak up every ounce of him. 

You understood, in a way you never had before, why they called it ‘making love’.

You lay tangled in each other all night. You didn’t speak much, just lay with your head on his chest while he played with your hair, and listened to his breathing, his heartbeat. That steady thud thud thud of life coursing through his veins. It was a cluster of muscle and tissue and blood but it was yours. His heart belonged to you, at least for a little while longer.

You stayed in bed all of the next morning, bathing in the sunlight streaming in through the window, and kissed and cuddled and chatted. Eventually you got dressed and headed out into the city. You bought a picnic lunch and ate it on the bank of the river. Frankie chased the ducks and begged for food, and Ben humoured her, throwing bits of food for her to find. You smiled wide and often. You both lay on the grass, resting your head on his stomach, and watched shapes form and dissipate in the clouds. You sang and skipped and kissed. Usually you hated those obnoxious couples who were all over each other in public, but that day you couldn’t care less because the next day you would leave with a suitcase and a plane ticket and you wouldn’t be together again for three years. So you kissed your boyfriend often and ferociously, and traced your fingers over the back of his neck, and stroked his hair and held his hand. 

The evening was quiet, subdued. Your suitcase loomed threateningly by the front door.

“What time’s your taxi tomorrow?”

“8.30am, not too early.”

“You sure you don’t want me to take you to the airport?”

“No that’s okay.” You didn’t want to say your goodbyes in public.  

He nodded, silent, and you stroked his cheek. You didn’t want to cry, god knows you’d have plenty of time for that once you’d left, but you couldn’t stop a tear from gliding down your face. He wiped it away with his thumb, replacing it with his lips. A gentle smile pulled at your mouth; he always knew exactly how to make you feel better. You supposed that would make the next few weeks all the harder — the one person who could mend your heart was the one person who had caused it to break in the first place.

Neither of you slept much. You could tell from his breathing he was trying not to cry. In the small hours he whispered your name, a question heavy with anxiety and fear. 

“I’m still here Benny,” you purred, and held onto him a little tighter. Silently, he cried. 

You were all too aware of the irony of the rising sun being the marker of the end of you time with Ben, the end of your life as you knew if. You were off to start a new life in a new country, alone. You stretched the lethargy from your limbs and tried to roll out of bed, but two strong arms locked you in place. 

“Not yet,” came Ben’s voice, hushed and raw.

“I have to catch my flight.”

“Not yet.” 

Ben squeezed a little tighter, holding you by the waist. You let go of the tension in your shoulders and sighed into him. He played with locks of your hair and nuzzled his nose in your head. If there was a heaven then lying there with Ben was what it felt like. But when your alarm finally went off Ben didn’t hold you back. He watched as you tied your hair up and headed towards the bathroom. 

When you came back out he had pulled on some trackies and his old hoodie. He looked so soft, so like the man you had fallen for all those month ago. 

“Shall I make you some breakfast?” 

“No that’s okay,” you murmured, “I’m not hungry.” 

He held your arm, “You should eat.” 

“I’ll grab something at the airport.” 

You felt, more than saw his shoulders droop. You could barely bring yourself to look at him. Suddenly your decision felt like a terrible betrayal. What were you doing, galavanting off to America? You should be with Ben in your home, building your life together. 

“How long before the taxi arrives?” he asked. He knew exactly how long. 

“Ten minutes.” 

He muttered, “Right,” and stared at his feet, hands thrust deep into his pockets. 

You had to leave. You had to go before you changed your mind. You made a commitment, signed a contract, but the look on Ben’s face brought you so close to calling up the studio to say you couldn’t do it. You had to get out before he dragged you back in. 

“I guess I should go down, he might be early. I don’t want to keep him waiting.”

He saw right through you, but he didn’t call you out. He understood you better than you knew.

“Can I help you take your suitcase down?” 

“I’ll take the lift.” 

He nodded, and swallowed hard. I guess this is it then.

You went over to Frankie where she still lay in her bed, dozing. She lifted her head as you approached and you stroked her behind her ear. She nuzzled her head into your hand. 

“Bye, girlie. You be good, okay? Look after your dad for me.”

You kissed her nose and stood, heading towards Ben. The hardest good bye was yet to come.

You’d ever seen his eyes look so vibrant. They seemed to shine. You suddenly felt dizzy, and sucked in a breath to steady yourself. Tears started to prick your eyes but you forced them back, clenching your fists hard enough to turn your knuckles white. 

“God, you’re really leaving, aren’t you?” Ben breathed. 

You exhaled sharply, “Didn’t you believe me?”

“I don’t know, I guess not. I didn’t feel it in my bones.”

“And now you do?”

“Yeah… now I do."

For a lifetime you were both absolutely still. You wanted to turn tail and leave, closing the door behind you. You wanted to run into his arms and never let go. You felt like your world was falling apart and you couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. 

Ben took a few tentative steps towards you, assuming the strength you didn’t have. “I’m gonna miss you.”

You couldn’t get the words out to tell him you’d miss him too; you let your tears speak for themselves. He took your hand, finally letting the tension in your fingers dissipate and he traced his fingertips along your palm. He fought the urge to tell you that he had wanted one day to put a ring on your finger. That wouldn’t help you leave. 

You choked out, “I love you,” and threw your arms around his neck. He squeezed you tight, holding all the pieces of you together. 

“I love you, too. Always.” 

He tucked your hair behind your ear and smiled, the kind of sad smile that breaks your heart more than it warms it. 

“I can’t leave you.” 

“Yes you can,” he intoned, wiping away your tears, “and you will.” 

“Don’t you want me to stay?”

A slight chuckled bubbled up through him, “Of course I do, with all my heart. But more than that I want you to thrive. You’re gonna go to LA and take everyone by storm, I know it.” 

You didn’t appreciate while you were sobbing, trying desperately to compose yourself, wishing with all your heart that you and Ben could stay together, the sacrifice that Ben made for you in that moment. He bundled all his strength up in a ball and put it in your hands. He gave you the push to do what you needed to, even though it broke his heart. He spent days afterwards thinking that he could have convinced you to stay, and you would still be with him. The thought made him sick, but he knew he had done the right thing.

Still, watching you walk away was agony of the acutest kind. You kissed his cheek, whispering again that you loved him, and picked up your bags. When you got to the door you hesitated, and pulled your keys out of your pocket. With delicate motions you laid them in the bowl beside Ben’s and turned to look at him one more time. You bit your lip to stop the sob that threatened to rip through you at the sight of him. It killed you to know that it was your fault. But you had to put that aside. You had to leave. 

“Goodbye Benny,” you whispered and crossed the threshold, closing the door behind you. 

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[wftc141]

Blackwatch Chapter 9: The Everlasting Spark

8:20 AM, Local Time

Rome, Italy

Embassy of the United States

November, 2018

Whenever he had free time, Genji would use that chance to meditate. Find a spare room in the Embassy and sit on the carpet floor to immerse himself away from the noise. He needed to pinpoint the very spot to be in the full state of calm. Silence was also vital and he was glad the rooms were also soundproof and privacy screens were provided.

During the previous months, Blackwatch had been dormant for some time and no missions were assigned. NATO had been managing their duties using their alternative and they've been making progress so far. So far, no new attacks were reported since the Null Sector siege in Rome.

Genji had been meditating for a long time as a way to cope in hopes of ensuring his past doesn't catch up to him. It was hard for him back then as a SAT officer after that defining moment years ago. Genji's eyes were shut, shrouded by the shadow of his hood. His breathing movement eased to follow the rhythm of his heartbeat. Genji tried to clear his mind of negative thoughts and painful memories pierced into his brain. Everything around him was dark and silence surrounded him, leaving him immersed in his own void. He felt alone. Shunned. Isolated to the point where the concept of humanity doesn't exist.

Suddenly, Genji heard a rumble from beside him and his eyes opened in a flash. He turned around and noticed his phone on the floor vibrating towards him. Lowering his breathing rate, Genji reached over to his phone and tapped the dial without checking the ID.

"Hello?" He answered

"Hey, Genji. It's me."

Genji's head perked up and he straightened up. He recognized that voice.

"Angela?" He said. Suddenly, his words were stuck in his throat. "Hi. How are you?"

"I'm good, thanks for asking. Just wanted to let you know that I've just landed in Italy."

Genji cocked his head.

"You're in Rome?" He said.

"Yep," Angela replied. Genji could hear her smile through her voice. "Me and my team are getting stationed here with Fareeha's unit for a couple of weeks and since I'm not booked as of right now, I was wondering if we could have lunch together? I've found a nice place where we could grab some Italian cuisine."

Usually, Angela doesn't ask anybody out for lunch while on her days off, instead retreating to her office to have some overdue coffee and a paid meal to keep her up. Genji was one of the few people to witness it, apart from her other friends.

"Where's this coming from?" Genji asked.

"Oh it's just that we haven't seen each other in person for a while and I thought maybe we could do some catching up while we're at it."

Was it normal for good friends of the opposite sex to invite each other to have a meal together, Genji thought. Even as a former Yakuza, he never had any experience with dating women of his type and most were merely escorts for his fellow Yakuza. Friends were never in his dictionary and Angela happened to be the only female friend he had in his life thanks to her intervention and he owed her for it. Her sudden lunch proposal was definitely odd but it wasn't a bad thing.

"If you're busy, then we can try tomo-"

"I would be more than glad to join you today." Genji said.

"Excellent! How's 12 at noon?"

"I'll be there."

"Great! I'll send you the address later. Looking forward to seeing you, Genji!"

The call ended and left Genji back to his own silence. Genji simply sighed and as he got up, he wondered what to wear on his day out.

________________________________________

9:00 AM, Local Time

Rome, Italy

Via Margutta

Another day has passed during Ray's time off and it has been tedious for most of the occasion. Ray stared at the ceiling of his bedroom with the pale light blocked off by the curtains. It has been two months since their last Blackwatch operation and there has been nothing new for them for quite some time. Everybody else was either out throwing a vacation or visiting friends. He wasn't the type to relax elsewhere since he was more set on working on the battlefield.

Ray missed the taste of beer after drinking with Marvel a few days before he left to see a friend of his in London. His mouth was dry and he had just woken up a few hours later than he usually does. Ray let out a grunt as he heaved himself out of the sheets and stepped onto the wooden floorboards, aiming for the bathroom.

Once inside, Ray turned his sink on and began brushing his teeth. After finishing up with his mouth, Ray splashed the cold water onto his face and rubbed his nose. The ice cold sensation felt nostalgic. Finishing up, Ray leaned onto the basin and glanced up at the mirror, facing his reflection. His reflection's eyes were dead straight into Ray's. Some drops of water streamed down the mirror, one sliding past his right eye.

Then the visions flashed before him. The sounds of gunfire and the looming closing of mortars and rockets. Sand and blood coating him as the screams of his teammates from afar and nearby filled his ears.

By the time the visions blinked away, Ray found himself breathing heavily and alone with the tap still running down the sink and the drops fading away.

________________________________________

11:40 AM, Local Time

Rome, Italy

Before stepping towards the door, Genji took one last look at himself in the mirror. The scars that practically cover his face were in full view. The particular ones running across the bridge of his nose and his left eye were also exposed now that he ditched the hoodie in favor of a grey coat over his dress shirt. He checked his watch poking from his sleeve: 11:40. Should be enough time for Genji to find the address of the restaurant Angela sent him. Genji slipped on his shoes and left the apartment.

Now on the streets, Genji made his way through the walkway past the shops and cafes nearby. The leaves on the road slid and swept off as the cold breeze blew past him. As he reached the main road, Genji found himself getting looks from others. Most were either disgusted or intimidated by him because of his scars. He couldn't say he blamed them. Anyone would reel back from seeing Genji's scars in public and it wasn't a first for him. Genji paid no attention to the glares and continued his walk.

Shortly, he arrived at the restaurant near the river where the crowds flowed from left to right as well as the sight of the river in front. The restaurant itself felt like it was revisiting the past while also showing its own twist in the modern time. Genji went inside and looked around the crowded tables before noticing the distinct platinum blonde hair on the other side.

Genji approached the table where Angela was. She was still just as pretty as the last time they met in person. Angela's lean arms were laid crossed on the table near the menu which she hasn't opened yet. Her coat was draped behind her over the chair. The blue shirt she was wearing tucked into her skinny jeans goes well with her, if not, makes her look professional.

Once Genji closed in on her table, Angela's corner of her eye caught him and her smile grew as she stood up from her chair to approach him. Genji couldn't help but smile too after noticing hers.

"Genji! So glad to see you!" Angela said as she pulled Genji into a hug.

"You too, Angela," he replied, returning her hug. The scent of perfume filled his nostrils. "Thanks for inviting me."

The two broke off the hug and both looked up at each other. Genji noticed something different about Angela's hair.

"I see you've cut your hair." He said.

"Yes, I did," Angela replied, touching the ends of her shortened hair. Her side bangs swept to her right eye were kept. "Figured I wanted to go for something fresh and practical. You like it?"

"It fits you."

Her smile remained as she fiddled with the locks. "Thanks."

Genji wasn't aware he was staring at her for quite some time before the two realized they were still standing and took their seats hastily. To be precise, Genji wasn't the only one staring.

"Anyways," Angela said as she sat down. Genji removed his coat and hung it behind his chair. "I haven't ordered anything yet apart from some coffee since I haven't had my morning caffeine today and I wanted to wait for you before we figure out what we wanna eat."

"That's really considerate of you. I appreciate that." Genji replied.

"You're welcome. Speaking of consideration," Angela handed him a second menu, similar to the one she was reading from. "I hear this place has some really delicious food."

Genji opened the leather folder and inside were the list of foods with photos beside it and quite a list. There was also an English translation next to the Italian words. Glancing up from the menu, Genji looked at Angela as she continued on about Italian cuisine before chuckling mid-sentence over a bad joke she made.

There was something sweet about the way Angela laughed, especially whenever she made jokes that normal people wouldn't laugh except for Genji. Her angelic-like presence and the way she expressed herself would turn Genji into a different person. A normal person.

Maybe it was because he owed her for saving him from his death that day.

________________________________________

11:52 AM, Local Time

Paris, France

The sound of leaves rustling from above to the wind and the fountain splashing into the river fill the uninterrupted silence.

Amélie Lacroix watched over the river floating to the side as streams of water from the fountain tap clashed with the quintess river pelted with dry leaves. The air was cold so she opted for a wool cashmere coat over her black turtleneck with a skirt and boots accompanied by tights and sunglasses and leather gloves as final touches.

She watched as a handful of couples from a distance passed her eyes, holding hands and talking among each other. She missed the feeling of a warm hand and the steps they took in every walk. Amélie couldn't forget her memories with Gérard Lacroix, her late husband.

He was killed here two years ago in a bombing attack at the facility that used to be Blackwatch's headquarters where he was stationed while Amélie was on a mission. Every year, she would come to Paris to see his burial grave and visit this very park where she found her purpose. The place where she and Gérard met as an assassin.

"I knew I would find you here."

Amélie turned to her left where the voice came from and noticed Gabriel approaching her before stopping a few feet away from her. Like her, he was in winter clothes with a puffer coat over his sport fleece zipped up to his neck and a beanie to brace the cold. Amélie didn't react and looked away from Gabriel.

"You're here because we have a job?" Amélie asked.

Gabriel shook his head. "Just checking in to see how you were doing because of what today is. Mind if I sit with you?"

"I don't see why I should."

Gabriel reached the bench and sat beside Amélie. He let out an exhale and icy air puffed out from his mouth.

"And here I thought you would be in LA to talk things out with your family." Amélie guessed.

Gabriel scoffed. "No, it's a waste of energy."

"How are the others?"

Gabriel slumped back onto the bench, sighing. Another cloud of air streamed out of his lips. "Far as I know, they're doing alright. Genji, Moira and Ray are still in Rome with Jack, Marvel just left for London to see a pilot friend of his, Fio's in the Bahamas, Sombra and McCree… I have no idea where those two are."

Amélie said nothing and looked ahead. Gabriel glanced at her before looking away. Even when her sunglasses conceal her emotion, Gabriel could tell that she was still in mourning.

"Still thinking about Gérard?" He said without looking at her.

Amélie's silence and her frown answered Gabriel's question.

"I miss him too," Gabriel's eyes fell onto the ground. "He was a good friend of mine. And a damn good leader too."

Amélie's willingful commitment to staying silent was telling Gabriel everything she couldn't tell him with her words.

"You know what happened to Gérard wasn't your fault, right?" He said. "I don't understand why you keep carrying that weight around."

A pause filled their gap. Shortly, Amélie lifted her hand to remove her sunglasses. Gabriel took one look at her eyes and he recognized it immediately. It was the eyes of sorrow and guilt.

"I brought him into my life and he died because of what I was," Amélie said, softly. "I could've said that I was a ballet dancer or just… never met him. Gérard would've still been alive if it wasn't for me."

"That's bullshit and you know it." Gabriel said firmly as he faced Amélie. His eyes were showing anger but not at her. "You didn't kill Gérard; Antonio Bartalotti did. We lost our staff to the bombing thanks to that bastard and he's out there as an innocent man, running his business while smuggling weapons and terrorists across Europe under our noses. And because of his connections with the government, we can't go after him."

"You know I find the idea of revenge pointless."

"I don't see why when he's the one who killed your husband."

"And I know killing him won't bring him back," Amélie fired back. "The second I kill Antonio, my husband is still dead. The only person who saw me as a human being rather than a killing machine is gone. Nothing will change that."

Gabriel went silent. Amélie was right and he knew it. She never felt the desire of remorse when she learned of who killed her husband. She only felt guilt and thought this was her past catching up to her, refusing to let her go. The concept of someone going after the person who killed their loved ones felt unsatisfying, let alone useless. Gabriel sighed in defeat and leaned forward.

"Amélie, I'm just asking you to stop beating yourself up," Gabriel said. "You gotta stop carrying that burden of yours, otherwise it's gonna manifest into something you can't control and the effect isn't gonna be pretty. I've seen it before and it's been haunting me ever since."

Amélie didn't respond but Gabriel could see her understanding his point silently. Gabriel looked away from her and faced forward. The two didn't speak for a while and watched over the park as people continued to pass by their sight.

"I can see why you like this park." Gabriel said.

Amélie nodded without glancing back at him. Silence. Gabriel took his beanie off to scratch his scalp. The cold wind blew at his head as the warmth from the beanie dissolved.

"Gabe?"

Gabriel heard Amélie call his name as he put his beanie on and glanced at her. Although she was still staring forward, a faint smile grew from her face.

"Thanks. For that pep talk." She said.

Gabriel simply smiled and looked away.

"You're welcome." Gabriel replied.

The two stayed seated and basked in the cold yet bright sunlight, overlooking the breeze over the winter trees below.

________________________________________

12:15 PM, Local Time

Rome, Italy

It has been a while since they received the food they've ordered and so far, Genji's lunch with Angela has been eventful and enjoyable. The two have been talking for a while and it was clear they get each other. Angela would talk about work and often add in some personal moments outside of work, such as her strange encounter at a cafe while on a coffee run with her Chinese nurse friend.

Genji would sometimes laugh at the unfortunate moments and feel bad at the same time but those were the moments where he would get the chance to smile and act like a normal person, especially with someone he felt comfortable with.

Then, Angela would get into the serious and sensitive parts about her job as a field doctor handling heavily wounded patients and balancing some sense of levity, especially about the air strikes the US keeps sending in. Angela herself wasn't into the nature of war as much as any normal person was, considering she was a pacifist and most of the time, she could get critical about how President Trump and his office handled the war.

She would often apologise for going too much in depth about her job and Genji would assure her he was fine. He always appreciated how concerned she felt whenever she believed she stepped out of the line when talking about her job.

"Anyways," Angela said, after finishing her story about a patient hit by an air strike. She rested her crossed arms on the table after twirling the locks of her hair, leaning in front of the table. "We're getting shipped off in a few weeks. Don't know where but it's probably gonna be in another war-torn country. On the bright side, Dr. Winston Hayward is joining the team."

Genji's head perked up after hearing a familiar name.

"Winston Hayward? You mean the scientist who used to work for DARPA? I never thought he would get involved in humanitarian work."

Angela nodded. "It was a surprise for me too. He served as a medic in the army before DARPA picked him up. He was interested in my work for a while and offered the team a helping hand."

Genji nodded as he took a sip from his glass of water.

"How about you, Genji?" Angela asked. "How's work going for you?"

Genji's smile faltered. He wasn't sure how to answer that. He told her he was working for NATO but he didn't tell her he was working as a covert operative taking part in possibly illegal missions. Genji wasn't sure how she would feel if he told her he maimed a crime lord with his own karambit. He set his glass on the table and sighed, looking away from her.

"I'm alright," Genji said. "There were good days and bad days."

Angela didn't prod him any further about his work. Part of Genji was thankful but the other half lamented that he couldn't confide in her about what he really does. Angela then noticed a few people staring at Genji, with some whispering to each other. She was quick to pick up on the fact that they were staring at him because of the scars on his face. Genji was also trying his best to ignore the judging looks. Angela couldn't help but feel pity for him.

"I-I'm sorry, Genji. I should have picked a more private place." She said softly, feeling guilty.

"It's okay," he assured. "I feel more comfortable showing my face like this when I'm with you because...you don't see me as a monster like others do."

"That's because you're not. I know it's difficult but the scars you have does not define who you are."

"I know. But what happened still haunts me to this day. I can't outrun it."

Angela looked at him, recognizing that look and the voice. The same as the one he had when he was in the middle of recovery.

"Are the nightmares coming back?" She asked.

Genji looked up at Angela, who gave him an assuring look. He took a deep sigh as he held his hands.

"Every time I look in the mirror," Genji said. "I see my brother instead of myself. Every time I try to sleep, I see the Shimada elders order my brother to kill me. Every night, I would wake up, drenched in cold sweat and I would sit on the floor in the dark making sure the clan doesn't go after me because of what I've become."

"Are you still meditating?" Angela asked.

A weak nod came from Genji. "Always, but it's not enough to push those nightmares back. I couldn't remember how long I fought but I remember every cut my brother gave all over me and every hit I made until my limbs gave up. I still remember how it felt too."

Genji wasn't aware his hands were balled into trembling fists. This wasn't the first time he told Angela about his condition but any time he talked about, it would trigger the trauma in his mental state. Then, Genji felt contact with one of his fists. He glanced up and noticed Angela's hand holding his right fist and the shaking stopped.

"I know how painful it is to carry that trauma for a long time, Genji," she said. "I understand how you feel. I carried a lot of pain when I was a kid and it was agonizing for me to face the reality. But I made it through and I want to help people like me. That's why I became a doctor for a reason."

Genji's fists began to unroll and laid flat on the table as Angela's hands held his.

"I know you'll make it through this, Genji. I've been with you for a long time to know that you're strong. But if you ever need help and you can't find someone you feel comfortable with, I'm here for you and I'll help you in any way possible."

Genji looked up at her. Her soothing voice bordered on the lines of angelic. Genji felt a sense of relief and calm being able to talk out his deep issues with his first and close friend. He smiled in return of her assuring words.

"I'll keep that in mind," Genji softly said, looking back at his hands. "Thanks."

"You're more than welcome." Angela replied, smiling back.

The two didn't move for a brief moment as the idle chatter around them drowned out their thoughts. Genji then looked down to his plate and noticed something.

"You know," he said. "We've been talking for quite a while and not once have we touched our food."

Angela blinked before looking down and realizing what he meant.

"Oh my, you're right about that." She said.

Genji couldn't help but chuckle. "Didn't expect that we would talk more than we've eaten."

They both laughed, easing any sense of tension between one another before they got back to eating their meal. They still talked as much as they ate but they drifted towards a more lighthearted path. Angela still had more tales to tell and Genji's smile never faltered since then.

________________________________________

12:46 PM, Local Time

Rome, Italy

Embassy of the United States

Jack Morrison took a sip of his coffee as he read over the mission reports from Blackwatch as well as the dossiers of their operatives. He had just finished reading Genji's dossier and moved on to Ray's. Some of the operatives' backgrounds involved their former lives as career criminals before getting hired by NATO. Others were former military and conducted significant operations early on. Jack didn't expect Gabriel to even consider hiring criminals to work under his hand. Not that he ever played by the rules.

A sudden knock from his office door cut through his thoughts.

"Come in." Jack said.

He heard the door open and footsteps follow through. Jack looked up from the dossiers and noticed it was the team leader of the Valorant Protocol, Brimstone. His Valorant tag hung in front of his sky blue shirt hugging his shoulders. His right hand was also holding a Manila folder.

Jack set the files aside and drank his coffee. "I take it Chechnya was a success?"

Brimstone placed the folder next to Jack's among the pile. "Like a walk in the park. No one suspected we were there, no bodies were dropped and the CIA have the American terrorist in their custody."

Jack grunted in approval as he placed his mug on the desk. "Good job as always, Brimstone. Get you and your team some rest. You all deserve it."

With that said, Jack went back to continuing his reading on Ray's dossier. As he read the file, the footsteps in front of him stopped.

"I got something to ask, Jack," Brimstone said. "Do you trust Blackwatch?"

Jack stopped reading. He knew there was going to be a time where Brimstone would inquire about Blackwatch. Brimstone was not just the team leader - he co-founded this unit with Jack and he was well aware of Blackwatch's existence for a while. Sighing, the commander set his hands on the desk, interlocking his fingers.

"Yes. I do. But the thing is… I believe Blackwatch should not be operational anymore."

"Why's that?" Brimstone asked.

"The world is changing and trustworthy allies are the key to stabilizing a nation. We're making significant progress for NATO and the UN with the Valorant Protocol and we've managed to earn trust from other countries. Blackwatch however… could be a compromise to our goal."

"So we're their replacement?"

"Precisely. The higher ups may need Blackwatch but I want to prove to them that it should be shut down. We've been solving most of NATO and the UN's problems diplomatically and I don't want a black ops kill unit ruining our chances in bringing peace to all nations if they can't trust us."

Brimstone had nothing else to say about Blackwatch and turned away for the door. As he heard the door close, Jack looked back down to the files before going for another sip of his black coffee. Truth be, as much as he believed in Blackwatch's cause, Jack found their methods risky and the risks they make would only drive other countries apart should they ever find out about what they've been doing. He could only hope for Gabriel to understand that but it would take a miracle to convince him.

________________________________________ 

11:00 PM, Local Time

Zambia

The convoy of trucks drove through the terrain over the tracks engraved between the trees. The headlights shone down the road as the only light source in the desolate forest of Zambia. A Talon strike team was deployed into the country to meet a potential partner for their organization. For air support, an Mi-24 Hind was sent in to accompany them as their eyes in the skies.

Inside the trucks stamped with the signature 'T' insignia on the side, Talon soldiers glued to the seats bobbed up and down as the truck went through uneven terrain. They were all sporting Talon-issued uniforms under their plate carriers and pads covering most of their vital areas, as well as M50 gas masks fitted under their helmets with NODs attached.

Everybody else wore the same masks except for Captain Cuerva, the strike team's commanding officer in the leading truck. Apart from his uniform and gear, he had a red beret bearing the 'T' flash and a jet black neck gaiter. He was as merciless as people say and a force to be reckoned with whenever he led his team during his missions, especially with Mauga, the squad's titan. This was also a rare occasion for Cuerva to get in the field to personally oversee the operation whenever there were complications.

Shortly, the trucks arrived at the riverside village where the gate was guarded by AK47-wielding militants. Because they were expecting them, the militants opened the gate and silently let the trucks in while the Hind hovered above them. As the trucks drove down the path, they were met with glares from several militants from outposts and on the sidewalk. Most of the locals were nowhere to be seen with empty markets and shops.

Once the trucks reached the plaza next to the main hut, the trucks came to a complete stop and shortly, Talon soldiers hopped out one by one and landed on the pale mud. There, the soldiers gathered into their positions and faced the militants while several turned to the hut where their partner would be in. Mauga stood in front of his men, knowing his size and weapon would ensure support and maximum damage. Cuerva was the last to get out and without a word, he headed up the stairs leading to the hut and signaled for both Mazzei and Doubleday to escort him.

As he ignored the condescending glares from the militants, Cuerva and his men went inside and found the office of the militant's leader. Inside the office accompanied by a straw backdrop, the successor of the Macaba militia Kwame Macaba glared at the Captain, knowing who he was. His guards watched with caution running in their eyes as Cuerva stood by the doorway with his escorts. Their begrudging glares reflected onto the unnerving visors of their gas masks. Cuerva paid no attention to them and sat down on the couch across Kwame's before pulling down his neck gaiter.

"Sorry for the sudden visit, Mr. Macaba," Cuerva said. "I understand that you're still dealing with the loss of your brothers but we have a proposal that you may find beneficial to your operations."

Cuerva stared at the man of Talon's interest. Youngest brother of the family, forced to take control of the militia after the death of his brothers a few months back. Knowing him, his family would be hiding upstairs.

"Our leader received a call from you saying that you do not wish to be part of our cause or accept our money that we offered you." Cuerva continued.

"We will not be accepting your blood money or an alliance with you." Kwame growled.

Cuerva chuckled. "Seems like we haven't convinced you well enough. First off, we're not here to negotiate money. We're more than that. Consider us partners looking to help spread your influence across Africa and strengthen your army because you will need it."

"You best leave now if you know what's good for you."

"I'm afraid that's not going to happen. And you might as well watch what you say or there will be consequences for you and your family. Wouldn't want to end up like your brothers, yes?"

Tensions were raised. Kwame's hand clenched into a fist as he glared at Cuerva, clearly taking offence to what he said. Mazzei and Doubleday remained cautious as they eyed the militants, knowing they could open fire at any minute. A smirk curved from the corner of his lip.

"I've read that your brothers were killed trying to take control of Africa and the first thing they did was going after the people running the country," Cuerva said. "That was a bold and ambitious move - a naive one if you get my gist."

Kwame was itching to lunge at him at any moment but he would've done so by now if it weren't for the Talon soldiers watching him.

"And I also found it funny about how your brothers died. Dede Macaba went out of his way to use a child as a bargaining chip before the military shot him dead. I mean, talk about being a 'warrior' who'd rather die a coward than fight as a man. And Arno? Let's just say he failed before he even started."

Kwame gritted his teeth as his fists shook and Cuerva was more than glad to see his face contort into hate.

"You dare speak ill of my family's sacrifices?!" Kwame hissed.

"Oh I dare because I'm the one holding you and your people's lives in my hands," Cuerva said smugly. "I'm just trying to negotiate peacefully here and you're making this very difficult. All Talon wants is an alliance with you and your militia. You see, we believe humanity can only evolve through everlasting conflict. We're gathering organisations who are willing to contribute in making sure the human race grows stronger through war and terror."

Kwame's expression doesn't change, still glaring at the Captain.

"Talon can make you the most powerful man in Africa," Cuerva continued. "We'll provide your militia with better weapons, gear, training and materials for your operations. We can give you all of that with just a flick of a pen and with all the funding from us, you could achieve everything your brothers had been longing for. All you have to do is shake my hand and we can cut you a deal."

Cuerva then outstretched his hand to Kwame. Without a second thought, Kwame smacked it away as if it was a fly. Cuerva was unfazed by his rude gesture.

"The reason why I refused in the first place was because you and Talon are not soldiers, not warriors… you are terrorists who kill for money and sport. My people will never be part of that."

Cuerva stared at him for a moment before sighing and leaning back.

"Very well then," He then reached for his comms. "Negotiations failed. Prepare to clean house."

Shortly, gunfire erupted from outside surprising Kwame and his guards. Talon soldiers posted outside were under orders from HQ to kill the militia whenever the negotiation didn't work out. Kwame was quick to realize what Cuerva ordered and attempted to reach for his holster. Cuerva beat him to it and he shot the leader in the head before he could even touch the gun. Blood sprayed onto the floor and as soon as Kwame went limp, Mazzei and Doubleday took out the guards with ease and smooth synchronization.

Glancing at the stream of smoke oozing from the suppressor, Cuervo got up from the couch and approached Kwame's body. He stared at the dead leader with eyes of disappointment.

"Such a shame, Mr. Macaba," Cuerva said. "We would've had potential working together. Oh well, only fools would go for someone who's useless."

Cuerva then turned away to the doorway.

"Take care of the family." He ordered as he walked off.

"Yes, sir." Both Mazzei and Doubleday complied.

The two went past Cuerva and headed the opposite direction of him to find the rest of Kwame's family, checking their mags as they moved out. As the heavy footsteps faded out, Cuerva walked down the corridor and for the front entrance.

"Akuma 1, you are cleared hot," Cuerva said. "Send those bastards a message."

The sounds of the MG outside raining down from above accompanied the melody of the gunfire below. Walking out of the hut, Cuerva watched as his men moved from several spots in the dark hunting down the militants.

He already noticed several bodies of the militants in front of him as well as several buildings and markets left on fire. The rockets from the chopper then hit the village with immense velocity and obliterated almost everything in sight to ensure no survivors while also avoiding Cuerva's smell of burnt wood and straws filled his nostrils as he watched the flames light up the dark sky and burning wood melt into the river. Screams from afar filled the air of silence, drowned by the gunfire slowly catching up to them.

The Captain simply pulled out a cigar from his pocket, lit it with a match and watched the village burn to the ground. The embers before him sparked brighter like fireworks, making Talon's mark on their steps to the glory of never-ending conflict.

[taetaesbaebaepsae]

Hellfire

A/n: SO this is wild I know but this is Taemin from Brimstone but reader in Hellfire is succubus!reader from Pomegranate Seeds. They have a bit of a past, you see. This serves as both Taemin’s backstory AND a sequel to Pomegranate Seeds, no I don’t know why I’m like this either.

Summary:  Even demons have a past, but Taemin didn’t expect you to show up in his present with a human boy on your heels and your horns shaved down.

Warnings: WELL OKAY HERE WE GO, edging (m. receiving), masturbation (male), needy desperate sub!JK under the effects of succubus pheromone withdrawal, bipanic!Jungkook, dom!Taemin (who is a switch but in this particular circumstance dominant), threesome (mmf), oral sex (m. receiving), talk of overstimulation and orgasm denial, reader is a real bratty sub as one would expect from a succubus, she’s living her best life being dominated by Taemin and dominating JK we stan, big angst tho idk fam 

Word Count: 4235

Taemin doesn’t think of you. At least, he tries not to, because he finds it distasteful, the way his throat aches, the way his mind goes all fuzzy...it’s unbecoming of demon royalty, having things like longing.

But he isn’t really given a choice when you pop into his chambers, cursing and stumbling.

“What the fuck, I---oh. Taemin.” 

Your voice goes flat when you say his name and he tries to pretend it doesn’t affect him.

Your hair is all mussed, face flushed, and was that....nubs of the horns you’d been growing? 

“Ah, my Persephone finally returns, yeah?” He says slowly, hoping the smile spreading across his face was a smirk and not as wistful as it felt.

When you flip your hair back over your shoulder a memory, unbidden, flashes through his mind.

“Ah...not like that, Persephone.”

“Will you stop calling me that? That’s not my fucking-” Your words were cut off when he wraps his fist in your hair, tugging hard, and a whimper leaves your mouth instead.

“You want me to let you do it wrong? Do you want to marry me after all, sweetheart? Is that why you won’t listen?” He hissed down into your ear, nipping at your earlobe when he pulls away.

You’d been bent over his chair, the one you mockingly called “his throne,” your ass in the air and him buried inside you, still, watching the line of your spine when you rocked back against him.

“Fuck you,” you bit back, and rolled your hips, this time the right way, the way he’d taught you, and he gritted his teeth to keep from moaning at the way your cunt gripped his cock.

“That’s it, Persephone,” he breathes instead. “That’s my girl.”

Taemin shakes his head to rid himself of the memory and pats his knee.

"Come and sit. Tell your betrothed all about your adventures."

You scowl at him, and he hates how it makes his heart feel light, the way you sit on the floor instead, always stubborn.

"I've been working, but ...I fucked up, Taemin. Will you...will you help me?"

You're looking up at him with those wide eyes again and he's almost angry, suddenly. He's almost angry because isn’t that all he's ever done? 

You should be in his bed, should be his wife but he'd taught you how to tease and tempt instead, taught you a trade so that your father would let you be independent.

He'd taught you how to leave him and never come back, and now you return to him smelling like humanity and gazing up at him with those big eyes of yours, asking for more help?

In the end, he leans forward in his chair and kisses the tip of your nose.

"I'll do what I can, Persephone. Tell me what you've done."

In the end, he listens even when rage is pounding in his ears at your tale, because Lee Taemin, demon prince, whether you wanted him or not, was irrevocably yours.

By the time you're done, his head is pounding.

"So let me get this straight."

You just look up at him expectantly.

"You were supposed to be corrupting an innocent."

You nod.

"And you did, but what, you just let him keep his soul?"

You nod again and Taemin takes a deep breath.

"Why?"

You scrunch up your nose and Taemin is an odd mix of smitten and infuriated.

"I dunno. I...I love him."

He isn't prepared for the pain that rockets through him at your words, and he masks it with a low chuckle.

"Persephone ...love? With a human?"

 He tsks at you and you stand up.

"Fine. If you're just gonna make fun of me, I'll ask Jimin."

His hand flies out to take your wrist. "Don't be ridiculous. Your father will never let you past the river Styx with an incubus." 

You look up at him and the panic in your eyes hurts more than anything you could have said.

"Taemin…"

"I know. There isn't much time. How long has it been now? A day? A strong one can probably go a week without-"

"He's not. He's not strong, he's….he was really an innocent. He won't last the week, Taemin, please-"

You clutch at his shirt and your hands on his skin makes his breath catch. "I'll do anything. I'll…. I'll marry you, if that's what you want, just take me to help him."

He looks down at you for a moment, searching your face and he hates himself for considering it, just for a moment.

"Y/n. Stop it. Such behavior is unbecoming for a princess, you know."

He takes your hands from his chest and holds them in your own.

"I'll take you. But he won't allow it now. We'll have to give it another day, make him think you're obeying his wishes."

You drop your hands, defeated. "Okay," you say quietly. "Okay, but I'm not sleeping in your bed."

"Still can't control yourself around me, Persephone?" He teases, mouth twisted in a bitter grin.

You look up at him, wide eyed. "Probably not," you admit, and your words shoot heat down his spine.

"I'll sleep on the floor. You take the bed." He says shortly, turning to get a blanket.

You let out a sound of protest and he smirks back at you over his shoulder.

"I want my sheets to smell like you again."

You roll your eyes but he can see the relief on your face, and he spends a long moment in the linen closet trying to control his breathing around the tightness in his chest

Later that night, he can hear you shifting, tossing and turning in bed.

"Taemin?" You call softly.

He lets out a long breath before answering. "Yes?"

"I can't sleep. Will you sing to me?"

It's incredible how a heart can shatter through without crumbling entirely, because he's thinking of a hundred times you'd said those words to him, remembers singing low in your ear with his arms wrapped tight around your waist, remembers how you'd sigh and relax against his chest.

It's been years since he's let himself think of the lullaby he sang to you all those years ago, but he finds he remembers every word, and you find sleep long before he does, his shattered heart still thumping stubbornly in his chest.

Jungkook watches you arguing with your father with his lip caught between his teeth.

You're pacing around the room and speaking in...Latin?

He wants to go to you, to soothe you,but you've warned him not to touch you when you're angry and he'd learned the hard way with a burn on his palm from trying to take your hand during a fight.

You whirl around to face him, suddenly, and there's panic in your eyes.

He reaches out to you, burns be damned but you disappear through the floor, a burning circle where you'd stood on the tile.

It takes a few hours before he panics, calling your phone over and over and it going straight to voicemail.

He tells himself it's just a night with your dad, and the fact that it's probably in hell is fine because you're a demon and...wow had it been a wild year.

Jungkook doesn't know what to do, so he goes to work out like always but in another few hours he's exhausted, muscles trembling and still anxious.

Anxious and….horny.

It'd been months, and you'd think he'd be used to it, the heat coiling in his stomach, his skin flushing everywhere, the ache right up his cock, but he doesn't know when you'll be back.

He ends up sitting on the couch, playing Mario Kart shirtless with a raging hard on, when a man appears in his living room, burning another circle on the floor.

He blinks and looks up at him.

"Hello," the man says, and Jungkook wonders if it's a rule that all demons must be ridiculously attractive.

"Um. Hi."

"Jungkook, is it? I'm Taemin. Persephone speaks highly of you."

The way he drawls that sounds like Taemin doesn't agree and Jungkook swallows and somehow none of this is helping his boner.

"Persephone?"

The man smiles, and it's a bit wicked, a lot like yours, actually. "Ah. You know her as Y/n. Persephone is ...a bit of a petname, I suppose. In any case, my betrothed is worried sick about you and I can't sneak her past her father just yet, so I'm checking in."

"Your... your what now?" He swallows again and boy, he doesn't like that feeling, a rock in his gut alongside the lust.

Taemin waves his hand as if to dismiss him. "You seem relatively healthy."

"Yeah I'm... I'm fine." Jungkook stutters, and Taemin perches on the edge of the coffee table, leaning forward.

"Are you sure? I can help, if necessary."

"I'm…. I'm okay." Jungkook gasps a little, and Taemin chuckles low in his throat.

"You sure? I taught our girl everything she knows, after all."

Jungkook gapes at him for a moment, stunned. He'd taught you? This guy? This effortlessly gorgeous "betrothed" of yours? His stomach actually hurts, visions of you and Taemin fucking swirling around in his head and it makes him feel jealous and insecure but somehow his skin is even hotter, his cock straining against his sweats.

"I'm sure. Can you...can you tell her I miss her?"

A little smile twists Taemin's full mouth.

"She was right about you being cute, anyway. Well, I think you'll last the night. If things get hairy, I assume you know how to take matters into your own hands, so to speak?"

Jungkook nods vigorously, feeling his face flush even hotter, and the man is gone with an oddly musical laugh that lingers in the air.

He's tugging down his sweats before he can think about it, gasping at the feel of the cool air.

He's fisting his cock and he throws his head back, calling up the way you look bent over the couch arm, how you look back over your shoulder and smirk at him.

Jungkook isn't teasing, he's been hard for hours and he's so close to the edge already but suddenly instead of himself being in his fantasy it's Taemin, full mouth twisted in that smirk, hips snapping into yours, and he lets out a long groan and slows his hand.

He should stop touching himself, he feels almost sick at how fucking gorgeous you two must have been together, it hurts to think of you bouncing on top of Taemin's slight frame but it's also so fucking hot, he can imagine how your face looks, can imagine Taemin fucked you hard, how your ass would jiggle when you were bent over, and he's so close it's almost painful to stop, his cock bouncing off his stomach.

His hand comes away sticky with precum and he's breathing hard

"What the fuck?" He says quietly, and heads to take an ice cold shower.

It doesn't help, and he knows better, knows he needs to come, you've warned him again and again, but when he's lying on his sheets that still smell like you, that scent of black cherries, there's now a burnt cinnamon smell where Taemin had appeared and is that what you'd smelled like together?

He hates it, hates how fucking good it smells and he's bucking into his hand again within moments of lying down, water still beaded on his chest.

Jungkook doesn't sleep, and he can't bring himself to come, going so far as to tighten his fist at the base of his cock, breathing hard, heart pounding against his chestplate, once, twice, three times.

It's almost daylight when the smell grows stronger, and his skin is on fire, head spinning like he'd drunk a case of soju.

His mouth is dry when he tries to speak, and he licks his lips.

"Baby?" It comes out like a hoarse whine, and he hears hushed tones outside his bedroom door.

He lurches up from the bed, dizzy and unbalanced, and pushes the door open to see you standing there with Taemin.

Taemin scoffs.

"Humans. Honestly, Persephone."

You push at Jungkook's chest gently, and he lets out a low moan when he feels your hands on his skin.

He hadn't bothered getting dressed from the shower, and he lies back down obediently, eyes big and glassy.

You stroke his hair back from his face, crooning comforts.

"Y/n. Baby." He breathes, hand back on his cock again, bucking his hips. "Baby, please. Please I can't ...need to come ...need you."

"Oh, my poor Kookie." You lean down to kiss his mouth and he whimpers.

"Please please please," he chants. "Please touch me. It hurts."

"You didn't teach him his breathing exercises?" Taemin's voice booms from the doorway and Jungkook gasps, eyes darting to the doorway and then back to you.

"I did!" You snap, your eyes dark with worry. "Kookie, what happened? Your breathing exercises and...you didn't come? All night?"

He shakes his head quickly. "Tried. Couldn't." He can't seem to string a sentence together, so he takes a deep breath in through his nose and out through his mouth, like you'd taught him, and it clears his head a little. "Kept thinking too much." His eyes flit to Taemin again, who is standing there looking down at him, face almost blank.

You stroke his cheek and he turns his face into your hand.

"He taught you? He must be so much better than me, yeah? Must be better for you," he says mournfully, and you cup his face and kiss him again.

"No. No. Don't think that way."

Taemin chuckles, covering his mouth, and you stand and shove him outside as Jungkook whimpers.

Taemin smiles at you when you shove him outside because it's easier to be a bastard than to show an inkling of how he feels.

You'd been clutching his hand on the boat across the river Styx, leaned against him and he'd forgotten what that felt like, how it made his chest swell, and now...now with this boy, this human…..

He'd rather you'd put your mouth on the boy's cock right away, it would've hurt less than how wide and worried your eyes were, the soft kisses you'd placed on his mouth.

"You said you'd help me," you cry, chin jutting out defiantly.

"I thought surely you knew what you were doing when it came to this, Persephone," he drawls, but he regrets it when he sees your lip trembling.

He thumbs your bottom lip, voice softening. "Hey. Chin up. You know how to help him."

"I don't even know where to start! And you just made things worse, telling him ..."

"Telling him the truth?"

You snap your mouth closed, eyes searching his face for a moment.

"What happens after? Am I in over my head, Taemin? Should I...should I let him sweat it out so that he can be free of me? I'm no good at this. I failed him. Should I just do as I'm told and marry you?"

His breath catches in his throat and again, he wants to say yes. But your eyes are filled with tears and instead he brushes your hair back to expose one shaved horn and leans down to kiss it gently.

"It hurts, to have them shaved down, yeah? I should know, I had it done to come up here. You wouldn't have done that if being free weren't important to you. Do you think I want some pretty princess to sit on my lap?"

You just look up at him with those wide eyes and he sighs deep in his chest, leans down to kiss your mouth, almost chastely.

"If I wanted easy, I would have never chosen you as my mate, my Persephone. Loving you means letting you go, and I've always known that."

Your brow furrows and he can't help kissing you there, too.

"Taemin…."

He shakes his head, breath hitching in his chest. "I'll help you if you need me, Persephone, but I...the way you look at him…"

His voice breaks and he runs a hand over his face.

"Taemin," you say again, and the way your voice breaks when you say his name makes him feel like he's breathing in broken glass.

"You can do this, you know. You can. You can help him and I'll take the heat from your father. I'll tell him I chose another mate."

"You think I can do this? You think…"

"I think you can do anything," he says, honestly, and he strokes your face once before he takes a step back, before he breaks and begs you to change your mind the way he'd wanted to when you'd left.

"Will you….will you stay? Just until he's better. Just in case-"

He's already nodding, looking down at the ground, and he's grateful when you turn and shut the door so that you don't see the tears spilling down his face.

Jungkook is still lying there, looking at you with those big, doe eyes, and you wipe at your face.

"He….he loves you," he says softly. 

You hitch in a breath and sit on the bed next to him. "It's okay," you coo. "I'll help, Kook, I'll-"

He's shaking his head weakly. "Would it be... would it be better? With him? Would you be happier?"

"No. No, stop it." You hitch up your dress and straddle his hips, and he gasps and bucks beneath you when his cock slides through your heat. "I love you. I want you. Want to be here."

He still looks worried, throat working, and you guide him into you, slow, and he clenches his jaw to keep from bucking off the bed.

"I'm happiest here," you breath, and roll your hips.

"Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck," he chants and his hands slide up your back as he sits up to angle deeper, bouncing you on his cock and pressing his face into your neck, kissing you there sloppy and open mouthed.

"You smell so good. Is that what you smell like together? Cherries and cinnamon?" He moans against your throat, and you stiffen.

"Kookie-"

He's still bucking beneath you, needing the friction, the need to come taking over every rational thought.

"I want to see," he babbles. "I want to see how he fucks you. I want to know how to fuck you better."

"Jungkook, you're delirious, you-"

He lifts his head to look at you, and his eyes are a bit clearer. "I'll just watch. I'll be good. I'll be so good, Y/n, please…"

"You... you're serious?"

Jungkook nods eagerly, but he whimpers when you move off him and head to the door.

Taemin is already standing there at the doorway, smirking, no trace of the vulnerability you'd seen earlier.

"Baby needs a lesson?" 

Taemin had heard the boy's ramblings and his first instinct had been to run, to go back to hell and lick his wounds, because he'd said he would help but this was asking too much.

But you'd left four years ago and he can't stop thinking about how good it felt just holding your hand on the boat.

So he ends up letting you lead him in the boys bedroom where the boy is sitting on the bed, cock standing red and eager, and Taemin did have to commend you for your taste.

What demon wouldn't be swayed with that wide eyed innocence contrasting against the body of a god?

"Will you show me, hyung?" The boy asks, and Taemin raises an eyebrow.

"If that's what you want, human."

Jungkook nods and you make a squeak and Taemin turns to you.

You're stripping off your dress, struggling a bit with getting it over your horns and Taemin laughs a little and tugs it off for you, leaning down to kiss you softly on the mouth.

Jungkook whimpers from the bed, and you try to turn your head to look at him but Taemin holds your chin tight in his hand.

"He asked for this," he says, and you nod.

Taemin kisses you again, harder, slipping his tongue alongside yours, and when you melt against him, he smiles against your mouth.

You're bare now, and his hands slide along the outer swells of your breasts, your hips until you're moaning into his mouth, unbuttoning his slacks and filling your hands with his cock.

Taemin turns his eyes to the boy, who's stroking his cock with an almost pained expression on his face.

Taemin grabs one of your hips with one hand and turns you to bend you over the bed, his other hand on the back of your neck, pressing your face down into Jungkook's lap.

You barely make a sound but Jungkook moans low in his throat when your mouth touches his inner thigh.

"She likes being on top, human. But what she loves is when you make her bottom. She likes being put in her place…. isn't that right, Persephone?"

You moan against Jungkook's thigh until Taemin reaches down to wrap your hair around his fist and tug, making you cry out.

"Yes. Yes, sir."

Jungkook is looking up at him in awe. "Is it….are you always on top? With her?"

Taemin barks out a laugh. "You think I taught her how to seduce you without letting her top? You really are an innocent, yeah?"

Jungkook flushes such a pretty pink that Taemin releases your hair.

"I think you've mastered how to bottom, human. Give her something to do with her mouth. She likes to be used."

Jungkook looks at you with those wide doe eyes until Taemin pushes at the back of your head, and then he seems to snap back to reality, replacing Taemin's hand with his own.

You moan around his cock and Jungkook's head snaps back. "Oh. Oh."

Taemin takes the distraction to move his hand to the base of his cock, guiding himself into you, and oh fucking hell, he'd forgotten how tight you were, how your cunt sucked him in like he belonged there.

He hears you cry out around the human's cock and heat coils in his stomach. He grabs your hips and starts to move, fucking you hard and fast, just like you love, just like he knows you can take, and Jungkook is gasping and bucking his hips, eyes darting between you and Taemin.

It's easier not to think when he's slamming into you, easier not to feel anything but your body, your cunt clenching around him like a vice.

"She's coming around me already. She loves to be treated like a whore just as much as she likes to be treated like a goddess," he says, grunting when you roll your hips back against him and slapping your ass. "Ah, Persephone, be a good girl, yeah?"

You pop off of Jungkook's cock long enough to meet Taemin's eyes over your shoulder and smile. "Never."

Taemin chuckles and presses down on the nape of your neck again. Fuck, he loves you. He loves you and he hopes this is enough. He hopes he can make this memory linger.

One final lesson.

He ignores the tightness in his chest, moves his hips faster as you wrap your lips around the human's cock again.

"If I had more time, I'd show you how she likes to be punished, how to tie her up and make her come over and over until she's trembling."

"Ah, shouldn't we deny her orgasms, hyung?" Jungkook asks, and Taemin lifts an eyebrow, surprised.

"That's one way, but I….I never could deny her anything," he admits, drawing closer to his orgasm, mouth running away with him.

"Next time," Jungkook gasps, making eye contact. "Next time you can show me."

Taemin is too far gone to question what the human means by that, focusing on how your ass jiggles against him, on his cock pumping in and out of you and with Jungkook a moaning mess beneath your skilled tongue, he feels confident his lesson has been helpful.

Taemin empties himself inside you with a long groan of your name and when he looks down at him, Jungkook yelps and shudders, finally finding his release.

"Oh, oh, thank you thank you, Y/n, hyung…" he babbles and collapses on the bed, throwing a forearm over his eyes.

Taemin sighs when he pulls out of you and he buttons his slacks and lifts you onto the bed, padding to the bathroom to wet a cloth.

It's bittersweet, wiping you down, crooning comforts into your ear as you come down, and when you take the cloth from him, he can't bear to watch you do it to the human, distracts himself by going to get water bottles and when he returns, you're holding your arms out to him with your human asleep beside you and his heart seems to crack.

"I should go," he says quietly, and you shake your head.

"Don't. Stay."

In the end, he does, he and your human on either side of you like bookends, because he told Jungkook the truth. He's never been able to deny you anything.

Days later, when he tells Jongin about you, liquor and the newly fallen's own story loosening his tongue, Jongin raises an eyebrow.

"You still love her? After all that?"

A bitter smile twists his mouth.

"What, you think only angels can love unconditionally?"

*****

Up next: Fallen - Jongin’s backstory

[ineffablegame]

hey for the prompt thing: a/c 43 taking care when the other one's sick?

I hope this doesn’t feel like I phoned it in!  :o

Also available on my Ao3.

In Crawly’s defense, he hadn’t meant to get mixed up in Legion’s nonsense.

He hadn’t even wanted to be in Gerasa.  He’d been shooting for Pella, intent on meeting Aziraphale for evening drinks at a tavern of some repute, but he’d bungled the miracle and sent himself too far east.  He’s been in Gerasa not five minutes before Legion streaks past, clad in the body of an emaciated human and nothing else.  Stupid with shock, Crawly is helpless against Legion’s pull; it sucks him in, as powerful as gravity, and he is trapped inside the pinwheeling pandemonium of the human’s mind before he can so much as blink.  

Legion is a well-known party animal in the bowels of Hell.  Sometimes, they make for a roaring good time.  Whenever the ruling class of Hell looks away long enough for the lesser demons to drum up a party, Legion is always the first on the dance floor, badly-boogying their little heart out.  

This would all have been tolerable – fun, even – if that were the end of it.  But Legion is the sort of obnoxious partier that inspires frat boys ‘round the world to get spectacularly shitfaced, ratchet up the decibels of their bellowing with each successive drink, and plague every woman in a fifty-yard radius with atrocious pick-up lines and beer-rank breath.

They are, in short, an unholy pain in the arse.  And Crawly’s just been forced to share some poor sod’s body with them.  

“Crawly!” they exclaim.  Their voice is a cataclysm of shrieks and squeals and wrenching moans, impossible for the human larynx to replicate.  Crawly winces as pain lances through the man’s throat.  “How you doin’, buddy?”

“Uh, fine,” he replies automatically, because banal pleasantries are the only blessed thing that make sense in the careening carousal of flashing light flickering image dank dark gibbering sobs please let me go let me go let me GO—  “Er.  Just great.”  

“We haven’t seen you since… shit, can’t remember the last time!”

Yes, Crawly thinks, I’d been rather making an effort with that.

“Where are we?” he asks, because the sooner he gets past the basics, the sooner he’ll be able to disentangle himself and escape.  “Who are we?”

“Hell’s teeth, I dunno!” Legion bellows.  

“So why are we—”

“I was bored!  Buddy, am I glad you came along!  We’re gonna have so much fun with this stupid human!”

Crawly, inwardly grimacing, resigns himself to be an unwilling guest in the revelry.  Legion is an idiot with the attention span of a goldfish; the moment they lose interest and cast the wasted husk of this human body aside, he’ll be free.  He only has to wait.  

Three days later, Legion hasn’t lost interest.  And then Jesus of Nazareth wanders into Gerasa.  

“Hello, there,” says Jesus.

Legion may be a fool, but they know the Son of God when they see him. They pull back the man’s lips in a feral snarl.  “Dude, fuck off.  There’s, like, a ton of us.”

Jesus of Nazareth smiles benignly, head cocked, eyebrows arched.  Crawly, crammed inside a body that feels like it’s withering away by the minute, shivers with a soul-deep terror.  

“There certainly are a lot of you,” says Jesus.  “It’s not right, one person being so many.”  

As he speaks, each word uttered with total composure, Crawly becomes aware of the squeals and snorts of pigs nearby.  He clambers up to the human’s eyes, elbowing fragments of Legion aside for a look.  Over the Son of Man’s shoulder, a boy and his father are guiding their herd of swine toward the scene.  

“I think,” Jesus says, quiet menace creeping into his tone, “that you should go back to being separate.  Now.”

The change is dizzying in its suddenness.  Before Crawly can make sense of what has happened, he is looking up at Mary’s baby boy from an entirely different angle, snorting and snuffling and stamping his trotters in the dirt.  He’s been dropped into a bloody pig like a recalcitrant plant that’s outgrown its pot.  

The squeals around him reach a frantic pitch and Crawly turns, startled.  The other pigs are throwing back their heads with rending screams, eyes rolling, spittle flying from their mouths.  A fragment of Legion has been placed inside each one, and the separation is driving them mad with terror.  They barrel past the boy and his father, heedless of their staffs, and stampede down the rutted dirt road.  It is a narrow road, turning sharply to hug a cliff face overlooking a deep, cold lake.

Jesus blinks.

A thunderous rumbling sound judders over Legion’s screams and the road buckles, crumbles.  Crawly watches, relief warring with terror, as each pig topples after the other like chain link following chain link to vanish, shrieking and cursing, over the side of the cliff.  The sound of frantic splashing ensues, cut short with preternatural swiftness.  Silence descends.  

Jesus turns to Crawly, who shrinks into himself inasmuch as a two-hundred and fifty-pound hog can shrink.  But the Christ’s smile is no longer menacing; in fact, it’s practically pleasant, warming Crawly from the tip of his snout to the end of his curly tail.  His every demonic instinct warns him against that warmth – that his will is being leaned on, manipulated – but it’s difficult to focus when he feels suddenly so content.

“Hello, Crowley,” says Jesus.

“That’s not my name,” Crawly replies.  It’s all squealing and snorting, but the Word of Life understands him anyway.  

“My mistake,” Jesus says, in the unbothered, smiling way of someone quite certain they aren’t mistaken.  “Crawly, is it?”

“Maybe,” Crawly mumbles.

“Sorry about that.  The snout, I mean.  Legion had quite the hold on you.”

“Um… it’s fine…?”

“I’ll sort you out right now.”  Her Only Begotten Son rubs his palms together in a way that, some millennia later, will come to mind when Aziraphale embarks on his one-sided love affair with magic tricks.  “Send you off to your friend.”

“My wh—”

Crawly’s vision whites out before he can complete the question.  A moment later, blinking dazedly past the haloes branded on the backs of his eyelids, Crawly finds himself seated at a table, back in his own body.  Aziraphale, siting opposite of him with a jug raised to his lips, stares in wide-eyed amazement.  He lowers the jug.

“Crawly!” he says.  “Why, we were supposed to meet three days ago!  I was worried sick!”

“I’m—”  Crawly pauses, sniffling, and sneezes.  He pointedly ignores the offended expression on Aziraphale’s face as he shields the jug from a drizzle of snot.  Recovering with an accusatory look around the tavern, he continues, “Glad you were able to overcome your crippling worry and c—”  Another sneeze, and this time Aziraphale lifts the jug out of harm’s way.  Crawly soldiers on.  “Carry on without me.”

Aziraphale has the grace to look guilty.  “This is the seasonal menu.  It won’t last much longer.”

“Of course.  How silly of me.”  Crawly points at the jug.  “Give me that.”

“It’s mine,” Aziraphale sniffs.

“Angel.”  Crawly leans across the table, elbows propped on the gnarled wood.  “I’ve been stuck in a human’s body for the last three days with the most annoying demon this side of Creation.  After that, I was trapped inside a sodding pig.  Give.  Me.  That.  Drink.”

His speech would be more persuasive without a dribble of snot hanging off the end of his nose, but Crawly glares at the angel nonetheless, determined not to be cowed.  After a moment of staring, perplexed, Aziraphale passes him the jug.  

“You’re leaking,” the angel says petulantly.

“S’fine.”  Crawly takes a determined swig.  “It’ll pass in a minute, don’t you worry.”

-

It doesn’t pass.  In fact, over the next few days, the sneezing gets worse.  With it comes a ridiculous amount of snot, rivers of the stuff, and chills and fevers and stomach upsets that put him entirely off drinking altogether.  By the seventh day, he is bedridden, wheezing and certain he’s about to be discorporated with Someone’s inventive new take on the plague.  

“Oh, stop being so melodramatic,” Aziraphale says, miracling a square of linen to mop the sweat from his brow.  “You’ll be ship-shape in no time.”

“It was the pigs,” Crawly rambles, staring at Aziraphale with glassy eyes.  “I’ve… I’ve got a pig illness.  A pig flu.  A swine flu.”

Aziraphale, cold-hearted nurse that he is, merely scoffs.  “What rubbish.  ‘Swine flu.’”  He chuckles.  “I’m sure I’ve never heard such nonsense.”

“Bet it’ll be all the funnier when it kills me,” Crawly moans.  “Then you can laugh.”

“Hush.” Aziraphale lays a gentle hand on his brow.  There is no miracle at work – only the cool, steady pressure of his touch.  Somehow, that is enough.  Crawly closes his eyes with a sigh.  

[raisedbyfandomwolves]

Prompt: Kara takes Mon-El to a museum for the first time :)

This one got REALLY long but that’s just what your prompt did to my brain and if I get into any kind of trouble for this I’m blaming you. Also this was supposed to be set in show canon but some of my own writing slipped in so... yeah.

---------

The idea comes to her out of the blue, and the longer Kara considers it the more sense it makes.

She hasn't been a great mentor to Mon-El, she's willing to admit as much, but now that she's aware of it she's trying to make up for her past mistakes and do it right from now on. Of course, sheer determination only gets her so far and she ends up getting kind of stuck pretty quickly... that is, until an innocent little pamphlet in her mailbox gives her some unexpected but brilliant guidance.

“We're going to the museum,” she announces with a bright smile and more than a fair amount of enthusiasm the next morning when she visits him in his quarters at the DEO.

Predictably, he does not share her excitement and simply stares at her with a perplexed look on his face. “We are? Why?”

Uncharitable thoughts about Daxamites and their blatant disregard for higher learning fill her mind and all but erase her jubilant mood but she fights to keep her irritation from showing. Deep breaths, Kara. You promised yourself you'd be patient with him. It's too soon to give up just yet. “Because if you're going to fit in on Earth, you need to know more about it and unless you want to attend school for the next twelve years instead, this is a pretty good alternative.”

Maybe it's her prejudice speaking but she expects him to refuse because it doesn't sound fun. To her pleasant surprise, however, he barely waits a second before he shrugs casually. “Okay. When are we going?”

“Oh. Um.” Caught somewhat off guard by his almost immediate agreement and maybe feeling a little guilty at having prejudged him – again – without real cause, she flounders momentarily. “We could... go now? If you're free?”

Once again, he just shrugs and puts away his phone – a loaner from the DEO, like pretty much everything else he has – before getting up from his bed where he had been sitting. “Sure. Lead the way.”

He's similarly compliant throughout the journey to their destination, never once giving the impression he doesn't actually want to do as she suggested, and because of that she lets herself slowly believe the trip is going to be a resounding success.

Of course, he proves her wrong pretty much the second they set foot inside the first gallery which happens to be focused on human evolution.

“This is what the first humans looked like?” he asks a little too loudly for her liking as he scrutinises the Neanderthal models in the exhibit with a raised eyebrow. “How long did they take before they started resembling us?”

“Shh!” she hisses at him with a mix of panic and anger as she throws furtive glances around them to check if anyone has overheard his incredibly suspicious questions. “Not so loud! And you talk as if there's no chance your distant ancestors didn't look anything like this!”

Her counterargument naturally fails to have its intended effect because he just turns to face her with that infuriating grin of his. “Nope. Not a chance. I mean, look.” He angles his head so that it's somewhat aligned with that of the Neanderthal model and gestures between them. “There's no way this-” he points at his face, “-could have come from this,” he finishes as he points at the face of the model.

She doesn't really know why she's letting it get to her so much when it's clear he's just fooling around – how she's so certain about that is something she doesn't want to think too much about – but instead of just dropping the matter, she feels compelled to keep the argument going. “So you're saying Daxamites were perfect or something from day one?”

His grin widens as he steps closer, and she gets the distinct feeling she's walked into a trap without realising it. “Why, do you think your ancestors looked like that once upon a time?”

There's no two ways about it; he's got her cornered there, and the realisation makes her grind her teeth with so much force she's almost sure the sound is echoing inside the mostly empty gallery. “Just keep moving,” she finally growls when she decides that responding to his question won't work in her favour and all but bodily drags him towards the next gallery.

True to form, Mon-El is just as insufferable at the next exhibit and every single one after that, making dumb comments and even dumber jokes that she absolutely was not going to laugh at no matter how much he insists otherwise. By the time they're approaching the last gallery, she's one stupid wisecrack away from tossing him into the river and calling this plan an utter failure.

As they come to a stop in front of the dinosaur fossils on display, Kara mentally braces herself for yet another barrage of questions and statements designed to piss her off. Jokes about the T-Rex's tiny forearms most likely, for starters, and maybe some ridiculous comparisons between the triceratops and whatever creature he's seen on another planet.

Instead, he stands statue-like as he stares up at the ancient bones that make up the exhibit in complete silence with an expression she's hesitant to name.

All the irritation she felt before vanishes and she suddenly feels like she's intruding on an extremely private moment even though she can't quite understand why.

“Do you miss them?” he asks apropos of nothing, unreadable gaze still fixed firmly on the fossils.

Restlessness turns into confusion in a heartbeat as she frowns at him. “Dinosaurs?”

He still doesn't look at her. “The dragons.”

Oh.

It clicks then – that almost lost expression, that look in his eyes that suggests he's not really seeing what's in front of him but rather something far in the past, that uncharacteristic quietness... She knows them all too well because she still catches herself doing all those things even now.

He's thinking about home.

“The prince had a dragon, you know,” he says softly before she can figure out how to break the silence although she wonders if he's talking to her or no one in particular. “She was called Nes'th; it means 'swift' in old Daxamite.”

They're the only ones here and he's not being too loud which means there's no need to worry about being overheard. Besides, it doesn't feel right to tell him to stop so Kara steps closer and keeps her tone respectful and gentle. “What was she like?”

A ghost of a smile curves his lips, whispering of fond memories and heartbreaking sorrow, and it's so unlike the Mon-El she knows that she finds herself irrationally and inexplicably hating it. “She was beautiful – the most beautiful dragon to ever grace Daxam's skies. The way her black and blue scales glinted under Rao's light... It was like she was the night sky in physical form.”

“You sound like you really cared about her,” she comments carefully. It strikes her as a little strange why a simple guard would be so attached to a dragon belonging to the prince but this seems like a terrible time to ask about it.

“I helped look after her,” he answers her unvoiced question before he finally meets her gaze with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes – eyes which she notices with some disquiet are presently a dull grey instead of their usual colour. “Sorry, could I just... have a moment?”

For a moment, she wants to insist on staying – to tell him that she's here for him and he can talk to her or something along those lines – but stops herself before she actually does it. This is about him, not her; he needs space right now – has openly asked for it, even – and the best thing she can do for him not just as his mentor but also as... a friend, if she dares to use that term... is to give him that. “Sure.”

Kara stays long enough to mumble a soft 'you're welcome' when he thanks her before she does as she'd promised, wandering off until she finds herself in the gift shop of all places. Unsure how much time she should wait before she goes back for him, she browses the souvenirs on sale with no real intention of buying anything until she spots it: a small pterodactyl figurine. It's obviously a toy meant for kids but something compels her to pick it up and take note of the price.

Mon-El's uncharacteristically sombre expression surfaces in her mind and she makes the purchase before she can think twice about it.

Even so, her stomach is in knots for reasons she can't figure out as she goes back to find him and all but thrusts the little gift bag out for him to take. “Here.”

That melancholic expression of his is gone – whether it's because he's gotten over it or buried it under that happy-go-lucky facade of his is unclear – and he looks confused even as he accepts the bag from her. “What's this?”

Her stomach churns as she watches him pull out the toy in slow motion. “It's not a dragon, I know, but it's all they had.”

He stares at the little figurine in his hand like it's the most precious thing in the universe for Rao knows how long and her anxiety just keeps growing until he finally lifts his head and gives her a smile that lights up his entire face. His eyes, she notes somewhat idly, are more blue than grey now too, and it's strangely a relief to see them that way. “Thank you. I really appreciate this.”

Like magic, the knot in her stomach disappears and her heart does a weird flip-floppy thing. “I'm not going to buy you another one if you break it,” she says just to stop herself from saying... what exactly escapes her.

Instead of being offended, he just smiles that little bit brighter and her heart does that weird flip-floppy thing again. “I'll take really good care of it, I promise.”

(When he moves in, the pterodactyl figurine – still in perfect condition – occupies a special spot on one of her cupboards.)

[icedcappujaeno]

1:27 A.M. | with m.lee

Mark Lee.

The guy that has notably, very defined chiseled cheekbones, big, twinkling brown eyes that made him look like a baby. When he laughs, his nose scrunches up making it a little smaller, making it boop-able. Sometimes, he tried so hard to look menacing—serious looking eyes with pursed lips and furrowed brows—it only made him look like a lion cub.

Not the ferocious kind. 

Sometimes, he speaks like he’s unsure of what he’s saying, but regardless, he speaks for his mind. An example was one time, you and your friends happened to bump into his group in a “de-stressing after-midterm party” in a bar once, and decided to merge into one table for the bill to become smaller for the table. Mark sat beside you, you two being squished in between your respective groups. You thought that merging with his group would have a left-out, but surprisingly, his friends are very friendly. They never talked about a conversation that would be out of you and your friends’ bounds, and you were thankful for it.

Johnny, one of Mark’s friends ordered a tower of beer for sharing. Pretty convenient, you could say, and pretty cheap. When the tower was served, Mark awed at it, though it’s probably not the first time he saw one. He looked at you with flushed cheeks and a sleazy smile, saying “This beer tower is so high, just like my grades.” with a nonchalant shrug.

Visibly, his friends facepalmed, or just looked away, clearly throwing away any friendship or ties with him when they heard those words. One of them whined, and Mark whined back with a “What?!”. You laughed with the interaction - and with your giggles, you missed the way Mark looked at you with adoring eyes.

Mark Lee.

The guy you’re not sure if you’re really the third most treasured being of his life. 

Third. 

Because God comes first. You knew how religious he was as you knew of his father’s profession, you and respect every aspect of it. 

His family comes second. Of course, you’d understand why - any child who is loved so much by their parents would prioritize their family over a loved one like you. His parents were the most supportive people you encountered. They never talked about anything that would radiate a negative aura - sometimes you wonder if they are even humans.

Then he said you go third. 

But then when you present a watermelon to him, be it sliced or whole, big or small, the smile that’s etched on his lips every time he sees you is the same smile he presents when he sees a watermelon. Sometimes even larger. Wider. More obvious that he’s happier. He tells you it’s different, the love he had for watermelons and you, but one time of playful banter with him, you confronted him.

“So who do you love better? Me or the watermelons?”

His head tilted to the side, his brows were furrowed and there was a confused, yet questioning looks on his face. It was the cutest confused face you’ve seen - how you wished you brought out your phone in reflex before it disappeared. His body made its way towards yours and his arms engulfed you in a hug, although warm and comfortable you wouldn’t let him get away with your unanswered questions. Your arms pushed him away but you were trapped - not only with physical affection but as well as the vortex of his unconditional love and the never-ending spirals of his soft laughs.

“You’re jealous of a fruit?!”

“You don’t answer a question with a question, Mark L--!!”

But apparently, his lips was enough of an answer to let you know who he loves more.

Mark Lee.

Although sometimes he was a bit of a mess, you can’t help but love him for that and all his other imperfections. He mumbles and raps when he sleeps, he says the most random things at times. His jokes seemed to be the corniest jokes heard by mankind, and as his friend, Taeyong would say, “I’m sorry, Mark’s undergoing puberty, so.”, you can’t help but still fall in love. 

It was one of your many dates when Mark told you that he doesn’t want to go yet. Sure, every time you went on a date with him, seemed like no one wants to be separated from one another, but alas, with the moral values he grew up from and the respect you have for it, every date would end up with going home to your respective dorms, phone calls under the covers until the other falls asleep.

But this time, when the digital clock of his car reads 1:27 AM, both your minds and bodies wide awake, he turned the wheels away from the direction of the campus dormitories. You didn’t question as the thrill of breaking the norm was consuming you, instead, your gaze fixated on the side profile of your beloved boyfriend. He was looking up the road straight ahead, lower lip bit between his lips - he was excited as you are. Though he never looked at your direction, it was as if he felt the dreamy gaze of yours on his that made his lips tug into a smile.

“Won’t you ask where we’re going?”

You shake your head. A simple gesture that holds a lot of value - that you trust him, that you’d be with him physically through the night. With a glance, he saw your response and he nodded, more to himself, as the smile on his lips never disappeared.

Han River was beautiful at night as the lights from the city and the bridge reflects against its calm waters. Mark parked just beside the beautiful view - and you leaned on the hood of his car, the warm summer breeze against your skin. The silence was interrupted as Mark closed the door of the driver’s seat and sat next to yours, taking your hands into his. His hold shared the warmth of the summer air, and even though it was in the wee hours of the night, Mark radiated like the afternoon sun as he looked at you with a crooked smile.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, but what he didn’t know that he was as well. You wanted to say it right back to him, how perfect the word describes him not only on the outside but as well on the inside, but your lips reached out to his, a soft, innocent peck that you gave to him many times.

When his hands detached from yours to hold your cheeks, you were surprised. His eyes were closed as the innocence of your kiss turned into a loving, longing one from his - like he was hungry for it. You surrendered to his touch, his lips, and relaxed against his form, snaking your hands around his neck while he filled his appetite as his lips continued to mold with yours. His hands traveled down from your cheeks to your sides, and finally, to your waist, the caress of his touch soft like a feather yet left a trail of fire against your clothed skin.

It was the first time that he held you like this, kissed you like this. Kissed you like there’s no tomorrow. Kissed you like he’ll never touch your lips against his again.

And you loved every second of it.

When he pulled from it to breathe, his name was the first thing you exhaled. His forehead rested against yours, a dreamy smile on his now swollen lips.

“Happy Birthday, love.”

He chuckled, pressing another kiss on the tip of your nose.

“Best birthday gift ever.”

[fanf1cshawn]

broken promises ii

note: if you haven’t read part 1 of this story, then i suggest that you read that first so you know the whole situation. you can read it here: broken promises. here’s broken promises part 2, and i hope you like it. read ‘til the end for a surprise. ;)

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warnings: swearing and slight use of drugs.

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he called her over and over again, but she never picked up. he sent her hundreds of texts but he never got a reply. what have i done? the broken hearted boy thought. his eyes stung from crying all night long, not getting a single second of sleep. he was tired, both physically and emotionally.

he turned on the tv, bombarded by the numerous news channels that reported about his dumb, selfish mistake. he flipped through so many channels until he saw e! news. they went out to ask his fans about their thoughts on this situation.

"how do you feel about shawn mendes cheating on his girlfriend?" the reporter asked as the teen searched for an answer.

"as a fan, i feel really really bad for y/n. she didn't deserve that at all, and i applaud her for actually speaking up about the whole thing. most women would rather keep quiet, especially if they were to be dating a celebrity like shawn, you know?"

"and for shawn?" oh no.

"as for shawn, i hope he learns from his mistake. he's portrayed as such a good person in the media and that's how he shows himself most of the time. so for him to be exposed like this might ruin his reputation, if not, maybe even his career." the teen nods. the girl wasn't wrong at all. at this point, he feels like his fans are slowly leaving his fandom and he's broken their trust.

they show another clip of the reporter asking to the same question to someone else.

"to be real with you, i feel like the only reason shawn did that is because y/n was actually a really shitty person unlike shawn tells everyone. i feel like he only did this because y/n did something to like, start it all." he knew that the girl wasn't right, not even a single bit. she doesn't deserve any hate, and he wished he could just put it all on him. it should be.

"it was never her fault!" shawn screamed, throwing a pillow across the room. a tear escaped his eye and there was has, crying all over again. he let out shaky breaths and pulled open the bottom drawer of his bedside table. in front of him were untouched joints from before you started dating. he didn't always use them, but he stopped using them completely after you found out that he had been using them more than he did. you stopped him before it turned into an addiction, but you weren't there to stop him, were you?

although it's been sitting there for a few years, he didn't mind at all. he would do anything at that point to take all the pain away, would do anything to forget about his stupidity.

the miserable brunette searched for a lighter and he found one in the same drawer. he lit up the small joint in his large hand and inhaled the smoke. the effect started to kick in after several hits, as smoke filled his rather empty room that was once shared between the two of you.

he coughed and threw the joint away quickly, coming to the realization that no matter how much he tried forgetting about what he did, he never will, the damage has already been done and you already left.

as the hazel eyed boy mourned over his heartbreak, so did you. you didn't feel sad because you two were now separated, you were sad because you still couldn't process  the fact that your then boyfriend actually had the nerve to cheat on you.

you laid down in your old bedroom of your parent's house, in need of alone time. your phone have been blowing off all morning, but you decided not to answer or reply to anything just yet.

to your surprise, you didn't cry all night long unlike shawn did. yes, a few tears slipped out, but it wasn't like you were crying rivers out of your eyes.

just like shawn, you felt empty. you didn't know what to do. you've been spending everyday together for the past 3 years but now you were left with nothing to do.

your work offered you a few days off after finding out about the incident and you gladly accepted, knowing that it would be of big help to you.

although you felt empty on the inside, your whole body felt tired, even though you haven't done anything the past few hours. you knew watching sad movies wouldn't help at all and even worse, drinking wouldn't too.

a knock on the door made you snap out of your thoughts. the door opened revealing your mother with a sympathetic look on her face.

"someone's downstairs for you, honey." she walks over and pulls you up from your bed. you grunt, laying back down right away. your mother side and sat next to you instead.

"if it's shawn, then i am not getting my ass down there. not even close." your mother chuckled and slapped your arm playfully.

"it's not funny mom!" you rolled over, stuffing your face in the pillow.

"oh dear, if shawn was the one down there i would've thrown him off the roof!" the image of shawn being thrown off the roof by your mother brought a smile to your face, she always knew how to cheer you up.

you sit back up slowly and hug your mom tight. she wrapped you in her arms, caressing the back of your head.

"i love you so much, mom. thanks for everything." you whispered softly. she gives you a warm smile and pats your back.

"i love you too, dear. but please come downstairs already 'cause that person's been waiting for you for a few minutes now." she says, reminding you of the still unknown visitor you had. you sighed and she left you all alone again. you decided to go downstairs and talk to your visitor, just to get it over with.

you slowly tiptoed down the stairs and you heard that one voice that you've been dreading to hear since last night. no, i must be going insane, you thought. your foot was at the last step and you peeked inside the living room. you must've been hallucinating because as soon you peeked in there, a pair of hazel eyes locked eyes with yours. anger flowed in your nerves the moment he stood up and started walking to your direction.

you ran back to your room and slammed the door shut, heavy footsteps following behind you.

"y/n, i can explain!" shawn says through the door.

"explain? there's nothing to explain, shawn! don't try and hit me your bullshit lies again!" you were basically screaming at him at that point, and you were more than pissed knowing that you and that disgusting human being were under one roof again.

"i'm just here to say sorry, ok? i know i fucked up, i fucked up big time." he took a deep breath and continued.

"not running after you was such a big mistake because i should've, but i couldn't really bring myself t-to do that last night." he fumbled with his hand and tried to look for more words to say.

"well, cheating on me was also a big mistake too, you know?" you stated, sarcasm filling every single word. he sighed.

"yes babe- i mean y/n, yes, that was a completely huge mistake and i regret every single thing i did these past three months. i promised you that i would never such a thing to you and i broke that promise, and i'm so sorry." his voice was low and raspy, and you could tell he had been sobbing last night.

"i couldn't get you, us, off my mind when you left and when i was in that apartment alone, i knew that without your presence and words, i would've gone back to my old ways. you made me feel like i actually have a life worth living." he croaked out. you slowly opened the door and took a good look at shawn. his nose and cheeks were red and his eyes were bloodshot. you had to admit that you felt really bad for him since you've never seen him like this before.

"so, what do you want to do, mendes?" you leaned on the doorframe, waiting for his response.

"i was thinking that i could fix that broken promise... if we started over again." he barely said in a whisper. you debated if you should give him another chance and you made your final decision. you sighed and ran your fingers through your hair.

"sure." shawn's eyes widened and all his sadness was wiped away when you said that one word. he was about to hug you but you stopped him from doing so.

"not so quick, shawn. it's not going to be as easy as it seems. just because you're shawn mendes doesn't mean you get a pass for being such a dick." he rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment, knowing that everything that you said was right. you were always right.

"you're not just going to hug, kiss, then fuck me then suddenly we're all okay. it's never going to be like that, ok?" he nodded.

"i'm going to give you one last chance, shawn. one last chance."

"if you actually succeed at being a good boyfriend in our new beginning, then i'll stay with you 'til who knows when. but if you mess up again, just know that you'll never hear about me ever again too." you finish your statement and he nodded in agreement.

"i promise, y/n. thank you so much." he smiled for the first time that day and he swore to himself that he would do anything to not break your heart again; swearing on his heart that all of his broken promises were going to be fixed.

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so about that surprise... i’m going to make broken promises into a series! as soon as i finished writing this, a plot came to my mind and i have decided to continue this story. to everyone who has left feedback and loved it, thank you thank you thank you. and lastly, shoutout to @shawnmendes048 because her comment made me laugh so hard and i decided to use it for a dialogue hehe. that’s about it really. see you on part 3! 

[ckret2]

Medical Research

SPOILERS FOR DETECTIVE PIKACHU!! Even the summary has spoilers I ain’t kidding.

Fandom: Pokémon, Detective Pikachu movie Characters: Mewtwo, Harry Goodman, Detective Pikachu but he doesn’t do much Words: 2600 Summary: How, exactly, did Harry Goodman get Mewtwo into PCL? He certainly didn’t capture the most powerful Pokémon in the world. The only possibility is that he persuaded Mewtwo to go. But what would persuade Mewtwo, whose first conscious act was to blast its way out of a scientific lab full of gene experimenting, to willingly walk into one? Notes: Call me Babe Ruth.

"Medical research!"

Mewtwo froze, glowing hand outstretched toward the floating human's chest—still poised to blast him halfway to the northeast Kanto coast with a single mental flex. A Pikachu was clinging to his shirt, huddling over his heart with eyes squeezed shut.

Slowly, Mewtwo's hand stopped glowing. But it didn't let go yet. "Explain."

The human gasped in a breath as the pressure Mewtwo was exerting on his body to keep him floating loosened, then automatically kicked his legs as if trying to stay aloft as he felt gravity take hold of him again. Mewtwo wasn't going to drop him. Not yet, anyway.

"J—just outside Ryme City, in Sinnoh," the human said. "There's a lab! They want—"

Mewtwo's skin prickled at the word lab. "I am not interested in being experimented on by humans again." It raised its hand. The human yelped as he jerked another few feet in the air.

"Listen to him!" the Pikachu cried. "He's not here to hurt you, I promise! Please!"

Mewtwo hesitated, ruminating on the Pikachu's request. The pair had approached it with words instead of attacks, and with none of the complicated machinery designed to entrap and ensnare that the likes of Team Rocket and their many subsequent bounty hunters tended to throw at it. Mewtwo could have chalked it up to cockiness—but the human wasn't even carrying poké balls. Not even one for the Pikachu. The only machinery he had on him was a cell phone.

They weren't here to catch it.

Slowly, Mewtwo lowered the pair—and then dropped them, from three feet up, to the muddy bank of the Cerulean River. The human landed hard and groaned; Pikachu squealed in surprise.

"Very well. I will listen," Mewtwo said. "Explain your research—and why I should want anything to do with it."

"Nnh..." The human sat up, lifted his arms, and grimaced at the mud covering them from elbow down. "Not—not my research. I was—hired, by the guy funding it. You've heard of Howard Clifford?"

"No."

"Ahh. Great. Well, he's uh, he's this—big, idealist philanthropist type guy—it's that whole archetype, the benevolent futurist billionaire thing, you know the type—"

"I do not."

The human stopped, mouth partway open, caught mid-sentence and unsure how to go on now. "Right. Well, I'm—I'm sure you'll meet him, if you decide you want to come. Anyway, he wants to make medicine from the genes of Pokémon, that can be used on both humans and different Pokémon. Stuff like, uh, uh... identifying the genes that are altered when Wailmer turns into Wailord, and injecting them into Grotle so they get way, way larger when they evolve."

Mewtwo tilted its head. "Why would they do that?"

The human opened his mouth. Then stopped with his mouth open again, brow furrowed, and thought about that. "You know, I—I don't actually... know why they did that. I think I was, uh, busy gawking at the ginormous Torterra when they explained the whole... purpose, of that specific project."

It didn't matter, ultimately. Mewtwo's skin was prickling again, at this talk of genes shuffling between Pokémon as casually as scavengers trading berries, and its instincts were telling it to go hide.

Hide where, though? The human had done what few others had done before: tracked Mewtwo down to its hidden sanctuary, an unobtrusive mountain cave hiding in the shadow of Mt. Moon. Mewtwo's fault for being so being so merciful to other explorers who'd passed through. If it showed mercy to this one as well—and, at this point, it supposed, it would—then its location would be known to this benevolent futurist billionaire the human had mentioned, and who knew how many others would be sent after it. And soon Team Rocket would learn of its location again. This sanctuary was no longer safe for Mewtwo—and it wouldn't be safe for any of the other Pokémon in it, either, if Mewtwo didn't leave it behind for good.

For a moment, Mewtwo was furious at the human for discovering it.

It forced itself not to act on its rage. But the Pikachu sensed the rage all the same, fixing Mewtwo with a hard look, his cheeks crackling.

"You have accomplished a feat that very few humans have ever achieved, in tracking me down on purpose," Mewtwo said. "To have done so, you must know a great deal about me. You must know what I am—what I come from."

The human hesitated, the nodded. "Little—little island near Cinnabar, right? A cloning experiment? Sponsored by a gym leader with ties to organized crime."

"I am far beyond a mere 'cloning experiment.' Tell me: do I look like a Mew?"

"Well, I can't say I've ever seen a Mew, but—" The human stared at Mewtwo for a long moment, taking in its height, its oddly fused fingers, its strange bony sternum, its misshapen double neck, "—but no, you... don't exactly look like the cave art."

"I am Pokémon gene splicing. I am what happens when humans try to improve upon Pokémon—when humans snip DNA apart like so many little lengths of rope and knot them back together. I should not be."

"Hey now, that's pretty harsh on yourself—"

"And there should not be other things like me," Mewtwo said firmly. "I do believe you both came here with good intentions. But your intentions mean nothing in the face of the abominations you're asking for."

The human stared at Mewtwo a moment longer, hard—this time, not like he was taking in its body, but like he was looking for something deeper. Mewtwo didn't like that look. It felt... penetrating.

"Hey." The human's voice was softer now. "Listen." He slowly got to his feet, brushing excess mud off his rear. Pikachu scampered up to his shoulder and settled there. "You've... you've had bad experiences with humans. Especially humans in labs. Especially especially humans in labs talking about genes. I get that. I understand why you wouldn't want to go back to one. I wouldn't blame you or judge you in the slightest for completely rejecting anybody coming up to you to talk about anything that's got to do with humans in labs with genes." He paused. "But I hope you'll consider not rejecting it. Because there's a lot of people and Pokémon out there, right now, every day, suffering—from injuries they won't recover from, from diseases we don't have cures to—and the Pokémon Comprehensive Laboratory in Ryme City is trying to change that. You can't im—"

He stopped, face twisting, swallowed hard; Pikachu fussed with his hair for a moment until he'd collected himself. "You can't imagine what it's like," he said, voice hoarser than it had been just a moment earlier, "what it's like, watching someone you love—waste away, and die. From an illness that there's no cure for yet."

Telepath though Mewtwo was, it had never been much of a mind reader; and what skill it had once possessed had atrophied to nothing under Team Rocket's tender care. It was a very weak empath at best. But it didn't need to be strong to feel the sudden miasmas of decade-old grief leaking from the human, like poisonous gas from a Koffing's craterous pores.

It drifted closer to the human, equal parts intrigued and pitying, feet inches above the muddy riverbank. "You speak from experience?"

The human shrugged with his un-Pikachu-occupied shoulder. "Do you know what cancer is?"

"I've been told I am a cancer," Mewtwo said. "A Mew who's more tumor than healthy tissue."

The human let out a startled laugh. "Well—that shows you can survive it, right? That's more than most people can say. Imagine what that would be like—being made of cancer, but never dying from it." He sniffed hard, shook his head, and collected himself again. "Listen, I uh—I didn't come to talk about my life. Sorry. But—Howard's poured a lot of money, manpower, and poképower into tracking you down. And he's done it all because he believes, sincerely believes, that something in your genes—your weird, part-prehistoric-demigod, part-manmade-mishmash genes—holds the key to making life a whole lot better for a whole lot of sick folks. I don't get the science behind it, but he's got people who do—and to them, you're not Wailord genes in a Grotle. You're everything."

Mewtwo glanced away from the pair, considering the proposition uneasily. As much as it reviled the thought of returning to another lab... had it not been working, for years, to undo the things that Team Rocket had done to it? The damage that had been done to its soul—if it had such a thing—its mind, if not. For years, now, it had been fighting to unlearn all that Team Rocket had taught it about where a Pokémon's worth comes from, and the supremacy of power, and the dynamic of master and tool between human and Pokémon. Mewtwo was not the same Pokémon that had fled from Viridian City so many years ago.

Maybe it was time, too, to unlearn its fear of white coats and the smell of sterilized steel.

Maybe it was time to see if it could redefine how it saw its own genes—not as slap in the face of the natural order, but as a gift to the world.

It wanted to be a gift.

"I am... proficient, in genetics," Mewtwo confessed. "I have conducted my own experiments in augmented cloning. You've come to ask if I'd offer my body to medicine. I can also offer my mind."

The human blinked at it. "Augmented cl—what, what-what, what kind of augmented cloning?"

Mewtwo cringed in shame. "Enhancing a Pokémon's strength. For battle. Augmenting their innate special powers."

"Wh..." For a moment, the human just stared. "Th—yeah! Yeah, that's—that's fantastic. Hey, the PCL's got some Froakie it tries out all its new discoveries on—Froakie adapt really well to new DNA, apparently—you can show them what you've got, see if they think it's useful?"

Mewtwo nodded hesitantly. "My procedures don't allow for genes to be inserted into already-living Pokémon. I'll have to clone new ones."

"Maybe they'll be able to help you figure out how to put it in living Pokémon? Froakie evolve a couple of times, it should be easy to get the genes in them."

"Perhaps. If they're willing. If they're volunteers." It would have to ask them, personally—all the Pokémon in the facility—if they'd volunteered. If even one hadn't...

"So, that's a yes, right?" the human said. "You're in? Gonna come help make the world a better place?"

"Provided I will be treated like a volunteer, not a test subject," Mewtwo said, "yes. I'm in."

"Yesss." The human performed a slow fist pump.

Pikachu cheered, then beamed up at Mewtwo. "Thank you. You've made my partner really happy."

Partner. Not trainer, nor owner, nor master. "I would not have given him a chance had you not vouched for him." It would not have given a chance to any human who didn't have a human to vouch for them; but it had found that Pikachu tend to be particularly good judges of character.

"Wh— Are you talking to—?" The human pointed to the Pikachu on his shoulder.

"Of course. Did you think I, a Pokémon, am only capable of communicating with humans?"

The human paused. "No! No, of course I didn't. I just, didn't think about— He vouched for me?"

Mewtwo nodded. The human smiled at Pikachu. "Aww. That's the sweetest— Hey, buddy. Fist bump." He held his fist up. Pikachu leaned forward, planting both hands on his knuckles; sparks snapped between them.

"This facility is in Ryme City?" Mewtwo asked. "Can you describe the neighborhood so I can find it? Preferably from a bird's eye view."

"Oh, no, don't worry about— Howard said if I actually found you, he could send a charter flight. We get to ride to Sinnoh in style."

"I see." Rich, ran his own science lab, could summon up airplanes at his convenience... Mewtwo had yet to met this Howard, but it was already uneasy at the thought of his power. It seemed like a very familiar power.

But he wasn't using his power to design the world's most powerful Pokémon; he was using it to cure diseases.

And Mewtwo wasn't going to be one of his possessions; it was going to be a volunteer. A volunteer who had been asked to come, by a human and a Pikachu who'd approached with words instead of weapons. It would be a volunteer. Perhaps even a scientist.

That thought also made it uneasy.

"Ugh, the mud's starting to crust on me." The human shook his hands. Not much mud came off. "You mind if we head back into town so I can wash off in my hotel?"

Mewtwo wasn't fond of the idea of venturing into Cerulean City. It glanced to the side. "There's a river right here."

"Well yeah, but—I don't want to walk back into town with soaking wet pants."

"You could take them off."

The human's face screwed up. "Thaaat's not going to work for a human."

Mewtwo waited for him to explain why. He didn't. Maybe it was an instinct. One must respect other species' instincts, even if one doesn't understand them.

"I will wait, then. At the entrance to the cave." Mewtwo raised higher, preparing to leave for its shelter. It would perhaps be its last opportunity to visit the cave for a long time. "When you're ready to go to Sinnoh, come find me."

"Yeah. Okay." The human nodded. "And—thanks, Mewtwo."

Mewtwo nodded. Then, slowly, spoke: "Thank you. For all of my life, the means of my birth have been a... a burden to overcome. I have lived my life striving to prove that I have worth in spite of how I was made. I think... it will be good to learn whether, despite all the horrors I went through—and committed—some worth can be found in me because of how I was made. I appreciate this opportunity, human."

The human looked surprised. "Wow. That's... You're kind of a deep guy, Mewtwo."

"I have a lot of time to think," it said. "And the most powerful brain on the planet."

The human huffed a laugh. "Hey, before I go—you don't have to call me 'human.' I shoulda introduced myself earlier, but, you know—" He held one hand up, first two and last two fingers pressed together, and imitated the gesture Mewtwo had made when it levitated him into the air. "The name's Harry. Harry Goodman."

"Hairy Good Man," Mewtwo repeated dubiously. "I have seen hairier humans."

"No, it's— That's spelled H-A-R-R-Y," Hairy said. "No I."

Mewtwo nodded slowly. "I can't read."

The human stared at it. Then shook his head slightly. "I don't know why I assumed you could."

Now that they'd been properly introduced—and now that Mewtwo had spilled more of its inner life to a human in thirty seconds than it had to anyone else in the past decade—Mewtwo was more than ready to be alone. To prepare itself for a trip to Sinnoh. To the lab. "Go." It gestured with its head in the direction of Cerulean City. Its highest roofs could just barely be seen over the trees beyond the river. "I'll be waiting."

"Right, right." Hairy turned toward Cerulean City; then turned back around again, in the direction of the nearest bridge back across the river, far in the opposite direction. He sighed quietly. Pikachu craned his head, checking for wild Pokémon along the route ahead.

Mewtwo gently lifted him up—he yelped in surprise—carried him over the river, and sat him on his feet on the opposite bank. "Oh—thanks!" He waved.

Mewtwo nodded again; then floated there, and watched, as Hairy headed back toward town. Pikachu turned to watch Mewtwo over his shoulder until they were gone.

Walking into a lab of its own free will. (Medical lab, it reminded itself again. Medicine, not power.) It hoped it wasn't making a mistake.

It hoped its genes would help people.

Comments/reblogs are welcome! If you want to leave a tip or like the fic on AO3, the links are in my description!

[sarcasmrights]

The Best of You Belongs to Me

[ao3]

Hello!

Thank you Chelsey for an amazing prompt for the @shyanwritingevents. It's actually the longest fic I've written so far, thank you for the opportunity to write for you!

It's my first try at horror and this fic is mainly inspired by the horror movies The Ritual and Apostle! A good summary of both can be found online, my favorite being from FoundFlix over on YouTube.

Title taken from NFWMB by Hozier.

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

The sun is bright on the day Ryan decides to set out in the forest. His friends had urged him to take a vacation from the big city and all its noise, and Ryan agreed with them. Living in LA is great, there’s always sun and something to do but something to do may be what’s giving him extreme creative block. He’s always out, trying to experience an event or show and maybe it’s overloading his senses. Maybe the forest air will do him good.

With his hiking backpack on and walking stick in hand, Ryan sets off on one of the longer trails recommended to him. The crisp air here reminds him of life before the big city, when it was just him and his brother talking about their dreams for the future over actually living with bills and adulthood. He rarely sees his brother now. They work in different job industries and that means Ryan is hunched over his laptop in LA while his brother is in meetings in New York. He can’t even hate him for it.

What he can hate is how quickly everything moves in LA. There never seems to be enough time for Ryan to do things and mean them. He can churn out content for weeks on end, but he’ll occasionally leave his heart out of one, or five. He’ll produce bite-sized entertainment and his colleagues may praise him, saying the videos are funny or interesting, but Ryan hasn’t made something he’s truly proud of in a very long time. Before getting his current position, Ryan had slaved over videos, tweaking them and making editorial notes until his vision was fuzzy and his fingers were working off muscle memory. Each of those had his pride and sweat and, occasionally, blood loaded into them. Nowadays, when his video production meant whether he got to pay for food or rent, Ryan feels like he’s shifted his focus from quality to quantity.

Give them the bite-sized entertainment they want, whether it be a two and a half minute video on the dark history of a popular brand or a summary of the most recent controversy happening in the sports industry. That is his focus now, to get something out there in order to put popcorn on the table. Maybe he should slow down…

Ryan sighs, taking a moment to look up and take a break from his thoughts for a second. The forest stretches expansively before him, looking bright and cheerful. He doesn’t recognize his surroundings and when Ryan turns around, he sees nothing familiar either. He’d been caught up in his own head that Ryan didn’t bother trying to find any markers in case he wound up lost.

“Great,” Ryan murmurs to himself, a voice in his head already asking him why he wasn’t thinking ahead. He scans the path ahead of him, squinting his eyes to see if he can spot any path markers or signs of other hikers. Sunlight cheerfully continues to beam down on him and the flora, getting close to midday since all the shadows are all short. Strange, Ryan doesn’t think he’s been walking for more than an hour and he started the hike at maybe eight in the morning…

Dirt crunches under his shoes as he pivots to stare at where he came from, the same confusion coming to him. There’s nothing that strikes him as recognizable, not even a sign to helpfully say “Civilization 8 miles”. Ryan lets out a long breath from his lips to calm down his nerves and tightens his hold on his backpack strap. It’s alright, he’ll just turn around and walk back the same direction.

As his feet carry him back, Ryan fishes out his phone, internally groaning when he finds no service whatsoever. He’s just about to open a few apps to see if they’ll work but his ankle catches on something, Ryan yelling when he trips over and falls onto his face. Slowly but surely, his relaxing hike is becoming more and more frustrating. He groans and sits up, doing a mental check. Nothing feels broken or hurt save for his ego. Ryan glares at the rock that had tripped him, giving it a vengeful kick before brushing himself off and standing up. Mother Nature is being wily today.

Ryan picks up his walking stick and phone, pulling up the compass app on it and breathes a sigh of relief when it pops up, the digital needle spinning around before telling him he’s heading South. South it is then, at least until he can find someone to ask directions.

The sound of leaves crackling and gravel accommodating him keeps Ryan out of his head for a little bit. Occasionally, a bird sings a melody and Ryan mimics it with a whistle, eyes on the ground to avoid stray rocks or plants. After about twenty minutes of hiking, Ryan takes a second to lean against a tree, fishing his water bottle from its side pocket. Taking a sip, Ryan tries to think of how long he’s been hiking. He’s spent a good majority of the day in this forest and yet he doesn’t feel exhausted. If it really is after midday, he should at least be hungry for a granola bar. His stomach tells him breakfast was just an hour or two ago though.

Ryan looks up when he hears something rustle in the bushes, sure it’s some woodland creature.

That’s when he spots it.

A single overturned rock, dirt and woodchips favoring the side that had been buried once. Ryan caps his water and slowly approaches, realizing with no small amount of horror that it’s the rock he’d tripped over earlier. The same one he’d taken vengeance on. How was that possible, he’s been walking in a straight line the entire time, his compass had been pointing South.

Ryan fumbles his phone out, hurriedly putting his water away and patting the sweat from his palms. The compass app opens, spinning to get its bearings. Ryan watches with bated breath before it finally stops turning, pausing at North. Ryan looks up, making sure he’s facing the same direction he’d been heading. It had said south not twenty minutes ago, how is it saying north now?

It’s broken, Ryan thinks, spinning around in a circle to test his theory. To his horror, the needle remains at North, the app pointedly refusing to budge. Ryan does another spin before a cold horror trickles from the crown his head down his body. His fingertips start to tremor and suddenly Ryan is very afraid.

As if the forest itself knows the jig is up, a thick ominous cloud passes overhead, blotting out the sun. Shadows darken around Ryan, all the soothing noises go quiet. Not a bird tweets, no wind rustles the leaves. Ryan’s hairs are starting to stand on their ends. A sharp crack startles Ryan and he whips around, shifting his grip on the walking stick to turn it into a weapon. Darkness is eating up the forest around him, deep shadows concealing the path he had been on.

“Who’s there?” he calls out, trying to sound more threatening than scared.

He’s not ready for two red eyes to open in the dark, as if the blackness peeled back its own eyelids to stare back. Ryan doesn’t know what to say, only able to watch in horror as more eyes peel back, too close together to be remotely human. Pupilless eyes, dark as cherries, gaze at him and Ryan doesn’t feel an ounce of humanity or safety in their stare. The hiker swallows, tightening his hold on his stick, heart thundering in its cage.

“Fuck!” Ryan shouts, shattering the deafening quiet. He throws the stick at the vague shape, hoping it’s enough of a distraction as he bolts down one of the directions of the path, not caring which way it is as long as he gets away from the thing. His legs pump furiously underneath him, all those years of cardio giving him just a shred of hope to escape. Ryan spares a glance over his shoulder to see how far he is, bile rising in his throat when he sees the blackness chasing after him. In the back of his mind, his brain hears wolves snarling and running. In his chest, his heart feels each and every step the thing takes towards him, taking almost no effort at all to give chase.

Ryan turns to face forward, the air rushing out of his lungs as the ground disappears from under him. All he sees is the rocks and moss on the other side, the steep drop of the cliff. His brain can barely register the fall until Ryan is, in fact, falling. Cold stabbing wind pushes against him, making his eyes water as Ryan tries to think of what to do. What can he do?

The answer is nothing, as the human tumbles down what he sees as a ravine, a shallow trickling river with a maw too small to even try to save him. Ryan’s life doesn’t even flash across his eyes before the ground almost rises up to snatch him, bile once against scratching the walls of his throat.

Through some miracle, Ryan doesn’t land on his head. His legs take the brunt of the impact, shattering instantly. Disgusting (the only adjective his brain supplies) pain spikes through his leg, enough for Ryan to scream “fuck!” into the air as he crumples into a destroyed heap. The side of his cheek splashes in the weak river of the ravine. Pain clouds his vision, Ryan just barely able to feel the first handful of raindrops on his cheek. Are they raindrops, or tears?

Ryan’s eyes flutter open and closed, his backpack straps holding him together like ropes for a hostage. As the same darkness starts to attack the outside of his vision, Ryan’s eyes give one more wander. In the distance, as the rain starts to pour, a tall looming figure seems to be walking towards him. There’s no rush in its gait, no worry at all in its steps. Like people falling in ravines is normal.

Nothing about this is normal, Ryan thinks before his eyes roll black and the hiker blacks out.

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Voices click and gargle from somewhere nearby, Ryan barely conscious enough to hear them. It sounds like layers upon layers of voices are speaking at once in one unified dialect. If he tries very hard, he can lift his eyelids just enough to filter an orange light through them.

At once, the voices stop talking, though Ryan doesn’t sense concern or anything warm from them. The silence that fills the void is thick and heavy, almost like a winter duvet being pressed against his body. He’s starting to choke on it, instincts warning him that something is drawing closer.

That’s all Ryan remembers until sleep beckons him back into its arms.

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Ryan doesn’t realize his eyes are open until he sees something moving. Then he can make out the fuzzy outlines of a wall, the door in it, and some other scarce furniture of the room.

The figure in question looks almost completely black, its silhouette having no discernible features. He can’t tell if it’s a man or a woman, just that it’s tall and looming in the doorway. He can’t see eyes or a mouth, no ears. Just the shape of shoulders and the prickling feeling that it’s staring at him just as much as he’s staring at it. Once again, Ryan can feel his hairs standing on edge and a gag dancing in the back of his throat. He swallows it. oddly smiling at the figure and huffing a laugh through his nose.

A cheerful hysteria runs through his body. Before he can act on it, his eyes roll back again, and Ryan returns to the dark void.

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A savory delicious smell wakes Ryan up, his eyes slowly opening to a gentle stream of daylight. He’s waking up in his absolute favorite way, starting with stretching out his chest before wiggling deeper into his soft covers. The delicious smell is still in the air, now far too strong to be the remnants of a dream. Had he brought someone home last night? Damn, he’d promised himself to at least remember some names.

Ryan presses against the bed for just a moment longer before sighing, sitting up and swinging his legs over the bed. He fully opens his eyes and blinks, tossing the blanket off of his lap. Weird, he’d gone to bed fully dressed. Did one of his friends wind up having to deal with him for the night? A pool of guilt pools at the base of his throat, an apology forming on his tongue when Ryan notices the blanket he’d tossed off.

None of his friends have… fur blankets, at least nothing this big and real feeling. He massages the fur before looking around, mind slowly catching up as he realizes he’s in a cabin somewhere. It’s rustic, all furniture looking handmade and dated back by a few years at least. Where exactly… is he?

“Oh! You’re awake now. G’morning.”

Ryan startles at the new voice, whipping his head to the sound and there stands a very tall and rather peaceful looking man dressed in a buttoned-up flannel. He sips from a smoking mug and from the smell, Ryan can tell it’s freshly brewed coffee. The man, probably the owner of the cabin, takes a long slurp of his coffee and Ryan realizes he’s staring, quickly averting his gaze to something, anything else in the room. He notices his backpack propped up against the wall, standing up to walk to it.

“People usually tell me their name,” the man speaks again and Ryan straightens up, running a hand through his hair.

“Y-Yeah, sorry. I’m Ryan, nice to meet you. Did you… Does this place… Yours?” Ryan asks, unsure what knocked the wires loose in his brain. Knocked? Wait, hold on.

Ryan grabs the nearest thing he can find to steady himself, washing nausea drowning him. His knees buckle as Ryan struggles to connect the dots. They shouldn’t be buckling, shouldn’t be doing anything at all because of the ravine. The fall, he shouldn’t be walking like nothing is happening. He should be in a hospital or dying at the bottom of a pit. How is he here?! He pats himself down, falling back onto the bed and waiting for the moment the illusion breaks and the pain comes through. He waits and waits before blinking hard, gaze remaining fixed on his legs.

“Ryan. Yeah, the place is mine. Are you freaking out because of your uh, legs?” the man asks and Ryan turns to look at him, completely forgetting that another person is in the room. What the fuck is happening?

“Yeah, I patched you up. Noticed you were kinda laying at the bottom of a ravine and not entirely dead so I grabbed you, healed you.”

“How is that possible? How long have I been asleep? This isn’t a hospital, how did you do that?” Ryan stutters out, grasping one of his calves as if to prove to him how Ryan is still in one impossible piece.

“Most people just say thank you. Nature does some wild things,” the man says, now a smug smile on his face. Ryan wants to react poorly but the man has a point. Instead of being actually thankful, he’d almost thrown up on the floor of the room. Jesus, LA is doing something to his manners.

“Sorry, you’re right. Thank you, uh… What’s your name?”

“What do I look like?”

Ryan tilts his head at the question, the nature of it striking him odd. They weren’t exactly friends like that, he’s not sure why the man’s… asking him that exactly. Maybe he’s just been in the woods too long?

“You uh… Huh?” Ryan grabs for the first random name he can think of. “Sh-Shane. You look like a Shane.”

“Interesting. Haven’t heard that one before,” Shane says and takes another sip, giving Ryan another friendly smile. The whole smiling thing is starting to get a little old, a little creepy even. He’s stuck in a cabin in the woods with a stranger who keeps showing off his teeth. If this was a script Ryan would be working on, this entire situation would be a little something called foreshadowing.

“What’s your real name then? I can’t just call you Shane if that’s not your name,” Ryan pushes, standing from the bed. He mentally sizes the guy up. He’s way thinner than Ryan, definitely not as strong. However, he’s got a solid number of inches on him and that could spell trouble in a fight. Ryan’s eyes dart to his backpack, though nothing in there can help him.

“Oh, you wouldn’t be able to pronounce it. Shane works. Been called a lotta things,” Shane says and turns from the door, walking off but still talking on. Ryan feels an inexplicable draw to follow him, still a bit baffled how he can follow Shane. His legs feel completely normal, not a tinge of pain or creaks anywhere.

“Guardian of the forest, god of the eldritch, horror of the shadows…” Shane lists off and Ryan hums. Guy’s funny. A little strange but funny.

The room they walk into is the main living space, with a kitchenette tucked into a corner and a hearth with a gentle fire still lit. Ryan peeks out one of the windows and sees the night sky stretching over them. The forest seems much friendlier now, and yet Ryan can’t keep the red eyes away from his memories. They haunt him whenever he blinks, two unnaturally red dots hungrily look at him. His compass acting completely weird brings a chill up his spine, the overturned rock scaring him more than it should.

He’s so caught up in his own thoughts that he nearly jumps when Shane stands in front of him again, holding out a bowl.

“Oh, thanks. What’s this?” Ryan asks, already bringing the soup to his lips. It’s still hot, but Ryan quickly gets over it when he tastes the soup. It’s rich, salty, all in the best ways. He can’t imagine tasting something this good anywhere else, it’s like taking the love from his mom’s food and mixing it with the best ingredients man can find.

“Some mushroom soup made from stuff I gathered,” Shane says, taking a slurp from his own bowl and walking back to the pot in the kitchen. Once again, Ryan finds himself following and Shane takes his bowl, filling it with a ladleful before handing it back.

Maybe Shane isn’t too bad after all.

Ryan hurriedly takes another slurp, mind drifting back to his earlier hike. He’s sure he saw something, and even if he didn’t see it, his hair had stood on end and his instincts said fight or flight. With how the sun had darkened and everything went silent, it was almost like the forest itself turned on him.

“So, how do you think you’re gonna pay me back for healing you up?”

Ryan takes everything back, Shane sucks.

“What? Oh uh… I have some cash on me you can have if you need that. There're some bars in my backpack too,” Ryan lists off, now suddenly uncomfortable with the hot bowl in his hand. Is dinner going to cost him too? He sets the bowl down, stamping down the small headache that springs forward. God, he hopes Shane doesn’t want the Tylenol in his bag.

“Eh, don’t really need money. Food is kind of optional for me,” Shane says, downing his bowl before setting it down as well. Ryan takes a wary step back when Shane reaches out, unable to move away when Shane’s slim fingers rest around his wrist. Ryan’s breathing quickens and the familiar feeling of fight or flight returns. On cue, the fire that had been burning snuffs into an intimidating ball of hot embers. Ryan glances back at Shane and in the new lighting, he could swear the man’s eyes look black.

“I was thinking of something more service-oriented. Don’t need human things anymore,” Shane proposes and his voice distorts, shifting between sounding like one person to multiple people at once. His memories suddenly flood him all at once.

He fell down the ravine, shattering his legs and laying in agony until someone nonchalantly walked up to him. There was no worry in their steps even though a normal person would be concerned. The way the forest shadows bent around him, how the path circled over and over. What had Shane called himself earlier? Guardian of the forest, god of the eldritch…

Horror of the shadows.

“Fuck!” Ryan shouts, yanking his wrist from Shane. He was so busy connecting dots that he didn’t notice Shane’s grip tightening. He looks down at the skin, seeing a collection of raised red welts in the shape of a handprint. Shane doesn’t look offended whatsoever, his impasse grin almost shining in the darkness. The man takes a step toward Ryan and that’s when his body says flight.

Ryan turns around and makes a mad dash for the door, throwing it open and escaping into the night. As he suspects, the forest has turned villainous, tree limbs stretching to cover any moonlight. Ryan is running blindly back into the forest, slapping shrubs and kicking up dirt. Anything to get away from Shane.

Yet, as far as he runs, he can still feel the haunting presence chasing after him. It’s like the ravine again, only this time his legs work.

A scream is building in the back of Ryan’s throat, clawing at the walls of it but Ryan can’t bring himself to scream. There’s no one to hear him, nature itself is his enemy right now.

Ryan crashes through bushes, registering he’s on some sort of path and he immediately runs towards the faint glow of lights in the distance. His legs pump furiously underneath him. Survive, his brain demands. Survive or face something you’ve never known. Something far worse than death.

“Help!” Ryan screams at the first sign of life. He sees someone, someone human, sweeping their front porch as he bursts into the village. He stops to gasp and catch his breath, sparing a second to look over his shoulder.

Shane’s eyes are staring right back, not a single drop of worry as he leans casually against a tree. Ryan has to tear his eyes away from him, running up to the nearest person and catches her shoulder. Her eyes are as wide as dinner plates, face frozen in shock as Ryan wheezes out his story.

“Please, please, you have to help me. Something is chasing me, it’s… I’m Ryan, please!” he begs, fingers trembling as she looks blankly into his face. He needs help, he needs…

She recovers enough to rest a hand on his wrist, about to say something before her eyes fly to the welts on his skin. Ryan watches her skin pale and he’s suddenly pushed away, the woman screaming a name as she flees into the safety of a growing crowd.

“I-I just need help, please,” Ryan asks again, reaching for the crowd. They all gasp and murmur, backing away from him like he has the plague. He can’t help but feel his heart break a little, covering the welts with his hand. The hairs on the back of his neck stand and he whirls around, taking a surprised step back when Shane is there now.

“You shouldn’t scare people like that, Ryan. They were getting ready to sleep for the night,” Shane says, holding out his hand. Ryan glances at it before darting his eyes back to Shane, taking another step back and hearing the crowd take one as well.

“He’s… You’re a monster!” Ryan shouts, hoping the people would have his back. There’s strength in numbers. If Ryan can at least get some people to try and shield him, there’s a chance Shane will back off and he can maybe find a place to stay until he gets his bearings right.

“Not really, no. Those things usually kill for fun. I don’t kill for anything,” Shane explains in a stupidly cool and collected voice. Ryan hazards a glance behind him, wanting to make sure the villagers were hearing this. All their eyes are watching Shane, a sort of reverence among them. They all seem so much calmer, their guards completely down. Ryan slowly turns back to Shane, that damned cool smile back on his face, like he’s been patiently waiting for Ryan’s attention again.

“Not a monster, not human either. Least, not anymore. I eat for taste now. So, if I’m not a monster and not a human, there’s only a handful of things that I can be.” Ryan watches Shane tap a slender finger against his lips before grinning widely, something distinctly inhuman about it. He claps his hands together and Ryan flinches, waiting for the pain to come. After a handful of seconds pass, he slowly opens his eyes, Shane holding his hands together.

“What?”

Shane doesn’t answer, just grins before turning. Ryan follows his gaze, gasping when fresh sunlight hits his eyes. He instinctively squints, shielding his eyes away. That’s impossible, the moon was barely halfway through the sky, dawn shouldn’t have been for another six hours.

A happy gasp startles him, the villagers applauding while Ryan stares on in horror. Shane stays facing the rising sun before turning around, the edges of his smile sharp as he addresses Ryan.

“Something like a minor god. Someone you owe your life to. My brother may have left the forest to sing for people, but I’m still here, just chilling,” Shane says and Ryan hates the shiver that runs down his spine, brain telling him Shane is telling the truth. He watches Shane slowly lift a hand, reaching up until it looks like he’s caressing the sun before dragging dawn back to night, the moon slowly rising to loom over them.

“I think you should go back to the cabin, Ryan,” Shane says and Ryan grinds his heels into the ground, ready to spit a biting “no” back. A wave of nausea comes over him and Ryan finds himself collapsing onto his knees, clutching his pounding head with his heads. The pain is strong enough for his vision to go white for a second and he barely feels himself be lifted until Shane’s back in his vision.

“You should go back to the cabin,” he repeats and Ryan, teeth grit from the pain, vaguely nods and the piercing ache disappears. Ryan chokes on a sigh of relief, shuffling his feet towards the direction he thinks the cabin is in. If Shane can change time, there’s little else he can do to stop. He belongs to a god of the forest, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

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The days that follow the incident at the village are, surprisingly, peaceful. Shane disappears for hours of the day, leaving Ryan with only a handful of things to do. The only bedroom in the cabin has silently become Ryan’s. Initially, Ryan tried to defy Shane. He would sit in his room and pretend to be back home, running video ideas through his brain. It worked, at first. Before long, the same overwhelming pain would attack his mind and he’d be left with no choice but to do what Shane asks.

The tasks are simple enough. Every morning, Ryan starts with collecting firewood and clearing the pathway to the cabin. Once the sun rolls to its peak, he’s supposed to go to the village to see what they need help with. Apparently, they haven’t seen an outsider in years and they’re interested in his stories. It’s kind of nice, really, to have an audience he can interact with. They aren’t interested in bite-sized videos, they want the entire story and don’t really care how long it takes. They ask questions, and slowly but surely, Ryan finds himself looking forward to seeing them.

Occasionally someone will have a task for him, like lifting heavy wood into the house or ask for his thoughts on building something since he’s seen outside tools. Ryan thinks it’s strange, but everything could be worse. He could be out there coercing other humans into the same fate, or even killing them. Shane asked him why he looked so glum and Ryan, no longer truly scared of him, asked why he had to serve. Shane didn’t explain why, just finished his meal and left Ryan to sit at the table.

Every fifth day is sacrifice day. Ryan initially imagined bloody effigies and other grotesque offerings so he had entered the village in small steps. To his surprise, there hadn’t been anything of the sort. Some would offer baskets of gathered food, others simply put a slip into Ryan’s hands. When he had unfolded one, it listed the deeds they’d done the week to help the forest.

The days start to blur together and when Ryan wakes up one morning, he can’t bring himself to be upset about being here. He’s forgetting how his bedroom in LA is decorated, hands starting to memorize the bedroom he has now instead. The idea of forgetting LA leaves a mixture of emotions in his gut and he kicks off the blankets, hoping the path is absolutely riddled with junk. He doesn’t want to think about LA.

Ryan tosses on a shirt a villager named Alex had given him, sliding into a pair of clean jeans and socks before opening the door to the main room. Shane is standing there, staring out a window with a knot between his brows. Ryan passes by him with a gentle “g’morning”, heading for the eggs and getting ready to make an omelet when he feels the beginnings of a headache tickle the back of his head.

“What, Shane?” he asks, turning around. He’s started to notice when Shane’s about to ask him something and that doesn’t annoy him. What does annoy Ryan, however, is when Shane forgets to vocally tell him something and leaves Ryan with a headache while he’s gone.

Shane’s still looking out the window and Ryan is about to turn around to continue with breakfast when the first wave of the headache rolls through him. Ryan pinches his eyes closed, turning around and gasping when Shane is right next to him.

“What the fu-“

“We gotta go to the village,” Shane says and the tone makes Ryan’s eyes widen. In all the days he’s been here, Shane has never spoken in something other than cool and collected. So freed from an invisible pressure Ryan always feels. Now, Shane sounds incredibly worried, like a problem could be on the horizon. Ryan doesn’t bother protesting, just rushes to the door after Shane, throwing on his sneakers and kicking into a jog when Shane starts to run towards the direction of the village.

There’s a gaggle of villagers right in the center, strained whispers buzzing around them. Ryan watches the people part for Shane to walk through, trailing after him. The scent hits him before he makes it through the crowd and when Ryan finally peeks over Shane’s side, he nearly vomits.

Four bodies lay side by side, polka dots of bloodstains on their clothes. Ryan can hardly process what he’s seeing, recalling their hello’s and laughter from just yesterday. His eyes can’t leave the bodies, staring at the vacant eyes and the pale skin. In the sun, he can see every wrinkle and there’s no stopping his brain from remembering every moment he spent with each of them. Taking dried herbs as a sacrifice, tightening ropes to keep a homemade broom together…

“Ryan.”

The human snaps out of it, gasping when he realizes Shane’s hands are holding his face. Ryan blinks and tears roll down his cheeks, sinking into the space between Shane’s fingers and his cheek.

“I knew them,” Ryan manages out and Shane’s face softens, eyebrows curling upwards before slowly releasing Ryan’s face and pulling him in. Ryan can’t find it in him to fear Shane right now, not when he looks so human with the emotion in his eyes. He sinks into Shane’s embrace, forehead resting on his flannel shoulder as tears soak into the thick material. He’s not sure how long he’s like that, just resting as the silence wraps them both.

“Sorry, I just…” Ryan pulls away, rubbing his eyes with his arm.

“No, it’s alright. Death is… real,” Shane says, looking between Ryan and the people. He slowly turns to them and sinks to one knee, slowly closing their eyes. The forest seems to respond to him, and Ryan can’t explain it with words. It’s like everything droops. Sunlight seems to dull and the air feels heavier on his shoulders. He feels grief in the air, as if the forest mourns for the fallen.

Shane stands and takes a step back, turning to Ryan with a look in his eyes. Ryan prepares for the itching of a headache but it never comes. They stand like that, god and man, for what feels like forever. Shane looks like he’s debating something, eyes occasionally flicking over Ryan’s shoulders. Ryan takes a glance behind him, finding the villagers looking to Shane for guidance. They all are, he realizes. Ryan is looking to Shane for direction.

“Go back to your business. Whatever came for them is coming to intimidate and I refuse to fear them. You’ve seen what I’m capable of. You have followed me for decades, centuries. I haven’t failed you yet and I don’t plan to. You two.” Shane points at two men. “Make sure they’re properly buried. They deserve to return to the home they built.”

The villagers quickly separate and Shane doesn’t spare them a glance as he heads for the exit. Ryan follows after him, unsure how to comfort Shane. He’s sure the guy must be hurting, especially if he’s some old blood god who’s watched over the village before those people had been born… Blank eyes flash in Ryan’s vision and he ducks his head, picking up his pace to keep up with Shane.

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More bodies are piling up. Soon, Ryan is the one responding to village whispers, volunteering to bury the ones who had been hunted. Shane has stopped going out in the mornings, now spending them at the front gate of the village. He doesn’t try to stop anyone from leaving, encouraging it even, but he does tell them to be careful. Still, people come back dying or carrying the dead.

Ryan’s hands have callouses where he’s gripped the shovel too tight.

“Shane,” Ryan says one night and the god looks up from his seat the fireplace. It may just be a trick of the light, but Shane looks more human than Ryan’s ever seen. His eyes are a bit sunken and his fingers are tightly wound together. His movements have lost their lackadaisical grace and Shane always looks so serious now.

“What’s happening?” Ryan asks, taking a seat next to him. Shane sighs and looks back at the fire, seeming to get lost in his own mind. Ryan looks into the fire as well, not expecting answers.

“… I used to be human.”

“What?” Ryan glances at Shane, now fully turning towards him. Shane doesn’t look at him, talking to the fireplace more than Ryan.

“Centuries ago, I came to this forest with my family and some friends. Slowly, I began to learn more and more about this place. People started to come to me for advice, and one day I found out I could do things. I’d close my eyes and open them somewhere else. I could hear the forest calling, I could… I knew every single thing that happened in the woods. If an outsider comes, I know exactly where they are. There’s no limit to my powers… I can manipulate the entire place to make someone walk in circles for hours, make them feel like it’s been hours when it’s really been seconds. I can do all of that…

“At least, I used to. The more people who follow me, the stronger I am. That village has been with me for centuries, Ryan. Now they’re dying. I’m getting weaker.”

Ryan is struck with how exhausted Shane looks in the fire, the bags under his eyes becoming incredibly deep. He wants to reach out and rest his hand on the god’s shoulders, wants to say it’ll be alright. However, Ryan isn’t blind to how impossibly mortal he is. There’s nothing he can do about the situation. His fingers brush against the raised welts on his wrist and shrinks further into the sofa.

“I can’t protect them. Whatever’s hunting them, I can’t protect them from it,” Shane says and it looks like it sobers him. The god rubs his face and sighs, leaning back against the sofa. He puts his hands down in favor of turning his gaze to Ryan, looking him with a reverence that made his stomach churn.

Wordlessly, Shane holds out his hand and Ryan settles his wrist into it, the slim fingers matching exactly where Shane had touched him all those weeks ago.

“Ryan, I care for my following with my life. They are the source of my power, they have given me home. I would die before I let any more of them die. I will die before I let you die.” Shane looks deep into Ryan’s eyes and he can’t breathe for a second, his heart hammering against its cage. Had he heard that right? Had Shane really said that?

“And with that, I set you free,” Shane says and Ryan feels an electric tingle run down his skin before Shane pulls away. The welts are gone, the skin there as soft as it had been before. Ryan holds it up to his face, running the tips of his fingers along the surface to find any trace of Shane’s mark. He can see Shane smile before turning back to the fireplace. The conversation is over before Ryan can even get any answers.

“Goodnight Shane,” Ryan says, slowly unfolding from the couch and heading for his room. He almost misses the quiet “goodnight, Ryan. I’ll miss you.”

The next morning, Shane isn’t in the kitchen or staring by the window. Instead, there are a few boiled eggs on the table and some food left in a Tupperware container. Ryan approaches the eggs, taking one and peeling it before taking a bite. Strange, he’s usually making his own food before starting his chores. Which he doesn’t have to do anymore. Ryan looks around the cabin, wondering if the headache will ever hit. He waits a few minutes more, just in case, but when it never comes, Ryan takes another egg and heads for his bedroom to grab his toothbrush.

A knock on the door interrupts him and Ryan squints at it. Shane isn’t one to knock to come into his own home, he hardly even uses the door. He’ll simply appear whenever he wants to be home. The villagers don’t like coming by the cabin, treating it like some sacrilege act. Ryan walks up to the door and unlocks it, opening it just a crack.

“Hello?”

Ryan’s eyes widen when he sees two men wearing proper hiking clothing standing at the door. He quickly opens it, swallowing the lump of an egg inside of his mouth and wiping his hands on his jeans.

“Hello, good morning. How can I help you?” Ryan asks, heart racing at the sight of people from civilization.

“Hello, we were wondering if we could… help you,” one of them asks, gesturing at the cabin itself. Ryan looks up, finding nothing out of ordinary with the wood.

“What do you mean?” he asks. The hunters lean in as if to share a secret. Ryan almost doesn’t want to, but they look alright enough. He leans just enough out of the door to hear them clearly.

“We heard there’s something living in the cabin, something that takes people from their families. We can save you, friend. We’ve already crippled its church, soon it’ll be weak enough for us to kill it. Purge it from our forest.” The hunters lean away just as quickly as they leaned in and Ryan feels his hairs stand on end, spine locking him in the half-bent position he’s in.

“I… No, no. Just me living here,” Ryan quickly says, stepping back into the comfort of the cabin.

The hunters give him a doubtful look, one of them looking ready to reach for the knife Ryan can see strapped to his belt. Tension settles between the three of them and Ryan’s engaged in a staring contest, his smile getting weaker and weaker. They stay like that before one of them, an older man with a graying mustache, coughs and nods to the other hunter.

“Well, you let us know if you need any help, friend. We’ll be coming around these parts often,” he says and turns away from the door, his buddy following him after a long second. Ryan waves to them and as soon as they’re gone, he quickly shuts the door and presses his back against it, heart racing. Holy shit, the people… The villagers. Those guys are the ones who have been hunting down the villagers. They’re like… pillagers. Murderers.

Ryan quickly decides to tell Shane as soon as he comes back, making a beeline for his bedroom to get ready. He has to get to the village too, tell them to stay inside and lock the doors. There has to be a safer place to evacuate them, but Ryan doesn’t know if Shane needs to be a certain distance from his following or else his powers die… Shane hasn’t been able to manipulate time or space of the forest in a while, saying he’s left with only his strength and not much of it.

Ryan reaches for his backpack and pauses when he sees it neatly zipped up. He looks at it for a second, sure it should be completely open and some things spilling out. Ryan had unpacked his things, resolved to living in the cabin with Shane. Even when the welts had been removed, no thought of going back had crossed his mind. Ryan slowly unzips his bag and finds all of his clothes rolled up and his bottle full of cool water.

“You were waiting for me to go,” Ryan murmurs to himself, standing up straight when he hears the locks on the front door click. He quickly dashes back to the door to his room, closing it to a crack just in case the pillagers had wanted to come back for another “friendly chat”. Slowly, the top lock undoes and the deadbolt is expertly removed, Shane’s head popping into the house.

“Shane,” Ryan breathes out and opens the door, gasping when Shane jumps nearly a foot into the air.

“What? What’re you still doing here?” Shane asks, looking at the eggs at the table and the food. Ryan tilts his head before snorting, patting his hands on his pants.

“You thought I was going to leave? You’re joking. Not when you need my help. Listen, Shane, I saw them. The people who’ve been killing the villagers. They came up to the door and asked if I ‘needed help’,” Ryan explains, gesturing at the door. Shane’s eyes impossibly darken, reminding Ryan of the first night he saw them go completely black. It’s been a while since he’s seen Shane do that. His brown eyes now just reflect the dangerous quiet inside of Shane.

“They came? Are you okay?” Shane asks, turning his attention back to Ryan. Ryan pats himself down and shrugs. They hadn’t bothered trying to take him out, though he doesn’t want to say one of them looked ready to get at him. If he had even resembled the villagers, would Shane have found his body in the cabin?

“I’m fine, but we have to do something Shane. This can’t keep going on,” Ryan insists and relishes the complete look of surprise on Shane’s face. Something other than sad or passive, perfect.

“You care about the villagers, right?”

“I told you last night, of course I d-“

“Then we need to find a way to get your powers back. You can’t protect them from these weird fucks if all you can do is break something from pressing on it too hard.” Ryan looks at Shane with a challenge in his eyes, now thankful Shane had “set him free”. If he hadn’t been, Ryan is sure he’d be suffering from a major migraine right now.

Shane looks back at Ryan with a foreign expression, looking like he’s thinking over the idea. Slowly, his face gets lighter and lighter until there’s a spark of determination in his eyes. Ryan smiles as Shane nods.

“There’s a place in the village we need to see. It’ll have a way, we just need to find it,” Shane says and Ryan follows him out of the cabin, both of them bordering on breaking into a jog for the village.

The place Shane wants is the history keeper’s house, a place filled to the brim with journals detailing not only every villager to have lived with Shane’s power, but dozens upon dozens of books from people who studied Shane’s powers. Over time, the curiosity had been sated, though a few books are being revised into more modern English.

Shane completely disregards books with modern binding, going straight for the oldest section of the home and pulling out a heaping armful of ancient scribblings and setting them on the nearest available surface. Ryan follows suit, pulling out his own pile and tossing it onto a nearby empty desk. Shane sits and begins to rifle through the nearest one and that’s how the two begin to spend their days. For about three days, Ryan and Shane live in the village library, peeling through yellowed paper underneath firelight. Occasionally, Ryan will show Shane something that resembles power or ancient deities. Every time, Shane would tell him that’s not what he’s looking for, that he’s already tried that method.

In those three days, Ryan is the one bringing the both of them food. They’re too scared for the remaining villagers to have Shane leave for the cabin, fearing if he does leave, someone will die. Ryan plays messenger, running the two of them hard-boiled eggs or mushroom soup whenever they get hungry. The villagers have taken on the task of leaving some snacks at the door whenever they can, though, with the low labor count, a lot of their focus is keeping their farms tidy and making sure anyone who lost family is taken care of.

Slowly, Ryan finds himself helping Shane whenever he catches the god asleep. He’ll gently shake Shane’s shoulders and when that doesn’t work, Ryan will peel his cheek off of whatever he’s reading and throw a blanket over him. Shane always wakes up when Ryan leaves for food or water, but the kind looks he offers when Ryan looks at him are enough.

On the fourth day, Ryan feels ready to tear his hair out, Shane just a step behind him. They both feel exhausted and, as Ryan pulls another book off a shelf, the situation looks rather grim. All the methods Shane has found have all been proven false and unless someone comes up with a breakthrough, there likely isn’t a way for Shane to gain his powers back without a new following. Ryan finds himself fighting the thought, but he can’t help feeling like they’ve reached an end neither of them want.

“What about this one? I can’t read it,” Ryan says, flipping the book over and showing Shane a page full of a scribble Ryan can’t read. The god takes a look at it, eyes darting over the passages as he reads before scoffing.

“Yeah, sure. That’s all bullshit, Ryan. Just some children’s fairy tale. Toss it,” Shane says, going back to leafing through his own book. Ryan presses his lips together, turning the book over and trying to make out some words. It doesn’t look promising, no pictures whatsoever. If Shane can read it and thinks it’s not going to help, it’s not going to. Ryan shuts the book and sets it on their mountain of finished material.

Another hour passes by them when Shane suddenly stands, knocking the desk he’s using. Ryan almost jumps, watching Shane head for the door and throw it open. He’s about to turn back to the umpteenth journal on witchcraft when he hears Shane yelling outside.

“What the fuck?” Ryan asks, abandoning his own desk and heading out.

“My people. My family,” Shane starts as Ryan joins the circle of villagers.

“You all have to leave. This place, our forest, is no longer safe for you. You have given generations to me and our forest, but I’ve failed you. I have failed, and I have allowed your family to die. You were once amazed by my powers, when I could bring the sun up in the dead of night, when you would always find your way home no matter how far you wandered into the forest. I can’t do that for you anymore, I can hardly be the god you all need. And you all deserve better.”

Shane looks over his family and Ryan can see the mourning sadness in his eyes. The forest doesn’t even respond it anymore, benignly watching from the outskirts of the village. It breaks Ryan’s heart.

“You all deserve better, and I am not that. Please. Leave by the next morning. For your safety, for your family’s safety. I will always be able to find you, no matter how far you go. The forest lives on in each of you.” Shane claps his hands and pulls his lips into a taut line, turning his back to the crowd and walking towards the trees. Ryan looks around and finds the faces of distraught villagers trying to make plans with one another. To stay and possibly die or to leave and abandon the only life they know.

Ryan can’t hear it right now, pushing around people to chase after Shane. He manages to catch up to him, the two of them making a beeline for the cabin.

“Hey, hey! Shane! Wait,” Ryan asks, stepping in front of the god. Shane spares him a look before dodging around him, still stomping towards the cabin. Ryan sighs and continues his chase, stepping in front of Shane before he makes it to the door.

“Wait, what happened to trying? What happened to saving them?” Ryan asks, hating how Shane can’t meet his eyes. The god looks so small despite being a full head taller than Ryan. He looks like he’s struggling, and when Ryan glances down, Shane’s hands are tightly clenched into fists.

“This is saving them, Ryan. I have to let them go to save them. If they stay here, they get murdered. If they run, if they can get far far away from here, then just maybe they have a chance. I can’t do it for them, I can’t even do my little… Shadow thing anymore,” Shane confesses, finally meeting Ryan’s eyes. They’re glossy, the shine of a thousand stars dancing in Shane’s unshed tears. Ryan looks up at him, his heart knotting itself in his chest. They can’t… If the villagers leave, if Shane loses his entire following, he’ll just be a man again. A man vulnerable to bullets and knives just like the rest of them.

“You’ll die,” Ryan whispers, the words tasting awful even to him.

“I know. For them, I will,” Shane replies, scratching his face.

“… There’s something we can do, there has to be something,” Ryan desperately asks, almost begging the forest itself to pull a solution from thin air.

“There is, and I’ve done it, Ryan. I set them free, don’t you get it? You can leave, you can go back to LA and you can go back to being a normal person. You don’t have to see this all end,” Shane says, spitting “this” out like the word had offended him. Ryan gapes at Shane, unable to say anything as the god pushes him aside and enters the cabin, closing the door behind him.

Go back? To LA? That’s what he wanted right, to go back to the life he had known before Shane, before this whole adventure began. Ryan had wanted nothing more than to get back to the apartment he could barely afford and sit in the comfort of his Ikea couch, warm laptop sitting on his thighs. Looking back into the forest now, however, Ryan doesn’t know how he could ever go back. LA seems so loud now, all the cars screaming at odd hours of the day. In the wilderness here, all Ryan has to do is hold his breath and silence will fill him with enough peace to last a lifetime.

“I don’t want to,” Ryan murmurs and it feels like his soul agrees with him. LA isn’t where he should be, the forest is home now. Ryan presses a hand against the door to the cabin, sucking in a deep breath before pushing it open.

Shane is sitting in front of the fireplace, except there’s nothing more than smoking ashes in the hearth. The entire cabin looks devoid of happiness, sunlight not helping how gray the entire home feels. Ryan slowly steps in, the wood creaking underneath his feet.

“Shane?” Ryan asks, stepping around the sofa to take a seat by his side. Shane sighs and looks at Ryan to show him he’s listening.

“What did that book say?”

“Ryan, it doesn’t matter, it’s all lies.”

“Yeah, but what if it isn’t? C’mon, it can’t be bad. Just… humor me. Tell me what it’s about and if it’s impossible, we’ll drop it,” Ryan says and Shane seems to study him for a moment before bursting into a humorless chuckle.

“It said… Says that the power of true love is equal to having the power of gods in my veins. That if I found someone to spend eternity with, I just have to perform a ritual and I will literally become a god and not have to rely on a following to keep my power,” Shane explains drily and Ryan hates the sarcastic look he gives. He’s distracted, however, by exactly what Shane says. The power of true love? To spend eternity with someone?

Ryan can’t help the warmth he feels in his ears, blood suddenly becoming a roar in them. He looks away from Shane, back at the door out of the cabin. Shane shifts and Ryan figures he’s probably staring at the ashes again. He feels so far away, and Ryan wants nothing more than to reach out and touch Shane again. He’ll never admit it out loud, but he misses the sound of Shane’s carefree boisterous laughter, and the way he stoops over when he’s doing something. How cool he was, how the problems of life just rolled off his back like water on a duck. Ryan misses that…

He misses the true Shane.

“Listen, your backpack is still packed. You still have time to get a headstart before those guys probably-“

Ryan can’t take any more of the martyr talk, picking himself off the couch and crashing onto Shane’s body, their lips sloppily aligning. Ryan’s kiss misses, too much to the right. He tries again, pressing their warm lips together and enjoying the fireworks show going off in his gut. Ryan didn’t realize this is what he’s craved from the forest, the warmth from Shane’s body and the tremble in Shane’s hands as they slowly rest on Ryan’s body.

“True love? Right?” Ryan asks and Shane’s eyes are clouded over with a new emotion before he quickly nods.

“Ritual?” Ryan asks again and Shane’s nodding as he pulls Ryan in for another kiss. The human quickly obliges, their lips bypassing whatever dance they’ve been doing and going straight to passionate love. Ryan feels Shane’s hands reverently brush along his back, guiding him to a more comfortable position on the couch. Everything Shane touches burns alight and Ryan gasps when strong hands grab his waist, pressing thumbs against his hip bones.

“What do you gotta do for the ritual,” Ryan pants against Shane’s lips when he breaks for air. Shane blinks at him before a smile just a touch shy of the one Ryan misses spreads on his lips.

“Just need to get some herbs together, draw a few sigils here and there, and well…” Shane seems to blush at what he’s about to say next, looking down at where their hips are settled against each other. He gives a filthy roll of his hips and Ryan groans at the delicious friction. Shane’s hands press Ryan flush against the god, leaving no space between their bodies as Shane presses his lips against Ryan’s ear.

“It involves wearing your sheets down until they’re nothing more than threads,” Shane whispers and the heated undertone of the message drags a pleasurable shiver down Ryan’s spine. Shane leans back to look into Ryan’s eyes, and he hopes he likes what he finds because soon enough, Shane is lifting Ryan off the couch, keeping Ryan’s legs wrapped around his waist. Superhuman strength indeed.

Ryan’s tossed onto the bed and Shane gives him one last heated look before tearing off to find the correct herbs. Ryan reaches for his backpack and pulls out a thick Sharpie from the front pocket, tossing it to Shane once he comes back into the room. He trades Ryan a bowl of crushed herbs that Ryan sprinkles around the room. Once they’re all gone, Ryan hurriedly tosses his clothes into a lump onto the floor and jumps on the bed, watching Shane draw artful sigils all over the cabin walls. Those aren’t coming off soon, but Ryan can’t bring himself to give a damn.

In a mixture of soon enough and far too late, Shane is on top of Ryan, smothering his neck with bites and open mouth kisses that make him squirm. The room is filled with the sounds of Ryan gasping at each of Shane’s touches, the god playing him like an instrument.

“Ryan,” Shane says and Ryan can barely lift his head to look down at Shane, eyes rolling back when he sees Shane smiling up at him from his crotch.

“Yeah? Do we… Is there something else we have to do?” Ryan manages to slur out, his words weighed down by the lust in the room. Shane chuckles and the sound paired with the vibration makes Ryan shiver again, hips bucking up involuntarily. A heavy hand presses him back onto the mattress, Shane pulling up so their eyes can properly meet.

“No, but I do have to do this in another form,” Shane murmurs and Ryan nods, holding his god’s cheeks and pulling into a kiss. As their lips crash against each other, Ryan’s fingers feel Shane’s skin change textures, going from its typical feeling to a much more indescribable feeling. The best he can say is he feels like he’s touching the void, where nothing and everything meet right in the middle.

“Oh fuck,” Ryan groans when he opens his eyes, taking stock of what he can see. The room seems to have disappeared into Shane’s form, and Ryan can’t be too sure but he can faintly make out a handful of eyes staring at him.

“Still want to do the ritual?” a voice asks. It’s more like layers upon layers of voices are talking to him, but Shane’s voice rings over all of them.

Ryan looks around the voice before choosing a pair of eyes to stare into. The human smirks and stretches himself into a pleasing line, stretching out and making suggestive moans before slowly, reverently, opening his legs for Shane.

“Come get me, big guy.”

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

Sunlight streams through the opened curtains in the bedroom, the light shining right onto Shane’s closed eyes. He groans, throwing one of his arms to try and save himself some more sleep but it’s too late. He’s slowly waking up from a pleasant dream and he makes a note to curse the sun for doing that. Shane rolls onto his side, pausing when Ryan makes a sleepy noise of protest from his position against Shane’s arm.

“G’morning to you too,” Shane greets in a sleepy growl, kissing Ryan’s temple. He’s tempted to see if his powers did return, but right now, with Ryan sound asleep against him, Shane can’t really bring himself to try and make the sun sink back into the horizon. Watching Ryan sleep, all the worry and doubt smoothed from his forehead, is slowly becoming one of Shane’s favorite past times. He wants to say the book had been preaching utter bullshit, but here he is, watching his human snore against his arm.

“Forest god!”

The peacefulness of the morning is shattered by the shout and Shane’s eyes narrow, feeling the presence of two outsiders outside the cabin. There’s another person with them, a much more familiar presence. Shane presses his lips together before gently stealing his arm back from Ryan, giving his human another kiss on the cheek.

“Promise not to kill them, s’long as they don’t try to take a shot at me,” he murmurs before leaving the warmth of the bed. Shane manages to throw on his clothes from yesterday, combing his hair with his fingers as he steps out of the door. His eyes immediately find one of his followers kneeling between the two outsiders, a gun aimed squarely behind her head. She’s the village doctor, one of the kindest people Shane has ever seen in the village.

“Hello, g’morning,” Shane greets them, his smile returning to his face. The forest rustles to return the greeting, the sound widening his grin. It feels good to be one with it again, to feel each and every creature and plant living inside of it.

“We know you’re getting weak, forest god. When you’re gone, we’ll finally be able to take this place, we’ll become our own gods!” one of them shouts and Shane is a little miffed about being shouted at in the morning. He should be in bed, holding Ryan and telling him to go back to sleep when he tries to wake up.

“Yeah, about that… I don’t really like the fact that you killed off almost half of my family and now you’re trying to threaten me,” Shane bites back, smile shifting into a more predatory territory. He keeps his eyes on the doctor, incredibly proud of how she stays still. Her faith in him is rolling off her shoulders, giving him a fresh power high Shane hasn’t tasted in a while.

Shane’s about to ask for their last words when the door to the cabin creaks open. Ryan steps out, dressed as well. He looks grim, eyes darting between Shane, the hunters, and the hostage. Shane is getting ready to tell Ryan to head back in, that this whole thing will be over shortly when Ryan decides to do the talking for him.

“Haven’t you guys done enough? You guys are human as well, you know. You’ve literally committed mass murder because of some power fantasy, and for what? He’s lost his family, his powers. You’ve taken everything from him,” Ryan protests, walking to Shane’s side. Shane bites his tongue from revealing that his powers are, most definitely, not gone. They’ve returned almost tenfold.

“Not everything,” the older human says and draws his gun, pointing it square at Ryan.

Shane doesn’t want to call himself a violent person, doesn’t want to call himself a monster, but seeing the gun aimed at Ryan breaks a restraint in him. With a god’s blood in his veins, the forest snaps and everything goes dead silent. A cloud envelops the sun and Shane melts into the shadows cast on the ground. The darkness eats up the distance between Shane and the pillagers, his dozens of eyes opening within the shadows.

“Oh fuck!” Shane hears in the mess, too busy chasing after one of them running off. He can feel the doctor run towards Ryan, and his love using his body to shield her. It only makes his heart warm as Shane does his job. He’s the guardian of the forest, god of the eldritch. Anything unwelcome to his forest will only find one way out, and with the blood of his family on these outsiders’ hands, Shane doesn’t imagine their escape being easy.

Reaching a clawed hand for the outsider he’s chasing, Shane snatches him up and tears him through the forest, unable to keep track of what limb is lost where. By the time he stops to check, the human is a mess of dislocated limb and torn flesh, eyes already dull of life. Shane tosses the pile of flesh into a bush, wiping the blood off on his flannel. He opens himself to find the other one, wondering if he should bring him to see what became of his companion.

He’s prepared to sink into the shadows again when a sharp pain stings through his lower back. Shane gasps and trips forward, falling through the shadows and shedding off all his extra limbs and eyes. When he comes to, he’s back in front of the cabin, staring at the pillager holding a bloody knife. Ryan’s eyes are wide and his skin looks starkly pale. Everyone is stunned in a dark silence before Ryan falls forward. It’s all Shane needs to break from his stupor, a bubbling rage consuming his mind. A visceral scream tears through his throat and he disappears, opening his godly maw underneath the pillager. His teeth pierce through the earth, appearing like toothy columns around the man. Shane slams his jaws together, the sickly wet pop of crushing the man satisfying to his ears.

He drags the carcass deep into the forest soil, leaving it in a cursed spot he doesn’t want to remember. Shane crawls back to the surface as quickly as he can, clawing for the surface to see Ryan, to check on him. It’s only been a day, he can’t… The terror of possibly losing Ryan grips Shane and he simply materializes in front of the house, ready to bust in when the doctor suddenly opens the door.

“My God,” she greets as respectfully as she can. “Some space, please. He is being bandaged up, and I would prefer silence over your hovering.” She nods once before closing the door again, leaving Shane in a stunned daze. He takes a step away from the door before his pacing begins.

If Ryan dies, does that mean Shane’s powers go with him? Who gives a damn about the powers, Ryan could potentially be dead, dying inside right now. Damn the powers, damn everything. Shane will happily give it all up if it means Ryan can live. If it’s safer for Ryan to be far far away from Shane, hundreds of miles away, so be it. Shane will wither in the forest, he’ll die a million times before he lets Ryan die.

After what feels like an eternity, the door to the cabin opens and Shane immediately rushes forward.

“Doctor, Ryan… How is he?” Shane asks as patiently as he can, trying to peer over her and into the cabin. The fireplace is going again, what did that mean.

“My God… I… I did what I could, I just don’t. There’s something you must see,” she answers, face completely pale. Shane fears for the worst in that moment, pushing past her and throwing the door open.

Sitting by the fireplace, bundled in a fur blanket, is Ryan. His silhouette is decorated by the glow of the fire and when Shane approaches, he can see the peaceful expression on his love’s face. Shane drops to his knees at Ryan’s side, reaching out to take his hand. The couch is absolutely littered with used medical materials, some of the bandaged made of torn clothing.

“Ryan?” Shane asks, hands trembling as he touches his hand, taking it in his own. It’s still so warm, and if Shane concentrates, he can feel Ryan’s heartbeat through the tips of his fingers. Ryan breaks his stare at the fire and looks at Shane, grinning at him before nodding to the bandages at his side. Shane slowly turns his gaze down and finds streaks of a liquid not unlike gold staining the fabrics.

“What? How?” Shane asks, picking up one of the stained bandages. He holds it up to the light of the fire and then looks at Ryan again, balling the fabric in his hand. “Ryan, are you…”

Ryan gives him another smile before shedding the blanket, turning to show the spot where the knife had gone in. There is a row of neat stitches and smears of the same metallic gold liquid on the skin. No part of Ryan looks in pain. In fact, he looks… at peace.

Shane senses the forest trembling without ever seeing it, feels it entirely shift and warp to accommodate something just as powerful as Shane entering it. It buckles, threatening to shatter and throw the two of them out and Shane waits with bated breath as Ryan slowly turns around to meet Shane’s questioning gaze.

“I can feel it. Everything in the forest.”

“What does that mean?” Shane asks, voice delicate. He’s scared of the answer.

Ryan reaches out and cups Shane’s cheek, the god unable to keep himself from leaning into the touch.

“You don’t have to spend eternity alone anymore, Shane. You’re not the only god of the forest anymore.”

The forest trembles to welcome its newest guardian into its world.