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ideasaboutpokemon · 4 years ago

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Note: I have no idea how tagging someone works on this app, but I’m trying :(

So, I was on Tumblr and I saw someone with the username @prismtowerprincess (they’re awesome btw, I recommend checking them out) and it gave me an idea:

The story of Rapunzel BUT make it Pokémon XY. More specifically, Diodeshipping (Clemont X Ash)

Let me explain.

Basically it’s a rewrite of the Disney film Tangled but in the Pokémon XY universe.

So for the plot, Clemont is the lost gym leader trapped in Prism Tower, locked off to all of Kalos (there are only 7 gym leaders of Kalos because the 8th one went missing as a child and therefore Prism Tower was put out of business) Clemont was kidnapped at the age of 1 and a half by Xerosic (on Lysander’s orders but we don’t know that yet) because he was somewhat prophesied to be some kind of genius that shaped the future of Kalos and Lysander didn’t want that prophecy coming true. Xerosic is manipulative through Clemont’s childhood and convinced him not to go outside, as Xerosic only enters through a window at the top of the tower. To get up, he asks Clemont to let down his HAIR [Handy And Indestructible Rope] which Clemont does ever day without fail. Whilst he accepts his life, Clemont is getting bored of the way his life is since he’s seemingly read every book, worked on every calculation, made every invention, etc. He wants to see the Pokémon made electric shower that happens to fall each year on the night of his birthday, but Xerosic won’t let him, telling Clemont in greatly exaggerated detail about the dangers of going. When Clemont asks Xerosic again on his 16th birthday, he snaps and yells at Clemont, who hides in his room out of fear. Xerosic leaves, and Clemont goes and sits in his closet like he does when he needs some alone time. Xerosic tells Clemont that he’ll get the him a new wrench for his birthday, and leaves to go to the mechanics shop.

Meanwhile Ash is on the run with Jessie and James, who don’t trust Ash but need him for their heists. Whilst Jessie and James like stealing unique Pokémon from Kalos and trading them for money, Ash prefers stealing gym badges. They just stole the only Mega Evolution Stone from Professor Sycamore’s lab, so the professor sends the Royal Kalos Defence Force to arrest them with the chase being led by a Pikachu, who is at first underestimated by Ash and his crew. But after witnessing first-hand the power of Pikachu’s thunderbolt, the trio end up separated with Ash having to fly solo. After complaining that the wanted poster messed up his nose, he spots Prism Tower, and comes to the conclusion that since it’s a gym, he can rob the gym leader there. And since Pikachu is hot on his tail, he has no choice but to climb up and hide. Clemont hears Ash enters the building, ventured out of the closet and knocks ash out with an old wrench, tying him to a chair with his HAIR in a panic. When Ash wakes up, he sees Clemont walking around the room looking highly anxious, and mockingly asks him questions like if he was a boy or a girl due to Clemont’s longer than average hair, referring to him as “Gender-bent Goldilocks” on occasion. Clemont demands to know who Ash is, and naively believes the wanted man when he says his name is “Tom-Ato” Ash asks for the stone back and Clemont says that he’ll return the stone if Ash takes him to see the electric shower. Ash reluctantly agrees, but secretly plans on betraying Clemont at the earliest opportunity. Ash gets Clemont to use his HAIR as a way of escaping the tower rather than letting Xerosic into it, but still, Clemont is terrified. Reluctantly, Ash carries Clemont to an isolated first as the blond haired man is too scared to walk on the floor since he’s never been outside before and when Clemont gets on the grass he runs around in an excited phase. He continually flips between a mood of joy and depression/fear of Xerosic’s response. Ash uses his guilt to try and force Clemont back to the castle, but Clemont refuses. However, he bumps into a Luxray and is scared easily. Whilst Ash is tempted to leave Clemont stuck up a tree he climbed to escape the playful Pokémon, he eventually gives in to his gut and goes to rescue Clem who proclaims his gratitude for “The Heroic Tom Ato” which makes Ash laugh. Clemont eventually grows to trust the Luxray, who joins them on their quest into the centre of Lumious City where the electricity event takes place.

Meanwhile, Xerosic asks Clemont to let down his HAIR, and when he doesn’t, Xerosic grows concerned. With Lysander’s orders to never let Clemont leave the tower ringing in his head, he runs up a hidden emergency staircase, breaks into the tower and is dismayed to see that Clemont isn’t there, as well as the stolen mega evolution stone laying in the closet floor. He pockets the stone and begins using a set of goggles to track Clemont’s footprints. After seeing another set of prints next to Clemont’s he lets out a panicked cry and chases after them, running into Jessie and James along the way. The duo are musing about the lost stone and Xerosic demands they tell him who stole the stone (and Clemont). They challenge him to a battle - if he wins, they tell him everything as well as help him, and if he looses, he gives them all his possessions. Xerosic agrees.

Ash takes Clemont to a pub in order to scare him back into the castle as the people inside all have reputation of somewhat dangerous trainers. When Ash and Clemont walk in, the entire pub turns on them and recognises Ash from the wanted posters. They close in on the duo, and as they’re backing up Ash tells Clemont that it’s not too late to “run back home.” This approach almost works until in a state of fear, Clemont asks some of the people closing in on him if they’ve ever had a dream to follow. One by one the “menaces” in the pub reveal their not-so scary dreams. Brock wants to be a doctor. Misty just wants to be better than her sisters. Tracy wants to be an artist. Serena and May just want to dance and Cilan wants to open up his own restaurant with his two brothers. Ash confessed his dream is to be seen as a champion and Clemont says his dream is to see the electric shower. Ash sees Jessie and James directing an unfamiliar man in a red lab coat (Xerosic) to where him and Clemont are, and panics. He grabs Clemont and they try to escape out of the back, where they are confronted by Pikachu and a squad of Dedennes. Cilan grabs Clemont and directs him and Ash to an underground tunnel that will get them out of there, which the two and Luxray run down before Jessie, James and Xerosic can get in. Unfortunately for them, Pikachu also manages to follow them through the tunnel. Xerosic walks in and demands to know where the tunnel went. One of the people in the pub - Alain - tells him against the wishes of Brock and Misty. Xerosic takes Jessie and James to beat Ash and Clemont to the exit.

Clemont and Ash are halfway down the tunnel when Ash hands Clemont a pokeball. Clemont asks what it is, and Ash revealed that it would be easier for them to travel if Luxray was inside the pokeball. Clemont bolds the pokeball out, Luxray bops it with his nose and is sucked into it, and caught. Clemont is panicking that Luxray disappeared, whilst Ash reassures him that Luxray is safe in the pokeball. As the two get near the exit of the tunnel, it ends up looking like more of a cave and a stone is knocked loose, causing the cave to start flooding. This results in the water blocking their light source and the exit is hidden from view. (I don’t entirely recall what happens in the film here so I’m sorry and this bit might seem a little random in terms of the rest of the plot) Clemont and Ash are at the point of nearly drowning when Ash tells Clemont he’s really Ash Ketchum from Pallet Town. Clemont then confesses to Ash that he always takes a few of his inventions with him, and pulls out his HAIR, which when turned on, somehow gives off a little bit of light. The duo realise they can use this to escape, and when they find the exit of the cave, Clemont asks Ash why he lied to him and Ash says it’s because “It was easy.” Pikachu then fires an electroball at Ash, but Clemont takes the hit for him. Pikachu stops attacking whilst Ash looks at Clemont’s injury, which is quite a minor one, and Clemont asks Pikachu to trust Ash just until he gets back to the tower after seeing the electric shower. Ash notes that since Jessie and James were trying to capture both of them, they’re probably enemies now. He blames the stone heist on them and Pikachu relents, joining them on the journey. He sits on Ash’s shoulder to make sure he doesn’t do anything illegal.

Night falls and Ash shows Clemont how to make a fire. When he goes to get more firewood with Pikachu, Xerosic emerges from the bushes and grabs Clemont by the arm. He attempts to drag the lost gym leader back to the tower but Clemont breaks free and yells that he trusts Ash entirely. Xerosic laughs and mocks Clemont, saying Ash would never be trustable as the only reason he tolerated Clemont in the first place. He then dares Clemont to put his trust in Ash and give him the stone to watch how fast Ash would leave him. Xerosic then tells Clemont that he’ll be keeping an eye on him, leaves Clemont with the stone alone in the woods near the fire and disappears. Meanwhile Ash is trying to collect more wood but Pikachu is giving him a hard time. Pikachu seems to question why Ash is doing this, to which the boy has no idea. He says that something in his gut is drawing him to Clemont, but passes it off as an “opportunity”. He tells Pikachu how he feels obliged to take care of Clemont and yet again, passes it off as an “opportunity”. He returns to see Clemont visibly shaken and rushes to comfort him. Clemont then shows Ash some calculations based on the fire he did, but didn’t know how he did them. This amazes Ash who tells Clemont that the science he just did was so amazing, causing the lost gym leader to blush. They basically chat and have joke fights like an old married couple for a while, but neither of them are aware of this due to Ash being dense and Clemont not knowing what love is. Meanwhile, Xerosic is watching from the bushes, plotting how to use this to his advantage. He watched from afar as Ash pulls Clemont into an embrace as they go to sleep under the stars.

The next morning, Clemont prods Ash awake due to being scared of the unknown Pokémon surrounding them. It turns out that it’s actually the Royal Kalos Defence Force to arrest Ash and now Clemont as well. Ash asks Pikachu to help fight them off, and Luxray helps Clemont. They fight off the Dedennes and run into the city where preparations for the festival are being made. Clemont is overexcited at the sight of all the machines and Ash actually walks down a whole street is pop-up stands without stealing anything for once! Telling Clemont that, he takes the lost gym leader’s hand and drags him to the middle of the festival where a man called the Blasekin mask is giving a speech about it being his lost son’s 16th birthday. Clemont tells Ash that it’s his 16th birthday too, which shocks Ash. He buys Clemont a slice of cake to celebrate and the duo spend the day playing in three streets with everyone else. Pikachu and Luxray bond as well, and Luxray asks Pikachu and not arrest Ash. Pikachu says he’ll consider it. Non of the other humans know what the two Pokémon are saying.

During the festival, Clemont starts to come out of his shell whilst Ash is also having fun, no longer thinking of the stone. Clemont meets a young girl who says her name is Bonnie, and she’s the sister of the lost gym leader. Clemont asks what the lost gym leader is, to which Bonnie remarks that he “must’ve been locked in a tower all your life if you haven’t heard of him.” unaware of the irony of that statement. She explains that due to a prophecy, her brother was abducted at the age of 1 and a bit, and taken away from his father. Bonnie then proceeds to explain that after her brother went missing, her mother started to grow ill from heartache. When she gave birth to Bonnie 8 years later, the stress of having a baby drained the life from her, and whilst Bonnie survived, her mother didn’t. Both Ash and Clemont are horrified by this revelation and Bonnie remarks that Clemont’s eyes look like hers. She gives Clemont the Lumiose gym badge and smiles at him. Her father then approaches them, tells her not to talk to strangers, and leads Bonnie away. Clemont starts to cry into Ash’s shoulder as Ash stands there looking shocked. Clemont apologises for his emotions and Ash tells him not to worry about it as everyone feels sad sometimes. To put him at piece, Ash takes Clemont to see the flowers that decorate the memorial of the lost gym leader’s mother, which had a stone with the engraving of “The future is now thanks to science.” Clemont says quote feels familiar to him but he can’t place where from, causing Ash to look at him in confusion. Brushing it aside, he drags Clemont all around town to see all the inventions, all of which intrigue Clemont.

On the night of the festival, Ash says that the best place to see the festival is on top of the Pokémon Centre, but Clemont is scared of the heights. Ash helps him up and they watch the electric shower together. In the climax of the shower, Ash leans in to kiss Clemont for a reason he can’t quite place, but before he can actually kiss him, he sees James and Jessie behind Clemont on a building roof across the street and pulls away to go and talk to them. Clemont then gives the stone to Ash, surprising the their greatly, and agrees to let Ash go. Whilst Ash is gone, Xerosic emerges from behind and tells Clemont to be wary of Ash’s motives. Clemont is confused by this but Xerosic merely says he’ll wait for him by the back entrance to the Pokémon Centre. Ash goes to talk to Jessie and James but is captured by them and tied up by an electric net. They take Pikachu and go, leaving Ash to call for help in a soundproof room.

After Xerosic leaves, Clemont is sat by himself on the roof when he’s grabbed by Jessie and James, who tell him he’ll make them a lot of profit. He pulls himself out of their grasp and runs outside and calls for Ash’s help, to which the duo tell him not to bother as Ash was the one who told them to kidnap him before taking the stone and leaving. They back a resistant Clemont into a corner whilst telling him in detail how Ash said he was pathetic but could be used for other purposes, therefore making him a good trade. Clemont breaks down into tears when hearing of Ash’s betrayal and as Jessie and James are about to knock him out, they are attacked by a Malamar. As they’re knocked out, Xerosic returns the Malamar to a pokeball he’s holding, walks out towards Clemont who rushes to embrace him, and yells him that he’s here so everything will be ok. He puts an arm around Clemont and explains that Ash pretended to love him just to get the stone, which breaks Clemont’s heart. Xerosic leads Clemont home whilst the Royal Kalos Defence Force arrest Ash as well as Jessie and James.

Laying awake in the tower, Clemont is looking at the Lumiose gym badge in sadness when Xerosic sits on his bed. Clemont asks Xerosic why he saved him since Clemont disobeyed direct orders and left. Xerosic tells Clemont that whilst he’s very disappointed in him and will most likely punish him later, he still lives Clemont as “That’s what family does.” Clemont questions how they can be related, to which Xerosic ignores him. Clemont wonders aloud where Ash is now, and to distract him, Xerosic pulls out some of Clemont’s old inventions to remind him that he doesn’t need Ash. Clemont looks closely at his inventions and realise that the Lumiose gym badge has been carved on all of them, like some kind of sign. Rushing to his closet, he pulls out his old notebook, the first page reading “The future is now thanks to science.” He confronts Xerosic about it, using the signs and quote to question why he even knows these things from years ago if he’s only learned about them today. Clemont then questions why he’s so good at inventing as Xerosic never taught him, and reflects on how he shares the lost gym leader’s mother’s eyes. He points out how there was a physical resemblance between him and Bonnie, and how the electric shower happens to fall every year on his birthday. He tells Xerosic that his birthday is the same as the lost gym leaders birthday, which sends Xerosic into a panic. Clemont tells Xerosic with no question that he is the lost gym leader, which Xerosic feebly denies. As Clemont starts to question why Xerosic wouldn’t tell him, Xerosic yells at Clemont that he will never leave the tower. Clemont says that Xerosic can’t stop him, at which Xerosic tells Clemont about lysandres “contingency plan” and proceeds to back Clemont up into a corner. He takes the pokeball containing Luxray and puts it in his pocket, causing Clemont to cry out in guilt et not being able to stop Xerosic taking his new friend. As Clemont is stood helpless, pinned in the corner by Xerosic, he pulls out a phone in front of Clemont and phones Lysander, saying half to Lysander and half to Clemont, “Director, it’s time for plan B.”

Meanwhile, Ash is sat in jail with Jessie and James, and he asks them how they could betray them. They say that Xerosic bribed them, and Ash leaves it at that. As Ash tries to break out, they muse about how they need a cool new duo name when a Meowth walks up to the cell and talks in the human language, shocking the three criminals. He says he heard from people within Lysandres organisation called Team Flare that they were using a new method of confining the lost gym leader to prism tower. Whilst Jessie and James are shocked that this Meowth knew where the lost gym leader was the entire time, Ash realised that Clemont is actually the lost gym leader, and that he’s in danger. He begs the Meowth to break them out, to which the Meowth replies “Back up’s outside.” As he breaks the cell open, all of Ash’s new friend from the pub help break him out. Pikachu jumps on Ash’s shoulder, and Ash realised that Pikachu got the people from the pub to come break him out! He thanks Pikachu, and together they rush off to prism tower to help Clemont escape from Xerosic.

When Ash gets to prism tower, he asks Clemont to let down his HAIR, which is lowered quickly. Ash climbs up the rope only to be met with the sight of Clemont in chains with a gag around his mouth, trying to tell Ash to flee. Xerosic creeps up behind Ash and stabs him with a dagger, causing Clemont to cry out in guilt and Ash to tell in pain as he falls to the ground. Xerosic tells Clemont that this is his fault and proceeds to drag him towards a secret trapdoor leading to an isolated basement that Clemont didn’t know about. Clemont is resisting this and eventually manages to get the gag to fall from his mouth and hang around his neck. He then tells Xerosic that he will never stop trying to get away unless he lets Clemont use his invention to save Ash. Xerosic reluctantly agrees and unchains Clemont, who frantically rushes to Ash’s aid whilst Xerosic watches from by the trapdoor. Ash asks what the invention does and Clemont explains quickly that is would patch up the wound. Ash then asks how much it can be used, to which Clemont replies “only once.” As the lost gym leader aims at Ash’s wound, Ash deliberately knocks the invention as Clemont pulls the trigger so that the invention fires at Xerosic instead, causing is body to freeze over in some kind of cocoon. As his face freezes over, the last this he addresses to Clemont is “What have you done?!” He drops Luxray’s pokeball causing the Pokémon to come out. Pikachu then runs up to him and with Luxray they both aim a powerful thunderbolt star Xerosic’s comatose from gyre, causing it to break into small pieces, effectively killing Xerosic. Clemont is too caught up sobbing into Ash’s chest to notice - he asks Ash why he sacrificed himself for him, to which Ash merely replies that “science is so amazing” As Clemont accepts that he’s going to loose Ash for good, he leans in to kiss Ash, to which Ash responds by putting his lips on Clemont’s. Suddenly, Clemont’s glasses light up and like he suddenly pulls out an old fabreze. Using different components from around the room, in less than 15 seconds, he manages to convert it to a “Heal my love-inator” and applies it to Ash’s stab wound. As the bleeding stops and the wound disappears, Clemont tells Ash that they need to get to a Pokémon center now. Ash says he feels fine, which surprises Clemont greatly. Ash asks Clemont how he knew how to do that to his invention. Clemont replies that honestly has no idea, and Ash kisses him again, causing Clemont to blush. He backs away, telling Ash that they can kiss after Ash is patched up by Nurse Joy. Ash says that he feels completely normal, and describes Clemont’s new invention as some kind of “super-duper max revive potion!” which causes Clemont to blush. Clemont reveals that he had no idea what he was doing, which amazes Ash even more. Clemont then goes to look at the remains of Xerosic, trying not to cry. Ash then takes Clemont and his HAIR, saying that he’s free to go and live his life now. Cutting the HAIR apart, Clemont says that he has no use for it and begs Ash to take him around the world because after being locked up for so long, he wants to know what he’s missed out on. Ash then says that there’s somewhere they need to go first.

Ash takes Clemont to the professor’s lab, at which Clemont is completely star-struck. Hearing the duo, Professor Sycamore emerges with Meyer and Bonnie in tow, to which Bonnie says hi to Ash and Clemont again. Professor Sycamore asks them who they are, and Ash merely replies with “So, I kinda stole your stone but I brought it back as well as someone else.” Clemont nervously approaches Meyer and holds out the Lumiose gym badge, saying quietly, “I think I’m your son.” Meyer looks down at him and simply responds with a hug, causing Clemont to blush and Ash to start crying quietly. Bonnie looks at Ash in confusion, and he just mutters “Shut up.” Professor Sycamore says that since the lost gym leader has been found, they can reopen prism tower since it’s been out of use since Clemont was taken as a baby. Clemont just looks at Ash and tells the room that he never wants to step foot in prism tower again, which is why he’ll build a replacement gym leader called Clembot. He also suggests that to celebrate the purpose for him meeting Ash, he makes mini electric showers for Pokémon like Pikachu and Luxray. Meyer explains that those Pokémon are called “electric types” to which Clemont says he wants to know everything about them. Taking his boyfriend by the arm, Ash says that there’s plenty of time for that, and tells Clemont to get ready for the world. As they leave, Professor Sycamore remarks that it’s the world that should get ready for Clemont. Bonnie asks Meyer, “What did the prophecy say again?”

As we see Clemont and Ash on their journey together, we hear the background narration of what the prophecy says, told by Meyer’s disembodied voice. He says that “On a dark summers night, all that is innocent and promising shall be lost. At the other side of the year after many have gone, it shall be found again. The nature of that which has been concealed shall rise to the occasion and bless Kalos with scientific discovery both great and little. A champion shall rise by his side, and together they shall take the world in electric storms, bringing knowledge and prosperity to wherever they go.”

The voiceover changes from Meyer’s voice to Lysander’s voice who closes a book containing the original written prophecy. Shaking his head, we see him walk around prism tower, kneeling by the remains of Xerosic as he sighs to himself. Standing up, he faces away from the camera and says to nobody in particular; “Oh Xerosic, your efforts still remain in vain. I suppose if you want anything done right, you have to do it yourself.”

The end.

That’s pretty much my idea. I wrote it on Notes so I apologise if the text format looks a little weird. I know the plot is a bit rough in some places but please bare with me: I am by no means a writer and merely had the idea in the heat of the moment when I saw the username. Thanks to @prismtowerprincess for the inspiration :) I know this idea probably sucks, but this is just an idea. Hopefully you like it :)

#diodeshipping #ash ketchum #ash x clemont #gym leader clemont #team flare #Pokémon Xerosic #pokemon xy #tangled #Disney cross over #just an idea

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insufferablelust · 4 years ago

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THE ARTIST AND HIS MUSE. (iii)

Hi lovelies! Here it is, the third installment to TAAHM, and this has some kissing and lots of build ups so no smut yet, but we’re getting there! oh and as i mentioned this story will be quite dark— i mean not that dark i will never write about rape etc. But the whole generic theme is based on the reader’s psychological state where she’s basically an HSP where she feels twice as much and she becomes obsessed way too quickly. Some of these things are adaption from my personal background so please if you feel uncomfortable you can read other fanfics thank you and read at your own risk! as always excuse the grammars! Xx, D.

WARNINGS : Dark themed, upcoming Dom!Spencer, Sub!Reader, No smut yet (soon), Detailed Mentions of murder and corpse?, upcoming dark kinks (but not all the time, so expect some vanilla stuff too), SSA!Reader, !more upcoming warnings soon!

masterlist here to check out the first and second chapter!

———🍃———

{If perfectionism were inches, he’d go on for miles and miles. But if there are none, then he’s one.}

CHAPTER 3

You’re utterly fucked.

His voice played in your head over and over again as you drove back home from the BAU, you can feel that you are physically inside the car but your mind is stuck to where Spencer goes. It’s like he’s taunting you with every passing second, and the thought drove you crazy. You always had a crush on him, but all those months you thought he never liked you, never made an effort to at least get to know you but why now? you wanted to scream out so bad, nails digging into the steering wheel before pulling over the side of the road and grabbed your phone— contemplating whether you listen to your brain saying that he’s toying with you or your heart and your desire to just... text him.

“Do i make you nervous?”

His stupid voice is the one that made your fingers search for his number. You bit your lip harshly as you weigh your options, you could either text him and wait for a possibly long overdue answer or you could just give him a call, It’s not weird giving your coworker a call right? You tried to make sense of yourself before hitting the call button and curses under your breath “fuck it”

“Hello? Y/n? Are you okay?” you took a sharp breath at the sound of his voice, laced with worry. There’s a part inside of you that yearn to tell him that no, you’re not okay because the game you’ve been playing really start to mess with your emotions, except you answered with a tiny “I’m okay, um are you at rossi’s yet?”

He chuckled, “No, i decided not to go, figured that i’m way too tired” your heart clenched, wanting to take care of his tired self,

“well! you should get some rest right now” you hurriedly mumbled, cursing at the sound of your very shaky voice. “Y/n what’s wrong? you know you can tell me anything right?” I have a crush on your stupid ass— thats whats wrong.

“No- no i was about to ask about this uh um the last case—“

“It’s about the question isn’t it?”

“what?” you let out a choked out mewl, taking a deep breath, making a mental note for yourself to just keep breathing.

“The question, Do i make you nervous? isn’t that why you called me?” Your heart raced that if he’s close enough to the phone, you’re convinced he can hear the thump. “Spence— i uh, yeah.” the voice you let out is barely a whisper, you almost hope that he didn’t caught it, but of course he did.

“Is that yes to the question?” You were about to answer his question before he interrupted “You don’t even have to say it Y/n, I know that i make you nervous.”

“How—“

“How would i know? Alright, you never called me before, not unless there’s an emergency or a case, that’s why i got worried when you called. Your breathing—“ he paused for a second, taking a deep breath when he hears the tiny whine that escaped out of your lips, before continuing,

“Your breathing is labored, i can hear you hitches every time i said something that you know is true, i can also hear the way your knee bounce and hitting the dashboard each time- it’s a nervous tic and the only time you do it is when i’m near you. and from the way you stayed silent, trying to keep down any noises is the answer i needed to know that i’m right. The right question isn’t do i make you nervous, but why?”

When he finished talking, you hadn’t even realized that your knees were bouncing, immediately stilled your leg and cleared your throat, pushing every bit of bravery you have left to answer him “My apartment, in an hour. I’ll grab chinese on the way, and we can talk?”

“I’ll be there”

“Okay, ill see you—“

“And princess? drive safe”

Just Fucked.

————

Your knees just couldn’t stop shaking with excitement as you set your small dining table with Chinese take outs, you even made sure to have spoon and fork ready for Spencer since he won’t use his chopsticks, smiling at the perfect looking table— you sprinted to your bedroom to check your appearance one last time. Wearing a simple dress and cardigan on top seemed appropriate enough to meet your coworker right? you stare at yourself in the mirror before adjusting the hair that fell down your sides, and taking a deep breath.

Knock, knock

You braced yourself, taking a deep breath before opening the door to see a smiling Spencer still in his work clothes with what looks like bags of candies in his hand— you could’ve sworn you were about to cry because he remembered, he remembered how much you love your candies, reminding you over and over again that the cause of your hyper-ness cant be from candies, “Sugar rush is not a thing (Y/n)” He said once before spewing out more statistics about sugar. But god, don’t you love it.

“Spencer, come in.” You stepped back as you let him in, before closing the door and wait for him to take off his converse and coat. The silence made you nervous, that you don’t even realize that you’re tapping your knuckles on the wooden door until he mentioned it,

“There, you’re nervous.” He dropped the candy bag—practically thrown it on the couch as he cornered you, with his chest pressing against yours and his hand cupping your jaw so delicately that you flutter your eyes shut, engulfing the warmth thats radiating off of him.

“What’s going on inside that pretty head of yours (Y/n)?” He whispered, knuckles brushing over your cheeks ever so slightly, causing the goosebumps to rise at his command, it’s crazy how much control he has over you already like he holds your life in his, but you don’t complained— you want this, you craved it. You have craved the feeling of being obsessed with someone again, it’s been so long since you’ve given up control, and your mind and body just wants a break from all the stress you’ve put yourself through it. And Spencer— Spencer might just be the perfect escape.

“you..” Your voice is thick and scratchy, like something was pressing against your throat, when in reality it was a mixture of lust and desire. “Me? What about me?” His eyes never left yours, as he brush your noses together. He was so close that you can almost taste his skin, you can almost feel the emotions that runs deep within his veins, what is it about Spencer Reid that draws you in so much?

Then he pulled away, with a satisfied grin on his face “I don’t know princess, you tell me” You were about to ask what he meant before the wheels in your head are finally clicking; you were thinking out loud— oh how he loves it when your cheeks are flushed, eyes droop as you endure yet another wave of embarrassment, and something about being this is so raw and exposed- not physically but you can almost sense it, sense how he sees what got you so needy, so powerless against him. It’s almost like he’s seen you naked before; naked below your skin, like he’s seen your insides, every right turns that ignite the fire inside of you, and every right switch that makes you tic and you’d be crazy if you’d say you don’t enjoy every bit of it.

“You know— you know what it is, you just want to taunt me” You gathered enough bravery to speak at last, biting your lower lip right after the words slipped out of your mouth, until his thumb pressed down just below the part that you don’t get to bite and pull. “Y/n, Stop biting your lip, or i’ll bite it for you.” His breathing is shallow, like he’s holding something back, and now is not the time to hold back— you thought. now is the time to just let go.

“Talk is cheap, Dr.Reid” You smiles cheekily— almost borderline bratty, and you know it. But the second those words left your mouth, the look on his face makes you hold out your whine— the look on his face is the look of anger, anger and full of temptation, like when adam bit the forbidden fruit. It was so stern that you almost apologize, wanting nothing more than to please him not disobey him. But before you get the chance, he pressed his lips against yours in a bruising manner.

This is it— the moment you’ve been craving.

The moment his lips touched yours, you surrender all control to him, giving him your all without even asking for anything in return, it’s like you were born to be his— the drunken lust part of your mind doesn’t seem to want to understand the logic behind any of this and how dangerous it is, not when the man you’ve loved for a long time is now sucking on your lower lip and push his tongue in to tangle it with yours. The sounds were filthy, filled with gasps and wet noises, your noses bumps against each other but you couldn’t care less, the oxygen grew thin inside your lungs but none of you seemed to mind, you were savoring each and every passing second of this.

His fingers are warm but the tips are cold suggesting how nervous and excited he was, you tilt your neck backwards as he wrapped them right on your neck, pressing them ever so gently, the pressure is enough to let you gasp out a moan onto the kiss. You both were positively burning from the pleasure, the need, and the lack of oxygen, everything is clouding your senses as much as its clouding his, and before you know it, he has to pull back in order for you both to still go to work tomorrow.

Gasping, you gulped down as much oxygen as possible as your knees buckled, you’re pretty sure you would’ve fell if it weren’t for his tight grip. You both calmed down, before coming back to your senses, everything is blurry and fuzzy inside your mind, yet you smiled— looking up at his disheveled state and smiled, “What does this mean?” is the only question you can get out of your chest.

“I— i may or may not have a crush on you Y/n..” he trailed off, licking his lips as he took a step back, his movements were so calculated and gentle that you’re afraid you had said something wrong that makes his demeanor changed— as if he didn’t know how happy you were to found out that your love for him isn’t one sided.

Gently, you reached for his hand then drag him with you down to sit on the sofa, grabbing the candy bag and picked out a cherry lollipop. Spencer let out a chuckle as he shakes his head— looking at you as you peeled the wrapper.

“What?”

“Nothing..”

“Spencer what?” You pouts as you hold the lollipop between your fingers, waiting for him to answer, “nothing, you just.. that’s your favorite” he smiled “i remembered the first day you joined, you were so nervous that you didn’t even realized you were still sucking on your cherry lollipop, only letting go of them when you saw me and your jaw—“

“Okay, you can stop now!” You paused him, pushing the lollipop through his lips, hiding your face on the crook of your arms, he laughs loudly as you hit his chest twice,

“Hey i’m just saying facts Princess, you were so cute i almost had the mind to bend you over the desk that very moment the lollipop dropped out of you gaping jaw.” He always managed to make every cell in your body feel like they’re being burned but- the good burn. You couldn’t help but to clench your thighs at his ‘facts’. This is the Spencer reid you never knew existed behind all the books and statistics. And you can’t lie and say that you didn’t love both because you love everything about him.

“Then why don’t you?”

“Because that’ll not be appropriate would it baby? In a work place after all, or have you thought about that before hm? me bending you over my table when everyone’s watching as you suck on these little lollipops that you love so much?” He pulled the lollipop out of his lips before smearing the sticky top on your lips, before throwing it to the trash can then pressing his lips on yours to kiss you again, this time gentler.

He took his time on devouring you, savoring every inch of your lips, and the depth of warmth inside your mouth like he was trying to imprint the feeling inside his memory so he could relived it over and over again— well he didn’t have to, you are his.

He pulled back gently as he smiled at you, you searched his eyes to know what he’s worrying about, and you knew exactly what it is. “I- i have had the longest crush on you too.. Spencer” You mumbled, playing with your fingers and reminiscing the taste of his lips on yours as you ran your tongue over them.

“But we can’t...”

“I know you’d say that.”

“How?”

“Lets just say, you were not as good at keeping your secrets as you thought you were, Princess.”

Your heart dropped and for the hundredth time that night, you knew you’re fucked for real this time.

————————

TBC!

Taglist and Long Blurb requests are open, feel free to leave a message if you want in! you can also message me any feedbacks or constructive criticism. And lastly, please like + reblog! thank you!

SORRY FOR THE DOUBLE TAG, TUMBLR DECIDED MY WORK DOESNT DESERVE RECOGNITION AND THE HASTAGS DOESNT WORK SO I HAVE TO DO A REUPLOAD! so sorry!

( @blancastans @spencerwaltergubler @slutforthegubes @n1ghtsh4d3-67 @babybloomer @liaabsurd @midnightsubmissives )

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid fluff #TAAHM #spencer reid imagines #criminal minds smut #dom!spencer #spencer reid blurbs #spencer x reader

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19tozier · 4 years ago

Text

pushing twenty (richie tozier)

so! today is my 20th birthday, hence the title, so i decided to give you a reverse birthday present. i love you all!! (also bagelmania is a real place and it absolutely is the best place in the entire world)

warnings: swearing, slight mention of sexual things but mainly this is fluffy as shit

[losers + reader are 18]

ever since you were little, you’ve never put much thought into your birthday.

you love going all out for other people. you go into a frenzy, putting together care packages and homemade gifts for anyone that’s close to you, doing your best to make their birthdays as special as you absolutely can. and yet, when it comes to your own, all of that passion flies out of the window.

you’ve never thought of it as a bad thing. you’ve never had a bad birthday, not really. they’re just… lackluster, honestly. you wake up, you open a present or two from your parents, you go to school and smile when people say happy birthday, you come home and eat dinner and go to bed. rinse and repeat. it’s a usual day for you, honestly.

your birthday this year will not be different, you hope. even though you have the losers now, you still aren’t great at accepting people’s attention, and though you’ve never told them your birthday you’re certain that they have to know. stan’s too good at finding out secret information for them to not.

besides, you think your parents might have tipped richie off. they’re all too eager to tell your boyfriend anything they can, from embarrassing childhood stories to the entire details of your life. you think your mom might have told him your birthday was coming up, but you want to believe they’re not going to make it a big deal.

when you get to school, you’re pleasantly surprised to find that’s true. your friends greet you with their normal enthusiasm before going straight back to talking about whatever it is they’re talking about. the only one who really gives you any kind of attention is richie.

“morning, doll,” he murmurs to you, drawing you into his side with an arm wrapped around your waist.

you grin at him, kissing at the hollow of his throat. “morning, rich,” you murmur back, hugging at his middle. “how’re you doing?”

he smiles back, leaning down to press his lips against yours. “better now that you’re here. you look cute.” he thumbs at the waistband of your skirt, a slightly dressier look than you normally go for; you’d felt the urge to dress up, even if you were the only one who knew why. “what’s the occasion?”

you smile to yourself. “just felt like dressing up, that’s all. why, you don’t like it?”

richie rolls his eyes at you. “i just said you look cute, didn’t i? are you deaf now?” you swat at his chest, making him laugh. “fine, you fucking asshole. you look hot. there, is that better?”

you grin, reaching up to thumb at his jaw. “much. what’re they talking about?”

he shrugs, his fingers dancing up and down your spine. “think they’re gonna go see a movie later. not entirely sure. hey, do you wanna get lunch with me after school?”

you blink at the abrupt change of conversation, frowning at him. “uh, sure? i thought you had to retake a test after school, though.”

“nope, change of plans.” he grins. “wanna take my girl out instead.”

instantly, you’re suspicious. it’s not that richie isn’t romantic; if anything, sometimes he’s too romantic. your resident trashmouth is almost surprisingly tender, always going out of his way to take you on dates and constantly tell you that he loves you. these kinds of things aren’t out of the ordinary.

however, there’s a gleam in his eyes that immediately puts you on edge, certain he’s figured you out. you shift, narrowing your eyes at him. “why do you wanna do that?”

he blinks at you, his brow furrowing in confusion. “i need an excuse to take my girlfriend out on a date? what the fuck?”

you roll your eyes, hitting at his shoulder with your palm. “no, asshole, of course not, but you’re being weird.”

“how the hell am i being weird?” he pouts, rubbing at his shoulder. “i just asked if you wanted to go to lunch with me!”

the bell rings before you can really answer him. you huff, pointing up at him with one finger. “this isn’t over, tozier.” even with your threat, you stretch up to kiss him, one two three times, before you have to leave him until lunch.

the weirdness doesn’t stop there. all throughout the day, the losers are unfailingly kind to you, even more than they usually are. stan lets you copy his math homework without his usual snark, mike weaves a gorgeous braid into your hair during second period. ben offers you a piece of chocolate during lunch, bev lets you bum a cigarette right after. bill doodles a beautiful sketch of you along the margins of your history notes, eddie gives you his sweatshirt when you shiver during your last period. it makes you irrationally certain that they know what today is.

logically, you know it’s not a big deal. in fact, your friends absolutely should be treating you well on your birthday. but you’re not good at letting yourself have things, always feeling selfish when the attention is too much on you, so you keep your mouth shut and smile at your friends’ sweetness.

the final bell rings. you and eddie rush from the room, finding richie already waiting for the two of you, leaned up against the wall. your heart skips, your smile softening at the sight of him.

“hiya, sweets,” he grins, pushing off the wall to fall into step with you. “oh, and hey, (y/n).”

you roll your eyes, sticking your tongue out at him when he laughs. eddie flicks his middle finger at richie, scowling when it just makes richie swoon. eddie throws you a helpless look, shrugging along with you when you just shake your head.

“how was your day?” richie murmurs to you, reaching to slip his hand into yours. the other losers meet up with you as you walk to the parking lot, chatting and laughing away.

you hum, squeezing at his hand. “good,” you say simply. you want to say more, but you think it would give you away, so you just ask, “where are we going for lunch?”

richie winks at you, pulling you closer to kiss your temple. “it’s a surprise.”

he doesn’t budge, even when you whine. he just grins, tugging you along to his beat up old truck. the other losers wave you goodbye, making kissy faces at you and laughing. you pout, crossing your arms and leaning back into the passenger seat.

richie rolls his eyes at you, sprawling out in the driver’s seat and starting the car. “holy shit, you’ll find out where we’re going in five minutes, would it kill you to be patient for once?”

“yes it would,” you say primly, a smug smile curling your lips when it makes him laugh.

“finally, maybe i’ll get some peace and quiet,” he teases back at you, his hand sliding into its familiar place on your thigh. his palm is warm and slightly rough, his grip strong. you curl your fingers around his wrist, brushing your thumb along where his pulse flutters.

it’s quiet in the car after that, the only sound being richie’s music playing softly through the speakers. you watch through the window as downtown derry speeds by, letting your mind wander until richie’s pulling off the main road and killing the engine. you shift your gaze to where you’ve stopped and blink, your mouth falling open.

“richie,” you hiss, staring up at the sign for bagelmania. “what the fuck?”

he raises an eyebrow, glancing at the restaurant and then back at you. “what? this is your favorite place.”

you sputter, your fingers tightening around his wrist. your other hand waves in the air, flailing in an attempt to help your point. “yeah, but it’s only for special occasions! what the hell? why are you being weird?”

he rolls his eyes. “is it a crime to want to take my girlfriend to her favorite restaurant? pardon me, i guess i missed that law.”

you narrow your eyes at him. you want to call him out, fully ask why he’s acting like this and why the other losers were too, but that would require you admitting it’s your birthday, so you just huff and climb out of the car.

richie was right; bagelmania certainly is your favorite restaurant. it’s an authentic jewish style deli, and their bagels are good enough to die for. you’re nearly vibrating in your seat by the time your bagel is brought to you, making richie chuckle and throw his arm around your shoulders.

“you’re cute,” he murmurs into your hair, kissing your temple.

you glare at him through your mouthful of bagel, not daring to stop until you’ve consumed all of the doughy goodness. the heaven that is your bagel carries you all the way through lunch and back into richie’s truck, singing through your veins as he pulls up in front of your house and kills the engine.

“are you gonna ask me why i’m being weird if i ask if i can come inside?” he grins, brushing his thumb along the soft skin of your inner thigh.

you bite your lip, feeling your grin tug at the corners of your mouth. “you’re still weird,” you say, reaching out to tangle your fingers in the hair at the back of his head, “but i could be persuaded to let you inside.”

his eyes go hot. he’s dangerously handsome like this, his curls messy and a smirk on his lips. “you could be persuaded, huh?” he murmurs, leaning closer until his breath fans hot over your mouth. “i like those odds.”

he kisses you before you can respond, the hand on your thigh digging in and his other going to cup your jaw. it’s dirty from the very beginning, the slick slide of his tongue making your brain go fuzzy and your stomach go hot.

“you make a compelling argument,” you gasp, pulling away to rest your forehead against his. “inside, now.”

you don’t wait for what he says. you just hop out of the truck, slinging your backpack over your shoulder and all but running up the driveway, fumbling with your keys to get the door open and in—

“surprise!”

you scream and jerk back, your heart in your throat. you’re terrified until your brain catches up, finding your losers scattered around your living room, all beaming at you. there are presents on your coffee table and bowls of snacks on every other available service, streamers and balloons hanging from the ceiling and the staircase.

you’re dumbfounded, staring at each loser in turn. your mouth moves but no sound comes out, completely and utterly shocked, until finally you manage to say, “what is this?”

stan smiles, pulling a party hat from behind his back and snapping it onto your head. “a surprise party, what else?”

you slowly shake your head, feeling richie finally catch up with you and sling an arm around your waist. you turn to him, your mouth still slack with surprise. “did you know about this?”

richie’s cheeks go pink. “duh. i’m a great distraction, huh?”

you blink, turning your gaze to the room at large and then back to richie. “how did you even know it was my birthday?”

he shrugs, pulling you farther into the room and pushing on your shoulders until you sink onto one of your couches. “your parents told me a couple of weeks ago.”

“and me,” eddie says, grinning.

“us too!” bev chirps, flashing you a wink. the other losers nod.

you’re still shocked, but it’s sinking it a little bit more now. you expect to feel embarrassed, and while a part of you certainly is, the much larger part of you is full of warmth and love for your friends. you take a deep breath, trying to force your tears back.

“thank you guys,” you say quietly, your voice watery. “you didn’t have to do this.”

mike winds an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his side for a hug. “we wanted to,” he tells you gently. “you’re always so good for our birthdays, we wanted you to have a good day too.”

you nod, smiling at him. “i did have a good day. i had a great day, thanks to all of you.”

“we love you,” ben says sweetly, kissing your cheek. “happy birthday, (y/n).”

“happy birthday!” they all chorus.

you’re almost overwhelmed by it, but you lean into it instead of letting it scare you. you eat snacks, you open presents, you laugh with your friends. you can’t remember the last birthday you had that felt as good as this one, sweet and beautiful and simple.

richie smiles into your temple sometime later. his arm is curled around your shoulder, your body shifted into his. it’s a rare moment of quiet while bill and stan grab more snacks and bring your cake out. “having fun?” he murmurs to you.

you nod, turning your head into his shoulder. he chuckles, pressing his lips into your hairline. “good,” he mumbles into your skin. “that’s the point, baby.” one of his hands slides up your thigh, his mouth curling into a smirk when it makes you jump. “later, when these bozos leave, i’m going to give you your real present.”

he pulls back when bill and stan come back into the room. you hide your burning cheeks by letting them sing a truly horrible rendition of happy birthday, laughing with your chest feeling light and warm.

yeah, you think, blowing out your candles and closing your eyes. definitely the best birthday ever.

#richie tozier #richie tozier imagine #richie tozier x reader #richie tozier x you #the losers club #the losers club imagine #the losers club x reader #my writing

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gretchensinister · 4 years ago

Text

I’m Your Boogeyman

A tense summer. A hot night. The need for touch, and the need to stop worrying about what’s normal.

A man in his late twenties is living in an apartment with a boogeyman, but naturally he doesn’t know that. The boogeyman is wildly obsessed with him, though, and one night when Zander lets his leg hang over the side of the bed, they finally meet. And a lot more besides. Classic meet-cute, right? 13,314 words. A whole lemon.

***

Zander had always run hot. That was the problem, and there was really nothing to be done about it. Oh, sure, there were mundane ways of addressing the issue—sleeping in just his shorts, getting a fan, making a dry cold-pack with rice and a couple of old t-shirts. He told himself if he ever got rich he’d set the air conditioning to whatever he honestly needed it to be at night and to hell with everyone else.

But right now he wasn’t rich. He lived in an apartment that was the west side of the second floor of a massive, venerable Victorian, and while there were many lovely details about it that had survived the renovations that made it into four homes instead of one, the large windows in his bedroom did not seem quite so lovely when they gathered every bit of the sun’s heat on long summer evenings. Even insulated blackout curtains didn’t do much to help his bedroom stay cool, which both baffled and frustrated him. The reason he’d had such curtains in the first place was because he’d lived in Texas for a few years before moving much farther north. They’d been effective there! But then again, a lot of buildings in Texas, even old, shitty ones, were built so that the people in them could easily shave a few degrees off the interior temperatures. If you didn’t do that, you just died.

Zander would concede that the place he lived now regularly experienced long periods where if your house didn’t retain as much heat as possible, that would be the situation where you just died.

Still, when he tried to sleep during the summer in his current apartment, he very much resented that the original architect had been so good at their job. If he had just needed to be a little cooler to sleep well, maybe running hot wouldn’t have been so much of a problem. Fans did work wonders when much of his body was bare, and the rice bag in the freezer was extraordinarily soothing when laid across his wrist where his all-too-warm blood rushed by so near to his skin. But his needs were not just about temperature. Zander needed to be cool to be comfortable as he slept, but to feel safe enough to sleep in the first place, he needed to be covered.

He wished he could let go of this feeling, he really did. He’d even tried to slowly ease himself out of the habit: falling asleep with one arm outside the sheet, then both arms, then his chest, but habits and instincts were harder to break than that. Whenever he woke up, usually from being too hot, he would be completely wrapped, even tangled, in the sheet.

The thing was, he suspected he might have been able to succeed in learning how to sleep without covers if it hadn’t been for…something…about his bedroom. Nothing had happened in it to make him feel unsafe. (Nothing much had happened in it at all, to his great disappointment, if he was being honest.) But there was something undefinable about it. After the sun went down, it always seemed a little darker than it should have been, no matter what kind of lightbulbs Zander put in the lamps. Sometimes, as he was getting into bed, the quiet of the room seemed expectant. Which was a bananas thing to think or say to anyone, so he didn’t.

He had asked his landlady about the history of the house. She’d only shrugged. “A few people have died here, I guess. Nothing crazy like a murder. But people mostly died at home back in the day.” When he’d asked her, she’d been out in the backyard, chain-smoking. “If you can get or fake some halfway decent ghost evidence, I’ll knock fifty bucks off your rent. Love to know there’s an afterlife with a habit like mine. But if you find a way to quit that sticks, I’ll knock a hundred bucks off everybody’s rent.”

It had been an unhelpful conversation, to say the least. He couldn’t stop thinking about paying for her cigarettes for weeks.

Anyway, he didn’t really believe that his room was haunted, nor that a standard bedsheet would prove a barrier to any sort of ghost. Whatever was off about the space probably had to do with old walls falling slightly out of true, and wiring that was somehow incompatible with modern technology (it was not his area of expertise). Or maybe he subconsciously hated being alone so much that he couldn’t get totally comfortable in the room he was alone in.

I wouldn’t have been such a big deal, except for the heat that made his compulsion almost unbearable.

And what good could it possibly do? What protection did a bedsheet possibly offer if there really was something malevolent about? (Which there wasn’t. Couldn’t be.)

***

It was a creature of instinct more than intellect. This was mainly due to the fact that it didn’t exist continuously. While it was intelligent, it was difficult to understand the world and form opinions about anything in it when it didn’t have a solid form most of the time.

It vastly preferred existence to non-existence, though, and the hours it was most coherent all took place in the presence of its otherbeing. It was aware that there were many otherbeings, even sensed that it existed because of otherbeings, but distinct memories were a luxury of form. It hadn’t had a form for a long time before this otherbeing moved into its territory, so it didn’t have many clear memories. When coherence was brief, only the broadest strokes of physicality returned—limbs, teeth, eyes. Only the memories, only the thoughts, necessary for survival. But when coherence lasted longer, as a more stable state—as it did when its otherbeing was close by—that was when it gained details: skin texture, claws, memory, continuity.

Its otherbeing was often close by, and the creature had become, to put it simply, obsessed. It knew every different way the otherbeing’s breath sounded, it knew every subtle variation of the otherbeing’s heartbeat, it knew the way the otherbeing smelled just before washing and just after, it knew every scent that was just the otherbeing, separate from anything the otherbeing brought in from the world outside. It knew the sound of the otherbeing’s voice, and could pick it out from any of the cacophony of sounds the otherbeing was often surrounded by, even though, for a very long time, the otherbeing rarely spoke at all. It knew the way the otherbeing moved, all the fantastic shapes the otherbeing was made of, the colors of the otherbeing’s skin and hair in moonlight and starlight and streetlamp light and indoor lamp light (even if it was uncomfortable to observe anything in such brightness).

All this knowing felt mostly normal to the creature, though the way it brought it so much joy did not seem typical—but then, there were no others like itself present to confirm its strangeness.

But maybe that was better! If it was a creature that was not supposed to feel this way about its otherbeing, it would rather not know. It did guess that some kind of line had been crossed, because it had spent enough attention to know that this otherbeing was a he-otherbeing named Zander. Sometimes the creature would whisper the name to itself, when it and Zander were in the places that felt most right: Zander sleeping in his bed, the creature curled on the floor beneath it.

Sometimes, the nights like that were so lovely and peaceful that all the creature’s instincts faded away, and it even fell asleep during the precious hours of darkness.

But the real line that it had crossed had been more recent, only several months ago (how sophisticated it felt for thinking of months rather than moon-cycles! So proud in its knowledge of Zander’s world!). It had still been winter, then—a wonderful season for the creature, when the nights were longer and Zander was more often indoors. But inevitably, the nights grew shorter, and the creature felt terribly, terribly cheated. Not of coherence. In a strict sense, it could survive with very little of that. But of its time with Zander. And in defiance of all its scant knowledge of itself, of the rules of its existence, it held itself together through the slow flare of sunrise, huddling in the greying dark under Zander’s bed, saying his name over and over again. It hurt to do this, and that was a warning, wasn’t it, that the creature was endangering itself? But Zander was still sleeping so peacefully, with such good deep breaths, such a steady heartbeat. How could it be expected to fade in the middle of that?

And in a thoughtless and sublime expression of desire, it had clawed its way up the side of the bed in the searing sunrise. Indirect, weak winter sunlight fell from the large windows upon Zander’s face, and the creature had thought it looked like the ultimate contradiction: the sun, but safe and beautiful.

What an irrevocable instant! Its being flooding with unfamiliar emotions, its physical body burning with pain it could never have imagined—it would have howled if the sun had not forced its dissolution in the very next moment.

That night, when it formed again, the memory of Zander’s sunlit face had returned immediately, sharper than any teeth it could form after such a harrowing morning. And it curled its vague form into a tight ball and held its head and shook.

Before, it had known that it lived and cohered because of Zander—the fine aether of his unease, the miasma of his nightmares: these were ultimately its daily bread. But now it also knew that it lived for Zander.

It had no idea how to face a craving that could draw it into the sun.

For a time, all it could do was continue as before, though its scrutiny became bolder and more reckless—enough to glut it on its actual sustenance, but doing nothing to appease its other pangs.

It took to exploring Zander’s bedroom as soon as it got dark, storing up memories, storing up knowledge.

It would stand in the shower behind the curtain, smelling the shampoo, the soap. What would it be like to use the shower, as if it was a being like Zander?

It would watch Zander watching movies on his computer in the living room, standing just inside the doorway of the bedroom. It would have the courage to approach and watch him from behind the couch soon enough—and that was but another sign of its derangement. The risk of being seen would be so great, and being seen was dangerous. It would…it would produce too much fear to process, and risked driving Zander away.

The problem with that was that it couldn’t know when another otherbeing would move in, and it could be consigning itself to nonexistence for a very long time. But the bigger problem was that it didn’t want to lose Zander, and if it did…it found it didn’t really care if any otherbeings ever moved into its territory or not.

The sun continued to gnaw away at the night, but not many days before it consumed over half the day, something wonderful happened. Zander started staying home much, much more. He started using his computer to talk to other otherbeings much more, giving the creature more of his voice to listen to and remember. His dreams and nightmares grew more powerful than ever, and the creature thought that if it had been normal for its kind, it would have been the most content of them all: strong, well-nourished, with peculiar otherbeing things to observe all the time.

Unfortunately, despite gaining much happiness from this new routine, it started to dwell on what it could not have of Zander.

It could not touch. It could not taste. There were rules to its existence that were truly impossible for it to break. Bearing the touch of the sun was excruciating, but there might be reasons for a creature like it to do so—moving from hiding place to hiding place, perhaps. But other choices didn’t result in an action and some accompanying pain. They resulted in nothing at all, as if the creature had not even thought of moving.

For example: the otherbeing was never to be touched with the creature’s mouth. The creature understood this. It didn’t feed with its mouth, and didn’t have a digestive system like that of a continuously corporeal creature. Bites and mouth-touches might produce sustaining terror, but as in the case of being seen, this terror might be enough to overwhelm a creature, or it might be enough to drive a creature’s otherbeing away. Mouth details, like fangs, were for…well, this particular creature had no idea what they could be for, when it tried to think about it logically. Just another instinct. (Though this one could be overcome, at least partially. For a while now, when the creature re-formed at dark, it had been experimenting with how small it could make its fangs. It had managed to make them small enough to easily speak like Zander did, which was interesting, and exciting, even, until the creature remembered that it would never have the need to speak this way.)

But the strongest instinct of all, and the strongest prohibition, was this: no matter how perfect the opportunity, no matter how dark the night, no matter how deeply the otherbeing was asleep, the creature could not touch any part of the otherbeing unless two conditions were met. The first condition: only parts of the otherbeing that weren’t covered by bed-fabric could be touched. The second condition: only parts of the otherbeing that extended over the edge of the bed could be touched.

The creature had lost count of the times it had stood at the side of Zander’s bed and tried to make itself reach out—to touch his face, to finally learn the texture of his skin and hair! But it could never move. It didn’t matter if its muscles were newly formed or if they were hours old, if it tried to concentrate on the action or move without thinking about it. Nothing. More than anything else, this prohibition seemed inherent to its very being. It was the kind of creature it was because of this.

Did any others of its kind feel that this was cruelty? That their existence as substantial beings depended on bonding with one particular otherbeing, and yet it was all too simple for this otherbeing to remain forever untouchable?

Then again, perhaps it was not such a problem for others. Perhaps Zander was an exceptionally careful otherbeing.

***

It was August, and Zander was pretty sure he was losing it. He understood that this was not a particularly unique feeling, but it still wasn’t good. His vague weird feeling about his bedroom had progressed into a full feeling of being watched, which occasionally hit him in the bathroom and the living room, as well. He would swear that sometimes his things had been moved, just slightly, as if someone had been picking them up and putting them down for some reason. None of the lights seemed to be as bright as they should be.

He toyed with several explanations, and tested each of them. Could there be another person secretly living in his apartment? A thorough search produced nothing. Could he be experiencing carbon monoxide poisoning? The two detectors he ordered online showed the same very low reading. Could he be developing a diagnosable mental illness, not just “losing it”? He was a few years past the average onset age of schizophrenia for men, but times were weird. This one wasn’t as easy to rule out, but he didn’t have any family with the illness, and as far as he could tell, he didn’t have any symptoms during the daytime. At least, no symptoms that were notable, considering the isolation. He decided he couldn’t dwell on this and if he saw or heard anything really off, he’d follow some advice he’d found and try recording it on his phone.

His phone had acquired a few new apps during the whole investigation. An infrasound detector told him that he was not being affected by infrasound. A sleep monitoring app remained unused.

It remained unused because even if he knew he wasn’t being haunted, because ghosts didn’t exist, it still seemed…foolish, somehow, to pay extra attention to whatever might be happening while he was asleep. He was waking up every morning, after all. But then again, how was he supposed to find answers if there were means of investigation that he was deliberately ignoring?

Return to the first premise: he was simply losing it.

He entertained the possibility that he was losing it and there was something strange in the neighborhood, so to speak, but this only led to more questions about how he was supposed to respond. He certainly wasn’t going to pay for a psychic cleansing over Zoom. Not with what only amounted to weird feelings, anyway.

But probably there was nothing weird going on, not in a supernatural sense, anyway! He was just losing it because the only people he could justify seeing face to face were his coworkers, and screw them, if he couldn’t be around his friends he certainly wasn’t going to voluntarily be around not-friends for eight hours a day; he was losing it because even if he could be around his friends what he wanted was to be held and sure everyone was queer and cool but he’d never been able to ask before all this so why did he think he was going to be able to ask afterwards, when he would doubtless be even weirder than five months (and counting) had made him?

And he was losing it because in order to keep whatever it was, he needed to sleep, and that was so often the most difficult thing about his day, because of the heat!

So he lay awake in his astounding solar oven of a bedroom, staring up at the ceiling with the sheet pulled up to his neck, while his fan failed to act on his sweat and his little animal thoughts chased their tails in his mind.

I need to be cool. I need to be covered. I need to be held. I need to be cool. I need to be covered. I need to be held.

Somehow, he always drifted off eventually.

And one night, he drifted off with the sheets less firmly anchored under the mattress than they usually were. As he floated off into sleep, the higher order of his thoughts that insisted on the necessity of covering quieted well before his body’s insistence on reaching a comfortable temperature. He shifted and turned, gradually freeing himself from the sheet, slipping ever deeper into dreams. With the sheet discarded, his body discovered one more helpful adjustment: with his leg hanging off the mattress, the airflow around it helped his body release heat very well.

***

A pounding heart, a dry mouth, even overwhelmed tears—these are all things that belong to continuous bodies. But the creature could tremble, and it did, even as it reached out, hardly able to believe its good luck, hardly able to believe this incredible blessing that had finally been bestowed on it.

***

It was from an instantly forgotten dream and to the unfamiliar, unexpected, and uncanny sensation of a light, cool grip on his ankle that Zander awoke. Fuck, I knew it! was his first thought, followed by a nervous, panicky negation. This couldn’t be happening. This was the remnant of a dream. In a few seconds he’d realize he’d misinterpreted the sensation.

Moments passed, huge moments where the grip on his ankle didn’t change at all, and Zander soon felt like he’d never been so awake in his life. And then the…hand? It did feel like a hand, with fingers on one side and a thumb on the other—had he missed someone living in his house somehow? The hand began to slowly move up his calf. Carefully. Gently. It was…it was honestly a caress, and Zander had no idea if that made it better or worse, more or less likely to be a hallucination. But the fingers and thumb were long enough that even at the midpoint of his calf, they almost wrapped around his leg entirely, and that meant that this hand was definitely not human.

This was bad, probably, but it was also something that he was sure no one expected him to just put up with and carry on through, and that felt like a relief. His mind cleared. First thing: determine if this was a hallucination. He lifted his phone from the windowsill, thumbed open the camera, and aimed it at his knee, where one…claw? Oh God. One claw was carefully poking at the scar from a childhood bike accident. The screen showed nothing he could see at this angle, as the only light in the room came from the phone itself or the line between the curtains where the streetlights shone faintly in. He tapped the screen.

The auto-flash worked just as it was supposed to. It also completely disoriented Zander, but not before he caught a glimpse of a gaunt humanoid figure with a mouth far too large and full of fangs crouched by the side of his bed. One or both of them gave a horrible yelp, and Zander was mentally confronting the possibility of being eviscerated when he realized the creature’s hand was still wrapped around his knee, unmoving.

***

Awful, awful, the sudden light! Zander must have seen it, but it was an accident, it was not breaking its rules. There was no light-pain anymore, in fact the light-pain had probably been a good thing, as healing used up much of the energy it was getting from Zander’s fear right now. And so it did not let go. This might be its only chance to touch Zander, and it was not yet satisfied, only ever more curious from its touches so far. His leg was so much softer than the bottom of his foot, and covered with hair, too. It was fascinating, and it suspected that this was far from the only fascinating thing about Zander’s body.

But it was so unlikely now that Zander would indulge it by leaving the bed. Or! If he did leave the bed he would leave forever, and there’d be no point in having a form ever again because there wouldn’t be Zander to watch and listen to and touch.

Unconsciously, the creature gripped Zander’s knee more tightly. Was there anything it could do? Was tonight to be the culmination of all its hopes, and the threshold of an existence of nothing but void? Had it been worth it to face the sun, when it would all end like this?

But! Oh! This was the power of memory. It had faced the sun. The things it felt were different. It was different. It could do things that were unaccounted for in the rules of its existence.

***

The image on the phone screen showed a dark gray entity with a huge mouth full of fangs, a collection of slits for a nose, two very large round eyes, and pointed, animal-like ears on the sides of its head that were probably bigger than Zander’s hand. It had a long skinny neck and long skinny arms connected to a torso that was, probably, also long and skinny. It didn’t have any hair. It looked very solid, blocking the view of his desk in the picture like any real thing in that location would. It also kind of looked…surprised?

You and me both! Zander thought. He found he had no idea what to do now that he had evidence that there was really something in his room. Something that was still holding onto his leg. Something that was, in fact, an actual fucking monster!

No, no, no, part of his brain chanted, a desperate negation, a call for the world to be as it had been. It’s not a monster, there’s no such thing as monsters, people see things and misidentify them all the time, it’s usually something like a starving bear with mange, that’s what this must be, a starving bear with mange, something that at least EXISTS—

Zander stifled a wild laugh. This wasn’t a bear of any kind, for one thing, and for another, how would it possibly be better if a starving bear with mange was in his apartment and holding onto his leg? That would be an almost certainly fatal situation. A monster, though? Well, who the hell knew?

“Zander. Please don’t leave.”

He dropped his phone. That had to be—that had to be the monster talking to him. And it knew his name, knew how to speak English, and knew how to be polite. And it was asking him to stay? Okay. Okay. Sure. This gave him something to work with.

“Why do you want me to stay?” he croaked out. “Are you going to kill me?”

“NO! No, no, no! I only want to touch you! I’ve waited for so long, and this was my first chance!”

“Wh—what do you mean, so long? How long?”

A short pause. “Since you became my otherbeing. My…human. Since you first dreamed in my territory.”

Zander’s mind raced. Did it mean since he’d moved into the apartment? That was almost four years ago! “Why…was this your first chance?”

“Because of the rules,” the monster said. “You have to be asleep. You have to be uncovered. You have to be off the mattress.”

Just as he’d always suspected. The part of his mind that had suggested the mangy starving bear tried to tell him this situation was weird and incomprehensible and was sending him slipping and spinning into totally unknown territory. But the thing was, if he accepted the scenario totally and completely as something that was happening, it was easy to understand. “Do you live under my bed?”

“Yes, or at least I did. As I got more and more curious about you I moved around more. I learned many things. And now that you’re around more, I have more energy to keep my form. I can remember more things.”

“You don’t always have a body? Where does your energy come from?”

“My energy comes from your nightmares and your waking fears, though there is a danger of waking fear being overwhelming. I am not sure how I withstood your reaction to seeing me. There is a correct level of energy for taking a form at night. It takes much more energy to maintain a form against light. It is…by instinct it is impossible to keep a form in sunlight. It is very painful. But I did it once.”

Zander stared up at the ceiling, which he could now make out the edges of thanks to the faint light from the streetlamps. He might be feeling like he was starting to understand this situation, but looking at the monster again—yeah, that would really loosen his grip on things. “So you…feed off my fear, but only a little at a time. You can only exist in the dark. You live under my bed. You can’t touch any part of my body that’s on the mattress and covered. You honestly sound like a childhood boogeyman, except that I’m not a child.”

“It is hard to remember, but I believe I came to exist because of a child. When a child dreamed in this room. I think there may have been other children, also. Others of my kind. But formlessness erases memory, and I was formless for what I think was many years. But then you came. And now I’m no child’s boogeyman. I’m your boogeyman. Only, only yours.”

Zander took a slow breath. Two things were occurring to him.

One: this boogeyman had kind of a nice voice, low and a little scratchy. It sounded like it had a bit of an accent, too, but that was no doubt because of the fangs and maybe—maybe never speaking to anyone else before? That seemed unbearably sad, but maybe it was normal for its…species? Kind?

Two: Maybe he didn’t have as good a grip on this situation as he had hoped.

“Do you have a name?” Zander asked. “And, um, I’m a he, other humans are she, or they, or…well, there are a lot of options. What about you?”

“No name,” the boogeyman answered immediately. “And I…I am an it.” It sounded puzzled with this last statement. And why not? thought Zander. Surely if I admitted to secretly living in someone’s house for four years, I wouldn’t expect them to ask my pronouns! There’d be other, more relevant, questions!

“Do you want a name?” This wasn’t one of those more relevant questions. But it was the only one that came to mind at the moment.

“Zander…you would give me a name?” The pure wonder in its voice. Had anyone ever said Zander’s name like that?

“Only if you want a name.” What was he doing? Why was he doing it?

“Yes!” It sounded a little different, now. As if it was shaking? “Zander, name me!”

“I—” He finally let out a little laughter. “I want to give you a good name, but I can’t hardly think now. Could I just—could I just nickname you ‘Boo’ right now, and come up with something better, later?”

“Boo,” the boogeyman said. “I am Boo!” It really sounded delighted, and Zander wondered if anything would have bothered it. Maybe not, as long as he had good intentions.

When the boogeyman—Boo—spoke again, it was quieter, more subdued. “I do not think that having a name is a usual part of being what I am. What you call a boogeyman.”

“Is that…a problem?”

“I don’t know. I like it, though. Anyway, it is not the first strange thing I have done since becoming your boogeyman.”

The mangy bear part of Zander’s mind posited that everything the monster had ever done was strange, because it was too strange to exist in the first place. Zander told that part of himself to pipe down. It was past time to accept that Boo was real, and as a being of a certain type, some things would be strange for it and others would be normal. Boo had even mentioned one, earlier. “Yeah. You said you braved the sun, once. Why did you do that?”

The hand around Zander’s knee twitched nervously. Oh. Yeah. Best not to forget about that. The claws, very close. (And also, Boo’s one stated desire so far: to touch him.)

“I was…curious,” Boo said. “No. That is not the right word. I wanted to know more of you than I already did. It shouldn’t matter to a boogeyman, but I liked watching you, whether you were uneasy or not. I liked knowing how you looked in different amounts of moonlight, in different colors of lamplight. You’re my favorite thing to look at. But I can only do that at night, when we both have forms. Last winter when I noticed that the nights were getting shorter I felt like you were being taken away. I wanted every sight of you I could hang onto. I hadn’t ever seen you in sunlight. An ordinary boogeyman wouldn’t have thought of it. But I did. I wanted to see your face in another kind of light, and sunlight was the only kind of light left. And I managed to endure it, and now I know what your face looks like in the sunlight.”

“Was it…was it worth it?”

“Yes.”

Zander’s first impulse was to push the story away, to tell Boo that maybe it needed to see more faces if it thought Zander’s was worth pain, but he held his tongue. Because there was something about what Boo had done that seemed understandable, familiar. To see someone and then begin to desire and to act in previously unthinkable ways—to irrevocably abandon normal—to risk pain for the sake of joy that it seemed so few others would understand—oh, he’d done it. If Boo’s experience was at all related…he didn’t want to make it seem small.

“You’re being strange for a boogeyman right now, too, aren’t you?”

“I was never supposed to talk to you,” Boo said. “I didn’t understand human language so much before I started paying attention to you. I couldn’t speak it. In the form I have by instinct, my fangs are too big to make all the sounds correctly.”

Are you FUCKING kidding me those are your SMALL fangs? Zander’s fear returned in a rush, and he heard Boo shift by the side of his bed. He forced himself to take deep breaths and did his best to push his fear to curiosity. What did it feel like to Boo, to be feared all of a sudden like that? Would it be like sipping water through a straw and then having someone pry your jaw open to dump a gallon down your throat? But maybe there was no metaphor, because the physical was always a limit for a human, and that didn’t seem to be the case for Boo. Unless Zander was totally wrong and it did need large fangs to chew up nightmares.

“You okay, Boo? Guess I wasn’t as calm as I thought.”

“I am okay. I will have to expend this energy soon, but that will not be dangerous to you. If I don’t find a way to use it myself, the excess will manifest as darkness. The lights in your apartment might not work for a few hours. It is enough energy to seek a new territory if a human leaves the original territory after seeing one of my kind. I did not understand this before, because leaving my territory had never occurred to me before you saw me. Another instinct. But you should also know that my fangs are only for the frightening appearance. No bites or mouth-touches are allowed. I have no digestive system. Any bites would be pointless.”

“Mouth-touches,” Zander repeated. It was an odd phrase for someone who otherwise used English so well. It sounded like a little word-veil, drawn between them so that they could both ignore what mouth-touches not part of eating would be. Or maybe that was a completely bonkers interpretation. Boo wasn’t human. Who could say how it would use language?

The obvious thing to do was ask for clarification. Zander closed his eyes for a few moments. He was going to have to come at this from an angle, and he wasn’t sure he was up to it. If he was wrong, he would create an awkward roommate situation that couldn’t be equaled, and if he was right…well, what did he plan to do?

“Anyway…you’re not supposed to be talking to me, but you can. I get that, it’s a new thing. Your instincts don’t have anything to tell you about it. But what about the way you’re still touching me? Is that also strange or…what am I not getting?” He felt a faint twitch from Boo’s hand once he fell silent.

“I can touch you because touch could make you more afraid,” Boo said. It sounded like it was trying to pick its words very carefully. “But…yes. This is also strange. And I am surprised that no instincts have made me let go. I think…it is better for a boogeyman if its human is not sure if it is really there. So touch should be fleeting. It is not…a need. But maybe that doesn’t matter. You must be very certain I’m here.”

“Yes,” Zander said. Oh, he had to be careful, now, very careful. Just because Boo would undergo the worst of boogeyman agonies just to see his face in the sunlight didn’t make his half-formed idea good. But then again, even if what he was thinking was a bad idea, at least it was fully his own bad idea. And he’d been buffeted around enough by other people’s bad ideas lately. So…let it all come together. Survival and need and want and…touch. “But maybe…maybe your instincts don’t have anything to say to you now because you don’t have any needs right now—is that true? I mean…from what you’ve told me. You have my fear, and that gives you energy to hold your form and do whatever else, and you’ve got the dark.”

“That is all a boogeyman needs.” Boo sounded troubled. “Zander…it does not feel like these are my only needs. Not when you are here.”

Zander swallowed. “Well, it sounds like you have some really strong wants, then. I think that’s…that’s part of being alive. Wanting more than the bare minimum of what’s needed to survive. I mean, that’s one of the first things you said to me.”

“That I wanted to touch you. Yes.”

Boo drew out this last word into a hiss, and shiver ran down Zander’s spine. Sure it was fear, Boo was a creature formed to scare—but that wasn’t all of it.

“I still want to touch you,” Boo said. “Much more than I already have. Now that I know that I can while you are awake, while I am talking to you—I do not know if any other boogeyman has wanted a want like this. And I don’t care, because you are my otherbeing, my human, my Zander. Everything I have of you only makes me want more, and it doesn’t make any sense, and I don’t care, because even getting a little bit of what I want is wonderful. If you were all the way out of your bed, all the way uncovered, I—I don’t know if that would satisfy me. I don’t think it matters, I want that anyway.”

Zander’s heart beat faster—how could it not, when being talked to like this, even when he’d seen the terrifying form the pleasant voice belonged to? It was clear that Boo had no concerns about approaching this subject delicately. He took a deep breath, trying to clear the feeling of lightheadedness that had come upon him. It didn’t really help. This was weird! Very weird! But it really boiled down to this: Boo wanted to touch him. He wanted to be touched.

And he was starting to get curious, now, to see if Boo would like to be touched, and how.

“Boo, I think I want to have you touch me, too.”

“Zander! I…” In contrast to the declaration of its desire, Boo now sounded shy, even a little confused. “I want to make sure I touch you in a way that won’t make you leave. I don’t want to have to be anyone else’s boogeyman.”

“Yeah, we can talk about that, we can figure it out,” Zander said. “We’ve got all night, don’t we?”

“Yes!” Boo said, and again the word turned into a hiss.

This time Zander was able to find it more fascinating than frightening, though now he guessed that being frightening was the whole point. Whenever Boo didn’t think about what it was doing, it would probably end up doing something scary. It was probably the best way for a boogeyman to survive as a boogeyman, even if it was doing something unusual like talking—err on the side of scary. Zander smiled a little, just at the idea that something as strange and incredible as Boo should exist in the first place.

“What are you feeling?” Boo asked. “It’s because of me, but it’s not fear.”

“W—wonder, I think,” Zander stammered. So Boo could feel any emotion it caused, not just fear? That was bound to get interesting.

“Wonder. It feels good.”

Very interesting.

“Boo, before you get to touch—two things: Would it be safe for you if I opened the curtains a little more? To let in the streetlights? It’ll help me be less afraid if I can see what you’re doing, at least a little.”

“The streetlights won’t trouble me—but I don’t understand. It has become less frightening to see me?”

“Well, surprise adds a lot to fear,” Zander said. “If I can see your movements, I won’t be surprised when I feel your hands.”

“I see,” Boo said.

“And the other thing is—you did give me a good scare earlier. I have to go to the bathroom before we do anything else.”

“All right.” Boo made no move to let go of his leg.

“That means you have to let go of me for a couple minutes.”

“Oh. But I could come with. I’ve been in your bathroom lots of times. I like being behind the shower curtain.”

The thought so sometimes there actually WAS something there clashed with has Boo watched me pee?! and Zander pushed them both aside. It was time to focus on the now, and he didn’t want to fall down a rabbit hole of wondering what Boo might have seen him doing. Though, to be very, very honest, there was a sort of dirty little frisson to think that Boo could have seen him taking himself in hand—he really had lost it, hadn’t he?

“But you’re not coming with me now,” Zander said. “Hey. You know that bathroom doesn’t have any windows. I’m not going to run away.”

There was a pause, and then Boo gave a sigh. The hand at his knee slid back down his calf, over his ankle and foot, and then was gone.

“Please don’t grab my ankles when I step on the floor,” Zander said. “I’m guessing that might be—it might be another instinct.”

When Zander had taken a few steps away from his bed, Boo spoke again. “You were right. It was.”

Zander grinned, even as his ankles tingled with the apprehension of touch, and continued into the bathroom.

When he returned to his bedroom, he found that Boo had already opened the curtains. Zander had left the light off in the bathroom (after all, he knew the boogeyman wasn’t in there at the moment) to keep his night vision. Now, the orange glow from the streetlights outside was more than enough to reveal everything in his room. Including Boo.

At first, he couldn’t take another step forward. The sight of Boo pressed buttons older than wonder or sympathy or even curiosity, and he had to close his eyes before he could even pull himself together enough to speak. “Boo, can you say something? I’d gotten used to your voice, but, uh, seeing you was still a surprise.”

“I did use my time alone to use some of my extra energy to change my form,” Boo said. “I wanted…I wanted to try out hair.”

Zander sensed that this was not the whole truth, but he wasn’t going to get into that now. He took a deep breath. That was Boo’s voice. He’d talked to Boo. He’d—well, he’d really liked hearing that confession of desire from Boo. And yes. Boo was a monster. And when he opened his eyes, he was going to see Boo, and step closer to Boo, and check out Boo’s brand new form with hair. The seconds of preparation helped, and when Zander opened his eyes, fear gave one last jolt before swiftly receding in favor of wonder.

He walked forward slowly—his legs still felt a little weak from the first shock—never taking his eyes off Boo. To look at Boo properly barely seemed possible—to look away and back again? Absolutely not.

When he got within Boo’s reach, he paused and tried to take in as much detail as the streetlights allowed. Boo was the same color as before, that dark gray. Its skin was more matte than a human’s. The body that skin covered was very, very tall. At least seven feet, maybe a little more, it was hard to tell how close Boo’s head was to the ceiling in the low light. And still—Zander’s stomach lurched like it did when he looked out from the top of a roller coaster—from his earlier brief look, Boo had probably been even taller before. Whatever shapeshifting it had done had included changing its proportions so that it looked a little bit more compact, a little bit more human, now. But really, only a little.

Zander wondered if there was some mass Boo had to take on when it solidified, because in addition to being shorter than the first picture indicated, Boo now had a little more muscle and flesh on its body and limbs. Though it still made you wonder if it was hungry enough to make you its next meal. Too, the slight musculature it now had was…off…in some indefinable way. Zander had never made a study of human anatomy, but what Boo’s said to him was that it wasn’t an elongated human, but something else entirely. And there were other, far more obvious differences. Boo had only four toes on each foot, each of which ended in a sharp black claw. It had no navel, and the area between its legs appeared as smooth as a mannequin. And its hands, the hands Zander had invited it to touch him with…well, they had five fingers each, but he was almost sure each finger had an extra joint compared to a human finger. They definitely all had significant claws. But, perhaps…he wouldn’t know until Boo touched him again, but he thought maybe Boo had done its best to tone down the claws.

After all, Boo had done quite a bit on its fangs.

Boo’s face was what he had seen on his phone, and Boo’s face was where the changes it had made were clearest to Zander. Though its jaw remained somewhat prognathous, its fangs were now small enough that its lips closed over them easily. Its ears, too, were much smaller, even if they were still much larger than a human’s and still pointed. But they didn’t remind Zander so much of a bat anymore. But even with these changes, some things about Boo had stayed the same. Its nose remained as it had been, just a slight protrusion with two large nostril slits framed by two smaller, additional slits. Boo’s eyes were still enormous, and very round. They had no whites, but in the lamplight Zander thought he could see the distinction between iris and pupil. Incredible, that this faint light would cause such a contraction.

And, yes, finally, Boo had hair on the top of its head, now. It was black, several inches long, and quite messy. Of course, it has been formed rather hastily. It made Boo look—well, it was hard to say. Less alien. More uncanny.

Zander knew that most anything with hair or fur liked having it groomed. Would that be a built-in side effect of his boogeyman’s changed form? Who knew? No one, absolutely no one, and that was the most wondrous thing about this moment. They were both so far outside, and so hidden from any norms that either of them knew, that they were both looking at each other completely as themselves.

And this was where, and how, they were going to touch each other. It might be glorious. It might be terrible. It might simply be monstrous. But most of all, it would be theirs, and only theirs.

“Zander,” Boo said, and Zander saw its long, clawed hands flex, “now can I touch you?”

Zander realized that Boo must have been studying him with the same intensity as he had been studying Boo—perhaps even more, considering that Boo could see much better in the very dim light. And still this was its reaction: this desperation, this desire.

Seeing Boo’s whole form had not made Zander any less vulnerable to being desired. And, hey, some part of his mind that couldn’t let a numinous moment stand pointed out, you’ve always liked lanky guys.

He smiled, and Boo’s already-wide eyes went wider. “Boo, I was thinking. Your rules say you only get to touch me when I’m uncovered and hanging off the edge of the bed, but now that I know you’re here—now that we’ve got an understanding—well, is that still the case? What I’m saying, is…can I invite you onto my bed?”

Boo visibly shivered, but not, Zander thought, with revulsion. Anticipation, maybe.

“I have no idea,” Boo said. “I want to find out.”

Zander took a deep breath and another step forward. “Take my hand,” he said. “It might make it easier.”

Boo reached out, and Zander, focusing only on the wonder of it, found it easy to reach back and put his compact, soft hand into Boo’s spindly fingers. Its skin was smooth and dry—no natural oils like human skin, Zander guessed, since it didn’t really have that biology to maintain from day to day—and barely seemed warmer than the ambient temperature of the room. He must feel much different to Boo; would that be good, bad—?

“Your warmth,” Boo breathed. “It’s the first wonderful thing about touching you.”

Ah. Good, then.

“Well. Warmth I can guarantee,” Zander said. “It’s why I had my leg sticking out in the first place.” Keeping hold of Boo’s hand, he eased himself back into bed. “So far so good, huh? Nothing made you let go, even though I’m completely on the mattress.” He smiled up at Boo, and Boo blinked down at him, its lips twitching in a tentative answering smile. Sure, there was something unsettling about it, but also Zander guessed that most expressions might not come naturally to Boo. It probably learned them…from him. Astonishing. “Come on up, however you like, though you might end up getting another shot of fear if you—” He broke off, as Boo immediately took his invitation and climbed onto the bed.

And on top of Zander, which was what he’d expected, because it was the most frightening way to get close. Boo moved in a rather spidery way (of course) and when it stopped moving it had its hands planted on either side of Zander’s head, its knees to either side of Zander’s legs. The light from the streetlights no longer helped so much to see Boo’s face, though he could see a glint of eyes and oh, again, the fangs. Boo was grinning as it was poised above him.

“Comfortable?” Boo asked, and Zander immediately wanted to giggle. He held back, though, because despite all the absurdities in this situation, he didn’t want to risk Boo feeling laughed at in this moment—the first time it’d gotten into bed with someone it really, really wanted to touch.

“Yeah,” Zander answered softly. “You all right with that jolt I gave you just now? I couldn’t help it.”

“Yes.” Boo sounded thoughtful. “I am less worried about having too much energy now that I’m not trying to escape your notice. And you are still wondering at me more than anything else.”

“I suppose I am,” Zander said. He stretched out his arms and legs under Boo. Had he ever even been this vulnerable to another human being? Sure, he still had his boxer shorts on, but that was pretty insignificant compared to the fact that Boo knew him better than literally any other human being. Also, if Boo had been lying about itself and what it wanted—if those fangs and claws were about to be put to their more typical uses—he’d basically served himself up on a silver platter. Though that image did cause some sparks in some crossed wires in his brain.

He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “All right, Boo,” he said. “You can touch me.”

Boo immediately lifted one spindly hand and cupped Zander’s cheek. It was a bizarrely human gesture, but it lasted only for a moment. Boo didn’t have any script to follow; all it knew was that it had been given permission to satisfy its desires, its curiosity. And still, Zander felt as though some kind of tightly wound spring inside him was easing with such a simple touch.

Boo’s fingertips poked gently at the softness of Zander’s cheek, and its claws were noticeable, but not in an uncomfortable way. Boo seemed to have the intent to treat Zander as carefully as it could, as it found his cheekbones and jaw and traced them, as it circled his ear and brushed across his forehead, as it investigated the shape of his nose and eyebrows.

And then Boo held the side of his face again, and slowly dragged its thumb over Zander’s lips.

“Boo?” Zander whispered, when it left its thumb at the corner of his mouth and hung over him, perfectly still, just looking.

“I think I’m changing, somehow,” Boo said. “Like when I become substantial. But I already am. I don’t understand.”

“Does that feel good or bad for you?”

“I think…good. But I’ve never felt anything like it before.” Boo shivered, a familiar motion made unfamiliar by the undercranked-film quality of it. Still a boogeyman. “Zander. I am going to touch you more, now.”

With only that much of a warning, Boo bent down and pressed its face against the side of Zander’s neck. Zander’s heart raced, some part of him still convinced that Boo wanted to rip his throat out, the rest of him clamoring that Boo was kissing him, actually kissing him on the neck. He could feel Boo’s lips moving gently against his skin, and though he could also tell that there were fangs behind them, he didn’t care at all. He hadn’t been kissed at all, anywhere, in so long, and if this wasn’t really kissing, but rather what Boo had distantly called ‘mouth touches’ earlier, well, it was impossible for his skin to tell the difference.

Boo didn’t stay at the side of his neck. It made a line of kisses up to his jaw, over the lower part of his cheek—and there was really no denying now that they were kisses, kisses from a being very new to the practice of kissing, but kisses nonetheless—

And then Boo kissed him on the lips.

Does Boo understand? Does it? Does it? His mind whirled while Boo lingered at his mouth. Maybe? Probably! He answered himself, as reality began to supersede any of his earlier half-formed fantasies. You were the one torrenting classic Disney to combat depression and the creepy feeling in your apartment!

It was really so absurd. And yet he still felt as though his heart was being cracked open like an egg, and instead of yolk and white flowing out there was all his loneliness and his curiosity and his fear and his wonder and his desire. There was so much of all of it, more than he’d ever realized he was holding onto, and it made it impossible to think lightly of kissing Boo.

Oh well.

He kissed Boo back. He kissed Boo back and raised his hands to touch Boo in return. It had said it liked his warmth; let it have the warmth of his hands, then, roving along the smooth, dry skin of its spindly form, back and waist and shoulders.

Boo gasped at Zander’s touch, and let itself sink down onto him, its narrow body pressing full against Zander’s soft and substantial chest and belly. Boo twined its fingers into Zander’s hair, and even that eagerness pierced his heart—his grown-out hair wasn’t neglect and isolation to Boo, it was something new and wonderful to touch. Zander closed his eyes, thrilling at the light touch of claws on his scalp and no longer trying to distance himself from any desire he felt. Boo was doing exactly what it had told him it wanted to do, so why not enjoy it? He hoped, oh he hoped that Boo was taking pleasure in these moments, because he was; he felt like he wasn’t just unwinding thanks to the ability to touch someone, but like he might unravel entirely, lose all the stress and constraint of having a form.

Maybe that wasn’t the best simile, considering Boo’s existence, but was he supposed to come up with a better one while making out with the thing under the bed?

He held Boo ever closer, and with very little conscious thought, slipped his tongue past Boo’s lips. He brushed up against Boo’s fangs, and his body tried to set off every alarm system that it had. However, most of his systems were already highly occupied, and all the signals of his nerves and hormones could only merge. He felt like he was blushing all over, like he’d been given a jolt of electricity just this side of lethal, and, oh yeah, his cock was now straining at the fabric of his boxers. He hadn’t gotten so hard, so fast, in a long while. His state would be immediately obvious to anyone familiar with hard-ons; the question was, did that include Boo?

Boo made a soft sound in its throat and pulled away from Zander just far enough to speak. “I—you—I can feel your desire,” it said.

That sounded way too much like a euphemism in a novel where the author wasn’t allowed to say “cock” and Zander was momentarily baffled as to why Boo was talking like that. But then—Boo lived off his fear. Boo could tell when Zander was wondering at him. So when Boo said it could feel his desire, that’s literally what it meant.

And was that a good thing? Well—

Boo sat up, laughing a little. It ran its long, strange hands boldly over Zander’s chest and belly, and Zander could see the glint of its terrible, sexy fangs in the streetlight as it grinned. “Zander. Zander. Zaaaander. You like it when I touch you and—I don’t know if any boogeyman has ever felt this. And I don’t care. It’s so good. I can’t tell if feeling your body under my hands or feeling your desire is better. What—what am I doing that makes you want me? I—I want to do more of that.”

“Boo—I—it’s easy to want you when you’re touching me like I’m the most amazing thing you’ve ever seen in your life!”

“You are,” Boo said, continuing to caress him with earnest hands. “And your desire…” It took a shaky breath. “I had noticed it, before. It was always faint because it wasn’t directed at me. But I was still curious because it was something of you.” Boo’s touches became lighter, but not teasing. It traced a claw around Zander’s nipple, almost shyly.

Zander shivered, but it felt like he was almost feverish, how hot he was. How much of a strange dream all this seemed. “Boo,” he whispered.

“I never realized what it would be like to have desire directed toward me,” it said. “I only hoped to touch you and try to satisfy my own desire, but now I—I think I might be insatiable.”

Zander reached out and covered one of Boo’s hands with his own. “Hey, Boo. We can figure it out. I mean—you’re doing things with your body, with me, that you’ve never done before. I mean, there’s probably some way you can be satisfied. You just don’t know it yet.”

“Yes.” Again, that alien sibilance, and Zander found that a monster accepting his promise to help satisfy it somehow only made him impossibly harder. And he should probably say something about that, but what? Boo had clearly been in the room, at least, while Zander had taken himself in hand, but how much did it understand about what he had been doing?

“Boo,” he began, “this desire that you’re feeling from me to you, it’s…there’s a physical component—”

“Yes,” Boo interrupted. “I’ve noticed it all. The speeding of your heart, but not in fear. The slight changes in your scent. The hardening of your nipples and your cock.”

To hear Boo say “cock” was nearly as disorienting as when Zander thought he was using a euphemism. But then, what other word would it know for penis? It would have had to learn from the porn Zander watched to associate any word with the actual body part.

“Okay,” Zander said, his feelings about Boo watching him masturbate much more ambiguous now that it had apparently been the case in reality, “then you probably know some, uh, other things.”

“Yes, and I…” Boo hesitated.

“Boo, if you don’t want to do anything with my cock, I, well, it’s not what my body’s hoping for, but I can deal.”

“No, that’s not…” Boo flipped its hand over and squeezed Zander’s, really seeming nervous now. “I’ve touched you, and you’ve touched me back, and it felt—it felt so good. I didn’t know the kinds of things my nerves could tell me. I don’t know to say all this. But I’m not shying away because I don’t want to give you the most pleasure that I can. Now that I know I can.”

“Well, all right, do you just need a little guidance or—”

“Maybe, but first I need to show you—” Boo broke off, and lifted itself up, moving forwards until its knees were on either side of Zander’s waist. Its fingers fluttered and it dropped Zander’s hand. “I changed myself when you were in the bathroom. I said I wanted to try hair, but that’s not all I did.”

Zander’s eyes widened. He didn’t want to look too surprised, considering how shy Boo seemed now, but if this was going in the direction he guessed it was, it seemed almost impossible not to be surprised.

Boo picked up Zander’s hand again. It guided him to the place between Boo’s legs. “I don’t know if I did it right. But I made this change before I knew how much you wanted me, because I knew how much I wanted you.”

Zander looked up at Boo, trying to get a glimpse of its face as he left his fingers gently resting against where they had been placed. But then again, what could Boo’s expression tell him that Boo’s actions didn’t? Boo had made an orifice, apparently on the wild wish of an off-chance (or so it had thought) that “touching Zander” would lead into “getting fucked by Zander.” He allowed himself a moment to ask himself if this was too weird but shoved the question away before answering himself. It was the wrong question. Tonight was about Boo and him, and if it was weird it didn’t matter. There were better questions. “Boo, do you want me to be inside you?”

“Yes,” Boo said, quietly, and with no hesitation.

Zander traced his fingers around the edge of the opening Boo had led him to, and he heard Boo pant above him. I wonder if I can make your nerves tell you some really incomprehensible things, he thought, as he continued to carefully stroke Boo. “Any particular word you’d like for this new part of you?” The question wasn’t just a courtesy. Zander wasn’t hugely experienced, but he had enough practical knowledge to know that what he was feeling wasn’t really like any human orifice.

“Oh,” Boo said, again sounding embarrassed even as it breathed heavily and tilted its hips towards Zander’s hand, “I—I don’t really know—it’s just a hole. Is that all right?”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Zander said. With his free hand he stroked Boo’s side and bony hip, doing his best to clear his mind of any negative reaction. Boo had claimed “it”; Boo had a hole. That was all there was to it. Nit-picking the language used by a wondrous, unknown creature was no way to proceed.

Especially not when that wondrous, unknown creature was relaxing and opening thanks to his fingers. “I’m going to put a finger inside you,” Zander said, and Boo made a soft sound in its throat, followed by another as Zander did exactly as he said. Inside, Boo was slick, wet—biological details that it had to have chosen. Zander didn’t know exactly how Boo formed their body, but this didn’t seem like something it had come up with on the spur of the moment. “I think you did really well, remaking yourself this way,” Zander said. It felt like another of his fingers could slip in easily, so he tried, and was right. Boo pressed its hips towards his hand, and when Zander started to gently thrust with his fingers, Boo soon started moving in counterpoint with him, seeking deeper stokes, seeking to be filled. Its smooth inner muscles wrapped around his fingers with a tight strength that made his cock throb and ache in anticipation.

But he’d be careful, no matter how much his body was screaming for Boo. He was giving it its first time, after all, and, well, he wanted to prove himself worthy of its obsession with him.

“Boo, tonight wasn’t the first time you thought about making yourself a hole, was it?” he asked softly.

“I thought about it but I—I couldn’t think about thinking about it,” Boo said. “A boogeyman doesn’t—but I tried to figure out how to construct myself for pleasure—the plan was ready in my mind when you said I could touch.”

“It feels like it was worth the effort,” Zander said. “You feel good to me, Boo. How wet you are, how tightly you hold my fingers—I just want to know if you feel good in yourself, like this?”

Boo took a shuddery breath. “I feel—wonderful,” it said. “I don’t have any way to compare this with my existence as an ordinary boogeyman. And still—the bodies I make have a lot to do with yours. The nerves I make are based on yours—you’re the only living thing in my space. So—is your whole body this attuned to pleasure, too?”

“You know, I think I read that humans do have some nerves that are just meant to feel good when we’re caressed,” Zander said. “Like this.” He ran his hand down Boo’s side, over its hip, down its thigh. Amazing that Boo could instinctively create all the complexity of a living body, that it could guide those instincts when it wanted to—when it developed new and strange desires. And was Boo still changing? During those first touches, Boo had hardly seemed to give off any heat, but now, now it felt distinctly warm, more alive, more fleshly, than ever.

“Then why—why are you not always touching?” Boo asked. Its hand slid up his arm and tangled in his hair.

Unexpected tears burned in the corner of Zander’s eyes. “We—we want to be. I think we really want to be. But sometimes we can’t.”

Boo bent its face close to his, as terrifying and wonderful as ever. “I don’t understand,” it said. “But I am here to touch you now, and you are here to touch me, now. We can have this pleasure of touch and touch-back.”

“Yes,” Zander said. “You’re right, you’re right.” He smiled a little; started moving his fingers in Boo again. Boo arched its back, raising its long body.

“This feels—I don’t understand, but I want more,” Boo said. “I—I showed you my hole with your hand to—to show you it was there. But I want to feel your cock inside me.”

That disorienting shift—from the alien first-timer to the pornographically familiar. Zander wasn’t sure he was getting used to it, but he was certainly ready to roll with it. “Yes—I—I think we’ll both like that.” Boo smiled and reached down between them, and with claws that Zander now realized must be much sharper than he had been thinking, deftly reduced his shorts to rags and tossed them away. It should have been terrifying, but Boo hadn’t dealt him even the slightest scratch. There was only delight in this destruction, and as Zander’s cock stood free, it was practically dripping, just like Boo’s hole.

Despite both their states, Zander reached over to the bedside table and took a small bottle of lube out of the drawer. It would never be a bad thing to have, especially in this uncharted territory. He slicked himself up more carefully than usual, trying to ignore any sensation for the moment. “All right, Boo,” he said, about to guide them back that crucial small distance, when a thought occurred to him. “Do you like the position we’re in now? You on top, and me underneath?”

“Does it make a difference?” Boo asked. “I’m ready. I want to be filled.”

So matter-of-fact when it said these things! It wasn’t trying to seduce him, and yet he was as seduced as he’d ever been!

“With you on top you have more control over how deep you take me. The—the pace, also. But if you were underneath me—how do I even put this? You wouldn’t have to constantly be deciding how to fuck? You could just let yourself feel, if you wanted to do that?”

“Oh,” Boo said slowly. “I think I like the sound of that.” It grinned. “I’ve spent a lot of time under you with the bed in the way. I’d love to find out what it’s like with nothing in between us.”

Amazing, Zander thought. Amazing. Humor, or a very near relative of it. Just another thing that a boogeyman wouldn’t strictly need to survive, but that this wondrous being was able to use.

With Boo on the bed, and only the streetlamp providing light, it was harder for Zander to see it than ever. But there were glimmers enough, of eyes, of teeth. There was suggestion enough, in the subtle variation of shadows. Boo’s new, messy hair spread out on the pillow. The long, narrow shape of its body, with all its suggestions of curiously attached muscles. And now, rising into the clarity offered by the streetlamp, Boo’s strange hand, with its fearsome claws. It cupped Zander’s cheek and he nuzzled against it.

“Even now that I’ve touched you, I’m still going to love looking at you,” Boo said. “I understand that now. I’d thought it was just something to go before touching. But now I know more about pleasure, and I know that looking is a pleasure, too.”

Zander quashed the impulse to laugh this off, to say something cliché about flattery. He didn’t want to build any barriers between them for Boo’s first time, for Boo’s sake. And for his own sake, he didn’t want to force any distance between himself and someone who so plainly and earnestly desired him.

So he didn’t say anything that went back to himself. “You’re the most astonishing being I’ve ever seen, Boo.” And he leaned down and kissed it. Boo sighed and arched up towards him, a vivid reminder of what they both so wanted. He ran his hand lightly down Boo’s body, traced the path of its hipbones, and again found that soft, wet opening. Boo had said it was just a hole, but it was incredible that it had made one at all—that it had gone so far outside its version of normality as a boogeyman in the hope of making a sexual connection. Zander could only hope that Boo would find it everything it’d hoped for. He eased the head of his cock against Boo’s hole, and, taking a deep breath, slid inside the body of his boogeyman.

Immediately, Boo grabbed his shoulders with its hands, its claws pricking against his skin. The tiny points of pain were immediately subsumed in the heat of desire, however, as Boo lifted its hips urgently against Zander’s.

“Am I really giving you this much pleasure?” Boo asked, sounding dazed.

Zander gave a single, breathy laugh. “Just you wait.” He hoped the connection between them would be strong, that it would help Boo figure out how it could find the satisfaction and relief that Zander knew he was going to find in Boo. He began to thrust shallowly, Boo at once joining him in his rhythm.

“Yes,” Boo said, a sigh and a hiss at once. “Yes.” Its hands crept over him in ever-greedy caresses, boldly grasping handfuls of his flesh with alien, yet ardent, delight and desire. Its wet heat held him close, inner muscles tightening around his cock every time he withdrew. It drove all thoughts of biological artistry from Zander’s mind, leaving room only for the thrill of this deepest, closest touch.

“Tell me—tell me what you want,” Zander said. “Want to make you feel—as good as I do.”

“I don’t know, I don’t know—” Boo wrapped its long legs around Zander and pulled him closer. “Just—more, more. Harder, faster!”

Boo’s groan of pleasure when Zander obeyed was nearly his undoing. He had no clear idea at all how he managed to hold back, save that he suddenly craved to know what other sounds he could coax from Boo. Every little moan, every little gasp seemed to speak volumes, but volumes that would contain only the simplest statements, over and over again. I want you. I need you. You feel good on me, you feel good in me. But what more needed to be said in the bizarre little paradise his apartment had become? It could never be shared, never be explained, but that didn’t matter. It only mattered that he was real, and Boo was real, and no matter how astonishing their first meeting, they were both finally getting the touch they had been so desperate for.

Zander bent to kiss Boo’s fanged mouth, their disparate bodies pressing together as if there was no reason for them ever to have been apart.

“Zander,” Boo said softly, breaking the kiss for a moment, and Zander smiled down at it and impulsively nuzzled his cheek against its. Then, “Zander!” Boo cried out, baffled and worshipful, arching up against him and clenching around him tighter than ever before.

The thought “did I just make my boogeyman come?” just barely had time to form in Zander’s mind before his thrusts lost their steadiness and his own orgasm washed over him in a bright wave of pleasure.

“Zander,” Boo murmured, once they had both collected themselves a little and were lying side by side, “I want to sleep here. In your bed. With you.”

“No going back, huh? I’m happy with that.” He lightly ran his hand down Boo’s arm. “But what if you sleep too deeply? I can close my blackout curtains, of course, but they haven’t worked great here and the sun might still get through. I don’t want you to get injured after all the—all the good things of tonight.”

“I’m not worried. I…even if I’ve changed, I’m still a boogeyman. I’ll wake when the light is too much. And I feel like…I have reserves of energy. Even more than I did at the start of the night.”

“Well, all right,” Zander said. “I’m going to guess that you won’t mind cuddling?”

Boo flashed a grin. “Oh no, never.”

When Zander woke he wasn’t disoriented that Boo was in his bed; he knew very well he hadn’t been dreaming last night. But he was surprised that he was able to see Boo so clearly. The sun wasn’t fully up yet, but it was undeniably dawn. And Boo was still sleeping peacefully, an absurdly elongated little spoon. Zander did want to spend some time looking at Boo, at the form it had made of both instinct and desire, but its description of the terrible effects of the sun made him reach out and shake its shoulder instead.

Boo blinked sleepily, as if it had a lot of experience with sleeping and not just phasing out of existence during the day. “The daylight, Boo! The daylight!”

It yawned, revealing every single one of its astonishing fangs. “Can’t be daylight,” it said. “You have more uncomfortable lamps.”

“Boo, really!” Zander started trying to move Boo’s miles of limbs around so he could get out of bed and get to the blackout curtains. Why hadn’t he just taken the time to close them last night? It wouldn’t have hurt, it might have helped, and now Boo was way too close to being burned by the sun for the second time because of him! And apparently it was too disoriented? Unused to waking up? To stop hindering Zander from trying to keep it safe—wow, how weird, to go from terrified to protective of one’s boogeyman within a few hours—wait. Did the boogeyman thing explain the situation he was having right now? He was afraid for Boo, Boo naturally did things that were scary, and so Boo’s arms and legs were trapping him in his bed. It was the same thing as not being able to run in a nightmare.

Zander flopped back down and tried to calm himself. Boo was a grown boogeyman, much older than Zander if he’d correctly deciphered its comments on when it had come to exist. If it was going to take these risks, let it! It had come back from the other sunburn just fine!

Zander had maybe three seconds of calm before Boo sat upright quickly enough to make the bed springs squeak. “This IS sunlight!”

“Yeah, and don’t you need to hide from it?”

“I…I hide from light because it hurts me. Or it hurt me.” Boo slowly turned one of its hands back and forth in the dawn light. “But I barely feel anything now. It’s just a tingle. I think the light still might be dissolving me, but somehow it’s so much easier to heal, now. More sunlight would probably still be too much. But I don’t feel any need to dissolve for the length of the day.” It frowned. “I have changed.”

“Boo.” Zander sat up. “How?”

“I couldn’t have guessed…” Boo spoke softly. “But then again, maybe I am the same. Maybe this is part of being a boogeyman, but a boogeyman that followed its instincts, a boogeyman without a Zander, would have only ever tasted fear.” It fixed its gaze back on Zander. “You wondered at me. You were curious about me. You felt desire for me. And now, this morning, you were afraid for me. All of these emotions…I think they are more powerful than your everyday fear. At least for me. At least when they come from you.” It paused, and when it spoke again a note of trepidation had crept into its voice. “Do you think you could continue to wonder at me? I…want to have continuity. In your space. With you. If I don’t have to worry about the sunlight so much, and staying out of sight…there are so many ways I could do more than just exist.”

“Boo.” Zander took its hand. “I think I’ll be wondering at you for a long, long time.” He paused. “Do you still need fear, specifically, now?”

Boo shrugged. “Nightmares are always enough for a boogeyman. I just…ended up different.”

“I’m glad you did,” Zander said. “I’m glad you ended up different with me.” Boo immediately sprawled around him in a clumsy embrace, and Zander laughed. “But it’s a hell of a time to start being part of the world, you know?”

“No, I don’t know,” Boo said.

Zander sighed, though he smiled, too. “Well. I’ll be here as you figure it out. Now, let’s find a safe place for you to spend the day.” And though he didn’t say anything then, the question still bloomed within him—if wonder can carry you through the dawn, what might love do?

#exophilia #monster lover #boogeyman #non-fandom writing #well I mean you know

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peaceoutofthepieces · 4 years ago

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Sink Or Swim

tag list: @cleocc @feeling-kinda-so-so @hopelessromanticvirgo @dreamy-slytherin @adora8 @lockerfivethreefive @painfully-oblivious @poeticinemaa @jjustonemorething @saraben00 @wedarkacademia @coolguyssyndrome @hischbabe @suckerforsobbe @tayspots @starmansander @theah0lt @zoenneforever @invisibleme @chibibanane @odi-et-amo85

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Thursday, 18:02

Song: Daði Freyr - Think About Things

Lucas finds himself pleased at how easy it is to pick Sander out from a crowd. If the white hair doesn’t give it away, the jacket does; if the jacket isn’t enough, the laughter is; and if that fails, the boyfriend is always a good confirmation.

Robbe is the one who spots Lucas first, wrapped up in his usual brown coat and then Sander, who whispers something in Robbe’s ear that makes him roll his eyes. Lucas’s heart clenches. Fondness and jealousy war inside him and tangle into a tight knot. A thin thread of fear completes it. He always marvels at them, at the openness of their affection, and yet he still finds himself casting his gaze around for the onlookers who don’t hold the same respect. Seeing them so free of any guards only makes Lucas’s heighten.

Especially when Sander turns to look at him, smile wide and eyes bright, but with faint shadows lingering underneath. He holds his hand out when Lucas is a few feet away and Lucas clasps it in greeting, allowing Sander to tug him forward into a half hug. “Hey.”

His tone is cheerful, light, and still Lucas does a discreet examination, noticing the tousled hair and drooped shoulders and worrying, until he catches sight of the faint bruise not quite tucked away under his collar. He moves his gaze to Robbe, who hasn’t unwound his arm from the other’s waist and holds a blush high in his cheeks, but seems pleased and unbothered, and he understands. He extends the same greeting to Robbe as he internally berates himself, remembering how his mother would react under the same scrutiny. Sander is the only one capable of knowing what he feels and what he’s up for, and it isn’t Lucas’s place to play doctor. Clearly, even the blonde’s boyfriend has learned that.

“So, why exactly have I been invited to third wheel for the day?” Lucas asks.

Robbe huffs a laugh. “I think that’ll actually be me today. I’m not exactly part of this plan.”

“You’re always part of my plan,” Sander dismisses easily, ignorant to the blush he earns in response as he grins excitedly at Lucas. “How do you feel about an actual lesson in art, protégé?”

“Wait, seriously?” Lucas raises a brow. He’d assumed, when Sander had reached out to him, that it was art-themed. But even now, he isn’t sure what exactly to expect.

“That is assuming you don’t already know what you’re doing,” Robbe amends. “How much practice have you had with graffiti?”

Lucas’s eyes almost bulge out of his head. “Really?”

Sander purses his lips, amused, as Robbe raises his brows. “Is that a lot, or…?”

“None. I haven’t done any. Yet.”

“Ahh,” Sander rubs his hands together, beaming. “Then today’s your lucky day. Come.”

Lucas doesn’t need to be told twice. He follows them closely down the sidewalk, the two in constant contact but never excluding, always trying to invite Lucas in. Lucas laughs at their teasing and nods at their explanations and listens raptly to their tales and only feels his excitement grow. Art is something he’s been neglecting, recently, aside from a few flurries of rushed sketches, but the passion has seemed to revive full force by just being in Sander’s presence. His love for the subject is obvious in every exaggerated word and extravagant gesture of hands, and Lucas is effectively entranced. Graffiti was never a medium he’d considered seriously, but he’s always admired. He’s more than aware of Sander’s talent for it, and admits that a lesson from such a person is not a bad way to start off.

It also makes him feel that bit more insufficient. He can’t possibly match up to either of these boys, be it in bravery or talent or both. It dims his excitement, just slightly.

But his spirits are quickly revived as they finally make it to their destination. Sander hands him a mask made from black cloth from his pocket and waits as he and Robbe tuck them over their ears. Only then does he don his own with a wink before rapping his knuckles rhythmically on the garage door.

The inside space is much bigger than Lucas expects, opening up to reveal rows of large containers, all decorated with at least one piece of art. Sander guides Lucas and Robbe through them, indicating artists he ‘knows’, complete pieces he’s captured while they were still in progress, and a few small things of his own tucked away behind new layers.

“Take a good look around,” Sander says, turning to wink at Robbe. Lucas only has a few seconds to be confused before he adds, “You might find the love of your life here.”

Lucas raises his brows. “This is where the two of you met?”

“Met is a strong word,” Robbe says, rolling his eyes at Sander. “I didn’t even see him.”

“No, he was too focused on his girlfriend at the time,” Sander agrees lightly.

“But he claims he saw me and it was love at first sight.” Robbe reaches up to pinch his boyfriend’s cheek, and Lucas allows a small laugh. “Even though he could barely see my face.”

“Didn’t need to,” Sander shrugs. “I was right, wasn’t I?”

Robbe comes to a halt and tugs at Sander’s hand, drawing him around to face him. He pulls down Sander’s mask after tugging away his own, leaning in for a short kiss. It takes Lucas longer than it should to avert his gaze. He just doesn’t think he can ever get used to it.

While actually watching them, he doesn’t think he could ever do that. He doesn’t think he could ever be that.

But he wants to.

When he looks away, his gaze catches on a bright patch hidden amongst a cloud of grayscale. His feet carry him towards it on their own accord, and it takes a few moments for him to realise what it is. It’s a patchwork rainbow of colours, blended together but with dark, specific lines cutting through and outlining it to form a heart, in its scientific detail. Lucas would scoff, if there wasn’t something about it that had ridden him speechless in awe, hand reaching out to brush over the dried paint.

He doesn’t notice Sander until he’s right at his shoulder, then he jumps when he speaks.

“Huh?” Lucas twists to look at him.

“Nice piece,” Sander repeats. “I don’t actually remember seeing it before.”

“You don’t know who did it, then?”

“No. Even the style isn’t familiar.”

Lucas nods and lets his hand fall away, following when Sander sets off in a new direction. He’s led to a blank spot on one of the containers, with a crate of spray paint already waiting at the top of the short steps. Excitement bubbles back up in him as he jogs up after Sander, only to turn back in confusion when he realises Robbe hasn’t followed. He catches sight of him fist-bumping another guy in greeting, over a head taller than him and built like a wall. Sander follows his gaze and snorts at the picture, giving a little wave when Robbe turns his gaze on him suspiciously.

Then Sander turns back to the space and rubs his hands together. “Okay. Have you ever done any spray-painting before?”

“I haven’t even held a can.”

Sander immediately picks a can out and smacks it into his hand. “Then today is really your lucky day. We’re gonna start with a neutral layer then, just to get you used to how it feels. You can try with some vague shapes just to practice lines?”

Lucas nods, trying not to appear too lost already. Sander smiles slightly, anyway, and picks up a can of his own, giving it a vigorous shake as he finally tugs his mask back up over his face. Lucas copies him, getting used to the hold of it, adjusting his grip a few times until he feels more comfortable. When Sander uncaps his Lucas does the same. Then he watches as Sander sprays a quick, messy wave downwards in example.

When Lucas moves to copy him, Sander quickly catches his hand. “Woah, woah. First lesson—always make sure the nozzle is pointing the right way, yeah? We don’t want you losing an eye. Jens will never like me.”

Lucas flushes, turns the can around the right way, and hesitantly presses down when Sander nods. White covers gray in a sudden, heavy stream, and he carefully moves his hand in a small circle. He’s shading this in under Sander’s mildly impressed—but still watchful—gaze before the end of his words sink in.

“What has Jens got to do with spray-painting?”

Sander glances at him, then shrugs, raising his own can again and looping a circle through Lucas’s. “Not the painting, just you. You’re his new favourite, aren’t you? And he already didn’t seem impressed that we knew each other. Last thing I ever want to do is prove Jens right.”

“You don’t get along?” Lucas asks carefully.

“Oh no, we do. We just also like the healthy sort of competition we have going on. He acts like he’s annoyed and I annoy him a little more. It’s nice. Works well.”

Lucas smiles in mild confusion. “Why, though? You’re both really cool, you probably have a few obscure things in common. Wouldn’t you rather be closer?”

Another shrug. “It’s not completely up to me. I don’t know that Jens is acting, all the time.”

“What, you think you annoy him?”

Sander examines the little symbol they’ve created as he searches for a response. “I think I’m always worthy of concern, in his eyes. He’s very protective of Robbe, and I respect that,” he settles on.

It doesn’t entirely satisfy Lucas. “He doesn’t need to protect Robbe from you.”

Sander turns towards him and offers, from the new curve of his cheeks, what Lucas assumes is a smile. “No?”

Lucas shakes his head. “No one loves Robbe more than you. It’s not possible.”

That seems to brighten the other boy, slightly, and Lucas wonders if Jens is even aware of this doubt in their relationship. It seems unlikely. If he knew the way it weighed on the blonde, Lucas is sure he’d quickly set him right. It saddens Lucas, to see the tightly-drawn curl of Sander’s shoulders as he ducks down to collect a new can and doesn’t quite meet his eye as he rises again. He’s sure Jens wouldn’t like it, either.

“Robbe told you, right? About my…”

The reason for the tension suddenly becomes more clear. Lucas hates that the other boy can’t even say it. “Yeah. I’m sorry if you didn’t want me to know, I wasn’t meaning to pry—“

“No,” Sander cuts him off, raising his free hand and giving a small shake of his head. “I told Robbe it was okay. I’m sorry that I couldn’t explain it myself. It’s usually...not an issue so quickly after I meet someone.”

“It isn’t an issue,” Lucas says softly, simply.

Sander shakes the new can and watches his own movements closely. “I would have just liked you to get to know me first. I understand if you—if it changes how you see me.”

Lucas tilts his head and sets a gentle hand on Sander’s arm, waiting until the other boy looks at him. There is, Lucas realises, a vulnerability in him that he hadn’t noticed in any of their previous meetings. A dull, contained sadness behind the eccentric persona. It strikes a chord more familiar in Lucas’s chest than the initial one, the one that had seen an outsider and an extravagant and an artist. Now he sees more clearly—a struggler and a fighter and a savior.

The only thing that has changed, in Lucas’s opinion of Sander, is that he’s ten times more interesting than he’d originally thought. Lucas views him as more of a kindred spirit now than before.

“How I see you,” Lucas muses. “You mean as the scarily talented, intimidatingly cool, older guy who is literally teaching me one of the most awesome art-forms ever right now? Yeah, Sander, it’s real disappointing.”

He shakes his head, disbelieving, and is gratified at the small laugh Sander lets out in response.

“Wait,” Sander teases, “do I have my first fanboy?”

Lucas scoffs, then nods his head behind them. “I doubt I’m the first.”

The mask works at hiding his cheeks, but Lucas still sees his neck reddening as he looks over his shoulder at Robbe. His eyes seem to brighten and soften at once when he finally catches sight of him. Lucas realises then how deep their affection actually goes. It throws him, how clear it is suddenly, how little Sander does to hide it, how easily Robbe feels his eyes and turns to reciprocate even though there shouldn’t be any way for him to know. They are that in tune, that in sync, that it baffles Lucas to watch them. He can’t imagine anyone ever looking at him like that.

Aren’t you lonely?

Lucas shakes the memory way and finds himself admitting, “My mom is bipolar, too.”

Sander looks back at him instantly.

“No one else here knows that, so. You’re the first,” he continues, awkwardly, pointlessly, stupidly. Where is he going with this?

It doesn’t matter. He just needed to say it.

“Oh,” Sander says. Then his tone softens. “Is that why you moved here?”

Lucas averts his gaze and gives a small, jerky nod. “My dad...he made us. He couldn’t—no, he wouldn’t stay. I miss her. Everyday. It doesn’t make me love her any less. I just miss my mother.”

Sander’s shoulders slump, but before he can say anything else Robbe is climbing the steps and joining them. “How’s it going?”

Sander shifts his gaze to his boyfriend and Lucas feels the tension holding his spine seep away. Robbe and Sander pull their masks down again in tandem, sharing nothing more than a quick peck. It’s just enough of a distraction for Lucas to make himself look busy, as he sprays the hasty shape of a designer-heart on the container, next to their circles. Then he does a careful ‘R + S’ inside.

Robbe makes a small noise that may be a cheer as Sander snorts. “We have a natural here. I think he might even have something to teach me.”

Lucas turns to him with a retort ready on his tongue and stops when he sees Sander’s serious, but warm gaze. He realises that it isn’t about the painting.

He reaches out and knocks Sander’s shoulder fondly, smiling to himself when Sander squeezes his in response.

#van der stoffels #vds #wtfock #skam nl #sink or swim #vds season fic #sos clip

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harrysgloves · 5 years ago

Text

Let Your Hair Down (chapter xvii)

Get caught up with the Let Your Hair Down Masterlist!

word count: 2,420

story summary: Harry gets more than he bargains for when he falls not only for you but your little girl as well.

chapter summary: You and Harry have some alone time.

warnings: soft fluffy smut. Really lots of fluff. I mean so much it’s a bit sickening but I needed it so I’m not that sorry oh and also language.

a/n: I’m not sorry that I got way too into this. xx

>>><<<

By the time you finally got Thea in bed and asleep you were dead tired. The day had definitely taken its toll on you. You could feel how heavy your eyes were as you made your way into your bedroom face planting into the soft white comforter.

"Long day?" Harry said from the top of the bed, placing down whatever book he was reading and moving to where you were.

"Yeah." You spoke directly into the sheets, voice muffled by all the covers. You knew he heard you though by his humming, his hands gently massaging your shoulders, working out the knots of stress trapped in your muscles.

"Mhh, don't stop." You smiled, turning your head slightly so you could actually breathe and enjoy being taken care of for once.

"Can't say things like that love. Gonna get me all worked up." You laughed rolling over on your back, his arms resting above your head, face inches away from yours.

"Oh yeah?" You asked, leaning slightly to touch the tip of your nose to his. His smile coming across his face, dimples popping out as he hummed his agreement.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, fingers running through his hair, pulling his lips on yours. A sigh of relief leaving you once his velvet-soft lips were finally moving in sync with yours again.

A weight lifted off you when his arms wrapped under you, pulling you closer into him. When he moved his hips between your bent legs, you felt at home for the first time in days. Being with him felt so natural, so comforting.

"Thought ya were tired?" He spoke with his lips still close to yours, lips soft and smooth like satin sheets. You smiled pulling back slightly to look at him. His messy curls falling over his eyes.

"But I missed you." You pushed back the few pieces of hair that were hanging in his face, those light green eyes you loved so much opening to look down at you.

You couldn't explain how these moments with him felt. You just knew laying here with him you felt completely safe. With his arms wrapped tightly around you, his body draped over yours. You felt connected more than just by physical touch.

And maybe if you weren't so scared of your feelings or the possibility of him leaving your heart in shreds you'd admit just how much you were falling in love with him.

You couldn't let your mind wander there for too long though. The anxiety of being hurt again made you question every move you made with him over and over again. Would he leave and you'd be left with all the pieces of your heartbroken around you? Would he turn out to be another Ryan? Would you completely lose yourself in another relationship again and it turn out just as badly?

"Wat's goin' on in that pretty little head of yours?" He asked, looking down at you, seeing the wheels of anxiety turning in your head at full speed.

"Just-" You started but your eyes trailed away from his, looking anywhere else. Admitting how you felt had always been such a hard thing for you to do. Talking about anything important or meaningful was never something you were good at.

"Jus'?" He nudged your nose with his, encouraging you to open up to him.

"Just-" You sighed, eyes going and focusing back on him. You swallowed, anxiety rising in your chest. "Just, how much I like you."

"Mhm, and?" He asked, a cheeky smile on his lips, making you give him the 'are you being serious right now?' look.

"'M kidding. I know ya hate talkin' about this kinda stuff." He didn't seem to be bothered by the fact feeling sharing wasn't your number one quality but you cared. You hated feeling like you were constantly keeping everyone an arms distance away, you just didn't know how to fix it.

"I don't hate it. I'm just not good at it." You sighed, feeling defeated by your own mind.

"Yer not bad at it, love." His fingers ran through your hair that was splayed out in every direction, a soft smile on his face as he focused so intently on each strand running under and over his fingers.

"Yer jus' scared that I don't feel the same way," He paused the gentle movements of his hands through your hair, eyes locking back on yours. "But I do."

Your breathing caught in your throat at his words. Heart slamming against your chest so rapidly you were concerned for your health for a hot second. Your mind reeling with everything he just said, did he mean it?

"Yeah?" You asked quietly, softly, almost afraid to know if he meant it or not. Always second-guessing if people actually wanted to be around you or in your life or not was definitely tiring but a habit that you never grew out of. A bad habit you wanted to put to rest finally, with him, for him.

"Yeh." He said equally as quietly, lips going back to yours with so much force and emotion behind them. You might not have been able to tell him how you felt but you tried your best to put everything you didn't know how to say into kissing him back.

His lips moving perfectly in time with yours made your body feel alive. Every nerve in you was lighting up at his soft touches, his arms wrapping back around you. Your back arching up when he pulled you against him.

Everything around you was surrounded in him, everything you touched, everything you smelled, everything you tasted. Everything you felt. Everything was him, him, him. Your whole body, mind, soul, it belonged to him, and you were completely okay with it.

You wanted it, needed it, needed him. Needed the way he made you felt, the way he appreciated you, and cared about you.

The way he was falling in love with you without saying it.

The way you were falling for him without being able to admit it.

It consumed you.

"Need you." You breathed out once you broke away from the kiss, chest heaving in deep breaths.

His eyes still closed, forehead pressed tightly against your own as he nodded. His hands immediately pulling your shorts off, down your legs, thrown somewhere without any care.

His one arm resting above your head as his other trailed down between your legs. His fingers running across your slick folds, teasing your entrance before going to your sensitive bundle of nerves, moving in soft circles against you, making you whine in frustration.

"Please, Harry." Your breathless voice was shaky with need. Your hands running through his hair, clasping around the base of his neck.

"Need to be close to you." You whispered so softly, admitting to him what you felt was freeing at the same time it was terrifying.

His movements stopped those eyes filled with so many emotions moving to yours. His eyebrows pulled slightly together, like he was thinking over what you said. Your own anxiety of him rejecting you filled made your stomach sink.

"Already close to me, love." He sighed, leaning down to kiss you again, softly, gently, with so much care.

He pulled back, fumbling to free himself just enough from the confinement of his pants for his erection to bounce out, smacking his stomach it had so much force from being freed.

Your eyes wide, taking him in, his hand clamping around himself, slowly guiding himself through your drenched folds. Your breath catching in your throat every time he slid against your clit.

You wanted to grab him, tell him to stop teasing you so much, but the way he looked, the way he was looking at you and him. The way he looked like he was in a trance made you stop, take him all in. Eyes hungry to memorize every detail about him

His eyes finally moved from your folds back to your eyes when he positioned his throbbing tip at your entrance, gently pressing into you but not fully in when he laid himself back over top of you. His hands brushing out through your hair, coming to cup your face. His thumb running softly back and forth across both cheeks.

"My heart belongs to ya. Ya know that, right?" He asked, eyes staring at your lips like he was too scared to look in your eyes. To see if there was any doubt swimming in them.

Any words you were about to say were quickly replaced in your throat by a drawn-out moan when he pushed into you fully. His forehead resting on your shoulder, taking deep breaths in.

Your walls were already clenching around him, trying to draw him in further to you. Desperate for him to be as close to you as possible.

"Fuck." He moaned, pressing his lips to your neck. "Baby, ya can't do that or 'm blow like a fuckin' teenager."

"Then move." You whined, shifting your hips, needing him to move so badly your body was starting to ache with need. Craving him.

His hand wrapped around the back of your neck when he finally lifted his head to look at you. Your eyes already clouded with tears and you weren't sure if it was because you needed him so much or if it was because of all the feelings you couldn't say yet filling your mind.

He brought your lips to his when he finally rolled his hips against yours. His mouth capturing all the moans leaving you. Your arms wrapped around him, desperately trying to bring him closer, holding onto him like he was your life raft. The only thing saving you from the insanity of falling in love again.

His other hand that wasn't tangled in your hair slid under your back, pulling you up to him as he leaned back on his legs. Your body like a ragdoll he could move around so easily. Pulling you where he wanted you to go but giving you all the control. A stark contrast to how things usually were with him.

You broke away from the kiss, resting completely down on him. Foreheads pressed together, hands gripping on each other pulling each other as close as possible, your chest pressed tightly against his. Your arms were thrown around the back of his neck, hands tangled in his hair.

Both of you breathing in so deeply, inhaling each other.

"Want ya comfortable with me." His hand on the back of your head, threaded in your hair, pulling you impossibly closer to him.

"Want ya to open up to me." He brought your lips back to his. Tongues immediately moving together in perfect harmony.

You lifted and lowered yourself on him, moving your hips in a way that had him hitting places in you that were driving you crazy. Panting heavily, pulling back from the kiss, trying your best to hold in all your moans. Knowing you had to stay kind of quiet but the things he was doing to your body and your soul made you want to scream his name. Never feeling this kind of connection before.

He wasn't able to sit still long, holding onto you as he thrust in time with your movements, both of you in sync so perfectly you felt like you were moving as one person.

"Harry." You moaned, your walls clenching around him. Your high so close you could feel your legs already starting to shake. Every sense in your body heightened as the tidal wave of euphoria was approaching you in ways it never had before. Ears ringing, legs tightening around him.

"I know, sweetheart, let go. I got ya." He pulled you back into his lips as you let go. Your orgasm hitting you like a ton of bricks, eyes shut, body tense, toes curled, face numb, nerves tingling. A moan so loud ripped from you that Harry had to pull back and cover your mouth with his hand.

His arms holding you upright as his final thrust slammed into you. Your watery eyes fading the beauty of him lost in you. His eyes shut, mouth hung open, tips of the curls laying on his face drenched in sweat.

He removed his hand from your mouth and kissed you. Really kissed you. So much emotion behind it, he didn't have to say what he was feeling.

Because you knew what he wanted to say.

Because you wanted to say it too.

He didn't pull himself from you. Holding you close to him as you felt him soften inside of you. Your head resting on his shoulder, arms around him. His one arm holding you close while his other ran gently through your hair.

He eventually pulled out of you. A mess leaking all over his sweatpants but he didn't care as he pulled them off and threw them off the bed.

Curling up with you under the blankets, face to face. Legs intertwined. Your hands resting against his chest, eyes closing. Falling off into the best sleep you'd ever had in your life.

You woke up the next morning to an empty bed. Your heart sinking, not knowing why he didn't wake you up before leaving that morning. Your brain already running a million miles an hour, wondering what you did wrong. What you did to drive him away.

Your anxiety only heightened when you saw him sitting alone in the living room. His head resting in his hand. Arms on his knees. The stress rolling off him in waves, hitting you from the other side of the room.

"Where's Thea?" You asked, not moving from the spot you were planted in. Breath stuck in your throat when he lifted his head still not looking at you but staring off at the wall in front of him.

"Harry, where's my fucking kid?" Anxiety and anger mixing together, creating a time bomb waiting to explode. You needed to know she was okay, he was acting so weird, so different than last night.

"With Mitch." He finally said. Not turning around. Not looking at you. Not helping your anxiety.

"Why?" You finally started to move from where you were standing, bare feet moving against the cold floor.

"Cause we need to talk." You stopped behind him. The words you dreaded ever hearing from anyone but especially him, especially after last night, hitting you across the face.

"'Bout those finger marks on yer wrist."

#Harry Styles #Harry #Harry Styles x Reader #Harry Styles x You #Harry Styles x Y/N #Harry Styles Fanfic #Harry Styles Fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #writing #mine #LYHD

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wide-eyedscottishlass · 4 years ago

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Scarlett and the Professor - a lazy Sunday morn

[continued from]

moodboard by @strangelock221b 💙

Scarlett flipped onto her side, instinctively turning away from the sunlight filtering through her closed lids. The silk sheets cocooning her were slick and cool, but the sun had warmed her face enough to awaken her senses. In moments more, she breathed deeply--taking in the heady scent of all that sex, that astonishing, wicked, glorious sex--and gave out a purr of satisfaction. She was smiling before she even opened her eyes, remembering herself--happy and sappy and deeply in love.

“Ah, at last,” he chuckled; she heard not only his genuine amusement, but the crinkle and flip of some large pieces of paper. Newsprint? A newspaper than. Scarlett smiled into her pillow; of course he would prefer paper over the digital version. True hedonist that he was, Hennessy would always opt for the most tactile sensations.

“There’s my little sleepyhead,” he added with true affection, so that she popped one eye open and then the other. Hennessy sat up against the headboard, a couple of pillows propped behind him, bare to the waist. His long legs stretched out before him, covered in a pair of dark grey, silk pajama bottoms, and his feet were also bare. Scarlett sighed softly; when even his feet appeared to her as sexy, it must certainly mean there was no saving her from the beautiful fall she was taking.

She reached up to check the tangle of her hair, blinking at the strong sunlight filling the room. “Mmmmm...why didn’t you wake me?”

He flicked the top of his newspaper down to the crease, favoring her above his reading glasses with indulgent mirth. “My darling Scarlett, you needed your rest, of course. My fault too, as you were rather spent by the time I finally let you sleep uninterrupted.” His grin was smug, yet still she saw his genuine fondness for her, weakening her heart all over again.

“I’m not spent now,” she urged him, shimmying close enough to lay her hand on his bicep.

He pursed his lips, his eyes widening, “Well, haven’t you learned your lessons well! And now looking for extra credit...”

Scarlett batted her lashes and replied breathily, “Extra, extra...Hennessy.” She had already come to love how he looked when she dared call him by name.

His mouth dropped open as if to respond, but he was interrupted by the loud buzz of a text alert on his mobile. “Hold that thought, little lamb,” he commanded, “And I promise to give you all the attention you so deserve.” Hennessy took a perfunctory look at his phone, them jumped up from the bed, taking giant strides to the door. He turned back her way, eyeing her as though he saw right through the sheets, while his smile grew salacious. “Mmmm...mmmm...mmmm! You could almost make a man forgo his other hungers, Scarlett. But we don’t want out breakfast growing cold now, do we?” He dashed from the room.

Perplexed and a bit stymied--god, how perfectly divine he’d looked framed in the doorway, all firm, warm flesh, so srtong and long and lanky, that all she wanted was to mold her body to his as she lay beneath him--Scarlett turned onto her back and gave a long, languorous stretch, waiting upon his return. She heard his heavy front doors close and then imagined him taking two steps at a time back up to his bedroom suite. The mouthwatering scents of fresh pancakes and bacon preceded him into the room.

“Voila! Here’s my version of breakfast in bed.” Hennessy seemed very pleased with himself and with surprising her, crossing to the bed and setting down two plastic sacks filled with cardboard containers. He put a smaller paper bag on his bedside table, which turned out to hold coffee and orange juice.

Scarlett’s stomach had begun to rumble the moment the aromas reminded her that she hadn’t eaten anything in over twelve hours. She scooted up against the headboard, keeping the sheet decorously across her breasts, while Hennessy took his place beside her and began to dole out their meal. “There’s bacon and sausage, darling. Wasn’t sure you had a preference, but there’s more than enough of both.” There was plenty of syrup and butter, too, and a container of sliced and sugared strawberries, along with whipped cream, to top the pancakes. And a heaping serving of cheese-topped scrambled eggs.

She tucked in with relish, and Hennessy laughed good-naturedly at the evidence of her hunger, the smile lines beside his pale blue eyes (Scarlett sighed inwardly; they always look so astonishingly pale in strong sunlight!) grown dearer than ever to her heart. Since the moment that he’d taken her in full, she’d already stopped herself from saying that she loved him a half dozen times--and he was making it very hard for her to continue to suppress that urge.

“What?” He asked, around a forkful of pancakes and eggs. He must’ve have seen a flicker of that thought cross her face.

“Oh...ah...nothing...really,” she fibbed, lowering her eyes so he wouldn’t read more, “I’d been hoping to make some scones this morning---but this...this is so much better...”

“It is, isn’t it!” He hummed a jaunty tune as he set himself a second serving of everything. “But please don’t be too disappointed about your scones, love. The morning paper and breakfast takeaway in bed is a Sunday ritual I will never go without, come hell or high water.”

“Of course...” The danger of him guessing how soft she was for him seemed to have passed for the moment.

“But if it would make you happy, we can have them with tea this afternoon. Or failing that, another breakfast morning. Would that work for you?”

“Oh, yes,” she nodded, happier at the implication that there were further breakfasts together in their future, than for the promise of the scones themselves. “Whatever you want...darling.” His smile was pure sunshine as he leaned in and kissed her mouth, before returning to his meal.

After they broke their fast, he had her in the shower, amid a thick wall of steam created by the dual showerheads--taking her with such a stunning ferocity that he left her filled with speechless bliss, and legs shaking so badly that she had to lean on him for several minutes until she felt strong enough to support herself. Though he was both amused---his low rumbles of laughter at her very flattering reaction had echoed all around them---and highly satisfied, he also became the soft, solicitous lover in the aftermath, smoothing gentle hands upon her wet hair and scattering loving kisses on her face, murmuring endearments against her skin.

’My darling...my angel...my lovely, little lamb. My sweet, sweet Scarlett...’ Spurring her to ask herself: how can he see to my needs this way and still not know he owns my heart?

Why, he’d even stepped from the shower first--telling her to just hold on a tic--grabbing a thick, thirsty towel to swaddle her in before he wrapped one around himself, and then had guided her to sit on the padded vanity stool next to the long bathroom counter. Never having observed a grown man in his morning ablutions, Scarlett found herself fascinated watching him run gel through his thick, dark hair, trying to get it to behave as he preferred, and then lather up and shave. Shaving with meticulous care, the quiet scrape of the razor against his skin reminding her that this was all very real. That this complicated, brilliant, perpetual temptation of a man had welcomed her not only into his bed, but into the privacy of his home and the rhythm of his life.

The air was soon rich with his scent--Bleu de Chanel--as he applied a generous dose of aftershave. When he grabbed his toothbrush, he turned to her with a grin, “I’m almost all set, love. Then you can have the room to yourself to do...whatever it is you do to keep yourself looking so...hmmm...scrumptious.”

Scarlett nodded, though she would have been just as content to simply watch her magnificent lover--her private Hennessy--in the domain which reflected exactly who he was, going about even his most ordinary tasks. Her heart was so entranced now that she wanted to memorize his every detail.

He gave her another toothy grin, then strode over to deposit his towel in the hamper, casually revealing the full glory of the form she had come to worship. He flashed her a wink when he caught her staring-- she just couldn’t help herself, and odds were he knew that. “You might want to suit up, darling. It looks to be the perfect day for a swim.” Then he was out the door, leaving Scarlett to daydream her way through her own morning toilette, wondering what new lessons Hennessy might have in store for her. Eager to learn--and even more eager to please.

____________________________________________

Scarlett had plaited her damp hair into a Dutch braid, draped across her shoulder, hoping to keep her hair tidy if they did end up taking a swim. She slipped into a modest tankini with her denim capris over that, and then grabbed her rucksack before she headed downstairs. If Hennessy was busy--she’d noted he had taken his newspaper to wherever he’d gone off to--she had a bit of actual course work to do. Sketches for a study of the natural world, prep for an end of term project--a large, landscape painting in the artist’s choice of medium, along with a portfolio of drawings and any other work she did towards the completion of the final piece. She’d found the seeds of inspiration in Hennessy’s wild-grown garden, as well as in his serene shingle of private beach, and she was keen to make a start.

She found him with his paper beneath the patio umbrella, with an iced pitcher of lemonade, one empty glass and one half-full, upon the wrought iron table. As he had advised her, he was clad in swim trunks and a matching, athletic fit surf tee. In blues and sea greens of course, the hues that not only dominated his casual color palette, but flattered him perfectly.

Scarlett set her bag on one of the spare chairs, poured herself some lemonade and then topped off Hennessy’s glass. He thanked her before turning his attention back to the crossword puzzle he was working on. “You do them in pen?” she observed.

“Is there any other way?” he had narrowed his eyes while he was trying to work out a clue, rhythmically tapping his ball point pen on the glass table top. “Six letter word ending in k-a...an exclamation...hmmmmm...”

She couldn’t resist chiming in, ‘eureka’ just as she began to set out her supplies, then pulled her sketchpad from her rucksack.

“Eureka, indeed,” he chuckled, glancing over to watch her preparations. “And what’s this, little lambkin? Another hidden talent?”

“Depends on what you would consider talent, Professor,” she stated modestly, “I draw a little, I paint a little. Always looking to improve.” She opened up to the middle of her sketchpad, several pages past the drawing she had indulged in the previous afternoon, meaning to avoid him catching sight of it.

“And what sort of things give you inspiration, my dear? People, places...things, mayhap?” Hennessy’s curiosity had been piqued, and he was craning his neck to get at least a little peek.

”Well, yes, of course,” she teased innocently, not ready to volunteer a thing, while setting the edge of her pencil onto the rough surface of the blank page. There was the scrape of chair legs dragged across the calypso coral stone beneath their feet as he drew nearer, and soon he’d made it impossible for her not to acknowledge that he was leaning in close, laying his hand on the back of her neck, toying with the few stray hairs that had escaped her braid. Scarlett turned her head slightly, just enough to see Hennessy from the corner of her eye, catching enough of him to recognize the mischievous glint in his. “What,” she asked quietly, realizing that she would accomplish nothing until she had at least humored him.

“Just curious, darling.” He ran a single finger across her bare shoulder and down her arm, a sure and pleasant distraction, softening her resolve. “I think you’d like to show me your work. Wouldn’t you, Scarlett?”

“I suppose,” she replied with a sigh, though she remained uneasy about how he would react to the liberty she had taken, of sketching him.

“Always my good girl.” He brushed a quiet kiss upon her cheek and then rested his hand on the center of her back, waiting patiently as she flipped back to the opening page.

“Some of these are incomplete,” she noted, “Mostly just for practice, or because I haven’t decided yet what other elements should be part of the composition.” Scarlett could feel his eyes study the page she had revealed, a very flawed study of the little cottage of her youth. “And of course, there’s a lot of trials and error.”

“That’s home,” he observed, sounding more fascinated than such a simple thing usually allowed for.

“Uh-huh.” Encouraged by that sign of his sincere interest, she turned a few pages more, where her work depicted rustic exteriors of her native Scotland, and several sketches of the village-side inlet that she would forever think of as her own. Next came several studies of a sunny, seaside bay, ringed to the beach’s edge with one and two story buildings set very close together. To the last of these, she’d chalked in traces of color--vivid blue for the water, pale pastels on random buildings--and had treated the sketch with a fixative to keep the chalk from rubbing off.

“These are lovely, Scarlett,” he exclaimed, absentmindedly massaging the stretch of skin between her shoulder blades. His touch felt blessedly cool on her sun warmed flesh.

“You needn’t sound so surprised, Professor,” she replied coyly, so that he chuckled and laid a kiss on her shoulder.

“I’m not, darling. Truly, I’m not.” He drew a deep breath, then added, “Though I’m curious about where these are from.”

Scarlett paused a moment, recalling those endless, sunny days and balmy, starlit nights. “They’re from my time in Mykonos, at the end of my gap year.”

“Clearly, you found the place enchanting, my dear. Why, it nearly leaps off the page!”

She watched his profile as he leaned in for a closer look. “Do you really think so?” How happy it made her to see his enthusiastic response!

“Absolutely,” he assured her, giving a low whistle of appreciation, “And if I had to guess, I’d say that you were at least a little bit in love with the place.”

“I...I was...” she breathed softly. And with a beautiful young man there. My dear Benedicktos.

Inevitably, the next series of sketches raised Hennessy’s curiosity even further. “And who’s this?” Scarlett heard a trace of judginess creep into his voice.

“Oh...um...an artist I met while I was there...” Artist, sculptor--and if only our stars had aligned properly, he would have been my first. My first lover.

“I see...” And surely Hennessy could see her true feelings for her Bene, pictured in the loving way she had drawn his lines and angles. One page was filled with thumbnail sketches of just his face in profile. She had worked a couple of those into larger versions, and chalked color onto them as well. They showed a thick, unruly crown of dark, windswept curls. Smooth, well tanned skin and a sensuous looking mouth. And eyes of pure sea green.

“I think you were at least a little bit in love with this boy, too,” he observed quietly, and he gave her a beat to respond, though she could not for the lump in her throat. “Weren’t you, Scarlett?”

She took a deep breath, gathering her composure as well as her wits; she would not share that golden time with Hennessy. Not yet, anyway. “I suppose I was, at least a little bit...but then, it’s easy to fall in love in a place like that...”

“I suppose it is, little lamb. And lucky boy he must’ve been.” To her wonder, his smile felt a little false. He couldn’t possibly be jealous, she told herself; doesn’t he realize I’m his completely?

She tried to turn rapidly over the following pages, but Hennessy stayed her hand, determined to see the full story. Scarlett had draw Benedicktos sitting shirtless and cross-legged at the water’s edge. Standing and gazing out at sea, watching the sun set. Smiling vibrantly, cheeks creased with rows of dimples, while he appeared to be laughing. The last sketch showed him shirtless again, his smile softer but no less dazzling, as he stood in the prow of a fishing boat, a tall line of verdant cliff tops in the distance, the blue of the sky just a little lighter than that of the Mediterranean.

Her teacher had gone silent as she flipped past the last page in that series and put the pad down. “Hennessy?” She placed her hand on his, where it rested on the table. “That was years ago. Sometimes it feels like a lifetime--once I got home, my mother fell ill for some time, and...and we fell out of touch right away.” He nodded and smiled, but she felt she needed to offer more. “That’s how holiday romances go, right? Golden but fleeting...” And now my heart belongs to you. Forever, by the feel of it.

“Yes,” he nodded again, and she wondered if he caught the flavor of that thought, for he raised her hand to brush his lips against her fingers. He studied her face a moment, and his sunshine smile returned. “But I want to see them all, darling. You do have quite a talent.”

And so they continued. Hennessy laughed genially at her studies of her little black kitten, Chaucer, ranging across her book shelves, warming himself on her laptop keyboard, and curled into a fluffy little ball upon her bed pillow. “I swear, he really did all those things,” she confided, glowing a little in the face of her lover’s generous regard, “It’s like he owns the place now, and I’m just the guest.”

Hennessy clucked his tongue. “Bosh. We’ll see who runs the place when I come to visit. My will is certainly far stronger than his.”

A little thunderstruck, she asked him breathlessly, “You’d come to see me at my flat?”

“I don’t see why not,” he grinned, and then seeing what it meant to her, he issued a hasty disclaimer. “Of course, that’s no promise it’ll be any time soon, my dear. Timetable to be determined.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Scarlett nodded, doing her best not to seem disappointed. It was too much, too soon to have expected, anyway.

At last they arrived at the sketch, the one over which her anxiety had been gradually growing. The moment of truth. She averted her eyes at his sound of surprise, as he stood up and took the pad right out of her hand, to finally exclaim, “Well, I’ll be damned!” In the brief silence that followed, she could hear the thump of her own heart, hoping against hope that he had meant that in a good way. “Scarlett...darling...when did you do this?”

She finally raised her eyes, to find such an open, soft expression on his features that her heart just about skipped a beat. “Yesterday. After I...left you in the study...”

Hennessy crooked his trademark, honest half-smile her way. “This...this is really good, my dear. And I have to say...quite...flattering.”

Scarlett was memorizing the look of genuine wonder in those eyes that had the power to command her and cajole her. Frighten her for breathless moments, and just as effortlessly mesmerize her. Fancying that someday soon she’d capture the chameleon beauty of those eyes in this particular moment, in charcoal and in chalk, so to frame them and keep them well beyond the days when his interest in her finally waned. “I just drew the truth, my jo,” she shrugged, “Exactly as I saw it.”

His mouth hung open as he reached to brush back some strands of hair that had fallen across her forehead, then stroked his thumb across her cheek. “You have a true artist’s eye, love.” His voice was the velvet caress she had come to crave. “And your romantic nature shines through in...all of these pieces. I am both flattered and honored by this...gentle version of me. By the beauty you’ve rendered to even my most...jarring...defects.”

She bit her lip, and could only bow her head in thanks, else her voice might break with the tenderness he stirred her to. Jarring defects. His mysterious scars. How she ached to know their origin, and to give him comfort for whatever pain he’d suffered from them--though she knew she could not, should not, ask. But at least she knew she’d touched his heart in their regard, and that would have to be enough for now.

Still tracing her cheek, Hennessy moved into a crouch beside her. The heat had brought a ruddiness to his face and the bright sunlight allowed her to study the soft smattering of freckles across his skin. Scarlett had a moment to think about how very much she’d like to capture this look on him, deciding that her Prismacolors colored pencils might be best, before he moved in close enough for kissing. “Would it be too vain of me to say that sketch is my favorite, darling?”

“No. Not at all,” she breathed, contemplating how she might express on paper, the perfection of his cupid’s bow, the temptation of his tender lower lip. Even unto the wee scar that couldn’t mar it’s beauty, and which she had already tasted countless times, and hoped to taste countless more.

“Perhaps someday you’ll sketch me with the passion you expended on your Greek boy.” He was teasing her, of course; he had to be. He couldn’t know she was thinking exactly that. “In fact, I would enjoy that very much, Scarlett. To have you ply your...talent...on me.”

Hennessy’s breath was on her lips now, the promise of his kiss achingly close. She shut her eyes, panting in anticipation. “Yes...on me, sweet Scarlett. On me, and me alone.” She whimpered beneath the searing power of his kiss, as though by accepting it, she’d made some sort of Faustian bargain--and thus he had claimed yet another piece of her soul.

_________________________________________________

tagging: @strangelock221b @ben-locked @ben-c-group-therapy @thelostsmiles @splunge4me2art @humanbornarchangel @tsukuyomi011 @ravencatart @doctor-stephenstrange @letterstosherlock @emilyinnj4real @aeterna-auroral-avenger @frowerssx2 @groovyfluxie @candie-girl22

(And yes, my friends, I promise there will be watery fun to come in the next installment *grinning wickedly*.)

#my writing #Scarlett and the Professor #I hope you find it worth the wait!#Scarlett Cambell #OFC #her devilish lover #Scarlett's Professor #OMC #not my OMC and used with permission #as long as tacit permission remains #Professor Hennessy #Hennessy #[I have to be honest - when I wrapped this chapter up the other day]#[before editing it ofc - I felt like a 'real writer; like this could really be a book]

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tirednotflirting · 4 years ago

Text

show's over, the same old story now

hi i wrote a fic based on ‘moon in the morning’ by adam melchor. objectively this is very much not a happy fic am very sorry (but also not bc i think it’s good lol)

if you’re not comfy with reading stuff about infidelity this one is not gonna be your jam just fyi

thank you to @reveriesofawriter for giving this a read for me this morning <3

you can read it on ao3 here

He’s never given Alex a key. Jack figures he has to draw the line somewhere so he’s never given Alex the spare key to his place.

Instead, the key stays just beneath the flower pot beside the front door and it stays there rather than under the mat because the first place someone would go looking for a key is below the mat, Jack. So really, the line is more like faded chalk on a sidewalk after a summer rain and Jack can’t be bothered to fix it with something more permanent.

It’s around midnight when Jack hears the lock turning and the front door open and close. He’s been sitting on the floor in front of his coffee table working on a research paper for the last several hours, late night talk shows play from the TV for some background noise. Without lifting his eyes from his laptop screen, he listens to Alex kick off his shoes by the door before wandering into the kitchen. It’s a well rehearsed routine. He doesn’t need to look across the room to know that somewhere on the other side of the wall Alex is plugging his phone into the charger by the coffee maker before checking the fridge for leftovers. (They’re aren’t any in there tonight since Jack finished off the last of the chicken parmesan for his own dinner. There is some watermelon on the top shelf though.)

Given the time and the fact that it’s Friday, Alex must have been picking up someone’s shift at the bar so Jack isn’t surprised when he hears more soft footsteps head in the direction of the bathroom. A few moments later he hears the sound of the spray from the shower. Jack figures that’s another ten or so minutes he’ll have to work on his citations so he gets back to the task at hand.

Almost exactly ten minutes later, Alex wanders into the living room wearing a pair of sweatpants pulled from Jack’s closet but his own flannel. He hasn’t bothered with the buttons and Jack does what he can to ignore that observation. Alex takes a seat on the couch just behind where Jack sits and again, in an all too familiar routine, Jack sighs at the feeling of Alex’s fingers pressing into the tension he holds in his shoulders.

“You’ve gotta stop sitting on the floor when you’re working,” Alex says. “You’re going to graduate with a masters in back pain otherwise.”

“I’m comfiest on the floor.”

“I promise you would be comfier at your desk, Jack.” Alex says with a laugh before he leans forward and presses his lips against Jack’s hair like he always does. Before he sits back up, Jack catches the faded scent of Alex’s cologne on the collar of the flannel and it’s enough motivation to reach forward and quickly hit save before closing his laptop for the night. Jack pushes himself up onto the couch beside him and their brown eyes meet for the first time since Alex let himself in twenty or so minutes earlier. Alex looks tired (he always looks so tired) and Jack can’t help but lift a hand to cradle his cheek, his thumb brushing gently below the dark circles he can see in the glow from the TV.

“I’ll be fine,” Jack finally answers after a few beats of silence pass between them.

“Just trying to take care of you,” Alex mumbles as he drops a hand against Jack’s knee and his thumb traces circles against the bone there. There’s some kind of emotion Jack can’t quite place in his tone. He’d question what to call it but they both know that’s not where this is headed.

“You always do,” he replies instead and moves his hand to the back of Alex’s neck to pull him closer to bring their lips together. Alex catches on quickly enough and sighs against Jack’s lips before climbing into his lap and winding his arms around his shoulders, his fingers tangling into the ends of Jack’s hair.

Jack smiles into the kiss when Alex gasps at the feeling of Jack’s fingertips skating their way up his back below the worn flannel shirt. Jack has perpetually cold hands meanwhile Alex’s skin always feels like he’s on fire. There’s probably something poetic in that but Jack ignores the dreamy thoughts and words in favor of pushing the soft material away from Alex’s shoulders until he briefly removes his hands from Jack’s hair to shake the shirt the rest of the way off. He tosses the shirt behind him before wrapping himself around Jack again. Jack feels goosebumps rise against where his fingers brush against Alex’s chest and he knows it’s something he’ll never get over the thrill of being able to do.

Alex’s lips travel down Jack’s jaw to the tattoo on his neck that Alex has always been fond of. “Let’s go to your room,” Alex mumbles in a lower voice, his lips brushing against Jack’s ear. He all but falls out of Jack’s lap before grabbing his hand to pull him in the direction of the hall. The flannel is left forgotten on the back of the couch and the TV is left on with some random late night show host still telling bad jokes to a studio audience.

As they pass the kitchen, Alex’s greedy lips pressing against whatever skin he can find as he pulls Jack toward the bedroom at the end of the hall, Jack swears he can hear the sound of Alex’s phone buzzing out a rhythm against his kitchen counter.

And unlike Alex’s melancholy tone or the poetry told by the temperature of their skin, Jack doesn’t have to question who’s trying to call Alex after midnight on a Friday night. Jack already knows the answer. But as he takes the final steps into his bedroom and lets Alex kiss him against the closed door, he once again chooses to ignore the truth and the buzzing beside his coffee maker in favor of falling into bed with a boy he knows will be gone by sunrise.

A few hours later, the sound of the sink running wakes Jack from his sleep. He’s always hated how lightly he sleeps. He knows he’d be far more well rested just in general if he could stay unconscious through the sound of thunderstorms and his late night companion leaving in the earliest hours of the morning. But he figures for the universe to stay balanced he has to be punished for this somehow and maybe this is the best the universe can do at this kind of hour.

His eyes flutter barely open, just enough that he can make out some of the details of his bedroom from the tiny light provided by the moon shining through the curtain he hadn’t bothered to close before falling asleep a few hours earlier. As he listens to the sounds of Alex brushing his teeth and wandering around Jack’s apartment to find the clothes he arrived in, Jack takes in his open closet and the mussed up other side of his bed. It’s reached the point in the year where Jack only sleeps with a sheet because he can’t rest when he’s too warm. A long time ago Alex told him something about how he’s never been able to sleep without something weighing down over him. Jack had started keeping a quilt in the chair in the corner soon after that. It’s already been folded up again and placed back in its spot.

He hears the familiar jingle of Alex’s keys that he dropped in the bowl by the door on his way in a few hours earlier and exhaustion starts to settle back over Jack. He pulls the sheet up over his chest and turns away from his bedroom door and lets out a long breath before closing his eyes.

He’s just started to tumble back over the edge toward sleep so he can’t be sure it wasn’t the beginning of a dream but Jack swears he hears the soft sound of footsteps on the carpet and feels a pair of lips press against his temple. It’s probably easier for everyone involved to assume it’s only his subconscious playing tricks with him again though, he figures, and then he’s asleep.

It’s a couple weeks later on a night that follows the same routine as all the others. But for some reason they’ve both chosen tonight to pull a wild card on each other. Rather than forcing his eyes shut and his breathing to steady out after listening to Alex shuffle around the small apartment before heading out, Jack lets himself stay awake. He sits up against the headboard, the sheets falling to pool around his waist. He feels himself shiver in the cool air. He always keeps his place fairly cool at night but he stopped noticing it when he so often is sharing a bed with a human furnace.

Alex steps back into the doorframe, his arms crossing against his chest as he leans his shoulder into the wood, his dark eyes falling to meet Jack’s. He doesn’t look all that surprised to see Jack awake, his eyebrows only barely lifting in recognition that they’ve gone off script a bit.

“You should get some rest, Jack,” Alex says in a voice that suggests he should take his own advice. “You’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”

“Does he make you happy?” Jack asks, his tone all curiosity. Jack is a student before all else; all he wants to do is understand, really.

“He doesn’t make me unhappy,” Alex answers as though the answer should be that obvious. “I wouldn’t stay with someone that makes me miserable.”

“Then does he know you come here? Does he never question why you come home two hours after closing smelling like another man?” Jack isn’t sure who he’s judging more out of the two of them with the questions. He watches Alex take a moment to sigh and scratch at the back of his neck.

“Jack, we can’t have this conversation right now,” Alex says, his eyes floating around the room from his spot at the door in an attempt to avoid Jack’s gaze. “I need to get home. It’s late.”

He shoves his hands in his pockets and turns then to leave. Jack holds his breath until he hears the front door open and close and the lock slide into place. He takes a deep breath then and lets his body fall back against the mattress. Jack closes his eyes and pushes aside the ache in his chest at the silent reminder that despite how often Alex makes his way into Jack’s apartment and heart at the end of the day, home will always be within a different collection of four walls and with a different boy.

It’s a creak in the mattress that wakes Jack up this time. For a moment he’s confused at the warm body still pressed against his back. He’s worried his mind is starting to play even more cruel tricks on him in his dreams but the fingertips pressed against his middle tell him their current position is a reality. He lets his fingers fall into the spaces between Alex’s and he feels a sigh against the back of his neck. But he also doesn’t miss the way Alex pulls him impossibly closer against his chest.

“I need to leave soon, Jack,” he states quietly, another emotion hidden in his tone since Jack can’t see Alex's face.

“Can you stay until the morning?” Jack asks the question before he can stop it from leaving his lips. He squeezes their hands together. The action feels somewhat clumsy, it’s not often that they hold hands. “We’ve both gotta get up for class. I’ll make coffee, you can borrow a shirt.”

“He’ll wonder where I was,” Alex answers though there isn’t anything combative in his voice.

“Will he?”

They’re both silent for a few moments but they both know there’s an answer that’s been said regardless. Alex presses his lips against the back of Jack’s neck and it feels like he’s struck a match against the skin.

“Goodnight, Jack.”

And as both of their breathing evens out while they stay pressed against each other under the sheets, Jack’s final thought before stumbling into sleep is that maybe he wouldn’t mind getting burned.

#jalex #jalex fic #atl fic #yeah i'm not gonna lie i felt a bit bad about this one like it's just a very angsty fic #excellent song highly recommend if you haven't heard it #adam melchor makes some bitchin tunes

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softnaruto · 5 years ago

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Hi! How have ya been? I hope good 😊✨ I just want to request some headcanons for ANBU kakashi having a very sensitive and sentimental s/o! (Your blog is so cute 🌷)

Kakashi having a sensitive and sentimental s/o:

author’s note: Thank you so much for requesting this! Kakashi is honestly one of my favorites, if not, my favorite character! (Also, thank you so much!) Hope you like it!

words: 1349

genres: fluff!!!!

warnings: n/a

Although ANBU Kakashi is a closed book to anyone around him, having a sensitive s/o would make him try to be at least a bit of an open book with them.

He likes talking about the books he’s been reading (Here we go, Icha Icha Paradise for the 13thtime!) and often tells you about his favorite character and why they shouldn’t have been killed off.

One time he got so heated you had to kiss him to make him be quiet. He blushed and apologized, but insisted you’d just love the character too if you just gave in and read Icha Icha Paradise with him.

If you ever watch sad movies and you begin to cry or even begin to get sad, he’ll notice and change the movie (even if you complain.)

“You feel bad. Why do you want to watch the movie if you feel bad?”

He won’t mention Obito or Rin often (or, at all, even,) as he wouldn’t want to make you feel sad.

Don’t even try to insist and force him to talk about them—he’d be stubborn about it and would try to get out of the conversation. Even if you insist that you’ll be okay, he still bottles his emotions up about that situation and would rather not want you to know about how painful it is for him.

He’ll eventually talk about it if you don’t put pressure on it though. You’d be on his chest, and the comforting silence would eventually awaken the soft, open-book Kakashi. He would softly start talking about how he would fight with Obito all the time and would tell you about all the times Obito made them late. He wouldn’t talk about the bad things, but would rather make you laugh and smile with the memory of his best friends.

He actually took you to their graves the next morning and thanked you for being there with him. It was the first time you had ever seen him be so emotional about something in particular.

He is open about things when it’s in-the-moment but is still pretty limited with details. He’s also INCREDIBLY awkward about it and since he just wants to be open and honest with you, he often says things without thinking about them beforehand.

“I actually really like ramen.” “What?” “Nothing.”

“I actually do have a face beneath my mask, you know.” “I know, Kakashi.”

One thing Kakashi does and WILL ALWAYS DO is comfort you. He isn’t really good with words, but if he ever comes home and finds you crying, you bet you’ll be laying on his chest as he draws circles on your back.

Since he isn’t good with words, he makes it up by his presence. He’ll make you some dinner after you’ve finished crying, put on your favorite movie, and just stay by your side until you literally have to swear that you’re okay.

He’ll never pressure you into talking about the situation at hand since he doesn’t want you to talk about something that still hurts you. (If it’s a certain person making you feel bad, though, you bet they’ll never bother you again.)

He never makes you feel bad about being sensitive or sentimental! In fact, he often tells you to be proud that you can feel such emotions.

“Think about it. If you didn’t feel any emotions at all, it’d be the same thing as not being… dead.”

“Hey, at least you’re not like, cruel.”

“You care about others, which is a good thing. Guy also cares about others and look at him, he’s doing great.” “How?” “Uh. He’s a ninja?”

He tries, s/o. He really does.

If you ever feel insecure about anything, you bet you’re going to be lectured by Kakashi. You’re absolutely precious to him, and he WILL make you know that.

You’re honestly the one person who eventually brings him out of his shell. Although Guy had tried to for years, Kakashi opened up when he started dating you. It still bothers Guy, but he is really happy that Kakashi has now actually raced him to the top of the mountain. (Of course, you had to tell Kakashi to do it for YOUR sake)

You’re the only one who actually knows his favorite ice cream flavor (Is it mint chocolate chip? Please tell us.)

You are a fragile, soft, wonderful human being that Kakashi cherishes and that means one thing: he WILL NEVER let anything or anyone harm you. He has lost too many people in his life and he can’t afford to lose another.

If he notices that someone has made a comment that has hurt your feelings or bothered you, you bet he is going to walk up to them and intimidate them in a way that makes them run for the hills.

Although it may seem that he is quite lazy and doesn’t really care about anything, the way his eyes (or rather, eye,) look at you while you’re doing something as simple as read proves otherwise. You’re the one thing he 100% cares about and everyone knows it.

If an argument ever arises, he immediately apologizes and tries to fix the problem by diving into the root of the argument. He never wants to have a pointless argument if all it’s going to do is make the both of you feel bad.

You’re the only person he hangs out with after work. If he’s not with you watching movies, talking about life, or simply just playing with his ninja hounds, he’s reading in his favorite spot.

He likes to take you on private, small, picnic dates. He sees you as the sun in his life, and so on the sunniest days (when it’s not too hot, of course, he would suffocate,) he would often lead you under a tree and would say something like, “I kind of… planned this.”

If you got too sentimental over the cute date he had planned, he would get all “Oh did you not like it? I’m sorry.” And would try to clean everything up, promising to take you somewhere else. If you said it was because it was too beautiful, he would blush and try to play it off before drying off the tears with his thumb.

Kakashi is soft with you. He shows you a side of him that no one has ever seen and you often run your hands through his hair; he really likes laying his head on your lap, his hair tangled in your hands, as he reads you some Icha Icha Paradise (you finally gave in.)

He LOVES to make you laugh. There is where his snarky humor evolved from. He started making these sarcastic comments around you, and once you found them funny a lightbulb clicked in his head.

Now he’s all about challenging Guy and beating him if it makes you laugh.

Let’s talk about how soft his kisses are.

He knows you’re soft and he wants to match your energy. So what does he do? He softly grasps your cheeks, leans in, and plants his lips against yours. Almost cloud-like!

If you’re ever crying and you’ve calmed down a bit, you’re definitely getting a kiss. He’s found out that if he kisses you as you’re calming down, you end up smiling and looking beautiful.

He encourages you to smile even though he doesn’t smile himself.

The only PDA he allows is hold-handing. But that took a couple of weeks and thousands of pouts from you for him to be open to holding your hand.

It still takes him a few months for you to see his face, but let’s think about it… that’s fast considering all of his not-so-childhood friends have never seen it.

He’s a bit awkward at the beginning of the relationship, but as he opens up and you both start to know each other more, he becomes really lovely and is really observant about everything. He knows when you’re happy, sad, nervous, etc.

He definitely becomes forgetful at times, but always makes up to it! He missed your date by 10 minutes? He’ll pay for dinner AND the dessert.

Ultimately, ANBU Kakashi is hurt, quiet, and someone who never really allows anyone to get close to him as he is afraid of losing anyone else. But once he meets you, he’s different. He tries to change his ways and becomes his true self. You’ll always see the true Kakashi behind closed doors.

#kakashi #kakashi sensei #kakashi hatake #kakashi x reader #naruto #naruto headcanons #naruto scenarios #naruto imagines #anime #anime scenarios #anime headcanons #sasuke

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tsarisfanfiction · 4 years ago

Text

Grounded pt4

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Family Characters: Scott, Tracy Family

7k words later and this thing that was supposed to be a short explanation for what I saw as a plot hole in Venom is finally at an end. Got rather out of hand but since when is that unusual with fics? This’ll be proof read, edited, and then posted on AO3/FFN soon; I’m still undecided if I should chapter split it or have it all as a oneshot but it won’t be exactly as it’s been split here because I’ve posted this as I wrote it.

Someone mentioned ‘what if the ep was really like this’ so I’ll reiterate some of my earlier notes: this fic is a reaction to the lack of TB1 or Scott doing any sort of piloting in the S3 Venom despite it being a rescue where speed was important. All the events in part 2 fit around the events we see in the episode seamlessly (I literally watched it in 5 sec bursts as I was writing to make sure of that), so to them and everyone else who thought that: this fic is designed to be that episode, just viewed through a different lens. And then I made it worse after the episode was over because why not.

The reaction to this has been fantastic so far, way beyond anything I expected! Thanks for that, and I hope you enjoy this last installment as much as the rest of it.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

There was a steady beeping, calm and methodical. Beep… beep… beep… it went, more of a reassurance than an irritant to the dregs of his consciousness. Scott recognised it, but couldn’t place it, and found himself more interested in the fresh air flowing around his mouth and nose. That was more immediately familiar, a constant from his last bout of consciousness, and it didn’t take his stirring brain long to label it as a rebreather.

Was that really necessary? Frowning slightly, he lifted a hand to his face and tugged the machine away, fresh air replaced with warmer air that had just the faintest tang. The air of the sea. He’d been on Thunderbird Two, but Thunderbird Two’s air didn’t taste of warmth and salt, rather the recycled air of an enclosed plane in flight, crisp and just a little bit off. If this wasn’t Thunderbird Two and he was tasting sea air, there was only one place he could possibly be.

He smiled, hand still holding the rebreather falling to his side limply. He was home.

Opening his eyes was a little more of a challenge, eyelids still heavy and eyelashes catching on each other, but as he blinked his way into awareness, beads of moisture forming in the corners of his eyes but not falling, he realised that he was almost sitting upright, the bed raised to its full extent so he was facing the wall with its fake holographic window rather than the plain and boring ceiling.

Scott appreciated that, letting the rebreather fall from his fingers as he wiped the sleep and moisture from his eyes. He’d spent far too many hours staring at the ceiling that never changed, and at least the hologram could change. The actual reasoning behind his positioning was more likely his rib, which Scott would worry about later. It wasn’t his rib that had tried to kill him, and he looked down at his left arm.

A neat band-aid – a childish one, decorated with bright red biplanes soaring across a blue background that he’d always fought for as a kid – stood out against his bare skin, just below the elbow, and he smiled, wondering which of his brothers was responsible for that one. On that same forearm he also saw a cannula, attached to tubing with translucent liquid passing through, and grimaced. He never liked being on a drip.

He was no longer in his uniform. Part of him – the part that contained his pride – bristled at that, wondering who had stripped him while he was unconscious and why, but the clothes he was wearing were comfortable, well-worn, and unmistakable as his favourite pyjamas even without him looking at them. His comfort-pyjamas, although he was fairly certain he’d never made the mistake of letting that slip to anyone. The ones he turned to whenever things got particularly rough, a plain unassuming dark grey with worn patches from the times he’d needed all the support he could get.

It could just be a coincidence, although Scott was uncomfortably aware that if there was one person he couldn’t keep anything truly secret from it was John, but whatever the reason, he was glad of them now. There was nothing like comfort clothes after a near-death experience.

Considering he’d just had a near-death experience, the lack of anyone in the room with him was somewhat unusual. Virgil in particular he’d expected to see, his younger brother blaming himself for bringing him out on the mission even before he’d been bitten, let alone afterwards. Kayo hovering unassumedly in the corner, sharp eyes full of concern. John flickering by his side, watching him for the slightest change. Grandma, retired from caring for strangers but never too old to stay up all night with her family.

Scott eyed the drip. If none of his family were with him, physically or virtually, then that meant something else was going on that trumped his condition. In their family, there was very little that trumped an unconscious brother or grandson. And if they weren’t with him, he had no intentions of staying put.

He’d removed drips hundreds of times – his own and other peoples’. By this point, he had it down to an art, even if his sneaky family had tried to make it harder on him by putting it in his dominant arm; there were benefits to being ambidextrous. He reached across with his right hand, fingers gently probing the needle, and had just found the sweet spot when there was the unmistakable hsss of the door sliding open.

“What do you think you’re doing, young man?” Grandma demanded, striding in and gently but firmly forcing him to release his grip. “That’s there for a reason.”

“Hey, Grandma,” he greeted, grinning at her and ignoring that she’d just caught him trying to escape. “How long was I asleep?”

“Your siblings brought you back four and a half hours ago,” she told him, picking up the discarded rebreather and placing it on the bedside table before perching on the bed. Scott watched her carefully, accepting the hand cupping his cheek as a thumb swiped at what was presumably some sleep he’d missed. “Trust you to wake up the one time I have to use the toilet. This old bladder can’t hold it in like it used to.”

Scott grimaced good-naturedly at the tmi and she chuckled at him, patting his cheek lightly twice before letting her hand rest.

“You gave us all a scare there, Scott,” she said softly, eyes running over him once before meeting his own. “You don’t have to try and beat Gordon on that score, you know. It’s okay to let someone else have that crown.”

“I’d appreciate it if he never gave me another scare in my life,” Scott admitted, before glancing around the room again. “Where are they, anyway? Not to sound self-centred, but I don’t usually wake up here alone.”

“Alan and Kayo are dealing with a stalled freighter just outside of orbit and Gordon and Virgil are responding to a sinking cargo ship,” Grandma told him. “They’ll all be back soon, and delighted to know you’ve decided to re-join the land of the living.” She tangled her fingers with his, pressing them to her chest with a hand that was almost trembling. “It was a close call, Scott. Your brother almost didn’t make it in time.”

His brother? Virgil? John? John had had a plan, he remembered that much, although he wasn’t sure he’d ever heard the details. Wait…

“I heard Thunderbird One,” he said, recalling the roar that had soothed him to sleep like a purr. It could have been a figment of his imagination, but he didn’t think so. A smile spread across his grandmother’s face.

“Of course you did,” she laughed. “You boys and your machines. Well on your way to see your mother and you still recognised your ‘bird.” The smile was bright for a moment before it dimmed again. “Alan flew all the way to a lab in China to collect a dose of the antivenom before rendezvousing with Thunderbird Two to deliver it. I’ve never seen that ‘bird fly so fast without you in the hotseat.”

Alan. Scott could well imagine his youngest brother, face screwed up in concentration and fear, sat in the pilot’s seat. The idea tied a knot in his chest, but at the same time there was pride, and an unexpected thankfulness for the rib injury that had kept him grounded and subsequently given Alan more flight hours in his ‘bird. Without that…

Without that, he might well have died. The realisation doused him like cold water, his eyes leaving his grandmother’s to stare blindly at his lap. He’d known he was dying, remembered a desperate fight against whispered promises of the stars and seeing his Mom again, but sitting in the infirmary, home and safe, it carried a different weight.

“Oh, Scott,” Grandma whispered, releasing his hand and cheek only to draw him in to a careful hug around his shoulders. “It’s okay. It’s over.” After a moment his hands found the back of her always there purple onesie, fisting around the fabric as his head rested in the crook of her neck. “It’s okay.”

There was the slightest of cracks in her voice, a reminder that no matter how much steel she was made of, she wasn’t immune to the idea of loss. Her parents, long ago, before Scott’s memories began. Her husband, daughter in law. Her son, who might still be alive and waiting for them.

“I’m okay,” he repeated, as much for her benefit as his. “I’m okay.”

Her hand found the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair softly as though he was a young boy woken from a nightmare again. It was the sort of treatment she didn’t give him in front of his brothers, knowing that he preferred to keep up the illusion of strength in front of them, no matter what.

“I want you to take it easy,” she told him after a minute or so, releasing him and instead gripping his hands in hers. One pair was trembling, but he didn’t know if it was his or hers. “I know that’s not in your vocabulary, but I refuse to let you throw yourself back in harms’ way until you’re fully recovered after what happened today.”

“But-” Scott protested, complaints and reasons why he shouldn’t be bedbound queuing up one after the other on the tongue. A single look from his grandmother quelled them all before he could vocalise any.

“If you can’t do it for the sake of your own recovery,” she said, something in her voice implying that she thought he should treat himself better – he treated himself fine! – “then do it for our peace of mind, Scott. We were all terrified when we heard what happened. Virgil was stuck watching you slip away with no way of stopping it. That fear doesn’t magically go away, Scott. We all know that.”

He was saved from answering by the swish of the door opening again. He glanced over, wondering who it could be when he hadn’t heard any Thunderbirds come in to land. Brains and the Mechanic were the only others on the island, and while it wasn’t unusual for Brains to check up on the infirmary, Scott didn’t want the Mechanic near him in his current condition.

It wasn’t the Mechanic. It wasn’t Brains, either – or MAX, for that matter.

“h’Oh, you’re h’awake!” Parker said with a surprised but delighted grin as he fumbled his way into the room carrying a tray laden with food. “h’I was just bringing food for Mrs Tracy…” he trailed off, but continued to approach the bed.

“Parker, you shouldn’t have,” Grandma smiled, releasing one of Scott’s hands to move the rebreather off of the bedside table. The older man set the tray down before stepping up to Scott’s side. He didn’t reach for him, keeping his hands loosely behind his back, but sharp blue eyes raked him up and down.

“’Ow are you feeling?” he asked after a moment.

“I’m fine,” Scott replied, ignoring the eye roll from his grandmother, who clearly didn’t agree with his assessment. Aside from some token weariness, which he knew was normal after a spell of time unconscious, he really did feel perfectly fine. Even his rib wasn’t bothering him.

“h’I suppose that’s because you’re h’on the good stuff,” Parker shrugged, making Scott pause. He should have realised that, especially after all the trouble his ribs had given him on the mission. The temptation was there to ask how badly his recovery had been set back, but that would have just given Grandma even more ammunition to stay in bed. Besides, he’d be told eventually. Of more immediate interest was Parker’s unexpected visit.

“What brings you to the island, Parker?” he asked, glancing around the room again. “I don’t see Lady Penelope around?”

“M’Lady’s in the lounge,” Parker told him. “We came ‘ere to drop off the Centurion-21 fuel for Brains, but ‘eard h’about you and M’Lady requested to stay h’a while.”

“You’re always welcome here,” Grandma reminded him, and Scott smiled in agreement. “Is she making any progress?”

“h’I couldn’t say for sure,” Parker shrugged. “But I know M’Lady and Master John won’t stop h’until they get their way.”

Scott frowned. Combined, John and Lady Penelope were an almost unstoppable force, but he couldn’t think of any reason for that tag-team, not right now.

“What are they doing?” he asked, because anything that big, he needed to know about. Especially if working on that was a higher priority for John than checking in on him – John, the brother who was too used to sitting out of the loop and firmly inserted himself virtually into any situation with a brother operating at less than one hundred percent. Scott knew he wasn’t at one hundred percent, not even by his own standards.

“Making sure today’s events never happen again,” Grandma answered, curling her hand back around his again.

Today’s events. The rescue? Him being bitten? That was all bad luck, how could they possibly ensure it never happened again? Although, he supposed, if anyone could, it would be the duo currently working on it.

His confusion must have shown on his face, because Parker took it upon himself to explain. “h’It transpires that the reason the ‘ospital ran h’out of h’antivenom was a funding problem,” he said, sounding somewhat unimpressed. Scott didn’t blame him – whenever money was the problem, he found himself wanting to strangle whoever had decided lining their pockets was more important than human lives. “M’Lady h’is setting up a charity to make sure all ‘ospitals can ‘ave all the h’antivenoms they need.” Admirable and welcome, but that didn’t explain John’s involvement. He certainly hadn’t been needed in any of her past charity ventures.

“So what’s John doing?” he asked, hoping his brother was not ruining whoever had decided money was more important than lives. It wouldn’t be the first time, and while Scott agreed that they deserved it, sometimes John could go a little too far.

“Arranging for International Rescue to have our own stock of all known antivenoms,” Grandma told him, squeezing his hands gently. “We might not be able to stop spiders sneaking into our Thunderbirds, or you boys throwing yourselves in front of each other, but there is no reason why you should have had to suffer for an hour because you didn’t have the right antivenom on hand.”

That made sense, and Scott nodded his approval. International Rescue did have a stock of common antivenoms, as well as everything they needed to deal with the local fauna on Tracy Island, but if they could broaden that, at least to the most dangerous venoms, it would only be a good thing.

It was also a typical John reaction – finding out why something had gone wrong and immediately finding a way to stop it happening again. That, at least, told Scott that John was okay. If he’d found a solution to the problem then he would be satisfied. No doubt Scott would find himself under close holographic scrutiny in the near future so John could see for himself that he really was fine, but with a solution the what-ifs wouldn’t be playing on his mind.

His other siblings would be less easily pacified. He had no idea what Gordon knew, having not seen his water-loving brother at all that day thanks to a fishing trawler in trouble, but Virgil and Kayo would be kicking themselves black and blue, and Alan would be stuck in the what if I’d been too late loop. Scott knew that feeling very well indeed.

He hadn’t yet decided if the fact that it had launched rather than exploded made the fact that he’d reached the Zero-X too late better or worse. He wasn’t sure he’d ever decide.

“Still, I think we’d better let them know you’ve woken up,” Grandma said, releasing his hands. “I won’t be long, so don’t even think about getting out of that bed, young man.” She shared a look with Parker. “If you’re hungry, see if you can eat some of that food Parker’s brought in.” A gentle hand touched his cheek lightly before she stood up and left the room.

One look at Parker told him he wasn’t going to be going anywhere, especially when the man perched on the section of bed Grandma had just vacated. Parker was the one he’d learnt many of his escaping tricks from – if there was one person that would see through them all, it was the butler.

“h’I wouldn’t be in too much of a ‘urry to h’escape, Master Scott,” the older man said, and Scott found himself relaxing back against the bed. Master Scott. It was his favourite of Parker’s ways of referring to him, but also the rarest. He’d graduated to ‘Mr Scott’ after the Zero-X, the man’s acknowledgement that he was now the head of the family without using the dreaded Mr Tracy. Parker never called him that, not even in public when the rest of the world insisted. Sir was a substitute when society demanded, and Scott always appreciated that.

Master Scott only came out when Parker was being fussy, and never with an audience. Just like Grandma, he knew and accepted there was a front to be held in front of younger siblings – even if neither of them approved. If he was Master Scott, he wasn’t expected to make any decisions or take on any of his father’s responsibilities.

“Some food?” the butler asked, gesturing to the tray. It was homemade, but not by Grandma, and Scott would have to be far worse off to even consider declining that. In answer, he reached for the toast, only for Parker to lightly touch his wrist and stop him. “You’ll get crumbs h’everywhere if you h’eat like that,” the older man scolded lightly. “Stay still, there’s a good lad.”

The tray was relocated to his lap, and Scott tore into the offering as soon as Parker retracted his hands, to an amused chuckle from his companion.

“h’It’s not going anywhere, Master Scott,” Parker reminded him.

“He’s just trying to finish it before the others get home and want to share,” John commented, and Scott’s head jerked up to see his brother’s hologram materialise alongside him. He looked tired, not that that was an unusual occurrence over the past few weeks. “You’re looking better, Scott.”

“I can’t imagine that’s hard,” he managed through a mouthful of food. The last time he’d been aware of John’s presence, he’d been deep in the clutches of deadly venom. If he’d looked half as had as he’d felt, it would have been an awful sight. “How’s the campaign going?”

John pulled a face. “They’re asking for money, which by itself isn’t a problem because I expected that, but they’re trying to charge us triple what they charge hospitals, and as Lady P’s working to get those rates reduced because they’re extortionate, I’m not letting them use our lives to line their pockets.”

Scott grimaced along with him. Money grabbers were the worst.

“So what’s your plan?” he asked, because there was no way John was letting that slide.

“Persuading them that it’s better in their interest long-term to not try and bankrupt us,” John offered, a bemused look on his face. “We could afford it, but if they think that they’ll be driving the prices up with every new shipment. More realistically, I’m talking to Colonel Casey to see if the GDF can’t pull some weight. As they’re military and not private, the companies couldn’t charge them as much. It would leave us needing the GDF’s good will for access, but we already know the GDF don’t dare put us out of business.”

It was Scott’s turn to pull a face. He hated getting the GDF involved in anything; for as long as Colonel Casey was a dominant figure in the organisation International Rescue wouldn’t have any issues, but in the longer term he was brutally aware that she was their father’s generation. At some point, she would be forced to retire and then they’d – he’d – have to handle the full force of the GDF without inside help.

Still, he trusted John and Colonel Casey. Anything they implemented would be beneficial to International Rescue.

“Let me know what you come up with,” he requested, and John nodded, turquoise eyes briefly scanning across him.

“Alan and Kayo will be returning home in five minutes,” he told him. “Do you want me to tell them you’re awake or let them find out for themselves when they check in?”

“Tell them once they’ve landed,” Scott decided. “Virgil and Gordon, too – what’s their ETA?”

“They’re racing Thunderbird Three home,” John shrugged. “But Thunderbird Three will win.” Scott chuckled. Alan somehow always won their races home, no matter how much further away he’d been.

“What are they betting this time?” he asked, and John grinned.

“Loser gets to be your slave for the week,” he said.

“Mine?”

“Well you’re not doing much on your own any time soon,” John told him matter-of-factly. “Has Grandma given you the rundown?” Scott blinked, pausing mid-bite.

“I thought I was supposed to be walking around with the ribs,” he ventured tentatively. “But no, I haven’t been told what the damage is yet. Care to fill me in?”

John glanced away at something Scott couldn’t see.

“Your rib re-broke,” he started bluntly. “Which I’m sure you’ve realised. So that’s another six weeks grounded, and this time no-one’s sneaking you onto a Thunderbird before that’s up.”

“Six weeks?” Scott groaned. John raised an eyebrow in his direction.

“Well what did you expect?” he asked. “Kayo filled us in on the mission details once you were stable. You’re lucky it wasn’t worse.”

“But-” Scott protested. “What about the mission to find Dad?” John shook his head.

“The new Zero-X will take longer that to construct,” he told him. “Brains and the Mechanic finished the T-Drive while you were out in Brazil and we’ve got the fuel, so they’re going to test fire it tomorrow to make sure it’s all working before they start on the craft itself.”

“Tomorrow?” Scott asked. “If it’s ready why not today?”

“Even engineers need breaks sometimes, Scott,” John scolded lightly. “They’ve been working almost non-stop for the past five weeks, which I know you know.” There was a slightly accusatory tone at the end of his sentence, and Scott realised John knew how closely he’d started watching the two engineers. “Besides, Grandma and Virgil won’t let you out of that bed for at least twenty four hours, and we all know you won’t be happy unless you see it for yourself.”

Well, they weren’t wrong.

“You still haven’t told me why I’m getting a slave for a week over a broken rib,” Scott realised, and John once again raised an eyebrow at him.

“You haven’t tried to get out of bed yet?”

“Don’t h’encourage ‘im, Master John,” Parker groaned. “Mrs Tracy ‘ad to stop ‘im h’earlier and ‘e ‘asn’t ‘ad h’a chance since.”

“It was an hour before the antivenom reached you, Scott. The damage doesn’t get miraculously fixed just because the venom’s gone,” John continued. “Your blood pressure is still low so I’d wager you’ll probably pass out if you try to stand right now, no matter how ‘fine’ you feel, and we don’t yet know for sure if it’s done any damage to your heart.”

“My heart?” The soft background beeping caught Scott’s attention and he turned his head to the EKG. It was on, signalling that it was receiving data from wireless transmitters. He put a hand to his chest; underneath the pyjamas he felt the tell-tale patches, leaving him with no doubt that it was his own heartbeat it was recording. “Oh.” That was low. Not dramatically so, but lower than his normal resting rate.

“It’s recovered reasonably well, but Grandma and Virgil still aren’t happy with it,” John told him. From his tone, it wasn’t only the family medics unhappy. “I know you don’t like staying in bed, but unless you want to fall over and make your ribs worse, I would suggest you stay put.”

Scott scowled.

“You’re also recovering from dehydration, so drink up and leave that drip in,” Grandma added, walking back in with a large cup, complete with straw. “I see there’s nothing wrong with your appetite,” she observed. Parker obligingly removed the now-empty tray away from Scott’s lap and stood so that she could sit back on the side of the bed. “Drink.”

Obediently, he took the cup with both hands and sipped at the liquid, which revealed itself to be simply water. A dull rumbling even through the soundproofing of the infirmary told him Thunderbird Three was back. John confirmed that before signing off to talk to their returning siblings.

Scott made a note of the time, wondering how long it would take before he had visitors.

Three minutes later and the door slammed open to find Kayo and Alan shoulder-to-shoulder, clearly racing each other.

“No running in the house!” Grandma barked, but neither of them looked the least apologetic. They did at least walk the distance from the door to his bed, where Grandma had slipped off to let them get closer. Both stopped short, Alan fidgeting from foot to foot at he stared at him with open relief, and Scott rolled his eyes.

“Come here,” he told his youngest brother, spreading his arms in demand of a hug. As always, Alan needed no further invitation, crashing into him and wrapping his arms around him tightly, although it didn’t miss Scott’s attention that it wasn’t Alan’s usual rib-squeezing hug. He appreciated that, curling his own arms around his brother’s shoulders.

Alan was trembling. “I thought I was going to lose you,” he mumbled into Scott’s neck. “I thought-”

“I’m still here, kid,” he interrupted quietly. “And I hear I have you to thank for that.” The sniffle he got in response told him it was Alan, the baby brother, rather than Alan the emergency responder he was dealing with. “You did good.”

“I thought I was too late,” Alan mumbled, and there were tears against Scott’s skin. He tightened his grip on his brother. “You looked d-dead. I d-didn’t think you were breathing.”

“I’m here and breathing,” Scott reminded him, letting him sob on his shoulder as long as he needed, rubbing the neoprene – both siblings were still in uniform – underneath his hand reassuringly. He remembered the same reaction after EOS had first made herself known to them, only that time it had been John Alan had clung to in tears, post-adrenaline rush. They needed to stop putting their lives in Alan’s hands like that.

But Alan would settle, barring the new nightmare fuel that never went away, once he’d let out the initial emotions. It was either a blessing of youth, or a coping strategy he’d been forced to employ too young. Kayo, who was watching with unguarded relief across her face, was like John; pragmatic and level-headed. A serious conversation would settle her, although when she met his eyes, he linked his hands together behind Alan’s back and made them flutter, shooting her a quick grin.

The resulting glower she sent him didn’t hide the softening in her eyes, or the way her shoulders slumped. Satisfied for the moment, he returned his attention to his youngest brother, who seemed content to stay where he was. Scott let him, nodding at Parker when the older man gestured that he was going to leave the room.

No sooner was Parker gone than Gordon burst through the door, Virgil hot on his heels.

“Scott!” Gordon skidded to a stop just behind Alan, reaching out to put a hand on Scott’s shoulder where he could. “Don’t do that again,” he demanded, amber eyes flicking to the EKG for a split second before he found some space to perch on the bed behind Alan.

“Like you’re one to talk,” Scott shot back. Gordon grinned.

“I won’t if you don’t,” he said. “Deal?”

“Deal.”

They couldn’t really promise that, not in their profession, but Scott saw something lift behind Gordon’s eyes, the banter regardless doing something to reassure him. Gordon had always used humour to cope.

Four siblings down, or at least addressed, and one to go. Somehow, Scott didn’t think a hug or joke would work quite so well on Virgil. Guilt was deep-set in brown eyes, but Virgil didn’t look at him directly, focusing on the EKG and drip as he bustled around.

“Virgil,” he said, pulling one hand away from Alan to catch his brother’s arm the moment Virgil got in reach. It was the arm with the needle in it, bright band aid stark against his skin. Virgil’s eyes focussed on it and Scott sighed, tightening his grip on the neoprene beneath his fingers. “Look at me.” He couldn’t do much, not while Alan was still clinging to him, but hell if he was going to let Virgil shut himself away and stew in a self-inflicted puddle of misplaced guilt.

Virgil stilled, but didn’t obey. Scott closed his eyes and sighed again, squeezing Alan lightly. The blond snuffled but didn’t otherwise move.

“Virgil.” That was John’s voice, his final brother reappearing holographically at the foot of Scott’s bed. The middle brother ignored him, too.

“Kid, your brother’s talking to you,” Grandma chipped in. “At least have the manners to look at him.” Despite the words, there was no scolding in her tone, just a quiet encouragement. Virgil glanced up at her, and a look passed between them that Scott couldn’t see before Virgil slowly turned to face him.

“Thank you,” he said before Virgil could apologise, or say something else nonsensical. Whatever his brother had been gearing up for, it clearly wasn’t that; he blinked, startled, before opening his mouth to probably-protest. “I know it was Alan that got the antivenom, but you’re the one that kept me alive long enough to get it.”

“I’m the reason you needed it in the first place!” Virgil snapped, looking away again. “If I’d paid more attention… if I-”

“If nothing,” Scott interrupted, conscious that they had an audience but unable to ask anyone to leave. He wanted his family there, with him, and knew they were all busy reassuring themselves that he was going to be fine. “You’d have done the same thing if our positions were reversed, except I’m not as good as you with all the medical stuff.”

“You’d have done enough,” Virgil mumbled, and Scott rolled his eyes.

“And you did enough,” he returned. “No what-ifs, Virgil.” Hell knew he’d told himself that enough through the years, with varying levels of success.

Virgil at least met his eyes again, even though Scott could see it wasn’t enough to lift the guilt. That would take much longer, including him making a full recovery and a conversation without the rest of the family listening in, intentionally or not.

“You’re staying in that bed,” he said instead, and Scott made a grumbling noise of protest.

“So I’ve been told,” he replied. “I can’t say I’m happy about it, but John made quite the compelling argument.”

“Does this mean you’ll listen to me for once?” John asked disbelievingly, arms crossed and eyebrow raised.

“What do you mean, for once?” Scott asked. “I listen to you!”

“When it suits you,” John rebuked. “I have a list, if you’d care to hear it.”

Scott wouldn’t put it past John to actually have a list. He turned his attention back to his other brothers without responding, to an amused noise from the space monitor, and gave Alan a grin as the youngest finally pulled back from his shoulder, eyeing him with teary blue eyes.

“I’ll sit on you if you try and get up,” the youngest told him firmly, look somewhat ruined by those eyes. Gordon laughed.

“Alan, you’re a twig.”

“Am not, fishboy!”

“Are, too!”

“Not!”

“Boys,” Kayo interrupted, taking a few steps closer to the cluster on the bed. With one arm now free, Scott reached for her and got a light hug at his silent request. It didn’t last long, but it was enough for the rest of the tension to leave her shoulders before she stepped back, out of his reach again.

“Hey, where’s my hug?” Gordon demanded, and Scott raised an eyebrow at him.

“You want a hug, you’ve got to come get it yourself,” he said. “I’m not moving.”

Permission gained, Gordon shoved Alan out of the way, the younger falling off the bed with a squawk of indignation, and wrapped himself around Scott. It was far looser than his usual hugs, but out of all his brothers, Gordon was best at gauging what an injured person could take. Scott rested his chin on his shoulder, feeling the dampness of the neoprene that betrayed that Gordon had been in the water during his mission.

Tension drained out of his aquanaut brother’s powerful shoulders and Scott found himself relaxing as well. He’d always found it easiest to relax and wind down when his brothers were okay, and with three out of four openly reassured, his own nerves were less on edge.

“I’m still sorry,” Virgil said after a moment. Scott still had hold of his bicep, and glanced up at him as he spoke. That pain and guilt was still there in brown eyes, but it was Gordon and Alan that Virgil was looking at. A big brother himself, he too was being drawn into some sort of reassurance by the youngest two calming down.

There were many responses Scott could give, and maybe later once it was just the two of them he’d dive deeper in if Virgil hadn’t managed to settle himself and needed a stronger release, but in that moment, with his family around him and the knowledge that whatever happened next, they’d survived this hurdle, there was only one thing to say.

“I know.”

Surprised brown eyes met his, as though Virgil had expected another rebuke, another it’s not your fault, but Scott knew better. He didn’t blame Virgil at all, but it wasn’t his forgiveness Virgil needed; his brother needed to forgive himself for his perceived transgressions, and that he couldn’t do as long as Scott stayed stubborn. He tugged at the bicep in his grip, coaxing Virgil closer with an inviting smile.

Virgil hesitated, understanding but unsure. Scott didn’t say anything else, didn’t push harder, but then Grandma put a hand on Virgil’s other arm and whatever remaining fight there was seeped away.

It was Gordon’s turn to squawk as he found himself nudged out of the way, but he went willingly, surrendering the space to Virgil as Scott’s dark-haired brother wrapped his arms around him cautiously.

“I’m okay,” Scott murmured into his brother’s ear, returning the hug as fiercely as he could. Like Alan before him, Virgil shook ever so slightly under his touch, but unlike the youngest, no tears were shed.

“I thought I’d lost you,” Virgil mumbled. “You stopped breathing for a minute just before Alan arrived and I thought that was it.”

“I heard you,” Scott admitted, just as quietly. “I don’t think I’d have had the strength to keep fighting without you. Alan might have got the antivenom, but you saved me, too.”

Virgil gave a shuddering breath and his arms tightened, just a little.

They stayed like that for several minutes, Scott managing to relax further now that was the fifth and final sibling’s immediate concerns addressed, but eventually Virgil pulled back, the ghost of a smile on his face. He looked like he wanted to say something, but before he could, Gordon crashed into him.

“Group hug!” he declared, reaching out to snag Alan and pinning an unprotesting Virgil in place as Scott’s three youngest brothers gathered as close as they could for a tangle of arms and bodies on Scott’s bed. Alan flailed in Kayo’s direction and the woman stepped closer, slipping an arm delicately around the back of Scott’s neck and more tightly around Alan. Scott grinned at her before looking past the mass of brothers to lock eyes with the one he couldn’t reach. John grinned back at him, and even though he wasn’t physically there, Scott didn’t need it to know his immediate brother was just as relieved.

The hug lasted until Grandma intervened, suggesting that they let him have a little bit of space. He didn’t need space, but they all heard the underlying reminder that he was in that bed for a reason. After that, it was back to business as usual, his on-Earth siblings scattering to change on Grandma’s order and reconvening later in their civvies with various forms of entertainment while John went back to his latest project.

Lady Penelope poked her head in later, but he didn’t see Brains – or the Mechanic – until the next day.

“I-it’s time to t-test the T-Drive e-engine,” the engineer told him the next morning, after checking him over in his own desire for reassurance; there was some guilt there as well, for pushing him out on the rescue, but thankfully Brains was much easier to calm than his brothers – the fact that Brains hadn’t seen him almost dead helped.

“Give me five,” he said, reaching for the drip stuck in his arm.

“Make that ten, Brains,” Virgil rumbled, catching Scott’s hand. “Scott’s not up to walking even if he thinks he is.”

Scott groaned, but Virgil raised an eyebrow at him.

“I thought John made a convincing argument for you to stay in bed?” he challenged, and Scott shrugged.

“That was yesterday.”

“And your heart rate still isn’t back to normal, so it’s the hoverchair or nothing,” Virgil rebuked, rolling his eyes.

Scott sighed but dutifully held out his arm for Virgil to remove the drip instead.

“No, that’s coming with you,” Virgil corrected, gently pushing it down to his side again. “Just the EKG.” The machine was turned off, but Virgil made no move to relieve him of the transmitters, telling Scott that it was being linked back up later. Wonderful. “Now then, let’s get you out of this bed-”

Scott leaned forwards and swung his legs around, placing them on the floor and pushing himself to his feet.

“Woah!” Virgil sprinted around the bed and caught him as his vision fuzzed. “John’s compelling argument?” Scott was vaguely aware of being shifted around as the world spun around him, but it was a surprise to find himself in the hoverchair by the time he was fully aware of his surroundings again. Usually, Virgil would dump him straight back in bed.

“Okay, John’s compelling argument still holds,” he admitted, leaning against the back of the chair and closing his eyes briefly as the world tried to spin a little more.

“Let’s get going,” Virgil sighed. “Hands off the controls; I’m steering.” Scott grumbled, but had no doubt that the controls had actually been disabled. “As soon as the test is over, you’re coming straight back.”

“I don’t have a choice, do I?” he asked, and Virgil chuckled.

“Not at all.”

They were last to the balcony; it didn’t escape Scott’s notice that the Mechanic was the other end to the rest of them, talking quietly to Brains but otherwise ignoring the Tracys. That suited Scott just fine; if the test worked, he was well aware he owed the man an apology for his accusations of sabotage. Although maybe he’d keep that back until the Zero-X2 launched successfully and Dad was home. Just in case.

“You look pale,” Grandma commented. “Did he try to stand up?” she asked Virgil. Scott glowered as Virgil rolled his eyes in answer.

“What do you think?” he asked rhetorically. “He didn’t pass out entirely, otherwise the test would be happening without him, whether he liked it or not, but it was close.”

“He is right here,” Scott grumbled.

“And he’s going to keep his mouth shut and drink this up,” Grandma informed him, pressing a cup of water, complete with straw, into his hands. “You shouldn’t be out of bed at all, young man.”

“T-test is ready,” Brains announced before Scott could find a retort that wouldn’t get him taken straight back to the infirmary. “I-igniting T-Drive in three, two, one.”

Without binoculars, it was difficult to see what was happening on the platform, but nothing exploded and after several moments all that could be seen or heard was the whining of an engine. It was higher pitched than the engines Scott was used to, but there were none of the warning noises suggesting that something was wrong.

Beside him, Virgil sighed in relief while Gordon and Alan whooped.

“C-cutting engine,” Brains called, and it powered down easily. Smooth as any of the best plane engines Scott had piloted – and he’d piloted many.

It had worked. They had a T-Drive engine.

They could go find Dad.

“Scott?” Virgil sounded worried, and he opened his eyes – when he had closed them? – to look up at his worried brother. Alan and Gordon hovered nearby, and he looked at them all in turn, even John’s silent hologram – his ginger brother hadn’t been there when the test had started, hadn’t been expected after he pointed out their holotech’s range didn’t reach that far. “Are you okay?”

Was he okay? He had a broken rib, was recovering from a near-fatal spider bite and its side effects of dehydration, bradycardia and hypotension, and the man who had almost killed his brothers multiple times was standing the other end of the same balcony.

But they were one step, one significant step closer to Dad.

“Yeah,” he said, staring out past them, at the platform cradling the most important engine International Rescue had ever created. For the first time since that horrid trash mine day five weeks earlier, he could honestly say, “I’m okay.”

Fin

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #scott tracy #john tracy #virgil tracy #gordon tracy #alan tracy #grandma tracy #aloysius parker #lady penelope creighton-ward #brains #the mechanic #kayo kyrano #grounded

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