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astersatdawn · 2 years ago

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Nightmares Forged From Fractured Peridots

Relationship: Midoriya Izuku & Sensei | All for One

Rating: Not Rated

Sensei | All for One is Midoriya Hisashi, Bad ending, Izuku has been vaulted, non-consensual (platonic) touch, non-consensual haircut, non-consensual Quirk use, referenced non-consensual drug use

Oneshot (Series) | 8.8k words

What a failure he was. Not able to stop All for One, not able to prevent his own arrest, not able to find his mother or the exit that would let them escape this labyrinth All for One used to trap them. Continuously running in useless circles of conversations with this demon in some desperate attempt to regain control.

All for One sought a fantasy and deemed all of Izuku’s dreams as illusions in parallel. Izuku hated the tiny part of himself that was scared that those hopes were as futile as All for One insisted they were.

[Or, another day, another failed escape attempt from All for One’s prison, and the consequences that come with Izuku’s failure.]

ao3 link: here

This is a sequel to Brimstone and Emerald Dreams (tumblr/ao3) but it is (probably) not necessary to read that fic before reading this one.

And just like that, it was over again.

He tripped, and then there was a hand wrapped around Izuku’s bicep—it was not a friendly gesture to keep him from falling, but a chain to drag him back to his cell.

“Izuku, what did I say about running in the halls?” All for One chided, maneuvering Izuku to face him as easily as manipulating putty in one’s hands. His other hand clamped onto his other bicep, keeping Izuku firmly in place, even though it was a paralyzing Quirk and not his grip that kept Izuku from running now. “You could get hurt.”

There were plenty of responses he could’ve said to that. He could’ve simply said that it’s too late for that. Izuku could point out the bruises from where his fists pounded against the walls, could point to the dried blood beneath his fingernails and the missing skin from his overly bitten lips. He could point to his own heart, rotting beneath his decaying ribs, or how his flesh sank inward despite how he fought for something more than a bone-brittle existence.

He could even scream about the thunderstorm in his chest, the one that rumbled whenever he was dragged to and fro on a whim, the one that raged when his father spoke of his mother’s treatment, the one that bristled with every patronizing word out of All for One’s mouth, spewing sugar-coated nonsense about the nuclear family he had shattered with his own two hands—how Izuku was always to be his parent’s child, an object to be smothered like he’s nine rather than sixteen.

Assuming he was still sixteen.

He might be older, he didn’t know. Time is knowledge, and All for One, knowing Izuku is one to protectively cradle every detail close to his chest, would withhold far more than he ever gave, but still led him on with something like the possibility of answers, knowing Izuku would hang off his every word if it meant Izuku could gather one of those sparse fragments.

And All for One had given some answers at first. Not many. Some already known, others new, everything chosen with a meticulousness perfected by time. He’d kept Izuku in stasis as he carried his freshly woken body outside and walked around the barren streets of a city Izuku could not name—the only signs it had been a city once were the abandoned vehicles, the dilapidated storefronts with their half-burnt signs, and the charred scraps of bones and picked at skeletons.

“I want you to understand where home is now, Izuku. There’s nothing out there for you—nor is there anyone who would accept you as you are, not like me. So stay here. You need to do nothing more than that.”

Maybe everything out there was truly all ashes. Maybe there was nothing, or no one, left for them to find. It was hard to be worried about a what-if when anywhere was better than here—it’s why he had to believe there was something else left out there. A friend, a stranger. Anyone. News to uncover. A sanctuary for two tucked away out of All for One’s sight. A desperation for a better life that kept Izuku running no matter how many times All for One insisted there was nothing better left. The world could not be lost, and their world could not be contained to just this place.

He wouldn’t let the carefully selected scenery erase his dreams of hope, wouldn’t fall into the trap that was the logic of a megalomaniac man. Giving up on his wishes meant more than giving up on himself. He had to keep trying for the sake of his mother and whoever else still lived and fought another day in All for One’s Japan.

So the statement “you could get hurt” was the most redundant thing Izuku had heard since he was brought here. It was far too late. Izuku was bruised and bleeding and holding on by the skin of his teeth.

Telling All for One that truth was out of the question.

But with the way Izuku was held, unable to move anything but his facial muscles, he knew a response was necessary.

“I know.”

“If you know, then you shouldn’t do it.” All for One sighed. “You’d get hurt less if you just listened to me, Izuku.”

Izuku held back a scoff. It’s obvious All for One wasn’t just referring to running in the halls, or any other prior admonishment for something treated like a childish antic. Ever since Izuku woke up here All for One played up the loving, concerned father as if that’s all it ever was. While he was not wrapped in layers of chains like he had been before, the thinness of his wrists, irregular doses of drugs that kept him even weaker, and the thick walls of the vault did nothing but remind Izuku that, as welcome as he was to be here, this was a prison and not a home, and this place had hurt his family more than enough.

All for One had implied that obedience—that giving up—would change Izuku’s situation. Claimed that Izuku giving in to every one of All for One’s demands to act as the adoring son would make his quality of life improve, that he would get everything he wanted and that he’d never be in pain again. But Izuku knew better. If he agreed to that he may as well consider himself more corpse than man, for the heart that beat within his chest would no longer be his own.

If getting more hurt would get him out of here, he would continue to accept that over succumbing to a bleak existence.

Listening to All for One was not an option—it didn’t matter how frayed the rope Izuku clung to was, all that mattered was getting his mother out, and making sure enough of himself was left to go with her. Letting go—giving up—meant the end.

He couldn’t give a half-hearted shrug in response, shoulders frozen as they were. Instead, all he did was mumble a quiet “I know.”

“No, you don’t. If you did know that we wouldn’t be here.” All for One’s hands squeezed his arms. “You’re making things far more difficult than they need to be.”

“I know.”

“Do you know how to say anything else?”

“Nothing that I want to tell you, and nothing that you’d listen to.”

All for One sighed. “You’re proving my point. I’m not your enemy, Izuku. I’m your father—you can trust me.”

“Sure I can,” Izuku muttered, bitterness laced more heavily into his tone than it had been before.

“What am I going to do with you?” He shook his head. All for One was silent for a long moment. Then he lifted a hand and his fingers were running through Izuku’s hair, curls falling past his chin. “I suppose that can come later. You’re overdue for a haircut.”

“It’s fine—”

“It’s getting tangled.” All for One tugged on a small tangle to prove his point. “If you’re not going to take care of your hair, you shouldn’t let it get this long.”

Izuku bristled. It’s not like Izuku purposely let it get this unkempt—outside of Izuku’s rebellions, all decisions that should be his were instead ripped away from him. His schedule, from when he ate to when he bathed, were not his to decide. His clothes and appearance were not his to decide. Any tool, be it a comb or a toothbrush, were quickly classified as something Izuku would try and use to help his escape, and thus kept from him. With that structure, Izuku’s only means of managing his hair was with his fingers.

“I can take care of it.”

“Clearly not, you’re doing a poor job of it.” All for One ruffled his hair, making it messier than it already was, further empathizing just how much control he exhibited over Izuku’s every choice, or lack thereof. “Come on, let’s get that taken care of.”

Without warning, All for One adjusted his arms and lifted Izuku up.

“I can walk,” Izuku spat out, unable to kick his way out of the hold.

“You can, but you don’t need to. I can take care of you.” All for One squeezed Izuku like it was supposed to be a comforting touch. “And considering your display just now, I know you’re not interested in taking a walk.”

“I’ll walk,” Izuku insisted between gritted teeth.

“And I’ll carry you. I want to take care of you, my little prince.” All for One ran his fingers through Izuku’s hair, passing by the knots that had formed since Izuku’s last struggle to pull them apart, and tilted Izuku’s head towards his chest and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “I have too much lost time to make up for.”

Time Izuku would rather spend away from him, but he knew saying that would make All for One more unbearable than he already was. Every touch kept his hairs standing on end, the stone in his stomach sinking deeper than it already was. Already, Izuku was sick of it, and it had only been a few minutes. Every disagreement seemed to increase All for One’s clinginess, and considering Izuku had an unwanted haircut coming up, Izuku knew he was nearing his limit of coddling before he said something that would get him a worse punishment than usual. He couldn’t risk losing too many windows of opportunity, not when they were already so limited.

Tartarus had been a kinder place to him if only because it kept him out of All for One’s clutches for a while, even if that proved to not be enough—how long had it been since Izuku first found himself in captivity, struggling and failing to get free and do what needed to be done?

It continued like that for the next few minutes: Izuku, stuck stiff in All for One’s arms, fingers in his hair, silent and stewing in his resentments while All for One acted all merry. They didn’t go to Izuku’s cell, but a hallway not far from it, that Izuku had already inspected through a mixture of his escape attempts and All for One dragging him around.

Their destination was a small multi-purpose room, shelves stocked with miscellaneous items ranging from hair care products to silverware. On the opposite wall of the door there was a sink, and above it, a mirror that captured the both of them: Izuku, glaring off into the distance, eyebags and pale skin illuminated by sickly lights, matted hair curling just beneath his chin, held tight like a trophy to All for One’s chest, who smiled not with that of deranged madman’s, but with something almost peaceful.

Izuku would not be surprised if, before, this room had been a torture chamber, considering the centerpiece was a chair with multiple leather straps hanging off of it, which was right next to a miniature surgical table that already had a pair of scissors and a brush on top; even if it hadn’t been, he certainly felt tortured every time he was brought in here like this.

All for One gently set him down in the chair, and began to restrain Izuku. It was done with a practiced hand, one hand deftly tightening straps and buckles around Izuku’s arms, legs, and chest, while the other was still somewhere on Izuku—his hand, his knee, his shoulder, his head—to keep the paralysis Quirk in use.

When he was done he ruffled Izuku’s hair and let him go. The second Izuku felt his limbs were his own again he tugged at his restraints, pulling up and forward and squirming no more than an inch.

“It’s cute that you still think you can escape,” All for One cooed. Izuku felt the brush run through his hair, tugging and pulling with rapid strokes.“You’re not leaving unless I let you, Izuku.”

“I literally just got out without you letting me.”

“No, you didn’t. You left your room, but you didn’t leave.” A yank. A few strokes more, each growing more gentle than the last, before it stopped altogether. He heard All for One set the brush back down on the table before he walked over to the shelves, and picked up two bottles to compare. “And even if you found your way to the exit, I know you wouldn’t go, not without Inko.”

Izuku’s nails dug into his palm. He wished it wasn’t so obvious, if only if it meant Izuku knew something All for One didn’t. She had to be in this building, All for One had implied as much, and even if it was a lie, Izuku couldn’t take the risk of leaving her behind in this sort of place. Her presence was another cord for All for One to pull, but also a reward to give if Izuku submitted enough for All for One to attempt recreating the sham of a family he so desperately wanted.

And he had seen her, more than once, since that condition became clear.

Part of him hated that fact. He had fallen so far that he’d been seen as compliant, and yet, seeing his mother reignited him more than memory ever would. It was hard for those dinners not to, seeing the wariness in her darting eyes, her gentle voice gone mouse-quiet and fragile, resignation a heavy mantle on her shoulders, as playing her part meant she could see Izuku again. The truth of the matter was, as much as she was tether and treat for him, so too was he treat and tether for her.

Every minute, every word, and every touch, was just another opportunity for both of them to break, and compliance meant falling apart faster—Izuku could only hope that his choice to keep fighting would give her the strength to not give up all the hope she had left.

“...Where is she?”

All for One settled on one of the bottles and grabbed a towel before heading back towards Izuku’s side.

“Do you really think I’m going to tell you that?” The towel flapped out of sight before All for One tucked it around Izuku’s shoulders. “We just established her location is your goal with your escapades, Izuku.”

From somewhere behind him, he could hear the squeak of a faucet, and then the rush of water splashing against the bottom of the sink. It wasn’t a consistent stream, as he could hear the water shifting as All for One’s hands moved under the water.

“When will I see her?”

An amused huff. “You should know by now disobedient children don’t get what they want.”

“She’s my mother. If you’re going to discipline me then she should be involved.”

“And you don’t need to see her for her to be involved, Izuku. You should know parents discuss things without their children.” Abruptly the back of the chair was pulled down, and Izuku’s eyes shut as warm water fell onto his forehead. All for One’s hands were back in Izuku’s hair. Instinctively Izuku tried to pull his head away, only for All for One to drag his head down more firmly into the basin, before using the Quirk to keep Izuku still. “You seem quite desperate to make some sort of progress today. Any particular reason for that?”

The answer was a contradictory matter: there was a reason, in the same way there wasn’t one at all. A realization had struck him as he lay awake, waiting for the illusive mercy of sleep, that Izuku had no milestones to measure the length of his imprisonment. Izuku did not know when the last time he saw the sun or the stars was. He had no way to count the days, no concept of time—All for One made certain of that; the limited light in his cell never changed, and when his pacing and plotting became tiring Izuku tried to sleep with little way to distinguish between a minute and an hour. He had no clue how much time had passed between his imprisonment in Tartarus and the first day he woke up here—all he had was the memory of passing out in heavy chains in his tiny cell and waking up to the echoing chill of metal walls and the warm hand of a familiar-stranger Izuku never wanted to speak to again.

All he had were those questions that he gathered and guesswork swirling inside him and melding into a desperate voice that slithered through him. Pick up the pace, his heart had hammered. Every minute here is a minute too long, every minute spent is another you fail to save somebody else, his toes restlessly curled tighter. You’re not supposed to be this useless again, get out, get out, get out, and his guts would spill out between his fidgeting hands, as he uselessly stared at walls for hours and hours as if waiting for sleep or death or salvation despite knowing he was the only one able to fight for it.

Inaction built up every word, until the rambunctiousness of that inner voice had driven him to do something, anything, to get them one step closer to freedom, to find quiet in the adrenaline that guided him down labyrinthe halls, eager to find something more than fragmented hope.

And instead he failed again.

Now that voice was knocking, and despite the many ways All for One had to make Izuku’s body another prison, he could never capture his mind and silence a voice not even Izuku could quell.

“No,” Izuku replied, and it couldn’t even be considered a lie.

“Nothing at all?” All for One hummed. “There’s no shame in saying you simply miss your parents.”

“I only have a mother worth missing,” Izuku snapped before he could think.

The hands in Izuku’s hair froze. Nails dug into his scalp, and a thick glob of horror swelled in his throat.

He knew this would happen, had known coming into this room was a minefield ready to burst, and yet he walked right onto it anyway. There would be no simple, straight-forward punishment for this, Izuku knew that, too.

“Oh? Then what about your father, Izuku? What am I worth to you?”

Panicked eyes stared up at All for One, who stared down at him with a predatory smile and chilling gaze. It made Izuku aware of just how close they were—that if Izuku were anyone else, the hands on his head may have already pierced through his skull, uncaring for the mess that’d be left behind.

Just as Izuku was desperate for escape from him, so too was All for One desperate for the affection of those he called his. The cost to them did not matter, not if it meant getting what he wanted, and denying him even the illusion of it invited the threat to return and rip away something more to get what he desired.

There had been one time before when Izuku had said something that caused All for One to snap like this. What exactly he had said was an answer left behind somewhere between heavy doses of drugs and darkness, but he knew it was something about All for One not being his father—something that opposed the illusion, and Izuku learned the best tactic was simply avoiding such topics altogether.

And yet, here he was, implying this man had more value by not being around at all. A perfect contradiction to All for One’s disturbed fantasy.

What did he do here? Did he try to backtrack and appeal to All for One?

No. He couldn’t—not even if he wanted to. Lies had never been his strong suit, but his honesty was still a fine line to balance. He was already due for an extension of the usual punishment, but now that he was in this more dangerous territory, he knew he could inadvertently drag his mother down with him if he didn’t take even a second to think.

He didn’t mind digging the hole for himself just a little deeper if it meant making sure his mother stayed out of it.

“I—mom might disagree, but I wish you never came back.”

Other words boiled in his stomach, words better left in the past Izuku could not completely bury, damning ones he vowed to never say, ones he hated himself for even thinking as he had searched his mind for excuses: I regret having missed you—loving you, thinking you were someone I wanted around.

“How harsh, Izuku. To think you’d say such a thing after all I’ve done for you.”

“What you’ve done for me?” Izuku snarled. Snapshots of memories flashed across his vision: eager Quirk dissections on the couch after a long day and a mocking voice gleefully recounting a massacre, a warm meal for three with bites taken between chatter and laughter and desecrated cities beyond what they eye could see, birthday wishes that reminded him he wasn’t alone and isolated time lost in cold metal prisons, bedtime stories detailing dragons and sorcerers and suffocating visions of the death featuring people he loved. None of that had ever been for Izuku, no matter how often All for One said it was, no matter what Izuku once believed it to have been. All those resurfaced hurts and sickening thoughts festered within him. “You’ve done nothing, I wish you were a deadbeat—it’d be better if you were dead—”

Izuku’s jaw clamped shut without his permission. The dangerous expression on All for One’s face didn’t twitch, even though Izuku’s forced silence was a response enough that Izuku had not only crossed a line, but barreled far past the cliff’s edge. Without a word he shut the water off and lifted the back of Izuku’s chair back into a sitting position, and Izuku didn’t even have a second to orient himself before he was spun around so that he was face to face with All for One. He took Izuku’s face in his hands, cradled his cheeks and drew his gaze up to meet his.

“What an unheroic sentiment from you, Izuku.” A chill ran through Izuku, hair standing on end, in response to such a cold voice. A drop of water trickled down his nose and crawled to his chin. “I’d almost be proud, but we don’t wish for death for our family, even in anger. Do you understand me?”

He felt a weight lift off his tongue, though it didn’t feel like less of one, considering it simply sank past his pounding heart and into his stomach instead. “Yes.”

“What was that? I can’t hear you, Izuku.”

“Yes,” he said louder. Yet All for One’s expression did not shift, and Izuku knew at that moment he was expecting something more: appeasement. Izuku had seen All for One like this once before, only days after Izuku woke up here; once was enough to know it wasn’t worth ignoring again—he’d almost lost his chance for any opening to escape at all. He knew he wouldn’t be so lucky a second time. He was too close to teetering back into the very same darkness he was trying to avoid. One more wrong word, and he knew he’d never see light again.

A shaky inhale, a trembling heart—how useless of it to waver only now. How pathetic it was that he had to grovel at all, to cave into demands he had been clawing against not even a minute before. A hurried exhale—again, again—not fast enough as thumbs rubbed into bone. A desperate gulp—it was all simply another heavy stone to swallow.

“Yes, dad. I’m sorry.”

How quiet those words were, syllables ashes on his tongue. The inflection probably didn’t matter—in the end, it was just another victory for All for One. Words had power, and for all the defiance Izuku could spout, if he was forced to kneel long enough to keep himself afloat, All for One would consider it another step closer to the obedient puppet All for One wanted him to be.

The strings dictating Izuku’s life were not all his to control anymore—one by one All for One plucked at the cords that created Izuku’s core, and as much as they vibrated with resistance, one day, Izuku suspected, All for One would be fed up because, as much as he tried, Izuku would never be what All for One so wished him to be.

Izuku could not be here when that patience snapped. He’d already poked at the edges of it, and he was scared to find out what would happen to Izuku and his mother when he couldn’t bounce back. Yet, there was no telling how long All for One’s patience would last—while All for One was ancient, even he could not be forever patient, not when Izuku’s lifespan was far more limited than his.

“Very good, Izuku.” The worst of the menacing aura faded, but Izuku knew it still lingered. He’d be walking on a thin tightrope until he was alone in his cell. “Thank you for your apology. You’re forgiven.”

For now went unspoken.

As if a final act of reconciliation, rather than the prize All for One saw it as, All for One held him like he was a pet owner comforting a sodden dog, petting his hair and holding him close. Izuku felt tears rise to his eyes, but these were not tears of relief.

They were tears for all the things Izuku could never say, for all the pieces of himself he had to neglect to make sure they had a chance at getting out of here, for all of his failures and the mistakes he couldn’t name.

All for One would claim them as his, though. Tears for the regret of harsh words, for an imagined, repeating, grief if he were to leave Izuku again—even if both of them knew that was not the truth.

They would both dream. All for One dreaming for it to one day be true, Izuku dreaming for the day he and his mother got the freedom they longed for. And in those dreams they lived, clashing and coexisting, determined to achieve their reality, utilizing every tool to reach their goals, and snuffing the other’s out until there was nothing of it left.

Fingers threaded through his hair, and after minutes too long, All for One let him go. A wistful sigh. “Well, we do need to resume your haircut. I’d rather it doesn’t dry first—unless you have any objections?”

Another test. Izuku’s eyes flickered down to his lap. “...no.”

A doubtful hum.

“I need a haircut,” Izuku murmured.

“That’s right, my little prince, you do.” In the corner of his eyes Izuku watched All for One pick up the scissors. Something twisted in his stomach—the scissors were less dangerous than All for One’s hands on him, and yet, the sight of something that could so easily be turned into a weapon left him even more unsettled. He wondered if it was because, once, he had been comforted by All for One’s physical affections, or if it was because he’d grown so used to them again; he hated the part of himself that wondered those things—it was the same part of him that didn’t offer another possibility that was kinder to his heart. “I’ll take care of you.”

A sharper twist. Izuku swallowed his tongue, and even though he was restrained but not paralyzed, he didn’t move an inch.

All for One’s movements were slow and thoughtful, but that didn’t keep him from chatting between each snip.

A question about Izuku’s thoughts on a Quirk theory. Snip. Asking how Izuku enjoyed the book All for One had been reading to him. Snip, snip. A harsh, off-handed reference to a hero Izuku admired—nails digging into palm and a clenched jaw. Snip. A quiz on the applications of a gravity Quirk that didn’t feel as theoretical as All for One tried to make it sound; tears bubbling within lowered eyes—a shaky breath as Izuku gave a careful answer. Snip.

Izuku felt a bundle of strands fall onto the back of his palm. Snip. They shook in time with every snip. Snip, snip, snip. His hair was pulled back and his skull jostled with it—the lost hair fell off of his hand and drifted onto the floor, featherlight and free. Snip. A hand on his cheek, the turn of his head. Snip. Up, down, pulled around gently like a little doll. Snip. Snip.

Hot whirling air in his ear, something running through his hair. A chill as it dissipated. The room seemed to grow colder and colder as All for One kept swiping at his hair. Snip. The circling of a vulture around Izuku as if he were a corpse ripe for the picking. A passing thought spoken aloud Izuku had no response for. Something metallic set down.

Hands on his cheeks and the edge of breath—they were so warm, but Izuku longed for the cold again.

“Oh, you look so cute Izuku.” A kiss to his forehead and the ruffling of his hair. All for One moved to stand behind Izuku, one hand curled over his shoulder and the other under his chin nudged his gaze back up. “And so much like your father.”

Izuku barely recognized himself in that mirror.

His hair was short, just a bit shorter than Izuku had ever let it get. It had always been a deliberate choice to never let it get cut to this length. Even as a child, this short curly hair had reminded him of his father. It may not have been as nightmarish when he was small, but now that Izuku knew more, having the similarities between them so starkly presented made him sick.

He could see the hint of his sharpening jaw, the shape of his eyebrows, the curve of his ear—similarities Izuku could hide when his hair was just a little longer. Before his imprisonment, he’d been considering letting it grow out even more, as if his thick hair could bury his secrets. Now even that choice was ripped away from him, and Izuku was forced to confront the things he never wanted to face.

Ignorance was not an option, not when All for One wanted to engrave this truth into Izuku’s very soul.

“Your father did a great job, didn’t he, Izuku?”

A prompt, and Izuku knew he couldn’t risk ignoring it. Not after earlier. Bile soured his throat. “Yeah. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Izuku.” All for One pat his cheek. Through the reflection Izuku could feel All for One’s unrelenting stare. What All for One saw at that moment, Izuku didn’t know—he didn’t want to know. Whatever delusion All for One saw fulfilled in this moment was one Izuku never wanted to understand. “You’ve had quite the eventful excursion today—it’s time we get you back to your room.”

All for One spun the chair around to face him and then reached for the first of the latches. Izuku remained still as they came undone, one by one. Twitched as the last one came undone, and froze again as he saw All for One’s expression: taunting, expectant—ready to make Izuku’s existence more miserable, even if that’s the last thing All for One would call it.

Izuku remained seated.

A hand ruffled his hair, and Izuku flinched at the touch. A light twitch of the lip, but All for One made no comment about it.

Careful inhale—shaky, quiet, exhale. Izuku’s hands curled into tight fists. How pathetic it felt to be compliant, how much his heart raged and his mind screeched louder the echoes of every error that got him here, but even more clear was the one voice reminding him that if he didn’t leave himself the possibility of opportunity, there would be no chance he would save his mother, let alone himself. He had to get her out of here, no matter what.

Izuku moved, slowly, eyes on All for One, whose face betrayed nothing, to get out of the chair. Every movement felt like a test, even as Izuku simply stood up before All for One. Not running. Now wasn’t the time to go, even if he wished it was. Even if Izuku wasn’t monitoring his every twitch with such intensity, he would know now would be a poor time to run, even if earlier he would have tried to catch All for One off guard anyway.

Once it was clear Izuku wasn’t running, All for One’s smile grew and he ruffled his hair. Some demented reward—a pat on the back for All for One, a signifier of victory that Izuku had been forced to hand over. Then did nothing else; expectant, again, and this time, Izuku had no guesses as to what.

Izuku shifted on his feet, warily eyeing the space between All for One and the door. There’s no way All for One would let him walk back unsupervised, especially not after the conversation earlier. A step out of line, and Izuku could imagine the dark encroaching on him, the heavy restraints—cold stillness and warm adjustments—the sharp pain in his elbow keeping him half-lucid, and his mother’s crying voice—whatever this was now was the true tipping point.

Don’t mess up. Run. You’ve taken too many risks today—no, not enough. Ignore your instincts. They’re the only thing keeping you both alive and safe. They’ve ruined this attempt. Move, freeze, figure it out, figure it out.

“Um…” Izuku hated speaking first. Not only was initiating the conversation the last thing Izuku ever wanted to do, but it was inherently a risk. All for One waited for the day Izuku spoke to him of his own free will of mundane things, but when that day was nowhere in Izuku’s foreseen future, it meant more conversational minefields to maneuver than normal. “Was there, uh… something else…?”

The only response was All for One’s poker face—still smiling, not telling if Izuku tipped towards total damnation or his ability to fight another day.

Izuku hated it, but he hoped he had the right card to play to get the clue he was missing.

“Um… Dad..?” His voice cracked.

“Sorry Izuku, I was simply lost in thought,” he said with absolutely no sincerity, but his tone didn’t sound as menacing as before—Izuku didn’t breathe easy, but he didn’t feel like he was about to be thrown off a cliff. “You’re quite eager to get going, aren’t you?”

“Um…” Sounding eager translated to wanting to get away from All for One, which while undeniably true, was always the wrong thing to say. His brain scrambled for some reasonable excuse. “I… I’m just… tired. Sorry.”

Something flashed behind All for One’s eyes, but before Izuku could decipher its meaning, it was gone.

“Oh why didn’t you say so?” Like it was an invitation, All for One swept Izuku off his feet again. His arm was already out to strike out when he froze, the answer hitting him far later than it should’ve.

Because of course this was what All for One was after—no matter what Izuku tried, he never let Izuku walk between rooms without restraints that kept him from running, and especially not after any escape attempt. Today, the restraint was All for One himself. He probably only let Izuku get away without directly asking All for One because Izuku called him dad without prompting.

Izuku did not want to decide if asking All for One to carry him or calling him dad was the worse choice of the two.

With robotic stiffness Izuku lowered his arm, and All for One chuckled. “You seem surprised.”

“It—it was just sudden…” Izuku stared at his twined hands.

“Hmm. You certainly seem more tired—you’re quieter than usual.” Was that an admonishment or not? Izuku couldn’t tell. He raised his shoulders in a short-lived shrug. All for One adjusted his grip to make Izuku lean closer to him. “We should get you to bed.”

An underlying implication—no meal first.

It was a minor punishment; it had been an internal debate in the earliest days, to eat the food provided to him or not. It was better than the prison gruel he’d been living off before—sometimes it was even recognizable as his mother’s own cooking, which was something that he couldn’t bring himself to reject regardless of the circumstances—but accepting any of it still felt like some sort of concession, especially when each meal was a roulette wheel of if he’d be taking another dose of drugs Izuku could not name.

In the end, Izuku knew if he wanted to get the two of them out of here, he needed to build up the strength he lost while in Tartarus, even if the efforts felt futile, and he was, at best, kept at a too-weak baseline.

It also meant this would likely get back to his mother, and he knew she hated seeing him hurt himself in that way. It hurt her emotionally, and made Izuku feel guilty when he hadn’t before—a small, but effective punishment. He could feel that guilt settling in his stomach now, his mother’s face on the forefront of his mind.

“Okay,” he murmured, even quieter, trying to sound more tired than he felt.

Maybe this was the best outcome of the day’s events. While he made far too many mistakes today, it seemed All for One might be leaving him alone sooner than he would’ve had Izuku not made such a massive blunder.

All for One still filled the silence as they made their way back. Izuku was careful with his responses, slower—easily explained with the cover he’d given himself earlier. It didn't take long before the door to his cell opened again, and he was once again back at where he started.

All for One set him on the bed in the corner of the room, and took his time to tuck Izuku in like he was a toddler again. He fidgeted with each movement, but didn’t outright stop it, even as All for One ruffled his hair and Izuku felt the back of his head sink further into his pillow.

“Um… night..?”

“Sleep well,” All for One said, giving no hint to what the actual time was.

Izuku closed his eyes, and listened for the sound of All for One leaving.

And waited.

He wasn’t leaving, was he?

Izuku tried to keep his breathing even. He knew All for One had seen him asleep, but he’s not going to open his eyes to check if All for One is watching him fall asleep—or just watching him in general. That unsettling feeling creeping over Izuku’s skin was enough of an answer, even if in another scenario someone may have brushed it off as paranoia.

This wasn’t exactly unusual. He would never get used to the staring; it was uncomfortable as it was normal.

Worse, he knew All for One knew his status because of Search. Even when he tried to fake it, he’d know if Izuku was really asleep or awake—not like being in either state would change the situation. It truly didn’t matter to All for One, and that may have been the worst part of it all; it never mattered what Izuku did, his existence alone was enough for All for One’s attention to be on Izuku.

This may have been another punishment in of itself. Izuku would have gotten back up a few minutes after All for One left and started pacing—there were too many pent up feelings inside him to sleep. When he was moving it was easier to focus on what he needed to do next; trying to sleep made it too easy to spiral into the past.

It was no surprise he didn’t sleep often.

Only when Izuku’s thoughts became so incoherent that they stumbled over themselves did Izuku find himself passing out for unknowable lengths of time. If none of the words inside of him could be understood, there would be no regrets to linger on while he rested.

All for One staring at him, combined with the restlessness simmering inside of him, meant there was no way Izuku would stop thinking, let alone sleep.

Could he think himself into unconsciousness? Plan and review ideas for future escape attempts with All for One sitting so close to him? Could those ideas get so loud they’d drown out all else—would they consume him if he let them ring loud enough?

Something ran through his hair and Izuku nearly jumped out of his skin. “Trouble sleeping? Would it help if I sang a lullaby?”

Izuku kept his eyes closed if only so he didn’t glare at All for One. “...if you want.”

The fingers in his hair toyed with his curls as All for One began to sing something low and familiar—something from a collection of vague memories, so distant it was easy to forget. Nightmares hadn’t been strangers, even as a child. From his youth they had clung onto him, never letting go, growing from tigers to monsters with every year that had passed.

And in those moments, when his weakness was made transparent in the dark, it was not always his mother he ran to.

He remembered a hand in his hair like this, shaking as his fingers sunk into fabric desperate for an anchor. As tightly as he held on, so too was he held, shielded from all other eyes, as Izuku would find comfort in a heartbeat and that low voice that always sang this same rhythm. He’d been so small back then, so small and unknowing, so easy to carry back to his room—”you need to let go of me now, sweetie,” his mother squeezed him as she set him back on the floor.

He looked up at her, clutching the bottom of her skirt. “But I don’t wanna.”

She laughed, and with such a gentle smile, she spoke, “I think you’ll like what’s out there.”

Izuku glanced toward the door in the distance, soft sunlight peeking beneath the gap in the bottom. The light looked nice, but he couldn’t help but glance back up at his mother. “But what about you?”

“What about me?”

“I don’t wanna leave mama alone.”

“You won’t be.” She crouched down to meet his eyes. “Because I know you’ll come back after you have some fun, and then the two of us will be together again.”

Something tugged at his soul, and he looked back towards the door. His tiny fingers began to unfurl, but didn’t let her go. “You won’t be lonely?”

“No.” She smiled. Slowly, he let her go. “Have a good day, Izuku.”

He grabbed the handle, cold beneath his scarred hand. Yet he couldn’t help but look back, find a reason to stay a moment longer, extend this conversation before he was forced to leave her again. “Do I look okay mom?”

His mother shuffled closer, muttering something under her breath as she fixed his tie. “You look great, my little hero. Now get going, or you’ll be late.”

“Okay, I’m going, I’m going. I’ll come back.” It felt like such a heavy promise, even though he wasn’t going far.

“I know.”

He opened the door and stepped into his classroom. Immediately, a group of heads gathered in the far back corner lifted up and met his eyes.

“Deku!” Uraraka waves.

“Midoriya-kun! Please be mindful of the time! You were almost late!”

“There’s seven minutes before class starts.”

“That’s two minutes before the five minute bell! Students should arrive at least 30 minutes early—”

“Isn’t that a little overkill prez?”

Iida launched into a lecture about the merits of arriving early, and while Izuku let the lecture fade into the background, thinking about how much Iida cared about all of them soothed him. He went around the classroom greeting his classmates: smiles and laughter and previous days discussed—Kacchan’s words gruff and dismissive even as he leaned towards the closest conversation to listen, Todoroki’s quiet recollection of his most recent visit to his mother, Uraraka cheerfully recounting a few great sales she and Tsuyu stumbled upon as they wandered the mall the day before, Jirou recommending music to Kaminari and Yaoyorozu leading into a discussion on synesthesia, the updated score for Kirishima and Ojiro’s recent set of arm wrestling matches, another match demanded with Ashido and Hagakure cheering them both on, Satou passing out treats, each uniquely decorated and getting thoughtful compliments and gushing excitement and gratitude from the rest of his classmates.

“I missed this,” the words slipped out of Izuku’s mouth.

“Missed what?”

“I… I don’t know.” Izuku shook his head. He set a hand above his chest—for such a lovely moment, his heart seemed so still. His fingertips felt so cold, yet his chest, unbeating as it was, felt so warm. Tears slipped out from his eyes, and he brushed it aside, watching it dry on his flesh as if it could give him an answer for why peacefulness felt so foreign. “But… but, I’m here now, so—”

A startled gasp, a tight tug on his scalp—Izuku scrambled to sit up but his limbs locked in place, his body manipulated by hands that weren’t his.

His pillow was gone. Instead, his head rested on All for One’s lap, and now he stared up at him, utterly frozen beneath that cold anger that had no origin Izuku could name.

Yet, as quickly as that anger had appeared, it was gone, and All for One stroked the top of his head as if to heal the lingering aches. “It’s good to see you awake, Izuku.”

He slept? No, of course he had—pieces of the dreams still lingered, even if the gentleness that had tried to hold him was quickly fading into a longing ache paired with a quiet apprehension. But if he had been asleep, what had bothered All for One so much to wake Izuku up so violently?

“While you were asleep, I spent some time contemplating your punishment.” Of course everything before now hadn’t been enough—his teeth clenched, trying to figure out what could be coming, even if the alarm in the back of his mind already told him, if it was coming so suddenly like this, it wasn’t meant to be guessed. “Your sudden bout of tiredness gave me an epiphany, and so I decided that this time, I’d choose your punishment based on a gamble.”

“A gamble?” Izuku echoed. What sort of gamble would All for One make while he was asleep?

All for One’s hand cradled his cheek, his thumb tracing the dark eyebags beneath Izuku’s lids. “Truthfully, I never liked watching you sleep, Izuku. My time with you was already limited, and even more was taken from me whenever you needed to rest. I had a choice to make when you were younger: did I let you keep a regular sleep cycle, and risk you running away from me as you grew older, or did I trap you within your delusions but knowing you’d physically always be close by? I made my choice, and we’re here now as a consequence of that.”

Izuku shuddered—had he really been that close to being imprisoned in his own mind as a child?

Then, a worse thought: there was a reason this was coming up now, and an unsettled dread crept through his veins.

“But now I realize—neither of those had been the right answer at all. And so, that brings us to my gamble. I wondered how much your dreams changed, my little prince, and so, I decided to find out. Lullaby, Deepened Sleep, Dream Toggler, Gentle Dream, Dream Reader—all of those Quirks to test your subconscious. If they showed something I liked, then I’d keep things as they were before, and pick a different punishment.”

A gamble Izuku was always destined to lose, then. All for One would be the delusional one between the two of them if he had truly expected any other outcome—but maybe, the more likely truth was that All for One knew the outcome of his self-made bet from the start. If he hated his previous decision in hindsight, and found a better solution during the perfect time to implement it, there was no way All for One would pick any other alternative.

Even more violating was the fact that the kindest dream he’s had since he’d arrived was no longer only his to remember.

Maybe Izuku should be more surprised that his dreams were intruded upon. Yet, with All for One’s obsessive need for control, it was surprising it had taken this long—already, his body was not always his own to move, and sometimes words he never wanted to say were ripped from his throat. So how long would Izuku’s mind be his sole solace from that control? How long did he have before even his every thought was overheard?

“You’re familiar with the gift I gave your uncle, and I’ve decided I’m going to give you a similar one.”

“A Quirk?” Izuku couldn’t hide the horror in his voice—it was both an inexplicable worst case scenario and one that didn’t make any sense. “You—you can’t get that back, not without—”

Not without taking One for All.

“I won’t need it until you’re ready, Izuku. Until then, I’d rather you hold onto it—it’s called Sleepless. Its purpose is rather simple: you don’t have to sleep anymore, Izuku—you won’t be able to even when you want to.’

That… that didn’t sound like the worst thing. He may not be able to escape his own thoughts, but more time awake meant more time planning to escape and getting out of here. He had to be missing something—there’s no way it could be that simple.

“The best part of that Quirk is that, despite the purpose of that Quirk, it doesn’t grant any immunity to sleeping Quirks. You’ll still be able to sleep when I need you to, Izuku.” All for One tapped the skin next to Izuku’s eyeballs. “Maybe with this those eyebags of yours will finally clear up.”

Izuku’s eyebrows furrowed. “When… when you need me to?”

“That’s right. Unlike before, I can spend all your waking hours with you, and when I have to go away, you can finally sleep. You won’t be able to use that convenient excuse to get out of spending time with your father. We can be together for as long as we want—isn’t that great, Izuku?”

Izuku stared up at him, wide-eyed with horror and rage. Every muscle in his body yelled with desperate need to fight, to resist; his skeleton desperate to rip away from his flesh and bring Izuku’s mutilated body somewhere out of All for One’s reach. But he couldn’t even shake his head, couldn’t even snarl every word trapped within his clogged throat. That demented, gleeful smile peered down at him, fully aware of the turmoil in Izuku’s gut, but eager to achieve an unexpected checkmate.

Every waking moment spent with All for One, trapped in stasis when he wasn’t. Every expectation of Izuku’s imprisonment had just been turned on its head. Up until now every plot, every attempt, had been made when All for One’s eyes were drawn away from him. Maneuvering around All for One’s moods on a semi-regular basis was difficult, but if he had to spend all his time doing that?

When would he have the time to figure something out? How could he sneak away when All for One would watch his every move more closely than before?

Izuku hadn’t thought there was a worse punishment than being half-aware in the dark—didn't think this situation could get any worse at all.

All for One’s hand fell over his face, could see the streaks of red light as something shoved its way through Izuku’s flesh, only had one thought as the sickly taste of Sleepless crammed itself into his skull, and its influence spread its roots beneath his eyes.

He was wrong.

#mha #bnha #dad for one #dreams that are(n't) mine au #i'm indecisive about the rating for this fic #considering the tags #so i'm going with not rated how spooky #anyway surprise i actually wrote a sequel for once #this happened because i wanted to try to write something worse than b&ed and had the epiphany that i could in fact write a sequel #and there might be more to this au but i will not make promises #but just know i have plans. evil plans #considering how this au (and fic) spawned i've decided the nature of this series is literally “how can i make it worse”#the fact that this is hurt/no comfort hurts my hurt/comfort loving soul i hope you all know this #(but boy do i also love angst)#astersatdawnfics #my fic #long post

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gallusrostromegalus · 1 year ago

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The Van Has Officially Declared It Spooky Season

---

I've got my parent's van for the week and it seems determined to establish my status as The Local Cryptid by terrorizing an innocent 7-11 clerk.

...I might need to back up a bit.

My mother is an eminently sensible woman who knows herself well, and when The Plauge hit, she knew she'd need some sort of mentally and physically engaging craft project to keep herself from going insane and massacring the local zoning and water management boards (even if they have it coming). So she and Dad acquired a utility van and converted it into a camper van because while they love camping, they're past the age where their joints and immune systems will tolerate sleeping on the cold ground in a nylon tent.

They did a terrific job of it and my mom taught herself woodworking and carpentry and now the van has it's own cabinets, fold-away dining table, and removable queen-sized bed with memory foam mattress. My Dad was already a computer engineer, but he learned the dark magics of automotive software and electronics to install after-market backup cameras, a media player that would take a terabyte hard drive and a solar-powered battery and outlet so they could wake up and just turn on the kettle and griddle for breakfast without having to exit the van into a cold morning on an empty stomach.

Truly, the height of Camping Luxury.

My parents are both in their mid-seventies and my primary life goal is to be at least half as cool and hale as they are when I get old.

Anyway, they take it out at least a dozen times a year and it works fabulously, but, being as I am on good terms with my parents and also finishing the process of moving house, I've been borrowing it to move large and cumbersome objects that will not fit in the back of my equally lovely but minuscule Honda hatchback.

It's a Great Van. Very easy and comfortable to drive. Stunningly good MPG for it's size. The best cruise control I've ever had in a car.

It's just also. Quirky. Mischievous, even.

---

If this van has a fault its that it bears the unfortunate affliction that all lightly used white utility vans have in that the combination of an utter lack of branding features and the large dent/scrape I accidentally put on it while trying to escape a Denny's last Thanksgiving means that this vehicle is one addition of a Badly Spray-Painted "FREE CANDY" on the side away from being the sort of vehicle you see in an edgy horror movie.

It's got the same issue that Doberman Dogs have where they look like the sort of creature that likes to snack on toddler's faces whilst actually having personalities made of marshmallow fluff. This vehicle is unnecessarily menacing and I think nothing short of an airbrushed Epic Van Wizard will correct this. People see this van pull up and lean over and squint suspiciously at me when the driver's side door opens, and then look moderately confused when, instead of Charles Manson, a small, potato-shaped creature with neon purple hair and a statistically unlikely assortment of dogs emerges.

My own two dogs, Herschel the Hanukkah Goblin/Corgi and Charleston Chew The Taco Dumpster Dog, Do Not Like The Van. Even with the bed in it, they have a tendency to slide and roll around in the back, and both WILL chew through dog saftey belts or other attempts to secure them in there.

On the other hand, my house mate's dog, an exceptionally tall standard poodle whom we lovingly call "The Creature", loves the Van because SHE wears her doggy seat-belt with only mild complaining and gets to sit up in the passenger seat like A People.

Also like A People, The Creature likes to stand and walk around on her hind legs. It doesn't hurt her and it's entirely voluntary, but every so often I will feel a hand on my arm and instead of my husband or friend, it's a canine that's taller than I am on her hind legs who wants to stare at my face with soulful, concerned eyes. The Creature's favorite thing is that she is exactly the right height for me to hold her arm in Genteel Fashion and walk around the pet food or hardware store with her like I'm a count escorting a debutante around a royal ball.

---

As it stands, I am set to inherit this vehicle whenever my Honda gives up the ghost, and I fully intend to paint an Epic Van Wizard on it when that time comes.

The other peculiarity of The Van is that while Dad did manage to successfully install all his after-market electronics, not all the electronics get along. Sometimes, they fight for Dominance. The Terabyte Music Player and the Backup Camera have a particularly contentious relationship, and turning on the music has about a 25% chance of turning on the backup camera as well, and turning on the Backup Camera is equally likely to turn on the music.

Firthermore, The Van has a favorite song.

I am not kidding that Dad filled an entire terabyte hard drive with music and the software to sort it via the radio controls, but of all the Early Boomer Dad Rock (Kingston Trio over The Eagles) and Irish Folk and Symphonies and the entire discography of Weird Al Yankovic, The Van's favorite song- The one it picks to play as victory music every time it beats the Backup Camera at their weird electronic game of rock-paper-scissors -is The Liberty Bell March by John Phillip Sousa.

You all know this song already.

...but in case you've forgotten the tune:

youtube

Yeah.

The Van's favorite song is the goddamn Monty Python's Flying Circus Theme Music.

It does not play this song at a normal volume.

Every time I turn on the Backup Camera and it manages to turn the music player on as well, The Van insists on absolutely blasting this nonsense on at the maximum volume it's physically capable of producing, which I know is loud enough to be heard from the Denver International Airport's Pickup zone when they Van decided to start playing it from the economy lot about half a mile away.

Perhaps it's The Van's way of honoring the aesthetic sensibilities and sonic enthusiasm of Mr. Sousa.

...I can't help but wonder if the purpose of an Epic Van Wizard is to control this sort of faerie-like malarkey, and channel these chaotic energies into things like Spell of Don't Break Down In Nevada or Enchantment Of Always Have Good Parking.

---

So last Friday the 13th, I get a call from my friend and housemate, at said airport.

It's roughly 11PM at night, and I have already retired for the evening. I am in the exact minimum of clothing required to be a decent housemate and not scandalize the neighbors should I happen to walk by a window. My feet are up. There is a cat in my lap and fictional British people murdering each other in highly inventive fashion on the tv. -But my friend has returned from her friend's wedding,and either American or United Airlines has managed to lose her luggage, including, among other valuable possessions, the keys to her car. ...So she cannot just drive home as originally planned.

There are, as luck would have it, her spare set of keys not eight feet from me.

Being a good and decent person, I agree to bring the spare keys to her so she may get home before daybreak and not spend a semester's worth of tuition on an uber across the greater Denver traffic jam.

Being also that she Loves Activities, and it's her mom we're going to pick up, I elect to take along The Creature.

I am primarily focused on remembering how to get to the airport and not leaving my friend's spare keys on the counter, so I throw on a pair of flip-flops, step outside, remember that it's AUTUMN and my minimal evening attire is not sufficient thermal protection, step back in, grab the first coat in the closet I lay hands on, pull it on, check that I have her keys again and leave.

The trip to the airport is largely unremarkable, save that it becomes necessary for me to put on sunglasses to drive, despite it being nearly the witching hour and almost entirely darker than the inside of a cow.

It's necessary because this blissful darkness of night is violently punctured by a startling number of cars that seem to have installed miniaturized but no less powerful lighthouse bulbs in where their headlights ought to go so the oncoming traffic and sports cars that insist on tailgating me in the slow lane alike illuminate the road and my mirrors with the kind of radiance I'd normally associate with the arrival of a Seraphim.

I arrive at the distant highly discounted airport car lot where my housemate is waiting, deeply apologetic. It's nothing. I say. Once I see that your car starts up, I'm gonna go to that 7-11 across the way that I parked in front of, get a slurpee or something and I'll see you at home.

While she is retrieving her vehicle (an equally eccentric but much more stately Subaru that is old enough to be elected to congress) I rifle through the loose change in the glove box and discover that I have exactly $6.66 in small bills and coins. The Subaru, continuing it's long voyage into vehicular immortality, immediately starts up.

Upon her return, we all remember that my friend had all her camping gear in the backseat of the car and there is no room for The Creature to ride home with her parent, so I again assure her it's nothing, and will just take The Creature into the 7-11 with me. She is trained as a service animal and needs the practice after the plague.

I wave my friend off and turn to enter the 7-11.

I promptly trip over the jutting back bumper of The Van and fall, cartoonishly, face-first onto the sidewalk.

Fortunately, I have a lot of practice falling on my face, and have learned not to throw my hands out but instead cover my face, so my unexpected self-inflicted attempted curb-stomping lightly scrapes my hairline and nothing else -my sunglasses even stay in place- and I get up and resume my quest for a slurpee.

It's well known that the airport is a lawless place, and the 7-11 across from the discounted airport parking at the stroke of midnight is no exception.

I know it's the stroke of Midnight because there's one of those Audubon society bird-call clocks that makes bird noises, and my arrival is heralded by the twittering call of a Summer Tanager. I am almost charmed enough by the unusual choice of chronological device to excuse the exorbitant Airport-adjacent mark-up of Slurpee prices. I stand at the machine for some time, trying to decide on a size for the price and guess what the fuck "Blue Lighting Blast" is supposed to taste like.

The Creature is being Very Polite but is somewhat agitated, I assume because she *just* saw her mother for the first time in three days and then she LEFT with no explanation, so The Creature is on her hind legs, staring woefully into my eyes, asking to be escorted around the 7-11. Even though that's not what she's not supposed to be doing, there's nobody else in here, so I let her hang off my arm and discuss various Slurpee Flavor options with her.

We eventually decide on an experiment in which I try a Small Blue Lightning Blast, and discover it tastes a bit like licking a nintendo cartridge but in a pleasantly satisfying way.

I go up to pay and realize something is amiss.

The Cashier is a young man staring at me with wide eyes, one had over the register and the other wrapped up in his rosary.

I look down at myself.

In my haste to reunite my friend with her spare keys and service animal, I had left the house in the following accoutrements:

Flip Flops. Not matching. It's below freezing outside. That last part is not particularly odd footwear for the weather in for Colorado, but it's an important detail for the rest of the ensemble.

Assorted scrapes, bruises, cuts and welts on my arms and legs that come with doing outdoor work and living in a house with three dogs and a fully-clawed cat that all want to be in my lap all the time. It's cold out, so vasoconstriction has pulled the blood away from my skin, a trait that served my ancestors well during the last Ice Age, but leaves me with pale skin to contrast the various wounds and I look like a corpse that fell out of the back of a pickup truck.

The black Bootyshorts with "CRYPTID" painted in bright red gothic font across my ass, that @theshitpostcalligrapher gave me for my wedding present.

A peculiar but extremely comfortable garment that straddles the line between "Lacy Camisole" and "Industrial-Strength Sports Bra" like the Ever Given straddling the Suez Canal. It is also Bright Red. with black accents.

The Jacket I had grabbed out of the closet, which is in fact, a black Velour Dinner Jacket.

The Tokyo-Ghoul inspired reusable anti-covid mask a friend made me with the set of Coyote Teeth.

My sunglasses, which are shaped like a Halloween Bat. The lenses are the wings and the body is the nose bridge. It is ALSO bright red.

A Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle that I have been audibly affectionately calling "Dear Creature" who is hanging off my arm like she's my Prom Date.

The Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle is ALSO dressed up in a black Dog Sweater that has white bones printed on it to look like its an X-ray jacket showing off her skeleton.

I look like I am taking my Very Fancy Werewolf Girlfriend to a particularly casual Dinner Party for Vampires, but the thing that's really selling it and probably alarming the kid the most is the fun accessory I acquired in the parking lot not five minutes earlier:

The "Small Scrape At my Hairline" is actually a painless but PROFUSELY bleeding head wound that I had somehow entirely failed to notice covering my face, neck, decolletage and magnificent cleavage with blood like a Tarantino Film Extra.

This does explain why The Creature has been delicately trying to use her bodyweight to push me down onto the floor for the last ten minutes. So I don't injure myself while we wait for the paramedics she hoped this kid called to arrive, you see.

The Creature has such a High and Naive Opinion of humanity.

I decide this social situation is already fucked, and the only way out is through, and with haste, before I start dripping on the floor.

"Hi there!" I say cheerfully, to indicate this is a visually alarming but not terribly serious situation. "Just a Small Slurpee!"

The Cashier has entered the relevant code into the register before I finish the sentence. His gaze flicks off me just long enough to look at the total, and he grips his Rosary harder.

$6.66

"Oh cool! I have exact change!" I say, taking the money out of my as-yet-unsanguined pocket without looking and slap it down on the counter. "You have a good night and be safe out there!" I wave, leaving.

I get in The Van, mortified, buckle The Creature up, and as I make to leave, I have to put it in reverse, which automatically turns on the backup Camera.

It also turns on the music player.

I make eye contact with the cashier as the dulcet tones of John Phillip Sousa boom from the van hard enough to make the windshield and the windows of the 7-11 rattle for the nine-and-a-half seconds I have to wait to be able to turn the volume back down. Not knowing what else to to, I give him a thumbs up, and leave.

Anyway, now I know what my Future Van Wizard has got to be dressed like, and what their familiar is.

---

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#Family Lore #Dogs #It's Halloween babey #friday the 13th #blood mention #I hope that kid had a good night and at least one of his friends believed him #Long post #Video

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sennamybeloved · 2 months ago

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⛧ SELFSHIPTOBER 2024 ⛧

HELLO ALL! welcome to another year of selfshiptober. i've noticed this is pretty much the 'official' selfship tober event now, which honestly warms my heart! i love seeing what this wonderful community does with my prompts :)

this year, i'm doing things a little differently. EACH DAY HAS TWO PROMPTS ASSIGNED TO IT. the first set is SHIPPY, while the second set is SPOOKY. you may either COMBINE THE TWO PROMPTS TOGETHER or CHOOSE ONE OF THE PROMPTS. the spooky prompts are a bit on the grittier side and probably won't appeal to most, so if you'd like to only use the first set of prompts and completely ignore the second, be my guest! on the other hand, if you prefer the gritter prompts, you can only use the second set of prompts, you can do that too! if you want an extra challenge, you can create a piece that incorporates both of the day's prompts. you can also change your approach depending on how you feel that day!

there are no hard rules for this. YOU CAN START WORKING ON THIS CHALLENGE EARLY, but i encourage you to wait until october to post anything. YOU CAN ALSO CONTINUING WORKING ON IT AFTER OCTOBER ENDS! you can drag this shit out into december for all i care. just DON'T OVERWORK YOURSELF PLEASE.

without further ado, LET US PROCEED TO THE PROMPTS!

#1. confession | night.

#2. blanket | flame.

#3. embrace | blood.

#4. apple picking | fog.

#5. all dressed up | blade.

#6. carnival | haunted.

#7. rain | infection.

#8. swim | terror.

#9. music | masquerade.

#10. warmth | claws.

#11. comfort | recovery.

#12. married | ritual.

#13. party | magic.

#14. date night | vampire.

#15. games | hunt.

#16. candy | illusion.

#17. heart | feast.

#18. pining | violent.

#19. shared hobby | potion.

#20. trust | experiment.

#21. snuggle | nightmare.

#22. kiss | scars.

#23. movie night | slasher.

#24. baking | empty.

#25. rest | bandages.

#26. beautiful | grotesque.

#27. decorations | cemetery.

#28. brush | forest.

#29. pumpkin | lantern.

#30. flowers | snow.

#31. halloween | death.

TAG YOUR CREATIONS AS #SELFSHIPTOBER 2024 AND TAG ME IF YOU'D LIKE ME TO SEE! i cannot guarantee interaction as i struggle socially, but i promise i'll look at everything! HAPPY CREATING ♡

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meeks-just-wants-to-scroll · 11 months ago

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You know how big lazy dogs are supposed to be very chill and tolerant of little kids fussing with them?

Yeah, well I often imagine me squishing and stretching Bob’s cheeks like a big jowled dog. I wanna lay on him. I wanna ride on his back. I wanna pat his head and call him a good boy. I want him to patiently watch me cut out little paper snow flakes and be amused when I show them to him.

This fucker would NOT let me do all that in canon, but dang darn it an autistic person can dream!

#bob velseb #spooky month #meeks rambles #reblog #not my art #my love language to my comfort characters is treating them like big jolly teddy bears #also I WANT to imagine Bob isn’t horrible with kids. Idk how it plays in #-plays into his back story. I think it’s just a gut feeling I have that he’d smile and crouch so he isn’t so scary to kiss #JUST ONE MINUTE GETTING A RIDE ON HIS BACK PLEASE!!!#…making me realize how desperately I just wanna indulge in simple ‘immature’ things and have a supportive adult.

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elixirfromthestars · 3 months ago

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A Night of Frights & Delights

Pairing: Athlete!Bucky Barnes x Artist!Reader (College AU)

Summary: It’s Friday the 13th and the college kids in town decided to host a weekend camping trip on the outskirts of town. Your best friend convinced you to go much to your reluctance. What could go wrong when the one guy you can’t stand is also there?

Word Count: 7k

Warning(s): slight horror themes / suggestive tones + implications / mentions of a past murder (not in graphic detail just campfire storytelling) / slow burn / suspense + other elements of spookiness / touch starved elements / be prepared for lots of back and forth + tension

Prompt: Campsite + forced proximity + “ It’s not bad enough to have Friday the 13th, we’ve gotta have a full moon too?”

a/n: here’s my entry for @witchywithwhiskey ‘s summer slasher writing challenge. Any chance to celebrate summerween and I’m there 🤭✨ I got carried away with the spooky element of it and this ended up longer than expected. Thank you for reading! 🧡 Feedback is always appreciated!! 🎃🧡

a steamy part two ❤️‍🔥

“ It’s Friday the 13th! Gather ‘round, for some good ol’ scary campfire stories!” Sam Wilson called out to anyone who would listen. A task that wasn’t the easiest thing to ask for when all the college students in the area were trying to have their last bit of fun before fall semester started. Amongst the ones that weren’t already drunk or passed out, a few were trying to find the perfect opportunity to sneak away into the night.

You on the other hand sat near the bonfire, appreciating the warmth it provided on this chilly night. Your back was resting against a log. The scratchy surface grazes against your black sweater at the slightest movement. Camping wasn’t your ideal choice for a weekend getaway, but when your best friend Jane insisted on you coming along it was hard to say no. Especially, since you had already said no to multiple get-togethers throughout the summer.

It’s not like you didn’t want to hang out with her. The issue was that wherever she was her boyfriend was—and wherever he was his friends were. And his friends included one smartass star pitcher for your university’s baseball team who made it his life’s mission to be a thorn in your side.

Needless to say, you couldn’t stand the man.

“ It was actually 1982, not 1985,” Jane whispers her comment to you, nudging your arm lightly. You snapped out of your thoughts and looked at her, your clueless eyes meeting her amused ones.

“ You’re not paying attention to Sam’s story, are you?” She quietly calls you out, leaning slightly closer. You shake your head sheepishly,“ No. Kind of got lost in thought,” you admit. Jane nods in acknowledgment,“ You’re not missing much. He’s just telling the story of the murders that happened here in ‘82,” she explains. You nod slowly, an eerie chill creeping up your spine. Everyone within fifty miles of the town knew of the horrific crime. It was the worst the town had ever seen.

A group of teenagers had snuck off into the woods to party a week before their senior graduation. They brought their camping gear to spend the night under the full moon to celebrate the milestone. They had gone so deep into the woods no one heard their music blasting all night.

No one heard their screams either as their life was taken from them.

You took a shaky breath, your fingers tracing random patterns into the dirt beneath you. Even though you could recite this story from memory it was different hearing it told in gruesome detail. Something Sam was not shying away from doing.

“ Don’t let Sam’s story get to you—here have a s’more,” Thor spoke up, handing you a small disposable plate with a freshly assembled s’more. His way of trying to comfort you.

“ Thanks,” you shot Thor an appreciative smile, taking the sweet treat. Jane’s boyfriend had always been kind to you and you got along well. The mutual friendliness extended to all of his baseball friends.

Well, the friendliness extended to all his friends except for one.

“ He’s telling it wrong anyway, so don’t pay it any mind,” Jane says causing you to let out a small laugh. Leave it to Jane to alleviate your nerves by just being herself.

You try to drown out Sam’s true crime retelling and focus on the sugary gooeyness on your lap. Jane and Thor snuggle into each other beside you and a small smile appears on your face at the sight. You take a bite of the s’more, letting the flavors melt into your mouth.

“ The next morning the cops led a search party into these very woods. Everyone searched day and night for three days straight. Scouting every inch, no stone unturned, to find them. And then one day, one member of the search party found something. That member being my Titi—so listen close,” Sam sets up the big reveal.

“ Wanna know what they found?” A voice you know all too well whispers into your ear from behind. The hairs on the back of your neck stand as his breath fans your ear.

“ I already know,” you grit out, turning your head to glare at him. Bucky can’t help the cocky grin that overcomes him when you look at him like that. He makes his way over the log and sits right next to you. You don’t hide the displeasure on your face.

“ Couldn’t find anyone else to annoy, James?”

“ None worth my time, sweetheart—and it's Bucky.”

You roll your eyes biting back a snarky comment. No matter the number of times he insists on you calling him by his nickname, you refuse to. Only his friends call him Bucky, and you're not friends—far from it. So to you, he’s James and nothing more.

“ We’re not friends, James. Friends don’t make you miss your biology final,” you remind him bitterly. He looks at you with slight disbelief,“ You’re still stuck on that? How is it my fault the party went until four in the morning?” You bristle at his defensiveness.

“ I don’t know. Maybe by not kicking everyone out of your apartment?” you retort, taking another bite of your s’more. Hoping to lose yourself in the sweetness of it before the distaste of his presence taints it.

“ At least the professor let you make it up…” he mutters under his breath.

“ That’s not the point,” you snip, unable to let him have the last word. You pretend to focus on Sam’s story, but really your attention is on the flames in front of you. The way they dance and crackle as if telling their own story alongside Sam’s.

Bucky stares at you, his eyes scanning every detail of your face. His favorite pastime is finding all the ways to push your buttons. There’s something about your reactions that he can’t help but want to see more of. He openly enjoys being the only one who can elicit such responses from you. Hell, you could say he was proud of it.

“ Stop it.”

“ Stop what?”

“ The staring.”

“ Don't want to.”

You turn to give him a piece of your mind but abruptly stop when you see the way he’s looking at you—or more so the way he’s examining your lips. His eyes reflecting more than just the golden flames in the bonfire. There was something deeper and not entirely unfamiliar. He had looked at you this way before, and yet it was still unrecognizable to you. An emotion you couldn’t pinpoint, but that was heartstopping nonetheless.

His hand lifts to your face, his thumb brushing away at something on the corner of your mouth. Your tongue instinctively darts out to lick your lips and remove whatever remnants of the s’more are left. Something unreadable flashes in his eyes. You wonder what he must be seeing in yours when his eyes drift from your lips to your gaze.

“ You had a little something there,” his voice has a deeper cadence to it, contrasting the cheeky grin plastered on his face. That damn grin. It’s all you need to snap out of whatever trance you were just in.

“ You’re insufferable,” you hiss out, getting up from your spot on the ground and stepping away from the bonfire. You hate how he does this—how easily he’s able to mess with you. It’s like it's his second nature to know exactly how to get a reaction from you. Almost as if he knew you better than you knew yourself.

The vulnerability of it all is what ground your gears the most. Bucky was used to this. The flirting, the back and forth, the teasing, and having girls wrapped around his finger. The last time you were in a relationship was your freshman year of college—a few years ago. It had been too long of being touch-starved that the slightest of touches or gazes brought about a yearning deep within you. One that you swore Bucky could see right through and it made you detest the man more.

You hated feeling like you were being toyed with. But above all, you hated how much you actually didn’t hate the attention he gave you.

You make your way over to one of the many trashcans around the campsite and dump the last bits of your s’more in along with the disposable plate. Your appetite for the treat long gone after his little stunt.

You use your phone as a flashlight as you walk over to where all the tents are stationed. It’s not too far from the bonfire, but far enough that the voices of everyone drown out into a low hum. A few people are already in the tents enjoying the night without the warmth of the fire.

“ Y/n! Hold up!” Jane calls out to you from behind. You face her confused expression, “ Everything okay?” You nod, your hands hiding in the pockets of your grey sweatpants,“ Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just gonna call it a night,” you say tiredly. You don’t want her to worry or keep her from enjoying her night.

“ Okay…Are you sure? Because you seemed off after Bucky—”

“ Please for the love of everything don’t mention him.”

Jane drops the subject entirely, “ Okay, okay. I won’t,” she assures you and pauses for a moment before she adds, “ By the way, I’ll be staying with Thor tonight, so you have our tent all to yourself.”

“ Oh? Oh…behave yourself, Foster,” you warn her playfully. She rolls her eyes waving off your tease,“ No promises.” You laugh together—the exchange alleviating the heaviness in your shoulders.

After a light farewell, your best friend retreats to the bonfire. You find your eyes drifting from her figure to the back of Bucky’s head. He’s still sitting in the same spot, right next to where you had sat. He was drinking away at a beer as Sam continues his story. You look away, ignoring the way your heart feels a small pang as it wonders if it would have been so bad if you had stayed.

Only Bucky had this way of infuriating you, but enticing you at the same time. A magnetic push and pull that tugs at you whenever you’re near him.

You crouch down and unzip your humble abode for the night. Gazing up at the sky before heading in. The moon is bright and full amongst the dark hazy clouds.

“ It's not bad enough to have Friday the 13th, we've gotta have a full moon too?” you grumble before entering the tent. The knowledge of being in here alone all night sounds less appealing now. You wish Sam had told a different story to set the mood for tonight.

For the next couple of hours, you lose yourself in your sketchbook. Every corner of the tent became your makeshift desk as the soft scratches of graphite filled the air. A small LED lantern casting just enough glow to guide your intricate curves and shadows across the paper. At first, you were sketching a flower you had seen earlier in the day along a trail. You don’t recognize the species, but the cluster of pretty violet petals vividly lived in your head and you wanted it forever memorialized in your sketchbook.

At some point, however, the petals turn into doodles and then unrecognizable scribbles. The creative flow taking a life of its own. You soon find yourself drawing a pair of eyes on another page. Giving them a space of their own. These eyes you recognize deep down, but they still have the same unreadable expression from earlier. Almost as if you hoped to decipher it by putting it on paper.

Maybe then it would be easier to look at them without being affected—without feeling that pull.

There’s a loud thump that echoes close to your tent. You freeze at the sound. By this point, everyone had called it a night and retreated to their sleeping arrangements. It had been at least half an hour that you hadn’t heard a single sound except for the chirping of crickets amongst a chorus of other creepy crawlers.

When no sound followed the thump you decided to ignore it—acting like you hadn’t heard a thing. And yet, your fingers swiftly moved to turn off the lantern and close your sketchbook, neatly tucking it beneath your pillow.

Another noise rang out—the skidding of dirt. And this time it was closer to your tent. Not directly outside it, but almost. You don’t know why your heart dropped or why your fingertips went cold, but they did. You tell yourself it’s probably just someone going out to use the bathroom or some other related activity.

Your body betrayed your mind as it started to feel enclosed in the tent. Like a prey caught in a trap. Hopelessly awaiting the moment the predator decided to take them out.

You swallow the lump in your throat and with numb fingers, you grab your phone. The tent shrinking around you as your heart pounded in your chest. Going out to investigate the source of the noise wasn't the smartest idea. However, continuing to be a sitting duck in the tent was distressing you more—and that helpless feeling overpowered anything else.

You slowly unzip the tent, trying to make as minimal noise as possible. You slip on your moccasins, putting one foot in front of the other as you step out into the night. Your surroundings are cast in shadows as the moon seems to be hiding behind a gloomy cluster of clouds. You look around and notice no one else is awake. Only dormant tents with sleeping residents inside accompany you in the night.

You scan the area, training your ear to see if you can pick up any noise.

That’s when you hear it—a rustling in the bushes.

You peer into the woods, your eyes narrowing hoping to center on something, but you can’t see anything. There’s a slight fog that encases the lines of trees encircling the campsite obstructing your view.

You take a few steps forward, hugging your sweater closer to your body. The outside air catches you off guard with its falling degrees. The shadows at every corner of the woods become creatures of the night if you stare at them for too long.

Why were you doing this? Why had you decided this was a good idea?

You questioned yourself. An unpleasant shiver goes up your spine at the thought of you walking straight into a creature’s claws. Your footing stumbled, and yet you found yourself walking further in the direction of the sound, the faint glow of your phone illuminating your path. You decided against using the actual flashlight on your phone as it could easily alert whatever was hiding in the foliage of the woods.

You don’t go too far from the campsite. Your legs only take you a few feet away from the perimeter of it before tensing at the way the hoot of an owl cuts through the stillness of the night. Your breath caught in your throat, and you gripped your phone tighter. The edges of it digging into your skin.

“ What are we looking for?” A voice too close for comfort whispers behind you and it causes you to shriek, your phone tumbling to the ground as you jump away from the source. Your eyes zero in on the culprit—your blood boiling when your gaze meets his ceruleans.

James Buchanan fucking Barnes.

A deep chuckle erupts from Bucky at your reaction. Not only at the way you jumped, but also at the way you’re now seething. He stands there in a basic white tee and black joggers, his hair slightly unkempt from lying on it earlier in the night.

“ What the hell is wrong with you?” You hiss, bending down to pick up your phone from the ground. The anxiety from before dissipating into irritation.

“ Me? What’s up with you? Sneaking around in the woods at night. That’s kinda creepy, sweetheart,” he jabs with a smirk. You roll your eyes, exhaling to steady your breath,“ Stop calling me that. And I'm not sneaking around—I heard something.”

“ And you came to check it out?”

“ Yeah.”

“ You have no survival instincts, do you?”

“ And you do? You're out here too.”

Bucky crosses his arms, his eyes roaming over your figure. He’s thoroughly entertained by your attempt to catch whatever is out there in your cozy outfit. It’s not exactly monster-hunting material.

“ I let my buddy have the tent for the night. He’s got a girl in there. Thought I'd sleep under the stars like nature intended,” he explains with a nonchalant shrug. A wry smile appears on your face,“ Aren’t you a great friend,” you reply sarcastically. He’s about to give you a snippy retort when a branch breaks ahead of you, causing you both to snap your attention to it.

You both go silent—wondering if you’ll hear anything more. Bucky takes a few steps forward to stand in front of you. Positioning himself between you and the unknown noise.

“ Is that what you heard earlier?” He asks, his voice a hushed whisper. Your eyes drift up his form and the way his arm is slightly outstretched in your direction in a protective stance. He’s looking in the direction of where the sound came from, but then his head turns back to look at you.

It takes you a second to gather your words,“ Sort of. At first there was like a loud thud by my tent and then some rustling—and now this,” you describe the unfolding events thus far.

He frowns,“ Is your tent the one by Wanda’s?”At his question you nod,“ Yeah…why?” He tilts his head slightly as he tries to recollect something.

“ The two-person one with the purple edges?”

“ Yeah…”

His features soften, dawning on a sheepish expression. His protective stance faltering as he scratches the back of his neck,“ The noise was me then—sorry. I tripped over something while looking for a place to piss.”

“ Oh…” Is all you manage to say. Feeling utterly foolish for getting so worked up over nothing. What you had thought was something going bump in the night ended up being Bucky stumbling to relieve himself.

Another branch cracks in the murky fog. Reminding you that although the noises you heard outside your tent were explained, the ones here, not too far from you and Bucky—weren’t.

“ I’m gonna go check it out,” he takes a step forward, but you stop him. Your hand shoots out to grip the hem of his shirt,“ Don’t! Are you crazy? You’re going to get yourself killed or something!”

His eyebrows raise, not expecting you to have that reaction.“ Are you worried about me, sweetheart?” A smirk spreads across his face, a twinkle in his eye.“ As if—screw you,” you deny harsher than you intended, removing your hold from his shirt. This only provokes him more, his smirk turning into a cheeky grin,“ You wanna?”

“ You know what? I hope whatever is out there gets you.”

“ Oh, you’d miss me if it did. But don’t worry—if it gets me, I’ll make sure to let it know you’re the one worth chasing."

Bucky doesn’t give you a second to process what his words really mean. Instead, he takes out a small flashlight from the pocket of his joggers. He turns it on, shining the area ahead of him. A brazen expression is the last thing you see before he wanders into that direction of the woods as if there wasn’t potentially something dangerous up ahead.

You wanted to protest, but you didn’t. Rather, you end up standing there amongst the wilderness, watching as his form gets smaller and smaller until it disappears into the haze of the fog.

You feel uneasy as soon as you don’t see him. Your chest feels heavy with the unknown. You call out to him. Thinking maybe he’s doing this to prove something or to mess with you. When he doesn’t call back you find apprehension in the sinking pit of your stomach.

Behind you, the campsite is still in sight. The smart thing to do would be to go wake someone up—like Thor—to go after Bucky. However, your feet work faster than your mind does, pushing you to follow after him.

This time you use the flashlight on your phone to light your path. The luminescence cuts through the fog as you trudge through it. Leaves crunching beneath your feet, and hands outstretched lightly to use the passing trees as support to persist onward.

You walk for a good few minutes before you finally spot him. He’s standing by a tall pine tree, his right hand tracing over something etched into the bark.

“ James! Come back to the campsite!” You whisper yelled, approaching him. He hummed,“ So you are worried about me,” the smugness in his tone doesn’t go unnoticed by you. When he turns to face you his eyes tell you he was expecting you. Like he knew in the end your stubbornness and pride wouldn’t matter because you’d end up following after him after all.

You are worried about him. He needs no further proof than your actions.

There was a prickling of annoyance building up in your system. More than anything, you wanted to get out of the woods as soon as possible. The campsite feels like a haven awaiting your return.

“ Can you stop being so insufferably cocky for one second and just come back to the camp before I drag your ass back?” You say through gritted teeth. You wanted to have more bark to your bite, but the inkling dread of what could be out here stopped you from crossing that line.

He stepped closer to you, the glow of his flashlight reflecting in his eyes in tiny glimmers,“ Why? I thought you didn't care if ‘whatever is out there’ got me.”

“ I don’t—but I’d hate to be an accomplice to that thing.”

“ Admit it. You’re worried about me.”

By now Bucky was mere inches away from you. Having slowly sauntered right up to you. His eyes were daring you to speak the truth—his arrogant smile tempting you to do even more.

“ I came to get you back, but if you’re determined to stay here then stay,” you huff, spinning on your heels to storm off.

Bucky’s hand reaches out and encloses your wrist gently. Just enough to keep you from walking away. He sighs with defeated ire.

“ Sweetheart, why won't you admit—” he’s cut off by the swift movement of something dashing past the both of you. He immediately pulls you in closer, his arms encasing you protectively—his body a shield. One arm is wrapped around your waist while the other holds your head. Your own body leans into his as if bracing for impact.

From the corner of your eye, you can see the culprit of the racket. A deer dashing through the woods like it had somewhere to be. You held back a laugh at the revelation.

This is what had you so worried this whole time? A deer?

Even so, your heart races in your chest. And Bucky has you so tightly pressed into his that you can feel the way his own heart is thrumming rapidly. Both of your breaths work to steady from their instability as you realize there is nothing truly to be worried about.

You stay like this for what seems like an eternity. Finding comfort in each other’s arms. The fog dances around your figures as if pushing you closer. The tips of your fingers tingle from where they’re pressed at his chest.

When you finally register whose touch it is, you pull away. Bucky reluctantly lets you go. His arms awkwardly falling to his sides. You don’t know what to say. He doesn’t know where to start.

Why was his instinct to protect you? To keep you from harm’s way?

And why had you felt the safest all night in his arms?

You swallow the questions that desire to escape. There’s a part of you that feels like you should thank him, but then the other part feels stupid for wanting to do so. Knowing how much it would feed his ego to vindicate him as a hero.

“ Guess it was just a deer, huh?” Bucky tries to cut through whatever tension is starting to build.

“ Yeah…silly us…” you reply, half-heartedly. Your mind still reeling from his touch.

You both go quiet again. The silence welcomes you where words fail to.

Out of nowhere, you feel a tiny bead land on your head. Followed by one on your hand and then your cheek. It's beginning to drizzle. The rain cutting through the trees and promising to kiss every inch of your skin.

“ We should get going,” Bucky says, his palm cupped to catch a few droplets.

“ Yeah, that’s a good idea,” you agree, clearing your throat. In other circumstances, Bucky would rejoice and point out how, for once, you aren’t arguing with him. But not right now—not at this moment. Not when the memory of holding each other stirred something within you both.

No, now instead you walk back to the campsite in silence. You’re a few steps ahead as Bucky decides to tow along at a slower pace. Seemingly lost in thought.

When you’re back at the campsite your eyes dart to your tent. It’s within reach. A safety you can hideout in until the emotions Bucky arose in you fade away.

“ Can I chill in your tent for a while? Just until the rain stops,” Bucky surprises you with his request. Until you remember he gave up his tent to his friend for the night.

“ What? No,” your response is immediate. The thought of you and Bucky alone in your tent causes many scenarios to run through your head. You didn’t think you’d make it through the night with him in it. You were barely hanging on as it is.

“ I just saved your life.”

“ You did not.”

“ Did too.”

“ James, you absolutely did not–”

“ Please,” his soft plea tugs at the very part of you that wants to say yes. He’s not the kind of guy to beg, but he’ll do anything to not stand out in the cold rain. You being in an enclosed space with him was just a bonus.

An extremely tantalizing bonus.

“ Fine…but only until the rain stops,” you concede. You weren’t heartless enough to leave him out in the rain.

You zip open the tent and climb inside. You remove your moccasins and leave them by the entrance. The inside is spacious enough for the two of you, but you still find yourself going into the furthest right corner of it. You sit crossed-legged as you turn on the small LED lantern to illuminate the tent with its muted glow. He makes his way inside, his hair glistening from the rain. He leaves his muddied slides by your moccasins.

“ This tent is way nicer than the one Sam and I got,” he comments, running a hand through his hair to dispel the droplets. He’s trying to make light conversation, keeping his distance as he sits in the corner by the entrance diagonally from you.

“ Jane’s family is really into camping so she had this one laying around…” you mention. The oddity of small talk between you fills the space with a foreign dynamic. The rain goes from a sprinkle to a pour. Hitting the top of the fabric cacoon in harsh strokes.

He chooses to pivot the conversation.“ Do you have everything ready for fall semester?” He asks you, maneuvering to sit with his knees bent, his shirt hiking up the smallest bit to expose the skin at his hips. You avert your gaze when your heart does a little flip.

“ Almost. I still have one or two textbooks to get,” you reply, playing with a few loose threads of the blanket beneath you. Anything to not have your eyes wander back to him.

He scoffs lightly,“ You already got your textbooks? There’s no way. I always get ‘em after the first week.” Unlike you, he can’t seem to keep his pretty blues away from you. Your features heightened in the gentle sheen of the lantern. Intricate shadows scattered across your figure that made you look ethereal. The way his heart hammered in his chest romanticizing the sight of you.

“ That's because I’m responsible and you’re not.”

“ I am responsible. As captain of the baseball team—”

“ Spare me the team leader speech, please,” you groan, stopping him from continuing. There’s only so much you can take for one night. And hearing Bucky light up as he talks about the one thing he’s passionate about—the one thing that humanizes him to you beyond his usual cheeky self. It would do more to you than just make your heart do a little flip.

You’d end up saying or doing something you wouldn’t be able to take back.

“ Look, Y/n, I’m just trying to make conversation here. You don’t have to be so difficult all the time. Just talk to me,” Bucky brings you out of your thoughts not only by his exasperated tone, but by the way your name rolls off his tongue. He so rarely calls you by it. He’s called you sweetheart endlessly—and he’s even slipped a few sunshines in the mix—but your name was foreign to his vocabulary.

Bucky is usually good at dealing with your constant back and forth. Some days it's the only thing he looks forward to. However, right now it was irritating him how much you pushed back. He wanted you to give in. To what, he wasn’t sure. But he wondered what normalcy felt like with you—what just a damn friendly conversation felt like.

You sigh, meeting his eyes.“ I don’t want to talk. Sorry, I think I’m just tired. Maybe we should go to bed,” you suggest, hoping that if he says yes you can sleep away the bubbling of emotions in your chest.

You can see the way he contemplates something, biting the inside of his bottom lip. Now he’s the one holding back. A beat passes and you nervously wonder if he’ll turn down your suggestion.

“ Fine—it's late anyway. But only if I get to sleep next to you. I promise I’ll keep my distance. It’s just there’s water leaking through the zipper at the entrance,” he mentions, his hand motioning to the entry. Your eyes dart to where he’s pointing and sure enough there’s a small puddle of water pooling by it. Not knowing how long the rain would continue, you knew you had to deal with the issue.

You grab Jane’s camping gear that holds numerous amount of supplies in all of its various pockets. She always came extra prepared no matter the occasion. You take out a washcloth, scooting over to the entrance to soak up the forming puddle. You decide to leave it there neatly tucked underneath where the water was finding its way in.

“ Alright, but if you snore I'm kicking you out,” you warn, but it’s more playful than serious. Something to lighten the mood before you go to bed. A way to dissipate whatever tension’s built up so you'd be able to fall asleep.

It’s hard to cut through the tension and alleviate its symptoms when your shelter from the storm seems to shrink the more you chat with Bucky. And now sitting right next to him—shoulder to shoulder—it seems like a damn near impossible task.

" I’ll take my chances. But just so you know, I don’t go down without a fight,” he winks at you, your shoulders brushing. Your heart rate picks up and it takes everything within you to stare into his eyes and not focus on the way that simple contact sent a shiver down your spine.

His eyes drift to your lips causing your breath to hitch. The implications of where this could go are enough to pull you away from his spell.

“ Goodnight,” you choke out. Subtly rushing over to your sleeping bag and settling into it. You don’t see when he shakes his head, but you do hear how he chuckles lowly. He mumbles something under his breath, but you can’t pick it up.

He makes his way over to Jane’s sleeping bag, but lays on top of it instead of nestling into it. Choosing to cover himself only in the maroon fleece blanket that was draped over your body too.

“ Goodnight,” he finally says, his body turning to face away from you. You respond by turning off the lantern. The space is now engulfed by darkness. Only the faintest of light shines in from the outside, letting your eyes trace the outlines of objects.

You turn to your side. Your back facing his. You take a deep breath, concentrating on the sound of the rain to hopefully lull you into a slumber. But the air felt too thick and your body was burning up from the heat radiating under the blanket. There was a good foot or so separating your body and Bucky’s. And yet, you could feel the heat radiating off of him as if he was pressed up right against you.

It was too much. You swore you started sweating, so you shuffled under the covers and out of the sleeping bag. Every movement slow and deliberate as if to not snap the rope keeping the palpable tension in place.

When only the plush fleece covered your body, the heat radiated less. But the fluttering of the blanket caused Bucky’s cologne to waft your way. A pleasant scent of musky woodiness with a hint of something that was entirely him. You gripped the cover tightly and counted to ten in your head. You were going mad.

“ Would you stop hogging the blanket? ” Bucky muttered from beside you. There were a lot of things he wanted to tell you to stop doing. Because you and your constant fidgeting were driving him crazy. Every fiber of his being holding back from doing something to snap that rope.

You didn’t realize you had been pulling it your way until he mentioned it. Your grip on it loosened,“ Sorry. I wasn’t hogging it though,” you argued for no reason other than to fill the silence.

“ Yes, you were.”

“ No, I wasn’t.”

There was something about the proximity of your bodies that made the blanket seem smaller. Like there was no possible way it could equally cover both of your sleeping forms. Maybe this is what caused you to then tug at it, however, he holds it firmly to himself too.

Persistently you pull at the blanket again. He pulls back—a tug of war ensues between you. You can hear him huff in the darkness, but you're not letting up. Bucky couldn't care less about the blanket. He only cared about not letting you get the upper hand. His competitive streak showing.

While you solely really didn’t want to let him win.

You wrap the end of the blanket around yourself—almost like a cacoon. The delicate fleece encases you. Leaving the bare minimum amount for Bucky to cover himself with.

“ You have got to be one of the most stubborn people I have ever met in my goddamn life,” he practically growls as he yanks forcefully on the blanket. A tiny yelp escapes you as you get pulled along with it.

You underestimated the strength of the star pitcher.

You end up on top of him. The blanket now an extra cushy barrier between your bodies. In the dim light, your eyes lock, and you can faintly see the outline of a boyish grin on his face. You don’t move away. There’s like an invisible force that keeps you there. Your body pressed against his feeling his warmth tenfold. You can’t tell if either of you are breathing because all you're aware of now is how his heart beats in time with yours.

“ You’re insufferable you know that?” you swallow hard, your voice lacking its usual bite.

“ You sure about that, sweetheart?” he challenges, his voice barely above a whisper. His lips brushing against yours with feather-light contact.

When had your lips gotten so close?

You don’t know who leans in first. The one who finally breaks the standoff because your lips seem to meet at the same time. The kiss is sweet, but with a slight hesitance to it. As if neither of you are completely sure the other wants this. Or more like neither of you believes this is happening. However, when his hands grip the back of your thighs, sliding your legs from on top of him to his sides so you straddle him—you believe it. And when your hands find themselves threading in his hair—he believes it.

One kiss that tests the waters turns into one that slowly sinks into the feeling. Until the two of you fully submerge into the depths of whatever has been simmering between you for what seems like too long. Delicate kisses that get more heated—more intense as your lips continue to meet. Bucky beams at the fact that you’re no longer pushing, but pulling into him. His craving for you only increasing now that he’s had a taste.

His tongue swipes across your bottom lip, slow and gentle. Asking for permission to deepen the kiss. Bucky Barnes isn’t the type to be slow and gentle—but when it comes to you he finds himself wanting to relish every second he gets. Not knowing when he’ll get another moment like this with you again.

Your lips part enough for him to slip his tongue in to truly kiss you like he wanted to. As soon as you grant access he takes full opportunity to explore every corner of your mouth. His tongue molding with yours in fervor. Your fingers lightly tug at his hair while his hands roam your body memorizing every curve and dip. Wherever he gripped and caressed, his touch left heat in its wake.

A heat you had to contain before it consumed you both.

“ If you think you’re getting lucky tonight—think again. This is the most you’ll get,” You say breathlessly, pulling away to help your lungs remember what oxygen is.

He groans, breath panting, the outline of his pout evident in the dim light,“ Don’t do this to me, sweetheart. Can’t leave me like this.” His voice a desperate whine that allured you to keep going.

“ Too bad. You're dreaming if you think this is going any further.”

“ God, you don’t wanna know what I've dreamed about.”

“ Shut up,” you cut off his groan with another kiss. Fierce enough to silence him immediately. He hopes you shut him up like this more often.

Your lips meet again in a hasty lock. No hesitation now as your tongues meet quicker. You seem to be obsessed with his hair as you run your fingers through it again. He shivers at the touch. His hands slide under your sweater to trail along your soft skin. Keeping his hands along your back and waist. Teetering around the boundary you drew, so he didn’t get carried away. But it was hard when kissing you felt as good as throwing the perfect game—maybe even better.

He realizes the emotions you bring out of him are worth a lifetime waiting for.

He pulls away this time to catch his breath, his hands sliding up your body to cup your face,“ I’m in no rush, sweetheart. I’ve got all the time in the world to take it all the way—make you fall for me.”

You hum, leaning into his touch,“ You seem sure of yourself. ”

His voice is rough yet affectionate when he speaks,“ I’m sure of you, sweetheart. You’re worth every second, and I’m not stopping until you see it too.”

He gives you one final tender kiss. One that's full of promise for the future. You weren’t sure if it was his words or the meaning in the kiss that stole your breath away.

After a few seconds, you both pull away. Separating your bodies from each other to provide that much-needed space before lines were crossed.

“ Goodnight, Bucky,” you say, staring up at the ceiling, wondering how you would keep your hands and lips to yourself come tomorrow. Bucky’s heart skipped a beat when you called him by his nickname. Bringing a genuine smile to his face, loving the way it sounded coming from you.

“ Goodnight, Y/n.”

Even after saying goodnight, the two of you can’t fall asleep immediately. You try to, but there are small moments in the night where you drift back to each other. Where in the darkness your lips meet again and again—satiating the tension in parts. Where your hands find themselves under the covers and layers of clothing. Flaming the fans of desire just enough so it doesn’t completely burn out, but smoldering to be reignited at any moment’s chance.

You don’t realize when you fall asleep. Your eyelids growing heavy at some point tangled up in his body under the covers. Your face in the crook of his neck. His head resting on top of yours. Your bodies fit like puzzle pieces like they were meant to be connected in every way.

It’s not until that morning when you wake up and find yourself in his arms, snuggled into his side, that the events of last night sink in. You pull away the tiniest bit. Merely enough to be able to get a look at him. The brown strands of his hair tousled and clinging to his forehead. The slope of his nose, his dark lashes fanned delicately against his skin, and the tiniest parting of his lips. He looks peaceful—almost angelic as he slumbers.

You’re itching to sketch the image in front of you.

You can’t stop yourself from reaching out to touch the strands at his forehead. It’s enough to have his eyes flutter open, their color brighter in the daylight. He gives you a lazy smile the instant he realizes last night wasn’t a dream and you really were here, nestled in his arms.

No words were exchanged, but both of you were conscious of the line you had drawn last night. And yet, you both also knew that in time, that line would be crossed again and again. Until the line blurred into oblivion.

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