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elfqueen006 · 1 year ago

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The Lifeguard Part 4

Tags/CW: summer camp au, camp counselor au, horror, slasher, rivals to lovers. Drama. Skinny dipping. Minors DNI

It’s that dream again.

That dream where everything’s perfect.

It’s a sunny day. Everything’s in slow motion, but the sounds are in real time. Everyone is whooping and cheering. Children laugh and run past him. In the distance they zipline and play games. Counselors smile as they wave at him. Everyone is happy. Everything is perfect.

But there’s one thing missing. Skylar. It’s often in these dreams she’d walk past him and smile, giving a coy wave and a wink. She’s dressed in her loose counselors’ tee and jean shorts. Her blonde hair that catches in the sun flows behind her and her blue eyes sparkle. She’s perfect. But she’s nowhere to be seen.

He hears the distant shrill of the lifeguards’ whistle. The water is still and perfect. There’s no one at the lake but you. You’re in the lifeguards’ bright red leotard and wearing shades. Sunlight glints off your perfect legs. You lie back in your chair, a sigh of pleasure echoes as you soak up the suns’ rays. Then you look at him and the sounds of laughter are drowned out. You smile perfect whites and blow him a kiss.

---

After a week, the camp had put out a missing persons’ flier for Skylar, Ian, and Bill. There was really nothing Jack could do to protest on the basis he’d look suspicious. It made him feel awful once local parents caught wind that people were going missing and decided to pull most of their kids from the camp. He couldn’t have imagined how much of the experience had been ruined for them, and he even had to hold back some tears of his own as he watched the smaller ones scream and cry to stay but to no avail.

But no, he reasoned, it was better this way. Less kids at the camp meant less of the likelihood that they’d go wandering past campgrounds. And that was less people to keep track of going near the shed, which after that fateful night with Bill he’d made certain no one else had ventured near it. And in the meantime, he’d kept himself occupied… a little side project you might say. He planted flowers.

He planted them behind the shed, on top of the mound where they’d been buried. He hadn’t even known where he’d gotten the idea. But one day he’d simply ran up to the local convenience store, found some seeds and started planting. They were scorpion grasses - “forget-me-nots”. He grimaced at the implications. It didn’t take long for the other counselors’ to start noticing them in the distance. So of course they questioned him.

“Oh that?” Jack asked, “That’s sort of a… garden I’m starting.” That earned him a few narrowed glances and side eyes. He rubbed the back of his neck, using the flush of guilt to play it up like he was embarrassed. “I… haven’t been able to really sleep much since Skylar disappeared so… I just started without thinking.” At the very least, the words were true. And a half truth is always good to sell in the right context. Finally he said, “I figured maybe… If I planted these they might see them. They might want to come back. I dunno…”

They ate it right up. Their looks of suspicion turned somber and apologetic. They muttered sorrows and walked past him giving pats on the back. All except you, who sucked your teeth at the explanation. You shook your head, “They ain’t coming back.”

All eyes were on you now. Another counselor named Olivia folded her arms and raised a brow, “And… why is that Y/N?” She asked.

“Because they’re guilty.” You replied matter-of-factly. Jack gave you a pleading look, which you aptly ignored.

Olivia pressed, “Of?”

“Being slimy, trifling, no-good adulterers.” Your statement was met with scoffs and mumbles of disbelief. You simply shrugged, “You heard me, they were creepin’.” You then proceeded to spill everything you heard from Jack that night, though you were sure not to mention his name. Still, it made the mascot visibly wilt. And now it looks to everyone like he was pining after a “bad girl” who acted like a “good girl” and led him on. Where that last part came from he hadn’t known. But apparently everyone knew at some point he liked Skylar.

People weren’t so sympathetic towards you however. You’d been cheated on, that much was certain. They had no reason to dispute you, and it would explain your shit attitude the week before. But your apparent hostility towards the whole thing had made other counselors grow wary of you and they began to talk.

“She’s not even joining in on searches for them!”

“Yeah, that was still her boyfriend and best friend. You’d think she’d be a little more caring about the whole thing...”

And then things got on the more insidious side.

“I know she can be a bitch sometimes but this is too far.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me if it turns out she had something to do with their disappearance.”

Jack’s blood ran cold. The thought that anyone would be accusing you of murder… It rubbed him the wrong way. The more ruthless part of him thought this was likely the best case scenario. You hadn’t mentioned his name and suspicions were already on you. You weren’t exactly what came to mind for blood thirsty ax-murderer but looks could be deceiving. He could always just relocate the bodies, adjust some wounds and… He shook his head clear of the incriminating thoughts. That wasn’t who he was. The goal was discretion and scarcity. There was no need to make things more complicated. Aside from that, there were things that needed clearing up…

You were on lifeguard duty as usual, and while there weren’t as many kids to manage, it was all the more reason to stay vigilant of them. Some counselors left due to stress but it was more you hung around to stave off boredom. You lie back in your chair, soaking up the sun’s rays, absentmindedly chewing gum. Jack shuddered, remembering his dream.

He got it again when he walked to your high chair and knocked on the stilts. Without even looking down you hop from your chair and take off your shades. You grin, “We’ve gotta stop meeting like this.”

“We need to talk.” Jack said.

“You always wanna talk,” You then turn to the kids in the lake and tell them to take a hike. They all groan, disappointed their fun was interrupted. Nevertheless, they obey and go to dry off.

“I think they may hate me more than they did a week ago.” You said casually.

“I want to talk about what happened earlier this week.” Jack said.

“What about it?”

Jack sighed, “Don’t play dumb. You made such an unnecessary scene back there.”

“Sorry.” You said unapologetically.

“I mean it. People are starting to talk.” Jack briefly glances around, “They think you have something to do with Ian and Sky’s disappearance.”

Your eyebrow furrows, “Where’d they get that from?”

“You’re bitter. You don’t help with searches. You’re just generally-”

“A bitch?” You interrupted.

“... Uncompromising.” Jack corrected.

“Oh yeah sure...” You said. “You know what? Let ‘em talk, Jack. I don’t have anything to hide! I couldn’t give less of a damn if they were found or gone forever. If they’re found – goodie. Whooptie fucking do. If they’re gone? Also good because I don’t wanna see their sorry asses anyway!”

You go to march off the docks but he sidesteps you.

“Hey- Y/N, stop.” He said.

“Bye Jack.” You bumped past him.

“Y/N-”

You waved a dismissive hand at him, heading back to the main campgrounds.

---

It’s nightfall.

The other groups of counselors have just come back from a fruitless search. The kids have been resigned to their cabins since seven in the evening, now having a curfew to prevent further disappearances. You, however, stay right where you are. You pull out another stick of gum and pop it in your mouth. The sugar sweetness turns bitter when your fellow counselors cast scornful looks your way. Even Shaun, whom you’d grown to be good buddies with since summer started, avoided your gaze.

They aren’t even a few feet away from you when Shaun decides now is the best time to boost morale. “We’ve had a long day… what do you guys say to a movie night?” He said, a good natured lilt in his voice.

The counselors clamor around him, humming in agreement. You don’t miss the wary glances casted your way and hushed whispers about what to do about you, as if not getting an invitation would cause you to drop in and ruin their good time. Which in all honesty, wasn’t a bad idea.

“We aren’t going to invite her, right?”

“It’d be alright to ask,”

“But do we have to?!”

Exaggeratedly, you checked your nails and attempted to drown out their whispers by chewing your gum harshly. Before you knew it though, someone came up beside you. Nick Hererras. Oh boy.

Nick was an emo guy who had some kind of influencer page on Twitch or Youtube. He had an obvious crush on you and while he was cute in his own right, his sullen and heartsick vibe around you was somewhat of a downer, especially in contrast to how easygoing he’d be around others.

Nick rubbed the back of his neck, “Hey…”

“Hey,” You replied casually.

“...It was kind of a long search today.”

“You must be tired.”

“Yeah,” He chuckled softly, “I-it was a lot.” You hum curtly. He wets his lips, picking up that he’s losing your attention before even getting it. “We- we’re having a movie night! Shaun’s hosting so… typical horror bullshit. Slashers and all… Maybe you’d like to come… a-and join us?”

You look past him and at the group of counselors. Many of them shift uncomfortably and scrunch their faces up in discomfort, obviously displeased Nick went to invite you. The fact that they don’t even hide their disdain makes your ears burn hot. You shoot up from the steps and start towards the docks, “Nah, I’ll be fine. Thanks for the invitation.” You bite out.

Nick’s weak protests could be heard. Some of the counselors sighed in relief.

“Thank God.”

“Well, we tried.”

---

“Goddamn…motherfucking-”

You roughly shucked off your pants and pulled off your shirt. The force of their removal from your body could have very well ripped them but you didn’t care. Your skin was burning with anger, embarrassment, and everything in between. With added frustration you hurriedly tore off your underclothes before taking a running start across the docks. The wind blew through your hair, though it did nothing to cool your skin; you wouldn’t be pacified until you were in the water.

Upon reaching the edge of the dock, you leapt off the wood as easily as you would a catapult. You flew through the air hands out before pulling them in along with your feet, the aerodynamics of your form caused you to flip over twice and land in the water with a big splash. The force of your dive pushed out the surrounding water, shooting it up around you. It fell in droplets on your skin as you rose to the surface.

You sigh, wading on your back and letting the water carry you for a while.

These past few weeks have been hell. Nevermind the ex-boyfriend and ex-best friend eloping to god-knows-where, or that the head counselor had suddenly gone AWOL – but to think you were actually being suspected of murder? Jack might’ve not said those exact words but it was obvious enough what he was implying.

Your mood sours when the mascot comes to mind; even more so when you remember the garden behind the shed.

“He’s so stupid…” You hiss. He so obviously still harbored feelings for Skylars’ trifling ass. And why that made you so ornery you couldn’t figure it out; it’s not like he owes you his allyship due to Skylars’ actions. But you didn’t understand how anyone could still like someone willing to do something so shitty. But then again, you often had your own well-being in mind and if someone proved a threat to that, it was pretty easy for you to cut them from your life completely. You’ve lost a lot of potential friends in the past because of that, and you assumed Ian would’ve been different. But in the long run he proved to be no different than the rest…

Snap.

Your head shot up as you peered out into the darkness. “Hello?” You called out. The woods responded with silence. Thinking it was the kids you called out, “If there’s any campers out there, go back to the cabins – it’s past curfew!”

Silence. Then the subtle crunch of branches beneath footwear.

“Y/N?” Jack’s soft voice called out to you before he emerged from the trees. He wasn’t in his usual costume of the big blue foamy jacket and brown pants with garish primary colored shoes. He now wore a tight white tee that hugged his muscular frame, with a pair of gym shorts. He still had on the makeup, though, probably having forgotten to wash it off.

Your ears burned hot as you realized he’d be one of the first to see you like this: swimming in the buck. Subconsciously, you folded your arms over your chest as he approached the lake.

“Y/N, why are you all the way out here?” Jack asked, “It’s not smart to separate yourself from the other counselors.”

Your initial shyness depletes when he mentions the other counselors. “You should tell them that, they’re the ones separating themselves.”

“What do you mean?”

“Shaun’s hosting some stupid movie night and no one wants me there.” You said.

Jack blinked in surprise, “Shaun? But he’s one of the nicest counselors here.”

“Well, Nick tried… to extend the invitation, I guess. But it’s not like I wanted to go anyway. Horror movies…” You scoffed, “they’re so dumb. And it’s all Shaun watches!”

Jack sighs, “Still, you should stay close to the camp. I dunno what I’d do if another counselor went missing…”

A smirk broke out on your face as you swam up to the boardwalk, placing your hands on the wooden edge as you looked up at him. “Oh? And what would you do, Jack?”

Your sudden change in demeanor caused him to blush bright red, “I-It’s not like that!” He exclaimed, “I mean, I just want you to be safe!”

“Aww. Look at you, worried about lil’ ol’ me!” You cooed.

“Y/N, you-” He paused, finally getting a better look at you in the moonlight. It shone off your wet skin and hair, giving you the feel of some kind of siren, especially with that seductive look on your face. His eyes were drawn to your neck and shoulders, which seemed not to be covered by anything. And then he spotted your clothes…

“God, Y/N! Are you seriously skinny dipping right now?!” Jack exclaimed.

You immediately clutched your shoulders, but you start cackling, not really finding it in you to feel guilty like before.

“Eeeyup! Care to join me?”

____

Hiii! Sorry this took awhile. This shit is hard to write my guy. It was intended to be longer but I've hit my limit...

Don't fret however, there's more to come!!

#somethings wrong with sunny day jack #sunny day jack #sunny day jack fanfiction #sunny day jack x reader #sunny day jack x mc #sunny day jack x you #sdj x reader #sdj x you #summer camp au #camp counselor au #slasher au #horror #the lifeguard #my fics

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gotlostlosingsleep · 1 year ago

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It had only been three days since the start of summer camp and Steve had already heard enough campfire stories to last him the rest of his life. The kids kept insisting on staying up late and talking about the supposed creature in the lake...

#steddie #horror #steve harrington #Eddie Munson #stranger things AU #summer camp au #art #my art #comic #digital art #artists on Tumblr

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shepherds-of-haven · 1 year ago

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Had a dream about the Shepherds at summer camp. I haven't had a (coherent) dream about them in a while so this was surprising to me! I think it was, like, an adult summer camp that corporations or what-have-you send people to for teambuilding and whatnot. Red, Ayla, and Halek were camp counselors; Halek was in charge of the mess hall. Trouble was some kind of ranch hand type dude who helped the camp wrangle their horses and fixed up fences and whatnot?? Briony, Lavinet, Shery, were there on an annual girls' trip and were in Cabin #8 while Riel, Blade, and Chase were in Cabin #11 as part of some forced exercise by their, like, law firm or something. The former two were absolutely miserable about it and Chase was thrilled. They were all gathered around the campfire on the first night telling scary stories about some sort of serial killer rumored to stalk the forest around the camp; then Riel stepped away to try and find signal because he was expecting an important phone call (even though the camp rules stated he shouldn't have his phone). Then he discovered that all of the camp vehicles had been sabotaged, and the terror began...

#so basically the plot of the quarry lol #Shepherds of Haven #AU #summer camp AU #me #personal #dream #having a lot of AU dreams lately for some reason!#i'm trying to figure out if I'm doing anything different and all I can think of is that I've been getting back into more horror lately LOL #but that wouldn't explain the music idol AU...

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charleecat-bat · 1 month ago

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Okay. Got some more specific ideas for Halloween. What itches your interest the most cause I need some help deciding... poll below-

Babylon Rogue Horror AU Story- Surrounds the Babylon Rogues and how they exactly got to the horrific reality they live in, demon possession, becoming slashers, selling 'things' on the dark web, crazy shiiiit

Ghost AU story or drawing- just another short story or a drawing based on my ghosts in my ghost au

Monster AU Bark story- Bark particularly in this AU has quite a backstory. Being forcefully turned into a creature of the night and imprisoned for A LONG time will do things to you.

Summer Camp survival art (The Quarry AU) piece- either a scene piece from the AU's story or just a hypothetical 'poster' for the AU as if it was a game or something.

Scourge and Sonic Horror AU piece- specific piece from the AU I'm working on. They got history.

Horror AU Knuckles piece- kinda just horror knux as he is in the AU. Undead forest boi... heck maybe I'll sprinkle in a new idea I had. Featuring Tikal. ;p

Horror AU Sonic, Tails and Knuckles art piece. Just a simple kinda three pieces in one sort of thing. Just to show off the main three but since they wouldn't be able to be in a group setting unless specific circumstances it's not a specific scene... that make sense?

Monster AU group pictures- kinda like above but can work a bit more. Like just group pics of the characters together in their monster au looks.

VOTE BELOW:

i know i'm bein gannoyng but i'd like to see what people would wanna see the most out of me and try to get energised and motivated to do that then just fumble on multiple ideas or struggle to decide-

#sonic au #sonic the hedgehog #poll #horror au #slasher au #monster au #summer camp survival au #quarry au #ghost au

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greekgeek24 · 4 months ago

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#season of the witch #summerween #steddie #omega steve harrington #alpha eddie munson #fear street au #summer camp #thriller #horror #slasher #the party #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #dustin henderson #will byars #lucas sinclair #eleven #max mayfield

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camp-sun-dawn · 21 days ago

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Welcome to Camp Sun Dawn! Where there’s endless Fun in the Sun!

Interested in sending your kids to a fun, safe, and educational summer camp in the Solaris Woods? Call us now at (555)555-5555 for sign up information, pricing, and a list of activities.

See if this camp is the right fit for your kid today!

Local discounts available.

Early bird prices go fast!

#summer camp #camp sun dawn #original comic #interactive fiction #horror #dnd au

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cpasmbot6000 · 1 year ago

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Victims escaping too often? How do you dress and prepare them for dinner? Guzzeline shortage got you down? Join The Jason Vorhees Humungous School for Wasteland Creeps! You'll learn the tools to stalk, capture and butcher those pesky civilians and keep them dead with Prof. Vorhees's proven methods! You'll be the boss of your own Post Apocalypse Summer Camp in no time at all. Accepting applications for our Winter semester starting tomorrow.

#ai generated #digital illustration #my art #horror #jason voorhees #road warrior #post apocalypse #summer camp au

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wigster07 · 1 year ago

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it is harder or easier to write fic with someone?

and we know that you had to stop Kris from torturing Kit and Jade (and us readers) with her fic ideas (and probably she had to stop you). are you two encouraging each other with these ideas now or stopping each other?

Oh it is an absolute blast getting to write with Kris. We’ve been having a lot of fun brainstorming and plotting the past couple of months.

There’s a lot of encouragement happening. I’m sure when the chopping really starts and the horror gets pumped up we may have to hold each other back. Kits got two un-crushed hands in this and I’m feeling smashy. @commanderbuffy might have to take the hammer away lol.

#camp nockmaar #summer camp au #horror

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lightwoodbanethings · 1 year ago

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Hey you, yes you!

Are you looking for a badly written summer camp horror au featuring your fave rag tag bunch of older teens from Stranger Things? (And the unfortunate addition of Jason, Tommy and Carol 🙄)

Then look no further, welcome to my now finished fic that includes murder, cute Steddie and jealous bitter Jason.

If you do give this little fic a read then I'd really appreciate if you left kudos and/or comments! Genuinely makes my little cold heart thaw out a bit 💙

#eddie munson #stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #stranger things 4 #robin buckley #chrissy cunningham #buckingham #jason carver #tommy hagan #carol perkins #jonathan byers #nancy wheeler #jancy #summer camp au #horror #a03 #fanfic

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roosterbruiser · 1 year ago

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𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 — 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍

—𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐃. —𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 𝟖.𝟓𝐊 —𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 —𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐎𝐀𝐊𝐒, 𝐌𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟐𝐍𝐃, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

“Whose is it, birdie?” Bradley asks, eyes wide. "It's all over--whose blood is that?"

He hasn’t moved his hands from your warm and sticky face--he’s still cupping your cheeks, face contorted in anguish as his eyes pour into yours.

You drop the ax and the shotgun on the ground--they make a dull thump, one you can feel in the soles of your feet and in your pulsing head. There’s a lump in your throat so obstructive, so thick and overwhelming, that you can’t speak.

All you can do, as Rooster looks down at you while the swallows begin to swoop from roof to roof and the irises emit their sweet scent, is cry.

How can you explain to Rooster, who’s held it together this entire time, that you can’t hold it together right now because of what you just witnessed? How are you going to explain to him that you had the person cornered--that you could’ve shot him--and you didn’t because Paul needed help? And even then, even when you abandoned your firing position to help Paul, it was all fruitless because Paul is dead and his body is in the woods all on its lonesome.

“Birdie,” Rooster mutters. He smooths a hand through your hair, dirty with lake water and leaves and blood, and shakes his head softly. “Who’s bleeding?”

“Paul,” you finally choke, shaking your head. He thumbs your tears, but it’s for naught. “It--it was Paul’s.”

It was Paul’s.

Rooster looks you up and down--the blood is all over you. Up to your ankles and covering your shoes, all over your shins, dried up your legs, staining your poor dungarees again.

“Oh, baby,” he whispers to you. His bottom lip trembles. “Is he…?”

You nod--just barely.

Rooster doesn’t ask any more questions.

You think, suddenly and very clearly, that you’re not sure how much fight you have left in you. You’re not sure how much longer you can keep doing this.

Mable was right. There is no way out. You will bathe in your own blood and be torn limb by limb as the depths of Hell calls for you. There is no way out.

If you let go, if you give in, if you wait to die--then what will happen? Everyone else will die. No one else is as good a shot as you. No one else is willing to trek through the woods. No one else can suture a gash or staunch a wound or cauterize a limb.

So, you have to push forward. It’s a decision that is made with haste.Very swiftly, you realize you’re not going to lose your head now. You’re not going to break down again. You’re gonna keep going--you have to keep going.

“He…he said he’s back,” you whisper to Rooster, wiping your own cheeks now. “He said…he told me to--to run away. I didn’t think he was--I didn’t listen to him. He said that he’s back--he’s back, he’s back. I don’t know what he…”

You don’t rest your head on Rooster’s chest and you don’t lessen the burden of that lump in your throat. You’re in shock, you know--which is why the tears running down your face are involuntary.

“Who?” Rooster presses, eyebrows furrowed.

“I don’t know,” you whisper. Your head is spinning. “I don’t know.”

Only a moment before Rooster is going to pull you to him, only a moment before you’re going to ask him if he found anything in the woods, the walkie deep in your pocket comes to life.

“Gale!” Phoenix sobs through it. “Gale! Are you there? Oh, God--Gale, please!”

Scrambling to grab the walkie, Rooster leans down and takes the ax in his hands. It’s with his heart in a cold, cold puddle that he sees that it’s the ax from the mess hall. D.G. He says nothing to you, just holds onto the handle tight.

“I’m--I’m here,” you answer Phoenix, shuffling to grab the shotgun. You start for the bus barn, wiping your face clean of tears.

“It--it’s Bob,” Phoenix sobs. “I think he’s--I think he’s--!”

“I’m coming,” you tell her. “I’m coming.”

Phoenix, who’s trying desperately to blot the cold sweat from Bob’s face as Coyote sends all the children to the back of the bus, doesn’t feel relieved by your answer. She thought she would--if not to just know that you’re alive then simply because she won’t have to be alone with Bob anymore. Help will be on the way. Bob will be okay.

“I’m so--fuck, I’m so cold,” Bob whispers to her, lips quivering. “Can you start the fire?”

Phoenix’s tongue is dry.

“Bob, we’re on the bus,” she says, voice thin and flat. “There’s no fireplace.”

He’s confused. He’s been confused for a few hours now. Phoenix knows this is the infection--that it must be spreading. But still, she desperately runs her palms up and down his arms to try and get some friction. This cold that Bob feels, though--it’s not one she can fix. It’s not even one a fire could fix.

She pulls the walkie to her mouth again, breathing heavily.

“Gale, quick! Please!”

“I’m on my way,” you say back.

You don’t say I’m going as fast as I can, but I’m so tired. I’m so scared. I want to give up. I’m only coming because it’s you and it’s Bob and it’s Coyote and the campers. But that’s it, that’s all. I want to lie down. But it’s what you’re thinking.

And you’re by yourself suddenly as Rooster falls behind you, taking a glance at the perimeter of camp just in case Jake shows his face. He doesn’t fall in step with you again--he’s going to stay out here and guard. You think maybe it’s because Bradley isn’t brave enough to see it up close--Bob hurt, infected, writhing.

And, really, you don’t blame him.

You’d rather be anywhere else.

The sun is warm on your back. The blood is itchy on your skin. You’re running as fast you can, limping with tired, your temples throbbing. Your heart thumps in your ears.

At any moment, an ax could come whizzing out from the woods. There could be a hiding place just yonder, far enough away that you never see it coming. You could hear its noise, fast and sharp like a whip, and then that could be the end. An ax to the head, to the back, to the legs, and you’re down. A peculiar sensation prickles your spine, torments the swollen muscles in your legs and arms: you could die at any moment. Right here, at Camp Arcadia, on the gravel just outside the bus barn. No one could do a thing about it either.

Oh, God, you think. Where are you?

When you step onto the bus, you know.

It is quiet--so very quiet. No one knows what to say to a dying man and that is what Bob is. None of the campers are whispering and none of the counselors are rustling. Phoenix is sitting in the front seat with Bob over her lap, sobbing as Bob blinks up at her, only barely conscious. Coyote is kneeled beside them, his lip being sawed in half by his own teeth as he tries to keep from crying.

The smell comes first--that distinct perfume, so familiar and pungent with musk. It’s the rot, you know. It’s the body shutting down, the organs giving in, the skin infected. But to you, it just smells like death. The two of you are thick as thieves.

And then, when you look at Bob and everyone else looks at you to save the day, saliva gathers underneath your tongue and your lashes begin to quiver. Pennies settle beneath your tongue.

“I’m here,” you whisper, your throat burning. “I’m here now.”

Phoenix doesn’t understand why you’re not rushing to Bob’s aid. She doesn’t understand why you’re not suturing or cleaning or wrapping or whatever else the fuck you’re suppoosed to do to save him. You should be ordering everyone around, saving Bob. You should be stony right now--but your face is soft and wet.

“Help him,” she cries. “Get over here--help him! Help him, he’s dying!”

Coyote knows when he looks at you. The sun is just barely puncturing the bus barn, just barely lighting the side of your face. You’re covered in blood, limply holding the shotgun, looking down at Bob with an agonized sense of forbearance. You cannot save him. Nobody can--he is too far gone. Coyote bows his head and that is when the tears come.

“Phe,” Coyote whispers. He sets a hand on her elbow. She jerks away from him, looking at him as if he’s just burned her. Her eyes are wild with grief. “Phe, there’s nothing--!”

“--Fuck you,” Phoenix spits at Coyote, her face split in half by anguish. She’s never felt this way before--she’s never felt this mind-splitting, chest-numbing pain. But it’s suddenly drowning her and she feels that no one is throwing her a life preserver. You’re all watching her flounder. “Please…please…”

Slowly, you kneel beside Coyote. Everything smells like sweat and dust, but this close to Bob, you are practically rubbing noses with death. You can see the freckles on its cheeks.

You carefully place your hand on Bob’s leg. He looks down at you, pale as white-sand and shaking. Cold sweat covers his face, stains his shirt. His eyes are focused, but untrained.

“Bob,” you whisper. “We’re here.”

That’s about all you can say to him. Not just hold on, we’ll fix you up. Not only another minute, it’s okay, it’s alright. Not help is on the way. You’re going to make it.

He’s so cold--so, so cold. And he’s been cold since he went out into the night, since he was struck. He’s known, from the very beginning, that he’s dying. He just didn’t know how to tell anyone else. And he knew everyone else was too afraid to tell him.

But when you say that--we’re here--something grows warm in Bob. He’s been in and out of fitful dreams, sometimes dreaming about his father’s fingers on the strings of a guitar and sometimes dreaming about his less than stellar date with Michelle Johnson. It’s peculiar--he never thought dying would be so slow, so tedious.

“Payback and Fanboy haven’t walkied,” Coyote whispers to you. The only recognition you show is a slow blink. “Maybe they’re close.”

“Maybe,” you whisper back.

The both of you know that it wouldn’t matter, anyhow. By the time the tree is moved, by the time the brigade is here if they’re coming, Bob will be gone.

Reaching up, you take Phoenix’s hand. She looks at you, brown eyes wide with horror, and almost pulls away. But then Bob, with the last bit of his strength, puts his hand over hers, too.

“Thank you,” he tells Phoenix. She looks down at him, shaking her head with her eyes wide. He doesn’t break their gaze, lips trembling. “You’re my best friend.”

“Stop that,” Phoenix demands softly. “Cut it out, Bob! You’re fine!”

“I’m dying,” he whispers. He swallows hard. His throat is so very dry. “I didn’t know how to…how to tell you.”

Phoenix sobs.

“No,” she whispers. She blinks hard, shaking her head. “Bob, I can’t--please, please, please…”

Leaning down, she holds Bob’s body against hers. He blinks a few times, the sunlight coming over his face just barely. It’s good to feel warm, he thinks.

“I know…I know you hate Cutting Crew,” Bob starts. With the last bit of his strength, he smiles. It’s a barely-there, strained thing. But it’s there. “But they wrote our song, huh?”

It takes a moment for everyone to register what Bob’s saying. For a second, you think he’s delirious. But then Coyote chokes out a loud laugh, a few stray tears running down his face.

Phoenix looks up, puzzled, and then it dawns on her.

(I Just) Died In Your Arms. Cutting Crew. She groans every time it comes on the radio just before tuning to another station. She’s literally left coffee shops over the song. Bob knows this. But now it’s the song that will make her think of Bob because he’s willed it so. It’s the song that will remind her of this exact instance--sitting on the bus, terrified, dirty, holding her best friend as he dies.

“Bob,” Coyote laughs. He’s about to say that he’s a sly, sly dog. That he’s got the jokes. But just the sound of his name falling off his lips is enough to halt Coyote. That is the last time he will ever call Bob’s name and have Bob answer to it. “I…I love you, man.”

Bob smiles.

“I love you, too, man,” Bob whispers. “Don’t tell Phoenix.”

And then Bob is looking at you. You with your eyes heavy with tears and your face a calm and placid sea. He doesn’t know how you’ve done it--he doesn’t know how you haven’t given up yet. But he knows that he loves you for it.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper to Bob, tears pouring down your face. You sniffle and sigh. “I’m really, really sorry Bob. More sorry than I’ve ever been.”

He knows what you’re apologizing for: not saving him.

“No hard feelings,” he whispers to you. Another meek smile tugs on his lips. “You did good.”

You did good.

Choking on your grief, you can hardly stand to look at him anymore. You can hardly stand kneeling here, breathing in all this death. But you know this is where you’re supposed to be.

Just as Phoenix is about to sob again, a meager voice finds place in the stale air around everyone.

“Can I pray for you, Mister Bob?” Mable asks softly. There are tears in her eyes as she blinks at everyone. “If that’s okay…”

You glance at Phoenix, who looks like she never wants to see Mable Brandt’s face ever again in her long, long life without Bob. Bob was born Godless and will die Godless. But then Bob is nodding.

“That’d be swell, kid,” he whispers. A shuddering breath falls from his lips. “Make it out to Bob Dylan, would ya?”

Mable sniffles. She rests her hands on your shoulders because you, out of everyone here, are the only one that can hold her up. And you let her hold you--even close your eyes and feel the heat of her body against you and fall into a dreamless, sleepless state.

“Dear Heavenly Dylan,” Mable starts. Bob lets out a quiet laugh--a weezy, tired thing. It is the last time he will ever laugh. “Please take Mister Bob’s pain away--he’s been in an awful lot of it since the attack and I think he’s tired now. He’s a real nice guy--he never yelled at me or anyone else. I don’t think it’s very fair that he’s got so many boo-boo’s.”

No one speaks as Mable continues praying, everyone’s head slightly bowed and eyes drifted shut. Everyone’s face is wet with tears that are shining in the yellow light.

“And we know that you’ll have a place for him when he gets to where he’s going, alright? So, make sure it’s nice and clean. And make sure there’s aspirin there because Mister Bob doesn’t feel so hot right now. But most of all--keep him safe on his way. Miss Nightingale and Miss Phoenix did the best they could. It’s your turn now.”

An overwhelming sense of peace finds Bob. His fingers are numb--he wonders, strangely, if they’re already dead. Maybe when you die, it’s piece by piece, a little at a time. And maybe his fingers went first.

“I’m scared,” Phoenix whispers to Bob, looking down at his pale cheeks. “I can’t…I can’t never see you again.”

He takes a deep breath. His lungs are warm, very warm.

“I’ve been here the whole time,” he whispers to her. “You’ll manage.”

He’s accepted this. This is okay. He is looking up at his best friend in the world and it is the last thing his eyes will ever see. And he thinks, with a sudden swell of pride, that he did good. She’s really the cream of the crop--the best friend he could have asked for.

Something flickers behind his eyes, bright yellow and aquamarine and jet black--memories. They flutter past his vision, clear and crisp, like he’s pulling the little plastic lever on a viewfinder of his own life.

The smell of his mama’s hotcakes on late Sunday mornings, Bob sleepy and syrupy and reaching for more butter despite his mother’s tutting. Lazing around the pool with his kid brother, Neil Young humming on the radio as his daddy grills. Sitting in the movie theater during Star Wars, too engrossed in the movie to realize that Lisa Patterson is making googly eyes at him. Finally kissing Michelle Johnson at the roller rink, her tight curls gleaming beneath the disco ball, her skin shining blue and pink. Reading Kurt Vonnegut in his car before class, holding in tears when the profoundness struck him over the head like a brick. Holding hands with Phoenix during games of Red Rover, their mouths wide open, their hairlines dotted with sweat. Swimming in the lake after tipsy bonfires, bobbing his head beneath the water, listening to the muted sound of you squealing when Jake pulls you up on his shoulders. His toes in cold, cold mud. His face against the warm, warm sun. The first snow of the year blanketing the front lawn. His dorm room, which always smells like crayons for some reason. His best friends pedaling down the street, swerving at cars and whooping and hollering, switching gears up the big hill on Freemont. His daddy taking his mama’s hands and dancing her around the wrapping-paper covered living room, her new necklace gleaming on her throat like a personal star on a silver chain. Holding his baby cousin for the first time, breath caught in his throat and arms stiff because he’s never held anything so tiny. Cutting his knees on concrete. Hitting his head on that shelf in the living room. Learning how to change a tire. Driving down his street for the first time. Playing his guitar in his room, shutting his eyes, and quietly whispering Bob Dylan songs.

He can hear it now--Bob Dylan is playing. And it isn’t him singing and it isn’t him playing the guitar. He doesn’t know where it’s coming from or why it’s so loud, so clear, so sudden. But there it is--clear as the day is blue. It’s like there’s a private concert just for Bob and he’s in the front row, the sun warm on his face and shoulders, his arms raised in ecstasy.

That long black cloud is comin' down

I feel I'm knockin' on heaven's door

He always wanted to be front row at a Bob Dylan concert. He was saving up to take him and Phoenix.

Funny how life works that way, he thinks.

Oh, well. So it goes.

“Please, if you could make it easy, we would all really appreciate it. And in Bob Dylan’s name we pray…amen.”

And then, with a final shuddering breath, Bob Floyd dies in his best friend’s arms on a disjunct bus on the worst Thursday of anyone’s life. He was the newest counselor at Camp Arcadia. This was only his second summer.

“Bob?” Phoenix asks. Panic shoots up and grabs onto her ears, tugging hard. His lips are parted, his eyes are open. He is not moving. “Bob! Wake up! Wake the fuck up!”

Mable leans down to your ear. You’re so thoroughly covered in blood that you look like something that crawled out of a horror film--she can make out the tracks of your tears as the salt cuts through the gore on your cheeks. It’s an image that will stay with her for the rest of her life, one she’ll doodle inside book covers and on the backs of restaurant napkins. She’s so young now that when she’s older, she’ll wonder if her juvenile mind was exaggerating just how gory you look. But it is not an exaggeration at all.

“You have to fight it,” she whispers in your ear. Her cut begins to bleed. “It’s here.”

When you look up, your eyes fluttering open again after seemingly being pasted shut, you see another dead body. Your second this morning. There is less blood and more sunlight, but it is still there right before you.

As if a mortar has suddenly gone off beside your cheek, your ears are hollowed out and ringing. You can see Phoenix screaming, can see her patting Bob’s cheeks, but you can’t hear her shrill tone or the lifeless thumps on his skin. Coyote touches your shoulder and you think maybe he’s saying something to you, but you don’t look at him.

Vision beginning to vignette, you stand slowly. And then you turn and walk all the way off the bus, the blood on your shoes matted with dirt and grime. You take a few stumbling steps, the gun clenched tightly in your hands. Then you open the doors, let the sunlight in. If someone was running full-speed at you, intent on cutting you down, you wouldn’t hear it. And you think you wouldn’t fight it either.

The only way you know you’re on the ground is when the gravel slices your knees open. It is not from brute strength that you have fallen--no one has hit you. It is because you are drained. Entirely, completely, wholly drained.

Bradley finds you only a few moments later.

You’re on your hands and knees just outside the bus barn, clutching the gravel with the gun laid out just beside you. Your back bows, curved like the neck of a preening swan, and you suddenly heave. Vomit spews across the rocks--all stomach acid.

Oh, he realizes. Bob’s dead.

He stops where he is, only a few paces from you, and watches all of your humanness from afar. Surely you’ve seen dead bodies before in your line of work--in fact, he knows you have--but maybe you’ve never seen it this close. And it has never, ever been a friend. That must be what’s different about this one, he thinks. That’s it. That must be it.

And then he watches you stop. You suddenly swallow hard and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, eyebrows furrowed and lips trembling. Then you fight to your feet, wobbling and quivering, leaning over once more to grab the gun and hold it to your body.

As if you knew he was there the entire time, you look at Bradley. He can see it from where he is, dazed and heartbroken and lovesick: there is fight in your eyes. It is dim, it is full, it is small, it is hazy--but it’s there, gleaming in the early morning light.

You have to fight it. It’s here.

“We have to find him,” you tell Bradley. Your voice is ragged and thin. You swallow hard, shaking your head. “No one else is dying today, alright?”

Bradley nods at you, dumbfounded and grief-stricken. His throat is tight.

“Alright,” he answers. He takes a deep breath, fills his lungs.“Birdie, I…I think I might have an idea.”

♀

“What do you mean?” Coyote asks. “You two are gonna just…play music? And get him to come? Like…a dog or something?”

“So he knows where we are,” Bradley defends, his voice hard and serious. “We’re not, like, whistling for him.”

“And you think that’ll make him come?” Coyote asks, brow perched.

He glances at you. You’re not looking at him.

“He’ll come. He’ll come if he knows Gale’s there.”

Coyote opens his mouth to argue, but then you quietly add, “What other option do we have? I can’t…I’m not strong enough to go back out in the woods.”

“I could go,” Coyote offers.

You shake your head.

“I’m the good shot,” you whisper. And all that responsibility weighs down on you again. “It would have to be me. And you’re hurt.”

Coyote knows you’re right. He carefully touches the back of his head, wincing when the gash stings beneath his fingers.

Phoenix’s eyes are on the floor. Her throat hurts too bad to say anything. She won’t look up at you and Bradley as you stand outside the bus with Coyote, relaying the plan.

“And when he--if he comes, then what?” Coyote asks. He swallows hard, his head pulsing. “You’re gonna…?”

“Wait. For help,” you whisper.

Coyote looks at your face--still covered in blood, but stained with a detached sort of anger. You’re resolute and morose all wrapped up in bloody dungarees.

“Back to square one, then, huh?” He asks softly.

“What’s the alternative?” Bradley counters. “Killing him?”

“No one else is dying today,” you say matter-of-factly. You look at the two men, who are looking at you already with their mouths flat and their chests heaving. “I mean it, alright? No one else.”

“Alright,” Coyote answers. “So, Phoenix and I should just hang around? Wait?”

You nod. Coyote shudders at the thought of just waiting.

“We’ll come get you when it’s…” you start, trailing off with your brows furrowed.

“Over. We’ll come get you when it’s over,” Bradley answers. “Don’t open the doors for anyone but us, okay?”

“Yeah,” Coyote answers. He takes a long, deep breath. His head hurts. “Okay. Are you sure you don’t want me to help? Strength in numbers, right?”

You glance at Phoenix. She’s still holding Bob. Though now that the tears have stopped, she’s completely quiet. You fear, suddenly and completely, that she’ll never speak again.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Stay here with her.”

Glancing up at the bus, you see all the campers already looking at you. Knives in their little hands, fear in their little teary eyes. Their faces are almost begging, you think.

Fight it. Fight it. Fight it.

Toes numb with panic, you look back at Coyote. He’s already looking at you.

“Don’t let anyone in,” you say again. You think of last night when something tried to get into the mess hall--just how close they came. “And if they do get in…corner them. Get them.”

Coyote nods firmly. You can count on him. He can count on you. The two of you have never bullshitted each other before.

“I will,” he says. “I’ll die fighting if I have to. No one’s touching those kids.”

Die fighting. How silly that phrase seemed before, when you’d throw it around at random. And now there’s two dead bodies and three missing counselors at Camp Arcadia. You hope you don’t die fighting like Paul, like Bob. But it would be a valiant way to go.

“Let’s go,” Bradley says, throwing an arm around your shoulders. You’re rigid underneath his hands--it stains him, wounds him. But he doesn’t punish you for it. How could he? “We’ll be right back.”

Coyote swallows hard. His heart is pounding.

“Don’t say that,” Coyote pleads. “Haven’t you ever seen a horror movie? Ever?”

“This is real life,” Bradley argues. “Not some story.”

But it was a story--before, at the bonfire.

Damien and the Devil. Six counselors, one nurse. Slashed. Dead, gone, buried, away.

Saying nothing more, you turn on your heel.

It’s time to end this.

The walk back to the mess hall is very quiet. Underneath the bright yellow sun and the clear blue sky, you and Bradley say almost nothing to each other. You’re holding the gun, trying to keep your heart from beating out of your chest. He’s holding the ax, the one that killed Paul, and the other one he took into the woods with him. He’s glancing around the perimeter to make sure nothing’s sneaking up on the two of you.

You’re stumbling slightly when you step--Bradley isn’t sure if it’s because you’re tired or if it’s because of the gashes on your knees or if it’s because of your shock. He does know you’re in shock--that you’ve been in shock since you tumbled out of the woods covered in Paul’s blood. You look shell-shocked, but brave. Like you know the bomb is about to drop, but you’re ready to arm yourself against whatever’s coming even if it’s for naught. Do svidaniya.

Ears still ringing, stomach still churning, you feel like the walk is too quick. Suddenly you aren't outside anymore--you’re in the mess hall in all its disarray, walking towards the kitchen with the intent of grabbing more ammunition.

Bradley’s closing the buckshot-broken doors, brows furrowed as he examines the shots. Shit. You really did it. Something in his belly feels better knowing that you’ll shoot. You’ll pull the trigger.

As soon as you’re through the kitchen doors, your heart stops. There on the dingy tiles is what remains of Bob’s blood--it’s smeared, dried, browned. But you can still see where he laid. And just beside the bucket, which is still full of bloody water, are Bob’s broken glasses.

Leaning down, legs shaking, you pick the glasses up and hold them up to your face. They’re broken--the glass is cracked and the frames are bent.

But it’s okay. He doesn’t need them anymore.

“Oh, Bob,” you whisper. You grip the glasses hard. Tipping your head forward, you let the metal fall against your closed mouth. A sob ripples through you. “I’m so sorry.”

“Gale?” Rooster calls. He turns--sees your form frozen in the doorway, kneeling with your head bent. Starting for you, he swallows hard. “Birdie?”

His presence behind you is warm and solid, like standing against a water heater. His chest just barely grazes your back. It brings you back a little bit--his steady and even breaths. You can count them--you can count on them. They’re there, steady, as you look down at Bob’s glasses.

Rooster, his jaw squared, sighs gently.

He tugs under your armpits until you’re standing on your feet again.

“Are you…are you, like, alright?”

Dumb question, he thinks. Jesus. Dumb, dumb question.

Shaking your head, you let your eyes fall shut.

“I’m numb,” you whisper. “I can’t…I don’t think I can…I can’t feel anything at all.”

A pang of pain radiates in Rooster’s chest. You’re so quiet, so drawn into yourself. Maybe this is your surrender. Maybe this is when you give up. Maybe this is when you call it a day and lay down and just wait for the end to come. Rooster can’t have that.

“Can you feel this?” Rooster asks.

And you’re about to crane your neck to look at him, about to ask him what he’s doing, when the very softest of kisses lands just below your left ear.

Oh. You can feel that. His warm lips, full of blood and live cells and made up of skin, send a shiver down your spine.

“Yes,” you mutter. “I can.”

Another kiss--this time in the middle of your neck. Rooster can still faintly smell jasmine on your skin. It makes him ache all over.

“That?” He whispers.

You nod, choked up.

And then he’s very carefully brushing your hair off your shoulders, pushing it aside so he can see your throat and the curve of your jaw. It’s covered in blood, flaking off whenever it’s disturbed. He doesn’t care.

He kisses a trail down the back of your neck, his own eyes fluttered shut in just a moment of peace. And your body is growing softer beneath him--so soft that when he reaches around and pulls the gun from your hands, you don’t fight it. You just let your head fall to the side, eyes flickering shut.

His palms splay on your hips. He holds you tight, pulls you until your back is flush against his chest. And your mind is buzzing and your body is growing warmer and warmer, but you cannot deny the pleasure of this encounter. This is the most human you’ve felt since all of this began, since you jumped out of bed naked when Phoenix came into your cabin.

And even though you’re suddenly crying, even though you’re gripping his hands, you know that you need this to keep moving forward. You cannot fight if you feel like there’s nothing left to fight for--maybe the faces of the campers, stained with fear, aren’t enough for you. Maybe seeing Phoenix holding Bob still isn’t enough for you. Maybe you need this--to be touched and held. To be reminded that you can feel still. To be reminded that when this is over, there will be life to live and sex to have and jobs to hate and cars to drive and stars to gaze upon.

This, right here, is proof of that.

“Hold me,” you whisper, suddenly desperate. “Hold me, please.”

You cannot remember the last time you asked someone to hold you. Rigidity sometimes feels like your natural state. Steeling yourself against death, against blood and hurt and pain. And now you’re so soft as Rooster wraps his arms around you.

He holds you so tight that all the air leaves your lungs.

You’re stuck still, breath stilted, lungs empty.

Yes, you think. This is how tightly I need to be held.

Rooster buries his nose in your neck. He can feel the tears dripping down your cheeks as they land in his hair and he only holds you tighter. He can feel that he’s squeezing the life out of you, but for some reason, he knows you want it like that.

“I’ve got you,” he mutters to you. “I won’t let you go.”

But just as quickly as you found comfort in his arms, in his heat, against his pumping heart and hot skin, you become uneasy. It’s the thought of seeing his dead body, it’s him calling you hysterical, it’s the spit flinging out of his mouth as he called Jake the killer, it’s his naked body you left behind to find Bob.

All of it comes at once, slaps your face until your cheeks are raw.

Wriggling your way out of his grip, you take a half-step away from him and grab the shotgun again. Rooster, slightly stunned, watches you with his mouth ajar.

“Set the music up,” you whisper. You sniffle. “I’m gonna reload and…and get in position.”

Jake’s trudging back towards camp, openly weeping. He hasn’t openly wept since his toddlerhood, he thinks. But he is right now: shoulders shaking, spine curving, snot dripping, tears pouring open-mouthed weeping. There’s bile covering the front of his shirt and blood on his hands, which is why he won’t look down, which is why he’s stumbling.

He’s been walking all night long--ducking behind trees, stumbling over jagged roots. He’s so tired that his bones feel brittle. He’s so thoroughly exhausted that he’s stumbling towards the mess hall now, even though he knows it’s a trap, even though he knows this might be his final location.

Kate Bush is playing over the loudspeaker--it was loud enough for him to hear where he was just before in a puddle of blood, vomiting and swatting away swarming flies. Through his heaving, through his tears, he knew immediately that he had to go to where you were calling him from.

Do you wanna feel how it feels?

You must be there. You must be the one calling out to him. He wonders if maybe it’s a call for help. But no--it must be a trap. Maybe Bradley swayed you. Maybe everyone swayed you. Maybe you want him dead. Maybe, as soon as his feet cross the threshold, you’re going to shoot him in the chest. He wouldn’t be angry with you. But, boy--would he miss you if he died.

But all he wants, as his stuttering footsteps grow nearer and nearer to the mess hall, is to keep you safe. And if you’re with him--if you’re even near him--you aren’t safe.

Limping, he approaches the doors to the mess hall. They’re closed, but damaged. You already shot through them, Jake sees. And there’s blood dotting the doors--so much of it that he knows you must’ve really got ‘em.

Atta girl, he thinks.

“Jake?” Your voice comes from inside, echoing in the empty mess hall. “Is that…is that you?”

Instead of answering, he opens the door.

You

It's you and me

And there you are. Standing a few paces ahead of him, holding the shotgun like you’ve held it a million times before, eyes narrowed and focused on him. You’re covered in blood, even your heavy eyelids, and sniffling as you cry quietly. But even through your tears, you’re strong. He can see the fight still tugging on the ends of your hair and straining in your wobbling thighs.

Bradley is just behind you, armed with an ax, sneering at Jake.

“Don’t you come any closer,” Bradley demands. He rears back so the ax is in position to swing down at any given moment. “I mean it, you fuck!”

Jake stumbles slightly as he steps into the mess hall.

“Jake,” you whisper, shaking your head. Your throat aches with grief. “Where have you been?”

I'd make a deal with God

And I'd get Him to swap our places

It all comes rushing back to him, a wave of grief and exhaustion and derangement. Taking a shuddering breath, he tries to communicate with you, his words coming out like a fluttering and distant bird that flies right over your head.

“Get away from him,” he whispers.

You furrow your brows, straining to hear him over Running Up That Hill (A Deal With God).

“He’s got a weapon,” Bradley whispers to you. His heart is pounding. “Gale, he’s got an ax.”

Fingers numb with panic, with pain, you shake your head at Jake.

You don't wanna hurt me (yeah, yeah, yo)

“Where did you get that?” You demand quietly, nodding to the ax in Jake’s hand.

Jake glances down at the ax. He got this just a few miles outside of camp. He pried it out of Fanboy’s hands--his cold, dead hands. And then he promptly spewed vomit onto the rocks just beside his body and Payback’s. He found them, their bodies hacked, lying together. They never left each other’s sides. Not for one moment.

“I…” Jake whispers. He swallows, head pounding. “Get away from Bradley. Please, baby, please get away from him.”

The hairs on the back of your neck prickle your skin as they raise.

“Can it,” Bradley spits. You don’t have to see him to know how angry Bradley is right now, sneering and snarling at Jake. “You--you fucking son of a bitch! Bob is dead! You fucking killed Bob!”

“Stop,” you beg softly, the gun shaking in your unsteady grasp. “Jake, just…just put the ax down, alright? And then we can talk.”

“Talk? Fuck that,” Bradley yells. “He killed Bob!”

“You did,” Jake utters. “You killed him, Rooster.”

Is there so much hate for the ones we love?

You hear him loud and clear as if he’s just whispered in your ear. Heart pounding, you shake your head. Fuck. Fuck.

“He’s lying,” Bradley laughs bitterly. “You fuck--you stupid fuck! You really think she’s gonna fall for that? You think she’s gonna believe you? You destroyed the fucking cabin and went AWOL and then people started dying!”

But Jake isn’t responding to Bradley. He’s just staring at you, cowering where he stands, defeated and terrified. His shirt is ripped and his hair is messy and there’s blood underneath his fingernails.

“Just drop the ax,” you tell him. “I don’t want to--I’m not gonna hurt you. We’re not going to hurt each other, right? Just drop it.”

It's you and me

Jake drops it--it clatters onto the floor unceremoniously. Your lungs deflate.

“Nightingale,” Jake whispers. His eyes are pouring into yours, red-rimmed and wide. “You have to get away from him, baby. He’s gonna hurt you.”

Panic is pulsing in your chest now. You’re desperately clinging to reality right now--even though you’re not sure what that is.

“He’s trying to confuse you,” Bradley whispers. “Don’t let him.”

“Gale,” Jake begs, sobbing. He steps closer to you. You reposition your fingers so they’re not sitting on the trigger anymore. “Please…please…just get away from him! Please!”

Eyes wide, you watch as he stumbles closer. Bradley is grunting behind you, rearing the ax up further and further.

“Don’t you fucking touch her,” Bradley sneers. “I mean it, man! Stay the fuck away!”

“Jake,” you whisper. “Please. Please just stay where you are.”

“Where’d you even get the ax?” Bradley asks. His voice echoes.

Jake is still looking into your eyes, openly weeping. Bile dribbles down his chin.

“They’re dead,” he whispers. “I--oh, God, they’re dead. I found ‘em. I found them together.”

Be runnin' up that road

Be runnin' up that hill

You immediately know that he means Fanboy and Payback. They’re dead. They’re gone. They haven’t been answering the walkie calls. They’re not close to town at all--they’re just dead.

A sharp and punctuated sob ripples through your entire body. Goddammit.

“Who?” Bradley demands. “Who the fuck are you--?”

“--You know what you did,” Jake whispers to Bradley. Suddenly, Jake isn’t deflated. He’s almost close enough to reach out and touch you. Your finger isn’t on the trigger. His chest puffs up and his shoulders roll back. He can protect you. He can do that. “Don’t you fucking touch her, man. Don’t you fucking ax her like you axed them! You--you fucking got ‘em when they were sleeping, didn’t you? You’re a fucking coward.”

Eyes wide, you begin to beg Jake to move back.

“It’s you,” Bradley spits. “You’re the fucking killer!

Oh, come on, baby (yeah)

Oh, come on, darlin' (yo)

“Enough,” you try desperately. “We’re gonna sit here and-and wait for Mav and Penny to come get us, alright? All of us!” But they’re not listening to you. Jake is staring at Bradley and Bradley is staring at Jake. “No one else is dying, okay?”

“Who else is dead?” Jake asks. “Who else did he kill?”

Your mind is racing. You don’t know what’s happening. You don’t know who’s telling the truth. All you know right now is that Jake seems earnest and Bradley seems angry and the truth is lying somewhere between them in no-man’s-land.

“You know damn well Paul is dead,” Bradley sneers. You see it--Jake’s shock. Thoroughly, in your bones, you can tell that no, Jake did not know that. Your spine tingles. “You fucking killed him! And you cut Mable, didn’t you? Snuck out while Gale was sleeping, right? You coward.”

Swallowing hard, Jake looks at you. His face is very serious, very anguished.

Oh, come on, angel

Come on, come on, darlin'

“Don’t let him confuse you,” Jake begs. He’s desperate, shaking his head at you. “I’m still me. I’d never--you know that I’d never--!”

“--You’re sick,” Bradley screams. His voice booms, drowns out the music. “You’re worshiping the same twisted demon Gwyar did, aren’t you? Or is it that--that you’re worshiping Gwyar? Him and his fucking ax and his sick fucking game! Feeding on everyone’s fear, scaring the tar out of everyone! Or is it that you’re cutting down anyone that gets too close to Gale? Huh? Is that it? You sick fuck!”

Furrowing his brows, Jake looks at you. And you know that he doesn’t know what Bradley is talking about at all.

You’re getting lightheaded.

“Gale,” Jake whispers. It’s a desperate, desperate plea. “Get away from him, baby. Please, please, please. I won’t even--I won’t even touch you. Just get away from him. Point the gun at him.”

And here it is: you’re getting ripped apart. You didn’t even make it to the end of summer.

But then Jake is falling to his knees, sobs tearing him to bits, looking up at you like a depraved and despaired. It’s horrific--having Jake there before you.

“If you’ve ever done anything in your life, listen to me right now,” Jake sobs. “Please, Gale--get the fuck away from him. I’m not the killer, baby--Bradley is. You’re not safe!”

Your fingers are shaking.

And if I only could

I'd make a deal with God

And I'd get Him to swap our places

“Enough,” you try. “Please, Jake--Bradley! Just stop!”

Head swarmed, you look at Jake with wide eyes.

“Maybe you’re possessed,” Bradley says, laughing humorlessly. “Maybe you couldn’t help yourself. You were drawn to it…you found the ax ‘cause it called for you, didn’t it?”

Bradley’s chest is hot with rage. He wants to get Jake away from you--now.

And then Jake isn’t just on his knees before you, he’s throwing himself forward and against your legs. But your feet are planted so firmly that you don’t shake, you don’t fall. He isn’t trying to knock you over--he’s just hugging himself against your thighs, burying his face in the bottom of your belly and looking up at you.

“I’d never hurt anyone,” Jake pleads with you. “You know that…baby, you know that. I don’t even know what he’s talking about! I don’t know who Gwyar is! I’m so confused…Gale, please…we have to get away from him!”

“Get the fuck away from--!”

“Stop!” You cry desperately. Jake is holding you so tight that you can’t breathe. “Stop it!”

But they’re not listening to you.

I'd be runnin' up that road

Be runnin' up that hill

“It isn’t me!” Jake sobs. “We have to get away from here!”

“You fuck,” Bradley continues. “It took your blood! It wanted you! Sliced your hand when you were chopping that tree down!”

The song ends.

Your hearing goes out--fuzzy and fading. Every muscle beneath your sizzling skin is locked in place. A noose of fear wraps itself around your neck and tightens, tightens until you cannot breathe at all. Your lungs are stunted at a deep exhale. And you can’t close your eyes for even a millisecond to blink. Sulfur floods your nostrils--abundantly clear and thick in the air.

Jake stares up at you, horrified. He watches, in real time, as the realization dawns on you.

He was telling the truth. Bradley is the killer.

“Bradley…” you whisper, voice quivering. Just barely, you turn your head. And Bradley is behind you, still looking like himself but ugly with rage and red with anger. “You cut your hand on the ax.”

At first, his face contorts in confusion. He stutters, mouth parted. Brows furrowed, he attempts to say something. But his tongue is dry. But when he sees the fear in your eyes and hears Jake’s sobs, he knows the jig is up. He just gave himself away.

You watch, in utter terror, as his face drops completely. And for the first time, as you stare at him, you see it: the pure, unadulterated evil. It’s there in the black in his pupils. The flecks of gold in his amber eyes are faded, gone. His smile is wide and broad, but it isn’t the smile you saw at the beginning of the summer. It is wicked--dry and nefarious.

“Damn,” he says, sighing. He beams at you wickedly. So wicked that your arms go limp, the gun falling onto the floor. Good. He’s got you where he wants you. “I was doing so well, too.”

Lips open wide in shock, two stray tears fall down your face.

And it is not a moment later that he brings the ax down.

Jake, with all the gall and gumption of the soldier his father wanted him to be, acts fast. So fast that he doesn’t even think--he just does.

“Gale!”

Closing your eyes, you accept it at once. You will die at the hand of Bradley--he’s killing you and you don’t know why other than he’s sick. And you’re already covered in blood, you already saw two dead bodies today. People are dying. You’re going to be another one to add to the pile. Your body will be covered with a sheet and your father will identify you with tears in his eyes and he will wonder why and you will die not knowing why.

When you hit the ground, head slamming against the hardwood floors and neck cracking, you’re waiting for the pain to come. The first hit, the first hack. You’re waiting for release.

But instead, you just feel heavy--something is brushing your nose because it is so close to you. And when you open your eyes, you’re staring into Jake’s. His eyes are wide in shock, his mouth, too.

For a moment, you’re not sure what’s happened. Then you hear the strangled moan he releases, the barely-there and quiet thing. A steady stream of blood floods out from his parted lips and into your mouth.

“Jake?” You whimper, terror flooding your body until you’re cold with it.

And he’s so heavy on top of you and so warm--deadweight. And the warmth, it isn’t just his body heat. No, no…it is a wet and slick warmth. It is his blood that is leaking from his body and onto yours.

Choking out a sob, your spit red with his blood spewing onto his face, you try desperately to move your arms. He has you pinned--and he’s so heavy that you can’t move.

“My, my, my…” Bradley laughs. He leans down, wraps his hands around the handle of the ax and steadies himself by pressing his foot on Jake’s back, and rips the ax from his back. Jake coughs--blood spews across your face and you whimper aloud, stunned. Bradley totes the ax over his shoulder like it is as friendly and unassuming as his guitar. “Sacrificing his life. Now, that’s love, huh?”

Jake can’t feel anything. Not the gash on his back or the blood he’s losing. He can’t feel your body beneath him or the sobs ripping through your shocked form. He can’t feel any of it. He’s just looking at your face, his mouth wide open and gaping, and praying that Bradley will go.

“Jake,” you sob again. You can’t breathe. You can’t move. “Jake! Jake!”

If Jake could speak, he’d tell you that he loves you and that he’s sorry he can’t do more. But he can’t, so he just slowly lowers his head until it falls into your neck. He stops moving.

Bradley watches from above you. He rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck, sighs deeply. It feels good to be out in the open like this--no more lying, no more sneaking around. Just him, just you, just Jake. And he’s about to finish off the two of you and head to the bus barn. He’ll finish what was started thirty years ago--almost to the date, that sly dog.

“Jake,” you keep whispering, shocked, stunned, horrified. Your body vibrates with panic. You don’t care about Bradley hovering over you. You care about Jake and the way his green eyes are losing the color, the way his cheeks are becoming pale. He can do nothing but stare at you, his vision beginning to blacken around the edges. “Jake, I…”

And then Bradley kicks the shotgun--it slides across the floor and clatters against the wall. As if you weren’t already defenseless. You look up, quivering, and Bradley grins down at you.

“I’m more of an ax guy myself,” he says, smiling. He leans down, settling the ax beside him. And then he strokes your hair back from your face, relishing in the horror that crosses your features. “Don’t wig out yet, baby. Let’s chat before I book it to the bus barn, huh? I can spare a few minutes for my best girl.”

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄:

BOB BE LIKE:

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

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elfqueen006 · 1 year ago

Text

The Lifeguard part 3

Sunny Day Jack x Reader

---

Tags/CW: summer camp au, camp counselor au, horror, slasher, rivals to lovers. Angst. Humor. Murder. Graphic violence.

Minors DNI

“The new food isn’t bad, but I really don’t get the appeal of changing a brand that’s been fine on its own for decades,” Jack said, twisting one of his fries between his thumb and forefinger.

You put a massive glob of ketchup on your burger, “You really can’t chalk it up to anything other than making money,” You said. You take a big bite out of your burger, excess grease and condiment remaining on your lips as you messily chew and swallow before wiping your mouth, “Speaking’ of which… how much do I owe you for the meal?”

Jack waved you off, “No charge.”

“Don’t gimme that – I’ve got more than enough-”

“I don’t need it.”

You stare at him a moment before shrugging, “Whatever. I’m fuckin’ starving.”

“Don’t exaggerate,” Jack said.

“No really,” You replied, taking another bite of your burger, “I skipped breakfast.”

“Why would you do that?”

You shrug, “Couldn’t eat. I texted Skylar all last night and I still haven’t heard back,” The warmth drains from Jack’s cheeks and the feeling of lead weighs on his chest.

He wets his suddenly dry lips, “Really?”

“Really,” You then scowled,” I know the bitch sees my texts though because she leaves me on ‘read’.”

Bile rises in the mascots’ throat. And he doesn’t know if it’s because of how casually you can call someone you deemed a friend a ‘bitch’. Or if it’s because he’s the reason you’re feeling so bitterly. Skylar wasn’t the one who left you on read, he did. Why did he have to go through her phone?! But in hindsight he supposed that this wasn’t entirely a bad thing. This gave you the impression Skylar was alive and well. Though he didn’t know how well someone could be after being found out you screwed someone else's boyfriend, but hey, he could probably assume if she were alive, she’d feel very guilty.

But Jack knows he’s being too quiet and asks to appear inconspicuous, “Have you heard from Ian at least?”

You shake your head, your frown deepening, “He isn’t even reading his texts…”

“You have any idea where they went? Or where they would go?”

“Nope.”

He sighs, letting disappointment seep into his features. Some of it is real. He’s disappointed this all had happened. It doesn’t even seem real, this past week. He’s hoping by tomorrow, he’ll wake up and Skylar will be smiling at him as she leads the kids on a trail to the ziplines, or that Ian will be trying his best to rangle his group in until you come in and his face turns red at the sight of you in the lifeguard’s leotard…

You’re swirling a fry in a pool of ketchup when you say, “I hope they’re dead…”

Jack choked on his drink, “What? ”

“You heard me.”

Jack ran a hand down his face, “No… no you don’t, Y/N.”

You hum, “Kind of,”

“No."

After a moment of silence you spoke, “I still can't believe it. Ian… you know we went to elementary school together. Since then we’ve been inseparable. And he’s never lied to me!” You slumped back in your chair, looking up at the fluorescent lights in the ceiling. “When he and Skylar met at that…fancy acting school I felt something in my gut telling me it wasn’t right but I just chalked it up as petty jealousy… How could he do that to me?”

Suddenly Jack feels as if he's the one who’d been cheated on. All this time he thought he had a chance with Skylar, but she had her eyes on someone else. Someone taken no less. He lets out a forlorn sigh. You shake your head and lean on the table, “Sorry. I know you liked Skylar so… this probably makes you feel pretty shit too.” You said.

“It’s fine,” Jack replied, smiling softly, “It’s not your fault.”

—

On your way to the campsite, little to no words were exchanged. You leaned over, resting your arm on the side door. You watched the buildings and civilization pass you by. It was like leaving your world behind, never having been much of an outdoorsy person.

Jack advised you to strap in, but of course, you hadn't listened.

“It isn’t that long a drive,” You said. “And the car doesn't even have a roof so I don’t know how much safer we’d be in seatbelts…”

As you said that, the car hits a hump in the road. You jolt in your seat and catch yourself on Jack’s forearm. “You were saying?” He said.

“Heh…”

You pushed yourself upright, but a hand lingered on Jack’s arm. It was surprisingly firm and toned. With a decent amount of hair. They always looked so plush from afar, especially with all the hugging he’d do. He was a big teddy bear to everyone he met. Well, everyone except you.

“Y/N…”

You blinked out of your thoughts, his arm flexed as you subconsciously squeezed it. You retracted your hand, “My bad, you've got a lot of muscle for a mascot.” You said, chuckling slightly.

Jack gave you a look. You put your hands up in defense, "Not trying to sound weird! It's just that, I dunno… I didn't expect a guy of your…position… to work out like that or anything…"

He turned his attention to the road once more, thumping his fingers on the steering we'll.

"...I did some jobs back in the city before this." He said.

"What kind of jobs?" You asked.

"Moving. Heavy lifting. That sort of thing…"

You simply hum in reply before looking back out at the fields. Crossing a certain point in the road you spot the shed and point at a familiar figure, "Hey, isn't that Bill?"

Jack's head just about snaps off his neck as he spots the head counselor looking around the shed. Bill spots you two in the Moke and beckons the driver over. Instead, Jack speeds up and continues towards the campsite.

You brace yourself in your seat, "H-Hey! What's your rush?"

"I'm just trying to get you to camp safely." Jack replied. His eyes were erratic.

"I appreciate that, but didn't Bill need you or something? It could've been important!"

"Just let me do this very quickly!"

Soon enough, you made it to the campsite; Jack making a hasty pull over as you stumbled out of the cart.

"Um, thanks. For the free food and everything." You said. Jack grunts a reply and speeds off in a cloud of dust. You sigh. That guy is truly a piece of work.

Jack's stomach churns when he drives back to the shed. He pulls up on the grass. He hops out of the vehicle and strides up to Bill with a practiced and fight smile. The old man has his arms folded with a stern look on his face.

"Just what was that earlier? I know you saw me!" Bill scolded.

Jack rubbed the back of his neck, an easygoing yet guilty look on his face, "Sorry, sir. But it was so late out now that I wanted to make sure Y/N got back safe." He said.

Bill's brows raised in surprise, "You were out with Y/N ?" He asked.

"Just for a bite to eat," Jack replied, "She didn't like what the cafeteria had and it turns out she skipped breakfast so…" He shrugged, doing his best to seem like the well meaning boy scout persona he built up for the past five years.

Bill however, didn't seem so convinced. A subtle smirk in his features. The implications made Jack a bit sick.

"You watch yourself now, Jack," He said, "the girl is taken after all."

Was.

Jack waved his hands defensively, "I-it's not like that at all sir! I was just doing a favor. It's not good for the counselors to go unfed as well as the kids!"

"Mmmhm. What'd I say? She's growing on you!"

Jack rolled his eyes. "What was it you wanted to see me about..?"

Bill snapped his fingers, "Ah," He led the young man back around the shed. He gestured to a long mound of dirt. Jack's palms sweat inside his gloves.

"W-what is it?" Jack asked.

"No idea… it certainly wasn't here before," Bill replied, "I came up here to put away the last of supplies."

"How'd you find it..?"

“I remembered I sent Ian and Sky up here. They didn’t show after that. I thought if I looked around here I’d find something they left or…” His voice trails off and he shrugs. Jack stares intently at the mound. Almost hoping that if he stared hard enough, he could will it away, or maybe cover it in grass with his mind. Of course no such thing happened.

Bill toed at the dirt with his shoes. The dirt easily moving made Jack’s heart skip. “Do you have any idea where they might’ve gone?” Jack shook his head unblinkingly.

The old man simply hummed. Then he knelt down and dug his hand in the soil. Jack’s eyes widened, grabbing him by the shoulder. “Bill, I really don’t think you should do that! What if it’s an anthill or a nest of some sort?”

“I’ve been working here for twenty years and I’ve never seen a nest like this, Jack. Someone put something here…”

“Sir-”

“Go on and get me a shovel, boy.”

The words glued Jack to the spot. He couldn’t get his legs to move, because he was sure if they did, they’d take him down the road and away from the camp. Away from his life. Bill raised a brow, “Can ya hear? Go on then.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat and shook his head. Tears stung the corners of his eyes.

Bill narrowed his eyes. He got up himself and brought the shovel from the shed. He dug the blade in the soil and chucked it over his shoulder. He then dug into another chunk. And another. Until he hit something solid. Jack’s blood ran cold. He couldn’t breathe.

Bill moved the excess dirt away until he saw the familiar yellow fabric of the counselor uniform shirt.

"Wha-"

He was taken down in a blur of blue, the shovel falling out of his hands. He wrestled against Jack's strong frame, attempting to buck out of his grip. Jack's arms came up around Bill's neck in an attempt to choke him. The old man managed to maneuver his arm just a bit over his face and bit into his bicep.

Jack yelled in pain, kicking Bill off, who fell into the arms reach of the shovel. Bill looked between the weapon and his assaulter before scrambling over to it. Soft fabric took hold of his ankle in a tight grip before pulling him back and Jack crawled over to grab it.

Stumbling to their feet, Bill lunged at Jack, managing to grab ahold of the shovel neck. He attempted to wrestle the object from the larger man's grip, who never broke eye contact, his eyes bloodshot and wet with tears. Finally, with a hefty pull and shoving the old man with nothing but pure force, Jack was the one with the weapon and prepped for a swing, holding it over his shoulder.

Bill's eyes widened, "Joseph, don't-"

Jack swung and Bill's head snapped backwards with a sickening crack. He stumbled backwards, his hand grasping aimlessly for anything to keep him upright before tripping over the dirt and falling onto his back.

The former head counselors head lolled to the side. His pale blue eyes stared up at the night sky, mouth hung open; forever in a state of shock of how he ended up where he was.

Jack’s hands clenched on the shovel, trembling with irritation, fear and everything in between. He sucked in a breath and yelled at the body. He wanted to say "I warned you not to look" "I'm sorry" or "fuck you". But all that came out was a broken wail.

He kicks at its leg repeatedly, screaming. He stomps the torso. He whacks the head with the shovel, inciting another gruesome noise, likely from bones breaking and flesh ripping.

It's only until the body is contorted in a such a manner - splayed out as if there wasn't a single bone in its body - that Jack relaxes. The damage has been done. And he gets to digging, taking care to make sure the hole is deeper.

#sdj x reader #sunny day jack x mc #sunny day jack x reader #swwsdj x reader #sunny day jack #sunny day jack fanfiction #the lifeguard #horror #slasher au #summer camp au #camp counselor au #yandere #my fics

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killjoyconstruct · 5 months ago

Text

some sketches for camp motte, a horror RP in development that i'm a part of!

character in pigtails in the second drawing belongs to @/pythonisarts

#sketches #ocs #oc artwork #summer camp au #summer camp horror #oc memes #ace's art #franchise: camp motte #characters: joni #characters: jericho #and a special appearance from erika lol #killjoyconstruct art

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elixirfromthestars · 2 months ago

Text

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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