#when you fall asleep on the couch and wake up to a monster clawing its way out of the arcade game in the corner like its going out of style

[feralmoonlight]

What if... Fazbear's went out of business... And the old pieces from inside were sold off... And you picked up an arcade machine for cheap... And then you got a brand new buddy in the process... At least you hope it's a buddy

(classic scenario, just woke up, not brain enough to make a decision on if this is gonna be horrifying long term or not)

[aplaceinthedark]

LOOKING for the MEANING

chapter one: Old Friends, Same Disease

Summary: The Appalachian Mountains hide numerous monsters, and it's up to Taylor and the Bad Omens to prevent them from causing any harm. 

Word Count: 2777

CW: supernatural themes, attempted B&E, mentions of dead bodies, body horror

This is RPF, and thus will contain real people, but names and events will be changed. If this bothers you too much, then please leave this temple without causing harm.

Featured Creatures:

@ladyveronikawrites @lilhobgobbler @deathblacksmoke @cookiesupplier @thatchickwiththecamera

@rottingfern @roley-poley-foley

I learned pretty quickly that Shenandoah Spring never wanted to come when it was told.

I’d heard about “Fake Spring” once or twice from a distant cousin that lived on the other side of the Blue Ridges. The First Day of Spring had come and gone, yet I was certain that some mornings it was still the middle of winter. Mornings like those, I was glad I had a space heater in my bed.

The space heater being my partner, Nicholas Ruffilo.

How most nights he was able to sleep wearing only a shirt and shorts was beyond me. No matter how many blankets I would pile on, or how far I snuggled under his body, I could never get warm. Not that we would complain about the closeness, since some nights felt like they were colder and darker than others.

Tonight was one of those nights - but unfortunately, I was alone.

Night terrors weren’t new to me. Before I left Newport News, I had been warned of the many side effects of PTSD and Survivor’s Guilt. I had been plagued with them constantly until I moved to New Hope, and then they had all but vanished when Nick and I started sleeping together.

Tonight, it was just me and the cats, as Nick had gone to Richmond for the weekend to see his mom. I had stayed behind this time, saying that I was never really alone with our friends in the woods. But now, I was starting to regret my decision.

Usually my night terrors involved the Accident that had happened almost two years ago, but tonight had been different. Instead of Michael’s body, lying lifeless in front of me, it was Nick’s, almost exactly how it had looked last summer. It was an image I hadn’t wanted to ever revisit, but it seemed like tonight my subconscious wanted me to rehash it.

And that’s why I was currently standing on my front porch, alone in the dark.

I took a drag from the joint we had stashed away in our “Medical Emergencies Only: KEEP OUT FOLIO�� stash, AKA when we needed to calm down. Despite it being three in the morning, the woods surrounding my house was lively, defying the chill that seemed to permeate everything. I glanced over at the trees, taking in how the moon made them cast long shadows that seemed to claw their way across my lawn.

I no longer feared what those shadows hid.

Which reminded me… I peered behind me, casting my eyes down at the offering plate. It no longer sat down on the porch next to the door, like it was a water bowl for an outside dog. I had put it up on its own little table so as to keep it from getting buried underneath the snow. It held some cookies right now, wrapped in tinfoil to keep the raccoons from getting to them. The fact that they were still there meant Noah or the other two haints hadn’t stopped by to take the offering. 

I no longer woke up when one of them would stop by, though a couple of times I would when I felt Nick leave the bed, but I would just quickly fall back asleep after. Some mornings I would wake up to see that Folio had dumped himself either on the living room couch or the bed in the spare bedroom, snoring away.

As I scrolled away on my phone, I felt the air around me go still. It made the hair on the back of my neck prickle. It was a common sign that one of the boys was near, so I looked up to greet whomever it was. 

Indeed, there was something in the woods, lurking just at the edge of my property line, where the grass turned into the Weeds. I couldn’t exactly see it, just a faint outline, like those games Nicholas likes to play, when the screen says to turn the brightness down until you can't see the image. The presence lingered there for a long time.

I rolled my eyes. “Hello, Noah,”  I called out, putting out the joint in the porch ashtray.

There was only silence in return, and the patch of darkness didn't move. I narrowed my eyes. “Whatever you're doing, Noah, you can do it either on my lawn or fuck off. I'm not in the mood for this tonight,” I snapped.

Nothing.

Unease curled in me. "Jolly? Nick?” I said, using Joakim’s nickname and Folio’s first name, respectively. I tried to keep the fear slowly creeping into me out of my voice, but I don’t think I did a very good job of it.

When I still didn't receive a response, I called out to the shadow with that weird mental connection Noah had with everyone. Noah?

WHAT?

The annoyance in his voice at my intrusion was not helping my panic. Are you anywhere near the house right now?

There was a small pause before he replied,

NO, I'M UP IN THE MOUNTAINS. FOLIO’S ON HIS WAY. WHY?

The second he said the word, No, I was immediately running back into the house. It didn't matter that Noah was still in my head, demanding that I tell him what was going on. I startled the small calico cat awake with the sound of the door slamming shut, causing her to angrily meow at me.

“Shh!” I quietly told Lydia, reaching over to pull the curtains shut. I had barely drawn one set when I heard the front steps outside creak as something put its weight down on them. I immediately dropped down into a crouching position, my back pressed against the door. Lydia was smarter, trodding off back to my bedroom.

Staying as still and quiet as possible, I could just barely hear what was going on on the other side of the door. It sounded like wet rasping, intermixed with some clicking noise. If that was the sound of nails hitting wood, there was no way that was Folio in his Grim form. 

The sound continued for several more minutes, pacing back and forth slowly. The sound would fade off, and I would think it was safe to get up until it paced the other way. I was getting lightheaded from holding my breath for long periods of time. 

That’s when I heard a new sound: metal being disturbed. Was… whatever it is... stealing the offering plate?

I was so focused on listening for the sound again that the knock on my door nearly had me falling over. I couldn't help the yelp that slipped out. I froze, scared that it would alert the monster outside, but then a familiar voice piped up. “Taylor, it's me. Open the door,” Noah said.

I slowly stood up, heading towards the peep hole to check, when I heard the same voice say inside my head, 

DO NOT OPEN THAT DOOR! THAT'S NOT ME!

The doorknob rattled vigorously, as if the thing heard Noah. I felt a small surge of pride at having the wherewithal to deadbolt the door when I ran in, but it quickly evaporated when the door violently shook in its frame. I backed away from it until there was a loud bang, as if it threw its body against it, and an unearthly shriek pierced my eardrums. I bolted for the bathroom.

FOLIO'S ALMOST THERE.

I shut and locked the door, and then clambered into the tub before drawing the shower curtain. I then curled up into a ball to wait it out.

The minutes stretched into what felt like hours until I heard the sound of heavy paws beating against the forest floor, like someone was beating out a fast tempo on a kickdrum. Then, sounds of snarling and shrieking filled the air, causing a small sob of what was almost relief to escape me. Then, quiet.

“Taylor?”

I froze at what sounded like Nick Folio’s voice, calling out loud enough that I could hear him. "It's safe now. I'm coming in, alright?"

I climbed out of the bathtub and made my way out into the hall. It just so happened that at the same time, Folio was closing the front door behind him. Dark blood dropped from his lips onto the eagle tattooed on his chest, but I knew that he was the real Folio. Only occupants could come into my house.

I nearly tripped over my shaking legs, but I ran over to him and threw my arms around him. He answered in kind, holding me in comfort.

“I got it, don’t worry. It won't hurt you,” he said, smoothing my rumpled hair as if trying to soothe a wild animal. His nose then pressed to the shaved skin above my ear and I heard him sniffing.

"I was smoking before this happened," I admitted sheepishly.

“Obviously,” he said. He sounded a little disappointed.

That's when I heard the sound of trees being disturbed. “Go clean up,” I said, unwinding myself from Folio.

“Can do.” He patted my backside as he passed me to walk to the bathroom.

I pulled open the door and stepped onto the porch. Only the signs of the struggle were apparent. Nothing was broken, and the only things left behind were nail marks and small tufts of silvery-white fur, which I knew had belonged to Folio. He hadn’t looked raked, so it must not have caught his skin. Whatever the thing had been, there was no sign of it.

In the periphery of my vision, a tall shadow emerged from deep within the woods. As it got closer, it shrunk down to a somewhat normal size of a human. The branch-like antlers seemed to emerge from the treeline before his tattooed body did. It almost seemed like his arrival was accompanied by the sound of a cold wind skittering dead leaves across the ground.

“Jesus Christ,” Noah Sebastian, the Watcher of the Woods, swore. “What the hell did you go and do now?”

NOAH

It was something Noah hadn't seen in a long time. 

Folio didn't leave it in one piece, but Noah could tell what it was just by looking at some of the bits. Almost white, hairless, a dried up husk. Its eyes were missing, but Noah knew it had already been like that. These things never had eyes, even back when he was under the old Watcher's control.

That was what worried him: the fact that this thing was here in the first place. He was wracking his brain over when he could have possibly left a corpse rot in the woods when he heard the front door of the house open. He dropped the pale thing to the ground and shifted into his more human form. Years later and he still felt the pain of his “bones snapping to fit inside a body half his actual size.

Taylor looked dead on their feet, and when he stepped onto the porch, they nearly collapsed against him. He steered them back in the house, forcing them to sit on the couch. He waited until they caught their breath to start interrogating.

“Tell me what happened,” he demanded. He knew a little bit from the panic that made Taylor practically throw the situation through the mental pipeline he had with everyone, but he couldn't actually see what happened through their eyes.

As they told him what happened, Noah listened intently. Normally, they had a relationship that bordered on squabbling siblings, but when it came to the safety of the woods and those he considered his “inner circle”, he was as serious as a heart attack. 

As he began to ask a question, he heard the shower water turn off. “Do you still have that camera hooked up outside?”

“Yeah. I don't have the motion sensor notify me everytime, since you guys would wake me up at three in the morning,” Taylor said. They pulled out their phone.  

“Sorry to interrupt your beauty sleep,” Noah said. He saw their eyes roll. 

Folio then came out of the bathroom, wearing sweats. He shook his head vigorously, sending water droplets flying. “Did you see what it was?” he asked. 

“Yeah, what little you left.”

“Hey! I didn't eat the whole thing! That shit was nasty!” Folio protested. 

Folio sometimes thought with his stomach rather than his head. It didn't help that Noah let him eat whatever he found sometimes, but that had to stop after he nearly ate Taylor the first time they went into the woods and got lost. It didn't prevent him from starving, though. Between some of the wild animals he'd catch, or whatever leftovers Nicholas would leave for him, he was eating pretty good. He was, after all, a twenty-five year- old stuck in a seventeen year-old body. 

“There's still cookies on the offering plate,” Taylor mumbled as they scrolled through camera footage. 

“Ooh, sweet!”

“Save some for Jolly!” Noah called over his shoulder as Folio bound for the front door. 

Taylor's shoulders slumped a little bit. “Come here,” he sighed, wrapping a long arm around them and pulling them into his wide torso. He was catching onto their moods quicker. He noticed that they liked stability and normality after stuff like this happened. 

And to think, he nearly killed them last year, too.

“Do you want one of us to stay with you until Nick gets home?” Noah asked. He felt them nod against his chest, leaving something wet behind. He sighed again, and kissed the top of their head. 

“I'll stay,” Folio said, mouth full. 

“The fuck did I just say?”

“I SAVED YOU AND JOLLY SOME!”

Noah heard a semi-hysterical giggle escape from Taylor. “Did you manage to find where the attack began?” he asked them. 

Taylor held up their phone, and Noah pressed play. He watched as Taylor ran into the house, and a few moments later the thing slowly crawled onto the porch. He moved the phone, but Taylor grabbed his wrist and held him fast. They wanted to see the monster too.

From the angle the camera was at, it looked like a hairless dog with too long hind legs. It loped around on all fours, back and forth on the porch several times. After a few minutes, Folio in his Grim form popped into frame, causing Taylor to jump, and he clamped his jaws onto the creature. 

“What is it?” Taylor asked. 

“I called them Pale Things. They're what happens to people who die in the woods,” Noah said. “I haven't seen them since the old Watcher would leave bodies left and right.”

“D-Do you know how tall they are when they stand up?” Taylor asked. 

Noah frowned at the odd question. “Why?” he asked. 

“Because something was standing at the edge of the woods, and this… Pale Thing seems too small to be that.”

Noah recalled when they had woken him. “Are you anywhere near the house?” They had mistaken this thing for him? That seemed impossible. 

So there might be something else out there. 

“Call Nick. I'm gonna get Jolly and we'll look around for anything,” Noah said. He then took the tin foil packets from Folio. “If anything that's not us or Nick comes within a hundred-foot radius of this property, fuck it up.” 

Folio grinned, making his sharp teeth more pronounced. “Abso-fuckin-lutely.”

Noah stood up, patting Taylor on the head in a way that he knew would annoy them. “Go back to sleep, Lil’ Rabbit. I'll be back with the sunrise.” He then walked out of the house that had once been his. 

With every step he took towards the woods, he transformed into a more comfortable form. His body stretched and grew as vines and branches broke through his skin, wrapping around his arms and legs. Bark and moss formed over that as if mocking clothes, but would break at his joints with a loud cracking sound. As he disappeared past the treeline, melting in with the other trees, his skull broke free and melded together so he no longer move his jaw. But the antlers remained; in fact, they grew to impressive lengths.

To some, he was monstrous. 

To him, he was The Watcher of the Woods.

tysm for reading! If you enjoyed this, please reblog to share the word of the Revered Father. Next chapter coming soon.

[candidhart]

Made this one some time ago and had the HONOR of collabing with my dear friend @royai who wrote this AMAZING piece!

Love u Katie :3

After Dark

by @royai

It came as a surprise to Riza Hawkeye that the light could be as fearsome as the dark.

It never occurred to her that trouble could exist in the thin space between the two, that it should preserve itself there for a hundred years, maybe longer, and wait. She imagined herself as a girl asleep in her bed, moonlight slanting through her four-paned glass window, a ferry for the monsters and the things that were worse than monsters. Children checked under their beds and inside their closets, refused to venture into cellars and attics, thought of warding off the unknown with fat oil lamps and candles melting into their brass candlesticks. That things with spindly arms and bodies blacker than ink could use light as a conduit for their demented games… 

That they could touch her, even…

Nightmares took up residence in Riza’s sleep. In her waking too, they lingered there, limned her mind with the briefest flashing of tendrils. She curled into herself at night, closed her eyes on the horrors. The blackness found her, though. A million spider’s legs on her body, ghosting the flesh, raising the hairs, and that line on her cheek where the monster had touched her would weep. And she would weep, too, because it had been so long since dread had forced its way in. The tendrils brought strange, frantic memories to the forefront. A panic as familiar as church bells. 

Riza’s father, a monster in his own right, in the way that men become monsters and in the way that she had become a kind of monster too. He never minded her but to be those tendrils in the dark. Never in the light. That was her comfort, her safety, her promise.

The light.

A betrayal.

***

Central reached for her like a beggar. Grimy hands, oil-stained, gunk under fingernails chipped and jagged, it closed its hands around her and she was reminded, again, again, again, about the stories her father would tell. He would tell them in his sleep, and make promises of them in her ear, and he would tell them, even, through mouthfuls of blood. That Central was a bastard city. Its towers, spires, and cobblestones bathed in storefront lights bleeding from ornate windows, in the yellow glow of street lamps. 

Riza left her apartment and slipped off a curb, first thing. 

She remembered her first night in the city. Automobiles flicked light into her windows, made shapes out of the lamp she kept on a pile of boxes in the living room. Shadows in the dark. There were sounds all the time. Movement like tree branches.

Back East, back home, Riza could wander into the fields when she couldn’t sleep. She took a military vehicle into the countryside, an hour or so west, just a bit further inward. It parked fine on the dirt roads. Headlights would go black, melt into the darkness all around, and the hip-high grass cradled her as she sank down, down into the cottony earth. Most people counted sheep to sleep; Riza counted stars, stalks. 

She always woke before the sun. Home in time to rinse the sticks from her hair and brew coffee on her electric stove. 

Central did not exist to afford her any of that. Central was alive like hordes of flies are alive. Incessant buzzing, a whirring in your ear that you can’t see, that you worry might bury itself in your eardrum. Even before the tendrils and the monsters Riza would lie awake in her bed, books unearthed from boxes, clothes folded in neat squares over her dresser, a chest of drawers not quite filled yet, her apartment unpacked and unsettled, and fret over the whole of it: Central. 

She slipped off the curb and scraped her achilles on the concrete. Her teeth crashed together with the force, and she massaged her jaw as she reached down to rub her wounded ankle, fingers coming away wet and red.

A car beat over the cobbled street, spewing dampness from its tires. Riza wasn’t aware that it had rained but she smelled it now, acute and intense, like a single pinprick on the skin. 

Out east, that smell was earthy, ancient: soaked stone and evergreens, swollen carriages and damp horse hide, wetted dirt and a choked fire. 

Riza took Longmont to Leander, cutting her way through the city via back alleys where moonlight and street light was caught on brick corners and cordoned off by severe angles. She read the stories of women assaulted in Central well past dark, and had seen all the headlines he placed strategically at her desk, a tiny dog-shaped paperweight holding the newspaper steady until the moment Riza could read it and be properly warned. But it was never the people of Central who made her uneasy.

It was several blocks to his apartment. Riza folded herself into the dark. The creature could follow but he could not show himself here, not without a conduit, not without the light. Everything black, nothing inside of it, a void. 

A rectangle of light exploded over the ground. Riza stopped, terror seizing her hard. A woman with greying hair hummed and whistled as she sprinkled water out over hanging potted plants. Riza’s chest bounced frantically as she watched the shadow of the woman’s hands in the light, the shadow of the watering can wandering back and forth across the chasm of yellow, methodical as a pendulum. 

It happened so suddenly that Riza had little time to react. A mist, a gathering shadow, one red eye peeked out at her from the fluttering darkness. Then, like snakes, tendrils crept out of the line of black and into the little patch of light. Riza willed the woman to close the window, begged her, thought for a moment that she might shout or cry, but it was likely that the woman would only become curious and the window would remain uncovered as she came to watch from her lighted perch. 

The monster was an ancient child and yet, in this form, none of his features were childlike. His smile was wolfish and cruel, thin like a knife’s blade, and his tendrils sharp as barbs. They thrashed up against the liquid dark where Riza was hiding, attempting to gather her by the ankles. 

The child spoke using a dozen voices.

“Where are you going, Lieutenant Hawkeye?”

Home, she thought. An impulse, the truth, spoken so carelessly in her mind. To him. To the stars or the stalks, that tall grass and damp earth. Somewhere known. 

“You have made a rather purposeful attempt to evade me.”

“Forgive me,” she bit, “but our last meeting was less than enjoyable.”

The monster smirked.

“Do I trouble you so much, little Riza?”

The nickname, familiar in sound, comforting in its use, was a bitter poison on his tongue. 

“I’ll ask again for transparency.” The tendrils clawed at the ground, raked it. “Where are you going?”

Away from Central. 

Away from the light.

To him. To him. To him. 

He’ll shut off all the lights, pull all the curtains closed, feed her hot tea and leftover lentil soup and summer sausage. His apartment will smell like cologne and the candle with petals baked into it, and they’ll settle into the down of his bed and see nothing, and the monster will never even realize he has lost. 

“You have only as long as the window stays open,” she said, gaining confidence. “I am not bound to you. I can go wherever I want.”

As she said it, the woman in the window started to stir. Her footsteps grew closer, the sound of the humming rising, rising, rising into the final closing of the curtain. The monster’s frown was washed away by the night.

Riza ran.

His apartment was several blocks east of Central Headquarters. The storm’s eye, the quiet, the massive, white and oppressive thing. Riza wound her way past it without managing to sneak a glance. She didn’t need to. She could feel its gaze on her, what all of it represented. And the squared coach lights were tiny pillars of threats, waiting for her to come closer and be beckoned. 

She thundered past several shuttered windows; an older man on a stoop hunched close to the ground; the sounds of women chattering together like preening birds, their heels clicking over cracked brick and concrete. 

Riza took the stairs two at a time, lunging forward through the hall light, praying nothing would lurch out from the darkness and drag her away. She learned at a young age to fear the sudden jerk of the unknown. 

“Lieutenant Hawkeye,” he said. He must have heard her coming, because his door was wrenched open, and he stood there in pajamas and holding a cup of tea, the bag still soaking. 

“We’ve had an emergency at the office, sir.”

His brows trundled downward. 

“Please, come in,” he said, and moved aside as she nearly tripped her way into his apartment. “Excuse the mess.”

There was no mess, not quite like someone would expect. The Colonel’s apartment was better kept than hers, although she had just moved and he had gotten to stay. Things were collected together in neat piles: alchemy books gathered at one arm of the couch, on the floor, an old mug sat atop them, and there were coats strewn about too, though placed strategically, two on dining chairs and one on the lounge by the front door. Pots hung together in clumps along his kitchen walls, white-tiled, much nicer than Riza’s tan wallpaper; and on his floor, beneath the coffee table, several sewn blankets, all gifts from the Madame’s girls, as far as anyone knew. 

Riza reached for one as she folded herself into his couch. “Please, sir. Can you turn off the lights?”

He set his tea on the counter. Again, he looked at her with concern, but the lights started to fall away the closer he came to her. First the kitchen, the six squares of dining space, the hall light he shut off as he sat opposite to her on the couch. The lamp was last. And finally, with the lights of Central thoroughly shut out, Riza could breathe.

It was much like how she would lock herself in the bathroom as a child, plugging the bottom of the door with a wet towel, the waxy shower curtain a flimsy barrier between herself and her raging father. Eventually he removed the locks, and then the knobs. Even now, she felt the cold,  hard press of the tub’s porcelain on her back. 

“Thank you.”

Silence, and then: “What are you doing here, Lieutenant?”

Coming home. 

“I’m not sure myself, sir.”

The Colonel shifted his weight. He was a full cushion away from her, but his heat radiated all the same. 

“What happened to your cheek?”

“I cut it on a bramble while fetching a lost toy for Hayate at the park.”

Fingers pressed to her skin, a thumb ran slanted along her wound. 

It was reminiscent of childhood, for sure. Riza had always courted this quiet, contemplative darkness. It was when she was a little older that she invited Roy into it, and he welcomed the invitation, and he was a kind, treasured guest. But tonight she was feeling particularly fragile. 

She took his hand and fit his knuckles under her chin. 

The monster had allowed her to be here, that much was certain. There was no other reason that he wouldn’t have stolen her from those stairs. 

She crushed Roy’s hand into herself. 

What was he after?

What was the motive?

Was it… afraid?

Roy leaned closer to her. His fingers squeezed hers. He wanted to say something, she knew, or ask her why she had come to him and begged for the dark. 

She would not tell him. Tomorrow, maybe, but tonight she was fragile. 

Riza found his mouth in the dark. She set his hand free and it wrapped itself around the curve of her neck, tipping her head back. His other hand gave her hair a gentle tug. 

“Are you all right?” he managed to ask around her lips, while she occupied herself with tracing the scars on his hip and in his abdomen. She gripped the hem of his t-shirt and pulled him toward her until she was on her back and he had to brace himself against the arm of the couch. “Lieutenant,” he said, though the sentiment was weak, ill-willed. He was attempting and failing at control.

“I’m all right,” she said, and kissed him again. He tasted like his tea. Again his fingers brushed the cut on her cheek, and as they did she was shocked, jolted. She broke away from him and sat upright. “I’m, uh…”

“I really just need to know if you’re all right.” 

“I’m going to go.”

“Lieutenant— Riza.”

The name was too much, the break in her skin was too much, the darkness was not enough. It was not enough. The curtain hadn’t been enough. The porcelain. All the nights cascaded in the dark, the world pulling itself to a close around her, fitting like a glove. 

“I have to go.”

The Colonel kept to his place on the couch as she stood and put her hand on the door and wondered again about what the monster wanted. 

She hadn’t known as a child, and she had survived anyway.

She had survived.

The light swallowed her whole.

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

Heal

finished up an old wip for mystery march day 1! i had most of this written already so don’t expect this much for the other days, if i even do them at all, lol.

Lewis floats backwards, motion jittery, seemingly caught between freezing and fleeing - and then his already faint form vanishes entirely, and the sinking heart drops. Arthur lunges, and manages to snatch it from the air before it hits the ground.

He holds the heart tight in his hands. The familiar warmth, the feeling of comfort and safety, is almost gone, leaving the metal cold and lifeless. He swallows back a sob and looks around. No sign of Vivi or Mystery yet. But that beat is barely more than a faint tremor, and he can feel it starting to fall apart in his hands...

No, no, he can't let this keep going. He folds the heart to his chest, doubling over it, hoping to share his body heat or his heartbeat or something, anything he can give to not let it shatter.

For a long moment, the world is silent save for the sound of his ragged breathing, broken by quiet sobs and whimpers. His hands are starting to feel numb from clutching the anchor so tight, but a low heat begins to pulse against his chest, a slowed-down match to his own racing heart.

Good, that's good, Lewis will be okay - everything will be okay as long as he doesn't let go. His arms are starting to shake, and the whole world is fuzzy, but it's okay, because there's that familiar warmth, nestled next to his heart even as the rest of his body grows cold.

...is he falling forward... or is it just vertigo?

He holds on to that little anchor-point of warmth, a light he can see behind his eyes, as everything else drifts away.

---

Vivi and Mystery walk into the room where Arthur had gone, and freeze for a moment.

Arthur's lying on the floor, unconscious and visibly shivering even from here, a spot of faint gold loosely cupped in his hands.

Both of them rush forward together. He's holding Lewis's anchor, which is glowing weakly and covered in spiderweb cracks. Full of his life, and it isn't hard for Mystery to guess what's made Arthur so weak - he's used his power as a medium, and willingly shared his soul's energy with Lewis, to keep the heart from shattering. He'd given so much and it's still so broken. Lewis may still not be able to regenerate on his own, but at the same time, Arthur doesn’t have much strength left to lose, and if he does...

Conflicted and desperate, Mystery lunges forward and takes the heart in his teeth, moving as quickly as he can so as not to stay close to Arthur for any longer than he has to. It isn't hard, and then he starts to back up-

-but then, as Vivi's reaching for Arthur, he rouses, just a little bit - and with a weak, frightened gasp, reaches forward and, in a motion that makes Mystery flinch, snatches the anchor right out of his mouth. 

He promptly curls up around it again, even tighter now, fresh tear-tracks running down his face. Mystery just whines, scrambling back. That even barely awake, Arthur could have brought himself to do that, he could scarcely believe. Reached into the mouth of a monster, to get Lewis's heart. To... protect his friend, from...

"Mystery!" Vivi's voice sharp as ice, jolts him out of his thoughts. She's hunched over Arthur's shaking form, hand hovering uncertainly over his folded-up arms, where the heart would be if they could see it. "Is that thing- is it going to-"

Right. He starts thinking again, giving the two - one living, the other dead, both barely hanging on to each other - a careful sniff. They've shared so much energy they're barely distinguishable anymore, but... "...it doesn't matter now. It isn't actively draining him, but anchor or no, we need to get somewhere safe." "I'm taking it."

He jumps, torn between lunging forward and flinching back. "No, don't- ...taking it from him will only cause him more stress, and that's the last thing he needs now. You saw what he did for- just let him hold it."

He gives her a look, and she lowers her hand.

"If we get him home..."

"The wards around the house should give him some strength back. He'll recover on his own, in time, but they'll help." He sighs and bows his head. "He's fine, Vivi. Please trust me."

She swallows hard. "Okay. G- let's- take him home."

Take them both home, Mystery corrects in his mind, but doesn't say out loud. 

---

Vivi carries Arthur into the house, draped awkwardly around her and still holding tight to the heart. She sets him down on the bed - Lewis's, because it's easiest to get to, and definitely not because she was on autopilot and subconsciously steered herself there. For a moment she debates whether to tuck him in, too, but ultimately decides against it - she doesn't want to jostle him any more, and he'll probably want to leave as soon as he wakes up anyway.

She leaves the room and finds Mystery waiting on the couch, staring out the window with as much solemn dignity as a tiny dog can muster.

"Does he... seem alright?" he asks her hesitantly, as she sits down next to him.

"I don't know," she snaps back, with more force than she meant to use. She shouldn't be annoyed, he's just worried - but she and Mystery both know that no amount of ancestral power has given her the ability to sense spirits. The only possible clue she can glean about his condition is that he isn't awake yet.

If he's bothered by that, he doesn't show it. He sighs and lays his head on her leg.

"They'll be alright," he tells her. "Both of them."

"Right. My best friend and that ghost I'm supposed to care about." Her voice is acidic, but this time, she doesn't really care. "Even after he almost gets Arthur killed, again-"

"Vivi-"

"I know-"

"-he was almost lost, too. If-"

"I don't care!" 

Mystery's ears flick back, and he stops talking, turning away from her and back towards the window. It's quiet for a moment.

"I just..." tears are welling in her eyes. "I don't understand why this... this ghost means so much to him. That he'd do this for him..." she sniffs. "After he- hunted him, tried to kill him, hated him? Blamed him for things he never did and wanted him dead over it? Why should he get to be forgiven?"

"Vivi," Mystery cautions. The fire in her voice is starting to sound too much like the old Lewis she's railing against.

"I know, I know. But I- it's hard for me not to look at... at him, at them, and not just see... another person Arthur's letting push him around, because he feels like he has to."

Mystery's heart aches at hearing that. If only she could understand just how far from the truth she was. "You know Arthur's feelings are genuine. He cares for Lewis, enough to fight you over it."

"I know, I know. I just..." she sighs, and her gaze wanders away. "I know Lewis is important to him. And I know- all the stuff everyone's said, about who he was."

Who he is, Mystery adds.

"But I don't remember it. And the worst part is - I can feel myself not remembering. I know there's a block there, that there's a gap, but... knowing isn't making it go away any faster." She kicks at the floor, brow furrowed. "And it's his fault, and I'm mad at him for that - but I also feel bad, because I know he doesn't want it there. He never meant to do this to me, and now... I have no idea who he is."

"Give it time. And trust. If not in Lewis and I-" and I couldn't blame you if you didn't, he thinks somberly, "-then in Arthur."

She nods weakly. "I... I'm trying."

---

Lewis wakes up first, and he feels… strange.

Mostly he feels tired. Everything’s heavy, and his body aches like he’s just run a marathon, and there’s a funny feeling of static in his head. It’s been a long time since he really felt tired.

He forces his eyes open. The first thing he registers is that he’s in bed – his bed – and there’s Arthur next to him, looking fast asleep. His anchor is folded tight against his chest. It looks pretty sad, pale grey and covered in cracks. Huh. He remembers it being damaged, but not… that badly. No wonder he feels so awful.

He reaches out and touches it. There’s little more than a flicker in response – its usual beat is faint enough to be almost invisible, and it’s barely warm at all. He can see a faint golden glow at the center, almost entirely covered by Arthur’s hands, but other than that, it’s entirely colorless. Or, no, not entirely – around the edges of the cracks, something he’d mistaken for reflections of his own glow at first, are thin lines of pink.

He lets himself fall back onto the bed, and finds himself staring at Arthur’s face. He looks pretty bad too – tired and drained, even asleep, with dark shadows under his eyes. -Was he attacked, too? A jolt of fear goes through him at the thought – but when he reaches out, he finds he’s not hurt, just… faint. Drained, he repeats in his head.

What happened after…? He tries to remember, but all that comes back is the jeering and sharp claws of the monster, as it did its best to cut his body to ribbons and kept repeating things it shouldn’t have been able to know. You monster. Look at yourself, full of anger and hate and violence. Why are you pretending? You should have disappeared long ago, and you’re putting all your so-called friends in danger with your selfishness. Just give it up already.

Despite himself – despite the fact that he knows it was lying – he still feels tears welling up again, as he replays its words. He folds himself up against Arthur, letting his face rest in his hair, and does his best to cry quietly.

After a while he feels him stir, and pulls back a bit to meet his eyes. Arthur just stares at him for a moment in silence – and then his expression shifts and suddenly he throws one arm around his shoulders, the other one still holding the anchor tight.

“Lewis,” he half-whispers into his chest, sounding scared and relieved and thankful all at once. “‘was- was s-s-so worried…”

“Worried?” he echoes. His voice sounds funny to him, buzzing oddly.

“You- your a- your heart, it… it…” he sniffs, and the hand holding the locket shifts a little. “I… I th-thought it was gonna… that- th-that you were… broken…”

“Oh,” he breathes. “No- no. I’m here. I’m okay.” He pulls him closer, his thin frame almost disappearing in his arms.

He feels a little selfish admitting it, even to himself, but having Arthur here, so upset by the very thought of him disappearing, is… it’s reassuring. It directly contradicts the anxiety hanging over him.

Both of them start a little when the door clicks open, and they look up to see Vivi standing there. Her face tightens when she sees Lewis, expression unreadable.

They sit up a little. Still holding the locket, Arthur pulls himself higher and folds his other arm around Lewis, almost… protectively.

Vivi turns her attention to Arthur first. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired… but fine.”

It takes Lewis a moment to realize she’s staring at him now, and a moment longer to accept that the question was directed at both of them. “I… I’m okay. I don’t think I’ll be… a hundred percent for a while, but… I’m fine.”

She nods, exhaling heavily.

“Vivi…” Lewis speaks up, prompting her to turn her eyes towards him. “What happened? I don’t…”

“Your anchor got broken. Arthur used his own life to heal it.”

“…oh."

He waits for a jab from her, an accusation or judgement, as he’s come to expect any time Arthur helps him… but none comes. Her voice is a little pointed, and her expression certainly isn’t friendly, but… it’s the first time in a long while since she didn’t look disgusted by him.

She swallows thickly and looks between the two of them. After another moment, her gaze lands on Arthur. “You… have to be more careful.”

He just leans on Lewis a little harder with a hum of acknowledgement.

Lewis waits for the parting warning, but once again, she just… doesn’t say anything. She turns and leaves, shutting the door behind her, without another word to him.

“Did she…” even Lewis isn’t sure where he’s going with the question, lingering in the air as he stares at the door.

Arthur huffs a sigh and lays back down, pulling Lewis to the bed with him. There’s a moment of silence, and then Lewis speaks. “Should I… do you want me to take my anchor back?” 

Arthur blinks, squinting like he’s having a hard time keeping his eyes open. “Oh- I mean, if- if you want, but… I… I like to- to hold it. I want to… keep it s-s-safe.”

“Oh.”

For a while the only sound is Arthur’s breathing.

“Did you really… do that? Share your… your life…?”

“I guess?” He shrugs, looking away. “Not on p-purpose. I was just… scar- sc-scared that you’d disappear, and I- I guess…”

It takes him a moment to form a response to that. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You didn’t.” The answer is quick and easy.

Lewis just stares at him for a moment, brow furrowing, and then he shifts a little, curling up and pressing his head against Arthur’s chest. He feels a little… silly, embarrassed maybe, needing comfort like this, but… he pushes it aside.

He thinks about saying something else. Thank you, or I’m sorry, or I love you. But instead he just closes his eyes, feeling the rhythm of Arthur’s heartbeat and the quiet, living warmth of his chest, and lets himself drift into a comfortable, thoughtless sleep.

[sidespromptblog]

Snowden: Part 3

Part 1, Part 2

Warnings:  Mentions of freezing to death, general recklessness, Logan angst, and Deceit angst. 

Summary:  Virgil was supposed to be relaxing. This vacation wasn’t becoming very relaxing…

Word Count: 2535

AO3 LINK

The entire cabin was dead quite.

From the side of the couch Virgil watched Deceit’s still unmoving body like a bloodhound that refused to move from its post, he had been there for hours, and honestly, he wasn’t planning on moving anytime soon if he had anything to say about it. He watched the rise and fall of Deceit’s chest, hardly even daring to blink as if that would erase that one sign of life completely out of existence forever. 

Remus, roughly had the same idea. As he sat there at the end of the couch that the dishonest side was sprawled out on under what must have been a hundred blankets, coats, and even scarves. He had Deceit’s feet on his lap, his hands securely curled around them as if letting them go for even a second would mean certain death for the other side. He had stopped crying, but the messy stains of his eyeshadow were a reminder of just how desperate he had been the moment that he had seen Deceit’s lifeless body cradled in Virgil’s arms, a reminder of just how close they had both come. It was a startling similarity that both he and Remus shared.

They had both come close to losing someone that they had taken for granted. 

“He never stopped hoping you know,” Remus’ raspy voice broke the silence with nothing more than a whisper. Swallowing roughly, he gingerly patted one of Deceit’s sock covered feet. “He always hoped that you’d be happy with the others, and even if you weren’t… he.. he hoped that you knew you could come back despite how things had ended. You know how he is.” 

Virgil did, and yet he didn’t all at the same time. 

When he had ducked out, the voice in his head had told him rather scornfully that he would never be welcome among the dark sides again. The night that he had left had been the end in his mind, he had said things, Deceit had said things, and Remus… well Remus always said things. To him, he had always thought that they would turn him away, or laugh in his face if he were to tell them about what had happened with Patton and the others. It had never crossed his mind that Deceit would ever welcome him back, let alone with open arms. 

So when the dishonest side revealed himself after taking Patton’s form, he had…

He had assumed the worst. 

Guilt swirled inside of Virgil just like the snowstorm outside, “I…” The words felt like lead on his tongue, “I’m sorry.” He began, just to immediately be stopped. 

“Are you?” Remus sharply asked, the facade of crude words and humor gone as those haunted eyes started into Virgil, as if he were nothing more than a crystal ball. “You don’t act it. You hiss at him, you call us the bad guys, and don’t think I didn’t hear about how you told Thomas that you were ‘one of us’ at one point. Like were some dirty things at the bottom of your shoe. We hear it all Virgil!” He snarled, his grip tightening around Deceit’s foot, “So what is it?! Are you sorry for how you’ve treated us, or are you sorry about being associated with us?! Because sometimes it’s really hard to tell! Are you or are you not ashamed of us?!”

Remus’ rage reminded him of Charon, the dark unfathomable look in his eyes, the curl of his upper lip right before he started shouting, and… the way that his body seemed to fold over Deceit’s almost protectively. 

It wasn’t hard to tell just who Remus hung out with after Virgil was no longer in the picture. 

It made something in his stomach sour at the mere thought of it. 

“We want to be accepted Virgil, just like you were. Is that really so hard to believe that we don’t have something nefarious planned?” Remus’ voice sounded wet, as all of the anger flooded out of him leaving the creative side to desperately look back at Virgil with something close to tears. “Why is it that you only want this too for yourself, and nobody else? Are you that hypocritical?” 

That stung. 

Remus stopped talking, his eyes boring into Virgil’s clearly waiting for some kind of answer. An answer that would solve all of this, solve the years of neglect, abandonment, and years of ignorance from Virgil’s side of the equation. And with it all…

With all of the excuses that he could use, turning the blame onto someone else, or just ignoring the question… 

Virgil didn’t have an answer. 

“I don’t…” Terror filled his stomach at the realization, he didn’t… he didn’t know why. He didn’t know why he had ignored Deceit and Remus all of these years. He didn’t know why he wouldn’t allow them to step into the light. Deceit in his own way was self-preservation as Patton had said, and Remus… well Remus was a part of creativity just like Logan had told him. “I don’t know…” Virgil whispered, that same panic he had felt before clawing at his insides. “I wasn’t sure what I felt, or what I was thinking. I was just.. I just felt like I needed to stop you two. There wasn’t any rhyme or reason I just felt…”

“Scared.” Everything came to a screeching halt at that one word, at that one little word that so perfectly summed everything up for him. “You were scared, Virgil.” Remus sighed, and what little energy he’d had left seemed to drain right out of him. He looked tired, the deep-set circles under his eyes still there just hidden by layers of eyeshadow and foundation. Virgil knew that he didn’t look much better all things considered. “I don’t know why,” Remus began, his thumbs rubbing the soles of Deceit’s feet as if the motion was to calm himself and nobody else. “It’s not like we would have hurt you, we’re not monsters...”

Virgil rather pointedly decided this was not the right time to bring up that Charon had punched, rather solidly, in the stomach. 

“You need to talk to us Virgil,” Remus grimaced for a second, “And I know that I’m sounding too much like Deceit or fuck forbid Logan, but… he’s right sometimes. If you’re that scared, and your anxiety is fucking with you that badly… then please talk to someone. It doesn’t even have to be us, just someone, you can’t keep it to yourself all the time. You’re not meant to.” 

He was right, of course, he was right. He hadn’t known what else to do when the thoughts of Deceit, Remus, or even Charon hurting him had come into his head. He hadn’t known what to even say the mere idea of ducking out seemed much easier than just talking to them instead of running away. But there was one thing that he did know, right here and now. 

A dry puff of a laugh escaped Virgil, with only just a touch of humor behind it. “You do sound like Logan.”

And just like that, a good-natured groan answered him, and Remus threw his head back against the back of the couch.

“Now you’re really killing me,” He grinned sharply, “Go for a slower death next time okay Stormcloud? I don’t think I can take death by Logan, he’s far too scary.” 

At that Virgil had to snort, if there was one thing that they could agree upon it was very much that. And Remus had yet to even hear Logan give one of his “falsehood” shouts, that made his ears ring just about every time he heard them no matter where Logan was, be it in his bedroom or downstairs with everyone else.    

For just a moment their conversation gradually lulled itself into silence, with nothing but the flickering of the fireplace to fill that void as their attention gradually shifted back over to Deceit. His chest rose and fell as it had been doing for the past few hours, although his expression remained as dead as it had been from the moment that Virgil had carried him into the cabin. His lips were no longer blue, so there was at least that to note. He wasn’t dead, he wasn’t going to die, Deceit would be alright. 

As soon as he woke up at least. 

“Remus?” Virgil softly asked, his voice nothing more than a whisper as if anything an octave higher would wake the dishonest side up. “What are we going to do when he wakes up? Like… what should we do? Charon said…” And just like that he bit his lip as Remus’ attention snapped over to him at the mention of the usually slumbering side, “He said that Deceit willingly stayed outside, to you know… die.” 

Would Deceit even want to see him? Would he scowl at him? Would he ignore him? Would he… would he try again? Would he wait until all of them were asleep, and venture out in the dead of night when he knew that nobody would stop him and sit there until he no longer had a pulse and faded aw-

“Stop.” Remus’ voice stopped him dead, his head fastened around Deceit’s feet even tighter now as if that would ensure that Virgil wouldn’t notice that his entire body was shaking. Whether it was with rage, fear, or sorrow Virgil didn’t know. “When he wakes up… You apologize. You apologize and you mean it, do you understand. Don’t apologize like you did to me, apologize like.. like…” The creative side gulped, his watery eyes staring down at Deceit as if that was the only thing left to do. “After that… we’ll see. We’ll watch him, and… and we’ll make sure that he’s okay. That’s the only thing that matters.”

And just like that Virgil was bobbing his head in agreement. 

They would watch, and they would protect him. Virgil would protect him, just like he did with Thomas, and just like he did with all of the other sides. He wouldn’t allow Deceit to be forgotten anymore, and he wouldn’t let him be alone in cold any longer. 

He was the protector, and it was time he started protecting everybody. 

Virgil gave another nod, “Okay,” He firmly said, something like resolve taking the place that fear once had. And without even thinking, he scooted closer to the couch and slid his hand under the piles of blankets until he found Deceit’s hand. 

Clasping it tight as he could, Virgil held on and hoped that his little warmth would be enough to help Deceit wake up. 

From the end of the hallway out of the two sides’ line of sight, Logan stood his arms crossed in front of his chest as he watched the lull in the conversation between the creative side and Virgil, as the anxious side laid his head next to Deceit’s shoulder gradually nodding off. 

He wasn’t alone in his watching. 

Next to him stood the tall side with the bright orange bowtie and cracked glasses, casually resting his shoulder against the logical side’s as if it were no problem at all. This certainly wasn’t the first time that the other side had made himself known to just Logan, leaving the other light sides none the wiser of his presence. Even to this day, Logan wasn’t entirely certain as to why that was, perhaps it was just that Logan was aware of all of them just as Deceit was. Or maybe it was that, for some reason, the bowtie clad side actually liked him as strange as that was. He didn’t understand it, but then again…

Maybe he wasn’t meant to. 

Logic and Recklessness did go hand in hand, in a strange sort of way. 

After all, how else was science supposed to get done?

“Thank you,” He finally said, shifting his gaze to Charon, who remained staring ahead at the three sides resting on the couch. “For warning Virgil. I know that you aren’t strong enough to do a lot of things outside the mindspace, so doing… that was hard on your current form. But… thank you.” 

At this Charon finally turned to him, almost seeming to reward him with a sharp-toothed grin as he bumped his shoulder against the logical side’s.

“Of course dear,” The orange side practically purred, a layer of suaveness covering the emotions that he truly felt about the thanks coming from the logical side. “If Deceit were to die, then I’d have to wake up for good, and well… that’s no fun at all.” 

And just like that, a pair of fingers walked along Logan’s arm and up to his shoulders, until the fingers could finally grasp the logical side’s face, turning it to face Charon’s. 

He looked dead serious, no grin in sight.

“Don’t you try anything like that dear, I’ve seen their actions, I’ve heard Virgil’s words toward you when Remus revealed himself.” Charon gently wiggled his grip on Logan’s face, making a lock of Logan’s hair fall in front of his face. “I’ve heard your thoughts, dear. And that just won’t do for you.” 

A feeling similar to shame coiled in Logan’s belly, but it was gone by the time that Charon’s thumb swept over the logical side’s cheek gathering the attention back on him. 

He moved closer ensuring that Logan’s eyes had nowhere else to look but him. “I mean it,” He softly uttered, “I don’t want to come and replace you, they all need you. And I… I would rather not have to your thoughts becoming a reality. Understand?”

Something soft curled on Logan’s tongue, something not too far from the feeling of flower petals against his fingertips or even like the taste of having a favorite dessert after a long long time of not being able to eat it. Logically he knew what it was, and he knew what the feeling was after months of researching after the first time that Charon had himself known to Logan.

It was the pure undeniable fact that someone cared about him. 

It tasted beautiful.

Swallowing thickly, Logan licked his lips. “Of course,” He began, a tiny hint of a smile crawling on his lips. “I’ll be sure to knock over a beaker if I’m ever in the mood for your company… Charon.” 

There was a hint of a smirk, a flash of teeth, and brown eyes hidden behind broken glasses and the reckless side was gone. Most likely back to Thomas’ mind to continue his slumber under Logan wanted to see him next, or when one of them did something stupid again. Which… all things considered, wasn’t too far off into the future if Thomas’ life and his troubles were anything to worry about. 

Logan would see him again, especially considering that he was already starting to miss the empty space where the other side had just stood. 

“Logan! Can you help me in the kitchen!” Patton’s voice called out, snapping him from the rather melancholy daze. “I want to make Deceit some soup!”

And just like that Logan was off, hurrying to the kitchen before Patton could burn himself on the stove.

[tripleaxeldiaz]

don’t wanna hand you all my trouble (don’t wanna give you all my demons)

TW: descriptions of nightmares about eddie's time in afghanistan, description of a panic attack

read on ao3

The nightmares don’t start after Afghanistan. They start when Eddie is seven and there’s a monster under his bed.

It wakes him from a dead sleep, and he swears he can hear the scratch of claws on the hardwood, the gnashing of teeth just beneath his head. He yells for his mom, who comes racing in like a knight in shining armor, even if her armor is just a bathrobe. She scours the underside of the bed and finds nothing, but stays with Eddie until he’s asleep again. He knows if that thing comes back, she’ll protect him no matter what.

He yells for her every time, and every time she comes.

Until one night, his dad comes instead.

That night, he sits Eddie on the edge of his bed, tells him that monsters aren’t real, and that boys shouldn’t yell for their mom every time they’re scared. That boys will one day turn into men who will have to fight off truly monstrous things on their own, so it’s best to start now so Eddie is prepared.

He stops yelling for his mom, but the monsters don’t stop coming.

They change as he gets older — from creatures in the night to fears of losing his friends or his family to worries about failing classes to worries about his future. Sometimes they’re so abstract he doesn’t remember details beyond the ice cold terror in his veins. They wake him every time, sometimes several nights in a row, and every time he fights the urge to yell, to find comfort somewhere other than himself. Reminds himself that he’s a man, and that men have to save themselves. He breathes deeply, tries to slow his racing heart and go back to sleep. He gets better at it, at calming himself down, until he eventually forgets he ever needed someone else to help him in the first place.

Then he goes to war. He sees the monstrous things his dad warned him about, and he’s not even close to prepared.

By the time he comes back, he’s seen and done things that would keep the scariest, gruesomest monster from sleeping soundly. He’s left chunks of himself behind in sand dunes and medic tents, drying into dust, disappearing into the desert. And he’s waking up in a cold sweat almost every night, mind foggy with images of the people he couldn’t save, everything he did wrong. But he still can’t make himself cry out for help, because he still remembers that he has to save himself. Even more so now, because saving himself means saving the people he loves from being exposed to every terrible thing that he sees every time he closes his eyes. 

So the nightmares don’t start after Afghanistan. But they don’t get any easier, either.

~~~~~~~~~~

He gets a few years of peace. Maybe less peace and more pure exhaustion from working nonstop and raising a kid on his own. He rarely falls into a deep enough sleep to feel rested, and there are still some nights where he wakes up to a vague feeling of panic sitting like lead in his stomach. 

The whirlwind of moving halfway across the country and starting his life over again keeps him just as tired. They’ve been in Los Angeles for six months before Eddie finally starts to feel settled. Chris loves his school, they have Carla, and Eddie has the 118. His new family and his new...Buck. For the first time in a while, he feels like he’s on his way to something like happiness.

So of course, one day, one seemingly good day where calls are light and Buck keeps shooting sunny smiles his way, he goes to take a nap in the bunks and is met with blood and screams. He’s trying desperately to move nameless bodies to safety, but he’s not fast enough, not strong enough. They’re screaming his name now, trying to get his attention as they’re picked off one by one. They get louder and louder and louder until—

“Eddie!”

He wakes with a start, doesn’t see bodies any more, just Buck, his brow furrowed in concern, hands held out placatingly towards Eddie. His head whips side to side a few times, remembering he’s at work and he’s safe. He sits up on the bunk, still shaken, crossing his legs as Buck moves to sit down beside him, slowly, like he’s waiting for Eddie to tell him to leave. Eddie doesn’t.

“Sorry Buck, I didn’t mean—”

Buck shakes his head. “You don’t have to apologize. Are you okay?”

It’s been a while since anyone has asked him that.

“I’m fine, just a bad dream.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

No one’s ever asked him that.

And the thing is, his first instinct is to say yes. Because he does — he wants to expel some of the pent up terrors so that maybe he can sleep soundly again. He wants to drain it from his mind, watch it all swirl down the sink and into the ocean, get rid of it for good. 

But he knows it’s not that easy. And he still hears his dad’s voice telling him to save himself.

“I’m alright man, but thanks.” Buck doesn’t look like he believes him, but he lets it go, heads out of the bunk room with one last glance at Eddie, brow still furrowed. The door shuts behind him, and Eddie falls back on the bed. Lays there for another 30 minutes but can’t fall back asleep.

He stops napping at work after that. It’s easier to deny the nightmares when no one can see them.

But then Shannon comes back. Then she’s gone for good. Then Buck gets crushed by a ladder truck. Then he almost loses Chris and Buck to a tsunami.

Suddenly real life is more of a nightmare than anything he sees in his sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~

The solution, it seems, is exhaustion. After back to back shifts, after staying up with Chris as he cries through his own nightmares, Eddie is able to sleep for at least a few hours at a time. He hesitates to call it “peaceful”, but he doesn’t hear any screams, at least. 

But as Chris slowly starts sleeping through the night again, he has to find other ways to tire himself out. Sometimes it’s a midnight workout in the living room, sometimes it’s deep cleaning the kitchen at 1:00am. Sometimes it’s just staring listlessly at the TV until his eyes are too heavy and he passes out on the couch, woken by sunlight and reruns of Golden Girls. It’s not perfect, it’s probably not healthy, but it keeps him rested enough to make it through the day, and he doesn’t feel ice anywhere.

He should have known it was too easy, too good to be true.

He turns off the TV, spreading a blanket over Buck where he’s dead to the world on the couch, passed out halfway through the baseball game they were watching after Chris went to sleep. His curls are soft on the pillow and he looks relaxed like this, far more relaxed than Eddie can ever remember seeing him when he’s awake. It’s overwhelmingly tempting to run his fingers through those curls, trace down his jawline, over his birthmark, but Eddie shakes the thought from his head and quickly heads toward his room. He sticks his head into Chris’s room, smiling as he hears his heavy breathing, sees him star-fished on his bed. As he gets into bed himself, he can’t help but marvel at how normal tonight was. His best friend and his son eating dinner together, watching a movie, sharing easy jokes and laughter like the past few months hadn’t scarred the both of them, physically and emotionally. And Eddie got to witness it all, felt a contentment settle in him that follows him as he closes eyes, that almost makes him forget what can happen when exhaustion isn’t forcing him to sleep.

Almost.

He feels the bullets whizzing past him, feels the scratch of sand underneath his hands. He looks around at the carnage, but the bodies aren’t nameless this time. It’s his platoon, the 118, Shannon, Christopher. Buck. They’re all lying motionless and it’s his fault, their blood is staining every inch of him and he can’t scrub it off. He hears screaming and crying, doesn’t realize it’s his own until his throat is raw and he tastes salt. He failed again, and no amount of tears will fix it.

He’s still crying when he wakes up, gasping for air, still feels sand between his fingers. He tries to calm down, taking shuddering breaths in and out, but it’s too much and not enough and he feels light-headed. He hears movement down the hall and quickly slips out of bed and into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him, sinking to the ground. He’s shaking so bad his teeth are chattering, and he clamps a hand over his mouth as another scream threatens to fall out of him without his permission. 

This is far and away the worst he’s ever been after a nightmare, and he’s not sure what to do. He feels even more lost and helpless than usual, and he has no idea when it will stop.

The first knocks are so soft he misses them, mistakes them for his body shaking the door as he leans against it. The second knocks are louder, a little more urgent, followed by a twist of the doorknob.

“Eddie? It’s me, can I come in?”

Eddie doesn’t answer, just shifts to lean against the bathtub so the door can open. The knob turns again and there’s Buck, looking wide eyed and a little scared himself, like he too just woke up from some horror in his sleep. Eddie meets his eyes and sees them soften as he takes him in — he’s not sure what he looks like, but his face feels puffy and he can feel dried tear tracks, so it’s probably not pretty. He looks away as Buck moves towards him, sliding to sit next to him against the bathtub. He’s close but they’re not touching, which is good because Eddie is fighting down another wave of agony, another scream is trying to claw its way out, and he doesn’t think he can handle any kind of interaction just yet.

Buck must feel it too, somehow, because he waits. Doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t say anything, just waits.

Eddie calms down — not completely, but enough to feel like he can function — and leans his head back against the cool edge of the tub, taking a deep breath. He chances a look over to Buck and sees him watching. He tries to smile, reassure him that this is nothing, but it feels like more of a grimace. It’s too much this time, even for his well-conditioned brain, and he can’t fake it.

Buck’s eyes search his face, and Eddie sees his hand twitch toward him out of the corner of his eye. 

“Can I touch you?” Buck asks softly. Eddie freezes — he hadn’t ever really considered that that’s a thing you can ask at a time like this, something he could say no to — before nodding, because his whole body is still buzzing and he thinks Buck might be able to ground him. 

He usually does.

Buck reaches his hand out slowly, wrapping long fingers around Eddie’s before sliding them together. He brings Eddie’s hand into his lap, holding it between both of his, slowly tracing his thumb over Eddie’s knuckles. He still feels like a live wire, but he doesn’t want to scream anymore. He meets Buck’s eyes and sees understanding and sadness and other things that Eddie’s always hoped to see but can’t process right this moment. He hopes he’ll get to see them again soon.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

There’s that question again. 

And Eddie does, actually truly does. It’s clear he can’t save himself like he’s been told he’s supposed to, and maybe he shouldn’t have to, so he wants someone’s help. He knows Buck will help him, will protect him from whatever he can’t handle on his own.

He always does.

But Eddie’s tired and ripped open and doesn’t want to think about or relive anything right now. He squeezes Buck’s hand where it’s still tightly clasped. 

“Not yet. But I will.”

Buck’s shoulders relax just a bit, like he’s relieved it wasn’t an outright refusal. They stay on the ground together until Eddie moves to get up, holding tighter when Buck tries to disentangle their hands. They walk towards Eddie’s bed together, and Eddie scoots to the far side, still not letting go.

“Will you stay? Please?” Eddie asks, whisper loud in the quiet room.

Buck pauses for a moment before climbing in as well, settling under the covers on his side, facing Eddie. Buck looks nervously down at their hands then back up to Eddie.

“Can I—”

Eddie’s grabbing Buck’s shirt before he finishes, pulling them as close together as possible, wrapping his arms around Buck’s waist and burying his face in his chest. Buck doesn’t hesitate to press his face into Eddie’s hair, hands rubbing is back slowly, soothingly.

“Of course I’ll stay, Eddie. I’ll stay as long as you’ll let me. I promise.”

For the first time in too long, Eddie falls into a dreamless sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, he talks. Not much, but more than he has since he was seven. He feels a little less tense afterwards, breathes a little easier.

The next day, he talks more.

The next week, more.

So on and so on.

And Buck stays. Just like he promised.

[fangmaw]

misc vampire bf scene #1

Hex grumbled and shifted on the couch, pressing his face more firmly against Caleb's thigh. The ghoul has been in and out of sleep for the past half hour or so, and had begun drooling on Caleb's jeans. Despite being broader and taller than Caleb by a significant measure, Hex found a way to curl up on the couch so Caleb was forced to wrap around him. Caleb carefully closed his laptop and set it aside, freeing his hands to brush along Hex's shoulder. Even under the heavy knit if his sweater, Caleb could feel the warp of his muscle. He pushed a little harder, hoping to gently rouse his partner.

"Hey, movie's over."

Caleb could feel Hex shift slightly as he began to wake up, but it was obvious when the larger man startled back to life, reflexively tensing for a moment before pushing himself up.

"Sorry to wake you up. I'm just looking out for your sleep schedule." Caleb smiled at the hulking shape pressed against his side.

Hex yawned, exposing a mouth full of bladed teeth, wet and dripping. He noticed the crust on his face and wiped at it with his sleeve as he cast his eyes downward.

"Was I drooling on you?"

Caleb laughed. "Don't worry about it. Hell, if you didn't get all slobbery with your face pressed against my delicious leg-meat, I'd be offended." Caleb rotated so his back was pressed against the arm of the couch.

Hex rolled his eyes. If Caleb didn't know better, he'd say the other man was blushing. "I was at a weird angle, shut up."

Grinning, Caleb reached for the arm nearest him and tugged Hex closer. Hex humored him by following the gentle tension to face Caleb.

"I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact you're long overdue for a treat. It's been what, two weeks?"

Hex fidgeted and stared at his knees. "Two and a half," he mumbled.

Caleb gasped with mock incredulity. "How are you still upright? You must be famished."

"You're such a dork," said Hex. He twisted and stretched to  follow Caleb, allowing the thin man to place his hands in his shoulders. Now poised above him, he sank lower, letting the lines of their bodies press together.

"Sure, but I'm a tasty dork." Caleb barely finished his quip when Hex let his head fall into a wet kiss. It was brief, barely a step up from licking, and quickly moved as his mouth roved farther along his cheek and jaw.

"Mm." Caleb could feel the hum of Hex's voice against the tendons of his neck, and the brush of his dark curls against his ear. He brought up a hand to grip the base of Hex's head and press him closer, but was thwarted when a clawed hand pulled it away as Hex sat up. Caleb frowned in confusion and propped himself up on his elbows.

"I don't want to wreck your shirt. I like this one."

"What, not monster enough to rip it off me?" Caleb smirked.

Hex growled low in his chest, eyes dark.

"Fine, fine."

Hex crossed his arms and watched Caleb obediently unbutton his shirt, peeling it off while Hex maintained his straddle over him on the couch. Once the garment was deposited in a heap on the floor, Hex didn't hesitate to pin him fully to the couch and latch onto his shoulder.

Surprised, Caleb winced, and Hex quickly let go and twisted his head to see his expression. Red just painted the center of his lips as he blinked back, concerned.

"Go on, then." Caleb smiled and jostled Hex back into place as well as he could from his disadvantaged position.

Hex returned to the bite tenderly, closing his mouth over the wound with more precision. His body relaxed, boneless on top of Caleb. Christ, he was heavy. Under the leaden blanket of the ghoul the rest of the world got farther away. Caleb rolled his head to the side, straining the torn skin and pulling a quiet growl, nearly a purr, from Hex. He moved one arm up from its awkward position flung across Hex's back to cradle the man's head. Hex slid down slightly, away from the bite, to rest an ear over Caleb's heart. His eyes were barely open and a dumb smile was plastered over his bloody face.

Even after such a brief contact, Caleb could feel himself brimming with adrenaline. As much as his brain loved the sensation, his body always defaulted to fight or flight after Hex dug his teeth into his skin. He imagined it was something like the buzz people talked about after getting a tattoo. Despite the beast falling asleep on his chest, Caleb felt giddy with energy.

Hex shifted his weight again and moved back to Caleb's shoulder. He attended to the drips seeping from the neat twin arcs carved into the skin. The texture of his tongue was silken against the peach fuzz at the base of his throat. Slowly, Hex laved over the entire area, meticulous at first, but gradually growing more sloppy as the taste of the skin itself became a distraction.

As he sat back, Hex tilted his head to the side and let his eyes run over Caleb's body. The last couple bites were nearly healed, just dark pink dimples etched into his upper arm. They tried not to go over the same place too many times in a row, but there were clearly favorites. There was a scattering of silvery scars over the tops of his thighs, though those were mostly disguised by his hair, fine as it was.  Similar scars were clustered along the sides of Caleb's throat, much more obvious on the delicate skin. He knew Hex felt guilty for leaving such permanent marks somewhere so prominent, despite Caleb's reassurances. They'd both been learning then.�� They had become something of a fixation, a spot of special attention whenever Hex had the chance to get his mouth on his body. Caleb shivered at the mere thought of his lips against the sensitive skin.

[jiejie-eonni-onee-sama]

I don’t want to wake up from you...

For the charming @fandoms-are-my-friends-1321​.

Hope you’ll like it!

TW: Mentions of blood, murder.

My best dreams and worst nightmares have the same people in them.

Philippos Syrigos

Every night, (Y/N)’s nights are plagued by nightmares. Always the same torture. She was surrounded by terrifying sights of corpses bathed in blood and human-like figures who wandered in the shadows, like predators who are waiting for their prey.

By listening to her husband Will Graham talking about his visions during his investigations, she believes that she is turning mad.

But she would never let Will being tormented by his demons. As he said, his empathetic abilities are more of a curse than a blessing. Indeed, he can enter into the twisted mind of the killer and unmask him. However, the price to pay is dreadful: his insomnia and his lack of social interactions are here to prove it.

Since they start to discuss it, she sees a slight improvement as Will begins to enjoy nights of better sleep. Even if it means that her nights would be forever terrifying, she accepts it, as long as it lets her beloved in peace. 

Of course, she often wakes with a start in the middle of the night and has difficulties coming back to sleep, but she wants to endure it for him.

But everything changes this night, and she does not see that coming. Before that, this day was pretty calm: she had a good time at her office with her colleagues, she was praised by her boss for her work, and she had a nice dinner with her husband. 

Nevertheless, when they went to sleep, the horror show began. 

Instead of being in her bedroom, she was in a horrific garden. The grass was crimson red, like blood, the flowers were dark as ebony, and the trees had disturbing shapes as if their branches had claws. Every step she takes, she heard the ground creaking as if she was walking on bones. 

Disgusted and scared by this scenery, (Y/N) moves forward while looking around her. Suddenly, she hears creepy voices that whispered:

"Where are you going like that, (Y/N)?"

"There is no way to escape, my dear..."

"Soon, you will be with us, (Y/N)"

"You can't forget us... And you won't!"

Suddenly, the branches turned into hands that try to grab her. Appalled, she managed to escape far from them while covering her ears, deafened by their pleas and screams.

She only stopped running when her legs gave up, and she nearly fell on her knees. 

Exhausted, she tried to catch her breath when another figure appeared in front of her and it was the most bloodcurdling sight she ever saw in her whole life.

The man-shaped creature stared down at her, its red eyes focused on the young woman. Its entire body was dark and firm as if it was made of wood. The antlers that adorned his head were large and crooked, like a demonic crown. 

Scared to death, (Y/N) recognized the monster who plagued Will's nights for a long time: "The Wendigo..."

Pleased to hear his name said by a shivering voice, the creature smiled, revealing sharp white teeth.

Totally paralyzed by fear, (Y/N) noticed that the monster held something in his large hand. Something familiar...

Will feels something hitting his back, and he wakes up. Turning around, he sees his wife, who tossed and turned in her sleep. The expression of pure terror on her face makes him worry, and he tries to wake her up.

"(Y/N), babe, wake up!"

Suddenly, she screams at the top of her lungs. A wail of pure terror and sadness that sends chills down his spine. What can make her yelling like that? And why does she calls out his name with such despair?

The young woman stared in horror as the Wendigo shows what he holds in his hand: a head. A human head. A severed human head. Will's severed head. Crying and yelling, she cannot believe what she just saw:

"NO, WILL! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"

The Wendigo was content with laughing while holding his prey's head as a trophy. (Y/N) cannot stop looking at the head of her significant other. She tried to reach him, but her whole body prevented her from doing so. 

Suddenly, she hears Will's voice telling her:

"(Y/N)! (Y/N)! Please, wake up! I'm here! WAKE UP!"

She gasps for air as she wakes up. 

Immediately, she feels the arms of her husband that surround her in a reassuring embrace.

"Hush, sweetheart, it's okay. You're safe, right now! Nothing can happen, I am here!"

(Y/N) realizes that she is in her bedroom, in her home, with Will holding her tight against him. Relieved, she lets out a sob before trying to calm herself.

"Oh my god, it seems so real!"

"That's what I saw."

He frowned.

"How long have you been haunted by nightmares?"

"I don't know, really. It seems like an eternity."

His eyes go wide open.

"This long? But why did not you tell me before? I can help you!"

"I know, but..."

"But?" he asked.

His wife sighed before explaining:

"When we met, you've been plagued by your nightmares for a long time, and I thought that if we talk about it, you will feel better. But I wasn't ready to live what you've been through. The only thing that keeps me from telling you is that you were in better shape now, so I have to endure it for your sake."

Will is flabbergasted: she endured all these sleepless nights just for him? To help him? God, he does not deserve to be her husband. With a slight smile, he cups her face between his hands.

"(Y/N), since the first day you accepted to be with me, my nights were less sinister. Every time something terrible happened in my dreams, I reach you and feel your skin to remind me that there is nothing to be afraid of, as long as I have you by my side."

He gently kissed her cheek.

"Don't make the same mistake as I did: if something bothers you, please, tell me. And I'll be here for you, like you’ve been here for me."

The young woman smiles, awed by the devotion of her beloved.

"Thank you, Will."

"Anything for you, my darling. Now, let's go back to sleep. Tomorrow, we'll see what to do."

They both lay down, hugging each other. Before she falls asleep, she mutters:

"I love you, Will."

"I love you too, (Y/N)."

And after that, the night went smooth, and (Y/N) finally enjoys a beautiful night because she knows that Will is always there to protect her.

Bonus scene:

While waiting for her turn, (Y/N) looks at the elegant waiting room. She wakes up from her daydream as the door opens and Doctor Hannibal Lecter makes his entrance.

"Good morning, (Y/N). I did not expect your visit."

"Good morning, Doctor Lecter."

"You're allowed to call me Hannibal. However, could you please explain me what's the purpose of your visit?"

"Well, I think you can help me... since I have the same problem as Will."

The psychiatrist raises an eyebrow.

"Oh, I am sorry about it. Will told me that you were trying to help him with his own nightmares. It looks like your kindness was not well-rewarded."

"Will suggests me to see you, as you are a great help for him."

"I am flattered."

He gestures her to enter.

"But please, come in. I have a lot of time, which would be very helpful in your case."

She steps into his office, and sits politely on the couch, while he sits on the armchair in front of her.

"Now, (Y/N), tell me about your nightmares..."

[im-name-less]

It’s not quite a centaur, what’s the word for it? It’s like a centaur but half goat? Satyr. That’s it. Well, it’s the closest thing to it. This thing is like a satyr, but all stretched out in weird proportions. It’s arms and torso much longer than a persons. The horns spiral out sideways. The pupils are shaped like a goats but much too big as they stare back at me. I take another sip of my beer, keeping eye contact the whole time. It’s long sharp teeth an ill fit for it’s mouth, obviously puncturing it’s own lips, it’s own blood pouring out. Red blood, expected it to be black or some shit. I’m not really alarmed, I’ve seen this guy in my nightmares every night for… not sure how long, but a long time. Tonight’s no different. I probably fell asleep on the porch, having another nightmare, watching this creature on the edge of where the well trimmed lawn meets the forest.

“What are you doing out here all by your lonesome?”

I jump and look up to see its Jeff who put a hand on my shoulder.

“Mother fucker, you scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry sorry, didn’t mean to wake ya.”

I look back out to the forest as he says that. Empty.

“Yeah. Guess I dozed off again.”

“You’ve been doing that a lot lately, you good?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just all the late nights catching up to me.

Jeff laughs. He doesn’t need to know I haven’t been having any late nights, that I’ve really been sleeping at least twelve hours every day for weeks.

“You want to come back inside to the party?”

“Sure.”

I don’t. But I do anyway. I hear rambunctious laughter as I head back inside. I fake a smile, act like I know what they’re laughing about.

“I don’t know, there’s just a draw that villain characters have that the heroes just don’t have.”

I quirk a brow at Sarah’s statement as I sit down on the couch.

“Are you kidding me, Thor’s fucking hot as hell.” Justine jumps in.

I mumble under my breath, “not this shit again.”

That gets me a glare from both Sarah and Justine.

“I mean, sure he’s hot, but he’s not sexy. There’s something sexy about villains and anti heroes that normal heroes just don’t have.”

Justine scoffs, “You just have a thing for creepy characters. Also monsters.”

“Do not!”

“You were simping over Jason the ENTIRE time we watched Friday the 13th together!”

Sarah blushes at this, “You can’t prove anything!”

“Bet you have a crush on a bunch villains from horror movies.”

“Look! Even if I did, which I don’t, you have to admit there would be something… kinda nice about being chosen and seen as special by a villain.”

“THERE ABSOLUTELY IS NOTHING NICE ABOUT BEING HIT ON BY AN AXE MURDERER!” Justine is bellowing at this point.

I just snort out a laugh and roll my head back as I settle into the couch and close my eyes. I don’t know at what point I fall asleep, but I know I must have, because the nightmares come back. Screams and blood, clawed hands ripping rib cages in two, guts everywhere, long sharp teeth biting through eyes.

“Oh my god this ones alive! Get the ambulance!”

I lift my hands to cover my ears from the shouting but my arms are too heavy. Too loud. I go to open my eyes but something sticky’s keeping my lashes closed. Fucking hell of a hangover. I lick my lips, they taste like copper. It takes some effort, but I open my eyes at the frantic voice above me.

“It’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay.”

It’s when I look away from the stranger above me that I finally understand why they’re panicking. Huh. I guess… it wasn’t a nightmare this time.

And that’s the last thing I think before it goes dark again.

—————

It’s been two months since then. I’ve been told I have PTSD, and that’s why my memories are so messed up. I couldn’t give the police much of a witness statement. As far I know practically no progress has been made on the case. The school is paying for my councilor, which is nice. But we don’t really talk much about what happened much since I can barely remember anything. To be honest, it’s not all lost on me. It’s just hard to discern what’s my nightmares and what really happened. It was… so similar. Watched long teeth pull skin and muscle from the bones of people I’d known all my life. Saw claws rip the faces I’d watched find their shape as we grew from toddlers to college students into a Picasso paintings in a matter of seconds. I remember the crunch their eyes made in its mouth, eyes I used to stare into as I listened to them rant happily about their new passion project. Gone. All gone.

Instead I talk to my councilor about how classes are going. Surprisingly well. The weirdest part of all to my councilor, is I’ve been sleeping better. I wake up with no memories of dreams or nightmares. I sleep eight hours and wake up on time for classes. I think that concerns my councilor more than any nightmares would. Imagine how concerned she would she be if she found out I actually haven’t slept at all in two months. I feel fine though. Not tired at all. I should probably be worried about that.

I haven’t gone out to any parties since then though. Not that I know anyone else who could invite me to one. And I don’t really feel like throwing one of my own right now. I don’t really like crowded places anymore either. I started taking the paths at the back of campus to get to and from classes and the dorms, the paths where the forest meets campus. No one else really walks those paths, well, no one from campus.

Sometimes when I walk to the dorms from campus at night I see movement in the corner of my eye. I don’t bother turning my head to look. I know what it is. I see it at night when I sit on my porch on the second story and stare out at the forests edge. I see it’s weird, too large goat eyes staring at me. It just stands there and stares, sometimes tilting it’s head at me. I know it’s not a nightmare anymore. I don’t bother telling anyone, I know what they’ll say. They’ll give me that pitying look and try to get me to tell my councilor, who’ll think the trauma finally broke me. Besides, it doesn’t actually scare me. I don’t know why, but it doesn’t. It could have killed me a million times. We spend the whole night, just staring until the sun comes up. Neither of us need to sleep it seems.

I think about the conversation Justine and Sarah had a lot. Especially tonight. A few nights ago the creature at the edge of the woods started extending its arm out and making a “come hither” motion with its too long claws. It’s doing it again. I take another sip of my water and keep eye contact with it the whole time. Tonight seems to be different though. The creature backs slowly into the woods as it keeps its eyes on me. It usually waits until daylight to leave. I roll my eyes. Mother fucker thinks I’ll go into the woods with it like an idiot.

I leave my porch and go to my bed. I wrap myself in blankets. About half an hour of staring at the wall, I start to hear it. My name. Well, almost. I fling my blankets off and go to the porch to find the fucker at the edge of the forest yet again, this time contorting it’s mouth into god awful shapes as it makes a sound somewhat like my name. I can see it’s tongue bleeding, cut on its own teeth in an attempt to speak. I try to go back to bed, but it doesn’t stop. I put my hands over my ears and squeeze my eyes shut. All I can see is the heads of my friends popping like watermelons under that creatures feet. All I can hear are their screams. My breathing gets faster and faster as I remember each time I watched their breathing stop, my lungs start to feel like acid. Until, eventually I fling the blanket off of me and run down out the door and down the stairs. I swing the emergency exit door open so hard it slams against the wall, probably waking a few people up.

“What do you WANT.”

It stares at me, silent now, as it gives a come hither motion and starts backing into the forest, breaking out into a run.

“No you fucking don’t.”

I sprint after it. My bare feet get sliced my stones and sticks, thorny branches reach out and drag gashes through my skin. I don’t care. I don’t CARE anymore. I don’t know how deep I am into the woods but I come to an opening, and it’s empty. Grass up to my waste. And I screech.

“WHERE ARE YOU??”

Silence.

“What do you WANT from me??”

Again, silence. I feel tears fall down my face.

At some point I wake up in the woods. Im not surprised at my sudden ability to sleep somehow. Nothing is strange now. It’s a long walk back to the dorms, but I get there eventually. I get weird looks as I head back inside and up the stairs to my room. I don’t care.

————

It’s been ten years since then. The thing never came back. I went to school. Became a vet. Treated animals. Did well for myself. I live in a peaceful town near the mountains. It’s quaint. A few missing persons in the national park near by every once in a while but almost no other crime or strangeness. No parties still. No friends either. Apparently my ability to form long term relationships went down the toilet after that. That’s essentially what my councilor said when I was still seeing her. No nightmares. No dreams. Nothing. I go to the forest a lot. The animals stay clear of me. Sometimes I swear I hear my name called. I wish every day that it killed me. I go to the woods at night sometimes and just wait. For either the creature or hyperthermia to get me, which ever is first. It never does. I always just wake up in the woods by morning.

I think a lot about that discussion that Sarah and Justine had that night. Sarah was wrong. There is no such thing as special when it comes to monsters.

[voidstilesplease]

baby, let’s go home

part four

v.

They are thirteen when Theo's father gets diagnosed with prostate cancer. Theo's great-grandfather died of the same illness. He's undergoing radiation therapy, and their parents tell him his dad is faring just fine. But Theo hears them talk, and he hears Tara cry. They tell him not to be, but he's scared all the same.

Stiles stays up at night all over the computer screen, which was a gift from Theo's parents just months ago. In the morning, he buries his nose in numerous books. At school, he's always beside Theo whenever he can.

Theo gets the feeling that they're babying him on top of lying and keeping him in the dark.

He snaps at Stiles when he turns up late in the dispatch area after class. His mother drives them now, to and from the school, since his dad got sick. Stiles opens his mouth to apologize, but Theo cuts him off.

"If you have all the time in the world to waste," his face is twisted and red. There's something at the back of his mind that's warning him as he speaks that he ignores. It is strange; he's never been angry with Stiles. But he is today. "I don't. I could be doing something better than wait for your ass while you're in the fricking library!"

"Theo!" His mom exclaims, horrified at his behavior.

They get into the car; Theo's fuming and Stiles quiet.

When they arrive home, Theo promptly locks himself in the bedroom, screaming to the pillows. He falls asleep in an exhausted rage and wakes up when it's almost dark outside to a soft rapping on the door.

He exhales and jumps down from his bunk. It's Stiles on the other side. Of course, this is his bedroom too. There's only a slight twinge of guilt mixing with Theo's overall sour mood.

Stiles hesitates, then, "It's only us and Tara tonight."

His brows arch in expectation.

"Your mom rushed out about twenty minutes ago," Stiles fiddles with his fingers as he struggles with words. "A colleague called her. Your dad's in the hospital."

Theo processes the information for a moment and, if possible, gets even angrier with what he hears. Fisting his hands, he stomps past Stiles, jostling his shoulder, down the steps, into the living room where Tara sits bent on herself. Her head is dipped low, and her hands are clasped together as if in silent supplication.

The sight of her only intensifies his fury. Theo rounds on Tara, who looks up to her brother with shiny eyes. "What is going on?" He demands, heaving, words rushing out of him all at once. "Why is nobody telling me anything? I'm thirteen! I would hurt now, too, if dad died. I have the right to know if I'm about to lose a parent!"

It is evident that something is terribly wrong when instead of calling him out for lashing, Tara sags into the couch and covers her face with her hands, breaking down into the cushions.

He doesn't remember moving, or walking away from Tara, or riding his bike, but he somehow ends up in the lake. He picks up stones in the path and throws them in the water, one-by-one; the bigger splash, the better.

He screams with every rock he launches. He loses count of how many there have been, but his last one is a stone double the size of Theo's fist. He raises it over his head, leans his body backward, and hurtles forward with the force of his throw.

It hits the water in a loud plop, promptly sinks, and creates big ripples in the water.

He's wheezing, hands in his knees, sweaty, throat and mouth dry and hoarse. Only a portion of his anger abates, but now that it's out of the way, he feels himself dropping to the ground for a different reason. He hasn't felt this in a long time - the last was just before he realized there aren't monsters coming out of closets. 

He's terrified out of his mind.

There are more than a few times his parents disappointed his little boy's heart. Their work takes them many places, requires most of their time, thus leaving Tara and Theo to the care of strangers. They're more frequently gone than around. But when they are, they make every second worthwhile, and to Theo, it makes up for their absence. He's not going to lie and say he isn't still bitter for all the missed opportunities, but he loves them. He loves them with all his thirteen-year-old heart could give. He loves his mom and dad, and this fear of possibly losing one of them is consuming him. 

He bends his knees and bows his head and cries like never in years. He's a tough kid, he knows, but today he wants to claw at his chest because it feels crushed inside. He wants to soothe it a little -to make it stop constricting too much.

All of a sudden, a weight settles behind him. Arms embrace him as a head leans on his back. Theo doesn't need to look to know who it is. There's only one who could provide the most comfort just by being around.

Stiles doesn't say anything. He kneels and hugs Theo from behind. He's never met another person as tactile as Stiles. Once he's opened up to Theo's family, he makes it a point to touch them always: a small kiss for Theo's mom, a high-five with his dad, leaning his head on Tara's shoulder and pressing close to Theo during the movie nights.

Stiles has never told anyone he loves them, and he's grateful, and he's happy to have them. He doesn't have to.

"I'm sorry," Theo breaks the comfortable silence when he's calm enough, reassured by the other boy's presence. "that I locked you out."

Stiles shifts a little behind him but doesn't pull away. Theo thinks he nods. "I read about prostate cancer," is what he says. "I saw this website where survivors share their stories. I emailed them to your dad. I was hoping it would help."

Theo's chest clench again. He bites his lower lip.

"And then I borrowed a few books from the library so I could read facts about it. I found out quite a lot of things," Stiles pauses. "Do you want me to tell you?"

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Theo nods.

So Stiles tells him what he knows from reading. During the entire informative speech, Stiles moves from hugging Theo to putting one arm around him and sitting beside him on the grass facing the now dark lake.

"So, yes, it's a pretty scary illness," Stiles says after a lengthy explanation of its diagnosis, treatment, and recovery procedures. "I asked your mom, and she was pretty surprised that I know about the Gleason Scale. But she told me your dad's score is 7 - intermediate."

Theo turns slightly to his side. Stiles is busy watching the lake as he talks, and Theo is left to study at the moles dotting one side of his face as he listens. 

"I didn't mean to, but I also saw a letter from a Dr. Henshaw in the mail. I searched for him. He's a urologist from Johns Hopkins in Baltimore, and I saw a lot of good feedback," Stiles looks sideways to Theo. This up-close, Theo can see how light his brown eyes are. Stiles must have mistaken his silent gawking as confusion because he smirks a little. "A urologist is a specialist for the male reproductive system, including the prostate."

Theo's listening, he is, but all he can manage to do is nod.

Stiles smiles, "I think they're considering a surgery, which is probably the best option, Theo. We just have to," he reflects, eyes glossing for a moment, then finishes. "be there for him."

Theo has half a mind to forget the sad expression on Stiles's face, but he recognizes what it is. He knows Stiles well and the emotions that pass him.

"Just like you were there for your mom?"

He startles for a second, the subject coming unexpectedly, and then nods with a curl in his lips. "Until the end."

Theo takes Stiles's arms off his shoulder and entwines their fingers instead, holding on firmly. He doesn't have words. He has so much to say to Stiles - how everything is better with him, how Theo clings on to the brightness he creates for everyone despite the shadows around him that he continues to fight.

In the end, Theo decides with, "Thank you, Stiles."

Stiles beams in the night that settles over the lake. The sun has been down for a while.

He bumps a fisted hand to Theo's shoulder, "That's what best friends are for, Raeken."

"I'm glad you're mine," then, squinting his eyes and side-eyeing Stiles, he adds. "Even though you're a pain in the ass sometimes."

Stiles laughs, and Theo's worries fade.

Somehow, with Stiles, he starts to believe. He's not going to lose his dad. They're frightened, reasonably so, but they're going to be okay.

Stiles untangles their fingers to stand, patting away the dirt at the back of his pants. He turns to Theo and extends his hand down to him.

"Let's go home, Theo."

~•~

title from: Hold On by Chord Overstreet

[aenwoedbeannaa]

Halfling || Geralt of Rivia x Reader

There is a startling lack of The Witcher fanfiction on this website, so I figured I might as well start writing some. 

Trigger Warning: Sexual Themes | Mentioned Sexual Assault | Mentioned Abuse

* * *

You didn’t remember falling asleep in Geralt’s bedroom, curled up on the small couch in front of the fireplace, the book you had been reading on the floor where it had tumbled after you’d dropped it.

You had been living at Kaer Moren for about two months now. After all of those years in Vizima, especially those last two years living with that gods-awful man in that gods-awful inn, a rotting shack in the woods would have felt like a palace. Whether for good or for bad, the ancient Witcher school had begun to feel like home alarmingly fast. You’d learned all of the secret passageways, all of the forgotten corridors, empty bedrooms, and unused rooms.

You tried your best to fight that feeling. You knew better than to trust the feeling of security. If the last few years of your short life had taught you anything, it was that everything was temporary—security could never last. Best to keep your guard up; it was the only way to keep from getting hurt. And yet, you were losing your internal battle. 

Despite your best efforts to treat your time behind the ancient walls as a job and nothing more, here you were—asleep in a man’s room. 

Not just any man–a Witcher. 

Those years at the Traveler’s Boot had hardened you. Hell, your entire life had hardened you. Apart from a few happy childhood memories, when the whole world still remembered Sodden and feared it, you had few happy memories. Your childhood ended at the age of three, when your mother abandoned you. Your father had abandoned you before you’d even been born. Those first few years, you were taken in by a kindly old human woman. Marta was unlike most of the humans she’d ever met. She hadn’t paid much attention to your elven features. She hadn’t treated you as some sort of monster. Unfortunately, Marta died when you were thirteen. Nobody else was kind as her; nobody else was kind at all.

In the war-torn North, your elven heritage was a target on your back. You were a worthless Halfling—a monster. You were eleven, and so the humans did not trust you. You were half human, and so the elves wanted nothing to do with you. No matter where you went, you were treated with contempt. You traveled from city to city, picking up jobs where you could, hunting and foraging when work was not available. But once the war started, the forest was no longer safe. The Squirrels would have shot you through with an arrow on sight. The humans would have done the same. And so, two years ago, you came to find yourself in Vizima, at Ikorak’s fine establishment. 

You’d sat in a dark corner of the bar, drinking away the last gold coins to your name. The watered-down ale tasted like dirty bath water, but it served its purpose. The pain that normally filled you was slowly eclipsed by numbness. Feeling nothing was the closest thing to feeling happy you got. Ikorak approached you after you had swallowed the third pint of ale, a fourth in hand. 

“You here alone, Miss?” he asked, arms braced on the old table. 

“Do I look like I need a chaperon?” You narrowed your eyes, still sharp even as the alcohol clouded her mind.

“Yes.” He had not hesitated to answer. He hadn’t even attempted to hide the lecherous look on his face, either. 

“Well,” you snapped, “You are mistaken.” 

“The cat has claws.” He smirked at her before turning and walking back to the bar.

Perhaps it was the alcohol, or perhaps it was the desperate need to find steady work, but by the end of the evening, you had agreed to come work for him. He had promised steady work as a barmaid—occasionally flirting with the clientele. It was supposed to be easy, honest work. He even offered a room in the inn. It was small and cold and cost half your wages, but it was safe. At least, you thought that it was.

Naturally, not long after you’d begun working there, you realized you were not there to serve rowdy men drinks and harmlessly flirt with them for tips. You were the entertainment. Your long dark hair and wide-doe eyes–elven, except for their deep brown color, were fascinating to the local clientele and travelers alike. You did what any other Halfling stuck in a rotting hell-hole of a world would do. You did your job. It was easy enough to numb yourself, to imagine entire other lives, to dream about things that would never happen. It was easy to lie to yourself and say that you would be able to save enough money to get out of there by the time the year was out. 

Then, the war heated up. 

As blood poured on the battlefields and entire cities burned, your elven beauty turned only hateful glances, eyes full of reproach from elf and human alike. You were not to be trusted. Never mind that you were neutral, and wanted nothing more than this war to be over—whoever ended up crowned King in the end, you were treated like a parasite. How could you be anything but? There were those who promised freedom to people like you–inspiring bands of Scoia’tel to start offing humans in the wilderness. 

Kings raised armies against one another in the timeless struggle for power. There were no “good” sides, as far as you were concerned. Each one wanted nothing more than to kill the other off with as much proficiency and brutality as possible. 

Soon, most of the men visiting [Brothel] wanted nothing to do with you. Ikorak threatened to throw you out on the street, citing a long list of charges that you could never hope to pay off without a steady stream of clients. 

The first time he struck you, you’d been too surprised to think much of it. You had spoken back, after all. You’d opened your mouth to defend yourself when you knew that you had no right to. 

After that, each night you failed to find a willing buyer, [Brothel Owner] had his way with you. Always violent, never gentle. You woke up nearly every day with fresh bruises. Even those night that you managed to find a client, he would treat you much the same way. Angry with… well anyone. They would take it out on you. 

Geralt had been different. You could still see the image perfectly in your head. He’d slammed a pouch of Novigrad gold on the bar. He’d gruffly grabbed you by the arm and pulled you up the stairs to his lodgings. You had expected, once the door slammed shut behind him, that he would be cruel, like the others. 

But he hadn’t. 

He made no move to touch you once you once the lock clicked into place. You hadn’t trusted him. You’d almost decided not to leave with him when he offered. At least with [Brothel Owner], you knew what to expect. The silver-haired man had been a mystery. He wore armor, had daggers and swords hanging about his body. He was a killing machine. 

And yet, you’d come. And he’d kept his word. He’d allowed you to stay on at Kaer Moren for the winter, performing various household tasks–mending clothing, cooking meals–they were all things that you had learned to do throughout your life. It was easy work, and you were highly overpaid. You were even given your very own room. You had a trunk at the foot of your bed, and a bookshelf slowly filling with books. 

Yes, this place was home. 

* * *

Geralt could tell by her steady breathing that you was asleep. The book tumbling to the ground was another indicator. In the warm glow of the last embers smoldering in the fireplace, her hair shone. 

He felt the corners of his mouth twitch, but decided not to carefully wipe away the smile, as he usually would. There was something about this woman, this little Halfling that he had felt such a strong urge to take from the horrible place back in Vizima, that he could not ignore. 

He realized after a moment that he was staring, probably too intently, at her small sleeping form. The blanket she had wrapped herself in was beginning to fall off the couch as well. It had been torn almost to shreds when she’d arrived–but she’d patched it up, and now it nearly resembled something soft and cozy again. 

Silent as a cat, he stood up and padded from his desk to the couch. He did not want to wake her, but he did not want her to wake up here, in his room, in the middle of the night, thinking the worst. He would take her back to her room, he decided. 

Gently, he hooked an arm under her knees, and the other round under her back, supporting her head so that she didn’t shock awake. What he had not expected was the way she seemed to melt into his arms, like she belonged there. A soft sigh escaped her lips, and he felt her settle against him, her cheek on his chest. 

“Geralt.” 

The utterance was so quiet, it would have been hard for anyone without his Witcher senses to hear it. She was still asleep, the utterance coming form somewhere in her subconscious. 

Feeling utterly powerless, he decided he would simply lay her in his bed–yes. So she would be more comfortable. He would sleep on the couch. It was an old, lumpy thing, but it was far more comfortable than the hard ground he often slept on during the warmer months outside of Kaer Moren.

Gingerly, he carried her to his bed and set her there, her head resting on one of the pillows. 

He was overcome with how much he wanted to reach out and stroke her hair; with how much he wanted to feel her soft skin beneath his calloused fingers. But… He could not. It would be breaking his promise. He might scare her. She was always so jumpy, peering around corners and hiding a flinch whenever someone accidentally snuck up behind her.

So, he set her down and stood up to go to his wardrobe and change into nightclothes–which was, rather unceremoniously the exact thing he wore under all his armor during the day. But with her staying here, he decided he would be much better if he slipped on one of the soft cotton shirts that usually remained folded in the bureau.  

As he slipped off his belt, tunic, and pants (making sure to remain craftily hidden behind the large door, he heard stirring from his bed.

He was in the middle of slipping a shirt on over his boxers when he heard that soft voice again.

“Geralt?” 

Geralt started, not having seen her eyes flutter as she awoke.

“I’m sorry, An Enid,” he began quickly, using the nickname Vizimir had given her when he walked into Kaer Moren with her that day. It dripped like honey from his lips—Little Daisy. “You’d fallen asleep, and I didn’t want you falling off of the–” She didn’t even seem to hear his explanation for how exactly she ended up in his bed. 

“Please don’t leave.” Her voice was still hazy with sleep, but those big, brown eyes were settled on him intently.

“I will not,” he found himself agreeing immediately. “I will be on the couch, right here,” promised. 

He saw hurt flash on her face for the briefest of moments, but she collected herself quickly. 

“There is more than enough room here, Witcher,” she said tentatively, like she was scared to even be speaking the words. But those were the only words he needed. These last few months–their interactions, conversations, the way that her arm occasionally brushed against his, sending a shiver down his spine. Perhaps, they had not been completely made up or meaningless. He crossed the room in a few large steps, laying down on the empty side of the bed. 

Her big doe-eyes were open once more, fixated on his mutant ones. He found himself unable to look away. And still, he made no move to touch her, not wanting to overstep some hidden boundary. His medallion lay on the bedside table, so the soft vibration he felt in his chest had nothing to do with magic. The pull he felt was no spell, but it may as well have been. 

Gently, he brushed a few loose strands of hair from her face, calloused fingers gently settling there, on the side of her face. 

“Geralt?” 

“Yes?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.

“Touch me.”

She didn’t have to wait long. His hands were on her in a moment, one still in her hair, the other wrapping around her waist as he rolled on top of her, carefully distributing his weight so as not to crush her. 

Her lips were soft, but her kiss was eager. He did not rush the kiss. His lips moved against hers, eager but not forceful. Her lips parted as she sighed, and the Witcher took advantage of the moment to take control. She was intoxicating. The scent of lavender and cedarwood filled him with a desperate want. All of these months, he had told himself that he didn’t want her. He told himself that she didn’t want him. He told himself whatever he had to to keep his walls up. But with that one breath, with that pleading way she looked at him, with one kiss, the wall had crumbled. 

He groaned when he felt her small hand moving over his chest. Her hands were calloused like his own, but her touch was soft. He wanted to feel her hands all over him. As if she could read his mind, like the others, she continued to explore. She slid one hand up into his white hair, clutching him close to her. She broke the kiss, but only to move her lips down over his jaw and down to his neck, biting softly as she ran her tongue over his skin.

Geralt could already feel himself hardening, the whole length of him pressing against her thigh. And she could feel it, too, he realized, when she blinked up at him with a spark of mischief in her eyes. 

Gods, she might as well be an enchantress. 

Her hand slipped lower, tugging at the waistband of his boxers to stroke him. He moaned softly, lost in pleasure, before finally coming back to his senses. She was trying to, and succeeding in, pleasing him. But as wonderful as her skillful fingers felt, he wanted her to feel the same and more.

“Be still,” he said gruffly, taking her wrist and pushing it away to her side. His lips were on her neck now, teeth scraping over the soft skin there. He smirked when her breath caught in her throat and her grip on his hair slackened, her hand falling to her side, eyes closing listlessly. 

“Good girl.” 

He pushed himself up with one arm, free hand pulling at her shirt, tugging it up. She moved with him, shifting so he could pull the useless garment over her head. 

The Witcher sad back on his knees, cat-eyes dilating as they scanned over her bare chest—couldn’t say he minded that she wore no corset. He laced his fingers through her soft hair once more, leaning down to kiss her again. This time, his kiss was full of hunger, and she returned it with just as need. His free hand slipped lower, gently grazing over her breast. She whimpered—actually whimpered at that soft touch. 

‘Oh, Little Daisy, If my touch makes you whimper, just wait until you see what I can do with my mouth.’ 

He realized, of course, that she could not hear his thoughts the way that Yennifer could, but he was sure his eyes gave away exactly what he was thinking. In a millisecond, his mouth was on her left breast as he continued to knead her right. His calloused fingers pulling gently at her nipple as his tongue lapped at the other, drawing another moan from the half-elf. Her hands were balled into fists, clutching at the sheets like it was the only thing tethering her to reality. His lips closed over her taught nipple, sucking it into his mouth to continue lavishing it with his tongue. By now, she was writhing beneath him in pleasure. K Her breath hitched as he let his teeth scrape over the small bud, and he finally turned his attention to her other breast. He lavished it with equal attention, noticing the way she always sighed in pleasure as when his tongue flattened. He gave long, intentional licks as his no free hand traveled lower.

Her hips were already grinding against his, making it hard for him to concentrate on much more than his throbbing cock. He ached to be inside her, filling her completely as he thrust in and out until she screamed. But that could wait. A Witcher was always in control, and he had far more plans for her that night. He was so intoxicated with her—with her lavender and cedarwood scent, with her little moans and sighs, with the way her body moved under his and the way her small hands traced his shoulder blades and tangled in his hair—that he didn’t even remember ripping her skirt and underthings from her body. Neither of them minded. 

His large fingers found her core, already slick with her intoxicating juices. They danced over her clit, eliciting several moans from her beautiful lips. He was teasing her now—tracing feather-light circles around the little bud. 

Little circles, then back and forth, building up speed but refusing to press harder, enjoying watching her squirm. Her arms were almost flailing now, trying to grab at his hair, the sheets, or nothing at all. He didn’t need a mind-reader to tell him that she was not used to this kind of attention. He had no idea how any man could resist. He was almost worried he’d lose control just watching her pleasure-drunk eyes flicker open and closed. 

After he was sure she was thoroughly lost in a haze of nothing but pleasure, he finally slipped one large finger inside. 

“Fuck,” he half-grunted. She was so tight around his finger, her walls clenching around him. He couldn’t wait to bury his cock inside her. 

But still—not yet. 

He added another finger now, studying her face as he slowly drew them in and out, committing to memory each spot he touched that elicited the most reaction, and which ones made her head loll back on the pillow. 

He found exactly what he was looking for quite quickly, watching this utter satisfaction as her eyes rolled into the back of her head, his name leaving her over and over again as he curled his fingers back and forth over her g-spot. Her eyes were closed when he put his mouth on her, his tongue now playing with her hardened little nub. Over and over he worked her clit, starting ever so slowly, fingers still rubbing against her g-spot. Over and over he continued, slowly building the pace and increasing pressure. 

She was lifting her hips, trying to increase the pressure, urging him on faster and harder. He obliged without hesitation, listening to the wild thrum of her heartbeat. “G-geralt!” she gasped, voice breaking with the effort. “If you don’t… stop… I’m… going t—” 

He removed his tongue from her soft folds only to peer up at her from between her legs, a smirk on his lips. 

“Yes,” he said gruffly, “You are.” He used one hand to hold down her hips so she could not escape his fingers slamming into that same spot over and over. “You are going to be a good girl and cum for me.”

With that, his lips closed around her clit and he sucked it gently into his mouth, tongue dancing over the little nub as his fingers continued their assault. She screamed as she spasmed around his fingers, hips bucking wildly now as she rode out wave after wave of her orgasm. 

He helped coax her back down with slow, gentle thrusts of his fingers. His tongue flattened against her, subtle movements bringing her back down to Earth. 

* * * 

You lay, still adrift in a sea of pleasure. Soft aftershocks from your orgasm electric in your veins. It had been so long since you felt this way—so at peace, so safe. 

Geralt was up on his knees again, eyes fixated on you. He did not look at you with the harsh eyes full of contempt that you were so used to. He did not look at you as if you were a piece of silver. No, he did not look at you like you were his property, or like land he’d just conquered.

He looked at you like he wanted you. 

[To be continued?]

[maemi324]

Seasonal

Hey there friends!  As I am posting this it is my Birthday! I’m a whole 25 years old.  I.FEEL.ANCIENT. But I decided to post this blurb that came to me, talking about seasonal depression, which is hitting hard as it’s starting to get cooler and becoming fall. To be clear, this is just my experience with Seasonal depression, everyones is different. It’s something that affects me, and many others, in different seasons, so I hope this little blurb will give you some form of joy- regardless of whether or not you have the depressions.  It was actually kind of hard to write, but I got through it! Warnings: Talk of seasonal depression, numbness the like.  Only been seen by one other person, and only edited by me. So I probably missed some stuff. Let me know what you think!

The day was cool and dreary, overcast that hung in the air. Cloudy days themselves weren’t bad, but the cool breeze nipping at the previously warm air kept you inside, scrolling through your phone. 

It was a myriad of posts, those glad for the cooler weather and excited for the spooky holiday on the rise. You huffed a small laugh as the skeleton song popped up onto your page for the umpteenth time in that hour alone.

Even still, it was hard to see a constant reminder of the bleak months ahead as you tried to push it from your mind. But there was no fooling your body, or your mind. Seasonal depression was starting to kick in, and kick hard. The fucker never played fair anyway.

You were so tired, arms heavy as lead as they shook, a feeble attempt at keeping your phone from falling out of your grasp. Your mind was filled with the overcast clouds, no room for anything but sleep. You went to bed tired, you woke up tired and had the hardest time staying awake.

You leaned back further into the couch you were sitting on, looking onto the wall that held the crystals you gave to Keigo. Even with the sun gone, there was still enough light to show a few gentle prisms.

Though the colors were pretty, it didn’t alleviate the frown on your face. You had read that getting up and doing things would help you wake up or at the very least stay awake. Active, but simple things, cleaning up your bedroom, brushing your teeth and getting ready for the day. 

How could you when your arms refused to lift for most things, hands feeling too smooth to actually grip, not that you had any product on there to cause said sensation. Whenever you got up, your knees felt like they were jello, though you got from place to place. Was it just in your head? Of course it was, but getting out of your head was the hard part.

You turned to look over at the end table beside the couch, only then remembering to turn on the happy light you were advised to get. You weren’t entirely sure it actually helped, it didn’t mimic the sun's golden hue, despite how bright it was, it maybe made the room a bit warmer. But it was still such a cold light, much like hospital lights that made your eyes ache after a while. 

You pass another video, someone putting up fake skeletons whilst what you assumed to be a friend ran about in cheer for the cooler weather once again. You refrained from making any snide remarks in your head, it wouldn’t be fair to ruin their happy time. After all, Your summer could be their fall.

Your eyes gazed onto the clock. It’s only nine am ??! It was hardly close to lunch time even.

Irritation flashed within you, stomach gurgling in agreement. You hadn’t eaten breakfast yet, though you knew you should have. Food currently had no taste, no matter the amount of spices you added. It didn’t matter what was made, it never filled you and your stomach raged on. 

You shuffled further into the blankets you covered yourself with, your tank top and shorts hardly keeping you warm, but you refused to wear pants, they just got tangled in the blankets and felt so constricting. You glanced to the kitchen, a glare on your features as the usually wonderful treats in there mocked your current state of taste bud. 

You focused back onto your phone, ignoring your stomach for yet another random haul a user got for Halloween. Your eyes slowly began to fall closed, the music in the video, despite its energy, lulling you into a sense of...calm.

Thunk!

Your heart hammers hard against your chest, eyes wildly glancing around for the noise source.

Instead of monsters clawing from the grey shadows of daylight, you were met with sweet honied eyes.

“Well hello to you too angel” His voice hid none of his amusement, his hand held out towards you. You looked down to his hand only to find your phone. You must have dropped it at some point.

You took the phone from him, setting it on the coffee table and wrapped your arms around his neck. “ Keigo…” you cooed sleepily, “ You’re home for Lunch a bit early.” 

You pressed kisses to his cheek and neck, trying to ignore that empty feeling growing back to life.

“Early? Nah, right on time, it’s noon babe. You fell back asleep it looks like” He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you so you were standing with him. He looks you in the eyes, searching for something.

“Yeah, I guess I did” you murmur, eyes averting his gaze. He’d known you were having trouble staying awake, that the change of seasons really hit you hard. He seemed to have found whatever he was looking for as he pressed a sweet kiss to your lips and let go. 

“Well, I guess that just makes it more of a surprise, speaking of surprises!” he turned to the coffee table, rummaging through some bags. With a chirp of victory, he hands you a take out box filled with your favorite, (F/food). “ I brought your favorite back home with me” 

You couldn’t help but smile, though it didn’t feel forced, it didn’t feel like you were emoting quite right though your genuine happiness was there. He sat down on the couch with you, leaning into your side as he flipped on his phone for something.

A soft beat came first, followed by the gentle plucks of a guitar, sounds you usually associated with summer time music. You glanced over at him, brow raised in a silent question. 

He was already opening his take out, a smirk on his face

“Sorry dove, it was just a bit too quiet” was all he said.  “Hardly a quiet moment with you Keigo” you teased, “ But I can’t say I dislike your choice in mood”  “My sense of mood is never wrong angel!” 

You ate relatively quickly, wanting to spend more time with Keigo than focusing on the food, which did have just a bit more taste than anything else you had eaten. 

He talked to you about his day so far, nothing too crazy that he couldn’t handle. 

The relaxed tune you had been listening to turned into something a bit more fast paced.

It was a favorite between the two of you, the song you danced to at the bar, the night you had your first kiss on the beach. He stood up, offering his hands to you, “ Come on, it’s our song love bird!” It might have been corny to have a song but you couldn’t care less. Not with that smile that lit up a room, a laugh so sweet you could eat for dessert.

So you took his hands, his wings fluffed up in excitement. He took off his visor, and placed it on you, your vision becoming slightly yellow tinted. 

Oh it made so much difference

Everything looked and felt a bit more...alive. There weren’t any dull sensations of haze and endless numbness. You grabbed his hands again as he pulled you in.

It was hardly a masterful thing to fawn and coo over, but it had you laughing as he spun you around, his feathers having moved the coffee table out of the way. As you would spin out, he’d do something entirely and fantastically goofy, waving his hands in the air then pulling you back in. All to make you giggle and laugh as he hugged your back to his chest, blowing raspberries on your neck. 

“Keigo!”  “Oh what? Did I spin you too slow, so demanding my dove” and he spun you out again with an extra kick of some sort of energy. 

The song came to an end, and you were all red in the face, heart beating hard, but it was welcome.

“You utter goof” You giggled, pushing his visor off of your eyes, the change dented your happy mood, but only just slightly. 

“Your goof” he pressed a wet kiss to your cheek.  “So, I noticed you liked the visor? It is pretty stylish if I do say so myself”

You flopped back onto the couch, nodding, “ Yeah, they look real good on you. But it was nice, things just looked...better” 

Did the color really change your outlook so much? 

“Well, I was doing some late night browsing and found that sometimes glasses that are yellow tinted or block blue light can help with your seasonal grey time blues” a feather brought over a small bag, hiding between the food bags, and placed it in his hands.

“So I thought...these might help, whenever we can’t just dance the blues away” His cheeks turned a slight pink as his wings flapped awkwardly at your lack of response. 

He’d gone out of his way to get you these special glasses, just so that you could feel better. 

Your eyes watered slightly, getting back up from the couch and walking over to him. You placed both hands on his jaw and pulled him down for a tender kiss that he gladly reciprocated. “ You are entirely too sweet for your own good Keigo. I love you, thank you...thank you so much” 

He unfolds the glasses, placing them gently on your face. 

“I love you too song bird”

[adulttrio-imagines]

“My hand was made to fit into yours. That’s all there is to it.” - for Hisoka;-)

“Label it however you want, I truly do not care.”

Hisoka replies without even looking up from his phone. He’s propped comfortably across your new couch, snuggled under a pile of blankets he stole from your bedroom, head lolling off the armrest as he snacked on your sweets. He spares you no second thought, giggling to himself as he scrolls through the web, thoroughly unaffected as the world around him shuffles in repetitive motions.

You huff, and set your laptop aside. It’s not for the first time he has brushed off your efforts to put a name to your… relationship. To call it difficult would be an understatement, if you could even use such a term to describe whatever it is you had with him.

He chuckles again, and your phone lights up with a beep. It’s a filtered photo of him in a fake mustache with an eggplant in hand. You turn to see him looking up at you, cheeky grin spread ear to ear across his face. He waves and tosses you a familiar piece of candy. Bungee gum, it expired two weeks ago.

You chuck it back at him, he lets it nail him in the head, ear splitting grin never leaving his face.

It was never meant to be like this. Your lives were never meant to intersect, they were tangent lines that ran close but never met. But somehow, you met him in the eye of the storm, a beautiful mess of red and gold who saved you from your assailant one rainy night, followed you home and for reasons unknown, upended your entire life and has stuck with you since. His visits were sporadic but interesting, mind constantly skipping two steps ahead of yours, and you found yourself swept into the deep undercurrents of his torrential downpour with no way of escape.

He was a whirlwind of color, dancing continuously before your eyes, from the tips of his fiery hair to the manicured ends of his painted toes, a flying mustang that stormed through the skies, running faster and faster alongside unseen monsters, soaring through perilous thunderclouds, reaching out to something beyond your existence.

And it scared you.

“Isn’t this enough?” You remembered asking one day as twilight fell, when he barged into your home, thick with bloodlust and doused in blood, staining the walls a dark red as he dragged a clawed hand through them, leaving angry scratch marks in its wake. You should have left him then, you suppose, when he push you against that very same wall and started fucking you hard. You should have cried and screamed for help (it wouldn’t have helped, you both knew that) when he whispered unimaginable threats into you ear, the smell of death lingering in his breath as he ravaged you, leaving bruises that made you limp for weeks on end after that; your knight in shinning armor. He shattered your idealistic notions of him that very night.

But it wasn’t as if he hid who he was. He made that very clear from the start, when he crushed a man’s skull with a single bare hand like rotten fruit on your second date, or when he easily snapped a man’s neck in half just because he was in a weird mood and could do it. You were a fool to believe he could be satisfied that easily, even stupider to believe he could ever be content with what he had in front of him. He was a voracious man with an insatiable appetite for thrill and excitement. There was always something he was chasing after, too far and too bright for you to see, you had to turn away and shield your eyes from its glare, or risk going blind and losing it all.

That was just the type of person he was, standing above the rest on top of the mountain he carved out himself, towering miles overhead, removed from everyone and everything, where nothing but the sun and the howl of the wind could ever touch him.

“Is it lonely up there, all by yourself in your castle of pride.” You said once, it wasn’t a question. He laughs derisively, but his nails dig unnecessarily deep into your arm when he pins you and forces his tongue down your throat, teeth clinking loudly against yours.

It wouldn’t be fair to call him a complicated man, but it wouldn’t be fair to call him an honest man either. He was always clear with his motives, but never his intentions, his actions laid bare before you as he clouded his goal with a shroud of deceit; a walking contradiction who spewed sweetened lies intermingled with bitter truths, showered in layers of secrets and lies,

as if to protect himself.

He didn’t trust you, but he didn’t need to. What could you do against him?

“What are you afraid of?” You’re both drunk of copious amounts of alcohol, faces flushed bright red as you lean against the back alley wall, ignoring the stench of filth rising all around you as his hand creeps up your skirt. Instead, he sings you a story of broken men and angry gods between voracious acts, sweet lies crooning in your ear.

He never speaks of his past, and neither do you offer to divulge into yours.

It was ridiculous to try and get a straight answer from him, a lost cause trying to gain his attention, and a futile effort for trying to maintain it. Yet, even coated with a layer of death is he beautiful for reasons you cannot explain, and you can only stand and wait for the tide to pull you in, dragging you into an endless hurricane.

Somehow amongst all the madness, fate continued to weave it’s interconnecting strands of circumstances, and you both fall into a routine.

He doesn’t officially move in with you, because god forbid he gets tied down, but you were never one to make things official anyway. It’s easy to say he’s more like a stray cat, coming and going as he pleased, snacking on your food or lounging in the living room as if he owns the place.

You don’t know where he actually lives, but the expensive colognes that line your dressing table make known that he’s no traveling pauper.

You get into the habit of leaving sticky notes around the house. Just simple things, like shutting the patio door whenever he left or to take off his shoes before he even thought of entering your house. He responds by sticking his own notes on your various houseplants, naming them obscene words and the occasional crude drawing.

You don’t know who he is, but you do know this. He’s painfully meticulous in his appearance and can spend hours highlighting the slope of his cheeks and the curve of his lips, he has freckles climbing all through his shoulders, his left ear is slightly smaller than his right, he sings in the morning but never at night, and sometimes when he smiles, his eyes are more caramel than amber.

He always finds a way to bother you when it’s least convenient, and disappears whenever you need him most, as if he has a built in tracker of sorts installed deep in that brilliant mind of his.

He calls it magic; you call it being a pest.

Sometimes he leaves for days on end, but he always returns, sometimes with murder in his eyes and bile in his hands, his nen a torrent of poison when he creeps into bed, staining your sheets and shaking you awake, demanding for more (there’s nothing for you to give) wild and unhinged as he tears into you (he gets what he wants anyway).

It’s the quiet moments you like best.

It’s the blissful mornings that smell like coffee and honeyed French toast, it’s the rainy afternoons where you’re both sitting across the other with a deck of cards at hand and the television blares white noise in the background, it’s the late evenings where you sit outside to read and the smell of honeysuckle lingers as you sit and enjoy each other’s company, it’s when you both start laughing so hard at the same time that your sides ache, it’s when he smiles at you when he thinks you aren’t looking; without fuss, without fanfare, without secret codes and hidden meanings, you both just exist, just as everything is meant to be.

It’s so normal, and so pleasant you can almost forget what he is.

When the morning sun barely peaks over the fairway mountains, painting the whole room soft shades of violet and velvet blue, you like watching the way his chest moves up and down like calm seas with each intake of breath, the way he stretches out across the bed, you likes the way his face naturally looks without the usual layer of makeup hiding it all.

You both hide yourselves from the outside world in different ways.

It becomes a fun game to see how long you can get away with tracing the features of his face before he awakens, the curve of his lips, the sharp peak of his nose. Your fingers dance all over his face, planting feather light kisses wherever they linger. The urge is uncontrollable, he looks so human when he is asleep that you finds it difficult to believe that he is more man than beast.

Sometimes your roles are reversed and he’s staring at you instead. He’s difficult to read on the best of days, and by the time his stare stirs you from your slumber, his smirk is the first thing to greet you. Most of the time his lips are twisted into a smug satisfaction, taunting as he smiles patronizingly at you, eyes crinkled into amused crescents. He’ll tap your nose and laugh at whatever expression your grumpy morning self makes, before rushing right in to plant his lips against yours and initiating round two to finish whatever you both started last night.

But there are time when he just stares, unreadable and distant, his eyes taking on a lifeless glazed quality. He doesn’t say anything, or do anything, as if the whole process of breathing is too laborious for him to do anything but. Silence echoes, an unfamiliar drumming sound beating right below your ear as the unnatural quiet stretches infinitely. His stare buries holes deep into your soul, eyes glinting and burning yellow, like cosmic lights, fiery and all encompassing, swallowing you whole and leaving you struggling to breathe, but he doesn’t move. You don’t understand those moments no matter how hard you try, they scramble your head and tear through whatever thoughts you can scavenge, but you understand that he is thinking and rearranging everything in his jumbled up head. He never speaks of these days, but you’ve seen the way he jerks during his dreams, the way his back arches and the odd angles he contorts himself into, silent screams and gasping hands that search for others lost and never found; you recognizes them well. At those times, you go in, resting your forehead into his chest, counting each beat of his heart, reminding him that he is still alive and not six feet below and rotting compost for worms. The constant thumps of his heart are a surprising comfort, the feeling of the warmth generated from his body spread all around you like a soft blanket. Sometimes you remain like that, unmoving until the sun reaches its peak in the everblue sky, glaring into your eyes and you moves away to get breakfast ready, but never does he push away.

There are days where he pulls you in and holds you close, gripping you so tightly your bones crack and ache for weeks after it. Those days his heart races like shooting stars careening off the universe, lost and directionless, fizzling endlessly until they get extinguished from exhaustion. Cotton candy and spiced liquor mingle with the earliest rays of dawn, and you both fall right back asleep, curling into each other like quotation marks, fingers filling the gaps between hands perfectly, a rare moment of tranquility created in your small universe.

I’m here.

You never fail to remind him that during those times. His memory is sharp, and his trust is hard to come, but you do so anyway, for there isn’t much else you can otherwise. He needs to know that, you tell yourself between breathless kisses, hands desperately clutching at each other, even if he cannot find it in himself to believe it.

I’ll always be here.

You close your eyes, darkness flashing momentarily as heat radiating from him in scorching waves burn unseen marks throughout your skin. One day, he will leave; it could be today, tomorrow, the following week, the next year. Through choked sobs you learn that try as you might, you can never tell when would the time he walked out of your door be the last, and you knew better than to try. But you will wait for him, for you were too young, too dumb, too headstrong to stop yourself for falling so, so deeply into him, and he’ll always have a home with you.

You brush his hair aside, the fiery shades of red and pink were soft to the touch, and felt like sheets of velvet in your hand as you fill in the gaps of his fingers with yours.

“My hand was made to fit into yours.” You squeeze your hands tightly together, “that’s all there is to it.”

[animetrashlord-007]

AHS ~ Haunted

Word Count;; 1.7k

Genre;; Suggestive, Humour 

Pairing;; Obito x Reader

Published;; 2017-10-22

My Masterlist

Akatsuki Halloween Special Masterlist

   “Damn this old house!”

   You flipped over onto your back, your eyes burning a hole into the ceiling while you tried to focus on anything else besides the moans echoing throughout the halls. The wind picked up and began to howl, branches slammed against the windows and the entire house began to tremble. According to the landlord who had been generous enough to loan it to you and your companion for a night, it was an old home with a long history, though you’d soon figured out that translated to ‘creepy and possibly possessed’.

   Leaning forward while scrunching the smooth bedding between your shaking fingers, you squinted at the dark corners of the room. As the minutes passed, your mind began to play tricks on you and your imagination offered up its most grotesque creations. You considered yourself to be tough, but it was an unfamiliar environment and you never could manage to calm your nerves when this late at night. With demons and wraiths materializing in the shadows before your very eyes, taunting you with their sadistic grins, your resolve weakened. Desperate times called for desperate measures after all, and you knew that falling asleep without his help would be no easy task.

   Turning to the sleeping figure next to you, you gave his arm a light squeeze before whispering his name in an attempt to wake him. Your words fell on deaf ears, but you weren't the type to give up without a fight. Using your other hand as well, you squeezed a little harder. Speaking a little loud, you called out his name two more times, yet he still didn’t stir. With an angry huff, you held his arm in a vice grip and shook it with a little too much fervor. His only response could be felt beneath your fingertips as his muscles tensed for a brief moment.

   Shock flooded your senses upon feeling just how hard and toned his arm felt. A small blush tinted your cheeks as you continued to hold his large, muscular bicep. You weren't expecting him to feel so buff; you hadn’t realised he took such great care of his physique. With your original concerns of ghouls and monsters all but erased, your mind wandered to places far worse. Images that no friends, let alone mere co-workers, should have invaded your thoughts. You could picture his skin glistening with sweat and his tight muscles rippling beneath his form-fitting tank top as he worked out, his body enticing you with its every movement. Every dip and curve of his body was visible as he stripped down, ready for a steamy shower after such an intense session. It was a sight straight from one of your best dreams and you wondered if you had fallen asleep at some point. A loud gasp slipped past your lips when you realised your hands were caressing his shoulders and, as if with a mind of their own, began to trail down to his lower back. It took just a second for your brain to process what you had done and for your hands to retreat from their conquest and return to your side, but the damage had already been done.

   “A surprise massage? Did I win the lotto?” The man beside you snickered. His eyes held a playful glint and no signs of fatigue as he gazed up at you. “How’s a man to sleep when all he can hear is the soft moans and pleas of his beautiful partner?”

   “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I didn't say anything, and there was definitely no moaning. Keep your weird fantasies to yourself,” you snapped, your embarrassment evident in your shaky voice and the scarlet warmth spreading across your stern face.

   “Really? Was it a ghost that was calling my name then, begging and pleading for me just moments ago? ‘Ohh, Obito. You're so handsome and strong, please protect me with your powerful body. I'll reward you in any way your heart desires!’”

   “What?! You're delusional! Just go back to sleep!” The room fell back into silence after your outburst, but it was uncomfortable and tense. You spoke up once more once it became too much to bear, your voice a low whisper as your eyes met his dark ones, “How long have you been awake? How much did you hear?”

   He chuckled, leaning forward until you could feel his breath on your skin, oblivious to your pounding heart as he replied, “‘Damn this old house! If only my prince was awake to protect me! Obito, my handsome, dark knight, please wake up and comfort me. I'm so scared and lonely! Oh… ooh, my... Your body feels so amazing, I just cannot resist the urge to touch you. Oooh, Obito, mmm-’”

   “That didn't happen! You were obviously dreaming.”

   “Maybe. Either way, lucky me,” he teased, flashing you a small smile before resting his head back down on his pillow. “Get some rest, we have a big day ahead of us tomorrow.”

   “I can't sleep.”

   “Well, I can. Good night.”

   Muttering a few swears under your breath, you flopped onto your side and stared at the wall. He didn't respond and soon his light breathing became snores. Seconds turned to minutes and minutes to hours, but sleep evaded you. Weariness drained the last of your energy and the overwhelming weight of lethargy smothered you but still you couldn’t sleep. On the brink of both dreamland and madness, you tried counting sheep and reciting a lullaby but it was futile. It wasn't until the sun peeked up over the horizon that you felt the sweet embrace of rest.

   The next morning, or rather, the next afternoon, you awoke with a start. Obito was nowhere in sight but at least the house no longer looked like something pulled straight from a horror film. Sunlight drizzled in through the small gap between the curtains. The attic had settled, no longer creaking, groaning and inducing childish fears. It would have been peaceful had you not been staying at this forsaken hell house for work. Instead, anxiety gnawed and clawed at your stomach. A bead of sweat rolled down your temple as you glanced at the clock.

   “Fucking dammit all to hell!” Your enraged shout could be heard clear down in the kitchen where your co-worker was awaiting you with a coffee in hand and a large grin on his face.

   It was a mere five minutes before you stormed down the stairs, hair brushed but not styled and clothes clean but unkempt. You glared at Obito and his giddy expression which, for some reason, incited undeniable anger within the very depths of your soul. Each footstep was a miniature tremor as you stomped into the room and stood before him.

   “Oi, bastard, why didn't you wake me up? We're gonna be late!”

   “So?”

   “So? So?! I didn't spend the night in this weird ass house with your lame jokes and pathetic attempts at flirting just to be late to this meeting! I didn't spend the night sleeping in the same damn bed as you just to lose my job!”

   “It's too late for us to arrive on time. Might as well not go. Besides, I never said you had to sleep in that bed. You didn't want to sleep on the couch. That's all on you.”

   “That's a shit attitude, but I guess it suits you perfectly,” you huffed in resignation as you yanked the coffee cup from his hands.

   “Cheer up. Things could be worse… though, they definitely could be better.”

   “I hate you.”

   “That's not what you said last night when you were feeling me up. Have you no shame? Assaulting me while I was sleeping?”

   He snorted as you choked on the warm beverage, spurts of coffee dribbling down your chin. With flushed cheeks and a ton of regret, you staggered to your feet and reached for the napkins on the counter beside your asshole of a partner. A smirk played on his lips as he eyed your movements. You knew that look and nothing good ever came from it. Your suspicion was confirmed when he grasped your wrist within his large hand and dragged you down onto his lap.

   “Obito! What are you doing?!”

   “It isn't fair if you get to have all the fun. Besides, that's my coffee you wasted. Consider it retribution,” his voice was deep and husky as he purred into your ear, his tongue lashing out to trace along the curve of your sensitive earlobe. You clamped your mouth shut to hold back your startled yelp. Any sounds would only provoke him further and you didn't plan to give him the satisfaction.

   His lips grazed down the length of your jawline, stopping on occasion to focus on spots that earned even the slightest reaction, nibbling and sucking on the sensitive areas. Soon he found his destination and his tongue lapped up the droplets of coffee as they inched down your neck. Once he was decided that your jaw was clean, he moved down to the crevice between your breasts. Your cheeks burned a deeper shade of red as you watched him lick up the few drops that managed to fall so low. His eyes flickered with lust and a touch of danger and the sight sent a jolt throughout your body.

   Discontent with your lack of response, his teeth sunk down into the soft flesh below your collarbone. His obsidian eyes held no mercy and his smirk deepened, excitement written all over his face upon hearing your pained whimper. Without hesitation, his hands cupped your ass and after giving it a light squeeze, he pinned you down onto the table. Your eyes widened as his body hovered above you, his warmth clouding your judgement. All you could smell was his scent, thick and overbearing as he gripped your jaw hard enough to leave a mark, his mouth inches from your own. To your surprise, he didn't make another move, instead choosing to caress a lock of your hair and peer into your eyes with tender adoration.

   “What's wrong?” You asked, the words breathless and bordering inaudible, “Lost your confidence?”

   “Just admiring the view.”

   “Shut- shut up,” your light stammering earned a chuckle from him and you were quick to furrow your brows, “It's not funny!”

   “I can't help but laugh. You're just so cute. However, I've held back long enough.” The mirth disappeared from his piercing eyes, replaced with such an intense focus that you found yourself at a loss of words. His tone concealed none of his desire as he spoke, his voice low and seductive, “You’re mine, and I'll be having you here and now.”

[chloelucia13]

Chapter Six: Empty

Pairing: none for the moment (currently Jonathan Byers x Platonic!Henderson!reader)

Prompt:  You always thought Hawkins was the most boring town of all, stuck in a vacuum void of excitement and entertainment. Well, it seems that way until the world decided to flip upside down, literally.

Chapter Summary: You were stuck, but at least you were with Will. That was what mattered.

Warnings: angst, violence, horror elements, language, a little fluff

Word Count: 5639

A/N: So this part is gonna be a little different. I don’t want to give a lot away, but this part will take place over episodes 6, 7, and 8 (for reasons that will make sense when you start reading). I hope you guys enjoy it! Tag lists are open!

Catch up: Part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

Tag list: @just-my-fandom​

“Jonathan!” Nancy screamed from behind you, scrambling around like a chicken with its head cut off. “Jonathan!”

You, however, were completely silent, eyes wide open as you constantly surveyed your surroundings. You faintly heard the echo of Jonathan’s voice, but you felt that if you were distracted for even an instant, that thing would get you.

However, no matter how much you tried to ignore it, you noticed how Jonathan never shouted your name.

You almost didn’t notice when Nancy began to walk away, walking towards where she believed Jonathan’s voice was coming from. Quickly, you jogged to catch up with her, beginning to lose feeling in your hand from how tightly you were clutching onto your machete.

Suddenly, Nancy took off in a random direction, making your brows furrow. You turned your back towards where she was running and searched around, your heart immediately dropping to your shoes when you saw that thing coming towards you. “Shit,” you whispered and sprinted in the same direction as Nancy, tucking yourself behind a tree next to where Nancy was. You held your free hand over your mouth and glanced around trying to find a way out.

Your eyes caught a glowing light: the tree from which you entered. “Nancy!” you whisper-yelled, prompting her to turn her head to you. “The tree we went through! That can be our way out!”

She thought for a moment before nodding her head, glancing behind her before making a run for it. You followed behind her, falling to your knees and beginning to crawl through the opening. A sigh of relief left your lips when you watched Nancy get pulled through the membranous exit, inching ever closer to freedom.

Until you felt a tight grip on your leg, and a tug that made you collapse onto your stomach.  You let out a blood-curdling scream and kicked your legs with all your might, trying to get out of the creature’s grip. It was no use, though, as it tugged you out of the tree and out into the open. “Let me go! Let me go, you son of a bitch!” 

The creature flipped you onto your back, forcing you to look at it in all of its horrifying glory. You let out another scream and kicked your legs up, your feet colliding with its chest and making it stagger back for a moment. Quickly, you scrambled to your feet and held your machete in front of you, swiping at it as soon as it came close enough. It let out a horrific shriek, stumbling back in shock before sprinting away.

As soon as it was out of sight, you turned on your heel and ran back over to your exit.

Or, what was your exit. 

You fell to your knees and pressed your hand against the bark, trying to find the hole that was there not even a minute ago. “No, no, no. Please no.”

You let out a cry, beginning to bang your fists against the tree as if it would bring back the exit. An agonizing scream fell from your lips and you collapsed against the tree, tears streaming down your face.

***

Nancy collapsed on top of Jonathan with a thud, both of them lying there for a moment to catch their breaths. They held each other closely, trembling like leaves.

They both jumped when they heard your scream. “Y/N! She’s still in there!” Nancy cried out.

Jonathan’s heart sank at her words, and he immediately hurried over to the tree, watching in horror as the bark shifted to cover the entrance. “No, no, no,” he begged, clawing at the bark in an attempt to try and reopen the entrance. “Shit!” Tears began to well in his eyes, his lower lip starting to tremble.

“Jonathan, we need to go-”

“No! No, we-we need to get her out of there! She’s in trouble!” Your scream kept replaying in his mind, bile rising in his throat. 

“But we can’t right now! We need to go back home and figure out a plan!” 

“I... I promised nothing would happen to her. Now that-that thing has her and my brother!”

Nancy grabbed his hands and heaved him to his feet. “I know, I know. But if we don’t think this through, someone else will be stuck in there with them.”

Reluctantly, he gave her a subtle nod and gathered their things, making the trek back home.

*** You had no clue how long you had been walking. It seemed as if the sun had disappeared, overshadowing by the dark clouds and ash-like fragments that floated through the air. You had no way to tell the time, or even what day it was. All you knew was that you were tired and cold and utterly terrified. 

You hadn’t taken a break since you started walking, too worried that if you stopped, the monster would catch up to you. At this point, your entire was numb with exhaustion. Your eyelids were drooping and your back was hunched, your grip on your blade growing looser with every passing moment.

Just as you were about to collapse to the ground, you noticed a clearing in the woods. A small burst of energy began coursing through you, and you ran towards it, letting out a sigh of relief when you saw The Byers’ house.

You ran up the front porch steps and banged your fist against the door, calling out for Jonathan and Joyce, but there was no answer. With a sigh, you tried the doorknob, noticing it was unlocked as the door swung open with the small amount of pressure you applied to it.

“Hello? Joyce? Jonathan?” you called out, searching around.

It was hauntingly vacant, void of any life whatsoever. There was a thick layer of dust and vines covering every surface in the house, and it was almost colder inside than it was outside. You slowly closed the door behind you before stepping over to the couch and taking a seat.

***

You hadn’t even realized that you fell asleep until you woke up with a start, haphazardly swinging your machete around as you tried to remember where you were. As soon as your head caught up with your body, you relaxed into the couch and let out a sigh, rubbing your eyes with your free hand. 

You had slept horribly, every dream filled with the creature that you saw last night, the creature that caused you to be stuck in this weird alternate world. 

With a huff, you pushed yourself onto your feet and headed to the kitchen, searching through the fridge and cupboards for anything to eat, but they were all vacant. Your stomach was painfully empty, and you couldn’t help but think about how starving Will and Barb were if they were in this place too.

Then, an idea popped into your head.

After ransacking the house for literally anything useful, you headed out the back door and back out into the woods.Your feet carried you forward on instinct, heading towards a location you knew by heart.

A small smile rested on your face when you saw the small stick structure. You sprinted over to it, gliding your fingers over the sign that read “Castle Byers.” 

“Will?” you called out, squatting down next to the entrance.

You heard no answer, and your heart sunk a little in your chest.

“Will, it’s me, Y/N.” You took a deep breath and slowly pulled the small cover away from the entrance, crawling inside.

You let out a gasp when you saw a small, fragile body laying on the padded mat inside. 

“Oh my god, Will.” You tossed your machete to the side and reached for his shoulder, turning him on his back and shaking him slightly. “Will, it’s me. Please wake up.”

Slowly, Will’s eyes fluttered open. “Y/N?” he coughed out, his voice wavering.

You nodded, letting out a relieved sob and taking him into your arms. “Yeah, it’s me. You’re gonna be okay.”

“H-How did you find me?” 

You pulled away from him and brushed his hair away from his face. “Jonathan and Nancy and I went looking for you. We found this-this entrance into this place and Nancy and I went through...” You gulped. “And I got stuck in here. But it’s okay, we’re gonna get out of here.”

“Where’s Jonathan and Nancy? Are they okay?”

You nodded. “They’re okay, they’re in our normal world. They’re gonna help us.” You offered him a soft smile and began shedding your jacket, wrapping him in it. “Are you okay?”

He huddled into your jacket, trying to get as warm as possible. “I don’t feel good.”

You nodded and touched your hand to his forehead, frowning worriedly when he felt clammy and freezing cold. With a sigh, you laid him down on the mat and covered him up as best you can before kissing the crown of his head. “Get some sleep. I’ll be right here.”

***

Since you had found Will, you were too on edge to fall asleep. Now you had a whole other person you had to protect from this monster, and he was far too weak to do it himself. 

You felt your sanity dwindling away with each passing moment that you didn’t eat, sleep, drink water, or even pull your hand away from the handle of your machete. Every noise made you leap to your feet and wield your blade, and every beat of silence in-between attempted to entice you into the sweet release of sleep.

You also thought you could hear Jonathan’s voice.

You were positive that it was all in your head, a hallucination due to the bad state of your mind and body.

But it still brought tears to your eyes every time you heard it, seemingly so close to truly so far away. 

“Y/N?” Will coughed, making you jump slightly.

“Yeah, what’s up? Did you have a nightmare?” You scooted closer to his side, brushing some of his hair away from his face.

“You’re crying.”

Slowly, you reached a hand up to your cheek, feeling a wetness coat your fingertips. You scrubbed your cheeks and let out a sigh. “Sorry, I was just caught up in my thoughts I guess. Did I wake you?”

He shook his head. “Are you okay?”

You nodded fervently. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good. Don’t worry about me.” With a deep breath, you pulled your jacket back over Will’s shoulders. 

There was a beat of silence as Will laid back down against the mat. “Y/N?”

“Yeah, Will?”

“Are we gonna die in here?”

You furrowed your brows and quickly shook your head. “Of course not! Everything’s gonna be okay. We’re gonna get out of here soon. I just know it.” You squeezed his arm comfortingly, offering him a small smile. “Don’t even think about that. We’re gonna be okay.”

***

A rustling in the woods made your heart leap to your throat, and you immediately shuffled towards the door, machete in hand.

The rustling moved closer and closer, closing in on the small wooden fort. Suddenly, a hand pushed the small sheet away, followed by a small shaved head peeking in.

“Eleven?” you whispered, slowly lowering your blade to the floor.

“Y/N,” she voiced simply, stepping inside the fort and lowering to her knees next to you, staring down at Will. “Will.”

“How did you get here? Are you okay?” You rested your hand on her shoulder, searching her face worriedly.

She took Will’s hand. “Mom is coming. Your mom, she’s coming for you?”

“Joyce is coming?” you whispered, to which Eleven nodded. “Is... Is Jonathan there too?” Again, she nodded. You let out a cry and touched Will’s cheek, a small wave of relief washing through you.

Will let out a low groan, his eyes fluttering. “Hurry,” he choked out.

“Just-Just hold on a little longer. Will. Will,” she explained, her face slowly growing into one of panic as she seemed to begin to fade away.

Then a growl sounded.

“Eleven, you need to run. I’ll protect him. Have them hurry, okay?” You helped her out of the fort, but she was glancing around with a look of horror.

“Will? Y/N?” 

“I’m right he-”

“Will! Y/N!” She fell to the ground, and slowly dissipated.

Panic filled your chest as you heard the creature grow closer, and you instinctively knelt over Will, your machete up and pointed out.

Within a moment, the structure came crashing down around you and Will, and the creature grabbed you both, carrying you two away from the fort.

You let out a scream and stabbed at the creature, making it let out a squeal of pain, but not letting you go.

***

You woke up on the cold marble floor of what used to be the library, all the air fleeing your lungs when your back collided with the hard surface. The creature stepped away from you, walking over to the wall and dropping Will there. You writhed to try and get him, but you realized that your waist and legs were tied down with the vines that covered everything else in sight.

The creature loomed over Will and began to wrap an odd layer of fleshy-looking goo around him, like a spider entwining its prey in a web. The goo webbed around him and held him in place, and as soon as the creature seemed pleased with its work, it stomped away and out of the building.

You glanced around in a panic, letting out a small sigh of relief when you saw your machete lying only a few feet away from you, You stretched out and grabbed it before beginning to saw at the vines.

Will had let out a small grunt, and you looked over to see what seemed to be a living vine or a tentacle snake towards him. You began to saw even quicker as you watched the vine go up and in his mouth. Your eyes grew wide and you let out a scream, ripping through the vines that wrapped around your torso and starting to cut at the vines around your legs.

As soon as the vines were cut off, you scrambled over to Will and attempted to tug the vine out of his mouth, but to no avail. You let out a sob and fell to your knees, exhaustion beginning to overtake your body. You tried your hardest to push it off as you felt for his pulse, which was weak, but still there.

“Will, if you can hear me, you’re gonna be okay. I-I’m gonna be right here, and your mom will be here soon. It’s gonna be okay.”

You slowly crawled over to sit in front of him, your back facing him so you could keep watch. With your blade clutched tightly in your fist, you waited.

***

You thought you were hallucinating when you saw flashlights shining in through the windows.

Your eyes slowly fluttered open and you scooted back, shielding Will’s body as you stared at the doors in anticipation. Your fingers were already numb from clutching your machete, but your arms were too weak to even lift it.

Light shone in through the doors, and you held your breath, but you couldn’t tell if it was in excitement or fear. The echoing of footsteps grew nearer and nearer, and adrenaline began to course through your veins, making your entire body shake.

Two figures entered the area you were in, their flashlights shining a light on all of the bodies that met the demise that you were supposed to meet.

“Y/N! Will!” Joyce’s voice echoed as the small figure rushed over to you two, and a small smile graced your face as the other figure came over.

“You guys came,” you whispered, some of the tension leaving your body. You turned back to look at Will. “Ca-Can one of you pull that thing out of his throat. I tried but...”

The other figure, who you realized was Hopper, hurried over to him and grabbed onto the vine as you scooted away to give him space. With a long and harsh tug, he yanked it out of Will and tossed it to the floor. It let out a sharp shriek before Hopper fired a few rounds at it, making it flail for a moment before falling dead.

“Y/N are you-” Joyce began.

“I’m okay. Just help Will.”

Hopper tossed his weapon aside and grabbed Will’s limp body, carrying it to a clearer area and laying his body on the floor. You dragged your body over to them and watched in fear, tears welling in your eyes. “Oh, god.” They both took off their helmets and Joyce held her hear to his mouth. “He’s not breathing. He’s not breathing!”

Joyce began to panic and Hopper grabbed her arm. “Alright, Joyce, Joyce. Listen to me, listen to me, listen to me. I need you to tilt his head back and lift his chin.” As Joyce followed his directions, he began to start chest compressions. “Now when I tell you, you’re gonna pinch his nostrils and breathe into his mouth...”

Their words began to fade away as you stared at his limp body, guilt riddling your body. The room felt like it was spinning as you squeezed your eyes shut, letting out a sob.

Suddenly, a loud gasp broke you from your trance, and you watched Will shoot up in a panic. Joyce held him close to her as he coughed and sputtered, trying to find his breath. Hopper grabbed a respirator and placed it over his face, the three of them huddling together in relief.

After Will began to breathe steadily, you pushed yourself to your feet. “We... We need to go before that thing comes back.”

They all stared up at you before Joyce nodded. “We need to get you both to a hospital,” she voiced.

Hopper nodded in agreement and slipped his mask back on before scooping up Will and carrying him in his arms. Joyce put her mask on as well and they both rose to their feet. looking between each other before looking at you. “Do you need help-” Hopper began.

“Don’t worry about me. I got it.”

The four of you then began the trek back to the woods, following behind Joyce and Hopper as they led you to a dilapidated Hawkins Lab.

“Why are we going here?” you voiced as you all stepped into the building.

“This is where the gate is. The gate between this world and our world,” Hopper explained.

You just nodded, too tired to comprehend what he said, and trudged along behind them as they stepped into a large hallway and into an elevator. The elevator brought you up to the next floor, where a large, glowing hole in the wall resided. It was surrounded by the same vines and odd goo that covered the rest of this world, and it seemed to pulse as if it was alive.

They pushed through the sinewy goo and stepped through what they called “the gate,” and you followed suit. It felt the same as the tree trunk you had gotten into this world through, just much bigger. 

On the other side laid the same room you just came from, but it wasn’t covered it vines and ash. You stepped forward, and then everything went black.

***

You awoke with a start, rubbing your eyes before glancing around the room. After a moment, you realized you were in a hospital room, attached to multiple machines.

With a groan, you removed the breathing tube and the wires attached to your body before getting out of bed and grabbing the metal stand that held your bag of fluids. You trudged out of the room and glanced into each room, searching for Will’s room.

A smile spread across your face when you heard Joyce’s voice echo from down the hall, and you rushed to the room it was coming from, peeking your head into the room and seeing Jonathan and Joyce sitting by Will’s bed. “Why was I not invited to this party?” you hummed.

They all turned to face you, and Jonathan immediately leapt from his seat, taking your hand in his and helping you over to a chair. “Are you allowed to be out of your room?” he asked, helping you sit.

You shrugged. “Probably not, but I don’t really care.” You glanced up at his face, noticing a bruise on his cheek. “What happened?” 

He let out a chuckle, shaking his head. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about me.” He knelt down in front of you, his eyes searching yours. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired, mostly. Pretty hungry, too.” You offered him a comforting smile before turning to look at Will. “Are you doing okay, bud?”

He nodded, giving you a small smile. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

You reached over and squeezed his hand. “Good. I’m glad to hear it.”

“Hey Y/N?” Jonathan spoke up.

“Yeah?”

“I’m gonna let the boys know that he’s awake. Can we talk in the hallway while they’re in here?”

You nodded, pushing yourself to your feet. Jonathan held his arm out, and you clutched onto his forearm, using your other hand to wheel your IV pole. The two of you stepped into the waiting room, letting out a small giggle when you saw Dustin and Lucas fast asleep with Mike sitting next to them.. But Eleven wasn’t there.

“Eleven?” you whispered to Jonathan, who frowned slightly. 

“She killed the demogorgon, and she disappeared.”

You mirrored his frown and nodded, walking over to the boys to wake them. “Guys,” you hummed, shaking them gently.

Mike turned to you while the other two shot up. “Y/N!” Mike voiced, jumping to his feet and hugging you, followed by Dustin and Lucas

You let out a chuckle and hugged them back, leaning back on Jonathan so you didn’t fall over. “Careful guys,” Jonathan voiced, helping you keep your balance. 

“Is Will awake?” Dustin asked, looking up at you.

“Yeah he is, but he’s a lot more out of it than I am.”

The three boys immediately hurried out of the room, and you and Jonathan chuckled. 

“Oh my god, you’re okay,” Nancy sighed from behind you, and you turned to give her a hug. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Nance. It’s not your fault.” You patted her back and pulled away, giving her a smile. She nodded slightly and squeezed your shoulder, smiling at you in return. You glanced around the room, your brows furrowing when you saw Steve sitting there. “Steve?” He popped his head up at your voice, revealing his bruised face. “Holy shit, what happened to you?”

Steve pursed his lips and shook his head slightly. “It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.”

“Sorry if this sounds rude, but why are you here?”

He glanced between Nancy and Jonathan before looking back at you. “I’ll explain later.”

You just nodded and turned to Jonathan. He nodded slightly and led you out of the waiting room, into the hallway. 

You two stopped in an area just out of sight of Will’s room and the waiting room. “What’s going on, Jonathan?” you inquired, shifting your grip on his forearm to his hand that wasn’t bandaged. “Why do you want to talk to me?”

He let out a sigh, squeezing your hand for a moment. “Thank you for protecting Will,” he whispered, his eyes focused on your joined hands.

“Of course. I-I would do anything to keep him safe. He’s like a little brother to me.” He nodded in response, sniffling slightly. “Jonathan, what’s wrong?”

“I promised I would protect you. I promised that nothing bad would happen, and then you got stuck in that place. I should’ve saved you.”

You let out a sigh. “Jonathan, look at me.” Slowly, he raised his chin to lock eyes with you. “I’m alive, aren’t I? I’m okay.”

“But you got stuck in that place, and I could’ve kept that from happening! You were in a coma for two goddamn days, Y/N! All because I wanted to find that stupid thing!”

“Jonathan!” you raised your voice, making him jump slightly. “I’m okay. I’m alive. None of what happened is your fault. I don’t blame you for any of this.” Your hand left his so you could touch his cheek. “I’m just fine, Johnny Boy. Don’t blame yourself for this. Please.”

He let out a soft sob and wrapped his arms around you tightly, holding you so closely against him. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed your cheek against his.

“It’ll be okay. I promise.”

***

Your nose was a bright red the moment you stepped out of your car and hurried up the front porch steps of the Byers’ house. You rapped your knuckles on the door and held your wrapped gifts close to your chest as you waited.

The door swung open, revealing a very giddy Will. “You’re late!” he cried, stepping to the side to let you in.

“I hate to break it to you, bud, but I do have a family that I have to spend time with,” you teased, following him inside and closing the door behind you.

“Oh good, you’re just on time!” Joyce exclaimed, rushing over and giving you a hug. Jonathan swooped in and took the gifts from your arms, setting them on the floor underneath the Christmas tree. 

“That’s funny, because Will just said I was late!” You chuckled and ruffled Will’s hair before moving over to give Jonathan a hug.

“Can we open presents now?” Will pleaded, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Alright, alright, go hand them out,” Joyce instructed.

You all sat around the living room, all your presents laid out in front of you and the big scruffy dog laying his head on your lap. Jonathan sat to the left of you, and Will and Joyce were to the right of you. 

Will immediately began opening his gifts, and you heard the click and whir of a camera next to you. You glanced over to Jonathan, and noticed that he had a new camera in his hand. 

The same camera that was wrapped up in wrapping paper and sitting in front of him. 

“Where’d you get that?” you asked him, gesturing to the camera.

“Oh, uh... Nancy got it for me,” he explained with a slight smile.

Your heart sunk to the pit of your stomach. “Oh, cool. That’s nice.”

He nodded and looked back over to Will, snapping a few more pictures of him as he displayed all the gifts he had received. But you couldn’t look away from the neatly wrapped box that sat just inches from Jonathan’s knee.

You heard your heart beating in your ears as your hands slowly inched towards the wrapped camera, waiting until your fingers grazed the paper to swipe it up and quickly tuck it into the inner pocket of your jacket and then acting like nothing had happened.

“Thank you so much, Y/N!” Will announced, startling you out of your trance.

In his hands was an autographed set of the Star Wars trilogy, and a wide smile was plastered on his face.

“Of course, bud!” you hummed, reaching over and squeezing his hand. “I’m glad you like it!”

“Alright mom, your turn,” Jonathan urged, and you all turned to Joyce.

She began opening Jonathan and Will’s shared present, which was a scrapbook of pictures that Jonathan took and drawings that Will did. She thanked them both profusely and hugged them tightly before moving to her gift from you. 

Inside was a brand new robe and pajama set, along with a new phone and receiver. “Oh Y/N, this is so kind. Thank you!” she hummed, leaning over to give you a hug.

“Absolutely, Joyce. You deserve it!”

She smiled at you before turning to Jonathan. “Alright, honey, your turn.”

Jonathan nodded and grabbed the first gift in front of him. He delicately tore off the wrapping and tossed it to the side, examining the gift.

Your heart began to race again when you realized that it was the multiple rolls of film you had bought him to go with his camera. 

You floundered for an explanation for a moment as he examined the gift.

“So Nancy and I had actually got together to get a joint gift for you. She got the camera, and I got the film.”

He nodded and turned to you, his eyes bright. “This is like $50 worth of film,” he pointed out, smiling.

“Well, now you’re set for like a week!” you teased, nudging his shoulder playfully.

He let out a chuckle and wrapped his arms around you, hugging you tightly. “Thank you so much.”

“Of course. Merry Christmas.”

He had already pulled away and opened his other gifts by the time you snapped back to reality, so caught up in your own panic and worried thoughts that you didn’t even realize it was your turn until Jonathan called your name.

“Right, sorry.” You cleared your throat slightly and grabbed the first gift in front of you, which read that it was from Will. You tore it open and saw that it was a framed sketch of you that he had done. You smiled and traced your finger along the glass before looking up to Will and leaning over to give him a hug. “I love it, Will! Thank you. It’s beautiful.”

You gently set it aside and opened the next present, which was from Joyce. Inside was a brand new pair of combat boots, which you desperately needed. You hugged her and thanked her profusely before going back and reaching for your next gift, which was from Jonathan.

But it wasn’t there.

You turned to Jonathan, who immediately leapt to his feet. “I had to hide it in my room because the shape would give it away. Let me go get it,” he explained, leaving you with a confused look on your face as he ran to his room.

He returned a moment later, hiding the gift behind his back. You playfully pouted at him and he shook his head, instructing you to cover your eyes. You let out a sigh but obliged, placing your hands over your eyes. Something was set in your lap, and Jonathan permitted you to uncover your eyes.

In your lap was a machete, along with a sheath attached to a belt. You let out a chuckle and grinned up at Jonathan, who had a nervous smile on his face. “I thought, y’know, since your other one is in the upside down,” he stuttered, finicking with his hair. “It’s okay if you don’t like-”

“I love it, Jonathan. Thank you.” You set it to the side and gently lifted the dog’s head off your lap before pushing yourself to your feet and hugging him tightly. 

***

“Shit, I need to head home,” you mumbled after checking the clock and seeing that it was already midnight. You got up from the couch and tugged on your shoes, gathering all your new presents and stuffing them into your bag, and slipping on your jacket.

“I’ll walk you out,” Jonathan offered, getting up off the couch and walking over to you.

You nodded, waiting for him to slip some shoes and a jacket on before you opened the door. The two of you stepped outside and walked over to your car, idling for a moment before you got inside. “Thanks for walking me out, Jonathan,” you hummed, giving him a smile.

“Of course.” He gave you a smile in return and shuffled awkwardly for a moment.

You furrowed your brows. “What’s wrong?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. I, uh... I actually have another present for you.”

“Jonathan-” You let out a sigh. “You didn’t have to get me anything else. The machete is awesome, really.”

“But I wanted to.” He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a small, wrapped box. He handed it to you, stepping back and watching your face as you opened it.

Inside was a delicate silver necklace, with a small pendant in the shape of a bee. 

A beaming smile split across your face and you looked up at Jonathan. “It’s beautiful. I love it.”

“Yeah?” He mirrored your smile.

“Yeah.” You traced your finger along the small bee. “Can you put it on for me?”

He nodded and you handed him the box before turning your back to him and lifting your hair away from the nape of your neck. A moment later, Jonathan draped the necklace around your neck and hooked the catch together, his fingers glided lightly against your neck.

You rested your fingers against the necklace and turned to face him. You searched his face for a moment before throwing your arms around his neck, carding your fingers through his hair. “Thank you,” you whispered.

He nodded, hugging you back just as tightly. “Anything for you,” he responded, so faintly you almost didn’t hear him.

Slowly, you pulled away and walked over to the driver’s side, pulling the door open.. You hesitated on getting in for a moment, worrying on your lower lip, before stepping away and going back to Jonathan. He gave you a confused look as you stepped close to him and pushed yourself onto your tiptoes, pressing a feather-light kiss to his cheekbone. 

With a smile, you pulled away and stepped back over to the driver’s side of your car, resting your hand on the car door. “Merry Christmas, Johnny Boy,” you hummed.

He blinked a few times, his cheeks blooming into a light red, before nodding. “Merry Christmas, Y/N,” he coughed out.

You let out a chuckle and hopped in your car, driving away.

[pocket-luv101]

Summary: Mahiru decides to tame the demon within the rose. (KuroMahi)

I trust you, Kuro. Mahiru’s warm and reassuring voice echoed in Kuro’s mind. He wished he could feel as confident in himself as Mahiru did when he handed the rose to him. He still had reservation about the flower and reclaiming its power. They needed it to defeat Tsubaki but Kuro didn’t want to risk Mahiru’s life. No one knew how dangerous the power was more than him.

They had decided to tame the demon.

“Are you sure you two want to go through the trouble of taming this thing?” Gear asked Kuro as he tossed the rose into the center of a rune circle. He prepared everything they needed to reverse the ritual in his basement where they could contain the demon easier. “We don’t know if this will work. It’ll be easier to sacrifice your Eve. In the past, you set aside your own personal feelings to do what was best for the world.”

Kuro knew that he was referring to the night he killed his father to stop him from creating more Servamps. The regrets he had of the night caused scars on his heart but the pain had dulled after he met Mahiru. Mahiru knew his past but he didn’t call him a monster. He hoped that he wouldn’t see him differently in a few days.

“The choice isn’t that simple, Gear. Mahiru is my world.” Kuro didn’t say anything more but his determined expression told Gear that he wouldn’t sacrifice Mahiru. “When that demon would take over me at night, I couldn’t control my body but I was still conscious. I tried to talk to the demon and stop it but… This time, it’ll be different.”

Kuro pictured Mahiru’s smile and he wanted to protect him. “Three nights. If I can’t control the power by the third number night, we’ll seal the demon in the rose again. I’ll only transform at night but I want to keep Mahiru from seeing me. Can you keep him away from the basement? I know he’ll argue with you but it’s not safe for him. Gear, in case something happens—”

“I know.” Gear nodded even before Kuro could finish his sentence. They hadn’t seen each other in decades but it was easy to see the effect Mahiru had on Kuro. He knew that they were in love but he wondered if it would be enough to stop the demon. Both of them had lived long enough to know that the world was rarely as simple as fairy tales.

They turned towards the door when they heard footsteps above them. Mahiru descended the stairs with a large scarf and blanket over his arm. He glanced around the basement and his brows furrowed at how sparse the room was. He set the blankets on a cot and said, “I wanted to speak with you before the ritual, Kuro. I know this will be difficult for you and I wish I could be here to support you.”

“It’ll be better for me to know that you’re somewhere safe where that monster can’t touch you.” Kuro countered. In the corner of his eyes, he saw Gear walk to the far corner of the basement. He was glad that he gave them as much privacy as he could. “We don’t have much time left before Tsubaki comes back. Gear and I will focus on the demon while you work with Youtarou on a backup plan.”

“You said that the answer is ‘us’ and that means we should work together. I know you’re strong and you’ll defeat your demon. I want to be there for you though.” Mahiru placed his hand over Kuro’s chest and his fingers brushed against the cold metal of his bell. With a finger beneath his chin, Kuro lifted his face until their eyes met.

He tenderly kissed his forehead and Mahiru wished that there was a way he could help him. He understood Kuro’s concern and why he wouldn’t want him in the room during the ritual. Mahiru brought his wrist to Kuro’s lips and said: “Drink. I can’t be here to help you but my blood will make you stronger for when you face Sloth.”

“That cat is troublesome.” Kuro wrapped his hands around Mahiru’s and pressed his face into his palm. He gently kissed his palm before he bit his wrist to suck his blood. Their contract chain appeared and wrapped around them. From his blood to his heart, everything about Mahiru was sweet to him and Kuro wouldn’t allow anything to happen to him.

Kuro let him go and then he held up a set of shackles. Mahiru nodded in understanding. He reluctantly placed the handcuffs around his wrists. The heavy chains would stop Kuro from escaping and attacking others if the demon took control of him. They had made a lot of precautions for the situation and Gear would watch over him.

“It’s almost sunset. You should go, Mahiru.” They reluctantly pulled apart. Mahiru held onto the contract link as he left because he wanted to feel connected to Kuro even while they were apart.

Once he had left the room, Gear stepped forward with a worn spell book. “I’ll start the ritual right now but you won’t transform until it’s night. I moved the video game system to the basement so we can play while we wait for that demon.”

Mahiru sat in front of the basement door and thought of the crashes and roars he heard the previous night. He rubbed his thumb over the bite mark on his wrist. As optimistic as he was, he knew it was unlikely that Kuro would tame the demon on the first night. He couldn’t help but worry about what could’ve happened the previous night. He understood that Gear had to subdue the demon if it lost control but Mahiru hoped that he didn’t hurt Kuro.

“Mahiru, did you sleep in the hallway?” Youtarou stepped into the hall with a tray of food. Mahiru wore his emotions openly on his face so he could see that he was worried for Kuro. A sympathetic smile appeared on his face as he placed the tray of food next to him. “Can you give this to Gear? I was going to use the dumbwaiter but he sleeps until noon and I’m worried the food will go cold.”

“Thank you, Youtarou.” Mahiru jumped to his feet. He was grateful for the opportunity he gave him to check on Kuro. Since it was daylight, he wasn’t concerned about the demon. Youtarou slipped a key out from its hiding place above the door frame and unlocked the door. He took the tray of food from him and quietly crept down the stairs.

The first thing he noticed when he reached the bottom was the broken furniture and the claw marks on the wall. He placed the tray on a desk. Kuro was laying on the ground amidst the rubble and Mahiru immediately ran to him. He shoved aside a beam of wood and knelt next to his body. He placed his hand near his lips and he was relieved after he felt his breath against his skin.

Kuro wasn’t injured aside from a few scrapes and bruises that would heal easily. The sight of him being hurt squeezed at his heart and he debated if he should get a first aid kit for him. He carefully ran his fingers through his hair until he moved beneath his hand. He thought he had woken Kuro and he waited for him to fall asleep again. In his sleep, Kuro found his hand and laced their fingers together.

“I can’t get a first aid kit when you’re holding my hand like this.” Mahiru whispered with a soft smile. He slid his other hand beneath Kuro’s head and moved him so that he was laying on his lap. He had a lot of questions about the previous night but didn’t want to wake him. Kuro appeared exhausted.

He suddenly felt a presence behind him and Mahiru looked back the best he could with Kuro on his lap. Only the wall stood behind him and he sighed at himself. Between the events of the past few days and adjusting to a new time zone, he felt anxious. Mahiru stroked Kuro’s soft hair and let his warmth comfort him. He reminded himself that the demon couldn’t attack him during the day.

Then, he felt a hand on his cheek and it slowly turned his face around. A rock dropped in his stomach when he found himself looking into red eyes that were familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. The demon was kneeling in front of him with a rose in his hand. Mahiru instinctively leaned over Kuro to protect him from the demon.

“That’s a cold reaction.” Sloth said with a stitched smile. Even when Mahiru summoned his spear, Sloth didn’t react and merely ran his finger over the blade’s edge. Due to the contract Mahiru shared with Kuro, Sloth was able to speak with him. “I gave you a broom but you changed it into a spear. You have more influence on my power than I expected. I have even more control over Kuro though.”

“No one has control over Kuro. He won’t let you kill people anymore.” He met Sloth’s eyes. Mahiru felt conflicted whenever he spoke with the demon since its appearance was similar to Kuro. His personality was much more forward though. “Gear calls you a demon but no one is that simple. Why do you compel Kuro to attack people? Wouldn’t it be more fulfilling to help others?”

“I haven’t eaten in three centuries. I can’t wait to try your blood. It must taste delicious.” He reached towards Mahiru again. The candles around them were abruptly smothered and the darkness faded as the room returned. Kuro now sat where Sloth did but his back was turned to him. A candle stick was knocked over beside him and Mahiru realized that Kuro drove the demon away.

He didn’t know if Kuro had overheard Sloth because he couldn’t see his expression. Mahiru moved closer to him and draped his arms over his broad shoulders. He felt how stiff his body was and said, “The demon didn’t do anything to me. Are you angry that I sneaked down here?”

“I knew you would try to check on me. You’re too meddlesome. I’m just glad that you didn’t come down here during the night. It was a mess. That thing hasn’t gotten weaker since we sealed it but it’s more persistent.” Kuro groaned and ran his hand through his hair. He was relieved that Mahiru didn’t pull away from him after seeing the demon again.

Mahiru lifted his wrist to Kuro’s mouth and said, “You should drink. It’ll help you heal.”

“Youtarou, can you translate this passage for me?” Mahiru asked. He glanced up from the textbook and saw that Youtarou had fallen asleep on the couch. They had been studying Gear’s textbooks to search for Tsubaki’s weakness and the sun had set without them realizing it. He was tired as well but he pushed himself to his feet. He intended to wake Youtarou so he could go to his bed and sleep comfortably.

A loud crash stole his attention and Mahiru stared down the hall to the basement door. He reminded himself that Gear was with Kuro and he was a strong werewolf. Despite Gear’s cold and disinterested tone whenever they spoke, he could sense that the two were friends. Mahiru reassured himself with a thousand different rationales yet they were overwhelmed by Kuro’s cry of help.

His scream was followed by silence and Mahiru bit his lip. He didn’t know if Gear had stopped the demon or if something had happened to the two. The silence tugged on his mind until he walked forward. Mahiru pressed his ear against the door yet he couldn’t hear anything. He reasoned that he could quickly look down the stairs to check on them.

Mahiru stood on his toes and grabbed the key that Youtarou had hidden in the door frame. He held his breath as he made his way down the stairs. He stopped near the bottom of the steps before he would be visible and peered into the room. The basement was large and he couldn’t find Kuro or Gear immediately. He took another step down to see the room better and the wood creaked beneath him.

“Are you here to share a midnight snack?” A cold breeze brushed over his ear and Mahiru turned sharply to see Sloth standing behind him. His footing slipped and he stumbled down the last few steps. He managed to catch himself on the wall so he wasn’t hurt.

He looked up and caught a glimpse into the basement. Gear was restraining Kuro with a chain. Mahiru’s sudden appearance drew both of their attention and they turned to him. For a moment, Mahiru didn’t recognize Kuro with sharp horns and dark wings. Kuro’s red eyes were the same yet there wasn’t a spark of recognition in them.

Their gaze met and Kuro stopped fighting Gear to charge towards Mahiru. Kuro broke away from his chains too quickly for him to catch him again. Gear cursed when black spikes burst out of the ground to block his path. He threw his body against the wall of crystal to stop Kuro from reaching Mahiru. He was certain that Kuro would never forgive him if anything happened to him.

“Kuro!” Mahiru called his name but his cry didn’t stop him. He couldn’t escape up the stairs before Kuro was in front of him so he quickly summoned his broom. He didn’t want to fight Kuro so he only held his Lead in front of him to block his fangs. The force behind his attack pushed Mahiru back until he was pressed against the wall. “Kuro, it’s me!”

He repeatedly yelled his name with the hope that his voice would reach him. Kuro gripped his broom and his claws scraped against the Lead. Mahiru caught a glimpse over Kuro’s shoulder where Sloth was standing over him. “Bite him, Kuro. His blood must taste wonderful and you’re hungry. You’re a monster too and this is your true form so you shouldn’t fight me.”

“Kuro isn’t a monster!” Mahiru yelled over Sloth. “He’s a lazy, NEET vampire but also strong and kind and considerate. He saved me time and time again. I can never consider someone like that a vampire. Everything he is and what he has done for me are the reasons I fell in love with him. I’m not going to let you take Kuro from me!”

“I’m not interested in Kuro but you, Mahiru.” Sloth said with a shrug. “How much longer can you hold Kuro back? You have grown stronger but you’re still weak—”

Kuro’s wings unfolded violently and shoved sloth away from them. Spikes grew around him and Mahiru to encase them in a protective shield. The black crystal blocked most of the light yet Mahiru was able to see Kuro clearly. His red eyes had softened and Kuro slowly leaned away from. Mahiru cautiously lowered his broom at the same time. “Kuro?”

“Yeah.” He nodded but he created a crystal barrier between them. “I don’t know how much longer I have control of this form so you should go upstairs where it’s safe. Lock the door.”

Unlike Gear and Sloth, Mahiru was easily able to shatter the wall with a simple touch. He closed the space between them and cupped Kuro’s face in his hands. He brushed his finger over his lips until he touched his fang. “So, this is what you transform into when it’s night and you have your full power. Horns, wings and claws aren’t that scary.”

Feeling his loving touch, he relaxed and the crystal walls he had created all shattered. Sloth had disappeared but Kuro was focused on Mahiru before him. He was tired so he sank to the ground but he kept his arms around him. Mahiru knelt on the ground with him and touched his lips. “You’re hurt. Do you need blood to help your wounds?”

Kuro pulled him closer until he merely kissed Mahiru’s neck. “I want to drink your blood but I can hold back.”