#wish that was happening in the winter every other room is heated then except mine | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gretchensinister · 4 years

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I’m Your Boogeyman

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Somehow, he always drifted off eventually.

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

***

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

***

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

“Zander. Please don’t leave.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that…a problem?”

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

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

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

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

“Was it…was it worth it?”

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That I wanted to touch you. Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wonder. It feels good.”

Very interesting.

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

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

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

“I see,” Boo said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah. Good, then.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Does that feel good or bad for you?”

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

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

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

And then Boo kissed him on the lips.

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

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

Oh well.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And was that a good thing? Well—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, and I…” Boo hesitated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Boo flashed a grin. “Oh no, never.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Boo.” Zander sat up. “How?”

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

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

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

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

“No, I don’t know,” Boo said.

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

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

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elsanna-shenanigans · 4 years

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December Contest Submission #21: Even if it kills me...

words: ca. 2200 setting: canonverse/canon AU lemon: yes cw: death acceptance I guess

Once upon a time, in the faraway kingdom of Arendelle, there lived two princesses. The two, despite living in the same castle all their lives, barely saw each other. They ate their meals separately and if either of them ever accidentally entered a room with the other, it was quickly corrected.

You see, the princesses had a secret. One that only they and a very select crew of castle staff knew. The truth was, the young princesses were cursed.

The elder sister, Elsa, with the gift to command the elements of winter, was cursed with skin of ice. Any room she would enter would noticeably chill and her touch would leave a frosty print. Then there was Anna, bright and cheerful and quite literally kissed by the sun. She was cloaked in a blanket of heat and was known to accidentally scorch things just by holding it for too long. To make matters worse, their conditions only seemed to worsen with their emotions. Young Anna, in her excitement, once set a curtain on fire, and Elsa had completely frozen over more than a few rooms in her time.

Ice and fire.

And yet, there was one more secret the two shared; one that even their staff was none the wiser, ‘less they gained the ability to interpret the sidelong glances and longing eyes shared by two sisters too far apart.

It started off innocently enough. Elsa retired to her room one evening to find a letter on her desk. That itself was not unusual, as the girls would often communicate like this, leaving letters for the other to find to discuss the happenings of the day. It wasn’t unusual. Except in this case it was. There was just one sentence from the usually chatty younger sister.

‘Is it wrong that I really want to hold you?’ This was but a few days after the death of their parents, lost too soon while at sea while Elsa and Anna were 18 and 15 respectively. Elsa mulled over her response, imagining bittersweetly what fate that would wrought.

‘Is it wrong that I want you to?’

Distance never amounted to love loss for the two. As fate would have it, the girls were not always afflicted and in the before time, the two were utterly inseparable. They did everything together, and they loved to be around each other more than anything in the world. Then one day, without rhyme or reason, holding hands became agonizing. As time went on, even the slightest brush of skin on skin would result in immense pain for both of them. Elsa’s skin would be dented, as if a part of it simply melted away. And as for Anna, her skin would lose its healthy glow with blisters being quick to follow. There was usually even a hiss of steam to boot. As they grew, so did the distance between them, but never did that affect the fact that they were never far from the other’s mind. If anything, the further they were forced apart, the closer they longed to be.

It was still a long time, two years in fact, until Elsa came across another single-sentenced note. ‘Is it wrong that I really want to hold you?’

Elsa thought it strange how the same words suddenly felt so different. As if she could feel the change of intention behind the words themselves. Or, she considered, maybe it was she who changed, projecting her own desires into the words in front of her.

‘Is it wrong that I want you to..?’

Elsa prayed Anna would ignore the smudged out letter at the end. But also, deep in her heart, she hoped more that Anna would notice and respond in kind. It wasn’t long before the latter proved to be true.

The letters between the two grew more intimate with each passing day. Mundane recounts of mishaps in the court were spiced with tidbits of sweet nothings. Within months, they had blossomed into something else entirely. Filthy burning wants and illicit desires were penned irreverently and sworn to secrecy between their sheets. Distant as they were, the sisters kept each other heated through the lonely nights, naughty digits acting out the latest scripts.

And though that fed the girls’ desires, it could never satisfy them. Instead they only grew more ravenous, more longing, wishing dearly to prove to each other how true each word rang for them.

But ice and fire, it could never be.

On Elsa’s 21st birthday, another wedge found its way into their lives. Another curse. A haughty, foolish prince willing to take a gamble on Elsa’s childrearing abilities despite her “condition” decided to propose. And Elsa’s advisor’s accepted on her behalf. “It would give the people hope,” they told her. Clearly she was not considered in those numbers. And surely, nor was Anna.

Typically, gossip such as this travelled quickly through the castle but in this case, news moved slowly and quietly like a funeral procession. It didn’t reach Anna until she opened that evening’s letter.

That night, the two broke an unspoken rule. Elsa felt her sister approaching far before she heard her footsteps. Anna was… not pleased. And though they both knew intimately the price of simply sharing a room, Anna did not divert her path nor did Elsa attempt to escape. They needed to see each other more than ever in that moment.

Elsa didn’t flinch when her bedroom door was roughly pushed open. She was already standing to greet her guest, a person she hadn’t seen up close in far too long.

“Is it true?” Anna’s eyes had already become heavy. “That’s not a funny joke to tell Elsa.” Her hands were held tightly against her chest, as if that would somehow stem the pain she felt.

Elsa avoided her sister’s gaze and tried not to focus on the way Anna’s breath materialized as she spoke. She definitely ignored the droplets that had already begun rolling down her face. Elsa, always the articulate one, stumbled on the words she was trying to get out. She couldn’t find a proper excuse. Not one that she dared whisper that night. Not to Anna. “I’m sorry, Anna. I really do love you bu-”

“Then why are you going through with this?” Anna interrupted.

“Because we can’t keep doing this. We can’t just keep teasing each other forever. We can’t be together like that. We can’t be together at all!”

A heavy silence hung between them after that. Those harsh nagging thoughts that never made it past the very edges Elsa’s mind had suddenly burst forward and there was no way to take them back. She was disgusted with herself. To say something like that to Anna… even if it was the truth. Elsa held back the tears as best she could.

“We can.” Anna spoke between gritted teeth, but Elsa only shook her head. “We didn’t ask for this and we didn’t do anything to deserve it. But we sucked it up and lived with it for so long. I miss your warmth Els.”

Elsa chuckled darkly, as if mocking herself, as she analyzed her glistening hands. “I haven’t been warm in a long time.”

“Then let me share mine with you.” Anna had grown desperate. “I have more than enough, I can do it. I’ll keep you warm Els, I promise.”

Anna stepped closer to her older sister but Elsa only matched her with a step back. For the first time in a long time, Elsa looked uncertain. Anna couldn’t tell if there were tears gathering in her sister’s eyes or…

“You know what would happen.”

“I’m okay with it if you are.” Anna took an experimental step forward. And then another one. And then another. Elsa stayed put, even as the steam rose between them.

For the first time in about ten years, the sisters stood face-to-face, barely inches apart. They smiled, despite the pain the proximity brought for both of them. They looked each other up and down, becoming acquainted with the finer details of the other, their smiles growing with every little discovery.

“I never noticed you had freckles too.” Elsa brought her hand up to her own face as if to cover them and Anna knew her sister would be a blushing mess if she could. Anna’s eyes dropped lower and she winced slightly as she noticed the puddle that was gathering around her sister’s sopping shoes. “I didn’t know I could get you so wet.”

An uncharacteristic snort came out of Elsa and she was far too late to stop it. Instead she decided to bop her impudent little sister on the shoulder. A mistake. They both reeled from the contact, as light as it was, an angry blast of steam rattling them both. It wasn’t as painful as if it had been skin-to-skin but it was still enough to have both girls groaning.

Still, the moment their eyes met, they gravitated toward each other again. It was Elsa who closed the distance between them this time. Her hand moved up to her little sister’s cheek, hovering just an inch or two away. They were both gritting their teeth from the pain, but neither pulled away. When Elsa’s hand finally made contact, they both closed their eyes. Anna let out a soft whimper as her brows pressed together and she bit her lip. Every centimeter of skin Elsa touched felt like hornet stings, but Anna could only imagine that her sister was feeling the same thing.

Elsa’s next movement was so quick, neither girl had much time to prepare. Her free hand met Anna’s other cheek and they both swallowed a scream. Still neither of them pulled away. Instead, Anna brought her own hands up to cover Elsa’s.

They opened their reddened eyes, and still couldn’t help but smile at each other despite everything. Water was falling from Elsa in streams by then, and Anna’s chest heaved as she tried to ignore the pinpricks and burning in her face and fingers.

“I promise, even if it kills me,” Anna managed between pants. “I’ll keep you warm.”

“Even if it kills us,” Elsa corrected barely above a whisper. “I love you. So so much.”

Anna didn’t have to repeat the sentiment for Elsa to know it she felt the same. Their letters left no uncertain terms between them. And now they were finally getting to experience at least an ounce of the dreams they only entertained on paper. They let their eyes flutter shut again as their faces moved closer. They felt they were reaching their limits and there was no turning back now. If this were to be their final moments, they silently decided they would allow themselves at least one pleasure. And so, lips that had longed for each other for so long finally met. And as if the pain were but an illusion, the lips danced and played together, as if it was their one and only chance.

The room had been engulfed in steam thick enough to cloak their intimacy. It rolled away in wisps beneath Elsa’s door. Nearly half an hour passed before a servant’s rounds landed them in the hall to see the white clouds escaping their crown princess’s chambers.

The portly old maid pushed the doors open cautiously. Her heart nearly shot up her throat when her foot landed in a puddle of water and she saw the dress she had prepared for Her Majesty earlier that day now reduced to a crumpled, drenched mess. She screamed.

“Gerda!” The woman nearly tripped over her own feet as she caught a quick movement in the corner of her eyes. It took a few seconds for her heart to stopped pounding so quickly and for the shrouds to clear enough or her to see Elsa sitting up in her bed with a sheet pulled up to her bare chest.

“Oh m-milady! Your majesty! I thou-” Gerda did a quick curtsy, only noticing the body nestled up in the sheets beside Elsa as she came up from the dip. “A-and.. Princess Anna? Your highness,” she dipped again, obviously still flustered and confused. “The steam… a-and the water. The dre- I thought…”

“Can you get a team together to clean this up as quickly as possible?” Elsa interrupted smoothly. “I’ll spend the rest of the night in Princess Anna’s chambers as to not get in your way. Oh and can you have a message passed to my advisors,” the maid nodded. “Tell them I’m not to be disturbed tomorrow. And there will be no wedding.”

Gerda scurried off fast enough to only catch a glance at the way Anna’s arm went around Elsa’s waist, a knowing grin playing at her lips. You see the maid, as did most her age, knew that there was only one way to break a curse. She had happened across a few letters in her cleanups, so what she saw only surprised her in the moment. But even she never would have guessed… but again, there was only one way, and there is no fooling magic. She smiled as she slowed her steps, deciding that she would give them a bit more time.

#elsanna #submission #december 2020 contest #prompt: warmth

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shannygoatgruff · 4 years

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My Brother’s Keeper - Chapter XVII

Genre: Psychological Thriller

Modern Ivar X Modern Hvitserk

Rating: MA+18

Overall Warning: Dark story told from an emotionally distributed person’s POV with graphic and sadistic material including rape, terror, torture, kidnapping, drug use, slash, implied incest, necrophilia, and insecurity. Heavy trigger warnings.

Chapter Warning: Nervous breakdown. Mentions of a sexual assault, childhood sexual abuse. Violence. Murder.

Chapter XVII

Grey paint makes this room seem colder than it is. It should be comforting, seeing that it’s my favorite color and all, but something about it that makes my teeth chatter. It feels like it’s the middle of winter in here, but judging from the birds in the tree outside of the sliding glass doors, it looks like a warm spring day. The sky, or what I can see of it, is bright blue and there are only the faintest whispers of clouds overhead. Yet, for some reason, my body aches like it's going to rain. Probably because I’m fucking freezing.

I hate it here and I hate this room, especially. It’s so sterile looking, even with dark wooden framed awards and certificates. Those stupid frames only make the industrial grey walls look more prominent. And this lacquered oak desk is too small for the amount of files and papers on top of it – maybe that was intentional…make it look like more work gets done in here than it actually does. These two oversize forest green chairs are comfortable, but they don’t match a damn thing, certainly not this burgundy rug that everything is just sitting on. Who the fuck decorated this place – a colorblind kindergartner?

What they should have done is used a nice grey lacquered wooden frames to play off the color of the walls, and then decorated with some earth-toned furniture; that would have brought a little warmth to the room. At least, that’s what Ivar would have done. He would have found a way to make it feel like home, no matter how cheap and mismatched the furniture is. He would have had this place looking like a showroom of IKEA in no time.

The only thing in here I do like is the floor lamp that sits in the corner of the room. I don’t know what it is I like about it; maybe it’s the square, glass lampshade, or the fat textured grey base with the yellow flowers winding around it. Maybe I like it because it hardly gives off any light and I find the soft white glow from it relaxing. I don’t know…whatever it is, I can’t stop staring at it.

"Hvitserk?" Slowly, turning in the direction of the sound of my name, I see a hazy, white face, with yellow, blonde hair directly in front of me, but I can’t make it out. I can’t get my eyes to focus. "You still with me?"

“Hmm.” Nodding slowly, I blink, trying to catch a glimpse of the face as it comes into view before it goes out of focus again. I wonder if I look as crazy as I feel trying to refocus my eyes, right now. Something about that thought makes me smile. "Gert?"

I met Dr. Lagertha, Gert as she keeps reminding me to call her, here about, um…a few days ago, or maybe it’s been months. I can’t really be sure. All I know is I have a full beard, or as much of a beard that I can grow, and my hair is the longest it’s ever been. I guess that means it’s been awhile; the days all seem to run together.

I think she’s in charge here because she asks so many damn questions. Only people who ask this many questions are in charge of things. Being in charge, you’d think she’d know something, but she doesn’t. No one here seems to know a goddamn thing. They can’t even tell me where here is! All I know is after Thora died, I woke up here.

There's not much to do here except fucking talk.

I call this place the Drug Store because they keep me high and well rested. If I’m not talking, then I’m sleeping and as soon as I wake up they give me pills. And they have the best fucking pills. It's not like that shit you get on the street. This shit is high end and it doesn't wear off that fast. I don't get sick from it and the best part is, I don't have to pay for them. The only downside is I'm so out of it most of the time that I can't seem to get my head together and figure out how to go home. But, I’ll work that out as soon as I come down this time.

"It seems like you’re still experiencing lucid dreams? I'll see what I can do about adjusting the dosage of your medication." I hear a rhythmic clicking sound and I can only imagine that Gert is typing notes again. She loves to type fucking notes. I think she likes to try to impress me with how fast she can do it or something because she’s always clicking away on that damn tablet of hers. "So, you wanna talk some more?"

With a shrug my head snaps back; it feels too heavy to sit up straight on my shoulders. I have to reposition myself in the chair so that I can rest my elbows on the arm rests to steady myself in my seat, "Not really.

Gert’s wearing that powdery perfume today. I smell it as she leans forward, "Tell me about your family."

My family? Of all the things we could talk about right now, she wants to talk about my family? There's a short subject. "I don't have a family. Just Ivar.” I have to close my eyes to keep the room from spinning, but even in the darkness of my lashes, swirls of colors still threaten to make me dizzy, "I want to lay down."

Papers start to move followed by a steady tapping on the table. She likes to do that, even though it gives me a headache. Even with my eyes closed, I know she's looking for some way to start the conversation. "It says here that you have brothers? How many?”

I feel my head bob as I try to focus, “Four. Bjorn, Ubbe, me, Sigurd, and Ivar,” my hand won’t cooperate as I try to count them off on my fingers. That brings on another fit of giggles.

“It seems your mother died when you were young and you were raised by your father?"

That’s not really how that happened, “Brother…he raised us." Not to disrespect Father’s role in anything but he didn't raise me. He put food on the table and clothes on my back, but it's not like he talked to me. Father did a lot of things to me, but talking and nurturing was not among them.

I can hear her typing again, “Which brother was that? The one that raised you?”

“Bjorn,” Of course she should know that. Everybody knows that he was like a surrogate father to us. He was so much older than us. He had to take on the role when Father and Rollo wouldn’t.

“Where is Bjorn now?”

Leaning my head to rest on my hand, I try my best to focus on her, “Gone.”

“Where?” She sits back in her chair and studies me.

With a shrug, I blink back at her. I don’t know where the fuck Bjorn is and I don’t give a shit, either. I focus on the sliding glass door and wonder what it’s like outside. I want to feel the sun on my face and smell grass, not this recycled air. Or maybe I want to take a nap. I’d rather do anything but talk right now.

Gert looks at a file, then she lifts her face to me and smiles pleasantly, “Tell me about your brother, Ubbe.”

Scratching my chin, I take in a breath and think. “Um...he’s two years older than me. He was my best friend when we were little. We did everything together. We took care of each other. Every time I fell, he picked me up. See this scar?” I lean my head to the side to expose my jaw to her. I wonder if she can still see it through my beard, “I fell out a tree. I cried. Man, did I cry. But Ubbe picked me up and walked me home. He fixed me up. He loved me. He tried to keep me safe.” As soon as the memory of Ubbe floods into my foggy mind I can feel myself smile.

"Here, drink this." Gert clears her throat and pours water into a paper cup – it’s always paper because they won't give me a glass. “What do you mean tried to keep you safe?” She slides it across the table and her hand drums waiting for me to answer or take the cup. I grab the drink and try to take it. I do, but it's hard to get my hand to my mouth. I have to crouch down in the seat to drink. "Where's Ubbe now?"

Where is Ubbe? Fuck if I can remember. “I’m not sure. We work…I work at his plant, but he doesn't talk to me no more. I don’t ever see him. We haven't talked in years." A chill creeps across the room and it's not from the cool water gliding down my throat. I wish they'd turn on the heat or give me a jacket or something. This room is too cold.

"Hvitserk," her voice is careful and the hushed tone she's using tells me that she's going to say something that might upset me. I just wish that she would come out and say whatever it is she knows. It's a lot easier hearing the parts I don't remember than when she tries to force the memories from me. They hurt. And I don't mean like the feelings from them hurt me. They physically hurt. The last time I remembered was when she asked me about Thora. When I woke up from talking to Lagertha about her, I had a gash on my forehead. Remembering is painful. "Your file says that Ubbe died when you were nineteen. That's over seven years ago."

Ubbe died? That's bullshit! He’s not dead, I work for the guy! Ivar calls him when I’m not going to the factory. I know we’re not on the greatest of terms, but if he were dead, I’d fucking know it. Lagertha's full of shit. She likes to lie. She's always trumping up something stupid, something to get a rise out of me. Well, fuck her. I'm not believing that shit, even if she has good drugs. I can find my own shit. "He didn't die. He just doesn't talk to me anymore and that’s Guthrum's fault." I don't talk to him anymore, either. It's funny how the people I need the most in my life all just stop talking to me after a while. "My head hurts.”

"It's okay. You're in a safe place. You've got to tell yourself that so, you don't go into the darkness. But, if you can't help it, I have pillows on the floor in case you have another seizure." I can feel her hand on mine and she pats it gently. I try to get my eyes to focus on hers but it's no use. I still can't make out her whole face. Right now I can make out about five of them but none of them are clear and her voice is becoming distorted. "Now this is important, Hvitserk. Tell me how Guthrum made you and Ubbe stop talking."

I don't like the way she babies me. It’s not how Ivar does it. When she does it, it makes me feel stupid. I know she wants to know, but doesn't she understand that if I felt safe with her that I'd open up? I always opened up to Ivar and most times all he'd have to do was hold me. “I’m giving you an injection of Sodium Pentothal - that’s what people sometimes call truth serum. It lowers your inhabitants and makes it harder for you to keep from speaking the truth. Do you remember we talked about introducing this into your sessions?”

I nod, even though I don’t know what the fuck she’s talking about. The shot pinches, but it doesn’t hurt. I detect it in my bloodstream as soon as she pulls out the needle. I love the way this stuff feels, but it hurts like a motherfucker when I crash. Plus, I hate the fact that my mouth just starts moving without my permission. "Guthy was my friend – he was the little brother of Ubbe’s girlfriend, Torvi. He used to come to our house all the time, play in our forts in the backyard... He was younger than me, like Sigurd’s age, but he wanted to hang out with me. He was the cutest little thing. He had curly brown hair and deep brown eyes. Ubbe always looked out for us, because he loved me and he knew that I loved Guthy."

As soon as my eyes open I see the woods right behind the back shed. The leaves are golden and they decorate the dying grass. It smells like fall in the air and it's really obvious when the leaves crunch with each step we take. "Ubbe knew how much I loved Guthrum but he told me to stay away from him, 'cause he was just a kid. He said that Guthy wouldn’t understand the way we grew up. Of course, I trusted Ubbe. He always gentle with me. He knew what was best for me even when I didn't. Plus, he got out…he made it. He had a normal life. He was in college – had a girlfriend and everything..." I look over to my left and Guthrum's walking beside me swinging that branch, banging the trunks of the trees while we walk into the woods. I'm not listening to him talk because I'm too busy staring at the look on his face. He makes me blush. And even though I'm smiling, I don't like the way I feel. Something's wrong. "Where's Ivar? You promised you'd tell me where he is."

"Stay focused, Hvitserk. I'll tell you about Ivar later." She always promises we'll talk about him but we never do. We used to talk about him until they found out that he came to check on me. He's tried to take me with him, but they keep me so full of drugs that I'm slow and clumsy and keep getting caught. After the last time, they gave me a new room that was inside of all of these locked doors. They strap me to the bed at night and bolt the door shut. There's even this big guy that stands outside. Now, Ivar can't get in and I can't get out. She won't even let me talk about him.

This is all Lagertha's fault. Always promising me that she'll tell me if he calls or sends a package. I tell her what she wants to know because she promises that she'll get Ivar in to see me. But then she always changes her mind. She's trying to keep me away from him. She's jealous. She doesn't know that he's going to kill her because she's keeping us apart. "Try to calm down. I'll tell you about Ivar, I promise."

"Don't you understand? I need to talk to him now! I don't like it here. I don't like talking about things with you. Ivar doesn't like it when I'm not happy. If you let me see him, I promise I'll keep you safe. I won't let him hurt you." I look down at my finger wondering why it hurts so badly. My hand won't come into focus, but I can see red dripping from the white tip of my finger. I must've pulled my nail off again. This seems to happen a lot when I get uncomfortable and they won't let me see Ivar. "My head hurts. I don't feel well. Please? Just let him come visit me. I'll tell you anything you want to know. Please, just let me see him."

"I'll see about arranging a visit after we talk. But, right now I need to know what happened in the woods behind your dad's house. What happened there that is making you so uncomfortable." I hate that fucking voice she uses. I don't want to talk about this. I want to see Ivar. She better not be lying, cause if she is that's it for her.

"I don't know." I close my eyes tightly to try to make the image of Guthy and the crunching leaves go away. But when I do, I can feel my fingers touch his hair and how wide his eyes got when I tried to kiss him. "He was so pretty. I just wanted to touch him, but he pushed me. He called me a fag and he pushed me." The ground is cold and hard on my hands as they came up to block my face from hitting it first as I fell to my knees. His soft face is hard and mean; his eyes aren't twinkling like they normally do. He's angry and I feel like shit because it's my fault. "Shut up, Guthrum! I'm not weak!"

I look over to my right and feel the anger fill my body. How dare he call me weak? Just because Ubbe takes care of me doesn't mean that I can't take care of myself. Ubbe doesn’t like to do what we have to do, so he makes sure he’s extra careful. He makes sure I’m okay after. Plus, he helps me when the time goes away because it scares me. Ubbe always makes sure I'm safe - he’s my big brother. He says it’s his job to keep me safe.

"Hvitserk?" Lagertha's voice cuts across Guthrum's angry face and my eyes snap up in her direction. "Do you remember where you are? You're safe. You're here with me." My arms flinch upward as if to lunge at her, but they fall back to the chair because the chains won't reach that far. I focus on her face long enough to see her shake her head at someone else in the room. I suddenly remember where I am and it’s not at my father’s house.

My throat is dry. I need to drink something. “Water,” Coldwater is the only thing that helps to stop the memories. It keeps me awake, makes the drugs feel like they don't have a hold on me. But she won't give me anymore. She wants me to remember. "He dropped the branch on the ground. I got mad and I picked it up. There was a crack in his forehead and blood. Blood on the leaves, blood in his hair, his eyes. It was everywhere." Slowly my heartbeat returns to normal and my dick gets hard. God, he's beautiful.

"He was just lying there with this deep red blood sticking to his hair, making it look darker. Those sad brown eyes were looking at me. I couldn't stop myself. I just had to know what he felt like." And the calm washes over me as I kiss his cold lips and let my hands roam over his body. "He was my first. I didn't know what I was doing, but he didn't mind. I don't think he'd ever done it before either. He grunted a little and it was awkward, but it didn't hurt too bad. It was beautiful. He kept whispering my name. His lips were cold when I kissed him, but he kept whispering to me. He loved it as much as I did." It is too cold out here. We should be making love inside where it's warm, so his body won't have so many goosebumps and his lips won't turn blue. But I can't stop. He's so sweet and pretty. We need each other and the location doesn't matter.

"Did Ubbe find you?"

Why does she have to ruin it by talking about Ubbe? She wanted me to remember, well I remember and it's a damn good memory. I finally really lost my virginity, just like Ubbe said it would happen, and it was the best day of my life but she's ruining it. "Ubbe fucked it all up." A pain shoots through my head and all I can see is a blinding white light. My hands are shaking and suddenly I feel the vomit hit my tongue. There's no time to move before it lands on the table and I can't stop. "Ivar…please? I need him," I gasp in between heaves.

But, Gert remains calm. I hate her. "Not until you tell me what happened to your brother." I don't want to talk about my brother. He doesn't talk to me anymore.

"That look. Ubbe always had the clearest, happiest, blue eyes, when he looked at me. But they were wild and they hurt me." Fucking tears. Why am I crying when I know that Ivar won't wipe them? He won't rock me until they stop altogether. I hate her. I hate this fucking place. I want to go home with Ivar. "Please? I don't want this anymore. Please? Just let me go home." Maybe if I beg she'll stop fucking torturing me.

"You're doing so well, Hvitserk. Just tell me about Ubbe."

Stupid bitch. I don't want to answer her but I can't stop myself. "He won't hold me. He won't come near me. He won't even look at me. But, he can damn sure call Guthrum's name and point his finger at me. He said, 'You did this. What the fuck is wrong with you? You did this.' He kept yelling. Father or Uncle Rollo were going to hear him. They couldn’t know…don’t you understand? It was just supposed to be us. No one else was supposed to know and we were never supposed to bring in anybody else. I fucked up. If they found out…it would have been so much worse, for all of us."

There's a splinter in my palm from the branch. Gripping it as tight as I can I swing it just like Ubbe taught me when I tried out for Little League. But, I don't stop. He was supposed to love me. He promised me he would always protect me, but he chose Guthrum. "You keep your damn mouth shut, Ubbe!" I keep hitting him until he doesn't say anything else. His blood is the same color as Guthrum's. It's beautiful. "I don't like red. There's too much red. I don't feel so good, Ubbe. I need help." I crawl over to him and lay my head on his chest. It's so dark and everything is fading but I can still feel his hand touch my hair. "I'm sorry, brother," I whisper before it all goes away.

I look up from the floor to see Lagertha kneeling beside me. The chair that I'm still handcuffed and shackled to is turned upside down with me under it. My lip is bleeding. Must have bitten it. Remembering with Ivar never hurts like this. "You had your first kill at nineteen. Your friend and your brother. Do you remember that, Hvitserk?"

"What?" I wish my eyes would focus. I wish I could feel her fingers in my hair as opposed to watching her blurry wrist disappear over the top of my head. "I didn't kill Ubbe. He moved out of the house, but he called me every day. He used to send me cards and letters. I left a few months later. We had a long talk about everything and I apologized for hitting him. But, I didn't kill him. But…" From where I'm lying, I can see out of the sliding glass doors. The blue sky and the green grass are heavenly especially since they've been taken away from me. And then something else catches my eye. "Ivar." Trying to scramble to my feet, I glimpse his smile and then he winks at me. He's going to save me from this hell.

"But, what?" Lagertha's voice forces the smile from my face.

"We were never the same. I don’t think he could ever forgive me for what I did to Guthrum, so he chose to stay away,” As long as I keep talking, she won't look at the door. She won't know that Ivar is trying to find a way in. If I keep her distracted, Ivar will save me. I tried to warn her, but she didn't listen. Whatever happens to her won't be my fault.

Lagertha helps me righten the chair and soon I feel my handcuffs being loosened. I don't know why I'm happy about that because I hate this fucking straight jacket more than the handcuffs. The big guard, Paul, leads me over to the couch and stands right by us when Lagertha takes a seat. I guess we can't use the table now that I've thrown up on it. "Hvitserk, it is important that you understand what your experience with Guthrum stemmed from. You and your brothers suffered from severe abuse at the hands of your father, uncle, and oldest brother. What you did to that boy was a learned pattern of sexual behavior.” She places her tablet on the floor and folds her hands in her lap as she speaks, “Part of it was you exploring your sexuality with someone that you felt genuinely attracted to. Another part of it was you acting out what you had been taught, and shown that sex is a violent and aggressive act, to be taken out on someone smaller and more vulnerable than you. Do you understand that?. You mustn’t blame yourself.”

What is this bitch talking about? “There wasn’t anything violent about my time with Guthy. It was amazing. I was careful not to hurt him.”

“Hvitserk, rape, is a violent act,” She considers me, then repositions herself on the chair. “Your file says that you and your brothers were sexually abused. You were forced to take pictures, perform acts on each other as well as with your guardians…you grew up believing that forcing someone to have sex is natural. But it isn’t, Hvitserk. Beating someone within an inch of their life and then having sex with them is not normal, even if that’s what happened to you. It wasn’t right when it was done to you, and it isn’t right when you do it to someone else.”

She has no idea what she’s talking about. I almost feel sorry for Lagertha, right now. No one has ever loved her enough to show her how much they truly want her. That’s okay because when I’ve had my lucid moments, I’ve seen her. Like really seen her and she’s amazing. She’s got it. Whatever that spark is, she has it. Ivar and I could show her what it’s like to be wanted, to be the object of desire. Then she’d know that all this talking she’s doing is just bullshit.

I look at the glass door and lock eyes with Ivar. I can tell that he knows what I’m thinking because without me having to say anything, his eyes quickly move over to Lagertha. He licks his lips before looking back at me and nods his head slowly.

“Let’s talk about Ivar,” She says looking up at me.

Shaking my head slowly, I tear my eyes away from the sliding glass door. I lean in and smile, “He doesn’t like it when people know about him,” I whisper.

Fuck Lagertha. She’ll know all about Ivar soon enough.

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okay-j-hannah · 5 years

Text

Synonyms For Home

Smosh : Prompt

Damien x Reader

Word Count: 3486

Warnings: Just the most relateable ish I’ve ever written... except for having THE actual Damien Haas in my life 😭 I heckin’ wish

Request: ““sometimes home has a heartbeat” First of all THANK YOU for writing damien haas because I can never find any inserts of him :( also I chose this dialogue because I really like it and can be used in a friend to lover thing? I’d like a angsty gone fluffy one? I often run away from potential relationships and I’d like something based around that. thank u for doing what ya do <3″ - @dancingpanda137

Prompt:

31. “Sometimes, home has a heartbeat.”

Note: I completely understand running out of Damien Haas fics 😂 I have definitely read about 99.99% of the content out there! Also I totally feel your pain about running away from potential relationships... this was a lot of fun to write!

A/N: At one point you’re going to have to stop running away from every potential relationship; there’s more to life than just stressing about it

Part Two: Homeward Bound

(this gif... This Gif... THIS GIF... ThIS giF... What am I going TO DO WITH MYSELF?!)

(Y/N) was speeding down the office hallways, a satchel at her side along with multiple plastic bags on her arms and a large drink carrier in her hands. A pencil stuck awkwardly from behind her ear as she mumbled the checklist she'd made earlier that day.

Sharply turning a corner without hesitation, she made it to the meeting room and gave a quiet, but swift knock. She opened it carefully and wiped her face of concentration to replace it with a wide grin.

Ian paused his presentation of a fresh project by waving at (Y/N) and gazing excitedly at what she brought.

"Don't mind me," she whispered, the same thing she said every day when she made her deliveries.

All the Smosh Pit cast were there, including the Squad, Tommy, Monica, Matt Raub, and Garrett. They were going over ideas for Smosh Winter Games, something that hasn't happened for a few years.

But (Y/N) was more focused on getting her own job done, starting with the drinks and passing them to their corresponding owners. She did it in such a fluid motion that no one doubted their cup was exactly what they ordered.

Next, she opened the plastic bags digging into her arms and handed out sandwiches and salads, as an added treat. She normally pitched in a few extra dollars to buy a better lunch for her coworkers, and she could see the speculating eye from Matt Raub as he accepted his deluxe.

She put her best smile on and waved a hand, "Don't worry about it." And before she left, she reached into her satchel and extracted a small box of cookies, "For dessert."

And before anyone could protest the homemade treat, she ran out of the room with a few more drinks and meals to pass out.

This was such a frequent occurrence for (Y/N) and the Smosh Family. She had become kind of like the mother of Smosh, taking care of the numerous little things while still finding time to take care of the cast and crew with goodies and smiles.

That didn't mean she never got stressed.

Her step was quick again as she made her way back through the halls, waving at a few friends as she went. That checklist in her head never seemed to grow smaller:

Get Damien his coffee

Give cookie box to Smosh Games

Find Sarah for guest star progress reports

Check to see if Damien actually ate his lunch

Write paper about that Tinder for Hotdogs idea

Give Tommy a hug and see how he's doing later

Invite Shayne to the hangout Damien came up with

Text Courtney about filming in her tiny car

Find Damien a date for...

Someone crashed right into (Y/N), sending the last few cups of coffee into the air and all over her shirt. She jumped at the steaming hot liquid, pulling against the fabric to keep it from her skin.

"Oh, damn, I'm sorry (Y/N)."

She winced and peered up to see Damien's sympathetic face, "It's... It's fine. I'll - I'll just bump a few things on my list and go get changed and grab more coffee."

He immediately knelt down to pick up the remnants of the cups and carrier, "I'm guessing this one's mine? Serves me right not looking where I'm going."

He gave her a smile, his eyes crinkling up as he did so. It made her heart skip a beat.

"Don't worry about it. I'll just..." she was still holding away her sticky shirt, closing her eyes and thinking hard, "I'll figure something out."

Damien sighed, "I just ruined your whole agenda, didn't I?" He picked up her pencil and quietly slid it to behind her ear, "Please don't stress out about it."

She had to give herself a few seconds to process his last sentence before continuing, "Um... that's almost physically impossible at this point. With summer ending we've got to find a whole new season of things to do."

He listened but contorted his brow at how uncomfortable she was standing there, "You know I have one of my Smosh sweatshirts in my office. You want to change into that? Get yourself out of brewing in your own shirt."

When he laughed at his own jokes it made (Y/N) stutter so uncontrollably, "Uh... actually, that'd be really nice. Then I won't have to drive home when I run more errands."

He led the way to his desk, smirking, "More errands? Do you just intentionally want to give yourself a busy schedule?" He extracted a colorful pastel sweatshirt and handed it to her.

"Well, who's going to pick up the new Mario Party release?" she walked away to change in the nearby bathroom, "You have to film today."

It only took a minute to change, but maybe two minutes to stare in the mirror and tell herself she was wearing Damien's sweatshirt. Not to mention smell his cologne from the collar.

"And I know that if you get stressed out, I just stress out more and then there's this whole cycle of intense panic." She paused when she met him at his desk again - he was holding her satchel and a strange look was in his eye.

"You look cute."

She had to focus all her energy into not widening her eyes at his words, "I got to go, thanks for the sweatshirt! I promise I'll get you something else later today for that coffee fiasco." She was practically running out of the room by the end of her sentence.

It always took a few minutes after a talk with Damien to convince herself that he only saw her as a friend. That he cares about her because he's her friend. That the possibility of getting so close to him was absolutely terrifying.

But she had to push past it, always the one to run away from those potential relationships.

She had to hurry back on her list if she had hopes to finish everything before the big hangout that night. And by big hangout, she meant Damien, Shayne, and Courtney. (Y/N) always considered scenarios where Damien was involved a big deal.

Completing a majority of running errands and skipping her own lunch to do so, she ran over to Smosh Games to deliver cookies and catch up with Wes and Mari. Whenever she could, (Y/N) always tried to make time to talk to each of the cast and crew.

It's always nice to know you have a friend at the office.

"Guess what I brought?" she flashed a dazzling smile, opening her satchel.

Wes practically flew as he turned in his chair and wheeled towards her - thankfully his headphones were Bluetooth and not attached to the monitor.

"Suckers? Cupcakes? Oh! Please say it's..."

(Y/N) extracted her homemade box and shook it in front of him, "Chocolate chip cookies."

Mari wheeled around too, "You're going to be the sole reason he's gonna have a sugar coma later."

He practically squealed, a large childish smile on his face, "You're too good to me, (Y/N)." He quickly pulled one out and took a bite, "Oh... you are way too good to me."

She laughed, pulling Damien's empty chair from his gaming console to sit down, "Where is everyone?"

Mari shrugged her shoulders, "Probably sneaking around to plan my reception."

Wes paused in his munching and widened his eyes, "Hm? I - I thought they were..."

"I know they left you here to keep me distracted," Mari smirked, "I also know that Peter left you guys in charge of ensuring I'm a happy bride - so don't lie to me."

Shaking a few crumbs from his fingers, Wes rolled his eyes, "Fine. They're coordinating who's decorating your car."

"Which reminds me," Mari flashed her gaze back to (Y/N), who was fidgeting in her seat. "Have you found yourself a date for the wedding yet?"

Wes gasped and nodded enthusiastically, "I thought for sure he was going to ask you by now."

"I'm not asking anyone out," (Y/N) stated adamantly, "You know I'm no good with... wait - did you say...?"

"I thought you were just going to go with Damien," he paused before quickly adding, "As friends."

(Y/N) felt the heat residing in her face, panic building in her chest, "No, I was actually supposed to find Damien a date later this week. I didn't want him to go alone."

"But you are?" Mari asked, leaning across the desks, pointedly raising an eyebrow towards Wes.

"I'm not the best at the whole dating - relationship thing. So, it's best if I just stay out of it."

Wes mumbled, "With the amount of stress you handle every day at work you'd think going on a date was nothing for you."

(Y/N)'s breathing was hitching, her trying to hide her fidgeting hands at the subject, "Can we please talk about something else?"

"Is that sweatshirt new? I've never seen it before," Mari was smirking again; she knew full well whose sweatshirt it was.

It took Wes only a few more seconds to realize it as well, "Did Damien give that to you?" He had the biggest fan boy eyes (Y/N) had ever seen.

But she was consumed with her own overwhelming emotions. The thought of so many people rooting for Damien and her to get together sent her nerves to the maximum. Sure, they were really good friends, but only that.

Any other possibility would melt her insides.

"Whatcha guys doing?"

Damien came waltzing into the room, followed closely by Joven and Laser. His eyes fell immediately onto (Y/N) sitting stony in his chair - the sight made him smile, but he hesitated.

"Are you okay, (Y/N)?" He was always the one that stepped in before she fell into a full state of panic, unbeknownst to him that he was normally the subject of the panic.

"I... I just - I don't know."

He walked over and outstretched his arms to her, giving her a sympathetic gaze to will her up to him.

Joven snapped his fingers to grab the attention of the other SG members, crazily pointing to usher everyone out.

(Y/N) sniffed and averted her gaze, finding her legs disobeying her to a standing position. And Damien wrapped his arms around her, holding her so tightly.

She was consumed by his presence, feeling her heart drop into her stomach. Hugs from Damien weren't uncommon, but they were always nerve-wracking.

"I told you not to stress out today." He rubbed a hand up and down her back, "But I definitely ordered your favorite food for tonight just in case. And we can play whatever game you like - even the scary games."

"But Shayne hates the scary games," she mumbled, the pang in her chest resounding at his comfort.

He laughed, "Shayne can hide behind the couch."

She could feel his heartbeat against her head. It pounded until it resided into her mind. It was always that that calmed her down. It was the same feeling she got when she was safe at home after a long day.

Was his heart beating a little fast?

"Feel better?" He pulled her back slightly to get a good look at her face.

She wished his arms were still around her, "You know I always do when you're there."

There was his laugh again that sent a shiver down her spine, "You look a little red in the face." He brushed a finger against her cheek to confirm his suspicion, "You're not sick, are you?"

Lovesick?

"I gotta go. Thanks for the hug, I really needed it." She grabbed her bag and became completely oblivious to how Damien's shoulders sunk. "I'll see you later tonight."

She rounded out of the Games room, smacking the side of her head as she put a hand to her temple. There was a pounding there that she was sure was going to grow into a headache.

She closed her eyes, needing to focus:

Bring treats for the editing room

Gather viewing statistics from Spencer

Not think about Damien

Help Monica with writing Tinder for Hotdogs

Confirm spot on the SmoshCast for next week's episode

Order dress for Mari's wedding

Not think about Damien's laugh

Start notes for the Two Truths episode she was going to direct

Not think about Damien's smile

Meet with Ian about Winter Games

Not thinking about falling asleep on Damien's lap tonight

Buy more ingredients for Wes' cookies

Check that the makeup room is fully stocked

Not thinking about Damien pulling a blanket over her before he would leave

It was almost impossible to concentrate on anything else as (Y/N) entered the film studio for Smosh Pit. Shayne was immediately waving at her and raising his eyebrows in a questioning manner.

She shrugged her shoulders, pointing towards her temple and mouthing, "headache," over the sound being tested through the mics.

That pounding was still resounding in her head.

Shayne nodded and mouthed back a, “sorry,” before patting the spot next to him on the couch. She gave a short smile and walked over, taking a deep breath.

“Having a day?” he whispered, the mics still being tested above them.

She bit her bottom lip, “Just a little one.” Then she folded her arms and leaned her head against his shoulder.

He started shaking with a laugh he was trying to hide, “You really are having a day. How many times to I get to see affectionate (Y/N)?”

She pouted, lightly smacking his leg, “I just got a Damien hug, of course I’m feeling affectionate.”

“Ah, yes, the Damien hug,” he moved into a character voice, “I’ve seen many a traveler receive one of those and never return the same.”

“Shayne!” Matt Raub could be heard behind the cameras, “I wasn’t kidding when I said we were checking sound.”

Shayne waved an apology and lowered his voice more, “So, that’s two strikes for having a stressful day. One: a Damien hug, and two: snuggles.”

(Y/N) turned her head to bury her face between Shayne’s arm and the couch, “I can’t help being busy at work.”

“But we can help take a load off,” Shayne muttered leaning over and reaching for something near his feet, “Got you a little something.”

She sat straight again, surprised at the gesture, “You got me something?”

“Don’t act surprised. Just because you give people treats all the time doesn’t mean they can’t give you something.” He handed over a medium sized box that was obviously just thrown together, “It was more Damien’s idea than mine, but we went during lunch.”

“Of course it was him,” she smiled, pulling back the lid and finding a few spa day essentials, goodies, and a couple new games for her PlayStation. “How did you know I wanted these games!”

His eyes widened at seeing hers light up, “You always talk about them, of course we knew you wanted them. And we got you some weird bath bomb-lotion-spray-flower stuff.” He threw his hands around as he talked, trying to amp up the quality of the present, “Just... we want you to relax every once in a while.”

A pair of hands came down on (Y/N)’s shoulders, causing her to jump at first, “We knew that one was your favorite scent.”

It was Damien again, hovering near her head as he leaned over the couch. (Y/N) cursed her mind, thinking that she would’ve been able to get away from his perfect eyes in the Squad room.

“Um... we called Courtney to figure that out,” Shayne stated with squinted eyes but a smile nonetheless, “She also was the one who told us where to find it.”

“I like to think I know what (Y/N) likes,” Damien retorted, hands still on her shoulders. “We thought maybe you should get a gift for a change.”

She didn’t know what to say, setting the box down and pulling away from Damien. His hands left a lingering touch on her shoulders.

“That’s really kind of you guys. I – I guess I’m not used to accepting presents,” she watched the strange exchange move from Shayne to Damien. They were looking at her with puzzlement, but she continued, “I thought you had filming to do, Damien?”

He looked slightly downtrodden, “I do – here. I’m shooting a Smosh Pit Weekly.”

A sigh left her lips, but she plastered on a smile, “Oh, I must have my schedule mixed up. You know what that means – I have to go straighten it out. I’ll see you guys, thanks for the...”

“(Y/N), are you avoiding me?”

Shayne whipped his head between his two friends, disbelief hanging in his gaze. He wasn’t sure this conversation was ever going to be brought up. Therefore, he practically skidded out of the studio, rolling off the couch.

(Y/N) could feel that panic filling up her chest, the pounding in her head. The redness was hitting her face again and the oversized sweatshirt was feeling strangely restricting.

“You’re getting red again. (Y/N) what’s wrong? What are you stressing about?” Damien walked around the coffee table and stopped when she took a step away from him.

“I only ever stress out about one thing.”

He heavily sighed, “I’m gonna need you to give me a little more than that.”

As he inched closer, she felt the panic manifesting itself in shaky hands and stutters, “We-We’re friends, right?”

She thought she saw his face dip a little, “Yes? What’s this about?”

“I - I only seem to feel overwhelmed when-whenever y-you're there.”

He paused, immediate hurt on his face, “Oh, I didn’t realize... I thought... I’m sorry that I...”

“But I also never feel better until you are there,” she gazed at the ground. “It’s very conflicting.”

“(Y/N), I think it’s about time we just get a few things off our chests,” he stated, a bit of redness hitting his own cheeks this time. “I’ve wanted to ask you something for a while.”

She finally peeked at him, “I always run away when I think I’m getting too close to a guy. I don't know why, but the thought of being that close to someone really scares me. But it’s also the only thing I can think about.” She watched his face go through a range of emotions as she held her breath in anticipation.

It was his smirk that got to her first, “I’ve been wanting to ask you to be my date to Mari and Peter’s wedding, but you keep running away every time I think I can start talking to you about it.”

Her breathing literally stopped, “Your date?”

“So, you run away from me because you want to be with me?” He was taking a few more steps towards her, practically right in front of her now. But she couldn’t move.

“That sounds complicated,” she whispered, eyes flickering all around his face.

He gave her a momentary cautious gaze, “Do you want to run away now?”

She eyed the close proximity of his face, “Only because you’re stressing me out. But I know I won’t feel better unless I stay with you.”

“Then this is okay?” he was wrapping her into one of his hugs, “I don’t like that I make you scared like this.”

She let out a breath that she felt like she was holding for hours, “I’m only scared about what’s going to happen next.”

She pulled away just enough to see his face, their arms still wrapped around each other. He leaned his forehead down against hers and gazed into her eyes. She swallowed hard, finding her hands moving – one sliding down to his chest and the other to the side of his face, feeling his jawline.

She realized that the pounding in her head had stopped. It was replaced with a pounding happening against her hand.

It was Damien’s heartbeat. The thing that’s been bombarding her all day.

Flickering her eyes back into his, she found Damien giving a slight smile as he peered down towards her lips. She gave a small smile back and before she knew it Damien was leaning all the way to meet her kiss.

It was instant fireworks exploding in her chest. Those spouts of panic fueled the butterflies in her stomach. Wrapping her hand to the back of his head, she tangled her fingers into Damien’s hair.

She could feel him smile into the kiss.

And as quickly as it began, they broke apart. Though they didn’t pull away from their embrace, still touching foreheads.

“I’m not going to let you run away this time,” Damien muttered, keeping a grip on her waist.

“I think I’m here to stay.”

She felt his heartbeat again, fast and strong against her hand. The one thing that’s always been able to comfort her.

And recognition had finally settled into her mind.

Sometimes home has a heartbeat. And home was where she was going to stay.

~~~

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kumeko · 4 years

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A/N: For the Furuba zine. This is uh, a little old, and I’m not sure how I feel about it anymore, but I love writing these three together. And I want them to all live together post-series, even if only for a little bit.

…

“Arrrrgghhhhh,” Uotani moaned, pillowing her head in her arms. She leaned on the low wooden table, shoving the textbooks aside to make room. Pressing her skin to the cool surface, she asked, “It’s summer, isn’t it? The time when we’re supposed to be at the beach or in a pool or outside?”

“I think so,” Tohru confirmed eagerly. Uotani could almost hear the cogs in her head churning, a mental checklist run through. Something like: it was sunny, check. It was hot, check. The skies were clear, check. Her head turned every which way, from the window to the door to Uotani to their clothes. Finished, she announced triumphantly with a fist pump, “It’s definitely summer!”

Hopefully somewhere on that list was a fan. Uotani was practically dying, her shirt drenched with sweat, because a certain, stupid red-head had broken the AC. As fun as it was watching Kyo and Yuki go at it, she wished it didn’t have any consequences for her. She was a bystander! Let her bystand in peace!

“I am feeling some heat,” Hanajima concurred demurely, her voice soft and low.

At that, Uotani peeked out her interlaced arms. Dressed in a pitch-black dress with a pitch black shawl, Hanajima looked like the embodiment of winter, rather than summer. No, to be frank, she looked like the embodiment of death. As usual. Her delicate fingernails, coated in black nail polish, gently nudged Tohru’s face to one side so she could finish her latest masterpiece. Half of Tohru’s hair was a series mini braids and Uotani wasn’t sure what the end result would be. Dryly, she asked, “Really?”

“Really,” Hanajima confirmed, not a trace of irony in her voice. Her left hand tugged the shawl slightly, baring her neck. She fanned it lightly. “Truly, it is summer.”

“I have no idea how you do that. Or can even say that with a straight face.” Not sure if she should be awed or worried, Uotani shrugged. It wasn’t worth debating over. She had long ago learned there was no point in questioning Hanajima and her ways. The supernatural was the easiest explanation and she stuck with it. Unfolding an arm, she rested her cheek on the other one as she eyed the table. Two textbooks were open, math diagrams taking up the majority of the pages. Several papers were scattered on the table. She gingerly picked up her work sheet, pinching it between two fingers as she stared at it disdainfully. A whole morning of homework and all she’d really got accomplished was a doodle of a bowl of ramen. God she was hungry. “We need to shred these. Or maybe we can have a dog eat it. There’s one here, right?”

“N-n-n-no,” Tohru shook her head so fast, it looked like it would spin off her head. “No dogs. Not a single one. No animals either. Nope. Not at all.”

“Burn them,” Hanajima suggested, her lips curving up into a slight smile.

“The animals?” Tohru yelped fearfully, her hands covering her cheeks. “Y-you can’t do that!”

“I thought there were no animals?” Uotani rolled her eyes. It was like this every time they came for a visit. She wasn’t exactly sure what secret the Sohmas’ were keeping, but it seemed to involve owning an illegal menagerie. Or maybe Tohru was; she was soft-hearted like that. Maybe she was hiding stray pets in her closet, feeding them when no one was looking.

“That’s right!” Tohru slammed her fist into her open hand, looking like she’d just realized something. “There are no animals. So you can’t burn them.”

“Not the cat, dog, or rat,” Hanajima smiled sweetly, ignoring Tohru’s quiet gasp at each word on the list. “Burn our homework.” Her eyes and voice remained at a deadpan, making it hard to tell how serious she was. “You can start with mine.”

Knowing laziness, she was probably dead serious. Horrified, Tohru tried to turn to Hanajima, stuttering, “F-f-fire?”

Hanajima sternly wrapped her hands around her face, turning her back to the front. “I’m not done,” she admonished, selecting the next strands to weave into a braid.

This did little to assuage Tohru’s concern and she stared at Uotani fearfully. “Uo-chan?”

“It sounds like a good idea.” Curious, Uotani picked up Hanajima’s sheet. Her name was written beautifully on the top, elegant strokes to make the kanji of her name. The rest of the sheet was left a pristine white, not a single pencil mark on a single question. Not even the easy ones, the ones that Uotani herself managed to scrounge up an answer for. “You didn’t even try.”

“It makes it easier to burn.” Hanajima smiled serenely. “And I didn’t waste a single pencil.”

“I’m not sure that’s something to be proud of.” Uotani sighed, glancing at her friend. How she made it into high school was a mystery. Did she study the precise minimal amount required? Use her waves to sense the right answer? Or something else entirely? Still, a fire sounded fun. “Maybe we can have smores later, use this to make a big bonfire.”

“We c-c-can’t burn it!” Flustered, Tohru waved her hands rapidly in front of her. Her eyes darted around the room in a panic, her face flushed red. “We have to do our homework! The teacher’ll be sad!”

Breaking into a laugh, Uotani dropped the paper. Sometimes it was too easy to tease Tohru. Cradling her chin her hands, she grinned mischievously at her friend. “Don’t worry, I promise to leave yours alone.”

“That’s good…” Tohru sighed with relief for a moment before realizing the implication. In a moment of desperation, she tumbled out of her seat, yanking her hair out of Hanajima’s hands. Crawling quickly to Uotani, she grabbed the paper out of her hand. “No, you can’t burn yours either!”

Uotani covered her mouth as she snorted. Maybe she was a little too mean. “Alright, alright, we won’t do that either.”

“Promise?” Tohru asked doubtfully, no longer trusting her.

Hands up, Uotani nodded her defeat. “Promise.”

Tohru’s eyes narrowed. Scrutinizing her friend for a long minute, she sank to her knees with a smile. “Phew. That’s good.”

As Tohru started organizing the papers, gathering them into one large pile, Hanajima got up. “I didn’t make a promise.”

The papers fell out of Tohru’s hands. Slack-jawed, she stared at her. “What?”

“But I won’t burn it as well.” Hanajima sat down next to Tohru, folding her legs neatly beneath her. Flipping her hair over her shoulder, she added, “Not this time.”

“Oh. Good.” Worn out, Tohru’s shoulders slumped and she rested her head on Hanajima’s shoulders. She closed her eyes, leaning into Hanajima’s touch as she tenderly patted Tohru’s head. “I’ll help you.”

“…I think you missed an important line there.” Uotani raised a brow at Tohru’s content face, not sure how she missed the not this time part. Rolling her eyes, she moved on. What homework did they have left to finish? The closest sheet was math and Uotani scowled as she scanned it. “This is so frickin’ useless. I’m never going to need this.”

“Maybe in university?” Tohru suggested, sitting straight now. Picking up a different homework assignment, she stared determinedly at the sheet. Uotani could make out a few chemistry symbols on the back—H20 was water, right? “I think Yuki said that it would be useful there.”

“With my brains?” Uotani snorted at the idea, at the improbability of it all. She could just picture it, a yankee girl in a room full of straight-laced honour students. Maybe she’d make it in, but lasting longer than that? “Not gonna happen. Can you just imagine it? I’d get thrown out after a day.”

“You can’t think that way, Uo-chan!” Tohru refuted, her expression cross. She glared at Uotani, her fingers crinkling the paper. “You’d last more than a day! A week even!”

Uotani blinked. Processing it, she shook her head wryly. “So I’ll get kicked out either way?” Taking the paper out of Tohru’s grip, she smoothened it out on the table. “All that staring is just going to burn a hole in the thing.”

“If I look long enough, the answers might appear,” Tohru suggested hopefully, her hands clasped in front of her chest as though she were praying to a science god. Or maybe just a homework god. Uotani would take a math god, if she could.

“You’ve been spending too much time with the Sohmas’. At least, the idiotic ones.” Uotani flopped on the ground, staring at the ceiling. Man, she couldn’t wait to graduate. At least then there’d be no homework. Lowering her eyes to Tohru, she asked, “You’re going to university?”

For a moment, Tohru sat straight, her hand pumped up and ready for whatever speech she was about to give. Her mouth dropped open, she took a deep breath, and then she sighed and slumped forward. “I’ll just get a job.”

Uotani winced. Yep. That sounded about right. “Gotcha. We’re a trio of idiots. Maybe we can find a job together.”

“Oh, that sounds great!” Tohru perked up, her eyes shining at the thought. “We can work together and have lunch together.” She started counting on her fingers, excited. “And walk home together and—”

“We can do almost everything together,” Hanajima agreed, grasping Tohru’s hands gently. She squeezed once before dropping them. “Except for the work part. I will go to university.”

If Uotani had a drink, she would have choked. Actually, even breathing air, she choked. Hanajima. In university. No matter what angle she looked at it, it was impossible. “You’re going to university? What would you even do there?”

“Get my M.R.S.” Crossing her arms, Hanajima nodded seriously. “While it would be ideal to be Kyo’s mother, I want to check my options.”

“Kyo’s m-m-mother?” Tohru’s jaw dropped, her eyes as wide as dinner plates.

“Step-mother,” Hanajima corrected.

“You, stop that.” Reaching over, Uotani chopped Hanajima on the head. “Save it for when Kyo’s around.” The joke was less funny when he wasn’t there to react. At least, she hoped it was a joke. “You can barely study for a test, how’ll you pass the entrance exams?”

“That’s easy.” Hanajima picked up a pencil, one with the letters ‘A’, ‘B’, ‘C’, and ‘D’ at the end, and rolled it. “I just have to choose the right multiple choice answers.”

“There’s more to tests than multiple choice answers!” Uotani growled, facepalming. Still, either way, she wasn’t really too concerned about Hanajima’s future. No matter what she ended up doing, she’d probably be fine. That just left her and Tohru and whatever workplace would take in a delinquent and a saint.

“Do you think I could do that?” Tohru asked seriously, gripping the pencil tightly.

Uotani stared at her blankly. There were a few times when she wondered if she was the only one that had any common sense. “That wasn’t even a real thing.”

There was no point to her advice. Not listening, Tohru rolled the pencil herself. It rolled over the table, falling off to the side, and landing on the plush carpet. The ‘B’ landed up and she stared at it for a long minute before looking at Hanajima helplessly. “I don’t know what that means.”

“No one does,” Hanajima sympathised, patting her on the back.

“Guys! Seriously!” Uotani resisted the urge to bang her head on the wall. Judging by the clumsy plaster marks on it, someone else had already beat her to it. And to breaking the doors and windows. Actually, now that she thought about it, there were a lot of patches in the building. Sure, Kyo and Yuki fought a lot, but clearly they were worse at home than she thought. Was that a hole on the roof too? Maybe she shouldn’t let Tohru stay here after all.

“They’re like wild animals,” Hanajima muttered, reading her mind. Probably reading her mind. Uotani had never really gotten a clear answer on that one.

Tohru froze at the words. Stiffly, she stammered, “W-w-what do you mean?”

“The Sohma family.” Hanajima sighed, pointing at the patches. “They fight like wild animals.”

“Oh.” Tohru blinked once. Twice. Third time, she smiled with relief and patted her chest with an open hand. “Kyo isn’t good at fixing—you should see Yuki’s. I can barely tell there was a hole sometimes.”

“And the roof doesn’t like when it rains or anything like that?” Uotani asked, incredulous. No matter how skilled the Sohma boys were, they were still teenagers. And how the hell did a pair of teenagers break a roof? Even in her days in the gangs, she’d never heard of such a thing.

“After the first week, my room was declared a safe zone.” Tohru smiled proudly, pointing up. “They’ve always broken somewhere else.” After a moment’s thought, she stared at her door worriedly. “You don’t think they’re getting leaks?”

“A safe zone…are you in a war?” Uotani was 80% certain that this was because it was Tohru’s room, more than anything else. 20% was the fact that they were terrified Hanajima would curse them if Tohru even mentioned it once. “Nah, they’ll be fine. But…you know…since it is worrying, maybe we should just live with you.”

“Huh?” Tohru stared owlishly at her, not comprehending this sudden twist.

“If we’re going to do everything together anyways—” Uotani explained, brightening at the thought.

“I’m going to university,” Hanajima reminded, returning to Tohru’s hair.

“If we’re going to do everything together anyways,” Uotani continued as though she hadn’t heard a thing. “Why not just live together too?”

“It’d be economical,” Hanajima pointed out, perhaps her only good idea of the day.

“Ohhhh!” Stars filled Tohru’s eyes and she clapped her hands together at the thought. “All of us. Living together.”

“There’s enough space here for all of us.” Uotani counted on her fingers the number of rooms she’d seen. The living room. The four bedrooms. The kitchen. The building definitely had a few rooms that weren’t used, it was fricking big. With a little bit of cleaning, they could make them livable. “We could get the boys to help clean. Kyo has to be useful at something.”

“He’s really good at moving things!” Tohru chirped, almost vibrating in her seat with excitement.

“If he complains, I’ll pummel him,” Utonai grinned. “And that perverted author would definitely be happy to have more girls here.”

“He’s very nice!” Tohru defended, though she didn’t argue about the ‘perverted’ part. “I’m sure he’ll let you stay.”

“Right. If you say so.” Uotani was pretty sure Tohru didn’t have a firm grasp on the reality of her housemates. She probably saw their fighting as nothing more than a petty squabble either. “Anyways, it’d be nice. Remember that time I stayed with you and Kyoko for a week? It’d be like that times a hundred.”

“Oh that was great!” Clapping her hands together, Tohru nodded eagerly. “You and Mom made…” Tohru’s eyes darkened, and she lowered her lids. Her hands clutched her skirt tightly. Her voice softened. “Do you think she’d be happy?”

“Happy?” Uotani asked, straining to hear her friend. She leaned closer. Already Hanajima was hugging her from behind, her arms loosely folded around Tohru’s neck as she rested her head on Tohru’s shoulder.

“That I’m not going to university?” Tohru bit her lip. Her fingers started to dig to dig into her thighs. “That I’m getting a job like her.”

“Tohru…” Not wasting a minute, Uotani grabbed Tohru’s hands and squeezed them tight. Leaning forward, she pressed her forehead against Tohru’s. “She’s definitely happy. Like, the most fricking happy mom there is. You’re graduating high school! She didn’t even get to do that.”

“I know she’s smiling at you,” Hanajima comforted her. There was something reassuring about her saying it, as though she was looking at her ghost right now and translating from the other side. “She’s proud.”

“Really?” Tohru looked up now, staring at Uotani. “Do you really think so?”

“I know so.” Uotani chuckled, remembering the crazy, ex-gang-member-turned-doting-mother. There was not a single parent who loved their child like Kyoko loved Tohru. Hell, there was not a person alive who loved anyone as much as Kyoko loved Tohru. “As long as you’re happy, she’d be happy.”

“I am. I am really, really happy.” Tohru turned her hands over, clasping Uotani back.

“And I’m happy and even Hanajima is happy, if not somehow surviving a heat stroke.” Uotani grinned, before slowly untangling herself from Tohru. Reaching back to the table, she grabbed the math sheet once more. “Though we ain’t graduating without actually finishing this.”

“Right…” Tohru’s smiled dropped as she stared at the paper. “I don’t know how to do that.”

Releasing Tohru after a last squeeze, Hanajima flopped backwards onto the ground. She stared at the ceiling blankly. “We could just take an extra year to graduate. Your mom would understand.”

“No, we…” Tohru stared at the paper once more, biting her lip. Reluctantly, she looked away and mumbled, “It still counts, right? A delayed graduation is still graduating.”

“Guys, no. We’re not letting that orange-haired bastard graduate before us,” Uotani vehemently bit out, already picturing Kyo’s smirk. Reaching down, she yanked Hanajima back up into a sitting position. “We just need a little help. And what better help than the resident prince?”

“Yuki!” Tohru brightened immediately and sprang to her feet. “He’s downstairs.”

“Good.” Uotani paused, realizing that they hadn’t heard any earthquakes, mass destruction, or even plain old arguing for the past hour. Mount Kyo-Yuki was set to explode. They’d get nothing done if that happened. “Don’t invite Kyo.”

“Huh?” Already skipping to the door, Tohru immediately halted. Her head cocked one way and then the other before she finally turned around and looked at Uotani in confusion. “Why?”

“Yuki. Kyo. In a room,” Uotani explained slowly, enunciating each word clearly. When it was clear Tohru didn’t get it, she spelled it out. “They’ll fight and we’ll fail a year.” Not to mention. Tohru’s room would probably get destroyed. Cursed by Hanajima or not, Tohru’s room or not, there was no way the pair would be able to handle tutoring each other for a few hours. Not with Kyo’s pride—he’d take offense at the smallest thing.

“Kyo could fail too!” Apparently the only word Tohru heard was failure and she ran out of the room in a panic. “Shigure! Kyo! Yuki!”

“Wait that wasn’t—” It was too late, Uotani could hear Tohru’s shouts as she raced downstairs. Well. There went any hope of a peaceful study session. Uotani glanced at the table once more, at their pile of papers. To be honest, they weren’t getting anything done today anyways. They’d been studying in this room for at least two hours and the only thing they had to show for it was Tohru’s new hairstyle.

“He’ll fail with us,” Hanajima consoled, with such certainty it felt more like a prophecy.

“I don’t know if I should be happy about that or not.” Uotani winced as she heard an angry stomping up the stairs. Turning to Hanajima, she raised a brow. “It’s not too late to burn them all, is it?”

#fruits basket #furuba #tohru honda #saki hanajima #arisa uotani #fanfic

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hawkeyescoffee · 5 years

Text

Jonsa Week Day One: Past

Sansa studied Jon silently as he fell to his knees, particularly trying not to touch the blanket and smiling to Bran in front of him. It was a fond smile that stretched over his face and made his grey eyes sparkle in the sun. It was a smile that made Jon’s usually hard and sullen features soft and nice and handsome?

Pretty even.

Sansa pressed her lips harder together until they were just a bloodless line as she was biting the inside of her cheek. Did she just really think that?

[Jonsa Week Day One: (Past) - Present - Future]

on ao3

The first time Sansa noticed Jon, really noticed him, was when she sat with Arya and Jeyne in the yard on a hot summer day. (as hot as the summer was in the North anyway) The girls were sitting on a thick blanket, littered with plushy cushions, needles in hands.While Jeyne looked with a face tense with concentration down on the light cloth in her hands, a small huff falling from her lips every time she placed the needle to take a new stich. Arya groaned loudly and unlady-like. Sansa was sure her little sister was very close to throwing the fabric away and storming off to the boys training their swords play. Sansa was also sure that the only reason Arya was sitting outside with them was because of their mother who was sitting on a low stool above them, reading a book to her youngest son, and lowly talking to Maester Luwin, when the babe was distracted.She looked radiant in the sun light, her Lady mother, Sansa thought. She put a hand through her own copper hair and wished to the seven faces of the gods, that she would be just as beautiful when she was coming of age. It was the stunning noble maiden that married the brave knight after all.Humming delighted she did focus her attention back on the blue cloth she held. It depicted a grey wolfs head with yellow eyes, that was surrounded by blooming winter roses. She practically finished but her eager fingers were still trying to clean out details to make it as good as possible. Only when she gave it her best, she could improve her skill.Sansa was distracted though, because little boots entered her field of vision. Bran looked over to her, blue eyes full of unshed tears. She put her work down immediately, even though she was annoyed that she was interrupted. But since mother had a toddler to look after, Sansa took it to herself to look a bit after her little siblings. She was the eldest daughter after all.So, she opened her arms to let her little brother embrace her properly and tightly. He looked already happier when she wiped a mope of auburn hair out of his face. “What happened?”, she asked him. Bran sighed. A big frown took over his round face when he flopped onto their blanket between his sisters. Arya took the opportunity to fling away her embroidering gear immediately and Sansa had to suppress the urge to roll her eyes at the predictability of her little sister.“Theon said I am too young to train with them! That he didn’t care that I want to become a knight.”, a deep inhale later, Bran continued as angry as before “He just laughed at me and told me I should go over here do needle work with you! But I’m not a girl…”Sansa scrunched up her face in silent anger as she looked over where the Greyjoy boy joked with her brother. Truth be told Robb has always been her favorite sibling. And sometimes she caught herself thinking back to the handful of memories she had of just the two of them. She felt very bad every time afterwards, because she loved all her siblings, even baby Rickon. And it was not very nice of her to wish that it was just her and her older brother. But right now, she was incredibly disappointed in Robb for sidetracking Bran just to impress his older friend. Just as she wanted to reassure the young boy that he had more than enough time to become a great knight, she was startled a second time.“Bran, are you okay?”, the voice was low and concerning sounding but it made Sansa press her lips into a thin line. Jon Snow, her father’s bastard, was standing next to the girls awkwardly. His dark hair was wet with sweat and his cheeks flushed. There was a wooden sword in one of his hands. The young boy nodded.But instead of this being it and Jon leaving again, Bran opened his mouth again: “Jon, do you think I can become a great knight?”Sansa studied Jon silently as he fell to his knees, particularly trying not to touch the blanket and smiling to Bran in front of him. It was a fond smile that stretched over his face and made his grey eyes sparkle in the sun. It was a smile that made Jon’s usually hard and sullen features soft and nice and handsome? Pretty even.Sansa pressed her lips harder together until they were just a bloodless line as she was biting the inside of her cheek. Did she just really think that?“Bran, you are still young.”, he began, his smile echoing in his voice. Sansa looked down as not to stare. There was an unfamiliar twist in her guts, that she could not name nor explain. “But you have talent. You are already better than Robb was when he was your age.”The boy’s blue eyes shone: “Really, Jon? You mean it?” The bastard chuckled a low and pleasant sound and put his hand in his brother’s auburn locks. “Of course, mate. I would not lie to you.” “You wouldn’t.”, Bran agreed. He jumped up after that, energetic and happy once again. “Jon, would you like to spar with me?”Jon’s pretty smile stretched over his lips again, making his grey eyes shine and his face handsome. “Naturally, my little Lord.”, he said with laughter in every word. Bran laughed too and took his hand. Jon than fixed the girls with an implied bow. “I hope I have not disturbed you, Lady Sansa.” Her hands tightened around the little wolf in her hand. “No, you have not, half-brother.”, she tried to sound normal, but the sentence left her mouth cold and the word half-brother left a sour taste on her tongue.But Jon paid her frosty answer no mind, told Arya that he would see her later and apologized to Jeyne too.The weird feeling in the pit of her stomach didn’t leave her for the rest of their afternoon in the sun. It would grow worse every time she would hear Jon’s voice over the yard as he played with Bran. And she caught herself staring at him more than once, watching how his dark locks caught the sunlight, how seemingly effortlessly he would keep Theon on his toes.The last time she teared her eyes away from him she felt a stare prickling on her skin. She looked up to find her mother’s face twisted in disapproval. The girl felt heat rising up her neck, hot and incriminating. She used a weak excuse and all but rushed inside the keep, feeling as if everybody was staring at her.Was Jon looking too?Sansa could not really sleep that night, or any of the following nights. She was kept awake by the memory of Jon that afternoon and the weird feeling that swirled through her body every time she thought about his sunlit face.She also avoided him more than she already did. (Well, usually she was not avoiding him per se. She just didn’t treat him like her other, real siblings, but she was mostly polite.)(The truth was she saw how her mother disapproved of him and Sansa wanted to make her mother proud)“Sansa!”, Jeyne came walking over to her at the spot where she was sitting by the fire in her and Arya’s sitting room. Sansa was still working on the pale blue handkerchief with the wolf and the flowers because she was still not satisfied with it. And it was getting on her already strained nerves.“What is it?”, Sansa bit her lip. She sounded way sharper than she intended too but the restless nights left her drained and on edge. Jeyne didn’t seem to notice or to mind. She just took her friends hands in hers, excitement painting her checks pink. “The Manderlys are holding a feast for Wynafred’s birthday! We have to go!”Hopping up swirled in her pretty grey dress she was wearing. “If your Lord Father allows you to go mine will too, surely. Imagine it, sweet Sansa! Us dancing all night with pretty knights and Lords.” Sansa sighted. She didn’t want to ruin her dearest friend’s fun but she knew that there was no way in seven hells that her father would let her go to White Harbor for a feast alone and if she was honest: She was so gravely tired and confused she almost didn’t want to go.“We can try asking my Mother first. Maybe she will say yes and can convince my father.”, she suggested because it did sound fun and romantic.Jeyne hugged her. “Oh, Sansa it will be magical”, her pretty eyes were glittering with anticipation. Then she gasped and held on to Sansa’s white and silver dress. “Maybe one of us will fall in love.”“Maybe so. Maybe it will be exceptional.”, Sansa smiled down at her friend. She wanted to have fun with her. (Maybe it would take her mind off of Jon.)“Do you fancy anyone, Sansa?”, Jeyne’s words cut to her full mind’s busy thoughts. “Do I-?”, she stuttered out. Jon smiling in her direction, radiant and beautiful, no, it was for Bran. She should stop-“No, I- There are not many men our age here, except my brother.”, A little pause, “Brothers. And well, Theon, but even if he’s handsome, I got to know what a mean spirit he can be.” Sansa was satisfied with her answer. It was also a sufficient way of calling Theon an asshole without putting such a filthy word on her lips.“Well, I mean Robb is handsome and gallant…”, Sansa rolled her eyes as her best friend ranted about her crush on her older brother. “And he is to be the Lord of a great House. But you are right, Theon can be awful. Oh well, I say that as if we don’t pick on Arya constantly-“Suddenly angry Sansa exclaimed: “I am her sister. I can pick on her. Theon is not a real part of this family and has no right to be so mean to Bran and Robb and-“and Jon. She shut her mouth tight before it could slip out.Jeyne laughed. “You are probably right. Jon is also very handsome and gallant, if you are into the quiet brooding type. There is something about him, don’t you think?” Sansa’s heart skipped a beat as she heard her half-brother's name. Heat rushed to her ears and she hoped that it couldn’t be seen under her hair. Did she think Jon attractive? Would she like an honest answer to that? “To be fair, I can’t really comment on that, since we share a father. It would be strange for me to see him that way.”Already bored with their conversation Jeyne got up. “That is understandable. My apologies. Do you want to ask your Lady Mother now? I’m eager to go to the feast.” Sansa agreed, eager to change the subject. So, she took her friends hand in hers and on their way, they were to find Lady Catelyn.As she was stumping back to her room, seething with the embarrassment of her parent’s denial in front of Jeyne, she didn’t look where she was going, as she was bumping into someone.“I am so sorry I- Jon?”, she started to apologize but as she saw her father’s bastard standing before her, with an innocent look in his grey eyes, she only felt the anger burning under her skin. It was Jon’s fault that she didn’t sleep and that she felt paranoid in her own home and now the feast- It was all-“Lady Sansa, I didn’t see you-“ She didn’t wait for him to continue and shoved past him: “Get out of my way, bastard!” Suddenly a hand wrapped itself around her wrist, holding on tight. “Sansa, why-?” Then she finally looked at his face and she expected to see anger, but his eyes were just sad. She never called him a bastard before she realized.She wanted nothing more in this moment than to tell him she was sorry. Wanted to reach out and assure him that he was her brother and she loved-There was blood dropping onto the stone floor that she saw just now, stopping her weird train of thoughts. “Jon, are you alright?”, she reached for his other arm, pulling him close in the process. His skin was warm and soft under her fingertips. There on his left arm was a shallow cut. “You’re bleeding.”, she whispered. “It is nothing, my Lady.”, he mumbled, clearly uneasy by the attention, but Sansa wouldn’t let go of him just yet. “Here.”, she grabbed at the first thing she found in her pocket. It was the pale blue handkerchief with the grey wolf and the winter roses. Well, she was not satisfied with her work here anyway.She passed it to him and pressed the hand that used to be on her wrist on the wound. “Sansa, this is way too pretty to be used for something like this…” Protesting he tried to gently get it off but Sansa was stubborn. “Nonsense.”, she said, “You should keep it.”He paused and looked at her.And then he smiled: “Thank you, Sansa.”Sansa who just got hyper aware of their closeness and her rapidly beating heart, panicked. Because the way he looked at her did something to her, she could not name it, was afraid to name it. She dropped his arm as if it was burning her. “You are welcome.”, she shot out. “I should be going.” After that she just took off.Sansa didn’t have much time to dwell on Jon after that, as it was only a few days before the king and his dashing son would arrive in Winterfell.

#jonsa #jonsa week 2019 #jonsa week #My writing #it beginssssss

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caps-lockdown · 5 years

Text

Sweater Weather Part Two

Here’s part two of this fun series. Full Steamy! Steve ahead!

Pairings: Steve Rogers x PottsRelativeFem!Reader

Ratings/Warnings: Hard R

For everything from language, crude jokes, ADULT situations/impure thoughts, booze (because it’s pretty much a staple in my fics at this point.), arguments, and an extremely overprotective Tony Stark. Very little angst, as I try to keep most of my fics light humored. But of course there are some insecurities/unsure feelings, as well as sad feels from everything with endgame/ the decimation. Also dead parents.

Also AU in the fact NO ONE DIED during Endgame/Steve didn’t go back. Also as much as I adore Morgan Stark, she isn’t around yet. I didn’t know where this would fit timeline wise, so just ignore the timeline. Kay? Cool.

Slow(ish) burn. Lots of pining

Words: 3,422

Summary: You’ve just moved to New York after a long 3 year stint travelling the world and helping with various charities, taking a new job with Stark Industries thanks to your cousin Pepper. A trip out to surprise Tony and The Avengers for the weekend turns from good to terrible when the a/c at the compound breaks. How will you beat the heat for the record breaking weekend?

Part two

“Toss me the salt will ya Short stack?” You lazily passed the salt to Tony who sat at your right of the dinner table, everyone digging into the massive roast chicken you and Pepper had made.

You had to admit the two of you were unstoppable in the kitchen. You danced around each other with ease, almost in a creepy silence save for the music you had picked out. You were positive it would have been awkward, getting back into small habits with your two closest family members but it had been like a warm hug instead. It was like you had never left. Conversations flowed easily and not just with Pepper and Tony, but the rest of the team as well. You found your sides hurting after laughing yourself silly due to Bucky and Sam’s married couple-esque bickering, not to mention Tony’s constant glares at Steve whenever he so much looked at you. You didn’t realize until you were halfway through your meal just how much you had missed everyone.

“You two should cook more often together, this food is incredible.” You smiled warmly at Thor’s compliment, Nat reaching to spoon another large portion of mashed potatoes onto her plate.

“I agree, you dames do pretty amazing work in the kitchen.” Bucky nodded at you, your heart swelling in pride.

“It’s all Pepper guys. I just follow instructions and hope she doesn’t stab me if I fuck up.” You nodded to your cousin, who chuckled in between bites.

“I’m just glad you’re back home where you belong Y/N. This table just wasn’t the same without you these last few years.” Tears threatened to prickle your eyes as she raised her wine glass up, the rest of the team following suit. “To Y/N!”

“To Y/N!” Everyone shouted, a large smile breaking out over your face as you sniffled away the tears of happiness away.

Dinner plates were soon cleared after that, the Avengers assembling in the kitchen for dish duty.

“I can help!” You tried moving past the walls that were Steve and Bucky, only to have them shake their heads at you.

“Not how this works Doll.” The captain smirked, his best friend giving you a light shove backwards.

“Yea Y/N. You cooked, we clean, no exceptions. Now go run along and get comfy, we’ll be in there to watch movies soon.” Bucky playfully wagged his finger, “You’re not gonna get past us, so don’t try it.” You threw your hands up in mock surrender, turning on your heel and slowly walking away.

You paused for a beat of time before running back at the two men full force, personally driven to get past them. Using your momentum you easily flung yourself to slide gracefully over the island countertop on their left, landing snugly between an impressed Tony and Natasha. You took the plate Stark had meant to hand his teammate with a smirk, grabbing the towel off of Nat’s shoulder and wiping it off before grabbing the other plates to take to the cabinet they belonged to. Sam couldn’t stop laughing as he offered you a high five for your efforts, the sound of your joined hands echoing throughout the kitchen.

“I thought you two were supposed to be super soldiers. Not super slow-pokes.” You jabbed, catching the dirty napkins Bruce tossed you with ease. Steve tried to hide his smile behind a very fake glare while Bucky clicked his teeth in your direction. “Dishes are done! Can we please go watch movies now?” You placed your hands on your hips as you stood again in front of the two large men. “Should I give you two time to move out of my way? Your old age and all I wouldn’t want you to break a hip.”

Steve deadpanned, not giving you a second to rethink your words as he effortlessly gripped your waist and promptly threw you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Your hands shooting to grip his strong back as you let out a high pitched squeal, everyone laughing while the blonde mountain took off in a quick gait down the hall. Your cheeks felt like they were on fire as he casually dropped you on the couch, his arms coming to rest on either side of your head. You subconsciously licked your lips as he moved to bring his face close to yours, his voice a mere whisper on your skin as you tried in vain to calm your breathing.

“I might be old but the only time I’d ever be slow is if I was alone with you Doll.”

Your eyes widened at his piercing blue ones taking in his bold statement, the loud voices coming into the room causing Steve to straighten up his stance. He offered you a wink before placing his hands in his pockets, looking completely normal and as if he hadn’t just gave you a heart attack.

“We’ve decided Y/N should pick the movie.” Nat clapped excitedly at you, your pulse lowering to normal as you swallowed hard at what just happened. Where the hell was the nice sweet Steve Rogers you had remembered from years ago? Why was he acting like his life goal was to ruin you for all other men? Not that you would mind in the slightest, but where was this behavior coming from? You didn’t recall seeing any Asgardian mead anywhere during dinner.

“Right um…how about The Princess Bride?”

“That’s a great pick Y/N! Bucky still hasn’t seen it.” Sam agreed brightly, the winter soldier nodding before taking a seat on the love seat to your left. You shook your head smiling as Tony rushed to sit next to you on the couch, sticking his tongue out at Steve. If you had blinked you were sure you’d miss the flash of disappointment in his features before he stalked off to sit next to Bucky. You felt bad for exactly two seconds before Pepper handed you a bowl of kettle corn, Bruce moving to put in the movie.

“It’s a shame Clint couldn’t be here. How’s he been?” You asked, stuffing a handful of popcorn into your mouth and handing the bowl to Tony.

“Probably busy making baby number four with Laura I imagine.” You snorted at the man sitting next to you, shaking your head as the movie started, Pepper telling F.R.I.D.A.Y to turn out the lights. You got sucked into the film instantly.

“I want to see my face shining in it by morning.” “As you wish.”

“WHATEVER YOU SAY JEN-NAY!” You shouted at the screen in a terrible Forrest Gump impression that had Sam laughing his ass off on the ground.

“The only comfort she found was in her daily ride.”

“Man I’d kill for a woman who rides daily.” Sam’s remark later had you in tears, reaching over to high five the man as the rest of the group chuckled. Tony wasn’t having any of it.

“Hey Waldolf and Statler? You mind? Trying to watch the movie here.” You made a lip zipping motion to your cousin, bringing your eyes back to the movie and eating more popcorn to keep quiet.

“So, did you lip lock with Y/N yet?” Bucky whispered to Steve, internally chuckling at how he kept stealing glances at you in the dark. You were too engrossed in the movie to pay attention to anything else, and he was beyond grateful the lights were out, your features only lit by the T.V screen.

“No Buck. I’m trying but she’s so perfect I don’t want to come on too strong. I mean it’s been a long time and..”

“Woah woah hang on a second!” Sam shot his head over to look up at the two men from the floor with a shocked expression. “You’re trying to land Y/N? Like Tony Stark’s cousin slash adopted sister Y/N?! How long have you carried a torch for this woman?”

“Too damn long.” Bucky’s echoing of Steve’s words from earlier rang in his ears as he proceeded to fill Sam in of their earlier conversation and bring him up to speed.

~~Earlier while you were prepping dinner with Pepper~~

“Let’s go Stevie, you and I are going to have some words.” Bucky grabbed the confused Captain by the elbow, not giving him any room to escape as he all but dragged him into an empty hallway, away from everyone else currently waiting for food to be finished. “What’s the deal with you and Y/N? And don’t try to lie to me. You’ve been watching her like she’s the end all to your existence. Spill.”

“I didn’t expect to see her Buck. She’s the last person I would have ever pegged on coming back to New York after everything.” Steve leaned against the wall of the hallway, smiling as he remembered what the two of you used to be like. “We were close once, back before I left to find you, back before everything went to hell. One of my biggest regrets in life has been not telling her how I feel. How she makes me feel.” The man sighed, running a hand through his hair at the sound of your laughter coming from the kitchen.

“I’ve never wanted anyone so bad in my entire life. I always hoped that maybe she’d come back, and maybe I could make up for lost time somehow. She’s incredible! So gorgeous even when she isn’t trying to be, funny, and wicked smart. She sucks the air right out of my lungs every time she even looks at me. She makes me feel like I’m going to die from an asthma attack. What’s worse is I wouldn’t even mind as long as I got to call her mine. Even if only for a moment.”

“That bad huh? Why don’t you just ask her out? Or just push her up against the wall and make her forget her own name?” Bucky asked, Steve’s upset gaze turning to the dining area.

“Easy. You know her cousin.” He sighed defeated, his best friend giving him a tight lipped smile before bringing his fist up and socking him in the arm. Hard.

“Bullshit Steve Rogers. Y/N is single, you’re single! Screw Tony!”

“I’d rather screw Y/N Buck, have you not been listening?” The admission made the winter soldier’s eyes damn near fall out of his head.

“Damn Stevie” The brunette chuckled, watching how flustered his friend became when Y/N poked her head into the hallway.

“Soup’s on gentlemen! Don’t make me wait!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it Doll. Smells great!” Steve called, looking at Bucky while the woman beamed and disappeared again from view. “You gotta help me man, She’s going to be here all weekend and I’m going to go crazy!”

“Then go crazy! You never know unless you try Rogers. She seems into you, so why not just go all in? How long have you carried a torch for her?”

“Too damn long.” Steve responded as they began their walk to the dining table.

Now

“So we’re gonna call this Mission Getting America’s ass a piece of Ass or Operation Raising America’s flagpole?” Sam asked out loud, Tony getting fed up with their talking and throwing a few kernels of popcorn at the men.

“Shh!!!!” Steve rolled his eyes as Stark shushed them loudly, his heart squeezing as he watched you smack your cousin’s arm, clearly not caring about their hushed tones.

“Man you had to pick Y/N? Dangerous waters man, respect. Count me in.”

“Yea Pal, we’ll help you avoid the overprotective ass so you can get closer to Y/N’s ass. No problem.” Steve smiled as his friend clapped him on the shoulder, only to get hit square in the back of the head with more popcorn. Turning his head to glare at Stark, he was surprised to see you holding the popcorn bowl, a playful scowl on your perfect face.

“Shhh!” You raised your finger to your lips, the men instantly shutting up so you could enjoy the rest of the film.

“I have no idea what’s going on.” Everyone laughed at Bucky’s statement, his confusion warranted by the sheer fact he hadn’t been paying attention the first hour and was consequentially lost. You jumped at the sudden sound of your cell phone interrupting the film, groans of frustration leaving everyone as you went to dig out the noisy device from your pocket.

“Shit. So sorry everyone!” Your face paled upon seeing you had four text messages from the same person calling you. Your best friend Kate. “I’ll be right back!” You looked apologetically to everyone while you scramble off the couch, catching the now empty bowl Tony had tossed you.

“With more popcorn Short Stack. First one up gets the snack refills.”

“Yea yea, keep your shirt on Snark.” You skipped out into the hall, pressing the green accept button and bringing the phone up to your ear. “HEY BOO THANG!”

“Don’t you fucking dare hey boo thang me Y/L/N. Take a wild guess where I am.”

“Um….Antarctica?” You tried, hearing your angry friend huff in annoyance as you re-entered the kitchen, trying to remember where Pepper had put the box of popcorn.

“Nice try smart ass. I’m in your apartment.” You stiffened, pulling the small box out of the cupboard and opening it.

“How’d you get in hoe?”

“You’ve kept the same hide-a-key gnome since college.”

“Right. What brings you by? I thought you were in Canada til Monday for a car meet?”

“It was a total drag. Cops showed up, handed almost everyone a VI, it’s no fun after that. I came back early, decided I’d surprise you with a welcome home pizza and some wine. I climbed SEVEN flights of stairs Y/N. SEVEN. You ignored my texts so I thought you fell asleep. BUT NO. So where the hell are you?!”

“Avengers compound. A/c is broken for the weekend so there’s a hundred percent chance of shirtless hot men.” You pulled your phone away at the sound of Kate’s loud girlish squealing.

“MY BAAAAAABE.” She screamed into the phone, you chuckling and placing a new bag into the microwave. Tony could learn to have some patience. “Steve is there isn’t he?! You gonna jump him?! PLEEEEEASE tell me you’re going to jump Steve Roger’s fine ass?!”

“I think he’s trying to jump mine Kate.” You quickly filled her in on the previous events from the day, her loud cheers and “My Girl”s spurring on your confidence. She was always your best hype woman, always in your corner and the best person at cheering you up. You guys had met in writing class during College, the two of you became thick as thieves by the semester’s end. She was the one that told you to get out after the Decimation, she could see how much you wanted to help. You let her take over writing for your article in the small paper you wrote for so you could jump on the first plane to the U.K, promising to give it back when you returned. You’d never tell anyone how happy she was when you told her you would not be coming back to the paper upon returning back to New York. She had thrived writing it, and you knew she didn’t want to give it up. You’d never stand in her way with something like that.

“SWEET JESUS THAT MAN! The thirst struggle is real as fuck huh Y/N?” Her voice snapped you out of your thoughts along with the loud beeping of the microwave. You tore the bag from the box and immediately dumped its contents into the bowl, throwing another bag in to heat up.

“I promise I’ll sneak ya some pics whenever I can. As an apology.”

“You dangerous bitch,” You laughed openly at that, watching the timer count down to avoid making any more noise. “I’ll let you go. Call me tomorrow?”

“Of course. Love you, bye.”

“Bye babe!” Her singsong voice ended the phone call, you putting it back in your pocket before shoving the second bag into the bowl and returning to the living area. You hadn’t missed too much of the movie, settling in again next to Tony and him wasting no time at taking the popcorn off your hands.

“You’re welcome.”

“Mphmph Thanks.” Stark muffled out, not even looking at you.

The movie ended a little while later and you glanced up at the clock on the wall. You had exactly six hours before the compound would start changing temperatures. Stretching your arms up over your head you smiled lightly at the sight of Pepper and Tony cuddled up together and asleep on the couch. It was sweet to see them together, no world saving or stressful missions to plan. Just them being them. You almost felt jealous in a way, wondering if you’d ever find that kind of relationship.

“Penny for your thoughts Y/N?” You blinked at Bucky as you came back to reality, shaking your head and offering a smile as he offered a hand to help you off the couch.

“I’m fine Bucky. Just happy to be back. I’ve missed everyone so much.” You gushed, taking his hand and standing on your feet. The rest of you walked away from the living area, into the long hallway to exchange goodnights and well wishes of sleep before hell hit in the morning.

“Can I walk you to your room Doll?” You smiled warmly at Steve as he offered his arm, you taking it and starting down the hallway together.

“I don’t know can you Rogers? Or would you prefer to carry me again?” Pride ghosted your features as a blush creeped over the blonde’s cheeks.

“Sorry about earlier, I shouldn’t have acted that way...” He started and you cut him off with a short laugh.

“Don’t be sorry Steve. I’m sure as hell not.” You shrugged, slowing your steps down as you neared the door to your room. “Which one’s yours?”

“Oh umh, well it’s this one.” He pointed to the door right next to yours and you let out another laugh.

“I see now, you were just walking me to my room because it was on the way.”

“Wrong. I just wanted to spend some time alone with you. I haven’t gotten you to myself for longer than a moment all day.” Steve muttered, you looking up at him with calculating eyes as he stared back at you.

“Well now that you have me, what will you do with me?” You challenged, his gaze going dark before he wrapped you up into a giant hug. You giggled as he seemed to melt into the embrace, you bringing your hands around his neck to pull him closer, snuggling into his shoulder and breathing in his scent.

“I’ve missed you Y/N. God I’ve missed this.” A blissful sigh escaped your mouth as he only hugged you tighter against his chest. You could hear his racing heartbeat under your cheek as you stood there, gripping onto one another seemingly for dear life. You had missed him too, more than you currently cared to admit at the present. You reluctantly pulled away from the amazing man when you heard a small cough behind you, finding an amused looking Natasha.

“Don’t mind me, I’m just waiting to get to my room.” The two of you sheepishly moved out of the way for the red head, her small smile and knowing wink causing your face to flush. “Goodnight you two, don’t stay up too late.”

“We should probably...” He started

“Call it a night.” You finished, looking at him with a small smile. “Keep your door unlocked? Just in case I have nightmares and need someone to snuggle with?” You baited, it having a clear affect on Steve as he huskily chuckled, bringing your knuckles to his lips. Your body sparked as his soft lips grazed them, your vision a bit blurry as he stared at you with those perfect blue eyes.

“As you wish.”

You thought you’d die right then, watching him smirk at your cheeks reddening before turning into his own room, giving you a quick once over with his eyes and shutting the door. Oh buddy if he wanted to be a tease, you’d show him who was the reigning champion. You quickly went into your room and changed into pajama’s, placing Mister Stuffins on the pillow next to you before drifting off to sleep easily. You couldn’t wait to wake up in the morning.

Tag List: @kaytizzle @cuffski @giggleberts @pies-wands-and-more @chrisevansfanfic

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #avengers #marvel #captain america #fanfic #fanfiction #series

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illyrianwingspans · 4 years

Text

Do Not Go Gentle: Dancing After Death

Link to song

Synopsis: More aftermath, someone pays a surprise visit to Feyre.

TW: Dark thoughts.

Ao3 Link

Chapter 8: Dancing After Death

I was paralyzed.

As I laid in Rhys’s guest room bed beneath the light of the rising sun, I realized that I was paralyzed in my own mind.

I didn’t know how it happened. I didn’t know how I lost control—but suddenly, the onslaught of memories and emotions rose like a cresting wave, and I was bound to the shoreline as they crashed down upon me over and over again, mercilessly, drowning me until the very breath ripped from my lungs. Every pulse or movement or mental process lead me right back to those moments in the coffee shop. Whether I was in the front with the barrel of a gun pressed to my forehead, or clutching that very gun as two bodies slumped before me, the only thing I could think, feel, hear and taste was murderer, murderer, murderer.

And when that wasn’t enough, I was brought back to the incident. To mangled metal, shattered glass and heat waves rising from the ground as fresh blood met the winter snow. Brought back to moments alone in the stand-alone bath tub we used to have at the penthouse with a blade pinched between my fingertips.

I had to wring my hands in my lap to try and control myself.

At some point it was too much, being in that room by myself, alone with the hurricane in my mind. And instead of giving into the instincts that screamed at me, I went for a compromise.

Floorboards creaked beneath my feet. Tiptoeing, I held my breath as I crossed the hallway from the guest bedroom to the bathroom where I’d been only hours ago trying to scrub away two strangers’ blood. It still smelled of the bleach that Rhys had doused over everything before going to bed.

Cold enveloped me as I sank into the ceramic tub. It was large, big enough for two people, and comfortable enough that I could extend my legs in front of me without bending them. Rhys’s shirt billowed out around me.

What was I doing here? How did I end up here?

Questions that reverberated through me. Unanswered they remained as I curled further into myself in a failed attempt to escape the cold ceramic. The pain in my chest was sharp and aching, but I ignored it.

More importantly, though, was how do I get out?

I was stuck in a spiral, I realized. Wide enough at first that I didn't realize I was falling, spinning and bending into the depths of my broken being in a tightly coiled spiral, all the way down. No way out. Forever trapped in this cycle until the end.

The thought terrified me. I had no way out. I was trapped.

A creaking sound rippled through the small space, and my head whipped to the door to find a groggy Rhysand looking back at me confused. There were bags beneath his eyes. I hadn't noticed until he stepped into the dim light where his sleeplessness shined through. Loose sleeping clothes curtained him, sweatpants and a t-shirt similar to the one I wore.

He took a few steps towards the bathtub and perched on the side of it, taking in my curled position. “Can’t sleep?”

I shook my head.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I shrugged my shoulders.

Rhys looked me up and down where I laid hunched in the tub, then swung his legs carefully over the curled lip of the ceramic to settled down in front of me. We both adjusted so our legs ran parallel to each other, and his were so long he had to keep them bent so they would fit in the cramped space.

“You’re warm,” I murmured, nestling my head between my shoulder and the ceramic.

“You’re cold,” he replied, then hesitantly laid his arm on my legs so that it covered my ankles and calves. My eyes closed at the heat he radiated.

Hot, like the blood that’d coated me a few mere hours ago. My eyes snapped back open to see Rhys watching me intently, his expression calm and neutral in the wee hours of the morning.

“Night Industries works in security, right?” I wondered aloud. I didn’t know why I asked it, but I just wanted to hear the sound of his voice. To let him talk, to let me forget.

Rhys swallowed before answering. “Yes and no. It’s one of the many facets of the industry, one that we’re very focused in right now—but I started off in real estate, like your fiancee.”

“That’s why you own half of Prythian.”

A wry smile. “Yes, I suppose that’s true.”

“You only do security detail? Like there’s a line-up of jacked mysterious men and women at your disposal?”

At that Rhys let out a soft chuckle. “Security detail, cyber security, infrastructure security, all of it. Though we don’t like to think of it as a line-up. It’s more of a reservoir.”

I shot him a pointed look. He only wore his usual cunning smirk, but with each passing second both or our expressions dropped until we mirrored the same empty, hollow gaze.

“Have you ever killed anyone?”

Darkness like I’d never seen before flickered in Rhysand’s eyes. “Yes.”

“What happened?” Unease twisted in my gut.

The male released a sigh and sank deeper into the ceramic. An invisible weight made his shoulders sag. “I used to be a police officer. Before I took over my father’s business, before I got into business, I was a cop. Trained at the academy for a year, was on duty for two years.” He paused briefly, as to collect his thoughts, then said, “One night, we got a call. Hostage situation. A man had kidnapped his niece and had her for over a week in an ongoing investigation. It was outside of the head detective’s precinct so they called us in to try and manage the situation before the others arrived. After an hour of trying to negotiate, I could tell things were about to go bad. And all I could hear was that little girl’s voice, pleading for someone to help her.

“I went in and the house was a mess. Bloodstains on the walls. Rotten food in the kitchen. The hole place reeked. We knew he’d been abusing her in more ways than one.” Rhys swallowed hard. “When we went down to the basement, the guy had a gun to the girl’s head. It was all I could focus on, and in the heat of the moment, I didn’t think. I just shot.”

That’s when his eyes finally held mine, and he admitted quietly, “He was using her as a shield. I didn’t see because I was panicked and all I saw was the gun against her head. But I shot her by accident. Then I shot him. As soon as the case was closed I gave in my resignation.”

Tears streamed down my face. Over and over again, like a song I couldn’t shake out of my head, the sound of the gunfire went off.

“How do you move on? When will the pain finally stop?”

Rhys’s expression bled empathy. “I wish I could tell you that it goes away. I wish I could tell you that I let my experiences be my strength and not my downfall.” He released a defeated breath. “But there isn’t a day that goes by that her scared face doesn’t enter my mind. At first I thought it would kill me, but now it’s faint. Like the smooth edge of a scar.”

Scars. I knew a lot about those. They lined my thighs up and down, evidence that years had passed, and I had not forgotten. Not forgotten that cursed night when I’d killed another woman, again at the hands of my blessed shortcomings.

Though I’d tried to erase them, I’d tried to get ride of them, the truth is that my scars still burned bright when revealed. They made others gawk and stare and mutter to themselves, and only further buried me into the slow grave I was digging.

“Feyre?” Rhysand murmured.

I looked up to him from where I’d been staring at my thighs, covered by the thin material of his t-shirt. It smelled faintly of citrus and jasmine. Before I knew it, a calm settled over my body, and my cheek rested against the cold ceramic as sleep washed over me slowly, then all at once.

Creaky footsteps sounded throughout the room as someone tried to carefully tiptoe from the door into bed. The light flowing through the room alerted me that it was early morning. I didn’t know how I’d gotten from the tub and back to the guest room, but I assumed it was thanks to the dark-haired man sleeping in the room across the hall. Yet why has he come to wake me in the wee hours of the morning?

Then something strange happened. A weight made the mattress dip next to me, and someone slid into the sheets. I bristled when skin brushed against my legs, and beside me there was a sharp intake of breath.

“What the—” a masculine voice swore lowly.

No time was wasted as I damn near jumped from the bed. When I looked down, there was man—that wasn’t Rhys—wearing the same shocked and disturbed expression that I was.

Except that the face wasn’t unfamiliar. I could spot the long, tousled hair and sharp jawline anywhere. My jaw dropped as I whispered, “Cassian?”

“Feyre?” Came the equally surprised response. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Um, sleeping. In my bed. You—” he shook his head. “How did you get in here?”

More footsteps thundered down the hallway, gaining closer to us, and a tired, groggy voice called panicked, “Feyre?”

Then Rhys tore open the door, wearing nothing else besides sleeping shorts, his head whipping back and forth between Cassian and I. I guess the pyjamas he’d adorned hours ago were more for my sake than for his normal sleeping comforts.

“How did you get into my house?” Rhysand demanded as he took in Cassian, still curled up in the bed.

“How did she get into your house?” Cassian retorted incredulously. “I am not the stranger here. This is my bed.”

“Oh bullshit Cass, how many times do I have to tell you that this isn’t your room?”

“Well it certainly isn’t Feyre's either!” Cassian looked from Rhys to me. I stood there, lips pursed tightly, thanking the Gods that Rhys’s t-shirt was long enough to cover my thighs. “How do you two know each other?”

Rhys and I held each other’s gazes, waiting for the other to explain the complicated relationship between us. Finally, Rhys sighed and said to Cassian, “She’s Tamlin’s fiancee.” Then he looked at me and wondered, “You called him finally?”

“We box together,” Cassian explained, then grinned. “So that’s how you got my number. Didn’t want to associate yourself with my brother, did you?”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, shut it.”

More moments of silence passed between the three of us as we looked to one another in the small space. My headache grew with each pulsing second, and Cassian only goaded, “Well? I get that you work with her fiancee Rhys, but pray tell why the pretty lady is in my bed?”

I narrowed my eyes at Cassian and Rhys only replied, “First of all, it’s not your bed. And second of all,” the male sighed and looked to me before saying, “I was going to call you first thing in the morning. There was an incident last night. At the coffee shop.”

Cassian’s brows shot up and he demanded, “Why wasn’t I called immediately?”

“Because I had to call Azriel. It wasn’t your kind of mess to clean.” Rhys pursed his lips. “Two men threatened her by gun point trying to find the shipment.”

“So you took care of them?”

“No.”

Cassian was about to ask who, and I could tell, because he looked to me then went silent. He had his answer.

“Oh, Feyre,” Cassian murmured, full of heartbreak. I blinked back the tears threatening to pour over as the brunt of what’d happened yesterday hit me once more.

“I need you to take her to your private clinic. We have to keep this as secret as possible.”

Cassian looked to the bandage on my forehead that Rhys had carefully placed on top of the cut. “You mean she hasn’t been to a hospital yet?”

“Can you please stop talking like I’m not standing right here.” I interjected quietly. “I didn’t want to go last night, Cassian. I will go with you later and we will figure all this out,” I pointed to the window, “when it isn’t five thirty in the fucking morning.”

Rhys looked to the window, then to Cassian. “Why are you only getting home at five thirty in the morning?”

The brute only shrugged his shoulders. “Went out drinking with Mor.”

“Until five thirty?”

“No, until two. Then I stayed up watching TV and eating your cereal. We need more cereal, by the way.”

Rhys turned with a disapproving grunt to head back to his room, and I had to look away from his backside which was scandalously highlighted by his tight sleeping shorts. He growled over his shoulder, “I want my key back,” before slamming the door to the master bedroom.

Heaving a sigh, I looked back to the male who still lounged in my bed. “Well?”

“Well what?” Cassian bit back.

“Out.” I pointed to the door.

“This is my bed!”

“Out!” I repeated before climbing back under the sheets and curling onto my side.

Weight shifted beside me and I felt a voice whisper next to me, “You sure you don’t want some snuggles?”

A gurgle of laughter bubbled in my throat, but I pushed it down before taking a pillow and swinging it at him with all my might. He finally retreated and the door closed, leaving me alone with the morning light and the sound of my quiet breaths.

Alone with the deafening stream of babbling thoughts. Blood and pills and eyes and guns. They traipsed around each other, allowing the fear they incited to creep down my spine and nestle into my bones. I tried to spool that fear back in, master it, and shove it down where it couldn’t be reached, but the fear was always stronger.

Cassian, Rhysand and I ventured back into town to a private clinic Cassian and Rhys relied on when treating injuries received in more…illegal situations. Madja was the doctor that day, and she did a full check-up—physical exam, neurological exam and CT scan to confirm there was no damage to my brain. She said that the impact had been harsh enough to cut skin, and I’d have a tiny scar on my forehead thanks to it, but nothing that would seriously harm my health besides short-term headaches. Cassian and Rhys had stayed with me the whole time (due to my notable unease in describing what’d happened the previous night) until Madja had closely examined the bruising on my chest and arms. Apparently, I’d broken a rib.

I didn’t have the heart in me to guess whether that’d been due to James or Tamlin’s desk.

She also gave me a splint for my wrist, which I now would have a valuable excuse to wear around the house that Tamlin wouldn’t go ballistic at. Though I’d been roughed up, Madja assured me that everything would heal on its own eventually and I didn’t need surgery for my rib. I sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Gods for it.

When I left her office with the prescription clutched in my hand, Cassian and Rhys were instantly there asking questions one after the other. Once satisfied, we finally made it back to the car, when Rhys informed me that Tamlin was arriving in an hour and that he’d meet Rhys and I at the penthouse. Cassian had to go work some paperwork out at the gym anyways, and I found myself saying goodbye to him on the street out front while Rhys waited in the car.

“How didn’t you know I was Tamlin’s fiancee if you’re working on this with him?” I asked Cassian, who stood before me with a scowl and his arms crossed. Ever since we’d left Madja’s office, something seemed off about him.

He answered, “Rhys gave me very little details, and at the time you weren’t much of a security risk. Not until now, anyways.”

An awkward pause extended between us, so I tried filling it with, “If you own the gym then why are you working with Rhys and Night Industries?”

“Side job,” he quipped with a shrug.

I dropped my voice and asked lowly, “What’s wrong, Cassian?”

The wind muted our conversation to passersby, and I was grateful as he blew out a sigh and said, “I saw the footage, Feyre. Of everything that happened in the shop. The injuries described to your chest don’t match up.”

My heartbeat climbed into my throat. “What?”

“He punched you in the stomach. Below your chest. No where near your ribs.” He shook his head. “I don’t know whether to come with you and kill the prick myself or to yell at you for putting up with this.”

I swallowed hard and looked away from Cassian’s piercing stare. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, Cassian.”

“Yes I do. And I’ll be damned if I stand back and watch him do this to you.”

“Hey,” I asserted, all bite and fury, “this is my life. These are my choices. And these are my secrets. Mind your own fucking business.”

He raised his hands in defeat, then slowly walked away without another word. My face burned in shame as I got back into Rhys’s car and slammed the door, hard.

When we arrived to the penthouse, Tamlin was already there, hunched over the couch with his back to us. I swallowed hard at the sight, knowing full well by the tension in his muscles that he was furious. At the sound of the elevator doors opening, he spun around, and true relief lined his features when he saw me. I wanted to run to him, let him hold me—I just wanted someone to hold me and tell me it was going to be alright. But as soon as he saw that I was okay, that I was in no immediate danger, he turned to Rhys with the promise of death in his eyes.

“This was your mistake, Noctis,” Tamlin spat with an accusatory finger pointed in Rhys’s direction. The dark haired man only slid his hands into his pockets and raised his brows, as though he were mildly amused at the bold claim Tamlin made.

“I didn’t hire those two men to attack your fiancee if that’s what you’re asking,” Rhys said nonchalantly. “And I intervened as soon as I was alerted to the situation.”

“There shouldn’t have been a situation in the first place,” Tamlin spat. “You’re fired.”

Rhys scoffed and stepped closer to my fiancee. “You’re not the one who hired me, Tamlin. I’d check with Hybern before you make such claims.”

“I just got off the phone with him, and he agrees that this was the last straw. Effective immediately your contract is broken. The fees for the early termination of the contract are being transferred to you as we speak.”

Rhys looked from Tamlin to me, and though his expression never slipped up, I could see it in his shoulders—there was fear there, in the way he stood too-still. “Who’s going to handle the shipments, then? Your two dimwits who fucked it up last time?”

Tamlin shook his head in disgust. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

Rhysand laughed, a full, mocking laugh, and turned on his heel. “Take care of yourself, Tamlin. And Feyre, darling,” he paused and looked over his shoulder to hold my gaze, "Fight it."

Without another word, the dark-haired male stepped into the elevator, and stepped out of our lives.

Which left me alone with Tamlin, who only looked me up and down, then wrapped me in his arms. I winced at the pressure on my chest, but let him hold me nonetheless.

“I’ll protect you,” he swore lowly in my ear, “I promise, Feyre, I’ll protect you.”

#dngg #acotar #acomaf #acowar #a court of thorns and roses #sarah j maas #sjm #feyre #rhys #feysand #rhysand #feysand fanfic #feysand fanfiction #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction

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knox-knocks · 5 years

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Timeless ~ Chapter 3

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Andrew woke with his hand over Neil’s, their fingers tangled on the mattress. It was sometime after dawn, and Neil was still asleep. His skin was warm against Andrew’s, but Andrew drew his hand back and rolled out of bed, careful not to disturb Neil.

The apartment was still and quiet. Andrew passed King asleep in her cat bed, curled so tightly she looked like a gray ball with tufts of fluff sticking up in every direction. Dawn light filtered in through the windows, blurring the edges in the apartment and making everything look grainy in the low light. The hard-wood floors were cold under Andrew’s bare feet, but Andrew continued to the kitchen anyway. He was halfway through cooking the bacon when Neil emerged from the bedroom, looking sleep rumpled and softened by the same gray light. His bruises had almost completely vanished.

Neil yawned and stretched, arching his back like a cat. He rubbed at his eyes and plopped down at the kitchen table. Andrew turned away before he could do something stupid, like run his hands through the soft strands of Neil’s hair.

“The bacon’s almost done but there’s a plate of toast and orange juice in the fridge,” Andrew said. The bacon sizzled and popped. Andrew quickly piled the rest of it on a plate before he could get burned from the grease in the pan. Then he grabbed the bread and set both plates on the table in front of Neil. There was only one chair so Andrew snagged a couple pieces of bacon and toast and leaned against the wall across from Neil.

“Thanks,” Neil mumbled and picked at the food. After a couple bites of his breakfast he pushed it away.

“Not hungry?” Andrew said around his piece of bacon. “You didn’t eat last night, either.”

“Diner food is great and all, but not when it’s a day old.”

Andrew leveled him a look until Neil sighed.

“My appetite is just a little low, is all. I’m fine,” Neil said, eyeing the woodgrain of the table. Andrew set his breakfast down and reached over the table to feel Neil’s head. His skin was hot to the touch. Andrew remembered Neil’s hand against his, he wasn’t just warm, he was burning.

“Neil,” Andrew said.

“I’m sure it’ll go away. I’m just a little warm.”

“Neil.”

“I don’t know if this is it, Andrew!” Neil snapped. “I’ve been sick before. Sometimes it goes away, and sometimes it doesn’t. I just don’t know.”

Andrew rounded the table and opened the pantry, retrieving a tall plastic cup. He filled it with water from the tap and placed it in front of Neil, with more force than necessary. “Drink all of that,” Andrew said. “I’m going to the store to get ibuprofen. You stay here and drink more water.”

The ibuprofen brought down the fever enough where Neil only felt slightly warm when Andrew placed the back of his hand against his forehead. Andrew made Neil drink two more glasses of water and eat another can of chicken noodle soup. Afterwards, Andrew debated sending Neil to bed to rest up.

Neil sighed. “I’m not fragile, Andrew. I can take care of myself.”

“I know,” Andrew said and took Neil’s bowl from his hands. When their fingers brushed, Andrew could feel traces of the heat.

“You can’t stop this.”

Andrew stopped in the middle of the kitchen, bowl still in hand. Slowly, he placed it in the sink with the other dishes.

Neil stood up from his chair. He tugged at Andrew’s shirt sleeve until he turned around. “Maybe I should leave. I don’t want to put you through this.”

“No.” And again. “No.”

Neil pursed his lips. “You said yourself that you didn’t want to have to keep watching me die. If it’s not this, it’ll be something else. And to what end? Eventually ten years will go by and I won’t come back.”

“You still have time, Neil. I promised that I would help you.”

“You are the one with all the time in the world, Andrew. Not me. I’ve never had enough time. Never. This is no different.”

“So, what? You are going to keep dying, over and over again until you’re gone for good?” Andrew shook off the hand Neil still had gripped in his shirt. “Where’s that survival instinct you had before? What happened to trying to stay alive?”

“What’s the point!” Neil shouted, his voice bouncing off the empty walls. “No matter how hard I tried to stay alive, I always died in the end. I’m trying to make this easier on you.”

“Don’t. None of this is easy.”

“I know that,” Neil said, the fight leaving his voice. He hovered a hand over Andrew’s elbow. When Andrew didn’t protest, he curled his fingers in the fabric there. Andrew reached up and held Neil’s hand in place. For a brief second, he let himself trace the scars he had long ago memorized. A small tug had Andrew facing Neil. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“It is always going to hurt,” Andrew said. Admitting it was like slashing a knife across his skin. Blood welling up, bright red and shocking against his pale skin. Andrew pulled out of Neil’s reach.

“Andrew –”

Andrew left the kitchen and entered the living room, Neil trailing after him. When Neil slipped in front of him and opened his mouth to protest, Andrew cut him off.

“I am visiting my family.” He paused in grabbing his wallet and his pack of cigarettes, and met Neil’s eyes across from him. Neil’s lips were flattened into a thin line, but he didn’t call Andrew back. Andrew turned away and the door closed behind him with a soft click.

The gravel crunched underneath Andrew’s feet as he walked the path to Nicky and Aaron’s graves. He eyed the others as he passed by. The farther he went, the older they got. These graves rarely had any flowers placed on top of them, and only a few tokens remained, faded and warped with age. Weeds bordered the path, weeks of not being plucked. While the front of the graveyard was pristine, not a leafy weed in sight, this part looked like it hadn’t been managed for ages. Maybe it hadn’t.

Andrew wondered if anyone even came this way anymore, or if he was the only one. He was sure the custodians who were in charge of the cemetery swept through this area like they did the rest. But maybe they didn’t. No one was around to visit these old graves, decades and hundreds of years old. No one except Andrew.

His family’s graves were almost obscured by big oak trees, gnarled and twisted with years of growth. Leaves littered the ground, sprinkled over roots and crunching under Andrew’s feet as he walked the pathway, it was the calling of winter. Andrew found the two graves he was looking for and sat between them, crossing his ankles and pulling his knees to his chest.

The tombstones were weather-beaten and crumbling, pockmarked from decades of wind and rain. Grass had grown over both of them, long blades overgrown, and little shoots of small white flowers swayed, buffeted by the gentle breeze. The words on the stones were almost completely gone, eroded with time. Years ago, Andrew had taken a knife and tried to carve the words back in, but that too, had started to fade.

Andrew let out a breath of air. He never knew what to do when he was here. Some people talked, as if the dead could actually hear their words. But what could he say?

I still think about what happened.

I blame myself.

Sometimes I wish I was buried here with you.

Andrew always stayed silent. The oak tree boughs and branches shook above him and the leaves rustled, sashaying in the wind. More leaves, brown and orange, drifted to rest on the ground around Andrew. One landed on Aaron’s tombstone, and Andrew brushed it off.

Nicky’s name was barely legible anymore. Aaron’s was only slightly better. The date on Aaron’s stone was gone, smoothed over from the elements, but Nicky’s still read 1871 – 1887. It has been one hundred and eighty years since their deaths. One hundred and eighty years since Andrew stopped aging.

Andrew rested his chin on his knees. The oak trees creaked. The leaves whistled. The gravel crunched with footsteps behind him.

Andrew didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. “You should be resting,” he called without looking up.

Neil sat down beside him, carefully settling between the grass and fallen leaves. His eyes swept over the graves, taking them in, all their decrepit glory. “I’ve been here once, when I first started looking for you,” he mused instead of replying. “I don’t really know what I was looking for. I think I was just hoping I wouldn’t find yours. I found mine, but not these ones.”

A truth for a truth. Andrew remembered the game Neil was trying to play. He came up with it in the early stages of their relationship, when he wanted to know every single thing he could about Neil Josten. Andrew guessed he still had a long way to go.

“They never found their bodies,” Andrew began, his voice filling the air. He’d never talked about it before, barely let himself think it. But he pressed on. “I always assumed they burnt to ash in the fire. There wasn’t really anything left of the house. Technically, these coffins are empty.”

Neil frowned. “What happened?” he asked quietly, tentatively as if Andrew were a wild animal he didn’t want to scare away.

Andrew swallowed. He tasted the ash in his mouth. He felt too warm despite the cool autumn air around them. “It was an accident. The stove blew up and the fire spread fast. I wasn’t there at the time, I was coming back from closing up at the pub. By the time I got there, the house was already in flames.”

The fire had been hot, Andrew could feel it all the way from the gate. He remembered the heat burning his face as he ran, feet trudging through snow. He had tried to get the gate open, but the latch was stuck. Nicky had told him to fix it a week earlier, but he hadn’t. By the time he scaled the fence and landed on the other side, it was too late.

“I tried to get them out,” Andrew continued. The roof started to cave, bowing under the hungry flames as the wood crackled and popped. “I was only about ten paces from the house when it blew.” The windows shattered, bits of glass flying through the air, sparks singeing Andrew’s face. Hot. Red hot. “The next thing I knew, I was waking up face down in the snow, the neighbor shaking my shoulder.”

Neil was quiet for a long time. Long enough for Andrew to feel something rise up in his chest and longer still for him to push it back down again. Andrew had long since figured out how to get a handle over his rage, but it still bubbled up, hot as the fire that burned that house to the ground on occasions like these. Andrew gritted his teeth and glared at the gray stone.

“You ever died in a fire, Neil?” Andrew asked. There was an edge to his voice, one he hadn’t quite managed to tamper down.

“No,” Neil said. “But I drowned once.”

“Those are two very different things.”

“Yeah.”

Andrew sucked in a long stream of air and held it in his lungs. When he released it, he let his body deflate, easing the tension and putting it away. Neil wasn’t the enemy, he wasn’t the one Andrew was fighting against. Neil was on limited time, Andrew didn’t want to waste it with arguing.

There was a tiny leaf in Neil’s hair, nestled between the auburn curls. Andrew plucked it out and let it fall from his fingers to the ground with the others. When he glanced up, Neil’s face was open and vulnerable. Andrew would rather die than betray that.

The sun was already sinking below the horizon when Neil and Andrew caught the last bus back to the apartment. The sky was cast with bright shades of orange and streaks of magenta, dark indigo clouds reminding them of the darkness to come. At some point on the walk from the bus station to the apartment, Neil had slipped his hand in Andrew’s, and Andrew had let him, squeezing once in reassurance.

Back at the apartment, King waited for them at the door. Andrew went to the bedroom to change his clothes while Neil opened a can of cat food for King to eat. Andrew switched his hoodie out for a simple t-shirt and grabbed a pair of clean sweats. Neil had been borrowing his clothes, but Andrew didn’t really mind. After a moment’s hesitation, he slipped his armbands on and left the room.

Neil was bustling around the kitchen when Andrew walked in. A small saucepan filled with water was beginning to boil on the stove. As Andrew passed by, he turned the heat down to medium and peered into the pan. Behind him, Neil rummaged through the pantry.

“What are you making?” Andrew asked, leaning on the counter with his elbows.

“Ramen. Nothing else sounds good right now.” Neil closed the pantry door with a red packet of ramen in hand.

“Is my food not good enough for you?” Andrew deadpanned.

“You know I require the most delicate of foods. I have a sensitive palate.”

Andrew huffed, almost amused. He was glad Neil was actually eating. “Do you need more ibuprofen?”

Neil’s hands stilled, lowering the ramen to the counter. “I’m fine,” he said, and began to crush the noodles with the heel of his hand. He tore open the ramen, dug out the little packet of seasonings, and dumped the crushed noodles in the boiling water. When he stepped away to throw out the trash, Andrew caught him around the arm and turned him around.

“I promise,” Neil said. “I’m okay.”

Andrew hummed. He scanned Neil’s face, looking for the lie, the crack in his mask. When there was none, he took a step closer. Neil stayed still, even when Andrew wrapped both his hands around his arms. “Yes or no?” Andrew asked.

“Yes,” Neil said on an exhale.

Both of them leaned in at once. There was a tentative brush of lips, and then Andrew moved his hand up Neil’s arm and cupped his cheek. Neil leaned into Andrew’s palm and deepened the kiss.

The kiss was slow, tender. Even when Neil opened his mouth and let Andrew in, there was no real urgency to it. Only the ever-present warmth and glow that filled Andrew’s chest when he was with Neil. They were testing new boundaries, relearning each other all over again with every brush of lips and soft sigh. Andrew had missed this, more than he cared to admit. In the back of his mind he vaguely registered moving Neil’s hands to rest in his hair, brushing his thumb over Neil’s cheek, smoothing his hand over his waist and pulling him closer.

Their lips moved in perfect tandem and Andrew’s heart fluttered a drum-beat rhythm in his chest. For a moment, Andrew felt mortal. He felt his years numbered rather than stretching forever in front of him. He was sure he could die, would die, if Neil were to disappear under his fingers or vanish when he opened his eyes again. He was achingly human.

Andrew broke away first, letting himself catch his breath while they leaned against each other, their foreheads touching. Andrew dropped his hands to rest at Neil’s wrists, his fingers still entwined in Andrew’s hair. Slowly, Andrew eased Neil’s hands away and brought them to his chest where he would feel his heart thumping like a bid for freedom. “Neil,” he murmured, his lips so close they brushed Neil’s. Neil hummed, his nose nudging Andrew’s as he placed butterfly-kisses on Andrew’s cheeks. Andrew tilted his jaw away. “Your ramen.”

Neil blinked, confused. And then his eyes widened when he remembered his forgotten dinner. Andrew stepped away as Neil scrambled to turn the stove off before the pan boiled over.

“It’s okay,” Neil said, poking at the noodles with a fork. “It’s still edible.”

Neil finished up and sat at the table to eat. Andrew didn’t know what to do with himself. Reality rushed back to him all at once. He kissed Neil because he couldn’t bear the thought of staying just out of his reach anymore, not when Neil was so close. But now Andrew felt his absence keenly.

“Do you want some?” Neil asked.

Andrew shook his head. “My palate requires more delicate tastes.”

Andrew left Neil in the kitchen to splash water on his face in the bathroom. When he was done, he patted his skin dry with a towel and ruffled his hair, eyeing himself in the mirror. He wondered if things would be different if his and Neil’s lives were switched. Andrew, always dying. Neil, never changing. Andrew grit his teeth and flicked the lights off, plunging the bathroom in darkness.

Neil was still sat at the table when Andrew walked in, bowl empty, hands clasped in front of him. Andrew’s footsteps were light on the hardware floor as he approached. Neil didn’t look up when Andrew stepped in front of him. Instead, his eyes were unfocussed, staring at his clasped hands, a slight frown tugging at his lips. He would stay like this for hours, if Andrew let him. He was spacing, something that Neil did often when they first lived together.

“Neil,” Andrew called, reeling him back in. “Are you coming to bed?”

Neil blinked, and the haze cleared from his eyes. He rose his head and met Andrew’s gaze, that pensive look on his face. Then it was gone, and Neil was back. “Yeah,” Neil said, pushing up from the chair and putting his bowl in the sink. “I’m right behind you.”

Andrew was already settled on the mattress when Neil got dressed for bed. Before Neil turned out the lights, Andrew peeled off his armbands and set them aside. They weren’t necessary, not around Neil, and it was more comfortable to sleep without them on. Neil settled beside him and Andrew pulled the blankets overtop both of them.

When both of them were situated and had stopped shifting around, Andrew met Neil’s gaze and held it. Neil tilted his head, just a tiny bit, and Andrew considered him. His eyes dropped to Neil’s mouth, the perfect bow of his lips, and Andrew leaned in. The kiss was light and only lasted a couple seconds, but it still left Andrew breathless. When they pulled away, Andrew drew Neil to his chest and wrapped his arms around him.

With Neil’s back pressed against his chest and his arm snug over Neil’s waist, pulling him closer, their legs tangled between them, Andrew fell asleep.

He woke up on fire, burning, his skin turned to a crisp by the flames enveloping him. Wood cracked and sputtered and snow crunched underneath him. Andrew opened his eyes to find darkness; no fire, no burning house. Instead of snow, his face was pressed into soft curls. Neil.

Neil was radiating heat, his fever returned with a vengeance. Andrew couldn’t see anything, his eyes not yet adjusted to the low light, but he could feel the clamminess of Neil’s skin, the sweat on his brow. Everywhere they were pressed together was too hot to touch. Andrew stumbled out of bed, nearly stepping on King Fluffkins on his way to the light switch.

Light flooded the room but Neil didn’t stir. His bangs were plastered to his forehead with sweat and his brow was furrowed, his face twitching like he was caught in the throes of a nightmare. His skin was pale and a sheen of sweat clung to his body, soaking his thin t-shirt.

“Neil,” Andrew called. When Neil didn’t respond, Andrew knelt down and shook his shoulder. “Neil.”

Neil groaned and peeled open his eyes. They were bright with fever. Andrew didn’t need to feel his head to know he was burning up. Andrew pushed his hair back and helped him sit up.

“Neil, can you hear me?” Andrew waited for Neil’s nod. “I’m going to get you more water and more medicine to bring the fever down again. I’ll be right back.”

Neil nodded again and Andrew went to the kitchen and came back with a cup of water and two small ibuprofens in his hand. He gave Neil the pills and watched him swallow them, then he helped him drink the water. Neil’s hands were trembling and he could barely hold the cup himself. Andrew had him take small sips until it was all gone, then he refilled the cup and wet a towel with cool water.

He helped Neil lie back down and put the towel on his forehead. Neil grimaced at the contact but didn’t try to move away. Andrew held the towel in place and carded his fingers through Neil’s hair while Neil squinted up at him with blue eyes brightened with sickness. After a couple more minutes of gentle stroking, Neil’s eyes drooped shut and he fell asleep, leaving Andrew alone to hope the fever goes down.

The fever didn’t go away. When it got worse, Andrew debated bringing Neil to the hospital, but ultimately decided against it. While Andrew had an updated ID, Neil didn’t, and it would be too difficult to explain an unregistered dead-man-walking. Neil’s first death had been complicated enough as it was. Instead, Andrew paced around the house, not daring to leave in case Neil’s condition worsened even further.

Neil started to cough after three days, great hacking coughs that shook his whole body. He couldn’t leave the bed at all, and there were few times when he wasn’t completely lucid. Mostly, Neil drifted in and out of consciousness.

Andrew knelt down beside the mattress and gently felt Neil’s wrist. His fever hadn’t gone done at all, and he was already losing a lot of weight. But it was one of the few times Neil was awake enough to know what was going on.

Andrew helped Neil up and walked him to the bathroom. He already had the bathtub ready, filled with lukewarm water and salts that would help the ache in Neil’s joints. Carefully, Andrew leaned Neil against the counter and helped him undress. It was slow work, and Neil was winded by the time he was in the tub.

Andrew sat on the edge of the tub and used a soft cloth to clean the sweat from Neil’s body, gently wiping the crust around his eyes and nose while Neil blinked miserably at him. “Is the water too hot?” Andrew asked, cleaning Neil’s neck and chest with slow, gently strokes.

“No,” Neil croaked and grimaced at him. “Everything hurts anyway.”

He coughed, bending over himself as he heaved for air. The cough sounded wet and ragged. Andrew waited until the coughs subsided and helped Neil sit up when he was done, keeping a steadying hand on his neck. Andrew wrung the excess water from the cloth and hung it on the side of the tub. Then he rubbed Neil’s back with soothing fingers.

Neil groaned and closed his eyes, his head rolling against the back of the tub. Andrew let him catch his breath, then he cradled the back of Neil’s head and neck and lowered him in the water, taking care to not submerge his face. He massaged shampoo in his hair and washed it out again, then did the same with the conditioner. The entire time, Neil kept his eyes closed.

When Neil was clean and there were no more bubbles in his hair, Andrew pulled the plug and helped him out of the tub. Neil was unsteady on his feet and braced himself on the edge of the counter and had to use Andrew’s arm to keep himself from falling. Andrew wrapped him in a fluffy white towel and led him into the bedroom.

Neil sat in the middle of the carpeted floor while Andrew fetched clean clothes for him. He looked on the verge of passing out, so Andrew made quick work of drying his hair and body.

“I can dress myself,” Neil said, grabbing the t-shirt from Andrew’s hands. He was still trembling, but Andrew couldn’t tell if it was because of how bad he was shivering or from the lack of food he was able to keep down.

Once Neil was dressed and in bed, Andrew bundled him in the blankets and wrapped an arm around his waist to keep the sheets from slipping off of him in the night. Neil was still shaking, and goosebumps covered his arms and legs, but he seemed to be doing a little better. In the morning, Andrew could try to get Neil to eat some more soup. In the meantime, he had to get him through the night.

Unsurprisingly, Neil refused to eat anything the next morning. Andrew found the untouched bowl of soup where he left it by Neil’s bed and dumped it down the sink. Neil looked like he had hardly moved since Andrew last saw him. He was laying on his back, eyes closed, arms straight out like a soldier sleeping in the barracks. When Andrew switched the light on, Neil’s watery eyes opened and he frowned with disapproval at the glaring light.

Andrew ghosted his hand over Neil’s forehead, touching his skin as little as possible since even the slightest touch seemed to cause him pain. Andrew could feel the heat radiating off of him anyway, he didn’t need to have his palm against Neil’s head to know the fever hadn’t gone down.

“I should take you to the hospital,” Andrew said.

Breathing ragged, Neil shook his head. He opened his mouth to reply, but all he managed was a raspy groan. Neil’s face screwed up with pain that Andrew was helpless to soothe.

“No hospital then,” Andrew said. The corners of his mouth tightened. They’d run out of ibuprofen last night and Andrew didn’t want to leave Neil right then, in case Neil needed him when he was gone.

Neil had drifted off after that, so Andrew turned down the lights and left the door ajar when he made his way to the living room. There wasn’t much for Andrew to do when he wasn’t tending to Neil. He’d lost his job days ago, after the third time he refused to show up to work. He stopped bothering to call in sick since Andrew knew he wouldn’t be returning to the diner.

If Andrew didn’t get the fever down, it would only get worse for Neil the longer he was sick. He wasn’t ready to give up yet, not when Neil still had a chance. After pacing around the empty room for nearly an hour, Andrew decided that he would run to a nearby convenience store and buy whatever medication would help Neil the fastest. He needed to be quick, especially with Neil already deteriorating in the other room.

“Neil,” Andrew called, poking his head in the darkened room. King had snuck in when Andrew was distracted and was curled up near Neil’s head. Neil’s eyes cracked opened at Andrew’s approach.

“I’m going to get more medicine,” Andrew said. Neil immediately started to shake his head, struggling to get up. He couldn’t make it more than a couple inches off the mattress before he collapsed again. Andrew eased him back down and carefully tucked the blanket tighter around his shivering frame. “I’ll be fast.”

“No,” Neil said, his voice like coarse gravel. “Don’t go.”

“I am not willing to give up on you yet. I need to get you medicine.”

Neil squinted up at Andrew, his expression a pitiful mixture of discomfort and sorrow. Andrew took Neil’s face in his hands and smoothed his thumbs over his flushed cheeks and under his eyes, wiping away the feverish tears. Neil’s face crumbled. He snaked a hand from out of the sheets and gripped Andrew’s wrist in a weak, trembling grasp.

“Columbia,” he gasped. The effort it took to stay conscious and talk was wearing on him. “I died in this city twice, so I’ll be reborn here a second time. I’ll do my best to come back but I can’t make any promises. It’s getting harder and harder each time I – ”

“Stop. You are not going to die. Not today. Stop saying things like that.”

Neil just looked at him sadly. “Just in case,” he whispered.

Andrew leaned down and placed a lingering kiss on Neil’s forehead, his lips barely brushing his skin. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

It took fifteen minutes to get to the convenience store, even with Andrew running. He nearly got hit by a car while dashing across the street – and hadn’t he reprimanded Neil for that before? – but ignored the driver’s angry honking. He shoved open the door and managed to get his breathing somewhat under control before skipping to the back of the store.

“Hey, uh – how can I help you?” Andrew turned to find one of the store clerks eyeing him nervously. Her black hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun and she had a crate full of boxes propped on one hip.

“Medicine,” Andrew said. “Anything to bring down a fever as quickly as possible.” When the clerk just stared at him, Andrew snapped, “Now.”

The clerk set the crate on the floor and led Andrew to the medicine aisle at a brisk pace. Andrew searched the shelves, skimming over painkillers, cold medicine, and other various medicines that were useless to him.

“Just a fever? No flu?” the clerk asked.

“High fever, about 104 degrees. Shivering, coughing, loss of appetite,” Andrew listed impatiently. He tapped his foot on the ground, checking the time on his phone. He was supposed to be back five minutes ago.

“This ought to help,” the clerk said, pulling a box from the shelf. “It should bring the fever down some. Anything else – ”

“Great.” Andrew snatched the box out of the clerk’s hands and nearly slammed into the cashier’s counter in his haste to pay. When the medicine was finally paid for, Andrew grabbed the box and left without bothering to wait for his change.

The apartment was quiet when Andrew returned. Neil’s room was dark and heavy with sickness, and Andrew could just make out the outline of Neil’s body bundled in the blankets and sheets. King lifted her head and whined when Andrew stepped in, her green eyes catching the light from the hallway and glowing like twin orbs in the darkness. Andrew switched on the lights and took a step toward the mattress. He could see Neil’s auburn hair sticking out from underneath the blankets, matted to the back of his neck with sweat, his face turned away. Andrew knelt down beside him, letting the medicine fall to the ground with a quiet thump.

“Neil?” Andrew brushed the back of his neck, brushing away the damp hair. His temperature had gone down, and for one second Andrew almost thought that Neil had fought the fever off himself. Until he didn’t stir at Andrew’s touch.

“Oh, Abram,” Andrew said softly, slipping his hand under Neil’s clammy neck and turning him over. His head rolled to the side, limp against the pillow. His face was slack, not so much as a twitch.

He never should have left. He should have stayed here so Neil wouldn’t have been alone as he slipped away. Andrew should have been at his side, holding his hand, brushing the thin beads of sweat from his forehead. It was all for nothing.

Andrew sucked in a ragged breath and laid his forehead against Neil’s still chest. There was no heartbeat, no movement of air through his lungs. Ten years. Ten more long years until Andrew would see Neil again, glimpse the ocean in his eyes, hear the cadence of his voice. The thought was unbearable, even to someone who had lived for nearly two centuries. “I’ll wait for you,” he said. “I’ll find you. No matter what it takes, Neil. I’ll find a way to save you.”

A rasp of sandpaper-tongue over his knuckles had Andrew lifting his head. King blinked at him and nudged her wet nose against Andrew’s arm with another quiet meow. Andrew swiped angrily at the moisture on his cheeks and entwined his fingers with Neil’s. The flush had drained away from his skin, leaving him pale and gray in the dim light. Andrew’s fingers tightened over Neil’s unresponsive hand. “I promise,” he said.

#aftg #tfc #all for the game #the foxhole court #andreil #timeless #void walker fic #mine #my writing

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lixiepeach · 5 years

Text

Nadia, Part 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC, eventual Stucky x OC

Summary: He’d forgotten a lot of things. He had no name. No identity. No sense of self. But he never forgot her. The omega. His omega. He didn’t know her, name. Or where she was from. Or who she was. But he knew she was his. And he’d kill anyone who dared to put their hands on her. An A/B/O AU of what happens at the end of The Winter Soldier.

Warnings: Winter Soldier Bucky, violence, kidnapping, A/B/O dynamics, mating, explicit sexual content.

Masterlist

He sat on the bed of the small motel room, the sheets covering his bare lower half. They had showered, cleaning themselves up from the long day. His omega was curled next to him, her back against his thigh. Her breathing was even, heart beat steady as she slept. Her smell wafted around him. Apples, saltwater, and...blood? He looked down, the magazine in his lap forgotten as he scanned her over, spotting the blood seeping from the cut on her lip. He leaned down, running the tip of his tongue along her lower lip, collecting the blood. The guards had done this to her. Hurt her. Beat her. Hurt his omega.

The thought had anger vibrating within him, a low rumble sounding as he licked her wound clean again. She shifted slightly in response to his growl, but she didn’t wake. He still didn’t know her name, or anything about her. She hadn’t spoken to him at all since they left Virginia. He figured it was HYDRA’s doing, and the thought made him mad. He wasn’t sure if she could speak at all. He didn’t remember much about her. The details were hazy, but she was his. His omega. He remembered that much.

His arm slipped up her stomach, moving around to cup her breast in his hand. His metal arm moved under her neck, supporting her head as she shifted against him. It was natural, her omega reacting to his Alpha. She pressed her hips against his, rutting against him as he squeezed her breast, plucking at her nipple.

“ Pozhaluysta .” (Please) She whimpered, her hands gripping the sheets.

“ Predstavlyat .” (Present) He felt the shiver run through her at his words.

She rolled on her stomach, pushing her lower half into the air, ignoring the pain from her crudely wrapped ribs. He sat up behind her, his hands resting on her cheeks, his thumbs spreading her lips. She keened a little and he shushed her, her arousal sharp on his nose.

He mounted her easily, her body offering no resistance as he took her roughly. They had done it time and time again, since he’d found her. She’d offered no resistance then, immediately reacting to the Alpha pheromones, presenting herself to him. He’d taken her easily then, marking her as his, much like he did now.

He bit down harshly on her shoulder, rivulets of blood dripping down her skin, and onto the already stained sheets. It was not his nature to be gentle, caring. She was the only bond he was allowed to have, and it was one formed by nature. He’d gotten too unruly, his Alpha needing release, so they’d brought him an omega. His omega.

“ Moy .” (Mine) He growled in her ear, taking her roughly, her wines of pleasure bouncing off the walls.

“ Pozhaluysta, Alpha. ” She sobbed, her arms shaking as she held herself up. “Pozhaluysta. ”

“ Konchish' dlya menya, Omega. ” (Come for me, Omega) She shivered, coming undone with a cry at her title.

Her walls gripped him, bringing him over the edge as well, his hips slamming against her ass as he pumped her full of his seed. He collapsed over her, his chest pressing against her back as he breathed in her scent, licking the blood from her skin. He continued to care for her, something that was purely instinctual.

He pulled himself from her heat, licking the sweat from her spine, moving down in between her legs. He licked her clean, catching every last drop of them on his tongue. His hands slid up her sides before wrapping around her, pulling her back against his chest. He curled himself around her, creating a protective shell around his omega. She was still shaking slightly, his lips pressing soothing kisses along her bare shoulder.

“ Nadia. ” She said quietly, voice flat like she’d done it one hundred times. He paused, not entirely sure what it meant. “ Menya zovut, Nadia. ” (My name is Nadia.)

“ Nadia. ” He said slowly, testing it on his tongue. “ Moy Nadia. ” (My Nadia.) He said, tightening his hold around her.

He didn’t sleep that night, looking over his omega, and the man. The man was still unconscious, but stirred slightly every once in awhile. He listened, tensing every time someone passed, his hand on his knife under the pillow, ready to defend his omega and his...friend? He’d bought the magazine about Captain America...Steve Rogers...and he’d seen the article about James ‘Bucky’ Barnes. Him. He was James ‘Bucky’ Barnes. But he didn’t feel like James ‘Bucky’ Barnes. He didn’t remember. His head hurt, but he wasn’t supposed to feel pain. He was supposed to complete the mission.

He buried his nose in his omega’s neck. Nadia. Her name screamed to him. Offering him memories he didn’t know he possessed. But he couldn’t pull them up. Couldn’t make himself see what lay behind the programming. He pulled her closer, her body stirring slightly in the stream of light coming in through the crack in the curtains. It was dull, the sun not yet rising, but it was light all the same.

He mouthed at her bare shoulder, tasting her skin. Still slightly salty from their mating a few hours earlier. He worked his way up her shoulder, tongue lathing over the skin of her mark, still red from where he’d sunk his teeth in just hours ago. She whined softly, no more than a keen as she shifted to bare her neck to him. He nosed at the scent pocket behind her ear, his arms tightening around her. He could feel her breath hitch as she inhaled, the saran wrap around her stomach crinkling a little.

He wasn’t supposed to feel. She was there to serve him when he needed it. He wasn’t supposed to mate, but he did. He wasn’t supposed to make attachments, but he did. No matter how they tried to wipe him, he never forgot her . He forgot her name, how he knew her. But he knew she was his. His handler always had her there, ready to calm the raging beast. He had been rough, made her bleed, but she never complained. Doing her duty as an omega. He never cared if she was in pain when the animal took over. Though, he was almost certain she didn’t know either.

She pushed against his hold, holding her ribs as she sat up. “ Ya dolzhen idti v vannuyu. ” (I need to use the bathroom)

“Togda idi.” (Go) He said, releasing her completely.

He watched her walk to the bathroom, the light turning on, but she didn’t shut the door. The man shifted again, a groan leaving his lips. He tried to move his arms, but stopped when he met resistance. The soldier was on his feet, yanking on his pants, knife in hand. He threw a shirt at Nadia as she came out of the bathroom, moving by the bed. Eyes cracked open, unfocused, hazy. Some of the bruises were turning green, the smaller cuts all but gone. Blue focused on the soldier for a moment, before they fluttered shut again. He didn’t move, except for the rise and fall of his chest. He was still incredibly weak, not quite able to be fully conscious. But he had looked at the soldier. The soldier’s grip on the knife tightened. He was getting impatient. He wanted answers. He wanted to know who was behind the programming. Who was itching to get out. Why the man looked so familiar. His friend. He was James ‘Bucky’ Barnes. Till the end of the line.

He groaned, knife falling to the floor as he clutched at his head, fingers tangling in his hair. Nadia pressed up against the wall, smelling the change in her Alpha. She waited, fists clenched, trembling as her Alpha fought whatever was coming over him. She’d seen it before. Not often, he wasn’t thawed out long enough, usually, but it had been weeks since he’d been out. She shrunk further against the wall, wishing she could just fall right through it and disappear.

She shrunk back further as her Alpha turned on her, a cold, hard look in his eyes. It wasn’t neutral like she’d gotten used to. His tenderness coming through how he cared for her. Never on his face. But now, she was afraid of her Alpha. The power he held over her. The power he had in one arm.

He grabbed her by the scruff, a sharp whine leaving her at the pain that flared in her neck. But it was nothing compared to her ribs when he pushed her over onto the bed. She sucked in a breath, tears in her eyes as her ribs stabbed at her. She could hear his zipper, heat flooding through her as she breathed in his pheromones. That’s what she was there for. That’s what omegas were for. The dirty bottom feeders who were only good for one thing. She remembered before, fighting through Alpha’s, grabbing, poking, prodding. Harassing her.

She bit her lip until it bled as he thrust into her, pure animalistic need pounding the headboard against the wall. He growled, low in his throat, her legs shaking in response as his hand held a heavy weight against her shoulder blades. She gripped the sheets, crying out in pain and pleasure as he thrust so hard the bed moved. She hoped no one was next door. She didn’t understand how the man was still unconscious with the noise. She shifted slightly, looking up. Blue met brown as she stared into his eyes. They were lidded, his face set in pain as he watched them. She felt slick run between her thighs at the instinct of her Alpha to claim her in front of the other.

Her legs shook, a whimper leaving her as she came, the soldier’s pace never faltering as he claimed her. His metal hand slipped under her, pushing against her chest to lift her up on her hands. He nosed at her neck before nipping at the skin, lathing his tongue over the still tender bite mark. His teeth sunk into the skin as he came, not deep enough to bleed, but enough to twinge at the already sensitive skin.

Her arms gave out, as did her legs, and she collapsed to the rough motel carpet. Tears fell down her cheeks as she felt the soldier leaking from her. He ran a hand over her hair, before lifting her to the bed, laying her on her stomach. She stared across at the man, his eyes unreadable as they stared at each other. His arms were limp over his head, still weak from everything. She pulled the sheets over her, trying to give herself some form of modesty. She stared across at the man, detecting a hint of sympathy in his gaze. And fear. There was fear there, as the harsh breathing of the soldier filled the small room.

“B-Bucky…” The sound was rough, hoarse. The man on the bed shifted, tugging at his restraints, but he was still too weak.

“Shut up.” The soldier hissed, gripping his hair, his face contorted in pain.

Nadia didn’t move, knowing better than to startle the soldier in this state. But the man didn’t know that, as he struggled against his restraints. The soldier was on him in a second, knife at his throat. The man froze, staring up at the soldier wide eyed. Nadia sat up on the bed, the blankets wrapped around her tightly as she held her breath, waiting to see what would happen.

Part 3

#mcu #bucky barnes #steve rogers #winter soldier bucky barnes #captain america #bucky barnes x oc #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x oc #steve rogers x reader #alpha bucky barnes #alpha steve rogers #omega oc #a/b/o #abo #mating #heat #violence #kidnapping

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escapingreality1992 · 5 years

Text

Elevator Passion

Bucky and Aurora get stuck in an elevator during a storm. She’s claustrophobic and Bucky helps her out. Things get heated.

On a dark and stormy day, I decided to dress in an outfit that fit the atmosphere; I wore a deep blue dress that flowed down to a little above my ankles, the silky material conforming to my figure. On this particular day, I had also made the decision to go to my favorite sushi restaurant in the city, Blue Wave, located in a very tall building in lower Manhattan. Maybe I’d even browse the used bookstore on the floor above it.

As fate would have it, this day would lead to a run-in with a super soldier, who most was afraid of. It would be day where a few hours of talking inspired us to have a bit of fun…in an elevator. My dark blue four-inch heels clacked on the tiled floor of the building that held two of my favorite places; walking to the elevator, I got on with a few people pressing the button to the sixth floor.

Sushi was first on the agenda, my hunger dominating the thought of perusing books for a few hours. A couple more people entered the small metal box, my claustrophobia on edge waiting to pounce and then a voice shouted from the lobby.

“Hold the elevator! Please!” a man yelled while sprinting towards the occupants of this current elevator. I don’t know what made me do it. Perhaps it was the way he looked; disheveled from the rain, his dark red shirt and brown jacket soaked, the faded blue of his jeans, slightly darkened from the dripping jacket and shirt. His hair, a deep shade of brown reminding me chocolate coming to rest on his shoulders, also soaked.

The bright blue of his eyes caught my eye right when my hand shot out to stop the doors from closing to let him in. Though it was only one more body and enough room to still move, the constriction in my chest alerted my body to the fear of tight enclosed spaces, making me nervous for the day’s events.

“What floor?” I asked, putting on my best fake smile, my fingers lingering on the buttons of the elevator.

“Four, please,” he told me, returning my smile. There was warmth in his eyes and I felt as if electricity had run through my body as he spoke. He was super muscular, the shape of his biceps and chest hard to miss as I subtlety looked him over. It caught me off guard, that gorgeous smile of his, momentarily forgetting what I was doing. The warmth of his skin brushed mine as he pressed the button, bringing me to the reality of the situation.

“…Winter Soldier…”

“Let’s get off. He’s dangerous,”

“Why the hell did she do that? Does she have a death wish?”

The whispers were all around us as people hit the open doors button and started to file out, the look of horror etched on their faces. Most shot glares my way before the doors closed, leaving the mysterious stranger and me alone in the elevator.

“Do you want to get off as well?” he asked me, his voice laced with hurt. I glanced up at him taking note of his bowed head, the slight tremble of his lips as he spoke and the stiff way he stood next to me.

“No. I don’t mind sharing this ride with you,” I answered. I didn’t know who he was but I wouldn’t let others opinions deter me from riding with him. I saw him loosen up, a sigh of relief exhaling from his lips, his head turning to face in my direction.

“You’re very…kind,” he stated, his head shooting up as the elevator came to an abrupt stop, the white lights replaced by purple emergency lights that illuminated the metal box.

“What happened? Why did we stop?” I asked, pressing floor buttons, nothing lighting up, no movement from the elevator. The glow of his phone highlighted my stranger’s face as he glanced down at it.

“There’s a city-wide black out because of the storm. I think the power is going to be out for a while based on the radar. We might want to conserve our phones’ battery life in case we need to get in contact with someone. Although, with enough time I’m sure my friends might wonder where I headed off to,” he replied.

“So…we’re stuck in here?” I asked, panic rising in my head, my voice a little higher than usual because of it.

“Yeah, it seems so. Hey, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” I lied, backing into a corner of the elevator.

“You don’t seem fine. Are you afraid of being in here with me now?” he stated, a hint of anger in his tone.

“It’s not you. I promise. I’m just a bit claustrophobic, which means I may or may not be freaking out at the moment,” I told him. I slid down the wall and contorted my body into a ball, my breathing becoming a little erratic.

“What’s your name?” he asked me, sitting down in his own corner, surrendering to the possibility that we were stuck for a few hours.

“Aurora King. What’s yours?”

“Bucky Barnes. It’s a pleasure to meet you. What did you have planned for today?” he replied, stretching out his long legs; Man, did he have major beefcakes for thighs. Stop staring at him Aurora. Focus on your breathing, I thought to myself.

“I wanted sushi for lunch and then I would have gone down to bookstore to browse for some books. You?” I answered, my voice quavering a little.

“I wanted to go book shopping as well and have coffee while I read. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Maybe. Only I don’t really know you and I’d rather not be a bother about it. You might not even want to get involved with it,”

“Tell me. If it’ll help you to relax, I’d gladly oblige,” Bucky stated.

“Would you mind holding me? Please? I like to have so kind of human touch when it affects me this bad,” I informed him.

“That’s all? Seems simple enough. I don’t mind holding you at all. Can you move to me or would you like me to come over there to you?”

I lifted my head to face him, crooked a finger and gestured for him to come to me. He slid over to me, shifting me so I was sitting in the front; his back hit the corner wall, his arms slipping around my waist and pulled me close to his body, warmth radiating off of him. I inhaled his scent, slightly musky with a hint of cinnamon. He brought a comfort to me that I desperately needed but also causing a stir inside me that I yearned for.

“Is this better?” he asked, rubbing soothing circles against my stomach. I tilted my head back to rest in on his shoulder, humming in response to his question.

“Glad I could help. You’re still trembling some. Are you sure-,”

“You don’t scare me if that’s what you’re asking. Tell me something. Why did they call you the Winter Soldier? Is that the reason everyone ran away from you earlier?” I interrupted him, turning my head to meet his blue eyes. He lowered them, a sadness in them that brought more to his features, making me regret asking my question.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry or offend but…”

“No. You have every right to ask that question. Although, I’m hoping after hearing the answer, you won’t flee like the rest or refuse my help. It’s got a lot to do with my past. I’ve done things, horrible things. Things that I wish I hadn’t done. I’m not that same man anymore but every time I step into a room…”

“People flee. I saw,” I finished for him.

“Everyone except you. Aurora, why did you stay? Do you not know who I am? I thought everyone did, given the report in Germany. The news, it showed my face, my name,” Bucky stated.

“Well, I don’t watch much news. My nose is usually in a book. I stayed because I don’t know you. I mean, I do now but you seemed harmless. What’s in your past stays there. I’d rather get to know the man who decided to help me with my claustrophobia. He seems pretty awesome to me,” I replied.

“I don’t mind helping that much. As I said before, you’re still trembling. Would you like to try a new approach? Maybe skin-to-skin contact would be better. If you’re not okay with it then we don’t have to but it might help you in a different way,”

“Sure. If you think it’ll be more efficient,” I responded. He shifted me to take off his jacket and shirt, the sight of his muscular chest creating a new attraction inside my body.

“Turn around to face me. You might want to unbutton your dress so…” he told me, cut off by my impulsive kiss on his lips. When I pulled back, his eyes had widened in shock.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I knew that I just wanted to kiss you,” I told him, hesitating with unbuttoning my dress.

“Do that again. You taste delicious,” he told me. I leaned in once more, kissing him, pleased when he kissed back. His hands made quick work of unbuttoning the front of my dress, the fabric slipping delicately off my shoulders. My hands laced in his hair as I straddled him, a bulge forming in his pants. Bucky’s hands moved to cup my breasts, squeezing them over the fabric of my bra. I moaned, the feeling creating warmth in my center, wetness soaking my underwear. He pulled back and caught my gaze, his pupils blown with desire.

“Is this okay?” he asked. I nodded, allowing him to continue by unhooking my bra and freeing my breasts form their cage. He cupped them again, passing his thumbs over my semi-hardened nipples. They perked up fully at his touch, my body arching into him. He pulled on into his mouth, hot saliva drenching it as he sucked and licked my flesh. I released a sigh of pleasure, my hips bucking against him, the friction only increasing our desire for each other.

I reached down and unbuckled his belt to get to his jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping them. I shifted them down, Bucky lifting up to allow me to pull them down along with his boxers. He moaned as I began stroking his shaft, getting him hard and ready for me. His hands disappeared under the fabric of my dress to rip my panties off, his fingers brushing against my soaked core.

“Doll, you’re so wet, so warm. I want to be inside you, to have your walls envelop me,” he told me, Reaching into the front pocket of his shoved down jeans, he pulled out a condom and rolled it on before he lifted my hips up to sheath his cock inside my body.

I groaned, my hands gripping his shoulders tight as I rode him. Both of us were moaning and grunting in pleasure, our tongues occasionally tangling in a passionate frenzy, our hands trapped in each other’s hair. We didn’t know how much time passed until the lights brightened up the elevator and a voice spoke from behind us.

“Well it seems as if someone’s having fun,” a male stated. We froze before being brave and turning to the source of the voice. Two men stood at the entrance of the elevator, a brunette and a blonde, one of whose jaw had dropped open.

“Steve, Tony? How did you find us?” Bucky ground out mid-thrust.

“I-We…bookstore,” the blonde stammered out, a blush appearing on his face. The brunette laughed before answering the question in full.

“We got worried when you didn’t return from the bookstore. You don’t usually take four hours to return to the compound. Obviously, with the blackout we thought you might have gotten stuck somewhere. Turns out you were in the elevator with company. Seems like you found a way to “entertain” yourself,” the brunette stated, crossing his arms after air quoting the word entertain.

“Tony,” the blonde now known as Steve stated.

“Relax, Steve. Let’s allow them to finish what they started shall we?” Tony commented, allowing the doors to close, leaving Bucky and I alone once again.

“How about it Aurora? Shall we finish?”

“Certainly,” I told Bucky, continuing to ride him. We both reached our climax before I shifted off of him, rearranging my dress as he pulled up his pants and stood up. The doors reopened to our saviors, a smirk plastered on Tony’ face and a timid smile on Steve’s.

“I think I’ll take this opportunity to take Aurora on a date. You told me you were getting sushi. Can I join you?” Bucky stated.

“Yes, I’d like that very much. Thank you for helping me with my claustrophobia. It was fun,” I replied, linking my hand with his. We told Steve and Tony thanks for getting the elevator running and walked past them to the fourth floor for a well-deserved date.

#Bucky Barnes #bucky x oc #bucky #love #smut #elevator sex #avengers #wintersoldier #winter soldier #captain america #Steve Rogers #tony stark #iron man #marvel

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mountainsofwords · 5 years

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I always thought if I was going to go through abuse in a romantic relationship in my life it would be very early. You know…teens to mid-twenties. But it didn’t. I had a fairly easy life as far as relationships went from 15-25 because, well, I didn’t date. I didn’t want to. I think I was so convinced that…well I’m not sure what I was convinced of. I just knew that dating wasn’t really my thing. I was scared of people in general but especially of males. Then I moved to Denver. About a year after I moved there, I got my own place and I started dating more and more. I kinda liked it. Then there were the times where I would look in the mirror before I was supposed to leave and think, “What’s the point even?” I think I felt that way because I honestly didn’t care about marriage or kids or a family then. I cared about what I wanted out of life. I cared about progressing into a better human being. I cared about friends and making people happy. The number of serious relationships I’ve had is probably the same amount of times I’ve listened to my gut tell me someone is right (not a single time). I’ve had a relationship here and there that I thought could end up serious and when it didn’t I was crushed. Only because I’d painted this picture in my head of what I wanted it to be. An image akin to what Bob Ross would paint on my grandparents small TV on Sunday mornings before church. Happy trees. Wonderful landscapes. Some fog and grey. And then I met someone I really, truly thought was the one. Even my heart was telling me he was. We liked many of the same things. We had a seemingly similar music taste (though mine ventures into a lunacy collection of Rave music and EDM and his steers more toward country wrap and rock). He couldn’t stand my driving or what I liked on Netflix and I couldn’t stand how he constantly had to have things his way – but let it be nonetheless. I wanted this to be my happy ending. You know? The first date was, well, great in my mind. We got along. We conversated. We had many of the same views. We laughed at a lot of the same things. I was so keen I practically threw myself at him to hang out the second night. So we did. And then we were hanging out almost every day a week later. I was staying with him almost every night two weeks after that. Things were moving so quickly. But by week three I knew something was off. He would get mad if he had to wait for me for even a few minutes. When we fought, it was always my fault. I couldn’t wear makeup because he didn’t see the point and he wasn’t waiting for me to put ‘that junk on’. If I tried to wear even a nice blouse with blue jeans he would say, ‘Why are you dressing up. We’re not doing anything special.’ But he wouldn’t ask as much as his words would hold the command for me to change. When I met him I was 30 pounds lighter than I currently am today. I ate semi-healthy. I didn’t eat fast food, drink soda, buy chips, or even really drink alcohol. I was a bartender. I also worked for a company that built trophies and put various other award-types together to include letters for lettermen’s jackets, medals, can koozies, etc. I can’t say I was particularly happy with everything, but I thought I was at least happy with him. But a few weeks into the relationship he made me feel so guilty for tending bar that I quit and then called in sick several times because he didn’t want me working. To be honest, even in the early stages of the relationship things didn’t feel quite right. As though if I were to disobey what he wanted (even if he didn’t outright tell me no or command things of me) there would be a much heavier price to pay. A few weeks after I quit the bar, I put my notice in with my other job at the trophy place and the next day after they let me go. I was on my phone too much (if I didn’t answer I was afraid of what would happen when I saw him later after work). They found my replacement already. Then…we up and moved and I let myself believe it was my idea to move. I turned a blind eye. The first time he had a lash out of anger I wrote it off as we’d both had too much to drink. I remember we were sitting around the fire in his backyard. His roommates weren’t home. I think we’d been at my parents’ that night and it’d been the first time he’d met them. We’d just gone to look at an acreage over by their place but decided it was too much room for us and it would be too expensive to heat in the winter (or at least that’s what I’d thought we’d decided). Anyway… We were sitting around the fire at his place discussing how he wanted to do something nice for a friend of his. A friend I’d never met. He wanted to make sure this friend had money for their kids and whatnot and it’s not that I disagreed. I do agree with that. Today, this friend is now a friend of mine and I’d do anything within my power to help this person out. But at the time, I’d never met this person. And my boyfriend insisted we both go in on gift cards for her. I couldn’t fathom. I was only making $300/week and that’s if I even worked a full 40 hours. Which, most of the time I didn’t (a whole other story). I couldn’t afford to give someone else something that I couldn’t give myself. He got so angry with me that he took a wrought iron chair and flung it across the yard. I thought to myself, “It’s okay. Not a big deal. It was just a chair. We’ve had a lot to drink and we didn’t really eat anything today.” I should have left that night, though. I should have left and I never should have looked back. But I didn’t. And then, after that, every time I tried to leave when we’d fight he would get angrier. Sometimes he even got more violent. I’d set the stage for our future by staying. He felt he was allowed to treat me any which way he wanted. I was his doormat just there for him to wipe all his dirt, muck, grime, and shit on (excuse the language). Yet I stayed. There were times he would pin me against the wall by my neck and threaten me…my family. There were times he’d poke me so hard in the chest it would be bruised and sore for days…even weeks. I remember a few fights I had no recollection starting and somehow it was my fault. Those were usually the nights we were in the pickup on the backroads and there was generally alcohol involved. Not always. Sometimes he would tell me that I wasn’t allowed to drink anymore and then he’d drink alcohol in front of me. Not a huge deal except it stressed me out because, well, I knew what was coming. I remember one night in particular we were out cruising – this was a favorite pastime of ours – and we picked up a six pack for each of us. I’d written him a letter telling him I needed him to give me more room to breathe. Not that we were on a break. Not that I wanted to break up. I just wanted to be able to go and see my friends and family without him raising a fuss over it. I wanted to go and have a day with my mom or best friend without him feeling as if he had to insert himself into the plans, text me every five minutes, or even call me when he hadn’t heard from me in an hour. That night, after he read the letter and assured me he loved it and he agreed, he started a fight about how I drink too much and that’s all I wanted to do. I just wanted to be out partying and drinking all the time with my friends and being a ‘slut’ because that’s what women do. To preface this: my friends don’t even drink. Or, at least, if they do it’s one and then we’re all done. He popped me in the jaw for the first time ever. He’d pinned me against the wall by the neck. He’d grabbed my face so hard it left my jaw sore for days. He’d poked me violently. He’d pulled my hair to get me to the floor. He’d never once hit me in the face. As I sat in the passenger seat of his truck my brain was numb. The tears fell but I couldn’t even get any words out. And then he told me to gather my ‘shit’ and get out of his truck. In the middle of nowhere on a gravel road in the middle of the night. So I did. I gathered up my shoes, my dog, my purse, my phone (which he’d thrown out the window onto the gravel road shattering the screen), and got out. But he didn’t want me to take my phone. He was paranoid I’d call the cops and he was already in enough trouble with law enforcement. So he very angrily told me to get back in the pickup. And I did. Because it was dark and despite the fact that it was in July sometime, it seemed icy outside. So cold that I was shivering as I hopped back up into his old, beat up square body and sat quietly clutching my dog to my body. Tears falling but no noise being made. No thoughts swimming in the muddled pool that was my brain. But a few miles later when he was screaming at me to talk and screaming that the silence wasn’t helping things, he told me to get out of the pickup again. When I went to get out this time, though, he grabbed my shirt and pulled so hard that it left a line of bruises along the right side of my throat and neck. It left my neck and shoulders sore for days. I remember being afraid he was going to do more than just abuse me that night. I remember wishing I could call the cops that night. But also realizing that my heart is 20 sizes too big for the wrong people. I realized too late I should have called the cops. Except, the main cop in the town where we were was a good friend of his. I didn’t have any faith that my story would be heard. I’d heard how this particular cop had discussed the women of my now-ex’s past. As if everything was their fault and my ex had to shoulder no blame. I can tell you for a fact that 90% of the fights we had that ended in violence, I’m not even sure why we were fighting. I can tell you that for four months I was rarely allowed to go see my family. Certainly never my friends. When I did go see my family, he’d call me every 15-30 minutes and if I didn’t answer he’d call incessantly every 5 minutes until I did. I can tell you that his friends love him and cherish him and that’s their prerogative. But I can also tell you that I’ve never been through worse up to this point in my life. Thinking that people are actually capable of such horrid things terrifies me. I loved his family. I loved how I felt when I was around them. I loved going to his grandparents’ for lunch or just stopping out at his mom’s to see her and check on her. I loved visiting his brother and sister-in-law and their three adorably amazing children. I loved when we would go help with farm work. At the end of the day, though, I had to break up with him. I had to get away from him. When we first got together he told me he’d been in some trouble in the past. But when you go to look at his record, it looks like there’s 4-5 domestic abuse cases and at least one assault case. Then in July he was sentenced to prison time and I was sad. I was so brainwashed into believing that he loved me that I didn’t even stop to think about what it was doing to me. I wasn’t the same girl I was when I moved back to Iowa. I wasn’t strong. I wasn’t independent. I wasn’t me. When he went away, suddenly I saw so many things in a new light. I dumped him after he was already gone. I broke up with him. I ended it. After I promised him so much. I ended things with him despite the fact that I loved him, his family, a lot of his friends. I risked becoming a bad guy in the eyes of people I’d come to adore just so that I could gain back a shred of strength; a shred of humanity. It’s taken me months to be up front and honest with myself. It took me months to be honest with myself and even my mom. Some days I look back and smile because, well, him and I did laugh a lot. We did have a lot in common. I did want to be with him. In the end, though, I realized I was the one doing all the loving. I was the one doing all the giving. I was the one nurturing. I wasn’t receiving anything in return. When is it time to leave such relationships? Immediately. No matter what. If you’re afraid, call someone. If you’re afraid, call the police. Don’t wait. I got lucky. I mean, yes in the process I lost so many. But I regained myself and I’m okay with that. You don’t marry their family. You don’t live with their family. You don’t. You live with them. You marry them. When you allow them to treat you like dirt, it becomes the norm. It won’t change.

#da #domestic abuse #abuse #verbal abuse #physical abuse #mjs

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bscarz · 6 years

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Bill, a mysterious prisoner with ‘supernatural’ abilities finally meets his angel.

CASTLE ROCK- INSPIRED ONE SHOT, AU.

Bill Skarsgård x OFC.

WARNINGS: SMUT

The cold air nips harshly at my nose, however, my body is warm due to the heat the blanket provided. I sigh as I eye the raindrops racing down the window, looking out into the dark neighbourhood, waiting for my father to come home.

It wasn’t late in the evening at all, but the winter had sent the sky into darkness prematurely. I liked the winter, I just didn’t like the uncertainty of it. Some days were colder, some days were warmer. I was never a fan of not knowing what came next; it would make my anxiety spiral out of control. My dad always laughed at me for it; the fact that I always wanted to know everything.

The sound of an engine could be heard from down the street, making me lean forward to get a better look at the outside. Two bright lights were coming up my driveway and I released a breath, feeling a lot better knowing that my dad was home.

I discarded the blanket and made my way to the door, gripping the edge of my sleeves. I was quicker than my dad, opening the front door as soon as I heard his keys. His eyes widened in surprise, not expecting my presence, but a warm smile soon replaced his shock.

“Honey, were you waiting for me?” He asked, closing the door behind him. I nodded shyly, feeling stupid for not doing something better with my time. My father only laughed though, hugging me in the process.

“Gosh, you worry too much.” He stated.

“Sorry for caring.” I teased.

I follow my father into the kitchen, opening up a drawer and grabbing out the cutlery for dinner. “I have to tell you about this boy I met today,” he says as he opens the oven. “He’s young- about 23, and has been in prison for only a few months.”

I place the plates on the table, nodding along to my dad. “What’s he in for?”

“See that’s the thing, he hasn’t done anything particularly.” He explains, scratching the stubble around his chin. “There have been numerous unknown deaths in the past few months, The Kid’s been linked to each person.”

“But there’s no proof?” I ask. “How can he be in prison then?”

My father pats my head lightly, laughing at my inquisitiveness. “One question at a time, petal.” He teases, “Each death has been mysterious, no one knows how these people died… The Kid just happened to be linked to it all, I guess.”

“Are you saying he could be innocent?”

“Maybe. I don’t know too much about it, petal. I’m only there to do my services.”

I smile brightly at my father. Pride warms my body as I look at the kind-hearted man. My father loved to help out as much as he could, so when the opportunity came for him to read bible passages to prisoners, he was elated by the offer. After his office job, my father would drive to Shawshank and speak to the prisoners about God, not once judging their character.

“I’m proud of you, Dad.”

“Thank you.” He replies, smiling back at me. “However, I do need some help. The Kid is quite young, he doesn't take old dogs like me too seriously.” He chuckles, as he cuts into his roast. “I was wondering if you could maybe write him a letter… you know, make him feel less alone considering everyone is quite old at Shawshank.”

“Like a pen-pal?”

“Yeah, I guess you could call it that.” He replied. “I don’t want him to be isolated. He’s very quiet so I think some communication is good… Maybe I’ll bring you in to meet him one day... when I know it’s safe.” He added.

“Of course, Dad. I’d love to help.” I smile.

“That’s my girl.”

———

I sat with my legs crossed on the pink bedding, staring aimlessly out the window again. My father had gone to bed, leaving me to my own devices. I glance down at the paper in front of me, wondering what I should write to ‘The Kid’. I knew nothing about him, and I had nothing to say about myself. All I knew is that he could be innocent, or he could be a serial killer that has caused numerous unknown deaths, like a modern-day Devil. I shiver at the thought, scolding myself for jumping to an awful conclusion. I grab the pen off my side desk and write anything that comes to mind.

Hello,

My name is Emily. My father, Jacob, visits the prison quite frequently to read Bible verses to the people. He was intrigued by your presence. There aren’t a lot of youngsters at Shawshank. He asked me to write to you, so you didn't feel alone. I know what it’s like to be the odd one out amongst a group of people, it’s not fun, but you don’t have to worry, because I can talk to you.

I don’t have much to say, besides the fact that I am 19. I live with my father and we both enjoy reading, music, and all the other basic stuff.

You might not be religious, but I suggest you see my father for Bible reading sessions. I don’t want to force religion onto you, but I don't think religion has to do with believing God not; it’s about believing forgiveness, kindness, and most of all redemption.

I hope to hear back from you soon. I wish you the best of luck.

Emily.

I click the top of the pen, reading the letter over and over again, wondering if it was good enough or not. I glanced at the clock beside me and shuffled under the covers. I grabbed the envelope off my nightstand and placed the letter inside, deciding that it was good enough. I had to remember that The Kid was only young, and he could be innocent; he needs some type of communication. Isolation only drives a person crazy, and no one deserves to be alone.

I sink my head into my pillow; my heart felt so much better when I closed my eyes, knowing that I could be helping someone out there. I enter a curious dream, imagining the boy within the prison walls.

———

It had been ten days since I gave the letter to my dad, and finally, I got a reply.

The envelope was shaking in my hand, I wasn’t sure why I was so nervous, but my heart was beating rapidly against my rib cage. I ran up the stairs and into the privacy of my room, ripping open the envelope and staring at the folded paper in my hands. I wanted to read it but I was still too nervous.

Once I was seated comfortably on my bed, I unfolded the letter and began to read the note in front of me. I gawked at the cursive handwriting on the letter, shocked at the elegance of it all. I leaned back onto my pillow and read the letter numerous times, processing every word on the page.

Dear Emily.

I am not surprised that I stood out to your father. I doubt it’s my age that caught his eye, but rather my reluctance to engage in any activities he had set. I am not one for reading, but your letter made the exception.

I do not fear isolation. Thank you for your concern, but I crave the feeling of being alone. I am not a fan of crowds or people, for that matter. I only enjoy company when it provides me with pleasure, however, I doubt you know what that means.

If you want me to engage in Bible reading, maybe you could come down and read a few verses to me. That’s the only way I’ll consider anything like forgiveness, kindness, or, your favourite, redemption.

I hope that I will be an acquaintance soon.

Bill.

I shuddered at the words in front of me, unsure of how I should feel about the letter that I had been impatiently waiting for. One part of me was intrigued by his mystery, the other part of me thought he was teasing. Either way, I was determined this time to meet Bill. I always loved talking about the importance of redemption and forgiveness, and if Bill would consider these things over a meet up then I’d be more than happy to see him.

I race down the stairs, eager to see my father; ready to tell him my plan.

———

I walk the long, cold halls of Shawshank, my body shaking with nerves. I try my hardest not to let my fear show as I march behind an officer.

Surprisingly, it didn’t take a lot of convincing for me to read the Bible with Bill. My father talked to a few of the coordinators and they deemed the visit as safe. I was excited that I was able to meet the mysterious man, however, my gut feeling told me that he wasn’t as innocent and harmless as perceived. Something told me that this man was a replica of The Devil, and I couldn’t seem to shake that feeling off.

“Right this way, Miss.” The officer says, guiding me to a room at the end of the hall.

I step inside with the officer next to me, and spot two chairs and a table. I turn my head to the side and find another door opening, an officer walks into a room holding someone by the arm. The stranger is dressed in a white top and blue over-shirt, towering over everyone in the room. The man diverts his eyes from the floor and looks at me; my eyes widen at his appearance.

It took me a second too long to realise that the man in front of me was Bill. I had endless visions of how he would look, and I had never pictured him to look like this. Despite his frail frame, from a lack of eating I assumed, the man was absolutely gorgeous. He had shaggy brown hair that framed his face perfectly, plump lips and wide green eyes. He smirked at me, causing me to cease my staring. I tug at the ends of my white dress, feeling exposed under his eyes, even though it was the most modest thing in my closet.

“You have half an hour.” The other officer says to Bill, however, Bill doesn’t even acknowledge his presence, his eyes are still lingering on me.

The other officer leaves as I walk towards the table, sitting opposite Bill. The officer that lead me to the room stands outside the door. Usually, I should feel frightened by the predicament, however, the cuffs around Bill’s wrists give me a sense of relief.

“Um…” I begin, looking down at the Bible in front of me. Bill hasn’t once taken his eyes off me. I fidget in my spot, nervously brushing a few strands of brown hair behind my ear. Bill chuckles as my clammy hands try to find a page within the book. My searching is stopped, however, when a large hand reaches over and engulfs mine.

“Don’t bother,” He states huskily; his voice deeper than I excepted it to me. “I don’t want to hear that shit.”

I look up at him confused, “But you said-“

“I lied.” He interjected, smirking at my confusion.

“What do you want from me then?” I questioned. Feeling stupid and hurt.

Bill leaned back in his chair. “I just wanted to see you is all... Wanted to see if I was right” He mumbled... “And my, my, you’re better than expected. It was worth the wait.”

I blushed profusely at his words, again, looking down to avoid his stare.

“I don’t know how to help you then.”

He chuckled darkly at my statement. “You think I want help? That I want redemption?” He teased. “You’re mistaken, little girl. I don’t want change.”

I gulped at his cynical words, annoyed that my mission to preach kindness was already set for failure. “You sound like The Devil,” I whispered.

“I’m not The Devil.” He smirked. “The Devil was an Angel once. The Devil had his motives, I have none.” He stated. “I do things because I want to.”

I shuddered, grabbing the book in front of me and standing up from the chair. There was no way I was going to sit with this man. As I was about to leave the table, I feel a hand grab my wrist. I quickly spin around; Bill now looming over me. Our bodies are so close that I cower away from him in fear, however, the link between my wrist and his hand radiates a magnetic hold. I struggle to understand how I could feel sparks shoot up my arm and around the rest of my body. Bill’s eyes avert to our hold and I sense that he can feel the connection too.

Our link is separated, however, as the Officers run into the room, grabbing Bill by the shoulders and dragging him out the door. I look down at my wrist, shuddering at the loss of connection.

“Are you alright, Miss?” The officer asks, yet all I do is nod, distracted by the mysterious man and his powerful touch.

———

“Call it a blessing.” My father laughed as he picked at his salad. It had been one week since my visit with Bill. I came home from school, thoughts of the stranger finally leaving my mind, only to be receiving news from my father about his release from prison.

“I don’t understand.” I stammer, staring blankly at the table. “He just got into prison… and now he’s out?”

“Yes, darling.” My father replied. “There was not enough evidence for him to be in there. It’s unethical to keep someone away with no substantial proof.”

“I agree. I just find it odd, is all.” I whispered, picking at the food with my fork.

“Honey,” He smiled. “Maybe you helped him. Maybe you taught him the power of compassion.”

“I doubt it.”

“Then what do you think it is, hm?” He asked.

“I would call it The Devil’s work.”

———

There were numerous reasons as to why it was difficult for me to get any shut-eye. Firstly, the flash of light that illuminated the room every ten seconds from the lightning was much more fascinating to look at. Secondly, the combination of the torrential rain and harsh wind had ruined any chance of silence; And lastly, Bill was released from prison, and that thought could not escape my head.

I might not ever see him again, and although I should be delighted by the fact, I was also upset. I was curious about him, I wanted to know more, and now my questions would never be answered.

A bolt of lightning interrupted my thoughts, illuminating the room for a second and then submerging it into total darkness. My heart beat started to accelerate as the room began to radiate off an ominous feel. I felt like I was being watched, like I was not alone. I stiffened in my bed, pulling the blankets higher up my body. I closed my eyes tightly, hearing a loud bang from outside.

When I open my eyes again, I realise I’m not alone. Standing at the end of my bed was Bill, still clad in his white shirt, slacks and runners. His hair was now slicked back due to the rain. I open my mouth to scream but he is quicker than me, rushing towards the bed and covering my mouth.

“Don’t you dare scream,” He threatened.

I nod my head obligingly, feeling some sort of relief that the stranger was Bill and not someone completely unknown. He slowly releases his hand, studying me while I try to create some distance between us on the bed.

“How did you get in here?” I question, pulling my knees up to my chin and cradling myself. The window wasn’t even open, there was no scientific explanation behind his visit.

“I have my ways,” He teased, sitting up from the bed and stalking towards the window, looking out into the distance.

“How do you even know where I live?” I whisper, watching Bill move aimlessly around my room.

“Don’t be silly.” He mocked, picking up a snow globe off my chest of drawers, “You did write me a letter, Emily.”

“Yes but I never-“

“Enough.” He stated. “You ask too many questions.”

“You never answer any of them.”

“Touché” He smirked, turning around from the chest of drawers. I felt so exposed and little as he stood at the end of my bed, slowly stalking towards me.

“I know you felt it too,” He whispered, as he grabbed the blankets and lightly tugged them off me. I shivered in response, crossing my arms and trying to cover myself. “There’s no point in denying it. Our touch ignites.”

“Please,” I beg, whimpering. “What do you want from me?”

“I just want to touch… An Angel.”

“What?” I questioned, my eyes widening as he sat at the edge of my bed, placing his hand on my leg. “You’re making no sense,” I stammered, however, I could not deny the spark that ricocheted from his touch. It seemed supernatural; the connection we had; An Angel and The Devil…

“You like it when I touch you.” He confirmed, “Daddy’s good, little virgin girl.” He chuckled, “But with me… you’re begging to be touched.”

I felt his hands slowly crawl up my legs, pulling down my pyjama pants until I was clad in nothing but my black underwear, from the waist down. In reality, I should be screaming or kicking him off, but somehow, I felt frozen in place. I couldn’t cease his actions, I just stared at him quietly watching his every move with anticipation.

“What am I doing?” I whispered, more to myself than to Bill. It felt like I was under a spell; Bill always seemed to have a hypnotic vibe. I slowly leant back on my bed, laying my head on my pillow and closing my eyes, still feeling his hand crawling up the skin of my thighs.

“Just… let me. I knew I’d find you…” He murmured. His words confused me, but his touch was too distracting. His cold fingers hooked around the top of my underwear, slowly pulling the fabric down my legs. My eyes were squeezed close, heart beating out of my chest, and yet I still couldn’t tell Bill to stop, his touch felt too intoxicating.

I stiffened as I felt his fingers trace the edge of my folds. I fidgeted on the bed as his fingers began to toy with my centre, toes curling at the action. “A taste… of the Angel.” He whispered, moving back on the bed and spreading my legs with his big hands.

“What?” I questioned, confused by his words, yet all thoughts were halted as I felt Bill lean down between my legs, his tongue flicking out and over my clitoris. I shivered at the sensation, so foreign to me yet so alluring. He licked a long stipe over my sensitive nub and then blew cold air over the area.

“Just let me,” He whispered before nuzzling his face between my legs. I trembled at the sensation, shifting on the bed and bucking my hips up. His whole mouth was over my sex, tongue delving deep into me, licking all around my clitoris. I could feel his rough stubble against my thighs, making me clench my legs together as I felt a shiver erupt through my body. I withered at the feeling of his tongue making circles on my sensitive nub, slowly picking up the pace.

“Oh… Bill,” I whispered brokenly, my stomach knotting at the sensation of his tongue. I felt a fire burn in the pit of my stomach, beginning to make my body convulse. I was confused as to what was happening to me, my body felt like it was getting out of control.

“So beautiful…” He mumbled, picking up his pace, causing my hips to push against his face, rolling myself into his mouth.

“What’s happening to me…?” I cried. My eyes were rolling into the back of my head, mouth agape as a soft whine left my lips. I could feel sweat dripping down my forehead as I pushed the bottom of my body up, tensing all over as a strong feeling began to overwhelm my body. Warmth pooled in my centre as I snapped my eyes shut, whimpering as my stomach tightened. Instantly, all the pressure released, like an explosion. My back arched as I reached down and fisted Bill’s hair with my hands, pushing his face gently towards me as I rode out the wave of pleasure. I could feel my thighs becoming wetter as Bill never ceased his movements, lapping at the moisture between my legs.

I slowly let go of Bill’s hair as I laid back, breathing heavy as I came down from my high. My eyes were still sealed shut, legs clenched together as I rested my head to the side, wondering what just happened to me.

“It’s an orgasm,” Bill explained, cutting the silence. I fluttered my eyes open, letting out broken breaths as I watched him stand from the bed, noticing the bulge in his pants and the fierce look in his eyes.

Bill slowly walked towards me, sitting down next to me this time, and gently stroking the hair away from my face. “I want to be touched by The Angel,” he breathed, leaning in and gently kissing me on the lips. Again, the spark between us was ignited, creating an even bigger flame than before. I still couldn't work out how a simple touch between two strangers could feel so magnetic, but I didn’t question it, the feeling was too good.

I scooted over as Bill got on the bed, pulling off his shirt hastily and unzipping his pants, clad in nothing but his boxers; my eyes curiously exploring every inch of naked skin. I shyly put my fingers on his chest, tracing the hard skin. Bill placed his hand over mine, gently guiding it towards his boxers. My fingers skimmed past the hair above his erection, reaching the fabric of his underwear and slipping my fingers underneath it.

I had never touched a man before, so I was quite nervous and unsure at what I was doing, however, I was too intoxicated by the moment to break the spell, so my nimble fingers traced the skin of his length as I curled my hand around him and slowly moved up and down. Bill released a deep breath, eyes closing as I continued my movements. For once, I was the powerful one, and he was becoming weak at my touch. The ego boost made me move a little quicker, loving the sounds of broken whimpers leaving his mouth.

“More pressure,” He stated, as I curled my hand tighter around him, gently tugging back and forth. My thumb brushed over the tip of his erection, eliciting a hiss from Bill’s mouth. I took that as a sign that he liked my touch, and gently brushed my thumb around the whole tip, never ceasing my tugging.

“My angel…” He rasped, closing his eyes and rolling his head backwards. Spontaneously, I pushed myself up, moving down the bed and tugging down his boxers. Just as Bill was about to crane his head from the bed, I leant forward and licked the tip of his penis with my tongue. “Fuck,” he moaned, tangling his fingers in my hair as I continued to leave licks and small kisses on him. My hand was tugging at a faster rate now, hoping to make Bill feel what I had felt not too long ago.

I fluttered my eyes up, seeing Bill with his eyes closed shut and jaw clenching by my actions, soon his body started to spasm, muscles tensing as he let out a shaky moan, releasing himself like I had done a few moments prior. Moisture squirted out of him, and I quickly retreated myself, confused at the substance around me. I still tugged on Bill gently, not sure when to stop or not, waiting for him to release everything.

Once he was done with his ‘orgasm’, I gently retreated my hand from his length, lying back down next to him, watching his chest rise and fall as he tried to regain his breath.

Bill rolled his head to the side, looking at me in the eyes as he nuzzled his nose into my shoulder. Slowly, he brought his lips to mine, kissing me passionately in the bed. He reached down and grabbed the blanket, throwing it over us as he continued kissing me.

“I waited so long for you…” He whispered, kissing from my cheek to my neck.

One of his hands glided down my arm, intertwining his hand with mine. Our connection was stronger than ever. The living Devil and Angel finally found each other, becoming one, as I closed my eyes and fell fast asleep within his arms.

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