#i can finally bring myself to watch the bfu finale | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

anarchetypalarchive · 6 years

Text

the summer is ended and we are not saved

aka that bfu shane/ryan demon fic i decided to write even though it’s been done seven hundred times already lowkey cowritten by @slaughtervoid via discord chat rating: explicit, but not like. extremely explicit? you get me. like there’s no outright sex but don’t read this in front of your mother probably content: holy water guns, shane’s creepy and makes vague murder threats, ryan gets fear boners, i’m giving this a pretentious title in spite of the slapstick on ao3 excerpt:

Ryan drops the holy water gun with a shout and stumbles back, fueled by blind panic as he turns and sprints past their sleeping bags for the attic door.

Behind him, he hears Shane sigh almost calmly despite his flesh still burning. “Don't— C’mon, seriously, do we really have to make this a whole thing— You've seen horror movies, you know how this is gonna—” Apparently still annoyed, he breaks off, and the door in front of Ryan slams shut on its own.

Ryan skids to a stop and reaches for the knob, rattling it ineffectively. “Shit, shit, shit—”

“So many horror movies,” Shane says, voice much closer now, and Ryan spins around. “I’m just saying, can we not make this a thing right out of TV Tropes, you know, that’s just boring for both of us.”

It’s the stupid holy water gun that fucks him over.

It’d seemed like such a good idea at the time. Hilarious, at least, in terms of views, and if he’s honest, the concept of rapid-fire holy water just seemed smart. It seemed smart, and it made him feel more secure, and he could use the humor of the device to save himself at least a little ridicule, hopefully.

He and Shane had been wandering a supposedly haunted mansion—and, yeah, the Disney theme park allusions from Shane hadn’t exactly been infrequent—for most of the night, and Ryan had to admit that the scariest thing about the place so far was the mold in the walls and the structurally-unsound foundation.

They decided to settle for the night in the attic, clearing away some dusty storage boxes (junk, Ryan, it’s junk, look at this, I bet you’d put this on your antiques shelf, let’s take it, do you think the ghosts would mind) and laying their sleeping bags down.

As usual, they tried to sleep, but nerves eventually got Ryan out of his sleeping bag, and Ryan’s pestering got Shane out of his.

And then Ryan had to go and start joking around.

“I’m just saying, I’ve got pinpoint accuracy,” Ryan says, grabbing the plastic gun from its holster and pretending to shoot at random corners of the attic they’re in.

“Pinpoint accuracy at absolutely nothing,” Shane responds easily, sitting on the sill of the attic window and holding the camera.

Ryan rolls his eyes, then grins and spins on his heel. “Watch it, demon!” he shouts dramatically, and squeezes the trigger of the gun to send a stream of holy water at Shane.

Shane holds his hand out instinctively, and then instead of the protesting complaint he expects to hear, there’s the sound of what Ryan can only describe as sizzling. Shane yelps, bringing his hand to his chest protectively, and what Ryan can see of his hand and wrist is red and splotchy.

“Ow,” Shane says irritably.

Ryan stares, suddenly feeling cold. “What— What the hell was that.”

Shane shakes his hand out and sighs. For a long moment, he stares at Ryan, then looks resigned. “Yeah, alright, this was bound to happen eventually.”

Ryan takes an automatic step back. “What was bound to happen eventually?” He gestures at Shane’s hand as it slowly goes from blistered red to pink.

Shane sighs again and pushes himself away from the windowsill. “Alright, calm down—”

“What the hell was that?”

Laughing, Shane takes a few steps towards him. “I mean, honestly, Ryan, what did it look like?” All at once, his pupils seem to eclipse the whites of his eyes and his irises. “Use your critical thinking skills.”

Ryan takes equal steps back, wide-eyed. Later, he’ll admit that maybe he shouldn’t ever be trusted with an actual firearm, because when Shane takes another step forward, Ryan starts frantically squirting the water gun in terror.

Shane jerks back, hands in front of himself protectively again as he cringes when Ryan manages to hit any part of him not covered by clothing. “Ow— Ow, Ryan, stop, Jesus Christ— Ugh,” he says finally, looking more annoyed than agonized. He reaches out and motions slightly with a blistered hand.

The gun crumples in on itself.

Ryan drops it with a shout and stumbles back, fueled by blind panic as he turns and sprints past their sleeping bags for the attic door.

Ryan skids to a stop and reaches for the knob, rattling it ineffectively. “Shit, shit, shit—”

“Boring,” Ryan repeats, voice shaking. He presses his back to the door as Shane approaches him. Struggling to screw up any amount of courage he can find, he takes a deep breath. “Get away from me, Shane—or—whatever the hell you are, get away from me, get out of my friend—”

“Hey, now, I’m the same guy you know and love,” Shane says, looking offended. “You’re the one that befriended a demon, what’s that say about you?”

“What?”

“And, I mean, okay,” Shane continues, slowly closing the distance between them. “Your initial fight reaction? I’m so proud. Very brave. Where’s the fraidy cat from season one, huh?”

Ryan, now flattening his back against the door, puts his hands up like there’s a weapon trained on him. He’s vaguely aware of his own harsh breathing, the tightness in his lungs. He’s pretty sure he’s hyperventilating. Shane either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. “Stupid,” he adds, taking the last couple of steps towards Ryan and grabbing his jaw with a blistered hand. “But brave.”

Ryan can’t manage to get his mind to slow down long enough to process anything beyond he’s a demon, he’s a demon and you’re trapped in here with him.

“And let’s be honest, you're lucky I claimed you and not some other bump-in-the-night creature. Anyone else would’ve seen your precious, untainted soul and ruined you before you could even figure out what was going on.”

Ryan shudders, trying to free himself from Shane’s grip. His jaw aches. “But—you haven’t.”

Shane smiles. “I like to play with my food.”

Ryan jerks back, but Shane doesn’t let go, just looks down at him, calm as anything. He fumbles mentally, desperately, for some means of fighting back, but his holy water is gone and he doesn’t know any prayers and his arms and legs feel like sluggish, heavy tree trunks.

He wonders if he could even run away if he had the option.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” Shane says, and maybe he means to be soothing but everything just sounds ominous now. “You’re the most entertaining thing I’ve played with in—wow, decades, at least.”

“I’m not a thing,” Ryan snaps.

Shane releases his jaw to wave a hand dismissively. “Point is, I haven’t had so much fun in years. You’re so easy.”

Ryan rubs his jaw, frustration struggling to win out over the poignant, raw stabbing of terror. “Is that why you’re always fucking—trying to rile things up wherever we go? Offering me up as—as bait all the time?”

“It’s a joke, obviously, because you’re mine,” Shane says. “It’s not like I’d say, hey, goatman, why don’t you come tear off Ryan’s legs if I thought it’d actually happen. Probably.”

“Probably?!”

“But you just get so spooked,” Shane continues, grinning a little. “I can’t help myself. And, y’know, it’s interesting.”

“Interesting?”

“Are you just going to keep repeating the last word I say? Makes for a dull conversation, Ryan. Don’t bore me; I get extra demon-y when I’m bored.”

“Shut up, Shane.” The words come out automatically. Ryan flinches, expecting the worst, but Shane just laughs.

“You’re so afraid of this—” he gestures at the mansion as a whole, “—and you throw yourself into it anyway. Why? To prove something? Well, hey.” He turns and waves at one of the cameras standing on a tripod in the corner of the attic. “You’ve proved something! How’s that working out for you?”

“I—”

“Personally, I think it gets you off.”

Ryan goes wide-eyed. His face feels hot all of a sudden. “What?”

“The fear. You get off on being scared.” Shane says it matter-of-factly. “Admit it. You think people don’t notice—maybe most people don’t. But me?”

Shane reaches out and strokes the bruise forming on Ryan’s jaw with his thumb.

“I notice everything.”

Ryan squeezes his eyes shut and tries not to shiver. And here’s the thing: Shane isn’t wrong. He’s not wrong, and Ryan’s been aroused since Shane cornered him and grabbed him like Ryan was just a thing he owned.

“I’ve thought about killing you,” Shane says, almost cheerful. “Entertained the notion, you know, thought about just how I’d do it. And I bet if I pinned you here and told you all the grim details, you’d come in your jeans in less than a minute. Wouldn’t you.”

Ryan can’t make himself respond, too overwhelmed by fear and arousal and the absolute, raw horror of the situation.

“Ryan.”

He screws his eyes shut tighter.

“Ryan.”

He shakes his head, trembling.

“Ryan, open your eyes.”

Shane’s broad hands are cupping his face. Ryan flinches.

“Wake up!”

Ryan’s eyes snap open, and he gasps out a shuddery breath as he lurches upright in his sleeping bag.

Shane’s kneeling next to him, brow knitted in concern and his hands up in a surrender position. “Whoa! Hey, relax!”

“What—” Ryan groans dizzily, rubbing his eyes and trying to orient himself. “Fuck.”

“You were, like, whimpering in your sleep,” Shane says. Ryan can see the faint glow of an approaching sunrise in the window of the attic. “Guess you were so disappointed we didn’t find anything supernatural-y that your subconscious decided to give you a scare to make up for it?” He laughs a little.

Ryan looks at Shane suspiciously for a moment. Normal eyes. Uninjured hands. Nothing demon-like at all. He sighs and shakes his head. “Jesus Christ.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Fuck no.” Ryan stretches and shifts, prepared to get out of his sleeping bag and get the fuck out of this place, and then he freezes.

Personally, I think it gets you off.

He shifts again.

His boxers are damp and clinging to him. His sweatpants don’t feel like they’ve fared much better. An overstimulated pang of arousal hits him.

Ryan shuts his eyes, groaning in defeat, and buries himself back in his sleeping bag.

Shane raises an eyebrow. “What, you need more sleep? I thought you’d wanna get out of here as soon as possible.”

“I’ll get up in a minute,” Ryan says. His face is hot. “You just—uh, you go ahead, I’ll meet you down there. I just need to, uh. I need a minute to relax.”

Shane shrugs and gets to his feet. “Must’ve been one hell of a nightmare.”

#anarchetypal writes #shyan #i'm terrible at writing serious fic i just couldn't do it #shipfeed

133 notes · View notes