#and its always busy at odd hours at my house

[reiding-writing]

erotomania [ s.r ]

01 - exhortations

Summary:

You’d found yourself with a stalker, one who seemingly had a romantic obsession with you, and you had no idea what to do, except maybe confide in one of your team members.

WARNINGS: Signs of stalking, mentions of break-ins, fears of violence, mentions of panic attacks

pairing: spencer reid x gn!bau!reader

genre: angst, hurt/comfort, mild fluff

wc: 6.8k

main masterlist!!

a/n: so… i decided to start a series- considering chapter length it’ll probably only be three parts and i hope to have them out once a week but knowing my college schedule i’m not sure about that 😭

<poem used - ‘my fire, my flame’ by ariana alonso>

thank you guys for all the love on my other uploads <33

series masterlist!!

01-exhortations, 02-avoidance, 03-revelations, 04-confession

It started with a rose.

A single white rose left haphazardly on your doorstep.

You didn’t really think much of it, your neighbours had a white rose bush they regularly pruned, and you figured the wind must have blown one of the loose roses cut from it over to your porch.

You’d often find scattered petals and wilting rose heads on your lawn, blown over by the wind to no fault of the old couple living next door. Although you did have to admit that a full rose was something that had never blown over before.

But hey, sometimes these things happen right?

That was the same rhetorical question you asked yourself two weeks later when a blank envelope was posted through your letter box alongside your regular mail. It looked like a birthday card, the envelope a pale yellow and closed shut with a small white sticker in the shape of a rose. Curious.

You debated on whether to open it at first, not wanting to accidentally intrude on somebody else’s private business, but after a few days of deliberating you came to the conclusion that reading what’s inside might help you find the intended recipient.

You didn’t find anything of note in the envelope, just a folded piece of white paper with a typed out romantic poem imprinted on its inner side. It was odd for sure, but it wasn’t anything to worry about.

You ended up throwing the envelope away. As much as you would’ve liked to have delivered it to its rightful recipient there just wasn’t enough information for you to do so. You just guessed that it was a teenager trying to romance one of their classmates and had posted their efforts through the wrong door.

It was harder to brush off the new succulent lining your kitchen windowsill.

You’d come home to your house after four days spend in Iowa on a case, absolutely exhausted. So much so it took you three separate trips in and out of your kitchen to realise that the three succulents usually lining your window had now been increased to four.

At first you just thought it was your exhaustion getting to you, but you knew for a fact that you’d only bought three. Garcia had made you pick them out specifically. And this new fourth one didn’t fit in.

You examined the new succulent closely, trying to figure out where it came from. It was a vibrant green colour, with small, round leaves that formed a rosette shape. Unlike your other succulents, this one had delicate white flowers blooming from its centre. It was a beautiful addition to your collection, but you couldn't help but wonder who had put it there and why.

You carefully examined the plant for any clues. There were no tags or labels indicating its origin, and it seemed to blend in seamlessly with the rest of your succulents, as if it had always been there. The thought of someone entering your home while you were away sent a shiver down your spine, but there were no signs of forced entry or any other evidence to suggest foul play.

You unfortunately didn’t have much time to mull over this new addition to your plant collection as the team were whisked away on another case, less than 24 hours after your last case finished.

Still, you couldn’t seem to get the small white flowers of the plant sat upon your windowsill out of your mind, and you were starting to question your sanity a little. Were you sure that you hadn’t bought four? Maybe you had. Maybe it’d been there the whole time.

“If it isn’t my favourite profiler, don’t tell Derek that,” Garcia almost immediately backtracked as she picked up the phone. “What can I do you for my sweet?”

“Hey Penny, just a random question, you remember when we went plant shopping a while back?” You held the phone up to your ear with your left hand, using your right to continue jotting down notes on the portable whiteboard the Montanna Police Department had provided your team with for the case you were working on.

“Oh of course I do my love. Why, Looking for a professional suggestion for your next addition?” You could practically hear Garcia’s smile through the phone as she spoke.

“No Pen, I just wanted to check something,” You let out a small chuckle at her exaggerated confidence in her knowledge of plants. ”Did I end up buying three succulents or four?”

“Three my love, two Chinese Jades and one Opalina I believe. Why’s that?”

“Oh no nothing, I was just checking which ones I’d bought with you and which ones I’d bought myself, thanks Pen,” You didn’t know why you felt the impulse to lie. Maybe it was your subconscious telling you that it was in fact you who had put the plant there. That you’d just been so busy that you’d forgotten about it. Either way you didn’t want to stir up the pot if you couldn’t prove anything was actually wrong.

But you also couldn’t rid of that feeling in the pit of your stomach that rose when Garcia confirmed you hadn’t bought the plant when out with her.

“Alrighty, anything else you need from her majesty of all knowledge?”

You give another small laugh at Garcia’s manner of speech. “No Pen, thank you.”

”Well then my dear, this lady’s got other fish you fry, I’ll catch you later,”

You hear the end dial through your phone before you can respond, a usual end to a phone call with Garcia, and whilst her little quips and jokes left you with a small smile on your face, it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

A pale yellow envelope.

You feel a sense of deja vu when you pick it up from the floor on the inside of your front door, seemingly slotted through your letterbox just like the former had been, white rose sticker holding it closed and all.

The difference this time however, was that when you turned the envelope in your hand it had your name inked on the front, scrawled out in a messy cursive that stained parts of coloured paper black, the ink having bled as the name was written from the sheer amount of pressure used.

That’s the moment that you started to panic.

You could put the signs together by now. A perfectly de-thorned rose on your doorstep. Messages posted through your door. A new succulent left in your kitchen after you’d expressed interest in them. It wasn’t just a series of coincidences, they were signs. Signs of something you didn’t particularly want to think about.

The last one was the worst. It meant that whoever had taken it upon themselves to form a fascination with you had somehow managed to get inside of your house whilst you weren’t there.

You triple checked the locks on your doors that night, leaving the new envelope unopened on your kitchen counter.

You ended up taking it to work the next day, tucked away in your messenger bag and left under your desk as you tried to distract yourself through with your files.

You tried to convince yourself that you were just overthinking. Maybe the indented recipient of the letter just happened to have the same name as you. Maybe this was just the last two weeks of continuous stress was just taking it’s toll on you and making you paranoid. You tried to convince yourself. But you knew.

“Excuse me,”

Your internal monologue was cut off by a soft voice, and your mind was momentarily wiped of your dilemma as you looked up towards the source of the noise, the small receptionist from the front of your floor.

“This was dropped off last night, I believe it was for you.”

In her hand was a small rectangular package, wrapped in brown paper, and she held it out to you with a small smile.

“Oh, thank you,” You return her smile with one of your own, taking the package from her hand and watching her retreat back to her desk. You weren’t expecting anything delivered, were you?

Unwrapping the package only left you more confused. It was a leather bound copy of Romeo and Juliet, the cover a deep red and embossed with with gold roses and an intricate border, the book’s name embossed in a similar fashion in the cover’s centre, although flaking in some areas from the wear of the book.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you turned the book over in your hands, but as you opened the front cover that expression fell straight back into concern. A small rose, etched into the inside over in a black ink pen, fit with a single letter, ‘R.’

“Hey Spencer, uh- can I- borrow you for a sec?” You stand from your desk, walking around the cluster in the bullpen to stand behind Spencer’s, head buried in the files he was working on.

“Of course, what’s up?” Spencer took a second to look up, folding the folder closed and leaving his pen inside to mark the page. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah uh- I uh- Were you expecting a book delivery?”

You held the book out towards him, eyes silently pleading for him to say yes. A part of your brain still denied the inevitable, that it wasn’t some outside person who had been leaving things around for you to find. That there wasn’t someone who knew where you lived, and now where you worked, sending you eerily creepy ‘gifts’.

Spencer inspected the book in his hands, examining it closely with narrowed eyes.

“Not that I know of...” He looked up at you, eyebrow slightly raised as he handed the book back to you. “I already have this copy at home,”

Your stomach dropped a little when he confirmed it wasn’t his.

“Right, sorry,” You take the book back from him with a pursed smile, holding it in both of your hands and tapping your nails against the back cover.

You logically knew it wasn’t for him, Spencer was all for buying things second hand, but he would never pick up a book with this much wear and tear unless was a first edition owned by some prolific scholar, the spine damaged and the pages folded and scrawled with annotations that you weren’t sure you wanted to read, but hearing the confirmation just made it sink in a little further.

“Are you alright? You seem a little tense.” Spencer’s voice cut you out of another internal spiral, and you gave him a quick nod.

“Hm? Oh yeah i’m alright, thanks anyway Spence,” You give him a small smile and a half wave as you retreat back to your own desk with the book in hand.

Spencer stared at you for a moment longer, watching as you sat back down at your desk, discarding the book behind your stack of files as if you couldn’t bare to look at it any longer.

Something seemed very off with you.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

My fire, my flame,

My one and the same.

Swiftly swinging from life to end,

Through the times, we meet again.

My lover, my friend,

My mirror, my mend.

My fire, my flame,

No darkness can tame.

Ochre to blue, two as one.

Never unbroken, never undone.

Healing the hurt, flame dims down.

Fire prevails, doubt it drowns.

Forever and true, I am your blue,

The one you felt, the one you knew.

Drunken to sober, you are my ochre,

The one who inspires all my desires.

Over and over, we dance again,

Swiftly swinging from life to end.

It was nearly midnight, and yet you felt wide awake.

A part of you wanted to sleep, lay in bed and pretend that nothing was happening, but you knew that your mind wasn’t going to let you.

You’d sucked up the resolve to open the envelope you’d stored away in your bag, another poem left inside. Except this time instead of being typed out and printed, it was written in the same ink that had adorned its sleeve.

Some of it was barely legible, but you found the words ingrained in your mind almost as soon as you read them. They were sweet from a surface level, a message of true and eternal love, but under your circumstances the only emotions that it evoked from you was a mix of dread and fear.

Your mind soon flickered over to the book you’d left on your nightstand, and you soon found yourself curled up under your duvet with the book in hand, lamp left on both to aid your reading and provide you with a small sense of security in the warm light it cast over the walls of your bedroom.

The narrative of the story was what you’d expect, the traditional tale of Romeo and Juliet, but that wasn’t what you were interested in, it was the annotations, written in the same handwriting as the poem left discarded on your coffee table.

It seemed like a lot of references to love, mainly to the female protagonist in Romeo and Juliet, and you noticed that your initials and “R.” were written a lot.

It seemed that whoever had taken a liking to you really liked you... a little too much.

There were references to your personality, how much you loved things like animals, reading books and eating dark chocolate. They had even written that your favourite colour was burgundy.

You were starting to find this rather unnerving.

The part that really sent you over the edge into a panic was one line in particular, underlined so many times that there was a small rip in the page.

These violent delights have violent ends.

The book in your hand was soon replaced with your phone, held up to your ear as took in slow breaths through your nose.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” You heard Spencer’s voice ring through your phone.

“Hey uh, I’m so sorry to call you so late but uh- Can I ask you for a favour?” The tone of your voice wavered slightly as you spoke, not at all aided by the small tremble of your hand.

“Yeah of course, anything for you, what is it?”

“Can I uh,” You hesitate for a second. “Can I come over?”

“Yeah, of course,” Spencer responded quickly. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah I just, don’t want to be on my own right now,” It wasn’t exactly a revelation. There had been a few instances where tough cases left the team feeling more comfortable spending the time after in the company of someone else.

Most of them had family or lovers as their comfort, but in the case of Spencer, not having any contact with his father and his mother institutionalised, and your parents living across the country, you often found comfort in each other instead.

“Thank you,”

It seemed like you wouldn’t get any sleep tonight.

“It’s no problem at all, I’ll see you soon?” Spencer’s voice was soft and understanding, and you found yourself increasingly grateful for his insomniatic nature.

“Yeah, see you soon…”

You let out a small breath of relief as you hang up the phone, piling some things into a backpack, tattered book included, before locking up the house and driving to Spencer’s apartment

The drive there seemed to be one of the longest drives of your life, constantly deliberating with yourself on whether to confide in Spencer about your theory. Part of you wanted to tell him, you knew with an outside objective view alongside his intelligence that he’d be able to find you a solution, but you also didn’t want to burden him.

When you reach his apartment, you knock on the door twice. “Spence?”

The door unlocked almost before you’re finished knocking, and Spencer stands on the other side, dressed in tardis pyjama pants and a black t-shirt, his brown hair a little flattened, presumably from tossing around in bed trying to get comfortable.

“Hey,” He stepped aside to let you in, adjusting the crooked glasses sat over his nose.

“I’m so sorry for bothering you so late, thank you for letting me come over-“ You blurt out a hasty apology for your intrusion as you take your shoes off at the door and slump down on Spencer’s couch, dropping your bag on the floor next to you.

Spencer followed you with his eyes as he closed and locked the door behind you. “It’s totally fine, it doesn’t matter if it’s 2pm or 2am, you’re always welcome, you know that,”

Spencer smiles at you before asking, “So, what’s going on?”

“I think I’m being stalked-"

The words almost melded together with how fast you spoke them, and it’s only after the whole sentence leaves your mouth you realise that you’d blurted out the thing you’d been mentally fighting over telling him or not.

Well, so much for dealing with it on your own.

Spencer’s smile immediately disappears, being replaced with a look of concern. “Stalked? What do you mean? What’s been happening?”

You sigh softly at Spencer’s expression. There was no backtracking from this now. So you start right from the beginning.

“Well, a few weeks ago I found this perfectly pruned rose on my doorstep,"

Spencer listens to your explanation with a small nod. “Right…”

“But I wasn’t like concerned or anything because my neighbours have a rose bush, and I figured it was just the wind or something. You know, sometimes that kind of stuff happens right? But then over the last few weeks things keep turning up and I know that it’s not normal you know?”

Spencer’s look of concern only grows as you begin explaining, and he took a seat next to you on the couch. “What kind of things have been showing up? Apart from the rose?”

“Like two-ish weeks after the rose thing, there was an envelope posted through my door alongside the rest of my mail, and I ended up opening it because it didn’t have a name on the front and I wanted to to figure out who it was for right?”

Spencer gives you a small nod as a gesture for you to continue.

“I thought it was a birthday card at first, but I’m pretty sure it was a poem, it was just typed out and stuck in the envelope, no names or addresses or anything. So I just threw it out and moved on. I figured it was some teenager who’d posted a love note through the wrong door.”

You use your hands to gesture your explanation, your right leg bouncing absentmindedly as the nervous tension builds up in your body.

“And then after the case we had in Iowa I came home and instead of three plants on my kitchen windowsill there was four. And that was when I was like ‘okay something’s not right here’, and I even rang Penny to check and she confirmed that I’d only bought three,”

Spencer raises a brow, his expression furrowing further if that was possible. “Wait, it turned up in your house?”

You give him a small nod. “I checked all the doors and windows and everything but there was no evidence that anyone had broken in, and by this point I’m like genuinely questioning my sanity over whether I’d actually just bought this stupid plant myself and was freaking myself out over it, but then yesterday evening after I got home from the Airport I found another envelope by my front door, same colour, shape and everything, they even both had the same sticker keeping them closed, but this one had my name written on the front of it,”

By this point, your explanation had turned into more of a ramble, and by the time you had reached a comfortable place to stop, you were feeling short on breath.

“And you opened it?”

You respond to Spencer’s question with a nod, brushing a piece of hair from your eye. “I opened it an hour ago maybe?”

“And it was another poem?”

You give Spencer another small nod in affirmation at his prediction.

“Okay, what else? Did anything else happen?” Spencer’s hand reaches out towards the curve of your knee, effectively halting the nervous tic you’re using to release your tension.

“Well, I showed you this earlier-”

You bend forward to pull your backpack up onto your lap, rifling through it to pull out the worn copy of Romeo and Juliet to present him with it once more.

“it was left at the office’s front desk which half makes me want to believe that it’s not related, but I was reading the annotations earlier and they’re really specific and I freaked myself out which is why I called you in the first place-“

Spencer’s brows crease under the rims of his glasses as his eyes pour over the book’s cover again. “Who left it for you?“

“I don’t know Spencer that’s my issue," You sigh softly as you turn the book over in my hands. “Can you just read through this for me please? I didn’t finish it because I freaked myself out and then immediately came over here so-“

You over-explain your reasoning for wanting him to read through the book for you, figuring that if you could give him a valid reason then you would feel less guilty about asking him to do it in the first place.

Spencer takes the book from you hands whilst you’re still explaining yourself, beginning to flick through the pages one by one, pulling his middle and ring fingers down the page as he scans over the writing.

It’s times like these you’re thankful that Spencer’s reading speed is 85 times faster than the average person’s, and you find your eyes following his fingers as he traces them over the pages, taking note of how he bends his middle finger ever so slightly so that his fingertips are level with each other and how he keeps his index finger raised away from the paper’s surface. It was oddly distracting to watch.

It takes him little more than five minutes to have read through the whole thing, with him stopping a few times along the way to make a couple of comments as he does.

“Well he makes reference to your favourite colour, and your birthday...”

“....your job...”

“...and of course your name.”

“Jesus, the guy’s really obsessed with you isn’t he.”

You furrow your face as Spencer confirms your concerns, rubbing your hands over your legs as a self-soothing technique.

Spencer thinks again for a moment as he shuts the book in his lap. “I think you should spend the night here.”

You can see his gears are turning, the same cogs turning when he’s deep in a profile. He’s gone from being concerned to calculated. “No way in hell am I leaving you alone tonight.”

“I don’t wanna burden you this is a me problem-“ You immediately shut down his suggestion despite you having stayed at his apartment on multiple occasions in the past.

You’d gotten an objective opinion on the situation. That was all you wanted. You didn’t need to drag him any further into your personal issues.

“Hey no,” Spencer shakes his head as he places the book down on the small oak coffee table in front of you. “You’re not burdening me, okay? You don’t have to be alone tonight, you can sleep here.”

“I’m not letting you leave now,” Spencer adds with finality. “You’re clearly anxious, and you look like you need to get some proper sleep.”

You bit the inside of your cheek at Spencer’s insistence, flickering your eyes over to the book on the table, its embossing glinting slightly under the warm overhead light.

He might not exercise it often, but Spencer definitely knew how to put his foot down when he needed to.

“Thank you…”

“Hey, look at me?” Spencer waits until you look at him, then he offers you a soft, reassuring smile. “...Everything’s gonna be okay. Okay?”

You give him a short nod with a pursed smile, not entirely convinced of his assurance but wanting to go along with it anyway for the sake of being able to calm down enough to at least get some sleep. “Okay,“

“Let’s get you set up for the night. We’ll talk this through in the morning.”

Spencer stands up, pushing himself up from the sofa with his hands and leaving into the bedroom. “Get as comfy as you’d like okay? I’ll be back.”

He turns to leave then stops at the door and looks at you one more time. “Oh, and... do you want to borrow one of my T-shirts?”

The invitation was obvious. “Uh yeah if you don’t mind…”

He gives you a small nod as he retreats into his bedroom, re-emerging a few minutes later with a fleece blanket, one of the pillows from his bed, and a black T-Shirt identical to the one he was wearing. “Here, my couch probably isn’t the comfiest place to sleep but-”

He hands the T-shirt over to you with a small smile, stacking the blanket and the pillow on the end of the sofa.

“Don’t be silly Spencer, I’m grateful for you even letting me in let alone letting me stay over on such short notice,” You return his smile with one of your own as you take the shirt from him, retreating into the bathroom to change into it.

You feel the soft cotton against your bare skin as you pull the fabric over your head, noticing that it’s been washed recently, and it still has a slight smell of Spencer’s cologne. It falls quite low, Spencer having to have bought a bigger size than he realistically needed due to the length of his torso.

Your mind continues to run rampant as you exit the bathroom, a mix of the overwhelming stress of your situation and the conflicting feeling of serenity from the solicitude radiating from Spencer.

It was a lot to process for it to be just 1am.

You basically collapse onto Spencer’s couch, burying your head into his pillow with a groan and unfolding the blanket to throw it over yourself.

“If you need anything, anything at all just wake me up okay?” Spencer continued to express that kind compassion that made your chest tingle a little, definitely not helped by the faint scent of his cologne radiating from his pillow, joined by a trace of lavender, most likely an essential oil he’d been using in the hope it would help him sleep better.

“Yeah, thank you again Spencer, it really means a lot.” Your voice is half muffled by the angle of your head against the pillow as you crane your neck to look at him.

“It’s really no problem. You’re always welcome,” He switched off the small lamp keeping the living room, dimly lit, allowing it to fall into a comfortable darkness. “Get some sleep okay?”

“Yeah, thank you Spence…” Spencer gives you one last smile, joined by a half wave that you found more endearing than awkward, before leaving for his bedroom and clicking the door shut behind him.

For the next half hour or so you lie awake on his couch, trying in vain to sleep despite the rampaging thoughts running through your head. It was only when you heard Spencer open the door and quietly enter the room that you finally turned your head to look at him.

The surprise on his face told you that he hadn’t expected you to be still awake. “Why are you still up?”

“My mind’s running a million miles a minute, why are you up?” Your voice is partially hoarse from tiredness, and you shift around on the couch until you are lying facing in his direction.

“Just wanted to get a glass of water…” Spencer purses his lips slightly as his eyes trail over the position you’re lying in, clearly feeling a sad-sympathy at your mind’s insistence at you staying awake. “Hey, can I try something?”

Spencer slowly makes his way over to where you’re lying, taking a seat on the edge of the coffee table in front of you.

“Sure?” You raise an eyebrow slightly, rubbing one of your knuckles over your eyelid. Spencer smiles at your reaction, extending his hand palm-up.. “Alright... can I have your hand please?”

“Should I sit up?” You extend your right hand towards him, using your left to prop yourself up onto your elbow.

Spencer shakes his head. “No, no, keep being comfortable... I think I know how to fix your problem.”

Spencer then reaches out and takes your hand firmly in his, holding it between both of his hands with your palm facing the ceiling. “Ready?”

You give him a short nod in expectancy, eyes flickering between the way his hands hold yours and his eyes as you lie on your back.

His hands were frigidly cold compared to the warmth of his apartment, but you couldn’t say that it was uncomfortable, it was actually quite soothing, a nice contrast from the small cocoon of warmth under the blanket.

Spencer slowly rubs his fingers on the inside of your palm, adding a gentle pressure first to the bases of your fingers and working his way down slowly, pressing the pads of his fingertips into your skin in small circles. “Close your eyes and breathe deeply.”

You follow his guidance with no hesitation, relaxing back into the pillow beneath your head and closing your eyes as you focus on the feeling of Spencer’s fingers dancing over the palm of your hand.

“Just breathe in and out....” You can hear the confidence in his voice as he continues to move the pressure downwards, pressing his thumb against your wrist and gently massaging it.

“A lack of sleep is usually the cause of delayed melatonin production, and studies have shown that certain pressure points on our bodies can help speed up the process.” Spencer begins to explain the reasoning and process behind the gentle hand massage he’s giving you, his voice soft and quiet.

“It was traditionally used in China as a part of acupressure, with six identified pressure points on our bodies that encouraged the production of serotonin and melatonin to help with relaxation and reduce chronic pain, but in the present day it’s been adapted into a massaging technique to help people fall asleep.”

The softness of his voice paired with the gentle massaging of his fingers on your wrist quickly left you feeling more relaxed.

“There are two pressure points on different points of your ankles, one point on each foot, one between your eyebrows, one behind each of your ears, and one on each of your wrists.” You find yourself nodding along to his explanation absentmindedly as you enjoy the gentle pressure of his fingers.

“Although, the only pressure points that have been reliably linked to melatonin production are those on your wrists and behind your ears, here, lie on your side for me.” Spencer gives your wrist a gentle pull to encourage you to turn over, which you very gladly oblige to, humming a soft agreement as you turn to lie of your side facing him with your eyes still closed.

He gently slides his hand up the side of your neck, the coldness of his fingers sending a small shudder up your back, and he presses his thumb into the small gap between your jaw and the rest of your skull, rubbing it in slow circles.

You let out a small, almost inaudible sigh at the gentle pressure he’s applying, and Spencer can tell that you’re quickly falling into full relaxation. “The best results from acupressure occur after 3 - 5 minutes of continuous pressure and…”

His voice trails off slowly as he feels the tension in your jaw release, and he glances down towards your face, a small smile adorning his features at your relaxed expression. “…is best done in a comfortable environment…”

He continues to rub gentle circles into your skin for the next few minutes before gently removing his hand from you, standing up from where he was sat on the coffee table with a soft smile still gracing his features.

“Sleep well..” He whispers the words under his breath as he slowly retreats back to his bedroom, the glass of water he originally sought after completely forgotten about.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

It’d been a few days since you’d confided in Spencer about the stalking situation and stayed the night with him, and fit with a new set of locks on your doors, you’d gone back home to stay on your own.

You walk into the BAU office expecting to see Spencer at his desk like always, ready to talk through your next steps forward with him, except he wasn’t there. You check the watch on your wrist. 7:45. He should’ve arrived by now. Why wasn’t he here?

"Hey uh, do you know where Spencer is?" You approach Morgan over at the kitchenette, leaning against the counter top with your elbow.

“Good morning to you too lover.” Morgan gives a half-laugh at your lack of your usual greetings, making sure to throw in a tease about how the first thing you talk about is Spencer’s whereabouts, not something entirely unfounded considering how close you and Spencer had been getting over the last week or so.

“Ha ha very funny, do you know where he is?” You respond to his quip with a slight roll of your eyes.

Morgan shrugs his shoulder slightly, taking a sip of his freshly made coffee. “Maybe he slept in,”

“Spencer Reid? The man with four wake up alarms?” You furrow your expression slightly. Something about Spencer not already being in the office didn’t sit right with you.

“Okay okay, maybe that was a bad guess, but I don’t know, who knows what he might be doing,” Morgan remains nonchalant if not a little heedless. “Maybe he stumbled on an antique Russian novel collection on the way to work or something,”

“He’s never late for work-“ You mutter to yourself under your breath, half-ignoring Morgan’s attempts at explaining Spencer’s lateness, and you pull your phone out of your pocket, dialling Spencer’s number and holding up the phone to your ear, the consecutive rings echoing out of your phone’s speaker.

Pick up Spencer.

If anyone on the BAU team would know Spencer’s whereabouts, it should be the two of you. And yet neither of you had any clue where he was.

The phone continues to ring until it reaches his voicemail. there’s no answer.

Something was wrong.

You try to call him again. Nothing. This was not like Spencer at all.

Your anxiety spikes as your subconscious links his lack of answering back to your stalking situation, What if Spencer was in danger? What if this stalker had followed you to Spencer’s apartment that night you stayed with him and now knew where he lived?

The minute your brain made the connection you were turning on your heels to exit the office, grabbing your car keys from your desk as you did so.

“Hey-” Morgan follows you over to your desk, putting an arm out as you try to walk past him. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to Spencer’s apartment.” You try to push Morgan’s arm out of the way, only for him to block you with his entire body instead.

“Slow your roll there turbo, everyone is late every now and again, that doesn’t mean we have to turn up to their house out of nowhere.” Morgan’s explanation would be logical under normal circumstances, but he didn’t know that you were being stalked. Nor did he know that this stalker had possibly found Spencer’s address due to your own stupidity leaving him in potential danger.

“Listen Morgan I appreciate your apprehension but I do not have time for this right now.” You manage to swerve your way around Morgan and push your way out of the glass doors of the BAU office, bee-lining it down the stairwell instead of waiting for the elevator.

“Hey! Wait up!” Morgan’s voice echoes down the stairwell as he runs out of the office after you, only managing to catch up to you as you stop to unlock your car, and he blocks the door from opening with his hand. “What is going on?”

“Morgan, if you want to ask me questions, get in the car.” The tone of your voice leaves no room for argument, and Morgan can tell be this point taht you’re not alright, so he gives you a short nod and goes around the front of the car to get in the passenger’s side.

Please be okay, please be okay...

That’s what’s going through your mind as you leave the BAU building, running the speed limit as you drive towards Spencer’s apartment with an awful feeling in your stomach.

“So are you going to tell me what’s going on or what?” Morgan begins his questioning as soon as you hit the main road.

“I think Spencer is in danger.” You keep your eyes trained on the road, both hands braced against the steering wheel as you turn a roundabout.

“Okay, listen.... I’m with you in the fact that this is very out of character for Spencer... but there’s no use in jumping to conclusions, okay?” He puts a hand on your shoulder, clearly concerned at how fast your mind linked Spencer being late with him being in danger. “Let’s just approach this calmly and rationally.”

“I am being rational.”

“No you’re not, you’re panicking,” Morgan gives your shoulder a squeeze before letting his hand fall back into his lap. “Just take a deep breath and a second to think.” Morgan’s voice was full of a calm, soothing reassurance even as you were clearly anxious. “You’re gonna give yourself a panic attack if you don’t.”

“I know I know I’m fine-“

You open your palms against the steering wheel as if to emphasise your point, exhaling heavily through your nose as you pull into the parking lot of Spencer’s Apartment building, leaving your car parked at an angle across two parking spaces.

You’re thankful in this moment that Spencer lives so close to the office building, and you shut off the car quickly, exiting it with the same haste.

Morgan follows closely behind you as you jog across the concrete towards the entrance of the building, locking your car remotely as you pushed the outside door open and started your ascent of the stairs.

“Come on, calm down you don’t need to run-” Morgan called after you as he followed you up the stairs, continuing to try in vein to get you to take a step back and just calm down a little.

You didn’t listen of course, and you only come to a halt once you’ve reached Spencer’s apartment door.

You reach out your right hand to knock as Morgan reaches your side, but as your knuckles come into contact with the wood of the door it creaks open, the hinge pin of the door not fully closed.

Oh no.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds angst #criminal minds x reader #mgg #spencer reid angst #erotomania

[nyx-is-missing]

SUNSET PART 1

Or early summer!

Clarisse La Rue x Cassandra De Young (oc! Apollo's kid)

Summary: When Cassandra gets involved in a scandal early in the day, she goes to camp early.

Warnings: men....thats all i could think of actualy.

First read this!

Part 2 is here!

Cassandra De Young

Im fucked.

That's it, that's all i can say.

I knew it as soon as my hand reached his face and stinged, as soon as i heard a camera's flash, and as soon as i stepped into my mom's apartment.

Let's just rewind a bit, okay?

My family own a big business, that you already know by now, the thing is, when they reeaally want to do business with someone they go extreme, the most common technique is to get on the good side of everyone in the family, everyone.

They research, pretend to have things in common, to like the same things, to have the same views of life, and to make it more believable they always go for the person who is closest in age with them.

Usually i dont get involved in this situations because im younger than everyone else, the only teen in the family.

The thing is, this family also had someone around my age.

A 18 year old guy.....eighteen.

Let me tell you, i really wasn't going for trouble today, i tought he may be a normal guy, just with a little money, someone i could have a conversation with, drink some coffe, laugh and go back home and think "hey, not so bad"

He.was.not.

All he could talk about is how much money his family had, where he went for winter break, his pure blood horse, that only ate (attention to this one) IMPORTED GRASS.

Overall a huge dick.

But that i could handle, i've met people like this, i could handle a shitty talk for some hours, what i could not handle was having to go through all this with his hand on my knee bellow the table.

And here i was, spending one of my last days of spring being tortured by the fates.

"You're not paying much attention to the conversation are you?" He said, and gods that accent was almost making me want to jump out of a cliff, or push him out of a cliff, both would work.

"Oh sorry i was-"

"No need to apologize, people get bored i know" Not that he did something criminal by not letting me finish my sentence but, my gods every action coming from him its making me want to die right now "Its okay, i could find some way to make you focus"

Okay, im done

"Im gonna need you to stop saying odd shit" I looked him dead in the eye with a bothered look, and by the surprised look he gave me back i was 100% sure nobody ever told him to shut up when he was saying nonsense.

"C'mon, dont be like that-" he said trying to get his hand a little but upwards, and i only realized i slapped him when i felt my hand burning.

"Oh my gods im sorry i-" And then i heard the camera flashes.

Im going to need you to imagine the scene, my hand was still up, his hand was till on his cheek, and he had a scared look in his face, as did most of the people at the fancy coffe shop.

Do i smile now? Strike a pose? This one is definetly getting front pages at every place.

I chose the safest choice, got out of that straight to my house.

No..i did not payed the bill.

The whole way home i was trying really hard to think of something to say that was not going to make my family mad, especially my grandfather, but considering whe has always mad with something, that felt like a impossible mission.

First thing i saw when i opened the door of the penthouse was my mom, standing in front of the television, and sure enough, my face was on it.

She turned to me, but before she could even say something i started to explain myself.

"Its not what it looks like mom, i swear, i didn't do it on pourpose, let me explain please-" i couldnt actually read the look on her face, but she didnt say anything, so  i took that as a go ahead.

When i explained her what happened her face relaxed a bit, but not completely, and she had a look that said your grandpa is getting in my nerves because of this.

"I'll talk to your grandfather about this, but you need to know that the way you acted wasn't appropriate, there is cameras all around and you need to be careful...lets just thank the gods you didnt pulled out a dagger right?" She walked closer to me, and i knew she was trying to comfort me, its a pitty actually, i knew she didnt wanted kids when she had me, i knew how grandpa treated her when he found out, to me, it was enough that she at least tried to love me enough.  "You already have your things packed to camp right? I know you have some more days of school but ill call them and tell them you are sick, its best for you to leave earlier this year, then your grandfather wont talk your ears out...you okay with that?"

"Yes mama, ill just finish packing some small things...do i leave today?" I felt her hands on my shoulders, and heard a silent im sorry.

"Yes, but dont be like that, think that you at least wont have to see the news talking about you..youll just be there, with your siblings, eating strawberies and..whatever else demigods do daily, right?"

Like i said, it is enough to me that she tries, even when she isnt great all the time, i know people who dont even have this.

I nodded and went to my room, making sure not to accidentally hit a new sculpture, placed in the corridor.

I didnt wait for her when i finished packing.

I knew she wouldnt be the one to take me there, she never is, she has things to do with the family business, its what ive always heard.

So when i got to the underground garage with my bags i automatically searched for one of the family drivers, sure enough, he was there.

He was a nice guy, but quiet, i knew that he probably had orders not to talk to the family members unless spoken to, grandpa did this with all of them, i also knew he never actually knows where hes been taking me, he takes me there almos every year, but always stops at the road in front of the forest, maybe this sad look he has on his face its because he thinks he is taking me to one of those crazy wilderness therapies as a punishment.

Granpa would absolutely do that if he hadnt had to live with a great public appearence.

"Miss? We are here" He looked at me in the rearview mirror, i only realized i had doze of when my eyes met his and i blinked. "Hold on tight, im going to help you with your luggage okay?"

"Oh..thank you mr bell" He opened the trunk, and then the back door for me, extending his hand to help me get out of the car "thank you, again"

"Sure miss, just let me take your bags out and we are all set okay?-"

Another car dor noise made us both look to the right, to find Clarisse La rue, closing a taxi door, with just one big suitcase in hand.

Now, my story with Clarisse is kind of complicated, i've met her when he were, eight i guess, her family bought some shares in the family business and we saw each other very regulaly, and ever since then everything everyone told me about her is that she is a troublesome girl, that i should stay far.

But she was the one who realized i was a demigodess, and took me straight to camp when a monster found me, and she was the one who, many times when we were little, comforted me when my family made me cry.

It seems like she forgot all of that because she never even looks at me.

If you ask her, she has never even met me at all actually.

"Clarisse, you're early"

"Cassandra, you too-"

"Cass actually, i prefer cass" i corrected her, to wich she just rolled her eyes and muffled a whatever. "Thats all you are taking? One suitcase?"

"And you are taking all that? How do you plan on walking the whole way with all that? Im assuming he wont go with you" she said looking at mr bell, and its true, he could not walk the whole way with me, and i could not walk with all that alone...fuck

"....you could help m-"

"No, dont even think about it"

"C'mon Clarisse!" She didnt even answered me this time actually. "Arent you a Ares-" i looked at the driver taking the suitcases out. "A ares...type of kid? You will pass on the oportunity to demonstrate your muscles or whatever?"

She started to walk away with a bored look, did i already said fuck?

"C'mon ill do whatever! I- i dont know.. 20 dracmas!, no?, ill help you with the cleaning duty you'll eventually have when you fuck it up? I..ill do that AND ill cure you anytime you want, everyday, no matter the time!"

She stopped walking.

Yes! I knew it, one of the many problems clarisse had its that she likes to go out at night to train alone, and when she gets hurt she cant ask anyone to help her, because she would get caught

"Give me those suitcases already and shut up-" she was interrupted by a very happy me hugging her.

"Thankyouthankyouthankyouclarisse!"

I felt her hands on my arms and realized she was going to push me away, so i took a step back

"Geez Clarisse, you could've just told me to back off, dont be like that... just take these and ill take those"

I said pointing to the suitcases, and saying goodbye to mr bell.

Can i already welcome summer and his crazy energy? No? Okay.

#fanfic #lesbian #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse pjo #pjo series #pjo tv show #clarisse la rue #clarisse x reader

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

LANDLESS GULL (I)

|| COV MASTERLIST || PREVIOUS: PROLOGUE || NEXT: CHAPTER II ||

PAIRING: Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Three years later, you find yourself in a similar situation. But will new revelations put more of the past event into perspective? Or will your anger overcloud your judgment?

WORDCOUNT: 9.7k

WARNINGS: Implied stalking, angst, illegal activities, self destructive tendencies, insinuations of PTSD, sleeplessness, violence, abductions, talks of death, drugs etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

The routine was the only thing that saved you, and it had never once wavered. Not in two out of the three years since the death of your father.

Wake up at five, sit in silence until six, and leave the house by seven.

Though you were in your last year of college, the wallet in the pocket of your sweatpants was still bare of the plastic of a standard driver’s license, so, you take the same long route you did every morning; feet hitting the concrete. The black iron under your grip leaves you shivering as you lock the front gate to your family’s estate, the end of the long walkway a grand, overgrown, sight as you take one last glance.

Hucking your backpack higher over your shoulder the elusive black form of the resident stray cat darts from one of the overgrown and thick bushes to another; the steadily browning leaves a barrier of dying flora.

“Don’t kill the finches, yeah?” You huff quietly, eyes dull and heavy with fatigue as the morning air chills your skin. Even if it was getting colder as the seasons changed, your mind never once went to the prospect of calling a cab.

The thought of someone you didn’t know driving you somewhere…you frown as you think it over, shoes stamping on top of weeds sprouting from the broken sidewalk as the utter stillness of the morning grows long. No. No, It was easier to walk or take the bus. A train, maybe.

But walking lets you think; makes you tired.

So, by eight AM you were always at the Café an hour's journey away, cheeks chilled and body quivering like your bones were made of ice. The winter was worse, so you didn’t have it in you to even consider complaining.

Hector smiles at you when you walk through the old front door, dodging the umbrella holder slightly in the way as your nose sniffles. You pointedly stare at his large mustache instead of into his eyes, sighing lightly.

“Ah, there she is!” He exclaims. The excitable Café owner had told you that his family had come up to Chicago from New Jersey only a decade ago, which would explain the still prominent accent. “Just in time, eh? C’mon then, I got a nice hot one ready just for you like always, Sweetheart.”

“Trying to make me wife number three, Hec?” You slyly remark, walking over the hardwood floors and itching at the skin under your eye. Lids flicking open and closed as a call to sleep seeps into your brain, you take comfort in the familiar atmosphere.

It was dimly lit, the business, relying more on natural light than anything. The scent of coffee and baked goods stuck to your nose, waking you up as you pull the thick cotton canvas of your jacket closer and look around as you shuffle to the counter. Shelves lined with bags and small homemade treats make a quick smile grow.

How does he find the time to bake all of that?

Hector laughs, but you pay little mind. In your coat pocket, your fingers play with a coin, thumbing the engraved face slightly. A slow glaze of memory spreads its fingers over your eyes when you spy a family picture on the counter—the mustached man with his two daughters.

“Hell, if all it takes is fresh coffee cake and two espressos, my odds are lookin’ pretty good if I can say so myself.”

You snap back to the present with a stiff neck, blinking quickly. Clearing your throat, you roll your orbs and remove your hands from your pockets, rubbing them together and creating friction when the lack of heat starts to burn.

“No offense, but I think I’ll stick to my oppressively single ways, Big Guy. You have better luck with the lady down at the bank anyways. What’s her name,” you stare at Hector’s large nose, raising a brow as he moves his body to the side and grabs his utensils. “Cassidy? Crissy? It’s something with a ‘C’.”

The man’s filling up your drinks and pulling a piece of fluffy cake from the display case, rushing about as if he’d never known peace in his relatively normal life.

Hector was in his mid-forties. Balding. Large and stocky—not exactly someone you’d envision running a business like this all on his own and actually enjoying it. His pasty complexion reminded you of a carton of milk left in the sun, but he got on well enough with the locals to a point where everyone on this street knew him personally. Above all, Hector was a people person. Speaking to him was easy, and the constant burning anger in your chest loosened when he was around. Let you breathe.

All things considered, you quite liked the man.

“Clarissa,” Hector enunciates, putting everything on the counter as you pull out your wallet from your back pocket. “And, yeah, she’s the security guard down there. Beautiful damn woman, Kid.”

Your lips quirk as you take the items in crowded hands carefully, slapping two tens and a few crumpled fives to the counter. As you’re turning and walking to your seat, you call over your shoulder.

“Like a woman who can beat you up, then?”

“God, do I.” You share a chuckle together, and, knowing your routine, Hector begins to whistle under his breath and wipe the front counter clean of crumbs.

Always taking the corner seat next to the large front window, you slip into the wall booth and put everything on the table grunting before shucking off your backpack. Besides you, most of the morning customers just came and went as they pleased, picking up what they needed and leaving—realistically you should as well.

Majoring in history and minoring in business left you deep in work and covered to the neck with projects; already sleepless nights didn’t help when the large classrooms of the University of Chicago got too loud to stand, the raised speaking of students like screaming in your ears. You always skipped morning classes, particularly the large ones for your own sanity. Attendance was tanked, but because the work was all posted online your grade hadn’t suffered.

You'd gotten it up since the first year, at least. That was all that mattered.

Taking a sip of your first cup of espresso, you let the caffeinated liquid hit the emptiness of your stomach and sigh. You place it down on the woodgrain, closing your eyes for a minute and tilting your head down. Around the beverage, your hands twitch at the warm material, feeling your own blood pump in your veins and the loose shirt under your jacket sag as warm air comes to create a dichotomy of senses. Hector always kept the Café warm, but it was never enough for you.

Everything always felt cold.

Blinking back to the present, the Tv situated atop the small bookshelf in the corner spews the early run of the news as you gather your laptop from your bag and set it down; eager to get to work.

“...As we experience the anniversary of the death of—” You blink, fingers pausing over the keys as half of your password is typed out. Staring at the blinking black bar, you hear a violent inhalation of air from the front desk.

“Oh, fuck, Dear, I’m sorry. I forgot that it was today. Here let me–”

“No,” you interrupt, shaking your head harshly and tiling your gaze in Hector’s direction. You stare hard at his dirty apron. “No, it’s okay. Leave it on.”

Your voice is stiff, digging into that well in your stomach of barred teeth and barbed wire. Blood instead of water and a bucket made of bone that dips into crimson liquid.

“But…” He trails, and your hands hover above the laptop. You notice a tremor before picking up your drink once more, downing a good portion of the scalding liquid with a gulp. You clear your throat against the burn and lower it.

“If I had an issue with it, Hec, I’d tell you. Trust me, I already know what the date is. Lived it for three years to the day.”

The man grumbles, itching at his round chin. Not too keen. He picks up the remote near the cash register and lowers the volume all the while he sends your hunched form glances with creased brown eyes.

“We remember the countless donations to those less fortunate than himself, the man always seen with a smile on his face greeting visitors, and the tragic end he met as a result of a robbery gone wrong.” Your jaw clenches, hands curling in as you glare at the blinking black bar with hidden hatred. A cruel smirk slashes your lips. Robbery gone wrong, now that was funny. You never knew how anyone believed that. “...Admissions to the Museum of Natural History are at half-price all week.”

The news anchor moves on and your fingers spread to rest atop the smooth keys, lungs tight.

They had been talking about your father, of course. The fabricated story was like a knife to the chest every time someone brought it up. Acquaintances at school, professors. Taking a peek outside, you see groups of random people walk past wondering for an instant if they’d come in and recognize you.

Your dad was incredibly well-known when he was alive.

A robbery, your sneer grows as you log into your laptop, face falling to a blank slate as you clink on a plethora of named files. Pathetic. Of course, the CIA would spew something like that.

“What’s going on? Please, Dad, what’s happening?” The world is swirling with technicolored lights. Amber eyes. A hand on the top of your head.

The words pop up as a document loads, bolded and black. You shake off nausea and take down more caffeine, finishing off the first cup with muted disgust. Pushing it farther down the table, you move the second closer.

OPERATION: KINGFISHER

OVERSIGHT: STATION CHIEF KATE LASWELL, TS/SCI

OPERATIVES: CLASSIFIED

STATUS: ACTIVE

MISSION REPORT: MONDAY, 0823, CHICAGO, USA: THREE YEARS PRIOR:

All the rest was blacked out in long streaks of dark highlighter, the image fuzzy. A sharp needle inserts itself into your nerves, every slam of your heart like a gunshot as your sides pinch with disappointment.

No. Your jaw clenches.

How long had you been trying to get access to all of the government documents that were relevant to your case after you figured out the CIA was behind your father's and your abduction? A full year at this point? So many sleepless nights and under-the-table deals. And the information that mattered the most was still a level above the fabricated station you had given yourself to slip past lines upon lines of code like a snake in the grass.

You want information on Private Samson Row. The name you had figured out belonged to the person who had pulled the trigger on your father. You’d sleuthed out the others’ names as well through a straight week of only coffee and red-eyes. But you'd done it.

Captain John Price, Lieutenant Ghost, Sergeant John ‘Soap’ MacTavish, and Sergeant Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick.

Private Samson Row.

What had given them away to be a government body was the one-word phrase that Price had barked after the shot was only an echo.

“What in the fucking hell are you thinking, Private?!” The leader's voice yowls and grunts as you slowly open your eyelids, lashes fluttering over your cheeks. “We needed him alive, you Muppet!”

From then it was history.

Blatant irritation stems in your veins at the brick wall that now presents itself mere black lines away from a reason as to why this all had happened, fingers flinging across the pad to fly through the fifty-two-page file. Not a single word was visible.

“Son of a…” You strangle the curse under your breath and go to dig your fingernails into the back of your neck until crescents form. Blazing white pain and a shifting of sinuses.

If it wasn’t obvious, the laptop with you now was rarely used for schoolwork. In fact, you never even planned on going to campus today—no one expected you to, so it was better to feign brokenness instead of icy fury.

“Kate Laswell,” scoffing humorlessly, you shake your head at the only portions of the document filled in, “I keep seeing your name on everything. Christ, with the intel that I’ve read up on involving you, I’m surprised your personal file wasn’t more difficult to crack open. Only took me four days. ” You mutter to no one and nothing numbly.

But it seems an answer is given.

The bell atop the front door swings, a small tinkering of tarnished silver metal and a creak of rusted hinges. Feet that stamp lightly, but press firmly. Bleeding contained purpose.

Your body stills; lungs going immobile.

When you were young, you could memorize the sounds of the staff going down the stairs at the mansion. Tell who was who just by the pace and the weight on the creaking wood; it was a game that you were sure you could still play even years later in that practically abandoned estate. The slightest sound made you snap to attention when you were alone.

Just as this one did. But that wasn’t because of paranoia.

“Ah! Hello, Sir, welcome!” Hector calls, motioning with a hand as the air goes tense. “What can I get you today? We’ve got a little Coffee Cake left if you want, I gotta say, man, it’s my best batch yet.”

It was because you knew him. Those feet.

This can’t be right.

A throat clears. “Sorry, Sir. Not today.”

That voice. Your eyes shutter wider, eyelashes frozen at the screen of your laptop.

British. Smooth. It was a voice that played in your subconscious at a constant—never leaving. A flash of amber eyes. Blood slashed your vision, coating the world in a sheen of red; gore dripping down your face faster than water. A funeral shroud of pure hatred.

Gaz. Kyle Garrick.

With a quivering hand, your finger slowly clicks the Escape key like it was an intimate partner, watching the document disappear on quick feet and with ruffled clothes into the scene of your wallpaper. Staring blankly at the multiple incriminating folders that meet you, your ears twitch to the sound of a slow inhalation; tapping digits over a pant pocket.

You don’t dare look up.

A tall shadow begins approaching, and you briefly seize. Humming emanates in the back of your head like a kind of drunken sloshing of senses.

Run.

Your heart mirrors the steps that Gaz takes. Against the nature of the cortisol and rampaging adrenaline in your blood, a flicker of your lips betrays a chilled amusement. A part of you had always known this would happen. It’s strange to say, but even as your legs start shaking, your expression is measured; held-back brows, loose lips, and a fluidness to your shifting eyes.

But your mind…

What’s he doing here? You panic. Why…why is he here? They couldn’t have possibly known I was reading up on them, could they? No, no, I’ve been careful.

You can’t move. Your mind can’t function. Every nerve is sparking with a need to sprint and flee. But yet again, your body leaves you frozen.

One of the double chairs in front of your table is pulled out, and a figure dressed in a white shirt covered by the second layer of a fitted blue athletic top calls your gaze. The build of an intensive workout schedule is shown unabashedly, sleeves pulled up to dark elbows that shift the tense forearm muscles. Brown and tan Army pants cause your eyebrow to raise incredulously before the limbs disappear under the barrier.

The frozen shackles on your limbs break and your lips move before you can shut yourself up. Maybe it was the familiar atmosphere, or maybe it was the therapist’s words from that month-long fiasco of court-mandated therapy way back in the beginning.

The coin in your pocket burns, and you long to clench it in your fist until you’re dripping blood like a stuck pig.

“Not exactly trying to hide it, are you?” You look back down at your laptop, opening the search browser and pretending to look up something unimportant. “I’ll admit it, Gaz, I like this instead of having a gun shoved halfway into my vertebrae. Not too fond of it, you understand?”

Silence holds out. A head turns away for a moment as his body shifts in uncomfortableness.

“I’ll be needing you to come with me, Ma’am.” The accent punches you in the throat, the stern order that coasts along like a fish in water.

What gave him the right?

How does one stay calm when your head is like a pot of boiling water? The bubbles roll in great waves of anger and fear as you try and stay outwardly calm with struggling success. You doubted you were able to look anything besides purely rage-filled, but didn’t dare check by looking into the man’s eyes—or even his face for that matter.

You glared over the screen and dug daggers into his bobbing Adam’s Apple, settling on your answer. Sarcasm.

“And I’ll need you to understand that I’d rather choke on this coffee cake.” Your finger points slightly to the untouched plate with a tremor in its bones. “I don’t want another barrel pointed at my forehead, no offense.”

Gaz’s jaw shifts, clenching before loosening, and in his sensitive ear, the radio sizzles to life with a spark.

“Kyle, I’ve got eyes. Talk to me.” The Brit looks outside through the glass, immediately finding the large figure leaning against the wall of a library across the street.

Gaz’s Captain has his arms crossed, beanie-covered head tilted to seem like he’s watching cars that pass by; a gruff-looking man simply people-watching. Everyone misses the bulge of a pistol stuffed into the small of his back—under a brown leather jacket and a black sweater. Price itches at his brown beard with a frown.

“In position, Sir. Speaking with her now.” The man at the front desk of the Café watches him closely, pretending to clean a spot on the back counter that seems to never go away despite the multiple passes. He wouldn’t be a problem if it came down to that.

“Copy. Keep on schedule.” The Sergeant wasn’t sure why he was here—why out of all the others in his Task Force, Price had decided he needed to be the one to engage with you.

“Roger that.”

This was the last thing he wanted to do.

He didn’t know how to convince you to come with him without replaying the scene from three years ago; it was imperative that he didn’t do that. Though it had been necessary…his thighs shifted over the rickety chair. It wasn’t supposed to end like that. Everyone was paying for it.

Gaz’s brown eyes glance to the table, one hand going to fix the position of his favorite ball cap over his head and press it down.

He felt naked without his gear.

Figures I’d be the only one bloody stripped down to nothing.

“Ma’am,” the Brit starts slowly, watching your ears twitch as you burrow deeper into your large jacket. A flicker of hesitation seeps into his heart. With a frown on his tense lips, he could still see your shoulders bunched up; breathing labored. You were terrified—rightly so. “It would be best to listen to me, yeah? No one’s going to hurt you. This is for your own safety but I need you to come quietly.”

Kyle had put all of his cards to the shock value; the hope that your fear of him would prompt you to come along in a shell-shocked reaction and a hesitance of an imaginary weapon. It worked in a few other missions, he’d even done it a few other times in the army, though it was always a hit or miss.

But staring hard at your thin lips, he noticed anger as well and was forced to face reality. This was never going to work.

Your internal timer ends, and all the primal instincts trapped in your mind let loose a vile scream. The memories are too great; too violent. Even this man’s voice is a brand in your soft tissue.

“Listen to who? An accomplice to murder? And ‘not hurt me’.” You snort, reaching up to grab the top of your laptop and close it with a slam. Hector pauses his fake cleaning as you stare at Gaz’s nose and the barely-there stubble that lives over his upper lip and cheeks. “You’ve done a pretty horrible job of that…The only way you’re getting me to go with you is in a body bag.” Your brow raises. “I’m sure you’re familiar with them, hm? I’d kind of hoped you’d already be in one by now if I’m being honest.”

“Listen,” Kyle prided himself on being patient, but the clock was ticking. Laswell needed you at the designated location and that was where he intended to take you in one piece. The injection needle in his back pocket was looking more and more promising if this continued to be difficult, a mixed concoction that only the CIA could put together to knock a person out for a long while. But why did he feel so hesitant to use it? He’d also been the only one to suggest someone try and speak to you first before forcing you to go along with them.

I guess this is what happens when I try and put in my two damn cents. Stick to procedure next time.

“I don’t think you understand the position you’re in—”

“The position I’m in is entirely you and your little friends’ fault.” You growl, voice breaking and eyes turning to look outside. Snapping when you see his lips part, “Don’t even try to deny it.”

Kyle’s mouth closes with a clench of teeth.

Trapped like an animal you have half a sense to gnaw your own leg off. There was a hunch in your mind as to what was happening—the files you’ve read that weren’t blackout out gave in-depth mission details; play-by-plays. These people worked in teams. Always.

Your eyes dart with frantic knowledge as Gaz sits tense, a subdued annoyance flaring as his hands tap the table and thinks deeply.

You find Captain Price easily and the agony grows. The stocky man shifts in the morning light, the familiar body leading to a slashed remembrance of folded arms and black balaclavas. His stare was like a burning piece of wood shoved directly into your eye sockets.

Alleyway in the back, your feet shuffle, tense. You had to get out of this. Take the corner and run to the busier intersections. Try to keep calm. Breathe.

Easier said than done. Kyle was the same man who had put a gun to your head with the intention of pulling the trigger—your life was nothing more than a bargaining chip. Would he do the same again?

Yes. No one was saying he didn’t have a weapon on him now; the only difference was this time you didn’t know why he was here in the first place. The easiest answer was the documents, but was it that simple? Why send the same people after you?

Not that simple, but it is illegal. The thought of going back to a small room; a rope around your wrists…your hands go to itch at the healed skin, still sensitive despite the years. The Sergeant clocks it with a pulling frown and tight brows.

“Ma’am,” Gaz’s voice snaps your vision back to the table, and you go to take a drink of the remaining cup of espresso to calm your nerves. You send a glance at the heavy backpack beside you and blink. “I didn’t have to come and speak to you, alright? I’m doing this to try to find some standing. This isn’t a ploy, but you have to follow me.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Bloody…no.” Kyle grunts, itching at his neck as his earpiece goes off. He looks sideways.

“Kyle, this isn’t working. Stick ‘er.”

“I can get her to come along,” he mutters harshly, not noticing one of your hands going to place the drink down while the other sneaks to the strap of your bag. “There’s no need to—!”

The force hits him right in the neck, and his head snaps back with a heavy jerk. His chair falls backward from the weight, sending him sprawling in a tangle of limbs and rushing feet over the floor. A heavy crash emanates throughout the building and the wind is knocked from his lungs as brown eyes bug out of the sockets.

“Hector! Call the police!” The front door is slammed open with a violent noise of shaking glass and a bell. Shrieking hinges.

“Bloody fucking hell!” Kyle shouts, shoving the backpack off of him and ignoring the sharp pang in the back of his skull. He recovers quickly. Hot irritation spikes as Price barks into the earpiece; the Sergeant scrambles after you with fast force.

“After her!”

Your feet slam to the concrete as the laptop stays tucked into the crook of your elbow, chest conforming to the press of it as you puff out quick breaths. Inside your ribs, the blood rushes out to your head, creating a pound like a drum.

Shoving aside others on the sidewalk, shouting sounds out from behind you before the dark shadow of an alleyway meets your snapping vision like a blessing from above. Pushing past an older man, you take a sudden turn into the darkness, the morning chill momentarily getting pushed back by the fire under your skin. Wind rushes past your ears.

Faster, you tell yourself, feet flying over stray garbage bags and puddles, don’t let them catch you. They can’t catch you.

Easier said than done. They were trained soldiers. SAS in league with the CIA.

Panting, you clutch your laptop tighter and feel cold sweat drip down your spine before a yell echoes from the entrance behind you.

“Hey!” It was Kyle’s voice, stern, but the sound of another set of feet told you who else was in pursuit. If you were being honest, the Captain scared you far more than the Sergeant did.

Your eyes go unfocused as reality sets in.

“They came back for me,” muttering, you see the brief alleyway end up ahead. “They tracked me down again to finish the job.”

“Bravo 7-1 she’s comin’ to you!” You don’t register the grunted words until you’re already taking the corner on the opposite side of the street, about to disappear into the expanse of a crowded downtown rush.

The wall of muscle sends you sprawling out on your back, the laptop flying from your hands in a wide display of just how fast you’d been running as discomfort ripples up your spine as the ground meets you. The pain that blossoms in your nose is sharp and immediate; a groan exiting into the air as you close your eyes tight to push back the shock and the momentum that had just been immediately halted. Nonsensical words exit you in slurring huffs.

“Steamin’ Jesus,” A Scottish accent hits your pulsing ears, as your shaking hand covers your eyes, teeth bared as a dull ache stems from the back of your head. Rocks poke into your back. “You alright down there? Didnea expect that.”

A hand snaps to the collar of your shirt, hauling you up easily as your bearing has yet to come back to you. The word spins.

“Ow,” your lips release a whine, face turned down as you blink away black dots. Large feet covered by brown combat boots become clear as the running slam of the other two gets closer.

Starling, you snap your head forward and attempt to rush off with barely functioning feet.

“Ah, ah!” The Scot laughs, and a locked fist stays rooted into the textile of your clothes. “Can’t have that, now.”

You look up at a strong man with pale skin—brunette stubble over a sculpted jaw and a scar over the chin. Long lips that curl into a smirk to show off white teeth. If you had to guess, this was John MacTavish. Soap—otherwise called Johnny.

You’ve seen the photos in the files, but you have no rush to look into his bright cerulean gaze anytime soon, but you see wisps of his mohawk sitting on his forehead.

“Get your hands off of me.” You growl, feet straining to stay steady. Your lids blink quickly to gain control as, like a newborn foal, it’s like your body doesn’t know how to control itself. “Bastard.”

Jesus, my head’s yelling at me to sit down. The hell is this guy made out of? Stone?

The Scot only chuckles as Gaz and Price catch up.

“No can do, Little Lady.”

Kyle lets out a deep sigh as he stops, having seen the entire scene play out when you ran head-on into the older man and tries to tell himself to feel bad—he did slightly, but the mirrored pain in the back of his own skull found some sort of redemption.

Girl’s got an arm on her. He rubs at the back of his head.

“I think that makes us even. Wouldn’t you say, Ma’am?” The Sergeant huffs light-heartedly, staring at you without so much as breaking a sweat from the short pursuit. The Captain shakes his head, going to pick up the laptop on the ground as your teeth clench.

“Call Ghost. Get him over here for the Exfil.” Civilians watch, but like they usually do, no one steps in to say anything or to spare more than a glance. “ASAP.”

“Shut up.” You scowl at Gaz’s chest, replying to his comment. Jerking yourself out of Soap’s hold, he lets you stand fully by yourself before he presses large fingers into his earpiece to mutter something out. The Scot still eyes you closely. There was no use trying to run anymore. “It was the least you deserved. Or are we forgetting how we met in the first place—should have dumped coffee over your head too.”

“Now that’s overkill, isn’t it, Love?” He can’t help but snap. Perhaps it was the dull thumping in his skull, or perhaps it was just you. “Manners never a prospect in your home?”

No one tested his patience quite like this and he’s only just re-met you. Your anger was justified, the Sergeant knew deep down, but he’d never expected this. In the brief time, you had insulted him, thrown a bookbag at his head, and then insulted him some more. Maybe the Captain had been right when he suggested all those weeks ago that it would be better to just knock you out right off the bat.

Still could…Kyle twitches his nose, huffing to himself and shaking his head.

You bare your teeth. “Shove that overkill and that stupid nickname up your—”

“Enough. Both of you.” The Captain interjects, growling out as a black van pulls alongside the road. Walking to it, Price shakes his head, fingers pressing into his nose bridge as he enters the passenger seat. “Fuckin’ hell.”

You fall silent and fight back the burning heat in your cheeks as the lack of ability to escape becomes evident to you. What else could you do? Scream? No—they’d just shove you in the car and put a gun to your spine again.

Every option led to you getting into that car. That…that compacted black car with tinted windows and filled with the men you hate the most.

Will Private Row be in there? A pang of horror enters you. Will he…?

Your father’s blood is forever stuck into the fabric of your flesh like a tapestry. Lining the stitching of your pores and the embroidery of your genes.

“Go on, then,” Soap prompts, a hand pressing into your shoulder blades like you were an unruly calf. Your eyes narrow, lips pinching down into a tight frown.

Today was supposed to be easy. Simple. No college, no questions, and certainly no abductions. Your dad was always on your mind—what happened? Why did the Private shoot him when in every report you had read interrogations of that kind took hours upon hours to finish?

If I keep my cool, you reason, feeling all of the eyes on you as you grab the car handle and pull it open with a pop, maybe I can get answers as well. Straight from the source.

Your eyes search the interior and a great weight is lifted. No one else besides the driver and the Captain, who are separated by a wall and a small window in the front, is present. No Private Row.

Thank God.

What would you have done then?

These last three years were a learning period, and when you hop into the vehicle and shuffle to the far right, your hand delves into your jacket pockets; the one connecting with the coin, its metal cold to the touch. Your finger skims it, pressing into the groves until an indent forms in your flesh. But there was one thing you learned in the time you spent destroying yourself to get even a sliver of information on your abductors. They were always playing games.

Games of intellect, of mental fortitude and knowledge. It was a chess piece being moved and hoping yours was in the line of fire so the king could be checked. Your unease is still present, the quivering fingers and the snapping gaze but if you can keep your head on, then maybe—

The car door on your side opens.

“Excuse me, Ma’am. Can’t have you by the door,” Gaz mutters, and your lips release a stifled scoff. But you do as you’re told, watching from the corner of your eyes as the tall body scoots inside, easily situating itself in between you and the door they were apparently afraid you’d throw yourself out of.

They’re going to lock it anyways—what's the point? You could call them paranoid, but that would just be hypocritical. When the last sliver of outside light is cut off as the door closes, you flinch at the loud noise and take a steadying deep breath. Soap sits on your opposite.

You’re completely stuck in the middle.

Kyle watches as Ghost sends a glance back. The Sergeant nods stiffly and the car peels out. Johnny leans back, arms crossed, and watches the world as it passes by while those brown orbs stay locked on you. The subtle shaking of your shoulders; the way your eyes bug and the pupils stay small.

Sweat stays on your eyebrow ridge, and Gaz thinks about how close you’ll become to a snowball if you pull in even farther. The man clears his throat in dismissal and a small sliver of regret. After all, you are a mostly innocent party in this.

He’s about to open his mouth and ask if your head is okay when a deep chuckle sounds off from the front of the car.

“Well, you’ve been busy. Laswell was right.” Your ears perk, mind forcing back thoughts of the walls closing in around you as Price’s gravel voice sounds out. The car smells like gunpowder and leather. “How’d you manage this, then?” You blink at the interior window and say nothing.

You’d seen the bear of a man take the computer; had no doubt he could find a way into it, though you had never thought it would happen that fast.

Your lips thinned.

Kyle and Soap exchange glances, curiosity sparking as Ghost drives them to where Laswell told them to meet with the package.

“That’s none of your business.” The comment exits you in a string of whispers, defensiveness sparking.

“Well, it’s my business when my name’s on it, eh? How long did this take to pile together?” Your mouth stays shut as the Captain’s visage looks back at you from the rearview mirror with narrowed lids.

“Sir?” Gaz asks, confused.

“She’s got files on us—on all of us. Kate too. More than she thought.” The Sergeant looks down at you in surprise, eyes going slightly wider.

“What in the hell does that mean?” Soap questions, hands gesturing out from his cross-body hold as you sink even deeper into yourself. Bitter tears bite at the back of your vision.

“It means someone’s been digging where they weren’t supposed to.” It’s the first time that Ghost has spoken, but it was all that was needed. Your body shivers at the Manchester accent; the numb brutality of it.

But you say nothing, and the ride is silent besides the way all of the hard stares nearly spoke words out loud.

Everything just felt like a blur of sound and color. Separate; removed. If you tried hard enough, you were back in the Café with Hector—eating that coffee cake you never even got a bite out of and chugging down espresso that you were already craving again.

Your finger digs deeper into the coin in your pocket.

The cops would show up. There was no doubt that the past New Jersey resident hadn’t called them when you told him to. But there was also no doubt that the CIA would step in and take jurisdiction. It was what they did when your father was murdered—they’d spun a story as you sat in a room that belonged to a detective and sobbed in an inconsolable state. Reporters and news crews outside.

Nothing we can do, you were told, it was a robbery. Out of our hands, but we’ll try our best to find the culprit.

You already knew the culprit. The man in the corner. His name was Samson Row and he had been nervous. He had a trigger finger.

Your eyes harden as they glare at the floor and your jumping feet. For your father, you would get as much information as you could, and then leak it if you had to—if these people let you live. But before that, you wanted to know why. Why had he died? You’d do nothing until that was answered.

Swallowing down saliva, you speak as the car turns off the main road, heading farther and farther away from the parts of town you knew. Your lungs go stiff.

“So where’s Row?” The air shifts as your hoarse voice coldly utters, “What? Is he not part of your little group now? Figured he’d be here to finish off the rest of it, he only did half a job last time.”

Kyle looks to the side, an elbow resting on the window sill. Soap clears his throat awkwardly as his great body shifts.

“Hm,” Price grunts out. But if you were looking for an answer, no one gives you one.

Hatred flairs. What gave these men the right to think they could just push you aside like that? They put a gun to your head! Killed your father!

The rabid sense of justice and entitlement grow until your jaw is clenching, unease mixing with agony. You deserve answers even if it kills you.

Your mouth opens, and your instinctually watering eyes stay stuck to the floor.

“I–”

“Laswell’ll explain,” Gaz’s quiet voice leaves you tense, muscles wound up as if you had forgotten he was there. A barrel flashes over your sight and you want to shift away but know you can’t.

Kate Laswell. So that’s who you’re going to meet.

“...Good,” you lick your lips.

About time.

It’s only ten minutes later that you’re let out of the vehicle, an underground parking garage and its dim lighting making your pupils widen to accommodate the darkness. Gaz gets out first, keeping the door open for you by the frame and you pause before following after, keeping a wary eye on him.

“Head alright?” You frown and stare at the Brit’s nose.

“Hope yours hurts even more.”

“This way.” You follow after the Captain’s voice, leaving the Sergeant behind to gape, blink, and slowly shut the car door. Ghost slips past with a hidden amusement and the group continues on.

This is going to be one hell of a mission.

To you, it was clear that this was a military base.

The entrance needed a keycard, and the vehicles stored underground were armored besides the one that you’d been brought in. The hallways were lined with tile and the staff that walked past were all dressed in clothes ranging from fatigues to full-on issued uniforms. People would try to meet your eyes, but you always looked away before they were able.

“In here.” Price utters, sliding an identification card through a reader before a faint clicking emanates out. The brunette tilts his head firmly as he opens the door.

You blink, but unlike the strange and heated interactions with Gaz, you hesitate to get on the Captain’s bad side. The chilled eyes digging into you as you state at his scarred hands… Your body shivers and you slip past the men into a brightly lit room.

Even without a weapon pointed at you, their eyes still felt like knives. Their words like bullets. Everything reminds you of three years ago, and try as you might, all you want to do is go to bed and forget about this.

Still the adrenaline hadn’t crashed, and when it did you knew you were going to be out of school for a week. Shaking. Sobbing. Rolling on the floor refusing to eat because what if they were right outside the door of your bedroom?

As you expected, the door closes behind you with a lock being set in place. But what you didn’t expect was to not be alone in this medium-sized room holding only a table and…

Your gaze widens on the figure in one of two chairs. Slim, yet fit, her pale skin sits under a simple white blouse and a lanyard over her neck. Hands intertwined and sitting over a stack of physical files in manila folders as a wedding band glints.

Dirty-blonde hair forms strands of bangs with the rest held back like a hostage near the top of her back, wrinkles in her forehead and around her lips. Without thinking clearly, your eyes make contact with hers, and you’re left violently flinching away, blinking rapidly and tilting your head down to force away amber and gold. Your heart seizes, but you recognize that shade of blue you’d just seen.

Gunmetal. So, this was Kate Laswell in the flesh.

A soft sigh meets the air.

“Please, sit.”

Biting your lip wearily, you start forward, hand connecting with the extra seat before you slowly pull it out. Your fingers tap the material before you hesitantly lower yourself into it, eyes going to any possible exit beyond the door behind you.

There was none.

“I’d like to apologize for the stress, but you can imagine that we wanted to cause the least amount of panic possible. To both you and the public.” Your vision sits on her lanyard, watching the picture jump as she moves to sit farther upright. “Kyle was the one to suggest speaking to you first, though I didn’t think it would work.”

You slouch.

“It didn’t.”

Kate blinks at your frame, studying the ragged look and evident sleeplessness. She would almost call it sickly. A frown grows over her serious face.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

“Where’s Row?” To hell with subtlety, you decided.

“It’s not as simple as that.” The woman doesn’t miss a beat, shaking her head back and forth slowly. “I’ll need you to listen to what I’m about to tell you.”

“...And why should I do that?” Your brow raises, voice gaining ice. “You’re responsible for my father’s death. You know that? You had oversight for that Operation.” Laswell stares at you, you can feel it. “Hell, you had oversight for a lot of Operations. What was the number… forty-five and counting? But that’s really just a blanket number, isn’t it?”

You can’t help the comments, they fall from you quicker than blood, and the back of your head burns something awful. Lights dance.

“John told me you had government documents on your laptop. A number on all of the members of One-Four-One.” Kate sighs quickly, motioning to you with a hand. “I have to admit, I did expect something like that to happen—so I made sure to let them know that you most likely already knew they were SAS.” A pause. Your hand goes to itch at your nose, peeling back skin as a way to ground yourself. But you’d be lying by saying you weren’t intrigued and a bit in awe. You’d underestimated how much Laswell actually knew about you. Who was to say they hadn’t been keeping an eye on you this whole time? Who are you kidding, of course they did. You curse yourself internally. “But unfortunately, that’s not why we’re here.”

Your fidgeting halts; eyes narrow. The Agent moves back, taking up a file and spreading it open, you watch with rapt attention.

If not the stolen documents, then what?

“Do,” pictures meet light, and your interest peeks, “these individuals seem familiar?”

One was of a man in a nice suit, expensive looking with a well-trimmed beard of blonde hair and a bald head. Tattoos are inked into visibly pale skin. The photo was taken as he was getting out of a large vehicle, armed guards holding a door open though it looked like he himself wasn’t in need of the entourage.

He was built like a boar on steroids.

Your hand grabs the page and brings it closer, face pulling close in concentration as your hands go clammy. You had no recollection of this stranger.

So what is this about?

The next was of a woman with a darker skin tone, perhaps from South Asia, though you couldn’t be certain. She was dressed nicely as well, in silk skirts and a long-sleeved shirt that wraps around her smaller body. The look is finished off with a thin garment over her shoulders.

She’s picking out spices at an outdoor market, the image partially covered by the lip of a jacket as if someone had been trying to be discreet.

But the guns of the armed guards are still seen as they flank the woman.

You look up, placing the photos down and shaking your head. Pulled in eyebrows causing your gaze to stop at Kate’s nose. “No, why?”

“Because they’ve put a price on your head.” Your body freezes and it takes a moment to register what she just told you.

Eyes wide and lips slightly parted; the ache in the back of your skull burns brighter as you find your breath has stopped. Sucking down a gasp, you bring a hand out of your pocket to scratch at your neck, mind running.

“What…what?” Laswell takes the pictures back, continuing nonchalantly as if your heart isn’t about to explode. You feel faint, and the lights buzz in your ears.

A price on my head?

“Crime syndicates with terrorist connections.” She begins, and you can’t help but listen. “Since your father’s death, they’ve been waiting for you to take up the mantle. Your families held tight bonds in the past—the museum your father was running was a cover to smuggle Yaromir Osipov’s weapons,” Kate points to the man, then to the woman, “and Mala Kham’s drugs. They were later sold at an undisclosed location and a portion of the profits was sent back to fund conflicts. Hired assassinations. Symbolic murders...”

The rest is left as an open statement.

“I…” You stutter, panic palpable. The air was getting thicker; harder to breathe. You can’t remember a time when your own clothes had felt so suffocating to wear.

It wasn’t a question to you as to why you’d restrained yourself from looking anything about your father up in the CIA databases. It was a fresh wound and an incredibly bloody one. The man that raised you wasn’t that man—the one that would smuggle drugs and weapons into Chicago and sell them off somewhere else.

The man you remembered was respectable and above all, kind. Indirectly causing the deaths of people? No, that wasn’t him. Your mind broke at even the barest insinuation. It… it refused to even consider it.

Kate Laswell watches blankly, humming under her breath and nodding to herself. As if she’d just confirmed something that she’d been on the fence about.

She continues.

“When three years passed and you never got into contact, your mother either, their product wasn’t getting sold at high rates anymore. Chicago is a vastly important playing field. The best way to get another house in power is to take out any remaining opposition and reinstate someone else.”

“My mother and I,” you murmur with a hysterical look that snaps into your eye. A sharp rigidness enters vertebrae, hands hastily slam the table in a grand display along with a crashing chair behind you as your feet push you upwards. “She’s in Ireland,” your mother was a traveling nurse, going abroad more often than not and away constantly. You hadn’t talked much after the first year of your father's passing. She left you to your grief and took hers with her. “D–do you have her in custody already or…or—She should be with someone! Is she still just—?”

“She’s in a secure location.” Kate interrupts, her hands raising. She’s calm; incredibly so, and you feel that serenity of her voice leaks into you, your shoulders lessen from their raised-hair stance. “And an Agent I trust is with her. She’ll be back in Chicago soon.”

“Jesus…” A hand spreads over your face, digits on the table clenching. While your mother and you didn't talk often, there was no part of you that wanted her dead. Not a single piece.

A sheen of embarrassment floods your blood at the scene you’d just made, but that doesn’t stop the confusion.

“But, wait,” your hand lowers, and you frown at the lanyard, “why would you care?” Kate places the photos back into the folder and closes it. “And why would you murder my father if you felt like this would happen?”

Where’s Samson Row?

“Our intention was never to have a casualty involved with our investigation.” Laswell sends you a glance with her emotionless eyes. “Nonetheless with a witness. It was an unfortunate accident.”

Your face blanks.

Unfortunate accident.

“Then why did your Private,” your mouth spits, hostility immediately pushing past formality, “shoot?”

No hesitation.

“We don’t know.” The laugh that rockets from you is cruel; violent and full of malice.

“What?!” You point at her, leaning forward over the table as your common sense vanishes. “You're the CIA and you can’t even control who you employ?! You murdered an innocent man!”

Kate looks at you with nothing, blinking slowly as you glare at her forehead. Did she not even care? The Agent says your name seriously.

“Your father was many things, but I can assure you, innocent was never one of them.”

“You expect me to just believe you?” You nod sarcastically multiple times, your loud voice no doubt flying under the opening of the door. “Just to, what? Accept that your Private shot him in the head right next to me for nothing? That’s hilarious if you think I’m that dumb.”

“What Samson Row did was against orders. No one here gave him the green light and thus I can’t say why he pulled the trigger. You’re going to have to accept that we don’t have the answers you’re looking for.”

Angry tears are splattering the table, a rampant betrayal. It was getting incredibly hard to not start swearing at this woman, but your father raised you better.

“I don’t believe you.”

“I have no doubt about that,” Laswell speaks lowly, “but I’m not lying to you. If your father kept all of this hidden…then there’s no thought as to if he cared about you,” a delicate silence as your jaw clenches, both hands clenched over the table as your head bows down, salty water bouncing off the flesh. “You should remember that.”

Your mouth opens, but you close it just as quickly. What could you say to that?

“You…don’t know…” Whispering can’t hide the enraged tremor of your tone. “Why?” The hopelessness.

Kate gives you a minute, and when your tears come to a slow stop, she opens her mouth.

“I’ll be providing you a protection detail until the cells overseas can be disposed of. You and your mother will be well taken care of in the safety of your own home.” She continues, “If you can do something for me in return in the meantime.”

A harsh laugh exits and bounces off the walls.

“Why am I not surprised?” Laswell ignores you.

“Your father had sensitive information that searches of his shipping lot and museum office didn’t offer any leads on. While you’re spending more time at your home, I want you to look for them. Anything that involves other dealers or a location to a hub.” You roll your eyes, smirk growing on bitter pieces of flesh.

“Why don’t you do it yourself?” You ask the Agent with a splay of your hand, foot tapping the ground in a rhythmic beat as you stare hard into the wall above her hair. Swiping at your cheeks until they’re raw. “I know you’re not above breaking into houses.”

“After the event three years ago, my superiors are,” a small noise in the back of her throat as she pushes herself up from the table, “less than pleased with how One-Four-One and I are handling this situation. It would look better on paper if you cooperated.”

“Is Samson dead?” Shoving your hands into your pockets, you lean back on your heels, tilting your head as you look at Kate’s collarbone. You can see her take a breath; lungs inflating like plastic sacks.

“Yes.” It’s like a punch to the gut—you have to stop yourself from staggering backward. Your next words are strained as your hands clench. But the woman just watches, intrigue laced in her studious eyes; half-narrowed with a dipped chin.

“How.”

“Do you have any other questions for me?” It was apparent that your inquiries would get you nowhere, at least the ones that mattered to you.

You nod stiffly, cutting your losses. You’d just look into it yourself. “Who’s going to be at my house?”

“Kyle.”

You’ve got to be kidding me.

“And why him?” Your voice growls, and you have a sudden need to pace around the room as your ears twitch to Laswell’s sighing and the shifting of her papers.

“Sergeant Garrick is trained in VIP protection. I’m sure you’ve read all about that.” Slyness enters her tone.

Of course you had.

Every file on your laptop was a mix of both professional and personal documents—all unimaginably delicate information if it were to get out into the public. For the Task Force itself, as well as their families. It would mean even more death and slaughter.

A nail in a coffin. Blackmail.

“I know that.” You grunt, taking a hung skin by your fingernail in between your teeth and biting down until you rip out portions of your flesh with a dull burn. “That’s not what I’m asking you—he’s the man who put a gun to my head.”

The insinuation is bare to the world.

“And now he’ll be the one using it to point at others.” The Agent slips past you, and your nose picks up the scent of linen and cigarette smoke.

This is the point that you should stop talking. Cut off loose ends and think of a way out of this. But you’d gotten cruel; cold-hearted with little regard for others feelings. What you wanted was the upper hand. You needed it. Some semblance of control in a situation that was so far out of it that the concept itself should be in space. Control was how you’d survived. You recall a flash of a file with Kate Laswell’s name attached and you’re speaking before the connotation fully registers.

“I wonder if your wife knows what you do. How many families have you ruined?” The woman pauses behind you, a hand on the door. Her legs shift. “Do you tell her? Or do you keep her conscious clean as you spread the blood on your hands over to her?”

Scream at me, you plead, eyes small. Yell. Rage. Please, just do something predictable. Let me win something.

Kate looks over her shoulder at you, but your vision stays anchored ahead; back turned away from the door entirely. Eyes blinking; lungs jumping like frogs to find oxygen as if to suck down flies.

“I should thank you.” The words echo. “You’re giving my department leeway to move on Osipov and Kham now that a US citizen is in direct crossfire…” The woman turns back to the door. “I’ll be expecting Garrick to send updates every two days. Try not to kill him.” She walks out the door on steady feet and it stays unlocked behind her when the metal eventually closes with the semblance of a period in a sentence. The almost inhuman silence left in its wake makes your ears ring with noise in the absence of all else.

Alone, mere seconds later, your hand quickly snaps to your mouth to muffle a wail, eyes kept firmly shut in grief as your knees shake. You only barely stop yourself from hitting the floor as the panic finally registers; halfway folded over the table.

A ways off in the hallway, none the wiser, Gaz leans against the wall—arms crossed and head resting behind him. It’s only at the sight of Laswell that the calm man perks to attention like an eager soldier.

Since he knew his charge already, Kyle had stayed behind while all the others of the Task Force had left with various degrees of goodbyes and well-wishes. Pats on his shoulders as he chuckled and made them swear to not have too much fun without him.

About to open his mouth and ask the fast-paced woman how it went, he’s interrupted by Kate’s blue eyes blazing as she glances at him.

“Good luck, Sergeant.” Her still voice is grim. “You’ll need it.” The female Agent walks on without another word, leaving the Brit wide-eyed and staring after.

“...Brilliant.” He fixes his cap and sighs before the sound of his cracking knuckles echoes through the hall. “Just bloody brilliant.”

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#gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick #gaz cod #gaz garrick #gaz call of duty #kyle garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x you #cod #cod x reader #cod x you #cod mw22 #Call Of Duty MW2 #call of duty mwii #call of duty x you #call of duty x reader #john price #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #kate laswell #x female reader #x fem!reader #mw x reader #mondern warfare x reader #modern warfare #mw2 2022 #gaz x you #gaz garrick x reader #mw2 fanfic #cod fanfic

[smooth-perceval]

Come home for Christmas.

Carlos Sainz x Reader

Summary: Carlos is an unfaithful husband, his wife finds out at the most odd and hurtful time. Right ontop of Christmas.

Warning: Angst, Angst, angst. Carlos being unfaithful. Google translate.

Key: Y/N (your name) Y/L/N (your last name)

Word count: 1,344

A/N: SORRY ITS LATE IM HOPING TO POST THE LAST FIC TODAY ALSO I DIDNT REALISE HOW BUSY I WOULD GET!!!

Also sorry it’s rushed and a bit all over the place…

I was fuming, pacing the house- ensuring the kids were dressed not ruining their clothes and trying to not ruin my goddamn mind also.

He promised to show- he promised me! I rarely see my family due to moving abroad starting my beautiful family with Carlos- the time my family are over the waters his no where to be found.

Rage isn’t even the word to describe how I was feeling, we have to leave in at least 3 minutes otherwise we was not making the dinner reservations.

—

And them 3 minutes flew by… no sign of Carlos, not even a quick message.

Swallowing the lump in my throat the rage turning to utter sadness, I had to chew down the fact Carlos was not going to show- get the kids in the car, and deal with the constant question of “where papá?” (Dad).

I wish I knew, I really did.

—

“¡abuela!” (Grandma!) Adelaide ran as quickly as she could over to my mother, feet carrying her as fast as she could.

“¡abuelo!” (Grandpa!) And Valentino hopping over to my father- like a ball of energy.

Like always they smothered the kids in kisses and cradles, before moving around to hug me, pulling my dad into a tight embrace he asked the one question I knew was coming yet avoiding.

“Where’s Carlos?”

Waving him off I turned to my mother hugging her tight. “He had a Ferrari thing turn up, he said his sorry but he couldn’t get out of it.”

“Boys and their cars sweetie.” Side eyeing my father she kissed each of my cheeks before we all settled at the table.

—

“Right time to say goodbye to Grandma and grandpa…” rubbing the back of both kids head I ushered them forward, wrapping my parents up, we all enjoyed a huge family hug. And I felt the pain in my chest return, knowing I probably won’t have my parents around until after Christmas…

And then it reminds me of how much I sacrificed for Carlos, yet he couldn’t sacrifice one night for me. A small part of me wished I was able to fly back home with my parents… but this is my life I’ve got my two babies what more could I want-

We all stood there waving my parents off, before I helped get the kids in the car… making my way around to the drivers side.

“Y/N! Querida! I’m so sorry- so sorry.” (Darling) Running across the car park was the man of the hour, tucking his shirt into his pants ruffling his hands through his hair, looking like a hot mess.

“I got held up I had no time to text or call.”

Standing now infront of me his hands rubbed my arms- I knew this trick, he will soon pull me into his arms and say the things I want to hear… but not this time.

Craning my neck to look into the car, the kids already had dozed off- it was way past their bedtime so I’m not so surprised.

“The kids asked where you was-”

“Oh, I can’t- I’m sorry really.”

“And my father asked where you was…”

“Did you tell him I was busy?…” warming to his touch, I looked up at him and he knew I was cracking.

“Yeah with your cars…” my eyes wandered from the buttons on his shirt, up his collar-

Sick… I felt sick.

“I stand corrected.” Brushing his hands off me like they burned- a scorching burn that makes me want to scrub myself clean with bleach.

“What?” With furrowed brows he moved his hand to touch me again, only for me to back away, hands caressing my stomach, calming the sickness forming.

“Have I done something?…” snarling in his direction I turned looking into the windows of our car, the reflection of myself made me want to cry more. I didn’t deserve this- our kids didn’t deserve this.

“Not what you done- but who?” Spitting out my words with venom, I twirled round looking at him with utter disgust.

“Who? You’re confusing me.”

“The lipstick on your collar Carlos.” His eyes widened, hand reaching up to grab the front of his collar- knowing exactly where it was.

“Why-” palms pushed into my eyes I crouched down to the floor in-front of him. Trying to ground myself somehow.

“Wh- I don’t understand how that got there?!” Rubbing at his collar- trying to remove any evidence clearly.

“Why- who? Who was she?” And just as quick as I sank to the floor I got back up, I had to get home and away from him- “no don’t tell me… don’t even bother coming home please…” getting into the drivers seat of the car and shutting the door- trying not to wake the kids, I ignored the rattling of the window and made my way home.

The silent tears blurred my vision, and as quickly as they formed I blinked them away… I have to swallow my feelings and get my kids home safely.

And that’s exactly what I did- I number myself, ignored the anger, the sadness and betrayal and got my kids back to their home.

Lo and behold so was their father.

“Okay- just let me explain.” Ignoring him blankly I picked up Valentino, gesturing for him to pick up Adelaide and help me get them both to bed.

“Can I explain now? Please?” Closing the door on the kids room, he reached out taking my hand.

“No. Let me explain what’s going to happen.” Snatching my hand away I quickly wiped the tears on my face.

“You are going to sleep on the sofa, you are also going to stick around for the kids so you’re here on Christmas. After that I don’t want anything to do with you.” Raking my hands through my hair I looked up at him, unable to stop the tears.

“The only contact will be for our children.”

“Y/N- please don’t do this… it was a mistake honestly.” He was also crying now- and I have no sympathy for him whatsoever.

“Did you think about me when you were with another woman?” Waving him off, i stormed into our once shared room.

“I didn’t know what I was doing okay? You have to believe me one minute we was-”

“Don’t. I don’t want to hear what you were doing.” Turning on my heel facing him, I jabbed a finger into his chest.

“You want to know what I was doing? I was getting OUR kids ready, to meet MY parents- and wonder where MY husband was. Little did I know he was all over some other woman.” Pulling the duvet back, I fluffed my pillows before going to my wardrobe getting my pyjamas out.

“You really disgust me.”

“I’m disgusted with myself.”

“Well at least we agree on one thing.”

The silence in the room was enough to hear a pin drop. Until he stood directly in my range of walk.

“Listen to me please… I can’t even begin to tell you honestly sorry I am, but I really am truly sorry.” The tears on his cheeks, the achey look in his eyes, would’ve made me cave. IF he didn’t shatter my heart completely.

“If you have to apologise for something then you maybe shouldn’t do it Carlos. Now please leave the room so I can sleep.”

“Let’s just work this out- please? For the kids.”

“Don’t! Bring our kids into this. You didn’t think about this family once.”

“Your not going to talk?” Taking a step away from me he grabbed the pillows from his side of the bed before backing towards the door.

“Y/N… I just want to say whether you believe me or not… I will always love you.”

“Somehow I find that hard to believe.” Stepping toward I shut the bedroom door on his face. Got changed, and climbed into bed… where I finally caved, and cried my poor little heart out.

Damn you Carlos Sainz.

I just wanted you to come home for Christmas.

#f1 imagine #formula one imagine #imagine #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz x y/n #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz

[drconstellation]

Brazil and The Dream of Escape

I was delighted to find in the Xtras that the machine created to be used by Furfur to use to find out how many demons Shax could requisition for storming the bookshop was inspired by the movie Brazil. This is another nod to Monty Python member Terry Gilliam, who directed this film, and who almost directed the failed GO film in the 1990's.

I love this film. Always have. Yes, I was around when it came out in 1985. I'm that old. It's always been in my top 5 favourite films. And its totally relevant to Good Omens.

Brazil can be described as a dark dystopian story based on the novel 1984. It doesn't have a happy ending, but its funny, horrific, ludicrous, romantic and timelessly beautiful all at the same time. Its so iconic that when ever I see its influence in other productions its been unmistakable.

It stars Jonathan Pryce long before he was a James Bond villain or the head Sparrow in Game of Thrones, a comedic turn from Robert de Niro and a handful of other famous faces that you are bound to recognise, such Bob Hoskins, Ian Holm and Jim Broadbent.

Pryce, as Sam Lowry, lives in a world that is strictly controlled with paperwork that comes in multiple copies, where people are routinely arrested and tortured and a long running unexplained terrorist campaign sees bombs explode in the most random of places. Sam has dreams of a beautiful woman floating in the sky, and he is a sliver-armoured winged hero trying to rescue her. He eventually finds that she is real, and finds out her name through various means via his work and contacts. He tracks her down, but that is where it all starts to unravel as she is mixed up with an unfortunate case of mistaken identity.

Its easy to see the common themes and elements that run through the film with GO: the desire to run away and escape (that doesn't work,) a totalitarian authority controlling the masses, propaganda, piles of paperwork, an undercurrent of rebellion, torture and abuse, forbidden love between classes, a villain hidden in plain sight.

There is an art deco aesthetic to the film that also carries over to other films and shows it has influenced, and the busy work floor scene that stops on a dime to watch the tv show de jour while the boss isn't looking is one of the highlights of the film.

It was a reference of this that caught my eye in the Cohen Brothers modern fairy tale The Hudsucker Proxy, where they copied the busyness of the work floor for their mail room scenes, but also the art deco aesthetic. That's another film that is always in my top five films, and could go a round of comparisons with GO - its got time stoppage, an angel appearance and a near-godlike manipulator.

It also appears, surprisingly, in Star Wars: The Last Jedi. The casino at Canto Bight is Brazil inspired, in the way its introduced to us, its decor and the music. I know some people hate this film because of what they did to Luke, but I love it, the whole thing is just utterly gorgeous to look at.

And if you've watched any of Loki recently, since S2 of that show finished not long ago, you would also seen some influence from Brazil in the retro look.

I love the classic art deco style. my grandparents had an art deco house that I spent many of my childhood hours in. The style itself is a clean, unadorned look, and often is meant to give a look of movement, speed or strength. A classic example of this is the Bentley, of course, which comes from the height of the art deco era in the 1930's.

Hell is the other place we see the Brazil influence in GO, where is looks like it's constantly several decades behind the times, with overhead projectors and manual typewriters and odd looking not-quite steampunk contraptions.

Brazil is available to stream on Disney at the moment, if you'd like to take a look. I highly recommend it, its one of those influential films that once you know it, you see its long reach in the most unexpected places.

#good omens 2 #good omens meta #good omens analysis #shax #furfur #terry gilliam brazil #monty python #the bentley #art deco

[sashaisready]

Your Heart Belongs to Me - Part One

Sheriff Lee Bodecker x Female Reader (The Devil All The Time)

In late-1960s Knockemstiff, your husband Lee has been neglecting you for so long that you're starved of affection. Trapped in your domestic prison, could the young handyman working on your house be your ticket to freedom?

Warnings: smut/sexual references (light), angst, extramarital affairs, alcohol and drug use, alcoholism, some rough handling of female character by male character. Lee is quite dark in this story so please use caution.

Story Masterlist Part 2

You were rinsing the dinner plates and scrubbing the pots and pans when your husband came up behind you in the kitchen. You were humming to yourself like you often did during your chores, a little song to break up the monotony of your tedious duties.

Lee said nothing. He just quietly placed the crumpled piece of paper down next to the sink, pushing it across the counter by your elbow.

When you saw what it was your stomach sank so quickly you thought you might be sick. You felt your knees buckle as panic moved its way up your body, seemingly collapsing each of your muscles.

“Found this in the bedroom” he said quietly. You couldn’t read his tone which was always scarier, he was always more manageable when you could actually hear the anger in his voice.

You peered over at it intently as if you’d just seen it for the first time. “Huh” you uttered. “What’s that, baby?” Cutesy nicknames often helped appease him.

You knew feigning innocence would only get you so far, but you had to try.

“I was thinkin’ you could tell me” muttered Lee.

You carried on washing the dishes as if this was all no big deal, too nervous to turn around and face him.

“Sorry honeybun, nothing I’ve seen before” you said casually. “Maybe it fell out of one of my library books? People use all sorts of things for bookmarks”. You hoped he hadn’t noticed your breathing quicken, but of course he had.

“Maybe check it again” Lee said stonily. He held it in front of your face and you gingerly took it from him.

The paper was scrawled with chicken scratch handwriting. It looked like it had been written with blunt charcoal. It was actually an eyeliner pencil. You knew that, of course. You read it for the thousandth or so time since you’d received it. It was silly of you to keep it. You knew that then and you knew that now. But you thought you’d hidden it well enough. It was the only thing you owned which gave you joy. You treasured it, like a magpie guarding a precious piece of silver in its nest.

Never forget that each day your beauty catches me off guard. Your Heart Belongs To Me – H

“Sounds like someone has a sweetheart” you muttered, placing it back on the counter. “Shame it never found its way to the intended recipient I guess”.

Sweat dripped down your forehead as Lee hummed thoughtfully. You intently scrubbed at a stubborn patch of grease baked onto the pan.

“You know what’s funny?” Lee said as he placed a firm hand on your waist. “Your Heart Belongs To Me…ain’t that your favourite Supremes song?”

You gulped, going rigid in his grasp. “I-it is” you mumbled.

Lee chuckled. “A good husband knows his wife’s favourite song. I remember how much you used to play that one” he mused.

“Yes. When I had my record player, at least” you whispered tightly.

You froze as he continued his interrogation routine on you. He didn’t get to be Sheriff on luck alone.

“And ‘H’” he said thoughtfully, taking the time to enunciate the letter carefully. “I’ve been rackin’ my brains wondering who ‘H’ could be. Any ideas, sugar?” he asked, his grip on your waist tightening as his free hand joined the other side of you.

It was Harry, of course.

You knew that. Lee knew that.

Harry.

**

Harry had worked for you and Lee for a few weeks at the height of summer, building a shed in the yard and taking on a few odd jobs around the house as a handyman. Lee was too busy at the station of course, working long hours as he protected the town and did his duty. Many of those long hours were also spent in the company of prostitutes, or staring down a bottle of whisky in some seedy bar. He rarely tried to cover his tracks nowadays so you knew all about it. You saw the lipstick marks on his shirts in the laundry. Found that unfamiliar pair of discarded panties underneath the passenger seat of his cruiser (which you purposefully left on the dash so he knew you’d seen them). Smelt the liquor on his breath as he stumbled into bed with you countless hours after his shift had ended. Regardless, he had no such time to build sheds or put up shelves, so Harry was hired.

Harry, twenty one years old, fresh faced and beautiful. He seemed impossibly young to you, a living reminder of your lost youth – even though there wasn’t really that much difference in your ages, in the big scheme of things. His body was perfectly chiselled from years spent working with his hands outside, wide arms and broad shoulders, sturdy thighs and calloused fingers. Sometimes when you snuck glances at him as he worked - you’d catch him wiping his brow with his t-shirt, his exposed stomach like a washboard. He even had that prominent ‘V’ muscle creeping down to his crotch. You’d only ever seen pictures of that in the magazines. Nobody else in Knockemstiff looked like Harry. As he ran his fingers absent-mindedly through his long chestnut hair, you’d often feel your breath hitch and a tingle between your legs, suddenly thinking the type of thoughts that betrayed your marriage vows.

It started innocently enough. Mrs Bodecker, the Sheriff’s wife, is known for nothing if not being a good host. You’d bring him lemonade and home baked muffins, make him lunch, bring him wet towels to cool down with when the baking summer sun was too stifling. He was always so grateful, so appreciative. He’d tell you how good everything tasted and be openly in awe of your housekeeping skills. The most you got from Lee these days was a grunt, or he’d moan that he wanted porkchops when you made him lamb.

It was nice to have someone to talk to during the day. You were alone in the house by yourself most of the time, and your chores only kept you so busy. Harry would chat with you, ask you questions about yourself as he ate lunch and you cleaned the stove. He always seemed genuinely interested in your answers, remembering the details and referring to them again in later conversations. His attention was intoxicating, it made you feel special and important – as if maybe there was more to you than just being a homemaker and the Sheriff’s dutiful wife.

Your routine was that you’d put on your records as you cleaned, cooked, sewed and organised. Everything from The Supremes to The Stones, music brought you intense joy and brightened your days. Lee often called most of it a racket but you didn’t care. When he was out you’d shimmy up the stairs to the Four Seasons, scrub the bathroom tiles to The Monkees and dress your salads to Aretha. You’d dance by yourself, bouncing from room to room as you swayed to the music and tapped your feet. It was the only time you felt truly free, unencumbered by the dreariness of your day to day.

You’d tone it down when Harry was around of course, not wanting him to catch your embarrassing displays of frivolity. You’d sway to the songs, hum along gently, but reserved the real dancing for when you were alone.

Then one day you forgot yourself, getting caught up listening to Shout by the Isley Brothers. You just got carried away, twirling in the living room with your eyes closed and shaking your hips, leaping onto the couch and throwing your arms up with wild abandon. Completely unselfconscious and liberated.

You gasped when you saw Harry leaning against the doorframe, his gorgeous grin lighting up his face. You had blushed crimson as you stopped the record, ashamed to be caught in your private moment. But Harry had told you how much he liked it, he asked if he could join in. You awkwardly put the song back on and he began to dance too. You felt self-conscious at first but he took your hand and spun you around. His playful energy was so infectious you couldn’t help but relax and begin to enjoy it. Lee hated dancing and never indulged you apart from an occasional half-hearted slow dance sway at weddings. Dancing with a man who wanted to dance with you, who actually enjoyed dancing, was dizzying, particularly such a handsome man who had his pick of the girls in town.

After that, you and Harry danced every day. You’d take turns picking a record and would bop around the living room together laughing and twirling, he’d dip you and spin you around. You knew it was wrong, but you didn’t feel guilt – it was just dancing after all, nothing more. Besides, Lee was up to much worse, so what did a little dancing hurt?

Lee was becoming harder to live with. He’d stopped having sex with you, just occasionally demanding a hand or blow job when he’d stumbled in from the bar, swaying with drunkenness – sometimes running to the bathroom to vomit afterwards. He never serviced your own needs, never even kissed you. Once night you tried to seduce him with his favourite dinner and a slinky teddy nightdress, nibbling on his earlobe on the couch – but he merely waved you away and told you he was watching TV. You don’t think he’d even have noticed if you’d been nude.

You’d resorted to touching yourself alone in bed on the nights he was out, thinking about dancing in Harry’s strong arms and picturing his deep blue eyes as you bucked wildly against your hand, your face pressed to the pillow to muffle your cries. You’d been married for nearly seven years now, and this wasn’t how you pictured your life.

One particularly stifling afternoon you’d put on Your Heart Belongs To Me for Harry and had slow danced with him in the kitchen, his hands gently clasping your hips as you swayed in time together. You’d looked up into his beautiful, welcoming sea blue eyes and he smiled back at you so warmly that your heart skipped a beat. You rested your head on his chest and closed your eyes as his hands caressed your back and you thought about another life, another you, with Harry. He would love you and you him. And all would be fine.

“The Sheriff is so lucky to have you” he had whispered, and your eyes filled with tears because Lee would never think such a thing.

“When I get married, if my wife is anythin’ like you I’ll be a happy man” he said softly. “Beautiful..kind…fun…the best cook in the state” he laughed.

You looked back at him, unsure of what to say, just basking in his kind words. Inhaling them like much needed oxygen, your heart stinging as you realised you hadn’t heard anything like that from a man in so many years.

“This is my favourite song” you whispered.

Harry smiled again. “I think it’s mine too now”.

He gently lifted a finger under your chin and raised your lips to his, your skin buzzed with electricity as he kissed you so tenderly you thought your legs might give out. Every nerve ending in your body felt alight in that moment, as if someone had flicked a long neglected switch somewhere in your brain and you suddenly came back to life.

But you couldn’t do it.

“I’m sorry” you said gently as you broke away. You gestured to your wedding ring and Harry just smiled apologetically, kissing you chastely on the cheek as he went back to work out in the yard. It all happened so quickly you briefly wondered if it had just been your imagination.

As much as you wanted it so desperately, you had taken marriage vows. Yes, your husband wasn’t exactly keeping up his end of the bargain but that didn’t mean you had to stoop to his level. Besides, you had been happy together once. When you were young and carefree, and Lee had been a fresh faced deputy ready to fight crime and make the town a better place. You’d had no money but that was alright, going at it in the backseat of his car and spending hours at the creek just holding hands and talking about your hopes and dreams. Pooling your pennies to buy a cheeseburger for a late breakfast and splitting it down the middle, both vowing you’d go out for fancy steak dinners and champagne once you were married and he was making more money.

But climbing the ladder in the force hardened Lee, exposing him to so much violence and corruption it just became his day to day. He drank more and more to deal with the stress and his temper that had always been on the edges of your relationship moved closer and closer to the centre. You knew he resented you even though you didn’t fully understand why, perhaps because your days consisted of cleaning products and chopping vegetables safe at home, and you couldn’t begin to grasp how his world worked anymore.

That evening you made him a nice dinner and decided to make another effort to really try and bond with him. You knew it was probably out of guilt after Harry’s stolen kiss, but if it brought you two closer together then that was only a good thing.

But he didn’t come home of course, and you called the station but he’d already left and they couldn’t tell you where he was (a lie, you knew they always covered for each other with the wives). So his dinner went in the trash and you padded off to bed alone like you so often did. A crash woke you at 2am and you went downstairs to find Lee on the floor of the living room barely able to stand. You pulled him to his feet, seething, as he then collapsed into the wall knocking your beloved record player flying – you could only watch in horror as you heard it crack when it hit the hard marble of the fireplace.

It was ruined of course, beyond fixing. You sat on the floor clutching it in tears as Lee stumbled onto the couch, cursing at the wreckage and promptly passing out.

The next morning you stonily made him breakfast as he nursed a killer hangover and you were giving him the silent treatment over the incident. He knew you were upset as he was sweet as pie, which he only ever was when he felt guilty. The overenthusiastic niceness about the bacon and excessive compliments on your hair did nothing but rile you up further until you told him simply that you just wanted him to replace the record player rather than play out this ridiculous charade. He shifted in his seat and mumbled something about saving money and you finally lost it with him.

“That record player is the only thing in this house that I truly love and you DESTROYED it” you screamed. “You NEED to replace it”.

“I don’t NEED to do anythin’ with the money I bring home” he spat. “I feed ya, clothe ya, set you up pretty comfortably don’t I?? You don’t get to dictate what I do with my pay check”.

You had been furious, vibrating with rage, gripping the sink as your contempt for him flowed through your body.

“Maybe you’d have a bit more to spare if you didn’t spend so much on whiskey and whores” you had growled at him.

He stared at you in silence, his face clouded with anger. His blue eyes were so piercing that you feared they’d tear holes into your flesh. But then he merely chuckled, as if you’d said the silliest thing in the world. He went back to eating as if you weren’t even there.

“Lee, please” you reasoned, softening as you realised you needed to change tact. “I love my records. They make me so happy” you crossed the kitchen towards him, standing next to his chair and taking his hand. “Please, can we just get a new one. It’s the only thing I want, nothin’ else” you pleaded.

Lee groaned. You could see he was relenting, but not enough. The whores comment had probably stuck in his craw.

“Sorry sweetness, can’t do it right now. Maybe after a few more paychecks. I really didn’t mean to break it, I am sorry”.

He got up and kissed you on the cheek as he went to leave for work.

You waited until he’d left and then sobbed quietly at the kitchen table, your world suddenly much greyer and smaller this morning.

Harry had arrived as usual but kept himself to himself, clearly giving you space after the kiss. It was his final day working for the Bodeckers as he’d finally worked through the long list of jobs Lee set out for him. You busied yourself with your chores but it was all a lot harder without your music. You suddenly realised you couldn’t carry on like this. You’d finally had enough. Taking away your dancing was the last straw.

You brought Harry’s lunch out to him and a pitcher of sweet tea. He was as attentive and kind as ever, and your heart swelled merely be being in his presence. You knew it was now or never.

“I have your last pay from Lee and I’ll give it you when you finish up this afternoon”.

He smiled. “Thanks Mrs. B. I’ve enjoyed working here a lot. Thanks again for all your kind hospitality”.

You both looked at each other intensely, glimpses of sadness between you and it was clear neither wanted it to end.

“Harry” you said quietly, checking that no neighbours were nearby. “Would you take me somewhere tonight?”

Harry swallowed, studying you carefully as his eyes narrowed. “Uh yeah of course – but er what about-”

“He’ll be out all night” you cut him off. “Fridays are poker nights with the boys. I’ll be lucky to see him before midnight”.

Harry nodded “Alright. I’ll pick you up at eight, then”. His eyes sparkled as he smiled at you, and everything seemed a little bit more bearable.

“Okay. But I’ll meet you out at the dirt road so nobody sees us” you whispered.

He smiled back at you. “It’s a date”.

You grinned fiendishly, nodding and running back to the kitchen. The rest of the day went by in a blur, you were giddy with excitement, feeling those same butterflies you did in your teens when you first started going with Lee.

At the end of the afternoon you gave Harry his final pay as he bid you farewell and you thanked him for all his hard work. You both smiled knowingly as he walked out to his truck for the final time, co-conspirators in your private secret. You then ran the clock down until eight and finally jogged out to the dirt road. Nobody saw you, and even if they did, your neighbours knew you sometimes liked an evening stroll.

You heart pounded in your chest as you stepped into Harry’s truck and he greeted you with a sloppy kiss. You kissed him back firmly, his tongue finding yours and suddenly your fingers were through his thick hair. You didn’t even think of Lee. You just leaned into the kiss and climbed onto Harry’s lap, holding him so tightly that you might never let him go. He moaned softly against you and it was the most wonderful sound you’d heard in years. He pulled away and beamed at you, gently moving you back to your seat and he drove. He drove and drove. Far out of town and from prying eyes. You rolled the window down and felt the summer breeze whip through your hair as the truck sped through the night. You were free for a moment. Free from Lee. Free from the house. Just existing under the night sky.

Harry finally pulled over at the edge of an abandoned quarry and you just sat listening to his car radio, hands gently clasped across the seats. He brought out a liquor bottle and you shared it between you, grinning as the alcohol warmed your bellies and ran languidly through your veins. He lit up a joint and you both took puffs, you coughing weakly as you hadn’t smoked pot in years. You felt a quick thrill, the Sheriff’s wife doing drugs in the car of a young man who wasn’t her husband. You giggled as your felt your mind cloud and the substances take hold.

“I’m so glad you’re here” said Harry, as he nuzzled into your neck.

“Me too” you replied as your hands caressed his broad chest. “I wish I could stay in this moment forever”.

He nodded silently and your bodies melted into one another.

Before you knew it, Harry was lifting up your dress in the flatbed of the truck, his prickly stubble rubbing against the softness of your thighs as his lips found your core. You had gasped as his tongue worked their way into your folds, exploring every inch of you as you writhed and gyrated against him – putty in his hands. He curled a finger inside, then another, as your walls pulsed around him and you cried out into the night, your hands tight fists and your teeth biting down hard on your bottom lip. Your climax was overwhelming, a thousand explosions all happening at once as you shattered into a million pieces. Your mind was fuzzy from the drink, and the weed, and the adrenaline of this moment. Your eyes filled with tears, it was just all too much – your body had being crying out for touch, crying out for release, starved of affection and desperate for warmth for so long.

Harry wiped your eyes with his thumb and kissed you softly as he finally took you under the night sky, thrusting into you with ferocity but never roughly or crassly. You felt him entirely as you hitched your legs around his waist and allowed him to sweep you away with butterfly kisses from your breasts and up to your forehead. The stars shone brightly above as the glow of the moonlight bounced off of your skin.

Itchycoo Park by Small Faces was quietly playing on the car radio, the song echoing around the truck bed, the music filling in the gaps between your collective whimpers and moans -

“It's all too beautiful, it's all too beautiful It's all too beautiful, it's all too beautiful It's all too beautiful, it's all too beautiful”

And it was.

You both climaxed together, Harry’s hips shuddering against yours as he filled you to the brim with his spend. You weren’t on birth control but you didn’t care, all that mattered was this moment – being with him – feeling the warmth between your legs. You both lay in each other’s arms panting as you came down from the high of your orgasm, just watching the stars and enjoying the weight of one another’s bodies.

The hours slipped away and you headed home. Your heart was heavy that it was over, but you were overjoyed it had even happened. You would remember this night forever, it would be your lighthouse in the choppy sea. You could go back to it in your mind anytime you wanted. Your soul had been nourished. Your heart fed.

As you finally pulled up a few streets away from your house you checked your make-up in the mirror, it was silly really as you were only going to bed – but it was a habit, and it gave you a bit longer with Harry. He watched you attentively as you applied a bit more lipstick and carefully smoothed your hair.

“I’m movin’ to the city tomorrow” he whispered.

His words cut through you like a knife, the thought of never seeing him again chilled you. But it was probably for the best.

“Oh that’s great” you told him softly as you cupped his cheek, running a finger along his lips. “What an adventure”.

“Mm. Gonna get a good job. Start a new life”. He looked at you sadly.

“That sounds wonderful. You’ll do great things” you whispered, trying to restrain the tears from falling.

“Come with me” he said sombrely, pressing his forehead against yours.

You laughed softly, your hand clasping the back of his neck. “Oh sweetheart, I’d love to. But you know I can’t”.

“Why not?” he asked, his tone earnest and his eyes wide. “We can get an apartment together. Dance in the living room every day. I can…make you happy”.

The tears began to fall then, and you let them. For a moment you considered it – you could pack a case now and sneak out early in the morning before Lee even woke up. There was some cash stashed in the cookie jar in the kitchen cupboard, you could take that. Get a job out there, maybe wait tables or learn to type. Live with Harry and start a new life. Every fibre of your being told you to go.

But you couldn’t.

“You’ve got your whole life to live, sweetie” you told him kindly. “Go out there and live it, please. For me. You can’t have anyone holding you back”.

He smiled, his eyes watery with tears. He knew you were right.

He pulled a dog eared receipt from the floor of his truck and helped himself to the eyeliner pencil from your purse. He scribbled on the back of the receipt, his tongue poking out of his mouth as he concentrated on the words. He handed it to you silently.

Never forget that each day your beauty catches me off guard. Your Heart Belongs To Me – H

You gasped as you read it, holding it tightly to your chest.

“Thank-you, Harry. I will never forget you”.

He kissed you one last time, a delicate lingering kiss as his fingers stroked your cheek.

“I’ll think of you every time I hear that song”.

“Goodbye, Harry”.

You shared one final look, smiling warmly at one another – so much unspoken between you both, yet everything crystal clear.

And with that you stepped out into the night. It was too hard to look back, so you marched back to your house with your eyes forward, the tears falling. You clutched the note tightly in your hand as you unlocked the front door.

Lee was still out, of course. Oblivious to all that had taken place. You hid the note deep in your dresser, under piles of tangled necklaces and odd earrings which had long lost their partner but you didn’t want to throw out – ever optimistic the other would return. You got into bed and cried yourself to sleep.

That was months ago now. You’d sleepwalked through your life since, your domestic tasks much more gruelling with the absence of your records, your days quieter without Harry for company, your spirit duller now you could no longer dance. If Lee had noticed any change in you then he hadn’t shared it. The whiskey fuelled late nights continued, an endless cycle stumbling into bed in the early hours. Tedious small talk was all that you shared.

You thought about Harry each night, the feeling of his strong arms around you – the softness of his pillowy lips against your collarbone, the groans he made when he felt you wrapped around him. You’d read the note often, clutching it to your body as if you’d somehow be able to feel him through his words.

“It’s all too beautiful

It’s all too beautiful”.

All until now, when Lee had discovered your little secret.

#lee bodecker x you #sheriff lee bodecker #lee bodecker x reader #lee bodecker #My heart belongs to you fic #dark!lee bodecker

[andydrysdalerogers]

Cross-Checked - Chapter 2

Andy Barber x OFC Leighton "Leia" Andrews

Summary:

Andy Barber is having the best year of his life. His game is on point. It’s gets to play with his best friend and his fiancé just... dumped him?!. 

Reeling from a sudden change in status, Andy decides it’s time to just focus on hockey. Until his best friend's sister comes out with news that rock the entire organizations world., 

Andy has always carried a torch for the untouchable Leighton but in her hour of need, is now the time to shoot and score or risk getting cross - checked again? 

Warnings: Cheating (but not by the MCs); slow burn; friends to lovers eventually; SMUT!; pregnancy; jealousy; handsome goalies, evil exes...

A/N: The tag list is open!

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Banners by me!

Previous: Its Supposed to Be My Year

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Chapter 2 - it's That Last Step – Leighton

All I want to do is get home, take off my bra, FaceTime with Bret and relax.   

I have been in meeting after meeting this week trying to complete the launch of my business “Social Butterfly Promotions.” It has been my dream for years to have my own PR firm, but I made it unique by having it social media specific. It’s amazing how many celebrities and athletes have a presence but can’t compose a tweet to save their career. I’ve been handling Luke and Andy’s social media for a couple of years now and when one of their teammates asked if I would mind handling theirs, the rest was history. The Bruins loved how I handled the PR for their athletes and offered me the position of social media director. It was the dream 

But this has to be the most dramatic week of my life and I wasn’t the one who got screwed over. As I unlock my door, I think back on the last week. I had helped Andy with the packing up of Fiona’s shit from his town home while also helping him decide what stuff he wanted to take to the new house and what he would throw out. 

It was like a weird cathartic exercise. He got rid of his couch and bed, commenting on how there were too many memories. He took all the pictures frames that held the pictures them of through the years, took the pictures out and sent the frames to Fiona.  

He burned the pictures. 

There may have been tequila involved with that decision. 

But today it was Friday, and I was excited. My boyfriend of two years was coming home tomorrow from a business trip and all I wanted was to have him hold me. I was feeling extra clingy today. Probably because I was getting ready to start my cycle. As I pulled into my drive way of the home I shared with Bret, I noticed that his car was already there. I was thrilled; he came home early for me. 

“Baby? I’m home!” I yelled as I walked through the door of our home. 

“Hey sweetheart.” Bret came out of our bedroom but didn’t come up to kiss me. Odd. 

“You’re home early. Is everything ok? The trip go okay? I know you were worried about that.” I smiled hoping that it would ease the tension I was feeling in the room. 

“Trip was fine. Got some big news.” He moved to the living room. I sat next to him, and he took my hand. “You know that promotion I was working for?” 

I nodded. “You were excited to go for the possibility to be the director of the district. Did you get it?” 

“I did.” He smiled but it looked tight. 

“On my god baby congratulations!” I moved to hug him, but he pulled away before I could wrap my arms around him. 

“Lee, the job is in Tokyo.” 

My world stopped spinning and it was getting harder to breathe. “Tokyo. The job is in Tokyo?” 

“Crazy right? And it's not to be the director. They want me to be vice president of the entire division. I will be moving there in two weeks.” 

I sat back, unconsciously moving away from him. “You’ve leaving? You took the promotion without me? Talking without discussing this major life change?” 

“I’m talking to you about it now. Honey, I want you to come with me.” 

Now I’m really losing it. “You want me to move when I just landed my dream job with the Bruins?” The job with the Bruins was something I had been working on for the last couple years. “What about my mom and my brother? can’t just walk away.” 

Bret gave me a condescending smile, like he was patronizing me. “Lee, I could take care of you. You won’t need that silly job with the Bruins.” 

Silly job? Is that what he really thought of the work i was doing?  Without the job, what was i supposed to do? I had to ask, even though i think i know the answer and I know I’m not going to like it.  “What am I supposed to do in Tokyo?” 

“Be a house wife. Take care of the and our future kids just like we talked about.” He said it so matter-of-factly that I was positive he assumed I would just fall over and say yes. But I wouldn’t go down without a fight.  

“Yeah, but we said we would do that in a few years. I wanted to get my social media business off the ground. We had talked about this.” 

Bret did an exacerbated sight. “Look Lee…” 

“Stop calling me that!” I hate that nickname now. Why would he think that I would want to give up my dream for his? “Did you even care about my dreams?” 

“Be realist Leighton,” he said sharply, “starting your own company is hard work and frankly, social media is dying out. It wouldn’t have been successful anyways.” 

That one stung. I worked hard to hold back the tears. “Wow, I guess I really am stupid.” I stood up and made my way back to the door.  

I think Bret sensed that something was not right. “You’re not stupid.” 

“Oh yes I am. Because I stayed with a pompous unsupported asshole like you.” I grabbed my bag and opened the door. “I’ll be back to get my stuff. But just so you know we’re through.” 

He grabbed my arm to stop me, gripping me, pulling me closer to him. “Leighton, come on, be reasonable. I can take care of you. We’ll get married…” 

I broke his hold on me and raised my hand to stop him from advancing. “Whoa that’s how you want to propose?” 

He threw out his arms in frustration. “Why do we need to make a big deal about it?” 

Yeah. I was done. “Goodbye Bret.” I slammed the door and went back to my car. Once I was in, I had no idea where to go. I couldn’t go to my mother's. She loved Bret and would try to convince me to stay with him. I couldn’t go to my brother's because he would just want to murder Bret. That left one option. 

I drove across town and knocked on the one door that would hold a supportive friend. 

“Leia? Are you ok, Princess?” Andy opened the door. My brave face crumples and i began to sob. He didn’t hesitate and pulled me into his arms. 

“Bret is leaving for Tokyo, and he said some awful things and I broke it off and now I have nowhere to go, “I explained between sobs. 

“Okay, okay let it out. Honestly Leia, I only got like every third word so come on in and we’ll have a drink and unpack all of this, ok?” He guided me into his home. 

I knew this was the right place to fall. 

After I was able to calm down, I was able to explain to Andy what had happened with Bret. “Now I need to find a place to live.” 

Andy looked puzzled. “I thought you owned that house with him?” 

I shook my head. “No, I moved into that house. He already owned it.” I wiped at my eyes and see streaks of black on my fingers. Great, i forgot about the mascara and now i look like a racoon in front of Andy fucking Barber. Soldier on, Leighton.  “I don’t know what I’m going to do, Andy. I can’t go to my mother’s. We will kill each other>” 

Andy chuckled, cheeky bastard. “No, you can’t. What about Luke?” 

“And have him either complain about cramping his style, or try to find him a good lawyer when he commits murder? No thanks.” I covered my face. “This sucks. I thought we were in a good place and understood each other, I thought he under stood my dreams and now I have to pack up my stuff, and a cheap apartment and be on my own.” I flop dramatically on the couch and cover my face with a pillow.. 

Andy looked at me for a few seconds with his captains face on. “I might have a solution for you Leia.” 

“A Time Machine so I don’t make this mistake?” I reply with a muffled voice.  

Andy laughs and lifts the pillow off to look at me. “No, crazy girl. Creative but not an option. I was going to say, why don’t you come live with me?” 

I bolted up. “What?” 

“I have this big house and I’m really not excited to live here by myself. You would be on the road with me, and we would be able to take care of each other. It's perfect Leia.” 

“Don’t you want to, I don’t know, sleep around now that you’re single?” 

He laughed again. “I think I need a break from women. Besides, I have an idea of what kind of partner I want.” He drained his beer. “What do you say Leia? Stay with your best friend and we can heal together?” Then he hit me with puppy eyes. Those big blues look hopeful and goddammit, I sigh. 

“Will I get my own bathroom?” I smiled at him, and he lifted me up and spun me around. 

“This is gonna be great.”  

** Two weeks later… ** 

I was unloading a box from the moving truck when I heard a car door slam. I looked around the truck and saw the devil incarnate. 

“What are you doing here Fiona?” 

Fiona pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head, her long blonde hair perfectly styled and makeup immaculate, accentuating her hazel eyes. Ugh, she’s beautiful and I hate her. “I need to speak to Andy.” She looks at my boxes.  “What are you doing?” 

“Moving in.” I turned my back to the she-devil. “Andy! Lucifer's mistress is here!” 

“Nice,” she sneered with a roll of her eyes. Andy came out with a scowl when he saw Fiona. I scooted into the house but found a spot where I could listen and watch. Yes, I’m nosy, whatever. 

He crossed his arms to stand in front of her. “What are you doing here Fiona?” 

She pouted a little. Bitch. “I wanted to talk to you Andy.”  

“I have nothing to say to you. You can leave now.” Andy turned to walk away. 

“After three years and that’s how we’re going to end it?” 

Andy stopped in his tracks. He turned around slowly. “How I’m ending it? Really?” She started to back pedal, but Andy stopped her. “You really have to be either be high on something or just that delusional. I wasn’t the one who slept with her fiancé's best friend. I wasn’t the one who had an affair for over a year with said former best friend.” 

“You were always busy Andy! Always at practice or meeting with management. And that’s on top of you always being on the road.” She stomped her feet, like a petulant child. It took everything not to cackle about her attitude.  

“You’re blaming me for your shitty actions? That’s rich. I was working my ass off to get a new and better contract so I could get US this house and pay for YOUR dream wedding. Fuck you, Fiona. Go back to Craig. Lord knows I don’t ever want to see your face again. I mean it took you two weeks to even confront me for the total embarrassment I suffered from your actions.” 

Her face morphed into one of disdain. “I thought we could discuss this as adults.” 

“You thought wrong sweetheart. Get off my property and never come back.” 

Fiona turned away to get back into her car before she stopped and turned around. “I always knew you wanted her, and you didn’t waste any time moving her in and taking my place.” 

“I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about. She broke up with her boyfriend and needed a place to stay. She’s my best friend, we take care of each other.  I know you don’t know the concept of loyalty but that’s what best friends do. Now with all offense, get the fuck away from me and go back to the hole you came from.” 

I had been standing just inside the doorway and I jumped when Andy slammed the door. “Satan’s mistress leave?” 

“Yep. Fuck that felt good.” Andy grabbed a beer and took a long pull. “She has some balls.” He closed his eyes and sighed. “Never been so happy to start a season before. Can get out of town and forget all about her.” He opened his eyes and smiled at me. “Get to travel with my favorite human.” He nudges me and it takes everything not to swoon. 

I should probably mention that I have had the teeniest, itty-bitty crush on my brother's best friend. Andy defined what a real man should be. The way he moves on the ice, how he holds himself to be a gentleman, it would make women swoon and want to be in his bed. 

Present company included.  

But Andy has never looked at me as more than his best friend's little sister and there in lies the problem.  I don’t stand a chance when there are women like Fiona chasing after the captain. So, my dream of a relationship with Andy stays right where they are – in my dreams. 

“I’m going to tell Luke you said that.” 

“He snores so he is well aware who is my favorite is.” 

Andy helps me with the rest of my stuff, and I try to organize as best I can while I wait for my new furniture to be delivered. I stopped and lay down in my new room. I’ve always been a believer of everything is meant to be. 

Maybe this new start is exactly what I need, and Andy can help. 

Two broken hearts.  

One house 

One season. 

What could possibly go wrong? 

NEXT

Taglist:

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@texmexdarling

@slutforchrisjamalevans

@firephotogrl74

@tinkerbelle67

@before-we-get-started

@bunnyforhim

@alexakeyloveloki

@sunnyhummingbee

@whiskeytangofoxtrot555

@peaceinourtime82

@saucy-sassy-sparkly

@kmc1989

@lokislady82

#andy's shenanigans #andy's hea #cross checked #found family #pregnancy #best friends are idiots #best friends to lovers #brothers best friend #best friends sister #hockey au #idiots in love #andy barber fiction #andy barber fanfiction #andy barber au #chris evans fanfiction #NHL au #boston bruins au #andy barber fanfic #andy barber x ofc #andy barber

[shuaestheist]

seven minutes

characters: seungcheol/s.coups, jeonghan (seventeen) summary: "They say when you die, your whole life flashes before your eyes in 7 minutes." word count: 1,307 genre: bxb, tragedy content warning: major character death. inspiration: in heaven (jyj)

one.

They say when you die, your whole life flashes before your eyes in 7 minutes.

I've always wondered how that would feel. And what I would see. Definitely, I'd see Jeonghan a lot in it, then.

But there's no time to think about that. The sun blares its bright light at me, forcing me to open my eyes and look at the clock. Damn. It's already 8 in the morning. I'm utterly late. And so, I wash up, get my keys and drive to the office, passing by a nearby coffee shop to get my daily caffeine fix for the day.

two.

"Choi Seungcheol," the boss, Jonghyun, calls out my name. "Ah, yes?" I blink at him, pulled out of my daydream about Jeonghan as the quarterly meeting of the company progresses. "It seems like you're not listening to the meeting. Do you feel sick? Wish to be excused?" he says. "A-ah, no, I'm fine, Sir," I say.

All that plagues my mind is the last time we spoke. Jeonghan and I got into a fight recently and I, still, could genuinely not see where he was coming from.

I had no time for him, I didn't care about him. That's all that's coming out of his lips. He probably didn't remember the real reason why I was doing all of this: for him. For me. And for our future.

The thought wouldn't leave my mind, really. Should I apologize? Never mind, it's not even my fault.

The meeting ends with that thought in my head. Only scribbles fill my paper, not one bullet of discussion from the meeting. Damn. I sigh before closing up my notebook and heading to my office.

After a few more hours of work, I drive home. Oddly enough, as I flick on the lights of our shared home, Jeonghan was nowhere to be seen. That's really odd. But instead of worrying, I plopped on my bed, exhausted and sleepy. I'm sure he'll come back sooner or later.

three.

I woke up the next morning to my doorbell being rung. Groggily, I get up and was met by an armful of clingy Jeonghan. Smiling softly, I chide him for being away for so long. In apology, he shows me a bouquet of yellow tulips.

The kind of tulips I gave him on our first date.

Chuckling, I put the flowers where they belonged, on a pretty vase that Jeonghan had made long ago, while hugging him and telling him that we were fine. We are fine. And we will be fine.

We're different, he and I. Choi Seungcheol, a business major. Yoon Jeonghan, an art major. Seungcheol, whose life revolved around numbers and laws and strategies. Jeonghan, whose life revolved around pottery and paintings and aesthetics. No one would ever think that the two of us would ever be a match. But here we are, in a little quaint house, lives set in front of us for the rest of our days.

four.

Our anniversary is coming up, mine and Jeonghan's. I need to think of what to do, really.

Our first anniversary, I took him to Han river. We rode couple bikes there and just basked in the summer sun. We were young back then too, fresh out of college and ready to take on the world.

Lucky me got a good spot in a huge company, so I took him on a fancy date in a high-end restaurant for our second anniversary. We ate the perfect steak, drank the finest wine and listened to the violins and the cellos played by the band I specifically requested for this day.

And now, the third anniversary. What should I do?

I think, staring at Jeonghan's picture on my work desk. What should I do? Where should I take him?

I take out a pen and my notebook, listing down different possibilities. This has to be special, it needs to be.

five.

I tap my fingers on the desk in front of me. This is the day, the day where all my efforts will come into fruition. This is the largest project given to me yet, and I now have to present it to the board for approval.

But I just cannot ignore the blaring red circle that stares at me from my planner. JEONGHAN, it reads. Yes, it's our anniversary today. And yet, I'm stuck here in the office, unable to spend the day with him.

I tried calling him today, but there's no answer. Maybe he's setting up a surprise for me. Or perhaps he's busy and cannot pick up. Or he left his phone at home. Silly Jeonghan. Always forgetting stuff. I chuckle softly, but there's a gnawing feeling in my gut. And it keeps on growing. Something's wrong, I can feel it.

Project proposal? Jeonghan? Project proposal? Jeonghan? Project proposal? Jeonghan?

I hang my head, letting the confused murmurs of the board and the boss roll around me as I weigh out all my options.

Wordlessly, I ran out. Jeonghan. Jeonghan is more important than any of these.

six.

I ran out of the office and into the outside world. Where in the world could he be? Panicking, I look everywhere. I loosen my tie, running along the sidewalks to find him.

Not far off, I see him across the street. He looked so innocent in that moment, carrying a pot with a stalk of sunflower and clumps of baby's breaths. I waved at him but he didn't seem to see or answer me. I wave and shout, but still he didn't see nor hear me.

I look up and it's still a green light. I couldn't cross the street to meet him halfway just yet. And so, I wait for the signal.

However, a student ran through the traffic. A jaywalker, you know. I sigh and shake my head. Irresponsible children, really.

But Jeonghan followed. I look up the signal lights, it wasn't red yet. He followed that stupid jaywalker. The bastard passed through while no car was in sight.

Knowing Jeonghan, he'll take time to cross the road. He's not a big fan of hurrying up, but in that moment he really needed to walk faster. All of a sudden, as I turn my head to the right, a car speeds up along the lane that Jeonghan was currently walking through.

Goddamn it! I throw my tie and blazer to the ground and just ran for it. Unminding of the glares and curses from the drivers, I continued running. Luckily, the car carreens sideways. But there was another car coming right up behind him. Jeonghan, in shock, is rooted to the spot, the pot falling out of his hands and breaking on the asphalt.

But before he could get hit, I pushed him out of the way.

seven.

They say when you die, your whole life flashes before your eyes in 7 minutes.

So this is what it feels like. Your memories flashing your whole life in a dreamy sequence. It's painful, really.

I couldn't feel my body anymore, I feel limp. I could feel arms lifting me up and tears pouring like rain over me.

But in that moment, I am happy. I am happy that I got to save him. I am happy that, even in death, I was able to protect him, keeping the promise I made to him when we started going out.

I'm happy that my last memory is of him, even if it's of him crying over me. The feeling of him holding me in his arms is enough for me.

I'm sorry, but I'll leave now. I wanted to say these words, but they can only be expressed by the lone tear that falls from my eye as I breathe my last breath.

I love you, Yoon Jeonghan. Forever.

#seventeen #jeongcheol #jeonghan #seungcheol #angst #i'm sorry #i live for angst #and tragedies #this is an old one #yoon jeonghan #choi seungcheol #s.coups #svt #nrv

[cosmos-coma]

I always have Eskel requests! And I love your writing, so I saw your message at the perfect time 💖 What about Eskel falling in love with a townswoman. (Maybe near Corvo Bianco?) He keeps the relationship secret, but the other wolves find out and set off to meet her. Eskel is worried they’ll scare her away, but walks in to find them all having a grand old time (probably telling embarrassing stories about him).

A Love Any Less Secret Would Still Taste as Sweet

A/N: AHHHHH! I loved this so so so much!! I got excited about what i could do with this so it's a little longer than my usual requests, but I so hope you like it!!

Pairing: Eskel x Reader

Words: 2.7k

Warnings: Angst, Language? I think that's it. its almost all fluff

____________________

The sun swept through Corvo Bianco on pleasant wings, lighting and warming every grape leaf and hand in that vineyard, including the roughened hands of one mountainous, but kind-hearted Witcher. 

Eskel had traveled down to Toussaint to see Geralt's new house and vineyard he got from the Duchess. Lambert was supposed to arrive in the next few hours so Geralt thought he’d pass the time by showing his brother the busy marketplace.

Geralt and Eskel moved through the bustling town’s streets, chatter filling their ears as sweet and savory aromas from the various street vendors mixed around them in an alluring cloud. Artists propped their easels up near walls and painted the people that passed by, couples danced and twirled to the music of a small group of bards, and people laughed happily from the balconies as they played Gwent with their friends. It was a rare day where no monsters had yet to be seen and though no one dared to look at his face- lest they stare- no one had heckled him for being a witcher either.

Geralt smiled, slightly smug, as he watched his brother take in some of the many wonders of the southern region. “Not bad, huh?” He asked, already knowing the answer.

Eskel snorted a bit and intentionally bumped into him, “Yeah, it’s pretty nice. I can see why you’d take a house here, It’s a lot going on sound wise though…” he commented, ducking past a small group of men all chatting to each other as they passed by. 

Geralt shrugged, “You start to get a little more used to it, outside of the market stays pretty quiet though.” He led his brother around the vibrant city, showing him various places of interest he might find himself in during his stay. 

“Ah, Lambert will probably be arriving soon and I do not want to leave him alone with the wine cellar.” Geralt eventually grumbled out, “ just come back whenever you’re set.” He clapped his brother on the shoulder quickly before making his way off to the vineyard once more. 

 A quiet humming caught Eskel’s attention and pulled it to a small balcony across the marketplace. And there you were, skin alit in the afternoon sun and watering your plants without a care in the world. Your smile was soft and subtle and your eyes held peaceful thoughts of somewhere distant. Fat bumblebees buzzed around you lazily from flower to flower, though you didn’t seem at all disturbed. Occasionally one flew a little close, but you just paused your watering while it caught its breath on your sleeve before it buzzed away once more. 

Eskel hadn’t even realized he was staring as he stood still in the center of the market, people moving around him as they mumbled their grievances. That is until you turned and locked eyes with him, and his whole body instantly heated up as a faint blush spread across his features. His hand raised in an embarrassed wave and his lips pulled into an awkward smile, the scarred notch adding an odd bit of charm to him. 

You glanced around quickly to make sure he wasn’t really waving at anyone else and let out a quiet laugh, waving back when you realized you were indeed the object of his attention. His eyes were honey-gold like the afternoon light and his smile was unpracticed, but handsome just the same.

You motioned for him to give you just a minute as you disappeared back into your home momentarily before reappearing outside your front door. An unusual wave of confidence carried your steps closer toward him, your small smile still gracing your lips. “I’ve never seen you around the market before… I’m sure I’d remember such a handsome face” you commented as you came just steps away. 

“No, I’m just here visiting my brothers… It’s not often we all get to come together.” He nodded a bit, his own awkward smile taking up all of his features. 

“Ah, well I was going to ask you if you wanted to spend some time walking around with me, but you must be busy…” 

“No..!” He rushed out, quickly composing himself once again, “I mean- I don’t have to go so soon. I can walk…” He quietly assured, not wanting this opportunity to pass him by so quickly.

Your simple smile grew as you reached your hand out to take his arm, moving slowly so he doesn’t startle. “I’m glad… I’m Y/n. townswoman and baker in my spare time” you introduced yourself.

“Uh, Eskel. Witcher and… lover of goats..?”  He replied in turn, unsure about his answer until you chuckled softly beside him, filling him with a small surge of confidence. 

Eskel didn’t mind at all following you around the market, though he had been here just an hour or so before with his brother it all felt so different from your perspective. You had told him about yourself as you walked side by side through the town, around the fountains and the food stands you told him all about your loves and fears as if you had known him always. 

He loved how comfortable you were around him, talking to him as if his eyes weren’t catlike and yellow, as if his entire body wasn’t scared, and as if his job didn’t leave his hands bloodier than most. It made it all feel easier as he finally let you in a bit on his life as a Witcher, but also just himself as a whole. He loved your smile as he talked about the lovable menace that was Lil Bleater, your laugh as he talked bout the shenanigans of his childhood, and his heart positively swooned as your head bobbed along happily as he crudely sang his mother's chicken song. 

You had hardly realized what hour it was until you heard the bell towers chime, you had been walking with Eskel for almost four hours now. “Is that really the time? Your brothers must be wondering where you are. I should really let you go…” 

Eskel sighed and nodded as he looked up at the sun’s position near the horizon, “Yeah… I don’t want them getting curious, But maybe-” He started, only to be interrupted by you expressing his same thoughts. 

“Well, you know where to find me, right…? I don’t know how long you’re in town, but I’d be more than happy to see your face again…” you rocked on your heels as you put it out there, nervous about what he might say. “U-unless I read this wrong…?” you said as your nerves began creeping into your words.

His smile grew and was much easier now than it was before as he shook his head, “No. you… you read it right…I’ll visit the market and find you soon.” He promised as he pulled away from your touch, desperately wanting your fingers to linger as they slowly came away from him. 

You nodded and watched him slip off into the evening crowd, his red and black tunic letting you pick him out for quite some distance until you finally lost him. You walked back to your home with a hop in your step that evening as images of those golden eyes and that awkward smile plagued your thoughts. 

Your and Eskel’s relationship was easiest described as love at first sight, but you knew it was so much more than that. The attraction you felt for each other dwelled deep in your hearts at a level you hadn’t quite felt with anybody else, all of which only grew stronger the more time you spent together. 

As promised Eskel came and found you the next day, his own thoughts filled with the restless want to be near you agian. The weather had left you with an on-and-off drizzly day so you settled for more domestic activities. He never complained as he carried your groceries, rushing behind you into the house as the rain picked up again. 

You taught Eskel a few of your favorite recipes and got extremely messy in the process. Flour dusted his hair and smeared over his arms and you’re pretty sure that was berry juice staining his cheek. Living life these past two days beside your big-hearted witcher has never felt so delicate and romantic, even in the most mundane times.

“Eskel..” you said, getting his attention before pointing to your cheek. 

“Hm?” he furrowed his brow as you tapped your cheek again, not immediately understanding. With only a half second of hesitation and doubt passing over his mind, he leaned into you and pressed a quick kiss to your cheek, right where you were pointing. 

Your whole body burned with a bright pink blush as his notched lips pressed tenderly against you. “Oh, that’s not-” You laughed as his expression turned even more confused by your laughter. Did he do something wrong? 

With gentle hands you grabbed his face and wiped the juice off with your finger, making sure to show him. Your chest bubbled with loving laughter again as a faint blush crossed his face and lit his ears, embarrassment now staining his face instead. You wiped the juice off on your apron and grinned as you leaned in to return his cheek kiss. 

------------------------

Eskel had been sneaking around to see you for about a week now. It’s not that he was ashamed of the relationship he’s made with you- anything but. However, he was afraid of the impression his brothers might give off. 

Geralt, while not nearly as chaotic as Lambert, had a resting scowl and a rather deadpan way about him (and his jokes) that usually made people uncomfortable. Lambert… well, Lambert was Lambert. Expressive, yes, but also extremely mischievous and the two of them put together would surely scare you off. 

The last thing Eskel wanted to do was lose you so quickly, so far from the prying eyes in Corvo Bianco he tucked the small portrait of you deep into his bag. You two had spent most of your time that morning talking about what happens when he leaves and quickly coming to an agreement that you’d be happy waiting for your beloved witcher’s visits. You understood how hard it would be, but you already felt like this brief week together would surely be worth the wait for another. 

Following your discussion, you immediately pulled him off to an artist that was set up on the edge of the market, selling paintings and doing portraits. You paid for the artist to do a portrait of each of you so you could always have a little photo of Eskel at home and he could still see your face while out on the path. 

His quiet steps approached and barely made a sound as he entered through the front door, wondering if his brothers would be asleep already. 

Not a chance.  

“You’re finally back…” Geralt said, sitting at the table with a drink in hand.

“You’ve been gone quite a while. Whatcha been up to?” Lambert asked, sitting beside his brother with his own drink. The whole thing looked like a staged intervention, the serious looks, the gentle but firm tone. 

“Uh… Yeah. I was out trying to get materials together for some new armor. Took up a lot more time than I expected it to. “ He lied, hoping his brothers wouldn’t see past it. 

Geralt and Lambert looked at each other in a tense silence that seemed to last for minutes on end before they finally nodded to each other. “Alright then… come in and grab a glass. We’re playing never have I ever.”

Eskel was beyond relieved that they didn’t ask any more questions for the rest of the night, he really didn’t need to be awkwardly explaining how he found love on a chance trip to his brother's new estate and that he didn’t want them meeting you yet. 

But they didn’t need to ask questions. They already knew. 

“So that whole armor thing was bullshit,” Lambert said quietly the next morning. He and Geralt spoke quietly in the kitchen while Eskel slept on in the guest room above. “His armor now doesn’t even have holes in it and he always wears his stuff down until he can't anymore.” 

“He was pretty protective of his bag last night… but he got too drunk to remember to bring it upstairs with him…” Geralt observed, giving Lambert a pointed look that said he already knew exactly what to do. 

Silent feet padded their way into the living room, and over to Eskels seat from last night. Geralt quickly ruffled through his brother's pack while Lambert nearly broke his neck from trying to peer inside. 

“Wait, what's this?’ Geralt commented as he pulled the little tan paper out of the bottom of his pack and unfolded it.

“An ink portrait of some woman..?” Lambert said flatly, he really thought it was going to be something a lot more exciting. 

“Hmm, not just some woman…. I think I recognize her from town.”

Lamberts grin took on a new brand of mischief, “You think Eskel’s gone soft for someone in town?” Lambert gasps, “Do you think he’s fallen in LOVE?” he whispered a bit too loudly, causing Eskel to stir. 

“Only one way to know for sure,” Geralt said with a grin, a rare sparkle in his eyes that reflected his younger brother's urge to stir up trouble. As quietly as they came they sprinted out the front door, leaving your portrait laying on the table on top of Eskel’s things. They think it was high time they met the object of Eskels affections. 

Eskel half-heartedly stirred when he heard noises from downstairs, not waking up immediately. What did wake him up though was how quiet it was after that…

“Geralt? Lambert?” He called.

 No response. 

Caution began to creep in as he padded down the stairs toward the living room. There he saw his bag, emptied of most of its contents, and on top of it all? Your portrait lay unfolded and open for all the world to see. 

“Oh, Fuck.” Eskel hissed as he immediately ran out the door. He was gonna kill his brothers If they scared you off, or at the very least he was gonna put rats in their bags and snakes in their beds all winter long. 

He must’ve looked like a crazed man as he rode Scorpion through the outskirts of town and sprinted through the city streets, accidentally knocking into a handful of people on the way. 

He was filled with a mix of dread and hope when he finally saw your door. Hope that maybe they hadn’t found you yet, and dread that maybe they had. His steps became more hesitant as he got closer and closer to your door. Would you close the door on him once you saw it was him? Would you even answer?

He knocked, heavy but tentative, and waited for your answer. “Come in..!” You still sounded happy, maybe they hadn’t gotten here yet? 

He pushed the door open and peeked inside, face falling flat immediately at what he sees. “You’ve got to be kidding me…” was all he could say.

Geralt and Lambert grinned at him from your kitchen, dicing away at ingredients and stealing bites of your baked goods in between jobs. Their faces were smug and knowing and each of them absolutely held shit-eating grins. 

“Eskel! Aren’t they so nice? Your brothers stopped by this morning and offered to help me out as I made breakfast. They were just telling me some stories about your childhood.” Your smile, unlike theirs, was warm, innocent, and unknowing. 

“Yeah, aren’t we just so nice?” Lambert repeated back to Eskel with a laugh. 

“We’re specifically telling her about how you used to steal food from the kitchen for the horses until Vesemir caught you red-handed.” Geralt specified. “Oh and the time you tried to prank Lambert, but he ended up getting you instead and you fell in the lake.” 

“Oh that was a good one!” you laughed as the boys went on and on and turned to hold your hand out for beloved Witcher. Your whole home was filled with the laughter of those most special to Eskel and he had to admit it was pretty nice. He still might leave snakes in their bed though…

“Ah, Eskel,” you said as you kissed his cheek, “don’t worry. Not even your brothers will scare me away from you.” 

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Taglist: @writingmysanity @open--till--midnight @dark-academia-slut @madamemelancholysstuff

wanna be added to the taglist? DM to let me know!

#Eskel loves you so much!! #eskel #witcher eskel #eskel fic #eskel x you #eskel x y/n #eskel x reader #eskel fluff #Eskel fluff #witcher self insert #tw3 eskel #Eskel x fem!reader #eskel my beloved #the witcher fanfiction #self insert

[starvin-darlin]

Parallel Play

in which Anton and his love spend some time together

cw : a little nsfw!

“What are you doing?” They giggled as they were pulled to the other end of the couch, Anton’s hands gently guiding them back into his lap. His face tucked into the side of their neck so that his breath tickled them as he spoke.

“Oh nothing, just want you closer.” He mumbled before kissing that spot behind their jaw, he knew that was their favourite.

“You finally finished your work?” They asked, gesturing to his laptop that had been shut and discarded to the coffee table. He made an affirmative noise before shifting to lay back against the corner of the couch, bringing his partner back with him. They were used to his silence, the way he sometimes spoke through gestures and noises, and they knew he was asking them to rest with him.

“Hey, no way! I wanna get this square done!” They sat back up, though his arms did not let them get far, lingering on their waist as they continued the crocheting they had been fiddling with while he worked. It was a hobby they always enjoyed, but hadn’t had much time to indulge in until recently.

Anton loved his job, a freelance engineer hired by companies every couple of months to help with their projects. He loved his job, apart from the tight deadlines of the current project he was working on. It had been weeks of constantly bringing work home with him, spending hours each night debugging lines of code or adjusting blueprints for designs he was working on.

Hence, his partner’s decision to return to their love of crocheting. It gave the couple a nice way to spend time together; the gentle taps of Anton’s keyboard mixing with the clicking of their crochet hook. Sometimes the two watched TV or played music in the background, sometimes they just enjoyed the peaceful silence being broken by taps and clicks and quiet breathing. Both often found their gazes wandering, staring at their partner in admiration, enjoying their furrowed brows as they focused on their individual work. Occasionally a hand would find the others’, a gentle kiss on their knuckles before returning it to its task.

It made Anton’s heart ache. The simple domesticity. The enjoyment of just the other’s company with no pressure on what form that needed to take. The support he had from his partner, despite how busy he always was. The exhaustion from weeks of work was wearing at him. And all he wanted to do after finishing tonight’s allotted coding was to relax in the arms of the person he loved most.

However, the crocheting they took up as a counterpoint to his keyboard clicking had enamoured them too much. He loved how obsessively they strived to create, how happy they were after finishing a new plant pot cosy or mug coaster, filling the house with their labours of love. He loved this quality about them until it denied him them in his arms. Their newest creation - a large intricate granny square blanket, a beast of a project in hues of oranges and yellows and greens and purples - had captured their attention too wholly.

He sat back up, draping his body over their frame as the clicking of their hook started again. His record player was still playing one of his favourite albums, the sound blending with their quick rhythm in an odd but pleasant melody. They noticed the slight pout on his lips as his face entered their peripheral vision.

“How much longer my love?”

“Only a few more rows, then we should get started on dinner, yeah?”

A sigh escaped his lips. Yet another obstacle in the way of resting with his love in his arms.

They laughed at his childish exasperation, “I know! I know. But then we get to curl up and relax the entire rest of the evening.”

He knew they were right. But they didn’t know how much the time away from them the past few weeks had eaten at his patience. He yearned for more of them, them closer to him, their hair running through his fingers, their body pressed into his. He said words he didn’t fully mean. “I don’t mean to pull you away from your crochet my love, take as long as you need.” He didn’t want to deny them their simple pleasures, however to keep with their usual time together, he needed something to do with his hands too.

His lips traced their hairline with kisses, a small smirk growing on their face. He wrapped his arms around their waist, getting as close to them as possible until their back was pressed to his chest. A contented sigh left them as his kisses continued down their neck.

He paused to watch their deft hands at work. Looping yarn and twisting and slipping it off their hook to create a gorgeous pattern, shades of orange blending into the green they were introducing to the current square they were working on. Anton thought it would be a beautiful addition to their couch, realising they had matched the colours to the couch cushions. He loved their eye for detail in aesthetics, something he neglected as his work focused only on functionality and use. They slowed him down, made him appreciate beauty around him. The evidence was shown in the traces of them around his space, now overcome with plants and pillows and blankets. His previous apartment had been practical, as simple as possible to avoid it getting messy as he didn’t have time to clean. The only area with character was his work desk, bustling with paper and tools and half finished mechanisms.

The house they had bought together was completely different. He finally lived in a space he could call a home. They had forced him to let them fill every inch of it with colour and life and he was grateful he did every day he lived there. A constant visual reminder of how they improved his life.

He loved watching their fingers. Beautiful fingers, he thought, wanting to kiss each one. He resorted to kissing down their back instead, slipping their shirt down one shoulder to access more of their skin. Dipping his hands under their shirt to dance across their stomach, to massage their sides and up their chest while he sucked and nibbled and licked. Their breaths were growing louder now, but the clicking of their hook remained constant. He chuckled at their muscle memory not failing them, even while he tried to distract their mind.

A single finger dipped below the waistband of their shorts, causing a sharp intake of breath and their hips to jump slightly. He chuckled again. They finally realised what he was doing.

“You’re mean.” They mumbled, turning to face him. He thought this meant he had won their full attention, however the clicking remained, and they returned their gaze to their project after one chaste kiss.

“I’m not trying to make you stop your crocheting. You continue your hobby and I’ll continue mine.” He smiled, dipping his fingers once again under their shorts. He meant it. Anton wasn’t trying to make them choose him over finishing their craft, he just needed to hear the sounds of their pleasure, he needed to feel them writhe against him. He wasn’t a man of many words, he preferred to show his love and it had been so long since he showed them how much he craved them.

One of his arms stayed wrapped around their waist, holding them back against him while the other teased between their legs. He was slow, he liked to take his time, no need to rush their pleasure. They hummed in quiet satisfaction, crochet hook still clicking, as their man toyed with them exactly how he knew they liked. They lay back against him, positioning their hands higher up so they could continue working in their new position. This drove Anton wild. Feeling their body resting on him, opening their legs wider in silent plea of more. It was exactly what he craved, the simple bliss of knowing he made them feel good, that their body yearned for him the same way his did for them.

He kept his hand moving slow and gentle. His other explored their chest, kneading and massaging any tension away until they were a puddle in his arms. A puddle who still didn’t miss a beat with their crochet hook. His mouth on their neck caused the first moan to escape their lips, breathy and cut off like they surprised themselves with it. Anton loved that sound, and planned to do everything he could to make them do it again. Soon moans left them freely, and their head threatened to tip back in pleasure. Finally their dedication to their crochet was being tested. A single finger slipping inside of them was the tipping point.

They cast their work to the side and reached behind them to tug on their lover’s hair. He laughed at the reaction before their lips found him. They kissed him greedily, hungrily, like he was the last oxygen left on earth. His hand on them remained slow and determined, finally encouraging them over the edge gently. Ecstasy washed over them in waves that he stroked them through, adoring the way their body writhed and tensed in his arms.

When they finally stopped twitching in pleasure he kissed their temple, their breath returning to an even rate and their body once again going slack in his touch. They turned to straddle him, resting their head on his shoulder while he drew shapes on their back. The vinyl record reached the end of its last song.

“I know, I know, dinner before relaxing, right?” He teased.

“You’re too good to me.” They whispered.

“Never. You deserve so much more.”

They kissed his forehead. Then the corner of his eye. Then his nose.

“But I want you.”

And how could Anton deny them anything they wanted.

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #redactedverse #redacted audio fanfic #redacted fanfic #fanfic #redacted anton

[ariesbilly]

the physical resemblance between billy and robin is too strong to be ignored so au where neil keeps sneaking out at odd hours and max comes to billy like “i think your dad is cheating on my mom” and billys like “eh i dont know...” and makes lays out all the ‘evidence’ she has which is really nothing, and billys trying to convince her that neil leaving susan would be a good thing, for susan and maxs sake, but max still wont let it go, so it ends up with max dragging billy on stakeouts with her. following neil around, which is dangerous as shit but max is a dog with a bone and wont let it go, so billy figures she’d be doing this anyway and its better to have him around in case neil catches her, so.

eventually they end up outside a house, which max recognizes at robins, and shes like “neils having an affair with robins mom?!” and billy... he’s familiar with adults having The Audacity™ but even he has to admit mrs buckley having an affair in her own house is... a lot. bold, to say the least.

max wants to go confront him right then and there and billys like no thats stupid we’ll figure something else out.

his version of figuring things out is running to robin the next time he sees her to be like ‘yo your moms fucking my dad just thought you should know” and robins like “what the goddamn hell are you talking about ???”

billy explains what he and max saw and robins like “wait neils your dad?!”

so basically neil and robins mom hooked up years ago while neil was in hawkins visiting family or on a business trip, whatever. didnt know he knocked her up. robins mom ending up meeting mr buckley after robin was born but still too young to really know better so robin just took his last name and he was always dad. but with neil living in town now robins mom decided to reach out and have them meet because its a small town, their paths were bound to cross, and robin deserves to know who her bio dad is. and neil never offered up his last name because he knew it would get back to billy and hes trying to avoid a whole scandal. the buckleys dont know what a menace neil is. robin knows billys dad is an ass...but again, she doesnt know neil and billys dad are one in the same.

cue robin saying how nice neil has been to her and billy having a whole crisis because why doesnt he get that version of neil? but he knows why... he doesnt want to burst robins bubble but the whole nice guy act is just a show and if robin sticks around long enough she’ll see his true colors.

AND on top of all this billy and robin have to confront being siblings and dropping this bomb on poor steve lmao whos honestly ecstatic. his boyfriend and his bestie are siblings? feels very convenient for him. until they start pulling the “dont fuck with my brother/sister!” card on him ... and then steves having less fun. max is excited to have robin as a sister now, though. because theyve decided even if theyre not blood related its close enough and no, billy, they dont care what you have to say about it.

[ivanzplaid]

I am begging you to write more about the reader fighting back 🙏

the reader fighting back is amazing to write oml, always love fierce mfs🙏🙏

thank you again for the request! i love seeing them come in its so rewarding, requests r open & encouraged! dont be nervous🫶

for this it'll be The Grabber x Gn Reader!

Warnings: Wound description, The Grabber, Kidnapped Reader, Harsh treatment, Impending harm

------------------------------------------------------------

Your feet took you around the room, pacing for what felt like hours. You'd set up a whole plan, a diversion, your scheme, just for him to not fucking show up? He couldn't hide forever, thats what you told yourself. Eventually he would come down, he would have to feed you, or see you, and you would put it into action. But as your grandfather taught you, Patience is Virtue, and your patience was dwindling.

Calming yourself, you brought yourself back down to the mattress, seating yourself while bouncing your leg, anticipation flooded you. It was simple, all he had to do was come down here, and you would take the bottle piece you had, swing, and hopefully be able to access the door and run. Simple, clean, efficient. The sun still came through your little window, so there had to be neighbors out.

Twenty minutes dragged by, no sign.

Sighing, you accepted that he is busy, so why not get up just to prepare yourself again. You felt like a caged animal, your only entertainment was gone, ruining your schedule. Your feet took you from the mattress to the door, repeating this pattern. Getting lost in your thoughts, you mindlessly tripped over yourself, falling into the door, but what greeted you was a creaking noise, giving you a greater sign than your captor showing up. The door was left unlocked. Maybe he had a late night of watching you sleep, exhaustion catching up, making him forget, or maybe he hadn't shut it properly, but one sloppy mistake was all you needed for the confidence to come back. Still being cautious, left hand pulling the door open while the right secured the glass comfortably, you ventured your way up the stairs, meeting up with the brown door. It felt like a dream, all of it was too easy, but it was possible after months of keeping you, his means became, careless, less intricate. Hand on the door knob, awaiting somebody in a mask to come choke you, you twisted it open, rather quickly, like ripping off a bandaid. Nobody met your presence.

The stillness of the house was odd, alarming even. You felt your throat closing on you, heart beating twice as fast as you stepped on to the tiles. Nothing happened. Without thinking, you walked to the side door, eyes narrowed on the handle, this time briskly opening it, you didn't have time to waste.

It opened.

You could feel your eyes widen, but your face was still blank with concern, you didn't trust any of what was going on. Frantically, you gazed around, nobody in sight, it was a normal spring day, life continued on, even when you came back. Taking the steps, you walked down shakily, the months within the basement made you weak, losing the muscle you once possessed. You found yourself in the road, pondering what to do. Of course, telling a neighbor was your first instinct, so you peered ahead of you, the house number read 7741. Jogging over, you treaded lightly over the lawn, making it to the door, which you banged on just loud enough to catch the attention of anybody inside, although the driveway was empty, a light was on inside, somebody was home.

You hear swift walked behind the door, which paused as soon as it made it to the door. Shuffling, or rummaging could he heard before the locks started to become undone, and you soon found out why your abductor wasn't visiting you in the basement. Your eyes dramatically widened as the door briefly displayed him, a smug grin rested on his face, his eyes showing it as he dragged you inside.

"My my, what are you doing out?"

His tone taunted you, he wasn't scared or mad, he was confident. His eyes devoured you, taking in the way you stood, still in shock. His fingers pulled at a blind, light beaming in.

"Naughty. Do you see the light outside? You couldn't wait for me?"

His voice was raspy, but thrilled. Turning away from you, he went to lock the door, twisting it shut. You took the opportunity you saw, you hadn't let go of the glass, shard still useful, sitting in your hand. Charging at him with his back turned, you sliced his shoulder, using the force of your arm to dig deeper, making a larger wound. While the shard lay in his shoulder, you found yourself barraging him, your foot meeting the back of his knee, causing him to collapse after his muscle spasm.

He didn't scream, a slight sigh emitting from him when you stabbed him, and maybe a grunt or two with that kick, which he was thoroughly impressed by, but he didn't show major signs of weakness. You stepped back, regaining your energy.

"I'm going to make this,"

His breath hitched as he reached up to his shoulder, plucking the broken glass out of his shoulder with a churning noise, it made your face scrunch up seeing him do it effortlessly, sickening. Stepping up, he turned on his feet slowly, taking in the atmosphere you put out, eyes narrowed on you.

"Really, really hurt."

Taking his time, he made his way over to you, breathing heavily as he watched you corner yourself. Your face was still straight, you did hold yourself up well, even when his hands became outstretched towards you. Being only a foot away, impending fate resting on your mind, you decided the only reasonable thing to do between fight & flight, was fight, so you did. When he put a hand out to grasp a chunk of your hair, you scratched at his unprotected face, flailing harshly as you made contact with it. Your eyes stayed open, but as they met his, you wanted to squirm away, be any other place but at his mercy.

"Look at me."

His response showed he took a notice to this, without hesitation he gripped your free hands with one hand, and yanked your head towards him with his other. You two rested inches away from eachother, tension expanding. Trying to look away only made his grasp harsher, on both your hair and head, the tight hold brought hot pain to your head.

"You started it, you're finishing it."

------------------------------------------------------------

i wrote this so wuickly, so to me it feels weirdly written, but hope its good! i saw you say that you enjoyed the black phone movie and im glad!! its awesome you got to see it 🫶

#the grabber #the grabber x reader #black phone #hot killer #ethan hawke #the grabber x you #queer #slasher #i need him #gay

[devilscreekballad]

Have the first 1078 words of Mrs Meadows' POV in ch7:

---

You wake up feeling as if you had been thrown under a carriage. Which is to say slightly worse than what has become your regular morning ever since Nate's death.

This morning's additional misery, you reckon, stems partially from the past day's stress and irritating nature, and partially from spending the night in the armchair by the window, as you have left the room's beds to Miss Beauchêne and Finley. It's approximately a 30-70 split.

You stretch, slowly and deliberately, evaluating which muscles, joints or ligaments will give you the most struggle. Everything is shaping up to become another long day ahead, and if your instincts do not fool you, said day has just started.

"Are you always up this early?" someone - Miss Beauchêne you recognize after a longer moment than is reasonable- asks.

"Good morning," you respond with a trace of sourness directed rather at the pain between your shoulder blades than at the younger woman. "Yes, I am."

You push the heavy curtains aside to peer out and nod curtly. It's not long past sunrise, the town is in the process of waking up, so your instinctual assessment of the current hour has been correct.

"Granted, under normal circumstances I'd be up and about at a much earlier hour," you add, getting up and pulling hair pins from the now unruly birds nest your hair has become. On the bed Miss Beauchêne comments on the sentiment of getting up that early with a short noise of distaste and disapproval.

"Have you slept well?" you ask, as you sit down in front of the vanity mirror, ignoring that sentiment.

"I guess," Miss Beauchêne responds, sitting up from the reclining position she had been in. "It's hard to sleep after all what has happened."

You just hum in agreement, brushing out your hair. Although you recognize that Miss Beauchêne might be in the best position to understand what is commonly robbing you of a healthy sleep, you see no reason to unnecessarily involve her in your problems.

"You really didn't need to let me have the bed," Miss Beauchêne notes, as she moves to see to her own morning routine.

"Yes, I did. You needed it much more urgently, and I'm used to unorthodox sleeping places."

Miss Beauchêne gives you a quite suspicious and scrutinizing look, a trace of misplaced concern on her face.

"Fall asleep on your desk often?" she ventures, making small talk, you figure.

"More often than I would like," you humor her.

"I don't reckon overworking oneself is a healthy habit." She draws a heavy breath that gives away her next words, before a single syllable has even left her lips "Believe me, I know." "I had no intention to doubt you. But I prefer people staying out of my business."

Again Miss Beauchêne casts you a measured and measuring glance, before turning back to seeing about herself.

So do you.

It isn't until Miss Beauchêne produces a little container from her belongings that your attention is on anything but yourself.

First you only pay little attention to the object. It is reminiscent of a thumb-sized bullet cartridge and its use eludes you, until Miss Beauchêne twists the contraption's bottom, producing what looks to be a stick of beeswax out of the device, bringing it to her lips.

"That is quite an interesting thing to see," you note. Miss Beauchêne looks at you rather surprised.

"I would have thought you would know what lipstick is," she says, and you search her face for evidence of mockery. You find none.

"I do, but I was talking about the device you house it in. It is quite ingenious."

At this Miss Beauchêne's lights up into a delighted beam.

"That is too kind, ma'am. I made it myself."

"Oh?"

"Yes." There is an odd joy to be found in seeing the young woman's eyes sparkle as she breaks into an excited explanation. "I had a look into what a lipstick, or a stick of lip balm as it is in this case, could be put into to make it, well, more of a practical device. I got frustrated with the tins and jars and wax papers, it all proved to be quite impractical, a little unhygienic if one looked at it closer, and I have rather dry lips much to my dismay, so I am often in need of some sort of ointment."

"It does look a little like a bullet cartridge," you point out, and Miss Beauchêne nods.

"That's what it is. Well, originally was. What I took the inspiration from I mean. Frankford Arsenal's .45 Colt cartridges, alongside some modified glass tubes. It was quite a bit of fiddling to get the twisting mechanism to work, and since then I refined it to make it more reliable. The result is what you see here."

You arch your brows in an impressed and inquisitive arc.

"Impressive, I must say, really impressive. Patent pending, I presume."

At this Miss Beauchêne — done with applying lipbalm — closes the devise and purses her lips in dismay.

"Mrs. Meadows, with all due respect, but I believe you can guess how just [i]trying[/i] to file for a proper patent would go for people like us. For someone who happens to be a woman, and not a white one on top of that. If I'd file a patent, it's all too likely that nothing will come of it, until I am old and grey and not in any position to defend my rights, when, poof, a white man will miraculously invent the exact same device."

You roll your eyes. Not in annoyance at Miss Beauchêne, but in annoyance at a world in which these words carry far too much truth for their own good.

"And then he'd get celebrated by the press for making the lifes of those poor, feeble women so much easier with this revolutionary device," you agree, dryly and bitterly. "All while still condemning said women for using lipstick in the first place."

You both exhale tiredly and in unison.

In a strained silence the two of you finish your morning routines, and you duck behind the wooden screen nearby to change into clothes that have not been slept in.

"But, well," Miss Beauchêne picks up the hanging thread of discussion, "I still hope to live long enough to see a change for the better."

"Becoming immortal is quite an ambitious endeavour," you observe, pinning your hair up proper.

#baodc meadows #baodc spoilers

[bluiex]

At first I thought it was going to be Convex owning a casino but my god AAA I'm ready to read more! But bouncing off that idea, what if Convex DOES own a casino, but uses it to trap others. People get into debt all the time after all, so what if Cub and Scar decided to take advantage of those who were often trying to get out of some other kind of debt. They were vex after all, isn't that a vex thing to do? They could meet so many that way! Maybe Grian needed to get some extra cash but the house won instead. And now he's got a debt to Cub and Scar, both taking quite the shining to this pretty little bird. Deciding to woo him in the process of him paying them back It doesn't seem THAT bad of a deal at first. Grian now has a job, sure its to pay the owners back. But they did say if he's good he might get to stay on afterwards and actually make some money. Its not a bad job either, he learns he enjoys it more than he figured he would. But the owners are... odd. Maybe a little uncomfortable until he just gets use to looking up and seeing them staring at him. Sometimes whispering to each other. Scar will wave at him from time to time It made the hair on his neck stand up before. But now its just a common occurrence. Even if it seems like they don't do this to others. But he brushes that thought off, probably never notices when they do. After all, he is in debt to them and they want to make sure he's doing his job It doesn't start dawning on Grian that, in fact this is not normal of them. And they seem to have taken a weird fascination with him. It had gone on for weeks before he really started to notice. It was little things, a small chat, making sure he's eaten or taken care of himself. After all they don't want their newest employee passing out on the job Then small comments and flirting starts, Scar loves leaving Grian flustered on the job. Slowly it ramps up, gifts, being asked to join them for dinner and so on. His hours lessen the more they ask him to join them else where. They promise that they aren't prolonging his stay, they will add this time to his debt. After awhile Grian doesn't really mind if things were to be prolonged. Who wouldn't like being the favorite of Convex I like to think Mumbo is their bookkeeper or helps build machines that may or may not be in favor of the house. Thus getting to meet Grian as well. Mumbo started there with similar circumstances after losing a high paying job. And was always Convex's favorite, even though he's assured he's not being replaced. It'd be funny if at first he isn't keen on Grian and tries to find any reason to have Grian kicked out. Just to fall hard for him too And if Grian goes back out on the floor with bruises in the shape of a bite mark or hickies. Well that's his business -@spacecatdet

(Already said to you on discord but they do own the casino in AAA au: space is just really tired <3) nonetheless!! THIS IDEA IS ALSO SO SO GOOD!!

Okay but I love the idea Of Mumbo and Grian being enemies to friends to lovers.. Just a side bit of Mumbo trying hard to find dirt on Grian, tryna sabotage him somehow XD

#bluie gets an ask poggers #convexianbo casino au

[drabbles-mc]

A Bit Too Long

Javier Peña x F!Reader

Inspired by Day 4 of the August Prompts: shade

Warnings: language, light angst, yearning

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: This fic took on a life of its own once I started typing it up. Hope y’all enjoy it, though!

Narcos Taglist: @thesandbeneathmytoes @garbinge @bruxasolta @winchestershiresauce @sizzlingcloudmentality @alm0501 @panagiasikelia @616wilsons @hauntedforsst​ @mirabee​ @buckybarneshairpullingkink​ @boomclapxox​ @nessamc​ @southotheborder​ @supersanelyromantic​ @padbrookcottage​ @mysun-n-stars​ @raincoffeeandfandoms​ @bport76​ @marrianena​ @ashlingnarcos​ @passionatewrites​ (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

It was an odd notion to you, Javier coming back home. Things were different now. Not bad, just different. You were different, too, and you had to assume you weren’t the only one. Years apart did that, but the types of years the two of you spent apart seemed to widen the gap between who you both used to be, and who you were now.

You’d lived on the other side of the property line from their family your entire life. Your family didn’t have the same expansive ranch that the Peña’s did, only having a couple horses that were more pets than they were work animals. But you and Javier were only a handful of years apart, so as the two of you got older, friendship almost felt inevitable.

There was a time, even if you had only ever admitted it to yourself, when you thought that maybe at the end of it all, it was going to be you and Javier. Maybe you read too many romance novels for your own good, but there was a tiny part of you that hoped. The older you got, though the more things changed, and the smaller that hopeful part of you became. Then Lorraine happened, then Colombia happened, and you wondered if you would ever even see him again at all, forget about the rest of it.

But then he came back. All of those years away and the tragedies that had happened, and suddenly he was back on Chucho’s ranch helping the man patch up fencing like he had never even left. You meant to go over and welcome him home, but something always stopped you. Even if Javier didn’t notice the fact that you had yet to stop by, his father certainly took note of it. You visited the man frequently in Javier’s absence, and him returning home shouldn’t have changed that.

It was late, and you were rinsing off the dishes you’d used to make dinner before tossing them into the dishwasher. You had the radio playing quietly, always trying to make sure that the house never fell silent if you could help it. It’d been full of life for too long for it to stop now.

Even above the sound of the running water, and the static-laced music, you heard the knock at your front door. When you looked and saw the time, you knew that it was either a neighbor, or someone with bad news. Shutting off the water, you grabbed a towel to dry your hands with as you walked towards the door.

“Coming!” you draped the cloth over your shoulder as you unlocked and opened the door, surprised to see Javier’s father on the other side of it, especially given the hour, “Oh, Chucho,” you glanced over his shoulder, “is everything alright?”

He nodded, clearly studying your face, “Just felt like I should come and check on you. Haven’t seen you in a couple weeks.”

It was suddenly very difficult to maintain eye contact with him, your cheeks starting to feel warm, “I’m sorry, I’ve just been busy.”

“Don’t apologize,” he shook his head, “As long as you’re alright?”

You managed a small smile, “I’m alright,” you wanted to invite him in, but you weren’t sure if you were emotionally prepared for the conversation that would undoubtedly ensue.

He wasn’t going to wait for an invitation to say what he had to say, though, “You could probably skip the welcome home with him at this point, mija,” he let out a soft chuckle, “He’d probably prefer it.”

Your laughter was quiet, a little nervous, “Probably,” you leaned against the doorframe, shaking your head, “It’s been so long, Chucho.”

“You two haven’t spoken at all?”

“Not since he left,” you hated the words even as you said them, the reality of it all feeling sickening as you said it out loud.

“It’s selfish of me, ‘cause he’s my son,” something resembling a smile curled the ends of his mouth, “But I think that he could use someone like you right now.”

“Someone like me, hm?”

You expected him to make a joke, but his expression sobered up as he said, “He’ll listen to you.”

There was a long few moments of silence between you before you spoke up again. You nodded, managing to look him in the eyes, “I’ll try to make it over soon.”

He nodded, seeing the conflicted look in your eyes. It reminded him just how much you and Javier had in common sometimes. He stepped in, giving you a gentle hug, “Take care of yourself.”

You smiled as you hugged him back, “I should be telling you that,” pulling away, you continued, “Thank you for checking in—I appreciate it.”

“It’s been too long for you to be a stranger now.”

You hummed in amusement, “That’s true.”

He nodded, turning to make his way back to his pickup, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight!” you shook your head, more at yourself than anything else, as you shut and locked the door once more.

The conversation that the two of you had played in your head on repeat for the next few days. You still hadn’t mustered up the courage to make your way over to their house to see Javier, despite the fact that you saw him coming and going from town so often. You saw the two of them head out to do work together, and you wondered if Javier saw you too.

Then one day, you saw that Chucho left for town on his own. It was the weekend, and it wasn’t unheard of that he went places without Javier in tow, but the fact that you saw him leave made you think that perhaps it was finally time to go over and say hello. Just the two of you being there would either make things easier, or a hell of a lot harder. You weren’t sure what was more likely.

It was starting to creep well into the afternoon when you finally summed up the courage to go and say something. You could see their old pickup, the one that was only ever used for work around the ranch acreage now, out in the field that ran the border between your property and theirs. Judging by the sun beating down, the sweltering heat, and the lack of any kind of breeze, you figured it was safe to say that Javier was either taking a break, or would be in desperate need of one by the time you reached him.

You threw a few ice-cold water bottles into your small backpack and started making your way over to where the truck was parked. It wasn’t a terribly far walk from your side, it was a bit longer from theirs even though you could see right to their house from your back steps. The grass on your side was tall, mowing it had fallen farther and father down the priority list as the years went on. The closest you got to that was when you let the horses out to graze, and needless to say they didn’t do a terribly even job.

It was silent when you got closer to the truck. You didn’t see him sitting on the tailgate, or inside of it. For a moment you wondered if he’d abandoned it out in the field and gone back to the house, but that wouldn’t have made any sense.

“Javier?” you spoke up as you walked around the truck, nerves evident in your voice.

“Jesus,” he jumped at the sound, not having heard you make your way over. He wasn’t expecting company.

You laughed, feeling embarrassed for both of you for a moment, “Sorry.”

“No,” he shook his head, a timid smile on his face, “It’s alright.”

He looked so small, sitting on the ground leaning back against the tire of his father’s truck in a desperate attempt to find some shade in the open field. His hair was damp, his forehead glistening with sweat even though he was tucked away out of the sunlight for now. You were certain that the shirt he was wearing had started off a few shades lighter when he first set out to work for the day.

Javier didn’t know what to make of the way that you were looking at him, but it at least gave him a chance to look at you, too. It’d been a long time, sure, and you’d changed quite a bit, but there was still so much that felt so familiar about you.

He patted the grass next to him, “Wanna sit?”

You chuckled, nodding as you shrugged off your backpack and sat down beside him, placing the bag in your lap, “You’re in charge today?”

Javier huffed out a laugh, shaking his head, “He left me a list.”

You hummed knowingly, “I’m sure,” you opened up your bag, pulling out one of the water bottles, “Thirsty?”

Relief spread across his face as he took it from you, “Thank you,” he downed nearly half of it in one go before pausing to take a breath. His expression shifted, like he just realized the situation that he found himself in.

You took pity on him, offering up a tiny smile, “It’s been a bit too long for how’ve you been, hasn’t it?”

He chuckled, nodding, “Little bit, yea,” he paused, “How’ve you been though?” he only kept a straight face for a moment before letting out another laugh.

You rolled your eyes, trying and failing not to laugh as well as you draped your arms atop your bent legs, “I’ve been…alright. A lot of figuring things out, you know?”

“Yea,” he nodded slowly, “I do,” he gestured towards your property, “I figured you’d be long gone by now.”

Your laugh was a little hollower than you meant for it to be, “Me too,” you cleared your throat, trying to check your tone, “I wasn’t planning on staying. But when my parents passed, I just, I don’t know, I couldn’t give the place up, you know?” you leaned your head back against the paneling of the truck, “It’s home.”

He pried his eyes off of you and looked back at the water bottle in his hands, “I know the feeling.”

“Do you like being back?”

“Haven’t been back long enough to tell.”

You couldn’t help but to be curious, “It wasn’t a relief?”

He paused, really thinking about his answer, “I wanted it to be. After all the…shit, in Colombia, I was hoping that being back here would be what I needed.”

“But it’s not?”

He looked over at you, “Doesn’t quite feel like I fit in here anymore.”

“That’s assuming you fit in before,” you joked softly.

It got him to smile, “Stop talking to my old man so much.”

“Your old man is the only reason I didn’t completely lose my shit these last few years.”

He took another sip of his water, “Yea, he said you were over a lot.”

“He told you?”

“Only when I asked if you were still around.”

“Didn’t want to come knock on my door and see for yourself?” your tone was light as you asked, knowing that you were just as guilty of not wanting to go knocking on their door to face the same reality.

“I did want to,” his lips twitched as he tried to form the right words, “I’d see your lights on, and I’d think about going over, seeing if you made enough food to feed me too.”

You laughed, “Some things never change.”

“But some things do,” he ground his heel into the dirt, “that’s why I didn’t do it.”

The heaviness in his voice broke your heart, “Javi—”

“I know I fucked up,” he cut you off, “and then I fucked up some more, and then I left,” he shook his head, “There’s just been so much…”

“I know,” you tapped your knee against his, “Things are different now, Javi. Let them be different. It doesn’t have to be a bad thing.”

He glanced over at you, “What made you come out here?”

You smiled at him, “Your dad stopped over the other night.”

He dropped his chin to his chest with a sigh, “Fuckin’ course he did.”

You laughed, “He’s one thing that hasn’t changed.”

“Tell me about it,” Javier pinched the bridge of his nose for a second.

Things were silent between you for a few minutes. The amount of shade being cast over you by the truck was less and less as the time ticked by. The heat didn’t lessen any, and you were thankful that you had a few bottles of water for the two of you. Javier knew that he wasn’t going to be getting any more work done, but he didn’t mind. This was the one time he’d have an excuse that Chucho would accept.

“I did miss you,” you said, a smile slipping across your face, “Probably should’ve opened with that.”

He laughed, “I missed you too.”

“And I’m glad that you’re home,” you nodded, “even if you aren’t.”

He nodded, letting his leg rest against yours, “Thank you.”

“One of these days, when your list is a little shorter, you should come over for dinner. I promise I’ll cook enough for both of us.”

“Yea?”

You nodded, “Yea,” you hoisted yourself back up to your feet, sunshine instantly hitting your face, “We’re overdue for that.”

He gladly took your hand when you held it out to help him back up to his feet as well. Discomfort flashed across his face as he did, and he could see it that you were fighting back a smart remark about him going soft in his time in Colombia. Catching Escobar didn’t improve his ranching skills at all.

“I gotta get back,” you motioned towards your house before putting your bag back on, “but it was good to see you,” you stepped in to hug him, not caring that his shirt was damp, “Don’t be a stranger, alright? You’re home now.”

He huffed out a laugh, tucking his chin against you, “Right.”

#narcos #narcos fanfiction #narcos netflix #narcos netflix fanfiction #javier peña #javier pena #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña fanfiction #august prompts #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

[inkofamethyst]

March 13, 2024

Happy covid-iversary, yay. "Two weeks to stop the spread," is a saying that will haunt me my entire life, I think.

I didn't actually journal on March 13 which is a shame in hindsight, but I remember not doing much. I lounged around my house because classes were cancelled, I picked my sister up from school, and we went to get ice cream. A lot of other people from my/her high school had the same idea, so the line was long, and I was too awkward to say hi to the people I kinda knew (but I always thought they were cooler than me (I genuinely think most people are cooler than me... which might be a problem in some respects, but I'll deal with that later.)).

Anyway I coded for 5 hours straight and got a working encounter system, a working character creator, and a working opponent set generator. There's still a lot to move from my note to the script, but, the game works, and everything I've written runs as intended. Is it fun? Well, right now, it's all the same. Name yourself, fight one-fight two-fight three (each only requiring one or two inputs), game ends. It was exciting the first couple of times, but now I want to add more for more variety, of course.

[edit: wrote the above a couple days ago and after a break it has returned to being kind of fun. I've also learned that instantaneousness kills all tension, so I wrote a few basic functions to delay and separate lines in various ways. Anyway I'm going to hold off on doing much more transcribing/coding from my pseudocode, since I don't want to get too far ahead of the final project timeline, and I don't even really know what the expectations are, so I could be way outside of bounds here and I just wouldn't know.]

[edit 2, next day: New plan. Going to write more detailed pseudo/update poorly-detailed pseudo, do some story planning for the secret ending that I don't intend to get to but hey yaneverknow, and try to balance mechanics/come up with items/do a bunch of the little things that sap a surprising amount of creativity.]

I also binged She-Hulk, and I loved it?! I thought it was going to be awful and cringey the way people online (dudes?) talked about it, but it was genuine, and meta, and actually had me laughing at times. I mean, that last episode? Come on!!! Sure, some of the vfx were just alright, but it's a show, and after six-odd years of AOS, I'm used to it. I'm glad they leaned into the unseriousness. Also,,,, Matt Murdock is such a hottie. The quips, the law banter, the violence, ahhhh. My dnd-friend strongly endorses Daredevil, but I've held off because I was afraid of the violence, honestly. But I'm a big girl, and I'm very good at closing my eyes.

Today I'm thankful for a successful antiquing run!!!! Early last semester I heard about this antique market, and I finally put in the effort to get there today, and it was amazing!!! I was looking for shared housewares (found the specific item I was looking for!) and unique vintagey jewelry. Didn't quite manage to find anything truly vintage, but I got a darling piece of simple costume jewelry and the most fantastic mug that's shaped like a head of lettuce (this description does not do its beauty justice). The necklace will be perfect for when I finally make my way to the opera, and the mug is like something a fairy would drink from. I stayed within my budget which means I have just a little bit left in my allowance to thrift for clothes, maybe on Friday or Saturday (since I'll be in lab all day tomorrow).

By the way, the antique store was amazing. It has at least five floors (I got tired after three and a half) and is filled to the brim with some of the most eclectic stuff you could ever find, with old-timey radios playing music from various eras throughout. Magical. I could waste a lot of money there.

Oh wait, before I go, yesterday was such a busy day that I didn't even journal but I:

Met up with a lab/classmate and their partner for a lunch and a stroll in the city which was fantastic. My original plan was to go see Dune and also to pick up some (red, short, block) heels I'd ordered, but I didn't end up liking the heels on me very much, and I was enjoying the pair's company too much to cut the time short with a three-hour movie.

Went to a paint night through a diversity org I'm in which was also fantastic. I painted a cute little mushroom scene! I don’t really consider myself a visual artist and I’m not a huge fan of acrylic but it was very relaxing so I’d love to try watercolor sometime. Also like,, because this isn’t my "preferred medium" it was SO nice to not be stressed about perfection and just go for it.