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amatchinwater · 2 years

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Pairing: Steo

Characters: Stiles Stilinksi, Theo Raeken, Malia Tate, Scott McCall, Corey Bryant, (Mason Hewitt, Tracy Stewart, Hayden Romero, Josh Diaz are mentioned, but Stiles doesn't remember their names)

Warnings: Memory loss, head trauma, kidnapping, mentions of coma, mentions of a car accident, Stiles is in pain whenever he remembers something (really bad headaches and nausea)

Words: 4511

Prompt: @badthingshappenbingo square for Memory Loss (card at the bottom)

a/n: memories/flashbacks are in italics...I should definitely be sleeping right now.

Missing Pieces (ao3)

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You know those naps you take in the middle of the day and when you wake up you don’t know what day it is and there’s this moment of haze that you don’t even know where you are? Add in a splitting headache and that’s exactly where Stiles is. Except, there’s no moment of clarity crashing into him when he jolts awake to settle him in comfort realizing this is his bedroom. Stiles doesn’t recognize the bed much less the sheets on it. The room is even less familiar.

What the hell is going on?

Where is he?

With a groan, Stiles raises a hand to the side of his in hopes to quell the throbbing. Cool metal licks his temple and he jerks his hand away, staring at his fingers. Finding a silver band adorning his ring finger. When the fuck did he get married? Okay, just take a breath. No need to have a panic attack. Surely there’s a reasonable explanation to this. Sleep is still clinging to him a little too hard and once he splashes some cold water on his face, Stiles’ be good as new. You know, just as soon as he remembers how to get to the bathroom.

At least he seems to be in his own clothes, Stiles notices, throwing plaid sweatpant covered legs out of bed onto dark blue carpet. Did he even have a hand in decorating this place? It doesn’t seem like there’s a single piece of him here. He wouldn’t paint the walls cream. Nor would he have light gray furniture and ugly, yellow bedding. Is that a ‘Live, Laugh, Love,’ canvas hanging above the door? Stiles might throw up before he makes it to the bathroom.

What is this place?

Opening the stark white door to the bedroom, Stiles enters the dim hallway. It’s during the day, but no lights are on to show any signs of life other than him. Seeing a staircase to his right and more doors to his left, Stiles chooses the doors at random. The first seems to be an art studio of some sort. Finally, the first thing in this damn house that screams him. He’s always wanted a studio of his own. Maybe the bedroom was pre-furnished and he just hasn’t gotten around to tearing it apart.

Before he can open the next door, he’s frozen in place by a photo hanging on the wall. It’s a wedding photo. His wedding photo. Next to him is a pretty brunette whose face he almost remembers. Like a tickle in the back of his brain begging for recollection. Wouldn’t he remember his own wedding day? Or the fact that he’s married to begin with? To be quite honest, Stiles can’t even remember graduating high school. But he must have considering he’s living in some house with a ring on his finger.

But thinking about memories too hard makes his head hurt even more.

Brushing the feeling off for now, Stiles opens the next door, grateful for finding the bathroom. Maybe there’s some pain killers in the medicine cabinet that will help with the pounding in his head. At least the bathroom isn’t as horrendous as the bedroom. A little more modern with a generous sink and a simple black curtain covering the shower. Even better? Extra strength tylenol sits behind the mirror. Without hesitation, Stiles yanks the cap open, popping two in his mouth before sticking his face under the running water to drink them down.

Splashing the cold liquid on his face, Stiles takes his first calming breath since waking up. Only to look at himself in the mirror and see quite the five o’clock shadow on his cheeks and jaw. He’s been able to grow facial hair since he was seventeen years old. But never, not once, does he ever actually let it grow. An angry growl of his stomach derails his thoughts in finding a razor to rectify the situation. He’s got plenty of time for that later.

First, food.

Stepping back into the hallway, Stiles heads downstairs and deeper into this twilight zone of a house. He really wishes that he could remember something. Anything. Thinking too hard about it still makes his head hurt worse and he’d really like the meds to do their job. Along the way, he passes more pictures of himself with the girl- his wife. Jesus, that’s fucking weird to say. Just before he rounds the corner and enters the kitchen, he’s shell-shocked with another picture. It’s been cropped. But the distinct tattoo on the other person’s arm stabs at his brain like an ice pic. Two solid lines on top of one another.

“Scotty,” Stiles murmurs, brows furrowing.

His best friend since he was five years old.

How in the actual hell could he forget Scott?

“Fuck!” Stiles yells, clutching his head with both hands as his knees buckle, crashing to the hardwood floor enough to hurt. His gaze flickers back and forth, images dancing in his vision.

We could try Knob Hill…

Or we could wait until we actually get into college and then figure out where we’re going to live.

I have a vision, dude. Don’t mess with the vision.

Him and Scott were making college plans together. So, why doesn’t he remember going through with them? The stabbing sensation behind his eyes lessens enough that Stiles can get back to his feet. Food can wait a second, he needs to find a phone and call his dad. At least that’s one memory that didn’t leave him. There’s a comfort in the fact that Stiles didn’t forget his own father. Searching the thankfully inviting living room, Stiles finds no cell phone or even a laptop. He searches every room in the house only to come up empty handed. He found a charger for a phone, but not the actual device.

This is getting really irritating.

His stomach painfully reminds him of his initial goal and Stiles goes back into the kitchen. Wary of literally every opened snack in the cabinets and pantry, he opts for an unopened can of mountain dew from the fridge and a sealed can of spaghetti-o’s from the cabinet. It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing. He can’t quite explain it, but something doesn’t feel right. Sitting down at one of the tall, brown bar stools by the granite counter, Stiles digs into his bowl of food.

Not two mouthfuls later does the front door open. Being able to see it from the counter, Stiles watches as the girl from the pictures enters the house. She smiles the moment she sees him sitting there, “you’re awake!” She hastily closes the door, rushing his direction and throwing her arms around him. Pulling away, the girl kisses him.

Stiles is so shocked he doesn’t return it. “I’m sorry if this is rude, but, who are you? And where the hell am I?” Just because he’s confused or whatever the hell, doesn’t mean he needs to be rude to this girl. Obviously they have a history. There’s literally photographed proof of that. Stiles just needs a reminder is all.

The girl's face falls slightly, but she doesn’t seem entirely put off. “I’d hoped they were just being overly cautious. I’m your wife,” she tells him with a warm smile, showing him a small diamond ring on her hand, “Malia.”

Blinding pain wracks his brain again and Stiles drops the spoon into the bowl. Groaning, he clutches his head again. Pinching his eyes closed, he’s taunted with more fuzzy visions.

I can’t do this anymore, I’m sorry.

Stiles, please, don’t do this. You don’t mean it. I can’t do this without you.

I’m sorry, Malia. We’re done.

If they broke up, then why are they married? Surely they wouldn’t be the first couple to break up and get back together. But still. If the gaps in his memory could fill a little faster, that’d be great. Stiles would really like this unsettling feeling to go away.

“You were in a car accident and suffered a head trauma, so you’ll probably have a lot of headaches. You were in a coma for two months.” Malia sits down in the stool next to him, “last week you woke up, but then went right back to sleep. The doctors said you were healed enough that I could take you home, but that there might be some gaps in your memory once you stopped going in and out.”

“And how long have I been doing that?” Stiles asks, trying to blink the pain from his skull. “Going in and out, I mean.”

Malia purses her lips in thought, “just shy of two weeks.” Stiles scratches the stubble on his jaw, contemplating her words. “Sorry about that,” she gestures towards his face. I was too worried to try and shave it in your sleep. If it helps at all, I think you look pretty cute, angel.”

That name. That name scratches the back of his brain something fierce.

“Right,” Stiles says, nauseous all of a sudden. “I think-” he takes a deep breath, pasta and meatballs threatening to come back up. “I think I’m going to go lay back down.”

“I can take some of your pain, if you think it would help,” Malia offers, grabbing his hand gently. Black veins appear on her skin, rippling and the nausea subsides. Stiles’ eyes grow wide and he yanks his hand away. “Stiles?” He jolts out of the stool, staggering on his feet. “Stiles, what’s wrong?”

He doesn’t get to answer. His vision blackening and consciousness fading away.

You’re not a monster, you’re a werewolf.

I’m a thousand years old, you can’t kill me!

What are you?

Better?

I came back for you.

You can’t say anything. Stiles, please, don’t say anything.

Heartbeat’s rising, Stiles. Am I getting to you that much? You can tell me, if it’s too much, you know. I don’t want to push you too quickly.

When were you going to tell me that you two got together?

As soon as I figured out how to word it, Scotty.

I’m not upset or anything. I just want you to be happy, that’s all.

He does make me happy.

He. He makes me happy. Not her. He. Stiles blinks open bleary eyes, finding himself in the same ridiculous bedroom. He either wasn’t out for very long, or he slept well into the next day. Were those dreams or were they memories? Stiles can’t tell. But that face. Dark brown hair and beautiful blue eyes telling him that he came back for Stiles. Surely that’s not a face that Stiles’ imagination can just conjure up, right?

No. That’s not right at all. The brain can do many incredible things. But while dreaming, it can’t simply create new faces. Even if you’ve only seen one in passing, it can throw it into a dream. Pairing that with the conversation with Scott and the Nogitsune, something is seriously wrong here. Yanking the covers off, Stiles ignores the pain in his head and rushes out of the room to find the pictures of him and Malia. Upon closer inspection, the space around their necks is blurred. Like they’d been poorly photoshopped on the bodies.

They’re fake.

Stiles screams, falling to the floor again. Forehead to the cold, wooden floor he takes deep breaths, trying to stop the visions, but they come full force. Clearer than before, but still pretty splotchy. Not even the dream about Scott being a werewolf or all of the other supernatural bullshit he’s dealt with hurt this badly.

“I can’t let you do this,” Malia growls, eyes swimming with unshed tears.

Stiles scoffs, “there isn’t any letting me do this. You don’t control me, Malia. We’re not together anymore. We haven’t been for months! Why can’t you just let me be happy? Even Scott doesn’t have a problem with this. And if anyone should, it’s him!”

“Because, Stiles,” the coyote snarls, “you should be happy with me. So if I can’t have you, no one can! Definitely not your little mutt either,” Malia rushes him, bashing him upside the head so hard that it knocks Stiles out cold.

Tears spill from Stiles’ eyes as he stays on the floor. Malia kidnapped him. She- she attacked him! He has to get out of here. But how? There’s no phone to call for help. No laptop to try and email someone. Maybe her car isn’t the only one here? Stiles gets up on shaky legs, hobbling down the stairs. Feet firmly planted on the ground floor, the human dashes through the kitchen, yanking open the door that’s hopefully for the garage. But when he opens it, he’s met with boxes and storage containers. No other vehicle in sight.

“Dammit!” Stiles curses, slamming the door closed. “Come on, Stilinski, you’re the son of a sheriff for fuck’s sake. You can figure this out. All you need is a phone.” He paces the kitchen, thinking of his next move. There’s no way he can take a werecoyote head on. No way. Surely there’s something he can do. Running isn’t exactly the smartest option, he hasn’t got the slightest clue where he is. He’d sooner end up dead in the woods surrounding this house than anywhere near civilization.

Maybe, Malia will take him into town and he can get some help that way. But how? What’s a good enough reason that she won’t suspect something is wrong? Telling her flat out he wants a phone is just a surefire way of raising all kinds of red flags with the coyote. But she did seem worried when he winced because his head hurt. Maybe…that’s it!

Stiles bolts back up the stairs and into the bathroom. Jerking the medicine cabinet open, the human grabs the bottle of painkillers. Without a second thought, he pops open the cap and dumps the contents in the toilet. Flushing it and watching as the little red pills swirl in the water and down the drain. Now, he just has to wait for Malia to come home.

God, this better work.

From the fragments of his memory trickling back, someone he’d called Peter had taught him how to steady his heart while lying to a supernatural creature. Peter, whoever the hell you are, thank you. You might just save Stiles. Heading back to the living room, he grabs one of the books off the shelf that he’s read countless times and opens to a random page, setting the empty medicine bottle on the side table. Making it seem like he’s been sitting here reading all day rather than plotting his escape. A few chapters later, just as Luce is about to stretch one of the black blobs into a portal, the front door opens.

Where does she keep going that she always comes back empty handed? You’d think for someone trying to keep someone kidnapped, they wouldn’t leave the house so much. Maybe he should’ve tried his luck running.

“Oh, good, I was worried you’d still be asleep,” the coyote smiles at him. Coming over to sit beside him on the couch, Malia lifts his legs into her lap, gently stroking his shin. He so badly wants to yank himself away. “How are you feeling? Anything come back to you today?”

Stiles can hear the trepidation in her voice, like she’s concerned he remembers everything. While the human remembers the important stuff, he’s not about to tell her that. So he shakes his head, “nothing major, just a few things. My head hurts pretty badly though,” he offers, pointing to the painkillers beside him. “But I ran out of meds.”

“Oh no, you poor thing,” Malia says, “let me head out, I’ll go get you some more.”

The coyote tries to get up, but Stiles stops her, “no!” Malia’s eyebrows raise in question. “Uh, I-” the human clears his throat, trying to remain calm. Aloof. Nothing suspicious going on here. “I was hoping that I could go with you. Get some fresh air. Might help with the headache, you know?”

Malia doesn’t look convinced, “aren’t you afraid of being back in a car so soon?”

"You taught me to face my fears," Stiles says, willing his heart to remain steady. He’s also not really lying. He’s scared as hell but still going head first.

"I did?"

"Yeah!" The human smiles, trying to seem excited and genuine. "By going after your mom, you taught me that even if something scares you, you should do it anyway because you'll come out stronger. Just like you did."

“Oh, honey,” Malia coos, lifting his hand to kiss his knuckles. “Okay. Go on and get changed and we’ll head into town, okay?”

Stiles smiles, not showing too much excitement at her agreement, “thank you.” When he gets up from the couch, he pushes further and kisses her on top of her head. Hopefully that kills any doubt the coyote might possess.

---

Calling this place a town is generous. Might as well be a village. The town limit sign they passed said the population was 138. That’s not a lot of people at all. Actually, that might work in his favor. With that few people living here, maybe there’s a chance that it’s one of those everyone knows everyone sort of deals. And them just randomly showing up will raise enough suspicion. At least that's his hope.

It was a task in and of itself to get Malia to let him go inside with her. The coyote is clutching his hand almost painfully as they walk down the aisle for the needed medicine. Stiles grabs a few things along the way. Like a soda, a random candy and a bag of chips. Malia simply smiles at him as he makes his choices. Good, believe that he’s making the most out of this little impromptu trip. Grabbing the bottle of medicine, the coyote all but drags him towards the checkout area.

So much for stalling.

What’s the thing all the videos on the internet say? Blink twice if you’re in trouble? Surely that’s just a joke to them, but maybe it will actually work in his favor.

“Aww, aren’t you two just cute?” The dark skinned woman at the counter beams at them. “You just passing through?”

Stiles pointedly blinks twice. Earning him a strange look from Angela, so her name tag reads.

“No,” Malia gruffs, “we live up the hill.”

“The old Jameson place?” Angela smiles, “that’s a lovely property.” Stiles blinks twice again. “You okay, hon?”

No.

“He’s fine,” Malia speaks for him. “Can we just get the medicine, please? He has a headache.”

“Sure thing,” the clerk oozes with faux niceness. Her customer service voice is in full swing though Stiles can see the irritation in her brown eyes. “Anything else?”

“No,” the coyote clips, swiping her card, not bothering to look at the total. Before Angela can say anything else, Malia snatches the bag and yanks Stiles away.

Help me, Stiles mouths at the woman, but Angela just looks confused. Shit, shit, shit. This was his one shot! His only chance of getting out of this!

“Hey, can we go get some food?” Stiles asks, pointing at the diner across the street. “I’m hungry,” the human says. Maybe he can make a break for it in the bathroom. Write a coded message in his fucking ketchup. Something.

Malia looks over his shoulder and growls deeply. “There’s food at home,” she gruffs, shoving him towards the car.

“Malia, wa-”

“Stiles?” A male’s voice calls. Stiles whips his head around seeing the boy who keeps showing up in the flickers of his memory. He’s with three other boys and two girls. All look worried and almost relieved seeing him. “Stiles!” He yells, once his blue eyes lock with the human, his footsteps picking up pace in their direction.

White hot pain splinters Stiles’ skull.

“Theo, are you sure?” Stiles asks, though he can’t hide the smile pulling at his lips.

“The Beast is dead, the Dread Doctors are gone, and you’re finally fucking safe,” the chimera grins. “I’m more than sure,” his red eyes flicker for a second. “There’s nothing I want more than you.”

“But-”

“Do you trust me?” Theo asks, grabbing both of Stiles’ hands, rubbing his knuckles. Rain sprinkles around them as they stand on the outskirts of the preserve fresh from a fight.

“You know I do,” Stiles whispers. He hasn’t had any mistrust for the chimera for a long time now.

The Alpha smiles brightly, rain getting harder, “then say you’ll be my boyfriend.”

“Okay,” Stiles agrees, his smile broken from Theo’s lips crashing against his as the sky pours around them. Soaking them to the bone, but neither boy cares. They finally have each other.

“Let’s go,” Malia snarls, trying to drag Stiles away and closer to her car.

Stiles tries to pull her hand off, grunting, “no.”

“Stiles!” Theo yells again, hastily following after, his pack hot on his heels. “Miecz, wait!”

The human trips over his feet, the name shooting sparks in his brain, blinding his vision with more memories. Faster and in quick succession. So much cycling through his head, it makes Stiles dizzy. He’s going to throw up if this doesn’t stop soon. Until one final memory comes into sharp focus.

The chimera curls closer to him in bed, rumbling softly in his chest as Theo nuzzles into him. “You know there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, right?” The Alpha asks, placing a kiss to the back of Stiles’ neck. “I’d follow you anywhere,” he says. At least when Theo says it, it sounds reassuring and sweet.

Not stalker-ish like Malia.

“Yeah,” he whispers, thinking back to earlier in the day when Theo had to kill Donovan. The Doctors had revived him and he’d been in hiding for months. Waiting for the perfect time to strike. Just when everyone was thinking things were finally calming down again was definitely the right time. They almost lost so many people, Stiles included. “Thank you for saving me.”

“I’ve done it before and I’ll do it again,” the chimera assures him. “Anything, Miecz, I mean it. I’d put a ring on your finger right now if you’d let me just to prove it to you.”

The human sputters out a laugh, “yeah, right.”

“You think I’m kidding?”

“A little bit, actually, yeah,” Stiles turns in bed to face the Alpha.

“Haven’t you learned by now not to underestimate me?” Theo smirks, releasing his hold on Stiles to get out of bed. Digging around in his nightstand, the chimera produces a small black box with a little purple ribbon. “I was saving this for after graduation,” he explains and Stiles bolts up into a sitting position. Theo drops to one knee, “Mieczysław, I love you more than anything in this world,” glassy blue eyes look up at him. “Will you marry me?”

Stiles’ breath hitches in his chest, the chimera opening the box to reveal a simple silver band. “Yes, Theo, yes!” He exclaims, flinging himself off the bed and into the Alpha’s arms. “I love you so much, Theo!” Slamming his mouth into the other boy’s mouth, Stiles can’t stop giggling.

When he finally pulls away, Theo grabs the ring from the box, “I got in engraved with our initials.” Tilting the band, sure enough there’s an S and T with a heart beside it. “There,” the Alpha smiles softly, sliding the rind onto the human’s finger. “I love you, Miecz.”

“I love you too, Theo.”

“Tracy, stop her,” Theo growls, eyes burning red only a few paces away from them. Malia dragging Stiles as he desperately fights against her hold. Why are there no people on this fucking street? The pair slams into them. In their haste, Stiles ends up encased in the Alpha’s arms while the coyote falls to the ground, unable to move. The human narrowly missed her claws in the scuffle.

“What did you do to her?” Stiles asks, “is she a kanima?”

“You don’t remember?” Theo pauses for just a moment and the human shakes his head no with teary eyes. “I promise, I’ll explain everything, just let me get you safe first, okay?” Theo asks, scooping Stiles into his arms. “Corey,” the chimera calls, one of the boys rushing to their sides, “get us out of here.”

Suddenly, the world has a green hue to it. Stiles is so confused, his head throbbing painfully as more memories flash behind his pinched eyes. The ring on his hand was never from Malia, but Theo. Saving Scott from trying to kill himself with gasoline and a road flare. “It’s all coming back. My head,” Stiles groans, curling into Theo’s chest as he cries from the pain. From the recollection of his life coming back. “I’m so sorry, Theo.”

The Alpha shushes him softly, whisking him away from the scene. The two boys following behind them while the girls stay with Malia. “It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m here. It’s not your fault, angel. I’m going to keep you safe, okay?”

“It hurts,” Stiles sobs into the chimera, fingers aching with how tightly he’s clinging to Theo’s jacket. “Theo, it hurts,” he whines, shaking from the pain.

The Alpha adjusts his hold, wrapping his hand around Stiles’ exposed wrist, “better?” He asks and the human can feel the pulling sensation of pain being taken. Knowing for certain if he looked down, there’d be black veins on Theo’s hand. Stiles nods tiredly. “I’m taking you home.”

“No,” Stiles panics, jerking in the chimera’s arms, “please, I don’t want to go back there.”

“Hey, hey,” Theo brushes their noses together, speaking softly. “Our home,” the chimera corrects. “You never have to see whatever place she had you in ever again. Unless you’d like to go back and burn it down. I wouldn’t be opposed to that idea. Preferably with her inside of it,” Theo growls, his eyes flashing red in his anger.

Stiles’ heart slows back down, anxiety washing away at his actual fiance’s words. “She hit me really hard,” he explains. “I still don’t remember everything, but it’s coming back in pieces.”

“We’ll see if Deaton has a way to fix that when we get back, okay?” Theo assures him. “But first, we have to get you out of here and get you to your dad. He’s been going crazy without you.”

“Thank you,” Stiles mutters into the Alpha’s neck.

“For what?”

“For saving me.”

“I told you,” Theo chuckles softly, holding him tighter, “there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, Miecz. Get some rest, we’re almost to the car. You’ll be home soon.”

Stiles doesn’t hear much after the nickname, falling asleep in his Alpha’s arms. His memories might not be fully intact, but he has enough recollection of Theo to know that it’s going to be okay. That even if they don’t fully come back, his Alpha isn’t going anywhere. For now, he’ll sleep.

Safe for the first time in months.

#teen wolf #steo #stiles stilinski #theo raeken #theo x stiles #stiles x theo #bad things happen bingo #ao3 fic #Match Writes

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arts-n-drafts · 2 months

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POV: a writing exercise

Hey guys! This is the first writing exercise on this blog! Feel free to add your own in a reblog :0

The prompt for today was Perspective - each of us had 15 minutes to write a scene and then pass it to the next person. Then, we had to rewrite the other person's scene from a different perspective - be that first/second/third person or from another character's POV

The pieces are Colour Coded -

Espie - Purple

Athenodora - Green

FloralShirt- Pink

Let us know what you think! :D

-Mod Espie

Up ahead, the mountain loomed.

It was already twilight. The mountain’s peak was still brushed by the last of the sun’s rosiness, but shadows had creeped over the rest of its craggy body, and it in turn was casting its shadow all over the road.

At this sight, the lone man on the road stopped and sighed. He had ridden like the Devil was behind him the whole day, and still he had only got this far.

You look up to the mountain looming above you.

You feel your steps getting heavier as the twilight hides behind the horizon. You look at the mountain’s peak, admiring the last of the sun’s rosiness, before the shadows reach up to chase it away. The shadows that have shrouded the lands beyond fill you with determination.

Unable to take another stride, you stopped in the middle of the road and sighed. You had been running around the whole day like a sinner in church hunted by aggressive nuns. It felt like you should’ve made more progress by now.

I creaked up the stairs, dust hanging in the air like spiderwebs. My breath came fast and cold in the stagnant air, heart thrumming in my ears as I strained to catch the whispers above. Hand drifting to my foil, the other reaching for the trap door, I shakily pressed a sweaty palm to the latch. With rusty resistance, I force the latch open. Click, click, click. The footsteps pause above me. As I hold my breath, I hear scratches at the door. The wood hisses open, and as I brace myself and peek beyond it, eyes darting and sharp, the pressure of the air seems to pop. All at once, winds gust and swirl around me, blinding me as I squint past the pain. Heaving a coughing breath, I push and tumble my way into the attic, slashing wildly about me. A deafening screech hits my ears, and I catch a glimmer of hope in the surprise it holds. Righting myself firmly, rhythm returning, I reach for the popping satchels of purified salt and silver at my belt, hurling them at the towering shadow that lurches above me. Not one to waste an opportunity, I glance forward with a biting strike and drive it backwards, creeping into the corner.

It has been so long since you’d had a good hunt, hasn’t it?

How long…? You don’t know… You can’t remember… It is always dark in this attic. The only lights that ever come, the only breaks in the musty sameness of this place, are the brief gleams and flashes that the preys bring through the trap door. You have forgotten what you do in the time between those moments. Perhaps you’ve been pacing up and down the attic, trying to find a way to break the monotony. Perhaps you’ve been lying with your eyes closed, waiting. Always waiting.

None of that matters now, though - now that there’s a creak on the door’s latch, and the sound of bated breath on the other side of the wood. The sound of something with breath. The sound of something alive.

Alive? Weren’t you like that, once?

You can’t remember.

I opened the door to see my father sitting on the bed. He looked nothing like in the photos. It was hard to believe those sunken eyes of his used to be filled with so much joy and youth. His hunching posture made him look rather out of place in this ornately decorated bedroom.

“O-Oh gosh, Sera! Didn’t see you there!” He perked up as he walked over to me.

“H-Hello, Dad,” I said, not expecting myself to be so nervous.

“Um… Are you comfy with a hug?” He held out his arms.

“Yeah, sure, of course!”

She hesitates gracefully at the door, a timid bug skittering by the edges of politeness and duty. He was the sun to her, a grand pillar of honor and wit that overshadowed her in her teens, yet a wacky-waving-inflatable-arm-flailing-tube-man of whimsy and joy in her childhood. She wasn’t sure what would await her behind those doors - a continuation of the humiliating past, something she could never live up to, or another stranger she didn’t know how to love? She wasn’t sure which one she wanted.

The silence wasted its breath. She steeled herself once more, urging herself past those familiar doors to catch her father, pallid and weak, a hunched spirit ghosting his overbearing image. “O-oh gosh, Sera!” the words felt flimsy to her ears “Didn’t see you there!” His smile lifted, a remnant of her memory.

“H-hello, dad,” she spoke, the anticipation stuttering around her.

“Um. Are you comfy with a hug?” his arms, broad and sturdy, now seemed to open like broken wings in his shattered image. She bit back a laugh, the absurdity of this crushing weight dissipating into dust, the overbearing presence of her past revealing darkness in the passing of his absence’s eclipse. Where was the blazing heat and pressure she had avoided?

“Yeah, sure, of course!” she spoke airily, the breathlessness of a task overdreaded mixing with the adrenaline of the unknown. “Of course, dad”, she lied, “come here”.

As he crumpled into her arms, she wondered if there was really time to learn to know this fragment of her past, or if, like before, his changing self would pass. And in that, a sadness struck her, the inner child of her that mourned the dad she once knew, that perhaps hoped his newest change would be to return to her. “Happy birthday,” she choked. “It’s good to see you”.

“It’s good to see you too,” he breathed, “my darling little girl,” like a final nail in his coffin.

#espiedark #writing exercise #on writing

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scarofthewind · 4 years

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Picture Perfect (MHA Boys) *NSFW*

A/N: I have a lot of requests to do and yet I still like to write my own ideas! I will be answering requests all day today so be on the lookout! A side note: I don’t answer every request that comes in. Some I don’t understand or just don’t feel like writing and since mostly all of you are anon’s, I can’t reply back or ask you about it. Anyways, Hope you enjoy!

Prompt: You send them a revealing photo/ their reactions Warnings: NSFW, R18+ Characters: Most of class 1A and then some extras. As I’ve said; for NSFW, the boys are all aged up to 18+

━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━

Aoyama Yuga: He’s back at home for Christmas vacation when he receives the first sexual picture you’d ever sent him. He could feel his pants tighten slightly as he stared at the photo, loving the way the lingerie hugs your body and how much skin it showing. Excusing himself from the dinner table with a blush on his face, he makes his way to the bathroom where he proceeds to text you a long paragraph on what he would do to you in that moment. “You look so beautiful my love.” He couldn’t wait to see you again.

Bakugo Katsuki: He’s in the middle of working out with his group of friends when he hears his phone buzz. As soon as he opens the text, he grabs all his things and makes up an excuse as to why he’s leaving. He’d call you on the way over to your place, “Don’t fucking touch yourself until I get there. Unless you want to be punished like last time.” His voice held an excitement that went straight to your core and you waited patiently for him to bust through the door.

Iida Tenya: As soon as he looks at the message, he’s off to a private area. His business meeting went well except for the fact that his phone was buzzing like crazy and it was the very graphic and detailed pictures and messages you were sending him. His fingers typed back as fast as they could as his glasses fogged up from the heat exiting his body, “Please refrain from sending me these while I’m at work.” You smiled to yourself as you knew it got to him. He typed again, “But you do look very beautiful and I’ll be home in ten, please wait for me.”

Kaminari Denki: For once he actually pauses the game he’s playing to answer your text and he’s glad he did. He nearly breaks his phone as a surge or electricity goes through him as his eyes look over your nude photo. Denki is typing when you text something and he pauses to see what it was. A video; you sent him a video with you moaning out his name so sweetly and your fingers touching yourself. He wouldn’t make it to your place with how hard he was so he face timed you, “You’re that wet for me already?”

Kirishima Eijiro: He was finishing some paperwork in his office room when you texted him from the bedroom. You can hear his phone go off and a loud bang, followed by a rustle of papers and his bounding footsteps as he runs to the bedroom. When he makes it to the doorway, he stops and takes in your figure with hungry eyes. He lifts his phone and chuckles, “You sure know how to distract me.” You just smile in response and he pounces.

Midoriya Izuku: All Might knew from the second his apprentice had looked at his phone and turned the darkest shade of red, what was happening. Deku looked to the man who waved him off for the day and watched as the boy ran away. Deku called you with a frantic voice, “I’m on my way, I’m going to take care of you I promise.” The image of your bare body was permanently burned in his eyelids.

Ojiro Mashirao: It was a calm day until you had interrupted his reading time by sending him the filthiest picture and text. He practically threw his book across the room in surprise and he immediately face timed you. “Are you trying to kill me? Why couldn’t you have just said you wanted me?” He felt his cock harden between his legs as you explained just how much you needed him.

Sero Hanta: It had been five minutes since you’d sent the first picture. Sero nearly popped a tent in public as he was on watch for villains a couple of blocks away from your home. He couldn’t leave his station until someone told him he could but the urge was all too surreal. When his phone went off and he saw that it was a video, he didn’t even watch it but called you instead, “I am at work, do you mind? I know what you want and trust me, the minute I can leave here I’m heading over.”

Shoji Mezo: He had never seen something so beautiful in his life and within seconds was sporting a raging hard on while trying to finish his reports for the week. His eyes couldn’t look away from the image and he waited until you sent another one to pull his pants down and send some back along with a dirty text, “Is this what you want?” Oh yes, it certainly was what you wanted.

Todoroki Shoto: He was stuck at a ‘family’ function and he had never wanted to see you so bad in his life. As though you’d read his mind, he received the dirtiest photo and text from you he’d ever seen. A deep blush formed on his face and he excused himself to the bathroom. Locking the door behind him, he called you and let his pants fall to the floor, your moans from the other end making his cock harden effortlessly. “That’s it baby, keep saying my name like that. God I want you so bad.” Let’s just say he finished quicker than he wanted to that day.

Tokoyami Fumikage: Every feather on his head ruffled when he opened the text in the middle of the grocery store. He didn’t even think twice as he left the buggy behind and went home as fast as he could. You laughed when you saw his expression as he flew through the door, “Dark Shadow was right, you’re dirtier than I thought.” Your eyes widened as the both of them came towards you. “Don’t ever show this to anyone else, understand?” Of course you both knew you wouldn’t but for a moment you thought you might’ve made a mistake by that nude as they gave you more than what you wanted.

Shinso Hitoshi: You teased him after he called you a couple of seconds after you sent him the photo that made him hornier than he thought possible. He left the breakroom and went outside to talk to you. “Keep it up and you’ll see what happens when I get home.” His voice sent shivers down your spine. “Oh, and (Y/N)?” His voice deepened and you felt yourself start to grow wetter by the second, “Don’t touch your slutty pussy until I say so, okay?” He heard you mumble a response and he chuckled, he really loved his quirk sometimes.

Inasa Yoarashi: You pouted seeing that the messages had been read but Inasa hadn’t responded. It had been about ten minutes and you were worried he didn’t like them. Your body ached for his touches that you loved so much and you almost started to get yourself off when your phone went off and a message appeared on your screen followed by a picture of his fully hardened cock. “You miss my dick, Princess? Come get it.” You grabbed some clothes and your keys and left without a second to spare.

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athenasbloodyspear · 3 years

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Don’t Make Me Beg Now Baby

CHAPTER ONE: EDGE OF DARKNESS

Hello fellow Greta Van Freaks. This is my very first Greta fic! I hope you enjoy.

MASTERLIST

Note: This fic contains mature themes, discussions of past non-con (no members of GVF involved) and drug use. Minors DNI. 18+ only and please take care of yourselves. (See Ao3 for full tag list)

You can also read this fic on Ao3 if you prefer!

Jake Kiszka x Original Female Character

Picture this: The boys are in Northern Michigan to write the new album and they meet a wild young woman who works at a local record store who has a rough history with rock bands.

She doesn’t want to fall into the same traps she fell into before. He doesn’t want to hurt her.

The rest of them just want them to figure their shit out.

Note: While this fic is based on the members of Greta Van Fleet, I obviously do not know them personally (lol) and nearly 99% of this is a fever dream I decided to write down. Some tid bits are based on things said in interviews/photos/songs but please do not come for my neck if you dislike my portrayals as this is a STORY that I have entirely made up.

This will be a slow burn, overly dramatic, cliché fest of me missing my Mitten State and wishing more than anything I could move back home. Their music makes me homesick and for that I’ll never forgive them. ;)

Chapter Under the Cut

CHAPTER ONE: EDGE OF DARKNESS

The tiny bell on the door to “The Edge” clanked as Jake pushed his way in, followed by Josh, Sam and Danny. The afternoon sun streamed through the slats in the windows at a harsh angle, illuminating the swirling dust. The boys all immediately took a deep breath. They all loved the smell of this place. A mix of dusty old vinyl's, incense and weed.

The Edge was the shop owned by an old friend, Levi, who had been a longtime family friend of the Kiszka’s. The boys had made the near three hour drive to the shop whenever they had a spare weekend in their younger years. They bought Levi out of his guitar strings and drumsticks and always looked through the boxes of vinyl's hoping to find treasures. Levi sold an eclectic mix of music equipment, records, books, home goods and comically horrific coffee.

The Edge is where they had each bought their very first instruments, had their first beers and even smoked their first joint. It was a special place for them.

The old wood floors creaked with every step, the wood walls were covered with old articles from Rolling Stone, photos Levi had taken and autographs from the artists who had cycled through the place over the years. There were stacks upon stacks of vinyl's. Shelves of old autobiographies and music theory books. There were speakers stacked from floor to ceiling, and the whole right side of the store was jam packed with basses and guitars. The back corner had a few keyboards and a drum set, but plenty of catalogues to pick even more instruments from. There were cases of drumsticks and guitar picks and strings. The middle of the store had tables full of incense, candles and interesting home goods. There were tables where local artists sold jewelry, art pieces and furniture. It was full to the brim, most shelves rising way up to the ceiling. Most needed a ladder to reach the top. The basement had a sound studio with even more equipment set up to be used to record, or to test out.

Levi had inherited the place from his father, who had built up quite a legendary roster of friends over his years. The shop was just off Front Street on the main drag of Traverse City. Levi’s father had made a name for himself as a great host to bands looking to escape to northern Michigan to hole up in cabins and write albums. Levi continued the tradition and took it a step further by buying the space next door and turning it into a club with live music on the weekends.

If you were lucky, you could catch some super huge bands playing for only about 100 people in the dark side room of The Edge.

“You bastards finally made it!” Levi called out as he came sauntering out of the back room. Levi looked the exact same as the last time the boys had seen him. Tanned skin from his days paddle boarding and hiking along the Lake Michigan shore, sandy blonde hair that was brighter in the summer, perpetual 5-o-clock shadow because he just couldn’t be bothered to shave, shell necklace around his neck, light wash jeans low on his hips with the same old cowboy boots he’d been wearing since the boys were 12.

“Is that grey hair I see Levi?” Josh leaned forward with an exaggerated squint. Levi laughed, snagging Josh’s head to give him a noogie.

“I may be older than you punks by a few years, but I’m not greying yet.” Levi released Josh from his headlock and gave him a shove.

“I’d say 37 is more than a few years older than us, grandpa.” Sam snarked.

“You’re makin me regret extending my hospitality, kid.”

Jake felt himself relax fully for the first time in a really long time. It was just like old times. Exactly what the boys needed.

“Welcome back dudes. I’m surprised I’m still cool enough for you Rockstar types.” Levi crossed his legs and leaned back against the front counter.

“We’ll never be too cool for The Edge. This place will always be way cooler than we could ever be.” Danny piped up, walking forward to wrap Levi in a hug.

“It’s been too long man.” Levi commented as he smacked Danny on the back.

“We know.” Sam said “Way too fuckin long.” He hugged Levi next. Josh and Jake followed up with hugs next. The room was heavy with a tinge of melancholy. Old friends who had missed each other finally reunited.

“Well, have you guys been to the house yet?” Levi stepped around the counter and started pouring four cups of the famous nasty coffee.

“Yeah we dropped our bags off before we headed into town.” Danny spoke up.

“Isn’t it sweet?” Levi asked enthusiastically.

“It’s wicked man. Thanks so much for getting that set up for us.” Josh grinned as he snagged a cup off the counter.

The house was a mid century modern cabin right on the east bay shore. It came equipped with a huge garage studio, front deck and a dock out into the bay. Levi had bought the house in foreclosure and along with help from a bunch of locals (in exchange for beer of course) they turned the house into a perfect getaway for any artists looking to come take a break up north. The place had five bedrooms and three bathrooms with a giant living room with overstuffed couches and velvet chairs. The walls were covered in art and the shelves were full to bursting with plants. It was a kaleidoscope of colors and textures, with mix matched rugs and lamps. It was Levi’s pride and joy.

“I’m so glad you guys like it.” Levi smiled even bigger as he passed coffees to the rest of the boys. “Once you’re a little more settled, feel free to send me a list of equipment you want me to set up downstairs and you can start coming in whenever to work. But also, I think you should probably take a week or two off first. You all look about two seconds away from collapsing.”

“Yeah we’re pretty fuckin beat dude. But we’ll send you a list ASAP.” Jake said, taking a burning sip of the coffee. It singed his nerve endings and he couldn’t have been happier about it.

Levi opened his mouth to speak again, when a voice filtered through the window to the loft above the store.

“Yo Levi!” the person shouted “Can you please get off your fuckin ass and pick music to play? I know Wednesdays are your day to pick but if you take forever I’m just gonna put on whatever I want and you can suck it.”

All four boys' heads snapped up to the window to the loft, but whoever was up there couldn’t be seen. All they could see was that the loft had clearly gotten a makeover. What used to be an upper level where Levi stored surplus supplies now looked like it had a plush velvet couch, lava lamps and plants in it.

“Alright alright! I’ll get on it.” Levi called back up, shaking his head and chuckling to himself as he walked toward the central sound system behind the counter to scroll through Spotify playlists.

“Who the fuck is that and what have you done to the loft?” Josh asked, hopping up to sit on the counter.

“That would be the very best thing that’s ever fallen into my lap. A.k.a my new store and venue manager Maven. She moved back to the area after living in Hollywood for a few years managing bands and she completely changed my life. We finally have consistent stock, a longstanding line up at the club and I have had the time to start photography again. Truly a godsend, if not occasionally a pain in my ass. She turned the loft into a breakroom of sorts. There’s a couch and table up there now. She practically lives up there sometimes.”

“Damn she must be some woman if she finally got you to get your shit together with that club.” Sammy piped up.

“She’s hellfire, I’ll tell yah that.” Levi chuckled, finally hitting play on a playlist. The first bars of Surfin USA by the Beach Boys came on the surround system and matching groans came out of Jake downstairs and Maven upstairs.

“Not this shit again!” Maven yells. Jake chuckled to himself. Hellfire indeed.

“It’s my day to pick so suck it!” Levi called back before faux stage whispering to the boys “I mostly just play this to piss her off.”

Levi clapped his hands together once “Well boys, It’s close enough to five o'clock and I owe you a beer. Let’s head over to Little Fleet for some grub and beers and we can catch up.”

Josh grimaced as he sucked down the last bit of his coffee before lobbing the empty cup into the trash at the end of the counter. “You still make shit coffee Levi.”

“It’s the one thing I wouldn’t let Maven fix.” Levi said with a grin as all five men exited out the back door.

~0~

The boys took a week to relax, as per Levi’s request. They spent the days hiking the shore, kayaking and drinking beer around the fire. It had been way too long since they’d done this. The release of The Battle at Garden’s Gate had been exhilarating and the fans' response had been everything they’d hoped for. People seemed to love the album and they were all so proud. But with press interviews and touring, they hadn’t gotten more than a day or two to relax at a time. And they certainly hadn’t gotten a chance to get back to their favorite old haunts in years.

They stopped by the store almost every morning for a cup of coffee strong enough to jumpstart their hearts. Sometimes Levi joined them on their escapades, and sometimes he stayed behind to help out at the store. The boys spent a few afternoons sifting through albums and strumming on some of Levi’s vintage guitars.

Mostly they caught up on each other's lives. The boys recounted their more personal lives that happened outside the coverage of the album and Levi talked about the past few years of his life in Traverse City. Levi told them all about Maven and how she was practically his little sister. They laughed. They drank. They had a blast.

The boys noticed Levi was a little on edge occasionally, typically when they heard someone shuffling upstairs or equipment moving around in the backroom of the shop. They assumed it was Maven but weren’t sure, since they had yet to see her in the flesh. A week from their arrival they were all sitting in lawn chairs in the alley behind the store, smoking cigs and drinking their coffee when Sam finally asked.

“So, why haven’t we met your precious Maven yet? Hiding her from us or something?”

Levi shifted a bit in his chair. “Um..” he coughed out a laugh. “I am actually. Yes. But it’s the other way around, I’m hiding you from her.”

“Afraid she’ll fan-girl or something?” Josh commented as he ashed his cigarette.

“In… a sense.” Levi coughed. “But in quite the opposite way you’re imagining.”

“She’s a fan then?” Sammy piped up.

“She loves your music. A lot.” Levi sniffed and coughed again. “It’s a real safe haven for her. When she’s having a bad day I catch her upstairs laying on the floor smoking a J with sound cancelling headphones blasting your albums as loud as she can.”

“Exactly how it’s meant to be enjoyed. With a joint in hand.” Jake chimes in.

“Yeah..” Levi toes the asphalt a bit with his boots, but doesn’t continue.

“Soooo” Sammy drawls “Why can’t we meet her? We’re no stranger to super fans. I’m sure she’s cool.”

“Um, well. It’s a bit complicated.” Levi heaves a sigh before flicking his cigarette butt into the coffee canister at the center of their little circle. “I suppose I can trust you guys. You’re friends. Do you remember the huge lawsuit that the band Undercover Heart went through last year? The one about the um” He coughs again, “Rape of one of their staff members by the lead singer Ryan?”

“Yes. That shit was horrific man.” Danny spoke up. “I read all the details I could. They kept the poor girl's identity private but goddamn I felt so bad for her. She was a badass for filing that suit though.”

“Yeah. She was.” Levi breathed. “So, this is strictly off record and if you repeat this to anyone I will skin you all alive, famous rock stars be damned.”

“Jesus Levi.” Jake said.

“It was her.” Levi choked out. “Maven. That’s why she ran back from Hollywood and ended up here. That dude messed her up and she just… she struggles with meeting famous bands now. You know how many people cycle through this joint writing stuff. She just… has a really fuckin hard time with it sometimes. Particularly bands she likes. I think it’s because once you meet someone, and in her case, discover how much of a monster they can be, their music isn’t… safe anymore.”

“Fuck.” Jake said, flicking his cigarette into the canister.

“Well I feel terrible for joking about her being a fangirl.” Josh mutters.

“She just genuinely loves you guys a lot. I never really told her I was an old friend because I didn’t want her to be worried about y’all stopping by. I just know that if she knows you’re here she’ll take off and avoid coming by the shop as much as she can and not only do I need her here, but I think she needs the safety of the shop too. I didn’t want to wreck it.” Levi sighs again. “I know she’ll find out you’re here eventually, it’s inevitable. I just was a coward and didn’t want to break the news to her.”

“She was a pretty well known band manager wasn’t she?” Danny asks. “She like… completely made Undercover Heart what it was. Before they hired her they were slated to be a one hit wonder but she hauled them into relevancy basically by her will alone.”

“Yeah. She basically built that man's career for him. She gave him everything, and he took everything from her. If I ever see the man I’m liable to get my ass thrown in prison.” Levi mutters.

“I’ll help.” Danny says immediately.

All five sit in silence for a few minutes, smoking the last of their cigarettes. When they’d all finished, they stood and stretched to head back inside the shop.

“So yeah. Anyway, If you see her that’s fine, just… well now you have context for… her.” Levi says as he yanks open the door.

A few steps into the back hallway, Levi suddenly halts, causing all four boys to nearly bash into each other. The front door to the shop had crashed open and there were footsteps stomping across the store toward the front desk.

“Listen Levi,” Maven’s tense voice carried down the back hall. “I know Wednesdays are usually your day for music but I’m having an absolute shit fucking day so I’m playing Greta all day and there’s absolutely nothing you can fucking do about it, kapeesh?”

The very opening chords of Edge of Darkness scratch through the speakers after she finishes her sentence and the boys all exchange a slightly amused look, grins spread on all of their faces.

“Kapeesh.” Levi calls out to her. He spins and silently nods to the boys to head toward the back door. The boys attempt to be as quiet as they can as they creep toward the door.

“Also, Levi?” Maven calls again. Everyone halts in their tracks. “You said there was a band coming in soon. Are they here yet? Do you need me to set up the backroom?”

“Uh, yeah they’re here.” Levi squeaks. All five men share nervous looks. “They’re uh… up at the house.” He cringes at his lie. “I’m getting an equipment list from them today and then you can get started.

“Cool cool.” Maven calls back. “Do you think I’ll like their stuff?”

“Uh. Yeah.” Levi grins then. “I think you will.”

“Wicked.” Maven calls back.

All five men repress giggles as they skedaddle out the back door and into the alley.

~0~

The next morning the boys wake up to a group text from Levi.

COME BY THE SHOP ASAP. COME IN BACK DOOR. HEAD DOWN THE STAIRS TO THE BOOTH. BE AS QUIET AS YOU CAN.

A weird request, but they did as they were told. They all piled into the SUV they had rented and headed to the shop. Danny peeled open the back door as quietly as he could, and Sammy opened the door to the stairs. They tiptoed down and through the door at the end of the stairs that opened into the booth of a sound studio. Levi sat in front of all the mixing boards with a cup of coffee to his lips. He glanced over at them and softly said “coffees on the table.”

“Why the weird text?” Jake asked.

“Because of that.” Levi responded softly, pointing through the dark glass into the soundstage.

The sound stage was littered with mismatched rugs, and a few milk crates that doubled as tables. There was a gorgeous seafoam green drum set toward the back wall and stands full of various guitars and basses. Along the left wall was a piano and a Mellotron set up exactly to the specifications Sam sent over. However, with all these beautiful instruments to look at that would normally catch their eye, it was the woman sitting on stool in the center, cradling a dark purple Fender guitar that made Jake stop in his tracks.

Maven, Jake had to guess that’s who it was, was wearing checkered distressed pants, with a ripped up old band t-shirt cropped at her ribs, revealing a sliver of the rounded part of her stomach. Over top she was wearing an orange leopard print cardigan that ran down to her thighs. Around her neck was a series of long necklaces, and her wrists were adorned with interlacing leather bands.

She was plucking out a melody with her eyes closed, rocking back and forth on the stool. Jake had seen countless numbers of people playing the guitar before. On the road, in the studio, studying old masters on YouTube. There was nothing overly special about the way she was sitting or playing, but he felt a little bit like he couldn’t breathe.

“She never fuckin plays anymore man.” Levi whispered. “It felt like magic hearing music coming out of the basement this morning. I just felt like you should see it.”

The melody she was playing was sad. Haunting is a better way to put it, and Jake couldn’t look away. Not even when Sammy placed a cup of burning hot coffee into his hands. She was moving her head along with her playing, the strands of her dark messy hair shaking back and forth. The group watched in silence as she played out the riff a few times, Levi cranked the volume of the mics in the space and they could hear her humming softly.

“She has a strong presence.” Josh murmured.

Maven suddenly stopped. Everyone froze as she heaved a sigh and stood from the stool to put the guitar back on it’s rack.

“You in there Levi?” Maven said then. The boys still didn’t move a muscle. Jake’s head was spinning, having finally seen the face that went with the voice he’d heard in the loft for a week. She was beautiful. He couldn’t even really put his finger on why, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Even seeing her through the thick dark glass of the studio.

Levi hit the button to the mic in the booth and responded “Yah.” He paused before adding. “Sounded good.”

Maven snorted in a self-deprecating way and said “Thanks.”

Levi hit the mic button again and said “You should play more.”

“Don’t push it Levi.” Maven snapped back. Levi released the button to his mic and let out a heavy sigh. “Can you check some levels on the lines for me? I think I have everything pretty good but I want to make sure before they get here today.”

“Sure.” Levi replied.

Maven pulled the amp cord out of the Fender she had been playing on and plugged it into another guitar, one more similar to the guitars that Jake regularly used while they wrote.

“Are we looking for a punk or a rock-y sound?” Maven asked.

“Um.” Levi hesitated. “Rock. Their sound is like…” He tossed a small smile over his shoulder at the boys. “Like Greta’s actually.”

“Dope. I hope they’re not just copying the boys. They’ve got a mellotron in here and everything.” The boys smiled. She pounded out a few chords on the guitar. “Good?”

Levi looked over at Jake for confirmation. Jake, who still had not taken his eyes off Maven, nodded.

“Yeah, that should be good for raw sound. They can play with stuff too. They’re a pretty well educated bunch.” Levi called back.

“Thank god.” Maven snorted. “Not like that indie punk bunch you booked last month who needed me to do fucking all their sound mixing for them.”

“Maven, I don’t think they kept asking you down here because they need help with their sound.”

Maven just rolled her eyes at that.

They repeated the process with each instrument, Levi silently asking for confirmation from the respective Greta member until they were sure the sound lines were all functioning properly.

“Great work kid.” Levi called into the studio.

“Ew don’t call me kid. I’m a 27 year old woman.” Maven called back.

Levi chuckled. “You’re a kid to me.”

“Whatever.” Maven muttered. “I’m gonna go take a walk along the beach. Smoke a little. Text me if they need me.”

“Will do.” Levi called back. The boys all tensed, looking for places to hide, or to run up the stairs and back into the alley. Luckily, Maven took the back door out of the studio and up another hallway instead.

“Well boys, it’s all you.” Levi said. “Text if you need anything.”

Sam piped up and said “Yeah actually, can you pick my brother’s jaw up off the floor?”

“Jake see pretty lady play guitar and Jake brain break.” Josh teased.

“You guys suck.” Jake grumbled.

Levi cackled. “I thought you’d like her.”

~0~

Maven walked along the coast of the bay and absentmindedly smoked a joint. It was an overcast and drizzly day which meant there was no one around, which she preferred anyway. She was feeling on edge. The drizzle was very slowly building a small sheen of water on her arms and hair, but she didn’t mind. The cool water and gentle breeze combination was perfect.

Maven sat her butt down in the sand and stared out at the waves. She normally wore headphones on her walks, her world was a near constant stream of music, but she had opted for silence today.

Levi was being weird. He was edgy around her all week, sending her out every morning for tasks and disappearing without saying where he was going around 4:30 every day. She had come to the conclusion that whatever band was in town this week was a pretty big name. Or big enough that he was nervous about her being around them. She sighed. She hated when he tiptoed around her. Maven didn’t blame him. When she first started working at the shop she had had a couple pretty bad PTSD episodes that had scared the shit out of him. She owed him everything for staying with her, talking her down and making sure she was fed and had water when she got into one of her states.

Levi was her best friend, to put it mildly. He cared for her, kept her safe and in return she busted her ass at his store making sure they had the best products, the best shows and that their artist getaway was something that people would go back and tell their friends about. She loved Levi like an older brother, and he cared for her like his little sister. She would forever be grateful to whatever power in the universe made her stumble into The Edge two years ago.

She had been high out of her mind, as she had been most days after she came running back to Michigan with her tail between her legs, and Levi had been struggling with an amp in the shop. She had walked in, spotted his struggle and didn’t even say a word to him, just walked over and fixed the wiring so that it was functional again. Levi had looked up from where he sat on the floor and said “You don’t happen to need a job do you?”

The rest was essentially history. It only took two months of seeing him every single day, and him not letting her sour moods go by unnoticed, for her to spill her guts over some bourbon one night. About Ryan and Undercover Heart and how badly the whole situation fucked her up. How after she’d recorded her testimony she’d boarded the next flight to Grand Rapids and hightailed it up north. She came crash landing into Traverse City because she’d always loved it as a kid, and figured it would be a great place to start over. The small town she’d grown up in had too many people who knew her.

He was extra careful with bands for a while. Never letting her be alone in a room with too many male band members, and carefully vetting everyone who came through. Eventually she told him off about treating her like a porcelain doll and he backed down a bit, giving her free reign over lots of the equipment set ups and giving her plenty of hours in the shop by herself. She was happy to do so, so Levi could focus on fixing up the artist house and starting his photography again.

But he was still very gentle with her sometimes, and she’d always love him for it even when it pissed her the fuck off.

Once she’d smoked the joint down to the roach, she tucked the end into her pocket. It was sacrilegious to litter near the lake. It was too precious to be fucked with. She meandered back toward the shop. Her plan was to grab her bag and head back to let her Pitbull, Stacy, out for a walk and pee. The girl had been cooped up all morning and Maven felt bad.

She threw her whole body against the front door, as the latch often stuck, and the loud sound of the chimes clanged in the empty space. She rolled her eyes. Of course Levi left the shop unattended and unlocked. It was Traverse City, no one was gonna rob them, but what if someone wanted to buy something?

She was humming softly to herself as she made her way around the edge of the counter and plopped down on the stool by the register. She whipped out her phone to ask Levi where he was. She had the message halfway typed when the door behind her, the one that led to the staff restroom, popped open.

“You know, crime is especially low in this town but that doesn’t mean someone wouldn’t come in here and try to steal your precious coffee maker.” She tossed over her shoulder.

“Oh.” Was all that came back. It was decidedly not Levi’s voice. Maven spun back quickly.

“Sorry I…” But that’s as far as she got. She was suddenly face to face with Jake Kizska and all thoughts quickly left her brain.

They both stared at each other for a long moment. Maven couldn’t quite figure out why he looked just as shocked to see her as she was to see him. He also almost looked afraid for some reason that Maven couldn’t figure out.

He was dressed in an outfit she’d seen him wear plenty of times. A black button up, half unbuttoned, loose fitting light wash jeans and a pair of well worn boots. His wrists were full of bracelets and his hair was longer than the last time she’d seen footage of their concerts, well past his collarbones at this point.

“Hi.” Jake finally broke the silence. “I’m Jake.” He reached out his hand for a handshake.

“I know.” Maven replied, and then coughed. Why did you say that you freak?

Suddenly the front door bell chimed again, and Maven whipped her head to see Levi coming in the front door. She stood abruptly from her stool, skirted around Jake’s outstretched hand, and out from behind the counter. She scooped up her leather satchel on her way.

She headed straight at Levi. He glanced over his shoulder and saw an apologetic Jake looking forlorn and lowering his hand back to his side.

“Oh hey Maven-”

“Hey dumbass, don’t leave the store unattended again. I’m going home to check on Stacy. Probably won’t be back for the rest of the day.” Maven spit as she stormed past him toward the front door.

“Maven wait-”

But she was already outside, the hinges bringing the heavy wood crashing back into the frame. The chime of the bells rang through the space.

“Sorry.” Jake muttered.

“Not your fault. I knew she’d find out eventually. Right now she’s probably just pissed I didn’t tell her. Which she has every right to be.” Levi sighed.

After a few more beats of silence Jake spoke again. “Who’s Stacy?”

Levi huffed a laugh. “That would be her Pitbull.”

“Oh.” Jake said again. He felt crazy because his brain couldn’t come up with anything else to say. She was prettier up close. She smelled like the Lake and weed and sandalwood. He really wished she’d taken his hand. He shook his head trying to find his brain in it somewhere.

The other three boys came clambering up the stairs and into the store. They all looked between Levi, who was still standing in the middle of the shop, and Jake behind the counter.

“Are you two playing freeze tag or something?” Sam quipped.

“Jake met Maven.” Levi responded. The boys' heads whipped toward Jake.

“And… I’m guessing it… went well?” Danny questioned.

Levi finally walked back toward the counter. “She left for the day. This is on me. I should have told her y’all were here.” He snagged his keys from below the counter and walked toward the front door to lock up. “I’m closing early, boys. Let’s go get a beer.”

“Kowabunga baby.” Josh said with a grin.

~0~

Maven sat curled up on her velvet couch, Stacy was her little spoon. There was incense burning, a bottle of wine open on the side table and a lit joint in the ashtray. She had changed into a giant t-shirt and boxer shorts. The soft sounds of John Denver playing off her record player.

However, none of these things were easing her mind.

She was pissed, mostly. At herself. At Levi. She was pissed he didn’t tell her they were coming. She was pissed that he felt he couldn’t tell her. She was pissed that she had acted like a freak in front of Jake.

The anxiety was an endless pit in her stomach. She couldn’t go back there tomorrow. She couldn’t see any of those people. Not when she felt like this.

She whipped out her phone and quickly shot a message to Levi, before chugging her whole glass of red wine and snagging the joint out of the ashtray.

~0~

Levi’s phone dinged on the table where all of the guys sat drinking beers and chatting. Levi glanced at it and quickly picked it up when he saw her name.

“It’s Maven.” He said.

“What did she say?” Jake asked, sitting up a bit in his chair.

“Fuck.” Levi said, tossing his phone on the table, still unlocked.

All four boys leaned in to read the screen.

CASHING IN ALL MY VACATION DAYS. I’LL BE OUT FOR TWO WEEKS.

“Fuck indeed.” Josh said, pounding back the rest of his beer.

#jake gvf #jake kiszka #greta van fleet #greta fic #jake fic #gvf #greta van fleet fan fiction #greta fan fleet fic #peaceful army

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percival-c-mcleach · 3 years

Text

Haunted Not By Ghosts- a McLeach fic.

The atmosphere was as heavy and thick as smog, stuck in time. The house, the barn and the ramshackle sheds were worn down from years of neglect, the barn having been particularly hard hit by time, half of its body rotted and given way to mushrooms.

The house's exterior had once been blue, now stripped almost completely to its wood and brick, with speckles of paint the only indication of what it might had been. The windows were cracked, rusted with dust. Weeds had forced themselves up between the boards of the porch, nearly obscuring the wood. Hidden among the vegetation was a dog bowl, a bright firetruck red that had now faded to a dull pink in the blistering sun, the faintest of childish block writing had faded too much to be read.

Taking a shaky breath, McLeach surveyed his childhood home. For forty years, it had laid abandoned, but it felt just as forboding now as it did back then, if not worse. Anxiety roiled in the man's stomach as he forced himself up the sunken steps, feeling the wood groan beneath him.

Joanna followed her master's footsteps almost exactly, not trusting the structural integrity of the building. She watched as McLeach hesitated with the doorknob, as if it would suddenly come to life and bite him. He gave a gentle twist of the knob- no luck.

"Aw hell.." McLeach huffed, twisting the knob harder. He jiggled the door, but the ancient wood refused to give. He crouched to examine the old doggie door-one he used as his personal entrance to the house-but he was now too old and too round for such an endeavor. Joanna looked between him and the door, noticing his pointed look. She shook her head hurriedly-no way would she be able to fit through there, and she was not looking to get splinters in her sides. Letting loose a curse, McLeach kicked the door-and it popped open nearly effortlessly. Quickly shaking off his surprise, he shouldered the heavy oak the rest of the way open, coughing as a wave of musty air washed over them both.

Once natural sunlight fell over the place, McLeach felt his breath catch in his throat- sans a thick coating of dust, the hallway looked almost exactly as he remembered it being. It was as if the other three McLeaches hadn't left the house; most of the decor still hung in place, with the addition of cobwebs. The coat rack still held his father's old bag, four pairs of slippers lined up beneath the side table, waiting for owners who would never return.

The house felt haunted. Not in the way most people came to think of haunted houses, brimming with ghosts; haunted in the sense that you could feel everything that had happened in this place. The anxiety only grew stronger, the further the pair ventured in. The carpet had faded from direct sunlight, but the patches in the shade of the furniture still remained its dark green color. Dust rose in clouds as man and lizard ventured carefully down the hall, with Joanna trying her best to hold in her coughing.

The family portrait was still there, hanging above a boarded-up fireplace. McLeach didn't blame anyone for leaving it, it wasn't something you'd want to have in your house. The sepia-colored photograph was dust-covered, but the man could still feel the cold, hard glare of his father through it. He raised his hand to wipe away the dust. The first to emerge was his mother. Thin-faced and tired, with her dark hair pulled up in an untidy bun. In one arm she cradled the newly-born Casey in his thick wool blanket, the other dangled down, gently squeezing the hand of a seven-year-old Percival. He had been small back then, missing two of his front teeth and a head full of hair like his mother's, dark and messy. Rubbing away the rest of the dust, Mr. McLeach soon followed. Towering over his wife and children, not even the shadow from the brim of his hat could have hid the starkness of his unnaturally light eyes. His large hand had a rough grip on Percival's shoulder then, the man grimaced at the memory. He couldn't bring himself to look longer at his father than was necessary. Even in photographs, he seemed to be glaring directly at his eldest.

Feeling claws on his leg, McLeach glanced down to see Joanna attempting to raise herself higher, she wanted a view too. He scooped her up as one would a toddler, though with some difficulty given her hefty weight. "Ay, you know who that is?" McLeach smiled, pointing to his mother. Joanna tilted her head quizzically- the human woman looked very distinctively familiar, even though she knew they had never met. "That's your namesake," McLeach continued, "My mama, Joanna. I promised that I'd name my firstborn daughter after her...and well, you count, I guess." Joanna wasn't able to understand just how important that was, but she felt it was very, very important. She waggled her tail happily, inching her snout closer to the frame. She clearly recognized the young Percival, and let out a rasp that sounded much like a wheezing laugh. "Go ahead, you looked weird when you were a kid too." McLeach rolled his eyes. His arms had started to ache, and he set her back down. He continued down the hall, and froze for a brief moment when he came to the wall opposite the sitting room's entrance. Beneath a framed picture of Casey with his model airplane, a round hole was at shoulder-height, the impact having shredded and burnt the faded yellow wallpaper. "..Damn idiot didn't bother to get it fixed after I left, eh?" He scoffed, "You see this, Joanna? You can tell I didn't get my marksmanship from Pops. He couldn't hit the broad-side of a barn." A slightly alarmed chirrup arose from Joanna's throat as she realized what that hole was, but McLeach didn't seem bothered by it. He breezed past the bullet-hole and past the sitting room, after taking a quick glance inside and finding that the armchair and couch were overrun with a brackish mold.

The kitchen was small, and had once been cozy. The kitchen window had broken, and one of his mother's prized climbing rosebushes had wormed its way in, leaving a layer of generations of rotting petals over the linoleum. Nevertheless, the rosebush itself was thriving, its creamy white petals shining in the golden sunlight. Reaching out to touch, McLeach couldn't help but to pluck one of the roses off, holding it in his palm. He had forgotten how silky-soft the petals felt, and how sweet it smelled; he closed his eyes and inhaled, feeling a sharp pang in his middle. A sharp pang of an emotion he couldn't quite describe. It was happiness and sadness rolled into one, and it left an ache. The smell reminded him of sitting outside with his mother, tending to the rosebushes together; if a blossom had just fallen, his mother would pluck apart the petals and keep them in a jar, preserved in the icebox until she got around to making soap and hand-cream. McLeach opened his eyes. The strange emotion only grew. He dropped the rose onto the floor, to join the rest of the fallen flowers.

Joanna had gotten braver, and went ahead of the poacher. She still felt intimidated by the house; she seen that her owner was as well. It was odd, to see him so on edge in a place that was so familiar to him. Maybe if she showed she was brave, he'd feel better. Crawling up a set of stairs, she gazed down the dim hallway. Four doors, only one of them was left ajar. Curiosity got the better of her, and the goanna went to take a peek.

The bedroom looked as if its occupant had left in a hurry. She could still see old toys and picture books on the shelves, a small, rickety wooden bed with moth-eaten blankets neatly made, with a shapeless lump that at one point had been a teddy bear sitting atop the covers. The walls were wallpapered, though it was difficult to tell what color they had been, for it was now all a dull grey. The posters on the walls were faded yellow, with vague shapes of rubberhose cartoon characters etched onto them.

Hearing McLeach wheeze his way to the top of the stairs, Joanna looked over her shoulder, and sat outside the door until McLeach could join her. He leant in the doorway of his old bedroom, soaking in the scene. After what seemed like minutes, he finally walked into the room, slow and quiet.

The thing of interest for McLeach were the picture albums on one of his shelves. The ones left exposed to the sun were faded-but maybe these were saved. He grabbed on and flipped it open, feeling a large lump rise in his throat when he seen that they were untouched. Smelled a little mildewy, but were still visible. He choked down the lump, flipping through each page slowly, wanting to savor every picture. His baby brother in his bassinet, wearing a goofy-looking baby bonnet. Flip. Their old dog, Blueberry, sleeping on the rug in the sitting room, a chewbone lolling out of his mouth. Flip. A photo of his parents on their wedding day, both looking much younger and happier than he had ever remembered them seeing; Mr. McLeach had looked kinder then, gazing at his bride with all the love and adoration that a husband was supposed to have for his life partner. Flip. His childhood friend, Ruby, sitting with the nine-year-old Percy on the river's rocks, holding baby ducklings. Flip. Flip. Flip.

These were happy memories; why did his heart ache so much looking at them? He shouldn't feel like this, looking back on what were the happier years of his life. Flip. Flip.

Percival's heart sank to the bottom of his stomach.

Of course there had to be pictures of Mr. Wells in here; back then, the McLeaches considered him as good as family. A tall, scrawny, unassuming man with shoulder-length brown hair, who had kindly and selflessly looked after Joanna and the boys while Mr. McLeach was away in the army- a second father figure, the reliant one, one who wouldn't yell and scream at the smallest of slights. After spending the summer with Mr. Wells as a boy, Percival wished he had stayed home. At least his father didn't play mind games with him, and when he hurt him, it was out of rage, and not premeditated. Not passed off as accidents that were all Percival's own fault. Not passed off as something he deserved, for something he couldn't even recall doing. The picture seemed so innocent. Just a kindly man with the boy he called his honorary son, on the back of a old mule at the fair. Percival knew better; he knew that under his child self's sweater was a nasty deep bruise, a bruise that hurt for weeks. Mr. Wells had claimed it had been an accident, that he hadn't meant to swing the shovel so hard into him. It was Percival's fault, for sneaking up on him like that.

'You'll be hurting for a while, Percy..' He could still hear that soft voice, too soft to note any real remorse, 'You frightened me something awful...I guess we learned our lesson on sneaking up on people, didn't we?'

We. As if it was a lesson they both learnt. As if it wasn't just one of the many thinly-veiled excuses used to hurt him. As if he didn't do worse, as if he did not permanently scar him physically and mentally. As if he didn't one day stop giving his excuses, once Percival had gotten too old to fall for them. As if it was the both of them having a knife held to the soft skin of their throat. As if it were the both of them who had to endure a full day and night in the skinning shed, surrounded by the dead, staring eyes of hogs. As if it were the both of them who had to endure nightmares, long after the torment had stopped.

It had always been 'We'. Never a 'I'm sorry.' It was always 'You.'

He had been brave only once. Brave enough to go to his father for help. How foolish of Percival to believe that his father would have stood up for his son. He never did such a thing before. The entire ordeal had been Percival's fault-his fault for being too stubborn, too much of a brat. If he had behaved better, Wells wouldn't have resorted to harsher punishments-it had been his fault he was treated so poorly.

For once, Percival stood up for himself.

Mrs. McLeach had tried to deescalate the fight. Mr. McLeach found himself with a broken nose, as Percival helped Joanna off the floor and out of the room. He only heard the safety click off before he had dove down the hall, sprinting from the door and into the night. "DON'T YOU EVER COME HOME!" For forty years he stayed away.

The strangled scream had terrified Joanna spitless. The goanna had been nosing around underneath McLeach's old bed, when her master emitted a sound so animalistic, that for a moment she feared that a big-cat had been hiding somewhere in the room. She immediately balled herself against the corner as the photo album was flung into the desk hard enough to shatter the frail wooden handle. The lump was back in McLeach's throat again, tighter and more painful than before, forcing tears to swell and blur his vision. His breathing came in ragged gasps, trying to keep the deep pain in his middle from winning. He crouched where he had stood, clenching his hands so tight that he felt as though they may break. He shouldn't be getting upset over this. He shouldn't be getting this upset over a goddamn picture.

It had been forty years. Why does it still hurt so bad? Why does it still feel so fresh?

The sudden warm weight crawling onto his lap tore him back into the present. Joanna scrambled as far up on him as she could. Percival hugged her as tight as he could, until his heart rate slowed back to normal, until he could breathe without choking. "Thanks." His voice was barely more than a croak. He took his bandana to dry his eyes with, "I'm sorry..I just.." he couldn't explain what had happened. Joanna understood though. She gently headbutted his shoulder, before slithering off of him and towards the photo album, picking it up in her jaws. McLeach took it from her, holding it in his lap. He'd tear out the pictures he wanted to keep, and leave the rest to rot in this forsaken house. The sun had just started to set as they made their way back to the truck, parked in the barren field next to the rotting barn. McLeach didn't even bother to give the house one last look before they drove off. Maybe now hadn't been the right time to come back. Maybe there never would be a 'right time.' Eventually, something had to be done about the place. Maybe he'd torch that haunted house to the ground. A house haunted, not by ghosts.

#Disney #disney villains #percival mcleach #the rescuers down under #fanfic

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sweater-daddiesdumbdork · 4 years

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Home Sweet Home: Catch ‘Em

Summary- 3.9k Andy Barber x You. You and Andy almost have it all, married and with a jointed family consisting of Andy’s teenage son Jacob, as well as your two younger children John and Cassidy. Looking to add another member, your family is in need of a bigger house, a forever home. You find just the place, 112 Ocean Avenue in Amityville Long Island. Home Sweet Home

Written for @optimistic-dinosaur-nacho Spooky Scary Stories challenge. Divider by @firefly-graphics

Warnings- Child Endangerment, Hints of Smut (nothing graphic) Swears.

A/N- I chose Amityville Horror for the challenge because its one of my favorite Spook Stories growing up. When reading you will find a lot of similarities to the 2005 Movie, some of the scenarios and dialogue are specifically from that film. Other parts of it are from the book itself. The family name was changed for my own personal reasons. Happy Haunting! 🎃

A/N 2- We’re halfway through!

Chapter 2 / Masterlist

The family settled and a few weeks later, morning started out normal for the rest of the household , but didn't start that way for Andy. His coughing never seemed to break and he was covered in a light sheen of sweat. You were already up to make breakfast for everyone, and Andy came down the stairs, rubbing at his chest.

“Coffee Andy?” You ask while holding the coffee pot over his mug but he shook his head.

“No, I actually came down hoping to find some cough syrup? Or pain medicine? Anything really. We don't have any upstairs.”

“Oh I tossed out the old stuff. But I will pick some up when I go out today. I told Jacob that I would drop him off at the high school today after I got John on the bus.”

Just as you were saying this, a stampede of footsteps came down the stairs making Andy wince a bit and all three kids came around the corner into the kitchen. Andy barked out a bit sharply, which even surprised you. “Y’all don’t need to be running on the stairs.” He coughed again and shivered. “Fuck its cold… I'm going down to check on the heater. If you could get that stuff, that would be great.”

He snapped the door open and disappeared from sight while you were staring after him in surprise. Even all three of the kids seem to be in shock. Jacob just shrugged at his father's weird behavior and went to sit on a stool at the kitchen bar, the other two following him while you set plates with some scrambled eggs on them in front of them. Jacob just took toast nibbling on the edge of it a bit.

“My phone cant keep any kind of charge whatsoever! I just got this thing to.” Jacob flipped it around to show you, and you saw it was already at 50 percent. You frowned at that, because of course he had one of the better styles of phones. Much better than anything you've ever had.

“Your charging cord is working and everything?” You question and he nods, slipping it in his pocket.

“Works just fine. It charges it to one hundred percent, twenty minutes later it is back down to fifty.”

You shrug at Jacob at a loss and happen to glance at a small clock on the kitchen windowsill. “Shit.” you hiss out and down the last of your coffee. “Come on, time for the bus before we're late. Jake, meet you in the car.” You grab your car keys and open the door to call down to Andy. “I'm taking the kids to school.”

You heard nothing more than a resounding deep cough and frowned reminding yourself to pick up that cough medicine for Andy on your way home. “Got your backpack John? Alright, lets go.” The whole pack of kids ushered out the door, leaving Andy all alone.

Andy is pacing downstairs, waiting for the heater to kick on, cursing it out.

“Spent all this money and the damn thing wont work.” he mutters while pulling the chair from his desk to it to sit in front of it, messing with the buttons on the front till a groaning protest came from the heater, and it clicked on to blast a bit of cool air, and quickly switched to warm. Rolling his chair back to his desk, he pulled out files from the bottom drawer to contact his clients and inform them that he was back in business at his new location.

He was so tired though, having felt like he was up half the night feeling ill, and within a few moments he simply closed his eyes to rest them, he would use as an excuse to himself. Within moments he nodded off, and the creeping shadow came out of hiding, solidifying in front of his desk. Sharp clicking steps echoed against the cement floor and claws seared when they touched the wood of Andy's desk. It leaned forward to loom over the desk, over Andy whose chin rested against his chest. Forked tongue slithered along Andy's face, making him twitch in his sleep, whispering “Catch ‘em, Kill ‘em” Red eyes watched his victim for a moment, seemingly at peace in this state. It flexed its hands, claws scratching into the wood before giving a hard shake, sending papers and pens flying, Andy’s laptop skidding across the surface and a picture that you had set on there yesterday crashing loudly to the floor. Cracking the glass into shattering pieces across the floor to glint wickedly. Andy’s eyes sprang open and he tipped forward to grab his shaking desk in surprise to see glowing red eyes and the scream of “Catch ‘em!”

Then it all stopped, and he shoved back from his desk, pressing his heels to his eyes thinking he was seeing things. “What the fuck, what the fuck.” when he lifted his head, his breathing shaky to look at his desk, it was all normal. His papers were still exactly where he had set them before, his laptop in sleep mode ready to be used, pens all neatly lined up how he liked, and his family looking at him with wide happy smiles and laughs at the beach, the glass shining slightly in the light.

“Jesus Christ Andy, get it together.” he shivered, cold once more and started coughing again. The door at the top of the stairs opened and your soft footsteps brought you down, Andy glanced up to see you carrying a steaming mug with the string of a tea bag wrapped around the handle and a paper bag that he assumed must have been the med’s he asked for. You reached the bottom and started approaching him, seeing his flushed face, the way he was heavy breathing with the rise of his chest, and you frowned while sitting the mug in front of him.

“Baby, you don't look so good.” Your hand brushed against the side of his face, and it felt ice cold to him. Jerking out of your touch a bit, he wrapped his hands around the mug and sipped from it, scowling at the taste.

“Don't talk to me like one of the kids Y/N.” he bit out of nowhere and he could see your face flash in a bit of hurt. “Sorry- sorry… I don't know what's wrong. Just a head cold is all. Are those the med’s?”

“I got you a bit of everything.” your voice was colder towards him now, turned off from his offhand comment, and you set those down to, Andy knew he had to make it up to you, that was twice in the same morning he had been short, completely out of character for him. His hand wrapped around your waist and pulled you into his lap, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“I’m sorry I have been an ass this morning.” He said, hoping you would ease up a bit. Which you did, he felt you relax on his thigh and your hand lifted to brush through his hair, tilting your head.

“I know you're not feeling good. Come up soon and lay back down though? I am worried about you.” you confess, and he nods. “I gotta go back up and check on Cassidy.”

You leave him at his work, and going up the stairs, you leave the door open to let the kitchen's sunshine at least shine down the dark stairs. Maybe it will remind Andy to come back up you think to yourself as you leave the kitchen.

As soon as you do, the door eases shut, closing him back down in the dark belly of the house. Up the stairs, you walk the long hallway towards Cassidy’s room, gazing along the walls, imagining the photos you wanted to hang along the way when you heard Cassidy’s soft voice seemingly talking to someone.

“No Jody, I cant. Mommy wouldn't like that, and neither would Andy.” You tilt your head curiously hearing this now, recalling her mentioning someone by that name a few times now since moving in.

“Well, okay Jody, that doesn't sound too bad. And it is really cool. He took me out on it a few times. Even let me drive it once.”

You eased her door open to see her standing in the middle of her room, and she jumped when she saw you.

“Oh mommy! You scared me.” She giggled, and you poked your head around the door to see what she was talking to. Nothing, there was nothing there.

“Who are you talking to, Babygirl?” You ask, and Cassidy looks once more where she had been talking before answering.

“Jody, but they are gone now.” she hummed and turned towards her box of toys to dig through it. You come into the room and go to sit on the edge of her bed, watching as she pulled out a few of her dolls and brought out her tea set.

You wiggle your nose a bit, knowing imaginary friends were not uncommon. You pull up to a stand as she is setting up her dolls around a small table. “Do you want me to have tea with you?”

“No Mommy, I wanna just play by myself.” She said happily and you lean down to kiss the top of her head. Walking out, Cassidy followed behind you, peeking out to see you heading off to go back down the stairs.

“Okay Jody, she's gone. You still wanna go down to see the boat?” Cassidy looked over her shoulder to see the closet door easing open on its own. Cassidy giggled, and raced out of her bedroom, one goal in mind. Going to the boathouse.

You're in the kitchen, unpacking the last few boxes when you hear Cassidy’s feet thumping down the stairs. Luckily Andy is still down in the basement and hopefully can't hear the thumps that seemed to bother him. You were surprised in finding the door, but figured he must have had to shut it if he was talking to a client. Opening it back up to hear Andy was still downstairs, typing away on his laptop now with the clicking noise that worked its way up the stairs. Humming you lift another box on the table and start to unpack the contents. Turning your back from the fridge, you hop up to sit on the edge of the counter so you could fit the dishes together and put them on the upper shelf you couldn't reach. Unnoticed by you, the alphabet letters on the fridge start shifting around, letters coming together to fit together in a couple words.

When you finish, you hop off the counter and turn back to catch sight of the refrigerator door, your eyes widening at the horrible words spelled on the door.

Katch ‘em Kill ‘em

You gasp in shock at them, wondering who would have possibly written that. Thumps on the stairs distracted you half a second and Andy appeared with his mug for a refill. “Andy, did you write that on the fridge?” you say in a slightly accusing voice, and he frowns while glancing at you as he heads to put the kettle on the stove.

“What are you talking about Y/N?”

“The magnets on the fridge.” You answer and you both turn to the fridge door to see the letters scattered all over the place, not spelling anything. You scowl in frustration, because you know what you saw and Andy gives you a strange look.

“What words?” he asks while he's at the sink, filling up the kettle with water and you just shake your head.

“Nothing, I thought I saw something, but I didn't.” you brush it off, now unsure of what you saw. While you're unwrapping more dishes, you suddenly hear Andy utter. “Oh shit, Cassidy!” and the tin sound of the kettle crashing in the sink while Andy is sprinting to the back door and outside. You drop what you're doing and follow him out, right on his heels as he's running down the wooden deck steps and headed straight for the boat house. “ANDY?” You shout from behind him as he's running full out across the deck. “What's wrong?!” your panicked, unsure what is going on while Andy is trying to wrench the door open.

“Cassidy, I saw her go in here.” He rushed out as he wrenched on the handle, trying to get it to unclasp. You start pounding on the door now in a frantic way, Cassidy couldn't swim, and the boat house was stretched over the lake, should she slip in, there was a good chance she would drown. Your fear builds as Andy continues trying to get the door open. “What the fuck. CASS! OPEN THE DOOR.” he yells while trying to push it open.

“Oh god Andy, get it open, get it open.” tears start to well up in your eyes as you picture your daughter slipping under the water out of sight.

Andy growls out and pushes you aside to slam against the door, hoping to wrench it open. “I'm trying Y/N, get out of the way.”

Your just about to jump in to swim around to the other side of the boat house when the door sprang open and you both race in, looking around the dim interior to see Cassidy standing on the nose of the motor boat just staring out over the lake, you gasp in surprise seeing her like that as Andy made his way carefully along the edge of the deck not to startle her.

“Cass, Babygirl, look at me.” Andy says softly as he makes his way towards her. Your right behind him.

“Cassidy, look at Andy.” you whimper out, watching as she gets closer to the edge of the boat, and her gaze was so far away out over the lake, like she never noticed you or Andy trying to get to her.

“Cass!” He says more urgently, and she jumps to look at him, slipping a bit as the boat rocks from her movements. “Take my hand baby.” He stretches his hand out and she shakes her head a bit.

“I can’t, I gotta go.” Cass say’s with certainty, tilting her head like she was listening to someone else. “Jody want’s to take me to play.”

“Take his hand Cass!” your panic rushing your voice and Andy stretches out further over the water, his voice turning hard and authoritative.

“Cassidy I’m not asking again. Take my hand.” When Cassidy heard him this time, she snapped her head to look at him and her eyes grew wide with surprise. She stretched for his hand, her fingers trying to reach for his. Andy is quick to snatch her and pull her off the boat to safety, falling back against the wall from the momentum. You gather your daughter in your arms, giving a sob.

“Cassidy what were you doing, you could have drowned.”

Now the girl is caught up in Andy's and yours fear, giving her own sob as tears burst from her eyes while you and Andy rush out of the boat house with her strongly clutched in your arms, stopping just outside as she wails out. “Jody wanted to see the boat Mommy! Jody wanted me to go with them.”

“Cass, there is no Jody!” your nerves shook so you shout at her in anger and fear, and Andy reaches to take Cassidy from your arms.

“She's scared Y/N and didn't know any better, yelling isn't going to help.” He turns the little girl in his arms as she sobs into his shoulder, his hand smoothing along her back to calm her down. “Hey Kiddo, it's going to be okay.” He tried calming Cassidy who’s sobs wracked her body in Andy’s arms, and you walked away a bit to take a shuddering inhale. You know he's right, you're just upsetting her more, but your fear outweighed that right now.

“Just lock that damn door Andy, so this doesn't happen again.” you look back at the door and he nods.

“I will go pick up a lock at the hardware store, I promise.” He assured you and you nodded, wiping away your tears. Now your daughters crying in Andy’s shoulder upset you, made you feel guilty for yelling at her. You move to press your hand against her back and say her name. She tilts her head to look at you through teary eyes and you try giving her a shaky smile.

“I’m sorry baby, I didn't mean to yell. You just really scared me and Andy.”

She gave a sniffle and Andy eased her back so she could wipe her face dry and look at both of them.

“I’m-i’m sorry. Next time I will ask.” She said, and you nodded. Andy shifted her once more to rest on his hip.

“Cassidy, the boathouse is dangerous and you know off limits to you and John. If Jody tells you to do something you're not supposed to, what do you tell Jody?” he asked and the little girl lifted her arm to wipe her face again, hiccuping as she tried to catch her breath.

“I tell Jody no Andy.” she said, his hand still rubbing against her back.

“That's right, if you're not sure if you're allowed, you come ask Mommy, Me, or Jacob if it's okay.” he smiled at her to reassure her that it was all okay.

She gave a nod and he held up a pinkie finger, which she hooked her finger around and Andy kissed her forehead. “Pinky promise I swear Andy.”

“Can't break a pinky promise. You know… I think I have some cookies up at the house.” He said, his hand coming up to brush the last tears away with his thumb on her cheeks. “You wanna get a snack before I have to go back to work?”

Cassidy seemed to consider it. “Oreos?”

“Of course they are oreos!” Andy winked as you all headed back up to the house. “Best cookie there is, right?”

Cassidy gave a firm nod, and you let out a relieved breath. Crisis averted.

Later that afternoon, Andy came back out of the basement just as you were finishing the kitchen, Cassidy coloring at the table while he grabbed his keys.

“I will go pick up Jacob and stop at the hardware store.” He pecked a kiss on your cheek, and you looked at him.

“You sure you're feeling up for it?”

Andy nodded and flashed a smile. “I feel much better Love, those meds kicked in and some fresh air will do me good.”

You happen to agree since he's been in that basement most of the day, and you wave a goodbye, deciding you should probably figure out what's gonna be for dinner later in the day. “How about tacos tonight Cass?”

She cheers and you double check to make sure there was enough ingredients, which there was. No need to send Andy a text to pick up anything. “Come on kiddo, lets go pick John up from the bus stop.” you snap the door shut, bluntly ignoring the letters scattered over the fridge.

Heading down the driveway, the house groaned, all alone once again. There was a shattering through the kitchen, your finest dishes being flung from the cupboard and against the wall, fine china dust settling in the air as the scattered pieces spread across the linoleum for you to find later. The basement door wrenched open and the yawning darkness going down the stairs turned darker, more ominous.

When you came back, you stared in shock, stopping both John and Cassidy from going in to save them from stepping on shattered broken shards. “How about you two go on up to your rooms to play while I clean this up?”

Both children went upstairs, and you grabbed a broom to start sweeping, as you passed the basement door, you slammed it shut in frustration and anger.

Night fell and you got the kids settled in. Settling in bed yourself to lean against the headboard, massaging your temples while Andy was in the bathroom getting ready for bed.

You were beat after having to help John with his homework and Cassidy suddenly changed her mind and just hated tacos. Andy seemed to be feeling better, helping where he could. Offering to take over the dishes when John called you back to the kitchen table, and afterwards he hugged you from behind, kissing your neck while whispering in your ear that he couldn't wait to put a baby in you before he went back down to the basement to finish up with a few things.

Thinking back on his idea made you warm up and when Andy came back in the bedroom and stretched out next to you, you looked at him, biting your lip while looking at him.

“You really wanna tonight?” you asked hopeful, since moving your and Andy’s sexual escapades had diminished a bit and you put it all to the stress of moving a whole family to a new house.

“Make you a baby momma? Of course, come on over Pretty Girl.” He reached up to click off the lights and bathe the room in the moonlight when you gently eased into his lap, the two of you starting with gentle affectionate kisses before they turned deeper and needier. Andy's hands slid up and down your back through your tank top, and you would sigh against his lips at how good it felt. Andy chained kisses from your mouth to your jaw and you tilted your head back to let him chain those kisses of his down your neck. He pulled you in closer to feel more of you when his glance lifted to look in the mirror just behind you at the end of the bed.

At first Andy had no idea what he was actually looking at, a grotesque face appeared above him in the mirror, like it was balancing on the headboard behind him. Crouching in place, its clawed hands dug into the wood, its muscled body flexing as it swayed slightly on the head board. Up to its face, a forked tongue slithered out and red eyes glared at him in the mirror. How could something from a nightmare be here right now? He wasn't asleep, he was just about to make love to his wife. His head jerked back in shock, banging against the headboard with a loud crack as he looked up to see nothing above him. “Fuck!”

You yanked up in surprise, running your hands down his chest. “Handsome, what's wrong?” your head tilted and you looked where he was staring, feeling his heart starting to race under your hands.

“You didn't see that?” He grasped your hips, making you go still as you frowned.

“See what Andy?” his gaze fell back to ours and then back up.

“There was something there, fuck I saw it in the mirror. I don’t even know what it was. It looked like a- ” He grasped your hips and sat up to look around, your hands grabbing onto the front of his tee shirt in surprise. Looking back to the mirror and then to Andy who was still trying to figure it out.

“Like what Andy?” You are studying him trying to figure out what he was talking about.

“Fuck it I know Y/N.” His hold tightened on you a moment, like whatever was going to rip you away while he still looked around the room.

“Hey hey, Andy.” you cup his face and make him look at you, kissing his forehead and down till you leaned your forehead against his. “It's okay, there is nothing there, I promise.” Your lips brushed against his. His breathing slowly started to settle back down, and your hands rubbed against his shoulders and the back of his neck as he started to sink back against the pillows, rubbing at his face.

“It was so real though Y/N. These past few weeks, I feel like I'm losing my mind.”

You tilt your head and brace your hands against his chest. “Stress Andy, we’ve had a lot going on. It will get better, I promise.”

His blue eyes shined up at yours and softened seeing you looking down at him, his hands going back to tracing your thighs clasped at his sides. “You know I love you right Pretty Girl?”

You nodded and he twisted you two around till you were underneath him, and tilted your head up to kiss you deeply. “I think I was just about to put a baby in you.”

You giggled against his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck and whispering. “Yes you were Andy.”

#home sweet home #DinoScaryStories2020 #andy barber x reader #andy barber x you #andy barber au #amber writes #sweater writes #halloween #halloween 2020 #writing challenge #amityville horror

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wyofabdoms · 3 years

Text

Undercover I Do - Chapter6

Characters: Javier Peña x female reader

Summary: While on an undercover assignment posing as a married couple, you are attacked and nearly assaulted. Upon waking, all you remember about Javier Peña is what you remembering seeing from two photographs of the two of you posing as the happily married couple. As you struggle to regain your memories, Javi struggles with his own feelings for you.

Rating: Mature (Eventual smut)

Warnings: fake/pretend relationship, married and undercover trope, temporary amnesia, injury, swearing, domestic Javi, feelings, I have no idea how amnesia really works, brief mention of masturbation

Word Count: 5220 (Whoopsie!)

Notes: Home from the hospital, you settle into your home with Javi and continue trying to remember...

Read on Ao3

You come home from the hospital on a Friday midmorning and spend much of the day resting in bed...it seems like the simple task of walking up your apartment steps takes so much out of you. When you enter the apartment, Javi greets you carefully, timidly, giving you a gentle and almost awkward hug around the shoulders and watches you carefully as you gaze around. When you catch him looking at you, he inquires if you’re hungry. You admit that you are and he goes to work reheating the food he had had the insight to order. He gets you situated at the table with a glass of water and your food and joins you soon after. As the two of you eat, you notice a small bouquet of flowers in the middle of the kitchen table and when you ask your husband about them, he dips his head and grunts something about being from some of the guys at work.

You chat idly during lunch and spend some time looking at the pictures on the refrigerator door and tracing your fingers along the spines of the books on the bookshelf in contemplation while Javi cleans up after. You pick up the wedding photo of the two of you from a bookshelf and trace a finger along the sliver of distance separating the two of you in the picture, casting your thoughts into the empty depths of your recent memory, trying to remember this moment, this day. You sense him behind you and replace the frame quickly where it was before turning and mentioning to Javier that you're a little worn out; he immediately encourages you to lie down and rest, ushering you towards the bedroom before leaving you alone for privacy to change.

Opening your closet door, you quickly find a pair of sweatpants. As you search for a shirt, your eyes slip from the side of the closet that is obviously yours and over to your husband’s side. You notice a lovely purple colored button-up on the edge of the rack and reach for it without thinking, pulling it over your head, breathing deeply as it passes over your face. You plan to take it off, but your eyes can’t seem to open once the worn-soft material is settled on your skin. Even though it’s silly and it's just a shirt, something about knowing that it’s one of your husband’s seems to cocoon you with comfort and peace. Which, you know, is crazy: this man...your husband...this level of intimacy with your former partner at this moment could make him practically a stranger. But this feels...right. You reach for another shirt, then another, then one of yours...you pull a dress off a hanger, then a suit jacket from Javier’s side. You bury your face in each item, hoping that something will knock loose. That something will blow the fog from your mind.

You’re not sure how much time has passed when you hear him tap on the bedroom door and you shake yourself from where you’ve settled on the closet floor. You call to him quietly, your voice ringing loudly in the small space that surrounds you and a few moments later you hear his concerned voice as he realizes where you are, his voice rising an octave as he says your name.

“Hey! What happened? Are you ok?” You can hear the concern in his voice as he rushes to you, traipsing over the pieces of clothing surrounding you and dropping to his knees next to you, filling the small walk-in closet with his presence, making it seem even smaller with the two of you crouched on the floor. He cups your face in his hands carefully, turning you up to look at him, searching your eyes for any sign of pain. You take in a pull of air at the sudden intimacy of the touch and his closeness. His scent washes over you: Old Spice and cigarette smoke and something that is distinctly manly, distinctly Javi. You carefully touch his wrist with one hand, trying to reassure him.

“I’m fine,” you say, huffing out a small laugh and gently pulling your face away from his hands. He doesn’t believe you. “No, really, I’m ok. I just…” you gesture around at the clothes and shoes and belts and ties hanging in the closet, one side carefully arranged by color, the other looking as though it had been haphazardly shoved onto the rack in five minutes without much thought. You duck your head, feeling slightly stupid. “...I was...smelling.” You can barely get the last word out. Javi looks at you confused for a few moments. You glance up at him just as you see understanding cross his face as he surveys the clothing you’re clutching in your hands and covering your lap, next to you on the floor.

“You were trying to remember…?” You nod miserably, trying to avoid his gaze. He puts two fingers under your chin and carefully lifts your face to look at him. His eyes are kind, sympathetic, curious. “Any luck?” You shake your head, sadly.

“No, not...not really. Not much more than I’ve already remembered.” You suddenly feel even more tired than when you had first arrived, not just physically but as though your brain is ten times too large for your head and filled with slippery sand. You feel your body sag against his hand and he reaches his arm around your shoulder, supporting you. He takes the salmon colored button-up of his that you’re holding clutched to your chest and tosses it into the pile of other clothes, then carefully helps you to your feet. He gently steers you to the bed, arranging you there before tenderly pulling a soft blanket up over you, flicking on the small lamp next to the bed. He moves to close the curtains, darkening the space and his shadow whispers from across the room that he’ll be right back. You feel yourself getting sleepy as you relax into the pillows, Javi’s touch and scent a comforting echo.

As promised he returns a few minutes later and places several items on the nightstand: a glass of water, some magazines, a book with a bookmark in it, the cordless phone, a piece of paper, and a handgun...your firearm, you realize.

He arranges them in order of least to greatest importance it seems: the phone, paper and water closest to you. He sits next to you on the bed as you settle yourself more deeply into the pillow, suddenly finding it nearly impossible to keep your eyes open. Half of his face is hidden in the shadow cast from the soft lamp light; the image he cuts is reminiscent of the space he takes up in your memory: mysterious, half hidden in darkness...but comforting and caring.

“I need to go in to work for a few hours.” His voice is low and gentle and washes over you like a lullaby. He brushes your hair out of your face, his sudden touch causing your droopy eyes to open wide again suddenly. He removes his hand quickly, as though your gaze on him burns him. He swallows hard and nods towards the night stands. “The office number and my pager number are written down, so if you need anything at all, you call me...ok?” You nod sleepily and he stands, tucking you under the blanket more carefully, checking if you need anything else. When you shake your head, he nods and you see him hesitate for several long moments, hovering over you, seemingly partaking in some great inner struggle. Then he carefully leans down and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. He pulls away and whispers into your hair. “I’ll be back soon. You rest, cariño.” Then he reaches over and snaps off the lamp…

...and then, just like your memories of him, your husband is gone in the dark.

You’re not sure how much time passes, but when you wake up, the apartment is still empty and the shadows have drifted from one side of the room to the other. Feeling refreshed, you move carefully around the apartment, investigating the little things that make up a person’s home. Your grumbling stomach directs you back into the kitchen and you rummage through cabinets after finding nothing much edible in the refrigerator. Finding a package of pasta and an unopened jar of sauce you start water to boiling and as you wait, you’re drawn back to the refrigerator as you pour yourself another glass of water. You remove the photo of Javier in a graduation cap and gown with...his father? It must be. You smile as you study the slightly blurry photo featuring a younger version of Javi and seek out resemblance between your husband's face and that of the older man in the photo. You see similarity in his father’s eyes, perhaps, along with an extreme amount of pride. You wonder if you’ve met him? Was he at your wedding?

Thoughts of your wedding cause you to go wandering again back into the living room and back to the wedding photo on the bookshelf. You pick it up and carry it around the room with you as you continue your investigation. You recognize some of the pictures and artwork hanging on the wall: that painting was from a brief stint you did in Cuba. That ceremonial mask you found at a floating market in Cambodia. And that pencil drawing you had picked up at a Saturday flea market while visiting a colleague in Atlanta. You remember what a headache it had been shipping your belongings here two years ago...how customs had had such a field day keeping your stuff detained and how you had lived in this stark apartment for three weeks before Dixon and the Embassy had stepped in and your things had finally been delivered.

By that time, you remember, you had already made two lab busts, witnessed a fairly violent interrogation, been shot at twice and had raced through the streets of Bogota after a group of sicarios. You had also already fended off multiple advances from her handsome partner, Javier Peña, which had culminated when he had slid his hand up her inner thigh, resulting in your socking him across the chin and knocking him off his stool in the crowded work bar. You grinned at that memory, then your grin faded as a new image took its place: it was blurry, muted, like listening to a cassette tape that was playing at a ten times slower speed, warped and in slow motion...only playing out in images. You remembered a man’s hand sliding up your inner thigh, brushing against you. You couldn’t see the man’s face, couldn't tell anything else about him other than he was hovering above you. Was it your husband? You didn’t think so. Javi might feel like a stranger to you right now, but you knew in your very core that he was safe, that he was good...kind. But you felt cold at the memory of this man.

Then just as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone, and you were just left holding the picture frame, standing in front of your record player.

***

Javi heard the music halfway down the building staircase. He thinks about knocking, but he doubts she’d be able to hear him over the music. He juggled the grocery bags in his arms, fishing her apartment key out of his jacket pocket and struggling to get the door open. When he does finally manage, the sounds of Three Dog Night covering “Your Song” nearly bowls him over. He deposits the groceries on the kitchen table, startled to find a pot of nearly empty water steaming and popping, having boiled over on the stove. He clicks off the heat, removes the scorched pot, then steps into the living room to find his partner sitting on the floor in front of the record player, sleeves and vinyl records strewn around her, her back against the living room couch. The “wedding” photo has been moved and is sitting on the coffee table at eye level. She stares at the photo of the two of you, her brow furrowed in concentration. He can see frustration behind her eyes, too, and he notices that her eyes are puffy and red. She’s clearly been crying.

He moves to the player and turns the volume down. She barely registers his presence until he sits next to her on the couch. The movement on the cushions behind her startles her and she jumps, jerking away from him.

“Hey, whoa, whoa, whoa…” Javi leans away, his hands raised. “It’s just me.” Recognition crosses her face and she settles back into her previous position, sighing heavily. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

“No. I’m sorry. I was...I wasn’t paying attention.” She looks back at the photograph in front of her. Javi looks at it, too, then back at her, studying her face. She turns to him, and he sees her eyes sparkling with tears building up there, filled with questions. Javi juts his chin towards the blaring player.

“I never have understood why you like these guys so much.” He smiles at her, hoping to distract her. She returns his smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes, still reflecting the sadness he sees in there. She gestures to the scattered records on the floor.

“I was trying to remember again. I thought...I thought maybe a song might help me remember something. I got to looking at our wedding picture and thought maybe I could remember a song we danced to or something. I…” her brows lowered over her eyes and she seemed to be studying something in the distance that only she could see. “I keep remembering…” Javi looks at her eagerly but he doesn’t rush her. “You and me...at least, I think it's you and me...dancing somewhere. It’s like watching a silent movie with all of the faces blacked out, like witness protection, and everything in the background is blurry, like it’s out of focus. But I’m…” her voice trails off again and she looks up into his face curiously. “I’m almost sure it’s you. We’re at some kind of...celebration I think, like maybe a club or something? I thought maybe…” Another hesitation. “I thought maybe it was our wedding. Maybe some music added with what I can remember might clear the other stuff up, but…” She shakes her head. “Nothing seems to be working.” Back to him again. “Do we go dancing a lot or something? Did we have a song? Like a song we danced to a lot, like at our wedding?”

Javi gulps, not quite sure how to answer all of her questions. He thinks for a moment.

“We, uh….no, we don’t really...we don’t really go out dancing or anything like that. Work keeps us pretty busy.” That’s all true, he thinks to himself. No lies. He’s more careful with the next of her questions. “We didn’t...that…” he gestures at the photo, avoiding using the term “our wedding”. “...Was pretty informal. There wasn’t a reception or anything. It was small. We didn’t have dancing or anything like that.” She nods in understanding. “And we don’t…” he shakes his head. “No song or anything…” he chuckles a little. “I’m more of a rock, country kind of guy, we never really seem to agree on taste in music.” Also true, he thinks, recalling the multiple arguments they’ve had over the radio station on stakeouts and when driving to locations throughout the city. She smiles distractedly, mumbling something about how it must be an older memory with someone else, then. She seems to think of something.

“I saw the picture on the fridge of you and your dad. Have I met him? When we got married or anything like that? I can’t remember him.” Javi shakes his head, again thinking for a moment before answering.

“No, you’ve never met. He doesn’t really travel much, he’s got the ranch back home to worry about. He hasn’t had a chance to make it down.”

“So we got married here? In Columbia?” Javi felt his throat stick...this was dangerous territory; surely she would want to know about her own family, whether they had come down for the “nuptials”.

He and Dixon (along with her doctor) had spent the afternoon on the phone with her parents and family in America, filling them in on the situation. Over the course of their conversations, they had all agreed that, should she reach out to any of them, they would also play along with the “married to Javier” ruse for as long as it seemed to be appropriate. Javi had heard the uncertainty in their voices when they had inquired as to just how carefully Javier would be “looking after” her. He had done his best to assure them that he would respect their daughter and sister, that he would do everything he could to abide by their relationship boundaries prior to her memory loss. And, he had reiterated what the doctor had said from the beginning; he had promised them that he would not lie to her. Realistically, though, everyone had walked away from the conversation understanding that he may very well have to bend some boundaries in this situation. By the end of the conversation, the family had given him their blessing and had made him promise to stay in regular contact with them. He had been exhausted when he had left work, feeling the weight of his partner’s recovery on his shoulders.

But he wouldn’t have it any other way; she was his partner. He would have her back no matter what.

“It was...sort of spur of the moment, happened pretty fast.” Before she could ask any more questions he sat up straight and smacked his palms on his legs. “Hey, are you hungry? I haven't eaten all day and I got some stuff-”

“Oh God! I started some water boiling and…” she jumped from her spot on the floor. Javi stood at the same time.

“Yeah...we’re probably gonna need a new pot.” She looked at him sheepishly, mumbling an apology. He gives her a teasing grin and for a moment it felt like before: giving her a good natured hard time and her ready to fire back at him, both of them comfortable with the ribbing back and forth.

But then she crossed her arms in front of her chest and he felt the barrier of unfamiliarity rise between them again.

They fall into a familiar ease as they go about preparing dinner. Javi is reassured by how easily she becomes comfortable with him. The moments when she had jerked away from him when he was near her had him a little worried, but there are none of that now, as they move around each other, next to each other.

“Why don’t you let me deal with the sauce,” she says over the soft sounds of music coming from the radio in the window. She puts a gentle hand on his bicep and pushes just slightly to move him away. “You always oversalt things anyway.” Javi chuckled and shifted over to the pork chops in the pan...it took him a moment to register what she had just said.

“Hey!” He stopped what he was doing and looked at her. “You remember that?” She seems startled by the fact that, yes, in fact, she did remember that. She looked at him, a dazed smile on her face.

“I guess...yeah, I do remember saying that to you before.”

“Yeah,” he grins, nodding at her encouragingly. “You never let me cook anything...you claim I put too much salt on stuff because-” She cuts him off and finishes the thought as it comes to her.

“-You’ve scorched all your tastebuds from smoking like a chimney!” Her eyes light up in delight when he chuckles, affirming that that’s exactly what she always says. She laughs carefully, following the memory, seeing if it might lead her to anything else.

Javi recalls other nights like this one when, either in his apartment or hers, when they have worked together to make a meal, moving in unison just like they did tonight, just like they do at work. He had never allowed himself to venture any further past the thought of: we make a good team. More than once, Javier had found himself lightheaded and felt his heart tug as he gazed at his partner through a cloud of smoke from his cigarette, watching her laugh across the table at something he had said, appreciating the way she would curl herself into a ball with her feet tucked beneath her on the couch as they watch some terrible movie, admiring the curve of her neck or the rounding of her hips and backside as she stood at the sink to do dishes.

He glanced at her now, his gaze taking in that same curve of a neck, drifting upwards to her face, studying the shape of her nose, the flush of pink across her cheeks from the stove heat and the memory. He marveled at how long her eyelashes were and was hypnotized everytime she blinked and they brushed against her face. A wisp of hair fell out of her ponytail and across her forehead; she tried to blow it out of the way without stopping what she was doing. Not thinking, he reached out and brushed the strand away from her skin, his fingertips ghosting across her face. She started only a little, nothing like the other times he had touched her. He pulled his hand back quickly, realizing he had been lulled by the domesticity of the moment, allowed himself to lapse into an intimacy that he did not actually have with his partner…

...when she turned her face to his, he was startled by what he saw in her eyes. A curiosity flitted across her face, but in her eyes he very clearly saw want, saw desire. She tilted her head upwards towards him a little bit more and he felt her body, already close to his, almost imperceptibly shift and lean into him ever more so slightly. It was an invitation, a go ahead. His eyes drifted down to her mouth and he felt himself stir when her lips parted and he saw the tip of her tongue streak across from one corner to another, wetting the skin. His heart started pounding. Luckily, the buzzing of a timer saved him from having to analyze what to do next. He had never removed something from the oven so fast in his life! The charged moment was blessedly broken and as they put the final touches on their meal, he was careful to keep his distance.

They enjoyed their food, their conversation mostly about older memories from when they first worked together, which didn’t require him to be quiet as cautious with his words. They were memories she already had, things she knew. As they finished, she started clearing plates while Javi ran water in the sink. As though by wrot, he rolled up his shirt sleeves and started washing while she started drying and (he noted) putting dishes away confidently, as though she remembered where every plate and utensil belonged. As he was finishing the last tray, a familiar song filtered through the radio speakers. His head came up and he started.

“Oh! That was us!” He said excitedly. When she just looked at him in confusion he dried his hands on the towel and spoke quickly. “The memory you were talking about earlier, of us dancing. It was us.” He nodded towards the radio as a sultry dance tune played. “A few weeks ago, we were….ahhh...we were at a birthday party. It was in a club like you said and...yeah, this song was playing. And you and I danced to it.”

He felt his cheeks color as he recalled exactly how they had danced after a few tequila shots with Ortiz and their guise as a couple in full swing. He had never wanted anyone as badly as he had wanted her that night, one hand gripping her wiggling hips, pressing her ass back against him, the other tracing up her outer thigh, pulling the hem of her already deliciously short skirt higher so he could access the soft skin there. She had pressed herself back into his chest, had lifted her arms above her head and behind his neck, one hand gripping in his hair, the other gently caressing the side of his face, stroking his ear, pulling his lips down to that spot on her exposed neck…

He gulped as he refocused his concentration on looking for more dishes to wash. “I...forgot about it. But you were right. That was us.” He released the plug in the soapy water and looked at her. “That was a recent one! A recent memory. From during the…” he caught himself before he said “undercover op.” “...During the time you haven't been able to remember.” Her face lit up, then fell again almost instantly.

“It’s so random, though. And it's taken so long just to remember that one thing…and not very well, it seems.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” When she still looked frustrated he gently touched her shoulder. “Be patient with yourself, ok. We’ve all just gotta...we all just need to be patient.” He sighed and gave her a smile. “But, hey! This is really great, right?” She said nothing, just looked at him forlornly. “Come on, it is! You’ve remembered something recent.” When she merely shrugged and stayed quiet, he propped a hand against the counter and leaned on it, jutting out a hip and putting a fist on his waist. He leaned forward and stared into her face until she made eye contact with him. He said her name meaningfully. “This is good news. It’s gonna be ok. I promise.” She smiled after a moment, then nodded in agreement. “Whadya say we celebrate. I’ll run out and get some of that orangesicle ice cream junk you like. I’ll even let you decide what to watch on TV.”

She smiled again at the sweet gesture, but shook her head meekly

“I’m still a little tired, Javi. I’m sorry.” He assured her there was no need to apologize and that he understood, of course she needed to rest. Listening to the sound of the shower running in the bathroom, he collapsed on the living room couch, sighing heavily. His brain hurt from concentrating on not saying anything he shouldn’t with her. He wasn’t too terribly sad about the fact that she was ready to head to bed.

Bed.

He sat upright quickly and then scurried into the bedroom just as he heard the tap turning off in the bathroom across the hall. He rummaged around in the closet quickly, grabbing a spare pillow he’d seen there earlier when he’d unpacked his things, as well as an extra bed sheet. He rushed out the bedroom door just as the door to the bathroom opened…

...Javi had never been so grateful for a pillow. He felt himself harden in his jeans as she froze, clutching her clothes to her chest. She had a towel wrapped around her, but it left nothing to the imagination. He felt like a deer caught in the beam of a headlight, and he had to remind himself to breathe. He screamed at himself to stop staring, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her flushed, pink skin, her silky smooth legs, the way her wet hair framed her face and danced over her bare shoulders, shedding drops of water onto her skin. He followed the route of one particular drop as it left her hair, fell to her clavicle, slid down her chest, over the curve of her breast and disappeared beneath the towel. He gulped, willing himself not to lick his lips.

“Sorry…” He was slightly horrified by the high pitched croak that was his voice as he forced the word from his throat. He cleared his throat and finally managed to tear his eyes away from her, staring down at the pillow and sheet in his hands, stepping out of her way. “Sorry,” he said again. “I just, uh...wanted to get a pillow so I didn’t have to bother you…” He watched her carefully from beneath his eyelashes; saw understanding, then relief, then….disappointment?...flash across her face in an instant.

“Oh…”she said softly. “Well…” He glanced up at her again as she carefully moved towards the bedroom...he moved further from her naked body down the hall. “I...I feel badly that you’re sleeping on the couch…That….that won’t be very comfortable…” He nearly lost his mind when he caught her biting her lip, knowing that she was thinking, weighing how comfortable she would be with offering to let him sleep in the bed with her. He grimaced to himself. As far as she knew, that was “their” bed, and it should be the most natural thing in the world for a husband and wife to both climb into bed together and share the space for sleep.

And he certainly wouldn’t have minded climbing into bed with her, not in this moment, not after seeing her like this.

But they absolutely wouldn’t be sleeping.

“No, it’s ok.” He saved her the trouble of having to make a decision. “The couch is fine.” She twisted her face, not believing him one bit. “Really. You need to rest. It’s ok.” He turned and started towards the living room reminding her to call for him or wake him up if she needed anything. He heard her soft voice call his name behind him and he looked back at her.

“Thank you.”

He smiled, feeling her words go straight to that secret, soft spot in his heart that only she could seem to get to. He nodded and murmured good night before she closed the bedroom door between them.

Javi tossed his bedding onto the couch and plopped down after it, still feeling his pants stretching uncomfortably across his groin, the memory of her standing wet and nearly naked in front of him seared into his brain. It was all he could do to not take himself in his hand right then and pump himself to completion at the memory of that drop of water on her skin, the feel of their bodies grinding together in that club, how her hand had gripped and tugged in his hair.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” he muttered to himself. You gotta at least wait until she’s asleep, Peña! He did wonder what would happen at the thought of her catching him thinking about her, groaning her name softly as he came in his own hand…

Stop being a pervert, you asshole! He chided himself stretching out on the couch and flipping on the TV, searching for something desperately boring to distract himself with.

How the hell was he ever going to be able to do this?

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13

#javier peña x reader #javier pena x female reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #narcos #javi #undercover marriage #fake marriage

27 notes · View notes

il0veyoujk · 2 years

Text

I posted 118 times in 2021

109 posts created (92%)

9 posts reblogged (8%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 0.1 posts.

I added 520 tags in 2021

#tickle - 64 posts

#tickling - 63 posts

#ticklish - 59 posts

#bts - 53 posts

#kim taehyung - 49 posts

#kim namjoon - 47 posts

#kim seokjin - 47 posts

#park jimin - 47 posts

#jeon jungkook - 46 posts

#min yoongi - 45 posts

Longest Tag: 30 characters

#kim taehyung x ticklish!reader

My Top Posts in 2021

Unusual roommates

Summary: Nefeli (18) is moving to a new house in the middle of the forest in Seoul. The only thing she doesn’t know is that her new home is haunted...

Warnings: Light mention of harsh language

Notes: None

Τhis is a tickle related ff, if you are not interested in it, please keep scrolling

Lots of love Nef 💕

Nefeli was currently peacefully reading a book on her apartment in Daegu. The weather outside was sunny so she was sitting on her hammock swing near her large window, a mug of fragrant hot chocolate on her other hand.

The 18-year-old girl was enjoying her favorite book, Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens to be specific when her phone started vibrating on the glass coffee table in front of her.

She looked at the ID but she didn’t recognize it and her face lit up. She only hoped it was the owner of the house she wants to move to, in Seoul.

You see Nefeli needed to move to Seoul due to her studies as a journalist and she needed a house as well.

“Hello?”

“Hey, are you Nefeli? I am Min Sangwook, we talked some days ago for the house” the voice of an old man around his late 70s echoed the other line, with softness in it.

“Yes, this is me. Anything new about the house?” the young girl asked politely, with a cheery but calm tone. She was trying her best not to give hope to herself. Mr Sangwook had told her that it would be a little difficult for her to buy this house too soon since they didn’t know how long it would take them to find a new one.

“Yes, you can come to sign contracts even today and then stay in the house. We have already found our new home” he explained politely.

Nefeli used all her might not to scream or jump and fall off of her hammock swing. Finally, she was moving to start a new life!

“Thank you thank you thank you thank you! I will be there tomorrow afternoon! Thank you so much!” she exclaimed, the chuckles of the old man as a background.

“Then I guess me and my wife will see you tomorrow then”

“Yes of course! Thank you once again mr Min! I owe you!” she hung up and rushed to her bedroom to pack her things up. She threw inside her huge, red suitcase all her clothes, which were already folded, her jewelry, some photos and room decorations from her room.

She got out of her pocket her phone and dialed the first person she wanted to let her know what was happening, back in Greece where she was raised “Hey mum! You will never guess who called me!”

Next day, afternoon:

Nefeli was currently in her car, driving to the house she was supposed to go to.

One of her favorite songs, Believe In You by Amanda Marshall was echoing the car cabin, relaxing the young girl’s souls and helping her calm down, giving her confidence and self-esteem up.

I believe in you And all I want to do is help you to Believe in you

As the song was coming to an end, Nefeli’s car was entering a dark forest filled with tall, somehow scary trees. It was almost night and the sky had golden and orange near the ground and as the vision was raising the colors were become darker and more bluish.

As the car was moving more into the woods, she spotted an old house, with a nice, wooden balcony. The building was on a glade, in the very middle of the forest, circled my trees.

She wasn’t gonna lie, the house was scary. As the sun was falling onto the walls, weird and terrifying shadows were forming, like they were young lads while the sound of a light, summer breeze was brushing the leaves was mixed with the nice smells of the fresh grass.

Outside of the house, there was mr and mrs Min, holding hands and sitting on the outside couch on the balcony, drinking some really tasty tea and chitchatting. They both seemed really sweet, warm, and lovable people.

Nef parked the car near the house, next to the owners’ car, and grabbed her backpack. As she was walking near the couple, she heard small giggles coming from the walls of the house and she felt shivers running down her spine. Let’s be honest, the house was a little -a lot- creepy and those sounds weren’t the best ones she could hear. I mean, it was an old house, in the middle of nowhere, in the forest, and it was dark outside. How idyllic! Note the sarcasm.

“We are so happy you are here!” mrs Min told me, shaking her hand. She was an old woman, around her early 70s, a little younger than her husband.

“It’s my pleasure” the young girl smiled warmly. “Can we sign the contracts please?” she asked excitedly, making the owners chuckle.

See the full post

56 notes • Posted 2021-02-21 22:32:48 GMT

✨Flustering things all lers do✨

• Chasing

Like, when they are running after you because you've been cheeky... You know what is about to happen. And you know you cannot escape. But you keep running, even if you know you will get it... And they keep throwing teases at you, telling you how you cannot go anywhere while they keep chasing you...

• Wiggling fingers

When the ler is wiggling their fingers, even if they are one km away... It always gives the same butterflies... It's just a warning about what is gonna happen. Especially when they're chasing you. They are not even touching you but you are already giggling your heart off and you are looking like an alive tomato. And you that whatever is coming, it's gonna tickle really much...

• Hiding

Okay they are chasing you and you decide to hide. Gosh, when they find you... Like, they walk behind you slowly... And they just scoop you up in their arms from behind... Tickling you in the air... LADJURNEB GAH!!

• Smirking

Oh, when a ler is smirking... You better start running. When a ler is smirking that means they are gonna wreck you. Geez, that evil grin can make every lee weak and unable to move... Or make them run so fast that even Usain Bolt can catch them, giggling in anticipation and blushing so hard... Smirks are literally the death of a lee

• Nuzzles

When a ler is nuzzling a lee's spot... It's so adorable... But fuck, they are not even using their fingers and they can make you melt in their arms and giggle hard but at the same time blush so hard that someone will think that your head will explode. Like, how their nose is rubbing your spot, and sometimes even their breath can tickle you and send a shiver down your spine... A ticklish one... KSKJSDFHERUTFB! Melting!

• Kisses

Gosh, when a ler is kissing your spot... LSJUIWFBUVEFEU IT TICKLES SO MUCH!!! It's so cute but at the same time it's just ugh-! Like, when a ler is kissing your spots they can make you whether scream in laughter or melt and giggle so hard, depending on the spot. BUT PLEASE IT ALWAYS TICKLES SO MUCH!

• Back-hugging/Cuddles

Okay but when the ler is back-hugging/cuddle you, and they just trace their fingers on your sides, ribs, and stomach... or even dig there! This is so cute but at the same time tickles SO. MUCH!

• Whispering

OXNWBSYUDJDBE WHEN THEY ARE WHISPERING ON YOUR SPOTS OR IN YOUR NECK SENDING SHIVERS DOWN YOUR SPINE!! IT TICKLES SO MUCH!!!!!!

NIDFHNSDIBFWID idk about you but those things are the death of me every time! 🙈

72 notes • Posted 2021-06-03 14:00:24 GMT

This or That - Tickle (for lees)

1. Fingers or feathers?

2. Hairbrushes or Toothbrushes?

3. Raspberries or nibbles?

4. Tied up or being free?

5. One or more lers?

6. Being tickled on your sides for 30 mins or on your feet for 15 mins?

7. Scribbling you thighs or scratching the back of your knees for 10 mins?

8. Raspberries on your belly or nibbles on your ribs?

9. Nuzzling your neck or playing with your toes?

10. Feathers on your armpits or scribbling your lower back?

99 notes • Posted 2021-01-08 00:23:07 GMT

Tickle questions

🦋. Fav spot to tickle/ be tickled?

💤. Dream tickle scenario?

😝. Most ticklish spot(s) (for the lers, which spot(s) do you most enjoy tickling)?

🙄. Least ticklish spot(s) (for the lers, which spot(s) do you least enjoy tickling)?

🧸. Fav technique to tickle/be tickled with?

😈. Rate your spots (for the lers, rate the post you like to tickle)

💭. Fav tickle memory?

😊. Prefer rp or irl tickles?

🙈. Fav teases to throw/receive?

👼🏻. Tying/Tied up or free?

You can answer as a switch/lee/ler :)

112 notes • Posted 2021-03-16 22:43:33 GMT

Things almost every lee loves... 🙄🙈

• Teasing

Every lee loves being teased. Tickling without teasing is just... dull. And of course, it just makes everything worse!

• Being chased/playing hide and seek

Being chased is like teasing! Every lee loves that! It just creates more anticipation and makes them giggle without even being touched

• Not stopping when a lee says 'stop'

Because they never mean it!!

• Wiggling fingers/smirks

Has anyone ever noticed how ghost tickles start appearing every time a ler does so and makes the lee automatically giggle?!

• Being pinned/tied up (not everyone)

Why? Because it simply makes the lee more sensitive!

• Cuddly tickles!

Being wrapped in your favorite ler's arms while they softly tickle your tummy and/or nuzzling their neck, whispering in their neck how cute they are... Just the more flustering thing ever every lee loves!

• Tickly kisses/mouth tickles (not everyone)

They. Just. Tickle. AF!!!!

• Telling them what they are gonna do to them (not everyone)

It makes the lee blush and giggle in anticipation while they just wait for them to come, feeling even shier because of it!

• Cute nicknames

It's just really cute

• Tools (not everyone)

Ofc tools make everything tickle more than usual! And most of the lees love it!

(Sorry for exposing you, my fellow lees 😂)

178 notes • Posted 2021-08-04 17:09:37 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

4 notes · View notes

owakoblack-portspa · 3 years

Text

(APH PortSpa) African Holiday

APH fan fiction. I do not own the characters.

Pairing: Portugal/ Spain, Spain/ Portugal

Pedro is the nation of Portugal and Antonio is the nation of Spain. For convenience, I use their human names instead of names of nations in this fiction. Pedro and Spain meet at Ceuta, a city in Africa.

African Holiday

On a very quiet night, a long-haired little boy was sleeping alone on a large, soft bed. Such a huge bed was more suitable for at least two boys lying on it, and sure enough, this boy lied on the right side of the bed, as if saving a place for somebody to sleep on the left side.

Suddenly, a knock on the bedroom door broke the silence, causing the boy in bed to wake. He did not get up at once, but simply turned onto the other side.

“Disculpe, may I come in?” A sweet voice of a little boy called out beyond the door. Both the boys had dark-brown hair.

The boy in bed reached out for a spare pillow lying on the left side of the bed, and pressed it upon his ear, trying hard to continue sleeping.

“I can’t sleep, can I sleep with you?” The child outside the door raised his voice, and knocked more loudly.

“How old are you? Can’t you sleep alone? It’s time to grow up!” The boy in bed finally replied.

“Lo siento.”

Since then, the boy outside the door never came again.

In Ceuta, a harbour city on the northern tip of Africa, you can find everywhere talkative Spaniards, logos written in Spanish, products from Europe, flags in red and gold colours, and you feel there is no difference from Andalusia on the other side of the Mediterranean Sea. However, Africa is not Europe after all. It is much more significant to travel from continent to continent, rather than to travel from province to province, or from country to country.

A barbería on the opposite of the port has no difference from most of the barberías on the Spanish mainland either: right now inside the barbería where Enrique Iglesias’ dancing songs were playing, a barber with a big beard was sweeping away hair left on the chair, while swaying to the music, cheerfully. It is a mystery that the Spaniards can keep excited all the time, perchance because of lovely sunshine, perchance because of the blue sea–it is a happy nation after all.

As the wind chimes on the glass door of the shop rang merrily, the door opened, a cool sea wind blew in, and a tall young man walked inside. His long dark-brown hair was tied into a pony tail, a caramel jacket rounded his slim waist, and a pair of goggles hung on his well-built chest.

“¡Buenos días! ¿Tiene una reserva?” As soon as the barber straightened up to see the young man’s face, his smile turned into a surprised look, “Dios mío, did I just trim Señor’s hair? How come it grows back even longer than before within a blink of an eye?”

“Don’t worry, Señor Peluquero, I’m still here. I just paid at the counter.” Another young man touched the back of the barber from behind, and put both of his hands in front of his face to form a picture frame, “after trimming my hair, I’m as cool as a breeze!” The short-haired young man winked his light green eyes while smiling brightly, and incredibly, some stars fell out of the frame.

“What a coincidence, Antonio. I just arrived from the port, and spotted you inside this barbershop.”

“Isn’t it Pedro? I’ve never expected you here!”

The confused barber turned his head to look at the picture-framing, short-haired young man, and then turned back to see the long-haired young man who just walked into the shop. He found that both of their faces and bodies exactly the same, even the colours of their hair, eyes, and skin the same too, as if God conveniently used the same colours from his colour palette to paint these two , except that He dotted a beauty spot under the right eye of the long-haired one, in order to distinguish from his twin. “You two are twins!” the barber exclaimed.

“We are not twins!” the two young men protested in one voice.

“So…you two are brothers who look much alike?”

“We are just neighbours!” two men, one voice again.

“Are you really just neighbours? I can tell from your appearances that you two are related by blood!” The barber stretched out his strong arms to bring both of the young men close together, and shouted to a girl at the counter. “Isabel, don’t you think they look much alike? Mira, mira,” the barber turned Pedro’s face towards Isabel, “when his pony tail couldn’t be seen from the front, even their hair styles are los mismos!”

“Even so,” Isabel shrugged her thin shoulders, “los amigos have told you they ain’t bros, so they ain’t bros, are you thinking of helping people recover their long-lost familia?”

“I see, it’s a matter of hair style.” Pedro mused, “por favor, Señor Peluquero, could you make a new hair style for me?”

Half an hour later, Pedro’s long dark-brown hair was trimmed thin and made more stylish, which reached down his prominent collarbones.

“Listo, as cool as a breeze!” Imitating Antonio, the barber put his hands to form a picture frame in front of Pedro, but this time there were no fallen stars, for Pedro did not wink, but instead smiled mildly to his mirrored self. “In this way, you two don’t look the same any more!” the barber admired his masterpiece happily, “Señor looks so handsome, bueno, guapo!”

“Gracias, but I’m a navigator, it’s better for me to tie my hair while sailing at sea. However, today I have a holiday, and Antonio is beside me, let me forget the pony tail for a while.” He brushed gracefully his long hair with his hand, satisfied.

After leaving the barbería, Pedro and Antonio walked leisurely in the direction of the old town. Pedro’s caramel jacket was again tied around his waist, and despite the hot African weather, he wore short black gloves. He and Antonio both wore short-sleeve shirts, and their opening collars revealed deep shapes of their chest cleavages.

“Pedro, why are you in Africa?” Antonio walked a step ahead of the quiet young man, turning around to look at the other with his bright green eyes.

“Me chame de Pedro, faz favor. In Portuguese, you should pronounce ‘Pedru’, instead of ‘Pedro’.” Pedro spoke in Portuguese–even though he had spoken fluent Spanish at the barber’s, he had got used to speak Portuguese to Antonio whenever they were alone.

“Todo bien, ‘Pedru’. You know although I can understand Portuguese, I don’t speak it well.” Antonio continued to communicate with Pedro in Spanish, while the other spoke Portuguese.

“Our ship is heading to a tall ship festival in Marseilles. When we crossed the Strait of Gibraltar, I thought of our past in Ceuta, so I stopped to visit here.”

“Our past in Ceuta? You mean yours and mine?”

Pedro nodded slightly.

Antonio began to feel anxious, deliberately avoiding Pedro’s gaze.

When they were approaching the gate of the old town, they saw a huge coat of arms of the city which looked very similar to the Portuguese national coat of arms: in the middle of the red shield are five blue mini shields, surrounded by seven golden tiny castles.

When they were about to cross the street, Pedro stopped short.

“In Spain, you don’t have to wait for traffic lights all the time…” Antonio wanted to push him, but he found the Portuguese was gazing on a sculpture in the middle of the round-about. It was the sculpture of Prince Henry the Navigator.

Pedro kept silent, but his emerald eyes spoke for him. In his eyes, there was a mixture of worship, nostalgia, and sorrow. Such a beautiful, bright young man was suddenly shrouded by sadness, just like the sun shadowed by dark clouds, and a cool breeze laden with salt.

“Disculpe, I suddenly remember I have some important thing to do, can I leave?” Antonio tried to escape, but was stopped at once by another.

“Don’t you go, you should be my tour guide.”

“Even though you wish so, there is not much worth tour guiding…”

Much against his will, Antonio led Pedro to a bastion east to the old town gate, which is one of the landmarks in Ceuta. An edge of the bastion extended gracefully into a moat circling the city, where deep blue seawater turned into emerald, and a big school of small fish attracted the attention of several migrant birds. Above the top of the bastion, a flag of blood and gold was flying proudly.

Antonio noticed that Pedro was becoming more and more moody. He felt so guilty that he wanted to climb up the bastion to tear down the flag, if he could.

At this moment, a pair of Asian twin girls went towards them.

“Excuse me, do you speak English?”

Antonio was not confident in his English, so he eyed Pedro for assistance.

“How can I help you, beautiful ladies?” Pedro replied in British English, and later, according to these girls’ request, took photos for them. Antonio chuckled quietly, because he knew that Pedro had kind of “yellow fever”, for he had a particular passion for Asians, which had been one of the secret reasons why he had ventured so far away to Asia during the Age of Discovery.

“May I ask if we could take photos together? We are all twins!”

“Pero nosotros no somos gemelos…” Antonio tried to deny without a second thought, but these Asian girls did not understand his Spanish.

“Certainly! Antonio, come here!” Apparently, Pedro was afraid of making the shy Asian girls embarrassed, so he did not deny he and Antonio being twins, and pulled the Spaniard to take photos together.

“Can we ask a question about history?” the girls asked carefully.

“Ask away, darlings.” Pedro winked, smiling.

“Doesn’t Ceuta belong to Spain? Why are there so many Portuguese emblems here then?”

“Umm, as for this question, it’s better to let Antonio explain, for he’s the local tour guide.”

Antonio felt stressed, for it would be a challenge for him to explain the complicate history related to both Spain and Portugal in his “broken” English. It was obvious that Pedro wanted to make fun of him. However, if he cast the task back to Pedro, when recalling the past, would Pedro become sad again? Antonio did not feel like seeing that sorrowful face, so he began to explain slowly in English:

“Ceuta was a part of Morocco long time ago. In the year of 1415, Prince Henry of Portugal conquered this military fortress…”

“Excuse me, who was Prince Henry?” the girls asked.

“He was a great navigator who started the Portuguese Age of Discovery. From then on, Portugal gradually discovered new sea routes. The new route to India discovered by Vasco da Gama was in fact the continuation of Prince Henry’s sea routes. In other words, if there were no Prince Henry, there would have been no Vasco da Gama, or even the Portuguese Empire. Perhaps Prince Henry is not as famous as da Gama worldwide, but for Portugal, he was the most important person.”

The twin girls began to admire this prince, “How brave are the navigators to discover the unknown world!”

“He is also a navigator.” Antonio pointed to Pedro, who was smiling in the shade of a tree. “Let me continue the history of Spain and Portugal. After the conquest, Portugal rebuilt Ceuta, so the city coat of arms contains Portuguese emblems. Between 1580 and 1640, Portugal was ruled by Spain. Many Spanish people migrated to Ceuta, so even after Portugal’s independence from Spain in 1640, Ceuta still sided with Spain. Finally in 1668, Portugal ceded Ceuta to Spain. Therefore, you can still see Spanish flags flying on the African continent today.”

After the twin girls had left, Antonio and Pedro found all museums closed at noon. As the sun was becoming hotter, they had no choice but to sit down at an ice cream parlour by the seaside.

It seemed that Pedro was exhausted by the hot weather, for even ice cream could not cheer him up. He kept silent and ate quietly without looking up at Antonio, which made Antonio unbearable. Finally, Antonio broke the ice:

“Pedro, I want to say that I am sorry, for I have taken up the place you had cherished.”

“Which place?” Pedro tucked his long hair behind his ear, and had another spoonful of ice cream.

“This place, Ceuta.”

Pedro fell silent again for a moment. Then, his head turned slightly towards Antonio, a pair of scorching eyes stared at the Spaniard fiercely behind long hair, and he said: “Now you know that you’re sorry, you know that…” he covered his mouth with a hand, as if trying hard to suffocate his moaning, “…you already know that Dom Henrique was the person I had most respected, most loved…and this place had been the first step where we began to explore the world…and yet, you…!”

“Pedro…”

“You were too strong, too powerful–so powerful that you swallow up everyone who were close to you…Aragon, Navarre, Granada…being your neighbour, you had no idea how hard I had tried to survive…and you still don’t know why I want to keep distance from you–you’ve never cared about others.”

“…lo siento.”

“…that’s why I set my knights guard against you on borders.” Pedro added.

Antonio did not know how to reply, and Pedro lost the interest of continuing their conversation, so these two kept silent while watching the blue Mediterranean Sea and eating ice cream. After a while, two identical cats approached them for food, and they gave the cats ice cream respectively. Later, the cats curled up to sleep under their legs. It was time for siesta. The two young men bent on the table and fell asleep too.

When Antonio woke up, he found himself alone, a caramel jacket covering his back.

“Señor, did you sleep well? Your brother has already paid the bill.” A waiter came over and smiled at him.

“When did he leave?”

“About half an hour ago. He went in the direction of the port, perhaps to board a ship.”

Hearing this, Antonio grabbed Pedro’s jacket at once, and ran towards the port.

There were countless vessels from all over the world at the port, but Antonio had some clue for finding out Pedro’s ship.

Sure enough, before long, he spotted a huge sail ship with three masts. Upon the white sails, there were red crosses of the Order of Christ.

“Disculpe, is Pedro on this ship?” Antonio stopped a sailor who was about to board.

“Which Pedro? We have many Pedros on the ship!”

“He has long hair, and a spot under his right eye.” Antonio panted from running.

“Let me think…” the sailor looked baffled.

“Alright, he looks very much like me!” Antonio finally confessed.

“Ah, I see!” the sailor turned around and shouted to the top cabins of the ship, “Captain, your little brother has come to see you off!”

“I’m not his brother,” Antonio said quickly, “and I just come to return his jacket.”

“Thank you for returning my jacket,” Pedro went down slowly from the ship. He wore a set of deep blue navy uniform, his long hair tied neatly behind. “By the way, I do recall that you had called me ‘mi hermano’ when you were a very little child, didn’t you?”

“It’s not true, I had only called you by your birth name…it’s you who had called me ‘meu irmão’.”

“I’d never done that.”

“Yes, you had.”

When the siren was blown, Antonio knew that Pedro’s ship, Sagres, was about to set out. He raised his hands high in the air and waved happily towards Pedro, who was standing on the deck, watching him whom was down below.

“¡Adiós, Lusitania!” Antonio smiled, brighter than the sun.

–Lusitania, isn’t this Pedro’s birth name? Suddenly, some long-lost memory flashed back to Pedro’s mind.

On a very quiet night, he was lying on a large bed sleeplessly. Suddenly, there was a knock on the bedroom door.

“Lusitania?” a sweet voice of a boy called out.

“Sim?” he replied lazily.

Knowing the boy in bed was still awake, the boy outside opened the unlocked door, and went in.

“Can I sleep with you, Lusitania?” a pair of light green eyes was looking innocently at him.

He opened his arms to the boy, and smiled mildly, “claro, meu irmão.”

Long long time ago, Pedro had indeed called Antonio “my brother”, and only Antonio had called him by his birth name. Are they really not related by blood? They look so much alike, they had been so close, and nobody could understand them better than they understand each other. What made them separate from each other?

Looking at the young man waving on the quay who had the same face as his, Pedro suddenly had an urge to touch, to embrace, and to merge with him–his brother. Before the ship started moving, he dashed down to the quay, and jumped onto Antonio.

“Lusitania?”

Pedro held Antonio tightly in his arms. Back lighted, his bright green eyes had never seemed so profound before, as if trying to convey millions of words. However, Pedro chose not to say a single word, but to kiss directly on Antonio’s petal-soft lips.

Basking in orange light of the African sunset, the two brothers embraced and kissed each other for a long while, until eventually, Pedro broke the kiss and left silver saliva on his brother’s lips. Antonio looked at him, confused, intoxicated.

“If we’re not brothers, I think it’s fine to kiss you.” Pedro smiled mildly.

“Claro, we’re not brothers at all.” Antonio blushed, and kissed Pedro again.

#APH #hetalia #aph spain #aph portugal #iberian brothers #aph iberia #hws #portspa #spaport

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shadowess · 3 years

Text

It’s Alright It’s Ok

I jump out of my bones as my father's angry yell erupts from the house like a slamming door. Instantly my heart feels the frost of fear glaze over the surface of my beating organ. Swallowing thickly I get off my bed and hide my computer under my bedsheets, closing it's lid to hide it's light. Silently slipping out of my bedroom I move into the hallway and walk past the laundry basket, heading into the kitchen where my parents argue, the tension that has been building for two weeks finally bursting open like a damn. I would give it a day, maybe two, before their bedroom door be locked while my father hurt my mother. Then it would take either myself or my sister bursting into tears to get them to stop fighting for another few months. Swallowing thickly, I kept my eyes down as I moved into the battle zone, Shadow, my cat, rubbed around my legs, demanding biscuits. He didn't care about the chaos, he was probably use to it by now. Opening the cabinet under the sink I got his food out as my father and mother screamed at each other.

"Shut up Carol!" The man yelled, his eyes bulging and veins pulsing in his neck. He was in my mother's face, screaming at her. The woman who had for ages from my childhood had mostly cried and screamed at this man to get off her, had began to fight back. She did that often. It only increased the fighting.

"You Shut Up!" She screamed back. I patted Shadow's back as he ate. He was a big black cat. Strong and in his youth. Going to the fridge I took a certain of milk and poured myself a glass, downing it quickly. The sound of the tv came from the lounge room. Going into the room I looked at my little sister who was watching one of my favorite cartoons. Kid vs Kat. Managing a smile, I took my place beside her. I always rooted for the cat. I don't know why, perhaps I just loved cats. Plus I could relate the mischievous chaoticness of the character. Or at least that's how I wanted to be. My mother's form entered the room just as the boy and the alien cat jumped into a cloud of dust meant to depict fighting.

"Ingrid, have you done your homework?" I sighed; couldn't she see I was trying to watch something?

"Yeah." I lied. I should have said I didn't have homework.

"Ok, well, let me have a look?" Although I appreciated my mother's involvement in school, as anyone who was anyone knew that my autistic brain couldn't understand anything the teachers gave me on paper. I also wished she wasn't as involved. I just wanted some space. I was sick of homework.

Begrudgingly I got up and went to my room, dragging my books out of my school bag and dumping them on the desk. I went and got a slice of left over pizza from the fridge and poured myself a cup of coke to try and calm my racing heart.

"Ingrid you have homework. Why did you lie?" I rolled my eyes, why did she think? I wished I had headphones like all the other kids at school. I just wanted to shut her out as she started to lecture me. Casting a blank wall around my brain I sat down at the table and started on the maths homework. My worst subject. Contrary to popular belief depicted in movies, not all autistic people are good at maths. I myself am a better at English than this. I had finished a six inch novel in a week. And I was the best story writer in class. But this doesn't matter much to the adults.

After being left alone to my own devices, I sat and stared at the first math question for about ten minutes before attempting to answer it. I know I am highly likely getting the answer wrong, but I just want to finish this and escape to my room. I wanna do this without my parents coming to help. Before I know it, it's seven in the evening. I've by now attracted the attention of my father who started by trying to help, has now ended up yelling after I have proved once again useless at math.

"Are you stupid!" he screamed at me as I sat with unwavering tenseness, staring at the page and refusing to move my gaze from the sheet. My chest was shaking. There was no other way to describe it. Outwards, I was calm. But inside my chest shook like a autumn leaf. I could feel everything building up inside me. I tried to level myself. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't start crying. I repeated in my head.

"For God's Sake Ingrid! This is easy stuff! A Year 1 could do this!" He hollered and slapped my arm with a ruler. I didn't so much as flinch. I didn't want to give him that satisfaction.

"Do you even go to school!!??" I felt the first hiccup as I clenched my eyes shut and my sobs burst from my chest.

"Oh, great. Now your gonna cry." He muttered seethingly as though my melt down was a inconvenience. Mother was already serving out dinner wordlessly. This was a regular occurrence in our house. Homework that should only take five minutes, took three hours. Trying desperately to numb myself I packed up my homework to continue with tomorrow and wiped my eyes on my sleeve, trying to stop crying so I could eat dinner.

It's four in the morning when I sneak out of the house, dressed in my black hoody and trousers and my school bag on my shoulders as I lock the door behind me, take a breath, and take off running down the street. My runners pound on the side walk as I breath in the cold air of the early spring chill. I need this. Cold air, freshness, darkness just before the sun rises. Cars that pass through the street don't bother with the site of a teen girl running through the streetlights as though she were being chased. Even when my legs ache and I feel like my lungs are about to burst I don't stop. The sun's rays are barely kissing the trees by the time I reach the cultural center of my town. My throat crack a bit as a I swallow, having been dried out from my panting breaths. Rubbing sweat off my forehead I straighten up and stare at the sky. For a moment I want to disappear into the purple abyss above me. That'd be nice. Perhaps it'd be like in my stories. Just.... A life worth living perhaps. That'd be nice.

"Language!!" comes a shrieking yell from across the street. Snapping back to reality I look over to the collection of shops opening for the morning. I smile, feeling a familiar sense of warmness fill my numbed core as Bad is laughed at by his best friend, Skeppy, as the demon boy opens the shop door, peering at me with friendly white eyes. "Marr?" he calls. My smile softens as he uses my preferred name. I approach, shoving my hands into my pockets as a show of nonchalance. "Hey Bad." I raise a brow with amusement. Though he isn't fooled. He never is. I find myself pulled into a hug before I can even protest. Closing my eyes I hug him back, savoring the physical contact. That is until there is a photo snap and the blue haired boy snaps a picture. I frown and pull away.

"Skeppy! Delete that right now." I grumble, folding my arms with a frown.

"Nah. I think I'll add a few heart emojis." He teases as I fluster and puff up my cheeks. The demon beside me frowns, though his smile shows, he can never be mad at his friend. Rolling his white orbs he looks down at me gently.

"Breakfast. On the house." Bad and Skeppy were the only people I trusted. They didn't ask questions. Or offer to call anyone. They just let me hang out with them before work hours if I didn't want to be at home.

Nodding my head, I entered the café and sat down in a booth. Bad squeezed my shoulder and started the coffee brewer as Skeppy set up the tables and chairs for the day. Folding my arms to keep my fingers warm after I had pulled some of my hair out of my hood, I looked up slightly. Trying to think of a good way to start conversation.

"Did you guys sleep ok?" is it alright to ask that to people you don't live with?

Our words went back and forth in friendly small talk. Occasionally Skeppy would swear and get playfully told off by his friend. I would just laugh. Everyone in life is super serious. So it feels nice sometimes to just be around two goofs. I was given an expresso and hot pie. I savored the warm gravy taste, I wasn't even stressed but it was hard to not scoff it. A few people were starting to come in now. People on their way to work, stopping for a coffee and picking up take away. I wondered if it was nice. Living in a steady sense of movement. Where everything was the same and you knew what to do. Instead of struggling to hold together a toothpick structure simply cause nothing makes sense. I've missed opportunities for jobs simply because they've been offered while I was in the middle of a shut down. Same goes for friendships, or dates with boys, because I will just stare at them with a dumb panicked expression for a good five minutes while I try and figure out how to respond. In the end I am mistook for either rude or stupid. I am neither—Well ok I can be rude sometimes. But I'm definitely not stupid.

Feeling my anxiety levels raise I scull the rest of my coffee. Bad's tail stands on end in alarm as steam comes out of my mouth. "Careful you Muffinhead! You'll burn your tongue!" I shrugged with a smirking grin. "Hey look. I'm a dragon." I blow more steam out of my mouth. Skeppy busts up laughing from the kitchen as the demon sighs, rolling his eyes he ruffles my head. "Muffinhead." He mutters with a smirk. I hold up the cup. "Re-fill?" my hoody sleeve falls down slightly and the movement. Bad's smile slips and his eyes widen. "Holy shit what happened to your arm?" Skeppy chokes on a cackle. "Bad!?" finding it hysterical that the normally passive demon actually swore. I blinked and checked over my arm briefly, ah. Right. Pulling my sleeve down to cover the red marks from the ruler I shrugged. "Nothing. I'm fine." The demon stares for a moment before sighing in defeat. "At least let me get you some ice." Seeing the opportunity, I snicker, "But it's freezing!" Bad rolls his eyes, "For your arm, you Muffinhead." I poked out my tongue playfully.

With a cloth full of ice resting on my arm and a fresh cup of steaming coffee in front of me, I watch the pair work. Skeppy's diamonds are starting to sprout out of his arm. I do wonder how that doesn't hurt. But I'm just glad I'm not that kind of hybrid. Not that I'm any kind of hybrid. Considering how much the world changed after the Rifting, it's surprising that I'm not physically different as I am mentally. Even my sister is a Hybrid, despite my parents being human. She's a dog, by the fur coloring I'd say she's a kelpie. A car pulls up in the parking lot. It looks old, but the good kind of old. Kind of vintage, but not fancy. Just old. Through the windscreen three boys fight and seem to be bickering amongst each other. A tired looking man gets out. I recognize him. That's Philza, he shows up at school every now and then whenever Techno gets into a fight, or Tommy's pranks go horribly wrong, or Wilbur sasses out the teacher one to many times. He's a hybrid, either that or an angel. It's hard to tell. But he enters the coffee shop and walks to the counter. Huge black wings folded against his back.

"Bad, morning." He greet cheerfully and tips his weird stripped hat he always wears. I never liked that hat. It made me dizzy. He reads out a bunch of orders from a piece of paper, something about one flat-white, a mocha, a caramel latte, and a decaf frappe for Tommy. Bad nods his head and asks Skeppy to handle the order. I frown and tilt my head a bit. The strangely serious demon comes out from behind the counter and takes Philza by the arm, talking softly with him. I blink in surprise when they both look subtly towards me. I look down at the welt on my arm, pulling down the sleeve I bring my hand to my mouth and start to chew on my thumb knuckle. It seems I have over estimated the level of trust I should have given Bad. Rocking back and forth a bit I pick up my coffee cup to down it in one go. Don't trust grown ups. I'm about to pull my hood up when Philza comes over to my table, smiling down at me softly. I stare up at him with confusion. Fiddling with my fingers nervously.

"Hello, your Marr, right?" He raises a brow, his green eyes glinting with humor. My face heats up, and I avoid his eyes. "Uh.. yeah.. I think so..." he chuckles at this and puts his hand on the chair on the other side of the table. "Can I sit hear?" I blink in surprise, teachers and my parents never asked permission before they did things. Atleast my mum never did when she went through my school bag. Nor my did my dad when he turned down the music on my computer. I nod my head, continuing to rock back and forth. Sitting down he took off his hat, putting it in his lap. I stared at his blond hair that hung down to his shoulders. A crooked smile came upon his face, before it faded slowly. "Are you ok?" I started to scratch my arm. "I'm fine." This was my default response to most questions. He nodded his head as if this was a appropriate answer, he didn't pry. "How do you plan on getting to school, do you take a bus?" I shake my head, shrugging. I normally walk. Which is why I'm always late. He chuckles and takes his hat, putting it back on. "Well mate, if you'd like I can give you a ride, no strings." He winks good-naturedly. I look down, thinking for a bit. I don't trust strangers, even people with kids my age are dangerous. I look at Bad, chewing my lip. The demon smiles warmly and nods. Ok, I guess I'll give it a shot. I nod, "Yeah.. ok."

The hybrid gets to his feet quickly, "Great!" just in time for his order to be declared ready. With crow like laugh he takes the tray. "Welp, come on! The boys'll kill each other otherwise." he chuckles and heads out the door. After a moment of hesitation I follow him. The boys seem surprised when they spot me. Through a open window Philza hands the tray to Techno, a piglin hyrbid. I try not to stare at his tusks, it's rude. "Wilbur scoot over." Philza instructs his eldest son, opening the door for me. Tommy and his brother exchange a look before Wilbur undoes his seatbelt of shuffle over. I feel awkward as I get in, doing up my seatbelt and doing my best to avoid looking at the boys. As Philza turns on the engine there is a awkward, surprised silence. Until there isn't. "Who's the woman!?" Tommy inquires loudly. I wince.

#dream smp #dadza minecraft #wilbur soot #tommy innit

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softballum · 4 years

Text

So here’s something no one ever asked for. I’ve never written fic in my life, but heres 2k words of my ramblings.

I thought about this all day yesterday and had an idea for a ‘fix it’ for after Monday 1st’s episode. I really thought Ben might actually confide in Callum but I guess not.

Anyway, hope you enjoy if you do read it!!

I’ve Got You

He’s been squeezing his eyes shut for what feels like hours now. The rooms pitch black and for once its completely silent in and out of the flat. Callum can only hear his own anxious breathing and the faint mumblings of the buildings plumbing. The t-shirt he wears to bed offers him no comfort like normal. Its scratching the back of his neck, the stitches feel like they’re burning into his skin. He’d managed a few pints with the lads earlier and was content with how the night had gone. The alcohol would normally make him drowsy, make him yawn till his bones ached and he carried himself off to bed. Right now though, it's like he can feel it buzzing in his veins, angsty to get up from the horizontal position he’s in.

He can’t sleep if he knows Ben is supposed to be next to him. Sometimes he’ll briefly wake up in the small hours of the morning and brush his hand across the mattress. Just to feel Ben’s warm skin beneath his fingertips. Some days he still can’t believe that what he has with Ben is real, that he wants to spend the most vulnerable hours of his day, lying next Callum. He knows he’s overreacting. Ben had let Callum know he’d promised to put Lexi to bed tonight and spend some much needed, quality cuddling time with her. He’ll have let her stay up a little longer so he can read an extra few pages of Lexis favourite fantasy. Unique character voices and all. Or he’s sat having a cuppa with his Mum. Kathy fretting over him with extra cake she’d made for the cafe that morning, knows its Ben’s favourite. It’ll be as simple as that. Nothing for Callum to worry about.

But he knew he got a weird vibe from Ben this morning, shooing him off like that. Ben didn’t want to be a hindrance to Callum making new mates and now he’s avoiding him. He goes to pick up his phone from the bedside table almost knocking it off completely. He squints when he unlocks the screen, the brightness edging on his irritation. He opens up his text conversation with Ben, the glasses wearing emoji in his contact grinning at him. He sees that Ben still hasn’t replied to his earlier message about when he’d be home. He contemplates sending another, starts tapping on the back space with a loud sigh.

“He doesn’t need you checking up on him, you idiot. You ain't his mother” he mutters to himself, scowling at the wall in front of him. But Callum just cares, cares with his whole chest and he hates the thought of Ben avoiding him. After Ben’s confessions and brash words in the middle of the square the other night, things have been a bit…off kilter between them, but it won’t stop Callum from caring about him. He knows Ben still has this hard exterior up and its only being built higher the more he believes he’s not worth Callum’s affections.

Callum jumps when he hears the flat door slam a moment later, startling him from his thoughts. He waits for the increasing volume of Bens feet up the stairs, but they don’t come. Callum lies on his back holding his breath. His eyes darting about the dark ceiling like it will give him the answers he’s looking for. After a few unnerving seconds, the heavy thumps of Ben’s boots make their way on to the landing. Callum open’s the bedroom door with a gentle touch not wanting Ben to think he’s been clock watching his arrival back to the flat.

“Ben…?” He says it so quietly, he struggles to hear it himself. “Ben.”

Ben sees the change in light of Callum walking closer to him out the corner of his eye. Whipping his head up to meet the creased expression on Callum’s face.

“Hi, you alright?” He signs as he speaks. “Lexi enjoy her story yeah?”.

It takes Ben a moment to put it together. He clears his throat, teetering on the edge of nervousness.

“Yeah, she’s great..yeah” he answers, still glancing at Callum’s hands in mid air.

“I text you earlier. Didn’t want to leave you on your lonesome too long if I was out. Didn’t think you’d still be at your Mum’s.” He makes sure Ben can see his mouth move with each word, but even he can feel himself rambling.

Ben’s staring, mouth just slightly agape in concentration but he’s not caught a word. He blinks harshly against the little light coming from the living room lamp. His head is bursting. The ringing in his ears is still ever present and it feels like it’s pushing down on him from above. The pressure is too much. His hands feel cold but his palms are clammy. They’re balled up into fists, shoved deeply into the pockets of his leather jacket. He can’t even feel the pain of his nails digging into the calloused flesh. Hands that not all that long ago were holding a gun, punching some thugs and driving the get away car for him and Phil. He can feel his breathing picking up, leather jacket sticking to the back of his neck, like a bad dream following you around. He knows he needs to put on a show now, best lying performance of his life. Show Callum that everything is as it should be. Take his hand and lead him to the bed they share and at least try and get some rest. He can do that. He can. He’s lied to Callum about dodgy jobs and his family life so many times already, hidden his darkest secrets from him time and time again, it should feel easy. Easier than this. He needs to get away, run to the bathroom or grab a glass of water from the kitchen. Anything to get out from under the careful gaze of Callum. If he’s not looking straight at him, maybe, just maybe he could get away with the facade. But he’s stuck to the floor, his boots suddenly weighing an absolute tonne. He feels nauseous now and the room is spinning, seconds away from being sick. Doesn’t know whether its because of his ears or if the need to lie to Callum for the umpteenth time that week, is finally catching up on him. It was different when it was about Keanu. He could just push and push and it worked, for a time. It’s different now though. He needs Callum, needs him so much even he doesn’t realise. He can’t just push him away anymore, he agreed to be better, but right now he can’t do better.

“Phone Ben? Did you get my text?” Callum’s thumb hovers over his other four fingers, motioning to him.

Ben blinks again. Swallows hard, his throat dry and scratching. Concentrate, he thinks.

“Uhh no sorry. Not picked it up for hours.” Another lie, good. He drags it out his jean pocket ready to chuck it on the kitchen counter, forget about it and got to sleep with his boyfriend and pretend this night never happened. His thumb knocks the lock button though, the screen lighting up the picture of Lexi as his background. There’s a text from his Dad.

“Remember. Not a word to Callum.”

He feels himself choke, throat constricting. His eyes sting and he’s breathing harshly through his nose. He’s squeezing his phone so tightly, the bone of his knuckles could simply tear through the skin on the back of his hand. He’s getting hotter and hotter now, the rage bubbling up underneath the surface. His muscles all cramping up at his frustration. The remaining adrenaline from earlier only adding to his impending outburst.

Callum swears everything is stuck in slow motion. He sees Ben’s eyes focus on his phone, reading the same line over and over again, quicker each time he scans over the screen. Then his expression changes. He’s never seen Ben like this. Vulnerable, upset, cocky, confrontational but not this, he’s never seen him like this. He hesitates to react, doesn’t know what Ben will do or say next. No idea what could have been on his phone to make him like this. Panic starts to set in.

A sharp moment later. Ben lets out an aggressive scream, all his emotions finally coming up to the surface for air. His throat feels like its bleeding but its no match for how his head feels. His phone suddenly rips out of his hand and makes a heavy thud against the fuchsia-coloured wall of the flat, narrowly missing a photo frame. It rattles to the floor, the screen smashed and blacked out. It’s how Ben feels, bashed about and empty underneath it all.

Callums shocked into action then and runs to him, socked feet padding over the length of the living room. Ben’s pacing now. All shadows and amber street light, seeping in from the curtains. His hands grab his ears like he’s trying to pull them off. Huffing through gritted teeth, droplets of spit gathering on his lips. Eyes red raw as he scrunches them as tight as possible, defiant not to let his tears spill over and down his cheeks. Callum grabs his elbows and Ben starts to sob, noises only a broken, young man could make when he can’t carry on anymore. His cries wrack his chest, desperate to get a breath in but his emotions pull him deeper. Callum’s eyes are darting all over Ben’s figure trying to work out what could possible have happened to him and why he’s crumbling in his hands.

“Ben. Its okay, I’m here. What is it? Whats wrong?” His subconscious is using his police and army training to keep his voice as level and calm as possible, feeling anything but.

Ben continues to cry hysterically, his shallow breaths echoing in the small space of the flat.

“Ben, please? Please let me help you. Tell me. Whatever it is”

There’s silence for a split second and Callum thinks he’s imaging all this, but Ben’s body is still trembling under his hold.

“I can’t do this” Its barely a whisper and Callum wonders if Ben even realises he’s spoken out loud.

“You what?”

“I can’t do this Callum. I can’t. I can’t do it.” And shallowly, for a moment, Callum thinks he’s talking about them. But that’s not Ben, he wouldn’t be upset like this, he’d act the hard man and pretend he’s only being that way for the protection of Callum. No, this is different.

“You can’t do what Ben? Whats happened.” He trails his hands up to the back of Ben’s, still gripping on to his ears. He tries to gently prise them away from the sides of his head. If he can’t hear or look at Callum, he can’t communicate and Callum needs Ben to know he’s there for him.

Ben slowly glances up, still huffing in short pants. His face is blotchy red and wet from his cries.

His hair is all over place, in tufts from where he’s been grabbing at it in frustration. Callum thinks he hears his own heart shatter when he finally sees his face, Ben has never looked this broken before. Callum thinks if he lets go of the sides of his head now, he might just fall apart like fine china. This is not a Ben he’s ever seen.

“I can’t Callum” he repeats.

“Cant what Ben!?” Ben can see it from Callum’s expression what he’s asking him but that’s the only way he can tell.

“I can’t hear Callum.”

“What? I know you can’t hear Ben! What are you on about?” Ben concentrates on Callum’s lips through his blurred vision.

“No Callum.” He hiccups out a broken sob. The words are right on his tongue, but its like a bad taste in his mouth. He just wants to swallow and get rid of it, but what else can he say. He takes another second, the air between the two of them fully charged. Callum just stares at him in anticipation.

“I’m deaf. I can’t hear you. At all.”

The floodgates open then and Ben is back to harsh, violent cries. His lips curling in and his eyelashes soaked with thick tears. Callum holds on to him, his mouth hanging open in shock. Ben crashes into him, head straight into Callum’s chest, balling up the cotton of his t-shirt in his hands, holding on for dear life.

Callum just holds him. Wraps one arm around Ben’s back, the other cradling the back of his head, fingers brushing through the short hair there in an attempt to soothe his boyfriend. He stumbles a little with the sheer amount of weight Ben is pushing on him. Can feel his chest tighten too, his vision becoming blurred as a stray tear rolls its way down his flushed cheek. He’s scared, scared for Ben and what this means for him. But Ben’s strong, they’re strong and Callum will do anything to see him through his.

He dips his head so his mouth meets the crown of Ben’s hair. He presses a small kiss there, silent and soft.

“Shhhh.” He hushes. “I’ve got you Ben. I’ve got you.”

#ballum #ballum fic #ben mitchell #callum highway #eastenders #ben x callum #meg writes

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hearteyes-for-killmonger · 4 years

Text

Part 18: Visitor

In the early hours, Erik walked casually through the next hotel's parking lot dressed in comfortable all black with his bag of equipment, following silently and subtly a few feet behind a clueless older white man, mid-50s in loafers. The guy was making his way to a small silver Ford c-max with key in hand. He hit the unlock moving to the passenger side and luckily, he was parked next to a truck. Erik hopped in the cut behind him and between the two cars, wrapping his right arm around the guys neck, catching his chin in his elbow. The guy grabbed Erik's arm trying to resist and protect his throat, but Erik gripped his shoulder before locking his left arm behind the man's head, thumb to his own right ear. The throat was caught between his arm and bicep as he squeezed for ten seconds feeling the man go slack. He released him gently to the ground and took the keys, sliding into the driver's seat. Pulling out of the hotel lot, he turned on the radio grimacing when country music flared from the speakers. He switched the radio to the hip hop station. After thinking over the dinner incident, he knew exactly how he'd been located. He knew the risks earlier when he'd taken that damn picture despite being in the middle of a game of assassins. He needed to get to the computer at the Reunion Tower to access employee files. That was his start.

Parking a block away, Erik created his own route to side entrance, carrying his bag over his shoulder. It would've been so much easier if he could've strongarmed an employee to get in, but they were all long gone as were the police so fuck all that. He didn't need anyone to get the job done, he'd do it himself. Checking out the lock, he wondered about the security system. If he weren't on a time crunch, he'd have waited to scope the place out for cameras and to check the security system. All he had to go on was what he'd picked up earlier in the day. His knowledge was something, but not thorough. He knew they probably had a security alert system in place but it likely wasn't sophisticated and officers were not 24/7. He'd probably trigger a silent alarm so time was of the essence as well as a mask for whatever CCTV they had. He had an unassuming black ski mask that he put on, tucking his gold necklace. He also wore gloves so his race wouldn't be known.

Picking the side lock instead of the front or back was the better decision. Typically it was the least congested when it came to security, in his experience and now that he was into the tower, he had to be efficient and brief. He had two goals. 1) Hack into the employee records for staff schedules and staff personal information. He could get this from payroll. 2) Delete all photos they have on file that way he could delete his own image without singling himself out.

---

The harsh bounce of the plane as its wheels drop loudly and beat the runway shakes you awake and throws you around in your seat, the mechanical whirring of the machinery rushing forward like a giant car. Judging by the hush that had been as a blanket over every passenger, it seems that you're not the only one who was knocked out. As the lights shine on in the plane you can see and hear people waking up, shifting to life in their seats. The sky is still black, but the plane is guided by by amber artificial lighting. When it finally rolls to a stop, you have to wait along with everyone else to get off. Fighting the urge to close your eyes, you check the time. It's close to 2:45, which means it's almost 5 in Texas.

Erik is probably stretched out right now on his face, buried under pillows and enjoying having that hotel bed to himself. Maybe he'll let the maids into the room this time... or not. Knowing him, it's still not likely.

Finally the first few rows stand up starting the exit wave. You jump up with sleep still in your eyes to tug your bag down from the overhead bin, following the quick moving line of passengers through the suspended hall into the airport gate. They all move like they have somewhere to be in a hurry the way they speed speedwalk from the plane like they weren't just knocked. Meanwhile, you're ready to take a nap in one of these many empty seats you keep passing up.

"We ain't that reckless," you mumble. If you fell asleep in a public area with your luck you'd wake up with half your luggage or items missing. "..Sleepy sleepy sleepy," you mumble.

The good thing about flights at this time is that the airport is practically empty which means there's no one in your way, no one to compare your pace to, and no one to dodge or speed walk against. You can take things at your own pace without the social pressure to keep up without looking fatigued. Collecting your checked luggage from the baggage claim, you go your own pace to the parking lot hitting the unlock on the key fob. The familiar lights flash on and you head on over settling in.

It feels so strange driving Erik's car without him in it. You feel yourself blinking a little too much and too long, yawning into the side of your wrist with watery eyes. The same energy from the airport is on the road, borderline deserted. There aren't a lot of cars out riding around past 3 especially where you're headed. You flip on the radio turning it to a pop station and High Hopes by PATD has just started. Cranking it up, you sing along as loudly as you can muster to wake yourself up. You can feel yourself swerve a bit. The music carries you all the way to that exit where you turn off into some stretch of rural nothing. It's where you take an unmarked and nearly unnoticeable road that looks like it leads to nowhere. Following it, you find that familiar long and dark backroad, riding through under a canopy of tall grass and weed-like plants that shoot up from the dirt like walls. You drive slowly fearful of a frantic deer or some large animal jumping out in front of the vehicle. Finally, you're met with the large isolated modern house with glass panels. It's very dark. Strong shadows are cast all over the surrounding area, the greenery... the only light comes from the stars up above, twinkling mildly off of the glass.

How does Erik see anything when he comes home at night with the lights off? The place isn't even lit properly, he ought to leave the lights on! How does he feel safe like this?

Come to think of it, he does pack guns. You'd counted three. One he gave to you for emergencies, one you'd seen in his hand when he came to your rescue in your apartment, and one you'd seen at dinner when the restaurant got shot up. You cringe at the memory of the blood and the shots. It looked like someone had died yet Erik had been so ready to rush out to play hero, confronting the situation head-on as if he were still active duty and on the front lines. That part of him while honorable is still very scary because his overconfidence and meddling nature could potentially be the death of him. Then what? He's only human and not immune to attacks but he just won't back down. It seems to be embedded into his makeup.

Three guns. That's only what you've seen! The thought makes you shake your head. Maybe that's it right there. Maybe Erik doesn't feel safe either. Maybe that's why he has so many guns.. to protect himself.. because of the life he's lived. He's seen some awful things, you're sure. Things you can't imagine and the way he hardly blinked watching those attackers... You shiver. He wouldn't call it fear, he'd call it being prepared. Either way, he feels a strong need to watch his back, that much you can gather.

The first thing you do when inside the house is go through and flip on all the lights downstairs and then upstairs. Well, not all of them, but enough to start to feel like you aren't the main character in a horror movie with some homicidal maniac hunting you from the woods. The influx of light enough to ease your mind for the time being and you use the excess jittery energy to unpack and put your brand new belongings away. You hadn't gotten a chance to wear everything you'd bought in Texas, but something told you that you would. Erik was entirely too extra to not find an occasion. He'd probably create one.

Stripping down, you locate his hamper tossing in your belongings. You'll wash them all tomorrow. As for now, you head naked down the hall and into the bathroom more excited than ever to use his spa room of a shower. Looking over the contents arranged on the long and exposed shelf under his double sink, you pull from the neatly folded white washcloths and towels stacked next to the wicker basket of Erik's grooming items. To the left are a gang of small white candles in simple glass jars with black labels and white print. He's got at least two of each scent.. Vanilla, Sandalwood, Egyptian Musk, Coconut Mango, and Leather. Heading back into the hall, you snatch the lighter from Erik's bedroom drawer, lighting the Coconut Mango before carrying your body wash into the shower.

Once out, you wrap a towel around yourself carrying the candle and head to your own assigned room to lotion down and put on a tank with some small shorts to sleep in. Only suddenly, after showering you're not ready to sleep just yet.. so you head back downstairs with the spare blanket you found in the guest room's closet and help yourself to a yellow gatorade and some popcorn figuring you probably ought to cook something tomorrow so his groceries don't go to waste. There're some good ingredients in his fridge. You aren't doing any of it tonight though.

Sitting on the couch and flipping on the TV, you get cozy under the blanket as the current commercial break ends. There's a lady with a blunt blonde bob popping corn over the stove like she's in the stone age. You eat a handful of your own popcorn as she picks up the phone and the voice sounds creepy.

Who the hell is she speaking to and why is she entertaining him? Wait, is that Drew Barrymore?

"Wait.. Oh hell no," you change the channel not wanting to watch a horror movie right before bed, especially Scream.

"Nope," you repeat suddenly a tad paranoid. Not while you're in a bigass house in the middle of nowhere alone, like a cabin in the woods and your phone is upstairs. No ma'am, no sir. You keep flipping, sipping your gatorade.

After flipping through nonsense, however, curiosity gets the best of you and against your better judgement, you go back to Scream. You'd never actually watched it before though it was hailed as a classic.

"No he doesn't have her doing trivia," you snicker.

"...And he kills her boyfriend. This is crazy... He done stabbed her in the chest and choked her? That's a little personal, he must have known her. This killer is someone she knows."

"Dang, he must have stabbed her in the lung because she couldn't even yell to her parents. Will he kill them too or are they not on his hit list? Her only targets teens who cook their popcorn weird."

Shovelling more popcorn into your mouth you ignore that you're basically her right now, choosing instead to watch the mom as she looks outside.

"Don't tell me... Oh NO.. NO NO NO."

When you see the body hanging, you almost turn it off but then these homicidal 90s suburban teens come on screen and each of them seem not just capable of murder, but intrigued by it. You can see this creepy film is gonna be a whodunnit. Suddenly, you're more aware of the chill on your arms and the sounds in the house.

It's just the house settling, you remind yourself. There's no one out here. Erik lives away from society and that includes psychotic knife-weilding murderers.

Flu pops into your mind threatening to make you frantic, but you cast his face down immediately.

Nope... no one is out here. It's just me and I'm okay. I'll be okay.

The doorbell rings your heart hops into your throat. There's an accompanying aggressive knocking on the door causing your head to snap right to face it as you sit still as possible.

Who the french toast is all the way out here at 4:40 a.m. and why? Keep it together. Find a weapon. Don't freak out. Get up... quietly.

Again, someone knocks and you continue to stare at the door like a deer in headlights. The doorbell rings twice and your eyes widen when a feminine voice yells.

"ANSWER THE DAMN PHONE." You listen closely. "I WILL BURN ALL THIS SHIT DOWN, KILL," she threatens as if she's looking for somebody.

Who?

Against your better judgment again, you pad to the door and peep through the peephole spotting a slim brown girl with long dark curly hair in a big sloppy top bun. She's looking you dead in the eye and you have to remember that she can't actually see you.

Looks about his type though. Exactly his type actually.

"Stop looking at me and open the door, Kill. This is business."

With your hand on the knob, you unlock the door and pull it open to a crack. Staring at the woman in front of you, she's about an inch taller but it's close. She opens her mouth but her eyes widen briefly in surprise and she closes her mouth, squinting in pure bewilderment.

"Who.. are you," she tilts her head with an pained expression that says you are way out of place and far from home. You know that already and she doesn't need to look like that. Afterall, she's the one banging on the door at close to 5 in the morning while you're inside. So who's really out of place? "Hello?"

"..That's none of your business. Who are you and do you know what time it is?"

Her eyes are unwavering, staring you down. "It's none of your business," she remarks. You start to shut the door in her face, but she pushes it back open.

"His car is here. Tell him to come out."

"He's not here. Check back in a few days." Rolling your eyes, you try to shut the door again and she pushes her way in going straight to the staircase.

"KILL," she yells from the bottom. You fold your arms and glare at her until she looks your way.

"Are you done? I don't know what you two are on, but like I said he's not here."

"Look, I'm not the one you wanna toy with," she retorts, her finger twirling dismissively at you. She takes off upstairs and you follow to keep a keen eye on her, but you need to grab your phone from your room to call Erik. He answers on the second ring.

"What's up, baby," he mumbles.

"Why.. what you doing?"

"Taking a shit."

You frown looking at the woman who's standing in the doorway watching you. Her eyes narrow and her lips pout.

"There's a woman here looking for you. She just scared the living daylights out of m-"

"You opened the door?"

"Yeah because she-"

"You don't know who's on the other side or what they want so why would you open the fuckin door?"

"Pause. How did this become an attack on me?"

"I'm not attacking you but if she was someone dangerous you'd be dead right now."

"Erik, anyone out here is out here on purpose as far out into the cut as this damn house is. That means they either know you or they're extremely lost and looking for civilization. So you tell me who dangerous is lurking around the middle of nowhere? You got evil exes to destroy?"

"KILL. ANSWER YOUR PHONE," the woman yells from the doorway.

"You never heard of serial killers," Erik asks. "People who be FUCKIN people up for no reason?! You don't answer the door at 4 AM, stupid!"

"Don't call me stupid, asshole! What do I do about this girl here staring at me. Did you not hear her screaming like an idiot-"

"I heard that shit! Tell her ass to chill the fuck out! I'll get with her tomorrow," Erik snaps. "Don't be answering the door so late at night. All them damn movies you watch, you'd think you'd-"

"You'd think you'd control your damn subs! Y'all are both irking the hell out of my nerves."

"Don't be doing stupid shit when I'm not there to protect you. What if it were someone dangerous?"

"You so damn paranoid! I'm a ask you one last time then I'm leaving because this is some bullshit and I don't have to take it."

---

"Oh you real bold when I'm not there. Keep that energy in life and you'll be good." He'd just left the home of a man on staff who'd gone home early in the day before shit went down.

It seemed a bit suspect when Erik saw it on the schedule and when he was the man's face on his scanned ID, the man looked like he could be a relative of one of the shooters, maybe a younger brother.

Erik's hunch turned out to be right and with a gun to the guy's nose in his sleep, he rushed out an address while begging for his life. Apparently big bro was into some shit he ain't know about. At least that's what he'd claimed. It could've been the truth. It could've been a lie. Erik pulled the trigger and left him there as a stain and a warning to anyone involved that they would be located and exterminated in the same manner.

"She a friend. We collab on projects," Erik muttered closing the car door as he hopped out and started walking.

Swift wasn't playing if she showed up on his doorstep. She never did that. She'd never had to, he was typically efficient and even quick. But this time he was fuckin up and trying to fix it. She wanted this job wrapped up.

Of course she had other shit to do and places to be that would make her money, but she was hanging around and standing by for him solely because she had a crush on him. He was very aware although she'd never admit it and he was grateful for her help and support. She was an invaluable partner, much like Rell. He hoped he'd never have to end her the same way.

"Give her the phone," Erik softened, ignoring Y/N's grumbling as he walked on a dirt path into a wooded region surrounded by pitch black.

"Hey," Swift said simply. She knew not to talk in front of his subs. She'd already met Shay once and Jaliyah twice.

"You're scaring my sub, stop that shit she's skittish and very sensitive."

She sighed.

"I was compromised and targeted," he divulged knowing the expression she'd wear. In his mind he could see her jaw drop, the thinly veiled panic in her brown eyes. "Relax, they took out the wrong guy. I know exactly how they found me and I'm on them as we speak."

The line went quiet and he waited for her response, standing still.

"Fine. Have fun," she enthused finally. He knew what that coded response truly meant. Be careful.

"I'll be fine." She was probably thinking of coming to Texas just to back him up. She was powerful. However, he was confident in himself and finally in a space where he was thinking clearly. "I got this," he assured her. "Go ahead to Mazatlan. I'll hit you up when this is done. No one gets the drop on Killmonger."

Hanging up, Erik walked carefully and quietly until he heard voices, then he moved stealthily around the clearing that was set up with a camper, fire, and lights to check out the surrounding area. From far back where he stood, there was a narrow road and a few other trailers. The main road was near, but he'd come a back way through the trees on foot. He counted four voices and they were discussing ways to get their hands on more military grade weapons. One of them had a collection of assault rifles for trade and another was looking to invest in a tank. Erik stood positioned in the woods unnoticed with his bag on the ground and 27 lb AS50 assembled and aimed once he got the visual. The AS50 had a lower recoil than his AW50 so it would be easier to hit four targets quickly. He waited a moment making sure he could actually fatally hit each target, determining that he easily could. Before anything could go wrong, he braced himself and quickly hit the trigger four times. The bodies fell and his sharp ears no longer picked up conversation.

Moving quickly to a different position with a visual, he got low. The next person to come into view got popped and fell. Going in closer to the trailers, he waited, but no one else came out.

"Fuck it," he said after fifteen minutes. He stepped into the clearing and nudged the bodies with his foot checking for reactions and movements. Two responded. He shot them both again. The third body brought him great glee.

"Been chasing yo ass," Erik frowned staring down. It was undoubtedly his target.. in the flesh. He was late, but he'd gotten him and now Swift could get up off his back and he could go- "Shit.."He felt a bullet go through his leg.

He fired instantly in the direction from which the bullet came and his shot went through the trailer in front of him under the cracked window. He only hoped he hit whoever it was.

Limping, he forced his hit leg to carry him into the trailer where he saw a small blonde boy on the ground bleeding out with a .40 caliber pistol in his still hand. A touch of guilt touched Erik's heart. It was just a little kid, a kid who likely knew nothing of what was going on and had been raised in the bullshit, taught early on to shoot.. This was probably his first real gun. The little guy was probably the son of one of the five men he shot. He felt even more guilty knowing he'd taken someone's father away like that. It probably didn't really matter since the boy was dead now, but still... The world was a fucked up place.

Even more fucked up was the fact that he now had to go into each of the trailers and shoot whoever was holed up in each one. They were probably innocents, but he had to be thorough. No more fuck ups. He ripped a peice of material from a shirt hanging over a chair and quickly tied it around his leg under his pants. He controlled his limp moving to the next trailer finding a haggard older woman holding a little girl to keep her calm. The woman shook her head but before she could speak, Erik spoke first.

"I'm sorry," he whispered pulling the trigger twice.

#black panther killmonger #erik killmonger x black reader #original #house rules #erik stevens x reader #erik stevens x you

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aquaticalay · 4 years

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Siren .Chapter Four.

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes fancies you, a singer who performs at a local bar every Monday and Friday night. After a few months of attending your gigs, Bucky finally got the chance to talk to you. One problem: you are New York's sonic screaming vigilante. And the avengers have been trying to figure out who you are for months. (Post-Endgame)

Warning/s for this chapter : cursing, a teeny tiny bit of violence

Warning/s for the series: cursing, violence, eventual smut (which you can skip)

Word count: 1500+

Disclaimer: I do not own the Marvel characters.

Note: I'm a day late, I know :') and I'm sorry. I didn't have any connection last night, but here ya goooo

I will post a new chapter every two days. Let me know if you'd like to be on the taglist!

You didn't remember a time where you would stay up late texting. It seemed a little too cliche, like what a teenager would do in some cheesy romantic comedy on netflix. You didn't think you would ever do it, but here you are, almost midnight, texting with a man who was supposedly trying to arrest you. You talked and talked for hours, and neither of you were willing to stop the conversation. At first you didn't have the heart to, but you were just enjoying the time.

You found yourself chuckling at the fact that one of the world's mightiest heroes was such a modern hopeless romantic. You didn't even expect him to be able to text. He was a century year old man, after all.

'Anyway, when's your next gig?'

You read a bubble of text pop up.

'The day after tomorrow,' you typed mindlessly, and sent it before you could process what you did.

Your heart dropped. Shit, you thought to yourself. Shit! He wasn't supposed to know!

A million scenarios ran through your mind. What if you had to put on the suit, what if you had to be the Siren while he was in close proximity. What if you have a mission tomorrow night? And if your friends saw who came, the would freak. If they saw him, and if they knew you were the one who told him where you'd be, they would kill you. Well, maybe not literally, but you'd never hear the end of it. Besides, you were putting your mission, and your identity as a vigilante at risk.

Before you could unsend it, he already saw it.

'May I know where?' He texted.

'No,' you replied bluntly. It wasn't intentional, just instinctual.

Great, now you just sound like an asshole. Paranoia hit again. What if, by not telling him where your gig is, he becomes more suspicious of your identity?

'You're a spy right? Why don't you take a guess?' You texted back quickly, deciding that teasing was the most natural of playing it off like it was no big deal. Besides, wasn't playing 'hard-to-get' fairly common nowadays?

"Oh, so that's how it is?' Bucky texted back playfully.

Soon after, you ended the conversation, deciding you needed sleep. You've been a little out of focus lately. You needed rest, and perhaps tomorrow you could be more level-headed to think, unlike the whirlwind your mind has been going through today.

The next day, you woke up at eight. That was considered a good night's sleep, since you usually wake up at the break of dawn. You would've woken up even later if it wasn't for Lando, who called you to let you know of a mission.

"I found the buyer, the person who bought the vox formula," he told you, "He'll be out of his apartment in Brooklyn tonight. You can break in and try to find the formula."

Breaking and entering, huh? How fun.

You agreed, and set up a meeting in your Brooklyn safehouse.

At dusk, Lando was briefing you on the target apartment blueprint, while Luna and Vince prepared you arsenal of knives.

Knives might seem shallow for a couple of genius weapon engineers like Luna and Vince, but you knew that these knives were made for precision and to perfection. They've calculated the curvature of the blade, aerodynamics, as well as the friction. Every inch of those knives were a product of mathematical precision and excellence.

After Lando was done briefing you, you took the knives and sheathed them. There were three in total, two on the sides of your thighs were throwing knives, while the one strapped on your belt was a dagger, used for combat.

You put on your hood and jump out the window and to the roof of the five-story apartment building.

The target's apartment wasn't far away, actually, just a block away. You were lucky the only light source was a small crescent moon, or else it would've cast an alarming shadow.

You opened the standard window lock by sliding your dagger through the gap at the bottom. Easily, you slid inside. There was a small bedside lamp in his otherwise dark bedroom. You decided not to turn any more lights as it might be noticeable from the outside.

It was a small one bedroom apartment.

Wandering about in the space, you didn't find much personal belongings that might give away the identity of the person living there. There were no wallets or documents, not even photos in frames. The kitchen didn't have any knives or forks, just a few spoons. The pans and the stove looks brand new and unused. The TV wasn't even plugged in. The only thing that seemed functional was a computer that was built into a desk, situated in the very far corner of the room.

Focus. You're here for the formula, not for anything else.

You didn't see anything out in the open, so you checked under furniture. You checked for creaks on the floor board or inconsistencies in the drywall, in case this person had a secret concealment. You still found nothing.

"I can't find anything," you told Lando through the earpiece.

"Have you checked the floor? Walls?" You heard him. "Yeah, nothing," you replied with absolute certainty.

"Well, what do you see?"

"Literally, nothing," you emphasize, sighing in frustration, "there's not a lot of interesting things. All I see that might have any information at all is a computer."

"A computer?" Lando asked, an idea in his head, "Do you still have the microchip in your pocket, from last week's mission?" He asked.

"No, I don't think—" you started to reply, checking your back pocket, but stopped talking when you felt something there. You fished it out, and sure enough, the microchip was there. "Got it," you reported to him.

"Great," Lando sighed in relief, "Insert it in the computer, and I'll walk you through it."

You complied to his words, taking as much information as you can from the device.

"Hey, Buck," Sam urgently called, storming into the gym. Bucky was in the middle of a work out. He stopped the treadmill and gave Sam an inquisitive look.

"I just got a report," Sam told him, "Some lady in Brooklyn saw a hooded person break into the apartment next to hers."

Bucky's eyes widened, "Is it the siren?"

"Looks like it," Sam confirmed.

"Send me the coordinates now," Bucky demanded, running out of the room to change into his suit.

You had successfully transferred all the data into the microchip. You didn't waste any time getting out.

You returned to the safe house, giving Lando the microchip to decipher. You soon changed, and told your friends you were going home. You stuffed your suit inside a large backpack, and started walking to the nearest subway station.

When Bucky got to the exact address, he was certain that the Siren had already left. There was almost no traces of breaking and entering, except for the open window, and the broken lock on it.

"Shit," he cursed. He was too late. Had he been here earlier, he would've caught the person who had been able to break a super soldier body with a scream.

He decided to scout around the block. He could look for more clues. Besides, if the siren had been here, they can't have gone too far.

As he was walking around the block, he heard footsteps coming from around the corner. It didn't sound like the person running, but it sounded fast— like the person was in a rush. In panic, maybe.

He took a dagger out, preparing to strike. He had his back up against the wall.

As the footsteps approached, he thrusted the dagger away from his hand, and on to the person approaching. He did not strike to kill, but instead to assert a warning. The dagger was placed just inches in front of the person's throat. And it was…

"(Y/n)?" He asked, making sure if he was seeing right.

"Hi?" You managed to say, nervously smiling.

"What are you doing in Brooklyn?" He asked, pulling the dagger away.

You had one second to think of a lie.

"I… just got back from a record store a few blocks down," you decided to say. You looked up and down, and it was clear that he was wearing his combat gear.

What was he…

Then, the realization hit you like a truck.

Someone must've seen you enter the apartment. Someone must've called the Avengers.

"You look like you're busy catching bad guys here," you slightly teased him, trying to ease the growing tension.

He scratched the back of his neck, "Uh, yeah."

What are you doing? Bucky thought to himself, stop getting distracted!

"Well, I better not interfere," you faked a chuckle, "and I better get home. It's late. See you around?"

"Yeah, of course," Bucky breathed out, and you continued on your journey. You didn't look back.

As Bucky watched you walking further down the street, he could've sworn he saw a knife sheath hanging around your hips.

He shook his head off the thought. He must be imagining things.

Stop getting distracted, dammit! He scolded himself.

@thejourneyneverendsx @ispepeagain @magykal-777 @sfxsucker @moli1497 @justanothergirlwithdemons @ciochesono @allonszassbutt @hennessy0274-blog @chubby-dumplin @talk-geek-to-me @sebastian-i-stan @iwishthatiwasbuckysgirl @thelureabove @womanontheedgeofnothing @snugglemedaddy @perrythefrickinplatypus @missursulacalmet @angryknightstatesmantrash @tintinnabulary

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eldritchsurveys · 4 years

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748.

What's the latest youtube channel you've discovered and binge-watched? >> I don’t binge-watch channels, but the latest channel I discovered was one that makes videos that break down FFXIV jobs/classes. I need as much help as I can get because I think something about my brain just doesn’t gel well with certain game mechanics (like complex rotations, parsing what’s happening on a busy screen when particle effects are flying everywhere, interpreting and responding to battle elements on the fly, stuff like that -- which many gamers take for granted that everyone can do without a struggle) and I’m hoping a lot of exposure to the concepts will somehow... make them click. I don’t know.

What's one thing that makes your shoulders hurt? >> Sleeping in a position that makes my shoulders hurt in the morning. Whatever position that is, it’s kind of hard to predict.

Does it snow where you live? >> Yes. I quite hope it’s done doing so until late fall...

Do you think your hair looks better long or short? >> I don’t care how it looks, I care whether it’s easy for me to take care of or not.

Do you look best with or without bangs? >> ---

What stereotype would you say you fit the most? >> Stereotypes aren’t something I aspire to fit. They’re reductive and often crude ways of perceiving individuals.

Do you enjoy editing photos on your phone? >> I don’t edit photos on my phone.

What's your favorite thing to do on your phone? >> Read books or Reddit posts. Or listen to Spotify, I find the mobile app is much better than the browser version.

Which season do you wish would last longer? >> Spring, always spring.

Do you like the name Eliana? >> Not especially.

Do you know anyone named Claire? Veronica? Cescily? Marcella? Miranda? >> One of my former friends’ legal name is Veronica. I don’t currently know anyone by the other names.

Haw many outdoor birthday parties have you had? >> Zero.

How much taller or shorter are you than your mom? >> A few inches taller, last I knew.

Who is your favorite sibling? >> ---

Do you have neat handwriting? >> When I make an effort.

Do you enjoy journaling? >> Not particularly, but sometimes it can get the sludge out.

What is your most recent new favorite food you've discovered? >> I haven’t had much opportunity to try new foods lately, considering.

Do you like sushi? >> Sure.

Have you ever tried seaweed? >> Yeah, I like a few varieties of it.

How often do you wash your hair? >> Whenever it feels like it needs it, and then whenever I feel like I have the executive function to actually do it.

Do you have an actual pig-shaped piggy bank? >> No.

Would you rather hike a mountain or dive into the sea? >> I’d rather hike a mountain, because I can walk but I cannot swim. Also, I do like hiking.

Would you rather grow wings or a tail? >> I’d rather not grow either, those don’t fit with my self-perception.

Which Barbie doll was your favorite? >> ---

Do you prefer cheetah or zebra print? chevron or polka dots? paisleys or plaid? stripes or stars? >> Neither, neither, plaid, stars.

Do you like your natural hair color? >> It’s fine.

What is your natural hair color? >> Dark brown.

Did you dream of becoming famous as a kid? >> Yeah, but of course I didn’t really understand the full implications of fame, so I was mostly fantasising about being really good at stuff and having people like me for it, but also being able to, like, have a private, fulfilling life of my own. Which I doubt most famous people are truly allowed to have.

What show did you want to be on? >> I didn’t want to be on a show.

Have you ever been to a gynecologist? >> Yes.

Do you use the Bitmoji app on your phone? >> Yes. I like sending them to Sparrow and vice versa.

Name three games that you are good at. >> Guitar Hero, the Fable series, Mario Kart (any edition that you can use the wheel adapter with).

What was your favorite board game as a kid? >> ---

If you were a Lisa Frank character, who would you be? >> Again, I still don’t know anything about the Lisa Frank universe. Didn’t even know there were specific characters.

Do you get on facebook every day? >> No. I check it every so often to see if I have messages to answer, and that’s it.

What is your Instagram screenname? >> ---

Do you remember the very first episode of Spongebob when it first came out? >> No.

Did you watch the Kids Choice Awards when you were a kid? >> No.

What was your favorite girl group when you were growing up? >> I wasn’t interested in them. Right now, I’d say All Saints was probably the best one from that era imo.

Would you ever consider naming a child after a family member? >> ---

List three names that sound similar to your name. >> The only one I can think of is “Mildred” and that’s annoying because I hate that name.

List three spelling of your name that you are glad you don't have. lol >> I’m not sure how else you could spell it.

What were you almost named? >> ---

What is your name (first and middle)? >> Mordred Shadow.

Do you like your name? >> Of course, or I would have named myself something different.

What are your top three favorite girl's names? boy names? >> ---

List 10 more girls' names you like. List 10 boys' names you like. >> ---

List 10 names you think would be good for a pet. >> ---

Do you have memories that still make you cry? >> Well, yes. It’s called emotional flashbacks.

What is something you always wanted to do that your parents never let you? >> My parent never let me do anything, so that list is very long. Anyway, I’ve done almost all of it by now, seeing as I’ve been a legal adult for over 10 years.

Do you have any symptoms of COVID-19 right now? >> No.

Have you made your own mask to help prevent the spread of the virus? >> No.

Do you know anyone who has the virus? >> I don’t think so. If so, they haven’t told anyone about it.

What was the last grocery store you shopped at? >> Meijer.

Name three countries you would like to visit. >> Iceland, Ireland, Turkey.

What does your name mean? >> It’s unclear.

Are you proud to be an American? (if applicable) >> No? I didn’t make the choice to be born here or anything, it was just how it happened. There’s nothing for me to be proud of.

What countries have you visited? >> None.

Do you have any regrets? >> Meh.

Do you ever wish you had someone to hug? >> I mean, I do. I just don’t have the ability to enjoy hugging someone.

What color are the slippers you wore last? >> Grey.

Do you ever sleep on your bedroom floor? >> Nah. It’s tempting in the summer, though, ngl.

#surveys #survey #random survey

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