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spideymarvelws · 4 years ago

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had so much fun writing the first scene dude... i feel like as a fanfic writer its a sin i haven’t written anything like it yet lmfaoo (to be fair i probably have but I just dont rem💀) anyways i hope you enjoy!

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Prompt : 9. “Then what are you waiting for?”

Warnings : just some cute floof, some cursing here and there

Word Count : 2.2k

Hesitation

Technoblade x GN!Reader

It was always peaceful in the tundra right before the sun set. Not only did the orange and red colours that reflected off the shiny snow send a wave of tranquility through the lands. It was a specific time where all the animals would go back into their homes before the mobs spawned at night fall, leaving the lands in complete silence.

Phil loved working at this time, getting small tasks done around the house that he wasn’t able to do throughout the day. Whether it was washing the dishes or dusting out the book shelves. Maybe even lounged around near the fireplace, planning out what he had to do the next day. It was always quiet, void of distractions to keep him from doing them.

But of course, with peace always came chaos.

“YOU CHEATED!”

“NO I DIDN’T!”

“YES YOU DID!”

The door cracked open, slamming against the wall behind it making the blonde jump from the sudden noise. He was ready to pick up his sword by his side until he recognised the voices of his house mates, shouting like little children.

Phil sighed, continuing to wash the dishes in front of him. While the bickering tended to amuse him at times, right then he just wanted to stay in the silence. He was quick to grab a pear of earplugs from his chest, pushing them snugly into his ear, blocking out the noise you both brought into the house while humming a small tune.

“There’s no way that your horse is faster that Carl! That’s just not possible!” Techno shook his head, his entire body still except for his left foot tapping consistently on the floor, “It’s just not possible.”

“Okay-” you pointed your finger in his face, “First off, her name is Raven and secondly, you just can’t admit that she’s better than Carl.” you crossed your arms on your chest, looking up at the piglin with teasing eyes.

Tech threw his head back with a groan, turning around gruffly and taking off his cape along with the skull mask covering his face.

“I won’t admit it because it isn't true!” he turned back to face you, mimicking your stance and tilting his head slightly to the side.

You raised your eyebrows at his response, nodding slowly, “Alright, alright,” you slowly took of your cloak, bunching it up and throwing it at him, his reflexes catching it before the fabric hit his chest, “Maybe it’s just the ridder and not the horse.”

Techno gasped, “You take that back.” he threw your cloak to the side.

You hummed, looking up and faking a thinking face, “Nah... I don’t think I will, I said what I said.” you stepped closer to the hybrid, sizing up his figure, “And what are you going to do about it?”

Techno squinted his eyes, a small smirk making its way to his face before he grabbed you by the waist, throwing you over his shoulder and walking away from the entrance into the living room.

“Hey!” You pounded at his back, wiggling in his tight grip, “Put me down you loaf!”

He laughed at your words but obliged, throwing you on the couch near the fireplace. Before you could sit up, he crawled over your form, knee besides one side of your waist with his other foot planted on the floor, keeping him steady hovering over you.

“Techno-” you chuckled nervously, trying your best not to stray away from his intense gaze, fighting the heat starting to rise to your face. Your hands pushed at his chest, weakening when he brought his face closer to yours, making you feel smaller than you already were.

He didn’t say anything, instead his fingers dug into your stomach, wiggling them across the fabric of your shirt. Your laugher filled the air, high pitched and bouncing off the walls of the cottage. You tried your best to control them, not wanting to give in to the blood god’s actions so quickly. But your hands on your stomach did nothing to stop his.

“Oh. My. God! Techno! Stop you fucking- oh god!”

“Take it back Y/n!” he laughed along with you, continuing his assault on your stomach, “Take it back or I swear to god you’re going to loose a canon life from being too ticklish.”

“NEVER!” you shouted between laugher, screaming when his hands began to move faster, knocking the breath out of your lungs. In the heat of the moment, he took your wrists into his fist, pinning them above your head, keeping your hands from interfering with his plans.

“Say. It.” even with one hand we was doing enough to keep you squirming underneath him, desperate for an escape.

“Okay! Okay! You- You’re a good rider Techno! You’re a good rider!” you finally admitted, your body falling limp against the cushions when he finally raised his fingers from your stomach.

Techno laughed at your state, leaning back with a cocky smirk on his face, “Glad to know we could come to an agreement,”

“I hate you,” you mumbled, your head rolling to the side on your shoulder as you caught your breath. You closed eyes in relief that the past few minutes were over, nearly falling asleep with the amount of energy you spent laughing.

Techno chuckled, taking your chin into his fingers, turning your head to look back at him, “Is that so?”

You nodded, fluttering your eyes open to look up at the pink haired man. Your breath hitched when you noticed how close his face was to yours. His entire presence felt suddenly close, his chest puffed out with long breaths, his legs practically tangled with yours, his face hovering over you, radiating heat you didn’t notice while he was tickling you. You watched as his face lit up red, his piglin ears straightening out of the side of his head, probably taking in the proximity as well.

Techno wasn’t one to get flustered often, but when he did it was always with the people he cared about. He trusted them enough to let that blood god persona he put on fade away leaving behind his shy, nerdy side you always adored. The side of techno who would read by the fireplace with Steve sat snuggly in his lap, the Techno who would spend hours trying to fix his glasses that broke constantly in his strong grip only having to craft a new one. The Techno who would grumble about compliments from you and Phil but the subtle spread of pink across his face told everyone otherwise. The Techno you grew to love the more and more he let you it.

He began to get a lot more playful with you as you friendship grew. When you moved in with him out in the snow it only increased drastically. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for the both of you to end up in this position or something similar to it (like the time he pinned you down during training), but he would always stop before things got too intimate and while it hurt, you’ve grown to accept it. You were glad to be his friend, his companion. You would take his friendship over not knowing him at all any time of the day.

You waited for him to pull back. To stand up and dust off his clothes, offering you his hand to pull you up with him and continue that night like normal. But he stayed, his dark, dull eyes staying down at you with a shine you’ve never seen up close before.

Techno didn’t know what to do either. He didn’t know what was prompted him to stay in this position, the sudden confidence that pushed him to keep his hand on your face, his lips so close to yours. Maybe it was the voices in his head, annoyed with the constant stares and thoughts of adoration when you rode Raven around in the snow, your cape flowing beautifully behind you, face showing nothing but pure joy. They were relentless, calling him out on every emotion he was feeling because of you.

He wanted to move for your sake, he was the one on top of you in the first place, pinning you down. You were probably being polite not shoving him off of you, even if you’ve never done it before, he just always pulled away before you could. But he couldn’t, his muscles stiff and unable to move.

A small part of his brain told him you wanted this too, but he ignored it for his own sanity.

“Techno-” you whispered but before you could continue, the hybrid immediately took the single word as a protest, finally letting go of your hands but keeping his body close.

“Shit I’m sorry that- that was probably a bit much.”

You giggled softly, “No- uh, it was fine tech, no worries,”

He looked down at your bright smile glowing in his face.

“You’re really beautiful Y/n,” he whispered, letting the rough pads of his fingers trail down the side of your face, blushing when you nudged them with your cheek, accepting the comfort.

“You think so?” you whispered back, looking up at him with doe eyes.

“I-” he started, his breath hot against the tip of your nose as he glanced down to your lips, quickly looking back into your eyes. Why weren’t you moving? Why weren’t you cringing, laughing at the thought of ever kissing him?

“You- Do you want this.” you whispered, letting his thumb pull down at your bottom lip, watching as the plush skin softly bounced back.

He nodded, shivering when you tangled your fingers into his pick curls, pulling his face down and nudging your nose against his. He closed his eyes, a small, cute snort coming from the back of his throat at the affection.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

“FUCK!”

You jumped at the sudden curse, Techno falling off of you and on to the floor besides the couch. Before you could process what just happened, the curse sounded again followed by a crash, both of your senses on high alert when you realised it was Phil’s voice coming from the kitchen. You rushed to grab your weapons from nearby, quickly pulling yourself together on the fact that your friend was in trouble.

You both ran as fast as you could, Techno in front of you with his sword drawn while you were behind loading your cross bow with an arrow. He barged into the kitchen, holding his blade in the air, ready to attack but all he was met with was a pair of wings slapping him in the face.

You dove under the large feathers, bumping the winged man to alert him of your presence.

“Oh... hey guys!” He smiled, taking out something from his ears and resting them on the kitchen counter. He sent a pointed look to the weapons in your hands, crossing his arms over his chest in confusion, “Why the weapons?”

“Are you alright?” Techno said, rubbing his nose from the hit.

“We heard you scream, thought you were in trouble.”

Phil chuckled nervously, “Sorry, my bad,” he turned around to face the both of you, “I just dropped a plate.”

You and Techno let out an audible sigh, dropping your weapons to the floor with a clank. You didn’t know how many times your heart could deal with the sudden bursts of adrenaline. Walking up to Techno, you took his hand away from his face, inspecting the soft red mark across his face from the whip of feathers. No matter how small the attack, you always made sure to check up on him, even when he didn’t need it.

But with your delicate touch came memories of the events that just happened

“Were- were you here the entire time?” Techno said hesitantly, looking up at his father with worried eyes. You took in his words, immediately pulling away from the hybrid, ignoring his small noise of protest.

“Yes, but i put in some ear plugs,” he pointed to them on the counter.

“Oh!” you piped in, “That’s- That’s good.”

“Was there something I missed?” he crossed his arms over his chest, looking at the both of you curiously.

“Nothing!” You both shouted at the same time, chuckling nervously.

“Okay?” Phil dragged out, pointing back to the sink, “Well, I’ll just-”

“Yeah! You- uh, get to that phil,” you began walking backwards, bounced into the edge of the counter. You played off the pain with a quick thumbs up and walking quickly out of the kitchen, mumbling curses under your breath.

“Are they alright mate?” Phil asked his son who seemed to be lost in his own world, staring at the spot you were once in, “Techno?”

“I- what?” He shook his head, “Uh, yeah- they’re,” he let out a small sigh, letting his hand pass over his face, “Yeah, they’re fine.”

“Are you alright?”

Techno didn’t respond for a while, stuck in his own thought. Phil turned to his son, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, “Tech?”

“I think-” He let out a shaky breath, “I think I love them.”

...

IM SORRY FOR ENDING IT SO SUDDENLY

it was just getting to long and i didn’t want to loose motivation writing more😭

Permanent Taglist (Dream SMP) : @ossinsworld @lunarinnit @starstruckllamapuppy @shio-yuki @lovelychasbug @alice-blue-skies @chaosofsmarty @imamybubbles

Technoblade Taglist : @hyumiid @whenpugzfly @sammyxn @jackalopedoodles @notmesimpingfortechno @immadatmostthings

Crossed out mean couldn't tag :(

#technoblade x reader #technoblade x y/n #technoblade x you #dream smp x reader #dsmp x reader #serenefreakgeek #mcyt x reader

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thesunicarusfellfor · 4 years ago

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Safe With Me (Yandere!Plat!C!Ranboo x F!Reader) 2/???

TW: Yandere, blood, canon lives lost, mention of painkillers, kiddnapping, swearing

Part One

Over the next few days, he practically begged you to come to live with him in the Snowchester mansion, claiming that you could be much safer there, and closer to him. A.k.a, away, FAR away from Technoblade.

While you liked the thought, you explained to him that you liked your home and wanted to wait a bit before moving in. Ranboo was a little upset but quickly went back to smiling and saying he understood... He couldn't be mad at you... This was life changing for ender's sake.

Then your last day at his home came quicker than he would have liked.. but that's not the only reason he hated that day...

Maybe the voices took over?

Or maybe he was of his own free will when he did it..?

He never fully got the answer out of you and he never understood what happened... He never understood why that damned man decided to take everything from him that day...

You had walked out the door a few minutes ago with a smile on your face and a travel cup full of whatever hot drink you had made before leaving... Then he heard an ear-piercing scream.

Stumbling over his own long and lanky legs, he ran out the door as fast as he could, crashing and tripping over furniture before reaching his front door. He threw it open with a cry of your name and saw the scene he feared the most...

Every single one of his fears had come true.

You were laying lifelessly on the stark white snow, eyes and mouth wide open with dull terror as your clothes were covered in an almost beautiful ruby red liquid seeping from a hole in your chest. Your once shiny (e/c) eyes were glazed over like the glass eyes of a doll, your skin rapidly losing any sort of beautiful hue he had once studied.

Ranboo couldn't stop the scream of bloody murder that escaped his throat as he stumbled through the snow and collapsed to his knees beside your colourless corpse. His hands quickly became covered in the red liquid as it seeped into the snow, flowing freely from the wound that had been created by the man he has once respected.

He knew you were already gone by the time he came out, but he still kept trying to get you to wake up. His colourless hands gently shaking you, holding your face in between his stained hands, trying anything to keep the life from leaving your body, but obviously failing.

"She has one more life left. You're overreacting." His pink-haired neighbour growled softly as your body began to break apart into particles. Despite the piglin's words, the other hybrid sobbed hysterically with his head thrown back to the sky, ignoring the tears burning into his skin.

"I'll kill you."

"Heh?"

"I'll kill you for this, Technoblade." Ranboo tilted his head back down as the black part of his skin began to seep into the white part. His green eye turned into an amethyst-coloured purple and his mouth began to split open.

The next few days to him were a blur... Or that was his memory getting worse...

He'll never really know...

He just knew that you weren't safe without him... You were on your last canon life! You had to be protected...

Even if that meant you couldn't leave...

He had a few more days before you woke up from your respawn, so he set to work quickly. Ranboo began to build an obsidian building, reminding him very much of his panic room, but he couldn't focus on the fact for very long. He had to build something only he could get into. Something that would protect you. Something that couldn't be destroyed.

It was difficult and took longer than he would've liked... But it was safe and out of the way. No one would find it, but that was what he wanted. It was for your safety! And so he could remember you forever! He couldn't complain even if he was tired and his hands were covered in blisters from mining for so long...

Carrying your momentarily lifeless body through L'Manberg was stressful enough, with the emotional and mental pain of carrying the person he held closest to him, but with everyone quickly running up and asking what happen... He found himself unable to say anything other than, "Technoblade..." before brushing past them as quickly as possible, trying to get you to your new home.

There was an almost disgustingly familiar throbbing in your head that awoke you a few days later. You couldn't place where you had felt the headache before, but didn't think too much about it as you just decided to get up and start your day, "I wonder if Ranboo wants to hang out again, I mean... Then again, we've spent an entire week together. Mans is probably sick of me by now..." You laughed a bit to yourself, trying to hide the little stab of self-deprivation that filled your body.

Pushing yourself out of bed, you looked around and sighed, seeing nothing out of the ordinary, "At least I unpacked before I passed out... Now, where did I put the stupid painkillers...?" You walked out of your room, cringing at the cold wooden oak floors and sight of the darkened windows, "Ooookay. Slept less or longer than I thought... Maybe social interaction is more draining than I would like..."

You shuffled around your house and lit a few of the lanterns in your kitchen, digging through the cupboards to find something to alleviate the throbbing pain behind your eyes, "Oh! I went shopping before I passed out? Huh... Maybe I got a bit tipsy or something? Wait... I didn't buy painkillers? Dammit! I always need something I didn't buy..."

Groaning, you put your hand to your head before grabbing a sweater to put over the clothes you slept in, which were the clothes you left Ranboo's house in, before slipping on your shoes. Once you looked at yourself in the mirror, you deemed yourself ready to go outside and head by the store, so you opened the door...

Only to walk into a solid black wall.

"H-huh?" You whispered, gently reaching up and touching the cold material blocking your exit, "Ob...Obsidian? What on earth?... What kind of prank is Tommy pulling now?!" You huffed angrily and walked over to a window... Only to realize it wasn't dark... Every exit was covered in obsidian. "Okay, okay, what the- oh, wait I have tools! Ha ha Tommy, suck a pickaxe."

Walking over to your storage room and opened the chest that held your tools and materials to make tools, only to find it completely empty. Your armour was gone too! This... Was an elaborate prank... Maybe Tommy got help with it. You pushed yourself up and walked over to your enderchest, only to find it completely gone!

Dammit, Tommy definitely got help with this...

Realizing that they wanted you to panic, you huffed and sat down on your bed, crossing your arms in thought, "This... Ah, just gotta wait it out I guess..." You mumbled angrily, flopping onto your couch, groaning in annoyance as the action irritated your headache. Maybe you could sleep it off? Yeah, that was your best bet.

You weren't exactly sure how much time had past to be completely honest? Maybe a few days? Or a few hours? There wasn't much to really do during this horrible prank, you couldn't even enchant your tools or even make any! You didn't even have knives for cooking dammit! Plus... You were beginning to run low on food...

This time you woke up to something different. It sounded like Redstone activating and pistons sliding against each other before the door creaked open. The prank was finally over! Thank god! You shot up from your bed and walked towards the front door, only to see Ranboo standing there with bags filled with groceries dangling off his arms and tail. With a sigh, he decided to put them on the kitchen counter before looking around, only to completely light up at the sight of you, "(Y/n)! Hello!"

"Ranboo..." You smiled, your voice a bit hoarse from the lack of use, "Please tell me Tommy's terrible prank is over and I can go outside and touch grass again.

The hybrid's expression didn't change, "You can't go."

Your smile faltered a bit and you grit your teeth. This prank was still going on? How annoying. Turning quickly towards your door, you huffed as you saw it blocked off by obsidian again, "Boo... Please let me out... I'm not enjoying this prank anymore. I don't even have a clock-"

"Oh? Did I forget to build you a clock when I built this place? My bad, I'll make you one tonight so I can give it to you tomorrow." He continued to smile, beginning to put away your groceries for you... Somehow having the exact brands you always bought... And... Knowing exactly where they went, "But, you can't leave."

"This... This isn't funny anymore, Ranboo." You spoke firmly, but your voice wavered a small bit in realization as your face drained slightly of colour, "Built... This place? You put me here?"

The tone of voice, while still not lessening his smile, caught his attention, "Oh... You're looking pale... Here, let's get you to bed. You aren't looking too good and I don't want you getting sick." He walked over and put his hands on your shoulders, trying to get you to head into your room, but you wouldn't budge, "(Y/n), come on, I'm just doing what's best for your health and safety. We don't want you to lose your final life, especially to an easily preventable sickness, do we?"

"Final... Life...?" You were going to be sick... Quickly lifting your arm into view, you realized he was right. There was only one black line left. There were two when you visited Ranboo... What...? "I'm-I'm not tired... Ranboo, what happened?!"

"I'm not going to taint your memories with something so horrifying..." His voice, while sounding sickly sweet, sounded disgustingly morbid, "That's why you're in here! So I can keep you completely safe from the dangers of the outside world and remember you forever!" He was still wearing that damned smile...

He took you away from your life...

And he was fucking smiling...

GENERAL TAGLIST: Empty

'SAFE WITH ME' TAGLIST: @kylobensgirl

#ranboo #ranboo x reader #ranboo female reader #ranboolive #mcyt #mcyt x reader #ranboo mcyt #yandere x reader #yandere ranboo #ranboo dsmp #dsmp #mcyt x y/n #mcyt x you #dream smp x reader #dream smp x you #dream smp x y/n #ranboo x you #c!ranboo

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truly-madly-slytherin · 4 years ago

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The Dark Princess

*gif not mine//credit to the owner

A/N: Hello loveliessss! 🌸 so I’m hoping that my writing in this chapter has improved somewhat from the last and that it is as magical for you to read as it was for me to write ☺️ I appreciate every like, reblog and follow so thank you all so much 🥰🥰 there’s a bit of a jump between the prologue and the main story so this is more of a filler chapter and in case anyone is confused she has the diary because Tom makes sure (Y/N) intercepts it in between Ginny getting rid of it and Harry finding it. Alsooo I suck at introductions so bear with me 😅 Happy reading peoples! 🥳🥳 Italics = flashback/dream, (E/C) = your eye colour, (H/C) = hair colour

Summary: It is the beginning of the summer after your fourth year and you are moving into Riddle House with your father, at his insistence, making you think back to when you first met him during your second year at Hogwarts. You won’t be there for long though...

Pairing: AU Lord Voldemort x daughter!reader, Tom Riddle x OC!

*I don’t own any of these characters except the OC, all rights belong to J.K. Rowling and the filmmakers

PROLOGUE

Chapter One

➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰

Riddle House once stood as the most prestigous mansion in Little Hangleton. Now whimpering on top of the hill, a ghostly shell of itself; it’s derelict and decrepit condition reflected the sinister history encased within the walls. Each room explored was more somber than the last, and emptiness clouded the air so thick it was almost suffocating.

*gif not mine//credit to the owner

The floorboards creak beneath your feet as you traipse down the hallway, your father a few steps ahead.

“And now... we have the kitchen” he announces with a flourish of his arm. Dimly lit by a grubby window, the room, like the rest of the house, left a lot to be desired. Tiles hung from the walls whilst every surface was caked in decades worth of dust. Cobwebs strewn here and there, the sink was more rust than steel and there was a large cavity where the cooker once stood.

“It’s.... interesting” you force out, the weak taste of iron flooding your tastebuds as you bring your teeth down on the flesh of your bottom lip. Taking out his wand Voldemort flicks his wrist and the dingy room quickly transforms itself into a modern kitchen.

“Wow!” you whisper running your fingers along the cool marble.

Turning to face you, his nonexistent lips contort into a terrifyingly sweet crescent. “Luckily I had the foresight to prepare your bedroom before you arrived.”

Trudging back through the hallway, you take time to notice the portraits hanging along the wall, a series of black smudges where the faces once were. Wandering upstairs you spot a door with a wooden rose-embossed sign reading ‘Y/N’s Fortress’.

“Here goes nothing” you sigh.

Entering, a gasp escapes your lips. In the middle of the large room stood a king sized four-poster bed, adorned with a rose quilted headboard and white chiffon curtains. To your left was a beautiful vintage french dressing table complete with matching bedside tables decorated in tiny hand-painted black, red and pink roses. The grand wardrobe standing beside it, decorated in the same tiny roses, could surely house more garments than you even owned. To your right hung a wicker swing seat, pink rose buds woven throughout, appearing as though it was made entirely from the delicate plants, positioned perfectly in view of the large Edwardian window. Hanging above the headboard were pictures of you, your mother and father, clipped evenly along a piece of string intertwined with fairy lights, glistening as each scene plays out before you.

“I mustn’t take any credit, Bellatrix was in charge of the preparations.” Your father states watching you from the doorway.

“It’s beautiful” you whisper, tears welling in your eyes.

Voldemort set about fixing the rest of the house giving you time to settle and take it all in. Lying on the soft mattress, you think back to the first time you met your father, a stark constrast to the man you know today.

Sitting at your desk the blank pages stare back at you and your fingers rake through your messy (H/C) curls for the hundredth time. Front to back the diary was barer than the day it was made.

You had been in the girls bathroom during lunch when you noticed something on the floor. Finding a small black book with leather as soft as feathers and gold lettering along the bottom, you pick it up to inspect it further.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle.”

Your eyebrows crease as the name rolls off your tongue, a frown etching it’s way onto your forehead. What would a boys diary be doing in the girls bathroom? Nevertheless you keep the book, and make your way to class, letting it burn a hole through your satchel until the end of the day. Your last class was Potions and with any luck it would go quickly. Settling into your seat, you spin around to the cute blonde haired boy behind you.

“Is there any one at Hogwarts named Tom Riddle?” You ask him, red hot flames licking at your cheeks as his crystal blue eyes meet yours.

“Not that I know of. And I know everyone who is anyone around here” he snorted. Choosing to ignore the radiating arrogance you turn back to the front, mind racing. The diary didn’t belong to a Hogwarts student at all, so how on earth did it end up in our bathroom?

Your leg jerks up and down repeatedly below the desk and your eyes wander back to the clock. 3:43pm. Exactly one minute had passed from the last time you checked. Ahead of you Professor Snape is droning on about a potion you hadn’t yet caught the name of.

“And the 5th step in the brewing of the Wiggenweld Potion is...?” Snape drawls out, his beady eyes searching out his next victim. Chewing on your lip you try to concentrate, to no avail.

“Miss Rosier?” His expectant eyes land on you, lips curling into a signature smirk.

“A-add more salamander blood until the potion turns t-turquoise” you splutter.

“Very good. Someone who has obviously been making notes, wouldn’t you agree Mr Weasley?” The air escapes your lungs with a whoosh as he narrows his eyes at Ron across the room. Ron gulps, ducking his head in an attempt to hide the crimson blush now creeping up his cheeks.

Finally the clock stikes 4 and you make sure you’re the first one out, darting between the students and managing to make it halfway through the dungeons before the bell rings out. “Pureblood” you mutter, the portrait swinging open. “Ooh someone’s in a hurry!” Paying no mind to the painting you dash up the stairs.

“Tracey?”

“Daphne?”

With no answer you plonk down at your desk and begin writing.

“My name is Y/N Rosier, and this is my diary.”

Your (E/C) eyes go round, lids refusing to blink as you watch the words slowly sink into the page. Your small hands vigorously rub at them and yet the page remains just as blank as it had been originally. Your brain scrambles to make some sense of what is happening, but not giving your thoughts a chance to untangle themselves, words begin to materialise across the page.

“Hello Y/N.”

Curiosity trumping any thought of sense, the tip of your quill connects with the aged paper once more. “Who are you?”

“My name is Tom Marvolo Riddle.

And I am your father.”

Your breath hitches in your throat. The fluttering birds that previously occupied your ribcage die out as your heart threatens to beat right out of your chest, pumping ice throughout your veins at an ungodly speed. The pounding in your ears nears defeaning as the middle of the book suddenly throws out streaks of blinding light.

Regaining your vision you’re surrounded by stone walls and green glowing lamps. The click-clack of shoes echo through the dungeon as hushed whispers become audible.

“No Tom! I told you- I warned you- I told you something bad would happen- that something so evil would surely have consequences, and you ignored me. And now look! A girl has died Tom!” The young woman vigorously shakes her head, her wild ginger curls bouncing about her face while she scolds the boy.

“Lower your voice before somebody hears you.” He hisses, the pair coming to a halt in front of you. His lips curl into a sneer as his large hand wraps around her dainty wrist. “I am Lord Voldemort after all.”

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that!” she seethes. Snatching her wrist from his grasp, her perfectly manicured finger points at his face. “Your name is Thomas Marvolo Riddle and I am not one of your little followers bowing down at your feet and kissing your arse! And most importantly Tom, I am not scared of you!” She storms off and Tom continues hot on her heels as you scurry behind.

“For Merlins sake! Fleur wait-” Blocking her path, Tom’s hands come to rest on the girl’s arms, this time gently caressing her skin. “I’m sorry I should never have spoken to you like that, I don’t want you to be scared of me... I forget myself sometimes. Forgive me?” His hands move to cup her cheeks, and her slender arms wrap loosely around his torso as her anger seemingly dissolves.

“Well don’t forget yourself too much around me otherwise one day you may turn around and I won’t be here Tom.” At least a foot shorter than him, his chin rested comfortably atop her head.

“Don’t worry, Princess, it won’t be long now before I am crowned the greatest sorcerer the world has ever seen.” Her head buried into his chest ignoring the icy tones lacing the boys words.

Your hand shoots to the base of your skull as a dull ache begins to resonate. ‘He needs to work on his landings.’

“Y/N there you are! Where were you? We missed you at supper. And what on earth are you doing on the floor?” Daphne gives you a quizzical look before extending her hand and helping you up.

As you dust off your robes you try to think of a convincing lie. “I wasn’t feeling very well after Potions. I had to run straight to the loo and then came to lie down - I suppose I must have fainted.” With a shrug of your shoulders you begin to change out of your robes, Daphne following suit.

“Lumos.”

With everyone else now asleep you decide to take your chance to figure out just what on earth is going on. The faint glow illuminates the makeshift tent you had created with your bedcovers, an inkpot balanced expertly between your knees and quill secured between your teeth. Opening the diary with your free hand you reposition the wand.

“Are you there?”

Just as before the ink disappears, so sucking in a breath you stare at the page. After a few moments nothing had changed. ‘Of course it’s blank you bloody idiot. I must be going bloody barmy!’

Before you could finish scolding yourself, the words appear across the page.

“Hello again Y/N.”

“What happened earlier?” Not having much time you wanted to get straight to the point.

“No beating around the bush, I like it. Just like your mother.”

“My mother Fleur?”

“Yes, Fleur. She truly was a wonderful witch. Say, do you think you could do me a favour Y/N?”

You weigh up your options before replying. “Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

“I will answer all of your questions, but it must be in person.”

“But how would I? You couldn’t even see me earlier.”

“I will show you how, just go to the girls bathroom on the first floor.”

Under the mask of the invisibility spell you sneak out of the common room, diary clasped tightly under your arm. Moving through the dungeons it doesn’t take you long to reach the first floor bathroom. As you await your instructions you begin to feel a strong magnetic pull towards one of the sinks. Unable to resist you move to stand opposite. Lightly tracing the stone serpent beneath your fingertips, your mouth opens and words of a language unknown to you flow out. Suddenly the marble sink shifts to reveal a vertical tunnel.

“Jump Y/N. Jump!”

Without giving it a second thought you launch yourself down the hole. Your face scrunches up like a ball of paper as you brace yourself for an impact that doesn’t come. Landing on something soft and scaly, you open your eyes.

Below you was the largest snake you had ever laid eyes on, with skin the colour of green ivy and piercing red orbs easily the size of your skull, if not bigger. Bowing down, it repositions your body on its spiky head, and begins speeding through the tunnels. Coming to a stop in front of a large stone monument, the creature bends down and gently slides your slim frame off, and onto the wet floor.

As you stand upright, a silhouette steps out from the cover of the shadows.

"My darling Y/N..."

KNOCK. KNOCK.

Bolting upright, your confused eyes dart around the room. The sky was now jet black and above you the fairy lights were glowing softly in the darkness. Rolling your legs off of the bed you answer the door to find your father standing on the other side, arms tucked neatly behind his back.

“My apologies love, did I wake you?” he asks with a level of affection you hadn’t been expecting.

“Yes but no matter, I hadn’t meant to fall asleep in the first place” you reassure him, shrugging off the last remnents of sleep.

“Very well. I have some unexpected business to attend to, and as you are still new to this house I don’t feel comfortable leaving you here alone, so I have arranged for you to stay with a dear friend of mine for the remainder of the summer” he states matter-of-factly, leaving no room for compromise.

“Oh. I hoped I would be staying here for the summer.”

With your (E/C) doe-eyes and lips pouting just enough to be noticeable, you were the image of your mother when she was sulking, and Voldemort found a dull warmth spreading throughout him at the reminder of the distant memory.

“I know Princess I do apologise. I hoped we would have the opportunity to bond during your time away from Hogwarts. However the situation is simply unavoidable.”

“Fine” you sigh in defeat. “So who will I be staying with? Anyone I know?”

“You’ll be staying with the Malfoy’s.”

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nooriginalitylove · 5 years ago

Text

-And we're not bruised, they're just party tattoos

Thank @sanderssides-incorrectquotes for this wonderful prompt, using Dodie’s “Party Tattoos” as Platonic! DRLAMP

———

This is a collection of things that happened throughout Virgil, Patton, Roman, Logan, Remus, and Dimitri’s lives. All of these things happened at different periods in their lives.

Take a look at the clock only so long to go, scrubbing smooth young skin saying I don't know, grab a bag, grab a bottle but leave the "what if?", you'll see it in the morning after your kicks

Roman sat in his classroom, glancing at the clock near the door, desperately wishing the bell would ring and he could leave the brightly colored room with the too-loud noises. His hands were drawn on, too; something his father would have a fit over if he saw.

Finally, the piercing noise signaling the end of the day rang out throughout the building.

He grabbed his water bottle and his bag and scrambled to leave the classroom filled with laughing kids.

Unknowingly, he ended up in the bathrooms, scrubbing at his hands to remove the pen he’d drawn on his hands on roughly.

The door opened, revealing Dimitri in all his glory. The other teen walked over, rolling his eyes fonding when he caught the sigh of swirls in black pen on the other’s tan hands.

“Let me help; you’ll scrub your hands raw.” The paler of the two said scoldingly. Roman laughed, feeling much more relaxed.

All you will need for a rocking good time, is a bunch of people who don't give a damn. There's a yes, in your head, gotta find where it's at, you'll lose it in the morning but ignore that

A group of colorful individuals sat at a picnic table. The sun beamed down on the group lovingly, and Virgil almost needed to cover his eyes.

“C’mon, Virg! Remus is gonna go pet the raccoon!” Patton yelled, laughing at the thought. Even Logan looked interestedly as one of the Realeza twins stalked toward the raccoon.

Virgil laughed, a tiny smile making its way onto his face as he stood up and rushed over just in time to see the raccoon jump kn Remus’ face. Roman screamed with laughter as he tried to get the rapid animal off his brother.

And we're not bruised, they're just party tattoos, and that colourful mess is just colourful regret!

Logan’s breathing had gone ragged as he sat, curled up, in his room. His latest test, in Maths, had gotten a D+, and he was unjustly freaking out.

“Oh my god, oh my god-“ he stuttered, on the point of hyperventilating. His chest felt tight, his legs weak; his knowledge was everything, and now, he had nothing.

A door opened, just as Logan felt all his air leaving him. “Lo?” Was called out, probably not as loud as it felt but it made his head pound all the same.

Patton was in front of him, a familiar worried look on his pretty face. “What’s wrong?” Patton asked, bring Logan close to his chest. “Breathe, Lo.” He whispered.

His breathing was ragged, still, but more even after Patton’s coaxing to breathe in for 4, hold for 7, out for 8. “Thank you,” Patton whispered to him, smiling at him, “You did great.”

The other pulled Logan and himself to Logan’s bed, and grabbed his hands for support. “What’s wrong, Lo?”

Black lipstick will never be a sin, we'll regret it when we're old with wrinkled up skin. Regret it when we're old with wrinkled up skin. Regret it when we're old with wrinkled up skin

Remus’ lips were colored a dark black, drawing the color straight from the night’s darkest skies. “How do I look?” He asked, fluttering his eyes teasingly. Dimitri smiled at him, deciding to humor the crazy man, “You look great, Ree.”

The man in front of him nodded, “Of course I do. But go tell that to my brother; I know I’m amazing, he’s all worried ‘bout stupid shit.” Remus waved him off, running up to Logan and starting to annoy him.

Dimitri pitied the dude; he really did.

But he walked over to Roman anyway, because a pissy Logan was something he didn’t want to deal with.

“Hey, Ro.” The beanie wearing man said, waving slightly at the other. Roman looked away from Virgil, who he was talking with, and smiled. “Hey, Dee.”

With simple hellos out of the way, Dimitri sat down, “You look great, Ro.” He said, noticing the way Roman seemed to fidget with his outfit self-consciously.

Roman flushed bright red, “Thank you?”

My mummy said to always wear a coat, but it's warm and it's heavy and we're trying to float, don't forget she'll be right when it's three a.m. So shiver, but shiver with a friend

Patton was getting ready to leave, when his mum appeared in the living room, where the front door was. “Patton, dear?” She asked as he touched the handle.

He turned to the woman, smiling though slightly defeated; what did she want now?

“Yeah, mom?” He asked back, leaning against the wall. “Bring a coat with you.” She said simply, walking back into the the kitchen. He paused, glancing outside.

It was getting warm out; reaching almost 80° outside because it was getting to be summer. “What the duck?” He said, grabbing a thin jacket before leaving before his mum could spot him.

And we're not bruised they're just party tattoos, and that colourful mess is just colourful regret!

When Remus entered his house, he’d been trying to stay quiet. Though it didn’t matter that much, anyway, because Roman still turned around in his spinny chair with a stern look on his face.

Roman glared at his brother, hard. He wasn’t angry, truthfully, but he’d been worried. Extremely worried. Remus shot a smile at his brother.

“Hey, Ro-Ro. What are you doing up so late?” He asked weakly, trying to joke. Roman stood up, and uncrossed his arms to envelop Remus in a tight embrace.

He looked at his brother, “I was worried, tu gilipollas!” He shouted.

*tu gilipollas = you asshole in Spanish* sorry if this is wrong, I’m new to learning the language!

Black lipstick will never be a sin, we’ll regret it when we're old with wrinkled up skin

Everyone sat in the hospital’s waiting room, sick with worry. Logan had been injured in a hit-and-run, and no one had been able to sleep since the news that morning.

Virgil curled up against Patton, sniffling and wippng his eyes. Patton and Roman were openly sobbing, while Remus had his head in his hands and Dimirti buried his face in a pillow he’d brought.

A doctor came into the room, making Roman and Patton stand up, eager to hear good news. The doctor paused, making Virgil’s stomach drop.

“He’s resting now, and his right leg and left arm are broken, but he should be okay.” The doctor said kindly, smiling at the group. Roman let out another sob, and cried into Remus’ shirt in relief.

We're not bruised they're just party tattoos, and that colourful mess is just colourful regret!

Dimitri sighed, running an hand through his hair. In his hands, a pink slip laid, stating “You’re Fired” in big, bold, black letters.

His head hung in his hands, and he drew in a sharp breath to keep from crying.

He missed the days when his biggest worries were if he got an F on his English tests. Now his number one concern was whether or not he was going to be able to feed himself.

When did things get this bad?

Black lipstick will never be a sin, we'll regret it when we're old with wrinkled up skin, regret it when we're old with wrinkled up skin, regret it when we're old with wrinkled up skin

His hands were covered in dirt, and his arms littered with scratches, and he was shirtless. Virgil drew in a deep breath, tears involuntarily making their way down his face.

The bathroom’s light flickered, and as he sat in the bathtub, having just woken up in the tub like a drunk.

A razor sat on the sink’s edge, and his fingers twitched to grab it. But tiredness was forcing his body to stay still, and he blinked.

He fell back asleep.

Write a postcard to you at eighty-four, tell them you'd never dream of living behind the door. Life was fun, full of love, full of hopeful smiles, bet you wish you were here, but I'll see you in a while

Remus glared at his brother, anger in his green-red eyes. “What the fuck, dude?” He yelled, cheek practically pulsating from the slap his brother had delivered.

The other glared back, “Don’t insult mom, dude. She doesn’t deserve that.” He snapped back.

Remus laughed, “And we didn’t deserve to be brought up by our monster of a dad, either! She could’ve left!” He said. Remus knew it was insensitive; and regretted it afterward, but right now he didn’t care.

Their mom was heartless bitch who knew she could leave, but didn’t. She ignored the abuse. Ignored the bruises that littered her “babies” like freckles. Ignored the screaming of her sons and husband, both so widely different; two filled with fear, one filled with unjust anger.

Roman stepped back, “It’s not that easy, Re. You know that.” And he did, he knew it, and Roman did too. “You could leave, too, Ro.”

His brother laughed humorlessly, a sadness to it. Remus felt his chest tighten. “No, I can’t.” Roman said, and then he returned home, and was forced to block Remus’ number.

And we're not bruised they're just party tattoos, and that colourful mess is just colourful regret!

Glasses framed his face, and he gasped as he woke up in the middle of the night, glasses tilted and hair messed up and spiked in different directions.

Logan looked around the dark room, and he curled up on his chair, his desk screwn with papers. A longing for something he couldn’t remember filled him, and he longed for someone to bring him a blanket and push him into bed.

Black lipstick will never be a sin, we'll regret it when we're old with wrinkled up skin

Patton smiled at his son, “Bye, kiddo.” He said. Thomas laughed, “I’m 16, dad!” He said, grabbing his jacket before running to Joan’s car to get to school.

When Patton returned to the living room, Virgil was sat on the couch, “He gone?” The anxious man asked. Patton nodded, “Then lets get going! The guys are waiting, Pat.”

And when they all met up at the park like they did when they were young, nobody mentioned the pain in their chest of seeing their old picnic table gone.

We're not bruised they're just party tattoos, and that colourful mess is just colourful regret!

Roman sighed, looking out the window as his grandkids played with toys and watched TV. Oh how he missed being that young.

A sorrowful emotion filled his chest, but he just leaned against the back of his chair tiredly. His daughter, Anatolia, came in, only to see her father not breathing.

She screamed.

Black lipstick will never be a sin, we'll regret it when we're old with wrinkled up skin, regret it when we're old with wrinkled up skin, regret it when we're old with wrinkled up skin

Six gravestones sat in a line, each one engraved with a different font to spell their owner’s names. Each one had a flower in front of the stone, an assigned color to each.

Roman Pryce Realeza, Remus Dugan Realeza, Dimitri Anwir Delaney, Logan Albert Berry, Patton Moha Morales, Virgil Parker Abadon

Silence reigned over the grave, a certain respect hanging in the air.

———

Names&Meanings:

Anatolia - A name meaning “Princess”

Roman:

Pryce - Close to the word “Prince”

Realeza - “Royalty” in Spanish (again, sorry if this is wrong)

Remus:

Dugan - (Kinda) Close to the word “Duke”

Realeza - “Royalty” in Spanish

Deceit:

Dimitri - A widely accepted human name for Deceit

Anwir - A name meaning “Lies” or something to that extent

Delaney - Searched “Last Names Meaning Lies” and glanced at the first name I saw

Logan:

Albert - A reference to Albert Enstein + the name meaning, to some extent, “Intelligence”

Berry - Crofters

Patton:

Moha - A name meaning “Giving Radiant Light To Everyone”

Morales - This name means “mulberry” but it also is “Son of Moral” (Pretty sure this name is hispanic to some extent, but Moral = Morality)

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breakingsomething · 5 years ago

Text

dark silence

@taikeero-lecoredier this one's for you! this got very, very long. 2.3k words, in fact. but i'm glad i finally got it written! please enjoy.

basic summary: chase's late night milk run goes horribly wrong.

trigger warnings: blood, descriptions of gore and injury

all chase wanted was a bottle of milk.

it was late at night, almost eight. chase hated to be that asshole that came into the store right at closing time, but he and the others were planning on making hot chocolate and watching the good place, and he wouldn't want for them to miss that. it was his fault, as henrik said, for using the last of the milk in his tea, so he'd been nominated to go get more. that made perfect sense. perfect sense that he'd have to walk down the dark, silent streets to the nearest convenience store to buy milk. it was his own fault, after all.

this was sad. why was he freaking out so much? he'd been down this exact route hundreds of times in his life. he could've made it there blindfolded. but for some reason, the combination of the cold darkness and the lack of people out was making his heart pound, his breaths quickening as he raced through an alleyway to get to the store quicker.

it was bright and slightly warmer inside, calming chase's nerves. he smiled at the shopkeeper as he paid and took his time putting his change away. no one else was in the store anyway. everything was unnerving quiet and empty.

back outside, clutching a bottle of milk in hand. the streetlights outside the store along the street had gone out.

chase stopped dead, taking shaky breaths, considering. he could, theoretically, call henrik and ask him to come get him. but he pushed that thought from his mind as soon as it arrived. what was he, five? he couldn't call henrik just because he was a bit scared of the dark. no, he corrected himself. he wasn't scared of the dark. just…creeped out, that was all. that was all.

he took a deep breath and started forwards.

with the streetlamps out, it was pitch black. he passed the carton from hand to hand, his fingers numb with cold and fear, shaking slightly. oh, how he wished he hadn't had that tea earlier. then it could be jackie or henrik who was down here. that thought made him feel slightly guilty, but he shook his head and pressed on.

something cracked behind him. he jumped, whirling round to face nothing but empty blackness behind him. fuck, fuck, but he was scared.

someone was following him. something was following him.

he started walking faster. he wished he had headphones to put in music and not hear the whispering, the crunching, the giggling, the footsteps, and fuck, now he was running, he was running and there was laughter roaring in his ears, and he was so close to home, or he should be, he should be, home was right through this alleyway -

and all the lights in the alley were bright, bright red.

three streetlamps along the right side of the wall, casting the wet floor in a wave of neon scarlet. the intense colour of it hurt chase's eyes, and hs squinted. at the end of the alley, he could see the block of flats, just across the street. fuck, he could see their living room window from here.

all he had to do was go through this red alley.

he couldn't bring himself to move. he couldn't catch his breath. his feet were bound to the floor beneath him.

take one step. the only other route is an extra ten minutes, and your brothers are waiting for you. stop being such a crybaby, don't make them wait, just go. just go.

he took a step, and instantly the alley was plunged into darkness.

all he could hear was his own trembling breaths.

there was a hand on his sleeve there was a hand on his neck there was a hand on his hat there was a hand in his hair there was -

a man, standing at the end of the suddenly illuminated alleyway.

chase just stared. it was all he could do.

the man looked… familiar. even just his silhouette. he was average height, average build, wearing a cap on his head. for some reason, chase's mind wasn't functioning, everything was going slowly and it took all his strength to take another step, further into the alley, in line with the first red streetlamp. from here, despite the black shadows casting his face, chase could see him smile.

"jack?" he blurted. it was the first name that came to mind, seeing that man. his smile disappeared.

"jack," the man at the end of the alley repeated. even his voice was jack's, but it was horrendously distorted, the tone dipping up and down in pitch. he said no more, just stood there, his body drifting in and out of focus.

chase took another step forwards. behind the man, chase could see the lights of the houses. the wind ruffled through his hair.

"who are you?" he shouted, his voice far braver and steadier than he felt. "what do you want from me?"

"who are you?" the man mimicked in the voice of a child, and a glitch ran through his body, so wrong against this real life setting. "what do you want from me?"

chase's boots splashed in the red puddles. he was in line with the second lamp now, and he felt tears of panic pricking his eyes. "can you leave me alone? please, please, i need to get h-home, i need to get away!"

by now, he understood. he knew what was happening. that didn't make him fear this any less. a jolt went through him as he realized that the hat the man was wearing was his own. chase's hair was hanging free in a loose bun, the scar on the side of his head showing for anyone to see.

this time, it was the man that stepped forwards, into the light.

he looked different from the last time chase had seen him. he had a yellow scarf wrapped round his bandaged neck. his bare arms were covered in scars, mostly in the areas where jack's tattoos were. his wildly curly hair was brown now, poking out from the sides of chase's grey and pink hat. when he smirked, a fang pointed out from his mouth.

"jinx!" anti crowed. he spread his arms out, grinning as his eyes turned a solid black. "ah, ah, what a long time it's been! last time i really spoke to you, jack's neck had never even seen a knife, haha!" he giggled maniacally, and chase noticed the huge kitchen knife in his hand. how hadn't he seen that already?

"aiden," chase said. his voice shook. "i don't - i don't understand."

the man's face darkened into a sneer. "don't ever fucking call me by that name if you want to keep your pathetic little tongue, jinx."

chase subtly patted his pockets, searching for anything that he could use against the glitch. all he had was the milk in his hand, a packet of cigarettes, and a lighter. what a fat lot of use that was.

anti took an exaggerated step forwards, lining himself up with the third lamp. they were so close to each other now, so close that chase could have counted the freckles covering his face and arms, could see the white scars tracing down his face from his eyes. they were new. chase didn't remember those.

"jinx, jinx," anti crooned softly. his hand touched chase's face, gently lifting his chin up. "oh, i have wanted to speak to you like this for so long now. even before i had your dear arzt in my possession." he tossed back his head and flickered his eyes, and when he lowered his head they were brown again. "ah, and the doctor was so fun! his screams were lovely, jinx, you should have heard them!" he laughed like he had been regaling a funny story rather than recounting tales of his brother's torture. "he called out your name so often. of course, he stopped when i put the tip of my blade on his tongue and pressed down with the promise of -"

chase whacked anti in the side with the bottle of milk.

he hadn't thought it through. anti doubled over for only a brief second, immediately straightening and lunging for chase. chase cried out as anti seized his wrist and slammed him into the wall, kicking his shins in to prevent him from rising again. before he could even try to move, anti's knife was - oh, oh. it was slicing through his sleeve across his arm like it was nothing. oh, fuck.

chase howled in agony, the wound instantly throbbing and spilling blood down his shirt. he clutched at it, sinking into himself in an effort to avoid being injured again. all the fight had instantly gone out of him.

"please, please," he whimpered. god, he was pathetic. anti had crouched down in front of him, and chase forced himself to look into his eyes, tears pouring from his own and stinging when they fell onto his arm. "god, fuck, no more."

anti was laughing loudly. "well fuck, jinx, i thought you could handle far more than that! only one little cut, not even a vein or anything! do you know what your brother had to go through in his time with me?" his hand gently brushed over chase's neck. "maybe you should ask him the next time you see him."

chase squeezed his eyes shut. breathe. breathe. "where are my children? louise, connor? please, please, aiden…" he cracked his eyelids open again, fresh tears spilling out. "please tell me they're ok."

for a moment anti was silent. then he frowned. "that's the wrong name to use if you want any answers out of me."

the fingers that were gracing his neck suddenly squeezed, instantly cutting off all of chase's air and causing him to gasp, clawing at the wall behind him in an attempt to pull himself up. anti just watched, amused, the knife in his other hand tapping playfully on chase's thighs.

"ba - stard -" chase spat, his chest heaving with need to get air, air, air. without warning, anti got to his feet, pulling chase up with him. he couldn't get his footing, and desperately grabbed anti's arms, wheezing. the red lights blurred as tears obscured his vision entirely

"ant - can't - breathe!" he spluttered. "can't -"

anti let go as suddenly as he'd grabbed him. chase collapsed to the wet floor, coughing and spluttering, but before he could even get his breath anti's knife was right against his throat. "fucking pathetic, pathetic, pathetic, your weak older brother could handle more than this! ah, maybe it's a good thing me and dapper have your kids, you're clearly no good for them, what kind of a fucked up role model are you? drinking, fighting in bars, are you some kind of wild animal?" he dug the blade into chase's skin, and he could feel small trails of blood seeping from it. "do you need to be tamed, jinx?"

and for some reason, there was only one thing that chase took from that whole furious spiel.

"who's dapper?"

anti's expression changed from smug satisfaction to shock to pure rage. "shit," he mumbled.

and then the knife was in chase's neck it was ripping through skin and the front of his body was wet with hot blood practically spouting from the wound and that wasn't all, that wasn't all, there were stabbing pains in his arm, slashing though him, he tried to scream and copper bubbled into his mouth and the world -

went black.

he woke in hospital.

"chase? hey, bro, you awake?"

his eyelids were too heavy to raise. he could feel his arm hairs standing on end from the cold already, a chill going through his aching body. and fuck, all the pain hit him at once. it burned, and he could feel each individual cut, each bruise. chase groaned loudly. even that movement alone caused his throat to scream with pain. god, everything hurt. he wanted to cry.

"chase!" it was jackie. fuck, it was jackie, reddish hair and dark blue eyes and big round glasses perched on his crooked nose. he leaned over chase, concern etched into his face. "shit, shit, i'm so glad you're ok, i thought you were going to - i thought -" he sobbed noisily, covering his face with his hands. "i'm going to kill that bastard!"

chase's throat burned. he raised his hand and softly touched the bandages on his neck. ah, now he remembered what anti had done.

"ja'ie," he tried, but his voice caught and he couldn't get the words out. "di'nt… ge' th' milk home..."

jackie blinked, then laughed, tears streaming down his face. "you're really worried about the milk? chase, we thought he'd killed you! there was so much - so much bl-blood, so much -" he sniffled, his chest shaking. "fuck."

chase leaned his head further into the pillows of the hospital bed. the walls were a pale blue, he could see now, and there was a lot of equipment - he couldn't think of any names. shit, had anti really cut his throat?

"you're lucky henrik got there quickly," jackie said, scrubbing at his face with his sleeve. "we went out looking when you didn't come back and we saw the red light from our window. fuck, we were so scared, chase." he ran his fingers through his hair, letting out a trembling breath. "chase, it was - it was… anti, right? not…"

chase nodded. not marvin, he communicated. not marvin.

jackie nodded, more tears threatening to fall. "ok," he murmured. "henrik is getting some food at the vendies, he'll be up soon. you'll be ok, we'll be ok. this is ok."

chase couldn't even muster the energy to respond. he just closed his eyes and listened to his friend break down, the light behind his eyes a dangerous red.

#jacksepticeye #boop writes #chase brody #antisepticeye #prompt #taikeero-lecordier #arc two: when one goes down

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sprnklersplashes · 5 years ago

Text

not beyond repair (15/?)

AO3

Seven months earlier.

JD bites on his nail, like the action is going to stop the seemingly bottomless pit that’s forming in his stomach. He scoffs at himself, hidden from view in the backseat. He’s being stupid. It’s just another foster home. Just another foster home which he can handle, and apparently, can handle him this time around. Handle him and all his baggage.

Except it’s not just another foster home. It’s another foster home in Sherwood, Ohio. The last place he saw his dad. The last place he had a real home… he guesses. He doesn’t go as far as saying a real family because the only thing that bonded him and his father together was the blood in their veins. DNA, numbers and letters that mean nothing to him and never did. But still. The car drives past his-their-old house and he can’t help but shrink down in his seat. In the front yard, he sees a little girl with pigtails trying and failing to make a tricycle move forwards, her mom hanging sheets out on the line. Not a care in the world. When that kid goes to bed, her mom’s probably going to be tucking her in and reading her bedtime stories and telling her she loves her. They’re the antithesis of what was there before them.

If those walls could talk, what would they say? The story of a little kid making dinner for his dad and a fridge with more booze than actual food in it. For a moment, he feels like he’s there, back in the kitchen, standing on a chair to reach the stove, money he’s earned sitting on the counter. He gasps before he can stop himself and tears his eyes away from the window, blocking it out. He imagines the past behind him, dissolving into the exhaust fumes, and it helps. Sort of.

“Are you okay, Jason?” He nods weakly, mumbling a half-response. His social worker nods in the front seat, but she’s unconvinced, as per usual. He can bullshit foster moms and owners of group homes and other nosy/concerned kids, but not her. Never her.

There were endless arguments about sending him here. Some with him in the room and some behind closed doors with him pressing his ear to the wall. He even did that trick with an empty glass. The same phrases kept coming up and going around, like those little toy trains the kids in his home played with, endlessly circling around the same tracks. “His father” “an unhealthy environment” “bring back memories” “he’s made a lot of progress”. He could rhyme them off the same way he could rhyme off his favourite poetry.

But then his social worker Aimee piped up, calm as the morning sea “well, Jason has told me he enjoyed Sherwood”. And behind the door, JD had pumped his fist in victory. “He said he had even made his friends there. Maybe going back to a familiar setting will be good for him.”

And that’s the other thing. Sherwood, Ohio isn’t just where he had last seen his father… it was where he had last seen Miss Veronica Sawyer. The girl who had kissed him in the playground and held him tightly until he had to leave. His first real friend. Maybe more than that. They never really got to dinner and movies.

He had been looking around since they passed the beaten up ‘Welcome to Sherwood’ sign, as if she was going to pop up the moment he crossed the town line. When they stop at a traffic light, he sneaks a glance at the car beside them, wondering if maybe he’ll see that wild mane of dark hair, a denim jacket swung over a floral dress the way only she could pull off. Maybe he’d hear her laugh, loud and carefree, and he’d-

He’d what exactly? Run up to her and shout “surprise, it’s me?” Or maybe something a little more charming. Ask her if she had missed him. Would she have missed him? He got that letter she sent him all that time ago. Slept with it under his pillow. Kept it folded carefully in his jacket pocket, and then between the pages of his book, read it until the ink burned onto the backs of his eyelids. But maybe she didn’t feel the same. Maybe she read his reply and tossed it aside, went back to her normal life of sleepovers and homecooked meals and geography projects.

The thought terrifies him.

Still, he’s due to start (restart) at Westerberg next week. Maybe he’ll get his answer then.

They pull up outside of a small house, red brick and lace curtains, silver Ford parked in the driveway. Potted plants in front of the blue front door and a sloped roof. It looks exactly like its pictures, he guesses. Nothing special. It’s a lot smaller than what he’s used to, but he was told to expect that. No other kids in here, just him. He’s not sure how he feels about that. He supposes he’s grateful for the privacy and tranquillity, but he’s grown used to having kids of all ages running around at his feet and hiding under the table and jumping on his back as he tries to do homework. It’ sort of became comforting to him. And well…. He never disliked having them hang around and ask about his books or be asked to fix a TV or glue a Barbie back together.

“Here we are,” Aimee says.

“Home sweet home,” he replies, swinging his backpack onto his shoulder and getting out of the car. There’s a chill in the air that penetrates through his coat and hits deep down in his gut as he gets his other bag out of the trunk. His entire life is in these two bags and not for the first time, he feels how sadly light they are.

He bites on the inside of his cheek as he and Aimee walk up to the door, skirting past the patch of grass that’s growing slightly wild in front of the house. He would say he doesn’t know why he’s so nervous but let’s be real-of course he does. Who wouldn’t be? He’s done this once before and thought maybe this time would be easier. Maybe this time it would be easier to stand on someone’s doorstep and silently beg them to like him.

He was wrong. Somehow it’s more terrifying, despite him having overheard Aimee tell people that this woman-Claire-has experience with kids like him. He takes her word for it, having only spoken to Claire on the phone, once, for her to tell him how happy she is to have him. He doesn’t know if all that makes him less relaxed or more.

“Hi there.” He was so lost in himself he didn’t even notice the door opening. He’s not sure what he imagined, but she’s small, messy brown hair back in a half-braid and glasses perched on top of her head, pink sweater slightly too big for her, hanging over her floral print jeans. Her looks match her voice, he thinks. He guesses that greeting was directed at Aimee too, but he can’t know for sure, because all her attention is on him. The soft way in which her mouth turns up into a smile is painfully comforting to him, the open sincerity in her eyes scares him and almost draws him in. He doesn’t want to get too secure here. Comfortable yes, but not secure. Miss it when he leaves, but so much that it hurts.

“Hey,” he says after a while, realising he hasn’t spoken.

“Nice to meet you, Jason,” she says, holding out her hand. “Officially.”

“Thanks,” he says, shaking her hand. “You too.”

She steps back, opening the door a little more, the sun shining on wooden floors and white-painted walls, and lets him come in. He almost feels too big for this place. Like he’ll move in the wrong direction and snap something in half.

“I’ll show you your room,” Claire tells him warmly. There’s something about her gentle voice and seemingly real smile that make his stomach flip. Something that makes him either want to run out of this house and never stop or follow her up the stairs. He picks the latter.

She doesn’t do anything when she opens the door. Every other place he’s been in open it dramatically, flourishing arms, one even did a “ta-da!”, like they were showing him the grand ballroom on the Titanic. Claire simply props the door open with the same smile she’s had since they met and leans against it. Maybe she knows he’s a little too old for those kind of theatrics. The silence leaves him to take in the tidied bed and empty shelves, the spotless rug on the floor and TV set up in the corner.

“I get a TV?” he asks, a laugh lining the edge of his voice.

“One of the perks of being the only kid here,” she replies, folding her arms and shrugging. “Got it for one of my first placements. It’s a little old, but it’s in colour at least.” With his back to her, he smiles. He may not use it that much, but he feels like there’s some deep part of him that’s just glad it’s there. Like he’s high-fiving his little twelve year old self. “I know you’re used to group homes. Think you’ll cope well here?”

“Well there’s no one to steal my food or draw in my books,” he says flatly, making Claire chuckle. “I’ll be fine here.”

“Good. Cool. Also you’re set to start at school next week.”

“Westerberg High,” he says, toying with the edge of his coat. He burrows into it out of habit. Like if she sees more trench coat than person, she won’t see what’s going on inside.

“You know… I have talked it over with Aimee,” Claire begins. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her picking at her nails. “If you want, you can go somewhere else.”

“You and I both know there’s no other schools in this town,” he sighs, sitting down on the bed, half-facing her. “Except for that Catholic school and I’ll be damned if I….” His voice trails off when he catches sight of her. Her mouth is still turned up into a smile, but it doesn’t look real anymore, like someone took a sticker and put it on her face. She holds her wrist tightly, twisting it in her hand. He’d been around enough to recognise a nervous habit when he sees one and wishes he could stuff the stupid shit he said back inside of him. He can’t though, so he clears his throat and offers her what he hopes is a friendly grin. “I’ll be fine there, really.” He shrugs. “And maybe it’s fate. You know if I’d have stayed here with my dad, I’d have ended up at Westerberg anyway.”

An unspoken ‘yeah right’ hangs in the air. They both know if he had stayed with his dad, he’d have been out of Sherwood in three months, max. As long as it took for his dad to find a new job somewhere else. He suppresses a sigh, the wave of self-pity looming over him and threatening to crash. He guessed he was always going to leave Sherwood, leave Westerberg, leave Veronica. He just left quicker than he expected. At least this time around, he’s got a written guarantee that he’s here until he graduates high school. And three verbal ones, just to make sure.

“I’ll let you unpack,” Claire says, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “Get settled in. I have some stuff to talk about with Aimee anyway. T’s to cross, I’s to dot.” He nods, knowing what she means, of course. She’s not the type to say ‘okay well I’m off downstairs to talk about your many, many problems and what therapist you’re going to and what medications you need and what you get like on the bad days’. He flinches at an old memory, of him creeping downstairs and listening behind a kitchen door to a woman lamenting on the phone that she couldn’t cope with him. At least his experience of foster care went up from there.

“Cool,” he says.

“And I was thinking for dinner… do you like risotto?” she asks. “It’s an old family recipe. I only wheel it out on special occasions.”

So now he’s special?

He tries not to smile too much at that.

“That’d be great, thanks.”

Claire heads downstairs, leaving the door slightly open, exposing a sliver of the white walls of the hallway. He sets about putting his clothes on hangers, arranging his books on the shelf. Outside, the September sun turns lawns and sidewalks golden, playing a trick on him, telling him it’s still summer. He leans against the glass, watching mums and dads and kids and teenagers walking and running. He finds himself looking for messy brown hair and scolds himself for being creepy. Instead he looks beyond his new neighbours, his eyes drawn to the building looming in the distance. Westerberg High. Building a semi-decent home life, that’s one thing. He’s gotten kind of okay at that. All he really needs is the right people and Claire hasn’t set off any warning bells so far. But school… Veronica aside, building a good school life is another thing. So far his grades have ranged from below average to fair and his social life from decent to dismal. His breath fogs up the glass, spreading across until the school is nothing but a smudge in the distance.

“Okay, Ohio,” he says, shrugging off his coat and tossing it on the bed. “Let’s make it a good one this time.”

*****

Present Day

He gets better.

It takes time. Some days are better than others. Some days he sits and laughs and makes jokes and throws grapes into MacNamara’s open mouth. Some days he passes Veronica little notes during study hall, compliments written in tiny scribbles with a badly drawn cartoon. Some days he spins her under his arm as they walk home together. And some days… some days he walks slowly and takes deep breaths before going into the cafeteria. Some days he holds her hand that much tighter and buries his face in her shoulder when they hug.

But she feels him coming back to her, the bad days getting fewer and further between.

He apologises to her, whispering ‘I’m sorry’ against her collarbone, and it tears at her heart every time. She kisses his head and tells him that it’s okay, that he’s forgiven, completely forgiven, and he will be in the future too. For the present she just holds him, playfully kissing his hair and nuzzling into his shoulder, smiling against him and watching the sun breaking through the grey clouds.

*****

When he comes out of his therapist’s office on Friday, Claire’s car is parked right outside, one of three on the street. Friday night, everyone else’s cars are in the drive, after long weeks at work or school or whatever. And she’s here instead, sitting in the front of her car with her sudoku book waiting for him, after driving all the way across town to pick him up.

“Hey, kid,” she greets brightly, marking her page with her pen and sliding it into the glove compartment.

“How many did you get?” he asks.

“Two by the time you got out,” she says proudly. “Next time maybe take a little longer in there and I can make it three in a row.”

He laughs, but it’s half hearted. He’s been in for longer than usual these past weeks, sessions sometimes running five or even ten minutes overtime and he’s just glad he’s the last one she sees before closing. Still, as time goes on, his mind gets brighter, and he’s sure they’ll be back to their regular, done-at-five-on-the-dot schedule.

He follows her into the house, swinging his backpack from his hand, toying with it like it’s a weight, while Claire makes inquiries about what he wants for dinner, telling him about some new curry recipe she stumbled upon that she’s been dying to try out.

Rather than giving a vague answer and running up to his room, JD leans on the table and discards his jacket, listening to her as she takes stuff out of the fridge and flips through a magazine. It wasn’t too long ago now when he was sitting here, his eyes vacant, his blood cold, with her sitting opposite him, pushing a plate of food in front of him and rubbing his back while he let out everything, a million thoughts and memories rushing out of his mouth and painting the room red with his anger, grey with his grief. And she had stood there and held him in the midst of that hurricane. She was there until he dragged his ass back up to bed and even after that.

He thinks he should know by now that she gets paid for this, and she’s a nice enough person to do it for anyone else, but there’s a familiarity that’s both soothing and scary, one that tugs on old memories and brings them into the light without making them hurt. There’s a feeling that comes along with her, with this house that almost makes him feel like he’s meant to be here. That almost takes the foster out and leaves the word ‘home’.

“Hey, Claire?” The words battle their way from his mind to his lips, pushing past the last defences, the ones that still think he’s better off on his own. He guesses they’ve been crumbling for a while now anyway. He must have sounded like he feels, because Claire stops dead in her tracks and turns to him, concern shining in her brown eyes, half-hidden behind a smile. He coughs as if that could clear the butterflies in his stomach, his hand curled into a tight fist.

“Thank you,” he manages. “For taking care of me. When I was… you know…” He taps his nails on the table, searching for words to describe something he doesn’t even know. “Thanks.”

“Aw, kid.” She comes over to his side, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and squeezing softly, resting her head on his shoulder. “You don’t need to thank me, Jason.”

“I know I can’t have been easy to deal with,” he says quietly, guilt causing his voice to crack. He wraps his hand around her arm and doesn’t let go.

“Don’t,” she tells him sternly, her fingers stroking in a steady rhythm against his shoulder. “Don’t talk like that, kid. You were just having a rough time. You just needed a bit of help, that’s all.” He nods while Claire runs her hand up and down his arm. Just needed help. “Besides, you’re not that hard. Not for me, kid.”

“Oh stop,” he sighs, half-laughing, fighting back the rush he feels flowing through him, colouring his cheeks a faint crimson. He still hears past ghost’s words ringing in his ears and trying to slap down any good feeling he can have, but they’re weak, weaker than they’ve been before.

“I mean it,” she replies, stroking his hair. Her weight lifts off him as she steps back and JD finds himself oddly empty when she does. “Now come on. You want lamb or chicken in this curry?”

“Whatever you’re having,” he says, sliding off the chair and hoisting his bag on his shoulder.

“Well I need your seal of approval if I’m going with the lamb,” she warns. “Because I’m not having you complain to me that you don’t like it once I make it.”

“Have you ever known me to complain?” he asks.

“You want an answer?” she retorts. Warm laughter escapes from both of them.

“Lamb’s fine, Claire,” he assures her. “I’m going to go start my homework.” She grins, shaking her head fondly, not enough to make it obvious but enough to make him notice. He guesses she thought he was halfway up the stairs by now. “What?”

“Nothing,” she says. She’s not built for lying. “Just… really excited about this curry.”

“Okay…” he replies, making a swift ‘I’m watching you’ gesture, to which she replies with a lazy, two fingered salute.

He swings around the doorframe and heads up the stairs two at a time, the books and pencils in his bag tapping out a mismatched tune. Despite what he told Claire, he’s not entirely sure what-if any-he’s going to get done tonight. March has brought a steady tide of deadlines and tests and homework, and not to brag, but also a steady tide of As and Bs for him. He attributes them to Veronica, but she shakes her head, telling him that he’s the one with the brains. She’s just there to push him. And sometimes he takes a minute to congratulate himself, to remember that Veronica has had less cause to push.

He flips open a copy of The Great Gatsby he got in a thrift store last year, covered in highlighter pen and biro. In the quiet of his bedroom, he hears Claire at the stove, the news on the radio as she cooks, and smiles to himself before he even realises why.

He could have ended up with anyone, he knows that. Anyone in quite a few states, even with all of his issues. There’s fewer than he’d like, but group homes for “troubled teens” and foster parents who think they’re up to the challenge exist, only to hold him at arm’s length or send him back to the group home with the first two weeks. Who aren’t willing to drive an hour to get your to a therapist or to hold you when your mind is falling apart or make sure you have enough meds to get you through the month. And the more he thinks about it, he guesses he’s really, really lucky he ended up with Claire.

*****

Veronica won’t, and has never, claimed that she’s experienced in relationships. Her experiences before JD were Simon Andrews kissing her on the cheek at Ram’s tenth birthday party and reading old romance novels from the more neglected parts of the library. And with that inexperience, she vaguely wonders if there’s meant to come a point where her boyfriend kisses her and she doesn’t feel a thrill running down her spine.

If there is, she’s yet to reach it. Because right now, JD is on top of her and the backboard of her bed is behind her and his lips are on her neck and she feels the same kind of breathlessly giddy as she did the night she climbed into his window. She grabs his shoulders as his lips meet hers, their legs tangling and kicking notes and textbooks off her bed. Her hands trail down his body, leaving phantom marks on his back.

She hopes she never loses this feeling because holy hell, does she love it.

“You know, I thought you brought me over here to study,” he teases breathlessly.

“I did,” she replies, poking his cheek. “Not my fault you distracted me.” He laughs again, kissing her lips and her neck and her cheek. While he’s distracted, she sees her chance, wrapping her arm around his waist and pushing him over, grateful for the size of her bed giving him a comfortable landing, even if it does shake and creak against her floor, the headboard knocking against the wall. It’s messy; he lands on his side and traps her arm underneath him and she’s almost too busy laughing at his expression to remember that the whole point was to get on top of him in the first place.

“Jerk,” he says playfully, tapping her nose.

“Oh is that what I am?” she asks, bending to kiss him, deep enough to leave him wanting a little more. “Am I still one now?”

“Um… a litt-no,” he replies, shaking his head, his charm deserting him, leaving him helpless and bewildered. “No you are not.”

She kisses him again, one arm around him, the other pressed against his chest. She’s not going to straight-up have sex on a school night, least of all in her own house with her parents downstairs, but she is up for something halfway there. She presses a kiss to his jaw and buries her hand in his hair, tilting her head to make it a little more-

“Veronica!”

She flies off the bed, landing in a heap on the floor. In the split second between her mom knocking and the door opening, she does what she can only assume is an Olympic level stunt to get to her desk. The door opens to her mom holding a green plastic tray of food and Veronica would groan, if she wasn’t still trying to catch her breath.

“Did someone fall?” she asks. JD- who thankfully had the sense to sit up and grab the nearest thing to him, her French textbook-shakes his head, the very picture of innocence.

“Um, no,” Veronica says, avoiding her mom’s knowing gaze. “I-uh-my bag fell off the bed.”

“Uh-huh,” her mom replies, utterly unconvinced. Veronica waits with crossed fingers, hoping her mom is too innocent (or too oblivious) to catch onto them. “Well, remember what we said, when company’s over the bedroom door stays open.”

“You know, Mrs Sawyer, that is exactly what I have been telling her,” JD replies, his voice at least half an octave higher, gesturing with the pen in his hand before burying himself back in the textbook of the class doesn’t even take.

The freaking audacity. And he just smiles, butter wouldn’t melt expression on his face and a knowing glint in his eye.

Little shit.

“Well I’m sure you’ve been given the same speech by your-your foster parent, JD,” she tells him.

‘You are unbelievable,’ Veronica mouths at him over her mom’s back.

“I just came up to bring you kids a little snack,” her mom says, placing the tray carefully on Veronica’s desk. “I know you’re working hard up here.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Veronica says, making a show of looking through notes.

“You two need anything else?”

“Nope, we’re fine,” she says, shooting JD an apologetic look while half-hiding behind her hair. She waits with a sharp impatience before her mom takes the hint and leaves, the door staying wide open behind her.

“Oh my god,” she grumbles, pushing herself up from her chair and closing the door as much as she can get away with. “Sorry, J.”

“Sorry for what?” he asks. “Is it selfishly hoarding the snacks on your desk so your poor boyfriend can’t get at them?”

“Are your legs broken?” she asks. Still, she picks up the plate and brings it over to the bed, motioning for him to scoot over before she sits down. Wholemeal crackers, some with smushed avocado and salmon, some with pate. It’s better than when the Heathers were over and she made them little finger sandwiches, cut into triangles and everything. Veronica had never wanted to die more than she did in that moment.

“Hey.” JD pokes her in the cheek, pulling an exaggerated pout that gets a laugh out of her. “Why are you Miss Frowny Face? Don’t be Miss Frowny Face. Be Miss Smiley Face.”

“Okay how much sugar have you had today?” she asks. JD raises an eyebrow playfully, and she gives in with a sigh that screams ‘you’re lucky you’re cute’. She flops backwards, bouncing a little as she hits the bed. “She’s making me snacks. I’m 18 and she’s making me snacks and bringing them up to my room and reminding me to keep my door open.”

“And that’s… bad?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she groans. “I can make my own snacks if I need them. And I can do whatever I want in the privacy of my own bedroom.”

“Ew.”

“Oh shush, you know what I meant,” she scoffs, slapping his leg lightly. “Just… I don’t need her to bring me food.”

“Wow. I’ve heard a lot of shitty parent stories in my time, but this one truly takes the cake. Veronica Sawyer, the girl whose parents made her snacks. The fiends.” She feels a pang of guilt at what he said. Has she really been walking through her life that blindly? She doesn’t believe herself to be callous, she’s always thought of herself as a good person, even now. But now she feels like someone’s opened her window for the first time and she’s looking outside, looking out at the world of Big Bud Deans and kids who cook their own food, parents who raise voices and hands at their kids. She’s looking at it all, and she’s kicking herself.

She sighs and turns onto her side. Her face must tell everything, or maybe he can just read her like that, because he starts running a gentle hand through her hair, as though he can run the bad stuff out of her brain.

“Come on,” he says quietly. “Why does that make you feel bad?”

“It’s stupid,” she sighs. It’s also not something she wants to admit, not verbally. It’s something for her diary, where she can let her thoughts out and keep them hidden and at bay at the same time.

“No it’s not.”

“How do you know? I haven’t even told you.”

“Because it’s you, and you can’t be stupid if you tried.” She buries her grinning face in her covers. “So you want to talk about it?”

“Fine,” she replies, half-peeking out. She reaches out and strokes the fabric of his jeans, the rhythm building her nerve and dampening her shame with each stroke. She shouldn’t feel ashamed anyway, and she doesn’t want to be, not with him, but without a little hint of shame, would she be human? “She made me snacks when I was a kid. Like when me and Martha were having sleepovers. And that was fine. And then I got bigger and people had cooler parties that I didn’t go to and their moms didn’t bring them snacks and-” She lets out a long breath as JD pets her hair. “It’s not cool.”

“And you care about being cool?”

“Yeah.” She closes her eyes and remembers Heather Chandler’s kitchen dwarfing her, Heather Duke’s parents giving her full, unrestricted access to the kitchen, her flaming cheeks as Chandler had looked from her mom to the liverwurst on the plate with equal amounts of disgust.

“Well, look at that,” JD sighs. “Your mom brought you snacks, and yet I still think you’re cool.” She huffs a laugh as he pokes her stomach. “Especially since your mom makes amazing food.”

“I should count myself lucky that she makes me stuff at all,” she sighs, pushing herself up onto her elbows. “Right?”

“Just a little,” he admits, smiling softly at her. “Come here, love bug.” He pulls her against his body, too comfortable amongst her pillows to get up properly, settling her head below his chin and legs amongst his. She supposes there is one upside to her mom’s “open door” policy, and that’s that at least she can hear her coming as well. His knuckles run slowly up and down her back. “There are worse things in life than your mom making you snacks, Ronnie.”

“I know,” she murmurs into his chest. An ‘I’m sorry’ plays on her lips, but she holds it back, nervous of awkward conversations, and almost sure he already knows. He kisses her head, taking a moment to nuzzle into her hair. “J?”

“Mm-hm?”

“Never call me love bug again.” His laughter shakes the bed, and her, and if there was any awkwardness or tension left, it chases it away.

Mindful of her parents in the living room, she makes do with a quick, chaste kiss on the cheek when JD leaves.

“See you at school,” she tells him quietly.

“See you,” he agrees. His eyes move behind her, over Veronica’s shoulder, and he straightens up. “Goodnight, Mrs Sawyer.”

Veronica keeps her eyes on JD has he leaves, mainly because she knows the lecture she’ll get if she catches her in the eyeroll. She only turns around when he’s out the door and down the front path and her mom is back in the kitchen.

“So did you guys have fun?” she asks her once she steps into the kitchen and flicks on the kettle.

“Yeah, studying is so much fun,” she says flatly, running her hand through her hair and stretching her neck out. Her momentary study breaks only distract her so much, but the pressure still weighs down on her and presses against her back.

“Come on, sweetie, you know it’ll all be worth it when it’s over,” her mom says, running a hand up her back.

“So you keep saying,” Veronica sighs, running a hand over her face. She’s heard it said that the more you say something, the more you believe it. She’s wondering if there’s an inverse; the more you hear it said, the less you believe it.

“How’s JD finding Westerberg?” her mom asks, as though it’s October and he just rolled into town. Sometimes his presence is so natural Veronica finds it had to really believe that he ever left.

“Fine, Mom,” she replies.

“He’s still not planning on going to college?”

“Not as far as I know. I don’t think so. I don’t really ask him about it. Where’s the peanut butter?” Her mom hums behind her and doesn’t move when she turns around. She has to skirt around her just to get to the counter, trying not to notice the vacant look in her mom’s eyes, or the way she wrings her hands, or the question sitting on her almost-parted lips. When she’s doesn’t even flinch at the PB&J she’s making herself, that’s when Veronica begrudgingly gives into the ringing alarm bell in her head. “Mom? Still with me?”

“Fine,” she manages, giving her a toothy smile. “You’ve met his foster mom, haven’t you?”

“Yeah. She’s awesome.”

“And he’s happy with her?”

“Yeah. He really likes her.” Veronica straightens up against the counter, crossing her arms over her chest, right where the heavy weight is sitting. She curls her clammy hands into fists. “Mom what’s going on?”

“Why do you think something’s going on?” She crosses her arms too, but she’s not Veronica’s reflection. Her mother is on the defence, and Veronica’s on the offense.

“Because you’re acting… weird,” she answers. “You kind of do a lot whenever JD’s around.

“Don’t use that word,” her mom replies, so sharp that Veronica’s only hurt for a second before she realises how false it is. “Weird.”

“Well that’s what you’re being.” She can’t really work out if it’s a persistent curiosity or frustration at being lied to or genuine worry that’s causing her to push like this. “Why… why do you care so much about JD?”

“Am I allowed to worry about people? I’m a Mom, Ronnie. I can’t help it.”

You’re not his she thinks. Instead of saying it, she keeps her eyes locked on her mother with a laser focus, quietly demanding the truth from her, while she hides behind a titanium shield. Veronica’s hands wrap around her arms, realising she’s locked herself in a battle of wills with one of the people she never thought she’d fight with. She almost wishes she was back making them study snacks. Despite what her mom might think, she doesn’t like fighting with her. But she also doesn’t like her hiding things from her.

When mom bristles under her gaze, she’s not just smiling because she’s winning. She’s breaking because it’s almost over.

“You really want to know?” she asks. Veronica nods stiffly.

“Well…” Mother and daughter both snap, their battle stances collapsing. Veronica lets herself lean against the counter, but her guard doesn’t drop down. There’s still a simmering tension keeping her upright. “You remember back when you and JD were kids? When he lived here?” Veronica nods again. It seems that’s all she can do. “When you told me about him… how he made his own dinner… I got worried.”

Shit.

“Worried?” she echoes.

“Call it parent’s intuition,” she says wearily. “But what you told me rubbed me the wrong way. So I contacted the school. Asked what they knew about his family.”

“You did what?”

“Well I was right, wasn’t I?” she fires back. “The school, turns out, had the same concerns I did. So they contacted a social work team to investigate.” Veronica grabs the countertop as her legs start swaying. Cold sweat trickles down her back. “And then they found out-”

“I know the rest.”

A wave of nausea takes over her and makes her knees buckle as she sees everything set out before her. She tells her mom. Her mom tells the school. Her school tells social workers. And then JD… JD gets taken off his dad and goes through court and tossed around the system before ending up coming back to her.

All because she told her mom.

“Mom…” her voice trails off, unsure of what she’s even accusing her mother of. She doesn’t even know what she’s feeling, just knows there’s a pit in her stomach and a prickling heat on her cheek and a terrifying realisation.

“I’m going to have to tell him,” she says, more to herself than her mom. Her mom takes it anyway and grasps her hand gently.

“You don’t have to,” she assures her. “Why does he need to know?”

“Would you?” she retorts. “If you found out you wrecked Dad’s life, would you tell him?”

“You think you wrecked his life?” Her mom shakes her head and pushes her hair away from her pale face. “Veronica… was he even happy with his father?”

“I don’t think that matters,” she replies. She swallows past the lump in her throat and pushes herself off the counter, stumbling over her weak legs. “I still have to tell him.”

“Veronica?” She stops in the doorway, looking just over her shoulder at her mom’s anxious wide eyes and wringing hands, and that adds another layer of guilt to the wave she’s riding. Her mom tries to smile, but every attempt fails. “You’re not mad at me, are you?”

Is she? She feels like she should be.

“Depends if he is,” is her answer.

Dear diary,

She runs a hand over her face, the words on the pages almost blurring together after a near-sleepless night. She had a textbook open on the desk and a highlighter uncapped, but she can’t so much as lift it. Her mind is too frazzled to focus on the perfect tense. At least in study hall, she can hide her diary on her lap and people are either too busy or too tired to care.

I have to tell him. I know I do. He has a right to know what happened, how those people found out about his dad.

He knows I’m keeping something from him. And I feel like shit about it. He won’t tell me, but he’s doing all his comforting stuff- kissing my forehead and squeezing my hand and he even hugged me before homeroom. I must look worse than I thought.

I’m telling him. I told him I have to meet him after school. It’s the right thing, if nothing else.

I’m just… scared.

I’ve gotten used to loving him. I’ve gotten used to him maybe loving me. I don’t want to have to get used to him hating me.

I don’t think I could ever get used to that.

He beats her to their garden after school. He’s hunched over a book, his eyes looking at pages that his mind isn’t reading. She knows a pretence when she sees it. She hides behind the doorframe for a second, her heart hammering against her ribs. She thinks that there’s a good chance that all the waiting is going to hurt just as much, if not more, as him leaving her. That’s why she asked him to meet her before she could stop herself, why she’s pushing herself over next to him now. Not knowing is so much worse than knowing.

“Hey,” she greets him, wincing as the words scratch her dry throat.

“Hey,” he replies, looking up at her. He takes her hand and pulls her to sit, her forcing her knees to bend. When he brushes his fingers against her cheek, she pushes his hand away instead.

“Sorry,” she whispers. “I guess I’m a little nervous right now.”

“Ronnie-” His voice cracks. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s okay. You know-” He shrugs. “As long as you’re not pregnant or anything.”

The concept is so bizarre and so far away that for a second, she actually allows herself to laugh.

“Wait you’re not pregnant right?” he asks, words tumbling out of his mouth in rapid succession.

“God, no, J, I’m not pregnant,” she sighs, the smile falling from her face as quickly as it had come. She looks down at the clasped hands in her lap, her cold fingers fidgeting and picking at each other. “I just… I found something out.”

“Okay. Hey.” He takes her hand, linking their fingers together, and brings it to his lips and kisses it. “I promise. Whatever it is, we’ll be okay.”

She sighs, letting go of his hand to stroke his face. She knows now what this is, this warm calm she feels around him, how settled she feels in his arms, the butterflies she feels when he kisses her, the way she can never seem to have enough of him. She’s in love. And it’s different from what she’d read before. It’s not Buttercup and Westley or Romeo and Juliet or Elizabeth and Darcy. It’s different and it’s better.

And it’s too good to lose.

“Can I ask you to do something?” she asks. “Try not to hate me?”

“Veronica,” he scoffs, like she’s said something offensive. “I could never.”

“Swear?”

“Swear.” He kisses the inside of her wrist, sealing their deal.

She opens her mouth, tears threatening to build in her eyes. She wishes she was a worse person so she could keep this from him without a guilty conscience.

“JD… back when you came here the first time… remember when someone called social workers on your dad?”

“Of course I do.”

She takes in a deep breath. She’s looking back on everything they’ve been since the day he came into her homeroom, they day she said hi to him at the lunch table. When she had watched him punch the shit out of Kurt and Ram, when something unlocked in her chest for the first time. If she knew then what he’d become to her, would she have kept quiet? If she had known it would mean keeping him?

“That was my mom.”

“What… what was your mom?”

Don’t make me explain it she thinks. Getting words out is hard enough.

“My mom called the school. And the school called social services on your dad.”

She doesn’t look at him. She hears him though, hears the sharp intake of breath. She knows how tense his body probably is, judging by the way he’s gripping her hand tighter by the second. He’s either holding himself together or one second away from falling apart.

“How did she find out?” he asks.

“I told her. I told her when I got back from your house about you making your own food and that tipped her off and she called the school and- JD, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know until last night and I never meant for you to-”

He kisses her. He kisses her quickly and cups the back of her head, probably to stop her from falling off the bench in shock. She kisses him back, mostly in relief.

“What was that for?” she asks, heat rising in her cheek against his cold hand.

“Kind of to get you to stop babbling,” he teases.

“Remind me to babble more often,” she replies. “JD, I-”

“Don’t,” he whispers. He traces her jawline, pressing his thumb gently to the bottom of her chin. “Veronica, why would you be sorry?”

“Other than the fact that I kind of messed up your life?”

“A lot of people messed up my life,” he tells her. “You could never be one of them.”

“I got you put into foster care,” she reminds him. A small voice in the back of her mind asks her why she’s doing this after he’s just kissed her like that. She thinks she should be holding on tighter, not giving him reasons to go.

“You did,” he agrees. “And it was the best thing to ever happen to me. Look, some parts of foster care suck, but they suck a lot less than they did with my dad. I got happy. You’ve seen me with Claire. I’m happier with her than I ever could be with my dad.” She only realises she was crying when he wipes away the tear on her cheek. He smiles breathlessly at her, shaking his head slightly. “Please don’t ever blame yourself. Getting away from my dad was the best thing to ever happen to me.” He kisses her forehead. “One of them anyway.”

“You mean it?” she asks. Despite the question, she starts playing with his necklaces, her fingers brushing against his skin.

“Definitely,” he says firmly. His smile is wider than she can ever remember seeing it. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

She wraps her arm around his and nuzzles into his shoulder, unsure if she’s weak with relief or it’s just him. He wraps his arm around her shoulders and squeezes tightly, punctuating their walk home with gentle kisses and sweet nothings murmured into her ear.

Him leaving was the best thing for him, no one can deny that. And it worked out for the two of them in the end. The universe, or God, sent him back to her, so she figures she can’t complain, especially not if it meant he was safe, emotionally for physically. If she had known what she knows now, would she have still spilled the beans to her mom about JD’s dad? Absolutely she would have.

Even if she’ll always wonder what would have happened with them if he had stayed.

*****

Days turn into weeks after Veronica’s confession, and JD would say they return to normal, but the truth is that they don’t. They somehow become stronger, like something broke between them. They had never shied away from each other before, but JD swears he can feel a difference in the way they hold each other, the way she lays her head on his chest, even if he can’t quite explain it. Maybe it’s him knowing that she saved him. No, not saved him, there’s danger in language like that, but it’s something like that. Maybe it’s a change in her, in that beautiful mind of hers that he’ll never work out. But it’s wonderful, whatever it is and he won’t question it.

It brings him closer every day to I love you and while that scares him, there’s something about the fear he actually likes.

“Hey, I’m home,” he announces, one Wednesday afternoon. He frowns, the lack of a TV or radio or phone conversation standing out starkly. “Claire?”

“In the kitchen. Jason can you come in here a second?” He frowns, and the idea of company being over is the first that comes to mind. Very quiet company. He checks himself in the hallway mirror for a second, pushing the dark curls away from his face before straightening up and heading to the kitchen. His first guess is an inspection, and while Claire has nothing to hide, these kinds of things have always given him the heebie-jeebies. Like when a security guard passes you in a store; you know you’ve done nothing wrong, and yet all you can think of is all the bad things you’ve done.

His guess was proven wrong though, since the kitchen is empty bar her, sitting on one of the chairs, back straight, glasses perched on her head and some forms on the table. She’s deliberately not chewing her nails, instead tapping them on the table and her lips rolled into a thin line. He’d probably prefer it if she was chewing them.

“What’s up?” he asks, approaching the table like it’s a ticking bomb. “Claire what’s up, are you-”

Then he sees it.

He sees the document sitting on the table. He sees the agency logo at the top. He sees his name at the top. He sees them and he puts them together, one by one, and the big picture is staring him directly in the face.

“You’re sending me away.”

“What?”

“You’re sending me away.”

He explodes. Things he hasn’t felt in a long, long time come rushing back and the strangest part is there’s a degree of comfort in them. There’s comfort in the rage and the terror, even in all its wild chaos as it tears at his throat and eyes and skin. Maybe there’s a part of him that’s used to it.

“You-you promised!” he screams. “You promised I’m here until graduation everyone promised me that! The first day I was here Aimee said to me, and she said to me before that, she told me I wasn’t leaving until I graduated!”

“I know, Jason, I’m sorry-”

He can’t breathe. His chest is too tight so that it can’t do anything but burn. His thoughts crash over him and drown him and leave him flailing helplessly, trying to grasp for a clear line, but everything moves too quickly and jumps too suddenly. He tries to remember everything he’s learned in therapy, not just now but since he first started going, but they’re half-formed and vague, the voices distorted and garbled. His head aches, fragmented pieces of his mind ricocheting like bullets until something becomes half-clear to him.

“I can change,” he says. His hands curl around the kitchen chair and cling tighter than he’s ever held onto anything. “Claire just tell me what I’m doing wrong and I’ll stop.”

“Jason, you’ve got it all wrong,” she says, her own voice shaking in desperation. Her fingers brush against his strained hand. “Jason… I’ve been getting the paperwork to adopt you.”

His knees his the ground after his hands fall from the chair. He only manages to throw one hand in front of him to stop himself. He takes in huge gulps of air, the tight chord that had been wound around his lungs cut now. All that’s left of the frantic racing of his mind seconds ago is a ringing in his ears.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to scare you like that,” she says as she rubs his back.

“You’re doing what?” he asks breathlessly.

“Adopt you,” she replies.

The word adoption has sort of become synonymous with Santa Claus. A far off dream that’s fun to think about, something that little kids talk about with wide smiles and laughter in their voices he can’t bring himself to correct. Something that’s reserved for kids and kids only. He was never lied to and he appreciates it; his chances of being adopted have been slim since he entered the system and dwindled with each passing birthday. The closer he gets to aging out of the system, the less likely someone is to look at him and want him around. He can’t really argue with them-who would want a teenager instead of a cute tiny baby or squealing toddler they can have all the firsts with. All the excitement has gone out of him. Add all his baggage on top of that and he’s a turn-off for perspective adopters.

Well, he thought so anyway.

“Really?” is all he can ask.

“Yes, really,” Claire says, laughing. “I never wanted to do anything without your permission. I mean, I legally can’t. You’re 18 soon anyway.” She hesitates before wiping his face. “Sorry I scared you.”

“I’m sorry I freaked out,” he replies. He shrugs weakly. “I guess I just saw the papers and…” He bites the inside of his cheek. He’s seen similar papers once before, last year, accompanied by the excuse that ‘It’s nothing personal Jason. You’re a lovely boy, just a little too much for us to handle right now’. “I don’t know.”

“It’s okay, kid.” She sits back, wrapping her arms around her knees. “So what do you say?” She swallows and adjusts her glasses. “I know I’m not your Mom, kid. I know no one can replace her. I just want you to have a home here. With me, if you want it.”

“You’re not kidding?” She shakes her head. He pinches himself under his leg, where she can’t see. He pinches until it can’t hurt more, and he’s still sitting there. Nothing’s changed… so this is real.

He crashes into her, his weight nearly sending them both toppling to the ground, saved only by Claire’s quick thinking. He feels the past five years shaking inside him, the uncertainty that had lurked in the background of his life finally calming.

“I’m going to take that as a yes.” He nods against her, nothing but a small, trembling gasp escaping him. Laughing, she hugs him back, somehow enveloping him despite being half his size.

It crosses his mind that he can’t wait to tell Veronica about this. And he will, even if she won’t understand what this all means for him. She can’t, few people can, and that’s more than fine. It’s not lost on him that in some roundabout way, he sort of owes this to her, but at the same time, he and Claire are their own thing. His own… dare he say it, family? Even if she’s not his mom, she’s something close.

He opens his eyes to the same wooden floor he’s trodden over every day for months. Familiar, unextraordinary. Utterly simple. But it’s transformed now. It’s his future now and he’s just as much part of this house now as these floorboards are.

His dad told him years ago that Sherwood Ohio was his new home. And now, five years later, it finally is.

#jdronica #heathers the musical #heathers fanfic #veronica sawyer #jason dean #i've been in kind of a weird place mentally this month and didn't think i'd get a chapter out #but i did #*high fives myself*

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fangirl--of-everything · 6 years ago

Text

The Mortal (Nicholas Scratch x reader) part 4

word count: 2850

request: Nope, just wrote it for fun, and since you guys want it :)

summary: After a date to the valentine’s day dance, Nick and (y/n) encounter a dangerous complication.

warning: nothing in this one except one or two swear words, and some angst. Brace yourself.

A.N. Things are about to get a bit intense my dudes, I hope you like it.

The Mortal masterlist

Alright, enjoy :)

Baxter High was covered in red and pink decorations, with streamers hanging from the ceiling and posters all over the walls advertising the Valentine’s Day dance. It was all a little much, which Dylan complained about constantly, but (y/n) didn’t mind it. She wasn’t a big advocate for the holiday, but high school dances were always fun, if a little cheesy. Plus, she had been seeing Nick for a month, and he had asked to come to the dance with her, which she was really looking forward to. Dylan knew her well, and he teased her constantly, knowing that the only reason she wasn’t complaining with him was because she had someone to spend the holiday with.

They left the building at the end of the day, making plans to return in a couple hours when the dance began as they walked towards Dylan’s car. Dylan rolled his eyes dramatically when he saw Nick waiting in the parking lot with a bouquet of flowers and a handsome smile.

“Where can I get myself someone like that?” He sighed, slumping heavily against (y/n)’s side as she laughed and tried to push him off.

He patted her shoulder and waved at Nick, promising to see them both that night. Nick waited until he was gone, and then he walked up to (y/n), buried his free hand in her hair, and kissed her deeply. When he pulled back she swayed on her feet, taking a shaky breath and pursing her lips to hold back a smile.

“Hi beautiful,” Nick said softly.

She blushed. “Hey.”

“Wanna go hang out at your place for a bit before the dance?”

She nodded. He took her hand, linking her fingers with his, and handed her the bouquet of flowers. They were black roses, something she had never seen before.

“I thought you might like them, since you’re writing that book about dark magic and stuff. And you said pink wasn’t really your thing.”

She kissed his cheek. “I love them. Thank you.”

He gave her hand a squeeze, and they headed towards her house, walking leisurely and talking about their day as they went. Nick told her about his classes, as much as he could without revealing that they weren’t the normal curriculum, and she complained about her math class and how much she regretted taking it.

A cold wind blew in, and sparse snowflakes were falling from the sky, bright against Nick’s dark hair. He looked handsome, incredibly handsome, and (y/n) couldn’t stop smiling as she looked at him. He caught her looking and bent to kiss her again. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“No reason,” she shook her head. “I’m just really excited to see you.”

“I’m excited to see you too.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and tucked her tight to his side. “And I’m super excited about this dance tonight.”

(Y/n) laughed, opening her mouth to say something else, when a loud howl echoed down the street. Nick tensed, his eyes widening in panic, and (y/n) looked around in surprise.

“I thought Shruikan was the only dog on the block. Weird.”

“We should get inside.” Nick’s voice was tense and anxious, and his arm around her tightened nervously.

She wanted to question it, and tell him not to worry, but his face was pale and he looked stressed, so she just nodded and led the way to the house.

While her attention was on finding her keys and unlocking the doors Nick scanned the street frantically. He searched for the telltale yellow eyes, the dark looming shape. The street was empty, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was here somewhere, waiting.

Once they were safely inside the house Nick asked (y/n) to get him a glass of water. She nodded, studying him skeptically. She could tell something was wrong, but she didn’t want to push him, giving his arm a squeeze before disappearing into the kitchen. He waited until he heard the sink running.

Shruikan was standing by the door, his face pressed against the window. His entire body was tense, and he let out a low growl, the tip of his tail flicking back and forth. If Nick hadn’t been sure of Amalia’s return before, this confirmed it. He muttered a quick spell under his breath.

(Y/n) returned with a glass of water. When Nick took it he felt the surge of strength from the spell he had just performed, and the glass shattered in his hand. He felt the shards dig into his palm and fingers, but he didn’t even flinch.

“Nick!” (Y/n) wasn’t nearly as calm, and she rushed forward, grabbing his wrist and pulling his bleeding hand towards her. “Oh my god are you okay?”

There was glass all over the floor, and blood was welling in his palm, but he gave her a reassuring smile. “I’m fine. It doesn’t even hurt that much.”

(Y/n)’s mouth hung open as she looked at him, then back down at his hand. “Okay, stay right here, I’m gonna get you a towel or something and then I’m gonna grab a first aid kit.”

She bit her lip frantically, and then gave his wrist one last reassuring squeeze before hurrying out of the room, dragging Shruikan out with her so he didn’t step on the broken glass.

She was barely out of the room before Nick pressed his bleeding palm against the doorway, performing a banishing spell that would send his familiar to the other side of the world. He painted a sigil on the door, and as soon as he was done saying the spell the bloody print glowed with a crackling red light, and then disappeared, absorbed into the wood.

(Y/n) came rushing back in, first aid kit in hand, and all she saw was Nick, looking slightly pale and cradling his injured hand to his chest, her door as clean and white as it normally was. She wouldn’t have noticed even if the bloody handprint was still there, because her attention was so focused on Nick.

She pulled him into the kitchen and forced him into a seat, and then she took his hand and tried to remove any shards of glass that were stuck in his palm. She cleaned the cuts as best she could, and then wrapped his hand in a towel, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles when she was done.

Nick couldn’t stop looking at her as she cleaned his hand. Blood was common at the academy, and students were expected to learn healing spells early. If they couldn’t they were supposed to handle their injuries themselves. Even before signing his name in the Book of the Beast, Nick was raised by his paternal grandfather following his parents’ death, and the man had never been overly physically affectionate, or affectionate at all. Nick had been looking after himself for most of his life, and being taken care of like this was something new. His chest tightened, and there was a warm feeling in his belly that he had never felt before.

He stood up from the chair and kissed (y/n) hard, ignoring the way she gasped in surprise. At first she was stiff against his mouth, but then he deepened the kiss and she sighed, her body swaying towards him. He tried to convey to her that warm feeling in his belly through the kiss, and when she reached up to rest her hand on the side of his face he was pretty sure she got the message.

She broke away, taking a shaky breath and resting her forehead against his. “What was that for?” She asked, her voice quivering.

He pressed another quick, gentle kiss to her lips. “You’re amazing. I don’t know how I got so lucky.”

She blushed and dropped her head, but he leaned forward, lifting her chin and kissing her again. His thumb stroked her jaw, and she smiled against his mouth.

Eventually they broke apart, and (y/n) was worried that they should go to the hospital to get him stitches, but he insisted that he was fine and convinced her to go upstairs and get ready for the dance. While she was gone he did another spell, a quick one used to find one’s familiar, and he found that Amalia was nowhere around. He was finally able to breathe a sigh of relief, and he changed into his tux.

When (y/n) came downstairs a half hour later Nick was struck speechless. She tended to wear loose fitting clothes, but now she was wearing a red dress that clung to every curve. She had done something with her makeup to make her face shimmer and glow, and her hair hung soft and natural around her face. She spun her ring around her thumb nervously and did a little spin.

“Thoughts?”

Nick opened his mouth, but he had no words.

Her cheeks coloured and she smiled. “That’s a pretty good response.”

“You are so fucking gorgeous.” He offered her his arm. “Let’s go have a great time at this dance.”

-----/--/-----

Nick was absolutely adorable. (Y/n) had no idea what his fancy prep school was like, but she could tell he had never been to a cheesy high school dance, since instead of rolling his eyes at the balloon arch and streamers his mouth fell open as he looked around, and even though it was still way too early in the night for people to be dancing, Nick pulled her onto the dance floor.

He ignored her protests and spun her around, making a cheesy fool of himself until she was giggling and relaxed and dancing with him. Dylan and a couple of her other friends from the bonfire came and joined them, and they danced as a big group, with Nick sticking close to her side and always having a hand on her or his arms wrapped around her. Soon the dance floor was crowded, and Nick and (y/n) pressed their bodies close together, swaying to the music with their arms around each other.

They stayed at the dance for hours, even after the other students began to trickle out, holding each other and swaying gently to the music. Nick kissed her softly, his hands warm against the small of her back. She rested her head on his shoulder and sighed, content.

It wasn’t until the dance was officially over that they finally left, walking back towards (y/n)’s house to watch a movie before calling it a night. Their hands swung lazily between them, and every couple of steps one of them would bump against the other, and they would both laugh. More than once Nick would come to a stop, spin (y/n) around, and kiss her until she was breathless.

They were so busy giggling and goofing around that it wasn’t until (y/n) heard a loud, deep barking that she looked up and realized they were almost home. She recognized Shruikan’s bark, but he was an extremely quiet dog, he only barked when something was wrong. Her brows furrowed, and she started walking faster, but only a few steps further she came to a stop. She had seen what was making Shruikan freak out, and she understood why.

There was an animal standing in the middle of the road, bigger than anything she had ever seen. It’s yellow eyes were visible even from a few houses down, and as she watched it lowered its head and let out a low growl.

Nick had seen it too, and he tugged her close to his side, his grip on her wrist tight.

“Is that a wolf?” (y/n) asked softly. She kept her voice low even though she knew that the wolf had already seen her, and that whispering wasn’t going to do anything to stop it if it decided to attack.

Nick nodded wordlessly and swallowed hard.

“What do we do?”

The wolf was not only in the middle of the road, it was right in front of (y/n)’s house. There was no way to get inside without having to walk past it. (Y/n) kept her eyes on the wolf as she reached down, easing her feet out of her shoes. She wasn’t sure what they were going to do, but she knew she would be able to do it better if she wasn’t wearing heels. Another low growl rumbled down the street, and (y/n)’s stomach dropped.

“When I say so, you need to run,” Nick breathed, giving her hand a tight squeeze.

“No, no that’s not what you’re supposed to do when you--”

“Listen,” his voice was hard as he cut her off, tight with panic. “I know you think you know how to handle this, but I need you to trust me right now.”

“Nick--”

Her turned to look at her, dark eyes wide and terrified but steady. “Do you trust me?”

She swallowed hard and nodded.

“Okay.”

“Amalia,” He called, keeping his voice soft and calm. “Listen to me. You don’t have to do this.”

He reached into his pocket as he spoke and pulled out a small knife. (Y/n)’s eyes widened, but before she could say anything he reopened one of the wounds on his palm. The wolf crouched low and snarled.

“Go. Run, now!”

The wolf lunged, bounding towards them at incredible speeds. (Y/n) turned and ran, but she only made it a few feet before she realized Nick wasn't behind her. She couldn’t stop herself from spinning back around, just in time to see Nick shout something she didn’t understand and throw out his bloody hand. The wolf, mid-leap, went flying backwards, slamming into the ground with a yelp.

(Y/n) couldn’t comprehend what she had just seen. Nick turned, closing the distance between them, and she took a step back against her will, but the wolf growled again, and in spite of whatever this thing with Nick was, she knew she trusted him more than she trusted the wild animal that seemed bent on attacking them.

It got to its feet, shaking its head angrily.

Nick grabbed her hand and pulled her close to his side, shouting something else that she didn’t understand.

The corners of her vision went dark, and there was a sharp pull somewhere deep in her belly, yanking her backwards. The air buzzed in her head, and the world contracted, tightening until she couldn’t breathe. Her legs buckled.

She landed on her hands and knees, slipping free of Nick’s grip, and struggled to suck air into her tight lungs. Her stomach clenched, and finally she was able to breathe, but she was only able to get one lungful of air before she was dry heaving and struggling to keep down the contents of her stomach. The corners of her vision were dark, and pins and needles prickled along her skin.

“(Y/n) are you alright?” Nick’s hand was on her shoulder, and she flinched, shrugging him off.

Finally her head cleared, and she recognized that she was no longer in the middle of the road, but was instead on the floor in her bedroom. She had to force back the urge to vomit again.

“(Y/n),” Nick’s voice was low and gentle, like he was talking to a scared animal. “Please just tell me you’re okay.”

She swallowed hard, squeezing her eyes shut until the room stopped spinning, and then she sat up, tucking her legs up to her chest.

“What was that out there?” She asked.

“The wolf?” Nick asked. His tone told her he knew that wasn’t what she meant. She raised her eyebrows at him, and he sighed, sitting down in front of her but keeping at a distance. “I have something to tell you.”

“No shit!” She laughed hysterically, tucked herself into a tighter ball.

Nick studied her carefully, his face tight with guilt. He took a deep breath. “I’m a warlock. I can do magic, conjure demons, perform spells. And that wolf outside, her name is Amalia. She’s my familiar.”

(Y/n) blinked at him. The silence stretched between them, and Nick waited for her to say something, do something, but it looked like she was frozen. He was a little worried he had broken her brain.

“Listen, (y/n), I know this is a lot to process, but I’ll explain everything when you’re ready.”

She took a shaky breath and stood, putting a hand on the wall when she couldn’t quite find her balance. Nick moved to stand too, but she held up a hand, and he stopped, settling back down on the floor.

“I need a minute.”

“Of course. Take your time.”

Without another word she got to her feet and left the room. Nick stared after her, not sure if he was supposed to follow. A minute later he heard the shower turn on, and music started to play loudly from the bathroom. It didn’t quite cover the sound of her crying.

Tag list: @bi-mama, @itzmegaaaaaaan, @whointhehellisbucky @wanderingalonelypath @morgannope, @hey-there-hottea, @attackonnat, @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland, @heartbeats-wildly, @caitsymichelle13, @nicholrose-spellmatch, @sciencenerdgenz, @alexa-playafricabytoto, @cvvlxx, @tofadavidson, @staplerrrr

#nicholas scratch #the chilling adventures of sabrina #caos #nicholas scratch imagine #nicholas scratch fanfiction #nicholas scratch x reader #caos imagine #caos fanfiction #caos x reader #nick scratch #nick scratch imagine #nick scratch x reader #nick scratch fanfiction #writing #mine #fanfiction

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deathbyvalentine · 4 years ago

Text

Harrowing Commissions

Sebastian

The light from the fire flickered, making the shadows in the room shudder and jump. Starting, the maid in the armchair jumped up, adding another log to the flames. It was a room with a lot of shadows - part bedroom, part parlour and part study, odd objects littered side tables and shelves alike. The walls that were not dominated with bookcases were dominated instead by windows or portraits. The room was dark, the windows blocked out by heavy curtains. In all of the clutter, it would be easy to miss the young man lying in bed, surrounded by pillows and cushions, holding a faded blue book in his pale hands.

Only his cheeks had colour in them - a feverish flash of rouge. His hair and eyes were dark. His lips moved in silent prayer as his eyes flickered over the paper thin pages. A cough came over him, wracking his thin body. His attempts to muffle it did no good - the maid immediately bustled over with a tray of bottles and ointments. Propping him up, in a business like manner she rubbed a foul smelling liquid onto his chest. It appeared to the job and the odd whistling his breathing had taken on faded. She lay him back down and began to fluff up the pillows around him, fussing in such a way it betrayed her fondness for her patient.

He caught hold of her wrist, stopping her in her tracks. “It’s soon, isn’t it? It’s going to be soon.” She stared at him, unsure of how to respond. It didn’t matter. A few more moments and he picked up his beloved gospels, resuming his study.

Alice

The clock was just chiming... a number when the latch to the servant’s entrance to the kitchen lifted. The hearth fire was still burning, so when the young lady slipped in, she managed to avoid kicking over the mop and bucket just to the side. One hand held her boots, the other her skirts to keep the rich fabric off the dirty stone floor. Now safely inside, she placed the shoes down beside the door and collapsed onto the bench alongside the long wooden table. Idly, while looking into the small flames of the fire, she picked a grape from the fruit bowl and popped it into her mouth, enjoying the sweet burst of flavour.

She pulled the pins from her hair, letting the curls cascade down her back. She winced a little and inspected her fingertip a moment after. One of the jewels had caught her funny and sliced her. A small bead of blood welled up. She blinked at it for a moment before placing her finger in her mouth too, soothing the wound. Outside, the sun was beginning to creep up over the horizon, painting the sky in pinks, indigos and purples. She should slip to bed before the breakfast preparations begun - she knew her mother had slipped an extra coin to one of the servants to report on her, but she wasn’t sure which one yet. If she slept now, she had enough time to be woken for breakfast and pretend to be as fresh as a daisy.

She stood, stretching once. Then she disappeared up the servant’s corridors, knowing the route to her room by heart. Her boots lay forgotten by the door.

Thomas

“Behold, a story for the ages! Be dazzled, wondered and amazed at the power of - “

No, that’s not right. You’re not writing a circus side show.

“Come and be welcome in an epic spreading centuries. Heroes, lovers and villains convene in this - “

You’re not writing a fairytale either. Think Thomas. What are you trying to do here?

“This year, a new play arrives that will reveal not only the essence of characters within it, but those who watch it. Watch the story unfold and let it awaken something within you too. We all wear masks. The hero, the lover, the villain.... This is an invitation to find out exactly what is behind yours. If you dare. If you’re brave enough.”

That’s the advertisement done. Now I just have to finish the damn thing.

Eloise

“He loves me... He loves me not. He loves me... He loves me not - ” Petals drifted to the floor like morning snow, to be crushed as the woman paced barefoot, releasing their too-sweet perfume into the air. The floor was almost slick with them, the top layer bright and pink, the bottom little more than browning sludge. Her skirts trailed, disturbing the petals enough to reveal how many lay beneath. It seemed that everything in the room was coated with petals or dust. But still, she walked.

“He loves me.” She stopped short at the mirror, allowing a slight smile to spread across her beautiful face. She reached out with gloved hands, her fingertips just touching the spotless surface. Her fingers left a slight smear and she recoiled, finding the bell on the sideboard to frantically call a maid. The mirror being obscured simply would not do. She stepped back and let the bustling girl come in with a cloth, the door creating a semicircle of clear floor. The girl didn’t touch anything else, didn’t even ask about the petals. She cleaned the mirror and was gone in a flurry of business like activity. There was a breath, a moment where everything was still.

“He loves me not.” The slow chant resumed, almost lyrical in its cadence. Another petal tumbled to the ground. Another step was taken.

Charles

Day 15 “... My sleep was greatly disturbed last night by a number of dreams. Such visions! Such phantasms! I believe this is a sign that my work is taking me closer than ever before. A number of studies has found that sleep is when the mind is most susceptible after all. I plan on capitalising on this by distilling a mineral (imported from Italy) into a chemical that is supposed to induce a most coherant train of thought. Lucidity and revelation are of course, key and I have high hopes for this latest experiment granting me fresh sight and new contact.”

Day 20 “Well, that did not go exactly to plan. The chemical did indeed induce a number of wonderful sights, but as always, the body was not willing. My hands trembled so violently it shattered the simmering glassware and I was forced to retire, bedridden for several days. Every failed avenue is a clue however, and I refuse to consider it an utter waste. In brighter news, a letter has arrived from my Vatican friend’s expedition. He promises to send his logbook as he believes there are some encounters I will be interested in. I await this with baited breath - he has always given me fascinating data before.”

Day 23 “A small break while I was forced to deal with one of the children’s latest indiscretion. Did the good lord grant us families purely to curb the progress of the human race? I can only assume so. No matter, tomorrow I try some new components from America, promising to engage with the energy that sits around us all, invisible but present all the same.”

Elizabeth

She tutted and held the glass up to the light, turning it this way and that. Placing it back on the table, she snapped her fingers at a passing maid, steering her towards the sparkling glassware. “Do you really think this is good enough?” Not waiting for an answer, she shook her head. “There are still fingermarks on the stem. Polish them again. I shall check on your progress in an hour.”

Sweeping from the room, she entered the busy hallway. Preparations were underway. Everywhere you looked there were maids carrying fresh linen, silverware or carpet beaters. Butlers converged in corners, talking about how best to organise the cloakroom, the game room, the parlour. A smile tugged at her lips. She was rarely as pleased as when the house was alive like this. There was something pleasing in the shifting bodies, the business of it all. It reminded her of a great beehive of which she was the queen.

Pausing on the upper landing, she rested her hands on the (gleaming, shining) banister. The house would be perfect for the ball, of this much she was certain. If only her family were as easily polished up. Or perhaps as easily put away as the silverware was, only to be brought out at special occasions. With an amused smile, she shook the thought out of her head. They would be perfect. She would make sure of it. When she set her mind to something, she never failed.

Georgiana/Mystery Member #1

She held a fork up to the light, turning it this way and that. Frowning at what she saw, she clicked her fingers at a passing maid. With an eyeroll, the girl sloped over, hands placed in her pinafore pouch in a most slovenly manner. Letting the fork fall to the table with a clatter, she clucked her tongue. “There are still marks on the cutlery. Fix it. At once.” “Yes ma’am.” The maid replied, though she could swear she saw a hint of a smirk on her face. Her cheeks flushed red though she kept her head up high. What impertinence. She may not be the lady of the house but she still deserved respect. Elizabeth would never deal with such nonsense from her servants and yet these girls thought they could get away with it with her. She stalked from the room, being sure to make her heels click on the floor in a way she thought of as most stately.

She got the same response when she found a smudge on the guest linen, two scullery maids very almost giggling. Hating herself as she did it, she invoked the most compelling line she could think of. “Of course, if you would like me to explain to Elizabeth why your work is not up to scratch, I would be happy to explain.” Instantly, their smiles disappeared and a solemnity appeared in their eyes. The rush of power only lasted an instant. It was borrowed, after all.

One day she would be married and she would have her own house, bigger and grander than this. She would have maids that straightened their backs whenever she swept past and butlers that refused to lift their eyes to look at her directly. She would hold all the keys to the house on a chain on her waist and she would never have to ask for something twice. One day.

Mystery Member #2

Dearest friend, I write to you with a matter of great urgency. Too long I have been silenced and now the time has come for me to finally beg for help. I am not sure what may befall -

I am not sure if harm will - I am sure great harm will befall me if this letter was discovered, so I beg you and your servants to be discrete. If you investigate, keep my name off your lips and papers. You must be wondering why I chose you. Well, your kind and -

your gentle and good -

Well, you would believe me. The constabulary would surely find me mad if I approached them with my tale of woe and I would be in Bedlam before the month was out, which would suit my captors fine. To be clear, I do not want them harmed - I do not want violence - I just want to escape. A safe haven. An oasis. Away from this den of iniquity and sin. Eagerly I wait for your reply. I know you shall not fail me. With love.

The House

It sat, quietly for now, among gardens and fields. If arriving by carriage, it snuck up on you. A turn in the road and there it was, looming and large, casting shadows easily around it. If arriving by foot, it simply waited for you to arrive, watching you with its many windows, glistening in the sun.

It had been used to house soldiers once and it hadn’t forgotten it. If you looked closely enough, the marks were still there. A scuff on a door frame where a sword had caught passing through, the basement with a forgotten box of munitions sat, covered in cobwebs and caked in dust. Soldiers had slept here, loved here, mourned here. Entire lives had been acted out with the house as a constant backdrop.

It used to house monks and it remembered this too. In its carvings, its windows, in paintings of men that nobody could recall the names of. There was a reverence that could not be simply scrubbed away like old paint. It lingered like perfume. It stayed in the bones of the place, the memory becoming as essential as the bricks.

A ball was to be hosted soon enough. The servants and the family prepared, gardeners tidied the grounds and merchants came to and from carrying exotic goods. It was not the first party it had seen and it most certainly would not be the last. The house looked its best when filled with people. It was not a place made to be empty, to be unusued. It always had a purpose and its purpose now was simply to host.

#commissions #prose #larp #teasers

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breaking-shadows · 6 years ago

Text

Breaking Shadows

Chapter 3

On Saturday morning, I found myself in a foul mood. Will had avoided me for the entire day. Kat said it was because he was pissed about the rumours but how could I explain myself or lie if he wouldn’t speak to me?

It didn’t help that I wouldn’t have another chance until Monday as my Gran-imposed grounding had now begun.

No going out.

No phone.

When I found Gran, she was up, dressed and in the kitchen surrounded by chaos.

Light from the breaking morning struggled to penetrate the dirt-streaked window panes of the cottage. It did however, highlight the patch where I had written ‘clean me’ earlier in the week. The small amount of golden haze witnessed the destruction that had occurred across every worktop. Containers full of different coloured liquids looked like they were arranged for a jumble sale and glass bottles reflected their colours onto any surface they could reach like broken shards of stained glass.

“What are you doing?”

Gran jumped a foot in the air. “Riley! You’re up!” She shuffled across to hide whatever she had on the stove. Her round cheeks were pink and bright with her light grey hair twisted and pinned on the top of her head. “What are you doing up so early?” She waved a spatula in my direction. “You better not have plans, my girl. Because of Thursday night’s performance, you’re not going anywhere.”

I rolled my eyes. As if I needed any more reminders about the demons only I seemed to remember or the fact I was grounded.

“Obviously not. I don’t have a death wish. I couldn’t sleep anymore. So, what are you doing?” I raised an eyebrow, surveying the kitchen.

“Soup.”

“Soup?”

“Chicken soup. Homemade, as you can see,” Gran’s eyes flitted across the assembled items.

I hesitated a guess at what she was thinking. Not one thing in the kitchen resembled anything that would make chicken soup, even to someone as cooking illiterate as me.

“For the Tudor girl. She’s sick.”

“And they couldn’t just get that from the shop?”

“Shame on you Riley Archer! We help each other in this community, you know that.”

“Do you need a hand then? You look tired.”

“No!” Gran snapped then closed her eyes. “No, I would like you to collect the chicken eggs and any of the fruit and vegetables that are ready.” She pointed to the wicker basket hanging from a crude nail in one beam. “There’s some peas ready but if you could check everything else that would be a great help.”

I sighed, reaching up to retrieve the basket. “I’ll leave you to your chicken soup.”

Heading to the front door, I pulled on my wellington boots. Gran was hiding something, and the weight of the thought settled in my stomach like an anvil. Why would she hide something from me? That question bothered me most of all.

I stepped out of the door with caution. Since the events of the other night, I was constantly on edge, as though being on my own made be vulnerable. As though that would make the creatures come.

The village is protected. They can’t come here.

The words of my rescuer echoed in my mind just as his fading image had over the last two days. I should have stayed and demanded more from him, made him give me answers.

But he had just saved my life.

How could I have asked for more?

Idly, I wondered what was so special about Valestone. What stopped the demons from crossing into our village?

Blacker than Whitby Jet, a solitary feather caught my eye interrupting my thoughts. Its colour made ever more vivid by the washed-out, broken flagstone it laid upon. I thought about the bird it may have come from, raven or crow maybe. The sheer size of the feather suggested the bird must have been huge too and I’d not seen any birds of that size sailing around. Gran hated crows because she believed they signalled change and she liked things the way they were.

Without another thought, I plucked the feather from its resting place and pushed it through one of the holes in the wicker basket. One more time, I checked the lane was clear before following the broken path that edged the cottage to the back garden. Whilst the grass had grown long, and thorny rose bushes ran wild all the way down one side of the garden, the greenhouse and produce planters were perfectly kept. Gran tended to them religiously, especially her collection of herbs that filled every window box and plant pot she could find. She had everything from the usual basil, clove and thyme to strange exotic plants I didn’t know the name of. Her collection was vast and used often.

I checked the chicken coop first. Gran’s four plump hens, Fee, Fi, Fo and Fum were lazy layers and only produced eggs every now and again. Two eggs today, better than nothing. I placed them at the bottom of the basket. Dozens of fat, red tomatoes were ripe and ready for plucking, I piled them into the basket thinking if everything else failed, we could live on homemade tomato soup.

Brought on a gentle breeze, the scent of rain on a hot summer night hit me. Shivers barrelled down my spine and I whipped my head to look behind me, fully expecting to see someone standing there. But there was no-one. Just the bloom of an English cottage garden in July.

After checking the other vegetables and picking the ones that were ready, the basket was soon bursting with a variety of home grown foods. Gran would be pleased.

When I returned to the kitchen, there wasn’t a single item out of place. “Have you had a team of cleaners in here while I was outside?” I couldn’t see any of the various containers that had swamped the worktops and where the sun’s rays had reflected off the curved glass bottles, they now highlighted the gleaming granite surface of Gran’s kitchen.

Gran gave a teetering laugh. “It wasn’t that bad, just a few bottles and utensils. This and that,” she avoided my eye and placed a container in a paper bag. “Soup’s ready.”

Strange really that Gran’s chicken soup was an off-pink colour. “Are you taking that now?”

“We’re taking it now.”

“What? I don’t want to go to the Tudor’s. Why do I have to go?”

Gran sighed. “Because I don’t want you out of my sight.”

I placed the full basket on the dining table. “Ah but I’m grounded so I’m not allowed to leave the house and just a little advice, you should be consistent in your approach to punishment.”

“Don’t get smart. You’re coming with me. End of conversation.”

My shoulders slumped. “It looks like you’re going to make this grounding as fun as possible,” I moaned.

Gran grinned. “Yes I am.”

***

Daisy Tudor could not have been more than five-years-old and yet she was paler than the petals of the flower that bore her name, a mass of dampened wild curls spreading out from her head across the pillow. Gran and Marion Tudor, Daisy’s mother, spoke in hushed tones. I hovered in the doorway to the girl’s room. A tree that could have been out of any fantasy story had been hand painted on one wall with branches that stretched onto the adjoining wall and across the ceiling. Vinyl fairies danced around the whole room in pastel pinks, blues and yellows. I’d have done anything for a room like this when I was younger, I’d probably still have it now.

“Has she spoken at all?” Gran sunk down and sat at the edge of Daisy’s bed. Placing the soup down on the side, the older woman took the young child’s hand in hers. Gran placed the tips of her forefingers on the inside of Daisy’s wrist and held them there for a few seconds then moved her hand to her forehead.

“Not a word,” Marion’s voice wobbled. “She hasn’t opened her eyes for days. Not since-” she glanced to me with alarmed almond-shaped eyes. Mrs Tudor looked like a creature from the fairy realm herself, with her long, lithe limbs and short, wispy locks. Her ears even had a smooth arched point at the top.

Gran licked her dry lips. “Why don’t you wait downstairs, Riley? I won’t be long here.”

“But-”

“Downstairs, please.” Gran gave me one of her ‘don’t-you-dare-think-about-arguing-with-me’ looks and like always, they did the trick.

I pulled a face but did as she asked. As I always did.

The Tudor’s home closely resembled our cottage. Small, compact. No more than what they needed but no less either. I flopped myself down on the pastel coloured flowery sofa. Floor to ceiling bookshelves covered the living room walls. Books had been jammed any which way they would fit. Upside down, not in size order.

I looked away, crossing my arms, trying to focus on anything else but the disorganised chaos of the bookcase kept calling to me. Mrs Tudor wouldn’t mind if I sorted out a shelf or two. I busied myself pulling out the books which had been horizontally piled on top of the others. No sense, no order. How could anyone treat books like this?

A shadow crossed the window drawing my attention, followed by a flapping sound like the wings of a huge bird in flight. It didn’t cross my mind until I’d flung open the front door and launched myself out of it that the demons could have returned. I stood in the middle of the path searching for someone, something, anything.

Three feathers floated down from the sky. They matched the one I’d found before my own front door that morning. Dark with a glossy shine. With a few quick glances up and down, I gathered them up, turning them over in my hand so I could examine them.

“Riley?” Gran’s full frame blocked the Tudor’s doorway. “I’m all done here, we can go now.”

My fingers curled around the feathers. “How is Daisy?”

Gran closed the door behind her. “She’ll be fine now. Come on, we’ll have a nice walk home. What do you have there?” Her eyes narrowed at the feathers in my hand.

“Feathers I found on the path.”

Gran paled. “Dark feathers.”

“Yes.”

“Just make sure you wash your hands. You’ve no idea where they’ve come from.”

The sun beat down on us mercilessly, only made bearable by a sprightly breeze that had picked up.

“Why were you outside? I told you to wait downstairs.”

“You did, but I thought I saw something, I wasn’t sure what and I went to check it out.”

“How many times do I have to warn you to be careful? You are reckless recently, running off at any whim.”

“Reckless? Gran, I went to one festival. That’s it. Daisy looked like…”

“What?” Each sentence seemed to end with Gran wheezing. Her colour hadn’t improved either.

“She looked like - y’know, that she hasn’t got long left.”

“Little Daisy will be fine within a week or two. There’s no need to worry.” Her lips tightened to let me know there would be no more talking about Daisy Tudor.

“Say what you want but even I know that chicken soup can’t fix what is wrong with that girl.”

Gran smirked. “You’ll be amazed at the stuff chicken soup can cure. I’m astonished it’s not on the NHS list of recommended treatments.” Her voice trailed off and her cheeks puffed out as an onslaught of violent coughs racked her body. Doubling over, Gran struggled to catch her breath.

I stilled. “Gran?” I took tentative steps forward putting my hand out to steady her.

Her own arm shot out freezing me in my tracks. “I’m fine,” she panted. “Just a little unfit. Would you mind if we sat down for a while?”

“Of course not, here let me help,” I offered her my arm while alarm bells rang in my head. The village was tiny. Gran had never had a problem walking anywhere in Valestone. It just wasn’t big enough to cause breathlessness.

I slowed my pace, stepping back in line with Gran and helped her over to the bench dedicated to Mr and Mrs Moss.

“Take as long as you need.”

Across the way, I spied Fawn Underhill hurrying down the lane. The strap of her shoulder bag much too long it hung past her knees. She had her arms wrapped around herself.

“Are you going to be OK if I speak to Fawn?”

“It’s not like I’m going anywhere for a while.”

I raced after Fawn calling her name. As I neared, she turned to me, eyes narrowing.

“Hi,” I panted. God, I needed to get more exercise.

She pursed her full lips. “Where is the organ grinder to grant you permission to speak to me?”

“Fair enough. I deserved that. I wanted to make sure you’re OK and to let you know I really am sorry for barging into you.”

With slender fingers, Fawn raked her brown hair behind her ear. Kat was wrong, Fawn’s hair was lovely. Thick, luscious curls fell like a waterfall down her back. Gold eyeshadow, her signature colour, adorned her eyelids contrasting beautifully with the smooth brown of her skin.

“I’m fine. Knocking me down didn’t hurt half as much as seeing you too scared to say anything. You’re better than that, Riley. You know that, don’t you?”

“I’m sorry,” I repeated, fully ashamed of how right Fawn was. “I won’t let her say anything to you again. Not like that. It was wrong.”

Fawn seemed to consider me for a moment. “I was going to catch you at school on Monday, to speak to you. I would like us to be friends, Riley. We used to be close. That was before-”

Before Kat and Will.

“I’d like that,” I smiled, offering a hand out to her. “Friends.”

***

Back at the cottage, I took full advantage of Gran’s rest by sneaking my phone out of the lock box in the larder. The corners of my mouth twitched when I realised she’d hidden the box behind the Bran Flakes because Gran knew I wouldn’t touch the stuff.

I eased open the front door and sat on the doorstep to ring Will. The coldness of the concrete penetrated the layer of my jeans. He seemed to take an age to answer.

“Hey, babe,” he yawned. “Are you wanting to come over?”

“I’m still grounded,” I moaned down the phone. “I just wanted to speak to you. It feels like I haven’t seen you since the festival.”

“Sorry to hear that, babe,” he said with a distinct air of indifference.

I cringed at the lazy endearment. Babe. It was what Simon called Kat and because she loved it, Will thought we could adopt it and use it ourselves. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I hated it. Every time he used it, I had to stop myself screaming that my name wasn’t and never will be ‘babe’.

He yawned again, sounding more bored than tired.

“I looked out for you at school yesterday too, but I didn’t see you. It’s almost like you were avoiding me.”

“I was.”

“Oh.” That punch in the gut hurt.

“I know. Loads of rumours were flying around school about you and this guy on a motorcycle so I thought it was best to distance myself from the gossip but now that’s all cleared up, when do you think I’ll be able to see you? We have a lot of catching up to do if you get my meaning.”

I envisaged him winking on the other side of the phone, and yes, I knew what he meant, and it made me shift uncomfortably on the doorstep. His words fuelled a strange feeling in me which I contained by biting my lip. “I don’t know. I’m trying my best to do everything Gran says hoping I might get let off early due to good behaviour.”

“Ok babe, I’ll be waiting.”

He rang off and my head fell into my hands. I’d fancied Will Bennett for years. He still had the same mop of blond hair but his pink, rounded cheeks had angled out and he’d lost all his baby fat leaving him slender. I couldn’t believe it when he asked me out, though I think Kat had a lot to do with it and she can be very persuasive. We’d never been like Kat and Simon, who were all over each other at every opportunity, but I thought we were OK until the festival. But now things were different.

Everything was different.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 4

#breakingshadows #mariemurphy #youngadult #writerblr #urban fantasy #witches #Magic #Covens #ANGELOFDEATH

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spideymarvelws · 4 years ago

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Hi!! Could I request a fluff#9 from the prompt list for c!technoblade x (gn)reader? Maybe with some mutual pining? that's my fave 😊😊 (maybe where reader is introverted so no one really knows them? But fine if not 😊😊)

i had so much fun writing the first scene dude... i feel like as a fanfic writer its a sin i haven’t written anything like it yet lmfaoo (to be fair i probably have but I just dont rem💀) anyways i hope you enjoy!

Main Masterlist / Add Yourself To My Taglist / Prompt List

Prompt : 9. “Then what are you waiting for?”

Warnings : just some cute floof, some cursing here and there

Word Count : 2.2k

Hesitation

Technoblade x GN!Reader

But of course, with peace always came chaos.

“YOU CHEATED!”

“NO I DIDN’T!”

“YES YOU DID!”

Tech threw his head back with a groan, turning around gruffly and taking off his cape along with the skull mask covering his face.

“I won’t admit it because it isn't true!” he turned back to face you, mimicking your stance and tilting his head slightly to the side.

Techno gasped, “You take that back.” he threw your cloak to the side.

Techno squinted his eyes, a small smirk making its way to his face before he grabbed you by the waist, throwing you over his shoulder and walking away from the entrance into the living room.

“Hey!” You pounded at his back, wiggling in his tight grip, “Put me down you loaf!”

“Oh. My. God! Techno! Stop you fucking- oh god!”

“Take it back Y/n!” he laughed along with you, continuing his assault on your stomach, “Take it back or I swear to god you’re going to loose a canon life from being too ticklish.”

“Say. It.” even with one hand we was doing enough to keep you squirming underneath him, desperate for an escape.

“Okay! Okay! You- You’re a good rider Techno! You’re a good rider!” you finally admitted, your body falling limp against the cushions when he finally raised his fingers from your stomach.

Techno laughed at your state, leaning back with a cocky smirk on his face, “Glad to know we could come to an agreement,”

Techno chuckled, taking your chin into his fingers, turning your head to look back at him, “Is that so?”

A small part of his brain told him you wanted this too, but he ignored it for his own sanity.

“Techno-” you whispered but before you could continue, the hybrid immediately took the single word as a protest, finally letting go of your hands but keeping his body close.

“Shit I’m sorry that- that was probably a bit much.”

You giggled softly, “No- uh, it was fine tech, no worries,”

He looked down at your bright smile glowing in his face.

“You’re really beautiful Y/n,” he whispered, letting the rough pads of his fingers trail down the side of your face, blushing when you nudged them with your cheek, accepting the comfort.

“You think so?” you whispered back, looking up at him with doe eyes.

“You- Do you want this.” you whispered, letting his thumb pull down at your bottom lip, watching as the plush skin softly bounced back.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

“FUCK!”

You dove under the large feathers, bumping the winged man to alert him of your presence.

“Are you alright?” Techno said, rubbing his nose from the hit.

“We heard you scream, thought you were in trouble.”

Phil chuckled nervously, “Sorry, my bad,” he turned around to face the both of you, “I just dropped a plate.”

But with your delicate touch came memories of the events that just happened

“Yes, but i put in some ear plugs,” he pointed to them on the counter.

“Oh!” you piped in, “That’s- That’s good.”

“Was there something I missed?” he crossed his arms over his chest, looking at the both of you curiously.

“Nothing!” You both shouted at the same time, chuckling nervously.

“Okay?” Phil dragged out, pointing back to the sink, “Well, I’ll just-”

“Are they alright mate?” Phil asked his son who seemed to be lost in his own world, staring at the spot you were once in, “Techno?”

“I- what?” He shook his head, “Uh, yeah- they’re,” he let out a small sigh, letting his hand pass over his face, “Yeah, they’re fine.”

“Are you alright?”

Techno didn’t respond for a while, stuck in his own thought. Phil turned to his son, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, “Tech?”

“I think-” He let out a shaky breath, “I think I love them.”

...

IM SORRY FOR ENDING IT SO SUDDENLY

it was just getting to long and i didn’t want to loose motivation writing more😭

Permanent Taglist (Dream SMP) : @ossinsworld @lunarinnit @starstruckllamapuppy @shio-yuki @lovelychasbug @alice-blue-skies @chaosofsmarty @imamybubbles

Technoblade Taglist : @hyumiid @whenpugzfly @sammyxn @jackalopedoodles @notmesimpingfortechno @immadatmostthings

Crossed out mean couldn't tag :(

#technoblade x reader #technoblade x y/n #technoblade x you #mcyt x reader #dsmp x reader #dream smp x reader #serenefreakgeek

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starunicornmoon · 6 years ago

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Biggest Fan

A/N: So this idea came to me while I was watching England play on Tuesday. What. A. Game! I always say to my husband I’m not watching it, it’s not my thing. But I always find myself watching at least the second half and getting into it, exactly like Amy does here. Hubby always comments that it’s funny listening to me and it sparked an idea. So here it is in all it’s unpolished, rushed glory. Because I needed to get it out and posted before England play again on Saturday. Thanks for reading! Love. x

Biggest Fan

Football on Mobius is very similar to any other planet. Where players kick a ball around a large amount of space, occasionally throwing themselves to the floor dramatically and running around like a crazed chicken when the small contraption lands in the back of a net. And Sonic, Knuckles and Tails are just like any other male enamoured by the sport that generally has them fixed to the couch, chips and dips in front of them and an inordinate amount of yelling at the television for ninety plus minutes.

“Ah, c'mon ref!” Sonic the Hedgehog shouted, throwing his arm out towards the television in disbelief. Continued grumbles rumbled under his breath as he threw himself back into his seat, scowling at the lone figure on the screen flashing a coloured card at the player in red.

Tails and Knuckles shook their head, both equally glued to the screen and in agreement with Sonics distaste for the ref giving a yellow card to one of their players for reasons they deemed unfair. The air was thick with annoyance.

Amy Rose poked her head around the kitchen doorframe at the shout and rolled her eyes seeing the males in various forms of unrest as they watched the football. Slipping back into the kitchen she removed the frilly apron from her body and hooked it back to its spot on the wall. Picking up the plate of freshly baked cookies, she leaned forward and took in an appreciative sniff of chocolate doughy goodness. But the, ‘Ohhhs!’ from the living room soon snapped her out of her baked heaven daydreams.

Sighing she prepared herself to step back out into the lions den.

The guys didn’t even look up as she strolled into the living room. “Cookies are ready.” she told them as she placed the plate on the coffee table in front of them, being careful to not block anyones view of the TV as she did so.

Tails fell on the cookies first, very closely followed by Sonic and Knuckles. Not one of them graceful about the way they shoved the cookies in their mouths. She watched with pride as their expressions melted into baked goods heaven as they slowed their chewing and appreciated what they were eating.

“Amazing cookies, Ames.” Sonic grinned, winking at her as he reached for another one.

“Better than the last lot,” Tails chorused, another two sitting in his lap while he started on the one in his hand. “Swo good.” he tried saying, spraying crumbs.

Amy giggled and cocked her hip to the side sassily. “That’s what you said the last two times, Tails.”

“It bears repeating,” the two tailed Kitsune grinned back at her.

Shaking her head at the way all three turned their attentions back to the TV, Amy made a move back to the kitchen to box up the left over cookies that would definitely not last the rest of the day. “Not sticking around for the game, Amy?” Knuckles called over his shoulder, his eyes not moving from watching the red players of their team running clear across the pitch with the ball.

“It’s not really my thing,” Amy answered on her way out of the room. She knew he wasn’t paying attention to her anyway as he’d shifted to the edge of his seat, preparing to throw himself in the air if their team scored.

It didn’t take Amy long to clean up the last bits in Sonic’s kitchen and she was back in the living room before she knew it. She stopped behind the couch, watching the screen for an opening to be able to say goodbye to the guys. But the more she stood there the more she became engrossed in the game. After all, it’s the Mobian World Cup! Not just any old football game. This was her country fighting to keep the ball and score against the other team. Amy has only followed the World Cup a few times in her life, the previous years their team not being as good as they could’ve been.

But this year was different. Whether it’s their new manager, the younger players or just the general high intense support from their fellow countrymen, they were doing well. Really well! So it’s been hard for her to avoid knowing what’s been happening as they progress through the tournment.

Wincing, Amy shook her head at the opposing team being too harsh with their dirty tactics. “Where’s his free kick?” she asked no-one as she frowned, throwing her arm out at the TV much like Sonic had done previously. “Yes, great control with the ball. Did you see that move?!” she cheered, unconsciously moving from behind the couch to the free arm chair beside it. She wasn’t aware of the guys watching her as she became fixated on the screen.

It was her eyes lighting up, combined with her sitting forward that had them quickly turn back to the screen as Amy jumped up from her seat and punched the air. “Yes! That was a beautiful goal!” she cheered, over-powering the guys’ reaction to their team scoring a very well executed intention.

Once it calmed back down and the game played on, Sonic found himself flitting his attention between the game and Amy, more and more.

“Come on, come on - no! Ohhh, so close. That could’ve been amazing.”

“Ref! Why’s he getting a yellow card? He didn’t do anything!”

“Aw come on, that was barely a touch.”

“He loves his headers, doesn’t he?”

“Uh-oh, they’re getting desperate now! They’re trying hard to score.”

“Yes! What a save!”

“They’re working well together aren’t they?” she asked at one point, not really looking for an answer as Sonic tried not to laugh as Amy got more and more into the game. Knuckles and Tails didn’t seem bothered by their pink companions running ad-lib. “I think Southgates doing a great job of leading them. I wouldn’t want to be him though. The pressure on them all must be intense right now.”

Sonic sat back and watched Amy where she sat upright in her seat, her hands twisting in her lap the closer the final whistle came. They’re team were winning, but it didn’t mean it was over yet. For now though, he was more interested in seeing the transformation in his Rose. Although it was a little distracting listening to her running commentary as she watched the game - her terminology was wrong and she got more irate than the guys did at the opposing teams dirty tricks - deep down, it just made his fondness for her grow more and more.

He could see the passion shining through as she got caught up in cheering on their team to go all the way.

The same passion he’s seen in her eyes when she’s fighting by his side. Or when she’s focusing on making his favourite meal and dessert. The same sparkle that she gets in her eye when he leans in for a goodnight kiss after one of their dates. She wasn’t sitting there - oblivious to Sonic, Knuckles and Tails watching the same game - and fake cheering because she thought it’s what Sonic would want in a girlfriend. She was doing it because she genuinely cared about what was happening for their home team. Even if it wasn’t really, ‘her thing.’

Amy joined in when the guys all cheered as the final whistle was blown and their team were declared the victors. Knuckles was jumping around the room, shouting, “It’s coming home! It’s coming home!”

Once the energy had started to calm Amy blinked and looked around her like she had just realised what she was doing. Blushing slightly, she stood up to surreptitiously get her coat and make a quiet exit. But Sonic’s arms wrapping around her waist from behind caught her before she could sneak out.

“Thanks for the cookies, Ames,” he whispered in her ear, kissing her gently on the cheek as she stroked his arms encircling her waist. “I should’ve known you’d make a great football fan. After-all, you’ve always been my biggest fan.”

Feeling Amy laugh made Sonic grin as she spun in his arms to face him. She reached up and laid her hand on his cheek gently.

“I’ll always be your biggest fan, Sonic. But I think that will be taking a backseat if we continue to do well in the World Cup. I guess you’ll have to learn a little patience for the next couple of weeks.” Amy grinned, kissing him lightly on the lips.

“So long as you watch the rest of our games with me, I’m sure I’ll manage. They’ll be boring without your commentary.” he teased, winking at her playfully.

She swatted him lightly on his chest and pushed out of his arms, waving to him as she strolled down his path and headed for home. Sonic stood watching her until she disappeared from view, remembering her enthusiasm and fury as she watched the game. Chuckling he acknowledged to himself that he was looking forward to the next one, even if it’s just to watch Amy get het up over the smallest fouls and cheer like they’ve just won the World Cup each time they even try to score a goal.

He laughed ruefully to himself and stepped back in the house to Knuckles shouting in his face.

“It’S COMING HOME!”

#sonamy #sonamy fanfiction #sonic x amy #sonic the hedgehog #amy rose #fanfiction

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stayathomesurveys · 2 years ago

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111.

What do you dislike about the house you live in? Rent is ridiculously high for how small it is. I don’t like the cabinets - they are very thin and very deep. It’s hard to fit all of my pots/pans/bakeware/etc into the cabinets nicely, food gets lost in the back of the cabinets because I forget about it (because of how deep they are). The water pressure in the bathroom is a joke. Do you prefer iced tea or hot tea? Iced tea. Is there a gas station near your house? When was the last time you went? Yeah, somewhat close by I think. How do you feel right now? What do you think has contributed to that? I’m tired and bored and just... blah. I don’t know why I’m so tired. I’m bored because there is nothing to do, or nothing that I would want to do. I’m too tired to do anything regardless. lol. And I just feel so hopeless about life in general. Do you watch a movie at least once a week? No.

What’s your favourite movie genre? Horror. Have you ever been clubbing? Did you have fun? Yes & yes. What were you doing in the year 2013? Finishing high school.

What’s the weather been like lately? Warm. Do you check the weather forecast regularly? No. Do you live in a city of at least one million people? No. A quick Google search let me know that as of 2020, my city has a population of a little over 63k. What’s your favourite colour? Pink, blue. Do you own any clothes in your favourite colour? Yup. Would you say faucet or tap? Faucet. Do you watch any sports? Yes. Have you ever eaten carob? No. Are there any plants around your house, inside or outside? Nope. Which bugs do you truly hate the most? Spiders. What’s your favourite kind of puzzle? Meh. If you were going on a daytime date tomorrow, where would you go? The beach. Where are you right at this moment? I’m in my bed. Describe the room or place you’re in. It’s pretty small, I guess. The walls are maybe eggshell white? There is one large window with broken blinds thanks to my cats. There are two doors on the same wall - one leads to the small hallway before the kitchen/living area and the other goes to the en suite bathroom. The bed is against a wall with a nightstand on one side and the dresser on the other side. Across from the bed is a dresser with a TV on it, and my vanity. There is also another nightstand near my vanity with a lamp on it. Next to that is a grey storage bench with two pillows on it, which is next to the window. I don’t know how to describe my room lol. Is your nose blocked right now? No. Do you live on a main road? I guess? Have you ever volunteered? Mhm.. What colours are you wearing today? Blue and grey.. How old were you when you graduated high school? I was 18. Describe your favourite pair of socks. Idk What holidays do you celebrate? Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, Valentine’s Day. If you could dye your hair any colour for one month, what would you do? I’d dye it red again. Art or science? I like both... but I’ll go with science. Do you own a pair of sunglasses? How often do you wear them? Yes. Whenever I go outside. What’s your go-to order at McDonald’s? Lately it has been a Big Mac meal w/ sweet tea. For breakfast, I have been getting the bacon, egg, and cheese McGriddle w/ a sweet tea. Do you know anyone who was born in the Caribbean? No. What brand is your fridge? I don’t feel like looking. Maybe GE? I have no idea. Speaking of fridges, what drinks do you have in there right now? Water, juice, eggs, cheese, lunch meat, hamburger, veggies, fruit. Are there any special rules about selling alcohol & tobacco in your country? Idk. Do you live in the northern or southern hemisphere? Northern. What’s your dream car? I don’t really have a dream car. Do you have a best friend? How long have you known them? Nope. How often do you take selfies? It depends. Are you hungry at the moment? What are you craving? No. What do you think your life will look like in 3 years from now? I hope it’s better. When was the last time you received a card? What was it for? I don’t know. Do you like yes or no questions, or questions that make you think? Depends on my mood.

#survey

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secret-rendezvous1d · 7 years ago

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(Not So) Happy Christmas

How about the missus and Harry spend Christmas at her home and Anne is really sad ADDED: Harry and the missus having a fight because Harry wants them to spend Christmas with his family,but the missus wants to be with her family!

Slightly non-canon to the original storyline and a little shorter; but I’m suffering a cold and my creative side is at a sudden block. I don’t plan on this happening in the main story so this has gone off on a tangent. A little bit of angst set in 2012; and it broke my heart because, holy hell, I hate writing them being so upset with each other. I tried not to go too overboard but I’ve never written a properly angsty long story before, haha.

Feedback is welcomed, as always.

Enjoy. xx

15TH DECEMBER, 2012. 9PM. LONDON.

His fingers rapped against the bottle-green coloured door that stood before him and blocked him from entering a home he had become incredibly familiar with over the 5 months that has passed the both of them by. Consistent knocks echoing down the, rather thin with a low-ceiling, hallway, resembling university hallways, (because he’d been to see his sister, plenty of times, at university) as he snuggled further into his pea-green coat, completely inappropriate for the bitter weather outside, tightening his grip on the bouquet of baby-pink roses and white lilies that he held in his hand. His jeans were fairly ill-suited, with rips at the knees and a little loose around his waist, and the jumper, too. Not thick enough to bear the cold and bitter December in London, having worn that outfit the previous day and, unintentionally, taking up the spare space of her bed when he’d decided that it was too cold to take the tube home… and to even call himself a taxi to take him back.

Behind the wood, he could hear the distinct sound of a shuffling figure stalking, slowly, towards the door, as well as a wiggle of the chain before the door clicked open. Creaking open and revealing your dressed down appearance. Stained tracksuit bottoms on your legs, that you hadn’t changed out of since you’d woken up, a baggy hoodie upon your torso, that had made him slightly regret not dressing in something that was much warmer than the pink sweater, and a pair of socks that he knew belonged to him, due to how they hung from your dainty feet, but didn’t have the heart to take away from you, because they looked too cute bunched up at your ankles. Hair pulled into a messy ponytail, frizzy around your head and standing in all directions.

Nine hours; that’s how long the both of you have been apart for.

To give you time to cool off and to give himself time to really think about what was going on and to take some time away from each other before throats were being ripped out and guts were being kicked, metaphorically, with words that caused hurt and heartache, maliciously. To save the end of something that neither of you wanted to end. He’d taken the tube home, smiled at people who met him on his journey and politely declining selfies because he felt like a wreck, and looked like a wreck and he just wanted to freshen up, popped into the shop to grab milk and a packet of sugar, because he’d forgotten it on his weekly shop, and took the quietest route home. Pacing through alleyways and taking the back route to his house because he just couldn’t deal with the unexpected paparazzi waiting outside his home, to bombard him with questions just just didn’t want to answer.

“What do you want?”

“I’m here to apologise to you. To tell you how much of a prick I was this morning. To tell you that we’re not finished with what we have between us and that this is just a minor bump in the road for us. V’never spent a Christmas with a girlfriend before and I’m new to how we should spend our time,” he lamented, a sheepishly shy look spreading over his features. Nibbling upon his bottom lip and worrying the bright pink and moist flesh. “That’s no excuse for my behaviour. It was wrong to speak ill of you in such a way, and-”

“It was wrong of me to speak poorly of you, too,” you whispered, and he could really hear the affect of what had happened. His chest constricting at the hoarse in your throat, the raspy tone of your words, the crackle as you trailed off at the end. His eyes really zooming in to the physicality of the aftermath; your eyes bloodshot and the underside of your nose looking red and beaten from the constant wiping of tissues to remove the dribbling moisture, your cheeks stained with mascara streaks and tears that had dried to your skin. “We’re both said some things that were unnecessary.”

15TH DECEMBER, 2012. MID-DAY.

Swear words, curses and hurtful slurs bounced off of the walls of your living room, drowning out the morning telly show that Harry had settled upon whilst you made breakfast for the both of you; a breakfast that filled the house with the smell of scrambled eggs, that had been cooked in the microwave, and sizzling bacon and sausages, that had fried away in the pan on the cooker. A breakfast that had gone untouched because you’d informed him that plans, that the both of you had made for Christmas day, had changed. Your family having called the day before to let you know that their holiday plans had fallen through and they were hosting a sudden Christmas day dinner to celebrate, unknowing of your own arrangements to spend the day with your boyfriend and his family.

He didn’t want to argue with you.

And, if he was truthful, it didn’t need to have ended in the both of you, with loud and booming voices, throwing spats at one another.

“They only told me yesterday. It’s not as if I was keeping it from you, just to ruin the day,” you frowned, eyebrows puckering on your brow-line as he scoffed heavily and shook his head, obnoxiously, “I don’t want to cancel plans with you and your family, but, it’s my family, Harry.”

“It’s selfish. You’re selfish. I don’t understand how you could just intentionally double book yourself for the day. That’s unfair. That’s so, so unfair,” he grunted, his eyes scrunching shut as he huffed out a heavy breath, “my mum, she’s made sure the whole day tends to your needs and what you like. She’s just done all of this for absolutely nothing, hasn’t she? She’s gone out of her way for nothing because you’ve tossed her to the side like shit on your old shoe.”

“No!”

“Then why did you fucking do it? Huh? Why the fuck did you think this was okay?” He hissed, fists clenching at his hips. He was rocking unsteadily on his heels as his green eyes bored into yours, deep and stern and making you feel uncomfortable under his gaze. “Your parents would have understood. I’m sure they would have.”

“I was going to talk to you. I was going to talk to your mum! I was going to apologise, okay? Don’t make me feel guilty because I was going to do something about it. You just jumped down my throat like I’d committed a murder and you were going to blab on me. If you’d have let me continue, I would have explained everything. From how I was going to go about telling your family to how I was going to make it up to them,” your tone fell into a hushed volume, eyes stinging with tears because, you did feel guilty and you did feel to blame. “I’m sorry, okay?”

“Sorry’s just don’t cut it, right now. You’re egotistical, self-obsessed, and fucking inconsiderate,” he yawped, scoffing when he caught sight of your fingers swiping across your cheeks. Shaking his head as he reached for his coat and slipped his arms through the sleeves. “Don’t bother getting hold of me, my mum, or my sister. Understand? This’ll paint you into a picture of insensitivity.”

You watched him as he disappeared around the corner. Hesitantly following him, but staying a good distance away from him, standing at a place where you could just see him, hunched over and slipping on his trainers.

“Harry-”

“Just, don’t. Just, shut up before you make things worse. If I had it my way, I’d go home right now and never see you until the new year, but, unfortunately, that won’t happen because my friends can’t seem to get enough of you,” he lifted his head to look over to you, “Grim seems to fucking love you so, if anything, I’ll see you at his place next week for his Christmas party.”

He left his keys behind, alongside yours, as he took the hasted walk towards the front door of your flat, a frown etched permanently onto his features, and the last thing you heard, before he slammed the door with force, was a sniffle.

“I shouldn’t have reacted in the way that I did,” he admitted, thrusting the flowers forward with a smile twitching up the corners of his lips. Lips pursing as he waited, the slow seconds passing and feeling like hours, for you to take the bouquet from him. “Remembered you told me that roses and lilies were your favourites.”

You took the flowers from him, inhaling the sweet scent as you stepped away from the door and allowed a space for him to slip into. The boards creaking as he entered your small flat. The aroma of cinnamon and peppermint striking him in the face, making him feel content. The ominous glow of the fire, electric rather than open, lighting and heating up your living space. Your duvet, brought from your bedroom, bundled up at the end of the sofa and looking inviting and cosy, with a Christmas movie, paused, on the telly screen.

“I’m sorry,” Harry broke the silence. Nerves swallowing him as he stood awkwardly in a place that was once a place that was his home away from home - literally. His trainers staying on his feet rather than being kicked off and left behind against the wall of the hallway. His coat staying upon his figure rather than being hung up on the hook beside yours, labelled with a neatly written ‘Harry’. The extra key that you’d given him, only a few weeks ago, left behind in the bowl. “I love you. I love you so much. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me and I’m not going to let you walk out of my life before our first Christmas together.”

He cautiously stepped into the kitchen, coming to a halt in the entryway to see you hunched over the sink, the flowers left on the side as you filled up a clear vase of water.

“Do you- like, are you still in love with me?”

You craned your neck over your shoulder before looking back at the vase in your hand, bringing your free hand to the tap and switching off the faucet as you hefted the heavy object up to the countertop. “Of course I still love you, Harry. A small argument between the both us won’t make that change.”

It fell silent between the both of you and he was back to shifting on his feet. The warmth of shoes beginning to feel rather uncomfortable on his cold feet. His socks a little damp, shrivelling the tips of his toes up, from the puddles he’d trodden in on his way to your flat.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“I guess- I just- I feel out of place,” he confessed, looking down at his feet before casting his eyes tis his thumbs that twiddled just above the waist of his jeans. Picking at his nails and noticing more cuticles that had formed around his fingernails. “I never know what m’doing after fights. Don’t think v’ever had a blow-up like that. Like, do we kiss and make up? Do we fuck and forget about it? Do we talk about it? Do we yell at each other until we can’t yell about it anymore?” He lifted his head to look in your direction, his cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment. Your figure stood at the counter, hands pushed into the additional foliage of the bouquet. “I feel like you need to hit me or kick me. Just to show me that you, also, think I’m a twat.”

“I think you called yourself a prick,” you teased softly. He could see a smirk twitching your lips, his own quirking into a comfortable smile or relief, “I’m not going to hit you. Or kick you. I don’t have the energy to do that,” you looked over your shoulder and jerked your head, inviting him over to you, and dropping your hands to your side, “you look like that nervous guy I brought home a few months ago. This is much your place as mine.”

His trainers squeaked as he walked across the tiles, flexing his fingers, on one hand, as he reached for your outstretched palm.

“We’re spending Christmas with your family on the twenty fifth,” he smiled, his lips nudged into your temple as your arm snaked around his waist. Tucked beneath his coat as your fingers hitched up the hem of his jumper, fingers tickling over his hip. “I want to spend it with your family. Mum understands. Gemma took some convincing. But they both made me promise them that we’d go up to Chapel, a few days after, so that we could have another Christmas day with my family.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to spend Christmas apart,” you proposed, looking up at him as his features scrunched in distaste. Curls tickling your forehead as he shook his head, no. “We’re spending New Year together. We could have spent some time apart for two or three days. Spent 18 years of my life without you. I think I could have spent 72 hours without you.”

“I don’t think I could be apart from you for that long,” he mumbled, squeezing you into his side and burying his nose into your hair, “I can barely do 24 hours. How do you expect me to do 72 of them?”

#harry styles imagines #harry imagines #harry styles blurbs #harry blurbs #blogmas 2017 #1d harry styles #1d harry #one direction preferences #one direction imagines

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avaalons · 7 years ago

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Chris Evans Fic: Anticipation (NSFW)

So I’ve written this, in a struggle, during a horrid bout of writers’ block. Given the request, this should not have been so difficult to write and definitely shouldn’t have taken so long. It’s done now though so sorry for the delay and hopefully I’ve seen the back of pesky writers’ block!

Can you do a cute Chris Evans one of him inviting you over to his house for the first time and youre nervous because yall haven’t taken the relationship sexually yet? Thanks!

***

‘Gracie, help! This is a code red. I repeat: code red,’ you left the voicemail on your best friend’s number as you hurried through the city streets to your apartment, the heels you wore to work clacking against the pavement.

You finally, finally reached your building and fumbled with the three locks on the front door. You took the stairs two at a time - nothing short of a miracle in your office-appropriate pencil skirt - and had your key ready for the next three locks on your apartment door. You kicked your heels off as you rushed through to your bedroom, flinging your handbag down on your bed, tugging your blouse out of your skirt’s waistband and over your head, not even bothering to undo the buttons. You unzipped your skirt and let it fall to the floor, stepping out of it as you walked through to the master bath, switching the shower on just as you heard your phone ring.

You ran to answer it, responding without even so much as a hello.

‘Gracie, he’s invited me over. Tonight. This is it. I’m fucking shaking. I have nothing to wear, I need to shave my legs, deep condition my hair, exfoliate from head to toe, paint my toenails…’

‘Babe, slow down and breathe. What exactly is the problem?’

‘Tonight. I am going to Chris’ house. For sex.’

’…has he said that explicitly? I seriously hope he didn’t actually include sex in his invitation.’

'Well no, but this is the first time he’s invited me to his house. We’ve never been to each others’ places before. This means sex, right?’

'There’s a high possibility. What are you freaking out over? It’s not like you haven’t had sex before. You do want to sleep with him, right?’

'Grace, you’ve seen the guy! He looks like he was sculpted from marble. I still have to pinch myself when I’m on a date with him.’

'Hon, how many times do I need to tell you? You’re freaking hot and you’re amazing, the-

’-the whole package. Yeah, yeah, I know, you’ve said. But he’s probably seen loads of actresses and famous women naked. Who are, like, Hollywood hot and not just normal person hot. Like, I know I’m not vomit-inducing or anything, but I don’t look photoshopped when I’m naked either.’

'Hollywood hot has a whole lot of ugly on the inside, in my experience. If he didn’t like you, he wouldn’t keep asking you out. Try and apply a bit of logic to this situation, dumb ass. Now get your pert backside in the shower, shave your legs and thank all the deities in existence that you had a bikini wax booked in this week. Moisturise everywhere and get that really hot Boux Avenue lingerie set out - the one you got when we were in London, remember?’

'Yep, got it now,’ you assured her as you dug through the top drawer in your dresser, laying your hands on the pretty dusky pink silk and lace strapless bra and panty set.

'And then just wear a really simple, understated but short dress over the top. You want to look like you’re not planning on wearing it for long.’

You rifled through your wardrobe, cradling the phone between your ear and shoulder as you weighed up your options.

'Satin cami dress?’

'Is it tight or swing cut? And what colour is it?’ Grace was in full outfit-planning mode now. You needed her cool calm in the face of your panicked energy.

'Swing cut and it’s like an aubergine colour.’

'Yes, that would be perfect. I love that whole nightwear-as-outerwear trend. Some black strappy heels, hair blown out, smokey eye and out the door. Are you going for dinner or anything first?’

'No, he’s cooking apparently. He’s coming to pick me up at eight.’

'Yeah, you’re definitely getting laid sweetheart! Oh, this is so exciting! He seems like the type to have a really huge dick but doesn’t brag about it.’

'Gracie!’ You pretended to be affronted but her humour was a calming influence on you.

'Listen to me right now. Don’t get anxious, don’t get stuck in your head. If he’s cooking and coming to pick you up, I think I’m probably right in guessing he’s going to want you to enjoy yourself above all else, so fucking enjoy it, okay? He’s lucky to have this chance with you.’

Grace was your best friend for many reasons, but one very high up on the list was that she always had your back.

'Thanks Gracie.’

'You better tell me all the good details tomorrow.’

You grinned, 'Just try and stop me.’

You said your goodbyes and hung up. Glancing at the time before you put your phone on charge, you had about two hours to primp and preen before Chris would be here, and you were going to make sure you were scrubbed and smooth and silky from top to toe.

***

It was seven forty five when you felt like you were finally ready. You headed to your kitchen on your heels, trying to steady your nerves. You needed to calm down, he was going to be here soon and you were going to end up a sweaty, flustered mess. You threw open the doors onto your Juliet balcony to let in some fresh air and headed back to the kitchen to dig out something that might steady your nerves. A shot of tequila should do it, right?

It burned but it warmed you just enough and you took a deep breath. You had this. You took another shot for luck and did one last check in your full length mirror just as the buzzer rang to let you know that Chris was downstairs. You dashed across the room to the console and buzzed him in, collecting your bag and reapplying your lipstick and perfume once more.

When the knock came at your door, you composed yourself and answered with a big smile. You were happy to see him after all, despite the stage fright rolling around in the pit of your stomach.

'Wow,’ was Chris’ first word upon seeing you. 'You look… breathtaking. I kind of wish I’d dressed up more!’

He had jeans and a Henley on: he looked hot, of course, but you wondered if you’d misjudged this whole evening.

'I… probably didn’t need to wear this, did I?’ A nervous smile passed over your face and you struggled to look him in the eye, feeling more awkward than ever now.

You saw him in your peripheral vision take a step towards you, in your apartment now and only inches from you and when he spoke, his voice had an unmistakable gravelly quality to it that hadn’t been there before.

'I’m glad you did.’

You looked up shyly from under your eyelashes, 'Oh.’

'Hmm, oh.’

You were frozen there by his heated gaze while you briefly contemplated slamming the door behind him and stripping yourself naked so he could do what he liked with you, but then his eye line flickered to something over your shoulder and his gaze narrowed.

'You started without me?’ He inclined his head towards something behind you and when you spun around to see what it was, you remembered you’d left your bottle of tequila on the kitchen table.

'I… um… had one. Or two. Just to… start the night right,’ you rolled your eyes at yourself, knowing that Chris was looking elsewhere. Could you sound any more pathetic? But then, anything was better than admitting the truth: that you were so nervous to have sex with him that you needed a couple of shots to take the edge off.

He fixed his eyes back on you, seemingly considering you for a moment. Then he dipped his head towards yours, capturing your lips with his in a long awaited greeting. His tongue swept your bottom lip and it suddenly dawned on you that he was tasting tequila.

The material of your dress bunched in his hands as he gripped your hips, slipping against your skin over the silky fabric and pulling you in close to his body, the two of you fitting together like jigsaw pieces. Your hands instinctively went to his head, your fingers threading themselves through the shorter hair at the nape of his neck as you deepened the kiss. You felt like you were making a promise for the night ahead.

Chris pulled back minutely, just enough to speak against your mouth, the vibrations from his deep voice delicious on your lips.

'Yeah, I think that tequila will be coming with us.’

***

You chatted as easily as you were able to in the car, trying to keep the jitteriness out of your voice, keep your dialogue light and breezy: all a perfect mask for the whirring thoughts and feelings just under the surface.

You felt stiff and not able to relax into your seat, your whole body on high alert. How you were supposed to eat later was anyone’s guess. The heady combination of excitement, anticipation and nerves had you feeling more than a little nauseated but you wanted desperately to appear cool and confident.

His house was incredible. A bachelor pad, yes, but incredible. It was all minimalist lines, smooth and sleek, with pale, calming colours contrasting the dark wood of his furniture. He led you through to an L shaped kitchen, breakfast room and living area where the whole of the back wall was just huge glass panels looking out over his garden. Despite the light colours, it wasn’t cold or clinical, but you still felt a little unsure of what to do or where to go. You were caught in a strange limbo, not wanting to appear to be too instantly comfortable in his home but also not wanting to be overly awkward about it all. Why you couldn’t just exude an effortless charm at all times was beyond you. It didn’t seem fair, how some people just had that gift and you were stuck second guessing every step you took.

He’d handed you a glass of chilled white wine and invited you to sit on one of the high rise padded chairs he had for the breakfast bar. It meant you could watch him cook and he’d could talk to you while he was working.

'Paella okay?’ he asked as he began collecting ingredients from his fridge and cupboards.

Now he’d said the words, you could actually feel a bit of hunger creeping up on you. Maybe you’d just started to calm down a bit, or maybe the wine was helping soothe the anxiety.

'Actually couldn’t think of anything I’d like better right at this moment?’

'Good,’ he’d grinned, 'It’s about the only thing I can make that is just fancy enough to be impressive. If I can get it right, of course. Otherwise we’re on mac n cheese from a box.’

You laughed, his need to please and impress you helping you feel a bit better about yourself, 'That would suit me just fine too, don’t worry. Shall I do something to help?’

'No way, you just sit there and let me try to prove what a great chef I am… at making paella and paella only.’

He set about chopping, crushing, sautéing, and boiling as he asked you questions about your week and as you watched him and he led the easy conversation, you did feel yourself relax, the tension ebbing out of your shoulders, the muscles around your spine finding a more comfortable position. It was nice watching him work his way around the kitchen. You could almost forget the whole Hollywood thing. He was just a normal guy, trying to impress a girl by making her a meal.

He’d noticed your wine glass was empty and pointed it out, 'I’m terrible host, would you like a top up?’

You immediately jumped up, fully aware that he was at a crucial stage in the preparation of the meal and said, 'I’ll get it, don’t worry.’

As you darted towards the fridge, so did he, the result being that you collided together, hands on the door handle.

You both laughed awkwardly and apologised before the tension simmering between you took over and he gazed down at you, bodies pressed against one another.

'You’re really hot, do you know that?’ you told him, the wine clearly having gotten rid of ninety nine point nine per cent of your inhibitions.

'Well, I’ve been slaving away in the kitchen, haven’t I?’ He retorted, just a hint of cheeky cockiness crossing his features, 'Body temperature is bound to have risen a little.’

'That’s not what I meant and you know it,’ you whispered, lost in his eyes.

'I know,’ he grinned back, bringing his head down just enough to whisper in your ear, 'I find you extremely hot too. Especially in this silky dress.’

You reached up for his neck exactly as his hands encased your ribs on either side and he spun you ninety degrees so your back was pressed against the fridge door, pinned there by his body. He stared at you intensely, eyes searching your face for something… what, exactly, you didn’t know but he dipped his head and kissed you tentatively, almost experimentally, before pulling back to look at you again. Time seemed to slow and you were all to aware of your laboured breathing and the cool, smooth surface of the refrigerator door at your back.

'Chris..?’ your voice was low and raspy.

'Yes?’ He whispered back.

'The paella’s about to burn,’ you told him, inclining your head towards the view you had of the stove.

He let go of you instantly with a curse and covered the short distance across his kitchen in no more than two strides, removing the pan from the heat immediately.

You took a steadying breath and pushed yourself off the fridge, just about able to trust your legs.

'I think I’ve saved it,’ Chris poked at the contents of the pan as you headed back to the breakfast bar.

'So, the mac n cheese will live to see another day,’ you replied jokingly, trying to dilute some of the crackling tension in the room.

'It will. It’s day will come however. We can be sure of that.’

He plated the food and slid the plates across the counter: one for you and one in the place where he would sit once he was on the right side of the breakfast bar.

'I never did get you that wine,’ he remembered and stopped at the fridge on his way past to pull the bottle from the shelf in the door.

'No, apparently we’re both very easily distracted.’

'I blame the dress,’ Chris decided as he sat down.

'Well, you know, the dress can go any time, if you find it so inconvenient. Just say the word.’ Wow, talk about Dutch courage.

He raised his eyebrow with a smirk as he considered you and murmured, 'Now there’s a thought. I’ll keep that in mind.’

Your face heated under his gaze and then the moment was broken as he poured a measure of wine into your glass.

'Now, apologies if this is actually barely edible but I gave it my best shot.’

'It looks and smells delicious, Chris. Thank you.’

'You’re welcome,’ he picked up his fork, flashed you a boyish smile and waited for you to do the same before tucking in.

***

Chris’ paella was fantastic and the decadent chocolate fondant he’d served up with vanilla ice cream was a surprise too. You’d tried to be as ladylike as possible with tiny little bites but Chris had given you a sidelong glance and smirked.

'Go on, just go for it, I know you’re desperate to.’

You’d laughed bashfully and started eating with more gusto. Inside, you were dancing. He’d remembered your favourite dessert.

Once you had cleared your plate, you leaned back in your chair with a satisfied sigh.

'Well, Chris, you’ve earned yourself some definite brownie points tonight.’

'Oh yeah?’ he smiled around his wine glass as he took a sip, 'And what will my prize be?’

'You tell me Evans. That’s what you brought me here for, after all, right?’ you told him in what you hoped was your most breathy, most seductive voice as you slid a brave hand up his thigh. This was better, you thought, if you were controlling the situation, it gave you something to focus on other than your frayed nerves.

But, there was a problem, that much was evident almost instantly. You could see his brow furrow in response and you were instantly on the defensive, snatching your hand back. Had you got this all wrong? Oh god. This was so humiliating. You watched him in horror, starting and ending sentence after sentence as he obviously tried to phrase his rejection of you in the most diplomatic way possible.

'I… didn’t,’ he stopped again, let out a breath and ran a hand through his hair.

You just wanted to put him out of his misery, call a cab and go home to curl up in a ball in the middle of your bed and die. You were never going out with a guy again, not if it always ended up with you reading signals wrong and embarrassed beyond belief.

'Look, Chris, sorry. I’ve obviously just read this whole thing wrong, so I’ll just call myself a cab and be out of the way…’

You heard him begin to speak but you were already up on your feet and hunting down your bag to find your phone. Maybe Grace would come and pick you up actually. That way you could cry all the way home without judgement.

You retrieved you bag from where you had left it next to his sofa and opened it up, only to feel a strong grip around your upper arm, a gentle pressure turning you to face what you knew would be a look of sheer pity.

'Hey, wait. What are you doing? This isn’t what I-’

’-look, I get it. I knew this was too good to be true. My friend will come get me, it’s fine,’ you began fumbling with your phone, refusing to look up at him, until a calm hand covered the screen and your own hand.

'Will you just stop for a second, please? If you really want to go home, I’ll take you myself but first, you need to listen to me. So please, just look up at me.’

You felt a finger under your chin, softly drawing your face up to meet his gaze. You tried to remember to breathe in and out. This was torture.

His expression was wary, but a smile appeared when your eyes met.

'Now, I’m sorry about my reaction just then. It kind of threw me, is all. You are wildly attractive, believe me, but I didn’t bring you here purposefully for sex. This isn’t a set up or a seduction. There wasn’t an endgame other than getting to know each other a little bit more. You’re here because I like spending time with you and I wanted to just have a more relaxed date with you, that’s all. There was no expectation.’

You processed this information, trying to take it all in. Slightly overwhelmed, you blew a breath out, the hair that had collected around your face flying backwards. You considered his words and decided it wasn’t exactly a rejection but there was still one thing you needed to get straight.

'So… do you want to have sex with me or not?’ There was nothing seductive or breathy about your voice this time. This was a question you needed answering honestly and quickly, for your own sanity more than anything.

In a not-too-encouraging response, he barked out a laugh before cupping your jaw in both his hands, edging forward so your bodies were even closer together.

The blue of his eyes was darker than usual, it seemed, and seemed to sparkle as he answered.

'Yes,’ he breathed out, 'Of course I do. Probably more than is gentlemanly. But, after this, I think I’m leaving the ball firmly in your court.’

You were entranced, unable to tear your eyes away from his, his palms holding your head fast.

'Me? I have to…’

He gave one definitive nod, 'You decide when and where.’

You were both silent for a moment, each considering the other, weighing up this new deal that had been made. In that moment, you realised you wanted him. Like right now. From the moment you left that voicemail with Grace, you knew that sex with Chris tonight was inevitable, and not because he’d invited you to his house, or cooked you a meal, or prepared your favourite dessert, but because he was fucking sexy as hell and was probably going to be incredible in bed. All you really wanted was him to show you a good time, and for him to be blown away by how amazing you looked in your lingerie. This required a ballsy move and a deep breath.

You had a new set in your face, reflecting the determination you felt at the core of your being, steeling yourself and letting yourself recall every single moment he’d let on just how sexy he found you. You wrapped your fingers around his wrists and tugged them down gently as you stepped back just once. Keeping your eyes unwaveringly on his, you slid your fingers under one cami strap, sliding it down your arm and freeing it. You raised an eyebrow at Chris, almost challenging him to stop you, before freeing your other arm from the dress and letting the whole garment plummet to the floor, the silky material flowing over your curves.

And there you stood, shameless and, you hoped, confident, in your dusky pink lacy lingerie set, strappy heels and nothing else. Chris swallowed hard, caught like a deer in headlights.

'I believe,’ you began, 'that if the ball was in my court, I’ve just sent you a pretty hard serve. Fancy a volley, Chris?’

He nodded slowly, unblinking, before launching into action, lurching forwards to snake his arms around around your waist and walking you backwards with his mouth pressed roughly to yours. He led you until your back was against a wall and he pressed his body into yours, forcing the breath from your lungs. You brought one leg up, bent at the knee and bracing your foot flat against the wall, cradling his body between your legs, rolling your hips against his.

He hissed, pulling his mouth from yours minutely.

'Fuck. Do you have any idea what you do to me?’

'Show me,’ you whispered.

'Not here. I’m doing this properly. Come on.’

Gripping your hand, he tugged you off the wall and led you down the hall, pulling you into a dark room. He switched a lamp on from somewhere and a warm glow filled the room. The momentary reprieve had made all those insecurities come flooding back to the surface and you stood, in what was clearly Chris’ bedroom with your arms wrapped awkwardly around your near-naked body.

'So this is where the magic happens,’ you tried to joke, the quiver evident in your voice.

He reached out an arm for you and pulled you into his embrace, back to his chest, praising your arms from around you and replacing them with his.

'Don’t try and hide yourself from me. You’re so beautiful, head to toe, inside and out.’

He planted soft, open mouthed kisses along your neck and shoulder and you leaned your head the opposite way to give him better access, eyes rolling back in your head at the sensation. His hands smoothed over your stomach and hips, travelling down to cup your butt. A giggle escaped you at his touch and you spun around in his arms, steadying yourself by gripping his shoulders, realising just then that he was still fully clothed. You ran your hands down his chest, tugging at the hem of his Henley. Pulling it upwards, he manoeuvred to help you pull it over his head and throw it behind you.

Trying really hard not to focus on just how crazily sculpted he was in comparison to your own, incredibly normal and regular body, you let him capture your mouth again as you travelled south towards his belt and jeans.

'If this is… too fast, just say so,’ Chris breathed out even as you hastily fumbled with his buckle. 'You’ve seemed on edge all evening and I… don’t want to be the cause of that.’

'Chris, it’s not too fast. I just… you’re fucking sculpted from marble. Look at you. How I am supposed to… can we have the lights off?’ You pushed his jeans down to the floor, trying to distract him.

'Are you kidding me? Baby…’ he kicked his jeans out of the way, 'Come over here.’

He tugged you towards another door in the room, opening it out and revealing a full length mirror on the back.

'Just stand here,’ he pulled you in front of the mirror and stood behind you, 'Can’t you see what I see?’

His hands brushed your hair to one side so he could lay kisses against the sensitive place where your neck met your shoulder. His hands travelled your ribs, down and then back up, lazy and slow, before unclipping your bra and letting it fall to the floor. You looked at yourself as he worked your body, lips swollen and parted, eyes heavy lidded, lolling your head to one side to allow Chris to suck at and tease your skin.

One hand travelled down your stomach, toying with the edge of your lacy underwear, the dusky rose creamy and decadent against your colouring. He dipped his fingers under, just slightly, and you watched him in the mirror, arms encasing you, and you looked at yourself, wanton and writhing.

He kept going, dipping lower, teasing your clit and you watched his fingers moving under your lingerie as he ever so slowly circled and stroked through your heat and wetness. The sight alone was enough to make you whine, and the sensation was already causing a slight wobble in your knees.

He slowly circled you, never taking his hand away from you.

'We look pretty hot together right?’ He whispered in your ear, and all you could do was nod as you tried to grind against his fingers.

He sank to his knees in front of you and you immediately tried to edge away but he held you fast by your hips.

'Don’t take your eyes off us in the mirror,’ he directed you and you just about managed to breathe out an 'okay’.

You threaded your fingers in his hair and watched you both in the mirror. You could see yourself, with Chris on his knees in front of you, back to the mirror but you were able to see the intricate patterns of his muscles in his back, flexing as he moved his arms.

You could feel his fingers over your underwear, pressing the material into your wetness, letting the skimpy material soak it all up.

It wasn’t long before he hooked his fingers around the material and pulled the whole piece of lace down your legs, revealing you to him completely. He held your panties still while you stepped out of them, using his shoulder to help steady yourself. He placed gentle butterfly kisses against your thighs, travelling upwards a couple of inches before swapping to the other one, and, so deftly and expertly that you barely even noticed, he nudged your legs apart to provide himself with better access to one part of you he wanted to get to know very intimately indeed.

Chris continued his kisses, only pausing to ask, 'Are you still looking at us in the mirror?’

'Uh huh,’ was your only reply. You could feel his fingertips gliding over your skin getting ever closer to where all the heat in your body was currently radiating from and as you watched him in the mirror, you could see his hands working torturously slowly towards that spot. You tried not to grip him too hard but it was proving difficult as the anticipation grew and grew. The pressure was building within you and you knew that if you’d ever felt like this when you were alone, you’d already have two fingers inside yourself, pumping impatiently towards orgasm.

As it was, however, you had an incredibly sexy man on his knees in front of you and he was going at his own pace, teasing you, cranking you up notch by notch with every purposeful avoidance of your clit as his fingers and lips darted around your lower body, everywhere but right there.

'Chris…’ your voice was barely more than a breath, 'Please.’

He looked up at you sweetly, making you feel worshipped.

'Please what, baby?’

'Please just touch me. I can’t… I need…’ it was almost a sob.

'Okay, okay, I got you,’ his voice was calm, reassuring and you watched him in the mirror lean forward, the intricate pattern of muscles in his back flexing and locking with each minute shift. Then, you felt, rather than saw, one broad, thick stroke of his tongue over your clit and you couldn’t control the moan that tumbled from your lips.

His fingers took over what he couldn’t reach with his tongue in this position and before long you could feel one, then two digits sliding obscenely in and out of you. It was easy, barely any friction, wet as you were, but he moved and shifted and changed angle and explored you so that every touch was new, no part of you that he hadn’t felt out.

You watched yourself in the mirror, carding his hair with your fingers, lips parted, a pink blush over your entire body, your legs quivering under your weight. You could see his head bobbing, could see the muscles in his neck twitching as his jaw and tongue moved against you, could see his tricep pumping as his fingers slid in and out of you. Everything was so intense, all the sensations in your body plus being able to see the two of you together in the mirror, you were scared you wouldn’t be able to hold yourself up if you came here and you could feel the coil in the pit of your stomach tightening in that tell tale way. His ministrations were relentless, giving your body no reprieve, and your hands tightened in his hair.

He must have felt your weight beginning to collapse against him because all of a sudden he rose quickly, leaving you just on the cusp of an orgasm. Disappointment flooded you on instinct but when he started backing you up towards the bed, you were glad. He leaned forward to kiss you as you took careful steps backwards and you could taste yourself on his tongue. There you were, your mark all over him, and that thought only intensified the excitement in your body. You wanted him in you, over you, claiming you, right now. You pushed his boxers down as he walked and he stepped out of them as you wrapped one soft hand around his hard cock. You revelled in the hiss it brought forth from him as you ran your thumb over the tip, spreading the precum forming there.

The bed hit the back of your legs and you immediately sat down, looking up at him in awe, still working his dick in your hand. He leaned forward again, capturing your mouth with his, guiding you backwards until your back hit the sheets. His hand travelled the length of your body again, heading straight for your clit and circling it slowly, just enough the keep the sensitivity building but not enough to let your orgasm explode.

‘Chris… condom… now,’ you forced out breathlessly against his mouth and you felt, rather than saw, him shift one arm towards the night stand, rummaging around blindly, never taking his mouth from your lips, your jaw, you throat.

Your hips began to undulate in anticipation, searching out his dick, hungry to have him inside you, and finally you heard the tell tale sound of a package being ripped open and then a few moments of stillness. You propped yourself up on elbows, watching in fascination as he rolled the condom over his thick length, admired his dick standing proudly, jutting out, ready for you.

You spread your legs wider and he pulled you towards him by the hips. He was still standing, bracing his legs against the edge of the bed, and you knew this was going to be hard and fast. You giggled helplessly as your body was pulled across the sheets and you tried to catch your breath in readiness. You wrapped your legs around his hips, your butt hovering off the surface of the bed and he slid his cock through your heat a few times, letting you feel his hardness against your clit. He teased your entrance each time, never pressing in, just gliding over, and you were getting antsy.

He grinned down at you, knowing exactly the effect he was having.

‘You ready, baby girl?’

‘More than.’

He cupped your butt, holding you firm, and you watched as he lined himself up. Not able to look away, you watched him sink into you, his whole length disappearing into your body in one swift movement and you let out an obscene, wanton moan. It felt so, so good. He filled you exactly, just enough stretch and just deep enough to intensify the feeling he already been building tonight.

Then he moved. Increasing speed with each thrust, rocking against you, controlled but with an edge of wildness that betrayed his own pleasure. You could do nothing but be shunted against the sheets as he took complete control of your body. Your head fell back against the mattress, unable to support it anymore and you sobbed out into the night as each thrust drove you higher, pulling the orgasm from within you.

He kept it up, the relentless pace, and you could process nothing, feel nothing, be aware of nothing except him and all too soon you were on the edge and tumbling over, clamping around him hard and you felt him slump forward against you as his own orgasm hit. He found your mouth and kissed you long and deep, still rocking against you as he milked both your orgasms, and you linked your ankles behind his back, wanting to keep him there for as long as possible.

He leant up, brushing your hair from your face, planting kisses here, there and everywhere, stopping every so often just to gaze at you, still inside you.

‘That was intense,’ and there was an edge of apology to his voice, ‘I totally had his idea that I’d go all slow and sensual the first time, but I…’

‘Don’t you dare apologise. Literally never come so hard,’ you cut him off.

‘Really?’ He asked, pride in his voice.

‘Don’t go getting all big headed about it now.’

‘Promise not to,’ he insisted as he planted yet more kisses against your mouth, quickly turning into slow and lazy making out. ‘Is it bad that I just want to have sex with you all night now?’

You pretended to think about it, ‘Hmm, I could probably put up with that.’

You gasped as he slipped out of you, feeling the emptiness keenly and immediately wanting him back. He got up, removing the condom as he went, and headed for the bathroom.

He lay down next to you when he returned, rolling you on top of him and kissing you again, tongue in your mouth, hands running over your naked body.

You pulled up just to look at his face and smile at him in your post-orgasmic haze.

‘What?’ He asked in response to your gaze.

‘Nothing. Just excited for slow and sensual now.’

He grinned at you, ‘Give me thirty minutes and then I’ll show you slow and sensual so good you’ll barely be able to stand it.’

You giggled, gently nipping at his lips with pecking kisses.

‘Can’t wait,’ you told him honestly.

#chris evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans imagine #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you

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