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seb-owns-these-tatas · 5 years ago

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Witcher of the Night (Chapter 16)

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER.

UPDATES FOR WITCHER OF THE NIGHT WILL BE PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY NOW IN MY TIME (GMT +8)

CHAPTER 15.1

WITCHER OF THE NIGHT MASTERLIST

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: A horny and insecure witcher decided to talk what his mind has been keeping; making you see how much of a man he was that was worth to choose and be chosen.

Warnings: NSFW 18+. (Yep. Again. Love it while it lasts, bb’s. Hehehe.) Some witcher in a rut. Finger sucking. Cream pie. Smut. Size kink. (I meant Geralt’s body build. LMAO *I base this story on the show. Not the game or books.*) an irritated bard? Ahehehehe. Nakedness? Geralt being soft and honest? (*screams*)

A/N: I was drained from the last chapter and I’ve taken a break. I was supposed to not update today due to it. I hope you can lend at least a minute to reblog or give me feedback, ghost readers out there! 💟 There ain’t no moments like this anymore because the plot will take its place on the next chapters! ENJOY WHILE IT LASTS!

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE! Sorry for the grammatical errors and such because English isn’t my mother tongue!

Disclaimer: PNG’s and pictures used in edits are not mine even the GIF’s too. However, the edits and oneshots are definitely from moi (GIF credits: littlechinesedoll)

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

GERALT OF RIVIA WAS IN A RUT.

You were sure he was after being fucked into oblivion by the witcher for countless of times already; taking a lot of orgasms in just about eight hours? He was lucky that he was a mutant. However, in your side? It was unfortunate because your stamina was weaker than his.

Your poor punani has been overworked and wrecked again. Lungs seem to be incapacitated, dangerously reaching the critical level for accepting Geralt's wishes; another round of ceaseless bliss in which you certainly didn't defy. Pants and wheezes were muddled against the mattress as you shoved your face on it, vigorously being burrowed from behind.

Here you thought; feeling mighty and confident that you could take and last for how long his enhanced self would.

Technically, you were wrong. Utterly wrong.

Was it round twenty-five already? Thirty? You may never know because every time Geralt finishes, his girth somehow magically becomes stone hard again like he never spilled himself inside you. If only he wasn't sterile, you were probably about to get pregnant with little witchers somehow based on how he always milks you in; like you were his pet, letting you take it good.

The white wolf's libido was overly developed as well. As you were told by the man, himself. He could go on for hours, days and even weeks, nailing you repeatedly until you have no energy to comprehend what was happening, and you were sure that his enhancement with the desires he had was a perk and also a disadvantage for your weak self who had her virginity taken just days ago.

Your sexual experiences are being expanded and learned by Geralt, not knowing before that you had a size kink of being choked in his own weight above yours, baptizing every nook and space in their home like animals in heat and being treated like you were such a fragile little thing before being corrupted; tainting your once chastised soul.

The witcher was a person who had given you a different outlook in life. Bringing you to a wonderland in the midst of being railed repeatedly; consistent with his rigorous, shameless pounding from the back. Brusque. Sharp. Perfect for the angle that hits the perfect spot, polishing your hole that has sent you ripples and waves of glory.

Geralt's moans were withdrawn, holding back those sounds of pleasure from ponderously watching his girth push and slither inside your heat. His mouth tightly shut and thick eyebrows scrunched in rapture. Aureate eyes intensely concentrated on his hard cock slowly drilling back, keeping his bulbous head in before slowly drawling back like he like watching you be filled with his girth; admiring how you were stretched around his hardened cock.

He'd felt your body intensely tremble beneath his.

Your knees were quivering with every plunge. Warm drizzles of your cunt leaking with a mixture of his fluid and yours together; like art combined with a color that creates a new one. The room smelled like sex and sweat with a scent of fresh grass because of how the windows were wide opened.

Nobody would see you both in such a debauched position, right? you've thought that when Geralt has lowered you down against the mattress, his weight crushing and pinning you down, quickly getting to his job; sticking his girth inside of you like he never would get tired of doing so after basically baptizing the hallway through the second floor.

Elbows began to feel sore. A desperate whine began to gurgle from your dry throat. Hand tightly grabbing onto one of his that laid on the curvatures of your hips, dragging you back to his swollen girth with every shove; filling you over and over like how you deserved because you've been a good girl. Every time he did, Geralt never misses the spot that could bring you into another restless, writhing orgasm.

The filthy sound of skin slapping on skin came with icherous slimy caresses of your nectar coating each other's carnal greed. Noise came with his bedpost hitting the wall like a maddened gorilla raging out of its cage, when all of a sudden; you've heard Kolby's strange bark that seem to come from the first floor, alarming you both that his family has already came back. Yet, here you were, splayed below the witcher and still getting driven to his extremes.

Geralt pulled his hand away from the bed post, leaving a print and a crack of his hand against the wood. His fingers slid through your dangling breasts, palms groping your teat as he began to knead onto it like a cat trying to suckle from his mother; claws out as he tweaked your sensitive nipple in one breast to the other. Simultaneously changing hands as he continued to reach you both to the edge of Nirvana.

Then, you've heard laughter and complaining downstairs.

"Geralt," you started with a mewl, your body being rocked from behind, the sheets thoroughly disheveled from your tiring day activities. His hand that fondled your teat trailed up your body; while the other glided down for what throbbing nub that was needed attention for another release.

His palm gently met your mouth when you've began to moan from his fingers touching your clit, rubbing and circling it the right, pleasuring way while he went on with his ceaseless ramming.

"Hnnng," you whimpered, voice muffled from his large, calloused hand that covered your mouth; hushing you from any noise that could echo out of the room.

The way he was manhandling you does it. From the moment he tried shushing you up, your heat began to clench around him. Your body squirming and thrashing under his skin. Weakened from the sudden action as it made you tremble; feeling the coil beginning to snap with just a few more jabs.

More thuds and unfathomable complaints echoed outside the room. With Jaskier finally knowing what caused the commotion that he somehow managed to be in. Geralt didn't seem to be bothered about the fact that their table has been wrecked; though, the bard might say otherwise.

His plowing slackened when you’ve felt him breath heavily from behind,

"Shhhh. Quiet down, midget." he clasped his palms tighter on your mewling mouth; hearing his breathless grunts above you was making you squirm in his hold. It didn't take you another lewd moan when Geralt's thick index and middle finger skid in between the pillows of your lips, an act of pacifying your noise down which has gotten an elicit of your juices flowing down your thighs, soaking you more than ever. But, you never did deliberate to suck on those fingers like how your mind has told you.

The smutty action was enough for him to briefly glance down at you, engrossed and captivated by a never expected bustles from his naive, greenhorn of a woman.

Another weakened moan was muffled beneath the palm that clasped your mouth. Your fingers trying to wrench his own away from slightly pinching on your sensitive clit, dragging you to where you wanted.

Neverland. Nirvana. Heaven. Where ever you could experience bliss.

Or basically Geralt's bed because you were currently being brought to the edge of the rainbows.

He was persistent and continued rubbing on your nub, his thick, long fingers thoroughly drenched from your arousal.

"Ugh---Hmm. fuck." the white haired witcher deeply grunted and moaned, his jutting hips bottoming out as he continued his desperate, urgent drives. Thrusts turning reckless. Panting breaths like dogs in heat; embracing every bit of his urgency to reach the floating clouds.

Your real name has slipped out of his tongue, sounding so lewd which has taken you over the edge. Knees began to shake as the high took over. Muscles clenching and also your cunt tightly choking his girth to spill his seed, urging him to thoroughly coat your insides. Another loud breathless grunt left his ajar lips; the sweat dripping down his temples as it also drenched his chest from all the activities. His heartbeat was running miles after miles, chasing to catch yours.

"G-Geralt, Geralt, Geralt!" you've salaciously cried out with every sloppy thrusts in the midst of having a muscle spasm; choking in the blast of euphoria when he'd took his hand off your mouth, grabbing onto yours which has been holding onto the headboards for dear life. Hence, as the witcher pulled your hand away; he'd done the unexpected.

Geralt of Rivia has sweetly peppered the back of your hands with honeyed kisses to soothe your convulsion; treating you like he wasn't fucking you to oblivion nor corrupting you from behind.

You've heard his breath hitch. The way he'd dropped his large hand on the mattress over your small ones, gripping onto it hard; you knew he came. He'd panted heavily above you, the new position being surrounded by his gigantic warmth. Your juices soaking your inner thighs as his load shot inside you. All warm and cozy; giving you a fuzzy feeling inside your chest that you couldn't explain.

He never pulled out until he was finished. You were so full of him, his seed dripping out of your cunt when his semi-flaccid cock dragged out of your overused pussy, telling him how he’d filled you more than he planned to. Your knees eventually buckled and lost its will to be useful for you; your face down on the pillow, running short of breath as you planted over the tousled sheets.

Geralt laid on the bed beside you, his large body built turned to you with an arm tucked below his head. Basking in all his glory and sweat with amber eyes solely worried for your weary form. You sounded like you were wheezing as he hovered over to pull the blankets over your waist, shielding you over the cold, crisp wind of the afternoon dew. Your whole body coated in the satiny sliver of your sweat combined with his and the witcher couldn't help but take in the view that he longed to be habituated once again before you came along.

Did he...actually break you while being drilled? he silently thought at the back of his tousled, half tied chalky white hair.

"Midget?" He softly muttered, using an elbow to peer down before you. Aureate eyes lingering a little bit longer. His fingers extending to graze along the line of sweat that covered your spine before reconsidering, hands ought to brush your disheveled hair away from your face, taking his time as he glided his fingers down through the side of your face.

He doted on the spent image of your sprawled body in the middle of his bed. Your heart turning more warmer than it ever could when you've felt him watching you over, the blankets glazing atop of your skin as you've closed your eyes, trying to steady back your breathing.

"I'm...fine. Just...spent. Let me...breathe," you breathlessly whispered.

"Hmm."

His faint, vibrating hum slowly calmed the fluttering butterflies flapping their wings inside your stomach. He earnestly cast his eyes over you. The thick pad of his fingers tracing along the hairs of your arm; giving you a shiver, padding down till the tips of yours before strikingly filling in the gaps of your fingers with his. Such a simple action making your heart feel snug with a hint of palpitation from the sudden, unusual gesture from the white wolf.

Well, he was certainly learning.

You've taken a peek from under the flat fuzz of your pillows; seeing amiable, tired, tender eyes. Rough, large palms delicately scraping through your soft ones, entwined amongst the unkempt silk of sheets from the result of your passionate tupping.

With your eyes still shut, a jaded admission was sent to the latter; assuming things from your negative state of mind. This always happens in the movies, right? the small voice in the back of your mind stated. After all the blissful moments, complication and problems tries to hinder over the blithe that wanted you to believe that this was a much of a miracle to happen.

It was subtly telling you that your presence in their world had a time limit because you didn't belong to their world in the first place. Salt came pinching down your heart at the sudden realization of that; getting a gist of feeling by choosing to live in their world forever, there were instances that would get you coming back from your dimension. Every felicitious moment feeling like it was all temporary and a fleeting scene in your mind.

The idea struck like a lightning. You didn't belong to their world; nor do you fit in.

Such a change of heart that you wanted to scurry home since the first day you've arrived; thinking that everything was just a dream or a nightmare that couldn't wake you up. But, in this exact moment; you felt like not wanting to go home.

"Why do I feel like you wouldn't come back after your hunt?" you weakly muttered; brushing off the infectious thought that could bring the felicity down; pulling yourself closer to him. You've tossed the bad shadows trying to lure you in as you've focused on the golden light that Geralt could let you see through. His warm breath fanned your face as you heavily sighed out the worry crippling out of your chest.

"You're overthinking." he deeply rasped, hearing him breath steady; sounding like his declaration had a double meaning. His thumbs brushed over your knuckles as he continued to reassure your troubled self, "---I never leave nor would I plan to. My family is my home,"

Geralt collected his thoughts, breaking through the spell you've always had to cast him in. Only your exquisite scent being the fire to thaw his walls down. It took him seconds before bluntly saying his next words, making you flutter your eyes open to see him softly smiling back at you. His tone warm, comforting and nesh for your sensitive, soft heart soul.

"---you are also my home. I'll always come back to you---always will find you,"

Those words that he stunningly said made your heart skip a beat. The cicatrix glowing beneath the sheets without you knowing, ecstatic of what has come out from his lips as a burst of bliss spread right through your chest.

You've felt the adrenaline rush from his sudden admission and change of aura; abruptly making you nail your elbows on the table, repeatedly blinking back at the witcher when you've felt the balmy cloud of warmth spread around your eyes; close enough for you to cry and you languidly leaned down to his very peaceful face to softly give him a kiss on the lips in which he gladly reciprocated.

No. This wasn't sweet nothings where he tries to win over your heart. His words was a declaration of breaking those walls down for you. It was a key for you to come hopping in, an invitation of seeing the real him; his vulnerable side that nobody ever sees.

Hence, this was the first time you've had someone showing you what it felt to be important, needed and cared for. A person with real intentions. Sensations which you never knew it existed or believed that you would ever get to experience such.

Nevertheless, it took you a trip to another dimension just to have it.

Your mouth left his with a euphonious twang. There was no rush to the kiss or any type of greed. Just a succulent sharing of what you wanted him to feel from your quiet response of what he said. It needed no words of approval or even a shedding of your tears; erasing the worries away if you started bawling your eyes out from his secrets that he whispered. His thick brows furrowed in a questionable expression, intently eyeing your dewy peepers staring back at him. Utterly fond. The witcher feeling as if there was profound affection deep within your eyes as you tried to shield them over with that twinkling gaze of yours.

He knew what he was seeing or feeling from you. But, he chose to ignore as of the moment.

"Jaskier's fond of you," he abruptly admitted, downright apathetic; his gravel tone expressing a mixture of interest and a little bit of doubt, not for you but for himself.

That simple display of what you've visibly felt made your heart soften a lot more than it ever could. Finding it hard to believe that this person slash mutant in front of you also had his own issues, sounding diffident with just conferring about this surprising fact he noticed from his friend who seemed to be catching feelings for you that certainly was quite difficult to believe.

You were biting the tips of your tongue from saying anything further more, pulling back from driving too fast that maybe Geralt was falling behind.

"Jaskier? Your Jaskier? The bard who always tries to ruin my day? you’re hallucinating, Geralt." you wanted to snort from his accusation.

Geralt has given you a dirty look, appearing to look like he has issues with you that he didn't want to expand as he kept his silence and continued to send a grimace. Was he hallucinating? Were he hallucinating when he'd read those words upon your lips hours ago? Was your endearment just a slip of your tongue? A simple caught up in the heat of the moment?

Was he also just hallucinating when you’ve called him ‘love’?

"Am I, really?" the witcher stated flat, sending a displeased hum as he subtly played with the softness of your fingers clutched to his bigger ones.

Your eyes turned wide from his deadpan, "What did I do? That banter sounded sarcastic, kitty!"

The latter slowly blinked, dragging a sigh as his baritone timbre turned stern and also meek no matter how hard he tried to cover it up from the roughness that he wanted it to sound like, you could read between the lines and sure enough, he was self-effacing from his friend who was also fond of you.

"Do...you like the bard?" he hesitatingly trailed off. The question ending with a pause as it sounded completely unforthright. You've given him a tender beam; child like and masking with nothing but innocence, affection and understanding, "Go on. I'm listening. Tell me what's on your mind," you started, seeing his tight lipped mouth shut. Those amber eyes briefly looking away from you,

"---Come on, please? Let me understand and see through the good heart that I've always believed in,"

Geralt gave it a moment. Exactly a minute as you've accepted the tranquil silence with him. Such silence that you have never imagined to be so comforting because back in your apartment, the stillness was eerie and cold; imagining hands trying to take your soul away from surviving a life by working in another country where you had no one but you.

"You're...significant to me." his glowing amber eyes turned heartfelt, shooting warmth through your skin and chest, "---you are a lot to handle. An unorthodox in my dimension. Yet, despite that, you're the havoc I didn't know I needed,"

"You're calling me chaotic. How sweet of you," you deadpanned, snorting from his metaphors that got you successfully rolling your eyes back at him.

"Your existence brought me sheer confusion about you. But, I'd rather have that befuddlement than to not be with you,"

Destiny brought you to him. Those assumptions he'd taken into consideration was now taken into account. Thus, destiny just needed this to not fuck it up. It shouldn't because he much rather not imagine how it would happen nor how he would be able to accept such fate laid before him.

"Jaskier's...a friend---he's important to me," he continued, feeling your other hand fall onto the side of his face; soft fingers tracing along the scar on his forehead and cheekbones with that glimmer in your eyes that make him want to give you another kiss; readable in your peepers was the acceptance he never knew he needed so badly, "---No matter how annoying he is. He's still my companion. A real...friend. I've seen how comfortable you are with him, saw how compatible you were with the bard,"

You've stopped brushing your fingers along his marks. Your free hand sluggishly propping below your chin as you've peered down. A small grin curling your lips, "When have you been a love guru? Does this version of you come up with a graphic chart that tells how many percentages do I seem to be compatible with Jaskier?"

He kept silent, staring straight into your eyes with a lukewarm expression; not understanding your references.

You've given him a faint raise of your brow, skeptically looking at him with an amused flicker of your peepers, "You've seen us that night. Explains why Jaskier was ranting about the door you've broken,"

Geralt kept his mouth tightly shut, shortly looking away before giving you a pensive response, "I've already fixed it---and you know it was not just about that,"

Pulling your closed fist under your chin, you've tilted your head to the side. Pleased by his tamed reaction as you've leaned closer to his face, adoring Geralt's sublime features that never fails to charm you everyday. His charisma totally knocking your wits out as you could finally see more of his true self.

You started, your words smoothly dancing per word; sounding utmost sincere and in wonder, "People in your world say witchers don't feel emotions," even being disregarded like they weren't humans, you silently added much more to yourself when you paused to talk, "---Well, my witcher is exactly the opposite because you're full of it even though you sound unenthusiastic all the time---comes with the mutations, I guess?"

The soft look in his eyes warmed your soul. Attentive of the stars that seem to float inside those amber pair; looking like he'd caught them for you. He stayed silent, never breaking his gaze away from you nor planning to move away from your body close to his.

"Do you want me to be with the bard?" your question caught him off guard, keenly reading through what your eyes wanted to say. The query sounding like it was just a quip.

"Will that make you happy?"

Geralt warily asked, completely earnest of what he said that made you bite the inner plump of your lips. There was a long amount of silence, contemplating what made him think that way, even considering the idea of never getting in the way when you'll choose another person than him. Was he even real?

Your smile fell a little at the question, swiftly unwrapping your hands entwined with his which ignited a tight frown from the witcher when he miscalculated the sudden gesture. But, those dreadful thoughts ceased when you've poked his muscular chest, the part where his heart loudly beat beneath the pad of your index finger.

"Will that make...YOU happy?" you slowly emphasized and returned the question, intently gazing above him. When he never answered and stayed quiet, it was the right time to say words that couldn't be kept to yourself. You've forgotten to bite your tongue from saying anything further less.

"---But, YOU make me happy, Geralt of Rivia. Isn't that enough reason to choose you?"

Keen golden eyes deeply gazed into yours, as genuine than it has ever been before; sucking you in and having no chance to escape from the resplendent color of his hues. Geralt moved beneath to help himself by using his elbow, his sudden elevation making you tilt your head back to see him deeply staring, mouth turning into a tight straight line as he rasped.

"Even if it takes for your life back in your world to be taken away from you---fuck." he abruptly stopped in the middle of his sentence, briskly taking a glimpse of the door behind you when he could hear stealthy padded footsteps hiking up the stairs.

Jaskier.

Geralt sharply sat his back on the headboard. His silvery, unkempt half-tied hair moving as he does so, the white sheets pooling just below his torso. He looked bedraggled and utterly sweaty which made it feel so fulfilling to have him in your presence looking like that. A miraculous snack. You could never have this opportunity back in earth.

You bit your lips from keeping yourself from grinning, curiously eyeing him as you mused. He deliberately scanned your exposed back, "What? What's happening?"

The latter took no questions and quickly pulled the covers over your shoulders as you laid on your front, slightly elevated with the help of your arms tucked under. He loudly sighed, sitting back on the wooden board. Recognizable footfall thumping louder and closer before a wind up bard barged in the room without knocking or announcing his presence.

"You two!" Jaskier exclaimed, ceasing midway in the middle of the room; looking lost and piqued. His pretty face morphed into a tight frown to find you and Geralt utterly rumpled under the sheets. You tossed a look over your shoulder to see the bard straight up crashing inside like there has been no lock or whatsoever.

Geralt motioned with his hands, palms on either side to show how taken aback he was from his friend who came trudging in like he owned the place. His face hinting with displeasure. Wordlessly gesturing towards the bard with a 'What the fuck?' face.

You skeptically hushed whispers beside the witcher, timidly pulling the covers over your wild head, looking stunned as you exclaimed, "I thought you locked the room? I told you to lock it!---What if it was Cirilla?!---Don't you know what a lock is, Geralt?!"

Despite of your panicking and embarrassed state, he was entirely the opposite as he sounded lackadaisical, going on by glaring at the bard who has his face scrunched in utmost displeasure, "I didn't expect them to arrive home this early." the witcher rolled his eyes from his galled self and sent a scowl towards the bard.

Jaskier raised his brow in disbelief, "Early? We've been gone for 8 hours, Geralt!"

"Well, I thought you'll be gone for at least a day and not barge in our room after we had a 'moment', Bard. A knock would’ve suffice."

Another set of padded footsteps, this time it sounded like this person was merrily hopping through the hallway. Until a ball of Ashen hair peeked through the opened doorway with a short Hirikka standing in the middle of the threshold.

"I'm here---woah!" Cirilla seemed to be knocked out of her boots when she saw you emerging from under the covers, bashfully covering your chest with the sheets, looking mortified by everyone seeing you in that kind of state. You were glaring at the witcher who tossed your off the side for a while as he dealt with his scandalous and crazy family.

"---I knew it!" the princess of Cintra loudly clapped and jumped on her feet. Her excitement immediately dying down when she noticed that you both weren't actually clothed beneath the white blankets. She firmly crossed her arms, her nose scrunching in disgust, "---Also, gross! Please do lock the doors next time!"

She whistled at the flabbergasted Hirikka who was sniffing the whole room in bewilderment; stout stopping before the bard as he sniffed him loudly enough for Jaskier to wave his face off away from his face. Cirilla whistled another, catching the beast's attention and making Geralt wince due to his heightened hearing, "Kolby, let's go! I'm giving you a nice warm bath!" before she shut the door closed behind them when he'd run off towards the princess.

Geralt and Jasker were giving each other stern glares; seeming to be in a challenge where one shouldn't back down despite of how mean it appeared to be like.

Jaskier was the first to talk, beginning his interrogation, "Who ruined the dining table?"

You swallowed the butterflies wanting to fly out of your throat, lifting a shaky finger to point at the witcher who was still as he sat on his side of the bed, "I’m definitely not the person who has superpowers here---It's him," but, Geralt seemed to answer in the same time with you.

"No one."

Jaskier didn't seem to want and take everyone's bullshit as he crossed his arms in front of you both. Geralt's clothes on one hand and yours in the other that made a blush go straight up your whole face, burning the dignity that was left. You wanted to yell from how irresponsible you were for leaving your clothes all around the house when you promised yourself that it'll be fixed after your activity.

You didn't expect Geralt to take eight hours---or you did?----and actually forgot what was needed to remember.

"Oh, no one, Geralt? I suppose this shirt is also owned by no one, considering how unclad you are right now? Hmm. Would this tunic come from the Hirikka then?" the toubadour raised his hand where Geralt's black under tunic has been balled up.

Jaskier dramatically puffed out a sigh, sounding like it was the end of the world for what has welcomed them when they came back from their weekly visit for Cuthbert. He held forth about your sudden shenanigans around the house like a father delivering a tirade.

"We leave for eight hours and this is what you both welcomed us in," pause. "---A broken bloody table where we dine!" Another pause as he threw Geralt's clothes at his face in which he caught it perfectly, "---your clothes everywhere in the house like snakes who shed their skins anywhere they go!"

Lastly, his foot fidgeted on the wooden floors, tapping in anxiety as he remembered that tiny scratch he had seen on his beloved musical instrument, entirely galled from the wound it received like it was his baby.

"---and also my lute---my beloved lute falling on the floors! You've hurt her!"

"We didn't touch your lute," Geralt's response was tepid, lazily blinking back at the enraged bard who stood in the middle of the room.

Jaskier's raised his hands to his hips, raising a finger and opening his mouth, expression wild and ready to send another harangue before back paddling inside his train of thoughts.

He briefly shut his mouth, tilting his head to the side as he wondered out loud, "Oh, maybe the air pushed it to fall. I remembered how I left the windows opened too. However---!"

Geralt cut his verbal onslaught, his gaze narrowing at Jaskier who also didn't back down at sending a nasty lour at the entertained witcher.

"I'll fix whatever is needed to fix, bard. Stop your whining," you've felt the bed squeak and bounce. Geralt slipped his legs out of the sheets, feet plopping down the floors as he heavily sighed. It needed power; manpower for Jaskier to leave the room and Geralt knew he wouldn't leave until he pushes him out of the threshold.

The witcher stood tall and firm, completely au naturel from head to foot like how he have been when he was a baby, stark naked without being moved by the idea that Jaskier was in the same room as you. His bare ass never shaking him off and so does the bard.

"Leave. Out of my chambers, Jaskier."

Geralt sauntered to where he is. Your eyebrows raising in amusement as you've marveled over the witcher in the nude. His beautiful, rugged bare back on show with that A+ rating of his derriere in which you freely tried to memorize inside your head.

Though, you couldn't help but take a glimpse of Jaskier who seemed unfazed by this whole nakedness he was seeing; like he was familiar of the whole thing and the white wolf's dangly bits hanging and it has peaked your curiosity.

Do they bathe together then?

The bard has seen your amused smile with a skeptical brow raised to what you were witnessing. Thus, he peeked around Geralt to acknowledge your curiosity; pointing at you with a roguish grin, "That face tells that you have been swimming deep inside the vast depths of the sea, wondering why I am not bothered by the witcher's nudity---"

"Jaskier," Geralt sent a tired warning and held his slim shoulders, forcefully turning him around as he pushed him forward, towards the door.

"---It's because I have rubbed chamomile onto his lovely bottom before! It was true! I never lied! It was a part of the rules in becoming the rightful travel companion until you came along and began rubbing it for himself! Though, I doubt you did it to join our adventures!---"

You couldn't help but stifle your tee-hee from his admission. Finding their friendship amazing to the point that he does it for Geralt; receiving nothing but his altruism and adventures that the witcher has shared together with him.

Geralt loudly closed the door behind Jaskier; his mouth running on and on about how such a change of habits it has been when you came in their life. He'd knock a lot of times, calling out for the both of you and trying to want and barge in your moment but your white wolf finally knew what a lock is and slid the wooden block over the hook to lock his chambers.

"He seriously rubs chamomile on your butt?"

The skyclad man turned on his heel, raising a skeptical brow as you tried to focus hard on his face and not his body that stood before you.

"I guess that silence means yes, then. Oof, such bromance! Don't you think I'm the one who's actually becoming a hindrance between your platonic relationship with your bard?"

"Ridiculous." He took several steps closer, making you turn your head from becoming too flustered over his glorious, scarred body that he certainly isn't afraid or diffident about his imperfections anymore after you've treated them like it was a part of him that you will always accept. Geralt sat on your side, reaching over the bedside table to look beneath the drawers.

The latter placed a small, transparent bottle on your hand. A clear yellowish tone of liquid inside as you stared at it, thoroughly intrigued, "What's this? Is it another one of your witcher potions?"

Geralt hummed in negation, lifting his calloused hand to take your chin in between his fingers, turning your head to look at his ardent, shining amber, "Eucalyptus Oil. Took it from Cirilla's chambers. For you---For later. Perhaps, our recent activities had you feeling utterly spent,"

You've blinked, taken aback from his plans for whatever it is he wanted. Though, it didn't take you to put two on two together to know where his plans would take you, "Why are you---Oh. I know. I definitely know what you want." pause. "---you are insatiable, Geralt."

Geralt gently nudged your chin, tilting it up to his advantage as he leaned down to press a soft buss to your lips. Once again, he'd took your breath away by how tender he was handling you. The mere opposite of what people see and expected from because they never had the chance to walk through him; they didn’t have the courage to know who he really was.

His thumb that rested upon your chin were easily replaced with his lips, kissing you on the spot before gliding the dimples of his nose to yours, subtly giving you an Eskimo kiss.

"My overly developed lechery certainly comes from the mutation,"

Geralt's mouth lifted into a small, unusual beam, fluttering his eyes closed as he concentrated on you and that specific comfort he found. Questions came hitting him like stones, breaking the mirthful bubble that he was brought in.

He didn't want you to go home anymore because he'd found home in you.

But, what if fate had move mountains and threw his happiness away again? Leaving him no choice but to watch you go?

Taglist for WOTN: (Strikethrough means I can’t tag you, bb’s! 💖) @alyxkbrl @himarisolace @barkingbullfrog @ayamenimthiriel @hellodevilslittlesister @vania-marie @spookypeachx @grungelovebug @fangirl-inthe-us @nympeth @amirahiddleston @gabethelobster @dreaming-about-starfleet @uncoolcloudyhead @melaninstylezz @psychosupernatural @missjenniferb @dance-dreamer @marvelousell @kingniazx @angelias134 @tapismyforte @chook007 @covid-donotenter @winter-moons @cheesecakeisapie @silverkitten547 @angelofthor @carrieannewaywardson, @plantingmum, @stuckupstucky, @shesthelastjedi, @a--1--1--3, @gutfucks,

Overall witcher taglist: @pizza-eater-i-ate-the-pizza

General taglist for Henry: @agniavateira, @iloveyouyen, @rahdaleigh,

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five-miles-over · 4 years ago

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Joaquin Phoenix Characters as Cupcakes

(Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters or images. This is just a fun listicle, not designed to offend anyone. As always, please feel free to leave comments and/or constructive criticism below. Thank you, and without any further ado, please enjoy!)

Characters in this List: Theodore, Arthur, Joker, Doug Holt, Doc Sportello, Freddie, Charlie, Johnny Cash, Max, Merrill, Abbé, Jimmy Emmett, and of course, Emperor Commodus.

Theodore Twombly from “Her”: Red Velvet Cupcakes with Cream Cheese Frosting

Red is a color frequently worn by Phoenix’s character in this romantic science fiction film, and his operating system is red too. So naturally, his cupcakes would adopt his signature color. Plus, red velvet is a flavor popularly served on Valentine’s Day (not that it isn’t popular during the rest of the year), so it would be great for the loving, hopeful Theodore.

Arthur Fleck from “Joker”: Vanilla Funfetti Cupcakes

This is basically your typical yellow cake baked with brightly colored, edible decorations (known as sprinkles, jimmies, or hundreds-and-thousands). The frosting is standard vanilla and topped with even more sprinkles - hence it earns the name funfetti. (It’s like edible confetti - fun, right?)

They would certainly entertain the inner child in Arthur. The bright colors would excite him, and they’d remind him confetti at a child’s birthday party. He’d have so much fun decorating the cupcakes, too.

Joker from “Joker”: Banana Split Cupcakes

These cupcakes may look like yellow cake, but they are so much more. The banana flavor is a match for the one who certainly drives Gotham bananas with his chaotic plans and antics.

And just like how Joker may look like any other clown, these cupcakes are good at masquerading like an ice cream sundae. At first sight, you’d be totally thrown off.

Doug Holt from “Inventing the Abbotts”: Strawberry Shortcake Cupcakes

Just like his character in “Inventing the Abbotts”, Doug Holt makes for a refreshing presence onscreen - he’s cute, genuine, and kind. (Just like a strawberry!) And for a film representing American in the 1950′s, what better dessert to mimic than the classic American summer treat?

Doc Sportello from “Inherent Vice”: Matcha Cupcakes with Black Sesame Topping and Mascarpone Cheese filling

I think of all of the members on this list, Doc Sportello would be one most excited to try new flavors. The cool yet earthy green tea infusion in this cupcake would totally complement the buttery melt-in-your-mouth feel of the mascarpone cheese. And the sesame seeds would add a nice texture difference with a unique flavor. Certainly, it would appeal to the all-natural, organic preferences Doc has.

Freddie Quell from “The Master”: Coconut Rum Cupcakes

As someone who likes mixing concoctions to form alcoholic “cocktails”, Freddie would certainly like his cupcake to bring a little buzz. The coconut flavor would be somewhat nutty but also slightly sweet. And it might be great for Freddie, who’s been overseas during his time in the armed forces.

Charlie Sisters from “The Sisters Brothers”: Maple Bourbon-Infused Cupcakes with Maple Frosting and Bacon Bits.

Just like Charlie himself, this cupcake is a little salty on the outside, with the bacon crumble topping, but also somewhat sweet with the maple syrup. Also, maple syrup is known to be quite sticky - just like many of the situations Charlie gets himself into. (I can imagine he wouldn’t complain with all the bourbon in this cupcake too)

Johnny Cash from “Walk the Line”: Pineapple Cupcakes with Cream Cheese Frosting.

My original idea was to choose a Black Velvet cupcake with cherry filling for the Man in Black, but this pineapple cupcake pays tribute to one of his favorite dishes (as told by his son John Carter Cash) - pineapple pie. It was made with a standard dough-based pie crust and a pineapple and cream cheese filling, hence the cream cheese frosting. Although, to add a Southern touch to this, these cupcakes could also be served with a candied pecan crumble on top.

Max California from “8 MM” : Devil’s Food Cake Cupcake with a Boozy Cherry Filling

As Max himself says, “If you dance with the devil, the devil don't change. The devil changes you.” So to pay homage to his quote, obviously his cupcake would be the Devil’s Food cake (it’s just a really moist chocolate flavor). The filling would be made with chopped cherries immersed in sweet vermouth (wine spiked with brandy), and the cupcake would be topped with whipped cream and chocolate chips.

Also, is it just me or would Max totally make a joke about “popping the cherry” every time he eats these?

Merrill Hess from “Signs”: Chocolate M&M Cupcakes with a Peanut Butter and Marshmallow Filling

These cupcakes would certainly be great for Merrill - he’d appear to be a guy’s guy on the outside, but on the inside he’s not afraid to do seemingly nutty things (wearing tin-foil on his head?) and is extremely sweet with kids (hence the marshmallows). Also, the M&M’s add color to the mainly uniform cupcake, just like Merrill’s expressions add color to this film.

Given the amount of sugar (and artificial coloring), they were probably made for either Bo’s or Morgan’s birthdays and Uncle Merrill just happened to like them more than the kids did. His favorite part is pulling these cupcakes apart and watching the gooey peanut butter and marshmallow filling spill.

Abbe de Coulmier from “Quills”: Lavender Vanilla Sponge Cupcakes with a Lemon Elderflower Frosting.

Abbé de Coulmier is an incredibly soft and kind person - it only makes sense his cupcake would be just as fluffy as him. The infusion of lavender in the vanilla sponge would delight him, and he might have one of these with a cup of tea in the afternoon. Though, he’d certainly be mindful of his consumption, remembering perfectly well that gluttony was one of the Seven Deadly Sins.

Most times, he’d desire for the frosting to be removed and instead ask for powdered sugar to be put instead. (The powdered sugar was a compromise after being annoyed by the chef. He was not happy when the chef kept shouting about a “naked cupcake”.) Although, perhaps on special occassions, the frosting would stay and he’d relish the light, citrus-floral flavor.

Jimmy Emmett from “To Die For”: Snickers Cupcakes

Based off of the popular candy bar, Snickers cupakes are usually made with a chocolate cupcake, peanut butter frosting, and a rich caramel sauce with chopped candy bars as garnish.

They’re perfect for Jimmy, who certainly liked candy bars and can usually be found snickering while he’s zoned out in his own world.

Emperor Lucius Aelius Aurelius Commodus from “Gladiator”

As always, I saved the best for last, and since I couldn’t decide on simply one cupcake I came up with three different ones for our Emperor.

(Impartiality? I don’t know her.)

Choice 1) A Red Wine Dark Chocolate Cupcake with Raspberry Amaretto Frosting and Raspberry Drizzle (top left)

Emperor Commodus likes to go all out when throwing lavish games or hosting extravagant parties. So this cupcake is a perfect match, with the rich flavors of red wine, brandy (from the amaretto), raspberry, and dark chocolate all coming together in a decadent ensemble.

Also, the raspberry drizzle totally looks like blood spilling in the Colosseum.

Choice 2) A Honey Cake with Whiskey Frosting and a Whiskey-Infused Honey Drizzle (top right)

Even though whiskey is definitely not a liquor I’d associate with Emperor Commodus, the cupcake certainly serves as a break from all the chocolate. (Do you think he’d even like chocolate? Comment below, please!)

The main reason this cupcake is here is because honey cakes were around during the Roman Empire. Also, the drizzle...can you imagine Emperor Commodus repeatedly spilling some of the alcohol-infused honey on his cheeks and asking his servant/concubine to lick it up for him? Or making his concubine suck the sticky honey from his fingers?

Choice 3) A Chocolate Hazelnut Fererro Rocher Cupcake (bottom)

This cupcake is mainly here because the golden wrapper totally suits the opulence of a Roman emperor. Also, in one of my previous listicles I paired Emperor Commodus with chocolate hazelnut gelato - thought I’d continue the trend. Plus, the smoothness of the hazelnut perfectly represents the silky tone of Commodus’s voice.

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cinebration · 5 years ago

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By My Rules (Quentin Beck x Reader) [Part 6]

At work.

Warnings: none

Gif Source: filmgifs

Elias Clark fidgeted on the seat in your office, not quite sure how to start.

You waited patiently, smiling as disarmingly as possible.

The format of your office, from the color palette of the walls and furniture to the light streaming in through the sole window, was perfectly designed to soothe and instill comfort. Warm, muted tones eased aggression and fostered a sense of home. Belonging.

Even the scent on the air, faint but present if you looked for it, was calming. After all, it was infused with human appeasing pheromone, specifically manufactured to trigger relaxation and quiet in patients. Having had significant effects on patients with severe psychiatric disorders, it worked phenomenally on average cases.

Elias Clark cleared his throat and finally decided to begin. “I started having nightmares.”

You nodded sympathetically.

“I used to get them every once in a while. Usually when I ate too much for dinner.” He laughed nervously. “Like those old jokes about how a piece of bad food gives you bad dreams. Only, uh, that’s not what’s been happening. This stuff is…different. It doesn’t even feel like I’m asleep when it’s happening.”

Smoothing the edge of your pencil skirt, you quietly asked, “What’s been happening, Elias?”

He swallowed thickly, afraid to say it aloud. “These nightmares…”

You waited a few beats before encouraging him to speak. “You have to explain them to me, Elias. Otherwise I can’t help you.”

Nodding, he managed to say, “The nightmares are about some of the stuff I’ve done. In my past. For, you know…”

“S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“Yeah. I mean, I didn’t do bad things there. I was an analyst. But I knew things. I know things. Things I don’t want to know anymore.”

“Tell me about the nightmares, Elias.”

“They feel real. I swear, it’s like they are real, but that can’t be true, right?”

“What makes you think they’re real?”

He glanced helplessly around the room. “I…wake up downstairs in the kitchen, holding a knife. Or my dog starts screaming murder at nothing in the background while I’m trying to sleep.”

You frowned. “Have you considered that you may be sleepwalking? Dogs react to all sorts of stimulus. They hear other dogs we can’t barking down the street.”

“Can nightmares do this?” Elias yanked up his shirt, revealing a deep bruise on his ribs.

Your jaw clenched, teeth grinding painfully. Goddammit, Quentin. Relaxing, you answered carefully, “Nightmares stimulate reactions in the body that aren’t simply mental. Oftentimes there is a physical element. You may be thrashing too hard in your sleep. Or if you are sleepwalking, you may have hit a dresser or countertop without realizing it.”

Elias let the shirt drop back into place, gawping at her. Raking a hand over his face, he tried to speak, thought better of it. In the face of what seemed to be cold logic, his fears were quailing.

You leaned forward. “Elias, listen to me. The source of these nightmares needs to be addressed, that much is clear. You can’t be dreading sleep. The less you sleep, the worse it will get.”

“It can’t get any worse.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“N-no.”

Nodding, you leaned back in your seat and surveyed him with a critical gaze. He avoided your eyes, staring down at his wringing hands. He truly believed his nightmares were manifesting in reality.

Because they were. Courtesy of Quentin’s illusion tech and a clever little concoction of stimulus drugs that Elias kept unwittingly pouring into his evening nightcap.

“How do I get over this?” he asked quietly.

Bingo. “You’re going to have to discuss the information that’s bothering you.”

He shook his head. “I don’t work for S.H.I.E.L.D. anymore. That stuff is classified.”

“I have a security clearance, Elias. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be working with you and other government employees.”

He frowned. “It’s still…I signed NDAs.”

Sighing quietly, you feigned disappointed understanding. “Think it over for your next session, Elias. In the meantime, I hope your nightmares lessen over the week. Perhaps by our next appointment, you won’t even need my help.”

Faint hope flickered in Elias’s harrowed features.

“I’m afraid our session has ended.” You stood, extending a hand and flashing a warm smile. “I look forward to working with you, Elias.”

Standing hesitantly, Elias murmured, “Thank you, Dr. Bellamy.”

You escorted him to the door and saw him out into the waiting room where your receptionist kindly asked for payment. As he fumbled for his wallet, the door opened, someone else stepping inside as you closed your office door.

Returning to your desk, you jotted down a few notes in your new patient file for Elias Clark. The comments followed standard psychiatric jargon, outlining a potential plan of attack to help Elias conquer his fears.

Mentally, you were making notes about the next steps for his at-home “treatment.” The nightmares would have to be stepped up a notch without making the man so terrified that he rejected all suggestions.

The door to your office opened.

“I’m on lunch,” you muttered, not looking up.

“I brought you some,” Quentin countered.

You glanced up. “What are you doing here?”

Nudging the door shut with his hip, he approached the desk and set the paper bag on the surface. “As a good husband, I came to see my wife during her break to bring her lunch and spend some quality time with her.”

You rolled your eyes to the ceiling. To your surprise, he pulled out Tupperware from the bag, setting down three plastic containers. You peered through the clear lid of one: salad. In the second one: bread.

“I made it myself,” Quentin explained with pride, a lopsided grin pulling at his lips. “The salad. Not the bread.”

“Of course,” you muttered.

Handing you a fork, he popped open the lids to all three containers—the third containing salad for himself—and smiled broadly before digging into his leafy greens.

After a moment’s hesitation, you began eating yours. Quentin had drizzled ranch over the top of the salad, but whereas his had cheese and onions, yours only had onions. You frowned in surprise.

Reading your mind, Quentin said, “I know the ranch-onions-cheese combination gives you migraines.”

The sound slipped out of your mouth before you could catch it. “Huh.” You hadn’t thought him capable of noticing fine details, him being so absorbed with himself.

“Thank you,” you mumbled.

Nodding, he ate a few more bites, pausing to tear off a chunk of soft bread. You felt yourself relax a fraction.

“So, that was Mr. Clark out there.”

Your defenses clashed back into place. That’s why he had bothered coming down to see you.

“How is he coming along?”

“What did you hit him with?” you snapped.

Eyebrows arching, he shrugged. “They have to believe it’s real. He’s just the guinea pig. We’ll sort out the kinks.”

“You can’t leave bruises like that.” You paused, glanced aside. “Not so early.”

“Look, honey, I know we have your timetable and all, but some of this stuff can be hurried up.”

“If S.H.I.E.L.D. finds us early, then—”

“We’ll handle it. It’s not like Nick Fury will jump on it right away.”

“You called him the most paranoid person on the planet.”

“He is, but on the big picture stuff.” Quentin shrugged. “We won’t get there for another year.”

Sighing, you jabbed viciously at the salad with your fork, your mind scaling through the timetable to see what could and couldn’t be accelerated.

“Break something in his house,” you acquiesced, “but don’t touch him. Or the dog.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I never claimed to be.”

You finished off lunch as quickly as possible, hoping he wouldn’t stay the full hour. He wrapped it up and put the containers back into the bag.

“I’ll see you at home, sweetheart,” he murmured.

“Yeah.” You returned to Elias’s file.

Footsteps drew near your desk. Glancing up, you found Quentin leaning over you. He tapped your chin quickly, your head jerking up in reflex, and pressed a kiss to your lips.

Your head swam.

When he pulled away, he smiled. “Later, sweetheart.”

“I told you not to do that,” you managed to say as he headed for the door.

“Why wouldn’t I? I brought my wife lunch. A little peck on the lips is expected, isn’t it?”

He swept out the door before you could argue.

For the rest of the day, you couldn’t get a handle on your foggy thoughts, the ghost of his lips distracting you.

#Quentin Beck x Reader #Quentin Beck #Mysterio x Reader #Mysterio #Jake Gyllenhaal #Jake Gyllenhaal imagine #Quentin Beck imagine #Mysterio imagine #Spider-Man: Far From Home #Far From Home #FFH #Spider-Man Far From Home

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camiddletonxox · 5 years ago

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Pancakes and Dream Talk

Pairing - Drake Walker x Charity Middleton (The Royal Romance)

Warning - None this is just a super cute fluffy morning in the life of Duke Drake Walker and Duchess Charity Walker

Prompt - Dream (Day 11) @choicesjunechallenge

Note - I love Drake so much and I think Charity suits him maybe a bit better than Liam

Taglist - @drakewalkerfantasy @ao719 @princess-geek @polishchoicesfan @binny1985 @desireepow-1986 @i-bloody-love-drake-walker @itscassandral @gardeningourmet @heauxplesslydevoted @thequeenofcronuts @kaavyaethanramsey @choicesolivia @regencylady1810 @dailydoseofchoices @storyofmychoices @choicesficwriterscreations please message me or comment me if you want tagging in any stories

💓💓💓💓

🌸🌸🌸🌸

Summary - Drake makes his wife breakfast in bed and they end up having a discussion about dreams

Word Count - 1133

🌸🌸🌸🌸

Drake watched his new wife as she slept, she was stunning beyond belief, even when she was fast asleep, she was incredibly peaceful as she slept, her soft breathing was soothing to him after the awful events of the wedding, just knowing her heart was still beating, that she was still alive, and she was now his, it made him feel beyond lucky.

Charity made a small noise in her sleep and she curled up as she turned in her sleep onto her side, a small smile on her face as she slept, it was something Drake found adorable, when she smiled in her sleep, he gently removed himself from the bed, careful not to wake his wife and he put on a shirt and shorts, just peaking over to the bed to ensure Charity was still there and then he walked out the room, quiet not to wake her and he went to the kitchens, he still didn’t see the point in staff especially since he adored cooking but he was a Duke now and had to get used to them, he set to work on getting the ingredients for pancakes and he put them in a bowl and mixed them.

“Sir, if you would like me to make breakfast, I can” One of the staff offers and he shook his head, he wanted to surprise his wife with food and wasn’t going to be able to do that if the staff always butted in.

“I am sure I am more than capable to make my own wife breakfast” He insisted and the staff member sighed but didn’t argue, Drake got on with making the pancakes before he plated them up on a plate, grabbing a small jug, putting honey in it and then chops some bananas, and strawberries and does coffee before he calls for one of the staff to go help him take the food upstairs to his wife which the lady complies with almost immediately and he goes through to the room, placing a glass of orange juice and a mug on her bedside table, putting coffee, milk and two sugars in as her eyes flutter open.

“Mmmm, am I dreaming or is my husband actually making me a coffee” she yawns and stretches her arms and he rolls his eyes.

“I made the coffee, i was just putting it together, Middleton” He utters and leans over, cupping her cheek in his hand before he presses a gentle kiss to her cheek.

“Morning Drake” she hums happily and he smiled, kissing her lips gently.

“Morning Charity” he whispers softly and she smiles and she sits up, rubbing her eyes, her husband looking at her as she stretched.

“What is it?” She asks and he presses his lip to her nose, before smiling.

“I’m just so damn lucky to have you” he comments and she grins, leaning over to kiss him before reaching for the coffee, sipping on it, moaning in delight as she sipped it, oh coffee was a dream in a drink.

“Likewise” she smiled and he brought the tray with pancakes over.

“I also thought my beautiful wife could do with a nice breakfast in bed” he beams and Charity grins, he really was her dream man, he was sweet, considerate and she couldn’t get enough of him.

“That’s very generous” she smiles and she sips on the coffee grabbing a plate, putting two pancakes on her plate and Drake also grabbed some pancakes as Charity drizzled the tiniest amount honey on her first pancakes and then puts strawberries and some of the banana on it before she put the other pancake on top.

“Hope they are to your liking” he utters softly as she shamelessly picked the pancakes up and took a bite as if they were a sandwich.

“Oh it tastes like a sweet dream” she grins, moaning in delight as she chews her pancakes, mumbling in pleasure and Drake couldn’t help but shake his head, he was so amused by how wild his wife could be.

“So your saying your sweet dream is a pancake sandwich with honey banana and strawberries?” He confirms and his wife rolled her eyes, sometimes he really needed to shut up.

“My dream was rather pleasant last night” she comments, and looks up at him, taking another bite of her pancakes and he looked at her, eating his own pancakes like a normal person with a knife and fork.

“Oh yeah?” He asked and Charity nodded, covering her mouth as she chewed, before swallowing her mouthful and grabbed her coffee again, sipping and sighing in pure delight.

“Yeah, we had our first child” she murmured, and he raised an eyebrow, his heart swelling at the idea of his wife having dreams about their first child together.

“I can’t wait for the day we have children” he admitted and Charity smiled sweetly at him.

“In my dream we had a little girl named her Ella-Grace” she smiles and he whispered the name, it seemed perfect.

“What a beautiful name” he whispers and Charity nods, before she smiles even wider.

“And you were playing in the outdoors with her, and she kept wanting to climb trees” Charity continues, wishing her dream was a reality, it was such a perfect dream to have.

“It sounds perfect your dream, Middleton” Drake whispered, and Charity nods.

“My dream was of you, just being your wonderful self, beautiful and amazing” he murmurs softly, as she continues to eat the pancakes, just dreamily looking into his eyes, how she had almost married Liam and missed out on this wonderful man was beyond her.

“I am pretty amazing” she agreed and he sighed, he couldn’t ever compliment her without her answering back, with that smart ass mouth of hers.

“I don’t know why I bother at times, even if my dreams” he comments.

“You bother in your dreams?” She raised an eyebrow and he shook his head at her, sighing, oh she was very annoying when she wanted to be, she fluttered her eyelashes at him as if to say, tell me more about your dreams.

“Yes, sometimes in my dreams, like in every day life, you like to push me” he comments and she grins.

“Your dreams are quite realistic then” she shrugged at him and he shook his head, he loved her really put she could be quite a pain in the ass at times.

“I hope one day your dream will become a reality, there is nothing I want more than to be a father” he murmured softly and she looked up at him with love in her eyes, her heart swelling.

“That dream will come true, and when it does you’ll make the most amazing father” she whispers, staring into his beautiful eyes.

#choices stories you play #pixelberry #choices #fanfiction #choices fanfiction #choices fanfic #choicesjunechallenge #choices the royal heir #choices the royal romance #the royal heir drake #trr drake #drake walker x mc #drake walker x charity middleton #drake x charity #trh drake #trr drake x mc

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closer-stars · 4 years ago

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Purple Skies, Pained Things

Member: Jongho Word Count: ~5k Requested: No Genre: Angst. A lot of Heavy things. A little hope in the end. Content: Allusions to depression, suicide ideation, low self worth, a bit of existentialism. This really is just a product of my own thoughts and dips. This kind of came to me while i was listening to christian yu’s album and his ig live that explained his creative process and decisions into making MITO. In a sense this is my mito? lol. I don’t know why I had Jongho in this too but it happened. I kind of compared my struggle with mental health to paintings and skies, colors and the like. So Yes. If this is a little weird, I apologize. It was a little tricky to write this since I had to be in a certain mood/headspace to write this. lol. Note: This is heavy. If you can’t stomach something regarding mental struggles, issues, I suggest you don’t read this. This went in directions I didn’t think it would go but it went where it went. Like Strength, I won’t put the atzff tags on this since this is a personal piece lmao. I won’t do my usual tag list on this since..well it’s personal? if you see it when it’s up, cool. if you don’t well.. you don’t lol. Gut Feeling and other reqs are in the works! Just gonna take Time. Jongho wonders how you manage on your own. Well he knows you’re independent, always treasuring your alone time whenever you can. But he’s not sure of how you manage when you have these dips. He’s actually not sure if that’s the right question, should he ask why instead? Why do you make yourself go through it on your own? Of course, he has his guesses regarding the reasons but it still runs in his mind.

He watches you from across the room, sitting near a corner. To anyone else, it would look like you were just watching the skyline; watching the sky turn from a bright blue to a myriad of colors before settling into a deep blue sprinkled with stars and bright lights. The sky was always pretty at this hour.

The complete opposite of your mind.

The two of you knew better when you looked like that; you weren’t looking at anything. Your eyes aren’t focused on anything but your mind is. Your mind focuses on thoughts that make you spiral down. When your head spirals, you close yourself from everyone. Your mind is like the night sky: it can bring comfort and solace in a time of quiet but it is also dark and vast, seemingly never ending. The night sky can also bring the terrors of the unknown, the unseen, the lack of control that the day brings. Your mind now is just that without the comfort the night brings, but the numbing fear of what’s beyond.

You feel like a tiny speck of dust. that doesn’t really have much use in a world that keeps moving. Maybe a better comparison would be something like a stormy sky; filled with heavy clouds that would spill forth heavy rain showers. The sudden sheets of water makes everyone hide away. Or rather, a sky tinged with the smoke from pollution; unbearable and frustrating. Just like what you’re doing right now, hiding away from everyone because you think that these days you have will bring nothing but frustration to those near you.

So, what is Jongho doing in your apartment? He had his reasons. For starters, it’s been radio silence from your end. He knows nothing of what has happened to you. Neither do your friends-- well to a degree, they don’t. It’s why he’s here, to check on you. He figured you’d be at home. He knows you well enough, just like how he can tell if the weather will be fine just by a glance at the sky. From what he’s seeing, it’s the calm before the storm.

He knows you don’t sleep much either, or rather, you stay up late into the night only to sleep when the sun’s peeking through the horizon. The deep blues slowly turning into a soft lilacs and blues streaked with bright yellows that bring the safety of a new day: a peaceful slumber. You told him in the past that you’re really just a night owl, a habit formed to cope with the hectic pace of life. A way for you to have some sort of grip on your life. He bought the words for a while, but the more he spends time with you. He’s not quite sure. He doesn’t understand why you shut yourself out from everyone when you need them the most. He does understand how hard it can be to ask for help. Carefully, he approaches your unmoving figure.

“Hey.” He murmurs, settling quietly in front of you. Your eyes flutter to his direction. You see him but the fact he’s sitting in front of you isn’t registering in your head. Maybe your mind’s playing tricks on you, your vivid imagination was always one of your assets. It could also be your downfall.

“Go away..” your voice comes out like a sigh. Just as your mind is like the sky, your mind is just as vivid as paintings of years past. But, just like those paintings, it fades, it gets discolored as time passes by. Small cracks appear on layers of painting, no matter how much protection and preservation you put it through: the wear and tear can and will be inevitable. You assume this is just another way for your mind to make you think worse of yourself. Thoughts reflecting itself onto reality. Whatever reality is supposed to be. With that, you look away from the figure in front of you, staring out the window. The sky has shifted into a deep purple, the lights from the neighboring buildings are flickering on, one by one. The purples gradually turning into artificial shades of yellow and white.

He should’ve expected that, being alone with your own thoughts can get tiring. Even if you preferred your own company, these dips can take a toll on you. Slowly, he takes your hand in his. Something flashes in your eyes, dimmed only by the darkening sky above the two of you. “What are you doing here?” You ask. He notices how dry your voice sounds. How long has it been since you drank water?

He has a feeling rain will come tonight.

The sound of consciousness from you makes him quirk the corner of his lips in relief. “I wanted to check on you.”

A sigh slips out of your lips, your eyes fluttering to a close. Your eyes feel dry. You don’t pull away your hand from his hold. You stay like that, unmoving in your spot, and for a moment you look peaceful, but the impending approach of a storm is warned through the marks under your eyes. Jongho wonders how you’ve been sleeping the past few days. He looks at the time. By now, you should be eating.

“Hey, you need to get some food in you.” Jongho gently reminds you, his voice mirrored by how he squeezes your hand to wake you up.

“I don’t have an appetite…” You reason, despite your excuse you slowly move from your spot.

“At least get something in your stomach? Even some fruits will do.” Jongho returns. “Come, I can make you some food.” He lets you settle down on the chair. You let him move around your place, he’s been here so many times that he might as well have lived with you.

“Have you eaten?” You speak up softly, watching him with heavy eyes. This really doesn’t surprise him anymore, how you’re able to put others before you, even when you can barely do so for yourself.

It takes a while for him to reply to the question. If he gives a clear cut answer, it can make your attention shift to him when the main subject here is you. He runs a few strawberries and an orange through water. “I’ll eat with you.” He returns after a moment of thought.

You shrug even if he can’t see you do so. “Help yourself to whatever I have I guess.” So that’s how the night goes, he eats a meal while you nibble on a few fruit slices that he had freely drizzled with honey. It was quiet as the two of you ate. He doesn’t push you to talk about what’s on your mind, not because he didn’t care but he knows you hate it when people push you to tell them your thoughts, no matter how depressing they can get, you hated being forced. Even if you don’t want him to be here, you have no energy to tell him to leave.

You prod a half eaten strawberry with your fork. Even in the mess of your mind, you wanted to know why he’s doing this. He’s seeing a side of you that you’ve tried so hard to hide from him. As much as you want to cover this from him, it seems too late. Your body can’t get itself to stand up and push him out. What happens instead is a question. “Why are you doing this? You can literally do anything else right now, but you’re here wasting time.”

Jongho stays quiet through your tirade of self deprecating comments. On your normal days, these were covered with your dry humor. You always had a knack at being able to throw a few witty comments at the boys and at yourself. Now, he’s seeing it in its rawest form. He doesn’t like how this is how you see yourself: a shame, wasted potential, lost, the list goes on as you talk. What was once a question becomes an exhausted rant of how you find yourself in this fast paced life. At one point, you ask yourself if the choices you made were the right ones. All your decisions have been based on trying to break out of the chains of expectations. You wanted freedom, to explore the world as yourself.

Now, you didn’t really have a proper avenue to release these thoughts nowadays; you can’t really go out. Your usual coping mechanisms aren’t an option now. You’re just stuck at home. Compared to your peers, they’re able to make the most out of the situation. Those who made your life horrible are prospering now. Those who followed what was expected of them are doing well. You? Hell if you know what to make of yourself now.

He would’ve rebutted all these points you’ve raised but he figures that you need to let them out before letting anyone or yourself fix the issues. You’ve always been like that, thinking out loud until you somehow manage to find a solution. That’s why he just listens, replying when needed but letting you know that he’s giving you his full attention. What he didn't expect was a rumbling thunder.

The storm comes earlier than expected. The two of you can hear the downpour outside your apartment. When you notice the heavy downpour, you shift the topic. “You really don’t need to listen to all of that.” You say as you eat your fruits. It’s a little tricky to try and put your upbeat voice back to use after days of being shut in.

Being able to air out your frustrations should make you feel lighter, but it doesn’t. What it just does to you is feel heavier, fearing that he’ll look at you in a not so nice light because of how different you are now.

That’s how it usually goes.

His meal is long done now but he stays in his seat. “It’s okay.” He says. Those two words make you look at him. “You’ve carried it for so long to yourself. I don’t mind helping you...” He continues. He notices how your eyes sparkle a little brighter under the warm lights in your home. It’s not the curious sparkle that the stars bring on a clear night. It’s a sparkle that carries the burden of a pain that’s been carried for years. A star that’s just near the edge of falling through the sky. Your coping mechanisms were really just there to numb the pain, never to address it, you never knew how to address it until recently. Even then, the process was painful. “Have you showered?” He asks you. At his question, you realize you haven’t. “Go shower? I can take care of these dishes.”

There’s something in his words that pushes you to say something. “Can you stay a little longer?” You’re scared of what could be next, him leaving you alone in your thoughts again. You’ve tried to hide your dips from him, but now that he’s seen it, you doubt there’s any turning back now. You just don’t want to be alone, for tonight at least.

“I’ll stay.”

You ease yourself against the downpour of the hot water. It’s a little shock for your body: the cool air outside the shower against the hot water on your skin. Eventually you relax into it, breathing slowly as you hope that the water washes away the thoughts in your head. The constant sound of water hitting the tiled floor and the sight of water running down your body or dripping down the walls numb your mind from dimming your thoughts. The feeling puts you in a trance of sorts, standing under the shower head unmoving for who knows how long.

“Hey, are you still there?” Jongho’s voice comes from the opposite side of the door. The knocking snaps you awake and you clear your voice, grabbing the soap.

“Yeah, I’m doing fine.” You swear it’s not a lie. You try to make it sound not like a lie despite your racing heart. You stand there as you wash yourself up quickly. You didn’t want him to worry about you. Do you really deserve these worries? Clearly, he has other things to worry about. Why did you ask him to stay longer? He has a life beyond you, so why linger here? What if you’re just hindering him from his schedule and free time with your selfish need for company? These thoughts rise up to the surface as you dry yourself up. He can leave if he has to, you’re not gonna stop him.

You step out of your bathroom in a change of clothes, water dripping from your hair onto the towel on your shoulders. You catch your reflection on the mirror; you’ve lost weight, you look tired, your skin hasn’t been at its best, and before your thoughts spiral you tear your gaze away from the reflective reality on your wall.

The place is quiet. A quiet sigh leaves your lips, of course you’re back on your own. What were you thinking? You’ve managed to deal with these episodes on your own, what makes this any different? What were you hoping for exactly?

“Oh hey, you’re finally out of the shower.” His voice makes you jump in your spot, holding yourself up against the wall as you try to slow down your racing heart. He observes your shocked visage with slight guilt. He notes how raw your skin looks, wondering just how hot you made your water to be. It’s not much but it’s something. These episodes were never as quick as a simple shower. It’ll take time and he’s willing to sit through it with you. Just like the paintings on your walls, those took time to be properly cared for, before its original luster shined through.

“If you have to go elsewhere, it’s okay.” You speak up, your voice is a little clearer now. “I forgot how busy you get…” You trail off, berating yourself for being so selfish.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about.” He says afterwards. “I made sure my schedule was free.” He adds, he approaches you carefully, taking the towel off your shoulders. He lets you follow him to the couch.

You look at him, shoulders dropping as more things blur your mind. Why was he doing this? “Why?” There’s something in your voice that reminds him he can’t leave you like this. You follow him like a lost puppy, too tired to think anymore. The sky looks a lot dimmer now, the still constant downpour of rain dimming the bright lights from the streets.

“I want to check on you.” He sits behind you, drying your hair as he lets you look out the sky. It’s the one thing you would do even in your better days. He’s gotten the habit of thinking of you because of the sky.

It’s the blank look on your face that hurts him too. It’s a look that tries to survive and prove itself worthy of independence. It’s a look that reminds him of artworks that look so breathtaking until you learn of the backstory behind the work. How many people have bought this as you just shooting a deadpan look, as if you didn’t need anyone else? “I’m sorry.” A tired sigh escapes you as you turn your head away from his gaze. You were about to reach for the towel that has slowed down from drying your hair, when Jongho taps your hands gently.

“Drying your hair’s my thing.” He reminds you, a distant inside joke from years past.

The reference makes you smile a little but it doesn’t bring you the comfort you badly need. The pain teeters just at the corners of your eyes and you wonder why your vision blurs, mixing the purples with the yellows, with the whites. The greys have hints of purples and yellows. Everything looked so blurry yet so clear. It’s an unflattering color, it’s rare that you look away from the sky.

It’s when you feel two drops of water against your arm that it clicks. You didn’t want him to see you in tears. How easy it was for him to look past your facade. You’ve put up enough walls, saying it was just you being used to being an only child who could only depend on yourself at the end of the day. You’ve lost count of the times you’ve said lies to stop people from getting too close to you at your weakest. How many times has life tried to take advantage of it?

“Come here.” His voice takes on a tenderness rarely heard from him. It takes a few small shifts from you before you face him. You want to tell him that you’re fine, that it’s not a lie. You’re genuinely doing fine, you want to tell yourself that. But the truth is, you aren’t. Admitting the truth has always been nerve wracking for you. Especially the truth that you carry in your head and heart. There, his arms wrap around you carefully, knowing that at any moment you’ll break. “I care about you, that’s why I do this.” He lets you babble words against his shoulder, truthfully, he couldn’t make sense of the words that tumble out of your lips mostly due to the towel that muffles you and because of how they’re all slurred by your overwhelming emotions and tears. He lets you spill everything though. It could help you once you storm through this downpour, he thinks.

On the other hand, you hate how weak you’ve become, your hands grip to him as if he’s some sort of protection from the darkness that swirls in your head. There’s no shade of purple that can mimic how terrifying the darkness is in your head. Not even pictures can give it justice. It just is.

You don’t like how you’ve become, yet you have no heart to end everything. It’s why you had a terrible phobia of high places. Imagination can only bring you so much but reality was still terrifying in its own right. Life was practically in limbo: wanting escape but not doing it, wanting something better but not being able to acquire it. You see your own life like an unfinished painting, all scribbles, patches of paint but never quite forming an image or a sky that always warns of a storm that never comes.

He feels guilty to have left you alone to deal with this burden in the past but he tries not to dwell in it as he lets you cry. “Do you want to go to bed?” He whispers softly into your hair. You shake your head, not trusting how your voice could shake should you speak up. Receiving nothing but a timid nod, he carefully pulls his arms away from your figure, it’s then that he realizes that you covered your face with your towel. The damp feeling on his skin and shirt were from your hair. Even in your current state, you still find shame in showing your own tears.

He doesn’t let go of your hand as he guides you towards your bed. Now that the two of you are settled down, he made sure that you’re in his arms again. He tries not to force you to look at him. Being at your weakest in front of someone was already a draining experience in itself, but to be in a situation where it’s not being shamed or pushed away was a new experience for you. He hears words come from your covered face and he keeps quiet to strain his ears to understand what you were saying.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Two words, repeated over and over. He looks at your curled figure, how your arm strains to keep itself from shaking as your fingers press against where your eyes are to stop the tears. This hasn’t been your lowest, but it is one of your lowest moments. He shushes you gently, as if consoling a lost animal shivering under the rain. “I got you. It’s okay.” Admittedly, he doesn’t know what else to say. He doesn’t know what else to do except hold you through this. He’ll hold you through the storms and the darkness. Until you come to surface, he’ll hold you through it. No matter how long it takes, he’ll be here.

You wake up with your blanket up to your shoulders. You try to remember what happened yesterday as you lie awake. What time is it? What day is it? Your thick curtains hinder the sunlight from blinding you. When you blink, you feel how dry and sore your eyes are which only further your confusion of what happened yesterday.Your hand pats one side of your bed: your phone isn’t there. You pat the other side: that’s not a phone. That’s a chest, it’s only then that you realize that’s another person next to you that you realize the weight of an arm on your waist. A spark of fear runs through you, unaware of who could be here, so you look over to your side with caution.

Jongho.

He lies asleep next to you. You wonder what he’s doing here but you have no heart to wake this guy up. Everything’s still murky to you. Quite frankly, you don’t really know how much time has passed. All you know now is day and night. Things still feel floaty, like you’re on a cloud but you shouldn’t be there. The thought alone makes your hands clammy. It makes your chest tighten with thoughts you can’t control, that your hands repeatedly clench and unclench as you try to fight to control your head from going under.

A hand slowly laces with yours and you look over at the owner. He’s awake, sleep still weighing down his eyes but he’s awake. “I got you.” He says, voice raspy with slumber that still clings to his mind and it rings you of the previous day’s happening. A shiver of horror goes through you. He shouldn’t have seen you like that. Nobody should’ve seen you like that.

“I thought you would’ve gone home.” You say as you push yourself up from bed, pulling your hand away. You run your hands through your bed riddled hair, a poor excuse to keep him from holding your hands again. It’s not that you don’t like it, it’s just, you’re scared. He’s seen your worst, and you fear for the worst result.

His now free hand rests beneath his bed riddled hair. He’s never been one to push your boundaries. “I don’t think I can go home knowing how you needed someone last night.” He says this without any of his dry nature. “I can’t go home with a peaceful mind until I know you’re alright..” He trails off, because as much as he wants to stay with you for the next few days. He doesn’t want to overstep his boundaries. You never responded nicely to people who pushed your limits more than they should.

“You didn’t have to..”

“But I wanted to.” He says immediately. Mornings were never his best time either. He looks up at you, no remnants of sleep are on his eyes. Rather, his soft protective nature is there. “We worry for you too. At least, let me care for you the way you’ve cared for me?” He asks. Once he pulls the repayment card, you relent. It’s a small step but it’s a step.

Silence draws over the two of you for a few moments. His words float around your mind. ‘I wanted to… let me care for you…’ It’s an odd feeling to have someone care for you. His words make you wonder if people will worry if you did disappear without a trace.

Jongho reaches for his phone beneath your pillow to check the time. It’s already noon time. “Do you wanna eat? I can make some food for us or we can just order something.”

The power to choose was a heavy responsibility for you. You still weren’t in the mental capacity to choose for yourself but you had enough strength to let Jongho stay for the time being. He notices how you’re still not quite here yet, so he opts to cook something up. He knows your favorites but he can only hope you have enough appetite to eat something.

You peek past your curtains. The sky’s clear now. There’s not a cloud in sight, just a vast expanse of bright blue and sunlight. The streaks of sunlight slip past you and into your room, lighting up the rather dim room. “Why are you doing this? I can survive on my own eventually.” You ask from your side of the bed.

Jongho was already out of bed, making himself look presentable or at least awake. “Yeah eventually, but you don’t have to do this on your own.” He returns. He tries not to look over at you too often when he spouts words like this. You never were the type to look at someone when you say something vulnerable. But he sees how you look from the mirror: looking at your hands, mindlessly scratching at your fingers. “Go freshen up while I make up something to eat.”

You didn’t know how to say it, now with some semblance of control in you as compared to the night before. You just knew how scared you were of wasting yourself away, no matter how tempting it was to press Stop on your own life, it was scary. You were scared he’d leave you too after this. Not everyone has the capacity to care for someone like you, you didn’t even have the resources for professional help. Yet, Jongho’s here in your home. Things didn’t make sense and you weren’t really sure of how to make sense of it all. Will he stay with you through it all?

“I will.” Jongho’s voice cuts through your stormy eyes. They spark a little brighter at his voice, only to darken a little in confusion. He watches you for a moment as the gears in your head work. That’s when you realize you were thinking out loud. “I don’t know what lies ahead of you.” He starts, turning to face you but leaning against the dresser. “I do know that you have what it takes to get through this. It’s going to take a lot of time but you’ll get there.” He flashes a small smile, rare were the times that he’s this raw with you or anyone. “We’ll make do with what we got.” He ends it there before heading to the kitchen.

You slip out of your bed, slightly light headed from the lack of food in your system. Shit, okay maybe you need to get some food in you. You look through your closet for something to wear, noticing the laundry you need to do in the process.

Once you got out of the shower, you’re greeted by the smell of-- were those pancakes? You approach the kitchen, confused but also a little excited to have something in your stomach. You didn’t expect that he’d make your comfort food: pancakes with blueberries. He lets himself indulge as well with some pork belly. Go figure. He even got your cold brew out of the refrigerator with his ever loyal iced americano. “You made all of these?” You ask.

He looks over at you, surprised to have you out of the shower already. In that instance, he takes the chance to look at you closely: the heavy shoulders weren’t as apparent as they were last night, there’s a little spark in your eyes too. “Yeah.” He simply says before returning his attention to the still cooking pancake.

It’s only then that you think of preparing the table as the two of you wait for the food to cook.

You eat slowly and carefully. The splash of flavor reminds you of how hungry you are but you remind yourself to not rush. It’s been so long since you ate properly after all. When he sees you drink your coffee, he feels a little relief. Baby steps. It’s small talk for the rest of the meal, just Jongho filling you in on what he’s been up to: the acting, the performing, the competing. It’s all tiring, but he doesn’t mind. Last night was exhausting for you so you didn’t really mind him carrying the conversation for once.

By the time you ate two pieces of the pancakes, you had a little bit of vigor in you though still muted by the hangover that crying gives you. That’s when you came clean with your own thoughts, though still pessimistic and anxious in its roots, it was a little more coherent than last night. If he looked a little closer into the words you say, you left room for a little hope, a little objectivity. Objectivity, in his eyes, was harder to rebut, to be fought against by the small voice in your head that says otherwise. Still, he listens. He listens to everything that you’ve been keeping to yourself with no judgement. He finds it hard to believe how you’ve been able to keep all these to yourself but at the same time, this is you who he’s talking to.

But you’re sharing the worries now, and that’s what matters. There’s a ghost of a smile on your lips. No malice and pain in it but something else. Something a little softer.

Seeing you like this reassured him. You were at your lowest last night and seeing you slowly crawl out of it gives him relief. He can only do so much to help you, to reassure you, to get you to where you were meant to be in life. It really is just one small step after one small step even after tripping, as long as you take a step afterwards, that’s all that matters.

He glances outside your window, the sky still continues to be bright without a cloud hindering the sunlight. Truthfully, he doesn’t know if the next few days will continue to be on a good note but what matters is now. Just like a painting that has gone through so much damage, it’s still possible to bring it back to its original luster. It will take time and effort from not just one person but it’s possible.

As long as you’re able to walk at your own pace, he’ll be with you.

#my writings #kinda eh but wtv

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dead-fandom-imagines · 5 years ago

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Unchain My Heart | Chapter 1

I was originally going to post this on Wednesday, but then I was like, what the hell. Here you go my guys.

TITLE: Unchain My Heart

CHAPTER: Chapter I

PAIRING: Dr. Greg House x OC Female

WORD COUNT: 3,196

AUTHOR’S NOTE: I’ll try to post a new chapter every week, and I want to try and hit over 2,600 words each chapter too. I hope you guys enjoy this one!

THE WALLS SEEMED TO BE CAVING IN, not because Kylan Taylor was nervous on her first day on the job, no, it was all the people that seemed to be alive that made her nerves twitch and spasm. Working for five years alone in a basement does something to a person's psyche, and even more so when the people you're constantly surrounded by have been dead for more than a few days. As in, they twitched, gassed, and sometimes even breathed, but most of them had either their brain bashed in, or worse, no head at all, to comment on how her hair was always pulled with a broken pen, how her makeup became horribly smudged after working thirty hours straight, how sometimes she smelt like a mix of formaldehyde, Chinese food and other people's BO after long nights. Now she had to interact with people. Gross, disgusting, breathing human beings.

"It won't be that bad," Dr. James Wilson reassured her, handing Kylan a manila folder of paperwork she had yet to fill out. About three inches thick of stapled books and contracts she'd barely graze through, and she stuck it right underneath her arm with the other packs of paper and a mass amount of protocol packets she's received since she entered the doors that morning. The hospital must have chopped down a new tree just for her paperwork alone, how many forests rested on her new desk?

"Won't be that bad," Kylan scoffed, rolling her eyes, "didn't you say that about medical school before I applied?"

James pressed one of the elevator buttons, downwards to Kylan's new and improved basement, and chuckled to himself. It was hard not to. She seemed to still be pissed about not getting the full hardened truth of how awful and tedious medical school really was, instead, James had dazzled his story with a flat-out hopeful lie while she still attended Columbia University without him. Kylan had such childish eyes back then. Like honey drizzled in coffee.

"If I remember correctly, I said it was like normal classes." And a smile spread on his pretty-boy features, diverting his attention from Kylan enough to make his point, "what I didn't tell you was the classes were all set on fire and you had only oil to put them out."

The elevator doors opened briefly and fast enough before Kylan could stab in another remark about her undergrad years. A few nurses dressed in colorful scrubs stepped out, and James and Kylan stepped in to replace them just as quickly.

"Any reason why the hospital is so busy?" She asked, pressing the button to the last level. Her curiosity seemed to be getting the better of her. She usually wouldn't have pried, but with James, she allowed it to slide. "Any epidemics I should be worried about?"

"It's always like this."

"Always?"

A shiver ran down her spine. Hospitals were never her favorite, in fact, she resented them with every fiber in her being. Everything about modern medicine caused her skin to crawl in a million different ways, the smells, the touch, the needles. She could sew up a body, chop it up, pull out their organs no problem, but it usually took three weeks of procrastination and a few sedatives just to get through a simple flu shot.

Watching a thirty-seven-year-old woman sniffling with her lips quivering, wet eyes and swollen cheeks just over a simple flu shot were deemed as downright embarrassing in her eyes, even more so if it was her young coworkers doing the job.

Kylan took a deep sigh as the elevator dinged at their arrival. Most of the hospitals Kylan had visited usually had empty basements, this one was no different. The lights were the usual bright LSD types, overhanging cement walls, cold air and an aura that reeked of old death. The morgue hadn't smelt of new corpses just yet, but it soon would be. Most nurses and doctors wouldn't dare come down to investigate the spooky sounds emitting from down below past the morgue.

Which was excellent. Kylan liked to blast Britney Spears in her headphones as she worked. There didn't need to be wondering eyes investigating the autopsies. What thoughts would come in your mind if you saw a middle-aged woman singing along to Toxic while messing with a bone saw in someone's torso? She'd probably receive a lengthy letter on proper procedures again if a staff member showed up in the midst of her examination, and they'd most likely repeat the sentence of "do not have a smile on your face as you chop someone's brother in half."

She claimed she never had a smile, the victim's unsuspecting family said otherwise.

When they exited the elevator, it didn't take long for James to pop out another question, "How do you like being the state medical examiner? This time by yourself right?"

Kylan kept a grin from forming on her face. Ah yes. Dr. Kylan Taylor, chief state medical examiner, board-certified and voted to be Mercer County's one and only top forensic pathologist who specializes in the strange and unusual. Dream come true that's for sure. After her long residency and following the now-retired Dr. Shoo, she was finally ready to take her first steps alone, and her heart was pumping just thinking about it.

"Yep," she said, now a white smile glowing in the otherwise dark hallways. "I always liked to cut open bodies, working through the hospital also prevents me from having to go to the crime scenes myself now. Those interns who call themselves "death investigators" really help me out." She giggled a little, "now they'll just drop off the bodies and photos for me. Less bloody in the long run." James stifled a laugh. There was a reason why he picked to help the living. Bloody crime scenes were not something he'd be able to get past, Kylan however, didn't even seem fazed.

Kylan Taylor was a five-foot-two woman with dark auburn hair, chartreuse eyes, and exceptional beauty. Everything about her radiated, from her perfect smile, the way her messy waves framed her face, her stance, her voice hidden with a slight Spanish accent. Where someone like her got the love for the dead remained a mystery even to good, long-time friend Wilson.

"So have you starred in any other pornos since you left college?" She asked out of the blue, with a hardy laugh bellowing from the pits of her stomach. "Because I'm sure some of the nurses would like to know the gentleman Dr. Wilson is not as gentlemanly as they first predicted."

Wilson stopped dead in his tracks, and Kylan had no choice but to stop and wait for him, even though her laughter was echoing the quiet hallways, James was one step away from having an aneurysm. He seemed to be both embarrassed and angry, and on the brink of hyperventilating just by thinking about it.

Everyone had mistakes in college, Wilson just happened to have been a part of a future porno.

"You are not to tell anyone about that." he cautioned, causing Kylan to laugh even harder.

"So uptight."

"I'm warning you, I have people upstairs that will use that to their advantage, and I don't need them knowing."

Kylan's eyebrow cocked, "I thought you said everyone here was your friend?"

"They are." And with her now silent, he seemed to be on the verge of either breaking out more information or keeping it to himself. But the way she stood, her eyes squinting, her arms crossed over her chest and waiting, he had no choice. He had to explain now, or she'd find some unorthodox way of getting the information herself. Sounded awfully familiar. "Okay, some of them may not be my best friends, but there are some that like to make my life miserable."

"Miserable how?"

Wilson's beeper blew off before he said anything, and for a moment he seemed hesitant to even take it seriously.

"Listen, I have to go back upstairs, think you can settle in yourself for a minute?" He asked, "this shouldn't be very long."

"Of course."

He gestured down the hall, pointing to one of the wooden doors on the left, "go through there. Your office is right next to the main morgue, so you shouldn't have too many difficulties finding it. If you need any help you can come back upstairs and ask for me or Cuddy."

She nodded, and Wilson zipped back down the hallways and back to the elevator. For a second, she didn't move. The hospital basement was too quiet now, and the taps of her heels echoed in a way she did not like. There were chairs sitting outside doorways, for reasons unknown, and the light down the hall seemed to be flickering.

Kylan liked dead bodies, but she didn't like the idea of working in a hospital that may or may not be haunted. If she heard something move or a weird voice echoing in the night, she was going to quit. Right then and there, no questions asked. Didn't matter if they were willing to pay a few million dollars for her to stay, being haunted was not worth it.

But luckily she hadn't heard anything yet, so Kylan graciously took the time to skedaddle her way into the room.

Just as Wilson had said, her new office was hidden in the back. Warm air hit her face momentarily, and the smell of something sweet caused her to sneeze as she took a glance around. It seemed the Hospital Interior Designer didn't leave even her new office out of the budget.

Mahogany bookshelves with vases and sculptures hiding in its walls, a set of encyclopedias Kylan would never read, a desk with a high-tech computer system and neatly organized file holders, small lockers, a pretty little lamp, and just as she predicted, enough paper to fill a large forest. She couldn't believe she was right, and she smiled to herself as she slowly walked to her new desk. Glass top. Perfect.

Kylan placed the files Wilson had given her on the corner and set her purse at the side of the table leg, biting her lip with a smile. She had a new coat rack where she could hang her scarves and coats in the winter, and a hook for her lab coats when she had the time to bring them in from her old space. She'd need to get the rest of her medical supplies from her house too, and she'd be all settled in, as she had always been wanting.

It was better than her old office at the county police station that was for sure She had a desk there, and shelves just like the ones presented to her now, but much smaller, and basically the room itself was about the size of a coat closet. It would get too hot in the summers, too cold in the winter, it felt like a meat locker half the time and she had to wear some sort of winter coat and finger less gloves just to do paperwork without shivering.

This was a much better improvement.

Before Kylan could even start going through the paperwork, a strange noise in the back caused her skin to crawl with goosebumps. For a moment she had figured it to be the strong winds she had experienced in the parking lot, but another shuffling caused her logical thoughts to scurry away just as quick. Her office had giant windows showcasing the first part of the morgue, but from what she could tell no lights were on, and there was definitely no one coming from the hall. She would have heard the footsteps on the concrete floors or even the ding of the elevator. This was much different, and it caused her spine to shiver.

Kylan hesitated on going anywhere near the windows. Wilson would have mentioned something about animals sneaking in, right? Or even mention if anyone else would be wondering the morgue, cleaners, nurses, someone. But she doubted someone would even go into the main laboratory, and doing so in the dark was downright stupid. There were thousands of dollars of sharp knives, saws, needles and equipment that no ordinary person could just get their hands on, and one wrong move those things would cause some serious damage. She kept her eyes locked at the windows, waiting for something to emerge. But nothing came out it, and another loud bang caused her skin to jump right off her bones.

Against her better judgment, Kylan slowly walked forward. Waiting for a dead person to smack against the window, bloody and oozing like those horror movies her brother loved so much. But even in her wildest imagination, she had doubted something like that would ever happen, so she kept close to the wall trying to find the damn light switch to the morgue. Maybe if it was a raccoon or a rat, the light would scare them off. Give her enough time to warn staff on an infestation of rodents and they could come and clean it quick. God, even the thought of having a few rats where dead bodies would be sitting caused her stomach to churn.

Kylan fiddled with the light switch until a flood of artificial flood lamps lit the room. It seemed the first part of the morgue was clean, untouched, the tools hanging off nails and boards, steel glimmering in the light. Sinks seemed to be unused, aprons and refrigerators sat in corners, and a scale polished and ready for use on the main table. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary, but this was only the first part. The secondary part of the morgue was something she wasn't ready for. The place where they shoved the bodies in those metal crates screwed on the wall, where tags hung from people's blue toes and made gross noises as gas began to be let out of their orifices. But Wilson would have mentioned bodies already dressed down on the slabs. The place was brand new, cleaned just for Kylan. There was no way there were already bodies taking up space on the cold tables.

Another shuffle caused her to nerves to spike, and again, she almost wanted to follow her better instincts and run back upstairs where someone could investigate for her. Hell, as much as she knew Wilson hated ghosts and anything spooky, she would feel better if he was standing behind her in case something bad happened. What would happen if a crazed raccoon bit her on the arm? Or worse, a crazy patient who escaped from the psych ward. All those tools were nice weapons if they needed to be, and Kylan certainly didn't like the idea of someone wielding them against her.

Kylan carefully pitter-pattered to the next light switch, hoping to whoever controlled the heavens to just be a few dead bodies rotting in the cold. Her fingers slid against the chilly tile, and her fingers slid against the plastic switch, she flipped it on.

Nothing.

Not a god damn thing.

She let out a deep breath Kylan wasn't aware she had been holding. Her chest hurt now. Like her heart had just pumped enough blood and adrenaline to run a ten mile marathon. Twice. She laughed at herself on how ridiculous she had been acting. She could only imagine how Wilson would look when she'd tell him the thoughts she had over some old piping or some bullshit like that. Just as she flicked the light back off, she turned, and collided with a mass of fabric.

"Jesus Christ!" She yelled, slamming into the man who scared the crap out of her.

His aftershave permeated her nose for a second, like spice, and she staggard back, trying to put as much distance as she could between the two of them. Which wasn't much, since she had hit the back of the autopsy table, moving it an inch or two causing a loud skid to cover the heavy breathing. Her hands leaned on the sides, and she tried to not to let her nerves get the better of her.

"What the hell are you doing in there?" She finally asked the moment she could break out a few words. The room was barely lit from the other room's light, but she could definitely tell it was a man from the way his shoulders were shaped, the clothing, the smell still stuck in her nostrils. "What the fuck are you doing here in the dark?"

She seemed more surprised than angry. Sure someone was sticking their nose in her new toys, but that didn't mean she cared enough to get a little angry. Maybe a signal or a word or two could have stopped her from wanting to rip off his balls for scaring her like that. Who in their right mind just snooped around a morgue touching things that didn't belong to them?

The light flickered back on, and the bright light caused her eyes to hurt from the sudden adjustment.

The man kept silent, moving past her with a clear and visual limp. For a second she thought she might have kneed him somewhere, but the looks of a cane resting on the cabinet counter across from her, she doubted she injured him. At least, not enough to cause anything like that.

"I sometimes kept pills down here, I'm guessing someone hid them or threw them away." He finally said, and Kylan couldn't help but get a little irritated at his condescending tone.

"You kept pills in a morgue?" She spit.

"I'm sure you keep pills in cupboards too."

"Not in a morgue."

Kylan would have been freaked out on coming face-to-face with a man so suddenly, especially in the dark and in a room by herself. But she bet herself that if the time came, all she'd have to do was kick him in his bad leg and take off. No immediate amount of danger that screamed red at her, at least, from what she could tell.

He was a taller man, much older than her by ten years from the indication of his peppered hair, he seem withered in the face, wrinkles near his eyes, a much older demeanor overall in his appearance. His limp added to the age, but his clothing, loose and almost ill fitting, made Kylan second-guess herself.

"Who are you? How'd you even get access to the basement, you need a key-card." Kylan said matter-of-fact. her breathing steady finally, and now she wanted actual answers. She didn't doubt he was an actual doctor, but she would be damn well surprised if he was.

As if he thought it was a stupid question, he grabbed a plastic ID card much like hers from his jacket pocket, shoved it close to her nose, and pulled it away like three seconds staring at a white piece of glistening words would give Kylan all the information she needed. But she did get one thing.

A name.

Dr. Gregory House.

Well I'll be damned. She thought. This guy is a damn doctor.

#gregory house #house md #dr. house #dr. james wilson #james wilson #fanfic #fanfiction #imagines #tumblr

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paintmearainbow · 5 years ago

Text

What Is Love ?

Love.

Love means different things to different people. Some people say love is making your partner happy and seeing them happy makes you happy . But love, is actually a figment of our imaginations. In a way, love is selfish and makes us lose our independence. You make the other person happy to keep yourself happy, and you become dependent and vulnerable. It's a somewhat like a shared dream. And until one person decides to wakeup, and that dream, albeit fun while it lasted, becomes a living nightmare

1 YEAR AGO

For Harry and y/n; sneaking out of premiers and award shows,buying tacos and eating them at 3 AM was love. For them, love was dancing in the kitchen to Elvis and baking with each other. Love was watching horror movies in makeshift tents, snacking on caramel popcorns and cans of soda; all while making fun of Harry's "those dumb bitches" in the movie. Love was falling asleep in each others arms and reading each other books. It was dressing up as Disney characters and acting out scenes from their favourite animations. It was etheral, perfect. Almost too perfect too be true

People always said "Love will fizzle out. One of you will get bored." Harry and y/n didn't listen. They burned so fast, so bright and didn't realise that their spark too, like all blazed and sparks from lighted matches, had extinguished. One second it was burning so brightly, and the next, it was gone

..............................................................................................

"When was the last time you spoke to him ?" asked y/n's sister.

" A week ago" a distraught y/n replied. "He barely has time to even talk to me on the phone, let alone show me the sights and explore the places with him via facetime"

For a brief moment, she allowed herself to close her eyes and all the memories flashed through her eyes, like a movie roll, playing over and over agai

FLASHBACK

"Y/N !" exclaimed Harry, the golden flecks in his eyes dancing with joy. Oh how she longed to see him, feel him and be with him in real life , rather than on a screen. Yet she was eternally grateful for Harry for never making her feel left out from the tour experience, he always made sure to show her around, even if it was only on a screen, while giving tour guide commentary in a horribly fake American accent.

"You're in for a treat ! We're going to see the Louvre today. Come on an enjoy the sited with Harry's Tour Experiences"

Y/n couldn't stop laughing.

Being an art fanatic, she giving Harry detailed descriptions of the art, while all he did was turn it inti a joke. His put on accent stood out when he kept saying " Oh shucks ! Here's another painting of a few women and men fighting and eating." He termed an entire style of art; renaissance art as "men and women barely dressed fighting and eating". He made a few sly comments on how y/n would look lovely in that dress. It was so wonderful and each of these virtual trips was marked with his signature end. Going to a park, and eating the same food.

His laughter was contagious and y/n loved it. She wondered how she got so lucky, so blessed to have hazza in her life.

She never thought that this love, would eventually fizzle.

end of flashback

Now she was lucky if he spoke to her for 5 minutes. Even those 5 minutes were filled with her talking and him showing least interest in what she had to say. She doubted whether he even listened.

Today, however was a low blow. It was y/n' bday. had it been any other year. Harry would've made this day perfect. They had been together since they were 18. The first year, he bought her 18 gifts on her birthday. The subsequent year, he got her 19 and so on. He would make her breakfast in bed and wake her up with showers of kisses and a "Good Morning, Happy Birthday Darling."

Today however, at 7 PM , she was yet to have him acknowledge that it was her birthday. She was yet to have any sign of news from him at all. She illusioned herself, thinking that maybe he had interviews to attend.

Her sister, however, tired with y/n's moping, said" You're coming over with your friends to Club 22 this night or else I wont speak to you. I don't want you to spend your birthday moping around"

With great difficulty, y/n was persuaded by her friends to go clubbing. The loud music, the drinks and the dim lights were never y/n's scene. Yet, for the sake of her friends, she fixed up a smile on her face and tried to enjoy, trying her best to forget than Harry's call still hadn't come.

.......

It was 10 PM and the party was in full swing. y/n's friends were drunk, so drunk. Everyone around her was laughing, drinking and joking. Meanwhile, a new disturbing thought had settled in y/n's head. What if he got into and accident ? What if he's really sick ? She was ridden with anxiety and couldn't get Harry off her mind, until that one fateful message from Nezza, her best friend, Harry's PA, through whom they had met, sent her that message. When y/n's phone lit up and she scarmbled to see the text, hoping it was Harry, she did not know it would change her life permanently.

The text was simple. "I'm so so sorry honey; you deserve to know" It was attached with a single file of pictures.

She subconciously knew what had happened. She had seen all the signs, yet chose to ignore them, not wanting to get up from her dream. The reduced duration of phone calls ultimately leading up to a call a month, the regular excuses, coming home late, half hearted kisses, they all added up. For a split second, y/n wanted to think that it was something else; maybe harry was too drunk or had passed out in a bar.

The message to forever to download. It was so slow and painfully excruciating. It was like the calm before the storm. The slow before the fast. The light drizzle before the thunderstorm. When the picture finally loaded; her heart shattered ever so fast. The pain she felt was numbing, yet somewhere in her mind, she was gald that Harry was safe.

There was Harry, his arm around the small waist of the redhead, his fingers entwined in hers. The same fingers which ran through y/n's hair multiple times, were now woven in another's hand. She thought her heart couldnt break more.

Fate was not kind to y/n.

She swiped to see the next picture, and she wasn't sure how, or whether it was even possible, but her heart further broke. Harry was kissing her in the booth, their booth, in Alessandro's the place he had her first date with y/n.

Fate had evil plans for y/n.

Tears streaming down her face, the makeup for the night ruined, y/n looked around for her sister and friends but they were nowhere to be seen. The only thing glowing right now was her glitzy dress, the one she had been forced into. Unable to take it anymore, she ordered an uber and left.

Fate wasn't kind to y/n at all

The minute she left the club, she was blinded with lights, the flashes from the camera, and the shouts from the reporters

" How do you feel about Harry cheating on you on tour ?"

"Did you expect this ? How do you react to Harry kissing a supermodel, younger than you!"

Y/n wanted to scream, but keeping her emotions in she pushed through the sea of people, got into her uber, gave her address and broke down.

She cried and cried. The uber driver tried to ask her what was wrong but she couldn't stop crying. she wanted the pain to go away. she wanted to cry. But most of all, she wanted Harry to tell her that it wasn't true and hold her in his arms and tell her it's alright.

But it wasn't. it wasn't alright. Far from it.

The next morning after an extremly broken sleep, y/n awoke. All the event's from last night wre remembered and her eyes started to water again. She switched on her phone to see the hashtag #y/ndeservesbetter and #harryandy/nareover trending. She also so 100 missed calls, voicemails and texts from Harry but chose to ignore them.

Y/n was raised to be strong. She spent most of childhood see her mom struggle to make meets end. She had seen the worst. She was strong. She went over to the mirror and saw her reflection and realised that she looked a mess. She took 3 deep breaths, washed her face, and masked her emotions, just as she did way back in high school, before she met Harry, before he changed her.

She went down and suddenly the apartment door opened. There stood the man who she loved, the man who had broken her heart, the one who still held her heart, no matter how broken it was.

He pleaded with her to forgive him. He begged, cried, said it was a one time mistake, and he regretted it, that he loved her; but y/n turned a deaf ear to his pleas. Their love had fizzled out, and she was blinded by affection not to realise it earlier. And as the saying goes " Once a cheater, always a cheater." Y/n wasn't taking any more risks. She put on a strong facade, made up her mind and left, leaving a crying Harry on the porch.

She wasn't over him, far from it. She was so broken, yet showed no signs. She had calm expresssion, yet her thoughts were chaotic. But she knew what was best and she knew this was the right thing to do. She had to take the lessons from this experience and move on, just like her mother had taught her. Dreams end, no matter how amazing it is, no matter how much you want to hold on and live it, and this, her perfect dream, had also come to an end.

So, what is love ?

A dream ? A nightmare ? Soemthing too good to be true?

Maybe all it is, is an illusion. A fairytale. Or maybe it is the truth, because truth teaches us lessons and so does love. i guess it's one of those things which just has no answers.

author's note

AND THATS A WRAP. I DO NOT CONDONE CHEATING. it's something which definitely shouldnt be forgive . this the first ever imagine I've posted on my new tumblr. Please send feedback. Hope you enjoyed it. Reblog. What are your thoughts? i would love to hear them. Send requests for more imagines.

i should be studying but eh.

keep dreaming

ashu.

(here's a random B99 gif for no reason)

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inumakkis · 5 years ago

Note

for the prompts, i just like reddie in highschool/college. like established relationship, them just being really cute. literally just make it fluffy that’s all i care about

MODERN . I apologise because my Tumblr cut off half of this request ,luckily I made it fluffy at the end anyways but I worked a while on this and didn't want to delete it all ! Happy to redo tomorrow !

"so therefore during flu season ,all students and staff should be obligated to wear a mask ." No one clapped at the end of Eddie's presentation, Richie would've but he was currently in isolation for an ' inappropriate ' joke .

A laugh was heard from a small group at the back , a larger boy approached ,bent down to Eddie's level ( a large distance ) and coughed in his face . "Where's your mask eddie-bear?" The boy taunted and the class erupted in laughter.

"fuck off b-belch ." Bill spoke up as Eddie tried to remain his composure ,trying not to gag openly in front of the class . "Yeah ,what you gonna do Billy boy ?" Victor spoke up after being nudged by belch . "Speak ?" Belch added with a laugh . It wasn't a funny joke but most laughed in hope they wouldn't have their head shoved down the boys toilet .

Eddie felt his insides churn at the thought. God the disease and the germs . He rolled his eyes at the taunt , reaching for his pocket ,grabbing his inhaler as he felt his airways tighten slightly . Eddie knew he didn't have asthma but having that piece of plastic was a comfort object ,it calmed him down.

He placed it between his lips before it came tumbling to the ground. The bully held it in his palm . He looked at the clock , 30 seconds .

"anything else you would like to add Edward ?" Mr Greg's asked with a bored sigh ,rubbing his forehead as if this was the norm.

Spoiler ,it was

"no sir. " Eddie said in a quieter voice as Victor grabbed his inhaler and put it to his lips , Eddie didn't stop him ,he knew it was fake and he also knew it tasted like shit so he didn't have a problem ,he had enough ten in his bag .

"that tastes like fucking battery acid , learn to breathe pill boy ." They threw the plastic to the floor and ran out the room as soon as the lunch bell rang .

Everyone left except for Eddie ,he always stayed behind after presentations to collect the documents he had prepared which he would never read from because ,they'd end up being ripped up.

"fucking turds . It should've taken then ,the little fuckers ." He mumbled bitterly as he picked up the plastic pieces from his smashed inhaler ,and the metal compartment ,void of any label of legitimacy.

"what you stressing about eds ?' a voice came from behind him as he crouched on the floor.

"I've told you ,don't fucking call me eds !" The small boy snapped and turned to shoot his boyfriend a glare.

"whoa ,calm down there ,spaghetti . " He held his arms up ,putting them behind his head. "Ya' caught me partner !" He exclaimed in a weird accent and made his way over. Eddie didn't even realise he was crying until Richie was wiping his eyes .

Richie's eyes flickered down to the ground to see the mess around Eddie's feet and the bag which was thrown across the room . They must've done it when I was talking. Eddie thought to himself.

"shit eds . " He murmured and wrapped his arms around him. Richie wasn't intimidating ,he always tried to defend Eddie ,and he wouldn't say that the bullying stopped while he was there but it sure gave them something else to focus on.

Eddie threw his arms around his lover ,letting out pained sobs. He couldn't wait to get out of this town ,away from everyone and everything . " I'm fine ,nothing new." He picked up his bag . " Oh look ,no lunch , what's fucking new ?" He shoved his documents and books into his bag harshly as tears hit the desk .

Eddie didn't cry often ,in fact ,he was usually fine and dandy with being the boys ' personal toy to practice their punches on but he was so stressed lately .

"I'll take you out for lunch ." Richie spoke up from the corner of the room ,letting Eddie collect his things . He knew Eddie had his limits when it came to these things ,when Eddie cried ,he stopped and gave him space but love.

" I don't have any money on me ." He whispered in a quiet tone. "Well I do ,now move it you turd before I carry you out of this school myself ." He ruffled his hair and Eddie cracked a smile . He wasn't going to argue with that .

-----

"I told the teachers that I'll get paid more than them ." Richie laughed ,arm slung loosely around Eddie's fragile frame.

Eddie chuckled ,shaking his head fondly . "You most likely will ,have you been for an interview at the dumbass club yet ?"

"oh haha ,very funny and as a matter of fact , I'll be a millionaire in ten years , famous Richie tozier !" He threw his hands up in front of his ,as if blinded by his own fame.

"yeah when pigs fly." Eddie nudged him as they took a seat at the café.

When Richie said that he would take Eddie out for lunch ,he expected a pizza place not a gelato café but this was Richie , he had no idea why he expected a normal meal.

"he'll have the Derry delight please ,same for me ." Richie spoke and the waitress nodded , going to prepare the gelato .

Eddie smiled to himself ,the countless times they had been there ,he always ordered the same ' Derry delight ' , a beautiful blend of the different chocolate ice creams , a honey drizzle and red cherry.

The cherry always freaked him out , the way they always had the stem of it ,perfectly straight and stood up high ,somehow supporting the weight . It reminded him of pennywise ,his red balloons. He glanced up to Richie who already had his infront of him ,cherry missing but hanging from between his lips.

Richie quirked a brow and gave a small little grin as he ate the cherry ,clearly his wasn't gutted as he would put it so he pulled the small stone from between his teeth and placed it on a napkin. "You're disgusting ." Eddie commented ,watching as Richie spat out the stone .

"tell me about it ,sweetheart ." He teased and flicked a bit of whip cream at his nose.

Eddie did it back , taking a spoonful of his cold treat .

Richie returned it , taking a bigger bite with his teeth which made Eddie cringe.

Eddie did it back ,Richie did it again. Soon enough the boys were covered in splatters of whipped cream and gelato.

"boys , we're going to ask you to leave ,the customers think you're being a bit distracting." The waitress explained in a sweet tone of voice . She saw these two nearly every day ,though she had a small smirk on her face.

"oh drop the act bev ,can we have a free cone ?" Richie pleaded,leaning over and pressing a kiss to Eddie's cheek who's face lit up in flames.

"fine ." She shrugs with a little wink as she took Richie's money . When she returned ,she handed the cone to Eddie . " See you at school tomorrow in social !" She waved as they walked out.

" Ya know ,your mom was so good last nig-" he was stopped mid sentence with the dessert in his face.

"that wasn't very nice,was it?" Richie pulled Eddie close who smirked up at him.

He yanked Richie down to his height and kissed him like the world didn't care.

#reddie fic #reddie #angst with a happy ending #highschoolau #it2017 #it2019

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blueishfood · 5 years ago

Text

A life of Longing/Loving (Chapter 1)

Pairing: Anne Shirley x Gilbert Blythe, shirbert

Words: 2,2 K

Warning(s): Mentions of unwanted sex and/or a disturbing past, prostitution, violence, upcoming angst probably, (NOT SMUT)

Summary: Anne Shirley has worked at brothels for as long as she can remember. She has almost given up all hope, when a knight in shining armor appears, from beautiful Avonlea no less, claiming that she is the woman he will marry.

OR: Anne Shirley learns to experience real love while being extremely annoyed at Gilbert Blythe for no reason whatsoever (except for her pride).

A/N: This is my new AWAE fanfic (and my first!).

Teaser

Gilbert woke early. The sun shone brightly, and he had forgotten to close the drapes. His eyes fluttered at the light, and he rose, quickly pulling on pants and a shirt. The young man walked over to the washpot, broke the ice on top and scrubbed his face in the cold water. With a shutter, he dried himself with the cloth on his right.

The floorboards were cold, Gilbert grabbed the thickest pair of socks he owned and pulled them up past his ankles. He muttered a prayer to thank God for wool. Outside his door, someone shuffled about the kitchen. Gilbert closed his eyes for a second before he opened the door. This was going to be a long day.

Sebastian greeted his brother in everything but blood with a wide grin and Gilbert was quick to answer with his own. However, his smile looked rather bleak today. Bash noticed, after a few years living with Gilbert, they read each other like open books. Bash decided not to comment.

The scrambled eggs arrived before Gilberts tiered eyes before he sat down. “Straight from the mothers themselves.” Bash chuckled. Three chicks had hatched just yesterday and both farmers were now waiting anxiously for the frozen ground to thaw. Gilbert offered only a quiet hum of appreciation.

“Delly is sleeping soundly,” Bash shook his head fondly and continued; “Of course she would choose to sleep now after keeping me awake all night.” Gilbert smiled at the though of Delly. The darling had only just turned three months and was making more of a ruckus now than when she was just out of the womb. Sebastian hummed a slow tune as he fished up the toasted bread and butter.

“Mary is still asleep too.” Bash stated, as Gilbert stood to pour the milk. “Poor soul wasn’t allowed to go to bed until four in the morning.”

“Oh,” Gilbert said, “I wondered where she had gone to.” He bit into his eggs and sipped the milk.

“I think I’ll have to run to Mr. Jones to borrow a hammer today.” Gilbert sighed deeply. “I was thinking of starting on that broken fence.” He looked at Bash who seated himself across from Gilbert at the table. “Do we need borrow anything else? He’s always happy to help.”

“A hammer?” Bash repeated, drinking a whole glass of milk before eating anything, as he always did. “You’ll have to go further than that to get a hammer, boy. Jones broke his just last week.” Gilbert frowned as he thought the matter over.

“Charlottetown?” He asked, and Bash nodded.

“Afraid so.” Gilbert sighed again.

“Fine.” He muttered, “Anything you need? I might as well do some shopping when I’m there.” Gilbert scooped up the last of his eggs and toast.

“No, I don’t think so.” Bash looked behind Gilbert, as if he would find the answer floating in the air. “But, brother,” Gilbert stopped in his tracks from leaving the table and sat back down. Bash only called him brother when he was immensely happy or very concerned. “I’ve been hearing you sighing about all day, what’s the matter?” Gilbert almost laughed. Not at the question, maybe more at the answer he thought of.

“It’s really nothing important, Bash.” He stacked a few plates in his arms and put them in the sink. Bash protested at his vague answer, and Gilbert ran a hand over his face. He sighed again, pulled at his sleeve and sat down.

“I- well I-” Gilbert tried to make a sentence that wouldn’t sound as weird as the one he had formed in his head.

“Go on.”

“I want a wife.”

“What.”

Bashes voice was monotone. His eyes were wide, and he had dropped the fork he was previously holding, making eggs splatter on his shirt. Gilbert would have laughed at the sight if only he had been joking.

“I just long to… make a family of my own- I, yes, well of course I have you guys,” Gilbert glanced guiltily at Bash who was looking positively offended. “But I want my own children, a legacy, I don’t know why but there’s a voice inside me I just…”

“Gilbert, you’re barely twenty!” Bash stood so the bench behind him toppled to the floor. “You have your whole life before you, you don’t need to settle down!” Gilbert smiled awkwardly to his best friend.

“Well I know I don’t need to.” He smiled wistfully. “I want to.” Bash pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “I have asked God, and-”

“You asked GOD?!” Bash shouted, once again rigid as a pole. “Gilbert!” He scolded, “Don’t you know when you ask, he delivers?” Bash paced back and forth on the floor, only barely avoiding stumbling on the fallen bench. “Mercy on us, in a week’s time we’ll have virgins of plenty breaking down your door…” Gilbert blushed down to the roots of his hair.

“Well that’s a bit-” Bash ignored him.

“Mary! Honey! I need help, Gilbert asked GOD-” Gilbert didn’t hear the rest of the sentence as Bash stormed down the hallway.

Silent as a mouse, Gilbert stepped in his shoes, shrugged on his jacket and put on his hat and escaped. The stable was quiet except for his horse who whinnied happily when Gilbert entered. He filled up the haystack outside her box and fastened her saddle. Silently he walked back inside through the backdoor and grabbed his wallet. He snickered as he heard Mary scolding Bash in annoyed whispers. Just as Gilbert led his mare out of the stable, he caught a glimpse of Sebastian, bursting out the front door. Gilbert jumped up on the horse and kicked her side lightly.

“Gilbert! Get back here!” Gilbert only waved and before long he was out of sight.

The trip to Charlottetown was a long one, and it felt longer since the last time he had travelled. Usually Bash or Mary did the shopping, they took mercy on poor Gilbert who had never been much of a socialiser. He didn’t mind people, he just minded the gossip more after his father died. All of Avonlea wondered what had become of the orphan boy who took to sea after the death of his family. Gilbert was sure some of Charlottetown knew about it as well.

Gilbert had never really announced his return. When he came back it was because of Bash. Together they worked the farm and helped Mary with Delly. Gilbert lived a generally good life. It wasn’t his fault that he sometimes felt lonely. He didn’t really need a wife, he knew that. Gilbert had always felt complete on his own, but he longed for companionship. In the evenings he would watch Mary lull Delly to sleep while Bash held them both, an adoring smile priding his features. Gilbert loved them. They were his family, how could he not? But when Gilbert went to his cold bed, he felt alone in ways he had never imagined he would.

Gilbert hadn’t been lying when he told Bash he had asked God. He had always known there was a special plan for his life. That, he believed, was the way of the world. He had never doubted he would feel fulfilled, and after receiving such a gift as Bash and his family, Gilbert hadn’t dared ask for more from his heavenly father. He hadn’t dared… until recently. He knew that it was asking of much, but his father had always said that a man’s highest duty was to his wife. Gilbert longed to know what that was like. So, he asked. It was a simple little prayer, and if He said no… Gilbert would back down. He would tell him his greatest thanks, nod his head and live… forever lonely.

Gilbert woke from his dream about hair of fire when the train stopped abruptly. “Last stop!” the conductor shouted, “Georgetown!” Gilbert shot up and out of his seat. The conductor looked at him and smiled,

“You quite alright sir?” He asked, picking up the hat Gilbert had dropped. Gilbert shook his head frantically.

“Did you mean to say Charlottetown, sir?” Gilbert asked, accepting his hat with a nod. The conductor laughed a bit.

“No, I’m afraid I meant Georgetown.” He gestured out the window and Gilbert could see a flurry of unknown buildings; they were smaller than the ones in Charlottetown. “If you’re looking to board the next train to Charlottetown, I’m afraid it leaves the station no earlier than four o’clock.” Gilbert sighed at the enlightenment, but thanked the conductor, nonetheless.

The train rolled off the tracks behind him and Gilbert was left standing on an empty platform.

He bought a hammer in the span of his first ten minutes in Georgetown. The next half hour, he tried to relax in a cold bar-chair. It was early in the morning so the only person occupying the bar other than himself was the bartender.

Gilbert sighed at his stupidity as he thought of the next five hours he would have to spend in this god-forsaken town. Georgetown was known on PEI for its dark neighbourhoods and frequent crime, but to Gilbert it seemed like any other sleepy town in the early morning.

“Is there anything interesting to do in this town?” He asked the bartender, who stopped in his tracks. The older gentleman turned around and slung the towel over his left shoulder.

“I don’t approve…” He looked searchingly into Gilberts eyes, “But if you’re looking for company, the Lonely Gentleman is right down the street.” He pointed out the direction. Gilbert drank the rest of his watered-out beer and stood.

“It’s a club?” He asked, pulling his cap down over his head. The bartender nodded slowly.

“Of sorts.” Gilbert nodded in thanks and left the bar to meet the chilly wind outside.

The drizzle in the air soaked Gilbert to the bone in minutes. He picked up the pace when he saw the light shining from the club the bartender had mentioned. It didn’t seem like a fancy club, but perhaps it still contained some interesting discussions he could participate in. He often saw elder men in Charlottetown engaged in political discussions in several small and private bars. He had never really thought of joining them, but now it seemed more desirable than the cold bar chair. Politics or, well, the arguing part of politics had always interested him anyways.

The moment he entered Gilbert felt like something was wrong. He made an awful decision and looked around. Never in his life had Gilbert felt more ashamed of himself. The room he was standing in was dark, the few lights cast a golden glow over the whole place. In plush red chairs sat men of all ages and races. Girls swarmed about the dimly lit room, tending to the men’s needs in the bare minimum of clothing. Sometimes in less.

Gilbert turned around as if he had gazed into the gates of hell. He pressed his forehead to the wall, and pulled his hair roughly.

“God give me strength.” He muttered.

Someone tapped his shoulder and Gilbert turned around slowly. She was scantily dressed; he could see bruises forming on her left shoulder.

“Do you need any assistance, sir?” her voice was calm and quaint. Gilbert shivered at the pleading he saw in her eyes. He made sure to keep his body from touching hers.

“Are you alright, miss?” he asked, keeping his eyes on her eyes or above. Her hair was long and light. She wore a pink ribbon that dipped out on the left side of her head. “Do you need to see a doctor about the –” Gilbert gestured to her shoulder. The girl covered it up quickly.

“No, I’m quite alright, sir.” The young girl glanced away. Gilbert recognized tears on the tips of her eyelashes and decided to push her further.

“Are you sure, because I have some connections I could-.” She placed a hand on his chest and smiled sweetly.

“I am fine, thank you sir.”

The air around him was dark with smoke. Gilbert caught a whiff of alcohol and decided he had seen quite enough for one day.

“Do you want a private room, sir?” The girl asked, she had not moved from her spot. Gilbert shook his head and carefully plucked her hands off his shoulders.

“No, but thank you, miss…?” The shy girl tugged at a pearl bracelet on her right arm. Gilbert forced his eyes to stay on her shoulder.

“Gillis, sir.” He nodded and quickly shook her hand.

“Goodbye then, miss Gillis.” Gilbert turned around and walked out the door.

The rain outside seemed to welcome him with cold arms. Gilbert almost cried with relief. What kind of wretched place would harm a soul such as miss Gillis? She seemed sweet. Kind. Considerate. Why would they…?

Gilbert didn’t finish his thought. The hair rose on the back of his neck as a bloodcurdling scream tore through the dark alley. A shiver ran down his spine. Gilbert spun around to look at the tall brick building he had just left and swore he heard a voice whisper;

“It’s her.”

#awae fandom #awae fanfic #anne with an e #shirbert #gilbert blythe #anne shirley x gilbert blythe #anne shirley cuthbert #awae au #au fanfiction

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moonlightchess · 5 years ago

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On Lesser Ghosts, my perpetually in-progress novel, a cast of current characters:

Brandon Graham: 30 years old, police investigator for the Dorset Police Department of Dorset, Vermont. The sole survivor of serial killer Seth Morgan, active throughout the bulk of the 90s and all the way through 2003, when he was captured shortly after a 15-year-old Brandon escaped his nightmarish year of captivity in the Morgan house. Casually alcoholic, gay, entirely jaded and weary of the world, but stronger than he appears at first glance. Recently assigned to the case of Cora Tycho, a promising young physics student from the Lower Prince area of Vermont who has gone missing.

Dr. Casey Tycho: 30 years old, and Dorset PD’s newest medical examiner. A British expatriate originally hailing from north London, Casey is the antithesis to the human disaster of Brandon. Sharp, extensively educated, responsible and diligent, he wears silk-lined suit vests and ties to work and has been sleeping with Brandon for six months in an arrangement that Brandon refuses to acknowledge as any sort of relationship. He’s quietly accepted this, both out of respect for Brandon’s boundaries and because being black and openly gay in a small Vermont town may not be the most desirable situation. His sister Cora has gone missing, and he hates how little he wants Brandon on the case, but he knows better than anyone how unstable the man can be.

Sara Graham: Brandon’s younger sister at 27 years old, a folk musician and “crafty mess” by her own admission. Bright, curious, extroverted and warm, much of her life has been dedicated to worrying about her brother. She makes beaded jewelry and pottery on the weekends, collects coffee mugs, and is a driving force in Brandon’s life, though he occasionally wonders if she doesn’t resent him at least a little for the way his kidnapping and subsequent fame as Seth Morgan’s sole surviving victim dominated her younger years. The two are very close, and she’s determined to not allow him to lie down and give up on the Cora Tycho case, no matter how much tension and distance it’s created between he and Casey.

Sasha Prescott: Brandon’s boss, police chief of the DPD. Tough as nails, but she harbors a soft spot for Brandon in spite of his sporadic displays of instability and recklessness in the past. Especially protective of Casey, having long since come to the conclusion that Dorset’s black community is small at best and they have to stick together - the disappearance of Cora, a young black woman in her town, has been keeping her up at night. Her hawk’s stare and firm hand keep the entire department in line, but this also means that she has a constant target on her back.

Kris Alden: A mystery. Was with Cora Tycho on the night she went missing during a camping trip in the woods. Claims he went home early, a result of stomach problems. Not much intel on him yet.

Audrey and Stephen: The forensic lab techs, working directly under Casey. Odd, dreamy types, ensconced in their own little world much of the time. May know more than they’re letting on.

Read the first few pages below!

🔍🔍🔍

09.12.19:

A burning and industrious early-morning sun insisted upon bullying the pleasant warmth of Casey’s skin into something too harsh to ignore as Brandon groaned, rolling over onto his stomach in bed. Beside him, Casey stretched, languid as an enormous cat, his sleep likely having been far more restful. Still, his smile was tender as he reached for him, and the scent of coffee brewing from the kitchen suggested that he’d already been up once to make it for him. The sweetness of the gesture hurt, and he curled away from his touch. “Too fucking hot.”

“It’s only going to be about seventy today.” Because of course Casey knew the day’s predicted weather already, of course he was as on top of it as he was everything else in his life. Casey, with his autumn-brown skin and gentle, fox-gold eyes like candlelit amber, of course he was ready with coffee brewing and the forecast on his phone. They were the same age, thirty, but Casey was one of those rare people who had been an adult since twelve. He’d probably delighted in collecting school supplies for a new year when none of his friends gave a shit, he was the type of person who always knew where his keys were. He had a set-in-stone laundry day, which had blown Brandon’s mind when he’d first learned of it. Even now, at six AM, he smelled like fresh fucking bread. Literally the worst human, Brandon had long since concluded, but the sex was fantastic.

Wordlessly, he rolled over for his first cigarette of the day, ignoring Casey’s softly disapproving sound behind him. He briefly considered reminding him of his total lack of access into his personal life, that whatever happened between them sexually meant ten kinds of nothing outside the bedroom, but Casey had never pushed or questioned his boundaries. He kept his distance as Brandon rolled naked out of bed, ambling to the window to shove it open before disappearing into the bathroom without further comment. He gave him time to shower before following, tapping his fingertips against the glass shower door with a quiet, “Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“Want company?”

“Oh, uh. No.”

There was a pause, and then Casey’s silhouette nodding silently, turning to go. He was unique in that Brandon never felt so much as a semblance of guilt about bluntly rejecting the affections of anyone but him, and now it felt sharp. The hot spray of water went needle-harsh against his skin, but he still ignored the coffee Casey had left on the counter for him, as well as the text blinking on his phone. Eat something. Don’t be too late for work, Sasha will have your ass. Even now, he did his best to take care of him as much as Brandon would allow, but he rationalized that he’d never promised the man a damn thing. In fact, he’d made his limitations abundantly clear on the first night they’d tumbled, panting, into bed together, roughly six months ago. The problem was, there was another man. He was persistent and jealous, and he was always around. He was sitting on the edge of his bed right now, in fact. Late forties, moon-pale skin and sleek, ink-black hair, his deceptive youthfulness undercut by the coldness lingering in his dark eyes.

Seth waited, silent, watching Brandon dress. The most attention he ever paid to his honey-blonde mess of hair was a quick tugging of his brush, and the woodsmoke cologne his sister had given him for Christmas last year was left mostly unused on the dresser. His morning routine had long since boiled down to a quick shower, shave, and brushing of teeth and hair before throwing on whatever happened to be clean regardless of its fashionable implications. Today, Seth watched him button up a loose black Oxford over a pair of battered jeans, before embarking upon a ten-minute search for his keys because he wasn’t Casey and never would be.

A light drizzle began to dissolve the heat of the day like sugar in warm coffee once he was on the road, clouds going dense and dark with the sweet threat of a proper rain. Sasha had already texted him - 9:10, Graham. Late again. Casey had tried to warn him, but then he always did, and Brandon never listened. Elgar helped to swallow Sasha’s nearly tangible contempt for his time management skills as he drove, and beside him, Seth settled into the passenger’s seat to stare thoughtfully out at the increasingly heavy rain.

10.4.2003:

This far north into Vermont, where Seth’s house teetered on the border into Canada, winters descended early and lingered long. The ceiling-to-floor steel and rebar support pipe Brandon had been handcuffed to by the wrists for the past two weeks had absorbed the seeping chill, and Seth had only dressed him in a filthy, tattered wifebeater and a pair of old blue flannel pajama pants that smelled suffocatingly of mothballs. He woke every few hours with numb, stinging toes, shivering and dripping. The handcuffs Seth had restrained him with had to have been ordered from somewhere - there was no soft pink fur lining to suggest an intended use of foreplay, and instead they were solid in a deadly way, a way that thunked every time he slid them locked with a firm sense of finality.

A fever burned through his bones overnight near the middle of October, and finally some part of Seth seemed to awaken to his basic human needs. He was provided a deeply itchy wool blanket that felt woven from canvas and sandpaper, but it did the job of keeping him warm. Every few nights, his worn boots would thud down the basement steps to offer him a plate of cold, congealed noodles that he’d clearly been keeping in the fridge. His wrists went raw and scabbed with the endless scrape of the cuffs, his knees cramping in their bent position. Stretching his legs was possible, but uncomfortable. The days began to melt together, the constant darkness of the basement transforming time into a static thing. He slept when the wave of exhaustion became too much to fight, he woke and watched the shadows when sleep eluded him. He lost all sense of night or day, the passage of hours.

Three weeks deep, the frantic hope that he’d be found began to fade. The basement began to feel like his place, and he began to forget what it felt like to not fall asleep hugging a metal pipe. Seth was strangely reassuring, an exponential effect that seemed to correlate with his slow acceptance of his situation. As time dissolved and desperation waned, Seth’s approval bloomed. Sometimes, now, the noodles were warm and slick from boiling water, fresh. His blanket was replaced with a less abrasive one, albeit filthy. At fourteen years old, Brandon learned that life began and ended here in his cold, dark basement. The memory of the day he’d been taken seemed irrelevant now, the faces of his parents to whom he’d clung so desperately in those early days.

“I know that you don’t understand.” Seth’s voice was soft, gentle more often than not, sedately erudite like a classics professor on vacation in the woods for the holidays. He was quite articulate, expressing himself fairly eloquently whenever he came into the basement to speak to him. “It sounds trite, like something Keats might have written, but believe me when I say that this is your chrysalis phase, Brandon. It’s tight and uncomfortable and emerging will be a painful struggle, but I want you to trust me. I know it’s asking a lot of you right now, but I also know that your eyes are open and you’ll get there. I trust you already.”

He wore a lot of high-collared fleece sweaters in earth tones and he kept his silky hair longish, framing his face in a soft sort of way that left him mild and relaxed to the eye. Brandon learned to crave him, the only human voice, presence, that he’d experienced in a month as the end of October approached. He couldn’t express this yet, but Seth would smile down at him, bending at the knees to wrap him in a new blanket or to offer him the day’s plate of noodles. Sometimes the blankets were splattered with fresh bloodstains and sometimes the noodles were wrapped around bullets of sausage that tasted blandly wrong, but he was there.

Once, shortly before Halloween, the burgeoning bond between them inspired him to blurt, “I wouldn’t say anything, you know. You could just let me go, you wouldn’t even have to drive me home. I’d never tell anyone, I understand your work here--” because Seth had often referenced his cryptic “work” without elaborating. “I won’t try to stop you, you could just--”

Seth’s open hand slammed into the side of his head, smacking his skull into the metal pipe with a gut-churning clang. The world exploded into white fire, his vision briefly going dark as his brain struggled to retain consciousness. A thick, hot ooze of dark blood began to gush from his nostrils, but he was too resigned at that point to so much as scream. Instead, he moaned softly, sagging forward as his head began to throb in time with his heartbeat. The agony was blinding, but he didn’t pass out, which came as something of a disappointment.

A month and a week passed.

09.12.19:

Dorset’s PD’s station was one of the lingering bastions of old-school police architecture, all museum-high ceilings and wooden desks arranged in rows. Brandon wove his way between them on his way to Sasha’s office, set high above the ground floor grunts and their ancient desktop computers. He’d always respected the way she’d left the glass panels that made up the front wall of her office intact, leaving her visible to her officers and techs alike. She was typing on her own laptop when he tapped his fingers against said glass, waving him inside. A still-steaming paper cup of Two Brews sat on her desk, littered with loose papers that themselves were littered with her scribbled notes. My office, whenever you decide to show up, she’d texted him.

Sasha Prescott was forty-four years old with dense, dark curls clipped short and precise. With her high cheekbones, full lips and velvet-dark skin, she could easily have been a model even in her middle age, dominating an industry obsessed with youth. And dominate it she would have - there was a carefully cultivated air of laser focus that she wore like armor wrapped around her, her narrow, jewel-black eyes piercing through lies and alibis like a hot knife through butter. She and Brandon’s mutual respect had led to a highly efficient and successful working relationship over the years, and they both appreciated that neither was in any way interested in developing any sort of personal friendship outside of work.

Now, he dropped into the Quaker chair in front of her desk and considered making an attempt for her coffee, which she didn’t appear to have started drinking yet. Her signature plum lipstick had not yet stained the rim, but she zeroed in on his intent with her standard razor perception and shook her head. “I will literally stab you,” she said casually, and he let his hand fall to his knee instead.

“What’s up?”

“First off, roll in here late again and I’ll write your ass up. Secondly, we have a delicate situation in our laps right now and I want some input on how to deal with it.”

Arching an eyebrow, Brandon kept his tone as nonplussed as possible. Too much visible interest might have convinced Sasha to change her mind, one of her stranger quirks. “I’m listening.”

“Cora Tycho is missing, as of somewhere around midnight last night.”

He nearly rose to his feet despite his resolve, an icy fist punching straight through his ribcage to seize his heart. “Casey’s sister?”

Sasha confirmed this with a short nod, her lips pressed tight. “She was out camping with a friend near the Lower Prince quarry. Her friend, Kris Alden, fell ill shortly after they ate dinner and decided to go home. Cora wanted to drive him, but there was no one available to take her back once he was home and he claims he felt guilty about making her miss some super-moon or whatever the hell it is, told her he could make it home on his own. She never came back from the woods, the Alden kid shared a class with her that she skipped this morning and no one has been able to reach her via call or text. It’s not enough to assume that she’s officially a ten-fifty-seven just yet, but people are starting to worry. She’s never been someone to just bail on everything like this, Kris described her as very thoughtful and responsible.”

“You’ve already sent someone out to talk to him? Does Casey know?”

“Not yet. That’s actually what I wanted your input on - obviously he’s not getting anywhere near this case, but given the personal nature of your relationship with him what are your thoughts on his capability to handle the work environment in general as it’s investigated? Should I just send him on a vacation until this is cleared, or is he frosty enough to stay professional here at the station while his sister is missing? You know him better than any of us.”

Brandon’s brain reeled. “Personal nature? I don’t know what sort of relationship any of you are under the impression that we--not that any of you should have any impression of our relationship, I mean. Shit. We’re not in a relationship! I barely know him!” His voice was raising in pitch while he remained completely unaware, his knuckles going white around the armrests of the Quaker chair. Sasha exhaled sharply through her nose.

“Jesus. Do I need to send you on a vacation too? Get your shit together.”

“Fuck. Okay.” Pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, he exhaled. “Casey is one hundred percent able to handle working while this is being solved, but that doesn’t mean he should. I doubt he’ll let you send him on a vacation, but try anyway. He doesn’t deserve to be here all day, trying to focus on other shit while half of Dorset is trying to figure out if his sister’s body is rotting in the woods somewhere. He should be with his family.”

“I’ll do my best. I’m giving this girl until tonight to turn up, and then I’m issuing a gloves-off ten-fifty-seven.” Sasha’s voice went to iron, and it occurred to Brandon that she cared for Casey as much as anyone at the DPD did. He was the lifeblood of the forensics labs, their unflappable new medical examiner whose lingering British accent left over from a youth spent in west London had a way of soothing even the most panicked and horrified relative of one of his corpses.

“I need you to go into far more detail about the supposed “nature” of my relationship with Casey, up to and including just how the hell you even knew about it at all. Not that it’s anything. At all.”

“Would you kindly climb off my dick, Graham? I’ve got enough shit on my plate right now.”

“Sasha.”

“Settle down. No one else knows anything, even though according to you there’s nothing to know. It’s just that a lifetime of police investigation have left me a highly observant person--”

“A lifetime? You’re in your forties, don’t start writing your memoirs yet you drama queen.”

“...And as such, I’ve noticed you two leaving work together occasionally, showing up around the same time in very deliberately separate cars but sometimes accidentally wearing each other’s shirts, things like that. Things only I would ever notice, I promise. No one else has mentioned anything to me, and you know they would if the rumor mill was running about it.”

“Fine. Whatever. Any more intel on Cora?”

Wordlessly, Sasha slid a manila envelope across her stately desk. Opening it, Brandon was confronted with a glossy photo of a beautiful young woman, all sparkling honey eyes and rich dark skin like a sunset’s sweet glow, thick black hair meticulously oiled and wrapped and beaded into immaculate dreadlocks that she’d pulled back with a sky-blue silk scarf for her senior high school photo, Cora wore her brother’s beauty as elegantly as he did. They shared the same royally rounded nose and high cheekbones, full lips and dimples. His chest ached, and he brushed his fingertips against the photo thoughtfully without realizing he was doing it. Sasha had compiled everything - her academic records, notes on her hobbies and habits, her generally expected whereabouts on any given day. She had no legal record to speak of, her profile speaking to a bright, clean-cut girl with a gleaming future in physics.

“She was a student at NVU,” Sasha supplied. “Is a student. Solid grades, a quiet type, well-liked by her peers but not known to be a partier. Close with her family, especially our Casey. Loved to cook, according to reports. She entered several baking competitions last year, even won a couple. Played the violin all throughout high school, but turned down a suggested spot on NVU’s student orchestra. Said she didn’t want it to interfere with her study time, according to the orchestra leader I called. She seemed laser-focused on her goal of working for NASA someday, had a whole vision board about it on Pinterest.”

“I’ll start with Kris Alden. I’ll head out to his place today.”

“Start with Casey. I don’t want him to hear about this on the news, and my official statement on the case is going live tomorrow morning.”

“Shit. Okay.” Scooping the file up under his arm, he rose to his feet. “I’ll go talk to him, he down in the forensics lab?”

“With Audrey and Stephen. See if you can get him alone, he won’t like his techs seeing him break down in front of them if he reacts poorly.”

“How the hell else do you expect him to react to the news that his sister is missing?”

“I’m just saying, let’s be conscious of how difficult this is going to be for him. You’re not exactly known for your tact, but you have the best shot at holding him together here. You know as well as I do that the longer we go without finding this girl, the less of a chance we have.”

Brandon paused at her office door. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. “Took me a year to get out of that basement.”

He hated the way her gaze softened, and so he made his way out without a goodbye to make a point, ignoring the irritating hiss of her compressed-air door mechanism that refused to let him leave with a satisfying slam. The forensics lab and department morgue was located in the basement of the station for obvious reasons, a narrow elevator depositing him into the DPD’s underground two minutes later. The temperature dropped by a few degrees once the doors slid open, the stone all around them cooling the air. He couldn’t hear the rain anymore, down here, and he found Audrey and Stephen hunched over a severed hand on a sleek chrome examination tray in the lab.

Audrey was tall and willowy, twenty-six with ice-blonde hair wound into a messy braid that she’d draped over one shoulder, so pale and slim that there was something ghostly about her, especially when taking into consideration her gray eyes so light and translucent they were nearly colorless, like a mirror or a deep-sea creature. She wore a white lab coat over a pair of black jeans and a loose, baggy gray sweater - she wore a lot of gray, black and white, and she always looked like a spectre, an overcast ocean. The selkies would have accepted her as one of theirs upon sight. Stephen was only barely as tall as her, with a much friendlier face, soft freckled cheeks and tanned skin suggesting a childhood spent outdoors working off baby fat. He had peanut-brown curls tumbling over his forehead and round, intelligent hazel eyes, a sharply defined mouth and an easily cheery demeanor. Oddly enough, he and Audrey were quite close.

“Hey guys. Anyone seen Casey?”

“Down in the morgue.” Audrey pointed to her feet, indicating the sub-level beneath them. “He left this hand with us and told us to collect data samples and disappeared. He’s been down there all morning.”

“Do you know whose hand it is?”

“Pretty sure it belongs to that wheat farmer who turned up in the hospital last week missing one. I mean, how many hands could there be unaccounted for in Vermont right now?” Stephen grinned, snapping his gum. He took a kind of morbid glee in his work, something Brandon had always suspected Audrey shared with him.

“Left hands, to boot,” Audrey added, shrugging. “How are you, Brandon?”

“I’m fine. I’d love to stay and um, look at the hand with you guys, but I’ve got to talk to Casey. Have...fun?”

Stephen’s grin widened. “Oh, we will, friend.”

“I hate the way you say things.”

Stephen’s laughter followed him back into the elevator, which delivered him to the bottomost floor of the DPD headquarters. Casey was there, bent over his own work, having forgone his stiff lab coat in favor of his neatly tucked-in dove-gray button-down, black silk tie, charcoal dress vest and matching creased slacks. His leftover British sensibilities were evident in his crisply classic style, always semi-formal and expensive even when he dressed “down” in Burberry cashmere sweaters and custom-tailored jeans. He looked so unflappable that Brandon’s faith in him was stirred anew, and he approached with more tenderness than was normal for him. His aura alerted Casey to something amiss upon impact, and he narrowed his eyes at him before saying a word. “Don’t see you down here often, love.” The last word slipped out before he could stop it, and Brandon watched him flinch minutely, almost imperceptibly.

#wip #nanowrimo #murder mystery #writing #gay #lgbt #mystery #cw: murder #cw: horror #cw: serial killers #forensics #my writing #lesser ghosts

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melliflovs · 6 years ago

Text

For The Road - Gilbert Blythe

Requested By Anon: Hi! I was wondering you could write an imagine where Gilbert is traveling on the steamboat and meets a girl abroad in a town that he’s stopped in. She’s kind & he’s so enthralled by her. She works at a food stand with her parents, and he comes by everyday for a week buying the same fruit just to see her as he’s so suave until reader catches on and they go on little adventures in the town and talk about their desires. Then Gil has to leave a week later and they’re heartbroken. Thank you!!

Word Count: 2,098

Warnings: Just a ton of fluff

Summary: A quick stop in London leads to much more than Gilbert had originally anticipated

masterlist

The sounds of rain and hooves on stone filled Gilbert’s ears as he ventured through the busy streets of London, Sebastian at his side. Trinidad was their next stop, but the steamship needed to restock so Gilbert and other workers were given a week off to do as they wished during this short period.

Together he and Sebastian maneuvered past people flawlessly, both in the need of a warm meal and a hot bath in an attempt to clean the soot off their faces. It had been a long time since they’d been on solid ground. Gilbert felt odd without the familiar sway of a ship under foot that he’d grown so accustomed to.

Eventually Sebastian spotted a small inn. The two of them entered the small building and found a man snoring at the front desk. With a smirk the Trinidadian native reached behind the sleeping man and grabbed himself a key. Handing it to Gilbert he reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out some money, placing it on the desk beside the snoozing mans head and heading towards their temporary room.

The next morning Gilbert woke up bright and early, the lack of rain and the hunger growing in his stomach gave him motive to get dressed. Sebastian was still fast asleep as he stepped out the room, closing the door quietly as not to wake him and heading out onto the streets.

Gilbert had no knowledge about London or England past what little he’d learned back at school so he decided to walk around aimlessly until he found something to peak his interest. It had been a while before he came across a market, different vendors set up booths selling their wares. Whether it be food or furniture Gilbert looked around, saying hello to all who looked his way.

At the very end of the street where all the vendors began thinning out and not many people reached, Gilbert was met with a fruit stand. The bright colors of the produce clashed with the cloudy grey sky. He approached it, admiring the delicious looking fruit he reached out to pick up an apple.

“You better intend to pay for that.”

The random voice startled him, causing him to withdraw his hand. Gilbert was no thief, and he fully intended to defend himself. But when his eyes met hers from across the small stall he found himself stunned. All things considered, she blended in with everyone else around them, her clothes matched the grey of the sky and cobblestone beneath their feet but what had him so entranced was the depth hidden behind her bright eyes. The smirk on her face as she looked at him in amusement only appeared to only grow as he stayed silent, still in shock at the girl in front of him.

“Cat got your tongue?” She teased, her hands resting on her hips. It was obvious that he wasn’t from around here and she always liked to mess with the foreigners when they stumbled across her quaint stall.

“No, no. I was just…admiring your fruit.” He responded, his eyes darting to the assortment of food around him. Typically Gilbert wasn’t this shy, normally he was outgoing sweet guy who had everyone’s attention back in Avonlea, whether he wanted it or not. As far as he knew, nothing had changed on the steamship, he was still as nice and equally as outgoing - sometimes even annoying according to Sebastian - so his sudden coyness caught him off guard.

“Really now? What did ya think of ‘em?” Her accent brought a smile to his face, she was the first person he’d really heard talk other than Bash since they’d landed on solid ground.

He completely ignored her question, choosing to stick his hand out towards her, hoping she’d accept. “I’m Gilbert.”

She pursed her lips for a moment, considering her next move. She could either ignore him like he had her inquiry or she could give him the benefit of the doubt. She was almost positive that he’d be gone by tomorrow, never to been seen again. Just another foreigner making a pit stop before he reached his final destination.

Throwing caution to the wind she extended her arm towards him, shaking his hand. “(y/n).”

She had been wrong.

Everyday, for the past four days, Gilbert would show up at the market like clock work. Each time saying he was simply there to “admire the fruit”. As time passed (y/n) felt herself getting used to his presence, and after a few conversations she found him to be a really nice guy.

Each time he appeared, (y/n) would make it her goal to learn one new thing about him. So far she’d found out that he was from a small town located somewhere in Canada, that he was fairly popular amongst the other students, and that Gilbert’s dad recently died which brought him to revealing that he was temporarily working on a steamship and that London was indeed a pit stop like she’d originally assumed.

“Welcome back, Gil.” She said as she saw him walk up, a bright smile on his face. “Has anyone ever called you that before? I hope you don’t mind if I start.”

The brown haired boy shook his head lightly, laughing lightly at her comment. “I don’t think anyone has, but I like it when you say it.” His words caused a grin to spread across her face. She was positive that any passerbyers watching the interaction must think they’re mad as they stared at each other with dopey smiles. Gilbert just seemed to have an aura of constant happiness that made her heart spring to life. He brought a bit of color to the otherwise bland London streets.

“Do you intend on actually buying some fruit today or will you just look.” She said, teasing him. (y/n) knew full well she had a trick up her sleeve.

Gilbert looked at her with a smirk as he pulled up one of the empty crates, propping it upright and sitting down next to the selection of apples. “You know me, I prefer to eat with my eyes.”

She rolled his eyes at his response, reaching under into a hidden container with a fake frown. “What a shame, I saved this special for you yet you don’t even want it.”

His head immediately perked up at the idea of a gift. Curiosity getting the best of him as he looked at her hands. (y/n) held a purplish fruit in her palm, it was about the size of an apple but ultimately reminded him of a beet. He was sure he’d never seen it before.

“What is that?”

The faux frown on her face vanished at Gilberts question, he’d fallen for the bait. “This -” She said, holding it up towards the light, “Is a fig. We don’t sell many of them and on the rare occasions we do, they sell out almost instantly. This morning was the first time this season that we sold them and I thought you might like to try it.”

Gilbert nodded his head in excitement. In truth he’d opted to skip out of breakfast that morning in an attempt to get to her booth earlier. His stomach had been rumbling as he walked and the mention of food only made it worse. He watched as she sliced it open, juice running down her hands in small streams.

He reached for his half with greedy hands, prepared to taste the interesting new fruit. (y/n) pulled the food away, tsking at him jokingly. SHe held up one finger as she reached under the stand and pulled out a small jar with a dolden substance inside. Gilbert recognized the item immediately, his jaw going slack.

Honey.

It was a rarity back in Avonlea. The long autumn and even longer winters kept bees away for a large majority of the year. Honey was saved for those who could afford it and more often than not they couldn’t. The expression on his face didn’t go unnoticed by (y/n) as she continued to drizzle the honey over the fig.

“Its best like this.” She said passing his half of the fruit towards him.

The honey and juices dripped down his arm as he bit into the soft fruit. His taste buds immediately lighting up at the combined flavors of the fig and honey. He looked back at her in shock. “This is amazing! I’ve never had anything like it before!” He took another bite as she watched him, biting off a bit of her own half.

(y/n) nodded at him with a smile, wiping the extra juice off with a rag she had slung over her shoulder, offering it to Gilbert as she finished up. Accepting the small towel from her, their fingertips touched. It was a tiny interaction but it still made her heart beat rapidly in her chest.

Clearing her throat and regaining her wits, she smiled across from him. “So what new thing do I get to learn about you today, Gil?”

He thought for a moment before speaking, “I leave London tonight.” He’d intended to tell her sooner, but he never really expected to find himself returning to the same booth day after day.

His words hurt her to say the least. She knew his time spent in London was only temporary, he had a life to get back to but finding out that it was time for Gilbert to leave so suddenly caught her off guard. “O-Oh.” (y/n) said, her smile drooping slightly as she began to nervously rearrange the pears in front of her.

“We should do something tonight. Something other than sitting around.” He said, looking at the top of her head as she avoided his eyes. “This doesn’t have to be the end.”

His words made her shyly look up. “What would we even do?”

“This is London. I may not know much about it but I’m sure there’s plenty of things we can do my last night here.”

She nodded at him as she began to think about all the possibilities. “Okay.” (y/n) said as she began closing up the booth. “Lets go.”

The antsy girl untied her apron quickly, throwing it towards the stall in a rumbled ball. Not turning to look where it landed, she turned and grabbed Gilberts wrist, effectively dragging him away from the market and to an unknown destination.

The duo had been walking for quite a while. Talking all the way about whatever popped into their heads. No one had ever caused (y/n) to feel so at ease, the normally anxious and cocky girl was transformed when around him. She became calm and composed, yet still had an aura of confidence and adventure. The babbling mess that Gilbert had once been when they first met had disappeared also. Now he acted as if he’d known her all his life, conversation and jokes flowed freely and he felt like he was walking on air.

Gilbert had no clue where she’d been taking him and had even begun to question if she knew where they going. But once she stopped walking in front of a flower shop and turned around towards him, Gilbert got a pretty good idea of what was to come.

(y/n) plucked a flower from the vase in the front, showcasing the different kinds of bright and beautiful flowers. In a way it kind of reminded him of her fruit stand. The vibrant colors making everything look a little bit more cheery as they made their ways down the street.

Carefully she reached towards him, a small daisy in her hand, and lifted it towards his ear. Gilbert blushed a little as her fingertips parted his hair slightly, tucking the flower in safely and stepping back to admire her work.

Gilbert was careful not to prick himself as he reached for one of the roses, avoiding the thorns as he picked it up. He extended his hand towards her, holding the magnificent flower out to her. Bowing slightly he gazed at her from underneath his eyelashes. “M’lady”

Graciously she accepted it, taking it from him and holding it delicately. The light pink petals matched the soft pink hue that dawned on her face as yet again Gilbert extended his arm offering it to her.

Together they walked, linked arm and arm down the streets of London. Yes, Gilbert would have to leave soon, but she would make sure she got the most out of his visit. As short and sweet it may have been.

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