Sleep now, Stalker

Think Twice, That’s My Only Advice

He saved your life. He took care of you. When the cops look into your accident, they find it wasn’t an accident at all… Someone sabotaged you.

Warning: car crash, broken bones, stalking, dark!chris evans, manipulation, no smut, angst, fluff, use of drugs to make someone forget, throw up, ending sucks i’m sorry

Summary: He saved your life. He took care of you. You owe him everything, right? But your mind tells you something isn’t right.

Word Count: 5.7k oops

Screech.

Brakes squealing.

Blinding light in your eyes.

You tighten your grip on the steering wheel as you brace for impact, staring at the cement wall in front of you.

You don’t know how you got turned around or why your brakes aren’t working, you don’t even know where you were going.

You do know that you won’t make it out alive.

Crash!

You feel flames envelope your car, the heat grazing against your cheek, the shock of it all causing to fade away.

“Come on, sweetheart! Come back to me,” You hear, feeling the light tap of someone’s hand against your cheek. Your eyelids flutter open, revealing a strange man cradling you in his strong arms. He’s got tears streaming down his face, smoke and ash staining his face. You gasp for air, immediately coughing up dirt and debris.

You’ve never been in so much pain, yet so calm. Relief spreads over the strangers face, using his sweaty palms to wipe away his tears. “The EMT’s are on their way, sweetheart. You’re gonna be okay.”

You furrow your eyebrows, trying to piece everything together. You try to focus on what happened earlier tonight, but the pounding headache distracts you. “W-what happened?” You ask, your voice scruff from the heat. You attempt to sit up, to move away from this strange man, but a shooting pain runs through your body, originating from your ribs. You gasp, your hand reaching to cover your body.

“Sh, sh… Just relax, I don’t want you to hurt yourself even more,” He says, covering your hand with his. You stare up at him, your eyes flickering over his strangely familiar face. You’ve seen this man before, but you don’t know when or where. You doubt you’ve even had a conversation with this man before, or you would instantly recognize him.

But you almost swear you’ve seen him lurking around your friends parties.

“We were in an accident. The EMT’s are on their way,” He explains, nodding over to where the accident occured. Your car is sitting in a pile of ashes, barely recognizable. There’s metal and tire rubber spread across the road, blocking anyone from driving.

Thankfully, it’s almost 3 in the morning, so the roads aren’t that busy.

You glance up at the man once again, trying to force yourself to remember this man. You were in the car with him?

Your thoughts are interrupted when the blare of sirens near you, signalling that help is here. “Oh, thank god,” The man mutters, scooping you closer to his chest. He lifts you with no hesitation, carrying you over to the moving ambulance. You relax against his chest, the exhaustion taking your body over. A mix of the pain and adrenaline has left you drained.

You hear the EMT and the stranger converse, but you can’t make out what they’re saying. You can feel your body fading, but you’re too weak to do anything about it. You hear the man shouting, and then you feel a foreign object covering your mouth, breathing air into your lungs. “Man, she’s out of it! Do something!”

You feel the EMT’s poking and prodding, a sharp pain in your wrist following. You know enough about first aid that you know they probably put an IV in you, to give you some pain meds, so your body doesn’t have to fight so hard. You instantly feel better, your head lolling to the side, giving you that well-needed rest.

The beeping of the machines wake you up, disturbing your sleep. You look around the room, frowning when you realize that you’re alone. You’d halfway hoped the stranger was still there, so you could thank him and ask him some more questions, like why were you in the car with him? Where were you going? Where were you coming from?

But part of you is relieved that he’s gone, so you can be alone and rest. You’re sure the hospital has taken care of informing your parents of what happened, so they’ll be on their way soon enough. You’re distracted by the sound of the hospital door opening, revealing one of your nurses. “How are you feeling, sweetie?” She asks, flashing her smile at you.

You smile nervously, sinking into your bed. The small movement causes a sharp pain in your ribs again, but it’s nothing compared to how it felt earlier. You’re sure the pain meds have something to do with that. “I feel a lot better… Just confused, I guess,” You answer, picking at your blanket. It’s a nervous habit you picked up from your brother when you were younger, one you were never able to get rid of.

“Your doctor went over everything with Chris, so I’m sure he can explain everything when he comes back in.” The nurse explains, leaning over and checking your pulse. You watch her carefully, furrowing your eyebrows. Chris? That’s the man’s name? Why doesn’t that name sound familiar?

“Ah, you’re awake!” The man exclaims, smiling at you. You ignore the nurse as she finishes your exam, your eyes dropping to the plate of food in front of you. The man had gone to the cafeteria for you?

You eye the bowl of soup in front of you, along with the grilled cheese. Beside of the grilled cheese, there’s a cookie, one that he grabbed from the vending machine. You chuckle as you open the cookie, your mouth practically watering. You hadn’t had a cookie like this in so long, they were always your favorite growing up. “I hope you like the soup, it’s the only semi-attractive thing they had down there.” The man explains, sitting in the chair beside of your bed.

You dig into the cookie, leaving the soup to cool down. “I guess I should ask you some questions,” You say, crumbs dropping down to your bedsheets. The man leans back in his chair, staring you down. It should be intimidating, there’s something that tells you that you’re safe.

“First of all, thank you for taking care of me,” You say, earning a chuckle from the man. His beard moves with his face, drawing your attention to it. You’ve never been one for facial hair, but you’ll have to admit, it’s nice.

"It’s the least I could do, sweet heart. I wasn’t hurt nearly as bad as you,” He answers. It’s the first time you’ve really paid attention to his voice and his accent. He has a Boston accent, that’s for sure. You’d almost forgotten that he was in the car with you. You certainly couldn’t tell by looking at him— he has no bruises or cuts.

“What happened to me?”

Chris’s smile fades away as he takes a deep breath, dropping his eyes to his lap. You know it had to have been traumatizing to be in a burning car and be alert through it all, but you have to know what happened. You’ve never been in a car accident before, you’ve always been a great driver. You hadn’t been drinking or smoking, you were driving responsibly. You just can’t figure out what went wrong.

“I’m not sure, honestly. We were driving fine, then all of a sudden, you lost control of the wheel. We flipped and I heard you screaming until you finally stopped. I thought… I thought you were gone,” He says, his voice fading. Your heart sinks in your chest, realizing just how lucky you are.

This man is your hero.

You would’ve died if he hadn’t pulled you out. He could’ve gotten himself out and left you there.

“Chris,” You say, sitting up straight in your bed. You reach out and touch his hand, a small smile on your face. “Thank you. For everything. If you hadn’t been there… Well, I wouldn’t be alive,” You say, expressing your gratitude. Chris smiles gently, rubbing his thumb over your bruised hand.

“But, I don’t want you to feel like you have to stay. My parents will be here soon, I’m sure. You probably have better things to worry about than some stranger,” You finish, pulling your hand away. You know he’s probably exhausted and has his own life to live.

Chris chuckles quietly, raising an eyebrow. “Wow, you must’ve really hit your head hard,” He says, reaching over and breaking off a piece of your cookie. You watch as he eats it, furrowing your eyebrows.

“What do you mean?” You ask. Chris wipes his mouth, his smile fading. “We’re not strangers, y/n. I’m your ex-boyfriend. You really don’t remember?“ He explains, his eyes searching yours.

Shit.

Your ex-boyfriend?

The last boyfriend you remember having was three years ago, the one that broke your heart so bad that you swore off dating. You don’t even remotely remember the man sitting in front of you.

Then again, you were in a horrible wreck. Even if you didn’t hit your head, the trauma and shock of it all could’ve confused you.

“I… I don’t remember you at all,” You whisper, your heart breaking. How could you not remember?

Chris clears his throat, his eyes dropping to his lap. “Then I guess I should fill you in,” He says, lifting his eyes again. “We were together for two years. We met at a friend’s party. We’ve been broken up for 6 months,” He explains. You desperately try to force yourself to remember, but nothing is jogging your memory.

“Why did we break up?”

The question seems to throw Chris off guard, as if he wasn’t expecting you to ask. He swallows a lump in his throat, guiltiness washing over his face. “I cheated on you,”

The answer knocks the air out of your lungs, throwing you off guard. Cheated?He cheated?

Despite you not remembering anything about him, you don’t take him for a cheater. He seems too… caring.

Besides, if he had cheated on you, why were you riding in the car with him 6 months after breaking up?

You take a deep breath, relaxing in your bed. “Why were we together if we’re not dating?” You ask, trying to get a clearer picture of everything. Chris eats another piece of your cookie, dusting his hands off on his pants.

“Well, we were at another party and… One thing led to another and we were on our way back to my place,” He answers, his cheeks heating up. Your cheeks heat up once you realize what was happening, your heart fluttering in your chest. You sit in silence, neither one knowing what to say after that.

Chris clears his throat again. “I know this might sound crazy, but you’re more than welcome to stay with me. The doctor said you’ve got a few broke ribs, so you’ll need help doing the basic things. It’s gonna be pretty hard for you to live on your own right now,” He offers.

You want to shut him down immediately, but you have to seriously consider his offer. With a broken rib, it’s going to be hard to shower on your own. It’ll be hard to cook, to walk up and down your stairs, to do anything on your own. But you can’t live with a stranger… That’s like one of the basic things they teach you in elementary school.

Don’t trust strangers.

Then again, you reckon he’s not really a stranger. Just because you don’t remember anything about him doesn’t mean he’s a stranger.

“Uh, are you sure? I mean, we’re not even together, I don’t want to be a burden,” You say, picking at the skin around your nails.

“I wouldn’t have offered unless I meant it,”

“And right here is where you’ll be sleeping,” Chris says, gesturing to the guest room. It’s on the first level, meaning you won’t have to climb up any stairs. The bathroom is in the room, so it’s not too far of a walk. His house is nice– much nicer than yours. The ride home was silent, neither one of you knowing what to say to each other.

You’re relieved he showed you to the guest room. You were worried he’d expect you to sleep in his room with him, since you were dating. You find him attractive, but you just can’t see yourself being comfortable with sleeping in a bed with him right now.

You lean against the doorway, already out of breath from your short walk. “Thanks again, Chris,” You say, doing your best to muster up a smile. You’re thankful for everything he’s doing for you, but you wish you remembered something, anything about him.

“Let me know if you need any help with anything… Anything at all,” Chris offers, turning to walk out of the room. You hesitate to speak up, but you open your mouth before you even know it. “Actually, can you do me a favor?”

Chris turns around, a small smile on his lips. “Sure, anything.” He says.

Your eyes flicker around the room, searching for anything to make your memory come back. “Do you have any pictures of us? Maybe if I see some pictures, it’ll help me remember you,” You say, your voice small.

Chris’s smile falls, replaced by a frown. “I wish I could, y/n, but after we broke up, I deleted everything of you. I was heartbroken.”

Your shoulders fall, along with your smile. Of course, he deleted everything of you. That’s what happens when you break up with people. You glance over your shoulder at the bed, exhaustion sweeping over your body. “I should go to sleep,” You mutter, taking small steps toward the bed. Chris follows you, reaching out a hand to place on the small of your back.

He gently helps you into bed, frowning when you whimper in pain. He fluffs your pillows and tucks you in, taking a step back. “Goodnight, y/n,” He says, his voice soft. You can tell he’s holding himself back, and you feel guilty.

This man loves you. At least, he did love you. You can tell he wants nothing more than to crawl in bed with you and hold you, or at least give you a kiss goodnight, but he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable. You appreciate the thought, even if it makes things awkward.

“Goodnight,”

“I’ll pick you up after I finish running errands,” Chris says, opening the office door for you. He’s been super helpful all morning– making sure you don’t move too fast, helping you change your outfit, helping you with anything that might be difficult with a broken rib.

You’re at the insurance office now, preparing to speak with your agent about the accident. You told him you don’t remember much, but he told you anything would help. You look up at Chris, giving him a tight-lipped smile. “Thank you,” You repeat, hating the way you sound like a broken record. You must’ve said the phrase a million times in the past 24 hours, but you truly can’t thank him enough.

Chris chuckles and shakes his head, brushing your hair away from your face. “It’s the least I can do, y/n. I promised you I’d always take care of you, no matter what.” He reminds you, your cheeks heating up. You still find it weird to think that you spent two years of your life with this man; that you loved each other.

Your agent walks in the lobby, interrupting the intimate moment. “Ms. Y/L/N, it’s nice to see you. You can follow me, it won’t take long.” He states. Chris gives you one last goodbye, before walking out the door. You slowly follow the man, sitting in the chair in front of his desk.

“First of all, I’m terribly sorry for everything that’s happened. I can’t imagine how traumatic the accident was,” He says, true sympathy laced in his voice. You pick at your nail bed, swallowing the lump in your throat. You feel guilty that you don’t have any trauma surrounding the accident, but thankful at the same time.

“What do you remember about the accident?”

You clear your throat, shifting awkwardly in your seat. You attempt to remember as far back as the hours before the accident, struggling. “I was at a friend’s party. I wasn’t drinking, I was just talking and dancing. I met up with an ex-boyfriend apparently, and we wanted to go back to my place. I don’t remember anyone being in the car but me, but Chris says he was there. I remember driving down the road and that’s all. Chris says something caused me to lose control of the wheel, and we started rolling.” You explain, a headache forming. You’ve been thinking non-stop, trying to force yourself to remember.

Your agent nods as he writes in his notebook, an eyebrow raising. “So you don’t remember anyone else being in the car?”

You shake your head, shrugging your shoulders. “I thought that was weird, but according to Google, it’s a real thing. Retrograde amnesia, I think is what it was called.” You explain.

Your agent stops writing, lifting his head. “Well, yeah, that’s a real problem, but normally it affects memories years before the injury to the brain. You remember everything up until the accident, correct?” He asks. You nod, furrowing your eyebrows.

He flips through the pages on his desk, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. “And your hospital records don’t show anything about a brain injury… Just a few broken ribs and a busted lip.”

You stare blankly ahead, trying to come up with any explanation for your memory loss. You know trauma can cause memory loss, but is that really what happened?

Your agent stares at you, his shoulders dropping. “Ms. Y/L/N, I think I want to have an officer formally investigate you. I have a daughter your age, and I hope someone would help her out if she were ever in this position,” He says.

After agreeing to speak with an officer, you recount your story, trying your best to fill in the blanks for him, but you failed. You left the office feeling defeated and confused, ready to go home. You wish you could say going home helped you, but it hurt you even more.

You walked into a home you didn’t recognize, with declarations you don’t remember picking out, and a man you don’t remember meeting. You stare absentmindedly as Chris washes the dishes left over from spaghetti night, hoping for anything to jog your memory. A tattoo… A scar…. A mole… Anything.

You’re left staring at skin you’ve never seen before, a lump forming in your throat. Normally, the image of Chris washing dishes shirtless would be something you’d drool over, but it just breaks your heart.

What would you normally do? Did he normally cook for you, or were you the one in the kitchen? Did you share the responsibility of the dishes, or did you leave them piled up in the sink, hoping for the other to clean them? Would you go up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist, pressing a kiss to his back?

Before you can think about what you’re saying, you’re speaking up, watching Chris turn around. “Did I love you?”

Once again, Chris is thrown off guard. His cheeks heat up as he dries the plate, a soft smile on his lips. “Uh, I think so. At least, you told me you did,” He says, adding a chuckle at the end.

“A lot, actually,”

You stare at the shower water running, disappointed with yourself. You’ve been in the bathroom for 20 minutes, trying to get your shirt off without hurting yourself. You don’t want to strain yourself and prolong your healing process, but you also don’t want to give in to the alternative.

The thought of Chris seeing you shirtless makes your skin crawl.

It shouldn’t, though. After all, you were together for two years; you’re positive he saw you naked.

You reach down to unbutton your jeans, slowly pulling them down to your knees. You wiggle as carefully as possible, working the jeans down to your calves. You gently pick up your foot, using it to kick the other pants leg off of your leg. You suck in a sharp breath with every movement, thanking the gods above for pain medicine.

There’s no way you’re gonna be able to wiggle out of your shirt. It was easy just throwing the shirt on this morning, but you just knowyou’ll get tangled up in your shirt when you’re trying to get it off.

You sigh, giving in. “Chris?” You call, followed by the sound of someone running down the hallway. You heard a thud on the door, causing you to flinch.

“Is everything okay?”

You giggle quietly at the panicked sound of his voice. “Uh, kinda… I need your help,” You say, blushing for what seems like the millionth time tonight. Chris stays silent, waiting patiently for you to explain what you need help with. You take a deep breath, trying to push the embarrassment down.

“I uh, I can’t get out of my shirt,” You say, only to be met with silence. You don’t hear anything for several seconds, but then, you hear what sounds like light footsteps leading away from the bathroom door. You frown, your heart sinking in your chest. You knew it was an odd request, but you didn’t think he’d just leave you hanging. You accept defeat, sighing as you stare in the mirror, preparing yourself to just suck it up and deal with the pain.

You’re pulled out of your thoughts when a voice is at the door, getting your attention. “Can I come in?”

You walk toward the door, opening it. You gasp when you open the door, following it with a fit of giggles. Chris is standing at the doorway, a makeshift blindfold over his eyes. “What is that for?” You ask, your face heating up.

Chris smiles as he blindly enters the bathroom, grabbing your hand in the process. You lead him deeper into the room, shutting the door behind you. “Well, I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable,” Chris explains, darting his tongue out to lick his lips.

You smile, your heart swelling in your chest. You lift your fingers to feel the soft fabric of the tie, furrowing your eyebrows when you get a good look. “This tie… It looks familiar!” You say, excitement laced in your voice.

You can see Chris’s face light up, even though his eyes are covered. “Really? I picked this one because you bought it for me before I met your parents.” He explains.

A light bulb goes off in your head as you gasp. “My parents! Maybe they have pictures of us together? Or maybe they could at least help me remember,” You say, watching Chris’s smile fade away. He lifts his hands, fumbling for the bottom of your shirt. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” He says.

You frown, allowing him to slip the shirt over your head. The movement hurts your ribs, but it doesn’t hurt as much as it would’ve if you had done it alone. “Your parents didn’t like me. They uh, they didn’t trust me… They told you the night we met that they didn’t approve, that they thought I was up to something,” He mutters. Your heart breaks for Chris, knowing exactly how your parents are. They’ve always had strong opinions about the people you’ve been with.

You stand there as your shirt falls to the ground. Several silent moments pass, so you clear your throat to fill the silence. “I might need some help in the shower,” You say, your voice quiet. If you can’t lift your shirt over your head, how are you going to wash your own hair?

You watch Chris swallow a lump in his throat as his cheeks heat up again. “Uh, yeah, of course,” He says, standing there awkwardly. You giggle as you start your water, letting it heat up. Once you feel it’s hot enough, you carefully step in. “Okay, you can get in,” You say, nervously.

Chris takes a deep breath, his eyes still covered by the blindfolds. He reaches up to his tie, carefully undoing it. You keep your eyes on his hands, feeling your heart speed up. You know you’ve seen it all before— but you don’t remember it. Maybe seeing his body will jog something in your brain.

Silence fills the room as he throws his tie down, reaching for the buttons. He carefully undos them, peeling his shirt off of his back. Your eyes rake over the multiple tattoos, drinking the image in. You don’t see any you recognize, causing your heart to sink once again.

“I can feel you staring at me,”

Chris’s voice brings you back to reality, causing you to clear your throat. “You wish,” You mutter, not wanting to admit it. You turn so your back is to the water, letting the water soak your hair. You try your best to ignore Chris as you see him take his pants off in the corner of your eye, but it’s harder than you thought it would be. You want to look, but it’s not right.

Chris steps into the shower, taking a deep breath. “Just tell me what to do, and when to do it.”

You nod, only to remember he can’t see you. So, you answer him by handing him your shampoo bottle. “Here, hold out your hands.”

He follows your instructions, waiting for you to squirt the liquid onto his hands. Once you feel like you have enough, he rubs his hands together, lathering it up. You turn your back to him, closing your eyes. Chris tangles his fingers in your hair, massaging and rubbing the liquid in your hair. You hum quietly, feeling your body relax.

“Did we have fun together?”

Chris laughs behind you as he rinses your hair, careful to not let any get in your eyes and ears. “Oh, yeah. Tons of fun.” He says. You smile, reaching for the conditioner bottle. “Doing what?”

Chris blows a raspberry as he thinks, eventually shrugging his shoulders. “Everything. We had fun even when we were just laying in bed together. When we would cook together, drink together, anything,”

“How are you feeling?“ Chris asks, making his way downstairs. His fingers are working on his tie, tightening the knot. You’re sitting on the couch, flipping through the channels of the tv.

“Better. I can finally sneeze without crying,” You say, earning a chuckle from Chris. You’ve been at his house for two weeks, meaning it’s been two weeks since the wreck. Chris has been amazing;answering any questions you might have, making sure you’re taking your medicine, and helping you with daily tasks.

“Heard anything from the insurance company?” He asks, leaning against the doorframe. You shake your head, guilt settling in. You hadn’t told Chris that the insurance company was looking into the accident, and you’re not sure why. It’s not like it’s a bad thing, but you feel uneasy about the whole thing.

Chris sighs, grabbing his keys from off of the hook in the hallway. “Alright, I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” He says, making his way over to you. Without hesitation, he leans over, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

You tense up, staring up at him. Chris blushes, stuttering. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to. It was just our thing before… Before we broke up. It just felt natural, I shouldn’t have done that.” He explains, panic in his eyes.

You giggle quietly, blushing. “It’s okay… I know this has been hard on you too,” You say. Chris’s nervousness seems to fade, his shoulders dropping. Even though you don’t remember him, part of it felt natural to you too. As much as you hate to admit it, you can feel yourself falling for him— all over again.

Chris awkwardly walks out the door, leaving you alone in the house.

Your eyes are glued to the tv for what seems like forever, until you hear a knock at the door. You groan, leaning your head back against the couch cushion. You hatecompany.

“Police; open up!”

Your eyes shoot up, your head coming up off the back of the couch. Police? What are the police doing here? Panic runs through your body, the adrenaline sending you flying over to the door. You swing open the door, your chest heaving. There are five policemen standing in front of your door, their hands resting on the guns on their hips.

“Ma’am, I need you to come with us,” One of them says, carefully and slowly.

“W-why? What’s going on?” You ask. One of the cops pushes you side gently, walking into the home. “Are you y/n y/l/n?”

You nod, your voice seemingly stuck in your throat.

“We were assigned to your case. We suspect the man you’ve been living with tampered with your breaks the night of the accident,” He explains, your heart sinking into your stomach.

This can’t be right, it can’t be true. Chris? Why would your ex-boyfriend intentionally cause your accident?

“That can’t be true, Chris is a great guy; he’s my ex-boyfriend!” You argue, disbelief laced in your voice.

The cop pulls a picture out of his wallet, holding it up in front of you. “This is you, with your parents, and your realboyfriend,” He explains, passing you the picture. You examine it, tears streaming down your cheeks.

“Mr. Evans began micro-dosing you with Midazolam, which is a drug that causes retrograde amnesia. It was a small enough amount to cause you to forget your boyfriend, but not your parents. You’d only been with your boyfriend for three months, so it was easier to erase him from your memory,”

You block everything out, memories flooding through your brain. You had gone to the party with your boyfriend that night. You suddenly remember everything, all the way back to the first time you met him. He was kind, he was generous, he was funny…

“Is Tyler okay?” You ask, your head snapping up. The cops sympathetically frown at you, shaking their heads. “If you come with us, we’ll tell you everything,”

You stare straight ahead, locking eyes with the man you thought you knew. The man you thought you were falling for.

The man you thought had saved your life.

It’s been 6 months since the police escorted you out of his home, 6 months since you returned to your normal life. 6 months since you found out Chris murdered your ex-boyfriend, causing your parents to think you suffered the same fate.

6 months since you were told Chris had been stalking you for years, lurking in the background of your friends’ parties, hiding behind the trees of the parks you ran in, doing anything he could to get close to you.

The judge bangs her gavel, causing you to jump. “Ms. Y/L/N, are you listening?”

You gulp, looking over at her. “I’m sorry, can you repeat the question?” You ask, watching the disappointment on her face. Even after knowing what you know about Chris, it’s going to be hard to put him away for life. You know he’s a bad man, but he helped you so much. How could a murderer be so gentle with someone? You remember him in the shower with you, delicate touches as he helped you wash your hair.

He never made a bad comment or tried to touch you. He made you feel so safe.

You remember mornings in the kitchen with him, before he went back to work. He’d flip the pancakes, dropping them on the floor. You’d giggle and shake your head as you pulled out a box of cereal instead. You remember late nights on the couch, when you’d accidentally snuggle up to him as you fell asleep. He’d wrap you in his arms, pressing a kiss to your head. He thought you were asleep, but you felt each kiss.

“In your time together, did Mr. Evans ever attempt to harm you?”

Chris stares straight ahead at you, his eyes locked onto yours. You shake your head, a tear falling down your face. “No, quite the opposite,” You say, a dry chuckle falling from your lips.

“Can you elaborate?”

“Chris was great. He was always very gentle and kind, I never had any suspicions that he was a bad man.” You say, watching Chris’s eyes fall to his lap, as if he’s hurt that you called him a bad man.

You see your lawyer shaking his head, disappointed that you didn’t stick to the script. The judge sighs, banging her gavel once again. “Alright. That’s all for today. Court dismissed. The sentencing is scheduled for Friday morning at 10 am,”

You watch everyone get out of their seats, including Chris. His hands are handcuffed behind his back, making him look more dangerous than you believe him to be. Your parents run up to you, helping you off the stand. “Let’s go home, honey. You need to rest,”

You sit on the couch, a bowl of cereal in your hands as you watch the live stream of the sentencing. Your parents are there, but you couldn’t bear to be. You made up some lie about your ribs hurting extra today, but you really couldn’t bear to see Chris be sentenced to life in prison.

You feel guilty, even though you shouldn’t. This man murdered your boyfriend, he messed with your breaks. He tricked you into believing that you had been with him for years.

The head of the jury stands up, his eyes locked onto the paper in front of him. “We, the jury, have found the defendant, Chris Evans, guilty of first degree murder,” He says, knocking the breath out of your lungs. The camera pans to Chris, who can’t even bear to look up.

“We, the jury, have found the defendant, Chris Evans, guilty of tampering with a vehicle,”

“We, the jury, have found the defendant, Chris Evans, guilty of kidnapping,”

The charges keep rolling in, shocking you with every one. The camera pans back to the judge, silencing the crowd. “I am hereby sentencing Mr. Evans to life in prison, with no parole. Court is adjourned,”

The bowl falls into your lap, your hands flying up to your mouth, the bile creeping up your throat.

You did the right thing, so why do you feel so horrible?

dan-tea:

New fic rec!

⚠️This one gets a little dark, so keep an eye on the tags!⚠️

Eraserhead gets stalked home by a deranged fan, and his entire family held hostage. This an intense little erasermic family horror/thriller that really keeps you on the edge of your seat! The writing really has you feeling the horror of the situation. I highly recommend it. But siriously, read the warnings in the tags.

Plot: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Writing: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

A Common Cuckoo

by Mags_Pie

Shouta only managed a single step into the room before the sound of a gun being reloaded hit his ears. He jumped back, his capture weapon threaded through his fingers, his quirk flaring alive, shooting his hair up into the air as he scanned the room.

“You have a lovely family, Eraserhead,” a voice said in the dark of the room. A figure loomed behind three chairs, each with his family seated and tied to them.

–

A villain has taken Shouta’s family hostage and has placed himself at the head of the family.

A Common Cuckoo - Mags_Pie - 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia [Archive of Our Own]

dan-tea:

New fic rec!

⚠️This one gets a little dark, so keep an eye on the tags!⚠️

Eraserhead gets stalked home by a deranged fan, and his entire family held hostage. This an intense little erasermic family horror/thriller that really keeps you on the edge of your seat! The writing really has you feeling the horror of the situation. I highly recommend it. But siriously, read the warnings in the tags.

Plot: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Writing: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

A Common Cuckoo

by Mags_Pie

Shouta only managed a single step into the room before the sound of a gun being reloaded hit his ears. He jumped back, his capture weapon threaded through his fingers, his quirk flaring alive, shooting his hair up into the air as he scanned the room.

“You have a lovely family, Eraserhead,” a voice said in the dark of the room. A figure loomed behind three chairs, each with his family seated and tied to them.

–

A villain has taken Shouta’s family hostage and has placed himself at the head of the family.

A Common Cuckoo - Mags_Pie - 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia [Archive of Our Own]