#He’s going to break my heart isn’t he | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

meleeyz · 3 days ago

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୭ 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦 𝗧𝗢 𝗙𝗜𝗫 ˚. ᵎᵎ

ekko 𝒙 fem!reader

୨୧ English is not my first language, so I regret in advance if something reads weird or is misspelled

୨୧ Bro is going to fix the mess he made with his family from another dimension 🙏

୨୧ This is not exactly the result of what I wanted but it works ;)

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

The sun dipped below the horizon, its last golden rays painting the sky in soft shades of pink and lavender. The walk back felt longer than usual, the weight of the day pressing on your shoulders. The afternoon had passed in a whirlwind of preparations for Violet’s birthday—small, meaningful plans to make tomorrow special.

But now, exhaustion clung to you like a second skin. Inside the house, the warmth of home embraced you. Dinner had been a blur—a simple meal shared with your children before they yawned and rubbed their eyes, ready for bed.

After clearing up, you found Wyeth in his room, the soft glow of his bedside lamp casting a gentle light over the space. He sat cross-legged on his bed, with his broken rocket cradled in his small hands.

You paused in the doorway for a moment, taking in the sight. His furrowed brow and the way his little fingers traced over the toy’s worn edges tugged at your heart. Quietly, you stepped into the room and sat on the edge of his bed.

"Hey there, sweetheart," you said softly, brushing your hand over his cheek.

Wyeth looked up at you, his wide eyes searching your face for reassurance.

"Mommy," he began, his voice a small whisper. “Is Daddy mad at me?”

The question caught you off guard, but you schooled your features into a gentle smile.

“Mad at you?” you asked, feigning lightness. “Why would you think that?”

His shoulders slumped, and he set the rocket aside, its bent fin catching the lamplight.

“I’ve been bad lately,” he admitted, his voice trembling. “Maybe that’s why…”

“Sweetheart, no.” you interrupted, leaning in to cup his face in your hands. “Daddy isn’t mad at you. He’s just tired, that’s all. He’s been working really hard and sometimes when grown-ups work too much, they get a little grumpy. But it’s not your fault, okay?”

Wyeth hesitated, his small brow still creased, but eventually he nodded.

“Okay” he whispered.You smiled and kissed his forehead, lingering just long enough for him to feel the warmth of your love.

“Goodnight, my little rocket man. Sweet dreams.”

“Goodnight, Mommy,” he murmured, burrowing under his sheets and clutching his blanket close.

You stood, dimming the lamp as you left the room, glancing back to see him already drifting off, the broken rocket abandoned beside him.

In your own room, the silence was heavier. You moved through the motions of preparing for bed, your body exhausted but your mind far from settled. As you pulled back the covers, your eyes flicked to the window. Outside, the night stretched endlessly, dark and quiet. Still, there was no sign of Ekko.

A sigh slipped from your lips as you turned to Violet’s crib. You smiled faintly. She slept soundly, her tiny chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, her soft coos occasionally breaking the quiet.

Finally, you climbed into bed. The room felt emptier than it should, the absence of Ekko gnawing at you in ways you didn’t want to admit. Your thoughts lingered on him, on the tension from earlier, on the strange distance that had settled between you. As sleep began to pull you under, you found yourself hoping that, come morning, things would feel a little less heavy.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

The house was quiet as Ekko slipped inside, the soft creak of the door barely audible over the hum of crickets outside. He paused in the entryway, his eyes adjusting to the dim light, his breath hitching as he looked around.

He had to ask Heimerdinger where his own house was. The thought stung, but as he stood there, surrounded by warm tones and small, comforting touches, a sense of belonging crept in. This was his home—at least, it was for the Ekko who lived here.

The garden outside had been beautiful, a serene patch of green dotted with soft, colorful flowers and lanterns. Inside, the air smelled faintly of lavender and something sweet, a scent that grounded him as he moved deeper into the house.

Pictures lined the walls and shelves, drawing his gaze. Each frame seemed to tell a story, a life lived in a world so far removed from his own. His steps slowed as he reached for one in particular: a photo of his wedding day.

The image stopped him cold, his stomach flipping in a way he hadn’t expected. You looked radiant, your smile wide and bright as you leaned into him, your hands entwined. Ekko—this Ekko—was grinning from ear to ear, his expression caught somewhere between elation and disbelief.

His fingers brushed over the ring on his finger. He could tell it was handmade—gold, with delicate carvings of fireflies and his hourglass symbol etched into its surface. Of course, he thought. He probably made it himself, ensuring it was worthy of the person he gave it to. You didn’t deserve anything less.

Ekko chuckled softly, shaking his head. He’d thought about his wedding day before, in fleeting moments between battles and responsibilities, but it always felt like a distant dream. Something he could never afford.

He moved to another photo, this one capturing the moment of Wyeth’s birth. You were in a bed, holding a tiny, wrapped in blankets, your face glowing with exhaustion and joy. Ekko stood beside you, his grin wobbly and his hair a mess, like he’d just finished pacing the room for hours. He could imagine exactly how that had gone—nervous energy radiating off him, snapping at anyone who told him to relax, only to apologize afterward.

Ekko swallowed hard and tore his gaze away, continuing up the stairs.

The walls of the staircase were covered with more pictures. Wyeth as a toddler, clutching a makeshift artifact in his hands; Violet giggling in a field of wildflowers, her chubby cheeks and wide eyes making her look like the cutest baby in the world.

His steps slowed as his chest tightened. The memory of what he’d said earlier came rushing back

Why did I say that?

It wasn’t true. He knew it wasn’t true. You were his wife, those were his babies, and he didn’t doubt that. Not for a second. But the words had spilled out of him, born from the confusion and guilt swirling in his mind.

He clenched his fists, a wave of self-loathing washing over him. He hated the thought of you thinking, even for a moment, that he didn’t want this. That he didn’t want you. He had to fix it. He had to make it right.

When he reached Wyeth’s room, he cracked the door open just enough to peek inside. The boy was sound asleep, curled under his blankets with the broken rocket still resting on the nightstand. Ekko exhaled softly, relief mingling with guilt. He hoped he hadn’t confused the kid too much with his words earlier. Wyeth deserved better.

And then, an idea struck him.

If he wanted to make things right, he couldn’t just apologize. He needed to show you—show all of you—that he was here, that he cared. That no matter how he got here, this was his family.

Ekko closed the door as quietly as he could, slipping back downstairs with a newfound determination. He paused only to glance at the pictures on the wall one more time, steeling himself. Then he slipped out the front door, heading toward Powder’s hideout.

The night air was cool against his skin as he moved through the streets, the city was quiet but alive. He didn’t care if Powder hated him for waking her up; this needed to happen. He couldn’t wait until morning.

By the time he reached the hideout, his heart was pounding—not from exertion, but from the resolve burning inside him. He knocked softly at first, then a little harder when there was no answer.

“Powder,” he called in an urgent cry. “I need your help.”

It didn’t matter how late it was. Ekko wasn’t leaving until he fixed things.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

The morning light filtered through the curtains, warming the room with its golden glow. You stirred slowly, the weight of sleep still heavy on your body. Your hand reached out instinctively, seeking the comforting presence of your husband, but the bed beside you was empty.

The absence hit you harder than you expected. Memories of the previous day lingered in your mind, his words cutting deeper than you wanted to admit. You sat up, running a hand through your head, trying to shake the uneasy feeling creeping up your spine.

It wasn’t until you glanced toward Violet’s crib that the unease turned to panic.

It was empty.

Your heart raced as you threw off the covers and bolted out of the room, your bare feet padding quickly down the hall. The first place you went was Wyeth’s room, pushing the door open with trembling hands.

“Wyeth?” you called, your voice shaking slightly. “Sweetheart, are you in here?”

But the bed was empty, his blankets neatly tucked at the edges.

Your chest tightened. Where were they?

“Violet?” you called, louder this time, your voice echoing through the house as you hurried down the stairs.

You rounded the corner into the dining room, your mind spinning with worst-case scenarios, and froze.

Ekko sat at the table, a knowing grin on his face. A bouquet of fresh flowers sat in the center of the table, their pastel hues soft and welcoming. Beside them was a spread of breakfast—pancakes, fresh fruit, and coffee—all laid out with surprising care.

“Morning,” Ekko said, his tone teasing, as though he hadn’t scared you half to death.

Your panic hadn’t completely subsided.

“Where are the kids?” you demanded, your voice sharp.

His grin widened, his dark eyes dancing with mischief.

“It’s a surprise,” he said simply, leaning back in his chair as if to emphasize how utterly unbothered he was.

Your brow furrowed, a mix of frustration and confusion bubbling to the surface.

“Ekko—”

“You’re cute when you’re worried,” His gaze swept over you, lingering on your sleepwear, and his grin turned decidedly more suggestive. “By the way, you look… incredible this morning.”

Your cheeks burned as his eyes trailed over you with that familiar, almost predatory glint you’d come to know all too well. It was the kind of look that once made your stomach flip in a good way, but now? It just left you reeling.

“Ekko, stop,” you muttered, looking away in an attempt to regain composure. But his playful chuckle made it clear he wasn’t about to let it go.

“Stop what?” he teased, his voice dropping slightly. “Admiring my wife?”

You shot him a sharp look, your emotions tangled in a confusing mess of frustration and something you couldn’t quite name.

“You’re confusing me so much,” you said finally, your voice quiet but firm.

His laugh was soft but rich, and it only made your frustration deepen.

“Good. I like keeping you on your toes,” he said with a wink, leaning forward slightly.

You exhaled, exasperated, wondering not for the first time, What is wrong with this man?

“I’m just trying to make things right,” he said as if he read your mind, his voice softening slightly.

The sincerity in his tone made your heart skip a beat. You wanted to be mad at him, to demand answers, but the warmth in his eyes made it difficult.

Ekko reached for the coffee pot, pouring you a cup with an easy grace that only confused you further.

“Eat first,” he said, sliding the plate of pancakes toward you. “Then I’ll tell you everything. Promise.”

You hesitated, but the smell of freshly brewed coffee and the sight of his earnest smile made it hard to argue. You sighed, picking up your fork. Whatever he was up to, you’d get to the bottom of it soon enough.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

If you thought you were confused before, Ekko’s antics that morning had turned your head into a whirlwind of questions. After changing into a simple but comfortable outfit, you found yourself blindfolded by your husband, his hands gentle yet firm as he secured the cloth over your eyes.

"Ekko," you began, your tone edged with exasperation, "what are you doing? We don’t have time for this. We need to get to The Last Drop and finish setting up for Vi’s birthday."

"Relax," he said smoothly, the grin evident in his voice. "I already have it covered. Trust me."

You sighed, a grunt of disapproval slipping past your lips as he guided you forward with a hand on your arm.

"Trust you? Ekko, you’re lucky I love you."

"Lucky doesn’t even begin to cover it," he teased, laughter bubbling in his throat.

You kept up a stream of complaints the entire way, though your protests were punctuated by the occasional chuckle or muttered threat. His laugh echoed through the space as he steered you with careful precision. After a while, you noticed something odd—your voice echoed more than usual.

"Wait," you said, your pace faltering.

"Are we in the sewers? Ekko, you better not—"

"Shh," he interrupted, and before you could finish your thought, he stopped you. His hands brushed your shoulders, and with one swift movement, he removed the blindfold.

Your breath caught in your throat.

The scene before you seemed to be pulled from the pages of a fairy tale. The air was alive with fireflies and butterflies flitting between the lush greenery. Birds chirped softly from branches above, and in the center of it all stood an enormous tree, its wide canopy casting dappled light over the ground below.

You turned to Ekko, your mouth slightly open in disbelief, but he simply smiled, gesturing for you to take it all in.

Before you could say a word, several silhouettes approached. The first to come bounding into view was Wyeth, his grin stretching from ear to ear. He ran straight to you, wrapping his arms around your legs.

"Mommy!" he exclaimed, practically vibrating with excitement. "Look! Daddy fixed my rocket! He made it better, and now it can fly without breaking anything!” He held up the toy, his joy infectious.

You crouched down to admire the handiwork, running your fingers along the rocket’s smooth edges as Wyeth babbled on.

“And we climbed the tree, Mommy! It’s so tall! You should come see!”

A voice behind him interjected playfully.

“Let your mama breathe, rocket man.”

You looked up to see Powder striding toward you, her blue hair styled into two playful space buns. She carried Violet in a baby carrier strapped to her chest, the little girl now clad in the pastel green dress Powder had shown you the day before. A delicate butterfly charm nestled in her curls added the final touch to her outfit.

"Happy birthday, my sweet Violet," you cooed, leaning in to kiss your baby’s cheek. Violet giggled in response, her tiny hands reaching for you.

“She’s been in full princess mode all morning,” Powder said, rolling her eyes affectionately.

You smiled as you looked around again. Decorations were everywhere—streamers in bright, cheerful colors, balloons that bobbed gently in the breeze, and a large table set up beneath the tree, big enough to seat the whole family. Your heart swelled at the sight.

"Ekko," you began, standing and turning to your husband, "what is this all about?"

He stepped forward, taking your hand with an easy smile.

“What do you mean?” he said, his tone light. “It’s Vi’s birthday, isn’t it?”

You raised an eyebrow, suspicion tinging your voice.

“Right. And you did all of this?”

“Of course,” he said, leading you gently past the table and toward the other side of the massive tree. “Come on. There’s one more thing I want to show you.”

As you rounded the tree, your breath caught again.

There, painted across a wide section of the bark, was a stunning mural. Vibrant colors swirled together to create a picture of your family—Ekko, you, Wyeth, and Violet—all smiling and holding hands beneath the glowing canopy of the tree. The fireflies painted around the edges seemed to dance, their light giving the mural a soft, almost magical quality.

You stepped closer, your fingers brushing over the bark.

“Ekko…” you whispered, unable to find the words.

He smiled, his hand coming to rest lightly on your waist. “It’s us,” he said softly.

“My wife, our babies, and me. The people who mean everything to me.”

You turned to him, emotions swirling in your chest, but before you could respond, he took both of your hands in his. His expression turned serious, his eyes locking onto yours.

“I’m really sorry,” he said, his voice low but steady. “About yesterday. About everything. I don’t know why I said what I said—I felt so strange, so out of it—but I know that doesn’t excuse it.” His grip on your hands tightened slightly, as if anchoring himself to you. “I just want you to know how much I love you. You, Wyeth, Violet. You’re my whole world, and I’m going to make sure today is Violet’s best first birthday ever.”

His words were earnest, his gaze unflinching. He lifted your hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to each of them before leaning forward, aiming to kiss you properly.

Before his lips could meet yours, a familiar voice groaned from behind.

“Ewww!”

Wyeth’s loud protest made you both turn. He stood a few steps away, his face scrunched in exaggerated disgust.

Ekko laughed, scooping the boy up in one swift motion.

“What? You don’t want Mommy and Daddy kissing?”

“No!” Wyeth giggled, squirming as Ekko nuzzled him.

“Well, too bad, but don’t think you’re safe, buddy. I’ve got kisses for you too!”

Wyeth squealed as Ekko peppered his face with kisses, his laughter filling the air. You couldn’t help but join in, tickling his sides as he giggled uncontrollably.

“Okay, okay! Stop!” Wyeth cried, still laughing as he wriggled free.

At that moment, a familiar voice called from the distance.

“Well, look who we have here!”

Wyeth’s head snapped toward the entrance, his eyes lighting up.

“Grandpa Benzo!” he yelled, bolting toward the sound of his grandfather’s voice.

Ekko set his son down and watched him run off before turning back to you. His arms snaked around your waist, pulling you close. His voice dropped to a low murmur, meant only for you.

“Don’t think I’m done with you yet. I’ll leave it pending till tonight.” he said, his tone dripping with playful promise. He winked at you before turning to follow Wyeth, leaving you standing alone by the mural.

You exhaled deeply, hugging yourself as you looked up at the painting. It was vibrant, alive, full of hope and love.

You smiled softly. You chose well.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

tags: @bbybubbles @bookies16 @xelzaria @honeyfewr @bubblegupyy @iwasholic @chaeisbroke @emforjin @itszazouu @kriss-w @moonlight-dreamer04 @iloveavatar @sturngs

#ekko x reader #arcane x reader #arcane season two #ekko fluff #ekko imagines #arcane league of legends #ekko fics

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un-petit-sanctuaire · 2 days ago

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Bound

Pairing: Sylus x f!MC

Genre: Angst (with a tinge of fluff?)

Rating: General

Word Count: ±800

Summary: You have to do what needs to be done.

Author’s Note: My second fic for the LADS universe! This fic is heavily inspired by Goo Goo Doll’s Iris, so go ahead and listen to it for extra feels. :')

Your mind is hazy. Your vision is blurry.

It feels like you’re being pulled by an invisible force through endless layers of distant memories.

The cave. The pit. The darkness.

Everything around you burns.

…

Smoke curls around you like restless specters. Flames lick hungrily at the air, casting a fiery, eerie glow. Your head pounds, your body aches. The acrid smell of burning fills your lungs, and you cough, choking on the stifling heat and dread. Your hands tremble uncontrollably as you glance down, the sight stealing the breath from your chest.

Blood.

So much blood…

A familiar voice cuts through the blaze.

“… You must press on.”

A figure kneels before you, battered and bruised. His chest rises and falls in labored breaths as he speaks again with great effort, each syllable strained as he rasps,

“Because if you don’t… there’s no going back.”

—and then you realize what’s happening.

“S-Sylus…?”

A massive claymore is embedded in his chest. The handle juts out grotesquely; its blade is bathed in crimson, glinting faintly in the firelight. Yet Sylus does not flinch, does not cry out. His hands, trembling and pale, reach for yours, guiding them to the weapon’s hilt.

“Sylus, stop—don’t—”

Your voice breaks, panic taking hold. Every fiber of your being screams to pull back, to refuse.

You don’t want to do this. He doesn’t want you to do this.

But he must make you.

He has to.

The world blurs, the edges of your vision burning white-hot with tears. Your brain refuses to think, overwhelmed by the sight of him now. Sylus, who has always been invincible, untouchable. Sylus, who has always been there to shield you, to fight for and with you, to laugh off danger with that infuriatingly smug grin. But now, there’s no grin, no tease, no fire in his bloodshot gaze. His eyes, dull and dimming, hold only pain, as if life is draining out of him.

“Sylus, no—”

It’s only a façade, obviously…? It’s one of his tests again, right? Just like that time he told you to find the brooch. Just like when you went to the auction with him, posing as his plus one. There is no way that he is in actual pain, that his blood is real. You know he can heal himself.

But he isn’t healing.

Why isn’t he healing?

“Sylus—”

His name spills from your lips over and over, a desperate chant. Hot tears brim in your eyes as your trembling hands reach out, cupping his sunken cheeks in your palms. His skin is cold, far too cold. You search his eyes for a spark, for a hint you may recognize. For a sign that this can be undone, that there is another way out.

Yet there’s nothing. His gaze is resolute.

“Listen to me,” he speaks again in ragged breath. His body shakes as he leans forward, his arms wrapping around you weakly, as if anchoring himself to you for just a moment longer. His touch is light, almost ghostly, but the weight of his presence is crushing. “Our fates… were always bound,” his gaze lingers on you as he desperately takes your hands again. “This—has to be done.”

Oh, if he could, he would give up everything—his strength, his pride, even his invincibility—just to feel you one last time. To feel the warmth of someone who holds his heart so dearly. To memorize the way your touch grounds him in a way nothing else ever could. You are the closest thing to salvation he’s ever known, his only light in a world that always seems out of reach, that has never perceived him as who he is.

He doesn’t want you to see him like this. It pains him to see you like this, as much as you do him.

But you both know this is it.

Even as the shadows creep closer, as his strength ebbs with every shallow breath, all he wants is for you to remember him the way he is—before the end comes.

Slowly, painfully, he leans forward, his breath mingling with yours in the heated air. For a moment, the world falls silent—the crackle of flames, the roar of chaos—all drowned out by the space between you. When your lips meet his, it isn’t desperate or hurried, but soft, tender… and devastatingly final.

He pours everything into it—his love, his regret, his unspoken words—all the things he couldn’t say.

His body clings to you weakly, as if the kiss could anchor him to this moment forever. When he finally breaks apart, his forehead rests against yours, and he whispers, “I’ll—come back to you. When you see me again, remember this—remember us.”

Then, with a shaky breath, his hands guide yours back to the hilt; his gaze, unwavering, never leaves yours as his palms wrap around your hands.

A sharp, guttural sound escapes his lips as the weapon sinks further.

“Goodbye, my beloved.”

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace fic #lnds fic #sylus #sylus x you #lnds ff #lnds sylus #sylus ff #sylus fic #lads #lads ff #lads sylus #sylus angst #lads angst #love and deepspace ff #sylus fluff #sylus x f!mc

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formulaforza · 20 hours ago

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miss americana and the heartbreak prince

—09. Sweet Nothing —word count: 8.5k —warnings: none :) love, mack... sorry. SORRY. you can't even begin to imagine how different my life is from when i last updated. SORRY. technically I got paid to write this lol.

Charles turns up to pre-season testing with a gifted case on his phone. It’s from Reid, FORZA CHARLES written in his best handwriting, colored red with his new set of crayons from his birthday. It’s been on his phone since the five-year-old gifted it to him because Reid was too excited about it for Charles to do anything but put it on.

Reid had carefully explained that it was a good luck charm—but that Charles is not allowed to be mad if it didn’t have enough luck, since he had to rush to make it before Charles had to leave.

Reid had played it so incredibly cool ( see: jumping around Chris' kitchen after school squealing like a baby pig ) when Chris had shown him a picture of Charles with the phone case on in the paddock. There’s a certain softness that she feels watching his excitement over something so small, something that gets this kid so incredibly excited because he thinks Charles is so cool. There’s something soft, and there’s also something so incredibly terrifying about it. That she let Reid develop this relationship—even if oh-so-small—with Charles, because now if it goes wrong, if it sours… not only is it going to screw her up in the head royally, but now she’s going to have to explain it to Reid, too. To break his heart, too. She thinks Charles is completely clueless as to the amount of people he’s got completely wrapped around his finger.

Reid, in all his pure and unadulterated joy, insists that Chris call him up so Reid can share in the joy with her boyfriend--because no matter how many times she attempts to explain it to the kid, he can’t fathom the idea of timezones.

Chase has always been so good at navigating them, even though he has ever been only, at most, a few hours off the time at home. He’s never missed a bedtime story or a goodnight kiss if he could help it. They’ve always been so good at it, him and Hannah, that Reid is truly unable to conceptualize why someone away at a race can’t talk on the phone with him.

“He’s sleeping, Reid,” Chris says, shaking her head, and taking her phone back from his grubby hands. “I’m not calling him in the middle of the night.”

“It’s not the middle of the night!” He protests, and he’s not wrong. “It’s just after school time.”

Chris sighs. “But he’s not here. He’s somewhere far away, remember? We talked about this before he left?”

“No! Facetime him!”

She rolls her eyes. They go back and forth for some time like that, her arguing with a five-year-old about time zones. It’s only becoming clearer that there are only two ways for this to end. Either Reid throws the fit of all fits until Hannah gets off work to come pick him up, or Chris calls Charles. If she hadn’t spent all day already keeping five-year-olds from throwing a tantrum, she might have had the strength to endure another grumpy kid. But, she had spent the day on eggshells, so she makes the call and hopes his phone is turned off so it doesn’t wake him up.

Despite her hopes, he answers, even though it’s past midnight there. She’s apologizing before she can even make out the shape of his face on the dark screen. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. His voice is groggy and sleepy and he speaks through a yawn, shaking his head in a dismissal of her apology. “Es-tu…” he groans. “Are you okay?”

“Yes!” She quips. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Reid just wanted to say hello. I promise it won’t be more than a minute.” Momentarily, she considers shoving her nephew into the pantry where it’s dark. Where the bright light of Chris’ kitchen isn’t going to hurt Charles’ eyes in the dark of his room.

“It’s okay,” he smiles, and God. God, he looks so sleepy and sweet and if she didn’t feel so horribly guilty for waking him up, she’d be thinking about how badly she wants to kiss him. He turns on a lamp and cringes at the brightness of it. Her wince is disguised as a smile. “Where is he?”

Here, she says, handing the phone off to Reid, a half-scold, half-warning leaving her lips in the form of be quick. He grabs her phone with the heel of both his palms, keeping his greasy snack fingers off her screen, setting it down with a light clatter onto the countertop, forehead peeking in at the bottom of the screen. “Hi, Chuck!” Reid greets. “Auntie Chris says you’re sleeping!” he giggles.

“Auntie Chris was right,” Charles laughs softly, and now she just wants to kiss him. She doesn’t get to see him sleepy nearly as much as she’d like to, as much as other girlfriends get to see their boyfriends sleepy.

She manages to swallow the guilt gnawing away at her bones, silence the already rehearsed apologies she’ll be uttering the next time they speak, and just listens fondly to Charles entertaining Reid. He's so patient. So kind in his efforts to get close with her family. He doesn’t have to do that—seriously. Most people wouldn’t talk to their girlfriend’s nephew on the phone in the middle of the night. Then again, most people wouldn’t fly a quarter of the way around the world for that same nephew’s fifth birthday party—or travel that same distance for a family wedding on a fifth date. In fact, most people would be so put off by the idea of having to do those things, they would never in a million years entertain the idea of dating someone who lives around the world. Most people wouldn’t, and yet. Charles would. Charles does. Each and every time, he does.

— — —

“So, he comes up to me, right?” She laughs, “I’m trying to give a reading test, and he walks up, and I almost tell him to go sit back in his seat because he’s supposed to be silent reading,” She continues. It’s 12:03 am, at least that’s what her microwave clock tells her. It’s 12:03 am in Georgia and when they’d gotten on Facetime twenty-one minutes ago, he’d told her exactly two things.

One—the car is shit. Two—I don’t want to talk about it.

So, she didn’t ask any questions and instead launched into the story she’d been anxiously waiting to tell him all about since it had happened that morning at school.

“But before I can say anything,” she explains to her phone camera—to him, on the other side of the globe— “He says, ‘Um, Miss Elliott, um, my tooth falled out,’' She grins, and Charles matches her expression because even across continents it’s a contagious smile. It was the first time any of her students had lost a tooth in class, and the room proceeded to erupt into chaos, she would continue to tell him. “It was crazy,” she laughs. “I didn’t know what to do with him.”

“So what did you do?” Charles asks, laughing himself.

“I took him and his tooth down to the office,” she says, half out of breath. “And I let them handle it. I was way out of my depth. The nurse brought him back like, ten minutes later with a plastic tooth necklace that held the tooth all day.”

— — —

Chris is cozied up on the couch with Bean, babysitting the dog for her parents while they traveled to Vegas for her brother’s race when Charles DNFs in Bahrain.

Her heart sinks, through the couch and through the floor and deep into her non-existent basement. It might even go all the way through the world and into Australia to wait for Charles to get there in a few weeks.

Once he’s out of the car and they show him on camera, he looks so annoyed. Defeated and annoyed in a way she isn’t sure she’s ever seen him, and like he could use a hug. A bear hug. She wants to stick her arms through the television and around him and hug him and kiss him and make him laugh and get that look off his face. She wants the car to turn into a person she can fight. To kiss him all over and run her finger through his helmet hair until he forgets about it for a little while. To tell him how she’s sorry. And how she. How she… how she likes him so much.

How, maybe someday. Someday, in a vast and distant future, she loves him so much that it scares her to think about for more than a moment. How—again, maybe someday in a timeline she can't imagine yet—she thinks of him constantly. How he’s burrowed his way into her skin and how every time she sees the color red she doesn’t think of it as angry or harsh or mean, she just thinks of him.

How she loves him, maybe, and it’s wholly terrifying. She hates that she loves him, maybe, because she knows it’s only a matter of time. She’d really, truly hoped he would come to his senses before it got to this point, this drowning slowly in his honey words and soft smile, hoped that he would have found her too much and too messy and not worth all the energy and time and money. But he hasn’t. He hasn’t, and now she loves him, maybe, and has nowhere to put all this fear.

She waits for him to call her, and he does, hours later when it’s got to be the middle of the night there. She can’t keep the time difference straight and has googled it at least half a dozen times today alone.

“Did you watch?” he asks, and he doesn’t sound defeated, not like he had during testing. He sounds… dejected, if anything but normal.

“Yeah,” she says, even though there wasn’t much to watch.

“They’re saying on Twitter I looked hot,” he chuckles, and it puts a soft smile on her face. She pulls her knees to her chest, picking at the lint on the knees of her leggings. “At least I have that going, huh?”

“You always look hot,” she says, her smile growing.

“True,” he says, and he follows it with a laugh. An honest to god laugh that makes her heart swell.

“Besides the obvious,” she says, adjusting in her seat, “It was a good race.”

“It was definitely not a good race,” he chuckles.

Chris continues to pick at her leggings. They’re covered in lint from her blanket and hair from the dog. “Well, I thought it was good. I know you didn’t finish, but… if you had,” she smiles gently. He was on track for a podium. If he had finished.

“But I didn’t,” He sighs himself into a perfect frown.

“Eh,” she waves it off with her hand. “Semantics, semantics. Rose and thorn.”

“Rose and thorn,” he nods, quirking a brow. “What is rose and thorn?”

“Oh,” she shrugs, “you know. Like… take the good with the bad? The rose and the thorn,” she explains. “You were having a good race—rose. You didn’t finish the race—thorn.”

“Ah,” he says, his head dropping down into a chuckle. “Rose and thorn, yes.”

— — —

One thing you learn when you’re the aunt of a five-year-old little leaguer is that every single team is actually just a major league baseball team rebranded for whatever city these elementary schoolers are playing in. Same names, same logos—sometimes they’ll change the color scheme, but sometimes they can get away with keeping it. In Reid’s case, they kept even the color scheme.

Chris supposes this makes her outfit choice for his season opener significantly easier. It’s sunny and sixty-five degrees and Chris is wearing a Detroit Tigers sweatshirt—Navy blue with a white old English D embroidered on the front—and a pair of blue jeans. Reid’s tee-ball team is oh-so derivatively named the Dawsonville Tigers.

It’s Reid’s third year playing baseball, his third year playing tee-ball. Next year, he’ll get to move up to the real little league, which will only give Chase and Hannah a million more practices and tournaments, and games to travel to. Reid is counting down the days until he gets to play with the bigger kids. Chase and Hannah… not so much.

They, along with the rest of the family, have grown relatively attached to the comedy show of a bunch of preschoolers chasing baseballs around a bunch of gravel. Chase is an assistant coach, and he’s been swearing up and down in the family group chat that at least ten of the fifteen kids on the team know they’re supposed to run to first base after they hit a fair ball. At least ten of them, and the coaches are working hard to get the other five on track as soon as possible.

Chris and Hannah sit in folding camping chairs behind the fencing catching up while they watch the show, sipping boxed wine from Hannah’s secret purse-stash in their matching YETI wine tumblers.

The conversation starts with a rundown of the team this year—of the moms, more importantly. Which ones Hannah likes, and which ones look at her like she’s still a nineteen-year-old with a baby she doesn’t know what to do with. It’s a common thing for Hannah, even now that she’s got a settled career and a house and a whole life with Chase. It doesn’t matter, not to the bitter southern housewives with nothing better to do than spend their time hating other women.

It starts there. And somehow, with the quick exclamation of Oh! You’ll never believe what Miss Julie told me about Kacie! The two girls are deep in gossip about someone from high school’s relationship. It always seems to go like this, when Hannah gets this endless well of gossip from work, from the hours spent waiting for bleach to process and colors to develop in the salon.

“But wait, forget about that!” Hannah laughs. “How’s Charles!? Your dad said he had a shit race?”

Chris furrows her brows, swallowing a sip of wine. “My dad knows how his race went?” She asks, and Hanah shrugs. “I mean, yeah, he did,” she chuckles. “Power unit issues, even though they literally replaced the battery and the ECU that morning. They have to replace the whole thing, so he’s going to have to take a penalty next race too,” she sighs, rolling her eyes. “For the ECU that they just replaced.”

Hannah scowls. “That’s fucked,” she laughs, covering her mouth, doing a poor job at concealing her wine giggles. “He’s coming to visit in a couple weeks, right?”

“Mmhm,” Chris hums. “He’s like…” she laughs, “so geeked out about coming to one of these games. I told him they’re so boring, but. He’s adorable.”

“I’m sure he’s more geeked about other things,” Hannah teases, playfully shoving Chris’ shoulder. “Long distance fucking sucks for the sex life,” she giggles. Chris blushes bright red, holding her hands up in surrender before taking a long sip of wine and asking for a refill.

Chandler shows up somewhere between the third wine tumbler and the fourth inning of the baseball game. She’s in her work clothes, complete with the kitten heels that sink into the muddy grass with every step she takes. She taps the opposite shoulder of Chris that she stands behind, and Chris falls for it, turning back the other way to see her, to smile genuinely because they haven’t had the chance to get annoyed with each other yet, haven’t had the chance to get annoyed with each other since they last saw the other at Chase and Hannah’s wedding.

“Are you still with that guy?” She asked, from her seat in Chris’ camping chair. She felt too bad watching her heels sink in and out of the mud, so now she leans against the fencing while Chandler sits. “The French one?”

Chris nods, her arms crossed over her chest. “Monegasque,” she corrects. “But yes. Still together.”

“Hmm,” Chandler hums curiously, picking at her cuticles. “Are you ever going out to see him?” She asks.

“Uh,” Chris sighs, dragging her toe through the gravel, drawing harsh lines and kicking up dust. “I’m gonna fly out for spring break,” she says. “But he wants me away from Monaco.”

“He wants you to stay away?” Chandler asks, and Chris doesn’t miss the tone of voice, eyes darting to Hannah to confirm the condescending tone she already knows she heard. Hannah closes her eyes before she can roll them, and takes a sip of her wine, leaning back in her seat, crossing her legs.

“Not like that, Chan, come on,” Chris sighs. “I don’t want to be there. We don’t want to be there. It’s too hard, everyone knows him there and we don’t want anyone to know me.”

“So, he’s hiding you?”

“No,” Chris shakes her head, pursing her lips together. “We’re being private. He’s trying to protect me.”

“Alright,” Chandler chuckles, putting her hands up in defense. “I’m just saying, I never would have hidden Lex.”

Chris’ head physically recoils, forcing a scoff out of her mouth. Hannah laughs, too. “You literally hid Lex for two years,” Hannah says. “Like, genuinely you hid her from all of us.”

“That’s different,” Chandler argues. “I wouldn’t have hidden her if she was a man.”

“And Charles wouldn’t be ‘hiding’ me,” She says, forced air quotes around the word she can’t come up with a synonym for. “If every woman he interacts with wasn’t crucified,” she defends. “Can’t you just give him the benefit of the doubt, Jesus.” Chandler rolls her eyes and pulls out her phone, answering texts or emails or whatever else is so pressing as a distraction from the current conversation. “Seriously?”

“What?” Chandler spits, rolling her eyes. “I’m just looking out for you, Chris. You don’t have the greatest track record with guys, so forgive me for being hesitant to give you the benefit of the doubt.”

Chris bites her tongue, literally, and purses her lips. She nods, watching the dead serious look in her sister’s eyes with a glare of equal intensity. Finally, after what feels like an eternity of death stares, Chris puts a pretty smile on her face. “I’m really happy you came all this way, Chandler,” she grins, slipping her phone into her back pocket. “I’m sure Reid will be thrilled to see you,” she continues. “He missed you at his birthday party,” she adds, squeezing her sister’s shoulder as she passes, walking away and kicking up gravel when she does it.

Saudi Arabia is no better. He has a great qualifying, but he also has that pesky grid penalty and a Ferrari that just doesn’t seem to have anything even close to race pace. The car just feels… so undriveable. So unpredictable. One corner it’s all oversteer, and the next it’s a completely different car, fully understeery. It’s just. It’s terrible, really, and he’s known it since the first time he got in the car.

It doesn’t help that he spends the whole race stuck behind Carlos, who seems to have just as much pace as he does. He calls Chris that night, so fucking angry, and she gets an earful, one that he immediately apologizes for dumping on her after he’s gotten it all out.

“It's okay,” she tells him. “I’m just glad that your bad days don’t line up with mine,” she joked, and he laughed because it’s impossible not to laugh at her jokes, even when he feels like shit. “Better days are coming,” she promised, and he wanted to believe her, but he also knew this car inside and out.

“Not soon enough,” he told her, and she smiled. He can’t get enough of her smile.

“Patience, grasshopper,” she teased, holding up both her hands in a meditative pose, humming out an ommm.

“You are so dumb,” he giggles.

“Oh, please,” she says, opening her eyes, relaxing again. “You love me.”

There’s a heavy beat of silence. So heavy that it can’t even be blamed on FaceTime lag.

His brain is malfunctioning; heart racing, palms clammy, entire body sweating thinking she knows. Thinking he’s been entirely too obvious about it and not done nearly as good of a job as he thought. You should tell her. You should tell her. Yes. Yes, I do love you. I love you so much I don’t know how to tell you. I love you so much that I’m scared telling you is going to mess it all up.

He can’t tell her like this, though. Not now, when he’s halfway around the whole and every nerve of his body is frustrated. No, it needs to be when he’s with her. Not over the phone. He’s completely clueless as to when or where or what the right time is, but he knows this sure as hell isn’t it.

So, he stays quiet. Because he’s sure if he speaks he’s going to just blurt it all out, and he hasn't kept his mouth shut this long just to say it like this. She’ll have to break the silence. It feels like it takes an eternity for her to do it.

“So, uh, what time does your flight land here, again?” She asks, and his shoulders loosen just a bit.

“Yeah,” he nods, wondering if she can hear his heartbeat through the phone. It seems like it’s the only thing he can hear. “Sorry, uh. Yeah. Let me look,” he says, grabbing his phone from its propped-up place on the hotel coffee table and scrolling through it to find his ticket to Georgia. “Five… ish.”

“What time do you leave?”

“Eight-something?” He says, still looking at the flight information.

“What time is it now?” She asks.

“I don’t know,” he admits. He’s been making a habit of losing track of time with her. “Late.”

“Go to sleep,” she says, her voice playing out of his phone speakers softly. He smiles at her voice, at her instructions, at the fact she cares enough to tell him to go to sleep.

“Yes ma’am,” he says, and then salutes her for good measure.

“Merci,” she giggles in butchered French, and his ears perk up like a puppy, a grin painting itself onto his face.

“Oh?” He laughs. ““Tu parles français maintenant, n'a pas? fille drôle, je pourrais te dire ce que je veux et tu ne sauras jamais mieux,” You speak french now, do you? Silly girl, I could say whatever I want to you and you wouldn’t know any better.

“Goodnight,” she says, ignoring the French they both know she can’t even begin to translate in her mind. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” he nods. “Goodnight, baby.”

“Miss Elliott has to leave right after the bell today, friends,” Chris hums, leaning against the front of her classroom desk, holding a stack of school newsletters. “Do you think we can get our room nice and clean before the end of the day?” She asks, smiling and nodding at the spattering of little yeses and nods. “Okay,” she grins, pointing to the whiteboard. “All of our tasks are on the big board,” she explains, running through each table and their room assignments.

The class stays about on task as a herd of twenty-something five-year-olds possibly can, with Chris reminding them to stay on task—and reminding them what their task is—from her seated spot on the group rug, cleaning up the class library with a couple of other students.

“Where are you going to, Miss Elliott?” Quinn asks her, handing over a book.

“I have to go to Atlanta,” Chris hums, putting the book on the correct shelf. “Do you know where Atlanta is?”

Quinn nods, handing over another book from the pile on the floor. “Far away.”

“It’s not soooo far,” Chris smiles.

“I just have a uncle there.”

“Oh yeah? That’s nice. Do you ever go visit him?” Chris asks.

Quinn doesn’t answer the question. “Does you have an uncle in Atlanta?”

“Nope,” she shakes her head. “I have to pick someone up at the airport.”

“Your boyfriendddd?” Quinn giggles, dragging out the letter sounds teasingly.

“A boyfriend?!” Chris grins, laughing. “You think I have a boyfriend? I spend all my time at school with you!”

“No!” She laughs. “Landry sayed you have a cute boyfriend!”

“What?” Chris giggles, snatching a book from Quinn playfully. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, crazy girl.”

— — —

With the help of her students, Chris manages to get the room put together for the next morning in less than fifteen minutes after the end of the school day, checking Charles’ flight tracking one more time before setting off from the parking lot to the airport an hour away.

He emerges from the sliding doors of his terminal with his bags and a bouquet of flowers. Chris is shaking her head, cheeks already half-pink and mind more than half-melted when she hastily parks against the curb, popping her trunk and hurrying around the back of the car to greet him properly.

“Get in the car,” she giggles, “before they start honking at us!” she says, but Charles couldn’t care less about the angry airport goers behind him, leaving his suitcase on the curb, waiting with his arms already open and a tired, jet-lagged smile on his face.

Chris resists the urge to just throw his entire body into the car and speed away from the terminal, instead hugging him tight, arms wrapping around his frame, slipping into the space between him and his backpack, the plastic casing from the flowers crinkling against her back when he hugs her just as tight.

He kisses her hair hastily, “Hi,” he mumbles, watching her lips carefully.

“Hi,” she smiles, giddy. “Eyes up here, brother,” she teases.

Charles scowls, dropping his backpack off his shoulder and lifting it up into the trunk. “Do not call me brother.”

“Too incest-y?”

“I can get another plane,” he teases, pointing his thumb over his shoulder, and hoisting his suitcase off the curb with his other hand.

“Go visit one of your other girls?” She asks, pressing the button on the top of the hatch to close the trunk.

“See?” He laughs, parting from her just long enough for both of them to get into the car. “You get it,” he says, closing the car door and quickly reaching over the center console to pull Chris into a kiss, muttering something about you did not really think I was not going to kiss you?

It’s a familiar speech he’s given that morning, the same one she’d carefully handed out when he was here months ago. The be safe, don’t get eaten by a bear lecture. That’s not where it ends, though. Chris continues to go on and on and on about her Mom’s birthday party that evening—one of the many reasons he’d decided now was a perfect time for a quick visit—and how he was under no circumstances to go overboard on gift-buying, or even buy a gift at all for that matter.

“I’m going to pick up a card on my way home from work,” she explains, standing at the end of the bed, work bag slung over her shoulder, travel coffee mug in her hand. “And I’m gonna sign both of our names,” she continues. Charles rolls his eyes from the bed. “What?” She laughs.

“Your siblings’ partners…” he yawns. “They get her their own gift, yes?”

Chris hesitates, which makes Charles grin, which forces her to grin. “Yeah, but—”

“No but.”

“But,” she laughs softly. “They’ve been around longer than you.”

Charles scoffs, feigning offense. “Stupid reason.”

“But a reason, nonetheless.”

Charles shakes his head, smiling. Dramatically, he pulls the comforter back over his head. “Goodbye,” he mumbles.

“Goodbye. I’ll see you later,” she replies, her shoes creaking against the floor as she moves through the hallway. “No gifts!”

“100 percent buying a gift, but okay!” he calls back, pulling the covers back down, listening just long enough to hear her car pull away from the driveway before turning the nightstand lamp off and putting himself back to sleep.

— — —

When he wakes up again, much closer to an acceptable morning time, he’s already racking his brain for gift ideas.

It’s an area of life he’s never considered himself particularly strong in. Sometime shortly after the appropriate period of making his Mum a homemade necklace from uncooked macaroni noodles and washable markers, he discovered he was particularly inapt at choosing gifts.

It’s a shame, really, because he’s always felt like a good listener—especially when it came to people he cared for. And yet, every holiday and birthday and anniversary he’s struggling to come up with something besides an outrageously priced bouquet of flowers at the local florist.

Which is why he sits on the sofa, legs kicked up on the ottoman, laptop on his legs as he searches What to get your girlfriend’s mum for her birthday? Birthday presents for Mum. Birthday gift ideas. Birthday gifts for Mums near me. What should you get your mother-in-law for her birthday?

Nothing is right. Everything is too silly or too impersonal or too cheap or too expensive for Chris to forgive him for buying. He’s scrolled through so many pages and so many articles hoping for an idea to spark that he’s starting to go crazy.

Defeated, he closes the laptop, abandoning it on the couch cushion next to him, and dragging his feet all the way to the bedroom, planning on flopping face down on the bed. Instead, he comes face to face with the unmade mess, sighing. He haphazardly peels all of the layers off the bed, stripping the pillows of their cases, tossing them onto the pile of blankets on the floor. With two new pillowcases from the linen closet, he carefully remakes the bed.

But now, there’s laundry. So he gathers up the pillowcases and the plastic purple hamper in the corner of the room and hauls it all to the laundry room. He tosses the entire hamper into the washing machine, and then stares at the shelf of containers. Three look dustier than the orange plastic container, so he picks up that tote and reads the instructions on the side of the box, following them carefully. When he closes the top of the washing machine, the start button glows green. He doesn’t dare adjust any of the settings, pressing the button and saying a soft prayer to the laundry gods.

He pulls the dry clothes from the dryer, putting them back into the hamper—and they’re all white. Fuck. Was he supposed to do that with the pile of clothes he’d just dumped? Too late now. Another prayer to the laundry gods. He heads back to the bedroom, dumping the clean white clothes onto the freshly made bed, and folding away at them. He sorts them out by drawer, checking the continents of each drawer half a dozen times, and puts everything where he’s nearly certain it belongs—first in the closet, then in the dresser.

Sitting atop the dresser are two loose rings and an unclasped necklace. He puts both the rings on the plate of her jewelry stand, and carefully clasps the necklace back together. It’s a thin gold chain with a row of several pearls in the middle. He hangs it gently with the other three pearl-styled necklaces that hang from the top pole of the rack. Pearls, pearls, pearls. She’s always wearing pearls. The next pole has half a dozen bracelets, most with pearls incorporated, and he can’t even begin to count the pairs of pearl earrings in the dish. It’s always pearls, because of what her Mom always says. Pearls make a lady.

Pearls make a fucking lady. The answer to his question has been literally sitting in front of him this entire time. New Google search—re: Jewelers near me.

— — —

Charles is in the kitchen assessing the fridge for snack options when the front door is swinging open at a speed he can’t believe doesn’t result in a loud clattering of the house shaking. “Chuck!” A small voice calls out into the house, followed by another thud, presumably his backpack against the floor of the foyer. The noise continues, heavy little feet running down the hallway through the house, in his direction. Quieter, he can hear Chris, the metal jingling of her keys against the coated aluminum of her travel coffee cup, the click of her shoes down the hallway floor. His name is not Chuck, she hums behind the small boy. “And my name ain’t Reidy but you’s still call me that.”

“That’s different.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Uh-huh,” Chris mocks. “I’m the boss,” she says, calling after the boy as he walks through the kitchen doorway. “I get to do whatever I want!” Chris calls out from another room in the house.

Reid catches Charles’ eyes, squeezing between him and the fridge. He rolls his eyes, twirling his finger beside his head. “You are not the boss,” he insists, grabbing a juice box and a stick of mozzarella cheese. “You are like my stupid little boss.”

Finally, Chris appears in the doorway, shaking her head. Her eyes meet his and he feels himself grinning—an almost embarrassing amount. She looks so pretty, he thinks. So full of life and color. “I’m his stupid little boss,” she says, grinning.

“Ah,” he nods, closing the fridge doors, moving to kiss her hello. “It’s like this, you know?”

“Do not tell me you haven’t gotten a gift yet!” Chris scolds her brother. First, he’s fifteen minutes late to pick up his kid, and then he has the gusto to ask her what she bought their mom for her birthday…. To give to her at the party in two hours.

“Okay,” Chase laughs, “I won’t tell you.”

“Chase!”

“I have like, two hours,” he shrugs, looking at his watch. “Relax.”

“You’re ridiculous!” She insists, rolling her eyes. “Seriously. I got her a new Circuit because she’s always telling Dad how slow the one she has is running. And then I got her a bunch of scrapbooking stuff to go along with it.”

Chase nods, burying his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. “And he’s just signing his name?” He asks, looking past her in the doorway to Charles, currently half-engaged in a Mario-Kart battle with Reid. Chris nods.

“Actually—” Charles interrupts, eyes still focused on the game, hands moving with intentional precision over the controller buttons. “About that. I got her one of those….” he trails off, moving one hand to gesture around his neck. “You know. For your… here.”

“Your neck?” Chris questions. “You went out and bought a necklace?” She continues, thumbing at the gold chain around her neck.

“Necklace!” He snaps his fingers, pointing in her direction before immediately flopping back into the sofa cushions, Reid laughing maniacally beside him at the sight of his rainbow road victory. “A pearl necklace,” he adds, holding his hand out to shake Reid’s.

Chris smiles. A pearl necklace. A friggin’ pearl necklace. It’s so simple that it’s stupid, really. It’s dumb. It’s stupid and it’s dumb and it’s cliche, in all honesty—that he is the person to remember a one-off about pearls when he can’t remember anything else.

“Oh, fuck you, that’s good,” Chase groans. “Hannah got her this, like… a cutting board with a recipe burnt into it or something.”

Chris shakes her head softly, still thumbing her necklace. “It’s Meemaw’s brownie recipe,” she says, her eyes glossed over, mind elsewhere.

“On a cutting board? Because brownies famously need a cutting board.”

“Shut up,” she says softly, smacking his chest with the back of her hand. “It’s cute.”

“It’s expensive.”

Chris’s attention snaps back to her brother. “You won like, literally a million dollars a few months ago. But a cutting board for Mom is too expensive?” She questions, raising her brows, crossing her arms over her chest. “You better find something,” she warns.

Chase holds up his hands in defense. “I know. Worst case scenario, I’m a little bit late to dinner, okay?”

“Get out of my house,” Chris shuffles, gesturing to the open front door.

“We’re going, we’re going,” Chase laughs, gathering Reid’s backpack from the floor, and helping the boy tie his shoes.

Chris closes the door behind them, staring at Charles, her back pressed against the cool door. He looks back guiltily, gathering the controllers and putting them on the end table. “I’m sorry–”

“A pearl necklace?”

“Yes,” he nods. “Do you want to see it?”

She shakes her head, moving to join him on the couch, an almost painful smile pulling on her lips as she curls up against him. “I want it to be a surprise,” she hums softly. Charles adjusts underneath her slightly, wrapping an arm around her frame, pressing a kiss into the top of her head.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she nods. “I’m just happy you’re here,” she adds.

Is it possible for love to be a pearl necklace?

It’s an easy routine they’ve found—early morning alarms and goodbye kisses and listening to her try to sneak around the creaky floors without waking him up.

Today, he gets a guest pass to a local gym and works out in the corner following a workout plan Andrea had sent him—minus the neck training. That’s not happening alone in public.

After the gym, he heads to a grocery store—the biggest one he’s ever seen. He spends more time trying to figure out where he is in the store than he does actually shopping. Like, how many different kinds of pudding could one person need? A whole wall of cereal? Of chicken? Of milk? Be serious. It’s insane. What was meant to be a quick trip to the store for dinner ingredients has turned into a whole ordeal.

He was just trying to make things easier—for Chris, not for him. It was the middle of her work week and instead of planning a lazy night at home, she’d planned out a million and one things for them to do while he was in town. Charles can’t help but feel like she’s trying to keep him entertained, and it’s a feeling he hates. It’s not her job to keep him entertained. He’s not a toddler.

So, in response to their full evening schedule of a little league baseball game for her nephew, the possibility of some type of family gathering to follow that could last any vast pan of time, he figured the least he could do is make dinner and have it waiting for her when she got home. They aren’t on Reid duty after school, so it will just be the two of them. It can’t be that hard.

He’s in the kitchen, humming along to The Kooks—watching the chicken and pasta and stirring the white sauce when she walks through the front door. “Bonjour bébé,” she says, walking through the doorway into the kitchen.

His head shoots up from the pot on the stove, a smile instantly falling across his lips. “Oh, c’est bien, mon ange,” he says, even though her pronunciation was so forced she’d be laughed out of Paris. She’s trying, and he loves it, and he loves her. So, it’s a good job.

“Really?” She beams. “It was good?”

He can’t help but smile at a smile like hers. “Yeah, very good,” he nods, kissing her quickly.

“What are you making?” She asks, hoisting herself up onto the countertop beside the stove, wafting the air in the direction of her face. “It smells good.”

“Chicken and pasta,” he says. “One day, we are going to make pasta from the beginning.”

“You know how to make pasta from scratch?” She asks.

Charles raises his brows, giggling to himself softly. “To be honest, no. I was hoping you did.”

Chris laughs out loud. “Oh. Well, then. We’re screwed.”

“No,” he frowns. “We’re in serious trouble if I have to be the good cook.”

“I’m not a bad cook!’ She insists, feigning dramatic offense, clutching her pearls, literally. Charles cocks his head to the side, glancing over to her. He smiles a come-on, now smile when she raises her brows in defense, an ache-inducing smile on her face. She is so beautiful it hurts. She is so soft it hurts. She is so, he supposes. End of sentence.

“Et je ne t'aime pas,” And I do not love you, he mutters, leaning over to press a quick kiss into her lips, lingering just long enough to feel her grin.

“En Ingles, por favor, Señor?” She asks, quirking a brow.

“Not a shot in hell.”

“Please?” She frowns, and he actually considers it. Just momentarily, but considered nonetheless. Because what a moment this is. What a time it would be to do it, to say it, to make it known.

Instead, he shakes his head. “Maybe later.”

— — —

“You’re going to want a jacket,” Charles mutters, moving behind her in the bathroom, sizing up her outfit. They’re getting ready to head out to the baseball game, and she’s wearing leggings and a blue sweatshirt with an Old English D on it—one that apparently matches the color and logo of Reid’s team uniforms. He’s opted for jeans, a white t-shirt, and a blue knit zip-up sweatshirt. It’s quite chilly out, and despite the sun peeking through the clouds, it’s windy.

“I’ll be fine,” she says, running a brush through her hair.

They remember to bring a backpack full of snacks, as well as two travel thermos mugs of drinks that are certainly not alcoholic. They forget their camping chairs, though, as well as the sweater Charles had planned on bringing for when Chris decided she did in fact want a jacket. And most importantly, they forget how to keep their mouths shut.

It’s cold. It only gets colder as the sun sets, as the game continues. Neither their drinks nor the bottle of wine smuggled in by another one of the player’s mothers manage to keep the chill off.

Chris stands against the fence that goes around the field with her mom, talking animatedly about who knows what. Charles steals Cindy’s empty seat beside Hannah. He watches as Chase and Reid walk up to them—Reid kicking up a trail of gravel dust with every excited skip.

“Do you want kids?” Hannah blurts out from the seat next to him, and then before even a beat can pass, “Jesus, sorry,” she laughs. “Sorry. Ignore me.”

“No,” he smiles, as soon as he can regain his composure from the blindside of do you want kids. “It’s okay,” he reassures, adjusting in his seat, his eyes lingering on Chris for a moment longer than usual—just to make sure she isn’t hearing this conversation.

“It’s really not,” she laughs, shaking her head, taking another sip of her definitely-not-wine. “It’s just that if Chase and I die, Chris gets Reid. And she’s… I mean. You see her. You know her,” she says. The sentence left unsaid is that anyone who has ever met Chris would know that if anyone was ever born to be a mother, it’s her. “And she really likes you. Like, a lot,” Hannah whispers. “And I like you, too—but I won’t ever like anyone enough to let her sacrifice something I know is so important to her—”

“I want children, Hannah,” he laughs, cutting her off. “Do not worry.”

“You do?”

“Three.”

“And you want to get married?”

He nods again, almost instinctively looking to his girlfriend, because, as he would argue if pressed about it—who else do you look at but your girlfriend when someone asks you about marriage? “Yes.”

Hannah notices his lingering glance, apparently, because the next words out of her mouth are: “To Chris?” Charles cocks his head back over to face Hannah, rolling his eyes when he does it. Hannah nods. “Sorry, fuck,” she laughs, covering her own mouth. “I know, what’s wrong with me?”

“It,” he starts, but then he’s stopping himself because he isn’t exactly sure what he planned to say. “There is nothing wrong with you. You’re just being a good friend—a good sister,” he pauses, looking back to Chris quickly, spinning his ring around his finger. “I don’t think it is the craziest thought, maybe,” he says, and he’s as surprised to say it as Hannah is to hear it. “But,” he holds up a finger and laughs. “Ask me in six months and I bet I can give you a proper answer.”

Hannah smiles, raising her brows, and takes another sip of her drink. “I’m gonna hold you to that.”

“Oh, I’m counting on that,” he says, and now he can stare without care. It’s normal, he tells himself, to think about it all after it’s talked about like that. It’s not his fault that he’s picturing it—his future, her future. Their future together. He thinks that maybe if he squints really hard and takes a step back he can see himself getting married. That maybe she’s there too, in some wedding dress that probably has pockets.

“You’re thinking about it now, aren’t you?” Hannah asks, and it pops into his mindless bubble of crazy. He laughs, shakes his head, and pulls his phone out without saying a word. “You totally are,” Hannah giggles, and he feels his cheeks flush. “Look at you blushing, oh my god!”

Charles rolls his eyes, a smile pulling on the corners of his lips. “Shut up,” he mumbles.

He watches from his conversation with Hannah, watches as Chris stands at the chain-link fence, hugging her own arms and shifting her weight from one foot to the other like she needs to pee, trying and trying to warm herself up with the friction of her own arms.

“Did she bring a coat?” Hannah asks.

“No,” Charles replies. “But she’s half a minute from forcing her to put on mine.”

“She can take mine, if she wants,” Hannah offers, but Charles turns her down.

“No, no,” he says. “I am warm, anyways,” he lies. It’s cold out, but his mother raised a gentleman.

Chris shivers one more time and Charles has had enough of watching her stubbornness. He takes off his sweatshirt and walks up behind her, draping it over her shoulders in the middle of a sentence.

“Hi?” Chris says sweetly, turning to look at him over her shoulder.

“Hi,” he smiles, kissing her cheek. “You’re cold.”

She rolls her eyes but smiles and mutters a soft thank you. Charles hums his response and nods, moves to return to the empty camping chair beside Hannah. Chris reaches out to stop him, catching his hand, his fingers interlocking into hers with a casual ease.

He stands behind her, adjacent to her conversation with her Mother, watching the game through the fence. He’s barely listening, his focus split between the game he doesn’t understand and toying with Chris’ fingers behind her back. “I’ve been learning French,” she tells her mom. Charles smiles.

“Oh really? Where at?”

“Uh, just on my phone. I got this app that you can do lessons on every day.”

“And you chose French because of…” Cindy trails off. Chris nods, her grip on his hand tightening, which really pulls his attention.

“I’m pretty bad but he likes to pretend I’m a pro,” she grins, leaning back into him.

“Well,” Cindy laughs. Chris shivers, moving to put on the sweatshirt instead of just having it draped over her shoulders. “Charles, you shouldn’t be scared to put her in her place.”

“Oh,” he laughs. “No, she’s a quick learner, really.”

— — —

Cindy excuses herself, says she’s going to go and get some hot chocolate to take the edge off of the chill, and asks if Chris or Charles want any. Charles says no, Chris says yes—offers to pay but is denied.

Once she’s gone, Chris is spinning in the gravel to face her boyfriend. “Thank you for the sweatshirt,” she says. “And thank you for not saying you told me so.”

“Are you still cold?” He asks, putting the back of his hand on her forehead like he’s checking for a temperature. It’s chilly, but it's not bitter or wintery.

“Yeah,” she says, swatting his hand from her forehead. “I’m fine, just can’t get warm.”

“C’mere,” He says, pulls her into a tight, warm hug, fully wrapping her up in his arms, running his hands up and down her back. She melts against his chest. “I think it’s Reid’s turn,” he points out, and Chris spins in his grip to face the same direction so he’s hugging her from behind.

Chris whistles, “Let’s go, Reidy!” She calls out, and then quieter, just to Charles. “He’s nervous that you’re here.”

“Hmm?” he laughs. “Why?”

“He wants to impress you.”

They watch Reid’s at-bat, watch him swing and miss on the tee twice without laughing. Chris is talking to Charles about whatever she and Cindy were talking about before he came over, neither of them taking their eyes off the game. Charles kisses Chris’ covered shoulder while he listens to her talk, runs his hands up and down her arms to create some friction.

Reid hits the ball off the tee on his third swing, and Chris actually jumps with excitement. He hits it right to the second baseman, hurries his little legs towards Chase on the first base. Chris cheers through a laugh, her body vibrating against Charles’ chest.

In a pause in the conversation, he wonders if she’s ever been more her than she is right now. At home, with her family, a never-ending well of love and laughter and beauty. He almost wishes that he could just observe her and all that she is, admire the woman he gets to love.

This is the moment.

It has to be. Perfect moments don’t exist but this has to be as close as you can get. “Are you okay?” Chris asks over her shoulder, “Your heart is racing.”

“Yeah,” he nods. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Um,” Fuck. Just say it, Charles.

Chris laughs anxiously, turns around to face him, brows furrowed. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I love you.”

Chris doesn’t miss a beat. “No, you don’t.”

“I do,” he nods. “I’m so in love with you.”

Her face softens, the concern melting away. “Really?” God, she says it so soft that it’s almost a squeak. It hurts him how much she clearly wants to believe him. How maybe, maybe she does. He nods. “I love you, too.”

Charles beams, cradles her face in his hands and kisses her. Kisses her like they’re in love. Because they are. They pull apart in a fit of giggles, his thumb dancing on her cheek, running over a tear. “Are you crying?”

“Shut up,” she says through a smile, turning around to lean against his chest again, wiping a tear from her cheek with a sniffle. It’s cute, he says. “Shhh.”

Through a peppering of kisses on her shoulder, her hair, her cheek, he repeats between each peck. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

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padfootagain · 8 hours ago

Text

Love in Verses (XXXII)

Chapter 32 : ‘How dense it is, how it carries inside it the memory of collapse. How difficult it is to move then’

Hi! Here is a new chapter! This is part 2 of The Party, we’re going through the same events, but from Y/N’s point of view!

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 3256

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Watching my friend pretend her heart isn’t breaking

On Earth, just a teaspoon of neutron star would weigh six billion tons. Six billion tons equals the collective weight of every animal on earth. Including the insects. Times three.

Six billion tons sounds impossible until I consider how it is to swallow grief – just a teaspoon and one might as well have consumed a neutron star. How dense it is, how it carries inside it the memory of collapse. How difficult it is to move then. How impossible to believe that anything could lift that weight.

There are many reasons to treat each other with great tenderness. One is the sheer miracle that we are here together on a planet surrounded by dying stars. One is that we cannot see what anyone else has swallowed.

Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

It was working, you were certain of it.

Frank was stealing glances in your direction, he wasn’t being particularly discreet about it.

George was good-looking, you had to give him credit for that. Good-looking and quite funny and charming. You genuinely laughed at one of his jokes, and he took it as permission to rest his hand on your arm. Your first thought was to push him away but you didn’t. That was the point. To make Frank jealous, so he would realise that he still wanted you. So, you let George run his fingers up your arm, his touch feathery. When you looked up, you noticed that Andrew was staring, saw him turning away in a hurry, reaching for a drink…

Samantha was with him now. Your reaction surprised you, you felt the distinctive pang of jealousy echo through your ribcage.

“How do you know our couple then?” George asked.

“I’m a friend of Frank’s,” you lied. “And you?”

“A distant cousin on Samantha’s mother’s side,” he explained with a humorous smile. “Pretty happy with the connection tonight, to be honest.”

“Yeah?”

“It means I get to talk to a very pretty woman, indeed,” he answered with a charming smile.

God, you wanted to throw up at that line… You couldn’t help but lean back, your face falling a little.

Frank was staring now, you could feel his gaze on you. When you looked past George’s shoulder, you noticed that Andrew was still talking with Samantha, his back to you. Still, you only had to wait for a couple of seconds for him to glance in your direction. You felt safer all over again, knowing he was watching over you, that he would help you get out of this mess if you needed.

You noticed that Samantha was standing closer to Andrew as well, that she touched his arm and that he let her do so.

Was your plan working? Was she trying to get closer to Andrew all over again?

How much you ached at the sight…

In a flash, you pictured Andrew kissing her, touching her, and you felt nauseous all over again. Worse than George’s intentions, the image of Andrew being with her…

You noticed that George had been talking, but you hadn’t been paying attention to his words, had no idea what he was on about. You faked interest, but when he moved closer again, you took a full step back… Andrew didn’t see you doing that, he was talking with Samantha…

You were surprised when Frank’s voice suddenly appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. And indeed, Frank was now walking towards George and you, but he didn’t seem to pay you any attention. He turned to George instead, pushing you out of the conversation. You felt invisible then, you could only stare at Frank while he ignored you so completely.

If always felt like you were heard and seen whenever you were with Andrew…

“Hi! Oh, I’m such a terrible host, I don’t think we’ve met before,” he said with a polite smile. “I’m Frank.”

“George. One of Samantha’s cousins…”

“Oh, yes! Of course! How lovely to have you, thank you for coming! And on such short notice, I know everything happened kind of quickly between Sam and I.”

You clenched your jaw at his words as you were pulled right back into the whole mess of your breakup, of his rejection, of him calling off your wedding just to announce his engagement to someone else…

All this was so fucked up… and now he was talking to this guy like you weren’t even here, like you didn’t matter, like you hadn’t been together for six years…

Your eyes drifted on their own accord beyond the two men talking before you, to reach Andrew’s tall figure on the other side of the room. Would he ever behave like this towards you? Would he ever be able to do something like that to anyone?

And what were you doing, trying to make Frank jealous? You thought about all that had happened, how Frank had shattered your heart, your self-esteem, all traces of love you had been putting in your relationship. All you took for granted in this world crumbled when he left, when he cancelled your wedding. You had spent years waiting for a proposal, had accepted to remain engaged for a year and a half because he wanted to focus on his career, when he didn’t care about yours. And then he was breaking up with you like it didn’t matter, like there was nothing in your love worth fighting for. He threw it all away for a woman he had met a few weeks before… and you were trying your best to get a man like that back?!

What the fuck were you doing?!

And Andrew was standing right over there, with his ex, that asshole you dreamt of punching in the face for how poorly she had loved him and treated him at the end of their relationship. But you weren’t better, trying to slither your way back into Frank’s heart.

Was it worth it?

Was Frank really what you wanted?

You hadn’t paid much attention to Frank and George, and their casual chit-chat. You were surprised when Frank took a step closer to George, seeming almost menacing now. He said something, but his voice was too low for you to hear him. Still, it seemed to work, as George left, without sparing you a glance.

Frank finally turned to you, a smile he thought must have been charming on his lips, but you saw the syrupy side of it; how it seemed too sweet to be savoury, too good to be true.

“You’re alright, babe?”

Babe… you thought of all the times he had called you that before, and you couldn’t help it, couldn’t refrain your want to hear it again… you had thought he would spend his life calling you that.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you nodded.

“The guy seemed to be bothering you.”

“I could handle it, but thank you.”

“No worries. You know you can always count on me.”

Could you? For what? Count on him for what? Breaking your heart?

God, it was working… you couldn’t believe it was working… Frank had come running to the rescue, he was giving you the attention you had been seeking, so why were you not falling for him all over again? Why weren’t you happy about his reaction?

You glanced over at Andrew. His cheeks were flushed, you guessed partly because of the empty glass in his hand and the way he glowered at Samantha. He seemed so angry, you had never seen him like this…

What was going on?

“Thank you for coming tonight, it means a lot,” Frank said, and you forced yourself to focus on him again.

“Of course. I said I would come to the wedding, so…”

“Yeah, but… you’ve been of great help and… I’m glad we can remain friends despite everything that happened.”

Everything that happened because of you, Frank…

“Yeah…”

You should have added something about you not caring about the past, or about caring about him anyway… but you didn’t feel like it was the truth.

“Saw that you came with Andrew, too! I’m glad you two are getting along. I take it that it’s going well at work?”

“Yeah, it’s going great,” you nodded. “Andy has been of great help when I arrived, he’s explained how all the administrative stuff worked, and helped me around the campus as well. Even if I studied there, there are many places I didn’t go to as a student, and the place is a labyrinth. And my research is going great! I’ve found an interesting article that I’ve discussed with Andy, and it’s been of great help for my own work…”

“That’s nice! Sounds great!”

It sounded like an encouragement, but he was still interrupting you. He sounded supportive and yet he wasn’t listening to you, because he didn’t care.

Andrew was right. He had been right all along…

“He seems like a nice guy, that Andrew,” Frank went on, and you narrowed your eyes at the sound of his tone. It sounded casual, but you knew to recognise a bit of mockery too, something poisonous in its undertone. “A bit boring, maybe.”

You let out a breathy, humourless chuckle.

“Boring? No, Andy’s definitely not boring. He’s a little shy, but he’s great fun once you get to know him. And he’s very smart, always has interesting things to say. And he’s just… nice. Really nice.”

Frank raised a surprised eyebrow.

“You almost make him sound like a catch.”

“He is one.”

Frank didn’t seem to like that answer, you saw how he clenched his jaw. You were surprised when he moved closer though, rested a hand on your waist. And you used to like that touch, but not right now. Right now you didn’t like it at all.

“You look beautiful tonight, by the way.”

It was working. Your stupid plan was bloody working…

From the corner of your eyes you saw that Andrew was moving away from Samantha now, until he was drinking again and making a bee-line towards the exit. He walked by you, you noticed how he extended his fingers in your direction as he passed by, but he didn’t reach out. He walked out of the venue instead.

You moved away from Frank. Andrew seemed devastated and very, very drunk…

“I’d better go,” you mumbled.

“Wait, Y/N…”

“Andy doesn’t seem well, I should check on him.”

He chuckled.

“Who are you? His mother? He probably had too much to drink, that’s all.”

But he seemed to read it in your stare that there was more to it than that. He glared, but you didn’t care.

“I’ll go check on him,” was your only answer, before walking away.

You hurried after Andrew, leaving Frank behind. You didn’t look back, didn’t check his expression, didn’t try to guess if he was jealous, or considered what he was thinking. Truth was, you spotted Andrew again, staggering across a patch of grass near the parking lot, and you were too worried about him to care about anyone else.

“Andy!”

You called after him, and he spun around, tripping over his own feet. You reached out to steady him, even if you were a little too far to help. You hurried by his side, and noticed at once that he was indeed drunk. Very drunk.

“You’re okay?” you asked while you walked closer.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” but his voice was weak, almost shy. He was clearly lying, and not doing a very good job at it.

“Are you drunk?”

It was a stupid question, it was obvious that Andrew had been drinking too much. You still asked, and perhaps it was just to hear his voice again. It was soft, and kind, and warm… soothing. Filling up the air with something safe and quiet, instead of Frank’s booming tones.

“A little bit,” he admitted, averting his eyes in a sheepish way.

“Do you want me to take you home? I didn’t drink at all tonight…”

He seemed to hesitate for a moment, opening and then closing his mouth. He stared at you, gaze intense and unwavering, and yet he seemed to see more than just you in that moment. Like he was playing a scene in his head, like he was getting lost in thought, even though his thoughts were about you.

He staggered, looked away to sit in the grass.

“I think I’m… gonna stay here for a couple of minutes,” he answered, voice distant and words slurred by too much whiskey.

He seemed sad. Sad and angry. You wanted to hug him, to wrap a blanket around him and tell him everything was going to be okay. Instead, you merely sat down by his side.

“You’re okay?” you asked again, voice gentle, caring.

He seemed to lean a little closer, but didn’t reach out, he folded his arms around his legs instead. And you hated seeing him like that, you knew what he was doing. He was shrinking, trying to disappear, trying to bend to conceal how tall he was, to hide, so that no one would notice him anymore. And you hated when he did that, because there was nothing in him worth hiding…

“Aren’t you supposed to be with Frank?” he asked, voice strained with pain, and you didn’t quite know what to do with that sound aimed at you.

Was he sad because of Samantha, or because of Frank? Perhaps both…

“You didn’t seem well,” you explained.

“I’m fine. This is your chance, it was working…”

You clenched your jaw, looked away. Andrew was right, it was working. Frank was being jealous, he was giving you the attention you had craved for… you could have used that opportunity to make him see how crazy it was for him to leave you for Samantha, and then to decide to get married after only a couple of months, to rush this wedding…

But you didn’t want to. Because Frank was never paying attention to you. This was another proof. It was all about him, and not about you. And there was Andrew, who was obviously in pain, obviously angry and sad and drunk, and… and he was still thinking about you.

You were a fucking fool, for still wanting Frank or… or rather, for convincing yourself that you still wanted him. Andrew was right, Frank was a fucking prick. And you deserved better than him.

“I’d rather stay with you for a while,” you breathed, something pained and aching in your voice.

Andrew’s gaze hardened, but you knew it wasn’t aimed at you. That his burst of anger that made his eyes darker than usual was not your doing. You took a moment to stare at him, to study his features bathed in the dim lights of the evening, a mix of orange streetlights, of silver moonlight, of white neon lights from the venue. He looked so handsome, despite his tiredness, despite his sorrow…

“I saw you talking with Samantha? What did she say?” you asked, changing subject, trying not to think of how much you wanted to run your fingers through his untamed curls, brush your fingertips across his cheekbone…

You saw him clenching his jaw and immediately regretted your question. But he seemed in so much pain, you insisted, asked again.

“What did she say?”

He shrugged. You didn’t mean to push him, but this was important. You knew he wanted to talk about it, you could read it in his eyes.

“She cheated on me with Frank.”

Your eyes grew round, you were too stunned for a moment.

The fucking bitch… she had cheated on Andrew?! What was wrong with this woman?! Was it really so hard to end things before moving on? How could she hurt him like that… God, you wanted to punch her straight in the face.

“He didn’t cheat on you,” Andrew hurried to add, and you guessed he wanted to reassure you, but the truth was, you hadn’t even thought of Frank, of the possibility of him cheating, you had to admit you didn’t care about it at all, you were too infuriated by Samantha. “It happened right after he broke up with you, but she hadn’t broken up with me yet… so technically…”

“What a fucking bitch…” you spat, and he was visibly surprised by the harshness of your words, so much so that he giggled.

“Yeah, you can say that.”

“I’m so sorry, Andy,” you breathed, reaching to rub his back.

“It’s okay. I just… I just want to forget her now.”

You nodded but looked away. You should be doing the same. Especially after tonight… but a part of you still wanted this life you had built for yourself. You realised then that you didn’t even want Frank, you wanted the life he had taken from you. You were not ready to grieve that part yet…

Why couldn’t you just… move on?

“So… I’m losing my partner in crime?” you joked, but there was something strained in your voice.

“I’ll still help you with Frank, that’s alright. If… if that’s what makes you happy…”

What would make you happy… You didn’t know what could make you happy now. You were too lost for that. Your past was haunting you too much for you to yield in your impulsive thought now, the one that could make you feel something. So, you just stared at Andrew’s lips for a moment, caught in a stillness you couldn’t free yourself from. You leaned closer, rested your head on his shoulder. He didn’t move away, let you rest your weight on him, like an anchor, something you could rely on. Better yet, he reached out, extended his arm until you were wrapped into his embrace, and he pulled you closer, gently, like he was afraid you would pull away if he let on how much he wanted to have you close. He didn’t seem to know how much you wanted him to hold you. And for a while, you bathed into his warmth, into the feeling of his hand on your arm, into his scent, into the soothing rhythm of his breathing. You felt so safe in his arms, sheltered, and you realised then that there had been few people with whom you could feel so safe, so free. You weren’t nervous about being vulnerable in front of him, you trusted him not to mock or dismiss your fragility. You trusted him to stay and listen, you trusted him not to hurt you. You trusted him not to leave you, not tonight, at least...

You tried to remember a time when you saw Frank this way, a safe haven. At the beginning, maybe. A little. That wasn’t fully true, though. You had always been worried that he would get bored, and leave…

“Let’s get you home, Andy,” you broke the comfortable silence that had settled around you, broke his embrace to get up. You offered him your hand and helped him up, let him lean on you while you walked to your car.

And you wanted to tell him about Frank, about how you weren’t so sure you wanted him anymore, and especially, about how you thought of him all the time. How you didn’t long to see Frank these days, but you couldn’t wait to go to work because then you would see Andrew. About how you had never been able to talk about what truly interested you with Frank, you realised that now… now that you could talk about all of it for hours with Andrew. How you wanted to hold his hand, and tug his hair behind his ear, and kiss his cheek, and kiss his lips. How you dreamt of him sometimes, which sounded crazy, but it was true. How you dreamt of him touching you, of him holding you, of him loving you. And you wanted to tell Andrew that you longed to forget about your exes, but you weren’t sure to be ready to admit the feelings you had for him, because then it would make you vulnerable in front of a man all over again, and considering how it had ended with Frank, you weren’t certain you wanted that once more…

God, you wanted him. You wanted to kiss him now, in the streetlights, even if he was drunk. But you were afraid, and so you didn’t.

#hozier #andrew hozier byrne #the hoziest #hozier x reader #hozier x you #hozier x y/n #hozier fanfiction #hozier fic #hozier series #hozier au #hozier professor au #professor au #fanfiction #fanfic hozier x fem!reader #fanfic #writing #series

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bullet-prooflove · 3 days ago

Note

Three object event for Terry Silver. Pregnancy test, restaurant and earrings. ☺️ Please and thankyou.

Tagging: @kmc1989 @thedeadsingforme @mia1653 @kimbergoldess @cortmac1989

Prequel to:

Water - Terry wakes up to the sound of you singing to the baby.

Snow - Terry's son Sebastian experiances snow for the first time.

Another morning, another negative pregnancy test. You stare at the little electronic screen as the word flashes at you mockingly, making your eyes sting and your heart break.

You and Terry have been trying for over a year now to have a baby without any success and it kills you deep inside that you can’t give him the child you both so desperately want. You don’t understand what the issue is, you’re in your mid-thirties, healthy with an active sex life, there’s no logical reason that you shouldn’t have conceived by now.

It’s at the appointment with the fertility specialist that your fears are validated, it’s you that’s the problem. Endometriosis you’re told by the doctor. You’ve always had heavy periods, it isn’t until now that you realise there’s actually a cause for it.

The two of you sit in a restaurant afterwards. You can tell that Terry’s still in a state of shock by the turn of events, it’s in the silence as he pushes his food around his plate. You can sense his disappointment from across the table and your chest grows tight because you know what this means for the two of you.

“We need to talk about what the future means for you.” You say quietly as you toy with your earring. “If you want a child, if you want that legacy that you’ve always talked about then it’s not going to be with me, I can’t give you what you want Terry…”

Your voice cracks and you can’t force yourself to continue because this whole thing, it’s just too painful.

“Oh my love, this isn’t your fault.” Terry murmurs as he reaches across the table and brushes the tears from your cheek. “It’s just nature, it’s fickle and it’s cruel and it’s something we both have to come to terms with, in our own time, together.”

His hand clasps yours, squeezing tightly.

“It’s going to take a little while but the two of us we’re going to be ok Georgia, I promise you that.”

Love Terry? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#terry silver #terry silver x reader #cobra kai

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angeleris-artist · 2 days ago

Text

Eulogy from a fan

MCR has been my favourite band for 20 years now. Maybe I’m weird, but I love their music to the point where I have trouble just putting on one of their songs casually or placing one of their songs on a playlist with multiple artists. I like to listen to their albums in full, or at least have a rotation going specifically of just their vast and varied music. I adore just about all music, and they’re the only artist I do this with.

When I first fell in love with MCR—and I fell for them hard—they were a group of five: Gerard, Frank, Ray, Mikey, and Bob. 14-year-old me was absolutely crazy about all of them. I thought they were the coolest people in music, and any small piece of legit information about any of them got me so excited.

Before social media was standard, everything I learned about them I learned from interviews and performance footage. I’ve always remembered Bob as that silly and immensely talented blond guy in the group who was the only one not from New Jersey (Chicago). They did so many group interviews together, and behind-the-scenes music video specials for Fuse, and Bob was always smiling and laughing with the rest of them. They were clearly a family of many talents, and Bob got to finally showcase what he was capable of on The Black Parade.

There is no understating how memorable and standout the drums are on The Black Parade. I don’t know the technical terminology and I’m definitely not a music student, but the drums on that album hit me in the heart, especially on Welcome to the Black Parade. Bob clearly knew what he was doing, loved what he was doing, and as far as the rest of us know, the only reason he wasn’t with My Chemical Romance to the end was because of issues with his wrists.

I loved Bob’s work so much, I went to the trouble of learning which songs on Danger Days had kept his contributions; not surprisingly, they were all my favourites on the album (Na Na Na, Bulletproof Heart, The Only Hope for Me is You, Party Poison, and Save Yourself, I’ll Hold Them Back (my number one fav from DD)). I didn’t hear Conventional Weapons until after they’d broken up completely, but again every song was a banger and again Bob’s work was excellent.

I saw them live twice when Bob was in the band, but the only time I saw all five of them together on stage was in December 2005 (during their TBP tour, at least one of the band members was taking a break for health reasons when I saw them, but I don’t remember who). I’ll never forget how excited I was that first time I saw them, and I’ll never forget how much love I had for all five of them.

I’m not going to speculate about what happened. This is meant to be a respectful message about how much Bob meant to me as a fan during the height of MCR’s career. I’m writing all this knowing as much as the rest of the fan base about his passing, which isn’t much. I read that disgusting announcement by TMZ, same as all of you, and it made me so angry.

Within the first hour of the announcement of his passing, there were already (presumably AI-generated) compilation videos of Bob on YouTube. This is the only reason I’m not bothering to put a video together myself, I can’t compete with robots, so instead I’m here to say that Bob Bryar was and always will be one of the best drummers of the 2000s era of music, and whether you want him to be or not, he is iconic.

I was so sad when I heard he wasn’t in the band anymore, and I’m sad now. He deserved so much better, at the very least he deserved love and support, as we all do.

Rest In Peace Bob.

#my chemical romance #my chem #mcr #bob bryar #2000s emo

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blindvogel · 3 days ago

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I've played through Veilguard three times now and I've had this thing in my head since the first go around. I was not normal about Emmrich and Kamari before I really met them and now that I have, they do not leave my head. But before I can get into all the sweet and fluffy pieces that I usually love to write, I need to get the drama and heartbreak out of my system that was the third act of the game. We all know. It's the Argument, and the weeks after. So. First part. Kamari.

~~~

Its shape the absence of you (Part 1 of 3)

She had thought it would be a conversation of affirmations and reassurance when she sought out Emmrich the evening before their mission on Tearstone Island. She never thought it would be this.

Kamari can tell he is worried, scared even - he’s never been good at truly hiding his emotions from her. Yet it is not a fear of the now, the coming day. He’s scared of hurting her in the future, some nebulous time some decades away should they make it out alive and off the island.

And his words - he’s always so careful with them, chooses them wisely. And what he says to her now-

“Even under the best circumstances, you will outlive me, Kamari. I care for you. Deeply. But- there are such years between us, I shouldn’t heap you with that burden.”

It’s a stab right into her heart. Does he truly mean to end things between them or is it just his fear speaking, finding a new way to worm itself into torturing him? And her.

“You’re breaking my heart by worrying.” She can only respond with honesty, with her feelings laid bare before him.

And he sees them. She knows he does when he looks away and his voice softens around the familiar endearment.

“Darling, I didn’t…” He trails off, does not finish the thought.

For a moment she thinks Emmrich will relent, will not push this further. Except he doesn’t. Kamari can see it as his posture changes, his body turns away from her as he looks back at her. Determined.

“I only wish to be fair to you,” he says but there is no fairness in fear.

Still, she tries to soothe, to reassure him despite her own fear rising up her throat. She cares too much for him to just give in.

“I know what I’m getting into.”

It’s not what he wants to hear, or can at this point perhaps. And Kamari would never have thought to what depths Emmrich could sink when all he had shown her before was kindness and affection. Couldn’t have imagined that he could look down at her like he does now, so dismissively.

“At your age?”

It’s a slap in her face and it hurts, yet still she persists. She does not want to argue.

“Don’t start,” she cautions, yet even her own body does not listen as her back straightens and her muscles tense.

And neither does Emmrich as he continues to insist, his voice raised.

“We must consider this!”

A last attempt, her hand reaching out palm up, placating, almost pleading, voice soft.

“You’re overthinking it, and it’s not the time.”

It’s as if he isn’t listening to her at all, as if he doesn’t want to or can hear anything she’s said since she came into his room. Cannot back down from the path of escalation he’s set himself on.

“One of us needs to consider my mortality!” There is real anger in his voice, brows knit together, an arrogance in his posture as he towers over her that snaps something inside Kamari.

She doesn’t raise her voice but her own pain and anger feel like glass shards in her mouth as she rises to the bait.

“Because you’re worried about me, or insecure about you?”

And it hits its mark.

Shock and hurt is written all across Emmrich’s face even as he averts his eyes from her, his shoulders sinking as the fight goes out of him. She immediately regrets this, never wanted to see him hurt or be the one to cause him pain. Her instinct screams at her to take it all back, to apologize. Her mouth complies before it catches up with her other feelings.

“Look I…,” she starts but then cannot bring herself to finish it. He’s hurt her deeply. It is too much for now, for what little time there is left. “.. let’s pack. Eve before we face a god, right?” She finishes instead, her body half-turning to leave.

It’s not what either of them want, staying in this hurtful limbo, but there are too many emotions and too little time to fix it.

“As you say,” he agrees, his head sinking and unable to look at her when she can no longer conceal the extent of her own pain from her face. Kamari leaves quickly before he can see her cry.

And it’s a blessing that her own room is so close so that nobody else sees her tears.

Packing and readying her gear she can almost do by rote and she isn’t sure if that is a blessing or a curse. It leaves most of her mind free to circle and spin, replay that conversation in her head over and over and over.

Had Emmrich truly so little faith in her feelings for him, had he thought them so shallow that she hadn’t even considered a life with him beyond the now and what that would mean? Had it been just his own fear and insecurity talking as she had thrown into his face? Something in between? The knife in her heart twists sharply, leaving her sitting on the floor with trembling hands.

It continues to twist her heart into a painful knot as she attempts sleep and finds very little.

The heavy eye makeup she applies the next morning does little to hide the redness of her puffy eyes but nobody remarks on it. They are all dealing with their own emotions and as long as her voice does not waver, as long as her thoughts remain focused on the task at hand and her eyes on the path before her then it does not matter. There is no room for anything else.

They discuss the best approach, discuss splitting the team so that one half can distract the Antaam army while the other is guaranteed an approach to where the gods are working on the dagger. Kamari agrees with Harding’s suggestion to lead the other team - she trusts her friend to get them through safely. Who better to do this than a scout with the Stone on her side and Neve, Bellara and Taash to watch her back.

Keeping Emmrich with her is a selfish choice and she knows it. They have not spoken since yesterday and the weight of what was said and what has been left unsaid hangs heavy between them. But Kamari knows that she will feel better if she knows where he is, if she can at least make sure herself that he is not harmed. It’s the best she can do to get through this and focus.

There are enough obstacles in their way to keep her attention.

So she isn’t prepared when Emmrich catches up to her side in a rare calm moment, Davrin and Lucanis just enough ahead of them in a semblance of privacy.

“Kamari?” A pause, almost not noticeable before he adds, “Darling? I wanted to say-”

She interrupts him gently. “Yeah. About that argument…” She can not have this now, can not give him the attention that this would rightfully deserve. But the familiar endearment soothes nonetheless.

Emmrich sighs, understanding what she implies. “It’s no time to apologize, is it?”

“We’ll talk back home, Emmrich. I promise.”

She does not keep her promise. She does not get to go home.

After Lucanis succeeds in striking down Ghilan’nain, after Harding sacrificing herself to give him that shot, after losing Bellara to Elgar’nan - after all this, Solas’ betrayal costs her that promise. Ripped into the Fade, shackled and weighed down by her regrets, she plummets into the Fade prison in his stead.

The voices of her friends, team mates, her love, are deafening in her head, cursing and blaming her for her failures. And she lets them. She deserves it.

She made the call that got Bellara captured, perhaps killed.

She agreed to Harding’s plan, was not quick enough, not clever enough to do something before she chose to sacrifice herself.

She hurt Emmrich.

She… she could not save Varric.

That realization, that memory resurfacing has her remain motionless after she slams into the ground.

Kamari doesn’t know how long she simply lays there. Time seems to have little meaning where she is and she has no presence of mind to think about it. She can only feel the weight of the pain and grief, the weight of her guilt pressing her down. Can barely breathe.

Then the tears come and soon sobs shake her entire body until finally exhaustion drags her into unconsciousness.

Eventually, she wakes. Manages to struggle to her feet to aimlessly wander the greyscale world of her prison. Solas’s prison, and she his substitute.

It takes her longer still to form thoughts that are not made of self-recrimination, that are not voices in her head telling her it was her fault.

The first thought that floats to the surface is an observation. That she feels no hunger, that her body exists in this realm as if set in stasis. It is followed by another thought, a logical conclusion. If her body is in stasis, then she can not die. A third thought, now clawing at her so sharply that the apathy crumbles away under the fresh pain and fear - if she cannot die, then she will be stuck here forever. And she knows this to be true. She is a Watcher.

She cannot stay. She is a Watcher. There has to be a way.

Her steps become determined, her aimless wandering turns into a search. But there is nothing, just the flat grey cobblestones underneath her feet and floating statues of her tyrannical would-be gods above her.

She is alone, with only her regrets for company.

So she talks to them out loud so that she can hear her own voice echoing in the space and know the voices answering are in her head by the contrast. Bellara, calm yet reproachful. Harding, soft and gentle despite the bitterness of her words. They speak, they argue for what feels like an eternity, Kamari softly begging for forgiveness until she finally realizes she is asking this from herself.

Until there are Bellara’s words in her head, a memory from what feels now so long ago. “Until it feels like I deserve it.”

Does she? Is there even something to forgive aside from her own guilt and regret?

They knew the risks, they made their choices. And she had to live with that even if it hurt. It does. It will. Hope is not yet lost if they can save Bellara. And she cannot help from in here, stuck pondering what-ifs.

She is a Watcher, there has to be a way.

“The Fade always provides a way forward.” Emmrich’s reassuring voice, his words when Johanna had sealed them in. She needs to get back to him, to make things right and have that conversation. To hold him and not let go until that gnawing fear subsides. Not a regret, a promise.

“You’ve got it, kid.”

Varric.

The thought, the memory steals her breath. He had been dead the entire time and she… every time she doubted, every time she faltered and sought out his advice… she had been talking to herself. And a small part of her, a quiet voice she did not want to listen to, it had always known. But she could not face it then, gladly allowed herself to be fooled by Solas’ curse, his words because she could not take the truth. Then.

Now?

Grief has not dulled its claws but they were no longer buried so deep that she could not take the pain. He had tried to save his friend his way, and perhaps he had failed… but only if she would give up too. Only if she could not accept it and stop looking for a way forward, a way out.

“The Fade always provides.”

Kamari closes her eyes, focuses on Emmrich’s voice even if it is only in her memory. Hope. She has to hold on to hope.

The ground beneath her shakes, her eyes sting with a sudden brightness and as she opens them she sees it right above her, a distant sun and a steep climb. But she can do this. Her family is waiting.

#dragon age the veilguard #datv spoilers #veilguard spoilers #emmrich volkarin #emmrich x rook #Kamari the rook #Kamari Ingellvar #blindvogel writes

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kawacake · 13 hours ago

Text

MY MISTAKE

Masterlist , My Mistake Masterlist

Paring: Toji x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Suggestive content (no full on smut), Cursing, Age gap, Reader crying because of stress, I made Hakari a red flag, Reader is a whore for Hakari, if I missed any I apologize.!

A/n: i dk when the third part of this will be out & I didn’t proofread at all, but if you enjoy this make sure to leave a heart, reblog, and comment to give me feedback!!

Spotify playlist , Apple Music playlist

Part 1, Part 2,

The ride to McDonald’s was unusually quiet, making your mind spin in overdrive. Did Megumi know? Was that even possible? The silence in the car wasn’t normal for your group, and it only added fuel to your anxiety.

“Why is it so quiet? This is weird for us,” Yuji finally blurted out, breaking the tension.

“What do you even want us to say?” Nobara replied sharply, though her tone softened when she noticed Yuji flinch. “Ugh, sorry, that was rude,” she added, pulling him into an apologetic hug.

“It’s fine. Can you let go now?” Yuji asked, his voice muffled against her shoulder.

“You good, girl?” you teased, turning in your seat to glance at the two of them.

“I’m just hungry,” Nobara huffed, crossing her arms.

“This bitch gets hungry and suddenly turns into Satan,” Megumi joked, chuckling as he navigated the car. His laughter was cut short by a smack to the back of his head.

“Stop calling girls bitches,” you scolded, playfully punching his arm.

He retaliated with a light tap to your shoulder, grinning. “You’re a stupid bitch, though.” That rare smile of his made you roll your eyes, but you couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped.

Finally, Megumi pulled into the McDonald’s drive-thru. “Welcome to McDonald’s. How may I take your order?” a familiar voice crackled through the speaker.

“TODO?!” Yuji shouted, causing the intercom to fall silent for a moment before the voice shouted back.

“YUJI?!”

“Alright, this isn’t a damn reunion. Wrap it up, I’m starving,” you said, leaning your head against the car door.

“Hey, Y/N!” Todo chimed in.

“Hi, Todo,” you replied. “Can you just take our order?”

After a bit of back-and-forth and a few more unnecessary exchanges, Megumi finally pulled up to the first window to pay, muttering about how much he regretted bringing yall knowing yall talk to any and everyone.

Clearing his throat he started taking the orders then told Megumi to pull to the first window to pay.

As you drove home, the car was filled with the sound of munching and half-hearted insults.

“This girl really ordered a 20-piece nugget, large fries, and a Sprite,” Yuji exclaimed, side-eyeing you. “You’re one Big Mac away from turning into a Big Back.”

You flipped him off, shoving a fry into your mouth. “Worry about yourself.” You said rolling your eyes

When Megumi finally stopped in front of your house, you started gathering your food and trash.

“Get out and TAKE YOUR TRASH!” Megumi yelled, clearly done with everyone.

“Bye, I love you guys!” you shouted as you got out, slamming the door behind you.

Sliding your shoes off you walked to your room where your car keys were but as soon as you opened the door you saw your little brother laying on your bed. “Bro, why are you home?” you asked with a hand on your hips.

“I faked being sick. Auntie brought me home,” he admitted casually, not even looking at you.

“Alright, but why are you in my room?”

“Some man said you were moving into your dorms, so I low key got sad,” he mumbled, his eyes glued to the TV remote in his hands.

Your heart softened. “Aww, don’t worry, I’ll visit. I’m only like 30 minutes away,” you reassured him, He nodded but didn’t look fully convinced.

“I got to go now I have work to do.” You explained to him while grabbing your car keys giving him one last hug before heading out the door again.

Sighing you fell onto your bed pulling out your phone seeing messages from everyone but one in particular caught you off guard.

Unknown Number

Hey I just wanted to say sorry I shouldn’t have done that

Y/n

Took my virginity now tryna dip💀

Unknown Number

HAHAHA😂 You said it yourself “last time”

Y/n

It was in the heat of the moment but if we continue it would have to be in secret😕

Unknown Number

Why?

Y/n

Cause me and Megumi like this🤞 and I don’t wanna ruin that I like the relationship we have 😞

Unknown Number

Ohh yeah and I honestly couldn’t believe that was your first time sorry if I was rough.

Y/n

It’s alright ima go now I have some work to do

Unknown number

Alright pretty ttyl

Closing your phone you opened your laptop going to your email seeing one from your professor that had a link to the assignment as you clicked on the link and started to work.

You couldn’t focus on the assignment to save your life, your brain was only focused on what happened earlier today and Megumi. Pressing your trembling hands to your face trying to stifle the sod that clawed out of your throat.

“I’m so fucking stupid.” You said not being able to stop the tears thinking of the way Toji held you and how you crave for more of his touch, but if you give in you know full well you wouldn’t even be able to look at Megumi.

It feels like a dagger to your chest.

Tears started to fall even more at the thought of Megumi finding out, losing the bond between the two of you, of being the reason his world crumbled. This feeling is suffocating.

You closed the laptop and put it on the nightstand beside your bed because you knew you wouldn’t get any work done tonight with all of this on your mind. Now getting under your blanket and laying on your side you grabbed your phone and turned it on seeing messages from various people but ignored them because they were none of your main friends but then saw a missed call from ‘Gumi’.

You debated whether you should call him back or forget about it, but you then came to the conclusion that you would call back.

It rang a few times before Megumi picked up the phone while laying in bed “hello?” You said “I did that assignment that professor Geto assigned and why the fuck did I get a 37 on that shit.” “Is that what you called me for?” You asked, looking dead at the camera as you were met with silence on the other end.

“Yes, is that a problem? Wait- are you okay?” He noticed redness in your eyes and instantly got worried. “I’m fine Gumi, I'm just stressed.” You said as he let out a ‘hm’ clearly seeing that it was more to it.

“Alright I’ll let you be but just know you can talk to me about anything.” He says, meaning every word, “Okay goodnight Gumi I love you.” You said “Goodnight n/n love you.” You smiled then hit the red X.

GENERAL PSYCHOLOGY - MORNING

“Are you okay?” Itadori asked, noticing you’ve looked a little down ever since you got to the class which was rare for you. “No I’m not. I lied to Megumi, and because Hakari and Kirara are over there.” You say as Itadori looked over to his left seeing the two people you just mentioned, “First tell me what you lied to him about then we can shit talk them after.”.

You knew you couldn’t just tell him about the Toji situation so the best way to explain it was to sugarcoat it. “Alright so the person I slept with was someone he knows and I feel like if I tell him he’d stop being friends with me.” “Thank fucking god it wasn’t hakari bro, but not the point just tell him because keeping if from him is only going to make it worse when he finds out.” Itadori had a point but if he knew who it was his response would have not been that.

“And speaking of Hakari he texted Nobara asking about you but she told me not to tell you because she was scared you’d ‘Fall into his trap’.” Itadori whispered as a smile spread across your face. “Is it bad that she’s low key right?” You admitted causing him to facepalm himself with a chuckle.

“Alright bro we gotta do this work before we fall behind like last year.” Itadori said, bring up your freshman year of college, causing you to laugh a little then pick up your pencil and write down the notes that were displayed on your computer.

You sighed and walked into your door, slipping off your shoes, placing everything down and picking up some stuff for your shower because you weren’t planning on doing anything this afternoon.

Stripping and stepping into the shower as the water hits you, you let all your worries wash away.

Once you were done you stepped out and dried yourself off before throwing on some random pajamas you had laying around.

Getting in bed you grabbed your laptop powering it on so you could watch a random show till you fell asleep. You hated going to sleep in the quiet unless someone was with you.

While looking for a movie you got a message from toji.

Unknown number

Hey! I’m coming over I bought you some flowers❤️

Y/n

You text like an old man💀but alr and thanks for not coming unannounced

Unknown number liked your message

Joy filled inside you knowing he was coming over as you stood up from your bed and started to tidy up your room even though it was nowhere near dirty, tucking stray books back onto the shelf and smoothing the creases in your bedspread.

You fixed your pajama pants and shirt, you wanted to look effortless, like his arrival didn’t send your pulse into overdrive.

Being lost in thought you almost missed the light knock on the door, standing up you walked to the door opening it as it revealed Toji with a bouquet. With a smile on your face you grabbed the flowers letting him into your dorm as he walked in and closed the door behind him.

“Thank you.” You said sitting the flowers down before placing a kiss on his lips, he tried to deepen the kiss but you were quick to move away. “Not yet.” You say grabbing his hand and walking over to the bed and sitting on it leaving an open spot for him.

“I think…we should get to know each other more, because last time we only talked about Megumi and that made me realize I don’t know anything about you.” You explained to him while he took a seat beside you.

“Well I have two kids, I own a bar, and that’s really it.” “Oh come on it has to be more than that.” You said, causing him to chuckle because speaking again, “I mean it’s not really much about me that I can tell you.” He said rubbing your bare thigh.

“I feel like you’re trying to fuck me or something right now.” You say looking down at his hand that was caressing your thigh “I mean who wouldn’t just look at your pretty face.” He said teasing you. His presence was intoxicating and his teasing comment just made you wet.

He leaned closer, his hand brushing against your cheek, and for a moment, the world shrank to just the two of you. Your chest tightened as his lips grazed your lips. He was so impossible to resist. Kissing his lips he grabbed you by your waist and pulled you onto his lap.

“You’re so beautiful.” He said pulling away from the kiss and tugging at your clothes. As soon as you took off the shirt you got interrupted by your phone dinging.

“Go on,” he said, pulling back slightly. “Don’t let me stop you.” Even though he said that you could tell he was slightly annoyed but you picked up the phone checking it away.

Hakari

Can we talk? I want to get stuff cleared up

You swore your eye twitched at that message.

“You good?” Toji asked you nodded, forcing a tight smile. “Yeah, just something I need to handle.” Toji raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but didn’t press. “Alright do you want me to stick around?”

You hesitated, “No, it’s okay. I just need some time to sort this out.” “Alright well I’ll get going.” He said pecking your lips before you got off of him.

“I’ll text you when I’m done.” You say as he nodded and walked out of your dorm.

Y/n

Yeah come over

A/n: This was going to be longer but I changed my mind and made hakari and her meet up in the third chapter, & if you want to be tagged in any of the new updates for this series just leave a comment on any of the post about this fanfic!

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cariantha · 2 days ago

Text

Scored

Book: Open Heart, Book 2 Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Sawyer Brooks) Rating: General Category: Fluff; Thanksgiving; Christmas Word count: 2.1K Prompt: From @jerzwriter, “Sawyer wants to get Ethan a very expensive Christmas gift that she can't afford. Then, she sees it's on sale on Black Friday at 50% off. Now - she's determined to get it for him, even though she's working that day. How does she get it done?”

Black Friday...

It had been over a month since the poison attack, and Sawyer returned to work just a week ago. Between her overprotective secret boyfriend, concerned roomies, and nosy coworkers, her every move was monitored as she walked the hospital halls. So when she reached for the handle of the supply closet, she looked to the right toward the nurses’ station. No one was paying her any attention. Then, to the left, finding the coast clear.

As luck would have it, though, Bryce was paying attention. He leaned back from the nurses' station, catching her slip into the closet. He lingered for a few minutes to see if she would emerge with supplies or something worrisome like tears.

In the small dark room, Sawyer leaned against the shelving and attempted to load the Williams Sonoma website.

A couple of weeks ago, she searched online for top-of-the-line espresso makers. The search results left her feeling disappointed. The models were way out of her price range. But thanks to the Google ads tracking her browsing history, she was alerted to an almost-too-good-to-be-true Black Friday sale on the fancy coffee makers.

“C’mon, c’mon,” Sawyer whispered as the website buffered. She should have guessed the network connection would be poor in this room made of concrete walls.

The spinning circle on her screen showed no mercy. Defeated, she threw her head back and blew a frustrated breath toward the ceiling.

Having allowed a reasonable amount of time to grab supplies, a concerned Bryce barged into the closet, witnessing her huff. “Brooksie? What’s wrong? Why are you hiding in the supply room?”

Sawyer looked down at her phone and saw that the webpage finally loaded. “Of course,” she said to herself and sighed. “I’m okay, Bryce. I just needed a minute.”

His pager buzzed, and he checked the message. “Shit, my patient is crashing. I gotta go. You sure you’re okay?”

“Yep. Totally fine. Go,” she shooed him away.

Bryce tackled her with a quick hug. “I’ll catch up with you later,” he promised as he hurried out and down the hall.

🛒🛒🛒🛒🛒

Figuring she could hide out for a few minutes under the guise of selecting a snack from the vending machine, Sawyer stood in the small alcove and tried to load the Williams Sonoma website again.

Her heart fluttered with excitement as the page quickly loaded. She added the espresso machine to her virtual shopping cart and clicked the checkout button to finalize the purchase.

Excitement quickly turned to irritation when her PayPal password would not work. “Some of your info isn’t correct. Please try again.” The same message appeared after her second and third attempts. She would have to reset her password, which would mean checking her email and verifying her account.

She groaned, leaned forward, and banged her head a couple of times against the glass of the vending machine.

“Brooks, is there a problem?”

With her forehead still pressed against the glass, Sawyer swiveled her head to the side and saw Zaid Mirani facing her with his arms crossed over his chest.

Though his tone and demeanor hid it well, the fact that he asked her a question rather than barked a demand hinted at his concern. She didn’t want to confess to the chief resident that she was doing something she shouldn’t be doing at work, nor did she want his pity, so she straightened and slapped a button on the vending machine. When nothing happened, she looked back at Zaid with a frown. “The machine ate my dollar.”

🛒🛒🛒🛒🛒

Sawyer sat at a table in the staff lounge on her lunch break, hoping the chrome contraption with confusing buttons and levers was still in stock. While the Georgian chicken leftovers Ethan made last night for their version of Thanksgiving dinner warmed in the microwave, she pulled out her phone, reset her PayPal password, and navigated back to the Williams Sonoma website.

Because she had previously attempted to check out as a guest, the website didn’t save her previous shopping activity, and her cart was empty. On the home page, she was distracted by another gadget that would be a perfect gift for her dad. It was also on sale. Combined with the espresso machine, the total would qualify her for free shipping. Score! She added the item to her cart and returned to the Breville product page, where a warning glared in red font. Quantities are limited - Order soon! Sawyer cursed under her breath and quickly added the item to her cart.

Just then, her pager rang out with an urgent message requesting backup in the ER. Leaning forward on the table, she buried her head into the crook of her elbow and whisper-screamed.

Sienna, who received the same page, saw her friend’s display of distress as she walked past the lounge. Immediately concerned, she stepped backward until she stood in the lounge's doorway. “Hey, are you okay?” she asked as Sawyer stood and quickly repacked her lunch.

“Yeah. Just can’t seem to catch a break today.”

🛒🛒🛒🛒🛒

A couple of hours later, Ethan entered the reception area of the free clinic dressed casually—jeans, a T-shirt, and tennis shoes. His jacket was open in the front as if he had been in a rush to leave home—and he had been after Sienna called to express concern that Sawyer was distressed.

Despite his unusually casual appearance, the administrative assistant at the front desk recognized Dr. Ramsey immediately and buzzed him through the door that separated the reception area from the rest of the clinic.

Sawyer said goodbye and followed her patient out of the exam room as Ethan rounded the corner and came into view. “Hi, what a nice surprise,” she greeted when he approached. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to check on you.” He looped an arm around her waist and ushered her toward an empty imaging room at the back of the clinic.

Ethan closed the door, but Sawyer started speaking before he turned around to face her. “I’m fine, Ethan.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” she asked, confused.

“Pretend.” He moved in front of her and reached for her hands. “You know you don’t have to pretend to be okay with me. If you’re having a bad day… if today has been too much, I’ll find someone to cover your second shift or do it myself. I know you’re trying to make up for your time away, but you’ve been through a lot. Everyone will understand if you need to pull back.”

Sawyer cupped his face with her hands and looked him in the eye. “I promise you, Ethan. I’m o-kay,” she emphasized. “Honestly. I haven’t thought about the attack stuff at all today.”

His eyes shifted back and forth between hers while she dropped her hands from his face to his shoulders and squeezed reassuringly. “I promise,” she repeated.

“Okay.”

“Did you really come in just to check on me?” she asked, lacing her fingers behind his neck.

“Yeah.”

“Why did you think I was having a bad day?”

“Trinh called me.”

“Why?”

“I asked her to keep an eye on you,” Ethan explained. “It was the first day since you returned that I wouldn’t be around.”

“Ethan, I appreciate the concern, but…” she trailed off, racking her brain to think of anything she did or said that would have caused her roommate’s concern. She came up blank. “What made Sienna think I was having a bad day?”

“She said that you were crying in the breakroom and that Bryce found you hiding in a supply closet, and Zaid saw you headbutting a vending machine. She thought you were overwhelmed and was worried about you working another shift tonight.”

“Oh.”

When she didn’t elaborate, Ethan prodded further. “So, why were you crying and hiding in the supply closet?”

“I wasn’t. It wasn’t what it looked like.”

“Then what was it?”

“It was noth-”

“Sawyer,” he admonished. “Talk to me.”

“Ethan, I wasn’t upset. I was just mildly frustrated about something. It’s not a big deal.”

“Frustrated about what?”

“You should have become a detective, you know. You’re great at this interrogation stuff,” she huffed.

“And you’re avoiding the question…” he countered, tugging her close and squeezing her waist. “Frustrated about what?”

“Ugh!” she grunted, pressing her forehead against his shoulder to hide her face. “I was trying to score a Black Friday deal, okay!”

“What?” he asked with a surprised laugh.

“I was trying to buy something online but kept getting error messages or kicked off the internet. I tried again on my lunch break, but that got cut short when I was paged to the ER.”

“Were you eventually successful? Did you score the deal?”

“Nooo!” she fake cried, shaking her head against his shoulder. “I’m sure it’s the universe’s way of saying I shouldn’t have been shopping while working.”

Ethan chuckled again.

She leaned back and flashed her get-out-jail smile that he could never resist. “Don’t tell my boss, okay?”

He smacked her backside playfully. “Why can’t you ever just stay out of trouble? Huh?”

She shrugged.

“Have you eaten yet?” Ethan asked. When Sawyer shook her head no, he suggested they head to the cafeteria for a quick meal together before she started her second shift.

After dropping their trays of food on the table, Ethan went to fill their drink cups, and Sawyer pulled out her phone. She opened the internet browser and refreshed the page. Her lips turned down in a frown when she saw the note on the page: "Out of Stock." Deciding the deal was, in fact, too good to be true, she pocketed her phone to focus on more important things like her dinner companion and her job.

🛒🛒🛒🛒🛒

On Monday morning, a loud snore woke Sawyer just as the sun began to rise. Ethan would usually stop snoring if she tugged him into a spooning position, and she could claim another coveted hour of sleep. But a thought occurred to her as she internally groaned that the weekend was officially over. Today was not just any Monday. It was Cyber Monday. With a glimmer of hope, she quietly slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the kitchen.

Perched on a stool at the island, Sawyer sipped on a glass of orange juice and pulled up the Williams Sonoma website on her phone. She nearly squealed when she saw that the fancy coffee maker was back in stock and on sale again. She quickly added the item to her cart, entered her payment information, and completed the purchase. She pumped her fists in the air when she got the confirmation email.

“What’s got you up early and so excited this morning?” Ethan asked in his gravely morning voice, hugging her from behind and pressing his lips to the top of her head.

Sawyer quickly flipped her phone over so the screen was face down. “I was hoping some Black Friday deals would be offered again since it’s Cyber Monday. And they were. I was able to score the deal I wanted last week.”

“Mmm, good for you,” he murmured into her hair. “If you’re done, how about you come back to bed and let me score too.”

Christmas Day…

After working all day so that their colleagues could enjoy Christmas with their families, Sawyer accompanied Ethan back to his apartment so that they could spend the rest of the holiday together.

The leftovers from the meal Ethan had prepared were now put away, and the couple relaxed in front of the roaring fireplace. Sitting up from where she had nestled against him, Sawyer asked, “Can I give you your present now?”

“I told you you didn’t need to get me anything…”

She ignored him as she moved behind the couch to retrieve the large, heavy, neatly wrapped box she hauled into his apartment the night before. “And I told you I did anyway when you helped me carry it in last night. Here. Merry Christmas.”

As Ethan started to peel away the festive wrapping paper and got a peek at what it was, he paused and looked up at her with surprise. She was smiling so big and proud. He shook his head when he finished unwrapping it and read the details on the box.

“I remembered you talking with the owner at Derry’s about wanting one and that this was a really good model.”

“Sawyer, this is amazing… but I-I can’t accept this. I know what these machines cost. You shouldn’t have spent so much.”

“It’s okay. Seriously. I scored an amazing deal.”

“Was this what you were trying so hard to buy on Black Friday?” he wondered, flipping the box over to appreciate the different features.

“Yes,” and she nodded affirmatively.

“Come here, Rookie.” Ethan set the box on the coffee table and pulled her into his lap, pressing a long but tender kiss to her lips. “Thank you for being so thoughtful and making such an effort.” He looked deep into her eyes. “I love… I love it. I can’t wait to try it out.”

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