#spent a lot of time yearning for a best friend until I found some

[tleeaves]

Reclining on a fainting couch, hands laced together and resting over my stomach as I stare up at the ceiling. Why the fuck do I so frequently end up caught between being attracted to mean guys (and gals) but also the wife material guys? Duality of man is falling for both all the time, apparently, and never knowing which I actually genuinely like better.

I wrote out a whole theory about why I like mean people before I realised the logic no longer applied to my current circumstances/character and now I'm back at square one. Perhaps the real answer is as lame as: because I like a challenge and the idea that someone treats me Extra Special compared to how they treat others.

At the end of the day, idk.

[blasphemousxo]

For as long as I could remember I had a companion named Baby. She was a teddy bear I got a baby from Osh Kosh B’Gosh. She was white and baby blue pinstriped with a baby blue bow around her neck and on her chest was an embroidered heart that was also baby blue. She was my best friend, I didn’t have very many friends growing up. Probably about 2 or 3 friends. But I had Baby. She went with me everywhere, grandmas house, my dad’s house on the weekends, all the trips my grandparents would take me on. I even would sneak her to school in my backpack. I remember every detail about her. I remember the small tear under one of her arms, the hole in her throat that I believe my grandma patched up for me, and the small glue spot on top of her head. No other toy I connected with so much.

Then one day in July when I was 11, she went missing. We figured I must have dropped her leaving our apartment to go to my grandmas one night. I made missing posters that I hung around my grandmas. My grandma even went dumpster diving at our apartment complex to try and find her. But she was never found. We moved shortly after too. The hope of finding her tucked in a box eventually faded and I accepted she wasn’t coming back. To this day I get misty eyed talking about her.

I spent many, many years searching for a companion like her again. I carried a bear named Buttons that my great grandma gave me. Then it was a Jack Skellington plush doll I got at Disney world. Then a panda my high school girlfriend gave me. But none of them clicked like Baby. When I eventually started making my own money, I really began searching. Buying bears, a lot of the time from Build a Bear, hoping to find the one.

When I was 24 I had that desire came up while I was at work. So in desperation, I went to my local build a bear after work, just to see if I could find someone. They didn’t have anything new, it was December so no real good releases. I spotted the Timeless Teddy, I never liked how they looked on the website but seeing it in person stuffed I thought, I’ll give it a chance. So I picked up my skin and picked out the birthday cake scent and built the bear.

I named him Boris after the line in The Monster Mash, “when you get to my door tell them Boris sent you,” a reference of course to Boris Karloff the original actor for Frankenstein’s monster. I didn’t dress him at first until I ordered a custom Good Guy doll outfit for build a bears. After that, I loved dressing him up in different outfits. Usually he’s in a hoodie or sweater and jeans though. And something just clicked inside me with Boris. After I got him I’d still have the yearning for my companion and buy bears but I always came back to Boris. Even with the new friends I’d get, Boris was still with me. Eventually that desire faded because I realized I found what I was looking for.

He was there for me through some very tough times. He was there while I lived with my abusive ex boyfriend. He was there during my many “grippy sock vacations.” I even sobbed and called my mom when a nurse took him away from me during one of those hospital stays. He knows more about me than anyone. I love everything about him; his matted fur that shows how much love I’ve poured into him, his crooked eyes that I didn’t notice until his fur matted, the comforting way he smells that I can’t tell is from the love I’ve given him or the birthday cake scent still hanging in there or a mix of the two. Even the matted Sherpa fur feels comforting when I rub his little ears or hands.

I still buy bears not in an effort to find a companion though, but because I want them. But most of them I would be fine if I sold or game away or ended up losing somehow. Except Boris. I would be devastated if I lost him. He’s my soul-bear.

I still think of Baby a lot. I know I can never get her back or get back what I had with her. But I can’t help but think maybe she came back to me in a way with Boris. That maybe she led me to him that day. Which I’m sure sounds very silly because these are stuffed animals I’m talking about. But I do believe there’s nothing more powerful than a well loved stuffed animal. Simply from all the love that gets put into them, you bring them to life with that love.

I’m not sure how to end this, I just wanted to share my little story about the bears I love. I hope this resonated with someone at least.

[bikinis-and-sneakers]

Nobody really knows me

-  a. reeves 

I have a special talent, and that is the ability to still feel melancholy when everything is going right. Feelings of nostalgia, longing, and yearning creep in, even at the happiest of moments. It’s like the Kasey Musgraves song, “happy and sad at the same time”. In the best of times, I’m just bracing myself for the sadness I know life inevitably brings at some point.

I often feel a sense of being misunderstood, or unknown because of this. Usually I don’t share when I’m feeling the most low or anxious or apprehensive. Maybe I fear that it’ll ruin a good moment, or maybe I just fear digging deeper into that feeling itself, and I’ll let it wash away. The moment will pass, and the very real and prominent feelings will go unnoticed by everyone other than myself.

This year in particular life has been filled with lots and lots of profound sadness, much of which was shared with many other people. This year was riddled with illness, trauma, loss, and ultimately grief. Through these difficult seasons and the immense weight of grieving, I found it extremely hard to communicate exactly what I was feeling. I think because so much of the year felt so overwhelming and the sadness came from many different places, my thoughts and feelings became muddy and hard to pinpoint. Life was kicking me while I was already down, and I wasn’t able to tell anyone where I was on my journey because I wasn’t even sure if I knew. If the emotions didn’t manifest physically, they would just go unnoticed by the people I needed support from, and life became lonely. 

On the other side of the coin, I realized my family members and loved ones, in sharing this grief, probably felt the same way as me. While I spent a lot of time with family and loved ones this year, each time we were together this weighed on me. I felt a sense of discomfort that I truly did not know what internal battle each person was fighting and I did not know what support they needed from me.  There was a small very deep part of each person I couldn’t reach. 

It felt strange to think that even the people I’m closest to may not entirely know me, and I may not entirely know them. The complexity of grief and the uniqueness it holds to each person made something very clear - we each have an inner sanctum that can’t be breached, even by the people we consider closest to us. In other words, we are never truly and fully “known” by anyone. 

This was a hard pill for me to swallow. The thought of never being able to have anyone truly know each intricate part of you feels sad and lonely. The idea that even your family or closest friend or partner, who may know nearly everything about you, probably still doesn’t know certain things about you feels wrong to me. Sure these people know a lot about me. But does that equate to really knowing me? I don’t think it always does. Is there ever truly enough intimacy that can be achieved for another person to 100% truly know us? 

Our yearning to be fully known is inevitable but may be misleading.

I think about my immediate family. They have many memories of me and many ideas of what I’m like based on past experiences of me, but those experiences range from the day I was born until the present day. I’ve changed significantly over the last 27 years, but perhaps they’re more connected to a certain version of me they have a particular fondness for. Or maybe their perception of me is skewed because of their love for me and the kind of person they want me to be or believe I could be. I think, too, the older we each get the more difficult it is to be known. We become so storied, detailed, and complex that you couldn’t ever expect someone to know each and every in and out of your life. And even if they did, would they understand how certain situations made you feel or why they made you feel that way? 

Each day I have at least one small moment where I really feel unknown. Maybe I’ll have a very secret deep thought that I wouldn’t dare share with anyone else. A nasty opinion of something that I know is wrong. Maybe it’s something so small and minute that it’s not worth saying out loud, it’s just something I noticed. A memory coming back to me that no one knows the significance of or why I hold it so close to my heart. The very specific feeling and emotion that a particular song makes me feel, that I can’t seem to put into words. An old version of me pops into my head that makes me feel embarrassed or ashamed. All of these little hidden things, amongst others, make me feel unknown. 

It’s not hard to get caught up in all of these little details, which is why with time I’ve tried to get better about sharing my own inner workings to those who are dear to me. I’ve found that the more I share the less isolated I feel. I’m working on helping people know me better, even if there’s always a lingering idea that all humans are truly impossible to completely figure out.  In practicing this I’ve begun to care less about controlling how others perceive me. In fact, I’ve realized that the way others perceive me, in turn, helps me to shape my identity. It’s like a collaborative effort to create a shared idea of who I really am.

So sure, I think in this life, to be completely and utterly known may be an impossible task. However, the desire the be known will never go away. I think it’s human nature and it’s a romantic thought that maybe, possibly, oddly enough, it could be achieved. So really what we can do is persist and understand that there aren’t walls built that prevent people from knowing you, rather, each person is seen by others through very unique and one-of-a-kind lenses. Who you truly are will always be a truth that is very sacred to you as an individual, and it’s yours to share in whatever ways you see fit. It’s impossible to know everything about each other but I think the point is wanting to be known makes you feel significantly less misunderstood. This melancholy that I feel in happy moments is just a part of who I really am. Not being known scares me. Wanting to be known is human. And now you know me better. 

[dreamwritesimagines]

Enamored [15] - Siren Call

A.N: Thank you so much for your amazing feedback my loves!❤ I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please let me know what you think, thank you! ❤

Summary: Some nights are more chaotic than others.

Warnings: Regency era society and social rules, slow burn, yearning.

Word Count: 5500

Series Masterlist

 The next couple of days were absolutely disastrous.

Both your brother and your best friend were heartbroken and even if you wanted to help more than anything, there was nothing you could do. You had been trying your best to make Elias see logic and not give in to the ton’s expectations, but he seemed to be so taken by his own sadness that he was deaf to your pleas.

“I’ll be fine,” he had told you the last time you tried to talk to him, his eyes bloodshot. “I don’t have the luxury to wallow in my misery or hope for something impossible.”

He barely spent any time at home, so you ended up going to Cecily’s house a lot in hopes of cheering her up just like today.

“Do you want to go to the park?” you asked, absentmindedly playing with a ribbon in your hands while both you and Cecily lied on her bed, and she shook her head.

“Not really,” she mumbled and you hummed.

“Do you want to go horse riding?”

“No.”

“We could go buy some ribbons, or jewelry? I heard that there’s a new jeweler,  everyone speaks highly of him.”

“Not really,” she said, sniffling and wiping at her eyes. “Thank you though. I appreciate it.”

You sat up in the bed to look at her better.

“I will fix this.”

Cecily tried to smile. “I already told you. There’s nothing to be fixed, he merely does not want to be with me.”

“That’s not true!”

She shrugged her shoulders and reached to her bedside table to grab the latest Whistledown while you shot her a glare.

“You can’t keep reading that.”

“Why not?” she asked. “She’s telling the truth and the whole ton knows it. Lord Westcliff merely acknowledged my presence and his interest wavered.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s not like that at all, and Lord Westcliff is an idiot,” you pointed out. “He can’t help it really, I got all the wisdom in the family.”

That seemed to make her laugh and she shook her head.

“Enough about my heartbreak,” she said. “Are you excited for tonight?”

You averted your eyes. “Uh no, why would I be?”

She scoffed. “Dinner at the Bridgerton house?” she asked you. “Please. I bet you tried at least ten gowns until you found the perfect one for the occasion.”

“I don’t think we should talk about all that in your condition.”

“In my condi—Y/N, I’m heartbroken, not with child,” she reminded you and you shrugged your shoulders.

“Either way.”

“Come on,” she said. “Humor me. How long did you spend before finding the perfect outfit and accessories?”

“You will make fun of me.”

“Of course I will, but I’m allowed.” She tried to smile. “Considering my condition.”

“I went to bed at two in the morning trying to find the perfect combination with the gown and jewelry,” you admitted. “I’m afraid Lucie hates me.”

“All this effort for an insufferable rake who walks around as if he’s God’s gift to women,” Cecily shook her head. “Unbelievable.”

“It’s not for him, it’s what I’d do for any dinner.”

Cecily turned the paper in her hand, then lifted her head. “Or maybe it’s for his brother, as Lady Whistledown wrote,” she taunted you and held up the paper. “Judging by their conversation while ignoring the Viscount’s glare, one could assume that Lady Y/N has a new favorite Bridgerton brother—” she was cut off when you snatched it out of her hands.

“No!” you exclaimed. “Benedict is very sweet, but…”

“He’s not a rake, therefore not to your taste?” she offered and you hit her with a pillow, making her laugh.

“Cece!”

“Not that I want to talk about those wretched lists again, but you’re at the top of his list. Eloise said so.”

You made a face.

“Oh trust me, that means nothing to him,” you said. “He was very clear about it, his list is not to his liking. He thinks only half of the names are suitable, and we both know I’m not one of the suitable names. I want love and he does not.”

“Penelope had a point the other day, I doubt love will ask for his opinion on the matter,” Cecily pointed out. “And I know you, so will you stop pretending like you’re not dying for tonight to come already?”

You heaved a sigh and bit inside your cheek, trying to focus.

“It’s just a dinner,” you managed to say. “I’m sure nothing important will happen.”

                                                *

When you, Elias and the Duke got to the Bridgerton house, you were pretty sure you were buzzing with excitement. Lady Bridgerton had greeted you in the foyer, and she and the Duke started walking to the stairs that led to the drawing room where the rest of the family was sitting while waiting for the dinner to be ready. You could hear the giggles of Daphne and Simon’s baby coming from upstairs as you smiled, then stole a look at the Duke and Lady Bridgerton who already seemed to be in a deep conversation as they made their way upstairs.

“Do they know each other already?” you asked Elias who nodded.

“Yeah, father has great respect for Lady Bridgerton. I think he’s glad she was around while I was growing up.”

You hummed as Benedict made his way to you.

“Welcome,” he said. “Anthony is in his study but he will be with us in a moment, he has something to handle apparently.”

Your heart skipped a beat but Elias nodded while all three of you started walking up the stairs.

“So, Lady Miriam then?” he asked Elias who groaned.

“Not you too.”

“It’s a terrible idea,” you pointed out. “Benedict, tell him what a terrible idea it is.”

“I don’t know Elias, I don’t think you would be happy with her.”

“Exactly what I said!” you exclaimed. “Thank you!”

“You two make a very illogical team,” Elias grumbled. “Can we please not talk about this?”

“The fact that you don’t want to talk about her is even more proof that you shouldn’t be with her.”

“She has a point. And Miss Cecily—”

“Please, not one word about her.” Elias pointed at Benedict. “Listen, you were there. Anthony was right, alright?”

Your head shot up. “I’m sorry?” you asked. “What does he have to do with this?”

“I talked to him after Lady Bridgerton kindly gave me my list,” Elias said. “He said me being with Cecily just doesn’t make sense and encouraged me to pursue Lady Miriam and he has a point. I need to think about my title and my family, and Cecily…” he trailed off and shook his head. “Can we please not talk about this?”

Fury crashed on you out of nowhere and you stopped dead in your tracks just at the entrance of the drawing room, staring at Elias.

“Y/N?”

How dare he?

How dare he encourage Elias to pursue any woman except Cecily?

“Um—” you cleared your throat. “I’ll be right back, I’ll just… one of Lucie’s friends is your maid and I have to ask her something about Lucie, excuse me.”

They stepped into the drawing room and you whirled around, then strode downstairs, anger pulsing through you. Ever since you had met Cecily, you had been pushing her and your brother together and now you knew they were in love with each other and Anthony had apparently decided to undermine all your efforts to get them together behind your back.

No.

This was absolutely unacceptable.

You gritted your teeth and reached the door to his study, then opened the door, stepped inside and slammed it behind you. Anthony was already standing by his desk when you entered, -probably getting ready to leave for the drawing room- so his head shot up and he looked over his shoulder, then turned around, staring at you as if he couldn’t believe you were there.

“What are you doing here?” he asked and you narrowed your eyes at him, still fuming.

“I came to yell at you.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I came to yell at you,” you repeated a bit louder this time, making him tilt his head. He leaned back to his desk, crossing his arms and that damn cocky smile pulled at his lips as if your audacity to storm into his own study in his own house was somehow amusing.

Which you figured was quite daring, but you were way too angry to even focus on it.

“By all means,” his tone was almost teasing. “Don’t let me stop you.”

You clenched your jaw, a pout appearing on your lips. “Did you tell Elias it was a bad idea to court Cecily?”

He nodded. “Yes I did.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s my best friend and he asked for my opinion. It’s a terrible idea.”

You had to stop yourself from stomping on your foot as a string of French words spilled from your lips, making him blink a couple of times as if he was taken aback. A smirk appeared on his face but then he remembered to control his expression at the sight of you glaring at him.

“It’s not a terrible idea!” you switched back to English in an attempt to control your anger. “They’re both devastated!”

“They will get over it.”

“Right,” you said with a bitter laugh. “Because Viscount Bridgerton says so. Who made you the authority in matters of heart here?”

He raised his brows. “Y/N.”

“No, you had no right!”

“He asked.”

“You know they treasure each other very much, why would you—”

“Y/N,” he said, exasperated. “You have to stop thinking life is a fairytale. Your brother will be a duke and he needs a wife that can handle the responsibilities of a duchess. All the ladies on that list have been prepared all their lives for that, and your friend would crumble under that sort of pressure, the ton would eat that poor girl alive. I understand that you like her, and I’m sure she is very nice, but you need to see the situation as it is.”

You shook your head. “So what then? Elias will just let the ton tell him what to do his whole life? For what? Their approval?”

Anthony ran a hand over his face.

“Do you think everyone follows your lead in dresses and accessories just because you came from France?” he asked you. “They do it because you were presented to the society as a duke’s daughter, and that means something here.”

“Maybe it shouldn’t then,” you said. “Do you not care that he will be miserable for the rest of his life? He’s your best friend!”

“He will not be miserable for the rest of his life, I’m sure he will care for Lady Miriam eventually. Within reason.”

You stared at him, then scoffed. “Within reason. I see.”

“It’s a good thing to base a marriage on—”

“Maybe I was wrong.”

“What?”

“I was wrong to assume that you would eventually believe in love,” you said, trying your hardest to control your voice but it rose anyway. “If you don’t understand how unhappy he will be without her, I doubt you’re able to even understand love, or feel anything for anyone! How dull it must get to be all logic, not an ounce of—” you were cut off when his head perked up and he strode to you in two steps, then covered your mouth with his palm, pressing you back to the wall. He touched his pointer to his lips, signaling you to be silent as his gaze went to the door.

Through the tremors running through your whole body, you could faintly hear the footsteps coming from outside the door, around the hallway.

“Careful with the soup, do you want me to carry it?”

“No I got it!”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes yes, just carry the wine bottles there. Where’s Robert?”

“Already in the dining room.”

The servants’ voices got distant as if they had just walked away from the study deeper into the hallway and Anthony turned his gaze to you. Something seemed to be burning in his eyes and the mere intensity that was radiating off of him was more than enough to wake goosebumps on your arms. That tingling at the pit of your stomach seemed to have returned as you looked up at him while he pulled his hand from your mouth, but didn’t step back.

“You’ve had your say and I listened to you, now you’re going to listen to me,” his voice was a low rumble. “Is that what you think? I’m all logic?”

You felt as if you would pass out at any moment but by some kind of a miracle, you managed to stick your nose in the air.

“You’re made of it.”

“I used to be,” he said through his teeth. “No longer, as it seems.”

“Oh and I’m supposed to believe that? Pray tell, what has changed?”

“You came here!” he snapped, making your eyes shoot up to his.

This was—

This was a dream. This had to be a dream.

“You arrived in London,” he breathed out, as if he couldn’t stop the words. “You came into my life, and ever since then I can’t find my balance in this chaos you created in me. I wish I were logical enough to be able to convince myself to stop being so captivated by you, because trust me Y/N, what I feel whenever you’re around? That’s anything but logical.”

No.

There was no way Anthony could hold any feelings for you, let alone being captivated by you.

You were dreaming about him just like you always did.

You stared up at him, not even daring to breathe in fear of waking up.

“I’m not allowed to touch you,” he rasped, making your breath hitch up in your throat. “I’m not allowed to want you or be enamored by you, I shouldn’t. I spend every minute trying to convince myself I shouldn’t, yet no matter how much I try, I cannot cast you out of my mind. Do you have any idea how much willpower it takes me not to kiss away that infuriating pout of yours? How I long to get you out of that ballroom away from everyone? How I want to keep you for my touch and my gaze, no one else’s?”

The room was spinning. Your whole world was spinning.

“You ripped every ounce of ration out of my mind until the only thing left is you.” His deep voice was barely audible from the blood rushing in your ears as he leaned in, his hand cupping the side of your neck, his forehead resting against yours as if he was still trying to fight himself. “I can’t think or crave anything else, I’m ruled merely by the thought of you. So tell me, does this agony sound logical?”

You didn’t even know why your eyes were full of tears, you just knew that this; whatever this was, it was too much. It was too overwhelming and you had no idea how to handle the yearning that was burning through you and had you nearly crying. You didn’t even understand how but you knew—

Deep down, somewhere primal, somewhere forbidden, you knew.

You knew this ache could only be soothed by his touch, and a soft sob escaped from your lips.

“Anthony…”

His name leaving your lips like a plea seemed to crash down the last ounce of self-control he had, because after a second that almost felt like a century, his lips touched yours.

For a second, you were scared that your heart would explode in your chest because it had never, ever beaten as fast as it was beating now, but every trace of any thought was simply too weak to stand in the way of this wave you found yourself swept away by. Even the panic of not knowing what to do wasn’t enough to make you freeze for the first time in your life, not when his lips were on yours, not when—

Wait, his lips were on yours.

The sudden thought that shot through your mind was like lightning, making you gasp and pull back. Even though every single part of you craved more of his touch, fear had already gripped you in its cold claws and you went under his arm, taking him by surprise before you stepped away from him, your hands shooting up to cover your mouth.

“Oh no,” you said breathlessly as he turned around to look at you, still panting. “No no, we weren’t supposed to do that, what if I come to be with child?!”

Anthony looked as distracted as you had been just a second ago and he shook his head, trying to make himself focus.

“What?” he asked after a beat and you lowered your hands, your eyes wide.

“You’re not supposed to kiss me, I could come to be with child!” you said in a hushed tone as you paced in the room. “Oh God, what if I already am and I don’t know it? I already feel dizzy, is that what’s happening? It is what’s happening isn’t it? That’s why I feel like the room is spinning?”

His brows furrowed while he gawked at you for a couple of seconds and you could swear you could see the wheels turning in his head.

“You think that’s how—” he trailed off. “Your mother never told you?”

You waited for him to finish his question but he looked to be at loss for words.

“What?” you asked after a beat and an intense, dark shadow crossed his eyes, sending a shiver down your spine despite the panic.

“Oh my sweet siren…” he murmured, holding out his hand. “Come here.”

“But—” you were cut off when he pulled you closer, and your brows furrowed as you looked up at him.

“That’s not how it works,” he ran the back of his hand over your burning cheekbone. “Not possible.”

Relief hit you so fast that it took your breath away but you still felt the need to ask.

“And you’re certain of it?”

“Absolutely,” he said, trying to repress a smile. “I swear to you.”

“But you don’t have…” Your frown deepened. “How are you certain?”

A dark chuckle vibrated in his chest.

“I’m familiar with the act,” he muttered as he reached out to trace the line of your bottom lip, then tilted your head up before capturing your lips again.

Unlike you, nothing about his actions was hesitant but he seemed to be much more careful now even though you didn’t know the reason behind it. You gripped his shirt with a trembling hand at least to anchor yourself, a needy whine climbing up your throat as he pulled back from you for only a second to nudge your nose with his, as if letting you breathe. Your lips parted with his when he leaned in again, your whole body melting in his arms—

Then someone knocked on the door, making both of you snap out of the haze and Anthony pulled back again, this time with an annoyed growl.

“My lord, the dinner is about to be served.” The butler’s voice carried into the room from behind the door and Anthony frowned for a moment as if he had forgotten about the dinner before clearing his throat.

“I’ll be there in a moment,” he said as you tried to catch your breath and the butler’s footsteps disappeared into the hallway. Your head was still spinning and you could swear that your whole body was on fire as you looked up into his dark eyes, his fingertips caressing the sensitive skin of your neck.

“I—I think I need a second,” you said quietly, still holding onto him. A fond smile appeared on his face and he nuzzled into your hair, inhaling your scent, making you feel even more lightheaded than before.

There was no way you were going to survive this dinner.

“Anthony?”

He hummed into your hair, his warm body against yours making it very hard for you to think but you forced yourself to focus.

“I… I must go before Elias wonders where I am.”

He heaved a sigh and kissed the top of your head before stepping back even though your body was already craving for his touch, then he nodded.

“I know,” he muttered and cracked open the door to look outside. “It’s safe. I think they’re all in the drawing room.”

You fixed your hair with a shaky breath before stepping closer to the door, then turned to him.

“But I don’t—” you hesitated and swallowed thickly. “I don’t look any different, do I?”

The mere question made him smirk and he reached out to pull you to him by your wrist.

“You look too tempting,” his voice was husky and he leaned in to kiss you but you giggled and turned your head, then stood on your tiptoes to press your lips on his cheek before you darted out of the room.

You could swear everyone in the house could hear your heartbeat that was pounding in your ears but you touched your lips with your fingertips, unable to stop your smile, then took a deep breath, threw your shoulders back and made your way to the drawing room.

“I thought you got lost,” Elias commented and you shook your head, greeting everyone in the room. The whole Bridgerton family was there but you were so lightheaded that you could barely see anyone, or pay attention to anything other than the lingering taste of his lips on yours, his pleasant scent still filled in your lungs.

Daphne smiled at you, then gave her son who seemed to be in deep sleep to the maid while Eloise came closer to you.

“Welcome, I thought you got lost as well.”

“Oh no, I was just…admiring the artwork.”

“My apologies,” Anthony’s voice carried out into the room as he stepped in as well and Benedict frowned slightly, looking between you two. Even you had to admit, Anthony looked way more put together than you, because to be completely honest, you still weren’t sure you would be able to finish this dinner without passing out.

“Lady Y/N.” Anthony greeted you, and one simple observer would’ve thought nothing had happened if it weren’t for that mischievous glimmer in his eyes.

“Lord Bridgerton,” you managed to greet him back before Lady Bridgerton announced that it was time for dinner, so you all made your way to the dining room.

You had no idea how you hadn’t thought about it before but the seating plan for this dinner was going to make things even more difficult for you. Anthony sat at the head of the table which was normal, considering he was the head of the family but you were placed to his right and Benedict to his left. Eloise was between Benedict and Elias, and Daphne was right next to you with her husband Simon and Colin, the third Bridgerton brother. Your father, Lady Bridgerton and the rest of the family was on the other end of the table and you were almost glad that you could sit down now, because your legs felt way too weak.

After the soup was served and everyone started talking among each other, Daphne leaned in slightly.

“So Elias, Lady Miriam then?”

Elias let out a whine. “I came here to have food Daphne, not be questioned about my love life.”

“You knew Daphne would attend, I think it’s your fault if you expected not to be questioned.” Benedict pointed out and Simon grinned.

“Definitely.”

“Can’t I be curious?” Daphne asked and Eloise narrowed her eyes.

“She is right Elias, that was a very rapid change,” she told Elias. “One could wonder why.”

“I think it’s a terrible mistake,” you pointed out, desperate to focus on anything other than Anthony’s presence right beside you and Elias groaned.

“How surprising, it’s not as if I’ve been hearing about that for the last couple of days.”

“Am I supposed to let you make the biggest mistake of your life?”

“It’s not the biggest mistake of my life.”

“It is,” you and Eloise said at the same time and you grinned at her.

“Thank you,” you mouthed and she winked at you.

“But do you like Lady Miriam?” Colin asked and Daphne motioned at him.

“That’s a very good question Elias because I have to admit, I didn’t think Lady Miriam was to your liking,” she mused. “You didn’t look interested in her before let alone consider courting her.”

“If anything, you honestly don’t look interested in her even now,” you stated and Elias shrugged his shoulders.

“It’s not a matter of interest.”

“I think it might be a mistake as well,” Anthony spoke for the first time and all of you turned to him. You blinked a couple of times, staring at him and Elias made a noise of discontent.

“Great, I should just court Lady Georgiana then?”

“No, I think you should reconsider Miss Cecily.”

A silence fell upon your side of the table and Benedict raised his brows, his eyes flitting between you and Anthony before he pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath but Anthony ignored him. Elias gawked at Anthony.

“Are you drunk?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You said the exact opposite thing the other day!”

“I’ve changed my mind.” Anthony said. “You look absolutely tortured whenever you dance with Lady Miriam, so you should be courting Miss Cecily if that’s what you want.”

“I cannot even take you seriously,” Elias grumbled as Daphne tilted her head.

“That’s not a bad idea at all.”

“Considering how much you talk about her at the gentleman’s club.” Simon murmured and Eloise let out a laugh.

“Wait, what is he saying?”

“That was private, Simon!”

“Oh I’m sorry, was it? I might have forgotten about it after hearing you talk about her for an hour.”

“That’s so sweet!”

All of a sudden, everyone was talking over each other, chaos erupting through your side of the table but before you could even join them, you jolted. Thankfully everyone else was busy with trying to either convince Elias or pressure him into listening so no one else was aware of how Anthony was brushing his fingertips over the back of your hand, spreading fire from the same spot to your whole body.

Benedict cleared his throat while you tried to control yourself from looking at Anthony, your heart beating in your ears.

If anybody saw, you would be in so much trouble, both of you.

You reached out with your other hand to grab a glass of water and took a huge sip but as soon as you put your glass down, the table shook with a sudden force that seemed to have happened underneath. Anthony held his breath and pulled his hand back before he gritted his teeth, glaring at Benedict who had obviously kicked him under the table.

“Is everything alright there?” Lady Bridgerton asked and both of them turned to her.

“Of course.”

“Everything is alright mother.”

You bit down on your lip in order to contain your laughter and Eloise tilted her head.

“What are you two doing?” she asked them and Benedict shrugged.

“It was an accident,” he said, sipping his drink and before you could say anything, you were distracted by Colin’s voice.

“Lady Y/N?”

You turned your head and smiled at him. “Yes?”

“I’m planning to visit France this summer,” he said, excitement brightening his face. “Would you recommend it?”

Your jaw dropped and you nodded, enthusiasm rushing through you.

“Oh absolutely!” you said. “I could even make you a list.”

“Elias, do you mind switching seats with me?” Colin asked and he shook his head.

“Not at all, I’d rather if we talked of France rather than my courting,” he said, already standing up and they quickly switched seats, and Colin grinned wide.

“What could you tell me about it?”

“Everything!” you said, sitting up straighter, your soup long forgotten as you started talking about Paris. “First of all, you simply must go to Cirque Olympique, and then…”

                                                   *

Even hours into the dinner, your heartbeat hadn’t calmed down. You had tried everything, attempted to talk about anything anyone asked you, spent almost an hour speaking to Colin and then the rest of the table but it all felt as if your mind was in a fog. You could do anything you were supposed to, but nothing at all could hold your attention completely when Anthony was there.

When it was time for you to go, the Duke had insisted that they didn’t have to see you off, so only Anthony and Lady Bridgerton went with you to the door. Even if you were dying to have another moment alone with Anthony, you knew it wasn’t possible without a scandal.

Yet, you were so taken by this newfound feeling that you could hardly care.

You were painfully aware that a similar turmoil was happening in his head as well, judging by his unwavering gaze on you while Lady Bridgerton talked to Elias and the Duke by the carriage.

“My lady,” his voice caressed your ears, making your heart skip a beat.

“My lord,” you said softly, and he leaned in to press a kiss on your hand, no doubt innocent and formal to anyone who was watching but you both knew better. His lips lingered on your skin just a moment more than it was appropriate or expected and his fingers brushed over your palm as he pulled back, sending a shiver down your spine. Elias called out for you and you took a deep breath, then approached the carriage.

“Thank you for a wonderful evening, Lady Bridgerton,” you smiled at her warmly and she hugged you.

“You’re always welcome here anytime you wish, Y/N.”

“And we expect you for dinner whenever you’re available.” The Duke said as Elias helped you into carriage, and Lady Bridgerton nodded.

“Of course,” she said. “We would love to attend.”

The Duke bowed, and he and Elias got in the carriage as well before it moved. You closed your eyes, leaning your head to the window, still in disbelief about what had happened.

It felt as if you were moving in a dream, like your body knew what to do yet your mind wouldn’t follow. When you got home, you quickly excused yourself and went upstairs and only when you closed the door behind you, you let the excitement crash upon you, the wave so strong that it took your breath away. You pressed your fingertips on your lips, an excited squeal climbing up your throat as you flung yourself on the bed. You grabbed the nearest pillow and put it over your face, then let out a gleeful scream and turned in the bed before sitting up.

Anthony had kissed you.

He had kissed you, and said he was captivated by you.

The mere thought felt so impossible that you pinched yourself so that you could make sure you hadn’t been imagining the whole evening.

‘My sweet siren’ he had called you.

A giggle escaped from your mouth as you reached under the other pillow to pull out his handkerchief, then pressed it to your chest as if it could somehow make you closer to him. You stood up from the bed, then started pacing in the room, nibbling on your lip.

This excitement almost felt too much to handle.

You had no idea how you were supposed to go to sleep, there was no way you would be able to. You wondered for a moment whether he was pacing in his room right now just like you, his thoughts consisting of only you the same way your thoughts were of him.

Would he be able to sleep?

The knock on the door pulled you out of your haze and you whirled around as the door opened, then Lucie stepped inside.

“Good evening my lady, I came to help you get ready for bed—” she stopped talking when she took in the sight of you in the middle of the room. You figured you came across as nearly unbalanced, pressing the handkerchief to your chest, your eyes glimmering with happiness, a huge smile warming your face.

“What is it?” she asked in a whisper as she closed the door behind her in a haste. “What happened?”

You let out a breath and bit down on your lip, then made your way to your bed to sit down, breathing hard.

“I don’t think I should go to bed, I can’t sleep tonight.”

“Why not?”

You ran your thumb over the monogram on the silk handkerchief, the feeling of Anthony’s lips on yours flashing in your mind before you looked up.

“Lucie,” you managed to say, your heart pacing in your chest. “I’m in love.”

Chapter 16

[oonajaeadira]

If You Will Let My Heaven Touch Your Stars (Ezra x f!reader)

Rating: Mature. 

Pairing: Ezra (Prospect film) x f!reader

Warnings: FLUFFY SMUT. INSPIRED BY THIS. Non-explicit oral (m and f receiving). Formatting may be strange in certain Tumblr themes due to paragraph spacing with the poetry.

A/N: Okay, y’all. I was looking for another reason to write some Ezra. I got inspired by this naughty confessional post and felt the need to rise to the challenge, but make it a bit soft. You know I’m allergic to writing physical doings without some emotional yearnings. So it has come to this. And I’m not sorry.

Summary: Ezra runs his mouth over some poetry. You run your mouth over some Ezra.

TAGLIST: you can always request to be on the taglist for this or any of my work. If you’d like to be on taglists for upcoming fic, please sign up here –> TAGLIST

MASTERLIST

_______________________________

You know that sigh. It will be shortly followed by a gravelly, dissatisfied “hm.”

“Hm.” 

Next will come the impatient flipping of pages as Ezra learns that the book he’s chosen from the stack he got in trade on the Pug is…”less than literary and more than malignant.”

“What’cha reading, Ez.” The main node on the electropulse generator blew during the last harvest and you’ve been doing your best to repair it for the better part of the scaling period. Better to keep eyes on the electrics than let them wander over to his bedroll where he’s stripped to his skivvies, propped up against a crate, reading.

The rotation of Ranakh-4 is almost sixty hours, and in the north hemisphere there’s always light. Should be perfect for prospectors to take shifts and get things done, but instead, it creates a scaling period--a good fifteen-hour window of intense heat and sunlight that’s too dangerous to be exposed to for long, causing lots of nasty side effects. Including skin scaling. Hence the name. So during that period you and Ezra hide in the cooled tent, sleeping, polishing gems, maintaining equipment, wasting time, and generally trying not to annoy each other too much.

That’s a joke between you. In the years you’ve known him, Ez has yet to get under your skin. Ezra’s usually up for a game of dice or five-stand during scaling period, and if you’ve got gear to clean or inventory to count, he’s good for a story. Or ten.

But after the third rotation he stopped playing games of chance with you and his stories got gradually less... crusty. He still had a lot to say, but he stuck mostly to mining anecdotes, weaving around salacious details and editing himself in the moment.

And you’re pretty sure you know why.

This isn’t the first posting you’ve had with Ezra.

There was the assignment on Phintreas. The job on TG-19. The second assignment on Phintreas--that one it was just the two of you. Just like this one. 

There was a moment near the end of that run when you took a break from digging to stretch, arching your back in the dappled sunlight and pulling your arms up and back toward the thick foliage tops. There were singing insectoid creatures on Phintreas and you’d dropped your wrists to your head to listen to their song a little, closing your eyes and hearing in their hum the chords of a song you used to love.

It was just a few seconds, the warm air on your bare shoulders, the long thin trees--actually large grass--rising and swaying above. A pleasant stretch in your lower back. But there was something off. Your ears were full of insect song but there was something missing. 

The sound of Ezra’s digging had stopped.

You turned to find him taking a break, leaning on his shovel, jumpsuit open and pulled down to a knot at his waist like yours. Dirt-streaked arms and undershirt, looking at you, staring with sad eyes, the long slopes of his mustache running into his patchy beard making him look like he was pouting more than he was. Probably. Totally lost in thought, his eyes slid down your torso. When he woke to the fact that you caught him using you as a backdrop for reverie, he didn’t even have the balls to be embarrassed. Just realigned his focus on his shovel and went back to digging, the veins straining out on his big hands.

“You okay, Ez?”

“As well as one can be, sweetheart. I feel we’re close. It is a fine day full of wonderments.”

You’d thought about that look in the days afterward. Didn’t really know what it meant for you. Until the final sleep cycle on that grass planet, the wind traveling through the fields making the grasses sing hollow and low in the night. 

“What’cha reading, Ez?” You’d come to learn that it was a magic question, one that not only got you an explanation, but perhaps a chapter or two in his baritone twang.

And that night, as you packed your final bag, he swung the spine around to read out, “Papas Cordel, Love Verses.”

He didn’t ask you if you wanted to hear any. He just started to read.

Softly. Slowly. The words were innocuous on their own but their combination was sinful, his voice melting at the back of your brain, lifting the fine hairs of your neck, slithering down your spine before making an orbit to press upon your core and vibrate there. 

He never said goodnight. Just read you a few poems full of worship and yearning in that sonorous voice of his, then rolled over and went to sleep. It left you in a panic, trying to control your breathing, in full understanding of what that look from a few days ago had really meant.

And for the duration of your next couple of jobs you spent some time in regret, wishing you’d decoded your feelings sooner or that he’d made his own clearer. You’d vowed that if you ever had the chance to go back and live that night again you wouldn’t hesitate to….what? To do what? You never got that far. Didn’t matter. Time doesn’t go backwards. After a while, it was easy enough to convince yourself that you’d just read too much into it, that you didn’t really feel anything and neither did Ez. He had just been tired and staring into space that day. And he’d just been aesthetically moved by the song of the grasses in the night wind. It was a trick of the light, and the more you rationalized it, the further the memory slipped into the realm of silly fantasy.

So when this assignment came, you’d had time enough to leave the fantasy behind and met Ezra as you always had--as a friend and a damn talented prospector you were happy to dig with. The man always got his haul and getting paired with him always meant profit.

It only took one scaling period to make you realize you were lying to yourself. 

Scaling period means getting somewhere shaded and cooled and making yourself as comfortable as possible. Which means stripping down to essentials. All those dice games trying not to look at Ezra’s broad, bared chest, looking up from a hand of cards to find his eyes quickly darting away from you…. By the third rotation you’d noticed that neither of you could make eye contact with the other anymore and after that, Ezra generally spent his downtime during scaling periods laying on his bedroll in his skivvs, reading one of the dozen books he’d scavenged back on the station.

You weren’t sure if you were flattered or embarrassed or even injured that he wouldn’t move on whatever he was tense about. But, ultimately, this arrangement was easier.

Or so you lied to yourself.

A “what’cha reading, Ez” got you a few chapters of an old time-travel adventure or a philosophical treatise on the life of some forgotten pioneer while you mended a garment or recounted the supply of viable drill bits or tried to fix the damn faulty electropulse generator for the millionth time. Something rollicking and full of resonance to keep your ears busy and your mind distracted while you focused your eyes on anything but Ezra’s bronze skin and sable eyes and full lips and big hands and thick thighs and--

This time he clicks his tongue and runs a hand through his hair, humming a high note in a kind of frustrated laugh. “I won’t devastate your ears on this one, sweetheart. Not much of interest here but some poor soul ruttin’ and scraping for talent that eludes them. How this found its way into a thing to be bought and sold I will never understand.”

And yet, he keeps reading. Silently.

After a few minutes and another wire successfully cleaned and reconnected, you repeat yourself, taunting him.

“What’cha reading, Ez.”

“Mm.” He just flips through a few more pages, refusing to answer.

“Hey.” You chuckle into your work. “What’cha reading.” 

You hear a huge intake of breath before a hold and a forced release.

“Wow,” you laugh. “Fine. Don’t waste breath on it. Just tell me which one it is so I can avoid it later.”

“Love and other Stars by Aeon Aido Raja.”

“I see. What’s it about?”

“Sadly, it is about a poet who cannot seem to make the match between words and sentiment; a volume of supposed amorous verse.”

“Amorous verse,” your hands stop working on their own. “Love...poetry?” There’s a sudden flashback to the sound of hollow reeds and soothing verses in the night. The words are a program in your brain, overwriting your inhibition and professionalism, pushing you to a deeply-coded goal to calm the flutter in your chest.

“So it claims. Although I fear it lacks full understanding of both--” His voice cuts out as he realizes you’ve stood and you’re moving toward him and his wide eyes lock to yours as you sit beside him on the bedroll. “Now what has gotten into you, sweetheart?”

You know exactly what’s gotten into you. The triggered wish of returning to that night, the built-up tension of dancing around each other in your underwear, trying to deny what’s going on, watching him purposefully respect you when you know he feels something, when he knows you do too--

What was it you were going to do if you had a chance to go back to that last night on the grass planet? Time to find out.

“Read to me.”

Ezra hesitates, unsure. “This?”

“Read it.”

His eyes flick down to follow the quick fold of your lips as you wet them with your tongue, unconsciously mimicking you, before fumbling his gaze back to the book and, with a regretful sigh, begins.

“I have never told you When your lips found my own I have never told you My dearest--

“Walking through the light of a moon in decline-- Can you blame me if I steal your kiss? If I call you to my side before it collides with the ground?”

When he looks for your reaction, you’re not sure if he’s pleading with you for permission to stop or continue.

Shit. He’s right. It isn’t great. But you’re here now, you’re going to make the most of it.

“That’s not...so bad.” And then you find out what you would have done that night--or at least how you’d start--by showing him your raised palm, lowering it slowly toward him. “Tell me if you want me to stop.” Your hand travels down through the air, just to the inch above his skivvs, waiting a moment in the aura of radiated heat there, before settling lightly over him. He never says no, never takes his eyes from yours, the only reaction coming from a small lift in his chest, the corner of his mouth curling just a fraction, and the fabric beneath your hand quickly becoming the only thing there to qualify as soft.

“Sweetheart, what you’re beginning here--”

“The only words I want from you are that poem. I want to hear you read. You stop, I stop.”

The heat hangs heavy between you, burns beneath your hand. And with a huffed exhale, Ezra starts again.

“I have never told you When your lips found my own I have never told you My dearest--

“Walking through the light of a moon in decline-- Can you blame me if I steal your kiss? If I call you to my side before it collides with the ground?”

Supporting him from underneath, you’ve begun running your thumb up and down him, and his breath hitches, bringing him to a stop. So you stop.

“You stop, I stop, Ez.”

“Believe me, gentle one, I do not wish the impediment of your affections--”

“Then don’t stop.”

In a beautiful panic, Ezra looks back to the poem. “You sure you want this one?”

You nod. “I don’t care how good it is. That’s the poem I want. Keep going. I've always liked your voice. I know you can make it pretty.”

He stares at the page a moment, and you push him--literally--gasping into a start.

“If ever I could tell you When my heaven touched your stars If ever I could tell you Beloved--”

You stop palming him when he stops to breathe, and it’s only when you trace his waistband with your fingertips that he swallows and continues, willing you to keep going--

“Waking in the night to the aching void of your embrace-- Can you forgive me if I plead your name? If I summon you to my body from wherever you are?”

Whether it’s the want in his voice or just getting further into the words, the poem is already getting better. His eyebrows begin to push together and arch, as you stretch the top of his underwear down, wrapping your hand around him. His words start riding the occasional groan which just resonate with you more and you rock yourself against the bedroll in time with your gentle, yearning pulls--

“You hold me adroitly With accurate proximity To keep your breath and my breath Two founts and one pool. To swim a in star-reflective stream of our holy recreation--”

He’s doing so well, the words wandering out deep and breathy, so beautifully controlled...until you lower your mouth to him.

Then there’s a strangled staccato grunt as he adjusts, takes a couple of quick breaths and continues--

“But your body is a.....wildfire Your lips a destruction And I give my everything over to your….cleansing devastation.”

Oh, his struggle is glorious. You can feel him trying not to buck, needing to blow out a breath between pursed lips here and there to concentrate on the print. He reads with intent, leaning into context and feeling, making a gift to you of every word.

“I have yearned for you to find me worthy of a spark An ignition... The rebirth of your combustible attentions.”

He pauses again to breathe, and while you allow him a small reprieve, he’s stopped a little too long and you abruptly halt. When you pull back to look up in reprimand, he gives you a soft smile through his panting, shaking his head in wonder. You know he’ll have plenty of praises when this is over, but he doesn’t seem to want to break the spell to say them now. When you return his little smile, he looks back to the page and continues, prompting you to return to your own administrations.

“How you draw from me each sweet effusion-- Every secret vein untapped-- Now yours in expert execution, Now open to your burning maw.”

He pushes through the poetry rather than into you, allowing you to hear him and match him. Your body begins to counter-react as you feel him brimming, turning on more need in you than you’ve felt in a while, and you show him just how well he’s doing by doing well by him. 

There’s a shift in his voice as more breath enters in and nonverbal noises begin to punctuate the words; a shift in his body as his fingers tangle in your hair and grip tightly, suggesting a final rhythm-- 

“But within the fire An aperture of...divine precipitation Where those of us who live untouched Can go to drown To die To howl…..! To see the blessed face of eternity Or the….busting open….of a thousand….wretched….stars-- You-call-me-to-sinful-prayer You-invoke-my-abject-soul I find myself in debt…!...and thrall…!... to your superior…!...divinity--”

When he stops reading this round, you show mercy as he pounds his fist into the bedroll and makes his own additions to the poem, exclamations made up of your name and curses and calls to higher powers. You can only expect a man to expel from himself wondrously one method at a time, and Ezra’s earned his reward so beautifully.

Damn his opinion. The poem was perfect. You chose correctly. Either that, or Ez’s tongue really can spin any old refuse into gold.

But the book is still held high, and as you lift from him and guide him through his aftershocks with your hand, he breathes heavy though the final verse--

“This is how I love you from afar With agony and forlorn words While you hover forever in my purview A shaft of dazzling incandescence Shining down from your sun/star Through the glass of my desire Starts and restarts an everlasting blaze”

Then, setting the book reverently on the bedroll, he takes your face in his hands, dragging his thumbs across your lips, no longer needing the page for the last lines.

“If ever I could tell you And if you will let my heaven touch your stars If ever I could tell you Beloved--”

Ezra’s kiss is achingly grateful. He tries to put into one kiss the loving equivalent of everything you’ve just done for him.

When he pulls back, he gives you the tiniest rough shake, a punctuation of his playful consternation. “Mmm,” he grunts. “While I am glad to know you find my recitals pleasing, you’re about to find out that my talent for oral ministrations do not stop at mere recitation.” With a miner’s strong arms he flips you over him onto the bedroll, making short work of your underwear and pinning your legs around his shoulders in a matter of seconds. “Now, I will not be so cruel as to make you put words to my reciprocation, unless you’d like to fill the silence to direct me to your will. Or say what you please. I will not be able to add to the conversation as I will be otherwise occupied.”

You don’t know if it’s years of running his mouth or wagging his tongue or yapping his jaw, but he’s well practiced in using allllll the muscles therein to help finish what poetry couldn’t quite accomplish.

At one point you think of surprising him and trying your own hand at reading while being entertained. But when you fumble for the book, it opens to the same poem.

But not the same poem.

The opening lines are there: “I have never told you When your lips found my own I have never told you My dearest--Walking through the light of a moon in decline--Can you blame me if I steal your kiss? If I call you to my side before it collides with the ground?”

And that’s it.

That’s where it ends. The whole published poem--a mere seven lines.

Oh, Kevva. That’s...that means….

Damn, Ezra. The mouth on you.

The book drops to the bedroll.

And you break into pieces as his heaven masterfully consumes your stars.

________________

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Taglist: @melobee @extraterrestrialdork @14mcmd1122 @grogusmum @cannedsoupsucks

[lin-nin]

Tribulation & Tenderness - Chapter 13

Ship: Main Technoblade x Reader, some Dream x Reader Plot: You're a princess in a Kingdom suffering a years long famine. In a     desperate attempt to help your people, you accept one simple offer: Marriage to the crown prince of a neighboring kingdom. Anything to help your people survive. Surely it can't be too bad, can it? Chapter List: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 Disclaimer:   Cross-posted on Wattpad (discontinued) and Ao3. This is based off of everyone's CHARACTERS. I do not write fanfic based off the actual people.

--

Chapter 13: Until My Heart Stops Beating

< | Previous Chapter

The rest of the day prior to your wedding was spent in partial tension. You never found out what the favor Techno had called for was exactly, but you didn’t mind. Truthfully, you were increasingly more focused on your wedding. It was exciting and nerve-wracking at the same time, and you practically had to force yourself to sleep that night. You awoke far earlier than normal because of it, moving around your room anxiously.

You eventually lowered yourself into your bath, taking care to make sure you were clean. You let the steam from the water curl around you, sighing and trying your best to relax. Thinking about today caused your stomach to erupt in butterflies and a smile to spread across your face. You truly hoped today went well. Eventually you stood up, stepping out of the tub and sliding into a shift.

There was a soft knock on your door after a few moments of you just sitting, and you called whoever it was in. Eret slid into the room, offering you a smile. A bundle of white fabric sat in his arms, and a few servants followed behind him with various things. “Good morning to our bride,” He practically cooed, motioning towards a servant to the table between chairs. She followed, setting down a tray where he pointed. She hurriedly bowed, leaving the room soon after. You watched Eret settle the fabric onto your bed, the remaining servants following in setting down boxes of other stuff. He sent them off, before turning to you.

“Morning Eret,” You murmured, returning his earlier smile. He seemed content, motioning towards the tray of food.

“Go ahead and eat, we’ll start with your hair. Are you nervous?” You reached for the cup of tea, bringing it to your lips and adjusting yourself so Eret had access to your hair.

“Very. Also excited, but I imagine it’s to be expected,” You managed to explain, letting Eret run a brush through your hair. You took your time with the food, enjoying the way Eret tended to your appearance. You didn’t normally allow yourself to get pampered like this, so you wouldn’t mind doing it this once. 

“I imagine so. It’ll all go fine, though. It’ll probably go by better than you expect.” He made sure your hair was laying perfectly, humming under his breath as he did.

“Hopefully it goes smoothly, I do have some concerns though,” You sighed out the words, thinking about Dream. You hoped he would behave, truly. You would be extremely upset if he didn’t.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Eret reassured. You watched him move towards the fabric on the bed, peering at the lace he picked up. The veil. Your stomach erupted into nervous butterflies at the sight of it, examining delicate lace as he brought it over. The edges were thorned vines, leaves of white lace lying beneath light blue ribbon roses. You marveled it as he brought it close, unable to help your smile.

“You really outdid yourself,” You couldn’t stop the praise from leaving your mouth, reaching out to run your fingers along it.

“Just wait until you see the full dress. Turn your head.” You did as he instructed, turning away from him so he could start setting the pins of the veil into your hair. The lace tickled your shoulders, but you did your best to keep still. He softly grasped your shoulders once he was finished, giving them a squeeze. You turned to look at him, and he smiled at you. He disappeared to the bed once more, rustling through the boxes and bringing one over. You peered into it curiously, eyeing the roses inside. They were fresh, white ones from the garden. You laughed softly, turning to face him so he could situate them in your hair.

Eret lined them up along the edge of your veil, making sure they sat perfectly in your hair. The pins would be a pain to take out later tonight, but you didn’t entirely mind it right now. “Are you finished eating?” He questioned once he finished, moving to grab another box before you replied. You nodded when he returned, watching him pull out kohl from the box.

You instinctively closed your eyes, letting him line them with the makeup without question. He softly murmured when you were good to open them. He took his time applying a stain to your cheeks and lips, stepping back to examine his work. He sighed softly, smiling at you. “You’re going to be a vision,” He murmured, making your cheeks flush.

“You think so?” You questioned, acutely aware of the fluttering of your stomach.

“I know so. Come on, let’s get you in your dress.” He motioned you to stand up, and you did so on shaking legs. The anxiety regarding your marriage was starting to leak through now, and you couldn’t hide it. Eret offered you a reassuring look, sorting through the bundles of fabric settled on your bed. He grabbed one of sections of fabric, holding it out to you. You examined it, easily identifying the petticoat and slipping it on over your shift.

Next he moved towards you, holding out another section of fabric. The actual dress. The sleeves were made of tulle, a light blue in color, flaring out away from ribbon roses at the elbows made to match the ones on your veil. The base of the dress was simple. White, with a deep scooping neckline. He helped guide it over your head, situating it around your shift. You couldn’t help but watch as he adjusted the tulle on the skirt. Ribbon Roses decorated the scalloped edges of the tulle, exposing the white skirt beneath. 

The stay was next, matching the dress with the white fabric embroidered delicately with blue roses. Eret’s brows were furrowed as he meticulously tightened the ribbons on it, making sure it sat perfectly. Once he had, he stepped back to examine you with a soft sigh. You flushed a little beneath the appraising gaze. He moved around again, grabbing a simple pair of shoes and stooping to slide them onto your feet. Moving in the dress almost felt weird, despite it not being too different in make than your most formal dresses. Perhaps it felt heavy with the meaning.

“One last touch,” Eret said, moving towards the final box on the bed. You had given him the earrings Techno gave you, as well as the necklace from Dream, for him to keep a hold of until today. You knew that was what sat within the box, watching him gingerly pick up the necklace to drape it around your neck. He tilted your head, sliding in the earrings and stepping back to give you a full look over.

“Oh, you’re gonna be the envy of so many,” He praised, and you shifted almost self consciously. The fact that you were wearing this dress caused you to fidget nervously.

“It doesn’t feel real,” You murmured, shifting around to search out the mirror you had. The rustling of your skirts felt loud in your ears, eyes roving over your appearance. It felt like something from a book, something so etherally unreal. 

“It is, I promise. I’ll go get your brother,” He whispered, stepping towards the door. You watched him, before turning your eyes back to your reflection. What would today hold for you? The ceremony was straight forward, but the celebration itself felt so unsure. Anything could happen.

A soft knock resounded at your door, causing you to turn once more. George pushed open the door, carefully shutting it behind him. He stared at you for several long moments, seeming at a loss for words. It was probably weird, seeing you about to be married.

“It’s so hard to believe you’re my baby sister,” He practically echoed your thoughts, walking towards you. You laughed softly, nodding along.

“I guess I’m really not a baby anymore, am I?” You questioned, watching as he placed his hands on your shoulders. You leaned ever so slightly into the touch, a smile tugging your lips.

“No. Are you sure you still want this?” He watched you closely, looking for any change in your expression.

“Of course. Techno is kind, and his family is enjoyable. I have easily found friends here, and I know I can just as easily make a happy life. I will always miss you and Dream, but we’ll all move on.” You gently grabbed one of his hands, squeezing it tightly. George smiled, seeming almost sad.

“The castle won’t ever be the same. You’ve grown up so much.” He returned the squeeze, and you could only nod. You did yearn for the ease you felt of your teenage years in the castle. The lack of responsibilities you had felt, being able to run around and goof off with Dream. However you felt more freedom now than you had there. It was a new feeling, but a welcome one.

“I’ll miss some parts of it, but I’m excited for my future here. Everyone is so kind,” You constantly reassured him, letting him move you away from the mirror.

“Eret said he was going to check on Technoblade, but he’d tell us when everything was ready. Are you ready for this?” He settled into one of the chairs, pulling you into the one beside him.

“As ready as I can be. I’m nervous. There’s a lot happening today,” You folded your hands in your lap, legs bouncing.

“I can imagine. You put a lot of work into planning this, didn’t you?” You sat up straight, having problems trying to relax. The nerves were unbearable.

“Sort of, I just had input. Eret handled a lot of the main plans. Him, Wilbur, and Nihachu deserve more credit than I do.” You could hardly take any of the responsibility. You didn’t put in much actual work, just feedback. 

“Still, it’s not everyday you get married. Everything will go fine,” George reassured, giving you a smile. Truly, you didn’t know what you would do without him. Probably fall apart, you imagined. The two of you chattered softly as you waited, George attempting to keep your nerves soothed. It wasn’t too long before there was a knock at the door, Eret popping his head in.

“Everything’s ready now. Are you ready?” His voice was gentle, and you offered a soft smile. 

“As ready as I can be,” You sighed, standing up. George followed, lingering right beside you.

“You know where to go, right? I’ll go ahead and wait there, give the two of you a few more moments,” Eret spoke softly, as if anything louder would break the calmness. You appreciated it, whispering your thanks as he left. George turned to you, taking your hands in his.

“The wedding will go wonderfully, I know it. Mom and Dad send their best wishes. It’s hard to believe my baby sister is all grown up and getting married now.” The way he spoke and squeezed your hands had tears springing to your eyes. They threatened to spill as he pulled you in for a hug, kissing your forehead. You carefully laid your head against his shoulder, clinging to him.

“I’m really going to miss our garden walks,” you whispered, and he nodded.

“I will too. Don’t keep them waiting, though. I don’t want your husband to come looking for you.” George finally pulled away from you, leading you towards the door to your room. You followed, taking a deep breath. Silence lapsed between the pair of you as you wandered down the hallway and stairs. You were led through the courtyard, towards the garden. Nerves pooled in your stomach, and you hoped it didn’t show.

George gripped your hand in reassurance, walking with you down the path. Eyes were on you, and you were very aware of it. Among those eyes, though, were Techno’s. At the other end of the aisle. Hands folded in front of him, a pale cape fastened around his shoulders. A blue sash was tied around his waist, similar in color to the blue accents on your dress. The emerald rose brooch sat against the stark white of his shirt, clearly visible from the other end. The black prongs of his crown stood tall, a heavy contrast to the pink locks fanned around it. His braid was ornamented with gold chains, jewels interspersed within the chains.

In short, he was definitely a regal sight standing there. You were reluctant to let go of George’s hand in exchange for Techno’s, yet did all the same. You briefly watched your brother move away, taking a spot beside Dream. You watched your friend for a few moments, shifting beneath his gaze. His gaze was dark, and he offered you a smile. You supposed it was meant to be encouraging, but it never quite reached his eyes. You didn’t care to think too much on it, attention focusing back in on Techno.

He was staring down at you, a soft look in his brown eyes. That helped quell the nerves in your chest, and you offered him a smile as soft as the look he gave you. A moment of peace, almost to yourselves, as the Officiant was droning on beside the two of you.

“...to unite two separate souls into that of one. This braid of ribbon will signify their unity and bind them together, from now until eternity.” The man lifted a thick braid of ribbon, made of three colors: red, white, and black. Small vines of flowers were interwoven with it, and it was certainly pretty. Techno kept one hand with yours, the other taking one end of the ribbon braid from the wrinkled hand holding it out to him.

“Do you swear, on all that you hold dear, that you will protect this woman with your entire being? That you will give her everything you have, in wealth and love?” He rattled as Techno began gingerly weaving the braid around your joined hands. It caused butterflies to stir in your stomach, just watching it. His eyebrows were even knitted together in concentration, the very tip of his tongue peaking out of his mouth. 

“I swear on it all, that I will care for her until I draw my last breath.” There was a warmth to his voice that had your cheeks flushing, a smile tugging the corners of your lips up further. You carefully took the braid from him when prompted, weaving it around your hands as well.

“Do you swear, to all you hold close, that you will support this man with your entirety? That through everything, injury and health, sickness and wealth, you will stay by his side?” You finished weaving the braid as he spoke, the two ends hanging loose beneath your hands.

“I swear it. I’ll be by his side until my heart stops beating.” Your voice rang clear, and the officiant seemed content with it.

“Then I will tie the loose ends of this braid. This represents the joining of your two wayward souls joining together to be one. In the presence of the sky and the earth, the trials of water and fire, you will forever be one. Even beyond mortality, you will always be with one another, through this life and the next.” As he spoke, he very carefully grasped the ends of the braid. They were tied together, locking their hands in a grasp. You couldn’t help the grin that split your face at that, turning to look up at Techno.

He offered you a soft smile, taking a step closer to you and carefully gripping your chin with his thumb and forefinger. Your stomach practically exploded into nervous butterflies. The kiss. You had forgotten the kiss. He leaned down, lips pressing to yours firmly. It was just a kiss of obligation, a part of the ceremony, but it had heat crawling over your cheeks and down your neck. He lingered, fingers gently squeezing yours. You couldn’t help but respond to the squeeze, stepping a little closer to him.

He was pulling back after a few heartbeats, smiling at you once more and turning towards the people. You couldn’t help the squeak that escaped you as he held up your bound hands, causing a few of them to cheer. Part of you wanted to hide, but you simply stuck as close to Techno’s side as you could.

“Let’s party!!” Tommy’s voice rang out from the crowd. He was clearly exhausted with all the ceremonial things, though you weren’t entirely sure you blamed him. Weddings weren’t too exciting, though your nerves would beg to differ. You felt like a frazzled mess on the inside, and you still had an entire day to go.

You and Techno stood back, watching the crowd filter towards the ball room. You glanced to the ribbon binding your hands, acutely aware of the feeling of Techno's fingers slotted between yours. You supposed that you were giving the boys time to set up for the first dance. You just accepted the silence, practically leaning against your husband.

"After the dance we'll be able to take the ribbon off. You won’t be tied to me all day." Amusement laced his voice, and you couldn’t help but laugh a little.

"It's not all bad. A little inconvenient, but all in all it's fine." You looked up to him with a smile, which he returned. Your free hand moved, toying with the ends of the ribbon. The pair of you only stood there for a little longer before you heard Tommy shouting for the pair of you to hurry up. You couldn’t help but laugh. Did he ever stop having energy? You followed Techno along the path winding through the garden, the soft chatter from the ballroom floating over the veranda.

"You did it, Big Man! You're a married man!" Tommy cheered when the pair of you walked in, slinging an arm around both of your shoulders. "Now that this is my sister-in-law," the way he said it, reeling you close to him with a shit eating grin told you this was going to be entertaining, "I can fight her now, right?"

A loud laugh bubbled past your lips at the antics, watching Techno huff and swat at his brother with his free hand. "We'll see." This seemed to be enough to placate Tommy for the time being, sending him scurrying off towards where Tubbo and Wilbur were messing with the instruments in the corner. You watched the blond pester his brother and best friend, a fond smile on your face. He was quite excitable about this all, but it's not like the pair of you had been complete strangers over the past few weeks.

Besides your common training with Techno, you would often spend time sneaking about the castle with Tommy and Tubbo, quietly helping them with all sorts of trouble that they got into. Not to mention the time you spent in the libraries by yourself, or the gardens with Eret. While in the library there were times Wilbur or Philza would visit you. You never minded it, though. Their silent companionship was warm and comfortable. Yet Techno always seemed to hesitate when it came to letting you train with his family. Surely they couldn’t be worse than him- or better, you supposed.

“Spare a coin for your thoughts?” Techno pulled you from your musings of his family, your gaze moving to him instead. You only spared a glance to the others before fully focusing on Techno.

“Just thinking about your family. How you’ve never let me really train with them. Only letting them watch. Is there a certain reason?” Your voice was soft, not willing anyone to hear your words. He paused any movement, seeming to clearly think over the answer. Or perhaps how to best frame it. You weren’t sure why he was thinking so hard, but you could practically see the wheels turning as he did.

“Tommy is reckless. Tubbo is… alright with fighting, a bit clumsy but enthusiastic. Philza is a much higher combat level than I would want you to fight just yet. As for Wilbur…” He trailed off, practically staring off behind your head. You turned, following his gaze to his older brother. The brown-haired prince was toying with the instrument, muttering to Tubbo before looking at Techno with a grin. He gave a thumbs up, and you could see Techno incline his head in a subtle nod before turning to you. “Well, Wilbur is encouraging us to dance.”

If you squinted, you swore you could see the faintest trace of pink on Techno’s cheeks. However you didn’t care to squint too hard, simply positioning the pair of you to dance. He squeezed your still joined hands, other hand hovering momentarily over the middle of your back before settling. Almost as if he had been unsure of the action. Once the two of you had settled comfortably into the position, the soft strings of Wilbur’s instrument filled the room, paired with the gentle notes from Tubbo at the piano. You were half focused on the music, partially focused on your husband. He pulled you along the floor effortlessly, spinning you with a practiced elegance you should have been expecting.

“Why not Wilbur?” You prodded again, only when you had fallen in line with the music as well as Techno. A soft sigh passed his lips as he gazed at you, eyes darting around to the people who were watching you.

“It’s complicated. Best we don’t go into it now.” His tone left no room for argument, a voice he rarely used with you- only when the pair of you trained. You responded with your own sigh, a little disappointed. You supposed you understood, but that didn’t make you any less curious. What was it that made Techno not want you to train with Wilbur?

“Later, then.” You were a little reluctant to agree. You trusted him to tell you whatever it was later. You would be rather upset if he didn’t. The two of you lapsed into silence as you danced. You were so acutely aware of many things. The gazes on you. The pressure of the ribbon braid on your hand. The feel of Techno’s hand on your back. The way you caught Dream’s dark gaze whenever he was in your line of sight. It was a lot, and truly you weren’t sure what to make out of it all.

It felt almost as soon as the dance and music had started, it was ending. Applause poured around you and you fidgeted. You were used to attention, but the attention you were receiving at your wedding was not something you could have ever prepared yourself for. Techno pulled away from you some, almost awkwardly, before reaching for the ribbon. “Why don’t we get this off and you can go dance with your brother. He looks restless.” You turned to look at George, who did in fact appear to be restless. He was shifting, eyes on the pair of you. You offered up a smile, holding up a finger to tell him you would be a moment.

The ribbon peeled from your hands after a few moments. Techno gingerly folded it, tucking it into his pocket. You smiled at him as well, rubbing your hand from where the ribbon had pressed into it. “Go, I’ll play a song. Since I’m required to.” He didn’t necessarily sound happy and you could only laugh.

“Alright. I’ll see you when I get a break. I know everyone is going to want to dance.” You slipped away from Techno to instead make way to George, grinning at him.

“Don’t look so nervous,” You teased, nudging him. He gave a shaking laugh.

“I can’t help it. There’s something almost tense about this whole thing. It feels so formal.” You understood what he meant. You knew marriages in Kinoko were different to this. They were more casual, even for royal families.

“It is strange. Almost overwhelming, isn’t it?” George had nodded in response. “Well then, Crown Prince Nofton,” you began to tease, a lopsided grin on your face. A reminder that you still were, in a way, his little sister he grew up with. “Are you going to keep me waiting?” You held out a hand, arching an eyebrow at him.

“My apologies, Crown Princess Minraelas. Would you honor me, your dearest brother, with a dance on your wedding day?” He bowed dramatically, grin matching your own. His tone was lofty, poking subtle fun at the way the courts of larger countries held themselves. You simply giggled as he took your hand, gently holding it and your shoulder with his other. “It even seems your husband will be playing a song for us.” He was struggling to contain his laughter, and you were barely managing.

The low sound of a violin drifted into the room, causing your head to turn to look at Techno. His eyes were closed as he ran the bow along the strings of the instrument, fingers moving against frets with clear familiarity. For all the resistance he had put up to playing the song, he seemed at peace with it now. You smiled, attention turning back to your brother as he pulled you into the throng of dancing people. "So it would seem," you concluded, letting the pair of you spin gently together as violin notes filled the air.

"You'll still write, won't you?" George had asked again, and you simply laughed softly.

"Always. I promise I'll tell you if I'm ever put into danger." You offered him a reassuring smile and he simply nodded. He seemed content enough, and you knew he had to be. He really was watching you grow up, wasn't he?

"If you don't write, I'm sending our entire army to rescue you." His lips quirked, a breathless laugh escaping him. You couldn't help but laugh as well.

"What makes you think I couldn't hold my own? I'm learning to fight now!" You declared, puffing your chest out just slightly. This elicited another laugh from your brother.

"No offense, but Technoblade handed you your ass. I think you might need the help of an army." You pouted at this, nose wrinkling just a little.

"Well, I doubt it'll ever come to the point of me having to truly fight."  You waved it off, shooting him a smile. “I’m well taken care of here. They like me.” You twisted, looking over to where Tubbo was speaking to Tommy. The brunet caught your gaze, brightening and offering you a cheerful wave. You lifted your hand briefly from George’s, returning the wave. Your attention returned to your brother, who simply smiled gently.

“I can tell. I just worry about you being where I can’t see you.” His voice was gentle, hand once more grasping your own. Your gaze softened slightly, head shaking just a little.

“I’m not a little girl anymore, Gogy. I swear to you, I’ll be fine. Happy. Free.” The childhood nickname had rolled off of your tongue with familiarity. A sign of how genuine you were. No formalities. Just two siblings.

He had sighed in response, hugging you tight for a moment. “I know. It’s hard to not see you as one.” You could reluctantly accept that, returning the hug. “I suppose I can’t keep your company for myself. Go, dance with Dream. He probably wants to.”

The words brought your attention to the blond, catching his eye and smiling a little. His gaze seemed conflicted- caught somewhere between soft and affectionate, and hard and frustrated. You tried your best to ignore it, waving him over slightly. He seemed to hesitate, before running his hands down the front of the green tunic he wore and heading your way. 

“Princess,” he greeted gently once he was close. Your eyes shone with light-hearted fondness, taking his proffered hand. He tugged you closer to him, one hand curled with yours while the fingers of the other dug slightly into your waist. You shrugged the grip off a little, free hand settling onto his shoulder, fingers fingers brushing the white fur of the cape that sat there. 

“For now,” You teased, beaming up at him. Mischief was clear in your grin, letting him whisk you away along the dance floor. His eye flickered with something- too quick for you to notice. Then it was looking over your head, seemingly focusing on someone else. You almost turned to look, but he was soon focused on you. He moved way too fast for you to keep up. It was exhausting, yet you weren't sure you wanted to bother with it right now. Not today.

His fingers grasped your waist tighter. "You're really set on this, aren't you? Are you even sure you truly want to become queen to him? To this nation?" Disgust and irritation laced his words. Hell, he even sounded accusatory. You frowned up at him, squaring your shoulders.

"I've told you this before. I'm going through with this. I'm fine. You and George worry too much. Praelicentiam has treated me well," you reassured. Your fingers smoothed the fur of his cloak, praying it was enough.

He still looked disgruntled, lips tugging into a small scowl. "You know if things go wrong-" he started, but you shook his head to cut him off.

"I can return to Kinoko. I know. You and George have told me this more times than I can count."  Your eyes fluttered shut in an attempt to calm yourself. His grip relaxed in the process, tugging you even closer.

"I just worry for you here. You've heard the rumors. I feel like you'd be safer in Kinoko." Where he could watch you. It was left unsaid, but definitely implied. He leaned down, pressing a feather light and affectionate kiss to your forehead. Heat rushed to your cheeks as you made to move away, saved by the clearing of a throat.

"Surely you wouldn't mind if I stole our bride for a dance?" A firm hand sat on your arm, drawing your attention to the blond man who had interrupted. Philza stood there, a kind yet unnerving smile directed to your childhood friend. 

Dream narrowed his eye for a moment before he relented, handing you over to the man. "Of course not. I'll talk to you later, princess." The distaste in his voice was palpable, but you were able to ignore it.

"You were starting to look like a deer caught in the middle of a path," Philza pulled your attention to him as he moved with you to the music. You couldn’t help but laugh nervously. 

"Dream can be a lot sometimes." Philza had simply inclined his head in acknowledgement as you spoke. Dream always had a way to be intense, and you never deciphered if it was good. It had been that way for the past year. You were hardly given time to dwell on your best friend, though. Instead you were being handed over to Tommy, who seemed far from thrilled. Just behind him you could see Wilbur, throwing him a very pointed look.

He didn't seem to linger with his dance, grumbling the whole time about how he hated these formal events. Much like the child he was. You would only laugh, knocking his ankles with your feet.

Then you were off to Tubbo, who's eyes were just as bright as his grin. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were enjoying my wedding more than I am." It was a lighthearted tease but he couldn't help but sheepishly laugh.

"For now I am, yeah," he acknowledged. You followed his gaze over your shoulder, where Schlatt stood holding a cup of wine. You supposed he wasn't looking forward to dealing with his father. You didn't blame him. Beside Schlatt stood Dream, his eye focused solely on you. The pair seemed quiet, thankfully. The idea of Schlatt talking too much with Dream made your stomach churn. You didn't doubt that Schlatt would be able to make Dream do something stupid- the older man was no doubt irritating.

The music faded to a new song, joined with a new dance partner. Your feet were aching, begging for a chance to sit down. Yet you supposed it was obligatory to dance with people. At least your new family seemed to believe so. Which is why Wilbur was now gliding you across the dance floor. He held himself with a poise very akin to Techno’s, a practiced poise and grace to his movements.

As if the way he held himself as he danced wasn't reminder enough, he couldn't help but joke, "If things had gone differently perhaps I would have been the one to promise you my last breath." He laughed, shooting you an amused smile. You echoed his laugh, briefly pondering how different Praelicentiam may have been.

"We'll never know, shall we? I think I prefer you my brother, anyways." He nodded in agreement, one hand softly patting your hair. It was exhausting, being on your feet this long. You needed to eat.

Eret seemed to realize this as they stepped up to you, holding a hand out. "One dance with me and I'll get you back to Technoblade. You've been dancing awhile." You let your shoulders sag a little.

"Just one dance, then. I'm exhausted." A whine edged into your voice. They laughed and nodded, seeming satisfied once you placed a hand into their's. Their movements were a comfort, in a way. You felt endlessly comfortable with them.

"Do you miss Kinoko?" They questioned after a few moments, making your steps stutter. It wasn't a question you expected from them.

You regained yourself, offering a soft smile. "Of course. It's my home, there's people I love there. It'll always be my home and I'll always yearn for it. The path laid ahead of me led me here, though. This is my home just as much." You loved Kinoko endlessly. Yet you were growing to love Praelicentiam. This was going to be your kingdom one day. You needed to learn to love it and it's people.

Eret seemed to think on your answer, sighing softly. "So long as you find happiness."

"I'll be happy here," you were quick to defend, offering a smile. They relented, and pulled back as the song came to an end.

"Fine, fine. Let's get you off of your feet." You were more than happy to follow Eret as they led you through the mix of people. As if it was even hard to spot Techno, where he stood talking quietly to a short man. You barely got a look at him before you were noticed. The man looked at you from behind glasses before smiling, seeming to disappear into the crowd before you got close. You frowned, lifting an eyebrow at Techno.

"Finally had enough socialization?" His voice called to you once within range. Eret squeezed your shoulder, muttering about how they needed to attend to other matters and disappearing.

"More than enough. Who was that?" You tried to locate the man in the crowd, but he was nowhere you could see. Weird.

“Someone running a favor for me.” It was a bland answer but you supposed there wasn’t much to expect. You simply relaxed into his hand as it settled between your shoulder blades, steering you towards seating. It took everything in your power to not sink into the chair as it was pulled out for you. You had a feeling that now that you were seated, you’d be there for a long while. 

Techno settled into the seat beside you, his eyes raking over everyone else. Watching as if he expected something. You followed the gaze, trying to view things as he did. Yet you couldn’t. All you saw was people partying, enjoying their time there. Eret was conversing with George, your older brother struggling to stifle laughter. Wilbur was talking to Nihachu and two people you couldn’t recognize. One was a woman, tall with a mop of curls like you had never seen. The way her fingers curled with Nihachu’s gave you enough clue on who she was. The other was a man, currently laughing over something you wished you could hear. He seemed to be laughing hard, struggling to keep ginger and white locks of hair out of his face. 

You sought out the younger two, knowing they would be joined at the hip. It wasn’t too hard. They stood with another- a boy? He looked young in the face, from what you could see given the slightly anxious expression he wore. Light patches of skin quite a few shades lighter littered him, dual colored eyes focusing on Tommy. His hair was like an extreme version of the man who was with Wilbur- yet instead of ginger there was black. As well as several patches of white as opposed to a single tuft. He was certainly a sight to behold and you swore you had never seen him before. You would have remembered him.

You pushed it aside, for now. You sought out the few other people you knew still. Dream was in a corner, arms crossed over his chest as he talked to a guard. You could tell it was a Kinoko guard, but couldn’t tell who. You tried to look harder to figure it out- you grew up with much of the guard- but it was pointless. His back was to you. It would be more worth it to continue your conversation with Technoblade. “You seem to have a lot of people doing favors for you.”

He huffed in laughter beside you, turning his attention from the people. Instead he watched you, amusement bright in brown eyes.”I’m the crown prince. Of course I have a lot of favors being done.”

“What type of favors?” You questioned, kicking your feet just slightly. You wanted to know. As much time as you spent training with Techno, you didn’t know what he did beyond that. He was still as much of a mystery to you as when he walked into Kinoko.

He shook his head, eyes flicking towards the people again. “Things I would prefer you to stay out of unless necessary. Instead of thinking about that, think about food.” You opened your mouth to complain but he was already waving a servant over, mentioning food to them. The boy nodded, turning to go fetch the food.

You let yourself focus on the food. You’d already tried pushing Techno on one subject today and had to leave it alone, you weren’t going to try a second one. It’s not that you weren’t hungry, either. Everything that had happened today had made you hungry. At least the food was good. You were still having to adjust to the amount of food too. Kinoko hadn’t been able to eat like this in quite some time. You wondered if George and Dream felt similarly to the food- though you were sure that Praelicentiam had since begun to send food over.

It was only when you had finished you truly began to wind down. So did much of the celebration. People left the room with stomachs full of wine and good food. You’d have to thank Nihachu for it. In the morning, though. She had already left with her girlfriend. You were eager to join the crowds of people leaving. You were ready to go to sleep. 

Which was a problem.

You had been taught for so much of your life what was expected of you on your wedding night. Your mom had made sure of that, unwilling to see her daughter get hurt in ignorance. Yet, it still had a weight settling in your stomach. A rock lodged in your throat. Why was it now that you felt the fear Dream was so insistent you felt? Was it because you didn’t know what to expect from Techno?

You couldn’t help but glance at him, fingers toying with your dress. You honestly hoped it was nothing like training. It made you wince, which pulled his attention to you instead. “Are you tired?” His voice was low. You hesitated, glancing towards the few people who still lingered. George and Dream had both left, as well as Tommy, Tubbo, and their tall friend. So few people were here now. You gave in and nodded. There was no point in sticking around. Techno stood up then, holding a hand out for you to take.

It was natural for you to let him lead you through the castle, despite you already knowing it pretty well. He seemed to want to make sure you got wherever you were going safely. The silence was crushing and tense. You almost felt like you were drowning in it. Could he hear the way your heart thrummed against your rib cage, or how your blood was roaring in your ears.

Yet he passed his chambers entirely, heading towards yours instead. It threw you off. Weren’t you supposed to consummate the marriage? Your confusion must have been evident, because he spoke softly, “You seem exhausted. Get some sleep.” A hand settled on your shoulder, squeezing softly. Then he leaned around you to open the door, leaving you to your thoughts and wondering why he had taken you to your room instead of his.

[pandaluc]

Love and Envy, all because of you.

When you like somebody else rather them

Characters included: Diluc, Kaeya, Childe, Jean

Warnings: not proof-read, very slight mentions of wine and fighting

g!n reader

Diluc

Diluc falling in love is something rarer than winning the lottery. So when this man falls in love, he falls really hard. Stutters, awkwardness, stares, and try-hardness. He does these all as long as you are in his sight.

However, he took such a long time to confess because fear had took over him. He feared to lose you as well, just as the way he lost his father. And well, to his surprise, he regretted not confessing earlier.

He decided to go work in Angel's Share and creek. The door swings open with Kaeya's arm around your waist, and you staring lovingly at Kaeya's eyes. Diluc's mood definitely got worse. And the fact that yoh are with his brother? He knows he has no right to get upset, but he can't ignore this burning flame in his heart the moment he saw the both of you.

He tries to maintain his composure, but deep in him was a mix of lots of emotions. He is annoyed, upset, sad, and disappointed all at the same time. And well it's not too good of a reason, but he might start treating Kaeya more harshly than before.

He is envious. In all people in Teyvat, why his brother? He can't help but stare at the both of you, thinking on the many decisions he went wrong. Thinking those opportunities he should've confessed but didn't. And the more he stares, the more his madness gets replace by sadness.

He lost again one of the few people he always treasured in his life. Though he knows that he should be happy because you are laughing joyfully in Kaeya's arms, but he can't help but imagine him being the source of your smiles.

Ever since, he will start to avoid you and will throw out his anger in paperwork and hilichurls. He distracts himself a lot, and makes sure he is very busy so that you will get off of his head and heart.

If he has to talk to you, he will make sure to have a stern face with a cold voice. He will do everything simply to push you away from him. And sometimes, he would say offensive words he didn't mean just to push you away. He does realize how much you'll get hurt when you and his friendship dies, but deep down in him he knows that this is for the good.

Kaeya

Ah yes, Kaeya, a very charming person and surely, lots in Mondstadt thinks so too. He is also a flirt and quite social, a reason why you both are friends for a very long time now.

And in his thinking, maybe it won't be such a bad idea to perhaps upgrade your relation to one another. It took him long enough to realize that he had grew feelings towards you.

He would worry a lot when you get hurt. He would make sure that nobody makes you feel uncomfortable. He started to be careful of his duties as the Cavalry Captain just so that he could see you once again. Heck, he even tried his very best to sound genuine instead of flirty when he compliments you. He was even prepared to quit drinking if that's what you find in a man. Sadly, all of his goodness, to you, was just friendliness.

After lots and lots of thinking if he actually have feelings for you, he finally decided to confess. Not until you came running up to him, continuously talking about this man you know that you fell so in love with. "May I know who is this man you fell in love with?". He took his chances but sadly, the name you said was not his. Disappointment filled Kaeya's heart, but at the same time, he found it funny. Funny, that he spent so much time making sure of his feelings that he didn't even get the chance to confess. Funny, how his confidence suddenly broke down when he knew that you had feelings for someone else.

He wanted to tell you that maybe he was the one for you. But, you looked so happy talking about this man you fell in love with. And kaeya is a smart man. He knew at that very moment that he didn't stand a chance. And that he will never be with you.

Even so, he agreed helping you to convey your feelings to the man you love. If it's only friendship you and he could have, then he will take it rather than being acquaintances. He'd remind you here and there to not get your hopes so high for this man, but everytime he does so, you force to him that you are sure of your decisions.

Because of you, he had gathered so much pain in his chest. Much pain that only wine could temporary wash off. During the evening, he'd tell you that he will be doing captain duties when in reality, he goes to his home drinking all the wine he could trying to forget about the pain you had caused him.

In times where you talk to him, he'd still seem normal and as if nothing is hurting him. But deep down, he just wishes to wrap his arms around you and be the man that will love you until the end of life.

Childe

You and Childe had been very close. He was comfortable with you. He wasn't afraid to show you his downsides, and the times where he cannot do anything but pour tears out. He did not want to hurt you as well. As much as he found fighting fun, he did not want to fight with you, ever.

That is when he realized that he had fallen in love with you. He denied it to himself a number of times but he just can't stop thinking of you. "Are they safe?" "Do they need anything?" "What if they feel alone?" "What if I lose them?". The moment he realized, he wanted to confess. He wanted to be yours. But he feared that him being part of the fatui will be a hindrance to your relationship and may affect your well-being. After all, he rarely gets time to stay and spend time with you.

But the moment he felt the feeling of envy, that is when he thought to himself that he will indeed confess and not give you up. While he was in Liyue's woods, he saw you walking with this man he does not know. He saw your hand holding someone else's. He saw your eyes full of love while staring at someone else's eyes. That exact moment, he decided to meet you as soon as possible and confess his feelings.

He was aware that it might make things awkward and that it might break the both of your friendship. But he wanted to at least do what he can, and take his chances. Some would say he was desperate, but to him, he was simply hopeful. He was hoping and wishing that you will be his.

And so he tried. But he couldn't. He felt scared. He knew he did not stand a chance. So instead, he tried to convey his feelings through actions, not through words. And he hoped to all of the archons and celestial gods that you will realize how much he yearns for your love.

Though in relationships, he doesn't get possessive and jealous easily.. Even if the both of you are just friends, he quite had become just a bit possessive and protective of you. How could you blame him after all? He really wanted you to be his, and for you to know it. He was willing to give anything and everything to you. He would even quit the fatui, despite his loyalty to the Tsaritsa, if that was the reason why you cannot love him back. Sometimes, he'd use his words to hint his feelings for you. "Is that man really all that? Don't you think that I may be better after all?" "Don't keep your hopes high though, he may leave you one day". However, you all took these phrases simply as a friendly way. Or even in a platonic way. After all, there was still a glimpse of a non-seriousness in his tone.

He had thoughts of using his fatui harbinger title to scare the man loving you off. But remembering your smile when you talk about this man, he'd rather set you free to make you happy than to see you all his with sadness in your face.

It cannot be avoided. You and his friendship was slowly but very slightly falling apart. He started to bottle up emotions and hide them from you. You started to spend more time to with your man, and less with him. And it saddened and angered him. But after much thinking, maybe it was good after all. Now that he spends less time with you, maybe his feelings will drift away. Just maybe.

Jean

The acting grandmaster of the Knights of Favonius. Always so busy with work, and sometimes pressured to help others that she would try to do more than what she could. It was a very stressful life for her, barely getting a chance to rest and take a breath. But you went to her life. She admired and appreciated you oh so much. You would remind her to always eat and sleep. You would do your very best to help her in her duties, even if she insists that it is alright not to do so. You cared for her so much that she cannot help but get feelings for you.

It was when you made her realize that she should live a life the way she actually wants to. It was when you convinced her that she is not alone when it comes to protecting Mondstadt. It was when you were always and always there for her, she realized how strong her feelings gotten. But Jean is quite the shy and quiet type. No matter how much she trusts you, she could never get herself to express her romantic love for you.

And alas, the day she never though would come happened. You had told her that you indeed have a relationship with someone else. And at that day, she felt very devastated. She knew beforehand that she never stood a chance. She knew how much opportunities of confessing she had missed. She thought she was prepared for the day to come where you are with someone else. But she thought wrong. She was listening carefully to your words. Your words of excitement and joy towards that someone you love. Of course, she pretended to be so happy for you. But if you listen closely, you could hear a hint of sadness in the tone of her voice.

The moment you left her and locked the door of her office, she looked back at her paper works and started to drown in her thoughts. So many "what ifs" and "whys" in her head that she cannot hold her tears back no matter how much she tried. She knew it was pathetic to cry over one person that has a relationship with somebody else. But for some reason, she felt the same pain she feels whenever someone in the knights die.

She wouldn't necessarily avoid you. But the moment she sees you, she suddenly gets tense out of nowhere and tends to avoid you without even her noticing. If you called her out for it and ask if anything is wrong, she will simply make her exhaustion as an excuse. You thought that it was because of paper work and duties, so you tried to help. But those nights where she slept very late was because of her uncontrollable thinking and crying caused by you and you only. She would also make herself busy and interact with other people more. She would basically do anything to keep you out of her mind.

But of course, she is still there for you whenever you need something. She is always willing to lend a hand, even if it is for a future date of you and your partner. If you feel negative emotions, she will be there to listen and try to help if you wish. She may be disappointed that you chose someone else than her, she knows how to make sure that her emotions will not cause any harm to you and to your significant other.

Author's Note

I've been receiving lots of support lately in my posts and in my ask box and for that, I am very thankful <33. I know I don't post so often so my apologies for that. But nevertheless, I want to tell y'all that I appreciate each one of you so much! You make my day brighter. Ily, and don't forget to take care of yourself! Eat, hydrate, sleep, stay safe!

[gainerstories]

Professor Plump

*UNLOCKED*

As a big fat thank you to everyone who has supported this blog and enjoyed my stories, I am unlocking one of my favorite stories off Patreon. This has been a rough year for everyone and y’all enjoy a little treat. Of course, if you want more (20+ more fattening stories in fact) you know where to go. Enjoy. 

As much as Robert Daniels loved being a professor, he woke up full of dread on the first day of fall semester. At 28 he was the youngest tenure track faculty in his department and he often felt that all eyes were on him. His first academic year had been rough, exhausting, and tiresome and he wasn’t ready to get back in the game. He just wanted his beautifully sunny and lazy summer vacation to last one or two more months.

As he sat up in bed his belly spilled forward pushing down his morning wood. There was no doubt he’d gained quite a bit of pudge in the last few months. It didn’t bother him, however, as most of his colleagues were plump and he viewed extra weight as a sign of contentment and maturity. During the school year he had actually lost weight from stress and being overworked. His new, rounder form lent a sense of satisfaction.

As Robert stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom to shower he took a close look at himself. He’d be turning 29 soon and was finally starting to look like a man. His face had grown scruffy and his chest hair finally bloomed across his pecs and down to his puffy stomach. The thirty pounds of fat that clung to his belly also gave him a more mature look. He was now firmly within “dad bod” territory and wore that badge with pride. He scooped his fat up with both his hands and gave it a hearty jiggle. He wondered if anyone on campus would comment on his somewhat weight gain.

Turning around, Robert examined his rear which was now fluffy and dimpled with cellulite. He noticed that even his ass had grown a bit hairier along with a small patch of fuzz on his lower back, framed between two bulging love handles. He could recall seeing the same patch on his father and wondering if the same was in store for himself. This memory cemented his perceived transition into manhood.

Robert’s thighs had also thickened up a bit and now touched when he was standing straight. He rubbed his thighs and gave them a slap, admiring how they bounced. Lately, he had no choice but to manspread when he sat down. Crossing his legs was a thing of the past. The added weight on his lower half gave him a sense of groundedness. All around the extra pudge made him feel strong and unshakable, despite jiggling quite a lot when he actually did shake.

Most of this excess poundage had been accrued during a month long cruise down Central America. Robert had spent almost every single day getting tipsy on fruity blended drinks and satisfying his drunchies from dusk ‘til dawn at the buffet. Carbs became his best friend, soaking up the sugary alcoholic concoctions he guzzled during the day. Altogether, cruise life was a much needed respite from the long nights of grading papers and doing research during the academic year.

His salary did not allow him to indulge in fancy foods very often, and so this cruise was an opportunity to go hog wild. He made a conscious decision to eat and live like a king. As a result, he began to notice his body expanding only midway through the trip. It seemed as though out of nowhere he had grown a squishy paunch that jutted out behind his shirts. By the end of the vacation he was even larger, noticing fat accumulating all over his body.

As he stood in front of his bathroom mirror, Robert found himself particularly fascinated by the small white stretch marks that had formed at the top of his inner thighs. He traced his fingers over their subtle indentations. He hadn’t seen fresh stretch marks since puberty when his shoulders expanded overnight one summer. He was shocked to see the same thing happen simply from overeating on a long vacation.

Plump, tan, and satisfied, Robert stepped into the shower with vigor and began to get ready for his first day back to work. He trimmed his wild scruff back to a presentable shadow and styled his hair. He then slipped into underwear that clung more than usual to his meaty rump and resultantly compressed his bulge more than usual. He would have to remember to buy some new pairs. T-shirts had also grown a bit snug but this was not a huge concern for they would be hidden behind a button up. What he hadn’t considered was that his button ups from last year would also struggle to fit around his new body.

Robert sucked in his gut while doing each button. He let his stomach spill forward and was shocked at just how much the shirt did not fit. Scrambling through his closet he found the loosest button up he owned and put it on. It was still snug and would definitely be strained when he sat down, but it would have to suffice. Next, he slid into his stretchiest pair of chinos and was instantly filled with anxiety.

The fabric clung to his thighs and ass leaving little to the imagination. This would have been tolerable except for the fact that the waistband would not button no matter how hard he tried. With no other option, Robert scrounged a safety pin from the utility drawer and fastened the pants closed. Donning one of his bulkier belts he hoped no one would notice he’d outgrown his pants.

His day commenced with a faculty meeting catered with coffee and pastries. Although he had eaten a breakfast sandwich immediately upon getting to campus, he grabbed a healthy looking danish for the meeting. It was dry and mediocre as campus food tended to be, but that didn’t stop him from inhaling it within minutes. A few of his colleagues eyed his bulging waistline although no one made a comment.

Midway through the two hour meeting Robert found that his stomach was already growling to be fed. With no other choice, he would have to eat another Danish despite the fact he would be the only one going for seconds. He stood to grab one more danish and as he sat down he heard the unmistakable noise of a seam busting. Praying no one else heard, he subtly reached down to his thighs where a small hole had formed.

After the meeting he headed straight to the bathroom to examine the damage. It wasn’t too bad, maybe just an inch or so large. Plus, his underwear matched his pants so it was barely noticeable. He figured he could get through the day without anyone noticing. Although no one noticed the tear in his pants, his students were fully aware of his newfound growth.

“Mr. Daniels lookin’ THICK,” someone commented before his first class began.

Robert ignored the comment and got on with his lecture. Still, in the back of his head he worried about his appearance and snug outfit. There was no question he would be investing in some new work clothes. By the end of the class he was hungry once again. At least it was lunch time, so he felt justified in heading to the student union for a big meal. He grabbed a massive burrito, chips and guac, a cookie, and large soda which he brought back to his desk.

Such a filling lunch was exactly what he needed. The food was comforting and satisfying, giving the plump professor a sense of peace. After scarfing it all down he leaned back in his chair and sighed. Just as he did so two buttons on his shirt went shooting across the room. “Fuck,” he said aloud to himself and went searching for the buttons so he could sew them back on. As he knelt on his hands and knees he felt the contents of his belly slosh forward and the seam of his pants rip even further.

Eventually, he found the missing buttons and broke out the sewing kit to get them back on. By the time he was finished stitching himself back into his clothes, there was someone knocking at his door. He’d forgotten about office hours. In a mad rush he cleaned the food wrappers off his desk and greeted the student. As he sat back down at his desk the same two buttons snapped back off and shot under his desk. Although the student overtly stared at Robert’s bulging gut, filled to the brim with his fattening lunch, neither of them acknowledged the embarrassment.

After the student left, Robert took off the button up and slipped his spare sport coat over his tee. The tee was more than a little snug and definitely didn’t hide much- the indentation of his belly button was fully visible- but it would have to do. After a constant stream of students over the course of an hour Robert rushed to his next class. The lecture left Robert feeling exhausted and tired. It was evening and he had grown peckish again, so he decided to grab a bite to eat before he had a meeting with the dean and could go home.

Hawaiian barbecue sounded like a good idea when he ordered it. However, after gobbling up every last morsel, the young professor felt uncomfortably full and bloated. He yearned for to return to the cruise ship where he could take a long nap after overindulging, but instead he sluggishly headed to the dean’s office. His belly had swelled considerably with the Hawaiian food and he found himself having to stretch the hem of his shirt down to ensure his gut was fully concealed.

Once inside, Robert cautiously took a seat in one of the rickety old chairs in the waiting room for the dean. After a few seconds he felt a snap underneath his ass as the seat of the chair gave way. Trying to be as subtle as possible, Robert cautiously lifted himself from the broken chair and casually examined a painting on the wall until the dean greeted him.

Once inside, the dean offered him a home baked muffin that his wife had made. Robert tried to refuse at first but the dean pushed it on him. He began pecking at the muffin and realized it was indeed quite moist and delicious. He polished it off in a couple minutes and resisted licking his fingers. By the end of the meeting the dean persuaded Robert to take one more muffin for the road. Without a second thought, Robert greedily snatched the biggest muffin of the bunch.

As he walked through the campus at night, illuminated by lanterns, Robert gobbled up the muffin while reflecting on the fact that he was in desperate need of a new wardrobe. His belly was stuffed to capacity and the sheer weight of it bulging out in front of him forced Robert to walk slow and steady with his shoulders back and hips forward. Freed from his constricting button up, his rounded gut peeked out from behind the sport coat and wobbled back and forth with each step to his car.

The walk seemed longer than usual, likely because he was slower than usual. Somewhat winded, Robert couldn’t wait to sit down as he opened the door to his hatchback. However, as he did so, a booming snap assaulted his ears and he felt his belly spill forward into his lap. Robert’s belt had completely snapped in half while the thigh of his pants simultaneously split all the way open from knee to crotch. His girth was simply too much to contain.

At least it happened at the end of the day, he told himself.

[pure-kirarin]

The flowers of evil - Sanji x f!reader (Hanahaki)

A/N : Hiii ! thanks a lot for this request. I had a lot of fun writing it ! I didn’t know what hanahaki was before. I really adored it. It’s such a beautiful metaphore for one-sided love. I hope that you will like this ! 

Hanahaki definition : a fictional disease where the victim of unrequited or one-sided love begins to vomit or cough up the petals and flowers of a flowering plant growing in their lungs, which will eventually grow large enough to render breathing impossible if left untreated (wiki)

Warnings : Angst (but happy ending) - Unrequited love

____________________

You forgot when it all started, when these doomed flowers of evil began to blossom allover your body, asphyxiating you, extracting the air from your lungs. The mysterious sickness took over your body, metamorphosing it into a garden of murderous flowers.

Red spider lilies, a field of them, encercled your frail limbs in your sleep, strangling you almost to death, sealing your agony. It was a slow process, a sadistic sickness that savoured each second of torture.

But what was worse ? The pain of the thrones scratching the delicate skin or the pain of a love that was doomed to fail ?

As the flowers grew, you simply withered. Watered by your tears, every day, every breath bringing you closer to an end. For a crime you weren't guilty of, for a love you have never asked for.

« If someone told me that I'd die this way...I would've killed myself. »

And it was true. Your paths crossed with the Strawhats by a mysterious fate. They have found you just after your ship got wrecked by the marine.

You were the only survivor. How ironic.

It was as if you survived just to die to that illness.

The evil flowers have spared you to savour the pain.

Since there were no options, you had to stay with them, but little by little they grew on you just as you grew on them. But someone stood out. His kindness was something you have never encountered before. It was all in the eyes, in his laugh, in the way he treated you like you were the only woman on earth. Oh god, it seemed perfect, too perfect ?

« I am so happy to be his friend ! »

Why couldn't you settle for that ? Why did you want more ?

It was greed and yearning. Craving a happiness that wasn't yours. He wasn't one to give his heart to one woman. You knew it too well, but then, why did you want otherwise ?

The heart wants what it wants. You stopped looking for a reason.

It all started by a habit, a ritual. Coffee in the morning, no sugar, no breakfast.

The cook always woke up earlier to prepare food for the crew. You on the other hand, weren't a breakfast person.

Until you met him.

« Y/N-chan, you're up early today too. » He said, back turned to you, pouring coffee in a cup.

The smell of the coffee invaded the kitchen. You were sitting in front of the table, hair in a mess, yawning. His voice was soft and comforting ; a morning breeze.

«I like waking up early. I get some peaceful moments before everyone else wakes up. » You chuckle.

He puts the cup in front of you. Not only the cup, also a plate with a pastry on it ; a croissant. You look at Sanji, confused ; he knew that you didn't eat for breakfast.

« I made this especially for you, (Y/N)-chan. It's bad to skip breakfast. »

You still remember the buttery richness of the croissant, the face he made as your teeth sunk into it, Just try it for me, he said.  And he was right. It was delicious. Was it his skill as a chef, or his encouraging smile that stimulated your appetite ?

Your appetite for something else grew simultaneously.

The long nights you have spent contemplating the stars on the deck. The times he taught you how to use a knife and how you almost cut your finger. And the sweet, sweet taste of croissant balancing the bitterness of coffee, like a bandaid on a deadly wound.

If you didn't love me, why did you do all of this ?

Sometimes, when your chest couldn't take it anymore, you were visited by that thought, that cruel thought. You blamed him. How couldn't you ? It was his kindness that made you fall. It was his gentle smile that was going to be the end of you. And yet, what hurt most wasn't the flowers that grew in your lungs, it was the pain of not being loved in return. The pain of not being good enough for a man like him.

At first, it was a few petals that you coughed. You didn't understand, but when he was closer to you, you felt so light, when he was further, it felt like death. Your yearning for him grew, your body was moved by a fever that made you wish to be dead.

It took you a few days to figure out that the sickness that was gnawing you from the inside like a worm was love sickness.

You knew the condition, it was hanahaki, you have read about it in some fairytales. How could it be real ? Its victim has flowers grow inside of them, grow till it kills them silently.

You tried to hide it, but how when you had a month to live at best ? Everyone started to notice your pale complexion.

You were decaying by the day. In front of you, you had the disease and the cure.

« (Y/N)-chan » His voice. His damned voice making you fall even more. You turn to the side, facing the wall, resting in your bed. You refused to look at him. Did you really loathe him for not loving you back ?

Seeing that you didn't answer, he just keeps talking,

« These are beautiful flowers.. » He says as he looks at the red spider lilies resting in a porcelain vase. Would he say the same if he saw the flowers on your body ?...

« You should tell me if you don't feel alright...You're different those days. You don't even eat anymore. You can count on me. I know that you will feel better if you open up.

-You know nothing at all, Sanji »

You cut him off and sit down on the bed. You were just wearing a nightgown that showed your bruised arms. Fine cuts caused by the flowers that grew on your skin were displayed. You had to snatch them violently multiple times a day.  

« You know nothing at all, you said that these flowers were beautiful. Do you even know what they mean..Sanji ? »

He looks at you in disbelief, he holds your arm, looking at the cuts. His touch feels like ice and fire on the bruised skin. His thumb caresses softly a wound, making you shiver. Don’t touch me in that way or I will fall even more...

-Who did this to you ?!

The bruises were like ones of ropes ; it was the stem of the roses that would encircle your arms in your sleep. You snatched off your arm, how could you tell him that it was him ?

You did this to me Sanji.

- It's none of your business...Come on. Leave me alone. I don't want to see you.

The words you spit out felt like poison and hurt him.  You didn't even dare looking in his eyes. Those cruel words, you said them so he goes away. To stop the suffering. His worrying looks hurt more as they emphasized your unrequited love. You put a hand on your lips, nauseous.

-(Y/N) ! This is serious. What is the matter with you ? You look sick. I'll call Chopper right now. You go rest.

He gets up and you follow him, almost falling on the ground. You hold his arm, head on his back.

-Don't go ! Please don't. I don't want anyone to see me like this. There isn't anything Chopper can do for me. I am done with all of this. I want it all to end.

[ If it hurts this much, why am I still in love with you ? If it pains me so much, enough to kill me, why does it have to be you ?

If only I have closed my eyes and let myself die that day. If only I died along with my comrades. I would have had a meaningful death.

But here I am, having to die of love.]

You stepped back and started caughing red petals. You put both your hands on your mouth trying to cover it. Sanji turns back, terrified. He didn't understand what was with you, his cheerful, gentle (Y/N)-chan. He didn't understand why you pushed him away like this, as if his fingers burned your skin. As if his mere sight was killing you.

-Don't look at me...Please...Sanji...Don't look. You fall to the ground, your head looking down and tears running down your cheeks. It pained him so much to see you in that state. The petals you were coughing looked like blood. It was stupid, he felt cruel to think that even in such a state you looked so delicate, a flower.

He held the hand that you had on your face and moved it away to take a look at your face, eyebrows frowned, an anger growing inside of him. So, you, his (Y/N)-chan was in love with a bastard that didn't love you back ? It was certain. He knew about this condition.

Hanahaki, a mythical disease born out of one-sided love.

-(Y/N)-chan...This is...

-Hanahaki. You whisper, you can't hide it anymore now, it's too late,

He holds you against his chest, now thorns growing around your body. And you thought that in that moment, you could die in his arms and you'd be happy. Maybe in another life, you thought, maybe in another universe you'll love me back. Maybe it's the price I have to pay for having you...

-Don't die on me. Please. I am sure that...That this bastard loves you back. I mean...You are a goddess, (Y/N). How could anyone...do this to you. Tsk. It makes me sick just to think of it. I'll go look for him and bring him right now ! Hell, I'll kill him if he doesn't love you back.

You have a bitter smile. The flowers grow more and more, you were now vomiting entiere flowers that fell into his lap. You held onto him tighter.

-It's impossible...He is...An idiot...He doesn't even notice and it's right in front of his eyes...

-It doesn't matter. Just tell me who and I wi-

-Why ?! Why do you keep being so kind to me ? Why did you do all of this ? Why are you so gentle, so caring ? Why did you care that I don't eat breakfast ? Why did you make sure I don't feel cold on the deck ? And most of all, why are you like this with all girls ? It kills me...bitter laugh.  Your kindness is killing me ! Don't act like this if you don't want girls to fall for you, you idiot ! Don't play with my feelings !

The blond man froze instantly. He has never imagined than a woman like you would fall for him, and to realize that you were suffering because of him left him in a loss of words. Him, Sanji, the lovecook, the man that devoted all of his existence to please women, those delicate creatures that he wasn't worthy of. The same Sanji was the reason of your distress and the object of your desire.

To feel desired to the point of death was flattering in a cruel way but also so foreign. He has convinced himself that no woman would love him and he was happy that way. It was enough for him to share the air that you breathe. But you were offering more ; a flower so pure, so delicate that his fingers could turn into dust.

-It's me that you love ?...

You didn't have any strenght left. You didn't answer. Your days were counted. You felt your chest getting lighter after confessing. It was relief. Words that had to be said.

-It's because of me that you were suffering so much...(Y/N)-chan...You...Wanted someone like me this much ?

He holds you tighter and the thorns sink in his skin, but he didn't care much, the pain that he was feeling inside was way bigger.

-I never thought that I deserved someone like you. I never thought that I deserved to be loved. It was enough for me to see you smile. But you are telling me that you are dying because I don't love you back ?...I would give up my life for you.  And because you want someone like me, because you love me this much, I will make you the happiest woman on earth.

It was at this moment that you made him realize, you, on the verge of death, that even a man like him could be loved ; A man that even his father didn't want.

Your eyes were veiled by tears, was he saying this only to mess with you further ? However, the flowers stopped from spreading, and the petals started fading away little by little.

-Sanji...You...I...

He puts a finger on your lips and just says with a smile ;

- (Y/N)-chan, thank you for loving me. For wanting me so bad...Nobody has every loved me the way you do...Nobody has ever loved me to death. 

He kisses your tears and adds ; 

-I love you too. 

[issaxcharlie]

Ghost of you (1/2)

Pairing: Luke Patterson x Fem Reader

This fic is inspired by Dancing with your ghost by Sasha Sloan and specially Ghost of you from 5SOS and one of its verses also makes an appearance.

It’s also a collaboration I did with the lovely @cookiebuba, thank you for trusting me to write it, love! (I really hope you like it🥺)

Summary: This first part is angst and is basically Y/N catching up with her boyfriend Luke one last time in the 90’s and then Luke founding her once he’s back in 2020.

And that's the only thing I'll say because I really don't want to spoil you. I also adored to write it🥺💖

1997

“Hello again, my love.

Today marks 2 years since you left, And it's still as hard as the first day. One of the hardest things is waking up. Sometimes I stay almost an hour on bed, looking towards the door. Terrified to turn to your side and find it empty again.

Every night I try to rest for hours until finally exhaustion allows me to sleep wrapped in one of your old shirts, pretending that you are quietly sleeping next to me. Sometimes I have to play the only slow song from the first and last Sunset Curve record to ease the craving of you and in the hope that it will help my mind to meet you in my dreams. Those nights when I am lucky enough to find you are what keeps me relatively sane, because no matter how much it hurts to have to say goodbye, not seeing you again would be so much more painful.

I could dream of us anywhere, doing anything. But it’s always the same dream, what I yearn most projected in it. It always starts with me opening the door of our house, you are writing a song in the living room and as soon as you look at me you smile as if you had not seen me in years, wrapping me in your arms with all your strength.

You tell me how much you love me, and that when you are without me you feel as if your soul is missing. And then you ask me to promise not to leave you again. And it hurts, it hurts like fucking hell. Because I know I’m dreaming. Because I know it’s not actually you. Because I know I can’t promise you that. And god, how much I want to promise you that.

I divert the conversation crashing my lips on yours because I don’t want to lie to you, even if it’s only a dream. You pick me up and I hang my legs around your waist. And for a second I allow myself to forget. I sink in your perfume, in your arms, in your kisses, in how your tongue feels inside my mouth, in how your hands walk all over my body, In how my name sounds almost magical in your husky voice.

We spent the rest of the day just being us. Laughing, writing, playing, singing.

I sing to you the last song I wrote, the one I wrote especially for you after the first dream. The first time it just came out naturally, like it had been there the whole time. When I woke up I decided to write it down and complete it, and the next time I dreamed you I started playing it for you, just like all the following times. Because it’s the only excuse I have to cry there, for you to comfort me. Because it’s the only way I have for you to understand a little of what I am suffering without ruining the illusion.

“Come here beautiful, you’ll never have to experience something like that, I promise. You’ll dance with the real deal.” If you only knew, love.

That's when I melt on you. The tears don’t stop falling as you practically wrap me in your arms and we dance calmly around the room, I’m sobbing like crazy while you sing in my ear to try to help me relax.

I can tell you’re freaking out, comforting someone while crying was never your strong suit, but being me you always try your best,and that was more than enough.

The dream always ends with me in your arms, when I finally calm down and our heartbeats sound as one. Everything feels good for a second until suddenly I can't hear yours anymore. I beg you to hold on to me but little by little you fade away. I try to dance alone, pretending that you are still there to try to make you reappear, but I never get it. I never get you. So I keep dancing and crying until the stabbing pain wakes me up.

And I know it sounds awful and heartbreaking, but I can assure you, If to see the shine in your eyes, hear your voice and feel your lips, I have to end up dancing with the ghost of you, I’ll do it every single time. It's worth it... you are worth it. I would happily pay for the suffering I go through when I wake up every day in order to continue living the good moments.

I officially released the song a month ago, and it's doing fairly good. I knew I had to come to tell you, and it was a good excuse to finally dare to tell you that I still find you recurrently in my dreams. You will always be the love of my life, my biggest dream. I love you Luke, yesterday, today and always.”

After talking to him for hours, she gets up, wipes her knees, and examines the tombstone of her beloved for a few more seconds before leaving the cemetery.

The only thing on her mind right now is how unfair life was with her.

2020

After several months Julie finally decided to hear the music that she used to listen with her mother at full volume every day. Iconic songs from the 90's that marked the life of her mommy and later, in some way, hers.

‘Ghost of you’ starts playing and Julie can't help but feel even more connected to the song now that she lost Rose and the boys came into her life.

Just as she thinks of them almost as if she had summoned them, Sunset Curve appears. Reggie is about to speak when Alex puts his hand on his mouth. The three turn pale and begin to search where the sound is coming from, until the three approach their friend's laptop, a tear instantly falling from Luke's eyes.

“Ghost of you by Y/N Y/L. The story says that the poor thing lost the love of her life when she was just a teenager, she couldn’t recover from that loss. 2 years later she released this song to honor his lover on the anniversary of his death, and ended being one of the most iconic songs of the 90's era."

“Dancing through our house with the ghost of you. Cleaning up today, found that old Zeppelin shirt you wore when you ran away, and no one could feel your hurt.”

There is no doubt that she wrote it for him. The pain on the young woman's face makes him want to hit his head against the wall until he’s unconscious.

Reggie and Alex aren’t in better shape, they both seem about to pass out. Julie wasn’t expecting them to be so affected over an old love song.

“I know the feeling guys, her voice is breathtaking and heartbreaking at the same time, is insane. I know she would have done a lot more of amazing music if she’d had more time.”

If Luke's heart continued beating it probably would have stopped at that very moment.

“Julie, What do you mean with If she’d had more time?”

“She died a month after releasing the song in a car accident. I think in 1997.”

THANK YOU FOR READING, part 2 HERE✨

[mandoalorian]

Borrowed Time [Din Djarin x F!Reader]

ੈ♡˳‧₊*: • Chapter 2: The Way ✩࿐ ˚.✧

Summary: You are the princess of Mandalore, held hostage on your own planet by Moff Gideon and his army of Imperial troopers. Left with no choice, you send out a distress signal; a plea for protection— and who comes? None other than Din Djarin, a foundling of The Death Watch. He, by creed, is your sworn enemy. And where you have asked for his protection, he has been told by his mentor that he must marry you and gain the ability to restore Mandalore to its former glory.

Word Count: 2500>

Warnings: Domestic!Din comes with his own warning.

Series Masterlist **reblogs appreciated!

Din pulled up the throttle and exited hyperspace, thankful that he was now in the perimeter of the hot and arid world of Mandalore. He'd never been to Mandalore before, only heard talks and folklore from the creed who raised him. He had thought that, since the war, Mandalore had become inhospitable. He'd thought a lot of things— but now, as it turned out, not everything was as it seemed.

When the Imperials took over Mandalore, it was said that they slaughtered the monarchy, ruthlessly, and showed no remorse. Whilst no body of yours was ever discovered, the absence in communication from you, the princess, was enough to assume that you had passed away alongside the other Mandalorians. Kriff— even a memorial had been held for you.

Din didn't know how to feel… he was being sent out to protect and marry a princess. Him, out of all people. Din sighed, leaning into the plushness of his leather pilot chair. "I don't understand kid," he hummed, shaking his head as his ship glided through the stars. He watched as he neared your planet, anxiety nesting in his tummy. "Why couldn't she assign Paz to marry her? Or one of the other Mandalorians."

Grogu, Din Djarin's little green bean of a son, garbled something incoherent, blinking his big black eyes innocently. "Hey! Speak for yourself!" Din chastised, wiggling his finger. Grogu giggled and Din rolled his eyes under his beskar helmet. He had no idea how this would possibly go, but as long as he had Grogu by his side, he knew he'd be okay.

As he approached Mandalore, he set the ship for landing. He apprehended some Imp infiltrating the comms system, requesting Din to state his business; although strangely, nothing of that nature occurred. He wasn't going to argue over it. It just meant he'd spent the last four hours making up excuses as to why he was going to Mandalore for no good reason.

"I could say we're going to Mandalore for…. a farmer's market. Do you think they have a farmer's market?" Din quizzed. Grogu spluttered in disagreement. "What about… sourberry picking?" Din shrugged helplessly and Grogu made another sound of dismay. "Well I don't see you having any bright ideas!"

The child reached over to a lever on the ship and groaned wantonly, his little claws flexing as he yearned to grab the ball his father would always let him play with. Din sighed in defeat, unable to resist his son, and unscrewed the silver ball from the lever. Grogu squealed excitedly and immediately used his special powers to lift the ball in the air. He watched it float around the cockpit with a curious glint in his eyes and Din let out another deep exhale.

"No doing the magic hand thing on Mandalore either, especially not in front of the princess. You heard what the Armorer said about you guys… the Jedi. If there was a war between the Jedi and the Mandalorians then the chances are she's not going to take a liking to you lifting up rocks at your own free will. Just please be on your best behaviour. Please?" Din asked. Grogu curled his large ears in understanding and Din smiled. "Thank you. Now, I'm going to make some bone broth before we land. Want some?"

Grogu grinned happily in affirmation, his two little teeth pointing over his lips and the corners of his round eyes crinkling with delight. Bone broth sounded yummy right now.

"Your highness, The Razor Crest has requested permission to land in docking bay 94 of the palace. Do you accept or deny?" An Imperial soldier asked you.

You blinked momentarily. Razor Crest? That ship was pre-Empire. "Yes, that's fine." you nodded casually, looking down at your hands until the guard had left your quarters.

You had to play it cool. Nobody knew that you had sent out a distress call and nobody could know— it had to remain a secret, because if an Imp found out, they'd have no choice but to tell Moff Gideon. And if Moff Gideon found out that you were communicating with surviving Mandalorians, he'd have you done for treason. You may have been the princess, but he was still technically the Manda'lor, and not only that, he was a high ranking Imperial officer. You couldn't mess this up.

You pulled yourself out of your bed and slid your feet into your fluffy slippers, grabbing a silk robe and draping it over your body. They were here already. You couldn't believe it. Your protection. You wondered many things; would they be human or another far off species? How many eyes would they have— and what colour? Blue? Green? Brown? Pink? Would they have hair, and if so, is it long or short, curly or straight? So many questions.

Din held Grogu tight in one arm as he left the ship, and let a nervous hand drop his thigh holster just in case he encountered any trouble. He was thankful to be able to dock within the palace walls because it meant he didn't have to walk for miles in order to reach you. The anxiety was beginning to settle in. Mandalore was important to all Mandalorians, and the monarchy was something they respected very much. Din couldn't even think about marrying you and what that meant, even though the beskar wedding rings that the Armorer had forged were already weighing him down... all he could fixate on was how he was even going to talk to you. You were literally royalty. You came from the Kryze bloodline who were some of the greatest Mandalorian leaders. He'd read about you and your people in storybooks. Leaving Nevarro was one thing; because Din had left his home planet many times to do bounties and Guild Work. But this time, he wasn't even sure when he'd return or if he'd return. Mandalore could be his new home. If he were to marry you, this could be his new life, and Din wasn't sure if he was ready for such a commitment.

As he approached the palace, a cold chill hung over his shoulders and Grogu scowled at the onlookers. The Imperials who guarded your home watched as Din walked through the gardens, their own fingers feeling very trigger happy. A Mandalorian on Mandalore? What were the chances? It was said that the Mandalorians had been obliterated; wiped out and scattered amongst the galaxy to fend for themselves. Of course it would be ridiculous to assume that their entire creed had become extinct, but no Imperial would have ever expected to see a Mandalorian, suited up in full beskar armour, back on Mandalore. Especially since the princess had been announced dead by Moff Gideon after the great take-over. Immediately, the Imperial guards knew that something wasn't right. A Mandalorian had no reason to be on Mandalore— not after everything that had happened to their people.

As Din approached the gates, he couldn't help but feel the glares of his enemies grow colder, and their stares burned into his sheathed body. Grogu made a questioning noise and Din shushed him.

"I don't know…" Din mumbled, not wanting to cause too much fuss or bring too much attention to him and his son.

The point was; the princess had accepted the Mandalorian's request to land in the palace docking bay. The princess was apprehending his arrival. She knew about this.

The two troopers who manned the entrance of the palace did open the doors to Din, although begrudgingly. The strange feeling that surrounded the duo was not lost on Din. He wondered if it was in fact a trap. Maybe the plea the Armorer had received was an old holo recording of your voice that the Imperials had utilized to get a Mandalorian sent out. Either the Imperials were expecting Din, or they weren't expecting him at all. But Din had just assumed the princess had at least made it safe for him to come.

The lobby of the palace was enormous. Beautiful marble floor that must have been centuries old. Ornaments and flower arrangements stood erect on every corner and tall, gold pillars held the building together. Din wondered where he'd find you, but his pondering was cut short when he heard your delicate footsteps clicking against the floor. He turned around, his grip on his son tightening in anticipation, but the moment his eyes met yours, his whole body deflated.

There you were; the Princess of Mandalore.

Din couldn't find words. His whole body involuntarily tensed up as his gaze raked your body. It was perfect; you were shaped like a goddess, or perhaps one of the angels from the moon of Iego. Your hair was the most beautiful colour and Din admired the way it shone under the amber candlelight. Your eyes were doe-like and sparkling just like the stars, and your lips were simply the perfect plumpless.

But your heart was struck with fear when you saw the Mandalorian; fully dressed in beskar armour and a helmet. Not a single inch of skin was on sight, and your vision immediately turned red. There was only one Mandalorian tribe who never took off their helmet; and it was the tribe who was responsible for the death of your mother. It couldn't be…

Grogu's sweet little voice interrupted the silence, his garbles echoing throughout the extensively sized yet empty room.

Your lips curled into a smile as you approached the child, extending your arms and taking him out of Din's grip. "Hello friend." you cooed, and the little green bean giggled under your touch.

"He likes you," Din said, his voice modulated from under the helmet. "He doesn't like many people."

You ignored Din's comment, too busy fussing over the child. Grogu laughed and squeaked as you caressed his floppy ears. "Grogu, hm? You're a cutie."

Din furrowed his eyebrows together, perplexed. He wasn't the best at understanding Grogu, but how did you know his name already? Din hadn't told you.

"Oh, you like it?" You asked curiously, taking your earring out of your ear and placing it in Grogu's claw. "It's a ruby."

Wait— you were talking to him. You could understand him. The only person who could fluently communicate with Grogu was Ahsoka Tano, and that was because she was force sensitive. Of course Din could understand menial gestures and phrases, but here you were, the princess of Mandalore, having a full conversation with the little green bean. For a brief second, Din considered if you had any force-like abilities similar to what Grogu and Ahsoka had. But the thought passed fleetingly. There was no way a Mandalorian could have force powers. Not after the war between Mandalore and the Jedi sorcerers.

"His name is Din Djarin… I see." you nodded knowingly at Grogu before glancing up at the Mandalorian.

"Uh- yeah, that's me," Din said awkwardly, taking a step closer to you. "It's an honour to meet you, your highness. I must admit, I wasn't expecting to visit Mandalore tonight. Or ever- really." Din rambled, picking at his mustard coloured gloves.

"Do they still… do they still think I'm dead?" you asked uncertainly. Din nodded and you swallowed. The Imperials had really done a good job of covering up your existence then. You glanced back down at Grogu, and back up at the Mandalorian. "You walked through the palace gardens… dressed like that?" you asked him with a frown.

Din looked down at his armour in bewilderment— your comment suggesting that there was something wrong with what he was wearing. "Uh- yes?"

Your eyes went comically wide and you thrusted the child back into Din's chest. "Are you out of your mind?" you gasped, slapping your hands over your mouth in distress.

Din placed a hand on his hip. "Excuse me?"

"Take off your helmet." you demanded, your eyes stone cold.

"What? No!" Din gasped, taken aback. "Why aren't you wearing your helmet?"

You blinked. "Why would I? I'm not in battle!" you argued, raising your voice slightly. "Take off your helmet, that is an order from your Manda'lor."

"How could you ask me to do such a thing?" Din asked defensively, his fingers curling around his blaster pistol. "Are you really the Manda'lor— or are you an imposter? A true Mandalorian wouldn't ask me to remove my helmet."

No. You weren't the Manda'lor, you didn't have the darksaber anymore. But Din didn't need to know that.

"Are you… are you a Child of the Watch?" you whispered, feeling genuine fear wash over you.

"What?"

"What is your tribe's mantra?" you beckoned further, your eyes desperately trying to search for his through the visor of his helmet.

"Our secrecy is our survival. Our survival is our strength. This is the way." Din informed you.

You gulped and looked away. He was Death Watch. His people were the ones who teamed with Darth Maul and attacked Mandalore. They were the ones who killed your mother, and now, for the very first time, a Death Watch Mandalorian stood right before you.

You had sworn that, on the occasion you met a Child of the Watch, they wouldn't live to see the dawn of a new day. But this man… this man was a father. And killing him would orphan a child, just like you were orphaned as a young girl. You could never do that. You were not a fighter.

"I think you should go." you whispered, hating the way the words left your lips. You sounded weak.

You were struggling to hold it together. You didn't realise how much it would hurt, seeing a Child of the Watch. You didn't realise how it would bring to life a million memories of your beautiful mother.

"What? I just got here."

"I am sorry for bringing you out here, and I'm even more sorry for asking you to remove your helmet. But you need to go." You said more sternly. Din didn't move. "Go!" you shouted, and Grogu flinched slightly.

"No." Din insisted.

The tears were spilling from your eyes now, and there was nothing you could do to stop them. You shuffled backwards until your ankles hit the first step of the grand staircase. You sunk down onto the steps and held your head in your hands, sobbing. You missed your mother so much; it was like every bone in your body ached for her touch. You missed the way she'd comfort you and hold you and whisper the Songs of Eon's Past to lull you to sleep. She was the greatest of leaders— a pacifist who would never hurt a single soul. She renounced all wars, even at the cost of her own life. She wouldn't want you to hurt Din. All these years you told yourself you'd kill the Children of the Watch for vengeance. But how could you now?

Hesitantly, Din placed Grogu on the ground, and padded towards you. He sat down next to you and wrapped a big arm around your body, pulling you into his beskar clad chest and hugging you. It was the first time in over a decade you'd had the pleasure of feeling human touch. You sunk into him and whimpered, letting your tears fall and dampen the black material under his chest plate. Din said nothing, only shushed you and rubbed comforting circles into your back.

He had no idea what caused the onset of your tears, but he knew better than to ask. There was no shame in crying. None at all. All Din knew was that he was not going to leave you. Not now, not ever. He was going to make you his wife.

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[wastelandcth]

I Hope You Think of Me

day four of #5sosweek21: ex-lovers || favorite song

summary: The picture that you paint of me looks better in your mind. 

author’s notes: Michael!!! This is the first time I’ve written for him no one attack me 

warnings: angst, mentions of smoking

masterlist || request

Michael’s phone switched off, the black screen reflecting his tired expression back onto him. His headphones, which had been playing a demo of a song that he and Luke had been working on for the past week, covered his ears and kept out the quiet chatter from the plane. His eyes burned and if he was being honest with himself, the red-eye flight wasn’t going to be granting him any sleep. His mind had been awake since early in the morning when the same phone he’d just turned off had lit up in the darkness of his room. His vision blurry and unfocused as he tried to read whatever text message you’d sent him in the early morning hours. 

“I know it’s been a while but I still miss the memories of the mornings we were high.”

It had been a couple of months since the breakup. Since Michael had walked out of that club where he'd been left hurt and broken. It had been months since you’d watched him walk out and since you’d sat back and did nothing about it. It had been a mistake; one you’d realized the second the door to your apartment closed and you were left alone, listening to the sound of your friend’s laughter on the other side. It had all happened so quickly you weren’t even sure when you realized just what had happened, not even when Michael’s tear-stained face was standing in front of you as you defended them. “You’re always taking their side,” he sighed quietly, his head shaking as his sleeve soaked up his tears, “You know all they’re trying to do is break us up, they’ve always been a bunch of fake friends to you!” “Oh because your friend group is just the best, isn’t it? They’re friends with you because they want to be and not because you’re in some giant band? Fuck off Michael, maybe my friends are right. Maybe I am better off without you.” you muttered. “You know what? Maybe I am better without you too,” he sighed, standing up and running his hands through his hair, “I hope you and your great group of friends have a great time talking shit about your new ex.” And with that he was gone, slamming the door before the sound of his car starting and driving off was the last memory of Michael that you had. You’d prided yourself on believing your friends, for taking their word that they knew what was best for you and letting Michael go. It was what was best for you, sticking with the group of friends who’d never let you down and dropping the man who you were in love with. If they didn’t like him, there must’ve been a reason you weren’t seeing, too blinded by Michael to see what they saw him. But when your so-called friend group did indeed start talking badly about Michael a few days after the breakup, you realized that Michael was right. “He was just…weird,” one of them scoffed, “He was so needy and always wanting your attention!” “Yeah, and then he would just leave for weeks on end! Like why would you even think dating him was a good idea?” another one joined in as you threw back another mimosa. “I’m glad you’re single again, we can finally have our fun girl trips away without worrying about you having to keep him updated.” Brunch had gone on, with you silently sipping away and the mixture of juice and bubbles while your friend group trash-talked the man you had been in love with. You knew that they were wrong, that Michael had made you happy, and that you had thought it was insane that he’d ever want to be with you. He was sweet and caring and all those text message conversations you’d spent the past couple of days reading back had made your heart race. But no matter how wrong they were about Michael, you couldn’t bring yourself to shut them down, because what would happen if they left you too then you really would have no one. It went on for months, the constant complaints about how horrible of a person Michael allegedly was drilled into you until eventually you snapped and cut yourself off from the people around you. It had been two months since you’d told your so-called friends off, your harsh words towards them having been pent up and finally spewed out. Two months since you’d left the girl’s night with shaky hands and tears in your eyes while you tried to think of ways to apologize to Michael. It had been a month since you’d tried to call him, your heart thumping in your chest as you listened to the monotone ringing. “Hey! This is Michael, sorry I couldn’t get your call but maybe I’ll get back to you soon!” It had been three weeks since you’d seen him driving past the coffee shop you’d recently found yourself going to more often than usual. He’d gotten a new car, the one he’d taken you to see a few days before the breakup, and he looked happy as he drove away from you until a turn made him disappear from view. You’d grabbed your coffee and gone home, memories of car rides with Michael playing in your brain as you yearned for those memories to come back. It had been two weeks since you’d sat in your living room, the plush carpet under you a comfort as the room spun and your hand trailed over to find your phone. Michael’s contact picture had popped up before you could stop yourself, your fingers typing out a message that you hopes made sense despite the smoke that had filled your lungs and the fog that covered your brain. But before you could hit send, the incoming call flashed across your screen and you hesitated before picking up. “Hello?” you asked quietly. “Hey. I...you called.” Michael’s voice rang out, his voice like honey that made you want to melt. “Hi, yeah I just…” you mumbled, really wishing you weren’t high for the first time that you got to talk with him again, “I wanted to talk to you...apologize.” “Are you...are you high?” Michael asked and the frown in his voice was evident as he sighed. “Yeah, I just…it’s been a hard couple of weeks, and I…” “Maybe we should talk when you’re not high. Just...I’ll text you, okay?” his voice laced with sadness and a hint of something your brain couldn’t quite place. “Okay, I’m sorry.” It had been two days since you’d finally gotten the courage to read the message he’d sent back after your own that night, the notification sitting heavy in your pocket until once again you found yourself on the floor of your living room. Your fingers shook as they floated over the screen, finally finding the courage to click the message and letting your eyes scan through the paragraph. You’d barely finished reading the text before you were calling Michael up again and hoping that he’d answer. “Hello?” his tired voice answered, a yawn covered up as his phone moved away from his ear. “I know I’ll never meet your expectations,” you started, “And I know that I’m an idiot for listening to them and letting them say those things about you. I was just...stupid and I thought that I’d be no one without them but I miss you. I miss you so much that sometimes all I can do is think about is those mornings when we would stay in bed until we were both too hungry to keep quiet. And I know that maybe you’ll never even forgive me but I just need you to know how sorry I am.” 

“I...I’ve had a lot of time to think about us, about what happened between us,” Michael mumbled after a pause, “And I think that maybe it’s better that we let things end, that maybe it’s better if all the memories we have together just stayed as memories.” 

“Michael,” you whispered sadly.

“I just need to stop letting me down,” he sighed, “And we both know that whatever we had, it wasn’t meant to last more than a night.”

“I-”

“I hope you still think of me high.”

And those were the words you heard a few weeks later, playing out on the radio for everyone to hear and experience just like you did.

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[sunrisefairy]

Swipe right

Pairing: George Weasley x reader

Warning: language, mentions of cheating/breakup, alcohol 

Summary: The one where Y/N downloads tinder after a bad breakup

Taglist: @hufflepuff5972​ @inglourious-imagines​ @klausdatprettyboi​ @georgeweasleyswhre​​ @horrorxweasley​​ @amourtentiaa​​ send me an ask if you would like to added!

————————————————————————

Y/N hated being single. She hated not having anyone waiting for her with dinner cooked and a glass of wine when she got home from work. She hated how empty her bed felt and not having anyone to cuddle after a tough week. She hated no one being there to listen to her ranting about her day. Y/N absolutely missed being in a relationship and being able to go through life with someone else by her side.

Y/N’s last relationship was 8 months ago, she had been with her ex Matthew for 6 months when it came crashing down. Y/N remembers the night she met Matthew vividly. Her friends had dragged her to some concert at this random underground bar. Y/N was at the bar ordering drinks when a breathtakingly handsome man with blond shaggy hair and piercing blue eyes offered to pay for the 3 beers she was ordering. Normally, Y/N would roll her eyes and not bother talking to random drunk men, especially when it was a girl’s night out like tonight. But something about Matthew caught her attention and she couldn’t walk away even if she wanted to. Matthew had this aura about him, he was very charismatic and could captivate anyone with his looks alone leaving those around him putty in his hands. Which is exactly what happened to Y/N.

Matthew and Y/N started dating shortly after that and she was completely smitten with the man. He seems to be just what Y/N needed. To Y/N he was the perfect boyfriend, he held all the traits she looked for in a partner, kind, funny, smart, supportive, everything except the trait which would be argued to be the most important – loyal. 6 months into their seemingly flawless relationship Y/N found Matthew-her supposedly perfect boyfriend, in bed with another girl.

The second Y/N saw the two of them in a rather compromising position in Matthew’s bed, Y/N felt her world collapse around her, her throat closed over making it hard to breath and her vision blurred. The events that followed are hazy in Y/N’s mind, she remembers screaming and yelling, she knows there had been a lot of tears (mostly from her), Matthew trying to beg for forgiveness, which is very hard to do when you’re butt naked and there potentially was a few items thrown in Matthews direction, deservingly so.

That night broke Y/N, it felt like Matthew had reached into her chest and yanked out her heart and crushed it to dust then spat on it. Apparently, douchebag Matthew and this girl had been shagging for basically the whole of his and Y/N’s relationship. She couldn’t believe it.

Y/N’s friends had spent most of the weeks that followed in the heartbroken girl’s apartment as she cried, screamed, yelled. It pained them to see their best friend so distraught. But surely, over time and with lots of ice cream and alcohol, Y/N was able to heal.

8 months later Y/N finally felt mostly whole again, she was able to smile and laugh without a hollow ache pounding in her chest and tears threatening to spill from her eyes. She no longer dreamt of Matthew’s arm wrapping around her and pulling her into his chest when she dozed off, she forgot how it felt to kiss him and she stopped wanting to call him.

Y/N finally felt free, which she told Alicia and Angelina at their weekly girl’s night in. This led to Alicia trying to convince her to maybe start dating again, to test the waters as she put it.

“Okay, hear me out,” Alicia says waving her arms, somehow managing not to slip her wine on the couch, “I think Y/N should download tinder.”

Y/N scoffs and opens her mouth to disagree, but her words went unheard as Angelina squealed in excitement, “oh my god yes! Y/N you so should.”

Y/N shakes her head before sipping on her wine, enjoying the sweet taste on her lips. “Guys, I don’t think I’m ready to start dating, I definitely don’t think I’m ready for another relationship.”

“But that’s why tinder is so great, you don’t have to go on any dates if you don’t want to. You can just chat to some cute boys and see what happens.” Alicia replies, picking up Y/N’s phone from the coffee table and holds it out for her to unlock.

Y/N thinks for a moment, eyeing her phone, she doesn’t feel ready to jump into the dating scene still nervous about being let down again but there’s no harm in downloading tinder and seeing her options, right?

Y/N eyes are locked on her phone Alicia’s hand before muttering fine and unlocking it for her. Angelina giggled excitedly, moving closer to Alicia’s side to look at the phone. A few moments later the app was downloaded, and a profile was made. The 3 girls took turns swiping through profiles ogling the eye candy.

The phone was currently in Angelina’s hand while Alicia refilled everyone’s glasses, Y/N had lost count of how many glasses of wine she’s had tonight, her body buzzing from the alcohol. “Man, I forgot how much fun tinder is.” Angelina slurred, her thumb rapidly swiping through profiles.

“Okay Ang, we won’t tell Fred that you said that.” Y/N chuckles, Angelina just rolls her eyes.

“Oh, come off it.”

~ ~ ~

The next morning the 3 very hungover girls who had passed out in different spots of Y/N’s living room, somehow manage to drag themselves to brunch with Lee, Fred and George.

“Hello ladies, big night?” Fred winks then plants a sloppy kiss on Angelina’s cheek who mumbles a response that sound vaguely like a yes.

The 6 of them were sitting at a table outside, soaking up the sunshine and warm weather. Once their food is delivered the group is chatting aimlessly with one another. Y/N hears her phone ping from her bag, and she fishes it out to check the notification.

“Ohh, Y/N is it a tinder message?” Alicia says excitedly trying to peer over her shoulder.

“Tinder?” It’s George’s voice now. Y/N glances up at him from across the table, unable to read his expression, “since when does Y/N have tinder?”

“Since last night, the girls convinced me to download it. Kinda seems like time to start getting out there again.” Y/N replies shoving her phone back into her bag before one of her friends has the chance to snatch it from her even though the text was just from her mother.

“Maybe you should download tinder Georgie. ‘Bout time you got yourself a girlfriend.” Lee mumbles, his mouth full of food.

George shakes his head, looking down at his plate, “tinder isn’t for me. Besides your one to talk Lee, you’re single too.”

“Not anymore, I want to marry this eggs benedict.” Lee practically moans as he shovels another bite into his mouth.

Y/N laughs along with everyone, shaking her head slightly.

“I think you should George, I’d bet money that your dream girl is on there.” Fred smirks at George whose eyes widen at the comment and his cheeks heat up.

“Can we change the subject,” the redhead mutters scratching his neck, not meeting anyone’s gazes.

The conversation quickly moves on and Y/N finds herself still staring at George confused by his strange behaviour, also noticing the way her chest feels heavy at the mention of George’s ‘dream girl’. She pushes the feeling down and tears her eyes away from the redhead in front of her just before he glances up at her. The pair oblivious to the others intense gaze.

~ ~ ~

That night Y/N is snuggled up under her favourite fluffy blanket, on the couch, while some random romantic comedy is playing in the background.

Y/N has soon come to realise that tinder is addictive, she’s spent the better part of the last hour swiping through the many profiles. It doesn’t feel like she even has control of her fingers at this point, they apparently have a mind of their own.

Y/N starts to zone out, her finger automatically swiping for her. That is, until she stumbles across a particular profile and her finger freezes and her eyes bulge out of her head. Is that? George?

Y/N looks through his profile, there’s a picture that she had taken of him at the beach one summer, he’s lying on a towel, shirtless and the cheekiest grin plastered across his face. The next photo is of him and Ron from Harry’s surprise birthday Ginny threw last year. They are both looking smart in their suits, beaming brightly at the camera. Y/N can’t help but stare at George’s hand that’s wrapped tightly around a beer bottle, her mouth going dry as she zooms in on his veiny hand. There is also a photo of George from last Halloween where he had dressed as a pirate, Y/N chuckles, remembering how George had followed her around for most of the night, annoying her with his lame and corny pirate jokes. The last photo is her favourite out of them all. It’s of her and George at her recent birthday, he has his arm wrapped around her shoulder and his head resting against hers. The pair of them smiling widely at the camera.

Y/N bites her lip trying to decide if she should swipe left or right. She’s always had a soft spot for George long before she started dating Matthew. She knew deep down she harboured a tiny crush on her friend but never acted on it, scared she’ll ruin their friendship if she confessed her feelings. Y/N always fantasised about what it would be like to date George Weasley. She would happily bet her life savings that George would be the perfect boyfriend, would treat his girlfriend with respect and shower them with love and affection. It’s the type of relationship Y/N yearned for, the type of relationship she thought she had with Matthew.

Y/N stared down at the phone in her hand, contemplating her next move. The temptation to swipe right was huge, finally being able to find out if George liked her but there was the possibility that if she does swipe right she’ll find out that George does not like her in that way and she doesn’t know if she could physically take that knowledge right now. Part of her debates on swiping left, thinking that way she can live her life blissfully unaware to whether or not George likes her. The idea of being unsure of his feelings seems very appealing then definitely knowing he sees her just as a friend. A small voice in her head tells her to just delete the app and pretend this never happened.

Y/N groans at her overthinking.

Just choose Y/N.

“Fuck it,” Y/N mutters squeezing her eyes shut before swiping right.

She keeps her eyes closed for a few minutes, trying not to picture the upsetting scenario where they do not match, and Y/N has to deal with her unrequited feelings towards the boy. She takes a deep breath and slowly opens her eyes trying to focus back on the phone in her shaky hand. It takes a moment to process the words on the screen before Y/N is jumping up from the couch squealing.

It’s a match!

Her happy dance is interrupted when her phone dings, indicating a new message. Y/N swears her heart stops beating and she scrambles onto the couch to grab her phone.

George: Do my eyes deceive me or have I captured the attention of the lovely Y/N?

Y/N snorts at his message, butterflies erupting inside her stomach unable to get over the fact that George Weasley likes her.

Y/N: Consider yourself lucky Georgie, not many are worthy enough of my attention ;)

Y/N: But wait, I thought you didn’t have tinder? You said tinder wasn’t for you

George: I didn’t… well up until 1 hour ago. Fred convinced me to download it so I could try and find your profile. He said I should at least try and confess my feelings…

Y/N: And? What are your feelings?

George: that I am hopelessly in love with you. Have been since forever but I’ve been too chicken to admit it.

George: I was going to tell you I swear, but then you started dating that tosser Matthew and I lost my chance.

George: After you two broke up, Fred bugged me to say something to you but I knew it wasn’t the right time.

Y/N studies the messages. Long before Matthew was even a thought in her mind, she knew she would leap at the opportunity to date George. But that was before she had her heart shattered into a million of tiny pieces. She told Alicia and Angelina that she wasn’t ready to date, she didn’t think her heart could take it. And if this was any other guy, she would gently let them down. But this wasn’t just any guy, this was George Weasley. The man who never failed to make her smile and laugh till tears was streaming down her face. The man who help pick up the shards of her heart and help mend it back together. The man who would always answer her phone call, no matter the time of night. Y/N knew she’d be stupid to let go of George Weasley.

~ ~ ~

George was a wreck; he was pacing around his living room basically pulling out his hair with how much he’s run his fingers through it. It had been 30 minutes since he messaged Y/N and admitted his feelings, telling her he loves her. And she hasn’t replied!

George knew he shouldn’t have said anything, clearly Y/N was just curious about his profile, just wanting to see if they’d match and she definitely does not love him back let alone like him.

He wanted to throttle Fred for convincing him to make this stupid tinder account and embarrassing him like this, now George has gone and fucked up his friendship with Y/N.

George stops pacing when he hears knocking from his front door. His eyebrows knit in confusion about who would be visiting him at this hour. George chooses to ignore it, deciding he doesn’t want to see anyone right now, all he wants to do is open some vodka and drown his sorrows. He makes it into the kitchen when the knocking starts back up again, this time louder and faster.

“Okay I’m coming!” George shouts annoyed, “Jesus, I swear this better be import-” his words disappear as soon as he opens the door and is faced with Y/N.

“What are you doing here?” Georges words come out short and brunt, but Y/N doesn’t seem to notice.

She is fiddling with her fingers and anxiously chewing on her bottom lip. “I figured this wasn’t really a conversation I wanted to have over tinder.”

Y/N is silent, the words getting stuck halfway up her throat, she doesn’t really trust her voice to be steady enough to talk. So, she decides on another route of communicating her feelings to George.

Slowly she cups Georges faces in her small hands, forcing his eyes to meet hers. George seems frozen still as Y/N softly pulls his face to down towards hers, their lips millimetres from one another. She can feel his shaky breath on her face. It feels like forever before Y/N connects their lips together, George seems to snap out of his trance as his hands wrap tightly around Y/N’s waist, holding her body close. Their lips mould together perfectly and fireworks erupt in Y/N’s belly. She feels alive and her heart is thumping in her chest and all she can think of is George. George is clouding her thoughts and, in this moment, she doesn’t want anything else to ever occupy her brain. Her heart feels warm and whole as if George had kept the final piece of her heart in his possession to keep save until she was ready and willing to give him the whole thing. Y/N doesn’t feel scared anymore of the thought of loving someone again because she knows for certain now that she’s always loved George.

They pull away from the kiss, breathlessly, George rests his forehead against Y/N’s needing to feel close to her still.

A tear slips from Y/N’s eye which George softly kisses away.

“I love you too George. Always”

[tippedbykreider]

your love is my turning page | c. kreider

Word count: 17,700 Warnings: Mentions of death, grief, sex, mention of breakdown of previous relationship, mentions of infidelity. Author’s note: This was the first long-fic I ever wrote and to say that I was proud of it is an understatement. I’ve made some minor additions to this and hope you all enjoy it second time around as much as you did the first time. Fic title is from ‘Turning Page’ by Sleeping at Last Summary: Chris Kreider doesn’t believe in fate but a chance meeting in a Manhattan bookstore opens his mind, and his heart, to things he has only ever read about in the books he loves so much.

*

‘We are asleep until we fall in love’ – Leo Tolstoy, War and Peace.

Sometimes in life there are moments where everything changes, suddenly and unexpectedly and in ways that make it impossible to be the same person that you were before. It’s a bit like a storm, sweeping in and rearranging your life completely to a point beyond recognition, where everything changes and you’re left with a choice: mourn what was lost or use it as an opportunity to rebuild and come back stronger than before.

That was the dilemma Roseanna Williams faced after the man she thought she’d grow old with turned out to be nothing more than a huge disappointment. She should have seen it coming if she was to be completely honest with herself, years of waiting for him to outgrow what she presumed to be a teenage phase yielded nothing but frustration and a growing sense of impatience. If you asked any of her close friends and family they would tell you that she should have done it years ago but it never was as easy as just walking away, not when it came to the man whom she had been with since the tender age of fifteen. After she’d graduated university and completed her teaching degree, she was itching and ready for them both to take the next step in their relationship, to make more of a commitment, hell, even get married, but every attempt at an adult discussion about their future was met with resistance and a string of excuses.  The realisation suddenly began to dawn on her that maybe he was a lost cause and that she was wasting the best years of her life by waiting on him to get his shit together. The final straw came when she’d come home early from a teaching conference and found him in bed with someone she had considered to be a friend. That was when the flood defences failed and all the water she’d been ignoring for so long came rushing in, destroying everything she thought she knew and leaving her shaken to the core and gasping for breath. 

It started as a spark of an idea, moving away and getting a fresh start, London perhaps, or maybe somewhere further North. Exeter held too many memories now, the hurt and betrayal burying all of the wonderful times she’d had in the city that had always been her home. She’d discussed it at length with her parents who, while saddened at the prospect of their youngest daughter moving away, encouraged her to pursue whatever would make her the happiest. The spark caught, much like it always did whenever Rosie set her mind to something and before she knew it she was applying for a United States work visa and looking for places to live in New York City. All that was left to do was to pack up her life and trust in the magic of new beginnings.

That was how she ended up in Brooklyn, New York, teaching English Literature at a local high school. It was a different kind of life, one that took her a couple of years to get used to and while Rosie wasn’t quite confident enough yet to call herself a New Yorker, she definitely felt like she had found somewhere that she could call home. That feeling started as a seed, growing roots and leaves every time she would get off the subway at the right stop or find a new coffee shop to try until eventually she could rattle off her favourite places to get an Americano or the best places to get pizza. Her family and friends loved it, naturally, having the perfect reason to come and visit the Big Apple and Rosie loving nothing more than having the opportunity to show off the city she’d grown to adore.

Of course, there were parts of her old life that she missed. How could she not? She missed her family and her university friends. She missed afternoon teas with Devonshire clotted cream and summer days spent at the beach in Torquay. ‘You can always come home, love,’ her mother would say and that was completely true and while a part of her would always yearn for the smell of the sea or the cry of a gull on a soft summer breeze and while her roots were very much planted in Devonshire soil, her heart belonged to New York City.

She’d developed somewhat of a routine during the first couple of years that she’d lived in Brooklyn and it was one that hadn’t changed much, loving nothing more than taking the subway to Manhattan on weekends to spend the day checking out all the small independently run bookstores (when she wasn’t drowning in unmarked papers, of course). This particular late-October Saturday had started much like the others; she allowed herself a well-deserved lie-in after a hectic week of teaching and a bottle of Sangiovese the previous night, savouring her first cup of coffee like it was the first she’d had in months while she set about watering her house plants. A shower that lasted entirely too long, which doubled as a Fleetwood Mac tribute concert that she was sure her neighbours appreciated, was next on the agenda before she finally bundled herself up to face a chilly Autumn day in the city. 

She’d stopped off at her favourite coffee shop on the way to the station and chatted with the young barista, Laura, behind the counter, whom she’d grown to know over the months since Laura had started working there. She’d learned that Laura was planning a trip to Europe next Summer and offered some suggestions of places in England to visit, making sure to get her to promise to not just visit London. With her take-out coffee cradled in her hands, the cup serving her well as a much needed hand-warmer, the late-morning had Rosie heading towards Westsider Books, a favourite haunt of hers that she couldn’t help but keep coming back to. She had no reason at all to think that going to that store was going to prove to be another one of those moments that she could look back on as being a defining moment in her story, but with a push of the door, every star and planet aligned that set her on a course that would change her life forever.

*

Christopher James Kreider was a self-confessed simple man, despite his career choice and the lifestyle that came with it seeming to be anything but. He was incredibly thankful for the certain level of anonymity that came with living in a place like New York; certainly, there were times where he would be recognised and would be stopped for a picture or autograph, but in the sea of a-list celebrities that called the city home, he was just a small fish and was happiest when he was flying under the radar. The kind of life afforded by being a professional athlete playing in the National Hockey League was one that he wasn’t sure he would ever get used to. Sure, he had a sweeping Tribeca apartment that he called home, he had a nice car, he went to work wearing expensive suits and could afford to eat out in the city anywhere he wanted, but the reality of it all was that he was most at ease sprawled out on his couch with a good book and a bottle of wine.

His teammates affectionately called him the hockey Renaissance man, a nod to his impressive pursuits off the ice, but it was never a name that sat comfortably with him. As far as he was concerned, he was just Chris, there was nothing special about him and his ability to deflect praise or compliments was nothing short of reflexive. His days off during the season were few and far between and he was always keen to make the most of the time afforded to him. An early start and cup of coffee usually preceded a quick workout, followed by a shower, a second coffee and a crossword puzzle while he decided how he was going to spend his day. Sometimes he wanted nothing more than to stay within the sanctuary of his apartment and read Hemingway until the sun began to dip below the skyline, other times he would venture out into the city and check out the new exhibit down at the art gallery in Soho before finding somewhere quiet to enjoy a good cup of coffee.

The season had gotten off to a decent enough start, the chemistry between the team seeming to grow with each game and Chris hitting his stride early on. He’d just returned from a three game trip in Canada and despite the slight fatigue he was feeling, he was eager to get out into the city. He wasn’t in the market for anything in particular but there was a lot of joy to be found in rummaging through old record shops or second hand book stores, at least in Chris’s opinion anyway. There was something so special about a pre-loved record or book, he thought, each had their own tale to tell and each held a special place in someone’s heart at one point or another. There were barely any new editions of books on his bookshelves, some so tatty and worn that their bindings were stringy and the pages threatened to abscond if held the wrong way.

Chris was a creature of habit and it was something that he would freely admit. He often visited the stores closest to home, not often venturing further than Midtown, but with nothing but time he found himself on the 1 train and headed towards Upper West Side, Westsider Books his destination of choice. The first thing he noticed upon entering wasn’t the towering shelves that stacked books upon books but the unmistakable scent of vellichor, that grassy, almost vanilla aroma that felt a lot like coming home. The owner offered a friendly smile before nodding towards the vast collection of books.

“There’s fiction all down here, poetry’s at the back and non-fiction’s upstairs. Let me know if there’s something in particular you’re lookin’ for, I know there’s a lotta books in here.”

“Thank you,” Chris replied. “Do you have any Russian literature in at all?”

“We sure do, whatever we’ve got is on the third shelf from the back there, on your left.”

“Perfect, thanks a lot for your help.”

Chris offered the man behind the counter a smile and headed deeper into the shop, stopping in front of an impressive looking collection of Russian classics. It was easy to get lost in the volumes on the shelves, flicking through pages of different editions, some of them older than he’d ever seen before. There was one book in particular though that caught his eye, unassuming and inconspicuous enough, nestled between War and Peace and the Death of Ivan Ilyich. He reached out to touch the navy blue leather but was suddenly caught off-guard by the sensation of cold fingers knocking against his own.

“God, I’m so sorry, I was completely in my own world there.”

His eyes flicked to his right towards the source of the voice, soft and feminine with an accent that he knew not to be local. Rosie hadn’t even noticed him, which now that she was taking in his appearance properly didn’t exactly understand how she’d missed him standing beside her. He was well over six foot, she noted, and impossibly broad, but the thing that stood out to her the most about him was the unmistakable kindness in his hazel eyes, a tranquil grove of moss covered trees with their different shades of bark.

“No, no, you’re good. It’s me, big clumsy oaf over here,” he trailed off with a soft laugh, a slight heat rising in his cheeks now that he was really seeing her, with her eyes that were as blue as a summer sky and hair that reflected the colour of the autumn leaves outside.

“Did you want Anna Karenina?” Rosie asked, nodding towards the shelves.

“Oh, um, it’s okay, you go for it,” he smiled at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way that gave him a kind of softness, a familiarity almost.

“Please, I insist,” Rosie reached for the book and took it from its resting place amongst the other Tolstoy works, handing it to Chris. “I already have three different editions of this, if I took home a fourth I think an intervention would need to be staged.”

Rosie grinned as Chris laughed, the sound full and rich to her ears, while he took the book from her hands and tucked it under his arm.

“Well, we wouldn’t want that now, would we?” He started, his eyes flitting across her features before they settled to meet her gaze. Her grin had faded into a warm smile that reached all the way up to her eyes and she was surveying him with an almost curiosity, one that he found himself matching. “I’m sorry, I know you probably get asked this all the time,” he continued, with an endearing kind of sheepishness that kept the corners of Rosie’s mouth lifted upwards, “but I gotta ask about the accent. I wanna say British but I don’t want to come across like a stereotypically ignorant American if I’m wrong.”

“Oh it’s okay,” Rosie chuckled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, “you’re only the third person to ask me today.”

Chris could tell from the sparkle in her eye and the smirk on her lips that she meant no malice in her reply and made an exaggerated cringing grimace in return.

“God, I know. I’m sorry. You must get sick of it.”

“I mean, if I had a dollar for every time someone asked I’d be a very rich lady, but yeah, your ears don’t deceive you, I’m British. Actually from Exeter in Devon specifically, which is like South West England and now I realise that that probably means nothing to you,” she laughed as she caught the slightly vacant expression that had graced his features while she had been explaining her place of birth.

“I know, I’m sorry. I guess I really am a stereotypical ignorant American.”

Rosie responded with a gentle shake of her head as she spoke, “Nah, I wouldn’t say so. I couldn’t tell you the first thing about the rest of the States, it took me longer than I care to admit to just not get lost going two or three blocks down.”

Chris smiled, both at her kindness and the gentle lilt of her accent. “So are you here visiting, or?”

Rosie shook her head again, the auburn waves shaking and falling about her face in a way that had Chris’s smile doubling.

“Well, I’m visiting Manhattan, but I live in the city, been here coming up five years now.”

“Yeah? And you like it?”

Rosie’s smile sparked at the corner of her mouth until it spread like wildfire and lit up the whole of her face. Chris couldn’t help but notice how beautiful it made her look, that kind of smile that was so undeniably authentic and genuine and yet so incredibly rare in a city as big as New York; but there it was, right in front of him and warm like sunshine.

“I love it here,” the affection in her voice clear as day. “It’s so different from anything back home and in the best possible way.”

Chris got the impression from her seemingly deliberate choice of words that there was a story there, but the classic literature aisle didn’t really seem like the time and place to get into it with someone he’d just met, nor did he want to assume that she would even offer that tale to him freely. Instead, he took the book out from under his arm and held it out to her.

“Are you sure you don’t want to take this home with you?”

“I’m positive. ‘Live in the needs of the day’ as Tolstoy would say and I don’t really need that book. I’m sure you’ll give it a wonderful home.”

She met his eyes briefly, her stomach flip-flopping at the softness she found there, and gave him a warm smile that matched the one he was wearing. Chris wasn’t sure what had made him feel so bold. Perhaps it was the feeling of being so completely at ease with her, despite not even knowing her name and despite having known her for a mere five minutes, or perhaps it was the gentleness in her eyes. He didn’t spend too much of his time thinking about it as the words were out of his mouth before he could second guess them.

“At least let me buy you a coffee as a thank you.”

“Do you buy all the women you meet in bookshops coffee?” Rosie quipped without missing a beat.

“Damn, you caught me.”

Rosie laughed, easy and free with her head tipped back and Chris knew in that moment that he needed this woman in his life in some way, the sound bright and rich like the first sip of coffee in the morning or the first rays of summer sunshine filtering through curtains. He was still surveying her with an easy grin as she shuffled on her feet slightly, deciding whether she was going to let her head or her heart reign supreme today.

“I don’t usually make a habit of getting coffee with strangers,” the small smile still playing on her lips despite the tentative nature of her words.

Chris instinctively offered his hand out for her to shake.

“Well, I’m Christopher and you are?”

Rosie placed her hand in his, the smile on her face doubling in size at his kindness as she shook his hand, and tried to ignore the way her heart started to race at how warm and easy his touch felt.

“Rosie, or Roseanna if we’re using our Sunday names.”

“Nice to meet you, Rosie,” Chris said, his tone gentler than was probably necessary in the moment but it had Rosie feeling more relaxed in his presence by the second. “See, we’re not strangers anymore.”

“No, I don’t suppose we are. Alright then, Christopher, I accept your proposal of coffee and if you turn out to be an axe murderer then I hope you enjoy the book.”

It wasn’t very often that Rosie let curiosity get the better of her but there was something telling her to surrender to this moment in front of her, to let her heart win for once and throw caution to the wind. There was something about Chris and his aura that made it incredibly easy to ignore that prudent and wary voice in the back of her head that would usually call for rational and cautious thinking in situations such as this one, the voice that is often nurtured during childhood by parents and adults alike to help keep you safe from harm, the voice that would warn you about the dangers of strangers. Chris was a stranger, this was, of course, an undisputed fact, but Rosie didn’t feel like she was in any danger with this man. She guessed that it had an awful lot to do with the genuine warmth that seemed to radiate from him that made her feel less like she was with a someone she’d just met in a book shop and more like she was catching up with an old friend. It was incredibly rare that she felt so at ease with someone, let alone a man she knew nothing about except for his name, but she’d grow to learn that that was just the magic of Chris, his sincerity and kindness always radiating from him like the glow of an open fire on a cold winter’s night.

“I can say with absolute certainty that I’m not an axe murderer,” he grinned. “But if it would make you feel better I was planning on taking you to Irving Farm, y’know, so you can check in with someone if you wanted.”

That simple gesture alone told Rosie all she needed to know about Chris, the fact he was so cognizant of how a woman might be feeling going to get coffee with a man she’d just met. It was that thoughtfulness and that tingle of curiosity and wonder that had her following him to the counter and waiting as he paid for his book before they both ventured back out into the chilly air and towards the café. Making small talk on the short walk there was incredibly easy, the effortless nature of their conversation not lost on either of them and as they sat down opposite each other in a quiet corner of the shop, shedding their coats and scarves, Chris took the opportunity to really appreciate the beauty of the woman in front of him.

She was classically pretty, he thought, with her auburn locks freed from the confines of the scarf she had been wearing and the slight ruddiness to her cheeks from the way the cold air had kissed them during their short walk. But more than that, it was the way her presence seemed to uplift him in a way he hadn’t ever experienced before. Chris was an incredibly practical and logical man and the idea of kindred spirits wasn’t something that he subscribed to, but there was just something about Rosie. It was a sense of familiarity and a feeling often only felt between two people who had known each other for years. It was a feeling that, unbeknownst to him, Rosie shared too, not quite being able to remember a time where she was able to enthusiastically discuss literature at such great lengths with someone.

“So come on,” Chris said over his cup of coffee after they’d settled at a table in a quiet corner of the café. “You were able to quote Anna Karenina from memory, is there a particular reason for that or have I managed to find an even bigger book nerd than I am?”

Rosie smirked as she took a sip from her cup, eyes sparkling as she surveyed Chris. “I am a pretty big book nerd, but no, I actually teach literature.”

Chris’s eyebrows raised as an impressed little smirk pulled the corner of his lips upwards. He set his cup down and clasped his hands in front of him on the table.

“Forgive me for being bold here and by all means tell me to mind my own damn business, but what exactly makes a British literature teacher cross an ocean and put roots down in New York City?”

Rosie paused for a moment, chewing over her words in her mind.

“A vague sense of wanderlust, I guess,” she began carefully. “I don’t know, there was just… a lot of stuff that happened in my life and it felt like a good time for a fresh start while I was still young enough and brave enough to do it.”

“I’m sorry if that was too personal,” Chris looked at her apologetically, the slight flicker of sadness that had appeared in her eyes too prominent to ignore. “I didn’t mean to bring any painful memories back for you by prying.”

“It’s absolutely fine. All the diversity, all the charm and all the beauty of life are made up of light and shade, right?”

“You really love that book, don’t you?” Chris asked her softly, recognising the quote from the book currently sitting in the brown paper bag by his feet immediately, and with a gleam in his eye.

“It’s one of my favourites,” Rosie replied. “It’s probably up there with Captain Corelli’s Mandolin, Pride and Prejudice and For Whom the Bell Tolls.”

“You like Hemingway?” Chris’s eyes crinkled with his grin and shone with excitement as she nodded in agreement. “I love Hemingway,” he added. “He’s easily my favourite author.”

Rosie leaned forward in her seat and rested her arms on the table with her cup still cradled in her hands, Chris mirroring her action, like two school children about to share a secret.

“I love the beautiful simplicity of his writing. It’s direct but without losing any of the emotion or feeling. Like, don’t get me wrong, Russian literature and authors like Tolkien are wonderful and they certainly have their part to play, but sometimes there’s just no need for pages and pages just to get a point across. That’s the beauty of Hemingway, the straightforwardness of it.”

“Yes!” Chris exclaimed, his face lighting up. “That’s exactly it. Take The Old Man and the Sea as an example, that book is what? Twenty-seven thousand words? But the feeling and the message that he’s able to get across, it’s amazing. God, I’ve lost count of the amount of times I’ve read that book.”

“A favourite of yours, then?”

Chris nodded as he picked up his mug. “Without a doubt, followed closely by For Whom the Bell Tolls and An Immovable Feast.”

He punctuated his statement with a wink and a smile, savouring the way Rosie’s face would ignite with pure joy as she laughed.

“Perhaps we should compare notes,” she mused behind her coffee.

“Is that you saying you wanna meet up again?” Chris asked, a cocky grin on his face.

“What if it is?” She countered quickly, a twinkle in her eye that had Chris’s heart thundering in his chest.

“Then I think you’d better take my number.”

 *

The weeks passed and autumn collapsed into winter, the first frosts clinging to everything and covering the city in opaline glitter. Rosie’s schedule had begun to slow following the initial insanity of the beginning of the academic year as things started to wind down for the holidays. She’d spent a lot of her free time preparing for her annual trip home to England to spend Christmas with her family, something that she looked forward to all year. Whatever time was left was spent reading or catching up with Chris, who had been equally busy with his work as a professional hockey player. He’d mentioned this to her briefly and in passing during their phone calls, which certainly explained why his schedule was often so all over the place, but the concept was so alien to Rosie that she didn’t feel the need to pry further. Growing up in Devon meant that her exposure to a sport like ice hockey was next to nothing, her knowledge extending as far as movies such as The Mighty Ducks would afford. In fact, when she thought about it, she didn’t know anybody who played sports professionally in any capacity and so while she was intrigued by Chris and the story behind how he came to be in such a career in a city like New York (knowing him to be from Massachusetts originally), she also knew that he was so much more than all of the stereotypes she’d heard associated with professional athletes.

He wasn’t a big, dumb jock, far from it actually. Chris was incredibly intelligent, philosophical in ways she admired so much but with an endearing and quick sense of humour. His thirst for knowledge and appreciation for the world around him was unlike any she’d ever seen and it somehow made him more handsome than any of his classically good-looking physical features. There was an intrigue, of course, surrounding him and his job, but Rosie also knew that he would offer that part of himself to her in time and when he felt most comfortable doing so. She imagined that he didn’t always get to have the luxury of authentic meetings with people who didn’t already know about him and his job, and for all the lovely moments he’d already given her in their growing friendship, she wanted to pay him back in kind by not forcing anything on him that he wasn’t yet ready to talk about.

It was incredible really, how easy it was for her to fall into friendship with Chris, made only easier with each discovery of a new shared interest. Their texts would often consist of them sending things the other might find interesting such as a new book or a new song to listen to. Hearing from him was something that she found herself looking forward to, especially appreciating when he would take time out of his day while he was away from home to check in with her and catch up.

As the end of the semester creeped closer, Rosie found herself surrounded by gifts she had already wrapped ahead of her trip home and a small pile of clothes, the open suitcase on the bed still empty despite her best intentions. She always found packing incredibly dull (although admittedly not as bad as unpacking once she returned to New York) and would often preoccupy herself with anything and everything to avoid doing it, which always resulted in a stressful last-minute packing situation that she was keen to avoid this year. She stood with her hands on her hips as she surveyed the situation in front of her, deciding the best way in which to go about organising her suitcase, when her phone vibrated against her dressing table. Unable to contain the flicker of a smile that tugged at her mouth as she saw the Caller ID flash with Chris’s name, she answered.

“Hey, you.”

She could hear what sounded like a group of very rowdy men in the background in what she could only assume was a bar.

“I need you to help settle a debate.”

Rosie smiled as she cradled her phone between her cheek and her shoulder, using her free hands to pick up a pair of jeans and place them into the suitcase.

“Sounds serious.”

“Oh it is and we’re at a deadlock over here so your opinion decides it, I hope you can handle that kind of pressure,” Chris teased.

“Oh, Christopher, I was born ready.”

“Alright, but this is like legit serious stuff.”

“Out with it, Chris,” Rosie laughed.

“Crunchy or smooth?”

“Excuse me?” Rosie asked with an incredulous look on her face that she knew Chris would’ve laughed at had he been able to see her.

“Peanut butter,” he clarified. “Crunchy or smooth?”

“Wow,” Rosie deadpanned. “And here I was thinking you were about to ask me something incredibly philosophical.”

“Oh come on, Ro, don’t leave me hanging here.”

“I suppose if I had to choose, I’d probably go with smooth.”

“Ha!” Chris exclaimed, causing Rosie to jump. “She said smooth, looks like you’re the one with the weird peanut butter preferences, Foxy.”

Rosie furrowed her brow at the incoherent shouting and cheering in the background as she put more clothes into her suitcase.

“I’m so confused right now.”

She listened as the sound of raucous chatter faded into a faint buzz and Chris’s voice came back through the speaker clearer yet softer than it had been before.

“Sorry about that, the guys can get a little excitable sometimes.”

“Rookies had too many beers?”

“Yeah,” Chris breathed. “Something like that. How’re you doin’ anyway? Things settled for you at work?”

“Yeah,” she replied softly, perching herself on the edge of her bed, careful not to knock any of the small wrapped packages onto the floor. “I got all of those papers turned round and the results were actually kind of encouraging, which was nice.”

“That’s probably because they’ve got a good teacher.”

“Oh my god, stop,” Rosie blushed, thankful that he couldn’t see the interesting shade of pink her face had turned.

Chris’s reply was unexpected, somehow managing to knock her back a bit with the sincerity and softness in his tone that seemed more intimate than perhaps their current level of friendship afforded.

“I mean it, Ro. I know you know your stuff. They’re lucky to have someone like you teaching them.”

His words hung in the air around Rosie for a few seconds while she processed them, or rather, while she started to analyse the tenderness in his tone that she was sure she hadn’t imagined. He didn’t give her too long to get lost in it though as he was speaking again before she had a chance to truly unpack her thoughts.

“So things have settled down for you, yeah?”

“Um, yeah.. Yeah. I’ve just been packing for my trip back home,” Rosie replied, picking up one of the small gift-wrapped boxes and examining it for no particular reason.

“Right, of course. When is it you fly?”

“December twenty-first, fly back into JFK on the fourth of January.”

“I’ll be in California when you get back,” he said, a hint of disappointment in his voice. “But it’d be great to see you before you go to England. Maybe dinner or coffee?”

“That would be really nice, Chris,” the smile evident in her voice to Chris even through the phone.

“Great, we’ll arrange something once I’m back in the city at the end of the week.”

“Sounds perfect.”

Chris hesitated, not quite ready to say goodbye but knowing that he should probably get back to the others and leave Rosie to the rest of her evening. He knew he had to though, even if it did make his chest ache for reasons he didn’t quite understand.

“I’ll let you get on with your packing,” he half-sighed.

“Please don’t feel like you need to,” Rosie replied with the faintest hint of a plea.

“I do because if I don’t you’ll never finish packing your suitcase.”

There it was, that easy teasing that had become a defining feature of their friendship in just the few weeks they’d known each other and had managed to shift the atmosphere between them from something that neither could quite put their finger on to one that was much more playful and familiar.

Rosie groaned exaggeratedly, earning her a hearty chuckle from Chris.

“But I hate packing,” she whined.

“Welcome to being an adult, suck it up, Buttercup.”

“You’re mean.”

Despite her words, Chris knew that there was no truth in them and he also knew that she herself didn’t believe them, which made the playful back-and-forth banter between the two of them come easily.

“No, I’m Chris.”

“Oh my god!” Rosie laughed, exasperated. “I’m hanging up now, goodbye!”

Chris’s rich chuckle was the last thing she heard before she ended the call and tossed her phone onto her pillows, shaking her head at the ridiculousness of his humour before turning her attention back to the pile of clothes by her suitcase.

 *

Christmas went as quickly as it came, passing in such a blur that it had Rosie questioning if she’d had any time off at all. It didn’t take her long to settle back into the groove of things though, it never did, and by the time the frosts of winter began to thaw, the warm glow of the festive season was nothing more than a cheerful memory. Much like the first beautiful petals of spring, Chris and Rosie’s friendship continued to blossom.

Rosie would have been lying if she said that she didn’t wish their schedules would match up more. A particularly busy January for Chris meant that they hadn’t had chance to meet since just before Christmas and it had Rosie wondering just what exactly Chris’s job entailed. It wasn’t really something that had come up during their phone calls and it was something that she felt deserved to be done face-to-face rather than over a text message, because truth be told, she didn’t have the first idea when it came to ice hockey. Keen to know more about the man that was fast becoming somebody she considered to be a close friend, she resolved to ask him the next time they met for coffee.

“So are you ever going to tell me about this big, shiny career of yours or am I supposed to just keep thinking you’re some James Bond of professional hockey,” she mused as she broke off a piece of blueberry muffin and popped it into her mouth.

Chris blushed slightly as he took a drawn out sip of coffee.

“I mean, yeah, sure. What do you wanna know?”

He set his cup down and clasped his hands on the table in front of him, the flicker of nervousness extinguished quickly by the kindness that rested within her eyes.

“Well,” she started. “I believe I’ve mentioned before that the only hockey I knew of before meeting you was the field hockey they made us play at secondary school. So, everything I guess? Oh, and I’m going to need you to explain like I’m five.”

Chris couldn’t help but chuckle at the good-natured smirk on her face and ran a hand along the stubble at his jaw.

“Alright, well. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to start from the top. I played hockey in high school, then went to Boston College, they have a really good collegiate hockey programme there and it’s a good school to boot. I got drafted in 2009 by the New York Rangers then I signed my first contract with them in 2012, been here ever since.”

“So you must be bloody good at hockey then,” Rosie said after swallowing her coffee which made the pink tinge to Chris’s cheeks even more prominent.

“I mean, I’m not terrible.”

Rosie grinned at him and at his humility which she had come to know as being one of Chris’s prominent traits. “And your schedule? I know it’s a bit mental but what does an average day look like for you?”

“That depends,” Chris replied. “Are we talking an off-day? Game day? Away trip?”

“All of the above?” Rosie laughed.

“My days off I still like to get a work-out in, even if it’s just a small one. But other than that? I don’t know, maybe meet incredible women from Devon in bookshops?”

It was Rosie’s turn to have her cheeks flush, especially with the way Chris was looking at her with an unreadable look in his eyes. Chris continued though, despite the thundering in his chest at how beautiful she looked in that moment.

“Game days I’ll usually get up, go to practice. I try and take a nap in the afternoon before I have to go down to the Garden to get ready for the game and it’s much the same if I’m away on the road. We usually practice before we travel to wherever it is we’re headed.”

“That sounds incredibly full-on.”

“It is,” Chris agreed. “But it really makes you appreciate the time at home and the moments of stillness. Why’d you think I love getting lost in a good book so much?”

“Because, in the words of Dr Seuss, ‘the more you read, the more things you’ll know. The more you learn, the more places you’ll go.’”

Chris looked at her softly, a warm smile on his face. “Spoken like a true teacher.”

“So come on then,” she blushed, steering the conversation away from herself and back to him. “You went to Boston College, right? What did you end up studying?”

“Communications,” Chris said as he finished taking a sip of coffee. “I uh, it was really important to my mom for me to finish my degree so I kept plugging away at it even after I went pro.”

“Wow,” Rosie looked at him, clearly impressed. “That’s incredible, Chris. I mean, getting a degree is a hard enough slog when you’re doing it full time, but to do it while you’re travelling here there and everywhere? That’s no easy feat.”

It was Chris’s turn to blush now, too humble and too modest to be able to accept the praise Rosie was giving him.

“I knew how much it meant to my mom and I just wanted to make her happy, that and I was too stubborn to not finish something I’d started.”

“Your birthday is the end of April, right?” She said rather suddenly but as if something had clicked in the back of her mind.

“Yeah, April 30th. Why? You been googling me?”

“Oh it’s nothing really,” she said quickly, face flushing and suddenly aware of how stupid it would sound to him if she actually said it out loud. “And for the record, I haven’t googled you, I just remembered you mentioning your birthday last time we met up.”

“Nah, you can’t just do that,” he chuckled softly. “Come on, what were you gonna say?”

“Well,” she started, her fingers and eyes finding the coffee cup in front of her, anything to avoid the part where he looked at her like she was mad. “I was just gonna say that you really are a typical Taurus.”

Chris leaned forward in his seat, hands settling just shy of hers but the almost contact enough to make her skin spark.

“That so?” he mused. “You big into your astrology?”

“No, well yes, sort of,” she rushed and Chris could tell that she was almost ashamed of the admission. “I don’t read magazine horoscopes or anything like that because they really are a load of bollocks. But natal charts and stuff like that? I find them totally fascinating. I um, I’m kind of into crystal healing, I sage my apartment, I know it’s nuts.”

“No it’s not,” Chris took her hand then, the need to reassure her and ground her in a moment where she felt vulnerable and exposed. “Is it something that I believe in personally? No, not really. But truthfully I don’t know anything about it either. If it makes you happy then it really doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. Maybe you could tell me more about it over dinner or something?”

Rosie looked at him thoughtfully, so appreciative of him in that moment and that ineffable gift of his to make her feel valued and listened to. It was that and all the other wonderful little facets of himself that he was showing her that had her agreeing to his proposal of dinner. She thought about the level of bravery that it must have taken for him to talk about that other side of his life, the side that she knew nothing about, no matter how small or trifling it might have seemed to anyone else. While she might not have had the first clue when it came to the sport or could even truly comprehend what Chris’s life was like, she understood that it must be incredibly difficult for somebody in his situation to forge true and meaningful relationships with people, friendly or otherwise, because when it feels like someone you have just met thinks they already know everything about you, it’s incredibly hard to let the guard come down and let people get close. That is what Chris appreciated the most about Rosie, though, the fact that she hadn’t the faintest idea who number 20 of the New York Rangers was. Every conversation they’d ever shared and every question she’d ever asked came from a genuine and altruistic desire to get to know him better. Even now, as she encouraged him to share that other part of him, that so many others defined him by, it came only from a place of pure and innocent curiosity. She asked about his job much in the same way she would ask an accountant or doctor about theirs.

Being able to have that conversation with her about his life and his job only served to strengthen the bond that they shared and he was incredibly thankful for Rosie’s understanding and willingness to fit her schedule and life around his. As the months passed and summer fast approached, Chris found himself for the first time reluctant to escape the stifling heat of the city after the season had ended. He was enjoying being able to spend more time with Rosie now that the school year had come to a close and he was shocked to learn that even after living in the city for close to six years at that point, she still hadn’t explored all of Manhattan. Their days were filled with walks around the West Village, Midtown or Tribeca and having lunches at tiny hole-in-the wall cafés where they would show each other the books they had picked up in whatever shop they’d found themselves in that morning.

It was that time shared together that made it incredibly easy for Rosie to become a stable fixture in Chris’s life with evenings spent at each other’s apartments having dinner and sharing wine. Rosie had learned quickly that Chris was a capable cook and Chris loved nothing more than when Rosie would cook pasta for him, even if it wasn’t exactly his nutritionist’s dream. It was easy to relax in that kind of way around her, forgetting the strict food regime every once in a while to really savour the beef ragu she made that he loved so much, always washed down with a couple of bottles of Sangiovese shared between them and finished with a homemade tiramisu. It was wholesome, much like she was with the softness of her curves and her insouciant attitude when it came to her looks. That was not to say that she didn’t make an effort, that wasn’t the case at all, for she would always look so put together and incredibly beautiful whenever Chris would see her, but she was the kind of woman who wouldn’t think twice about letting herself indulge in a slice of cake with her coffee or get too hung up on the calorie content of a pasta carbonara, which was a quality that Chris found to be both incredibly refreshing and endearing.

The natural quality of their relationship should have made it incredibly easy for Rosie to give in to those feelings she found beginning to settle in her chest. Chris was a wonderful man, that much was undeniably true and it should have been simple to confront the ache she felt whenever he went away. But if there was one thing Rosie had learned in her life, it was that if you expect too much, if you put people on pedestals that were too high, you would find yourself being disappointed. That was a simple fact of life. People were just that, people, capable of making mistakes. They were not divine beings, no matter how much we saw them as such through our own eyes. It was that idea alone that startled her; that a man such as Chris could be capable of disappointing her by the pure reasoning of the human condition and that was a thought that she couldn’t bear. So she pushed it down, down and down until it was quieter than a whisper. But even whispers can’t be ignored forever, and so with each comment from Chris’s friends about how happy he was since meeting her or each time her skin would spark at the feeling of his hand on the small of her back, the whisper grew, growing and growing with every team event she attended on his arm or every party he asked her along to, until it was a shout.

Relationships had never been something to come easy to Chris, he was too careful and too private; the gnawing feeling in his stomach that told him there was always some ulterior motive was often too arresting to ignore. It should have frightened him, the way Rosie came into his life and smashed through every wall he’d ever built without even doing much at all, but it didn’t. Rather than look at all the bricks and the rubble and be unnerved by the ease in which she was able to coax his vulnerability out of him, he found himself inspired, determined even, to build something truly beautiful with her. Chris knew that he would have to find a way to navigate these feelings with her, cognizant of the need to not throw her into the deep end and shock her system. Rosie deserved better than that because this wasn’t just about him and his feelings, it was about them and their relationship, what it was now and what it could be.

She was brilliant, in every way a person could be, beautiful and with a passion that glowed like the fiery tresses of her hair under a New York sunset. She was bold and sharp as a tack, keeping him on his toes in a way that no one else had ever been able to and he was sure that no one else would ever again. It was late night conversations where they were three bottles of wine deep talking about philosophy and ethics or her reading silently while he played guitar, it was listening to Pearl Jam with her whenever she cooked or Billy Joel when they were curled up together on the sofa, debating whether Radiohead or Nirvana was more influential in the grunge music scene. Hell, it was even looking up his birth chart, even though he didn’t believe in astrology, because there was just something about the way she said ‘You’re such a typical Sagittarius moon.’ Her warmth and her kindness always managed to ground him in moments where he would feel himself slipping, as sure as the moon rises and sets each night, especially once the season had restarted and those niggling insecurities would rear up and settle heavily in his chest, and yet he could tell that she never really knew the exact power that she held. She had his heart completely, whether she was aware of it or not and that was something that Chris hoped would never change. She’d slotted into his life like she had always belonged there, like she had always been there and that feeling only seemed to grow inside of Chris with every dinner they shared with his friends and every time he would see her face in the stands of MSG.

*

The week before Christmas brought an uncharacteristically early winter storm to New York unlike any Chris had ever seen throughout his whole time living there, forcing the city to a standstill and grounding flights, which meant that for the first time since moving to the States, Rosie wasn’t going to be home for Christmas. The idea of her spending the holiday alone in her apartment made Chris’s heart ache and so that was how Rosie ended up in his Tribeca apartment on Christmas Eve, bundled up with him on the sofa under a blanket, each with a mug of homemade mulled wine. The Muppet’s A Christmas Carol played quietly through the tv, one of Rosie’s Christmas Eve traditions that he would never dream of denying her, although, no matter what he would later admit to, he spent more time observing the gentle expression on her face as she got lost in the nostalgia of it all than he did actually paying attention to the screen. She felt him though, not even needing to take her eyes off the movie to know that he was watching her.

“You’re missing all the good bits,” she smirked.

“It’s okay, I’ve read the book. I know what happens.”

There was a slight grit to his tone that Rosie couldn’t quite place but crawled under her skin and kindled a small flame in her stomach all the same.

“But there were no Muppets in the book.” She turned to face him then and took in the expression within his eyes, darker than she’d ever seen them before. “Kermit really brings Dickens’ story to life.”

“I mean, Beaker steals it for me but we’ll agree to disagree.”

The air thickened around them and Rosie took a long sip of her wine, longer than perhaps she should have, but she needed to swallow away the tightness in her throat from the way Chris was looking at her. Like planets to a sun, Rosie found herself drawn to him, suddenly feeling him everywhere despite the fact they were at opposite ends of his couch. It was that gravity that had her shuffling towards him, crawling into his space in the same way she had crawled into his heart. He was warm, she thought, comfortingly so and the worn hoody on his body felt soft and had the familiar, soothing scent that was so uniquely Chris. Perhaps that is what had her curling into his side and resting her head on his shoulder and perhaps that new-found closeness was what had him pressing his lips into her hair.

There was no way either of them could deny what this was between them, the spark too bright to ignore. Rosie knew that they weren’t just friends, she knew that and she knew that Chris felt it too, that was why his face was turned towards hers, his lips impossibly close so that all she needed to do was tilt her head and give in to what her heart was crying out for. But her head was a cruel mistress indeed and it was that irrational but crippling fear of eventual disappointment that made her clear her throat and scoot back a shade, giving herself some much needed breathing room.

Chris exhaled quietly, the deflation leaving him on the breath. It was almost frustrating how close they were, the finish line within touching distance and yet they always seemed to stop short of it. Chris was there, he was there waiting and willing her to take those last few steps and cross it with him but he knew that he couldn’t force this, nor did he want to either. She had to want it for herself and Chris knew, as he looked at her sitting there chewing on her bottom lip with her brows knitted together in pensive thought, that she was worth the wait, even if it took a lifetime.

The post-holiday back to work rush was one that was felt universally. Those first few weeks always seemed to feel as though there was never enough hours in the day to get everything done and it was no different for Chris and Rosie, both caught up in their jobs to really sit and digest the moment between them at Christmas. Christmas Day had been incredibly busy with Chris hosting a couple of the younger players for dinner and no sooner had the festivities ended he was packing a bag ready to depart for Washington the following morning. They both knew that they had a lot of things to discuss, because that’s what adults did, they talked about their feelings in a healthy and open way, but as the busy-ness of their schedules ramped up, the hours slipped away and turned into days. Days spanned into weeks and weeks turned into months and before either of them knew it, the moment seemed so distant in the rear-view mirror, that it almost felt weird to bring it back up.

 *

The hockey season ended for Chris some time during May, the Rangers making it as far as the second round of the playoffs but unable to close it out after seven hard fought games. The disappointment sat heavy in his chest, much like it always did after losses like these, but he would have been a fool not to notice the way that it didn’t hang all about him in the way it had previous years. Of course, the wound still cut deep but without the festering ache of poison and he knew the antidote was the woman who had swept into his life nearly two years prior. 

It was remarkable really, how she came into his world like that. It was an event that Chris had always described as being purely serendipitous but the longer he spent with Rosie, the more he began to wonder if there was something else at play, hell, even fate perhaps. He had prided himself on being a shrewd man, his practicality something that had always defined him and guided his thoughts and actions, but whenever he thought about them and their relationship, he had to believe that it was more than just some happy accident. Rosie was pure magic, in every sense of the word, always having an uncanny ability to know what he needed before he even did and making him relax in ways he had never previously allowed himself to. It was cliché to say, but Chris genuinely believed that he had never lived until he met her and slowly, over the course of the last year, maybe even longer, the love songs on the radio made a little bit more sense and every love story he’d ever read sat a little bit differently in his heart. He knew that he was going to have to find a way to truly make her his, because despite all of the times where he felt like he could’ve just grabbed her face and kissed her, despite all of the unspoken feelings that had surfaced at Christmas, and despite the fact that they hadn’t yet managed to talk about them, the dynamic between them both after their almost kiss hadn’t changed at all except in the small way that he found himself having to stop himself from holding her in the way that he wanted to more often than not.

He thought about the one night she’d almost burst with excitement over their dinner at her apartment when he told her he had finally sat down and read Captain Corelli’s Mandolin, remembering the wind-scattered waves in her eyes and so sure that if anyone was brave enough to enter their depths, all else would blur and they would fall so deeply in love that they’d choose to stay there, no matter what, because he knew for certain that he had befallen that very fate. He recalled thinking that if that was the last thing he was to ever see, he would surely die a happy man. She had recited her favourite quote to him that he thought to be beautiful at the time but now hitting him like a freight train and knocking all of the wind out of his sails. It crawled through his skin and into his veins until he felt it coursing through his body until it had made a home within his very soul:

‘Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not lying awake at night imagining that he is kissing every part of your body… for that is just being in love, which any of us can convince ourselves that we are. Love itself is what is left over, when being in love has burned away.’

It was those words that had his feet carrying him to his car and those words that had him driving from his apartment to her home in Brooklyn and it was those words that had him standing outside of her front door ready to offer his heart to her. He knocked, more out of habit than anything, the key she had given him a few months ago being turned over between his fingers as he waited and the anxiety beginning to rise with each second that passed without her appearing at the door. He exhaled before finally putting the key into the lock, certain that she was home despite the fact that his visit was unplanned and unannounced.

“Rosie?” he called out into the hallway. “Are you there?”

The silence was unsettling and completely uncharacteristic, made worse by the fact that her car was parked outside in its usual spot and the fact that he could’ve sworn she’d mentioned during their phone call the night before that she was planning on having a day at home to do laundry and catch up on all of those less-important chores she didn’t have the time to do during the school year. 

‘Maybe she’s not home after all’, he thought after a couple of minutes without a reply, more to soothe his own anxiety more than anything else. ‘She’s obviously decided to go out for a walk somewhere. That must be it.’ He was just about to turn away and leave, suddenly aware of how intrusive his presence in her home was when she clearly wasn’t there, when he was certain he heard her voice call his name.

“Rosie?”

A sob drifted down the hallway, muted but no less full of raw pain and anguish that had his legs carrying him towards the sound in big, long strides until it brought him to her bedroom where the door stood slightly ajar. He slowly pushed it open with an exhale of a breath he hadn’t felt being held within his lungs and his heart lurched at the sight of her curled up on her bed sobbing into her pillow. To go to her was instinctive, his soul called out to hers in a desperate attempt to soothe whatever pain she was in and he found himself kneeling at the side of her bed with his long fingers smoothing back the titian strands that had fallen into her face and clung to her tears.

“Ro, what happened?”

She didn’t answer him, couldn’t answer him, in fact, and so he moved onto the bed, gathering her up into his arms and held her close to his chest while he rubbed circles on her back, murmuring softly into her hair to try and still her sobs. He felt the way she clung on to him like she was drowning and he was the life-preserver and pressed gentle kisses against her forehead until her crying was no more than quiet sniffles.

“Rosie, sweetheart, talk to me. What happened? Are you okay?”

“My grandma,” she choked out against the fabric of his t-shirt. “My grandma died.”

Chris closed his eyes and exhaled as the second wave of tears took her, holding her steadfast against him and saying nothing other than reassuring her that he was there for her. He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that for, with her still impossibly close to him long after she’d finished crying herself hollow, until after the tears had dried and all that was left was the crippling deadweight of grief. It was Chris that spoke out into the new but deafening silence, his voice barely audible and a little rough from his own emotion that sat threateningly high in his throat.

“I’m so sorry, Rosie…”

The tiny exhale that passed Rosie’s lips had Chris’s heart breaking in two for her. Her reply small and full of defeat. “She’d had dementia for a while… Didn’t really know who any of us were,” she sniffled, dangerously close to losing it again. “Every time I went back home it was like she had to learn who I was all over again. I know that this was the kindest thing to happen but-”

Chris kissed her forehead as she choked back a sob, a wordless assurance that she didn’t need to say another word and a quiet understanding of the pain and emptiness that she was drowning in. 

“When are you flying home?” He murmured softly.

“I’m going to try and get a flight home for tomorrow, Thursday at the latest.”

“It’s gonna be expensive to try and get something that short notice, Ro.”

“That’s why I have savings,” Rosie gave a small, almost robotic shrug as she wiped her face, the emotion quickly being forced back down into her stomach as she turned her focus towards the things that she could control to keep herself from spiralling into hysterics again. “In case of an emergency.”

“Let me pay for your flight home,” Chris offered. “Please, it’s the least I can do.”

“You know I can’t accept that, honey.”

Chris had been friends with Rosie long enough to be familiar with the fact she often used terms of endearment whenever she was talking to him, but even now, especially now, with all those feelings of complete clarity about her and about them and their relationship that sat in his chest, it still managed to knock him back a bit and make his heart swell even in a moment as awful as this one. 

“Why not?”

He knew that this was a situation where he shouldn’t push too hard, that she would either pull away from him or direct all of that grief and emotion his way, like a cornered animal seconds away from deciding whether to fight or bolt. He knew he shouldn’t push this but he needed to do something, the overwhelming demand coming from his heart to make this right and fix this for her too much to ignore.

“Because I’m not your problem, Chris,” Rosie said, completely deflated. “Because this doesn’t need to be your problem.”

“I want to help, Ro, please. Please let me help. Please let me help fix this.” He was pleading with her and while a part of Rosie understood his desire to make this better for her, the swirling hurricane of emotions inside of her was reaching a fever pitch and, unable to make sense of it all, she found herself directing her howling gales towards the one thing she should have been holding on to.

“This isn’t something you can fix, Chris! You can’t fix this, you can’t make this right and you can’t bring her back!”

She stood with her fists balled tightly, the pain on her face as she sobbed and the realisation that she was right cutting through Chris like a knife. He had never been one to lose his nerve in a crisis, always the dependable one, always the stoic one. He was the guy people could rely on when things were shitty and it was something he prided himself on, but seeing her in front of him, shattered and in agony, knowing that he would have to sit this one out until she’d had a chance to process everything, left him feeling weak and powerless.

He watched her in stunned silence, unable to articulate feelings that he couldn’t make sense of. She was standing no more than three meters away from him but the distance between them felt like it stretched light-years. He couldn’t let her go to England with that hanging between the two of them, that ocean that would separate them felt like she would slip into another universe entirely and leave him with too much uncertainty about how things would be once she got back to New York. She didn’t give him a choice, though, her voice sounding abstract and unlike her own as she spoke into the void between them.

“I’m sorry, I just… I think I need to be alone right now. I need to wrap my head around this and it,” she paused for a moment, a shaky sigh filling the space. “It’s not fair on you for me to throw my emotions at you like this.”

“Rosie,” he spoke her name like a prayer, an oblique supplication that she heard but couldn’t accept.

“Please, Christopher. I know that you just want to help and, Christ, I appreciate you so much but I can’t accept your money, that’s just not my way, and I need to process this in my own way. I promise you though, I’ll let you know when I’m leaving for the UK and I swear that I’ll keep in touch.”

He hated it, all of it, but he loved her and he knew that she needed this, no matter how much it killed him to have to let her do things her own way. So that’s how he found himself nodding and respecting her request before folding her into his arms and pressing a kiss to her temple that he hoped would convey all of the affection and love that he held for her. For the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to cry as he drove back to his apartment and prayed to whoever was listening that she would be okay and that they would be okay, because if he lost that magic, if he lost her, he would have nothing.

It was two days later when Rosie reached out to say that she was at the airport waiting for her flight back to England, those forty-eight hours without talking to her the longest he’d ever endured. She assured him that while she was still not in a great place herself, that they were okay and that she appreciated everything he had offered to do for her. The messages were shorter than Chris was used to but it did help to make that feeling of distance between them feel a little less insurmountable than before.

*

June would usually have him heading to his coastal home in Connecticut or making the trip back to Massachusetts to be with his family, but he instead found himself lingering in New York, although with Rosie in England indefinitely he wasn’t entirely sure why he hadn’t committed to definite summer plans. If he really thought about it, though, really gave it more than a second’s thought and was completely honest with himself, he knew that he was waiting for her. He didn’t want to go home to Boxford and for her to come back to a city without him there. He wanted to be the one to welcome her back, pick her up from the airport and wrap her up in a hug that would have her never doubting how he truly felt about her. But really, when he spent time dissecting that desire to be there for her when she got back to New York, it actually stemmed from a desire to be with her, period. That was what had him picking up the phone and scrolling through his contacts, not even giving it a second thought when he hit that ‘call’ button but the guilt instantaneous when a sleepy voice answered.

“Hello?”

“Shit, I’m sorry. I completely forgot about the time difference,” Chris exhaled and rubbed the back of his neck.

“You never call without texting first. What’s on your mind?”

Chris sighed into the receiver, using the pause to gather his thoughts into some kind of semblance of coherence rather than dumping them all out in one go.

“I don’t even fucking know anymore, Mika.”

Mika’s tone shifted as the last remnants of sleep fell away, taking on the familiar quality that seemed to be reserved only for Chris. “Did something happen between you and Rosie?”

“Not really?” Chris offered, unsure of the answer to Mika’s question himself. “It’s just… It feels wrong, all of this.”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down. What feels wrong? I thought you loved her.”

“That’s just it, Mika,” Chris exhaled. “I do, fuck, I love her so much and the fact that she’s there and I’m here-”

Chris’s deep sigh through the receiver had Mika sitting up in bed, his next words spoken with such a surety as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“So go to her.”

“What?”

Mika laughed so softly that it was barely audible, shaking his head despite Chris not being able to see him.

“Y’know, for someone so smart you really are dumb sometimes.”

“Okay, first of all, ouch,” Chris grumbled. “Second of all, rude. Thirdly, what’re you getting at exactly?”

“What I’m getting at,” groused Mika, too tired from being woken up in the wee hours of the morning to have any great level of patience. “Is that you should book a flight and get your ass to the UK.”

“Just like that? Just go?”

“Yes, Jesus, Chris. I don’t know what else you want me to say, man, it’s three in the morning here and Irma will kick my ass if I wake her up.”

“Right, yeah,” Chris mumbled, the guilt at waking up his friend rearing its head again. “Sorry, I know I shoulda thought about the time difference.”

“The only reason you have to be sorry is if you don’t pack a bag as soon as we’re done talking and go get on the next fucking plane to England.”

Chris paused, long enough to gather his thoughts but not long enough for Mika to be concerned.

“I guess I’ll let you know when I land then.”

“Give her a hug from me, Chris,” Mika said with complete sincerity.

“‘Course I will, and Mika?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks, man.”

Mika smiled into the darkness of his bedroom before answering softly, “anytime.”

 *

Chris had never been to England before and he wasn’t afraid to admit that his geography knowledge of the country was somewhat lacking, so to say that this trip was going to be a baptism of fire would have been entirely accurate. He was a confident enough driver, if he were to say so himself, but he’d have been a big fat liar (to put it in Rosie’s words) if he didn’t admit that the prospect of driving the 160 miles from London Heathrow to Exeter, on the wrong side of the road he might add, filled him with a little bit of dread. But if there was a woman worth braving the complete absurdity of a roundabout for, it was Rosie.

He couldn’t help but feel like he was going behind her back a little bit, using the excuse of wanting to send flowers to her as a means to get her parents’ address when he’d spoken to her on the phone the previous morning. He hoped that she would be able to forgive his little deception and see the purity of his intentions behind it, although he did pick up some flowers on the way to her parents’ house from the small hotel he was staying at, wanting to fulfil that part of the bargain at least. His heart thundered in his chest as he turned into a quiet residential street that the GPS was signalling as being his destination. He pulled up outside the house, checking, double checking and triple checking that he had the right address before he shut off the car engine and got out, grabbing the large bouquet of flowers off the back seat. He can’t ever remember a time that his palms were this clammy or where his legs felt like they were about to give way from under him quite like they did at that moment as he walked up the short driveway to the front door.

He rubbed his free hand on the front of his jeans, taking a settling breath before he knocked on the door, unsure of what to expect when it opened. His eyebrows raised in surprise when an older looking gentleman answered, who looked equally surprised to see a slightly dishevelled looking, six foot three stranger on his doorstep.

“Good afternoon, sir,” Chris spoke, thankful that he was at least able to find his strong voice despite the distraction of his heart hammering in his chest.

“Alright there, mate?” the man greeted, with an accent that Chris noted to be far stronger than Rosie’s. “You lost or summat?”

“I hope not,” Chris laughed more out of nerves than anything else. “I’m actually here to see Roseanna.”

He hadn’t meant to sound so unsure of himself, his statement coming out as more of a question and nothing at all like his normal confident self. The older man didn’t seem to pay too much notice to it though, instead breaking into a smile that Chris recognised as being near enough identical to Rosie’s and gestured for him to come inside the house. 

“She’s just got back from walkin’ the dog, I’ll get ‘er for you.”

Chris watched as the man disappeared the short way down the hallway and called Rosie’s name into the kitchen, unable to stop the grin from forming on his face as he heard her voice reply to the man he had assumed to be her father.

“Someone’s ‘ere to see you, love, what? No, I don’t know who he is… maybe one of your university mates,” he turned back to give Chris a friendly nod before adding, “she’ll be right with you.”

Sure enough, no sooner were the words out of his mouth did Rosie appear in the doorway at the end of the hall, all red cheeks and light freckles from the sunshine. She stopped dead in her tracks, her face switching from total surprise at the sight in front of her to overwhelming joy before finally settling on complete disbelief at the realisation that Chris was standing right in front of her in the home she grew up in. Her legs instinctively carried her into his waiting arms, tears starting to fall before she could even register what was happening. Chris was certain that he would never forget the way she held onto him in that moment, with her face buried into his chest and her arms tight around his back.

“What are you doing here?” She finally managed, bringing her teary eyes up to meet Chris’s. “How? When?”

His only response was to kiss her forehead sweetly, holding her against his body like she was about to float away.

“I wanted to be here for you. I know you have your family but, God, it just didn’t feel right to be back in New York.” He stepped back from her a fraction so that he could offer the blooms he was still holding to her. “And I believe I promised you some flowers.”

“I thought you were sorting them with a local florist not travelling across the Atlantic to hand deliver them,” she laughed through her tears, a hand coming up to whack his chest lightly. “You are completely ridiculous, Christopher James Kreider.”

“Anything to see you smile, Ro.”

He kissed her hair before taking her outstretched hand and followed her as she led him into the kitchen to meet her family for the first time.

 *

The next few days had Chris feeling a little bit like a spare part. Rosie and her family were busy with the last minute preparations for the funeral and Chris wished that he could do more to help out but, just like always, Rosie managed to allay his worries and settle his heart by assuring him that his presence alone was enough. They’d spent their free time taking in the sights of South Devon, Rosie relishing the opportunity to show him around the place she grew up and all of her favourite spots. He particularly enjoyed the day they spent down in a place called Torquay, the beauty of the ocean and the way the sun kissed her hair had him feeling bold enough to reach for her hand as they walked along the sea-front while enjoying an ice cream each.

On the day of the funeral, Chris made himself completely indispensable to Rosie and her family, nothing being too much trouble. He held Rosie tightly throughout the ceremony, never once letting her go and whispered words of comfort to her as she said her final goodbyes to the grandmother she loved so much before they exited the church. He stayed by her side throughout the wake at her request. The emotional rawness of the day had her feeling more vulnerable than she would have liked but there was something about the way Chris’s hand rested above her knee as they sat around the table that had her feeling more grounded and centred than she knew she would’ve been had he not been there. It was easy for her to go back to Chris’s hotel with him, the emotions of the day still weighed heavy on her and she couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping alone.

The gravity of those feelings wasn’t lost on Rosie and she knew that sooner or later she’d have to really take a step back and take a good look at her relationship with Chris and what it all meant. It was easier to be dishonest with herself and keep up the pretence that they were just friends because if she let herself think about them being anything else for too long she would feel her chest tighten and hear her heart start to whoosh in her ears. Was it childish? Absolutely, but she’d be damned if she let herself get hurt by a man again. Her self-preservation mechanism had been working like a charm so far and if it wasn’t broken then why fix it? It wasn’t completely infallible though and after two bottles of Chianti and the way the lamplight accentuated the softness in his eyes, Rosie found herself slipping. 

“What’s on your mind?” He whispered, fingers finding her chin to bring her thousand yard stare away from the wall and back to his searching gaze.

“Everything,” she sighed softly. “It’s loud in my head tonight.”

“Is there one thing in particular that you can pick out?”

He took the wine glass that she was cradling and set it down on the table, taking her hands in his and rubbing his thumbs gently across her knuckles.

“Not really, today has just been a lot.”

Chris nodded in understanding, not wanting to pry further and cognizant of the emotional strenuity of the day. Instead he pulled her closer, nestling her into his side and pressing a gentle kiss to her hair.

“I still can’t believe you came all this way for me,” she murmured.

“Why darling,” Chris started, Rosie immediately recognising the quote as being Hemingway. “I don’t live at all when I’m not with you.”

She tilted her head up towards him, her lips impossibly close to his as her fingers danced along the stubble at his jaw and swallowed down the nerves that had lodged in her throat. She closed her eyes, so close to giving in to her heart and letting it win, for better or worse. Chris had been dreaming of this moment though, longing for it with every close call and missed opportunity. This is how it should’ve been at Christmas and all of the team events he’d the delight of having her on his arm, but instead he let himself chicken out, the fear of spooking her and losing her too much to allow himself to take the risk. But now, he had Rosie right there. She was impossibly close and all around him and he knew that if he didn’t take that leap and place his lips on hers, he might never get that chance again and that is what had him brushing his lips lightly across hers, his fingers finding a home amongst the loose copper curls that were glowing like hot coals in the low light of the room.

Instinct took over and had Rosie arching her body into him, her hands reaching up into his hair to muss the short curls. Even with her body pressed against his, Chris needed her closer, his big arms looping around her and pulling her into his lap. He kissed her desperately, a kiss to make up for all the kisses they should have already shared and all the words that should have been spoken. It should have terrified him, how easy it was to be with her like this and how easy the push and pull of it was, neither taking more than they were giving in the moment. This was what Boris Pasternak meant when he said ‘you and I, it’s as though we have been taught to kiss in heaven and sent to Earth together to see if we know what we were taught., Chris was sure of it because nothing could compare to how Rosie’s lips felt against his and the feeling of her hands on his skin. Her kiss was heaven and her eyes felt like home and Chris knew in that moment that he needed all of her.

As he carried her to bed, Rosie thought about how right being in his arms felt. It was a strong sense of belonging that she couldn’t ever remember having with anyone else - ‘whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same’, she thought. He spoke her name against her ear like a prayer, all the love and want for her conveyed in one simple word while he removed her dress with tender hands. Her body was laid on display for him like a canvas, his mouth was the paintbrush and Chris knew that he wanted to spend the rest of his life painting a masterpiece onto her skin with his lips.

They moved together between the sheets as sure as the gentle waves that lap against the shore, her hands never feeling more at home than they did running up his back and over his shoulders before settling against the broad plains of his chest. Her every breath and every moan sounded like an aria to his ears and his name tumbling from her lips with every thrust of his hips was met with a moan of hers. He thought she could never look as good as she did underneath him, blooming like a rose, until he found himself on his back with her above him, her hair falling around them both like a curtain and her mouth panting against his as she rolled her hips. His hands made a home at the dip of her waist, guiding her in her movements but never taking the reins from her, giving her the control they both knew she needed in the moment.

It was intuitive, really, the way she was rocking her hips into his and the steady build of pressure in her stomach had her chanting Chris’s name like an incantation. He saw on her face the exact moment that the coil snapped, moaning as she fluttered and tightened around him and brought his hips up to meet hers as she rode the wave of her orgasm.

“I’m with you,” he murmured against her neck.

“Please, Chris. I need you.”

“I’ve got you, Ro. I’ve got you.”

She turned her face to meet his lips in a deep kiss, Chris moaning into her mouth as he spilled inside of her with stuttering hips. Rosie let out a contented sigh as she kissed him through his release, her chest pressed against his and her fingers playing with whatever ends of his hair she could reach. They stayed that way long after he’d gone soft inside of her, content to just bask in the afterglow of the moment as Chris’s fingers traced up and down her back. Rosie knew that she needed to have a frank discussion with Chris about her feelings but now didn’t seem like the right time for that. The sudden realisation that things would never be the same and that there was no going back to the way things were after this embedded itself like a seed, but Rosie let herself surrender to the feeling of safety and security Chris’s arms offered her before it could take root. She nestled herself against his side, her head resting on his chest with her eyes closed, and let his heartbeat be the gentle lullaby to lead her into the beautiful twilight.

 *

Chris awoke to the feeling of Rosie snug and secure within his arms, a peaceful look resting on her features that gave her an angelic quality. He let his mind wander to the night before and allowed the love he felt for her run wild through his veins and fill every corner of his mind, body and soul. For so long it had just been him and hockey, never subscribing to the idea that a person needed a relationship to be complete. But as he looked down and saw his entire world resting within his arms, he realised that he had been right all along. It wasn’t a relationship that made a person complete. It was love. That all-consuming wildfire that burns everything else away until there is nothing left but a new-beginning. He remembered the quote from Corelli that Rosie loved so much and felt everything fall into place. He felt like he’d waited a million years for this feeling and now that he felt it consume him like wildfire, he knew that he would have waited a million more, just as long as he had the privilege of being hers. It was surrendering all that he had ever been for everything that she was, for every kiss and every touch. Her love was his turning page and loving her was the greatest and best thing that he would ever do in his life, he was sure of it.

He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, eyes crinkling with his smile as she stirred.

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” he whispered against her hair. “You sleep okay?”

“Yeah,” she croaked, voice still thick with sleep. “What time is it?”

Chris looked over her shoulder at the clock on the nightstand. “Just gone eight-thirty.”

“Oh, okay.”

She furrowed her brows again, suddenly feeling Chris everywhere as pieces of the night before flooded her consciousness as she fully emerged from sleep and into the waking world. She was naked, she registered, and so was he and she was blindsided by an abrupt awareness that a definite line had been crossed that they could never go back from. It was that recognition of their friendship never being the same again that had her rolling away from Chris without warning. She was out of bed before he could even register what was happening, gathering up her clothes and dressing quickly without as much as a word.

“Rosie?” Chris was sitting up now, a slight waver to his voice as he spoke her name. “What are you doing?”

“I have to go,” she mumbled, an almost robotic edge to her tone that had Chris jumping out of bed and throwing on a pair of sweatpants, already catching up to her racing thoughts without her needing to say another word. He rushed to the door that she was making a beeline for, stepping in front of it and reaching desperately for her hands.

“Don’t do this, Ro… Please, don’t run from this.”

“Chris,” she warned, the emotion sitting dangerously high in her throat and her eyes glossing over with tears.

“What’re you so afraid of? I know you feel it too, Rosie. I know you do.”

“Chris, please,” she tried to brush past him but Chris wouldn’t let this moment slip through his fingers, not this time.

“No, we’re not doin’ this anymore. We’re not gonna spend the rest of our lives pretending that we’re just friends because we’re not, Rosie. I don’t think we have been for a long time- look at me, Ro, please.”

Chris saw the flicker of hesitation cross her face but the desperation in his voice was too much for her to ignore. She brought her eyes up to meet his and saw a fire burning within them that she had never seen before.

“I love you, Rosie. You have to know that by now.”

She shook her head vehemently, the tears she had managed so far to keep at bay finally slipping out and onto her cheeks.

“Don’t,” she whimpered. “Don’t say shit you don’t mean.”

“Who says I don’t mean it?” He brought his hands to cup her face to keep her eyes on him. “You? Do you think I’d travel across an ocean to be here with you now if I didn’t love you?”

Rosie answered only with a sniffle, the feeling of his touch along her skin anchoring her in a moment where she felt like she was drowning in a sea of every repressed emotion and feeling from the last eighteen months.

“But what if this doesn’t work? What if we’re better as friends?”

“I know you don’t believe that,” he wiped away the tears on her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. “I know that you’ve been hurt before and I know that you’re scared. But you can’t keep holding on to the past, Ro, because if you do you’ll miss out on what’s right in front of you.”

“It’s not the loving you part that’s hard Chris,” she whispered. “It’s admitting to myself that it happened at all that is. I’ve had all these defences that have worked to keep me from getting hurt for so long but it was like you didn’t even see them at all, like they were meant for others while you had your very own door. I’ve spent so long asking myself why that is and come up with nothing. Do you know how terrifying that is?”

He kissed her forehead softly in response before pulling back to look into her eyes, making sure that she saw him, felt him, heard him. “In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”

The corners of Rosie’s mouth quirked up into a smile despite her tears and her doubts, her favourite passage from Pride and Prejudice never sounding as good as it did coming from Chris’s mouth and extinguishing every fear she was holding within her heart. She closed her eyes and nodded, her lips connecting with his in a kiss that could’ve stopped the world from turning. She gave herself to him completely and surrendered to the overwhelming love that burned within her for him. There were no words that could convey to Chris just how much he meant to her but she hoped that ones from Rupi Kaur would do it justice:

“You might not have been my first love, but you were the love that made all the other loves irrelevant.”

Chris smiled against her mouth and kissed away every fear and worry until there was nothing left but him and her and the love they had for each other.

 *

Life continued much as it had before, a testament really to the relationship that Chris and Rosie already shared and the official label did nothing more than earn them a chorus of “it’s about time” from their friends and had Mika looking incredibly smug for the next few months. The passage of time only served to make their relationship stronger, both able to give themselves completely without the uncertainty of their feelings looming over them or holding them back. Rosie often found herself being struck by the easiness of their relationship and she never once found herself questioning Chris’s commitment to her and what they had. When he asked her how she would feel about ending the lease on her Brooklyn apartment and moving into his place in Manhattan she didn’t have to give it a second thought. Everything about it felt natural and they were both ready to take that next defining step in their relationship. Once Rosie’s belongings and houseplants were moved in, Chris couldn’t help but feel as if they had always been there, like his apartment was finally complete and that it was the home he had always imagined it would eventually be.

Of course, there were bumps in the road, both of them had been on their own for so long that they were set in their ways at first, but their disagreements never lasted long, their shared knack for communication often diffusing the situation before it had chance to grow arms and legs. The adjustment was harder for Chris in some ways, especially when things on the ice weren’t going so well and he would retreat into himself or misdirect his frustrations towards Rosie with a sharper tone than was necessary, but she stood firm, never one to suffer fools and for that Chris was eternally grateful. They complimented each other in ways they couldn’t even have imagined, Chris able to pull Rosie out of her own head when the world weighed heavy on her shoulders and Rosie never afraid to put Chris in his place when he needed it. As the months rolled into years and their love went from strength to strength, Chris knew for certain that she was it for him and there was nothing he wanted more than to start and end the day with Rosie for all of the days to come.

 *

Rosie looked at Chris with confusion as their Uber pulled up outside Westsider Books one early September evening. There was a faint glow of lights inside but it didn’t look as if the shop was open and Rosie couldn’t understand why Chris had brought her here when she was sure they closed at five.

“I didn’t realise this place opened late,” she said as Chris opened her car door and offered his hand to help her out of the car.

“I think it’s just a one-time thing,” he replied as he thanked the driver and closed the door. He placed a hand on the small of Rosie’s back and guided her towards the shop entrance, pushing the door open and gesturing for Rosie to go in ahead of him. Rosie wasn’t exactly sure what she was expecting to find inside, but hundreds of glittering fairy lights, candles and more flowers than she could count wasn’t even on the list.

“Chris?” she breathed, turning to look at him.

“If you were to list your top three favourite books of all time off the top of your head,” he started, wrapping his arms around her waist. “What would they be?”

“Christopher…”

“Come on, Ro,” he grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling in the way she loved so much. “Just... play along… Please, for me?”

“Alright, well…” she conceded with a gentle sigh. “Off the top of my head I would probably say Captain Corelli’s Mandolin, For Whom the Bell Tolls and Pride and Prejudice.”

Chris’s smile somehow managed to double in size, the soft glow of the string lights and candles had his eyes sparkling like smoky quartz, the lush green flecks that usually lived among the dark bark of his irises hidden by the low light. He knew she would say that, of course, knowing her with an intimacy that even after all their years of friendship and the years of loving her still managed to knock him back a bit. He took her hand then, leading her along the aisle before stopping in front of a shelf with a dozen hand-tied sunflowers. He reached out and took a book from the shelf.

“Captain Corelli’s Mandolin by Louis de Bernières,” he murmured, passing the book to Rosie with an easy grin. “Go on, open it.”

He watched as she opened the cover of the book, her face softening at the sight of a delicate pendant necklace nestled between the pages. A small silver fern leaf hung at the end of the thin chain, a nod to the many houseplants she had brought into his home when she moved in that he had playfully grumbled about but in all actuality loved.

“Chris, it’s beautiful.”

He gently took the necklace from her hands and spun Rosie around, draping the chain across her chest and fastening it behind her neck with sure fingers before turning her back to face him, his eyes falling to the pendant that glimmered in the low light of the room.

“It looks gorgeous on you,” he smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Right, what was the next book? For Whom the Bell Tolls, right?”

“Chris, what is all this?” Rosie asked softly, taking Chris’s outstretched hand and following him down the next aisle to another shelf. He ignored her question, simply picking up the book and handing it to her.

“I love that you love Hemingway almost as much as I do,” he whispered softly. “Almost. You have no idea how much it means to me that I get to share that enjoyment with you and I want us to keep making memories together and sharing enjoyment of the things we love.” He watched her expectantly, waiting for her to open the book to reveal the piece of paper he’d folded in there. He took the book from her hands so that she could open it.

Rosie’s eyes widened as she read what she realised to be an itinerary for a trip to Europe next summer.

“I’ve only been to a couple of places in Europe,” Chris started. “And I figured who better to show me around than the girl who’s visited near enough every country on that continent?”

Rosie was unable to contain her sniffles by this point, overwhelmed at the thought and preparation that Chris had put in, not only in the trip to Europe, but this whole evening as well. She shook her head gently as she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face into his chest.

“This is too much, Chris, you shouldn’t have.”

He pulled back from her just far enough to get her eyes on his, his face set with an expression that held all the love in the world.

“Ah, ah, there’s still one more book, which if I’m not mistaken is your all-time favourite and you, Roseanna Williams, are worth all the good things in this world.”

Her slung his arm over her shoulders and pulled her into his side as they walked back towards the front of the shop, Rosie gently wiping the tears away from her eyes. Pride and Prejudice sat pride of place in the middle of a small table, the book surrounded by petals. Chris gave her an encouraging look and stepped back as she picked it up, taking a small envelope from out of the book before setting it back down again. Her eyes found her name on the front of the envelope in Chris’s unmistakable handwriting before turning it over in her hands and opening it, pulling out what appeared to be a letter. She took a steadying breath as she began to read.

My dearest Rosie,

There will never be the words to adequately express just how much you mean to me or how grateful I am to have found you. You are everything that I didn’t even know I was searching for, that I didn’t even know I needed.

I never believed in fate, every happy accident is just that. A happy accident. Coincidence. Right place, right time. But you, you have opened my eyes to the idea of pure magic because how can a love like ours be founded on pure coincidence alone? How can a soul yearn for someone they had never met? I know now that the reason I found myself in this very book store on that day you came into my life was because your soul was calling me here.

In you I have everything I’ll ever need. No matter where my career takes me, no matter what lies ahead, as long as I have you I have everything. I love you more than anything else in this world, you have given me a higher purpose and I will spend the rest of my life making you happy if you’ll let me.

All my love, Always

Chris

We would be together and have our books and at night be warm in bed together with the windows open and the stars bright - E. Hemingway.

Rosie closed her eyes and let her tears fall onto her cheeks as she clutched the letter to her chest.

“Chris…”

“I’m gonna need you to open your eyes, babe,” Chris chuckled softly.

Rosie smiled as she allowed her eyes to drift open, her hand immediately coming up to her mouth as she stifled an unexpected sob at the sight of Chris down on one knee in front of her, a ring box open in his hand that looked as if it contained an entire galaxy of glittering stars.

“Ro, I can’t even remember what my life was like without you in it, I didn’t even know that I was in the dark. Until I saw your smile. It was only then that I realised and now I never want to live a single day without the warmth and light of your love. It’s us, babe. It’s always been us and it’s always been you, since the day we met. I didn’t even realise I was waiting for you and now that I have you, everything is as it should be. I love you, Rosie. I’ve always loved you and I would be the happiest and luckiest man on Earth with you as my wife. Marry me, babe?”

Rosie sank slowly to her knees in front of Chris, her hands reaching up and cupping his face as her tears fell. In front of her was a man who had given her everything, who had helped her to let go of the past and right now, he was offering her a future brighter and more wonderful than anything she could’ve ever imagined and never dared to dream she would have.

“Oh god, please tell me those are happy tears.”

She cut him off with a kiss, a kiss that gave Chris his answer without her even needing to say it. She kissed him with everything she had, kissed him with all of the love that coursed through her veins, kissed him until her lungs were gasping for air and she finally had to pull away, resting her forehead against his with her hands stroking along his jaw.

“Yes,” Rosie whispered. “A million times, yes.”

As Chris slid the ring onto Rosie’s finger, he took the opportunity to look into those eyes of hers that he’d grown to love so much. It was there that he saw their future, all of their hopes and dreams and the promise of all the joy in their lives that was to come and as her arms wrapped tightly around him, Chris felt their souls sigh as they folded into one another. Chris couldn’t tell what the future had in store for them both, but no matter where their path together would lead them, it was in her embrace that he found solace and it was in her heart that he found a home.

[caramelcal]

Trained for Sin {part two}

Word Count: 2.2k 

Ship: Luke Patterson x Reader

a/n: wow...here is your highly requested part two! YALL GOT ME FEELIN FAMOUS!! Thank you so much for every single comment, note, request, repost and message. I am so thankful for them all and I’m glad you guys enjoy my silly little fics lol...

Would a ‘Luke Patterson’ tag be something you guys are interested in, so that you would be notified for every Luke fic I post or no? It’s just a little idea right now...

From Luke’s point of view for a bit of ~spice~

Warnings: friends with benefits themes, sexual themes, swearing 

Tags: @iainttakingshitfromnobody​ @ilymarkchan​ @starjane312​ @miranda0102​ @katrin-okay​ @mah-gah-lee​ @fantastic-fans​ @phantompogues​ @fangirlangioma​

disclaimer: i do not condone plagiarism on my work at all, this has not been posted on any other platforms, or on tumblr anywhere else but my account (rosemoonmist) if you see anyone plagiarizing mine (or anyone else’s account) please inform the rightful author ! thank you lovelies x

Part One   Masterlist

It wasn’t a particularly normal experience for Luke to be called down by his mom, but he tried to give it no thought as he bounded down the stairs that day. He could faintly hear the sound of a car starting up and leaving outside as he turned his attention towards his mom, “Hey mom, what’s up?”

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he saw his mother stare down at the parcel with a slight, almost unnoticeable, frown. The older woman walked towards her son, giving him a weak smile as she spoke to him, “A h/c haired girl dropped this off for you. She seemed upset.”

That was even more confusing to Luke. Who would drop him off a parcel, and why would they be upset? He took the package off of his mother, flipping it around to look at the neat handwriting splayed out on the envelope that sat on top of the tan packaging of the parcel. That was your handwriting, but why would you send him a letter and a parcel?

Giving his mom a muttered thanks, Luke doesn’t stay around for any small talk and instead goes back up into his room, kicking the door shut behind him, all of his attention now on the parcel. Something is wrong, he knows that.

The guitar that Luke was playing before he was called down was long forgotten about as he sat down on the edge of his best, ripping the tan paper that you had wrapped the item in. You wrapped it as if it was a gift but it wasn’t. It was his hoodie he had given you the previous night in the car. Why did you not just return this yourself?

He placed the hoodie next to him on his bed, the envelope still in his hand. He was confused. Yet, as he opened the envelope and the key fell onto his lap everything started to fall into place. That was the house key he gave you so that you could come over whenever he needed you. With that, his stomach fell. No.

Luke was far from dumb, and he could already tell what this was going to be. He had dumped girls over text, he had dumped them in person, and just from the start of your letter, he knew what you were writing to him about. He just didn’t want to believe it.

Dear Luke,

This was probably not what you were imagining to get. Maybe you were imagining a present, or maybe you had a parcel that you were supposed to be getting delivered or something but this isn’t like that. Apologies for possibly getting your hopes up, but this way everything will be easier. I won’t have to fumble over my words and you won’t have to sit in embarrassment as some random girl tells you she no longer wants to have sex with you.

After that last statement, I can already tell you’ve probably stopped reading this, possibly ripped it up, or set it on fire and that’s alright. Yet, no matter how cliché it sounds, this isn’t your fault. This...Whatever we had was great while it lasted, especially at the start but now I have to search for something else. For something more...romantic.

I know you aren’t the romantic type, that had become obvious to me over the past months we have been involved with each other and that’s perfectly okay. I never expected anything more from you. I didn’t expect me to ever want anything more either but the more I watch the girls in the hallways with their boyfriend’s sweatshirts on, holding hands, kissing, hugging I can’t help but yearn for that.

I know I can never ask you to give me that because that was not our deal. I was never supposed to want anything more than meaningless sex, but I did, and I do. I’m just sorry it had taken me this long to realize this was not what I wanted; for either of us.

I think it’s best we don’t contact each other again, whether it be over the phone or in real life, not to give ourselves time to heal but to give us time to recover: for you to find a new girl that will give you everything I have and more; less commitment and more adrenaline and for me to find someone that will give me what I want. These last few months have been an interesting experience, and I wish you all the best.

I’m sorry.

You were gone, and you weren’t planning on coming back.

. . .

Luke had never been one for romance. The whole ‘teenage sweethearts' thing wasn’t for him. He knew that a lot of girls would kill to be in a relationship with him, but it was for popularity; you didn’t want that. Popularity was not a factor for you at all, Luke knew that even if he didn’t speak to you much.

Unbeknownst to you, Luke watched you too. Your small manners and quirks, and quickly became good at reading you. That was how he knew you were embarrassed in the car, even if he couldn’t see you blush. Luke knew a lot more about you than you suspected but the one thing he didn’t know was that you liked romance. Yet, it seemed that was new to you too. 

He thought you were all about the adrenaline and hook-ups like he was, and after seeing how you were on the first night you guys spent together, he thought you were more experienced than you had been. Walking through school felt different now as he glanced over at your locker, noticing your lack of presence. It didn’t feel right.

It was like an itch at his fingers, that something was off about him and he didn’t like it. Throughout the class, he couldn’t focus, his mind in a muddle and hands lightly trembling. It was like withdrawal. Withdrawal from you.

It wasn’t long before Luke walked out of the classroom, not caring about asking for teacher permission. Having a rich dad certainly had its benefits. The school was mostly funded by well-off individuals, allowing the school funds to pay teachers and make the school the best it could be, and with his dad being one of the main ones, he could get away with a lot. Luke’s dad never being around never really was an issue for Luke, he didn’t know what having a dad present was like.  Luke was just happy he could get away with a lot of things like skipping class and not handing in homework.

He made his way down the corridor, subconsciously finding himself heading towards the music department. It was abnormally quiet down there, normally the music department was bustling with sound, but maybe he would find sanity in the silence. That was what he was banking on.

A new sound evaded his senses however, the soft playing of piano keys in a nice and calming melody and he found himself drifting towards the sound. What he was met with, he was surprised. Leaning against the door frame, he watched you, your back turned to him, but he could tell from a mile away that it was you, “I didn’t know that you played.”

The piano playing stopped, indicating that you heard him, but you made no turn to move. He sighed, eyes looking over your figure before walking towards you. He slid next to you on the piano, looking over at your face, the direction of your gaze staying firmly ahead, not daring to stray to look over at him.

His gaze moved back down to the piano keys as he softly played a tune, clearing his throat a little, “Where is everyone?”

“Spirit assembly, they’ll be gone for the next two periods,” You replied monotonously as you continued to stare straight forward. Luke’s eyes stayed on the side of your face, not even looking down at the keys as he played effortlessly. You turned to face him, gesturing towards his face then to his hands, “Is this supposed to psych me out or something?”

Raising his eyebrows, Luke shook his head, his fingers lifting off of the piano keys, “What? No!”

“Whatever, Patterson,” You grumbled, getting up off of the piano seat and going to walk away, only for Luke to grab onto your lower arm in an attempt to stop you, “What?”

“I- uh- I just wanted to say you were good at playing the piano,” Luke commented dumbly, giving you a smile to which you responded with a blank stare. Luke did mean it when he said you were good at playing the piano but that was not what he meant to say. He meant to say something that would make you stay, that would get you to kiss him, to hold hands, and to be happy with him.

Because although he didn’t know it until he got your letter, he knew clearly now. He wanted to be with you, whether that meant fuck buddies, or if it meant dating with every single string attached.

“Really, Patterson? What are you trying to do here? Compliment me back into getting into bed with you?”

“Of course not,” Luke dismissed, climbing over the piano seat so that he stood right in front of you. He grabbed both of your hands, squeezing them in his lightly as he looked into your eyes, “Listen, I’m sorry.”

You quirked an eyebrow at him, confusion striking you as you asked, “What have you got to be sorry about, Patterson?”

“Everything. Y/n, I-I’m sorry that I initiated this whole thing between us two with the no feelings, because from that moment on when I said no feelings I was lying to not only you to but me.” Luke started, looking down at the floor as he began to let his feelings take over. It was one of the first times that Luke ever found himself relying on feelings to get words across, but it felt good to be able to let it out, “Y/n, I always thought I would never do relationships, but with you everything is different. I would hold hands with you down the hall, run around confessing my love for you. I would kiss you and hug you until the sun rose. I would do anything for you, y/n/n.”

Luke’s hazel stared down at your eyes, his ramble coming to an end, making him whisper the end part as he leaned closer to you. Whilst one hand still held onto your hands, one of his hands was on the side of your face, a calloused thumb stroking your cheek gently as he bent down to make direct eye contact with you.

You were dumbfounded. Luke Patterson just confessed his love for you. Luke Patterson. You didn’t know what to say. You never thought that Luke would ever be the type of person to chase after a girl because he wasn’t normally. So why was he so eager about you? He never seemed to show any interest but maybe he was like you; hiding your feelings until they become unbearable.

Butterflies formed in your stomach whilst you tried your best to fight off the smile that came on to your face, looking at Luke with soft eyes, “Really?”

“Yes, really,” Luke nodded his head with a light laugh, a smile on his face. You didn’t say anything in return and instead, you connected your lips with his. You had kissed Luke one hundred times before but nothing compared to the electricity of the kiss you felt right now.

Whilst normally the adrenaline flooded your veins, instead, it was love. It was different from what you were used to, but every touch of Luke on you felt like sparks, like the passion you had put into the kiss sparked electricity with it.

Luke disconnected your lips as he looked down, his hand letting go of your face as his arms went lower, beckoning you to jump up with his head, so you did. With you now in Luke’s arms, you reconnected your lips again, hands pulling on the brown strands of hair on the back of his head.

You barely even paid attention to the fact that Luke walked over to the piano as you deepened the kiss, his teeth biting gently down on your bottom lip, making you open your mouth in surprise. He took the opportunity for his tongue to explore your mouth, and you allowed it, pulling yourself closer to his chest, trying to get as close as you could to the boy. The boy who just confessed his love for you.

The spine of the piano was folded down and Luke placed the top of the piano down, causing you to disconnect your lips and look down at the sleek, polished, black top of the piano that Luke placed you on top of. You looked back at Luke, a look of hesitation to which he nodded, “Luke, no, we can’t do it here! What if we get caught?”

“You said it yourself y/n/n, everyone will be at spirit rally for the next hour,” Luke smirked, kissing you which made you smirk into the kiss as well.

With that, Luke lightly pushed you down onto the piano, climbing over the top of you, letting out breathlessly, “I love you.”

Luke didn’t wait for your response as he bent down to your neck, sucking on it, prepared to leave many marks littering your skin. However, you didn’t oppose, instead your hands made their way up Luke’s back and into his hair, letting out a gasp as he sunk his teeth lightly into your skin. 

And so the games begin.

[bleachhaven]

Soutaicho’s Secret Admirer (Shunsui x Reader) - Part 1/6

This is a little something that was floating around in my head. This is the 1st of a 2-part series. Let me know your thoughts! :)

---

It wasn't like how it was back in the 8th. Not anymore. Back then, his overindulgence of sake the night before meant sleeping late into the afternoon till Nanao-chan deemed it necessary to come find him. 

Last night, he'd spent a bit of time with Ukitake, toasting his life with just a cup of sake. It had meant to be just one cup but toasting his best friend's life in front of his memorial slowly spiraled into a full-on imbibing session to forget the reality.

And now, here he was, in his office way before he wanted to be, keeping his eye open by force. Being the Soutaicho took a lot out of him. Especially his sleep. Not to mention his peace of mind.

At least he had Nanao-chan.

"Taichou," she called out to him, softer than usual. She didn't hesitate when needed to snap him out of his laziness with a strategic slap from her kido text book but she couldn't today. Not when she knew where he'd been last night. 

They never really spoke of it but Ukitake-Taichou's death had hit him hard. Now, even ten years or so later, the pain was yet to lessen. She thought it was understandable and perfectly reasonable. You couldn't stop missing someone who'd been by your side for over a millennia in the matter of decades. So she tried to be softer on him when she could.

"Hmm," he murmured startled out of his own company.

"You're here early."

The shock in her voice made him give her a lazy impertinent smile. "Or I never left."

She shook her head in disapproval but said no more. Instead, she laid out the mail and some paperwork in front of him before settling down at her own desk to see what was on their agenda for the day.

Most of it were fund requests and what not from divisions for certain projects. There were some formal correspondence addressed to the 1st Division. Among it all was one envelope that caught his eye. For one, it was far too fancy to be just another Squad related missive. It was also addressed to him too casually - "Kyouraku Shunsui" written in an elegant feminine hand with no mention of his title or division in sight. He suspected it to be a hand delivered invitation of some sort so he opened it first.

The contents left his mouth opened in awe.

Dear Shunsui-kun,

Even if I lived a million lives, and felt a million things, I still would've fallen a million times for you.

I wish I could forget the distance that lies between us and truly tell you what's in my heart but...

You are you and I am me, and I don't know how it all could ever be.

So let me leave my love for you confined to these words and hope some day this distance won't matter.

That love alone would be enough.

Until then,

With much love,

Your secret admirer.

Nanao glanced up at him. Noticing his strange expression, she almost laughed but her professionalism made her bite it back. "What is it?" she asked calmly.

Startled, he held the paper he was reading to his chest, as if trying to hide its contents. "Nothing!" he told her.

Nanao narrowed her eyes at him, knowing very well that it was not in fact nothing. But she didn't push further. He seemed excited for some reason, and despite her curiosity, she was reluctant to burst that bubble. She hadn't seen her Taichou excited - genuinely truly excited - for anything in so long. Not since the Quincy war. He'd lost so much in one single war - his eye, his father figure, his best friend, and his freedom to name just a few. It was a rarity to see him with that mischievous glint in his eye so she let it go.

He stuffed the missive inside the inner pocket of his haori that was usually reserved for sneaking in sake to unacceptable places. "So, how do you want to torture me today, Nanao-chan?" he asked.

She took a pile of forms and dumped them on his desk. "Sign these, Taichou, and I might let you out for lunch."

"Lunch?" He glanced at the pile in front of him in mock-despair. "It's barely 8 in the morning! You are mean, Nanao-chan," he whined.

She ignored him mostly, and concentrated on her own work while he whined on and off. They were used to this dynamic. It felt familiar in a world full of responsibilities and burdens.

As Shunsui mindlessly lazed over the paperwork, his thoughts kept drifting to the letter he had received. Even though he'd only read it once, he could remember it word to word. And he kept wondering who it could be - this secret admirer. 

The letter smelled of lemon and books. The script elegant and neat. Definitely a woman. He was certain of it. But as much as he thought of it, he couldn't come to a clear conclusion who it could be.

---

The next one came a few days later - almost a week had gone by. It was left on the window sill he usually napped on when he could and was the first thing he saw the moment he arrived back from lunch seeking his favorite nap spot to take in some afternoon sun. 

Nanao was scribbling away at something at her own desk, oblivious to his shock and dilemma. He quickly walked up to it and opened it as quickly as he could without tearing it in the haste.

This time, the contents actually made him gasp.

Nanao looked at him with a strange expression on her face, so he quickly schooled his expression to one of normalcy. 

"Taichou?" she inquired.

"Who was in the office after I went to lunch?"

She found his question strange but answered nonetheless. "I was here for a bit, waiting on some paperwork from the 13th. Then I went out to get lunch myself. I got back just a few minutes before you did, actually."

"Was this here when you left?" He held up the letter, now carefully folded once more.

"Uh. I'm not sure. I suppose I didn't notice it. Why? What is it?" she asked.

"Oh nothing. Just wondering...don't mind me," he said, dismissing it casually. Too casually. "I'm going for a walk."

"Taichou, you just got back."

"Well, I'm going again. See you in a bit, Nanao-chan!" he said cheerily, sauntering out before she could stop him.

Once at the tree under which he usually sought his solitude, he settled down and re-read the letter.

Dear Shunsui,

Sometimes, I wish I was the sun, so I may linger upon your skin. 

I wish I was the sake you sip, so I may kiss upon your lips, with none the wiser to our love. 

To let my body drown in yours under the moonlight, to love you endlessly in anyway you'd let me.

I yearn for you. You could never know just how much I wish you were truly mine, nor how much I wish I was forever yours.

Love,

Your secret admirer.

Unlike the one before, this was more serious and sensual. His secret admirer was attempting to seduce him with her words. 

It was working, he realized, as his mind instantly went to thinking of slow lovemaking under the moonlit sky on a crisp summer night. Perhaps under this very tree, away from prying eyes. The thought had him adjusting his hakama unconsciously as his body responded.

Who was she? he asked himself, uselessly. And he vowed to himself that he would find her out. But in the meantime, he decided to enjoy being romanced and seduced by an ardent admirer.

After all, it wasn’t every day that Soutaicho got sensual love letters...

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Part 2

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