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highvern · 6 months

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Teach Me IV

extra credit

Pairing: Lee Dokyeom (Seokmin) x fem!reader

Genre: smut, humor, college au, frat!svt

Warnings: mentions of drug use (weed) and alcohol , phone sex, exchange of nudes, both are down horrendous, mutual masturbation, making out, dry humping, idiots in like, dokyeom has a praise kink and isn't ashamed, snippets of disgusting fluff

Length: ~5.1k

Note: ugh ... anyways! i know i mentioned potential angst in an ask but i'm weak

read more here

The best part of starting Fall Break on a Friday is having to do absolutely nothing for five blissful days. But because he is easily swindled by his friends, Dokyeom is ass over tits and the clock hasn’t even chimed 8PM. After the incredibly awkward week following your latest tryst, he’s thankful for the mind numbing freedom of alcohol, weed, and nothing but miles of mountain and woods.

Or he would be if wasn’t still upset you turned down his invitation to join him this weekend.

So he sneaks into his room and pulls up your Instagram. You're at the top of his results when he clicks into the search bar.

You posted a new photo this afternoon. A memory of a girls night out, sandwiched between two of your friends outside some bar, nothing but wide drunk smiles and closed eyes under the flash of the camera. Dokyeom already saw it. Already liked it.

He keeps scrolling, down down down till he reaches his favorite picture. A frozen memory of you outside some cafe, slumped in an iron wrought chair, sunglasses obscuring half of your face; your mouth is spread over a wild guffaw, teeth flashing and the corner of your lips arched high in amusement. Whatever had amused you pulled your entire body in, shoulders curved up as your chest caves, chin tipped back.

The soft pink sundress hugging you snugly is an added bonus.

And somewhere in his muddled mind, Dokyeom decides he needs to talk to you. Right. Now.

After the third ring, the call connects.

“Heyyy, pretty lady.”

“Oh my god, are you drunk?” You laugh, and Dokyeom can imagine the same expression from the photo flashing across your face.

God, she even sounds pretty. He thinks.

He whines through the goofy smile plucking the corners of his lips, “Nooooo.”

“Oh, really?”

“Maybe I’m a little drunk.”

“Only a little?” You jest.

“Maybe a lot-tle.”

“I can tell.”

“Wish you were here.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Haven’t seen you in like a week.”

If he wasn’t wasted then he might feel embarrassed, but Dokyeom finds the words slipping past him without a second thought as he rocks back and forth, caught in waves of emotion.

“How’s the cabin been so far?”

The sudden change in topic scratches unpleasantly but he lets it go.

“Would be more fun if you were here.” He confesses. “What are you up to?”

“Laying in bed, watching Love Island.”

“What are you wearing?”

“Seriously?” You scoff.

“What?”

“You’re so lame, Kyeom.”

“I’m curious about what you do when you’re alone.” He tries to sound innocent. “You’re alone, right?”

“Yeah, Ava left for the weekend.”

“So what are you doing this weekend?”

He’s fishing for the real reason you told him you couldn't come with him to the cabin. You’d been purposefully vague the few times Dokyeom probed since last Thursday, claiming any excuse under the sun: a friend coming to visit, getting ahead on assignments, pulling a few extra shifts at the library. Anything to avoid flat out rejection.

“You know, this and that. What about you guys? Any big plans?”

“Some of the guys mentioned a hike tomorrow. And Beer-lympics Sunday.”

“God, you’re such a frat bro.”

“I can do better.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. What are you wearing?” He tries again.

He hears you huff, “Pajamas.”

“Sexy.”

“I actually think this is your shirt.”

“Oh? Send me a pic.”

“What do I get if I do?”

“What do you want?”

“Are you hard?”

“I can be.”

“I’ll send you a picture if you send me one too.”

“Fuck, okay.” He agrees, tapping open his camera app and trying out a few angles, working himself up in the process.

Dokyeom settles for cupping the bulge over his pants, outline of his cock pronounced as he lightly squeezes. He’s highly aware of your obsession with his hands, so he tries to flex his arm forcing the web of veins to rise as the muscles clench.

“I’m waiting.” You goad on the other end of the phone, knocking him out of his concentration.

The five photos he’s snapped all look about the same. Settling on the least blurry one, he quickly opens your messages and sends it before changing his mind.

A sharp inhale announces its arrival on your phone.

“Your turn.”

He can hear the rustle of clothes and blankets through the speaker, and a whispered curse following a dull thud. Dokyeom can’t help the chuckle that escapes as he pictures whatever caused it.

The photo you send back takes him a second to decipher. You're definitely wearing his shirt, the bottom hem bunched across your breasts, the swells of flesh peaking out near the top of the picture; perfectly omitting your face. Tracing down your bare stomach, your hips are wrapped in powdery blue cotton panties. And if that wasn’t enough, one hand is stuffed underneath, pulling the elastic taunt across the crease in your hip as it stretches to accommodate your fingers.

Holy shit.

“You like it?”

“You're evil.” Head rolling back, Dokyeom groans as he takes it all in. “You want me dead.”

You giggle at his tone.

“Fuck,” he mutters, continuing to study your figure. “You’re so hot.”

“Kyeomie,” you whine, obviously embarrassed under his attention.

“Are you touching yourself?”

“Yeah,” you mewl.

“Dirty girl.”

“Yeah? And what are you gonna do about it?”

The back and forth of your relationship is the funnest part, in Dokyeom’s opinion. You like when he puts you in your place as much as he enjoys you putting him in his. It helps that even when he assumes the more dominant role, you still praise him as if he’s the best thing since sliced bread. It scratches that submissive part of his brain that always wants needs to be good. Especially for you.

“I can think of a few things.”

“Oh? Like what?”

Phone sex is unfamiliar territory. He isn’t sure how much is too much and the awkward parting last week still stains his brain. But you just sent him a photo with your hands down your underwear so Dokyeom tries to go with the flow.

“Could make you cry on my cock.” He flushes when you remain silent for a second too long . “Sorry, that felt awkward.”

“No!” You object, voice crackling through the speaker at the sharp increase in volume. “It, ugh, that’s hot.”

“What? Crying from my dick?”

“You don’t think so?”

Dokyeom’s cock twitches, as if to signal its eager agreement.

“I think anything involving you near my penis is hot so I’m not really a good judge.”

“Well, just imagine it. Remember that time we fucked at Wonwoo and Mingyu’s house party?”

“Not appreciating you saying other dudes’ names while my dick is in my hand but yeah.”

You snicker at his reprimand. “Anyway. Remember how I wanted you to fuck my mouth?”

Dokyeom takes a sharp inhale as the memory rushes forward. You on your knees, eyes glossy and lips bruised, begging him to stretch your throat. The second the request reached his ears Dokyeom nearly came on your sweater covered chest, but he’d ignored your request, hauling your ass up onto the counter in favor of stuffing your cunt. You hadn’t complained.

“But you wouldn’t because you didn’t wanna mess up my makeup?”

“You looked pretty… didn’t wanna ruin it.”

“Yeah but I wanted you to.”

Another squeeze of his cock as he slips his hand under his boxers, “Yeah?”

“You’re really hot when you tell me what to do.”

“Fuck.” He groans, vocabulary limited by the husky timbre of your voice. “Are you touching yourself?”

“Mhhmm, doesn't feel as good as when you do it though.”

A pathetic thrust through his fist at the praise. “I know but I’ll make it up to you next time. Promise.”

“How?”

“Might tie you up. Fuck you till your screamming.” Dokyeom doesn’t know who he’s become but you seem to like it.

“Oh?”

Your reply is all breath, the same way you sign when he gives you his fingers after a long study session. The beads of pre-cum on his tip increase as he works his cock, almost able to fill the way you’d coat his fingers if he was there to give them to you.

“You like that? Want me to use your tight little pussy? Fill it up?”

“Want you to come inside me again, Minnie. So hot.”

“I know, pretty girl. So desperate for it aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” you squeak, “Are you close?”

“Send me another picture.”

Only a few seconds pass, filled with muffled groans on his end and the clack of your nails on yours. Dokyeom rushes to open the new attachment you’ve blessed him with, heart clenching when his stomach caves around a moan.

The photo is blurry from your haste but he doesn’t care. You're drenched. The crotch of your panties tinged darker as you pull them aside, flashing the way your entrance stretches around three of your fingers. Your clit just barely visible, puffy and swollen from neglect.

“Fuck, baby.”

“Minnie—” Your voice sounds far away, and he realizes you've put yourself on speaker so you can use both hands.

“Can you do something for me?” he grounds, squeezing the base of his cock to stop his impending end.

“Anything.”

Another deep breath before he lays himself bare, “Drive up here tomorrow.”

“What?” You ask, the springs of your mattress squeaking as you sit up, clearly confused by the switch in pace.

“I wanna see you.”

“I—”

“Promise I’ll make it worth your while.” Dokyeom scrambles.

Another pause before a timid, “How?”

“Whatever you want.”

“Dangerous words.”

“Pretty sure I’ll enjoy it just as much as you.”

“I don’t know…”

“If you don’t want to, it's fine but,” he sighs, “if you can I want you to come. And not just because of sex.”

“Then why?”

“Because I like—” He cuts himself off hastily. “Because I like spending time with you.”

As seconds tick by without response, Dokyeom is sure you're going to call his bluff. Or worse, laugh in his face. He’s sweating, heart beating irregularly as he waits for your reply.

“Really?” Shyness creeps into your voice.

Dokyeom nods before realizing you can’t see him. “Yeah.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’ll come.”

“Really?” Dokyeom asks, eyes wide and jaw slack. No way it's this easy.

“Really,” he can hear you smile. “But only because you said you’d give me whatever I want.”

“You’re gonna make me regret that aren’t you?”

“Absolutely.” You tease, enunciating each syllable as his heart beats in time. “But Kyeomie…”

“Yeah?”

“I’m still wet.”

“Can’t have that.” He tsks.

“Please,”

“Be a good girl and play with your clit.” Dokyeom instructs, slipping right back in.

A hitch in your breath precludes a satisfied “hmmm”. He wishes he could taste both on his tongue.

“Touch yourself too.” You plea.

Dokyeom’s wound so tight a gust of wind would have his load all over his stomach. He tells you as much.

“Shiiit” You curse, catching up to him. “Close.”

“Yeah? Think you deserve it?”

If he was there, Dokyeom knows he’d see the frustrated kick of your legs and feel the daggers shooting from your eyes.

“You ignored me all last week, I don’t know if I should let you.”

“Dokyeom, please!”

“But since I get to see you tomorrow.” he tuts, covering up the catch of his breath as you plea again. “Let me hear it.”

The call devolves into choked curses and groans. He keeps the screen close to his face as he focuses back on the picture you sent, painting his fist with streaks of white as you beg him to cum, choke on how much you want to taste. Your stuttered “ah”s floating right into his ears as you twist and shake in your bed hours away.

When Dokyeom can feel himself returning to his body, he soaks in the lull of you catching your breath.

“You good?”

“Yeah.” You sigh dreamily.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Send me the address.”

“Oh and Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m happy you’re coming…”

“Goodnight,” you chuckle at the double entendre.

“Night.”

Even with the satisfaction of an orgasm coursing through his veins, the fizzing bubbles of happiness in his chest have nothing to do with the cum cooling in his underwear.

The drive to the cabin is two hours and thirty seven nerve wrecking minutes. Dokyeom has been up since six, texting you the address, asking you to let him know when you left, keep him updated on any pit stops you needed to make. Not to rush up the mountain and drive safely.

The digital clock on your dash reads just past noon as you slowly creep up a narrow gravel road, praying another car doesn’t swoop around the bend. Of course a pack of frat boys would choose some creepy woods to set up camp for a long weekend.

You dial Dokyeom’s number just to be safe. Barely a full ring passes before he picks it up.

“Hey!”

“Hey… I think I’m pulling up to the right place?” You scan for any sign of a driveway on either side of the road without any luck.

“Oh shit, I’ll come outside. Jun got us lost yesterday when he drove up so it’s tricky.”

Taking a left as you finally spot the red mailbox with a beaver carved into the dark wooden post at the end of the lengthy driveway, a two story cabin comes into view between the trees. Dokyeom jogs from the porch to meet you at the edge of the yard. Rolling down your window as he makes his way over, you greet him.

“Hey,”

“Hey,” he smiles, bright enough to blind a village.

“Um, where should I park?”

“Just pull up behind anyone, it doesn't matter.”

“Alright.”

Dokyeom walks next to you as you pull in behind a white sedan. Once in park, you pop the trunk before slipping out the door. He already has your bag tossed over his shoulder, tangling your fingers with his as he pulls you towards the house.

“Some of the guys went on a hike earlier so I’ve been helping Seungkwan and Mingyu clean up.”

“Oh, you didn’t need to wait for me.”

“I wanted to.”

Before you can think too much on that statement, Seungkwan interrupts by tackling you in a hug.

“Oh thank god you’re here.”

“Hi to you too.” You say, carrying his weight as he goes boneless.

“Hi,” he responds with a squeeze, before turning to Dokyeom with a blunt, “Goodbye.”

Seungkwan pulls you inside the front door, beelining for the sliding glass doors that lead to the back porch.

“Hey!”

Without slowing, Seungkwan fends him off. “She was my friend first!”

“Yeah well,” Dokyeom flounders like a washed up fish.

“You dazzle with words. Now go away.” Seungkwan sniffs.

Sending an apologetic smile over your shoulder, you allow Seungkwan to usher you along. You spot another person in the kitchen, face shadowed by the hood of his sweater. He doesn’t look up when you and Seungkwan shuffle pass.

“Ignore Mingyu, his girlfriend broke up with him yesterday.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah, anyway.” Seungkwan plops onto one of the chairs circled around the patio table. “Speaking of girlfriends—”

“Did you finally get one?”

“Being mean is bad for your health.” He deadpans. “As I was saying, did Dokyeom ask you to be his?”

“His what?”

“His girlfriend.”

Your ears ring at the nonchalance in Seungkwan’s tone.

“Why would he ask me to be his girlfriend?”

“Why else would you get up at the ass crack of dawn to come to this dump?”

“He said he wanted me to come.” You answer, turning your head to observe the lake beyond the thin tree line.

“After you told him no? Wow, didn’t realize he was that good in bed.”

Your hands itch to circle his neck and shake but Seungkwan is saved by the very man in question.

“Hate to interrupt but I thought you might want some coffee?”

You turn around, smiling as Dokyeom leans out of the sliding glass door, “Yeah, that sounds great.”

“We aren’t done talking!” Seungkwan calls as you reach the door.

“I am!”

Mingyu apparently retreated to his room after you stepped outside, nowhere to be found in the kitchen or living room beyond the counter.

The isolation makes you nervous which is strange because it’s just Dokyeom. But his words last night over the phone, coupled with Seungkwan’s on the porch twist your guts uncomfortably.

It’s too late to bail. You can’t claim illness since Dokyeom will fawn over you like some mother hen. Besides, you don’t actually want to leave. You just can’t stand the nagging voice in the back of your head insisting this isn’t what friends do. Even if said friends are having sex.

“Wanna show me your room?”

“Sure!” Dokyeom is still cheery, eagerly leading you upstairs and down a maze of hallways.

The outside of the cabin, while daunting, failed to betray how big it actually is as you pass door after door on your journey.

The room Dokyeom is sharing with Soonyoung is cozy. Two full sized beds with little room for anything else and an en suite the size of a closet. But at least you won’t have to battle it out with anyone else for a bathroom during the next three days.

Dokyeom was lucky enough to claim the bed closests to the bay windows, framing a pleasant view of the backyard, dock, and sprawling lake. When you step closer, you can spot Seungkwan’s mop of hair as he leans on the edge of the railing that borders the porch; hand animated as the other holds his phone near his mouth.

Turning back to the bed, you spot your bag on the floor at the foot of it. The room is ten degrees hotter when you realize Dokyeom was lying right there as he talked you through an orgasm barely twelve hours ago. You awkwardly shuffle on your feet as you try to find something to say.

Dokyeom seems unperturbed, flopping onto the mattress, arms thrown wide in invitation. A shy grin twists your lips. Hair a mess, and cheeks flushed, Dokyeom looks cute. He’s always cute but navy crew neck and gray sweats transforms him into a cozy dream. The mattress dips under your knee as you crawl to lay next to him.

Settling your head over his heart, arms twining around one another, you feel your own give a peculiar squeeze. It’s truly no different than all the other times you’ve cuddled, albeit those were post-coitous; except it is. Dokyeom told you he wanted you here, that he likes spending time with you, and now he’s squeezing the life out of you as he snags one of your legs to wrap around his waist.

When sleep tickles your nose, pleasantly warm and inviting, you ignore how Dokyeom isn’t your boyfriend. What you have right now is perfect enough.

—

The sweet hum of Dokyeom’s voice lulls you awake, a simple melody you vaguely recognize from his playlist he insists on blasting during your hangouts. Gray light from outside casts the room sullenly dark. Storm clouds, swollen to a near black, eclipse the late afternoon sun. Dokyeom’s neck is the perfect place to escape the unavoidable sounds of the cabin filled with life, eyes firmly shut as you inhale the smell of laundry detergent and pine.

One of your hands managed to twist under his sweater in your sleep, fisting his thin T-shirt as you attempt to beckon sleep out of hiding and back towards you. A pathetic whine escapes when Dokyeom jostles you in an attempt to find a more comfortable position, only silenced by his lips against your forehead and his stroking your elbow.

“Shhhh,” he coos. “Go back to sleep.”

“What time is it?”

“Like five.”

Lifting back from his neck, you pout. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

A gentle peck to your lips in response leaves you speechless, a soft quirk to his lips as you gape. Collapsing back into his chest you’re left to bask in each other's presence as you take to silently drawing shapes on his stomach, smiling as he giggles from ticklishness. His thumb traces the curves of your hip, digging to the soft flesh of your waist.

A banging on the door makes you both jump out of your skin before Seungkwan’s voice cuts the air. “Come on love birds, dinners ready!”

“If we don’t get up, do you think he’ll go away?” Dokyeom whispers into your hair.

“No.”

On queue the door flies open, smacking against the wall and rebounding into Seungkwan’s face.

“I said it's time for dinner. Now get your asses up!”

“Go away, Boo!” You demand, chucking a pillow in his direction.

“What happened to respecting your elders?” Dokyeom asks, eyes sharp as he tries to kill the younger man with his eyes.

“When my elder does something respectable, I’ll consider it.” Seungkwan claps. “Now chop chop!”

The dinner Seungkwan so adamantly demanded your presence at is a huge pot of spaghetti and some loaves of garlic bread. Nothing overly complex but the bustling atmosphere downstairs is nice, comfortable.

Dokyeom introduces you to some of the fraternity members you haven’t met, as well as their dates. Squished between him and Seungkwan at the dining table, you barely engage in conversation. Not that you need to. They both fill the space with their own joking easily enough.

Instead, your mind focuses on the warmth of Dokyeom’s shoulder brushing yours, and how he rests his arm on the back of your chair once he finishes his plate.

When the mess is cleared away, a few people scurrying off to who knows where, Soonyoung insists on a game of Beerio Kart as dessert. Excited to have a new person to torment, he drags you to the couch before you can object. In a blink, you find yourself wedged between the armrest and Dokyeom as he explains the game.

“The rules are simple my friends! No drinking and driving and you have to finish your drunk before the race ends. If you fail to do so you’ll be publicly shamed.” Soonyoung claps his hands together, the maniacal glint in his eyes a little too intense for such a silly game.

“And for additional chaos,” Seungkwan adds. “I’ve changed it to blue shells only.”

“Now may the best driver win!”

“Alright, the first round is Jun, Marci, Sam, and me.”

“This is gonna be a bloodbath.” Someone calls from the other couch.

And it is. Jun uses height to hold Seungkwan’s drink out of the younger man’s reach, resulting in Seungkwan launching himself from the couch in a flying kick. They’re both so occupied with one another they don’t notice the race is long finished and neither of their characters moved past the starting line.

A chorus of boos rises as the race times out, designating them as 11th and 12th place.

“Alright, next is DK, Y/N, Wonwoo, and myself.”

“Can I forfeit?”

Dokyeom turns to you. “You wanna quit already?”

“Considering my opponents, yes.”

“New rule: no quitting allowed.” Soonyoung interjects.

“You can’t make that a rule!”

“I just did!”

You respond with a thumbs down, much more effective than the middle finger you want to throw his way.

“It’s okay if you’re scared, Y/N.” Wonwoo taunts from across the room.

“I’m not scared!”

“That’s exactly what someone who is scared would say!” Soonyoung chimes in.

Dokyeom just shrugs his shoulders when you look at him for assistance. Figures. He’s part of the reason you don’t want to play. He and his roommate rile each other up too much under normal circumstances, let alone when things get competitive and alcohol is involved.

“Fine, let's play!”

Soonyoung divvies out another round of lukewarm beer cans you’re required to drink as Wonwoo picks the track. N64 Rainbow Road because apparently he’s an asshole. The way he reclines back in his seat confirms it.

To avoid the inevitable mess Dokyeom will make in his haste to chug before the race begins, you stand, shuffling closer to the safe zone at the edge of the coffee table. He tugs at the back of your shirt for a second, prompting you to shake your head.

Dokyeom pouts but stays silent.

“Alright lady and gentlemen! Start. Your. Engines!”

Cracking open your can the second the countdown begins on screen, you gag at the taste of cheap beer as everyone whoops around you. You manage half the can before you have to stop under the threat of it coming back up. Dokyeom and Soonyoung are still drinking, the later shuffling in place restlessly. Wonwoo hasn’t even opened his beer, focusing on getting as far ahead as he can.

Hopefully Seungkwan’s meddling takes care of him.

The race track is chaos as you press your character forward, occasionally blown off course by a blue shell moving to knock out whoever is in first. Half way through the course, you chance a glance at the other corners of the TV. Soonyoung and Dokyeom have finally started lap one, only for Soonyoung to fly over the edge at the first turn and wait to be rescued. Wonwoo is caught in the mess at the front of the pack, only able to maintain first for a fraction of a second before being sniped by a shell.

Once you round the third lap, you take your chance. Stopping in a corner of the track to down the rest of your drink, hoping everyone is too engrossed in the events on screen to see you start moving despite still swallowing a mouth full of beer.

This is when you see Wonwoo make his mistake. He pauses right before the finish line, cracking his can open and nearly choking on the large gulps in his haste. You're gaining quickly, barely a quarter of the last lap remains between your carts. When he finally finishes the can and picks up the controller, you unleash the blue shell you’d been saving. Rosalina goes flying as you sail by, Yoshi claiming fifth place.

“Suck it!” You scream, jumping up and down in victory; joined by Seungkwan who hollers with you as if he won too.

Wonwoo is shell-shocked, literally. He finishes seventh overall, pulling behind another computer character. Soonyoung is on the floor as he and Dokyeom fight for second to last place. The shame goes to Soonyoung as the race times out once again.

When you turn back to the couch you're met with another blinding smile as you drop into his lap.

“Looooooserrrr,” you taunt as you flick his nose gently.

“Yeah whatever.”

“It’s okay, maybe I can teach you sometime.”

He laughs, squeezing you into his chest. “God, you’re annoying.”

“It’s so lonely at the top.” You furrow your brow in mock sorrow.

Another race ensues, more chaos and screaming echoing through the living room. The heat of Dokyeom’s chest sinks through the back of your hoodie, strong plains of muscle shaking as he laughs with the group. When Seungkwan and Soonyoung face each other in a rematch you tempt Dokyeom upstairs, kissing behind his ear before leaning back and giving him the “look.”

The “I-want-your-dick-in-my-mouth” look.

Of which he very is familiar.

Dokyeom lurches forward, eager to appease, forgetting you're still in his lap until your weight knocks him back down. Shaking your head you stand and pull him up behind you, moving towards the stairs uninterrupted as Seungkwan and Soonyoung threaten each other's life and limb behind you.

Tacky wood shiplap digs into your spine uncomfortable as Dokyeom crowds you against the wall. His lips ghost along your jaw, hands on either side of your head to prevent him from crushing you. You don’t have the same concern, pulling him closer with the fabric of his sweater. The door to his room is a few feet to your left but the idea of separating for even a second to make it inside is pure agony.

“What does the winner want for her prize?” he whispers, teeth grazing your earlobe.

“Depends.” You sigh, grinding against the bulge of his thigh.

“On?”

“If my prize is separate from what I get for driving up here.”

Dokyeom nips your chin, dodging your attempt to connect your mouths.

“Depends on what you want.”

“I want you to fuck me.”

“I’m gonna do that anyway.”

“I wasn’t done yet.”

He stays silent, teeth bruising the sliver of shoulder peeking out under your collar.

“I want you to fuck me,” cut of with a hiss at his vigor, “and I want to film it.”

Backing out of your neck, Dokyeom blinks at you, mouth wide.

Peeking at him through your eyelashes, you wait for Dokyeom’s brain to restart. His mouth opens and closes, but nothing comes out. Not a rejection or an agreement. Just surprise.

A heaviness curls in your gut. You thought he’d like the idea, especially from his reaction to the pictures you sent last night. And the videos he’s sent over the months you’ve been hooking up. Videos of him jacking off, cumming on his own stomach, your name on his lips. But maybe you assumed too much.

“Ifyoudon’twanttowedon—”

But a scream interrupts your rant as he lifts you by your thighs, ankles locking around the top of his butt and arms tangling around his neck like a koala. You hold on for dear life as he carries you down the hallway.

Palming your ass harshly with one hand, the other scrambles to open the door as he licks up your neck. The door rattles on its hinges as he kicks it shut but the blood rushing through your ears muffles it.

“Yes, yes. Holy shit, yes.” He’s whining into your ear, hips rutting into your core as he lands unceremoniously on the bed, crushing you underneath him.

You’re shocked for a second, woefully unprepared for his enthusiasm. But another harsh rush against you, coupled with his hands pawing up your shirt to palm your chest makes you bold.

Two things you know to be true about Dokyeom:

First, he has a ragging praise kink. If you tell him he’s a good boy, he can come almost untouched.

Second, he loves the sight of his cum streaking across your body.

He was right to say he’ll enjoy this as much as you will.

“Yeah? Wanna come on my face?”

Another pathetic whine against your neck as he keeps curling his clothed cock against you. All of his weight settles between your hips as drives you to madness.

“Then go lock the door.”

#svthub #lee seokmin #lee seokmin x reader #svt x reader #seventeen fanfic #svt #dokyeom #seokmin x reader #seokmin smut #dokyeom x reader #dokyeom smut #🫡 highvern

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charlie-lec-stories · 27 days

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80's Fever (Part II) // CL16

Pairing: Charles Leclerc/Vestappen!Twin

Summary: After the best night of his life, Charles feels that there's an awkwardness that shouldn't be there. What can he do to fix that?

Warnings: Physically violent parenting, childhood trauma.

Author’s Note: A part II for this story was requested, so here it is! I hope you guys like it. Rate: PG.

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Charles saw her from across the paddock, her hair flowing as she moved around, taking pictures with some fans and joking around with Max. He wanted to walk up to her, ask her about her day, see how she's been, but whenever he did that she just answered him awkwardly and made up an excuse to walk away. Max would always look at him with pity, running after his twin to check on her. Charles couldn't believe it, but he actually preferred her insulting him to this attitude. They had an incredible night together two months ago and now she couldn't even look him in the eye. He was head over heels for her, he knew that he loved her and he felt how much she loved him when they were together. Still, she walked away. He was conflicted, a part of him wanted to give up, to give her space and try to move on, but another part of himself knew that giving up and letting her go would be the biggest regret of his life.

It was late at night, the paddock was empty and there were very few lights on. The cold breeze of Australia at night made him shiver. It was summer, but still the temperature went down a few degrees at night. Between the silence, he heard a faint melody, something barely noticeable that slipped under the back door of the Red Bull garage. He assumed it was probably her, going over her mistake over and over again. It was a human error, she never made those, but she was human after all, and it landed her P4. It wasn't a bad qualifying, but it was not front row, like the last 4 races. He was well aware that the reason she put so much pressure on herself was because of her father. It was no secret that Jos Verstappen would step over every limit, even legal, to punish his children when they didn't perform perfectly. He saw the bruises more than once, red cheeks, fingerprints on arms or wrists, tear-stained faces after Jos pulled them aside in the middle of a karting tournament and away from the public eye. No one ever did anything but everyone knew, that was probably why the twins were always so angry and violent to everyone, if everyone let them down, why should they offer anything but hate?

"Misschien leer je daardoor autorijden, waardeloze tijdverspilling" (Maybe that'll teach you how to drive a car, fucking worthless waste of time). Charles heard the scream, he didn't speak Dutch, but he recognized Jos voice, so whatever he said couldn't have been good. He tried the back door but it was locked, he started running to the other side to enter through the front door, but then he heard Jos open the back door and walk out, fuming. Charles walked back and went through it without thinking twice. He found her sitting on the floor, curled up against a wall, her hair covering her face. She was sobbing so hard her body started to shake. He ran to her, pulling her into his arms. She could feel it was him when his scent hit her nose, the same scent that she remembered every night, when she closed her eyes and went back to that moment when life was worth living.

"It's okay, mon amour, I've got you". He said as he pressed her against his chest. She had missed that feeling so much, the feeling of his heartbeat against her face. She relaxed into him. They heard the back door open again and they both looked up, ready for another punishment, but it wasn't Jos who walked in.

"zusje, alles goed met je?" (Sis, are you okay?). Max ran to his sister, pushing Charles away and instantly checking on his sister's face, the bruise on her lip already gaining color. "Thank you, Charles. I'll take it from here". He dismissed the monegasque quickly, but Charles wasn't having it, he stood there, frowning. "I said, go".

"The hell I'm going". That caught the twins' attention, so the Golden Boy knows how to curse. "I'm not going anywhere until I'm sure she's alright".

"That's my job". Max started, but Charles interrupted him.

"Because you're doing great at it, no? Look at her! Where were you?". He was angry, he knew that Max let it happen, it was too suspicious that he entered the garage just minutes after the beating happened. "You let this happen!"

"You don't know what you're talking about, so shut your fucking mouth". Max pushed him, a warning along the tone of his voice that things could escalate to something worse.

"Please, stop fighting". They didn't even know how they heard her, she whispered it so softly it was almost imperceptible. But as small as the request sounded, it still made them stop cold. She was so broken, so fragile, so vulnerable.

"We're going to the ER, and I don't want to hear anything else about this". They have never heard Charles speak so confidently in front of them. He helped Y/N off the floor and started guiding her towards the door, Max following close behind.

The drive to the hospital was awkward, the twins were curled up together on the passenger seat of Charles' Ferrari, whispering in dutch. Charles assumed that they were getting their stories straight, because that was what abused children did, plan and lie to protect their abuser. They were probably planning on how to explain that she fell or hit herself with a door. It was driving him insane, picturing Jos hurting her, the image made him tighten his grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles white. She was still tearing up between the whispering, and Max kept shushing her, running his fingers through her hair. Charles just couldn't understand how Max could let it happen, they were all almost 27, Max was old enough to stand up to his father. But he also couldn't understand how Y/N could forgive Max, he would feel so betrayed in her place. But there they were, hugging each other next to him, like their lives and sanities depended on it. It was years since he had ever seen them so human, so vulnerable. The night he spent with Y/N was the first time he actually saw her let her guard down, she let him in and it felt like a fever dream to him. Once they made it to the hospital, Y/N was sent to a box while Charles and Max stayed in the waiting room. The Dutch was notoriously nervous. He was uncomfortable, he felt exposed.

"I didn't let it happen". He said out of the blue, and Charles furrowed his brows and looked at him.

"Don't give me that bullshit, that you just casually walked in". The other man just sighed.

"I-". Max cut himself off, unsure if he should share the following information with Charles, but something inside he told him that he could trust the Golden Boy. "You're right, I let it happen". He could feel Charles tense up next to him. "It was better to let it happen than dealing with the alternative".

"What do you mean, Max?". Charles wanted to be angry but the look on Max's face softened him more than he expected it to.

"If we don't interfere with the punishment, he doesn't take off his belt". Max avoided his gaze, but he could see how blue of his eyes got shiner with tears. Max blinked them away, along with the memories of his childhood that still haunted him. "I never told you this".

"Okay". He agreed to keep the secret. But Charles needed to know why. "But Max, why haven't you confronted him? You're a fit guy, I'm sure that you are more than able to defend yourself". He sighed. "Y/N is incredibly strong too. I- I just don't get it. You guys don't have to keep him in your lives. You don't need him".

"He's my father, Charles".

"He's not a father. A father loves you, protects you and treats you with respect". His voice broke at the thought of his own father. "I know because that's the kind of father I had". He placed a hand on Max's shoulder, making the other look at him. "He's nothing more than a sperm donor. You both deserve better".

"You truly are good, Charles... and I mean that in the best way possible".

Two more weeks went by after that night. The twins were obviously avoiding him but he understood. He also noticed that Jos was not around anymore, he hoped that his chat with Max was enough to make the twins draw the limit. After that weekend they went to another race and then were free for summer break. He decided to spend it in Monaco, he wasn't feeling like partying because all he could think about was her and wonder how she was doing. His phone distracted him, a text from his best friend, Joris, popping up on the screen. "Regarde ça", read the text, along with a link address. What did his friend want him to check out? He opened the link, it was an article by Sky Sports.

"Jos Verstappen arrested: The Red Bull twins filed charges.

This afternoon, Jos Verstappen (former Formula 1 driver and father to the twins Y/N and Max Verstappen, current Red Bull Racing drivers and once and twice world champions respectively) was picked up from his penthouse by the Dutch police and arranged by night. The charges against him are "aggravated assault of an own child" and "causing several bodily harm to an own child". The report specifies that the charges were filed by the twins a week ago and their statements included specifics about domestic violence that could be dated from the twins' childhood to the present. The former driver could face up to 12 years of prison, a fine not exceeding 78,000 euros and a protective order was set in place."

Charles couldn't read more, the doorbell ringing through the air, startled him. He walked to the door to find Y/N on the other side. She had a pair of big sunglasses on, but the edge of black eye could be seen below them. Without exchanging a word, he let her into his apartment. She sat on the couch, her hands on her lap and her gaze down. Charles walked up to her and sat down by her side. They stayed in silence for a few minutes, he was afraid of asking, but he needed to know what happened. She broke the silence.

"I don't know if you know... but Max and I filed charges against our fath- against Jos". She was still not looking at him but he could tell by her shaky breath that she saw him nod his head at her. Since she didn't add anything else, he took her chin in his fingers softly and made her look at him. As carefully as he could, he removed the sunglasses, exposing the purple mark under her left eye and over her cheekbone. He suck in a short breath at the sight.

"Salopard". (Scumbag). He let out under his breath. "Mon cœur, what happened?" (My heart). She let a few tears drop and he whipped them away gently.

"He found out that we went to the hospital the other day. He was looking into our credit cards' movements, and he found the charge from the hospital. Got really mad. He-". But she cut herself off with a sob and he didn't need her to keep talking to know what happened. Instead, he pulled her to him and over his lap, hugging her close. She flinched, the still fresh marks of the belt on her lower back, and Charles softened his grip. He wanted to keep her there with him forever. She pulled away, their faces close and she could smell the mint on his breath.

"I love you". His eyes closed, the words murmured against her lips and that was all she needed to hear.

"Ik ook, Schat". (Me too, babe). He kissed her, like he did that night, with the same love, the same passion. Things heated up quickly, but unlike their first time, there was no urgency this time. He took his time with her, to love her like she deserved, to kiss every part of her body, to show her what love feels like. She chanted his name like a prayer and he knew that he could hear that for the rest of his life and never get tired. He never loved anyone like this and for once, she let herself admit that it was always him, always Charles, even when she denied it, even when she pushed him away, it was always him. No matter what, they would always fall there, in this moment, where nothing mattered but them. He was her good boy, the one that showed her that there was kindness out there, that the world could be a wonderful place, that life was worth living and that the hand against your cheek could be gentle and warm. There, in that couch, underneath him and safe in his arms, she saw herself happy, for the first time.

"Tu es l'amour de ma vie". (You are the love of my life). He whispered on her neck, then he landed a soft kiss under her ear. She closed her eyes, her hands going to his back to press him against her tighter.

"De mijne ook, Golden Boy". (Mine too).

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Okay, I'm alive. Sorry for being MIA for so long, I've been with literally zero energy to edit anything. I have a hell lot of stories to edit, I'll see what else I can upload. This was a request made by @bloodyymaryyy some time ago. I hope you like it and you guys enjoy it too!.

I'll be slowly taking some requests. I have another one that I'll try to publish soon. If you have any requests, leave them in the asks and I'll do them when I have the time!

#charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc x reader

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finelinevogue · 1 year

Text

love me tomorrow

summary - you and Harry are high-school teachers and he loves you. the only issue is; you're a married woman

warnings: domestic abuse/violence - both emotional and physical, swearing, it’s very much a hurt/comfort piece. this is pretty heavy going and i need you all to know that abuse isn't okay, and i hope that you reach out to people if you need to. if you ever need a simple friend, for literally whatever reason, i'm always here! xx

pairing: teacher!harry x teacher!reader

word count: +13.8k

Life had been good to you. For the most part.

Life had given you a wholesome family who supported your every choice - even the drastic ones like choosing to live in Namibia for a year. Life had given you an incredible education, leading you on to a fulfilling life of educating the new generations. Life had given you so much love. Life had given you a healthy body and mind which you'd always cherished, up until recently.

Finding 'the one' in your life isn't supposed to be an easy road, but you were challenged with the hardest of them all.

Rodger Cassidy.

The name of the man who has made life feel meaningless and you feel worthless.

That night you believed you'd met your soulmate.

Until you realised you hadn't.

After two years of being together he popped the question - you thinking that he'd taken long enough. Now, though, maybe he hadn't.

Rodger, or Ro as you started to nickname him, was the sweetest. He always drove you to work and back. He always made you a coffee in the mornings. He always stayed up late if you were out with the girls. But then it all changed and you never understood why. Whether it was something creeping up on him from his past, the stresses of every day life or troubles with his family you just didn't know. All you knew it that you were the one he'd take his stress and anger out on at the end of the day.

The world had become a lot smaller since meeting Ro, both emotionally and physically. At first he stopped you from going abroad, saying that you didn't have the money to be wasting away on abroad luxuries anymore - but it was perfectly okay for him to be spending on gambling and alcohol instead. Then he cut you off from your friends and family, having texted them a long message explaining how they weren't suitable company anymore - but you were allowed to be friends with his druggie friends. Last, was not letting you out of the house unless he was with you or for work.

Never did you think that you would feel so trapped, but here you were.

Obviously you had put your foot down, each time, standing up for yourself and explaining that it wasn't okay to take away your freedom and your love like this. You'd even tried escaping one night through the window, to go to your best friends birthday party, but he caught you - explaining that if he ever found you leaving him again he'd kill you. Each time you would do something he didn't like, it would result in a beating - which is why you are very hypersensitive.

It wasn't worth trying to be you anymore, you had to play by his rules now.

Your only chance of escape was work and it was the best 6 hours of your day.

Working at a primary school was the greatest decision of your life, even after marrying Ro. You'd worked there before marrying Ro and it was the one sense of normality that he let you keep from what you like to call your previous life.

The primary school had never been the end goal. You had really wanted to teach undergraduates at university, because your lectures at university were awful and you wanted to change the system. However, getting a job as a lecturer was a lot harder than you thought not having considered that you would need a PhD to do so. So primary school teaching it was and it was the best decision of your life.

You'd found an advert online for support staff at 'Snowdrops Primary School' and loved the sound of it. You instantly sent in your resume and within a week they'd gotten back to you, stating how impressed they'd been with your CV and wanted to call you in for a taster session. Upon arrival they had told you on the low that you'd already got the job, but that they had to ask you in for a taster session due to protocol. Engaging with the kids that day was a happiness that you'd never felt in your life. They were so care-free, yet so vulnerable, and you promised yourself that you'd help them become the best versions of themselves. At the end of the day you had a long meeting, which resulted in them congratulating you on your new job with them.

It still is the best thing to have happened to you.

Getting to see your students grow every day, and at such a young age, was something very special to you. Knowing that they would go home feeling that little bit smarter was something you prided yourself on. Whether it be they'd learnt how to add four and two together, whether they'd successfully learnt how to spell their name or whether they'd managed to colour in a picture in between the lines, you were proud of all of them.

You taught a class of 14 and they were the best people in your life.

"You better be ready at 4:30pm Y/N. I'm going to be pissed if I have to come inside that stupid school and find you, again." Ro spat at you as he pulled up outside the school.

"O-okay." You answered quietly.

Before you could open the door he grabbed your wrist tightly, making you wince at how harsh it was. You couldn't escape from his grip if you tried though, his hand being tighter than a leather belt.

"Really pissed, so i'd be careful if I were you." He threatened.

You really couldn't deal with him today.

Escaping the car as quickly as possible you made your way swiftly in to the building. As you passed students you would say hello and good mornings, just as they would to you. Your class' students were already sat at their desks waiting for you, greeting you with a chorus of mornings as you said hello to them all.

The day went quite well actually, considering the awful morning you'd had. Rodger had "accidentally" pushed you down the last few stairs, making you land on your ankle in a, not so, funny way and bruising the entirety of your hip. It was as if someone had got purple paint and splatted it all over your left side. It hurt to sit down for reasons you didn't understand and then stand back up - so you did a lot of your teaching standing up today.

Luckily for you, you'd gotten quite good at hiding the pain over the years and so no one really questioned why there was an ever so slight limp in you left ankle, or why you kept on running a hand protectively over your left side.

On Friday's your class and Harry’s class would come together to do arts and crafts in the afternoon. Strictly, you weren't supposed to and instead were supposed to be coming together for additional maths or english lessons, but you and Harry thought that was a bit harsh on a Friday afternoon. After much persuasion you and Harry, collaboratively, managed to convince the head teacher to let the children's creativity flow instead hence creating an artistry period.

Harry’s students were a mixed class too, but his class were a little more rowdy than yours which you suspected had something to do with Harrys extroverted personality, compared to your introverted one. Your class were a lot more tranquil, but you weren't complaining.

They were your calm away from the storm.

This particular afternoon you had asked the kids to make an artefact for someone that meant a lot to them. Some inspiration you'd given was perhaps a card for your mum or maybe a name badge for a pet. It could be anything. Then on Monday, after they'd given their artefact to whoever, they would write a sentence or two about the reaction of the gift receiver.

You were currently sat with Hallie, one of your quietest students, and one whom you saw yourself in, working on her artefact. You were surprised when she'd asked whether she was allowed to make an artefact for Harry, or Mr Styles to her, but you told her as long as she gave it to him with a good enough reason then there was no problem there.

"What are you two mischiefs up to?" Harry asked, coming to sit down on the chair opposite you both, whilst you two continued to giggle.

"No Mr Styles! You can't see. Mrs Cassidy and I are painting for you." Hallie exclaimed, covering her little arms over the art that you'd been working on. Harry leant back against the chair, arms up in defence and looked at you instead of Hallie and her present.

"Sorry! Sorry Hallie. You both painted it though? For me?" Harry smirked, knowing he would tease you for this later - or maybe not when he finds out what it is. You squinted your eyes at him, already knowing his devious plot against you. You knew him too well for him to let this go.

"Yes, Mr Styles." Hallie nodded her head, glancing upwards to make sure Harry wasn't cheating. She looked up to see him watching you instead, noticing the sparkle in his eyes she saw in her own mum and dads. "It was Mrs Cassidy's idea to paint it, otherwise it would still be not colourful." She added, picking up a different paintbrush to use a different colour. Her grammar wasn't technically correct, but you hadn't learnt about sentence structure yet so neither of you felt the need to correct her.

"Mrs Cassidy?" You heard Jada shout politely from the other side of the room. She had her hand patiently waiting in the air and you felt slightly guilty over how long she'd been sat there waiting for you. You had been too caught up with Harry that you didn't even notice.

"I'm coming Jada." You shouted back, not wanting to have the full conversation with her from opposite ends of the classroom.

You got up from the chair you'd been sat in, wincing slightly from the shooting pain in your hip, and pointed you fore-fingers from your eyes to point at Harry, threatening him that you were watching him and that he better not try and persuade Hallie to show him his present if you weren't there. Harry held his hands up to you, which made you felt better about leaving. However, you didn't feel good about the concerned look in his eyes from when you'd stood up.

Jada put her hand down when you finally came over and started to help her with a glue problem she was having. Apparently Dennis, the boy sat next to her, and from Harry’s class no surprise, had glued her hands together for fun, but it had turned out to be stickier glue than they both expected. At least it wasn't superglue.

The class continued for an hour before you slowly wrapped up, letting some people showcase their artefacts. Dennis showed his name tag that he'd made for his pet fish, who was named after a certain clownfish from a beloved Disney movie - although it was written as the alternative spelling of 'Neemow'. Parker showed the snowflake that he'd made for his mum, with the help of Harry's cutting expertise.

It wasn't until after class, during the last recreational play time outside before the end of the day, that Hallie gave her artefact away.

"Mr Styles?" Hallie asked, holding her piece of art behind her back. You and Harry were tidying away the trays of colouring pencils, pens, glues and scissors back in to their assigned drawers.

"Hello Hallie." Harry stopped what he was doing and crouched down, seeing as he was a lot taller than her. He knew she had something to give her, since she'd been antsy about him seeing her art all afternoon.

"My gift is to you." She told him, swaying on the balls of her feet in nervous anticipation.

You watched the two interact as you filed away the paper into the correct trays, pushing the chairs firmly under the tables as you did so.

"Well thank you." Harry said gratefully, before even receiving it. Even if you didn't understand the reasoning behind the piece of art Hallie had created, you did know that Harry would get emotional over it.

Hallie cautiously moved her arms around front and presented her small token to Harry. She looked at him carefully, studying every facial expression carefully to see how well she'd done - or how badly. Harry was taken aback by the small, yet significant, gesture. It shouldn't have made Harry feel the way it did, but he could feel the tears starting to form in his eyes.

It was a medal.

Not just any medal though. Not a 'Number 1 teacher' or anything like that. It was a medal that had come from the heart. It was a 'You're my hero' medal. Harry didn't quite understand what he'd done to deserve such a thing, but he definitely thought it was the sweetest thing he'd received in a long time. He never expected to create such an impression on a student - especially one that he didn't even specifically teach.

"Do you like it?" Hallie asked, needing some sort of validation to know that her efforts weren't all for nothing. You knew that even if it were the ugliest looking thing in the world Harry would love it all the same. He would never have a bad word to say.

"Hallie I love it. Thank you, but what is it for?" He asked, making you listen extra carefully to her next words.

"Well it says you're my hero, because you made Mrs Cassidy smile the other day when she was upset."

Hallie's words made you freeze. You, thankfully, weren't holding anything to drop on the floor to create a ruckus. You were shocked, completely. You were glad you didn't have to say anything to her right now because your whole mind had shut down.

It baffled you that a girl of five years old could tell that you were upset. You had been upset, but you didn't realise it was that obvious. You started to feel a little guilty for making Hallie witness your dark moments. What made up for it was the fact that she'd noticed that Harry was there to make you feel better. She did the thanking on behalf of you both. Technically she had said that it was being made from both of you, but you never knew you were helping because of that reasoning.

This was hitting you hard.

"Wow. That's very kind of you. I'll keep it with me always." Harry promised.

"Thanks Mr Styles." You wanted to believe that she was thanking him in reply to his words, but you felt that she was thanking him on a deeper level - as if thanking him for making you smile.

More of the conversation occurred between them, but you were too lost in your own mind to hear them. You'd stopped putting away the equipment and were instead staring outside, looking up at the darkening clouds.

"You okay?" You hear Harry’s voice swoon around you. You looked to the side of you and gave him a half-hearted smile, nodding your head since no words were able to form yet. "Hey, you can smile better than that. I would know." He proudly held up the medal for you to see, which made you genuinely laugh. "Didn't get this medal for nothing, Y/N/N."

You smiled to yourself, knowing you were beyond blessed to have this man in your life.

•••••

Life wasn't so blessed at home, however.

Luckily for you, you'd made it on time to meet Rodger, but unluckily it still didn't mean you were in the clear tonight.

Tonight was game night, which was the worst. Rodger would be always watch the footie with a bottle of beer, or seven, in one hand and a blunt in the other. These were some of the worst nights, because all the drugs and alcohol he took would never hit him until later on in the evening and that's when his rough side came out.

You wished you could prevent the inevitable, but it was just impossible.

Rodger had removed all the locks from the doors, bar the front door and back door, so you couldn't blockade him from you. You did that once, locking yourself in the bathroom, but when he broke down the door and found you in the bathtub he punched you so hard you passed out - you didn't wake until 14 hours later. He hadn't even taken you to hospital.

There were times, one game night, where his mates would come around. When that was the case you were absolutely degraded. He made you wear short, and tight, skirts, along with crop tops that were just exposed for too much, and serve them all beers and cigarettes throughout the evening. If you were well behaved, which had only happened once, then he let you go to bed early, otherwise he would openly hit you in-front of his friends. You thought that one of them might've helped, but they all just laughed - or joined in. It was those times when you wished you were never born.

He is nothing more than a monster.

"Y/N?" You heard Rodger shout from down the corridor. "Y/N!" He shouted louder, not even giving you two seconds before replying.

"Coming." You calmly replied back. You'd learnt that if you shouted back then it would make everything so much worse. One time, because he knew you were just taking the hits and not fighting back he got bored and let you be for the rest of the evening - he made up for the lack of abuse the next day though.

You walked down the hallway, a fresh cold beer in hand, and in to the lounge. He was sat, in the scruffiest of clothes and untidied beard, in his usual chair watching Tottenham play Sheffield United. He didn't even support either team so you didn't understand why he had to watch it - especially if it made his anger worse.

"Fucking took your time." Was his response for you giving him his new beer. No thanks given.

You're welcome, honey.

"Sorry, it won't happen again." You apologised, leaving your head to hang low. He hated when you looked at him if he wasn't speaking directly to you - something about you gross eyes staining his image. "Anything else?" You asked, just wanting to leave.

"Yeah, actually. You're staying home next Monday because the lads and I are watching the Seven Nations." He told you without a care in the world for your schedule. Did he realise you were holding down a full-time job as a teacher, which meant you worked on the weekdays?

"But i'm working then?" You questioned, thinking that maybe he'd meant to say Sunday instead - well more like hoping.

"Well you're fucking not." He dumbly said in reply.

"Ro, I have a full-time job. Can't you find someone else?" You offered, slightly annoyed that you were going to have to take time off work just to be humiliated in front of his loser friends. It just wasn't fair. You wanted to be in school, safe, with your wonderful students and your amazing co-staff (but mainly Harry).

"Are you fucking saying no to me?" Rodger asked, pausing the game to look up at you. Oh, this wasn't good. Nice going, Y/N...

"No, well, I mean—" You didn't know what to say to make this situation better, but you only knew of one way this night was ending.

"You said no. Didn't you?," He tauntingly asked, "and don't lie to me, bitch." He gritted through his teeth making your heart beat faster with anxiety. You really didn't have a way out of this tonight. Sometimes, as gross and disgusting as it was and made you feel, you could persuade him over with sex, but it was a last resort in case you felt like you were on the verge of passing out. You knew that using your body like that was wrong, but sometimes it was the only way of making him stop.

"Sorry, Ro." You quietly speak.

"Sorry? You're fucking sorry? No you aren't, but you will be." He stood up from his chair and made his way over to you. You backed up a bit before getting pulled back to Rodger with his strong grip. You let out a gasp as he pulled you, feeling very manhandled - literally.

"I am Ro, I am." You pleaded, knowing that you would be sore tomorrow. Before you could protest anymore a deafening strike sounded and it only took seconds for the stinging in your cheek to strengthen, and become excruciatingly painful. You wanted to cry but you knew this wouldn't be the worst of your evening and thought it would be easier if you cried later, knowing Ro would only go harder if he saw the pain he was causing.

"Shut the hell up and stay fucking quiet." He awarded you with another hit to the same spot he had only done a minute ago - but harder. This bruise would be a hard one to clean and cover up.

You don't remember how much longer he carried on for, but he didn't stop until you'd collapsed to the floor begging him to stop. You were so tired and exhausted that you got the point where you couldn't even physically beg him to stop.

At the end of the night you ended up with a bleeding and bruised cheek, a possible broken rib and no more tears left to cry, with hopes that things may get better soon.

•••••

Two weeks later, and a little more black and blue, it was another Friday.

Fridays were always your favourite, not necessarily because you had the weekend within reach but because your class and Harrys class got to mix - meaning you got to see Harry without excuse.

This Friday you had been learning a bit of music. Harry thought that the creative arts worked hand in hand with music, as it was often the inspiration for a lot of famous pieces, and brought it onto the curriculum. The children got to mess around with triangles, ukuleles, bongos and recorders, however you took the recorders away when you soon realised you would rather be deaf than listen to them play any more.

Bless them for trying, but no.

It was coming towards the end of the session now and the students were starting to become tireder, which is exactly what you'd expect towards the end of the day. They were all sat quietly at the front of the room, on the carpeted floor, waiting for further instructions from their teachers. It was nice to see them sat with people across classes, because it meant that they were sociable and weren't sticking to people who they were comfortable and familiar with.

Hallie was sat with Henry, who was from Harrys class. They kind of reminded you of you and Harry - Hallie being the quiet introvert and Henry being the loving extrovert. They got along well and you wouldn't be surprised if they end up in a 'best-friends-since-childhoood' relationship when they grow up.

As you finished collecting in the last of the sheet music that you'd been practicing off you noticed someones hand go up from the corner of your eye. Harry seemed to have it under control, however.

"Yes, Dora. What can I do for you?" He asked, which enabled to put her hand back down. Dora was from his class.

"Mr Styles? Do you think you could play the guitar for us?" Dora asked politely. Before Harry could answer there was a sweet chorus of gasps and agreements from all of the children - even Hallie.

"Oh I don't know." Harry brushed it off, feeling slightly self conscious to play in front of you. You knew that he could play the guitar, because you saw him often transferring it from his car to his classroom. You would be strongly lying if you said you didn't dream about him playing the guitar for you. You could only imagine the angelic voice he had too.

"Please Mr Styles." Dora encouraged him, using her best puppy-dog eyes to persuade him.

"Yeah, go on Mr Styles." You chimed in, surprising Harry. He smirked and shook his head at you, pretending to give you the evil eyes. You knew that with you joining in he would definitely play for you all.

"Oh alright then." Harry huffed as if it was a chore, but you knew that we was very excited to be playing for you all - especially you. He picked up his guitar and threaded his head through the guitar strap - the same one he'd painted in a Friday afternoon art class once. The back of his guitar was covered in artistic stickers that his class had designed, but if you looked closely you would see your name amongst them - engraved by using a threading needle. He'd told you he wanted your name more permanent than everyone elses'.

He strummed once or twice before turning to Dora.

"What would you like me to play, Dora, since you asked for this?" He asked. You knew Harry was musically gifted and it wouldn't take him long to figure out the chords for any song. He loved playing anything by The Beatles, that much you knew, but you were sure he'd give anything a go if he tried hard enough.

"Um.." Dora looked up to the ceiling as if it would give her inspiration, before answering, "I like that one you performed the other day." She vaguely answered.

"Do you remember what is was called?" Harry asked, tuning his guitar whilst he waited patiently.

"I think it was called 'hello there delly-a'." She answered, which caused Harry to look at her with confusion. He was normally good at interpreting what children meant when they didn't really know how to say things, but this was out of his expertise.

"Erm—" Harry got tongue tied over his words.

"Do you mean 'Hey There Delilah', Dora?" You stepped in for Harry, after silently chuckling at how lost he'd looked.

"Yes, yes, please." Dora excitedly nodded her head at you, before turning back to face Harry expectantly.

"Oh okay." Harrys face was one of sudden realisation, winking at you in thanks for helping, before he started playing the infamous melody. "Hey there Delilah, what's it like in New York City..."

•••••

For the longest time all you could think about was the dreams of becoming a dancer.

You had ballet and tap classes when you were little, probably up until you were twelve years old, and then you decided it was uncool to dance anymore and so quit. You were really good though, so it was stupid of you to have quit. It didn't matter though because Rodger would've just made you quit anyways.

That's why on another particular, late, Friday afternoon you found yourself on the green roof of the school. Up here was your safe space - where you knew you were out of reach from Rodger, but also away from the watching eyes of staff and students.

It was a place to feel free.

You took care of the plants up here for the caretaker, Mike, knowing he had enough on his hands already than to take extra care of these greens. It was a personal garden of eden paradise up here. You were very proud of it. You'd come up here, this afternoon, to water the plants, but the rain showers had decided that they'd do it for you today - not that you were complaining because it saved you a job.

You were under a small sheltered area of the roofed area, attending to your nursery of baby plants, containing sunflowers, roses and tulips to name but a few, on the other side of the roof to the door. You had The 1975s music playing in the background, wanting to fill the void of emptiness with soul-filling music. It had started to rain when you were on the other side of the roof and now you were contemplating waiting the rain out. You did have to be downstairs in time for Rodger to pick you up though, otherwise it wouldn't end well.

"Y/N?" You heard your name called across the roof and you had to squint a bit to see who it was through the pellets of rain.

"Harry?" You asked back, checking it was him and your eyes weren't deceiving him.

"What are you doing out here?" He shouted, from where he was stood protected under the frame of the door. He had his arm over his eyes to stop the rain from blowing in to them.

"Gardening." You replied.

"Of course you are." Harry muttered under his breath, but you swore you heard every syllable as it was carried in the wind.

"Come look." You gestured your arm for him to come and have a look at your babies. You plants were currently fertilising and producing their own children, and you though there was something so organically beautiful about watching it. They were so delicate, yet so clever - which you felt resembled you in way and Harry would strongly agree.

Harry ran over to you, not taking a second to question how drenched he was about to become. If it meant he got to spend some extra time with you, putting an extra smile on your face then he would run in the rain all of the time. He felt blessed to have moments like this with you.

"I can't believe I just ran through the bastard rain just to see your plants." Harry rolled his eyes when he was next to you.

"Well thank you, I guess." You laughed, taking in his drowned rat appearance. He pulled it off nicely actually.

"Yeah, too right." Harry sarcastically added, making you sport a harmless smile.

The music cut to the next song and you instantly gasped. It was your favourite song of all time. It was a very sad song, but one that you related to on a lot of levels. You felt as if the musician was speaking out to you solely, which is why it was crowned your number one.

The Most Beautiful Things - Tenille Townes

You didn't say anything but just grabbed Harry's hand and ran out into the rain with him.

"Y/N? What the fu—"

"Oh shut up and live a little Harry." You told him off, not wanting him to ruin this moment with his wingeing. You kept ahold of his hand and pulled him closer than you both thought professional. His chest was touching yours and you could hear his heart beat through his chest.

"What are you up to?" Harry asked, absolutely soaked through from the rain now. No doubt you looked even worse than him because of your longer hair.

"We're going to dance." You proudly stated, the raindrops coating your eyelids.

"Oh I don't think so." Harry attempted to pull away but not so hard that he'd pull you over with him. Part of him didn't pull too hard, as well, because he wanted to dance and embarrass himself in front of you. He knew of your passion for dance and anything that he did was going to be shameful compared to you.

"Just come here. I'll lead. It'll be fine." You assured him, knowing that everyone had a little rhythm in them somewhere. He was a musician, also, so surely he knew how to feel the beat and go with the flow.

He was a terrible dancer.

You'd seen bad dancers and then there was Harry. He had two left feet, no doubt about it, but he tried bless him. Normally it was custom for the gentleman to lead the woman, but this time it was the other way round. You didn't mind and Harry didn't either. He was enjoying being near you, whilst he watched you enjoy yourself dancing.

The waltz wasn't an easy dance, but you'd never met someone who couldn't get the hang of it as much as Harry didn't. It was endearing, really.

"I haven't danced in so long, this is amazing!" You laughed, swallowing down some raindrops as you spoke.

"I'm glad you're enjoying yourself - even if I have probably broken just about every bone in your foot." Harry was laughing because you were, feeling terribly awful for stepping on your feet so much. A few minor bruises were, wrongly, not that important nowadays.

"No you haven't," you rolled your eyes before smirking, "you've just broken the left ones." You cleverly replied, knowing that he'd been stepping on your left foot more than your right.

"Oh god, don't tell me that." He shook his head, feeling even worse than he had before - although he knew that you were only messing with him he still couldn't help but feel bad. Maybe he should offer you some ice for your feet?

"Just need a bit more practice, that's all." You tell him, after coughing from a mouthful of accidental rainwater.

"Well I already have a good teacher." Harry was quick to respond, and if you knew better you would've caught on that he was flirting with you. You missed his subtle hint at a second, or even a third, dance lesson with you, but he wasn't too disheartened because he knew you were just that blindingly oblivious.

You looked up at him in awe of his words. It meant a lot to you to be told you were a good teacher, because that in turn meant you were a good dancer. You were looking deep in to Harrys eyes, finding them the most beautiful emerald gems that you'd ever had the pleasure of seeing. Rodgers were supposed to be green, but you never saw them for anything other than a terrifying black so it was nice to see the green again - even it was on someone different. Harry's shone brighter than Rodger's ever could. The rain trickling over his eye lids helped reflect that jade green that you were so infatuated with.

His lips were so entrancing.

You took your eyes off his hypnotic eyes for only a second to look at his lips, and now you couldn't look away. They were like a drug. They looked liked the softest, most sweetest tasting, lips you'd ever been lucky enough to see. You leant in slowly, his lips having an invisible magnetic pull on them that you couldn't escape. You were so close that you could taste his minty breath on the tips of your tastebuds. You couldn't care less about Rodger in that moment, knowing he would never know, but you did care about Harry.

You cared for him a lot, which is why after ghosting his lips for a little while you were thankful that your phone vibrated in your pocket. You closed your eyes in regret of not taking it any further with Harry, but knowing it was the right thing to do. Wasn't it?

"Excuse me a moment." You felt guilty for cutting Harry off mid-dance, and near-kiss, even though he said that is was perfectly fine, still standing amidst the torrential rain, but this was probably important. In fact you knew it was important, because the only contact on your phone was Rodger. You took it out and read it carefully.

Rodger: Going to the pub now. Get ready for it bad later.

You cursed yourself for being so stupid. This morning Rodger had threatened you, again, that he wouldn't go easy on you if you were later - and now that's exactly what you were. How had you let yourself so carelessly slip up? Of course you wouldn't have changed a moment of what just happened with Harry, even if it meant your abuse would be less. The time spent with Harry was something you really cherished and you weren't willing to give up your source of happiness just yet.

"What is it? Everything okay?" Harry asked, noticing how your face had paled since reading your phone.

"Just my husband telling me he's coming home soon. I should probably get going." You told Harry, feeling bad that you were just leaving him after such a wonderful afternoon. He made you feel alive through the dark days. He brought light to the endlessly inky tunnel. He added that bit of sparkle in your monotonous life.

"Oh, yeah, no problem." Harry nodded, standing back to create a bit of distance between you. The air felt a bit thicker from the tension that both of you were creating.

"Thanks for dancing with me, Harry." You genuinely smiled at him, because he had managed to make you feel carefree for the first time in a long while. It was rare nowadays for you to have a joyous moment in your life, but instead it was filled with fists to the jaw, scratches to the skin and kicks to the gut.

"Thanks for the dance lesson." He responded, laughing as he remembered how terribly he had just danced. You were surprised he hadn't broken and ankle or a wrist with the way he had been moving his limbs. He was like an elegant spider, is the best way you could describe it.

"Rain-check?" You asked mischievously, looking down at your soaked through sun-dress.

"Think it's a little late for that now, love." Harry let out a bellowing laugh as you had spoken, before answering with his own witty comeback.

"At least you aren't walking home in it." You joked, holding open the door for him to let you both back inside the building. You didn't expect him to be so closely following, but it felt nice. Rodger, although being physically close to you when he was mistreating you, never was actually close to you. He never hugged you. He never held you close at night. He was just there. Having Harry so close to you, in an affectionate way, was a warm feeling that you wished could last forever.

"Hold on. You're walking home in this?" Harry stopped you suddenly by grabbing lightly on your arm. He had placed his hand so tactically though. He had placed it between two, rather large, bruises on your upper arm. You didn't understand how he'd missed both of them, but he had. Even when he held you though, it was very soft that it wouldn't be leaving any marks of his own.

"Don't remind me! But yes." You answered, rolling your eyes to the heavens for letting your days always turning out the worst.

"Absolutely not." Harry scrunched his face up in disgust.

"W-what?" You stuttered, thinking you'd made him angry and your mind automatically working out the worst situation that could happen here. You were pissed at yourself for even thinking that Harry would harm you in such a way, but it was unfortunately just how your mind was wired now.

"I'm going to drive you home. I'm not letting you walk home in these showers - no way." He commented. pointing to the window where you could barely see 10 metres because of how heavy the rain was. You were about to argue with him about how you would be "fine", but he beat you to it. "And i'm not taking no for an answer."

He smugly walked off towards the teachers staff room. You were left stunned for a moment before realising that he'd been so kind to offer you a ride home. You ran down the corridor, trying to catch up with him, before accidentally slipping from your wet heels and going flying down on to the floor. It shocked you at first, rolling on to your side to groan to try and ease the winded parts of your body.

Harry must've heard you thump on the floor because you could hear his shoes running back to you, whilst trying not to slip himself.

"Y/N!" He shouted, not being able to see your face to know if you were even conscious. You immediately felt his knees at your side, probably apprehensive of touching you incase you were severely hurt. "Y/N, shit, can you hear me? Y/N/N, hey?" You could hear the panic in your voice and you started to feel sorry for him.

That's when you rolled back onto your back laughing. You had been silently chuckling to yourself the entire time, finding the humour in such an embarrassing situation. Now you felt bad for Harry who had actually been concerned for you.

You couldn't stop laughing and Harry looked stunned.

"You little—" Harry started but never finished, wiping his top lip in frustration. When you didn't stop laughing though it began to become contagious and Harry was soon laughing too.

"I'm sorry!" You continued to laugh through your words.

"You're such an ass." Harry shook his head, holding out a hand for you to take in order to get you back to your feet.

"Yes, a definite bruised ass." You agreed, adding a compulsory, and very truthful, adjective in there. Harry didn't give you any visible sympathy, though, because he was pretending to be pissed off at you for pranking him. In reality you were too winded and caught up in the giggles to realise how concerned you'd made Harry.

"Well let's get you and your bruised ass home." He held onto your hand as he lead you down the hallway to get changed, before going to his car to head home.

•••••

After much deliberation on the way here, you'd decided that you were going to invite Harry to come inside. Your only problem was if Rodger came home early. You knew he would be at the pub right now, boozing himself up for later on when he comes home and treats you to his fist. If you ever accidentally missed his curfews or deadlines your punishment would ten times worse - and so with that thought in mind you needed someone to be with you right now.

Not just anyone though - just Harry.

"Please come in and try to make yourself as comfortable as possible." You say, knowing full well that it would be impossible for him to do so.

"Oh I don't need to intrude, Y/N. Just needed to make sure you got back okay." Harry spoke from outside your front door. His hands were stuffed in his pockets to keep them toasty warm from the cold - which wasn't helped by the fact you'd just danced in the rain. You could already see his little button nose turning pink from the icy weather.

"You're not intruding, Harry. In fact, I could do with the company right now." You kept latched to the door, not shutting it until he was inside your property. He could tell, from the shakiness of your voice, that you needed him and he was more than willing to be there for you.

It was very dark inside your house, only having one or two lights you could turn on because Rodger was very adamant on keeping the electricity bill low- mainly so he had money left over at the end of the month to pay for drugs or cigarettes. Alcohol he would just ask you for any money you had left in your purse. You wished you could use that money to spend on a dance class down the road, or even treat yourself to that pretty summer dress, but instead it was wasted on Jack Daniels or Disaronno.

"Your house is... sweet?" Harry asked rather than stated, as he made his way inside, making you laugh at him because you knew he was lying.

"It's a pig sty, Harry, is what you meant to say." You spoke for him, which earned a laugh back out of him.

"What?" Harry dragged out the word sarcastically, moving to follow you around the house. You stepped in to the lounge warily, just in case Rodger had decided to make a surprise appearance home. You let out a relieved sigh to not see him in his usual arm chair.

"Please." You pointed to one of the more comfortable sofas, not wanting him the displeasure of having him sit down where the springs would bounce beneath your bottom. They were so uncomfortable, but that's all you can afford when your monthly income is spent on illegal substances.

"Thanks." He smiled the best he could, given he was quite literally in the shittiest shithole to ever exist. From the outside he was prepared to be impressed, if not even a little jealous, but those were far from the feelings he was surrounded by right now. His main feelings were weighted towards his sorriness for you. You deserved so much more than this.

"Apologies for the exercise books everywhere." You were behind on marking the kids books, but you were planning on doing it later on tonight - after Rodger was done with you.

"I'm exactly the same, don't worry about it." He chuckled back.

After sitting in silence for a moment or two you noticed a small book in his pocket, only big enough to fit in there. It was tattered and had various drawings on the skin of it. He'd definitely had it a while and then some years. You wished that you'd kept a diary throughout your years, you'd be able to look back in the future and see whether life had changed. You hoped it would change, because you didn't think you had it in you to live many more years in this life.

"What's the notebook for?" You asked, trying to start up the conversation again.

"Oh... it's nothing." Harry fumbled to choose his words, which made you believe he was hiding something - a technique you were well aware of because you used it all the time. You'd hidden many things from Rodger using that technique.

"Harry," you gave him a sarcastic look, "come on." You laughed, not understanding what was so secretive about it. Maybe it was a book of his daily calorie intake? Maybe it was just a general diary? Maybe, but hopefully unlikely, it was a list of people he'd murdered? For someone who didn't watch the TV, you sure were paranoid of the fantasy malarky.

"Y/N honestly, it's nothing." Harry sighed, trying his hardest to shove it away so you'd have one less reason to think about.

"Harry. It seriously can't be that bad." You rolled your eyes at him to catch him gulp nervously. He looked like he'd seen a ghost, making you feel a lot more paranoid than you had been two seconds ago.

"You don't need to know what's in it." Harry explained cautiously, choosing his words carefully. His secrecy and closed off behaviour reminded you a lot of Rodger. Rodger would never give you a straight answer, and you were never allowed to know anything more than he let you. You didn't know anything more about his side of the family since you last saw them at your wedding. You knew nothing about the bills that were being paid for the house and taxes. Rodger was completely restrictive of the knowledge he gave you and you only prayed that Harry wouldn't be the same.

Harry was nothing like Rodger, though.

"No Harry. I-I want to know what's in it." You shakily pointed towards the little notebook, starting to tear up now, that he'd tried to stuff back in his pocket away from your view. "Please."

"Y/N I don't think that—" Harry tried to reason with you, but he knew better than for you to give up that easily. You were a fighter and that was something he greatly admired about you.

"Just l-let me see." You lurched across the sofa towards him and grabbed the little leather bound book from his pockets. He hadn't managed to push it all the way back in, so it made it easier for you to take. Technically this was stealing and invading someones privacy, but you had a gut feeling that the contents of the book had something to do with you. You didn't know whether that settled you or made you feel uneasy, but you were going to find out.

"Y/N—" Harry sighed, giving up on trying to fight against you.

It was time for you to know that he knew. It was time for this to end. It was time.

You sat in silence as you cautiously opened the book, undoing the small straw tie there was to open it. Your shaky hands stumbled upon opening it, making you drop it on to the floor and ended up with you mumbling an apology to Harry - something you knew was unnecessary but had gotten in to the habit of because of Rodger.

You turned to the first page and were met with something you were slightly taken aback by, not because it outrageous but because it was unexpected. Harry had kept the little medal that you, and Hallie, had drawn and coloured for him. The little badge that told him that he was both your heroes - well, he was definitely yours.

"You kept it?" You asked quietly, your tears falling more silently now, dumbfounded that he'd kept it.

"Of course I did. You told me I was your hero so obviously I had to keep the badge as proof." He smiled and spoke as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Then why is it in your notebook?" You asked, still in love with the fact he'd kept such, what you believed to be, and insignificant piece of coloured-in paper. You looked from the piece of paper to Harry, frowning when you noticed the sadness within his eyes.

"I use it as a bookmark." He gulped, making you feel heavy amount of nerves weigh on your shoulders.

"F-for what?" You hiccuped over your words. He didn't respond, letting you find out for yourself.

He looked down at the book and you could see tears start to form in his eyes. He looked scared, even more than you probably did, which worried you. You turned your watery eyes towards the notebook, preparing to turn the page. You let out a shaky breath and felt Harry move closer to you - your kneecap now touching his. The paper felt delicate between your fingers - kind of how you were feeling, as if you touched it too hard it would fall apart. Then you finally turned the page, letting a frown settle on your face as you read it to tried and understand.

Monday 9th January

You first read; the day in which you went back to school after the Christmas holidays.

•Limping - could be pulled muscle or maybe twisted ankle? •Slight bruising on lower forearm •Scratch on side of neck

It was beginning to make sense what Harry was keeping a note of.

•Sore throat - potentially from shouting?? •Total smiles = IIII.

You couldn't read anymore because you had started sobbing without realising. Harry was keeping a check on how you were every day and every single thing he could pin down that was not okay with you. He wasn't picking out your physical flaws, but instead your physical mistreatment. He knew and you hadn't said anything to him. You'd only read one entry, but you were sure there was one for every day - including today. You needed to truly know.

"H-how many?" You choked out, your sobs coming out heavy and loud. You noticed how Harry was now cradling you, rocking you back and forth. Your mind was in so many places that you were having a hard time focusing in on what was presently happening around you.

You felt safe though. His arms made you feel protected, like if Rodger now walked through the door, which was still a possibility, you would be perfectly fine. For once, you felt safe in your own home and that feeling alone made you emotional. Not in years had you felt this way and you didn't want the feeling to ever go away.

"Y/N I—"

"Harry, p-please." You cut him off, not wanting him to tiptoe around the subject. You'd let your guard down and you right now you were completely defenceless.

"There's two years worth of entires." Harry boldly stated, making you cry even more. You weren't crying because you were offended or angry at Harry. You weren't even crying because he'd known and hadn't reached out to you, because you knew that you would've never told him the truth. You were crying, however, because he was making you realise how much you'd been through and how long you'd suffered for. You were tired - so tired - and it took you seeing what was happening, written down on paper, for you to come to terms with that.

You couldn't do anything but cry. You finally had someone who knew and it felt amazing. All those sleepless nights wondering whether you'd even be alive in the morning. All those days when you'd thought about ending it yourself. All those days when you cried until you felt numb, just to soften the pain. All those days, were over. You knew Harry wouldn't let this carry on now - not over his dead body.

"You're okay." "You're safe." "I've got you." Were some of the phrases that Harry kept on repeating to you. He was adamant on helping you understand that nothing bad was going to come of you now that you had him by your side.

"I-i'm so-rry Ha—"

"Hey, no, no. I don't need an apology Y/N/N. I need you to be okay, okay? I need you understand that none of this is your fault. None of it. You are so special Y/N/N and you don't deserve any of this, okay? I need you to understand that I can no longer sit back and do nothing, but write in my notebook anymore, though, okay?" He spoke a lot of words and you found it within you to listen to every one of them. Some of them made your cry harder than others and some of them made you love him more than you already did.

"What d-do I do?" You asked, still buried against Harrys chest. He was still rocking you gently and kissing the top of your hair occasionally, reminding you that he was permanently here.

"You don't have to do anything, love, but just walk a little for me, okay?" He asked to which you nodded, letting a bunch of hiccups overtake your system momentarily.

"W-what if Ro-dger i-is—"

"Then i'm here. He won't come within a metre of you if I have anything to do with it. I promise." He pulled your head out of his chest and made you look at him, so you'd know that he was honest about protecting you with everything he had.

"O-okay." You nodded, weakly smiling in thanks of everything he was doing.

"Okay." Harry agreed. You shakily stood up, holding on to Harrys arm for support. Your body was so tired and you could feel your brain wanting to shut everything down so you could rest. You just had to keep everything going for a few more minutes and then you could finally let up. The idea of a warm, plush, bed with blankets to spare, right now, was all your heart was set on.

Harry took his arm around your waist to carefully walk you out of the house. You no longer wanted to label it as 'your house', because in reality it never had been and it never felt like it. You were ready to move from this shithole and on to something better.

After making it to Harrys car he strapped your seat belt in and made sure you were comfortable. He asked whether you needed or wanted anything from the house, but you explained that never had been anything there of yours. It was all crap furniture that you'd never want to see again and it wasn't like you'd been anywhere to keep ahold of souvenirs. You just needed your handbag and yourself. Harry made quick work of locking the house door and then running back to the car to get going.

"Can I-I sleep now?" You asked, pulling your jacket tighter around you, as Harry put his car in to reverse.

"Yes, love, you can sleep now."

The last memory you had was Harry pushing your hair out of your face before blacking out, feeling nothing but out of harm's way.

•••••

Harrys house was beautiful and you were glad you'd woken up in time to see it.

It was a little terraced house on a quaint road. The beautiful thing about the houses were they were painted in all different colours of the pastel rainbow. It started off as a soft-cherry red that lead into an apricot orange, that lead into a sherbet yellow, that continued all the way to a lavender. They definitely lived up to the name of the street they lived on "Rainbow Road". You thought it was genius.

Just before you were going to ask which one belonged to Harry he pulled up outside the sherbet yellow one. You would've guessed him to live in the apricot orange, but you were happily surprised. The yellow was a nice pick-me-up, filling you with so much joy you could burst.

"Wow." You gawked at the house from the insides of the car. You were expecting a four bedroom house with white picket fencing, maybe even a secret wife that he kept very, very, secret, but no. Harry lived in a smaller house than you, walls coated in a gentle lemon and in a neighbourhood that seemed as soft, and calm, as Harry was.

It was simply put; quite serene.

"You like it?" Harry asked, nervous tones in his voice. He hoped it was something a little brighter than you were used to.

"Harry, it's so charming," you turned your head from the house towards him, making him look right back at you, "a lot like its owner really." You blushed when you spoke, not having a clue where your confidence had come from.

"Oh really? Want to butter me up any more, love?" He teased you, taking your compliment and planting it permanently inside his mind. You'd called him charming and he would never shut up about it until the ends of time.

"N-no." You let out between giggles. You were at peace with yourself in this moment.

"You sure? I mean, i'll take all the compliments I can get to be honest." He put his hands up in defence, and you sat back to watch him own the moment. You rolled your eyes at his narcissism, before moving to let yourself out of the car. Harry followed swiftly, locking up his car before unlocking his front door.

After he'd turned the alarm off, he waited for you to enter before locking back up and ridding himself of his shoes. His house was quite chilly, which he apologised for as a result of leaving the heating off during the day when he's at work. You had no quarrel with that, finding his passion for the global green very considerate.

"Come through, please. I can put the kettle on if you want and maybe a biscuit of some kind. I have ginger nuts or custard creams if they appeal to you," whilst Harry took himself through to the kitchen you couldn't help but freeze up in the hallway, getting all teary eyed, "I have to say though my favourite biscuit would probably be—" Harry stopped when he walked back to see you crying. His heart dropped at the sight. Of course seeing anybody cry is a horrible sight to witness, but seeing you crew was almighty worse.

"Sorry, Harry," you shook your head in embarrassment, "it's just i'm quite overwhelmed at how lovely you are and the support you're willing to give me and it's all just quite a lot, sorry." You rambled, letting a few stray tears fall. If there were a competition for who could cry the most in 24 hours, you would win first place and then some more.

"Hey, no, it's completely fine. I should have been more sensitive, I apologise. We can just go and sit on the couch for a bit if you want?" He offered, not wanting you to feel pressured at all.

"Yeah, that sounds nice." You nodded, mentally reminding yourself to stop giving reasons for Harry keeping on apologising to you - even if it was nice to hear someone else for someone else doing it, other than you, for once.

He lead you in to his living room, hand in hand, and you were taken aback by how wonderful it was in there. The room was rectangular, with the TV placed in the corner of the room next to the bay window. The bay window was covered in blankets and cushions, with adjacent floating shelves that contained tens of classic reads. The sofas were a luxurious velvet blue and it made the room feel expensive. The sapphire of the couches brought out the colour in the grey floor you didn't even know existed. The fireplace was classically built, wood burner and all. The room was on the small side, but it made it all the more homely. It was a delicious delight.

"It's not much, but it's home you know?" Harry felt like he had to apologise for it being lesser than your previous house. In reality, you adored his much more.

"Harry it's stunning. I'm jealous that it's yours and not mine." You couldn't keep your eyes away from the room, finding new things to be mesmerised by.

"It's yours too now." Harry proudly stated, making you shoot your head to him in shock. Of course you thought that you'd be living with Harry for a little while before you could get yourself back on your own feet, but you didn't expect him to share it with you like how he was suggesting. He noticed your expression and thought he'd overstepped a line, "I-if you want?"

You couldn't help but let out a little flurry of sobs, stopping yourself before it turned in to a bigger breakdown.

"Sorry! I'm being silly. It's just been a long time since i've been this happy in a house." You shook your head at your own silliness.

"No, no. It's not silly at all. I don't understand, but you could help me to if you want to?" Harry wanted to give you a way to tell someone your story. He wanted you to feel safe in opening up to someone, anyone.

"Yeah. I'd really like that, please." You quietly agreed.

"Okay. Let me just turn the heating on and then i'll be right back. Please just make yourself comfortable." He didn't want to tell you to make yourself at home because he knew you already felt it. He was honoured to be the someone you wanted to open up to, but even more proud of you for being strong enough to want to talk.

"Perfect."

•••••

After a couple of hours just crying to Harry, letting him learn of everything that had happened the past couple of years, you finally got the strength to get up off the couch and make a cuppa.

You'd told Harry everything - not a detail left out. He deserved to understand what your life had been like, considering he was doing so much to help you out. Harry really had been your knight in shining armour. Harry had to stop you sometimes to rant about how much he despised Rodger, which you found quite hilarious. You were pretty sure that he popped a blood vessel on his neck because of how passionately angry he got. You had to calm him down sometimes by holding his hand, squeezing it to reassure him that you were safe now.

Now you were messing around having a tea competition.

Harry claimed his cups of tea were the best in the Northern Hemisphere and he was very willing for you to challenge him on that. You made your cup of tea, for him, and he made his, for you. You hated to admit it but his cuppa was extraordinary - but you were a very sore loser so you couldn't tell him that. He knew though by the way you downed the whole mug in less than five minutes. He was worried that you'd burn your throat but you were very adamant on downing the whole drink.

The warmth and comfort of the hot drink reminded you a lot of Harry.

"Harry?" You asked, putting your empty mug in the sink to wash later.

"Yes, Y/N?" Harry responded, mouth full of ginger-nut biscuit. A little cloud of biscuit poofed from his mouth as he spoke, which he blushed in embarrassment over.

"Can I have a look through your notebook please?" You held your hand out to wait for him to deliver you the notebook. You knew he would eventually give it you, but you weren't sure whether he would give it to you so soon - not wanting you to step on a wound that was still very open.

"You sure you want to? I can keep it until you're ready?" He checked to make sure. If you believed you were ready then he wasn't going to stop you, but only be there for you if you get upset.

"I'm sure. I promise I wouldn't ask if I didn't think it was right to." You nodded in assurance, wiggling your fingers in gesture for him to hand it over to you. He nodded and smiled in response, before pulling out the book from his coat that was hanging over the back of a chair. He did it all one handed, still holding his cup of tea in the other - the cup of tea which you were upset that he'd given 2 Michelin stars to.

"Okay." He warmly smiled at you before standing back to let you go through the book in your own time.

You worked your way through every page, wincing when you saw some pages filled entirely with tally marks. There was never a day where there was no tally marks and that made you deep how insane it had actually been. Looking at this from the outside, now, was a challenging perspective to wrap your head around. You never understood the gravity of the situation until you stood back and peered in from the outside. Harry's book, however unsettling it was, comforted you in knowing that there had been someone there for you when you believed otherwise. He was your silent guardian angel.

Flicking through the book you finally reached todays page. You read down it and were impressed by how right Harrys tallies had been. He'd correctly scored the right amount of bruises and even annotated where he thought they were. It was a weird talent, but he sure had it.

Deciding that the page was incomplete you grabbed a nearby pen from the side, unfortunately it was a different colour to the one already on the page, and made a simple adjustment to the writing. You even underlined it. Once finished, you held the page away from you and smiled at how content you were now.

You handed it back to Harry with the biggest smile you, and him, had ever seen on your face. You almost looked mischievous.

"What did you do?" He asked accusingly, setting his tea on the table to see what damage had been done.

"Needed to update it." You simply put it, expressing a softer smile now.

You watched as Harry read over the pages, trying to figure out what you'd done. He flipped right to the end, thinking you'd most likely have written something on the most recent pages. He turned all the way to the back, where fifty blank pages remained, but there was nothing. He turned to the front, and nothing. The next guess he turned to todays date.

Tuesday 10th November

He skimmed the page looking for what was different - if anything. He quickly glanced over to you and he saw you smirking, which was a sign that he was getting close to figuring it out. He couldn't look at you and not internally comment about how beautiful you looked. You were a sight for sore eyes and nothing less.

Then he looked at the end of the page and it made sense.

•Total smiles = III

You'd tallied your own smile.

Harrys eyes started to water. He was so unbelievably proud of you. He could already see that you'd come so far and it had been a matter of hours since you left that god forbidden house. It was going to a very gradual process but he couldn't be more proud of you if he tried. You shot up out of your chair when he started to cry, though, thinking that you'd done something wrong.

"Harry i'm sorry. I can buy you a new book if I ruined it. I can—"

"You didn't ruin anything, love. I'm just... I'm just happy that you're happy. I've waited a long time to see you like this." He came to hold you close, noticing how you didn't even flinch when he came near you. You were improving by the second and it was a wonder to watch.

"I've waited a long time to feel like this." You admitted, looking past his teary eyes to see hope hidden behind the water. To hear Harrys compliments was something quite touching. Not having heard any compliments from your, said, husband for years had been a challenging setback, but one that you'd go through all again if it meant you got to hear Harry say all these wonderful things. "It's like, sometimes the pain gets hard, but now you're here and I don't feel a thing."

He took an extra step towards you, cautiously bringing his hand up to place upon your cheek and lower jaw. As soon as he felt you melt in to his hand, humming at the blissful warm feeling against your skin, he traced his thumb back and forth against the softness of your cheek. He brought a calmness to your life that you never realised was missing and it made you grateful to finally have it.

He made you feel home again.

You were so thankful for everything Harry had done for you. He'd silently opened you up into sharing your story. He'd always have been the one to make you smile, even on your worst days. He'd never given up on you. He'd offered up his house to you until you figured out what you wanted to do next. He'd cared for you on all the days you never thought anyone did, with his little secret notebook. He'd loved you for being you. He'd made you feel special on those days where Rodger would make you feel impossibly small. He'd done it all for you.

There wasn't enough ways for you to display your gratitude towards him. You could take him out to as many meals, buy him as many X-Box games, treat him to as many football games that your money could stretch to buy, but it would never be enough compared to what he'd done for you.

"Hey, you okay? You look lost in daydream land?" Harrys voice brought you back from your intense thoughts and back to him.

"Just thinking that i'm never going to be able to thank you enough for all this." You told him exactly what was on your mind, because he was actually someone who would listen to you. As you spoke you carefully brushed a fallen curl back behind his ear, and kept your fingers dancing around there in order to keep you focused.

"You don't need to Y/N/N. You've given me everything already." His words caught your attention, because they weren't true. You hadn't given him everything.

You hadn't given him you.

"Well what about me?" You asked, curious to know if he would take you if you were offering.

"And what about you, love?" He asked, smiling at you for an answer. He wanted you to explain what you meant before he answered under the wrong impression. You two knew there was an undying romantic tension between you both, but neither of you had ever brought it up because you were married and he was too out of your league - or so you thought.

"What if I gave you me? What if you were mine and I were yours?" You shyly asked, bracing for the rejection he was bound to give you - until he didn't.

"Then I would be the luckiest man alive." He answered so simply, yet so effectively. "In fact, I really hope that you don't run from me."

"Really?" You asked, shocked that he felt the same way. He had been shocked too to hear you offer yourself in to a relationship, and so soon after just slipping out of an abusive one. You were positive that you were going to need counselling, of some kind, in order to build back up the walls Rodger had so disgracefully bulldozed down. You needed to become more emotionally stable before venturing too far in to any new relationships, you accepted that, but you were willing to seriously consider being with Harry - if he'd have you.

"Really, really." He nodded enthusiastically.

"I don't want to rush in to it, though, because I don't think that would be fair on you. I'm still a long way from emotionally recovering, but if you're willing to wait then I promise to be there waiting too." You explained the best way you could, hoping that he would understand the concept of what you're trying to convey. He knew you weren't ready and he was okay with that.

"I've always been waiting, love." He replied and that was enough for you both to know that things would be alright from now on.

••••••

It took you a while, but you were finally at your happiest.

You were taught believe that home was the house you grew up in. It was the neighbourhood and the architecture that stood within it. What you weren't taught is that home can also be a person, and your person was Harry.

Three months after spending every day with that ray of sunshine, he asked you to be his girlfriend. It had taken a lot for you to get to that point but you were so ready for the next chapter. He'd asked you so casually that some may not even have thought he was being serious, but to you it was exactly the way you envisioned it to be - watching "Educating Manchester" with a bowl of ramen noodles to share between the two of you. It was so minimalistic and you loved him for it.

Neither of you had specifically said that you loved each other yet, but it was blaringly obvious that you did.

Over time Harry helped you find family members and old friends, helping you stitch back together the individual patches of your life back together and create the beautiful blanket it once was. None of it would be possible without Harry and you were so blessed to be able to call him yours.

Rodger had tried to come get you multiple times. He'd hung around outside the school a few times and had even turned up to Harrys house once. It was scary and you wanted it to stop. Harry has gone livid when he found him on his doorstep, having to really hold himself back from tearing him limb from limb for the sake of you and your mental recovery.

"If you ever fucking come near my house or my girl ever again, I swear it won't be pretty, man." Harry was grinding his teeth together, doing everything in his power from keeping this anything more than a verbal fight.

"You fucking threatening me, pal?" Rodger spat, quite literally, in Harrys face - something you were quite accustomed to.

"Listen to what I said and then I won't be." Harry bargained, which you were so proud of him for keeping as calm as he was. You could tell he was raging though, ready to pounce on something.

"I ain't taking no orders from you." Rodger piped back, pushing Harrys shoulder back slightly. That infuriated you. You knew first hand of what this man could do with his fists and you would do anything to stop Harry from experiencing the same things you did. You loved him with every bone in your body and you'd rather wish yourself ill than watch him get hurt. So you stepped in, from where Harry'd had you stood behind him to protect you.

"Y/N—" Harry started, but stopped when he knew you were fully capable of fighting your own battles. Plus he was right next to you if you needed him, unlike all the times he hadn't been.

"Ah there she is, my little bitch." Rodger laughed, displaying his ugly smile he had the misfortune of owning.

You felt Harrys fists curl and you slid your hand in between his fingers to calm him. Your touch made him feel relaxed, you knew this, so you used it to your advantage. Harry let out a slight animalistic growl when Rodger spoke to you, but nothing more. He knew you could handle this.

"Rodger you are not invited here. This isn't your property and you've been asked to leave multiple times. If you don't leave within the next minute i'm calling the police. That's not a threat, that's a promise." Harry doubt o squeezed your hand to let you know you were handling this amazing well, especially mentally. He only wished he was half as strong as you.

"Ooh she's finally got the balls to stand up for herself. Is that because Mr Harry—"

He quickly shut up when he saw you'd just dialled 999. You weren't afraid of him like it used to be. There would always be that trauma any time you see him, but you were getting stronger against him which only made him weaker.

"This isn't over." Rodger angrily stomped his foot like a child, only making you internally snicker.

"It is and you'll soon come to realise that." You smiled and nodded your head towards the main road. He snarled at you before walking away, knowing he couldn't put up a fight against either of you anymore.

When the door closed you let out such a sigh of relief. You rested your forehead against the front door, in peace knowing Rodger was nowhere around to hurt you and you'd successfully stood up to him. If there was any a time for champagne and party poppers it was now, but you guy something ever better.

Warm lips pressed against the cold of your neck.

"Hmm." You sighed in content and pleasure.

"You were so hot just then." Harry stated, which is not where you thought this conversation would turn to. You expected him to start talking about how proud he was of you and then start talking about how you were long-term going to deal with that asshole. Instead, he seemed very affectionate.

"You think?" You teased him, leaning your head to the side to allow him more access to your neck.

"So hot." And it didn't take a rocket scientist you decipher what you two did for the rest of the day.

Rodger hadn't been in contact since and it was now 5 months without him. 5 months clean, as you liked to label it.

You and Harry continued to live under his sherbet lemon home and work in the beloved school. The children knew that you were a couple and were always grossed out when they'd catch you holding hands or kissing , when you two thought no one was around. Hallie had even made another badge for Harry to have and it was a small heart with your name written inside, although it was not coloured in very well and your name had been spelt wrong it still managed to make Harry cry.

Life had an unfortunate way of turning out for many. For you, your unfortunate story had occurred at the beginning of your life. Now, you couldn't be happier. Life was a blessing and the people in it were even more so.

It had been a long journey to get to today, but now you could finally rest.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfic #ask finelinevogue #harry blurb #finelinevogue #harry styles concept #harry oneshot #fic rec harry styles #teacher!harry #teacher!harry styles #harry styles teacher fic #teacher!harry x teacher!reader #harry styles fic #harry styles blurbs #fanfic harry styles

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yandere-kokeshi · 1 year

Note

Could I req Yandere Inosuke and muchiro jealousy head cannons? Thank you!!<3

Warnings: yandere behavior and violence.

A/N: yay! This was incredibly fun to write. Sorry, this took so long, happy new year!

Hope you enjoy anon :]

Inosuke Hashibira:

Jealousy with him is almost territorial. He becomes more irrational, screaming at everyone (including you), and becomes a menace who dares to step foot into his view. He had claimed you like his brothers and sisters would have with their mate! How are people so dumb, how can they not see you belong to him?

“Who’s that person? Why are you interacting with them? They’re stupid. I’m stronger than them! I can fight them and kill them within seconds. Let’s fight, douchebag!”

Because of his superiority complex, he will challenge them to fight to see that they’re worthy of your time. Either, he would run after whatever is making him feel this aggression or simply, full-on out, yell at them for a spare.

It’s incredibly obvious he’s jealous. Although, he will deny it. He believes it’s a stupid word you made up; which concludes, he has zero idea what it means. This concludes that you may or may not need to teach him what it means.

Although, he will make sure to show others that you belong to him. He will give you hickeys all over your neck and shoulder, bite marks that are doomed to scare them off, and him growling behind you.

Everywhere you go, it’s expected to see him looming behind you, staring at his opponent’s eyes and air huffing out his nose; his eyes shined in annoyance and jealousy.

Inosuke is incredibly protective of you. While he is possessive at some points, he ought to never hurt you. But the minute he sees you hanging out with someone, he will run across the yard and challenge them to a duel; to see whos stronger.

If he has to, he will make out with you in front of them or possibly grab your bottom to make them get a hint. You belong to him, like how he belongs to you. Those idiots need to know.

Muichiro Tokito:

Jealousy is a tough topic with Muchiro. He acts quite childish, maybe unfair, and is particularly unsure of how to react to these intense emotions. He will get extremely clingy and nasty toward other people.

“Why don’t you spend time with me instead? Come on, I’m bored and I wanna train. Stop bothering them and go away, you’re a nuisance of their time.”

Muichiro will get extremely clingy, following you like a lost puppy and pulling you along in his direction, away from anybody else, including the person that you’re hanging out with. If you have to leave, he will whine and step in front of you, simply shaking his head like a toddler.

Though, when he sees you with the person, he will continuously engage in the conversation with the two of you, trying to pull you away or make your attention focused on him: “Look at those dogs, aren’t they cute?” – “Hey, I’m hungry. Can we eat by our tree?” – “I’m bored. Can we train? Why do you want to invite your friend? No. They’re a waste of time.”

He’s afraid of losing you. That being said, he will attach himself to you like a leech and stone-flick anyone who tries to take your attention away from him. Whenever he ‘wins’ (succeeds on getting your attention), he will stick out his tongue and watch their face in amusement.

This also includes him insulting anyone, challenging them on questions of you that are quite simple to know: “What’s their favorite color? No. It’s green you doofus.” – “What’s their favorite clothing brand? Stupid, it’s none of those. Pay attention.”

He may or may not fake an injury so you can concentrate on him, rather than that stupid person who wastes your time. And yes, he will fake whine and say his body hurts, and oh that he needs cuddling right now.

Muichiro may or may not make people stay away from you. Although, why do you need them when you have him? He makes great conversations, even if he forgets.

—

My Masterlist || Reblogs, comments, and likes are very much appreciated!! Stay well!!

Do not plagiarize, repost, modify, translate or copy my work.

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little-lucid-dreamer97 · 10 months

Text

Picture Perfect Day.

Dream x F! Witch Reader.

Summery: Reader is a witch and doctor so between her job and Dreams they sometimes spend time apart even when reader sleeps because sometimes she dose not, so Dream surprises her with a trip to Fiddlers Green. (Fluff mostly).

My first Reader insert I hope you guys enjoy it!. Might do a part two with a little back story if you'd like that please let me know!.

You went to bed that night with the same eager excitement you did every night, Which is why it always takes three cups of camomile tea to get you there on time. Your head buzzed with the thought of whatever was in store for you in your dreams tonight, but mostly for who you know is waiting on the other side.

Dream is waiting for you.

And with that last thought you drifted off.

And suddenly you were standing in the library.

"Hello Y/N, here to see is majesty I presume?". Lucien was standing at the end of the large oak table you stood beside a small knowing smile on her lips. No matter how hard you try to convince people you two aren't a couple there was no lying to his fateful librarian and friend. Smiling shyly you nodded. "He asked to see me tonight, is he around?". You asked glancing around the library.

"I believe he's waiting for you in the thrown room". She said adjusting her glasses and picking up a book from the table.

Smiling you wave a goodbye and left the library to make your way to the thrown room, you passed Merve on the way. He made a joke that made you laugh and put a bigger smile on your face as you enterd the thrown room. You expected to see Dream up the long stairs case sitting on his thrown but instead you found him on the stairs reclining peacefully with a sour expression on his lovely face.

"I've never seen someone look so relaxed yet so bummed before, you have to teach me your ways lord of melancholy faces". You laughed as you made your way towards him. His expression lightened and he slowly stood meeting you halfway.

"I could, but it may take a few lessons to-". You cut him off with your mouth on his unable to resist it ay longer. He stiffend for a half a second before winding his arms around your waste and leaning in.

On yeah you two definitely aren't a couple. Mostly because you haven't put a name on it yet. "Sorry". You say pulling away from his lips but not his embrace. "Three days is way too long to be this close without getting a taste". A smile tugged at his lips as he looked down at you. You reach up a hand and brush a few loose strands of raven hair out of his face so you could see his oceanic eyes more clearly.

"I have something very special planned for us today my love". He reached up a hand and traced your jaw line. You shuddered a little under his touch and smiled. "I can't wait, I'm ready when you are". You replied. Without another word he grabbed you by the hand and pulled you along with him. To your surprise he lead you up the thrown room stairs until you stopped infront of it.

He turned you around wrapping his arms around you and leand down close to your ear. "Now close your eyes". He whispered. His breath on you neck made you shiver and your eyes fludered close.

For a moment nothing happened but then there was a washing and the feeling of wind all round you, then the sounds of rushing water and the smell of grass and flowers. "Now" he said his voice was filled with an excitement you've never heard before. "Open them".

You did as you were told and gasped. You we no longer in the thrown room and instead were standing on a bed of soft grass in a meadows next to willow tree that was a about 20 feet from a rushing Brooke capped by a waterfall. It was the most magnificent view you haf ever seen. "Welcome to fiddlers green my love".

"It's incredible Dreams!". You exclaimed with joy. "It's so beautiful!". You cheered. "The most beautiful thing I've ever seen!".

"I've seen more beautiful things". Dream said leaning down and kissing the top of your head. "Shall we go for a walk?, perhaps a swim". The last was a bit of a Suggestion with a tone that made you feel warm and tingly all over, three days is a long, long time.

"If you can catch me then we can talk about the swim". Dream raised an eye brow but before he could respond you pushed your palms to his chest and began to run through the medow, a laugh spilling from you lips as you heard his shout of confused protest from behind.

*******************************************************

Dream had caught up with you rather quickly and you to began the walk hand in hand. The conversation varied between work and life, you laughed and talked for what felt like forever but had only been a few hours when you found yourself back at the willow tree. Tired you flopped down below the three and laid staring up at the beautiful webby branches.

Dream laid on his side beside you propped up on an elbow. He leaned over and kissed you softly burying his fingers in your hair. You reached up and tangled your fingers in his smiling into his soft lips. You wished you could bottle this feeling, drink it up whenever you needed a pick me up. The way he touched you, the way he looked at you with undying love and admiration. No one had ever looked at you he way he does, never made you feel like this before.

"Was everything to your liking today my love?" He asked a happy sigh leaving his lips as he laid d9wn beside you. Your head were touching just slightly and you reached and intangled your fingers with his.

"Today was perfect and exactly what I needed after being away for three long days". You sighed thinking about the hospital and all the work tha would be there tomorrow. Probably another three days worth. "The only thing that would make it better would be if I coul-". You cut off with a gasp at the feeling of the heavy cold rectangl suddenly appearing in your empty hand. You lifted the phone and was shocked when the screen lit up, it was your phone.

Dream looked over with a raised eyebrow staring at the device."and what would you need that for here darling?". He asked a note of worry in his soft voice. "Am I not entertaining you enough?, perhaps we could-".

"No!". You cut him off quick before hisind to make up a problem that was not there. "Today was perfect and I was just thinking the only thing that could make it better would be a keep sake". You began as you flipped through the apps until you found the camera icon. "Something I can look at when we have to be apart for long periods because of work, I know it won't be there when I wake up but ".

You lifted the phone obove your heads "smile for me will you". Dreams confused look into the camera made you laugh which got a unprovoked smile from him and before he could stop you snapped the picture and then another. Sitting up you excitedly looked through the photos and gave a joyful shout. They were perfect, even the ones that looked a little off. It was you and Dream and they were perfect.

"I do not understand". Dream said as he sta up and leand in next to you. "But I'm glad they make you happy my love". He kissed your temple softly.

You smiled at him brightly and kissed his lips, The kiss went from soft to deep and more intense and solwy he moved so that he was obove you. You dropped the phone from your hand and tangled them in his soft dark hair, slowly you ladies down and he nestled himself between your legs. The feeling of his warm body against yours made an overwhelming sense of safety and love flood your body. His hands gracefully moved up and down your hips, his slender fingers hiked your dress skirt up over your knees.

And then you heard it. The loud obnoxious ringing of your alarm blaring back in the waking world.

And then suddenly you were starting at your ceiling breathless and heart pounding. "For fucks sake!". You exclaimed thumping your fist on your bed before thumping the alarm clock on your night stand. You reached for you cell phone and turns it on checking your emails and text. A sudden thought made you click over to your gallery and flipped through the pictures.

To your delight and joy you found the pictures of you and Dream in the meadows below the willow tree in fiddlers green. Finally, you though something to look at on long days away from the lord of your Dreams.

*******************************************************************

I follow back also :} and I've decided that part 2 will be the swim ;)

#dream of the endless #fanfic #the sandman #dream x y/n #the sandman netflix #dream x reader #the sandman x you #the sandman x reader #morpheus x reader

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scoutdoesstuff · 2 years

Text

time for more catch up posts! from my queue, which i've hopefully set up correctly.

this is day eighteen of my tea prompts challenge! i decided to do another sam POV deal and this one got ... introspective. which i guess is my default value for sam-centric stuff. today's flavor is arabica chai.

“The fuck — this isn’t coffee!” Dean leaned away from the Impala to spit out the tea.

“You said you’d take anything as long as it came from the coffee plant,” Sam said, actual cup of coffee cradled in his hands and a safe six feet away from his brother.

“Sammy!”

Sam giggled and got in the Impala. Dean wrenched the driver’s side door open and stuck his head in the car. “From the coffee plant implies coffee! This is tea!”

“It’s arabica tea, from the arabica plant which makes coffee beans. Sometimes it’s called arabica chai, if you’re a snooty barista,” Sam said, the last part mostly to himself. She’d been really pretty, with gorgeous looping tattoos around her arms and a septum ring. She’d laughed at Sam’s joke, egged him on to buy something goofy for his brother. A few years ago, he would’ve stayed for an hour longer, chatted with her, maybe even planned to keep the number he knows is written on the inside of his coffee cup sleeve.

Things were different, after Ruby. Trust was hard, in himself and in others.

Dean poked his arm and Sam flinched back into the present. Dean didn’t pull his hand away and Sam used the stability of his brother to ground himself.

“Doubloon for your thoughts?” Dean asked, eyebrows waggling, hamming it up as much as possible.

They were on Ocracoke Island, just off the shore of North Carolina, trying to track down what appears to be an actual haunting by Edward Teach. Dean was beside himself with pirate puns. They were doing a tour of the island’s tourist traps while they looked for evidence that there was an actual haunting. Right now, it felt like this could be a bust, like someone was trying to drum up the tourist trade after a particularly hard hurricane season, but they were also having fun so Sam wasn’t sure if he cares either way.

He couldn’t remember the last time he and Dean just fucked around for a few days, played pranks on each other, and saw weird tourist shit that you can only find if your whole life was a road trip. It’d been nice, so nice that it hurt sometimes. Sam doesn’t know what to do with that feeling. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the fact that he’d became someone who flinched when he felt good. It’s not a masochist thing, he knew that much. It was like he’d forgotten how to feel happy sometimes.

Hell has an incredible way of rewiring your head.

Sam had been quiet long enough that Dean’s face tipped into worried, or more worried than he usually was about Sam these days.

“The barista was pretty,” Sam blurted out, desperate to make the divot between Dean’s eyebrows go away.

“You get her number, Casanova?” Dean said, titling his head just slightly to the left and fluttering his eyelashes.

Sam worked the sleeve off of his coffee cup and showed Dean the inside of it, trying not to smile. He wasn’t gonna call her. Dean hooted and fired up the Impala’s engine anyway.

They drove for a while. The island was only so big, so they circled it twice, trying to pick up some sign of a haunting. The locals were either annoyed at talking to what were clearly tourists or were way too excited to them about the the spoooooky haunting that’s terrified their neighbors.

They stopped around four, fed up with shitty leads and increasingly frustrating conversations. Dean idled the Impala by a stop sign, eyes sightless through the windshield. Sam waited, let his brother sort out whatever was going through his head.

Dean eventually swallowed hard, looked slightly to his right to address the window behind Sam’s head. “Do you wanna go to the beach?”

Dean was in his thirties, Sam his late twenties. Neither of them had ever been. John had called it a waste of time when they were growing up and there hadn’t been time in the last few years.

“One of the guy’s I talked to said there was a sort of private place off Highway 12 we could go to. Might requires some hiking so I don’t know if you want to — I mean it’s fine —“ Dean kept rambling.

“Yeah,” Sam said, suddenly weirdly emotional. “Yeah, I wanna go to the beach.”

They picked up sandwiches, a bag of chips, and a six pack on their way out of town. The drive wasn’t long, just a few minutes, and then Dean pulled off the highway.

“Can’t get over how fucking tiny this place is,” Dean said, grunting as they wrestled a cheap blanket and their food out of the Impala. “Used to having the whole forty eight at my disposal. I have no idea what to do with some place that I get from one end to the other in less than thirty minutes.”

“You’re pissed about the bike traffic,” Sam said, only slightly teasing.

“It’s weird to live someplace where you can get everywhere by bike!” Dean shouted over his shoulder as he hustled across the highway towards a poorly marked trail.

It took them a minute to hike towards the beach through surprisingly dense bushes. They’d both ditched their outer layers by the time they reached the dune. Sam almost lost the sandwiches in their scramble up and over the loose hill of sand.

It was worth it when they got to the top, though. The ocean spread out as far as they could see, a dark, deep blue dotted with fluffy, white wave caps close to the shore. The beach was a warm, light brown that turned to an deeper, earthy brown the closer it go to the waves. Birds scuttled to and fro around the waves, trying to catch shellfish left exposed by the retreating water before they could bury themselves under the sand.

Sam and Dean stared out at the expanse. It wasn’t a white beach with perfect blue water, but it was real and it was theirs and there was no else on the beach to watch two grown ass men get maybe a little too emotional at seeing a beach.

They raced each other down the beach, shoving at each other hard enough that they both almost went ass over teakettle a couple of times. They left their food hidden in the Impala’s old cooler on top of their towel, tore their socks and shoes off, and sprinted into the waves, wading in up to their knees.

Dean kicked water at Sam, spraying him with surf and then it was on. They both wound up completely drenched, chucking handfuls of sand at each other and laughing like children. It was the best day Sam had had topside since he went to hell. It honestly might’ve been the best day he’d had since he left Stanford, if he was honest. It felt like healing was supposed to feel, especially when he and Dean got tired of throwing water and sand at each other and settled on their towel to eat.

They ate like men starved and finished off a beer a piece within a few minutes.

Then Sam squinted and stared off in the distance.

There was a man walking out of the waves, towards them. Sam put down his beer and poked Dean, who was rummaging around their blanket for the bag of chips.

Dean grunted, annoyed at being pulled away from scavenging for food, and followed Sam’s finger.

The man, and it did appear to be a man, walked out of the waves. He was dressed in clothes from the wrong century that were dirty and waterlogged. That wasn’t really the concerning part, though. The real issue was that he was holding his own head by its hair in his left hand.

Dean squealed, startling Sam out of his horror filled staring.

“Sammy, it’s Blackbeard!”

“Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me.”

It was a long run back to the Impala to get their guns.

#the beach sam and dean go to is real #well real provided it hasn't been shreded by a hurricane in the past decade or so #i used to go all the time with parents in the summer #it is ludicrously remote but the sea shells you can find out there are amazing #spn #my fic #tea prompts

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agwic · 2 years

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I bingewatched centaurworld instead of doing my finals a couple days ago because I'd heard it mentioned a few times and thought it sounded bizarre enough to be ineteresting, but it really isn't, and I'm going to put that lack of interest into words now because I finally figured out how. and like, I now have a place to shout opinions into the world, so I guess I'm gonna shout this opinion here.

so, firstly, while it isn't nearly as interesting as it feels like it should be, I didn't dislike centaurworld, and I don't regret watching it(well I do regret watching it instead of doing my finals but that's more due to wishing I had done my finals), it just felt oddly underwhelming given the premise. but like, if I had to give it a score, it would be like 7.5/10, so it isn't like I'm saying it's terrible. also the music is good and I have no complaints on that front.

so, I think the root of my issues with centaurworld is that it's trying to be three different things, all of which it half-asses. the most obvious of these, and what I think is the intended purpose of the show, is to juxtapose the incredibly childish centaurworld with an incredibly serious fantasy plotline and characters for comedy and horror. the second thing it tries to be is a typical colorful child-friendly show trying to teach important lessons about life with simple zany characters. this is separate from the whole juxtaposition thing, since there are a number of times where the show plays the characters from centaurworld(besides wammawink, she's an honorary humanworld character) completely straight, which never works and just wastes large amounts of time. zulius, ched, glendale, and derpleton are not actually that interesting playing off each other and wammawink. and yet, the show insists on trying to treat these dynamics like they're important and interesting. but like, that isn't compatible with the fact that zulius and glendale are completely joke characters, which if played seriously either come across as awful people, make no sense, or both. so any episode that tries to treat them as anything but background characters or antagonists will just be weak. ched, meanwhile, doesn't even manage to be a joke character correctly, considering that his only trait is "is racist against horse" and then on at least five separate occasions the show has him learn not to be racist against horse, none of which stick, because he has literally no reason to exist if he isn't racist against horse. also like him being racist against horse isn't a particularly funny joke, and the issue isn't that racism isn't funny, it's that "character 1 is mean to character 2 for no reason" is simply not funny. lastly there's derpleton, who doesn't have a character in season 1, and then inexplicably becomes vaguely acceptable as a mirror to wammawink in season 2, which wasn't necessary because I'm not here to learn about family or whatever, I'm here to watch the juxtaposition of the centaurworld characters and the serious fantasy stuff. speaking of the serious fantasy stuff, centaurworld tries to play that straight too. which, in my opinion, is more excusable since if you didn't try to play it straight, it wouldn't feel all that serious, so the juxtaposition wouldn't be that interesting. however, the show somehow puts the fantasy plotline above the juxtaposition. like, for example, they don't cut down on the childish comedy in the serious fantasy sections, there's still jokes and stuff, which does help the scenes flow better, but that's the opposite of what you want! you want it to be jarring! that's like the entire point! like, they put a lot of effort into making sure the fantasy plotline flows into centaurworld, forgetting that it shouldn't flow smoothly, it should be jarring! this is also why wammawink is an issue! in theory, a good character is a good thing. however, what they seem to be trying to go for is that everyone in centaurworld is kinda a joke character, but wammawink is just a complete character that wouldn't feel out of place in the human world if she weren't a pink llama centaur. and this would be good if centaurworld was primarily a show about character drama, which it sometimes feels like it's supposed to be, since that's the part it does best, but that's not what I'm here for! so many shows do character drama better! I'm here for the juxtaposition.

okay lemme use a metaphor. centaur world is like juxtaposing contrasting colors. when doing so, you typically want to have a sharp dividing line between them to make the contrast nicer. and centaurworld is like if for some reason you made a gradient between purple and yellow to make it flow better, actually making the juxtaposition worse.

this rant feels half-incoherent but I already wrote it so out into the world it goes I guess.

#centaurworld

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qvirkycrxxtvre · 9 days

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I’ve decided whilst tripping balls on mushrooms this evening that I will be posting here a tad more.

What it is, is I keep a diary on my notes app on my phone, but I’m deciding to just like, move it. Here.

I say this because I feel like it’s such a waste to live the life I live and it to be told to no one. I know I have this conclusion bc I have dead relatives that didn’t have the literacy to document their stories and I remember my family asking me to listen to these terribly scary familial stories in hopes I would do something good with them, make some kind of art. I won’t.

I don’t talk to my family anymore.

Pause rephrase

I’m not telling you my name, but I want whoever reads this to know this blog will contain the incredibly intimate thoughts of a mentally unwell woman. Me.

I need help, and I’m sure I’ll get there. Hold on I need to restart again

I need it to be known my Husband is a good man, who is coping with a very traumatized wife. My life has always been very interesting and I guess I feel an upswing to that coming soon again. I was one of those who grew up chronically online and had unrestricted internet access starting at the age of 6 maybe, but I still had access even at 3

$€£¥

Sorry okay back back back Maybe I’ll make a notation yup let’s do $€£¥ to notate whenever my ADHD brings me away from my writing so if the thought is incomplete but it’s still in the entry, that’s what happened.

I uh. Used to have a very very public diary. Multiple. Some way more public than others. I don’t really value privacy, my Husband is doing his best to teach me these things like what’s okay and what’s expected but like

It’s fucked okay anyways I think I gave the disclaimers I needed

Fuck the world building I just need to recap all the shit that went down, ugh I can feel it in my guts that I’m supposed to go write a scathing yelp review but no I, I wanna write it in my diary ya feel me? Maybe if I don’t write terribly, I can copy paste lmfao okay sorry back back back

Or actually does it matter? I can’t remember okay yes okay hold

Yes so that notation worthy pause was me reminiscing on our night so so hard that I felt the need to message my friend about the night but then I remembered I literally am starting a diary as a coping mechanism to get the crazy things I need to say out of me without disturbing my life via messaging actual friends or my Husband to start crazy stuff when I really just need a place to vent.

$€£¥

Sorry, see this is why we don’t have Hemingway ass writers modern day. I’m telling you, if I could focus long enough to tell you my adventures it would be like The Sun Also Rises ahhh it’s always interesting starting a public diary bc it’s like damn I have to introduce myself kind of like not really, I talk about myself and rehash my life on a daily basis so I guess whatever one doesn’t know about me, you can find out in a few days when I get to it.

My brain is literally so Wattpad (where I once had a public diary) that I’m trying to title this project to a degree. Eh,it’ll come in time.

Ugh. I took my meds and when they kick in I’ll go to bed and I’ll still haven’t told anyone about tonight ahhhh

You need to understand that I’m considerably slow processing speed wise but like when given the time to get there, I have a lot of mind.

Anyways. Okay I think I’m finally not tripping balls.

My Husband is asleep in bed next to me. We got home not too long ago- it’s 12:48PM- put the baby to bed, ate our pizza burgers joyously.

$€£¥

See okay cool now I can just tell it here

God so, there was obviously a time before I was married. I still have friends from that time period.

I currently play DnD on a weekly basis with my Husband, my middle school best friend, anddd

our DM. We jokingly call him Daddy Master because of a typo my Friend made in the group chat.

But god, if she only knew.

I keep getting distracted writing on here because obviously, I want to tell her something.

It’s “What I wouldn’t do to have gone home with Daddy Master tonight”

I hate knowing there was a time when that could have been what happened.

We had some dumb pizza and beer issues tonight and honestly, he handled it. It’s so fucked, I loved a masculine man. I love someone taking lead. I love someone driven to protect. Ugh, and his car was so so clean

So, we ordered food right? But it never came. It was some bullshit. So two hours later, Daddy Master in the front seat, my Friend in shotgun, me behind Daddy Master and my Husband behind my friend

Okay see pause and go back again, the reason calling this guy Daddy Master is extra funny to me, is because I literally used to go to this man when I was younger to get my fill of DD/lg play (it was a trade, I had to do feet stuff for him idk) and like this was all on a friends level because like

Like how I mentioned previously, I don’t entirely understand privacy and something that comes in tandem with that is I also didn’t understand boundaries and what was for people in relationships vs family vs friends of that makes sense.

Anyways. Uh, my Friend doesn’t know how I know our DM. My Husband knows to an extent. That we met on tinder. Same place I met my Husband, years later.

What the fuck was I trying to say

God I just, my husband isn’t… sexy when he’s mad. He’s effeminate, in like a whimper/panic stutter frustration way, but then also he’s… he’s prone to hit… things…

But Daddy Master? Bruh.

$€£¥

Sorry. Okay I need like a 4th person pronoun that isn’t “Chat” that I can reliably say to address the readers or else Bruh and bro (my default words) are going to be everywhere here

Dearest Reader. DeRe. Boy if that don’t look like someone making fun of John Deer products in the sponagar voice

Ugh

Anyways, I think I WILL make content on here. A mixed media diary. I used to do comic strip diaries at one point. I won’t take it that far but def anticipate some soundgasm audios attached here and there

I want to tell people things but I feel the meds kicking in, and it’s so late at night.

I’m going to go listen to some audios and jill off now. Ugh. I’ll become a better writer as this goes, I’m sure

Goodnight 1:24AM

05202024

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un-aesthetic · 2 months

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Chapter 1 of whatever tf this is. Intro to the family.

Every family had a smell. I was absolutely adamant about that growing up as a child. Whenever i'd go to some family friend's house, there was always a smell associated with them, their house, and clothes. It wasn't a repulsive or putrid smell at all- it was just, distinct. If my friends would lend me clothes, or if they'd come over and leave something at my place- i'd immediately know whose it was. Though, the weird thing was that I never recognised a smell, or anything symbolic that would stand out to me from my own family. Maybe it was because i'd just gotten to used to it, or maybe my family was so distanced and fragmented that there was nothing associated with us. I guess i'll just never know.

Some days, I think that the world to me was small as a child, and my issues were minor. But I never savored that peace- i was just so adamant to just grow up and leave. I regret that descision now- honestly i started regretting wasting my childhood as a young teenager, but I don't think I ever did anything about it. Maybe that's why my teenage years also passed away quicker than ever. People say it's a universal experience, that everyone regrets their teenage years, wishes something else happened, so maybe i'm normal. But other days, i'm happy I grew up- legally of course. I'm happy I left everything, it would've been worse back there.

Divorce had drawn a jagged line through my childhood, splitting my world in two and leaving me caught in the chasm between my parents' fractured lives. I was only maybe five or so, when they split. Although i'm not sure if i'd prefered them together or apart. It's kind of sad, now that I think about it, because I was alone back then, and i feel like i was the only person that was affected by it. My younger brother was only a few months old when it happened, he didn't have to experience anything. In a sense, this was a good, and bad thing.

My parent's were fucked as soon as they'd gotten married. They were both born and raised in India as part of rich families- and they'd been arranged to get married. My mother was the youngest of four, around 24, and my father was the oldest of 2, around 28, when they'd gotten married. My mother was sort of a fire- passionate but also raging, she was dedicated but let her emotions out of control easily. Perhaps this was because she was sort of spoiled growing up, having two older sisters and an older brother to do her work, help her through her tantrums, and she never had financial problems, being allowed most things she wanted.

She'd just finished one of her degrees and was certified to teach English at one of the schools part of my family owned- she wanted to become a professor and get another degree, but she'd gotten married. This meant that her husband now 'owned' her and would decide if she were to continue her studies or not.

I don't believe my father was that cruel- but his biggest issue was that he was a mama's boy. And his mother- aka my grandma, was the biggest fucking cunt alive. She was basically one of those evil and fucked up mother-in-laws that you'd see in tv- she'd just want everyone's lives to be worse, specifically my mothers- and she was a grand manipulator too. And everyone knew that she was also a stubborn, undiagnosed pathological liar. Honestly, in the few times i'd unluckily met her, she'd strike me as similar to my own mother- not in the pathalogical liar part, my mother was straight-forward- but in the stubborn way. Both of them were incredible stubborn.

Naturally, she just wanted everyone's downfall for no reason whatsoever, so she told my father to stop my mother's education- and him being his mother's little dog, he did it.

My grandfather though, was probably the most level-headed person in the family. He'd always try to take my mother's side- but again he was a weak man like my father- despite knowing what's wrong and what's right, he'd just stay in the shadows of his wife- my grandmother.

He was sweet though. Most memories of me living in that hellhole with my father's side of my family were mainly with him. Despite being unable to yell at his wife, he was still incredibely comforting. Taking me on walks, buying me things- he used to order pani puri (an indian dish) for me every day as a child because i'd love it so much. (this was later stopped by my mother because it was unhealthy) My family had the same opinion of him. Although, I heard stories from my family that he was also quite stubborn (runs in the family i suppose), that he was picky with his food, and he would hate when people moved things around even an inch in his room- which to be fair, is quite similar to things I do. In the end, he was probably my favourite family member from my father's side- I liked him more than my father to be fair. I just wished he'd have more courage.

My uncle- or my father's younger brother- was a different story. He was the exact copy of his mother- same snake-like person. Although he was more of a 'i fucking hate this family and i don't care about any of this.' Which wasn't too bad to be honest, he was just absent- and he talked down on some of my grandmother's behaviour a lot- which i was grateful for.

Most of my family lived in North India- althought one of my aunt's family were living in Mumbai as well. We were hella mixed- not really 'belonging' to a specific state. This was important because in India- states are basically like different countries at this point. Each state spoke a very different language, had different customs, more different religions, etc. To put this in perspective, India has over 700 languages spoken in it, but there's only 28 states and 8 Union territories. So some parts of my family were in Kashmir and Jammu- near war, some were in Punjab, running business and taking care of most of our farm property, and some lived in Dehli and Mumbai. But we were mostly situated in Haryana- my father's family as well- althought thankfully they were on completely different sides of Haryana. We lived in Rohtakh, and they lived in Karnal. Some of family from my mother's side was also from Spain- making me 23% hispanic- and some left in Pakistan after the division in 1947, making me 12% Pakistani, and also Arabic and Australian (we live in Australia now) from my father's side. But I was still mainly Indian.

So like every 5 or so years, we'd have this whole flight shenangin where for a month of two we'd first go india, then Spain, then Dubai (not Pakistan for obvious reasons sadly- we're honestly not even that connected in pakistan, we just know names), and finally finishing in India, before going back to Australia. This was so we'd able to at least keep ties and keep in touch with all my family across the globe. I actually enjoy the diversity of my family though- I remember going to my cousin's quinceanera- although they live in the US now.

So yeah, sometimes growing up I felt a bit weird- not really from the ethnicity bit, but mainly because of the lot of religions in my family. Although the closest to me were all Hindus- sometimes it felt a bit weird meeting the Muslim part of my family. It wasn't too difficult hanging our the Catholic part of my family though, as I lived in Australia and went to Catholic Private schools. But to be honest, I enjoy all the religions- we all follow God, so to me personally, religion just means to believe in God and be a good person- and the only difference is to receive that message through whatevers associated to your religion- whether is be the Quran, the Bible, or The Vedas.

(to be continued ig???)

So, i just kind of wanna write like a story- mostly kind of just based off of my life, how i feel about it and what happens in it- but with different charcaters obviously and stuff. Maybe because like i have a journal- but i can't write like daily recaps and all that shtuff- so i want to kind of make it into a small book, but like the book is just about significant stuff that i remember in life. Idk how to explain it lol. Basically just a freebie book, that probably will never have an ending and it'll just be a bunch of chapters about random shit- not even chapters, like broken paragraphs tbh lol. So ig that was kind of the opening chapter. (also guys gimma title ideas cuz idk wtf to write in this.) Also this'll have no tags btw.

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allmightluver · 3 years

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**bnha spoilers** I'm just sat here with renewed realisation of what All Might is going through. 40 years. /40 years/ he held and refined that power and dedicated his every waking (and sleeping if Vigilantes is anything to go by) moment towards the goal of defeating AfO and creating a society in which people could feel happy and safe. And now as it turns out AfO is still alive, society is broken and he has given a literal piece of his soul to this young boy leaving himself with only phantoms

Yes. I don’t think people quite grasp what all he’s going through.

It’s been shown recently to us that some, if not most, heroes have underlying ambitions in becoming a hero. Whether for money, glory, fame, popularity, doesn’t matter. They’re ultimately in it for themselves. Toshinori’s intentions from the beginning have been the most pure- he wanted to be a symbol that people can look to and know things will be ok. A symbol of hope. This boy was only around 14 years old when he decided this. What kind of 14 year old sees the world that clearly? Sees that people have no hope, that a veil of darkness covers them. The only thing I can think of is- Toshinori did not have a good childhood. Something had to have happened to a boy that young to stop seeing the joy in life so early, and see the world’s flaws. Truthfully, I believe he was an outcast- due to his quirklessness. Most likely an orphan, perhaps abandoned by his parents, as we’ve never seen him have any family. I do truly believe Toshinori has been alone all his life. I don’t doubt more could have happened to him as a child before he met Nana.

Some may argue that Izuku is the same age, and therefore it shouldn’t be that hard to see why Toshinori wanted to be a hero at such a young age. BUT, Izuku had someone to look up to, ever since he was a child of four years old, to inspire him to be a hero his whole life *cough cough* All Might. Izuku also was quirkless, much like Toshinori, and an outcast because of it (hence where I assume Toshinori was much the same). But ultimately, Izuku wanted to save people because he saw his hero do it. It really wasn’t until Izuku was a bit older, has been in UA, has been on rescue missions, has seen what the heroes see, that I think he’s truly realized how dark the world really is. Toshinori didn’t have that. He didn’t have someone to inspire him as a child, someone to look up to, a hero to inspire him to help others. At that time, heroes hadn’t become as popular as they are in present times. Toshinori saw the world for what it was, on his own, at a tender age. I think that day Nana ran into this blonde hair kid, she eyed him up, noticed his scraggly form, looked into those captivating blue eyes, and saw a man who’s lived through the world’s horrors- experienced the worst it has to offer-, and wants to save everyone he can from the same fate, all in a 14 year old boy.

Then after only a few short years with the woman he saw as his mother, she’s killed in front of him because of his own weakness- he wasn’t strong enough yet to protect her. The only other person his life, Gran Torino, literally abused him. He beat him to a pulp, taking his own emotions out on a teenager, and I doubt Toshinori said anything of it. He probably thought he deserved it. He’s still afraid of Gran Torino to this day, remembering the beatings and expecting more for his failures- even if he doesn’t know what they are surely he’s at fault for something, but he’s the only person who’s stood by his side for this long. Even while at a distance, and spouting nothing but criticisms along the way. But Toshinori had to put aside his own emotions to be that hope for everyone. He left everything he knew to go to a new country on his own, to learn how to be a hero, to be that hope for someone.

Vigilantes showed us just how hard he worked. Toshinori literally stayed awake with no sleep for days on end- 3 in the chapter I’m referencing- because people needed help, people needed saving, and no one else stepped up. He fought villains, rescued civilians, repaired damage, cleared rubble, (even accept and eat food that was against his dietary restrictions after his injury) whatever the public needed, all while draining himself further. He worked himself to the point of exhaustion because he had no help, once literally falling asleep while mid-leap across the city because he simply could go no further.

^^These happen in succession of each other^^

No one stepped up to say “Hey, Mr. Number 1, you’ve been working hard lately. Let me help you!” No one tried to take over his position. Even the Number 2 hero, Endeavor, never tried to take some of his burden. His only goal was to try to be better than All Might in terms of power- he was never trying to be the hero that the people relied on All Might for. Everyone relied on him when things looked grim. He was the back up plan. And all of this happened before Toshinori’s injury.

The only thing he ever wanted to do- help people- he can’t do (at least the way he’s always known how to). The ability to save people has been taken from him in the most gruesome way. He was finally able to fight the man that killed Nana, and in a rage that I’m sure echoed with all of the emotions of the previous users, he smashed that man’s head like a grape. But not without consequence. Several organs are gone. The pain is excruciating. He wears that man’s mark on his body for the rest of his life, never truly able to rid himself of the filth.

Then we have Nighteye’s betrayal. The man that helped him as a sidekick, the man that grew to be his only friend. Now some people may ask why Toshinori flipped like he did to Nighteye looking into his future when he was concerned about him making it through his injury. What I believe is Toshinori didn’t want to know when he would die (and really, who does). Now he knows he’s on a time limit, knows the clock is ticking. Time is running out to keep the world at peace, and with him as he is now, how long can this go on?

I think the betrayal, doing something that Toshinori specifically asked him not to do, is what hurt the most. How can he trust Nighteye anymore? He already can only count on one hand the people he can trust, let alone befriend.

He’s wasted away into a skeleton, a shell of the man he used to be. He can’t over exert himself without his only lung bleeding in protest. It’s canon in the side books that he really doesn’t eat much, which isn’t good for his diet without a stomach now (he’s supposed to have several small meals a day). He is quite literally punishing himself by starving. (Granted, he doesn’t feel hunger anymore.) He’s a sick man, beyond medical help at this point. They can only stabilize him and hope for the best. For five years now he’s in constant pain, every day. He loses blood like sweat. Surely his veins are bruised and collapsed with how many times he would have needed to be hospitalized. Whether from losing too much blood, being too dehydrated or starved from “forgetting” to eat, or an organ failing as body continues to fall apart. “...even as my body rots and grows frail...” - Toshinori People are bound to stare at him as he walks down the street. A tall, willowy, skeleton with a grimace on his face and blood stains on his clothes as he coughs up more into his own hands. There would be the ones who outright ignore him when they walk by, the people who offer pitying smiles and sympathetic glances or just outright stare, and then ones who are afraid of his appearance- children screaming at the mere sight of him and running to their parents to hide from the monster. Each one is another knife in Toshinori’s side, an ache in his chest. If only they knew who I really am.

Losing Nighteye took a toll on his hero work as well. Mirai was a huge help in the past, and took care of all Toshinori’s paperwork, while also reminding him to take care of himself. Without him, Toshinori was even more buried beneath his responsibilities. Plus, now he was on a time limit. He even snapped briefly in his first meeting with Tsukauchi, accidentally revealing himself as All Might because he was under too much pressure, and telling the detective he literally couldn’t handle doing everything by himself (who graciously took over the paperwork side of things for him).

He was living a double life now, having to lie to people left and right about who he was while in his small form, about how he became so sickly, why he was here in the first place who the heck is this skinny old guy. Surely he had multiple visits to the doctor while continuing to repair the damage done by AFO (there’s a limit to how much the body can handle at once. And things I’m sure continued to fail as time went on). Then he would be bedridden for as long as the doctors could keep him strapped to a bed, until he couldn’t take the people’s cries for help any longer, and would jump into action. (It’s also revealed he has something of a super hearing- able to hear danger- which may have been a form of danger sense of OFA that was never fully unlocked?. Either way, he surly could sense disasters happening while he could only lay and heal from his latest surgery. Those poor doctors must have had to re-stitch him several times). People blame him for not preparing society for his retirement, that he failed in passing on the torch so to speak, but in reality he did everything possible to keep society from falling for 40 years, doing all within his power just to keep things afloat. He is only one person. One human being, he can’t do everything despite trying to. Society failed All Might.

People blame him for not being a good teacher. He didn’t exactly have the greatest teacher himself to learn from. He’s never had to teach anyone anything, he just punches! He’s learning. And for his own credit, he’s an incredibly wise man, he has years of experience under his belt, and an intelligence score of 6/6, scoring up there with Nezu! He may not always have the right way to bring something up, but he’s doing his best. Yet even he blames himself for Izuku not being able to control his quirk better. Every time the boy hurts himself, it’s just another tally on the chalkboard of Toshinori’s failures. He himself knows the boy deserves better, better than him. Useless. Pathetic.

Then his friend from America, Dave, essentially became a villain trying to preserve Toshinori’s legacy after Toshinori told him about his injury. Dave went behind his back, threatened people, injured people (pretty sure people died), all for Toshinori’s sake. Something he didn’t want to begin with. Having to put your only other friend in jail for trying to help you surely couldn’t have been easy.

Oh, by the way? All For One isn’t dead. All Might will fight him again, publicly, have his weakened form exposed to the world, and have his own emotions toyed with as he finds out about his master’s grandson in the villain’s hands. Would Nana hate him for leaving her son alone like she’d asked, and dooming her grandchild to be raised by the greatest villain? Could he have done anything to save him? But Toshinori isn’t allowed to feel, he has to smile and push his own feelings aside once again, because there’s a villain to be fought, and only he can fight him. Despite coming out on top, he’ll have suffered severe head trauma, broken left arm, destroyed right arm, and several cuts and bruises that are sure to scar. And then, his quirk, the only thing that’s been allowing him to help people, the gift given to him that he carefully held for 40 years and molded into his own until his very consciousness was permanently carved into it, blows out like a match in the wind. And he’s done. Used up. Empty. Broken. Hollow. Alone, again.

He overhears his student, Bakugo, admit that he blames himself for All Might’s retirement. If he hadn’t been captured, All Might wouldn’t have had to save him, and he wouldn’t have had to fight AFO. Of course Toshinori knows that’s not true, his time was about to run out anyway. It would have happened one way or another. But how can he explain to this child that he wasn’t the cause of his hero, the world’s greatest hero, fighting for his sake, bleeding for his sake, being forced into retirement to keep him safe. Every time Bakugo sees the bandages covering Toshinori’s body is another reminder of the pain and sacrifice Toshinori willingly gave to keep him safe. Toshinori wasn’t held when his mentor died. He wasn’t told it was ok to be sad, that grief and mourning was a natural process, that it takes time to heal. He wasn’t told it was ok to cry. Instead his feelings were beaten out of him as he wondered if Gran Torino blamed him for Nana’s death. He already blamed himself How then, does he comfort a child mourning for him? For what he lost.

And then he gets the call to come to the hospital. Mirai, Nighteye, his old sidekick friend, has been gravely injured, much like he himself was only a few years ago, and most likely won’t survive the night. And to his horror, Nighteye is happy to see him, smiles at him, says he doesn’t hate him for what happened, only wants Toshinori to be happy. He can’t accept that, at least let him apologize, reconcile his sins before it’s too late! But it is. Another fractured piece of his heart gone.

Of course, seeing your students beat up and their arms completely destroyed must have hurt. Instead of being able to save these kids, they’re the ones that hurt themselves to save everyone else. And if Bakugo had kept OFA, things could have been very different (especially with what we know now of OFA and people with quirks). Toshinori wasn’t mad at Izuku for transferring it away, he’d never regret choosing Izuku, and I believe he still would have stayed by Izuku and Bakugo’s side should it have stayed in Bakugo, doing whatever he could to help.

As he tells Aizawa, “I’ve decided to live,” -that statement seems so melancholy, besides obvious reasons. It sounds more like another task he has to accomplish. He didn’t die he was supposed to die with the AFO fight, and now the whole life he lived is over. The world has no use for him anymore. If not for Izuku, he’d have nothing left keeping him here. But because his boy made him promise to live, he’ll do so. Though it almost seems like he says those words with regret. “I’ve decided to live.” Not, “I’m going to live!” “Nothing can kill me!” “I won’t go down without a fight!” No. “I’ll live if I have to, only because you asked me to.” The man is obviously and outwardly depressed. He has so many things against him. No doubt has severe PTSD, anxiety, among others. Not to mention his own physical health. Every day hurts. It’s painful to be alive. Why would he torture himself if he doesn’t have to? For you, my boy. You’re the only thing keeping me here. The only light in my dark world.

He tries to help Izuku find out the previous holder’s quirks, to help his boy in any way he can now that he’s worthless, and goes days on end without sleep, running his body into the ground. He even forgets Christmas. Only to find that by giving the boy the same gift he had received, he may have just doomed him to an early death, among psychological torture (danger detection). (Granted, he really doesn’t know how everything works, and he’s afraid to talk to anyone about it). His boy could live only half a life.

It’s only been a few months since he retired, and society has fallen into shambles. People are blaming him. People are dying. He watches helplessly as his colleague fight his fight for him, and end up battered, bruised, crippled, dead. He students, his boy, battle the monster he should have killed. Children are bleeding. This shouldn’t happen. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Is everything he worked for, everything he fought to protect, to build up, to inspire, is all for naught?! Did he live a foolish dream and doom the world? Was all the the friends he lost, tears he shed, the organs he destroyed, the pain he endures on a daily basis from the hole in his side, and the blood he continues to bleed every day, for nothing? The public, the ones he protected for so long, mourn his absence, but surely there are those among them who also blame him. The statue from his last fight in Kamino one that he never asked for was decimated in a mock of his catch phrase- the one that was supposed to give hope.

Now he can feel his own vestige speaking with Izuku in the OFA realm, even with out OFA in his own body anymore. His clock as nearly reached it’s limit, Nighteye’s prediction is due any day now. The only thing he wants is to see his boy smile at him, to give him some shred of hope. Yet the child remains unconscious, and Toshinori can’t even hold his hand from the bandages covering his arms. Will he still be able to fight? Is there any coming back from this now? Did I break him?

With all Toshinori has been through, I’m honestly surprised we haven’t seen him just outright break down. Anyone, anyone, else should have crumbled under the pressure of holding up the world for 40 years alone. And instead of being able to pass it on to someone when he can no longer bear its weight, it simply falls to into the abyss. People don’t credit All Might enough for everything he’s done. Most don’t realize the sacrifices he’s made. His character is so unbelievably profound and deep, it’s more than just the “I am here!” people focus on. He’s a deeply troubled, layered, complex character. And I can’t find fault within him.

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sentinelpri · 3 years

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Hi! I recently found your stuff on AO3 and LOVED it and was!! Hoping to submit a request! Maybe your hc's for the other bots helping Ratchet through some of his rougher flashbacks? And/or Ratchet helping (they/them) reader (s/o or otherwise) through their own flashbacks and vice versa? Any one you're comfortable with or interested in! Ty!

Yessss, here's some Ratchet + Team Prime headcanons for you below the cut. Thanks for reading!

Optimus Prime: Optimus has a lot of flashbacks himself to what happened with Sentinel Prime and Elita One, as well as when he was killed by Starscream. He’s very awkward and doesn’t know how to approach the issue with Ratchet, but he knows what’s happening and can always see it in his face when flashbacks are running through his processor. He’ll try to have Ratchet talk with him and insists that it’ll be good for him, but Ratchet never will, and he understands why; Ratchet, like him, is one of the bots that the others are always relying and leaning on, so he feels like he can’t show weakness or have someone be there for him. Optimus is ready to prove him wrong and is the first to make Ratchet hot chocolate energon and drape a blanket over his shoulders, play games with him to focus on something more light-hearted, and just sit in silence when he knows the silent company is needed. Some nights, he’ll just pull Ratchet into his arms and hold him there, scratching his back and whispering comforting words until he slips into recharge. Totally down for some platonic (or romantic) cuddling.

Prowl: Prowl doesn’t have too many flashbacks or trauma, but he does have a lot of regrets and things that he wishes he could go back and change; what happened to his master, time he’s wasted, some of his more selfish actions, etc. He’s incredibly perceptive and won’t hesitate to pull Ratchet out of battles, crowded rooms, or anywhere that triggers flashbacks for him. Prowl doesn’t even ask, which Ratchet is thankful for, because he knows that the medic will talk on his own if he wants to and doesn’t want to be pushed. He’s very good at distracting Ratchet from whatever is going on, whether that be by singing him a lullaby so he will recharge, taking him on nature walks, or talking about work with him. He understands that sometimes Ratchet needs to wallow in it, too, though, and he’s there for that as well. He’s also gotten into the habit of learning how Ratchet likes his energon tea so he can make it just right when they’re spending late nights up together, and teaching the medic grounding techniques, venting patterns, and self-care things like journaling and meditating to help him when he feels like being alone with it.

Bulkhead: Bulkhead grew up having a relatively peaceful sparklinghood, went through the academy, and became a space bridge technician like he wanted, so despite some ups and downs, he’s very mentally stable and doesn’t really have any sort of trauma to dwell on. Sure, the attack from Megatron on their ship and them landing on earth was somewhat brutal and unwanted, but it was working out for him and he didn’t have any regrets. The only slight problem that he has is with his insecurities regarding his size and how clumsy he is, but if he dares utter a word of that out loud, Ratchet is the first to tell him that his strength/size is a blessing and that his clumsiness is just what makes him who he is. As grumpy as he can be, Ratchet is very supportive and won’t tolerate anyone on the team talking down on themselves. So, when he sees that Ratchet has been struggling a lot more recently, spacing out, etc., he wants to give back and asks what’s going on. Ratchet plays it off, because of course he does, and Bulkhead knows not to push it. He notices that Ratchet doesn’t do anything except refuel, recharge, and work, so he encourages the medic to pick up a hobby and will drag him along to do some sort of therapeutic painting or drawing when he’s feeling down.

Bumblebee: Bumblebee doesn’t have anything going on like Ratchet does and often feels uncomfortable and like he needs to rush to make it better when others are upset, AKA he’s a huge people pleaser. So, when he notices what’s going on with Ratchet (which he is very good at, because despite being an idiot sometimes, he’s great at picking up on the atmosphere/others’ feelings), he feels the need to immediately make it better with stupid knock knock jokes and puns. Sometimes, it’ll work, because Ratchet will snap out of it just to tell him he’s stupid and laugh at him, but other times, it doesn’t work and he’ll just get snapped at. He tries to get Ratchet to talk to him about it, but Ratchet never will, and Bumblebee understands that because he himself often feels like a burden to the team for always having to get his ass saved and being weaker than them in almost every department, and Ratchet doesn’t want to be a burden. He eventually learns the lesson that Ratchet doesn’t need jokes or someone to talk to all the time, but sometimes just wants someone to sit by who will lighten up the room a bit and maybe grab him some oil to drink and massage the especially bad kinks out of his worn back and shoulder plates. Bumblebee also gives him the best hugs and helm pats.

#tfa #tf #transformers animated #ratchet #tfa ratchet #ratchet x reader #tfa ratchet x reader #drabble #drabbles #headcanon #headcanons #request #requests #human reader #gn reader

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sugamamacustard · 3 years

Text

One more time

Pairing: Alpha! Toru Oikawa x Omega! Reader

Genre: Fluff! (Sorry, no NSFW this time! I just couldn’t fit it!)

Request: Hi 👋 May I request an Alpha Oikawa x Omega reader scenario where they already have a pup and Oikawa wants another. How he would he be with his pregnant omega and his pups ?I'm sorry if this is confusing, ABO Au is one of my favourites but I have never made a request before so I'm not sure how to explain? Fluff, NSFW you can write it however u like THANK YOU 💕

Summary: You loved your small little family, but your alpha felt there was something missing.

Author’s Note: I loved this request so much??? Like, it’s so wholesome and domestic and my A’/B/O heart melts every time at Dad! Alpha! boys. I’m super sorry as I didn’t put any NSFW into this.

Requests: Open!

Toru Oikawa

➵ Your daughter Akemi was a blessing in every sense of the word. She was a sweetheart, happy and giggly and the absolute cutest little thing.

➵ Even if she did look like an absolute carbon copy of your husband.

➵ Her bright brown eyes and chocolate locks all copy and pasted from him.

➵ She was precious in every way nonetheless, even if Toru rubbed it in your face every chance he got.

➵ You never got made at him though, as he was the ideal father in every sense of the word.

➵ He made time for Akemi every day, even if he was sore and sweaty from practice—he’d shower before saying hi to her--, he’d let you have at least thirty minutes a day to yourself, more if he feels he has it down, which is almost always the case.

➵ Toru fed her, changed her, helped you to clean up the house. You both worked like a well-oiled machine and parenthood was a breeze.

➵ It was tough at times but you both stuck to your guns, communicating efficiently about what you wanted for Akemi and her childhood.

➵ How you wanted to deal with future tantrums, what schools you were looking at for her (Neither of you were touching high schools just yet), but there was one thing that you always seemed to slip out of discussing.

➵ Siblings for Akemi.

➵ Either you never really had the time before Akemi was crying, or you and Toru were fast asleep by the time you had the chance or- there were just a multitude of things that stopped the conversation from happening.

➵ Until Akemi’s first birthday though. You were rocking your daughter to sleep, brushing your hand along her head and past the brown locks on her head, just reveling in the feeling of holding your pup, a sign of your and your alpha’s love for each other, even if your omega felt the smallest bit…Empty?

➵ You knew that you and Toru wanted more children, just never got a chance to really talk about it

➵ . “Hey,” Your husbands voice purred into your ear, making you purr in response.

➵ His hands rested on your hips, holding you close as he held his daughter’s hand, running his thumb over her knuckles with such a soft and proud smile, making you just melt.

➵ “I know we haven’t talked about it in a while, but I want another.”

➵ You laughed. “Another pup, huh?”

➵ He nodded, rounding around to take Akemi. He laid her in her crib, slowly moving to hold you close once more—his hands on your hips with yours wrapped around your neck.

➵ He kissed your forehead, resting his forehead against yours.

➵ “Mhmm. This time they’ll look just like you with your cute little nose and beautiful eyes. Maybe even your adorable little cheeks.” You laughed, squirming when his hands came up to pinch your cheeks, enlarging your smiling face.

➵ He let go suddenly, turning and walking out of the nursery with a smirk. “Of course, maybe the Oikawa genes just run to deep.” He chuckled, making his way to your bedroom. You merely laughed once more before following.

___

➵ “And then when mommy’s tummy is all big and round- Pop! Out comes your new sibling. Maybe a boy or girl. I hope for a girl. Two little princesses to spoil and love.”

➵ Akemi giggled at her father’s words, not really understanding what was going on but enjoying the attention, nonetheless.

➵ Toru couldn’t blame her though, as he too was laughing and giggling all through the house.

➵ It had been four months since you began trying, a heat passing where Oikawa proved yet again, he was the perfect husband by tending to you and allowing his sister to watch Akemi for four days your heat was there.

➵ She was ecstatic to hear the news of you guys trying and jumped at every opportunity to babysit for you guys.

➵ “It’s not really a pop, but whatever you say, Daddy.” You laughed, stepping out of the bathroom, thin stick in your hands. Toru watched you expectantly, turning Akemi to look at you too.

➵ “Ma!” Akemi preened, holding your cheeks with her small chubby hands when your nose rubbed against hers.

➵ You crouched in front of her, holding Toru’s knees with your hands before smiling up at him.

➵ “Hope your ready to go through those nine months again.” You chuckled, Toru nearly squealing with delight as he brought you into a hug, Akemi squished carefully between you two.

➵ “Ma!”

➵ “Ma- Oh my god- I’m gonna be a dad again ‘Kemi! Focus on me!”

➵ “Ma!”

___

➵ You knew you married Toru Oikawa for a good reason.

➵ Yes, he could be an asshole.

➵ Yes, he could be the most annoying person you would ever meet.

➵ Yes, he sometimes cared too much for volleyball and-

➵ You had a point. What was it?

➵ Oh- Toru was an amazing husband through and through, despite all his flaws. He cared deeply for you, for your daughter, for your new baby (You decided to keep the gender a surprise to piss of Mattsun and Hanamaki who had a current running bet on what it would be).

➵ Every inch of his being, both alpha and not, was dedicated to your family. He was just as doting during this pregnancy as he was the last, making you purr in delight. He never wasted an opportunity to run out and grab whatever you were craving. He was even teaching Akemi to help.

➵ She’d waddle around after you—making you watch where you are going 24/7—picking up anything you dropped and giving it the extra foot and a half that would make your life so much easier.

➵ She picked out blankets and onesies and pacifiers, everything you would need she had a say in. And maybe it was another Blood Oikawa thing, but she had great taste.

➵ There was a small running duckling theme in the new nursery, which was painted a pale grey, most of which was coordinated by…You guessed it.

➵ Oikawa and Akemi.

➵For being twenty- almost twenty-one - months (A year and eight months), she was incredibly clever and smart for her age. That was all you though.

➵ No way was Toru ‘hit it till it breaks’ Oikawa the smart one in your relationship. (I live to bully this man I’m so sorry).

➵ When the first signs of labour (I’ve waited for this moment. To write about labour, as I see it done wrong all the time and as a Bio 30 student it hurts) showed up, you two began making plans to slowly prep yourself for the delivery of your new baby.

➵ Oikawa called up his sister, who screeched—loudly into his ear when he told her about your first contractions—before agreeing to come over in case they drastically increased. You re-packed and double checked your hospital bag, making sure you had everything you didn’t during your first trip.

➵ And you even packed Akemi her own bag for when her aunt would drop her off to meet her new sibling. She was just as excited to meet them as you were and was constantly handing you things she would later ‘gift’ to her sibling (These included a multitude of…art that was labeled 2 bb in the cutest, but messiest scribbles you’ve ever seen).

➵ You had to explain that when her sibling got back from the hospital, she could give them all the art she wanted as it would not all fit into the bag. She understood, watching you pack a change of clothes and pull ups for her.

➵ She would waddle after you as you and Toru would slowly walk up and down the hallways to try and ease the pain, which was more uncomfortable than painful really.

➵ Coos left both of you when she tied to hold onto your leg like Toru was, looking up to you with wide eyes brimmed with tears.

➵ When active labour kicked in, she cried, hugging you both before you left. Akemi made sure to pat your belly at least one more time before waving you off, watching you both leave.

➵ Toru was amazing the whole time, purring to you and letting you crush his hand (Yes. It was his spiking hand as he was going on paternity leave and had the time to heal. Plus, nothing would ever top his family).

➵ When it came time to push, he was encouraging in every sense of the word, coaching you through the entire thing.

➵ He brushed off every snap you sent his way, every angry word and vile insult spat his way. He didn’t know what you were going through, just that it was painful and taxing on every part of your being.

➵ Mentally, physically, and he was not about to start a fight with you.

___

➵ When your son was finally handed to Toru, he cried. He’s cried a lot in his life, most in front of you, but he would always cry when it came to his family.

➵ His son was just as small as Akemi was when she was born, but just as precious.

➵ His face was squishy and chubby—and cone shaped—but he was adorable and you both absolutely loved him.

➵ When Akemi got to meet him, she also cried. She loved her brother the moment they met, which you and Toru were forever grateful for, and would refuse to go more then ten feet away from him.

➵ You ended up naming him Hiroshi, which Akemi had been trying to pronounce for as long as she’d known it.

➵ Your little family was beautiful, and Toru was thankful for you, giving him his two bundles of absolute joy, and your love.

➵ He was entranced with you from the moment he met you and never knew his life would lead to this. He wouldn’t change it even if he had the chance.

➵ In case you were wondering, your son ended up looking exactly like his sister and your husband. Seems the Oikawa genes run long and true.

#alpha/beta/omega #alpha oikawa #alpha/beta/omega AU #alpha/beta/omega verse #A/B/O verse #a/b/o #haikyuu!!#haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu omegaverse #a/b/o haikyuu #alpha toru #alpha toru oikawa #alpha toru oikawa x omega reader #alpha oikawa x reader #oikawa x reader #oikawa x you #custard writes #this is so wholesome #dad! Oikawa x Mom! Reader

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that-blue-vault-dweller · 3 years

Note

Could we please have companions eating sole's food and shes an amazing chef? Like she can take 3 things and make a tasty meal outta anything? Thankies!

Here you go! 🥰💙💛 I had a lot of fun with this one 😉😂

Cait - Is not expecting much when she first forks a bit of it, but decides she will give it a chance since she is hungry and she's not one to be horribly picky about what she eats. As soon as the stuff meets her tastebuds, her eyes go wide and she starts eating the stuff as if it will disappear before her very eyes. She is asking for seconds before she even finishes her plate.

Piper - Is very, very skeptical at first. After all, she saw what F!Sole put in there and it did not look like a good mix of ingredients. But to spare her Blue's feelings, she carefully picks up a tiny bit of it and takes a bite, aiming to suffer through it if she has to. However, to her immense shock, the stuff is actually one of the best things she has ever tasted. She gets a huge grin on her face as she tarts shoveling the stuff in. With her mouth as full as it can be while still allowing for a bit of conversation, Piper starts complimenting F!Sole and asking for the specific instructions on how to make it so she can completely wow the ever-unimpressed Nat.

Curie - Is confident that F!Sole can cook. After all, F!Sole seems confident in herself and her abilities to cook, so Curie hopes for the best. When she bites into it, her eyes light up with life renewed and she looks at F!Sole as if she is some sort of heavenly angel before declaring that her current plate of food is the best food that she has ever had since coming into her synth body. Which naturally does wonders for F!Sole's ego. The entire time after that, Curie is showering her with compliments and making happy humming noises and just enjoying the food. She then asks if F!Sole could cook that exact dish every night.

MacCready - When he sees how she's making the weird concoction, he proclaims how it sort of reminds him of the way Lucy used to cook things. Of course, Lucy was not quite that good at cooking, but she certainly mixed ingredients together in strange, unforeseen ways not unlike F!Sole. Therefore, when the food is served to him, he turns around to make sure there's a clear path to a place for him to escape and barf if needed. But when he tastes it, he completely forgets all escape plans in favor of practically diving into the food before him. When the plate is completely empty, he asks her if she could cook more of that very soon. Like maybe at the next mealtime.

Deacon - Tries not to look too hard at the ingredients as she's making it, but knows what things that she's throwing together. When he is handed his plate, he tries to steady himself and give her an actual chance. Maybe she's good at cooking? This theory is confirmed quickly. As soon as he tastes it, he's eating it like crazy until he's finished the last bite and then he's licking his fingers for any remaining taste. He wastes no time in asking her if she could cook that for the gang back at HQ. After all, he wants to see Doctor Carrington's face when F!Sole proves herself to be more than just an agent. If they're going to get him to finally see her like Deacon does, F!Sole's cooking is most certainly the best way to go.

Codsworth - Cannot actually eat it. But he does comment on how incredible it looks and how it must be absolutely amazing since everyone is eating it at a lightning pace. He waste no time in attempting to compare it to pre-war cuisine and mentioning how it looks like different dishes.

Hancock - Does not know what to think when he sees her making it. It does not look like a good mix, and he does not really want to eat it but at the same time, he knows she is good at pretty much everything she does, so he just goes with it. He trusts her. When she finally serves it to him, he takes a bite quickly, curious what it will taste like. When it meets his mouth, he almost feels like there are some kind of fireworks going off and a choir singing nearby. After a moment, he looks at her and asks her, completely dead-serious, if she had put some kind of souped-up chems inside when he wasn't looking.

Danse - Is more than a little afraid at first, and he is not entirely sure he wants to eat it. But because she looks so hopeful about him trying it, he decides that he can miserably cram the stuff down his throat and try to look at least a little happy about it. But when he actually tastes it, his eyes get big and he looks at F!Sole in shock. He only has one thing to say before he digs in--- "Outstanding."

Preston - Can't help but wonder if the stuff is going to be toxic when he eats it, but he tries to stay positive even if the stuff kind of looks like something puked on his plate. He sticks his spoon and sort of fiddles with it a little before taking a tentative small bite. When he tries it, his eyes light up and he raises his eyebrows as he looks at her, questioning playfully if she has any more tricks up her sleeve that he should know about. He happily finishes the rest of it and starts making suggestions that she should teach that recipe to the Minutemen so that they could make the best and the fullest use of available food resources.

Valentine - Cannot eat it, but he can definitely smell it. It activates a pre-war memory of the original Nick Valentine and he gets intense nostalgia as he asks F!Sole if she thinks it smells like whatever food he is thinking of. When she agrees, they both begin to reminisce about the old times and the food of days gone by.

X6-88 - Does not really want to eat any of it at first, insisting that he has rations and that it is really not necessary to eat something with the combination of ingredients that she just mixed. He finally concedes, though, when F!Sole looks so disheartened by his lack of desire to even try it. When he actually gives it a chance, he finds the food to be quite satisfactory and expresses that to F!Sole. This is probably one of the highest compliments that can be received from X6-88. Well, that and how he surreptitiously withdraws a ration container from his pocket and rakes some of the leftover food into it.

Dogmeat - If he manages to get a bite of it (which he usually does since Piper can't resist feeding him human food) he is wagging like crazy and licking all over the surface or the hand that had the food on it. Usually he ends up ratting out whoever gave him the food because he won't leave them alone until they give him another bite.

Strong - Does not expect anything good or anything bad, and is aiming on proceeding with it just like he would with any meal. But when he gets a hulking mouthful of it, he actually pauses and looks down at it before looking at F!Sole for a moment. After that one short pause, he wastes no time in standing up and grabbing the pot or pan with the rest of the dish and pouring it all onto his plate before pigging out.

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geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde · 3 years

Text

A Series of Firsts

Pssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssst

@kuripon

I wrote you a thing 😘

The biggest of thanks to the most darling @jaskiersvalley for tearing this apart and telling me how to put it back together correctly <3

This was written for The Witcher Bog Mini Exchange! A little exchange we did within our Witcher Discord! (I also forgot the meaning of the word mini and now this is 4k - after I cut out 2 plot points 😬)

So here is some fluffy and soft Geraskier goodness, rated T

Geralt sighed as he watched Jaskier trip over another rock in the road. In the daylight. On a clear day. The man really was a disaster, tripping over nothing simply because he just wasn’t paying attention.

Winter was approaching and they had been planning on splitting up at the crossroads ahead, Jaskier to head for Oxenfurt and Geralt to head for Kaer Morhen. Normally, when the two split for winter, they were close enough to Oxenfurt for Geralt to be able to leave the man there, but this year they had been nearly on the other side of the continent.

Geralt wouldn’t be able to get him to Oxenfurt safely and then make it to Kaer Morhen before the pass froze over, though, so they had agreed to split up.

Geralt wasn’t convinced that Jaskier would be able to make it to Oxenfurt by himself.

Sure, the pair had split up over the two or so years that they had been travelling together but typically Geralt left Jaskier in a city where he was relatively protected and could find safe travels with troupes or caravans should he leave for elsewhere. But here, in the middle of the road, Geralt wasn’t feeling overly confident about leaving the bard to his own devices.

He supposed he could escort Jaskier to Oxenfurt, then make his way to Novigrad and winter there, he had friends in the city. The biggest problem was how expensive it was and how few and far between contracts were in the winter months.

Geralt watched as Jaskier wagged a finger at the rock that had tripped him with amusement, still wracking his brain for a good solution to getting the man to Oxenfurt safely. Although, Geralt did suppose there was a chance Jaskier would be willing to travel with him for the winter, to Kaer Morhen. It certainly would be an adventure for the man, and he loved those. And Geralt wouldn’t truly mind the man’s company over the winter. There were a lot of tomes and poetry books which were thought lost to time that were still in the library at Kaer Morhen and Jaskier, always boasting about how much of a learned man he was, would surely love to see them.

Yes, it would be a good solution. Geralt would be able to keep an eye on the man and know he was safe, he would get his company over winter, which was truly no hardship, and Jaskier might find the idea fun. He supposed he could at least suggest it.

Clearing his throat, Geralt interrupted Jaskier’s rant about how rude it was to trip people, “Jaskier, would you like to accompany me this winter?”

Jaskier turned around to face Geralt, his mouth wide and a confused look on his face, “Accompany you?”

“Yes. To Kaer Morhen.”

Jaskier opened and closed his mouth a few times, looking rather like a fish, Geralt thought.

“You want… me, to go with you? To your secret witcher keep? For the winter?”

“If you would like to join me, yes.”

Jaskier was staring at Geralt, his blue eyes shining brilliant and bright in the sunlight. He looked confused, not an expression Geralt often associated with Jaskier, the man was rather quick witted, his mind seemed to race on even faster than his mouth sometimes.

But it seemed Geralt had stumped him.

“You don’t have to if you don’t like. I just thought you might like to see the keep. And there are some books in the library that I think you would find interesting.”

“Some books you think I would find interesting?” Jaskier asked, sounding faint.

“Yes.”

Jaskier blinked a few times rapidly, looking around as if trying to find a solution for his obvious confusion before settling his gaze back on Geralt and shrugging, “If you’re offering then, yes. I would love to accompany you.”

Geralt nodded, “Alright then.”

And it was settled.

Jaskier still looked confused.

Jaskier felt his mouth open as he stared in awe at the massive keep in front of him. He had been astounded as they reached the gate and then again when they reached another entry way and now, actually facing the keep, he was amazed.

It was absolutely stunning. Crumbling in places, sure. Maybe a bit worse for wear in other places as well, but truly just gorgeous.

“I thought you were cold?”

Fuck. He was, he really was, and he had wanted nothing more than to run inside the keep at the first opportunity and plant himself firmly in the middle of a fire, directly on the coals, but when the stone keep had appeared in front of him, stealing his breath from his lungs, he had forgotten all about the ache of his ears and the fact that his nose had long since gone numb.

But Geralt was right, he needed warmth and soon. He could come back out and stare at the glory of Kaer Morhen later, when he wasn’t about to die from hypothermia and lose a couple toes to frostbite.

When Geralt pushed open the doors of the keep, Jaskier felt the warmth wash over him in a comforting wave and he hurried behind Geralt to hopefully find the source of said heat.

Looking around in amazement, Jaskier’s eyes danced over the beautiful, if dilapidated, tapestries and murals decorating the giant walls of the main hall of the keep. It was glorious. Everywhere Jaskier looked, there was something new to feast his eyes upon, and every time he looked back at somewhere he had already studied, he found new details.

As much hesitance and confusion as he had felt taking Geralt’s offer to join him for winter, Jaskier didn’t regret his decision for a moment. If he hadn’t gotten to see this then… well, he supposed he wouldn’t know what he was missing, but now that he did know, he would never be able to go back. The history of the keep, literally written on the walls, be it in intricate murals or damages from the attacks, were screaming at Jaskier, begging to be immortalized in song. He could see the music dancing through the air as he looked around.

“Jaskier?”

Jaskier jumped, looking to where Geralt was staring at him, “Sorry… it’s just… amazing in here! Geralt, why didn’t you tell me how amazing it is?”

Geralt looked around quickly, a frown on his face, “It’s just… home?”

Jaskier felt himself soften at Geralt’s words, “Yes, it is, darling. And I’m very happy to be here. Now, if you could kindly escort me to the fire, I would like to lay down in it.”

Geralt huffed out a small laugh and Jaskier could see the corners of his mouth twitch up, “Come on, it’ll be warmest in the kitchen and you can sit as close to the fire as you dare.”

“Right in the center, then!”

“I don’t know if I’m feeling roast bard for dinner tonight.”

Jaskier laughed loudly, his shoulders shaking as he followed Geralt to the keep. His laughter bounced off the walls, echoing around them.

Geralt had been right, the kitchen, a smaller room right off of the main hall, was certainly warmer, and Jaskier was able to pull a bench right up to the fire where he held his hands and feet dangerously close to the blissful heat.

“You’ll get blisters,” Geralt commented wryly as he shuffled around the kitchen, getting bowls out as he messed with a large pot. It smelled delicious, whatever it was. Jaskier couldn’t quite place it, though it smelled herbal.

Geralt filled the bowls and walked over to sit next to Jaskier on the bench, holding out one for him, “Here, eat this to help warm you.”

Taking the bowl with a grateful smile, Jaskier wasted no time digging in. He had never tasted anything quite like it before. It seemed to be a stew, certainly the heartiest one Jaskier had ever had, filled with venison, potatoes, carrots, and a number of herbs he was certain he had never seen before. It was delicious.

“Mmm, who made this?” He asked between bites.

“Vesemir.”

Nodding thoughtfully, Jaskier kept eating. Geralt didn’t talk much of the other witchers of Kaer Morhen, though he had mentioned them all a few times here and there. Jaskier had always gotten the impression that Vesemir had become something of a caretaker to Geralt, though he wasn’t sure exactly how they related to each other. But Geralt spoke of the other man as if he were a mentor, so Jaskier had always suspected Geralt had learned a lot from him.

If only Geralt would learn to cook a stew like this, Jaskier would never feel the need to spend coin in another tavern for dinner again.

The sound of the kitchen door closing startled Jaskier, and he spun around on his bench to see another witcher, grey haired and kind faced, standing just inside the kitchen, staring at Geralt meaningfully. Geralt shrugged.

Golden eyes fixed on Jaskier.

“Hello,” Jaskier said, suddenly feeling hesitant, “I’m Jaskier.”

“The bard.” It wasn’t a question. An acknowledgement, more like. Maybe even an accusation, Jaskier couldn’t really tell.

“Ahh, yes. That would be me.”

The man nodded, “I’m Vesemir. Welcome to Kaer Morhen.”

“Oh! You made the stew!”

Vesemir raised an eyebrow and nodded.

“It’s delicious!” Jaskier declared, gesturing to his third bowl, “Truly the best stew I’ve ever had. You’ll have to teach me how you do it, Geralt certainly can’t accomplish anything that tastes so good.”

Vesemir approached the table and sat across from Jaskier, both ignoring Geralt’s indignant grunt as the pair began to discuss why Vesemir’s stew was so delicious and why Geralt’s never seemed to measure up.

Jaskier laughed loudly, his head thrown back in glee, as Vesemir told another story about the havoc a young Geralt would cause and his subsequent punishments. Jaskier had been nervous to meet the older witcher, worried he wouldn’t be welcomed into the keep despite Geralt’s insistence he would be.

He needn’t have been worried.

Vesemir proved not only to be incredibly inviting but also happy to have a guest, particularly one gifted in music.

“I’ve dallied,” he admitted finally, after a long conversation with Jaskier about the best qualities in lute strings.

Jaskier couldn’t help but grin as he held his lute out to Vesemir, “Go on then, show me what you’ve got!”

“I couldn’t.”

“You can and you will!” Jaskier gestured to the lute again.

Steady hands gripped the lute, holding it with care, making Jaskier smile, “Alright, play us something!”

In only a few moments, Vesemir seemed to have fallen back into an old skill as he picked at the lute strings expertly. Jaskier wouldn’t say that the older witcher’s skills were comparable to his own but they were rather better than many other professionals Jaskier could think of.

Like the troubadour of Cidaris, for instance.

The sound of the lute resonated through the kitchen and Jaskier took a moment to appreciate it, appreciate sitting back and enjoying the music instead of being the one to provide it.

An idea popping into his head, Jaskier spun around to look at Geralt where he sat by the fire, watching the other two.

Jaskier held out his hand, beckoning the witcher, “Dance with me?”

“I don’t dance,”

Jaskier scoffed, “Don’t give me that, Geralt. Come on, dance with me!”

Geralt shook his head, “No.”

Whining, Jaskier strode over to Geralt with a pleading expression on his face, “Please, Geralt! I never get to dance, I’m always the one playing. Please, please, please.”

“Will it shut you up?”

“Never!” Jaskier smiled brilliantly as he threaded his fingers through Geralt’s and tugged, urging the witcher to join him.

And Geralt, much to Jaskier’s utter delight, did so.

“Now I’m sure you aren’t overly practiced in the art of dance, but you can’t be too terribly bad at it.”

“I wouldn’t know, never done it.”

“Never… wait you’ve never danced? Any dance? Ever?”

“No. Who would want to dance with me?”

“Well I certainly do.” Jaskier felt an indignant anger swell up inside of him, angry at the world all of a sudden, bitter that it would treat such an amazing man so poorly.

“You’re strange and have no self preservation. It’s a miracle you’re still alive.”

Spluttering, Jaskier floundered for a moment, shocked at the accusation, but just before he could start ranting, Vesemir switched tunes, playing something lively and good for dancing.

Choosing to ignore Geralt’s slight at him, for now, he grabbed Geralt firmly by the waist and maneuvered him into position, “Just do what I do, my dearest witcher, and you’ll be a dancer in no time.”

Geralt rolled his eyes but still went along with it, his fondness for Jaskier showing in his eyes, his every movement. It warmed Jaskier through far better than the fire and stew had. It was a simmering warmth Jaskier felt every time the witcher proved his affections. Proved they truly were friends.

Geralt never did so with words but actions, as they say, speak much louder than words and Geralt was certainly a man of action.

Unable to believe his luck, Jaskier sent off silent prayer to Melitele. He felt a thrill run through him as he gripped Geralt by the waist. Geralt in his arms was truly a dream he had never thought would come true. He wouldn’t fool himself into thinking that this was more that it was, that Geralt felt the same as he did, but he would still enjoy the friendly embrace, he would give himself that.

Jaskier had, of course, been right. As he led Geralt through the steps, the witcher picked them up quickly, his training in footwork for fighting translating perfectly to dancing.

And, if you were to ask Jaskier, he would say Geralt’s first dance went rather well.

As the song came to a close, Jaskier took a chance, swinging Geralt around and dipping him. The only sign of surprise Jaskier could see was a slight widening of Geralt’s eyes, but he still allowed him to do as he pleased, pulling him up out of the dip, cradled close in Jaskier’s arms.

And then they were kissing.

Jaskier wasn’t sure who moved first, though it must have been him, surely. All he knew for certain was that their mouths were pressed together, open in a filthy kiss, and then the warmth of the witcher was gone.

Jaskier watched, a forlorn feeling settling over him, as Geralt strode swiftly from the kitchen, the door slamming behind him.

Turning slowly, Jaskier looked to Vesemir, who merely quirked an amused eyebrow.

Jaskier groaned, “Bollocks.”

Jaskier should sit, really. With the way he was pacing, he would wear a hole into the bearskin rug thrown on the floor of Geralt’s room. He should sit in a chair by the fire that Vesemir had politely started for him after showing him the way to Geralt’s room. He should curl up and do some writing or reading or anything to keep his mind occupied, distracted.

All he could think about was the kiss.

Jaskier still wasn’t sure what happened, how it started, but it was truly everything he had hoped for, for… far too long. And the more he thought about it, focused on the moment, the less confident he was that he had attacked Geralt with his mouth and the more he wondered if it hadn’t been mutual. Geralt had certainly pressed them together even tighter as if it had been.

But was he overthinking it? Was he putting emotions where there should be none. Creating something that didn’t exist. Was he simply projecting his desires where they were unwanted?

Maybe he would know the answer if Geralt hadn’t run off. Like he did every time something serious happened.

Jaskier knew, had known from very early on, that Geralt struggled with processing his emotions. He wasn't sure if it was an issue of how Geralt was raised or perhaps hearing a life time of hateful people saying he had no emotions or if the mutagens he was subjected to really did affect his emotions in some way, or maybe some combination therein, but he did know that Geralt struggled. And that was okay, truly. Jaskier didn’t mind. He saw the way Geralt put in the effort to communicate with him, though it wasn’t ever really with his words. But he did put in the effort and that’s what Jaskier had always focused on.

Now, though, he was rather frustrated. If Geralt would just stay when things got tense, take a moment to calm down and then use his words, then maybe things would be easier on the both of them.

Maybe-

Maybe Jaskier wouldn’t trip on the edge of a bearskin rug and knock his head against a table.

Groaning, Jaskier sat up slowly and cradled his head in his hands. He could already feel a bump forming, the spot throbbing dully. Of course he would manage to hurt himself when he was getting all fired up, ready to confront Geralt.

And of course that would be the moment Geralt decided to walk in the room.

“Jaskier?” Geralt rushed over to Jaskier’s seated position, kneeling on the ground beside him.

A gentle hand pulled Jaskier’s away from his head and Jaskier whimpered as it was exposed to the air of the room.

“Jaskier are you okay? How do you feel?”

Jaskier winced, taking stock of his injuries. His knee felt rather bruised and his arm certainly ached some but it seemed that his head had taken the brunt of the damage. “I think I’m alright.”

Geralt made a tutting noise, one Jaskier had only heard him use when something was wrong with Roach. Any anger that he might still have held left him with that single small noise. He knew Geralt cared about him, he knew that without a singular doubt, so really there was no point in getting angry. He just needed Geralt to talk to him.

Jaskier looked into Geralt’s eyes, the concern reflected in the brilliant amber nearly overwhelming. “I’m okay,” he said, taking hold of Geralt’s hand, “thank you for being concerned. Can we talk?”

Furrowing his brow, Geralt disregarded the question, “Are you sure you’re okay? I should get something to put on your forehead.”

Shaking his head slowly, trying not to make it ache worse, Jaskier broached the subject again “It can wait. But we should talk.”

Geralt nodded, a resolute look on his face.

Geralt should have known that this would be a bad idea, inviting the bard to winter with him. Sure, it was an excellent way to keep an eye on him, make sure he was safe and sound, but it put Geralt at risk of revealing feelings, both to himself and Jaskier, that he would rather keep locked away.

He thought his heart would burst from his chest when he saw the amazement shining in Jaskier’s eyes as he took in Geralt’s home. He had pleased him, given Jaskier that coveted thrill of wonderment he always spoke so highly of. And then Jaskier had laughed, bright and loud, the sound echoing through the main hall of the keep. Geralt would never be able to get that sound out of his head. It warmed him, made his stomach flip and flop in strange ways.

It was terrifying.

Throughout supper, watching Jaskier get comfortable in his home, watching him and Vesemir bond, Geralt couldn’t help but let his thoughts stray. It wasn’t something meant to be, Geralt knew that, knew he wasn’t destined to spend his life alongside someone, to have a family outside of his fellow witchers. It was a miracle he had managed to travel with Jaskier and enjoy his company for as long as he had.

No one really wanted to spend their time with a witcher. No one except one really strange, clingy, chatty, loud mouthed bard. Whom Geralt loved.

Fuck.

He knew better than to admit this, admitting it made it real, gave him thoughts best left alone. Geralt did his best to lock down the feelings as Jaskier offered Vesemir his lute. Steeling his will, Geralt did he best to be resolute in his decision, determined to stay strong and never admit this weakness. And then Jaskier turned to him, eyes wide and pleading, and asked him to dance. That one look, that simple request, was all it took to break him.

Next thing he knew he was spinning around, held in Jaskier’s arms, in his home, and he felt content. Safe.

It was too much and not enough and then they were kissing. Geralt wasn’t sure who started it, but he did know he leaned in greedily, clutching at Jaskier tightly, unwilling to let him go. But he wasn’t allowed this. His life, his destiny, would never allow this happiness. This moment would turn sour with time. Even if Jaskier did want it now, he wouldn’t forever. He would grow tired of the witcher’s life, grow tired of the Path, grow old and weary of Geralt’s wandering ways.

He couldn’t have this.

So, he ran.

It maybe wasn’t the most responsible decision, and maybe it would do more damage, but it could be no worse than staying. Staying and looking into Jaskier’s eyes again and crumbling even more, falling hopelessly headfirst into the love he knew he felt.

That he knew he shouldn’t feel.

He left the keep and the courtyard behind, climbing up to the old bastion, jumping up on its now crumbling walls, ignoring the wail of the ghosts below. And there he sat, staring into the distance, slowly growing colder and colder, and the whole time all he could think of was Jaskier.

Geralt had never needed. He never wanted for anything. He never yearned.

And yet…

Jaskier’s eyes and his smile and the way he strummed his lute thoughtfully when composing and the way he danced around carefree and happy whenever given the opportunity and the way he worried endlessly over every injury Geralt may face, from mundane scratches to gaping wounds.

Geralt loved him. Had loved him for some time. And now, in his home, where he felt safest, he couldn’t hide it anymore. Not from Jaskier and not from himself.

Fuck.

He knew Jaskier was waiting for him, he could smell his scent, chamomile and honey, coming from his room. He could hear Jaskier’s heartbeat. Faster than it should be.

Speeding his strides, Geralt threw open the door to his room to see Jaskier slumped over on the ground, his hands clutching at his head, his face screwed up in pain. Geralt could feel a lump in his throat, the worry he felt for Jaskier instant and overwhelming. He rushed to the bard’s side, taking Jaskier’s hand in his as he inspected the knot forming on his head.

And Jaskier insisted he was fine, deflecting the injury and instead asking Geralt if they could talk.

Geralt knew they needed to. They probably should have had this discussion, and many others, a long, long time ago. But Geralt didn’t like talking and Jaskier had always humored him.

He nodded.

“I’m sorry I kissed you. I shouldn’t have. Not like that. I should have made sure you were interested first.”

“Jask-”

“No, let me say this, Geralt. I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time now, I’m sure you know that. I’ve not kept my attraction to you a secret for some time now.”

Geralt… hadn’t known. Jaskier flirted with him, of course, he flirted with everyone. Geralt had never thought much of it.

“But I think there’s more to this than me being… over excited and kissing you when I shouldn’t have. I think we need to discuss our feelings for each other.”

“I agree.”

Jaskier’s eyebrows raised in surprise before he winced slightly. “Well… in that case, shall I start?”

Geralt nodded.

“Alright then, Geralt, I love you. I love you dearly. With every bit of me. And I want to spend the rest of my life travelling with you.”

Geralt’s breath caught in his throat. “I love you, too, Jaskier.”

“You do?” Jaskier asked softly.

Geralt smiled, cupping Jaskier’s cheek, “I’ve never said that to someone before. I’ve never wanted to until now.”

“I’ve never meant it, not until now.”

#bog exchange #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fandom #fanfiction #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier

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tippedbykreider · 3 years

Text

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.

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