masterlist

⊹ ˚. helloooo welcome to my blog ⊹ ˚.

ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ | ᴄ.ꜱ. |

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴇɴᴛʏ ꜱᴇᴠᴇɴ

series masterlist here

summary: Eleanor moves through the world like a shadow searching for light, and Chris burns too brightly, as if trying to outshine a buried grief. When they collide on a night filled with a mutual self-loathing, something quiet but insistent begins to grow between them — a pull that they never dare speak of, yet orbit in harmony nonetheless. Their bond deepens quickly, shaped by vulnerability, near-misses, and the ache of things left unsaid. As their lives pull and blur at the edges, they learn that what they are for one another in the moment may matter more than how it ends. 

warnings (throughout the series): smut; angst; addiction; family trauma; depression; heavy drinking; mentions of death; mentions of abuse; 18+

It was Christmas Eve, and the house seemed, somehow, to have grown larger overnight — swollen gently with warmth and sound. There was the hush and clash of pans, the faint, crackling loop of Marylou’s holiday playlist leaking from the old speaker on its corner shelf. And underneath it all, the smell — evergreen and cinnamon and the deeper, forgiving warmth of something roasting low in the oven — so familiar that for a fleeting moment, Chris felt as though he had stepped back into one of his own boyhood memories, wrapped in paper and lit with colourful lights.

He had only just abandoned the mess upstairs: a sprawl of butchered wrapping paper, spent tape rolls, the unlovely evidence of his last-minute wrapping spread across his old bedroom floor. He padded down the stairs in his socks, listening to the stair treads sigh under his weight.

in a perfect world…

ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ | ᴄ.ꜱ. |

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴇɴᴛʏ ꜱɪx

series masterlist here

summary: Eleanor moves through the world like a shadow searching for light, and Chris burns too brightly, as if trying to outshine a buried grief. When they collide on a night filled with a mutual self-loathing, something quiet but insistent begins to grow between them — a pull that they never dare speak of, yet orbit in harmony nonetheless. Their bond deepens quickly, shaped by vulnerability, near-misses, and the ache of things left unsaid. As their lives pull and blur at the edges, they learn that what they are for one another in the moment may matter more than how it ends. 

warnings (throughout the series): smut; angst; addiction; family trauma; depression; heavy drinking; mentions of death; mentions of abuse; 18+

Chris stayed by the door for a beat, his hand on the knob as though the thought of escape might still rescue him from the necessity of this conversation. He looked smaller for it — shoulders bent inwards, eyes darting anywhere but her, his mouth working open and shut in the way of someone who might speak if only the words would assemble themselves in a neater order. She watched the faint tremor in his jaw, the way he dragged a hand over his face like he could scrub the entire moment away if he just tried hard enough.

It became clear after what felt like hours of silence that he could not speak first, so she did. She pressed her back against his dresser, arms folded so tight across her chest that her fingers dug little crescents into her sweater sleeves. Trying to sound lighter than she felt, she forced out, “I didn’t think you’d ever really been in a relationship before.” The words hovered between them, childish and small.

omg i definitely remember reading this a long time ago! it's not mine and sadly i don't remember who wrote it :( sorry diva

ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ | ᴄ.ꜱ. |

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴇɴᴛʏ ꜰɪᴠᴇ

series masterlist here

summary: Eleanor moves through the world like a shadow searching for light, and Chris burns too brightly, as if trying to outshine a buried grief. When they collide on a night filled with a mutual self-loathing, something quiet but insistent begins to grow between them — a pull that they never dare speak of, yet orbit in harmony nonetheless. Their bond deepens quickly, shaped by vulnerability, near-misses, and the ache of things left unsaid. As their lives pull and blur at the edges, they learn that what they are for one another in the moment may matter more than how it ends. 

warnings (throughout the series): smut; angst; addiction; family trauma; depression; heavy drinking; mentions of death; mentions of abuse; 18+

Eleanor noticed her first — the lone figure drifting across the ice with a grace that seemed rehearsed for an audience. A cream hat pulled low over her nearly-black hair that did not dare misbehave, a long coat that cut the wind like a blade, a smile curved just so. Eleanor’s eyes narrowed in an attempt to place her — a cousin, perhaps, or a neighbour coming to say hello. But then she turned to find Chris in her periphery, and her breath caught at what she saw there.

He had become utterly still. His skates no longer moved; his stick hung at his side like an afterthought. He watched the woman as though she were not simply crossing the ice but arriving from another life, a life he thought he had exiled. His expression was unreadable, and that was what made Eleanor’s pulse stutter — the absence, the blankness that suggested a practiced burial of emotion.

hey so i actually cannot handle his thirst traps anymore i NEED to bounce on it !!!!

this photo has done irreparable damage to my nervous system.

ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ | ᴄ.ꜱ. |

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴇɴᴛʏ ꜰᴏᴜʀ

series masterlist here

summary: Eleanor moves through the world like a shadow searching for light, and Chris burns too brightly, as if trying to outshine a buried grief. When they collide on a night filled with a mutual self-loathing, something quiet but insistent begins to grow between them — a pull that they never dare speak of, yet orbit in harmony nonetheless. Their bond deepens quickly, shaped by vulnerability, near-misses, and the ache of things left unsaid. As their lives pull and blur at the edges, they learn that what they are for one another in the moment may matter more than how it ends. 

warnings (throughout the series): smut; angst; addiction; family trauma; depression; heavy drinking; mentions of death; mentions of abuse; 18+

The morning had pulled her from sleep gently, as though the house itself, worn by years of small mercies and private griefs, had resolved to keep watch over her. She stirred beneath the weight of a soft comforter in a room that didn’t belong to her, yet felt, in a strange way, like something close.

Chris’s arm lay draped across her waist, heavy with sleep’s trust, his breath warm where it gathered at the back of her neck. She turned her head, careful not to wake him, and let herself watch him for a moment. She would never get over the way the hush of dawn made his face softer: the slope of his nose, freckles like faint punctuation across his cheeks, the parting of his plush lips.

ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ | ᴄ.ꜱ. |

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴇɴᴛʏ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ

series masterlist here

summary: Eleanor moves through the world like a shadow searching for light, and Chris burns too brightly, as if trying to outshine a buried grief. When they collide on a night filled with a mutual self-loathing, something quiet but insistent begins to grow between them — a pull that they never dare speak of, yet orbit in harmony nonetheless. Their bond deepens quickly, shaped by vulnerability, near-misses, and the ache of things left unsaid. As their lives pull and blur at the edges, they learn that what they are for one another in the moment may matter more than how it ends. 

warnings (throughout the series): smut; angst; addiction; family trauma; depression; heavy drinking; mentions of death; mentions of abuse; 18+

An hour had passed, or maybe more. Time had melted into something shapeless and slow inside the four cramped walls of the bathroom. The tiles beneath her thighs had grown warm; her limbs ached with exhaustion, her head pounded with the faint warning signs of a hangover looming just beyond the dark horizon of night.

She had stopped crying, mostly. Had stopped throwing up, too. But the stillness was a pit she could not climb from.

The mirror above the sink was still fogged from her earlier breakdown, as though it too refused to bear witness. She sat folded at the base of the cabinet, her knees gathered to her chest like a girl half her age, her forehead resting on the narrow ledge of her wrist. From time to time she believed she might stand — unlock the door, accept what waited beyond.