#which was true. he'd done it once and she'd told him to stop.

[radioactiveshitstorm]

engages in the completely normal behaviour of dumping some horrendous deep personal backstory lore in the tags of a simple meme post

as a treat :)

[the-pen-pot]

The Oldest Fairytale (Merthur, 4.3k, complete) Merlin swore as he stubbed his toe, sending pain ricocheting through his foot. A single torch burning fitfully in his hand lit the way, painting sallow light on the stone walls around him. Each one looked the same, worn smooth as if eaten away by the passage of wild water or some great, slithering beast. He had been walking for what felt like hours, tripping along in the dark as he tried to find his way to the centre of the subterranean labyrinth.

It was Arthur's fault. They had been making camp on a nice, boring, routine patrol, where nothing horrible had happened and no one had attacked them from the undergrowth. Merlin had just started to relax when she appeared. A young woman with inky hair and an elfin face, deep brown eyes and a too-sharp smile.

Fey, Merlin had decided. Not Sidhe, but something else. Something irritating that liked to play tricks. And of course, Arthur and the knights had given her their real names before Merlin could bark so much as a warning.

Idiots. The lot of them.

A test, she'd said, her voice like nails over slate to his ears: utterly wrong. All he had to do was find the centre of the maze without using his magic, and he would get back the others, whole and unharmed.

He sighed, pausing for a moment to watch the shadows press down around the halo of the torch, thick enough to chew. The air tasted stale and dead, like that in the catacombs under Camelot, and his head was starting to ache. Worse, he could feel the magic around him. It was subtle, little more than cobweb filaments, but every now and again it would twist in a way that set alarm bells ringing.

She'd said he couldn't use magic, but it seemed she had no qualms about using her own to bamboozle him.

With a loud groan, he leaned back against the cool stone, considering his options. Something told him that if he played by the rules, he would be walking, lost and baffled, until he died down here in the dark. The knights would never be free, and Arthur would never return to claim Camelot's throne.

Running his tongue over his teeth, he contemplated trying to be subtle about it. Perhaps he could unpick her spells and leave them in tatters, which would at least stop the labyrinth from moving and make it passable, but that could take too long. Besides, he suspected she would notice his efforts. If he was going to break the rules, he might as well do it properly. It wasn't like he had to hide what he was from Arthur and the others any longer, which made things a bit easier.

Not that they'd seen him do any big magic, before. The days and weeks after they'd found out had been fragile. If not for Lancelot's quiet reassurances, Merlin might have despaired that things would ever be the same again. Yet they had come around, each and every one, and Merlin had done his best ever since to keep his spells small and helpful, harmless and tame. Or, if he couldn't manage that, then he'd at least kept his efforts subtle.

That wouldn't work with the fey. The few small scraps of information he had about the various Fair Ones that had once inhabited Camelot's lands were piecemeal at best. The Sidhe were not unique in their arrogance or their power. The one who took the knights might not be of the same sort, but he was not about to underestimate her. A show of power – true power – might be enough to make her think twice about continuing her tricks.

At least, he hoped so.

First things first, he needed a way through this labyrinth, and if she would not let him find one, then he would to make one.

He lay the torch on the floor, its stuttering flame dimming as his shadow capered on the wall. Thankfully, it did not go out, and he bowed his head as he pressed his palms to the cool, clammy stone. These tunnels were old, the raw bones of the earth themselves formed into shapes by fey magic. He could feel that now: not a deep, churning sea but a web that connected everything, spidering through his mind's eye like new roots cleaving dark soil.

He could simply punch his magic through, but there was who knew how much stone above his head. He did not want to bring half of the Darkling Woods crashing down around his ears. Instead, Merlin reached into his magic, plucking free an incantation to help guide his power: the clean stab of a sword rather than a merciless bombardment as he bade the earth to hold while also opening the way.

'Stímæger eorðgrá clēofe andgiete foldweg elemidde.'

The rock around him shivered, trembling beneath his touch as it answered the call of his words. A fine shower of grit rained down around him, but the tunnel didn't collapse. Beneath his feet, the ground shuddered as a crack split the wall between his hands, etching its way up the stone: a flaw into which Merlin could pour all his strength.

It was like pulling on a heavy door, slow at first, then with increasing speed as it found its momentum. Merlin's magic curled and heaved until the earth itself roiled, jerking open to reveal a golden path cleaving through the labyrinth's walls and straight to the chamber at its centre.

Scooping up the torch, Merlin marched along it, his jaw set and his magic sparking around him. It cut the web of the fey's power before it could take root and try to knit the stone together once more.

Sprinting into the unnaturally round chamber at the end, he squinted at the sunlight that poured through a hole in the ceiling. It was a long way up, the sky an unreachable lens of cornflower blue. Sunlight glinted off of the knights' armour, shifting as they struggled against their bonds. Five men. Not six.

Arthur was missing.

He swore under his breath as he skidded to a stop and dropped the torch. 'Are you all right? Are you hurt?'

'No,' Leon promised, looking more angry than anything else. 'She took Arthur and bound us here. We can't get out.' His eyes darted over Merlin's shoulder, taking in the passage he had made with a considering eye. 'She seemed to be of the view that you wouldn't be able to get in, either.'

'Yeah, well. She was wrong.' Merlin bit his lip, looking at the ropes that bound the knights. They were made of nothing so simple as mere twisted fibre, and he heaved a sigh. 'This might sting.'

'They won't shift, Merlin, mate,' Gwaine murmured. 'Not without her say so. Don't waste your –'

Merlin grasped the magic bonds, feeling their fretful hum, and ripped.

It hurt, cutting into his skin as his magic heaved and clashed with the fey power imbued with the ropes. His blood dripped onto the dry, dusty floor, but he paid it no mind as, inch-by-inch, the bonds began to unravel, spinning into nothing but splinters of light before vanishing completely.

'You cheated!'

The voice sounded scandalised, melting from the shadows as she stepped forward: a slender figure in a gown made of little more than gossamer tatters. Yet the glamour that had made her seem vulnerable and delicate had unravelled at its edges, allowing her features to take on a more predatory slant. Bones pressed beneath the surface of her skin, and her eyes were too large for her face to appear truly human.

'You cheated first,' he pointed out, getting to his feet as the knights scrambled to do the same, their swords in hand. 'What have you done with Arthur?'

She tossed her head, eyeing him with annoyance as if she were a child whose playtime had been called to an abrupt end. 'Perhaps I won't tell you,' she mused, waving a hand and turning the knights' blades into wooden sticks. 'Your punishment, for breaking the rules.'

Merlin sighed, rubbing a hand over his brow and grimacing as the cuts on his palm stung in high, searing notes. He probably looked a state, covered in dust and blood and the gods alone knew what else. If he was honest, he had run out of patience hours ago. He had not spent years saving Arthur from one calamity after another just to lose him now.

'Do you know of the Sidhe?' he asked, baring his teeth in a parody of a grin when the fey nodded, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. 'I'm thinking of two in particular: Aufric and Sophia.' He shifted, stepping towards her, each stride closing the distance.

'I always wondered what happened to them.'

'Me.'

Merlin tilted his head, something feral and fierce racing through him. It was the matter of a moment to reach for his magic and pull it to the fore, drawing the huge, nebulous cloud into something she could sense in its entirety.

He could feel its weight at his back, the furl of dragon wings and the roar of thunder, the weight of the world and the far-flung starlight of the night sky: the infinite possibility contained in the power that was his to wield by right if he so chose.

The knights saw it too. He heard Percival swear softly as Gwaine made a choked noise. Armour chimed as they shifted their weight: not away, as he had always feared, but forward, as if they were, to a man, captivated. He did not know what it looked like to them, but it was clear that the fey woman saw the truth of it. She did not cringe or quail, but she lowered her eyes, downcast and demure.

'I see.' Her fingers fluttered at her side, and the chamber vanished, stone peeling away to let in chill, misty air. His hands stung as the wounds there mended themselves, fading to thin white scars as the blood and dust vanished from his clothes. There was an odd, metallic clatter behind him, and he turned to see the knights were gone, whisked away as if they were nothing but figments.

'I have returned them to your camp,' she explained, her pale lips pursed tight to hide her sharp teeth. Delicate, spidery fingers twisted around each other: fretful.

'I passed your so-called test?' He managed not to sneer, but it was a close-run thing. He felt raw and exposed, as if he'd been left with no choice but to reveal himself in a way he would rather have kept tucked out of sight. His only comfort was that Arthur, at least, had not witnessed it.

'No. I never said I was testing you.' Her smile took on a wicked edge. 'That was just a game.'

Merlin drew in a deep breath, fighting the urge to shake her. 'I don't care what it was. All I want is Arthur. What have you done with him?

She gestured again, and the tendrils of mist parted to reveal the looming shapes of some standing stones. They formed a circle around an altar at their centre, and on it, his eyes closed and his face pale, lay Arthur.

Merlin darted between the monoliths, his boots skidding on the dew-drenched grass as he dashed to Arthur's side. His sword lay to his right, the pommel on level with his hip and the blade striking a silver line parallel to his leg. His hands were lax at his sides, and his face was the colour of alabaster. He looked like the carving atop a tomb, lifeless and monochrome bar the golden flax of his hair.

'He lives,' the fey promised, watching the press of Merlin's fingers to the pulse beneath Arthur's jaw. 'It is merely a deep sleep.'

'What have you done?'

'Please.' She shifted, prowling around them both. 'You know this story. A youth locked in an eternal sleep, waiting for the one thing that will stir them to the waking world once more. It's a tale almost as old as the world itself.'

Merlin closed his eyes, blowing out a breath as he pinched the bridge of his nose. 'True love's kiss? Are you joking?'

She raised one eyebrow. 'It's more than a fairy-tale; it is a test. Not of you, but of your love for him.' She simpered at his strangled sound of protest. 'Would you argue with me? Is loyalty not love? Devotion? Self-sacrifice? Do you deny that your every action is directed not by the demands of your own heart, but by him?'

'That's not the same.'

'Is it not?' She seemed to age as he watched her, the youthful sparkle of her eyes growing stronger and more certain until she looked upon him with a kind of wisdom that went beyond the known world. 'You would have given your own life for him more than once. You saved his tyrant father simply because you knew how his death would grieve him.' Her eyes narrowed. 'What do you fear more? That your kiss won't wake him, or that it will?'

Merlin swallowed, shaking his head. He refused to answer that. He had grown used to his own, quiet longing. He could not pinpoint when it started, only that now, looking back, "friendship" was not the limit of his regard for Arthur. There were some days when he ached to just hold him, to press chaste kisses to his brow and offer him what comfort he could, just as there were some nights where he could barely breathe for the want that uncurled through him, turning every inch of him hot with its strength.

'What if he doesn't wake up? What if it's not enough? Will you leave him like this?' he demanded.

Her only response was an eloquent shrug, and Merlin clenched his teeth hard enough to make his jaw creak. For a moment, he considered damning her stupid test and trying to unravel the curse himself, but even as he reached out with his magic, he realised it was a bad idea. She had not been lying: this power was old, and messing with it was more likely to plunge Arthur into death than bring him back to the waking world.

'Sorry,' he murmured, feeling like a thief. He doubted this was something that Arthur would consent to if he were able, but try as he might, he couldn't think of any other options.

Nervously, he wet his lips, pressing one hand to the cold stone by Arthur's ear before lowering his head to press his lips, chaste and sweet, to Arthur's own.

It was definitely not how he had ever imagined kissing him, and his heart ached to feel the complete lack of response from the man beneath him. There was no waking tension or sharp, indrawn breath. It was like kissing a statue, and Merlin braced himself, ready to push himself away, his chest sore and his stomach in miserable knots.

He did not notice the flutter of Arthur's fingers or witness the colour gently blooming in that handsome face. He knew nothing of his wakefulness until he went to retreat, only to find a hand in his hair and Arthur's lips chasing his own, his body arching up to capture another kiss.

The first had been tentative and distinctly one-sided. The second? Arthur's gasp was a whisper of benediction, sparking sensation like a lightning strike crackling down Merlin's spine. His lips were warm and certain, firm and slightly parted as he shifted the angle, nipping at Merlin's bottom lip. A moan slipped between them, quiet but needy, and it took Merlin a moment to realise the sound came from him.

Arthur broke back with a soft huff of laughter, joyful, not mocking. When he spoke, his voice was a rasp, his words lilted with traces of ill-hidden disbelief. 'True love's kiss, Merlin?' he asked, tilting his head where he lay. 'Really?'

Maybe it would be worse if he couldn't feel the nature of the fey magic around them and the strength of its foundations. For once, there was no trickery underscoring its power. This was not a matter of tragedy or heartbreak, because it was built on the notion of reciprocity. His love for Arthur would not have been enough to wake him. Not unless Arthur loved him in return.

'Really.'

Arthur's smile was like a midsummer sunrise, bright and beautiful. If Merlin hadn't already lost his heart, it would have been forfeit in that moment: Arthur's prize. He wanted to steal him away, to find somewhere quiet, private and safe so that they could explore this new frontier together, but even as the last remnants of the spell faded from the world, he realised there was still some power trapping them in the circle of stones.

He looked to his left, piercing the fey woman with a hard glare. 'Now what?'

Arthur blinked, turning to stare at her. That brief expression of shy, unmasked delight faded from view, replaced by a grimace as he propped himself on his elbow, murmuring his thanks as Merlin grabbed his hand and helped him sit up on the altar. 'We've played your game. Now let us go. All of us. My men as well.' The fingers of his right hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword, and Merlin reached out, resting his hand over Arthur's knuckles and shaking his head.

'Don't. You won't win.' He cocked his head towards the fey woman, sensing her power gathering like a cloak around her, braced for an attack. 'And neither will you. She says the knights are safe. I got them out of the labyrinth.'

'By cheating,' the woman snapped.

'You started it.'

Her nostrils flared as she drew in her breath, her lips pressed into a thin line. 'Once the test has begun, it cannot be brought to a halt. Not until it reaches its natural end.' Her narrow hands curled into fists at her side. 'There is one more step. One more thing he needs to see.' She tilted her head in Arthur's direction. 'You must show him what you revealed to me back in the labyrinth. Show him what you are.'

'I already know about Merlin's magic,' Arthur said, resting his left hand on the hub of Merlin's shoulder and giving it a quick squeeze before easing him aside. He slid off the altar, his boots thudding on the grass as he gained his feet. 'I know what he is.'

'No, you do not.' Her gaze took on a pitying slant, as if she did not envy either of them their position. All her mischief had faded, now. 'It is one thing to know a man is a knight, but another to see how he fights. It is one thing to know a man has magic. It is another to understand his power.'

Arthur looked at him, tense and uncertain, his brow creased as he turned to face Merlin more fully. 'What does she mean?'

Merlin swallowed, pursing his lips as his fears ran riot in his head. The knights had seen it more by accident than anything else, mere bystanders left to witness his efforts to intimidate the fey. At the time, he had been relieved that Arthur was not there. It was one thing for him to accept Merlin's magic, tame and useful. It was another entirely to let him see the fullness of its potential.

Part of him longed to keep it hidden – to not challenge the limits of Arthur's acceptance or test the newly acknowledged strength of his regard. Yet at the same time, he deserved to know the truth. Hiding this from him felt like a betrayal, even as the thought of revealing it scared him half out of his wits. Arthur's opinion was the one that mattered most, and Merlin never wanted him to look at him with fear in his eyes.

Yet what choice did he have but to show him?

Taking a deep breath, he swallowed hard, reaching out for his magic once more. 'This.'

He swallowed a whine as Arthur jolted back, his eyes wide as his gaze flew up to look over Merlin's shoulders, taking in the sprawl of his power brought into focus. There was no way to make it look diminutive, nor any method by which he could hide the primordial potential of his strength.

He could see the swirl of starlight and the glint of dragon-scale reflected in Arthur's eyes. Power gilded his armour and caught like diamonds in the golden strands of his hair as he bore witness to all the possibility of Merlin's magic: harm and healing, creation and destruction. The good, the bad, and everything in between.

Merlin closed his eyes, his breath leaving him in a painful rush. Yet before he could shift the world to hide his magic from sight once more, the sound of boot-steps whispered over the grass. They were not hesitant or creeping, but a solid, confident stride, and Merlin felt his magic enfold Arthur in its embrace, welcoming and joyful. When he dared to look, Arthur was right in front of him, bold and brave, as if he knew Merlin's power would never cause him harm.

Warm fingers captured Merlin's cold ones in their grasp, the gentle pressure of Arthur's strength urging him closer. Their noses brushed, and Arthur's whisper was like a secret between them, for Merlin's ears alone.

'Thank you.'

His kiss was a vow upon Merlin's lips, warm and heady with words unspoken, but Merlin struggled to care. All that mattered was that Arthur had seen him – all of him – and he had not recoiled. He had learned not just of Merlin's magic, but the power he could wield, and he had not shied away. It felt as if the last shadowed parts of him had been dragged out into the light, but rather than being left raw and vulnerable, he was safe in the curve of Arthur's embrace.

The rush of the breeze through the leaves made him pull back, blinking at the emerald canopy above their heads. Dappled sunlight played around the woodland glade, and there was no sign of the standing stones or the fey woman who had trapped him in the labyrinth.

It seemed they had passed her test, whatever it may have been.

'Are you all right?' Arthur asked, his fingers tightening where his hands rested on Merlin's hips.

'I think I should be asking you that. I wasn't the one she enchanted.' He eased back, looking Arthur over with a sharp eye. There was no obvious sign that he was stuck under some sort of thrall. If anything, he looked calm and settled, content, despite the strange day they'd had.

'You broke it,' Arthur murmured, a hint of colour darkening his cheeks. 'I – She told me what it would take to wake me just before she cast it. Love both given and returned.' He swallowed, and Merlin wondered what Arthur had felt in that moment just before the spell took hold: hope, or despair? 'I didn't know you thought of me that way.'

'Clotpole,' Merlin replied, soft and fond, the glimmer of his smile falling away. 'You're not worried about what I showed you? My magic, how it really is?'

Arthur drew in a breath, taking a moment to give it some thought, which Merlin appreciated. 'I always suspected you could do a great deal more than trip up a few bandits and keep the fire lit. I didn't want to ask – didn't want to make you feel like you had to keep proving yourself to me again and again. I suppose she took that choice out of our hands.' He shook his head, and when he spoke again, it was both tender and certain, shorn free of any doubt.

'You're beautiful, Merlin, you and your magic both. I respect it for what it can do and you for your control of it – especially now I know the truth.'

'You aren't scared of it? Of me?'

'No. No more than I am scared of a beautifully crafted blade or a skilled knight loyal to Camelot. Your magic alone cannot hurt me, and you would never command it to do so.'

Merlin could not deny that, not when he would rather cut out his own heart than see Arthur come to harm. He let out a quiet sigh of relief as he swayed forward, resting his brow against Arthur's and taking a moment to simply breathe.

When he had woken up this morning, he had not imagined that the day might end like this. He had never thought that Arthur might return his quiet longing, and yet here they were, every last secret of note torn away thanks to the fey and her tricks.

The sound of the knights calling their names echoed through the trees, rough with concern, and Merlin winced in sympathy as he pulled back. 'We should probably tell them we're okay,' he decided, regretful. More than anything, he wanted to linger here in this stolen moment and relish Arthur's company, but reality seemed determined to intrude.

Judging by the expression on Arthur's face, he was equally reluctant to let Merlin go. Beyond this moment lay a realm of knights and kings, crowns and expectations, all waiting to press their burden upon Arthur's shoulders.

It would take time to work out what they were to each other in that world – to judge the shifting boundaries of their relationship and forge a place just for them, but Merlin would not turn his back on the challenge. Not now that he knew Arthur's heart was his to claim.

Stepping back, Merlin held out his hand, tilting his head back towards where they had made camp before the fey had whisked them all away. 'Are you ready?'

Arthur looked at him, his blue eyes dark with promise, and his quiet reply sounded as if he were talking about more than just re-joining the knights.

'I'm ready.'

He slipped his hand into Merlin's, and they walked side-by-side into their future.

[markets]

For some reason this song will always remind me of the girl who will never realize what she did to me. i was always good friends with her ex boyfriend and she was always good friends with mine, and the way she acted around him sometimes bothered me once we broke up but i never said anything about it. one day she decided i was too close to hers and accused him of a bunch of stuff (none of which was true) while also saying god knows what to my ex about the whole thing even though he and i were still friends and im pretty sure a big reason why her ex would go to me for advice about their situation was because i was the only one of his friends who didnt tell him to just block her. i remember telling him that if he wanted to stop talking to me for the foreseeable future i genuinely wouldnt mind, because i didnt think it was worth all the trouble it was causing him. but he kept being my friend and ill always appreciate him for that

i would also constantly tell him to tell her to talk things out with me because i still considered her a close friend despite all the vile stuff she was doing to her ex months after they broke up, and she eventually did but i know she was just scratching the surface of what was really bothering her because her ex told me that before she even talked to me she'd already decided to just distance herself. sometimes he'd point out the hypocrisy in her getting mad at us being friends while she was close to my ex and i always told him to be careful, since i knew that she could easily twist that around to make me look jealous of their friendship even though, at this point in time, i wasnt anymore.

I now know that that's exactly what she did, since when my ex told me he couldnt be friends with me anymore he cited her as one of the main reasons. We used to be so close and then she got slightly mad at me and immediately went for two of my most important friendships, the worst part is i dont even think she realized she was doing it. i knwo i ruined my own life these past few months but if i were to blame anyone else, it would be her. She honestly scares me and i really dont ever want to talk to her again. And yet the other night i saw her crying on some stairs and ran to her. my ex boyfriend, who im not speaking to, came in from the opposite direction and asked me what i was doing, i said i was there to talk to her and he said ok you can talk to her then and i said no you can and he said no you can and walked away, i said "we both can" but he didnt hear me. I sat down next to her, gave her a hug, and asked what was wrong, she started talking about how her ex didnt care about her. when i assured her that he did, because he had no reason to talk to her if he didnt, she just shook her head. she kept talking and she was saying everything i was thinking about my own situation, and it almost made me cry until i remembered that she had everything i didnt, in every sense of the phrase. she had someone who cared about her, who wouldve been willing to stay with her if she hadnt done everything she did, who still loved her. I knew id fucked up but id tried so hard in ways she never had and yet i didnt have anything, not even my best friend. who she also had. I hated her so much in that moment but i just hugged her harder.

if she ever asks me about the whole thing ill tell her all this, and i know she'll pick out one small thing from it and use it to tell everyone im a horrible person, but i dont care anymore. Yesterday the planes over me were flying lower than ever and all i could think about was if any of them were going home

[floshav]

yearning for you pt.1

pairings: regulus black x fem! reader

wordcount: 1.6k ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

warnings: mean draco, mean blonde girl (smh) im sorry blondies, 2 heartbreaks, mentions of regulus's fingers being attractive(idk why this is a warning) Oh yea we have phones in this fic so kinda modern au?

summary: when draco seemingly leaves her for the pretty new thing of hogwarts, she finds her once bright heart slither into nothing but a dark piece of cold coal trying to wonder what she's ever done wrong to be left for, until someone that once lurked in the shadows comes to light and brings the fire back into her black coal heart once more. That person being the infamous regulus black that everyone seemed to misunderstand.

It had been 2 months. 2 months exactly of Draco and y/n officially being together. Today marked their 2nd anniversary and it was all that occupied y/n's "lovestruck" mind

"So..... What'd you think he's gonna do this time?" Daria sang sweetly as she began flipping through her selection of same coloured robes to choose for the day, like it made a difference at all which one she'd choose.

"I don't know, maybe a bouquet of flowers? a box of chocolates? They all seem a bit cheesy tho-" y/n sapped out whilst playing with her fingers as if they were the most interesting on earth.

"Oh come on y/n.. atleast he's gonna give you something rather than forgetting like Dean did last week." Daria sighed whilst finally picking out her final robe of choice

"Okay but Dean was an absolute git for that." Y/n gave her friend a look of pity before continuing "Look i dont know, lately Draco's been a bit... well.... a bit distant. I rarely see him nowadays."

It'd been true, what once was a 7 day meet-up together had turned into thrice a week, thrice a week into once a week, and once a week later turned into once every few weeks or whenever Draco felt like it. Whenever y/n tried to 'bump' into him in the halls in hopes of getting a kiss or some sort of affection she'd been ever so yearning for, he'd always blow her off saying he was running late for either it be class or quidditch. It was always something.

It was like she was an object for him to show off whenever he felt like it or a toy sitting on a shelf waiting to played with. The whole relationship didn't really seem that... real. It was all just a facade to show people that she managed to pull the playboy Draco of Hogwarts, but deep down.. was it really worth it?

time skip to Breakfast

"There, he's at that damn table again." y/n complained as she played with her screaming soggy wizards cereal waiting to be eaten

"Y/n. Stop yapping around and maybe try approaching him about this??" Daria let out exasperatedly before dropping her spoon down and moving to cup both sides of her face

"i-i don't know he's been an awful lot touchy with the newbie." Y/n moaned out whilst looking over at the horrific scene of Draco and Heather. That damn perfect pretty new blonde girl.

"Y/n! i will not stand for your idioticness! That's it if you won't do it i will." Daria raged before getting up to approach the two

"No! Daria get your white ass back here!" Y/n screamed out looking stupid as ever

"Hi~ Draco and... Holly? Polly? Sorry your names quite basic round' here" Daria whistled out sarcastically whilst crossing her arms

"It's Heather. Though i dont think someone like you would remember such basic info considering you can't even remember the names of the three forbidden curses or anything else for that matter.. seeing your recent test marks." Heather spat out abrubtly as if she had the whole speach memorised whilst gripping onto Dracos arm more as if she couldn't make it anymore painfully tighter.

"Who told you that!" Daria yelled with a flushed face remembering (ironically) that the only person she'd ever told was y/n

"Lil ol' Dracky here" She hummed sweetly with a big fat fake smile plastered on her smug face.

"Sorry Daria, looks like y/n over there cant keep her fat mouth shut." Draco said whilst shaking his overgrown bangs out his eyes

"Y-y/n? W-wait here." Daria said with red cheeks as she stomped back over to the place she was previously sat at

"Where else are we gonna go? Is she dumb or something." Heather and draco conversed as if Daria couldn't hear them from a mile away

"Y/n! What the hell? You told draco about my test marks?" Daria raged whilst causing a scene to erupt around her

"What?"

Oh shit.

"Listen! I didn't mean to- i-it just blurted out when we were discussing academic things! I swear!" Y/n defended with a sunken heart as if everything was shattering down a long with her

"Still! What the actual hell y/n! I Thought you could keep a secret! Let alone a humiliating one!" Daria yelled before storming out the main door that led into the great hall

"Fuck." y/n muttered under her breath as she gathered her stuff to leave too

The whole ordeal seemed a bit surreal and dramatic, but what could you do? They were all hormone raging douchebags anyway.

"Hey y/n." She heard the familiar voice of the boy who was supposed to love her yet pained her instead.

"D-draco? what do you want." Y/n said clearly mad at the ignorance she'd been receiving from him lately

"I just wanted to let you know that i dont think i want to see you anymore." Draco said cold heartedly as y/n's whole world came to a stop.

First Daria, now Draco? What else could possibly happen. Just as she was thinking, the final cherry on top was placed as the new girl was presented clutching onto his side like no tomorrow.

"Hmmm yea. Looks like i'm the new replacement for the rusted old one. Blonde hair and everything! What an upgrade." Heather intoxicatingly served out as she laid her head onto Dracos broad shoulder

"Fuck you. Fuck you and your whole life Draco." Y/n said just below a whisper before doing the exact same thing Daria did just a few minutes ago.

Time skip to after all classes

The air was more cold than usual at y/n's spot. The air crisp and cool as strikes of wind made its way past her hair. She thought back to the events of the day, how everything came crashing down even more quickly than when it was put together. A small stream of tears found its way to dampen her dirty robes just as the air around her dried it.

suddenly, an unfamiliar voice cooed out to her from behind.

"Y/n?" hushed the unknown voice

"Who's there" y/n said unbothered at this point without batting an eye

"Regulus from potions, d'know if you remember me let alone know me." He laughed out, and it was the prettiest sound y/n had ever heard."

"Oh yea, Regulus"

she sighed

"ive seen you around."

"Yea.. so, what has brought the fine majesty of potions to this ruged place today? Such a place is no match for the delicacy of Hydrangeas." Regulus questioned out in an equestrian like royal voice

"Hydrangeas?" Y/n chuckled out whilst smiling at him wide

"I've heard of many nicknames, but Hydrangeas? Thats a first." Y/n smiled to herself as a loose strand of hair fell into her field of view.

Regulus thought it was the most precious thing ever and made sure to capture a photo of it in his mind.

"Well what can i say, their my favourite." Regulus semi smiled out whilst looking into the abyss

"You're turn."

"Hm?"

"Why are you here mysterious man?"

regulus chuckled at the nickname

"Y'didnt answer my question yet dangea, wouldn't be fair for me to trade my secrets for nothing in exchange"

He'd shorten the nickname, and you liked it. You liked it a lot.

"D'know. Just here coz schools a bitch."

There it was, that pretty sound regulus made

"Yea. Yea i totally agree, schools a bitch." Regulus breathed

"Im just here coz it takes my mind of things." Regulus mumbled while tracing his slender pale fingers on the concrete you both sat on, feet dangling on the edge.

His fingers, you thought. Such pretty fingers

"You wanna see something?" Regulus inquired with curiousty blooming, just like Hydrangeas did when water hit them.

"Sure, why not."

He foraged around his robes pocket, to pull out what looked like a box filled with small papers.

He muttered a spell under his breath charming the paper to hold his precious digits on it.

"Wow, i never knew proffesor flitwick would teach us to be this smooth with charms." she chuckled before taking the piece of paper he gently handed to her

It read out his number, with a cute smiley face on the side and that was enough to make her day a lot times better.

"So... call me? Whenever schools being a bitch to you again that is."

"Yea.... i guess schools gonna be acting like a bitch for a lil while then." She smirked to herself, knowing all the times she could ring him up now just to hear that pretty little voice of his.

"Well drangea, I best get going. Got dinner in a while, i expect you to notice me at the tables now." Regulus chuckled before handing her an arm to get herself on her feet too

She hessistantly grabbed onto his lean arm not used to touch, and felt all the right tingles spark in her chest making her feel all flustered and hot. She wondered dangerously... how he could make her feel if all those tingles were just from his mere touch. Enough y/n she breathed.

"W-well! See you around mystery man. Wouldn't wanna bother you too much now that i've snagged your number."

"Ah, dont worrybout it ol' drangy." He said whilst making his way to the exit that sat on the roof.

"Call me!" He yelled before shutting the door on her.

She smiled. She smiled very wide at the events of the day.

-------------------------------------------

like this up if ya'll want pt 2 pls LMAOOA

[flynndesdelca]

For Day 5 (The Cake is (Not) a Lie) of @chelltastic's Portal Drawtober 2023 Challenge. As I’m not really an artist, I chose to write short pieces for the prompts.

While its above-ground presentation was normal, Aperture was a huge, sprawling complex that took up far more underground real estate than most people noticed.   One could walk for hours but yet still not clear the grounds, fields of grains and forests and even lakes and rivers masking the miles of manufacturing and processing and power management systems alone.  While it extended deep, deep down it still left just as much of a surface footprint.  There was always something just slightly off about the areas above, and most wildlife and even people knew to leave those areas be.  It was a true maze, whose twisting passages were almost impossible to navigate by design.  It was all meant to be automated, a pristine space untouched by humans.

That was why it was completely filthy, the lone individual picking his way through decided.  It was not a space friendly to the living, but yet there were ways to go, catwalks 'just in case' maintenance or inspections needed to be done when a light on a panel went from green to red.  The odd case where the machines that governed there failed or were unsure of how to proceed, or were proceeding in the face of grave errors.  The precision with which it ran had meant that such a case had never arisen, and thus years of dust and grime had relentlessly built up in the absence of those who would find issue with it.

That wasn't why he was there, though.  He knew these areas well, he was perhaps the only person who did.  These areas were the safest places to be despite being inhospitable to humans.  They had been one of the few places free of her influence.  A place to catch one's breath and to come up with a plan, a course of action, a route of escape.  He knew that whenever he disappeared from her sight into those areas just outside of her direct grasp that she'd be waiting for his inevitable return, watching along the borders, straining her senses as far as she could inwardly to find some sign of his presence or evidence of his passage.

Now that didn't matter, of course.  She was gone.  Gone! His hunch had been correct.  It was a shame, of course, that the entire place had failed to go down with her.  The girl had already been recovered, and that was why he had to make this trip.  He'd never been to the cryo-blocks, but if it was like anywhere else in the facility he could make his way there just fine.  Maybe.  His mind was still, at ease.  The trip was far too quiet, and lonely.

His gut told him to turn here and there, and so he did without question.  Stopping to think too long would see one become tangled in the oh-so-similar passageways.  Trying to make them was folly.  One could usually tell that they’d been there before due to finding their own footprints in the dust and grime.  During times before he might have stopped to leave a sign, to draw an arrow or leave a message indicating safe routes or hiding places.  Now there was no need.  Even if she did wake up, she wouldn't need to know to get to this place.  She would be better served by all those directions getting her back to the surface and out once more.

Another turn, and the room opened up.  He stopped in surprise, wondering just how and why.  He’d been expecting more chambers, long hallways, perhaps even security or turrets.  Had he taken a wrong turn after all? The room was deathly silent, without even the normal machine sounds that were the background noise of the rooms behind the curtain.  He started to walk, silently, not wanting to break the stillness present.

Racks and racks stood empty, as though whatever had been stored there had long since been removed.  Sometimes he would find odd places that didn't logically seem to fit with wherever he was, and this seemed to fit that.  Something that had been a management base during construction, or some maintenance crew's secret hideaway, or a place discovered and converted to something else by unknown persons.  This had been some kind of storage but what it had stored was depleted with no sign of what it could have been.  What drew his attention the most was what he found when he crept into the middle of the empty room.

A table.  A very small table, likely someone's personal table.  It was very out of place in the strange storage room given how empty the entire thing was.  The table, however, was not bare, and what he saw there caused his eyebrows to furrow and his thoughts to darken.

Resting upon the table, as though a slap in the face to everything he knew, was a cake.  It was hard to make out well in the darkness, but the top looked as though it was decorated with cherries and cream.  A single candle stood proudly in the middle, small trails of wax hardened along its length indicating that at one point the candle had actually been lit.  How such a thing had come to exist here, in the depths of the facility, he could not fathom.  It wasn't mouldy or dried out, it didn't have the characteristic layers of dust on it, or machine grease, or any signs of having been back here for longer than a few hours.  There weren't any other footprints or signs of passage in the room itself - given that outside of the girl he had been the last one alive so there shouldn't be any other footprints, at least nothing recent - so how the cake came to rest there was a bizarre mystery.  Had she done it somehow? Could she make a cake? Why was it here, of all places? 

It wasn't a mystery that he could sit and ponder, however.  If anything its presence was unsettling and jarring.  Cake had been a false promise, something to try to make her victims think that at least there would be something good waiting for them at the end.  It was something that wasn't supposed to exist. It was a lie of convenience, the carrot on the stick.  It was her, in a nutshell, something that was promised and supposed to be amazing but... death and screams and fire were all that had been there in the end.

He skirted around the table warily, as though expecting the cake to... do something.  If she had put it there, then it was likely dangerous.  Or poisonous, he considered.  No, it was better not to touch it or go near it.  He had much more important things to do than puzzle of the existence of the cake that should not be.  Perhaps when he had finished his task he could consider what it might have meant.

There was only one exit from the room, and he took it, staring out over an abyss of catwalks.  He was getting closer, he realized, he wasn't lost.  He'd just taken a detour, gone the long way around.  Purpose filled him and he charged forward, thoughts of the cake that wasn't a lie falling from his mind as the task ahead of him took precedence.

[kathrynharinger]

The five stages of grief.

LOCATION: The Lost Word loft apartment above.

MENTIONED: @romanmcnulty @fenderbryne

Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance.

Kathryn sat alone in the dimly lit loft apartment that sat above the Lost Word. It was her sanctuary of solitude which now felt more suffocating, as if the walls were closing in around her. The events of that night replayed in her mind like a haunting melody, each note a sharp pang of pain. The car bomb that had taken Roman away at the snap of her fingers one minute of life was going right and the next...it was hell on earth. It was true; the devil walked among them. That same fire that'd taken Roman away had also left its mark on her body. Her arms and back bore the scars of the explosion, a constant reminder of the tragedy that had shattered her world. Thankfully, the bandages stopped her from picking at the ugliness of them.

Denial washed over her like a cold wave, numbing her senses and clouding her thoughts. It'd been there since she got home. The house seemed cold, lonely, and he'd never even stepped foot in here. She couldn't fathom that Roman was truly gone, that the man she'd began to really like was now nothing more than a memory. She clung to the hope that this was all some cruel mistake, that at any moment now he would burst through the door with that lopsided grin and cocky remark that few people could pull off. But reality was unyielding, refusing to bend to her wishes.

Anger quickly surged within her, a burning fire that consumed her from the inside out. Her parents, Roman, Fender — the list went on of people that she had lost or was slowly losing. She slammed her fist onto the table, cursing the cruel twists of this life that constantly stolen happiness from her life. Like they were waiting for a light to finally die within her. Why him? Why them? The questions echoed in her mind late into the night when sleep evaded a relentless barrage that had no answers. Her anger wasn't just directed at the faceless perpetrators; it was directed at the universe itself, for robbing her of the future she always dreamed of having, and the second she got a taste, it was ripped away.

Bargaining followed, a desperate plea to whatever higher power might be listening. "Take me instead," she whispered into the silence, tears streaming down her cheeks. It was the coward's way out, she told herself, that bargaining would get her nowhere in life unless it was a deal out of con artistry with Fender. But at the moment, in the right now, she'd have given anything to turn back time, to rewrite the tragic ending that had unfolded before her eyes. In her mind, she replayed scenarios where she could have done something differently, where she could have saved him. But the past remained unchanged, a cruel testament to the futility of bargaining with the inevitable. She couldn't have done anything differently, no matter how many times she told herself otherwise. A girl who finally found a man who could see her for something more, not for monetary gain or as a trophy on his arm.

Depression had been there since the moment her knees collided with the pavement, and it'd settled like a heavy shroud, enveloping her in a suffocating embrace. The weight of her grief pressed down on her chest, making it difficult to breathe while her hand gripped onto the dining room table, knuckles turning white from the force. The once-vibrant colors of her apartment now seemed dull and lifeless, mirroring the emptiness she felt within. She withdrew from the world outside. Her active social life was on its way to becoming a distant memory. The pain was a constant companion, an unwelcome guest that refused to leave. If and when Fender came home, she'd withdraw to her room as she had done so many nights since; trying to fight the urge to give up. Part was because of Roman, the other was because of the fire that'd marred her body. She felt ugly.

The final stage she was a long way off from.

Acceptance, the final stage of grief, was a distant horizon that seemed impossible to reach. And while Roman's absence was a reality, she could no longer deny, no matter how much she kept pushing forward and trying to fight — she wasn't there yet. Because it was a truth she could no longer fight against. She was waiting for that moment of clarity, when the fog finally cleared and she could begin to piece together the fragments of her struth,hattered heart. Somewhere deep inside of her, she knew that accepting his death didn't mean forgetting him or letting the way he'd died lay. But there was one realisation that did settle down within her this night, finding a way to honor his memory, to carry his spirit with her as she moved forward.

And that meant finding the person who killed him.

[bylertruther]

what do you think about "my life started that day we found you in the woods"

lets start with my knee-jerk reaction, which is

but then when i finally let the all-consuming mama bear spartan rage flow through and out of me, i remember that they had no idea what was wrong with el or how to help her as she seemingly choked to death right in front of them.

they'd dealt with something similar once when will was possessed, though, and will remembers that it was mike and his family professing their love for him that gave him the strength to fight back. so, naturally, he urges mike to do the same now, because he thinks it would mean more if it came from him. he's the heart after all.

we know based off of mike's own dialogue in scenes from other seasons that he doesn't believe in love at first sight. he even repeats as much in the van scene before they pick her up. he says that lie, along with everything else, because he thinks it's what she wants and needs to hear. he's not thinking about anyone or anything else in that moment, he's just locked in on saving her life right now by any means necessary. if will, the person he trusts most in the world and who told him it was him that saved him, tells him this is a time for monologues just like last time, then that's what he's going to do. mike doesn't actually think their love is like that of fairy tales or comic books, but he knows that she wishes it could be and that she'd been previously begging him to say i love you and according to will apparently needs him, so he just does what he can to help her now. because he doesn't want her to die! and he doesn't know what else he could possibly do! (the true love confession worked in s2 but did not work in s4 bc it wasn't true and it wasn't true love <3)

mike's confession is a knock-off of the one he gave will in the shed and will's van confession. "my life started that day we met you in the woods" / "do you remember the first day that we met? [..] it was the best thing i've ever done." like... c'mon, mike, lmao. he highlights her differences and puts her on a pedestal for them, because will's confession ("you make her feel like she's better for being different") led him to believe that that's what she wants and what gives her strength, but it isn't. it's literally the complete opposite and this season spent 39480938094830 years showing us in 9834309840930 ways just how much she hates that shit. instead, the person that gave her strength was the one person that looked at her, saw a girl, and treated her like one. aka, max. it's only when mike she looks over at her and mike stops lying that she wills the vines away.

so yeah. i could go on but the tl;dr is that will's heart-shattering, kicked puppy dog face makes me want to kill myself fifty times over and bite michael like a squeaky toy, BUT. then i remember the context and i'm like oh yeah no. that tracks. makes sense that he'd say that. he's breaking his code to save her life, which is like.. really fucking serious lol. he repeatedly and firmly did not want to lie to her about this and refused to even when pressed, but he'll do it if it means saving her life and the alternative is her dying and the world dying too. he's also working off of a big lie told to him by the one person that he trusts more than anyone in the entire world, including himself, that's the complete opposite of how eleven actually feels. so, like. literally what else is he supposed to do. he got in trouble for plagiarizing an essay in s2 and here he is doing it again smh old habits die hard i guess regurgitating and trying to imitate intimate moments of his and will's for eleven just like he did in s3 when he tried and failed to tell her he was acting like that bc he was going crazy in "love" lmao 🙄

[rurpleplayssims]

Since she'd met him, Minerva had wondered many times what she'd have done if not for Kaidan. His banter, good humour and his sheer skill in killing her enemies were all good traits to have in a companion, nobody could deny. But what she loved most about him was his complete and utter belief in her, and her abilities, even when she didn't feel it herself.

Especially in the past few days, Minerva had felt a lack of self-confidence that she'd only felt once, in the aftermath of that horrific ritual which led to her becoming estranged from the remnants of her family. She had wondered then if she was doing the right thing, caught in a rut about how she should define as the "right thing".

The right thing for her to do for her family, would've been to stay and continue to be disparaged and abused for the sake of the cultict beliefs they'd forced upon her since birth.

But the right thing for her, her own head and heart, had been to leave.

It had been the hardest thing to do, to reconcile with herself that it wouldn't be easy but it had to be done. She'd needed to escape the prison that had life had been and that she should've held the same freedom as any other woman in Tamriel.

Kaidan had once asked her if she had any family. Many options had filled her head but the one she settled one had been the truth, that they were far away and weren't on the best of terms. She'd felt a little ungrateful as she'd said it, having just learnt that Kaidan had no family to speak of and that was why he was in Skyrim. He was actively looking for something she'd gladly given up.

They weren't my family, she told herself now. They stopped being my family the day they decided to never let me speak my mind, the day they tied me down on that altar and decided to destroy whatever good left in me. They tainted me with their dark magic, their impure desires and fooled me into thinking it'd be the right thing for me.

Now, another force, another destiny was being forced onto her.

It was a moment for contemplation. Was this another outside trying to manipulate her into doing what they wanted, rather than what she wanted?

I need to speak more to the Greybeards, she decided. They need to teach me the full meaning of this title and the full impact on what would happen if I did succeed, or if I failed.

Despite her fears, she knew, deep down that she couldn't not make an attempt to defeat the World Eater. She resented the knowing feeling that she would try her best, or die trying in the attempt.

This was bigger than a mere family argument. This was the entirety of the world at sake here and was she really going to run away just because she was scared?

Kaidan's words filled her mind again, one of the first things he'd ever told her. "Brynjar used to say 'If you're not a little afraid, you're not understanding the situation.'

They were wise words and clearly words that meant a lot to Kaidan if he could quote them so easily. Minerva tried to using the words to teach her about what she was going through.

She was scared, very...which in Brynjar's logic,suggested that she understood how vast the situation she was in.

It was interesting, how much those words and lining them alongside her own circumstances, that made her feel better. She felt at peace with the fear she felt.

Minerva smiled as she gazed into the flames, still feeling the echo of Kaidan's embrace a few minutes ago. He'd been just as wise when she'd withdrawn from his chest, face messy with tears and eyes red from crying.

"You can't have courage without being afraid" he'd whispered, wiping away her tears with his thumb, the rough calluses feeling like silk to her distress. "Choosing to act in spite of your fear, that's where true courage comes lies, my friend."

[sorry-i-ship-drarry]

31. Would you come back to me?

Prompt used- doing a pinky promise. This post have been inspired by one of @drarry-is-my-therapy recent reblog and one of @fqirycircle drawing, which is absolutely amazing. TW- ANGST | HURT/COMFORT | Harry's heart had always belonged to the boy by the lake.

" dad" Albus said as he watched his father cleaning off the used utensils

" yea " harry replied looking over his shoulder to his son sitting behind the kitchen table.

" I- I was talking with mom the other day and she told me something " Albus nervously said

" oh yeah, what'd she tell ?" Harry chuckled

" why you guy's really separated " Albus replied. Harry stopped dead for a moment looking blankly at the utensils until he resumed washing, not replying anything yet.

Once done, harry wiped off his hands over his apron, handing Albus the cold coffee he had just brewed, taking one for himself, he sat down in front of Albus with a curious smile.

" so what'd she tell you ?"

" well- she doesn't want me talking to you about these things but I- think I'm big enough to know these things now, don't you think ?" He nervously asked once again.

" well- albus I think you are " harry gave albus a friendly frown and with that Albus immediately loosened up, giving harry a genuine smile.

" so what did she tell you ?" He asked once again pointing Albus to drink his cold coffee.

" well- she told me- that you guys didn't love each other " Albus said

" I do love your mom Albus-"

" just not the same way, right ?" Albus asked. Biting the inside of his cheek harry deliberated whether he should actually let Albus know or not, until he did, knowing if he were where Albus was, he'd want to know too.

Harry nodded hesitantly.

" but you guys seemed to love each other so much? Like all the things you did, I mean i don't get it how could you just fall out of love you know ?" Albus asked a little irritated by the fact that his parents had actually fallen out of love. Harry is suddenly strongly reminded of a very Vivid situation, the situation he'd been so familiar with.

" Albus- I think what you're trying to say is that we Always cared for each other. We often confuse love with care. At much later part of our marriage, before separation we had almost forgotten what was it like to love each other and simply cared for one another" harry explained.

Albus clenched looking at his father, " so you're saying one day we eventually fall out of love ?"

" what- no- Albus, no that's not what happened- hell " harry immediately responded.

" then what happened ?" Albus aggressively asked

" it's- it's just more complicated than it seems Albus but I want you to know that love is real, alright. Just because your parents didn't work out doesn't mean love cannot exists, look at your uncle Ron and aunt Hermione, I've rarely ever seen love like that and hell I can't even tell you how much time they had spent crushing desperately over each other for years. We're sorry- really for setting such a bad example but we're not perfect, nobody is. It's simply is we couldn't make it work and we regret it " harry sighed pushing his hair back from falling over his face.

Albus shoulder slumped down a bits, staring at the water ring on his coaster absent mindedly.

" just say it albus. Don't keep it in " harry encouraged knowing his son was deliberating about saying something.

Albus looked up at harry strangely, a look he had never looked at him with ever before, " she said- that you- you've never truly loved her. She said even though you loved her but a part of your heart Always belonged to someone else "

And everything stopped. Harry's breath caught in his throat, his hand stilled in the air, even his hair on his forehead became still. He was shook Ginny had told him something like that. It wasn't as if harry wasn't ever prepared for such conversations but the way it had twisted into something, it was unpredictable and he found it hard to focus on one thing.

" is it true dad ? That you loved someone else too ?" Albus contemplated nervously.

Harry looked up at albus, not realising when had he ever leant down and cleared his throat to gain his voice back.

" I never cheated alb-"

" I know. She knows that but she says she knew that you Always have loved Someone else too " Albus bit his lip nervously hoping he hadn't offended harry by saying something so personal.

" i- I never thought she'd actually tell you this" harry eyes widened in surprise as he cleared his throat once again.

" w- I shouldn't have bought this up- this is just-"

" hey hey, it's fine- you said you're big enough to know these things now- well then " harry interjected nervously " she's right. I- my heart as she put it, one part of it has always belonged to someone else " harry sighed closing his eyes, glimpsing back in his memories of that one Particular person.

" oh- who ?" He asked curiously

Harry raised his eyebrows, chuckling nervously, not believing it even for a second that he is infact about have this conversation.

" someone" he finally replied.

And with that harry is brought back into his memories from years ago, that one person's laughter resonating in his head, that one smile which was only reserved for him, that voice which echoed in his head every night, as if it was calling harry to it but just as he reached the bottom, there would be another bottom and he would be stuck. Everyday. And as harry started to finally tell Albus about his first love, he flows into his memory of the last day of 5th year after harry had recently lost Sirius and was extremely vulnerable, around the black lake away from everyone, in just his own little bubble with him.

The lake reflected with the red and yellow light of the dropping sun from across the mountain and a faint breeze drying Harry's face covered with tears. He has someone's arms around his shoulder, cooing him, reminding him one day everything would finally be fine but he didn't had it in him to even understand what he was saying. He was crying, heavily breathing because of the heart clenching pain, the void in his heart which had finally filled had now grown bigger, how was anything ever supposed to be fine..

" we need to end this " harry abruptly said

" what ?" He asked confused by Harry's sudden outrage with something complete nuisance.

" we can't- I can't keep doing this " harry replied numbly

" wha- why not ?" He asked furrowing his eyebrows, feeling slightly hurt by such abysmal suggestion.

" don't you see, I lose everyone one day and I- I can't- I don't want to deliberately lose you " harry replied looking at him.

He frowned " you're not losing me harry-"

" then will I not ?" They had never talked about future, only because it remained so uncertain that they hated the idea of future

" no- you will not " he replied

" and you are absolutely 100 percent sure ? Isn't there a possibility someone would find out about us and it'll spread like a wildfire and everyone would desperately try to separate us !" Harry exclaimed

" okay harry- first calm down. Nobody have found out about us in the last one year, it seems highly unlikely someone would-"

" voldemort knows " and suddenly both of their breaths came to a halt. One word and everything they owned collapsed onto the ground as if it was the fragile chandelier hanging on the top of a broken roof.

" how-"

" he can see in my head. We can't keep doing this-"

" then we fight-"

" I'll fight- can you ?"

And there was silence. He wanted to respond that he would but he didn't trust the world, even if he trusted himself. He hated the world. He was weak, fragile and in a fight against the world, he knew he'd always lose, over and over.

" we are on opposite sides of war. Voldemort's came out. He'll be rebuilding his army. Everything is going to change. Even us" harry tried to explain without wanting to break down. This was the first time harry after sirius had sensibly talked but it was self preservation speaking for him, he couldn't afford to lose someone he really loves, once again. For once he wanted to protect his heart, he couldn't roll it over his sleeves when his sleeves were covered with thorns. It would be a death call and he couldn't give in, just yet.

" you and I- people like us don't belong together. The world will never understand us and this is the first fight we'd lose. I want this but it's going to be difficult. We can't be together as Long as we are on opposite sides-"

"Then I'll be on your side- "

" you are " harry responded giving a weak smile

" but I belong on the other side" he replied looking far ahead over the lake as if the realisation had finally dawned upon him. Something he had always known but had now slapped him right in the face.

"yes " harry replied looking at him, Saving in his memories the last time what he really looked like, his smile, his long lashes, his crooked nose, his pale skin, his tinted cheeks, his soft ears, his soft hair, his storm filled eyes, his pink plumped lips he had kissed so often. Saving it away for one day what it would look like in a pensieve.

" we knew what we were getting into but we took the risk nevertheless. It was a deranged path and we knew it from the beginning " harry softly said clutching other man's fingers with his own.

He didn't reply, he just longingly stared at the waters, as if he was remembering them not harry.

" so we give up ?" He finally asked turning to harry with unseen part of his face wet with tears. Harry reached forward wiping away his tear but they didn't stop, they only flooded more with Harry's touch.

" no, we- we promise to come back once again after all this is over" harry smiled softly.

" and you believe there will be coming back after all ? What if one of us- dies " he hesitated In fear of only imagining it.

Harry started at him knowing it was one of the possibilities but wasn't ready for such thing. It was a huge possibility that one day harry might lose " I have hope for us " harry suddenly spoke out loud. The thoughts In his mind had unknowningly reached his lips and there wasn't a going back from that.

The other man stared at harry long enough, he too concealing this part of him for that one day they'd meet again.

" promise me then if we make it through, we'll come back to each other " he asked, his voice sounding not more than a quivering sound.

" I promise that If I make it through one day, we'll meet again and come back to each other" harry replied

" pinky promise ?" He smiled.

Harry chuckled, then nodded

" do you promise ?"

" I promise "

" what happened then ? How'd you wind up with mom ?" Albus asked curiously, a faint yellow light from the evening bouncing over his brunette head.

" did he- die ?" Albus asked almost heart broken

" what- no " harry chuckled

" then what happened ?" Albus asked again

" he- broke the promise. We belonged to someone else much before we could've even belonged to each other. When I met him after the war and his probation, he had changed completely " harry replied reminiscing about the specific day

" then didn't you ever ask him again ?" Albus asked almost jumping off his chair.

Harry gave a small smile " I couldn't "

" but why- what if he had still loved you ?" Albus asked

" as I said he was completely changed. He wasn't the man I fell in love with. He never asked either. It died out over time. Besides I'm pretty sure he had already forgotten about it. Also I think he was engaged by the time we met again, it didn't make sense" harry replied

" then didn't you ever like try to stop his wedding like In those romantic comedies mum watches ?" Albus asked excitedly

Harry laughed picking up their glasses and going over to the sink " she's always loved them. You've got to stop watching them if that's what you're cooking in your head Albus. Real love Is different than what they show, it's not just one fight and making it up. Its so much efforts, fights, pain, drama and so many other things"

" but If it's the right person, it'd never feel like that would it ? If you really love someone then those fights wouldn't be so bad or there wouldn't be pain or drama. It'd be a happy relationship, wouldn't it ?" And in that small sentence albus has unknowningly managed to define true love.

Harry looked at his now grown up son, crossing his arms smiling impressively. And nodded.

Albus sighed in relief, slumping down in his chair. Harry quizzically analysed Albus until his expressions changed to sometimes brief.

" who is it?" Harry asked knowingly

" what?" Albus blushed

" who's this person you're suddenly relating everything to ?" Harry teased poking Albus Playfully.

" there is no one dad" Albus blushed embarassed, jumping off the chair, taking a few steps back.

" come on- I told you my story. I atleast deserve to know who it is " harry smirked crossing his arms in front of him

Albus sighed rolling his eyes" he's from school"

" ooh, someone from school. Like father like son" harry teased

" dadd " Albus whined blushing

" okay- fine, fine. Who is it then ?" Harry asked giving up with the teasing.

" it doesn't matter, he doesn't like me " Albus sighed crossing his arms in front of him in disappointment.

Harry carefully analysed Albus's face again, remembering exactly the same way he felt "it's the Malfoy kid, isn't it ?"

Albus's eyes suddenly shot up in surprise.

" how did you-"

" you're my son. Of course I'd know" harry sighed uncrossing his arms and stepping forward and placing them in the kitchen table, leaning forward.

" don't make the same mistakes I did. Ask him out. Write to him maybe. I'm sure he'd agree " harry suggested.

" mistake ? What mistake did you make ?" Albus asked curiously.

Harry gave him a firm smile before he putting his hands away from the table to his sides " it's a story for some other day, your mom is gonna be here to pick you up in an hour. Do your stuff and we'll talk about it next week? What say ?"

Albus frowned before letting go and nodding.

" one last question dad "

" shoot" harry said as he started washing those used cups again

" did you ever love mom as much as you loved that someone ?"

Harry smiled this time not stopping " I- love like that happened only once. I loved your mom a different way. I loved him a different way "

" but who'd you love more then?"

Harry turned around to see Albus standing there leaning over the kitchen table curiously " I will not answer that. Now enough with my love life. Go do your homework " harry said a little sternly in his father like adamant voice.

Sighing Albus gave up.

" okay, just one question, I promise " Albus plead again. Harry sighed before nodding.

" if now he came back in your life and asks you for a second chance, would you go back to him ?"

Harry smiled Shaking his head" yes- yes I would "

The next week when Albus came back for the stay, he seemed far excited than anything else. As soon as Ginny had left, Albus squealed.

" whoa there squirrel, what's got your knickers in a twist ?" Harry chuckled

" I've got an invitation. Can we please go to scropius's place. He offered for a while. I'll promise we can come back and do homework, he really wants me to see his collections. Can we please dad, please ?" Albus gave harry his puppy eyes in desperation..

Harry sighed before nodding.

" for an hour.. "

And with that after an hour, they flooed to scropius's place. The Malfoy manor.

They were recieved with a rather very pleasant place. It was no longer a dark, submerged place, it had been refurbished with mostly white and brown. It seemed like an entirely new place. Not one part of Malfoy manor looked like what it did ages ago ,and yet harry liked it better. It was welcoming. And just then he walked in, with scropius.

" potter "

" Malfoy" harry sternly nodded at Draco, losing himself again in that brief reminiscents of the past. He hadn't changed even a little bit as he remembered him from the day by the lake, yet everything had changed. Everything.

" we're gonna go " Albus didn't even wait and ran off with scropius, leaving harry and draco alone, both staring at each other thinking how the other had forgotten of the promise..

( I've really been writing shit lately. Anyways hope you liked this one, I'd been very excited for this one but It haven't turned out as good as I wanted to, so .. )

Requests open

Part 2 & 3

Day 30- scared, potter | Day 32- reasons not to be in love with Draco malfoy by Harry

[heyyyharry]

THE 1 (inspired by "the 1" by Taylor Swift)

...in which Y/N sees her ex again in a dream.

Word count: 1.5k

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Y/N opened her eyes and found herself standing in a hallway. The walls on both sides were painted black, and so was the ceiling. There was only one door in front of her, and as she looked back over her shoulder, the hallway stretched far and beyond into the shadow of nothingness. She had no choice but to move forward. She reached the door, turned the handle, opened it and stepped in. Embraced by the warm orange light, she found herself in her bedroom. She wasn’t the only one there, though.

He was sitting on her bed. His eyes lit up with a smile when he saw her as if he’d been expecting her. Why is he here? she wondered, then asked aloud, “Am I dreaming?”

Harry chuckled and patted the spot beside him on the bed. Hesitantly, she came and sat down. She wanted to reach out and touch his face, feel his skin, but she wasn't sure she could. If she did that, and it wasn't a dream, she'd be embarrassed; if she did that, and it was a dream, she'd be disappointed.

"Why do you think so?" he asked. She hadn't heard his voice in years, only on videos. It was just as warm and homely as she'd remembered.

She felt tears stinging her eyes as she said, "Because you're in New York this week for a show."

He pressed his lips together, a haunting yet tender smile. "That's right," he said. "And you're in London. Warm and safe in your bed."

After a moment of nothing but silent eye contact and the rapid pounding of her nervous little heart, he asked, "You okay?" British people sometimes asked this question when they wanted to ask, "How are you?" So Y/N wasn't sure what Harry meant in this case. Did he want to know how she was, or was he just checking if she was okay after what had happened between them years ago?

"I'm okay," she answered. That should be good for both possible meanings of the question, she thought.

He nodded once, his expression neutral. "So am I," he said.

Those words stung her heart like a sharp needle. She didn't want to hear that he was okay. She wanted to know how much he'd suffered from the pain of leaving her. She wanted to hear how miserable he'd been ever since he'd cut her off without giving her closure. He wasn't allowed to be okay, not then, not now, not even after twenty years had passed.

Was this really a dream? Because shouldn't she get to hear what she'd wanted to hear instead of the bitter truth – that he was doing okay and only thinking of her as someone he pitied?

Harry sucked in a breath. “I’m so glad to see you again, honestly. When you finally see someone you haven’t seen in a while and know that they’re alright, it’s easier to breathe.”

Y/N nodded while fidgeting with the hem of her nightdress. She felt this way as well. “Did you miss me?” she asked.

“I always miss you,” he replied. “Even when we were together.”

“So why did you leave?” she trembled. “You just left without giving me closure. You cut me off. I-I didn’t know what I’d done wrong.”

“It had nothing to do with you.”

“Then why did I have to suffer?”

Harry stared at her with his wide eyes. Even if he was just a product of her imagination, that shocked reaction was almost too real. “I was just wrong for you,” he said. “But if I didn’t leave, you wouldn’t meet him. You’re happier now. I could never give you this.” Y/N felt embarrassed that she’d temporarily forgotten about her man. Maybe she hadn’t expected that the Y/N in this universe where Harry was still in her life, could be with someone else.

Smiling, Harry reached out, took her hand and squeezed; his fingers were warm. “We would never have what you now have with him, Y/N. You wanted a secure relationship with mutual trust, while ours was full of insecurities and anxiety. The highs were too high, and the lows were too low. It wasn’t good for either of us.”

“I get it,” Y/N sighed. “Still, you could’ve told me.”

“I was scared,” he admitted, regretfully. “I was a coward. And when I left I was stupid enough to think that maybe one day I could come back and we could have the kind of relationship you expected from me.”

“You wanted me to just wait around for you and welcome you back with open arms after you’d left me like that?” Y/N asked, offended.

Harry shook his head. “I knew you wouldn’t, but I was selfish enough to have hoped so.”

Y/N sat in silence for a long moment and pondered. “You know,” she started. “This is the conversation I wish we could have had in the real world. Do you...do you think the real you still remembers me?”

“Of course. You were a big part of my life.”

Y/N’s shoulders slumped with an exhale. “You’re only saying that because I want to believe that,” she said.

Harry didn’t respond, only smiling.

“You know,” she began again. “I thought I saw you at a bus stop last week.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Then I realised you would never take the bus, and it made me feel like a fool.”

Harry threw his head back and laughed. “That would’ve been a crowded bus stop for sure.”

“Definitely.” Y/N rolled her eyes, chuckling a little. “That night, I had a dream in which you were doing cool shit, then you met some woman on the internet and took her home.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you meet your guy on the internet, though?”

“Yeah.” Y/N shrugged. “I felt awful for being jealous in my dream. Maybe I just didn’t want to think you were leading the same happy life.”

“I’ve gone through a very public breakup after us, so I doubt I was leading the same happy life.”

After he’d left her, Harry had dated a model, and their breakup had been so nasty he’d written a whole album of breakup songs for that woman. Y/N hadn’t listened to it yet; she couldn’t.

“What time is it?” Harry asked suddenly, breaking Y/N’s train of thoughts. He whipped his head around to look at the clock on the wall behind them. “Almost 2 AM?” he gasped. “Damn, I think I should leave so you can get your sleep. It’s gonna be a busy day for you, love.”

Y/N opened her mouth to ask him to stay for a little longer. She had so many questions for him that she didn’t know which one to begin with. But then she remembered that she would never know more than what she already knew. Because this wasn’t the real Harry. He would only give her answers she wanted the real Harry to say.

“Okay,” she said as they both got up from the bed. “Thank you...for coming tonight. It’s nice to finally have closure.” He had visited her many nights before over the years, but this was the first night they’d ever had a proper conversation.

“I might not come back after this,” he said.

She was sad to hear it, but it was probably for the best. She couldn’t keep dreaming about him, because she loved her new man, and she deserved peace and happiness as much as Harry did.

So she nodded, lips pressed into a polite smile. Harry opened his arms, and they embraced for the first time in years. His hug felt too real. It was scary how she could remember exactly how it’d felt to replicate it in a dream.

When he let her go, he cupped her face and stroked her cheeks with his thumbs. “It would’ve been fun,” he said, “if I could’ve been the one.”

At this point, Y/N was holding back her tears. She told him, “If my wishes came true, it would’ve been you.”

Then, she woke up as her best friend rushed into the room, yelling about how she would be late for the ceremony if she slept in. Still dazed from her sleep, Y/N reached for her phone on the nightstand to check for a message that didn’t come. There was only a message from her man saying he couldn’t wait to see her in her wedding dress and that he loved her very much. She put down the phone and rolled out of bed. She was getting married today.

[taetaesbaebaepsae]

Quiver (bbh)

Summary: You meet a man who seems to know nearly everything about you, save your name.

As with nearly every Baek fic I write, for @illneverrecover! Although she actually paid me for this one hahaha

Also thank you to my sister for betaing and making my gorgeous banner!

Warnings: angst, violence and death tw, unprotected sex, outdoors sex, oral sex (f. receiving), this is more soft and sad than horny tbh

Word Count: 10,219

Deja vu is something you don't feel very often, and so when it washes over you in a wave that leaves goosebumps on your flesh, you look around.

You're not sure what you're looking for, but you feel that when you find it, you'll know.

Your eyes fall on a man sitting at a table, looking down at a book. His hair is slicked back but with pieces falling into his face, and as if he knows you're staring, he looks up at you.

He has the warmest brown eyes, and something like a shock shoots through your heart. Your feet are moving before you realize it.

"Have we met before?"

He smiles, and your heart flutters.

"Maybe in another life."

His name, it turns out, is Baekhyun, and he works at some investment firm you've never heard of but it doesn't matter because he has the most endearing way of smiling at you while you're speaking to him.

You assume he has money because the car he leads you to is nice, not ridiculously so but expensive to upkeep, a foreign model that's sleek and your favorite color: red.

"Why red?" You ask, sliding into the leather seat of this stranger's car because you just know he's safe, somewhere in you.

He gives you that half smile again, the one that gives you something akin to deja vu.

"Reminds me of someone."

You wonder if you might fuck him on the first date, if coffee even counts as a first date, and it's the first time you've ever done that but when he makes you tea and you lean against his kitchen counter he gives you this look. It's like there's something dark and deep in his brown eyes, something both flirty and almost darkly lustful.

It makes your heart flip. It makes your body tingle. It makes you a little afraid.

But you've never been one to run from fear, especially when it's all wrapped up with excitement and lust.

When you're sitting on his couch and sipping tea he's swiveled his body toward you just slightly, open and inviting, but he doesn't make a move, just watches you, listens as you fill the silence, laughs when you make a face when you pick up his tea instead of yours, which is bitter and devoid of the sugar you love.

You make the first move, in fact, end up clutching at his shirt as you kiss his mouth over and over because it feels soft and his tongue is hot and it feels familiar.

His hands skate up your sides once, above your shirt, and then again, under it, and that feels familiar too, long fingers on your flesh.

"You haven't met your soulmate yet," the tarot reader said. You and a friend had visited her a few years ago, when you were half drunk at a carnival.

"At least," she'd continued, "not in this lifetime."

"Are you sure we haven't met before?" You ask, two weeks later when you've spent almost all

your free time with him, and most of it in his bed.

"Maybe in your dreams," he'd quipped, and you elbow him but he's already spooning you and you're too half asleep to do much damage.

"Always in mine," he says, softly, just as you're drifting to sleep, and you can't pry your eyes open long enough to ask what that means.

You start a fling of sorts with this mysterious man, and for the most part, you’re happy. But then you start having these dreams.

Sometimes, there’s fire on a wall in front of you and when you turn around it’s behind you, too.

You can feel your skin burning and you can barely breathe when you wake.

Sometimes there’s thunder booming all around you, lightning that streaks across the sky and you’re running and running toward someone, a man with warm brown eyes, but you can’t get there and when you look down you’re running in water up to your waist.

Always, he’s there. You suppose it’s because you and Baekhyun have been spending so much time together, that he’s in your head all the time as much as you hate to admit it.

Finally, he’s next to you in bed when you bolt upright, frightened by the thunder because it’s one of those fire dreams, one where you can feel the flesh on your arms crinkling, and it burns burns burns until it doesn’t, until you feel so cold you wake up shivering.

You’re afraid and disoriented and the dream all comes out in a rush — you tell him everything, small details about how you’re clutching a rosary in one hand, how the baubles on it popped n the flames, and he puts his arms around you, lets you bury your face in his chest as your heart rate slows down.

“Your name was Eva, then,” he murmurs, so quietly you’d think you were still dreaming.

Something about it rings true. You wonder if you’d heard that in the dream and told him still half asleep, so you nod against his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes into your neck after pulling you into his lap and it’s so mournful it almost frightens you.

“You can’t help my dreams,” you say playfully, trying to forget it, and he gives you the saddest smile.

“No, not those.”

You keep having those dreams, and they get more and more detailed and sometimes your name is Eva and sometimes it’s Yui and sometimes it’s Sarabeth and they’re all different, you look different, but you always feel how it ends.

And Baekhyun is always there. He looks the same, unlike you, and sometimes he’s your enemy, sometimes he’s your friend but most of the time, he’s your lover.

The dream that finally makes you confront him goes like this.

Your name is Angelica and your father was royalty but you’re just a bastard, your mother a commoner, a servant of the crown.

Once you’re old enough to have his eyes, you have to stay hidden like some fairy tale princess. Except you’re no princess in your dusty cabin, and you learn to hunt small game so that your mother doesn’t have to steal so much from the castle. It’s good that you learn, because your mother stops coming to the cabin and you learn that the plague has taken her.

The plague has taken nearly everyone, and you haven’t seen another person in months when you happen upon a man.

You have your bow drawn before he ever sees you, the string (made of rabbit sinew because it’s all you had, the bow made of oak that you’d chopped yourself) and arrow pointed straight and true.

He shifts, turns around and you hesitate just a moment when you catch his gaze, something familiar in his deep brown eyes. It’s long enough for him to draw his own bow, and he’s quick, quicker than you are, so you let your arrow fly.

His arrow flies a second after yours and they meet in the space between you, shredding each other in two.

You’d thought, then, that it was an omen.

Good or bad, you didn’t know.

You’d run back to the cabin and locked yourself in, but he’d followed you.

A few hours later, he knocked on the door and your heart started to race. Your mother had warned you what men could do to an unattended woman.

There was nothing else, though, and you waited half an hour to open the door.

A basket is sitting on the doorstep, and it contains dried meat and fresh cherries and peaches.

You hadn’t had fruit in years. There’s also a small bouquet of flowers, filled with dandelion fluff and baby’s breath, a few blossoms of lavender. It smells lovely.

You take your time eating the peaches, they have the sweetest juice that you let run down your chin like a child.

It’s been so long since you’ve eaten well that you overdo it and your stomach feels tied in a knot, but you’re smiling when you fall asleep that night, for what feels like the first time.

There’s another basket at the end of the week but he’s standing on the doorstep with it, smiling.

“Maiden, I was wondering if you had any water?”

“Will you draw your bow again when I turn my back?” You ask, wary, and he shakes his head, laughing softly.

“You drew yours first, maiden. I was surprised. The plague has taken so many it seems like I’m the only one left in all the world.”

He doesn’t look intimidating, doesn’t look as if he’s about to rush you, but you’ll be damned if you’ll let a strange man into your home, so you sit on the doorstep with him and eat the peaches he’d brought.

He watches the juice drip down your fingers, how you lick it off, with something in his eyes you haven’t seen before.

You sit and chat for a while, still wary, but he keeps looking at you like that, and you wonder if this is what it feels like, if this is what is to be wanted.

Three days and three dinners of peaches and dried meat later, you let him inside for a glass of water drawn from the well out back.

He drinks it down like he’s been thirsty for days, and you feel guilty for not letting him in earlier.

The way he licks his lips when he’s done makes something flutter inside your stomach and you put a hand there, low, almost on your pubic bone.

He watches every move you make, this mystery man who doesn’t have a hint of facial hair despite living in the woods, watches where you place your hands and fingers, how you move your mouth. He watches you as if you’re something fascinating, like watching fire burn wood down to embers.

When you were young, your mother took you to the Maypole festival, and all the children had been given these long sticks to dip in the fire, to twirl them around and make shapes in the night sky. You’d done it over and over until the stick was burned down too far and even then, you tried to dip it and burned your wrist.

He looks at you like you’d looked at the shapes you’d made with the lit stick. With wonder.

The first time he touches you it feels like the first time you’d felt warm water on your skin as a child, warmed on the fire with an iron pot, your mother spooning it over you slowly.

He touches you that way, slowly, murmuring bits of your name and it slides off his tongue like honey.

“Angelica. Angel,” he murmurs, right at the shell of your ear, and your bones seem to turn to jelly as you melt into him, your back against his chest.

Your mother had told you that one day you’d have a lover.

“Not a king,” she’d said, “but something more.”

You’d asked her what’s more than a king and she’d only smiled, held a finger to her lips as if the two of you shared a secret.

You did, your secret was that you existed, that your father was who he was and that your mother wasn’t his queen, at least not in name.

You tremble underneath his hands and when he turns you around, presses his mouth to yours, he does it slowly. You’re the one who grabs the back of his head, threads your fingers through the long hair at the nape of his neck, wanting him closer, so close, wanting to burrow inside him and live there because you’re aching for him all over and you don’t know what it means.

“Let me call you by your name,” you plead when he’s kneeling before you, pulling down your underclothes, spreading the curls at your core where you’re hot and aching and wet.

He shakes his head. “I have too many names.”

“Tell me one of them,” you beg.

He doesn’t answer, presses his mouth to your cunt and you gasp, tugging his hair hard and he makes a low groan, throat exposed, that makes something come awake in your lower stomach, something somehow both like fire and honey, hot and slow and sweet.

“Give me your name,” you demand.

One corner of his mouth turns up.

“My name is Love,” he tells you, and presses his face back into your cunt, inhales like he loves the scent of you, his hands spreading apart your thighs so roughly that you brace your hands on the table behind you.

It isn’t a name you’d heard any man to have, but maybe he isn’t a man, maybe he’s one of the fae your Irish born mother told you stories about when you were a girl.

Maybe that’s the something more your mother told you about your future lover after reading your palm when you were sixteen.

You hunt together, and you’re in awe of how quick he is with his bow, how he shoots straight through the heart of even the smallest animals, voles and rabbits that you roast over the fire and feast on while he tells you wild tales about his brothers and sisters.

One rules the sea, he tells you, with a magic trident. One makes lightning bolts for his father deep underground where there’s fire so hot it melts rock and stone.

You’re fascinated, sit for hours just watching his mouth as he speaks and sometimes you vault into his lap mid sentence, silence him with your mouth on his because you want want want.

Your mother had told you many things about your future lover, about how you should be demure just like a man wants, but you can’t even try, not with him. Not with your mysterious, many named, no named lover, because he presses your nails deep into his chest when you straddle his hips, hisses when you leave bite marks along his throat and collarbone.

You pretend to be demure sometimes, if only to make him frown, to make him throw you down on your bedclothes roughly, to bite your lip bloody.

“Don’t pretend you don’t have talons, angel,” he growled, and you can’t help the way you laugh loud and open, even with your legs spread wantonly.

Physical love isn’t at all like your mother had described it, and you wonder if she’d only ever been with the king, with a man who cared so little for his paramours that he’d allowed your mother to die alone in the slums, locking her out from the castle so that his heirs might live.

It isn’t something that you lie down and take the way your mother must have, sometimes it’s animalistic, feral like you’d seen horses mate at the castle’s stables when you were young.

You present yourself on all fours and he slides his hands down your ass, grabs the flesh there to part you, presses his face into your cunt until your thighs are shaking. It’s not love that you feel during those times, not exactly, more like that want want want that you feel so often with him.

Your breath catches when he pulls your hair, wraps it around his fist so that your back arches, so that you twist to look at him. Later, when you’re both sweaty and sated, that’s when the love comes, loud and blooming in your chest as he kisses the fingerprint bruises he’s left on your hips, his fingers gentle on your sensitive skin until your breath slows.

Love is a thing that blooms, you would write if you’d ever been taught how. Love is my man’s name and it’s blooming in me like spring flowers.

You go for walks to gather berries because you’re too busy fucking to hunt and you can get by on a few more fruits and you don’t want to wake him. Once you’d brought home rose petals for tea and a piece of a honey comb that had made his eyes light up.

He’d spread the honey across your nipples, suckled and nipped there until you were sore, and one day, you want that again, especially the way his brown eyes sparkled when he’d seen it.

You have a way with the bees, after all, a way of singing high and sweet that makes them buzz around you slowly instead of angrily.

You’re halfway down the path before you realize you’ve left your quiver and bow. Love (both the man and the feeling) makes you feel stupid, heady and slow, and you pause for a moment, wondering if you should turn back.

Instead, you head forward because it’ll be sunset soon and you won’t be able to find that tree, the one with the beehive and honeycomb that your man loves so much.

It happens so quickly it feels like an instant. You step out from the bushes after gathering some blackberries, so juicy they’ve stained your fingers, and the next thing you know, you’re on the ground. When you try to stand, you can’t, a pain blooming (a lot like love) through your stomach and you’re sure there weren’t any raspberries so what’s this red spreading out onto the ground?

You see your man’s boots, barely laced, before you see his face and someone behind you is stuttering but you hear the swish of your lover’s arrow, a choked, gurgling sound and then he’s knelt down at your side.

“Angel, angel,” he whispers, and he’s crying and you want to tell him not to because it makes you afraid.

What’s happened? What’s wrong?

You don’t realize you’re not actually speaking until he cradles your face, lies down in the dirt to face you, and everything but his touch, his eyes, seems far away and unimportant.

“I’m sorry,” he says brokenly. “I need you to remember. When next we meet, remember my name.”

You want to. You want to remember everything about him but you’re sure that you’re floating away now.

“Baekhyun,” he tells you. “My name will be Baekhyun.”

As an immortal, it's hard to remember every moment. Years and decades blur together. The only moments Baekhyun can call to mind in perfect recall are the first times he's seen you

For a while, he’d thought Rome might be the worst lifetime he’d ever have.

He knows what he’s supposed to do, knows it’s his job, but he can barely ever bring himself to do it.

In Rome, you’re excited, young, bouncing around with your hair braided. Fire red, always red, always as fiery as your personality. “Eros, right? God of love.”

He’d smiled, wondering if he looked as tired as he felt. “You think I’m a god? I’m flattered.”

You scoff, swirl your dress around as you turn, speaking with your hands as always and his heart aches with how familiar it all is. “Don’t think that means you’re special.”

Baekhyun cocks an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yes. Means that you’re here to help me fall in love.”

“Is that so?” He can’t stop smiling at you, despite knowing what will inevitably happen next.

“Mmhm.” You’d taken his hand, flipped your braid over to the other side of your shoulder. He always tries. He always tries, gods damn it, damn his father and his brothers and sisters, he tries.

But there’s always this moment, where you take his hand, or brush your knuckles against his lips just so, or you just look at him up under your lashes, and the arrow he’s supposed to be aiming feels like it goes straight through his heart.

“I have someone in mind.”

It’s like the arrow in his heart twists, and gods know his arrows have always been true and fatal.

Your smile is so bright, and his heart is so full but it hurts at the same time and what a curse this is, to be able to fall in love with you so easily but have you fall for someone else just as fast.

He tells himself that he won’t try to change your mind, that he won’t let himself get close to you as you go on this search for your true mate.

You’d been childhood sweethearts, you and your match, but he’s been called away to war and you’ve been in mourning ever since.

He’s a god, but he is the god of love, after all, and with all your heart you believed that you loved another. He tells himself he’s doing the right thing… for the third time.

The first time, when it had all started, he’d fallen in love with you and seduced you and you’d forgotten all about your true match and it had all ended in fire and blood.

In Rome, in your third lifetime, he tells himself he won’t let that happen again. So when you put your hand on his thigh when you crouch down to drink on your journey, he wills his skin not to heat and his heart not to skip.

Three weeks in and you’re exhausted, your feet are swollen and bleeding from all the walking and you slide into his furs instead of your own, press your face against his chest.

“Maybe he’s gone,” you say, quietly, and Baekhyun is as still as death, telling himself he doesn’t want to lean down to kiss you, to tell you that it doesn’t matter where your sweetheart is because he’s here and ready and he wants you more than anything.

“We’ll find him,” he promises, and it’s a promise he keeps, even when you press your mouth to his and he takes it, this small comfort, until you fall into a fitful sleep.

Greece was bittersweet, because you found your match in the end and Baekhyun shot his arrow hoping that he’d miss. But his arrow was true, shot straight into the heart of your paramore.

You found your true match, fell in love, had children, and Baekhyun could have gone. Could have sailed away at sea, gone anywhere in the world. But even in Greece he’d spent three lifetimes with you (in one way or another) and he can’t bring himself to be more than a few miles away from you.

Instead, he’d watch you playing with your daughter in the garden, watch you kiss your husband, laughing into his mouth when he picked you up.

He watched you grow old, have grandchildren, plant roses that still never bloomed. You were never a gardener, no matter how you tried. It’s odd, how happy he feels for you, and how his heart clenches in his chest, how hard he wishes it were him.

He would never grow old, and he would never have you more than a few fleeting weeks, months, once even two wonderful years. Eros is love, and love isn’t supposed to fall in love.

So when he did, all those years ago, his father cursed him to find your match, over and over and over. It was you then and it’s you in Greece and Rome and England and Portugal and a thousand other countries that didn’t even have names when he’d met you there.

He’d thought Greece would be the worst because of the longing, because of the jealousy that brewed vile in the back of his throat, but Rome was much worse.

The Church ruled everything and at first Baekhyun thought that was normal. After all, when he was young he and his family had ruled everything. These are just different gods, although perhaps harsher ones.

They called you a harlot because of the fire red of your hair, the way you wore dresses slit up to your hip, the way you'd laugh if someone asked the last time you'd gone to confession.

"You should go to Mass," he'd warned with a lock of that fire red hair slipping through his fingers.

You'd smiled at him. "Why's that, lover? You want to hear my confession?"

He tugs your hair, exposing your throat as you let out a raspy moan, grinding against his thigh.

"What have you to confess, stellina?”

(Of all the languages and all the pet names he'd called you, stellina is his favorite, translates to star, and you burn so bright and beautiful it breaks his heart.)

"Impure thoughts," you muse. "Fornication before marriage.”

You pause. "This might take some time, amore."

You slide down under the linen, leaving open mouthed kisses and nips on his hip bones and thighs, and he forgets what he was going to warn you about.

(He loves any term you call him, in Spain mi corazon, in England love, in German liebling. But his true favorite is when you learn his name, his true name.)

You die fighting, that lifetime, clawing at the priests who’ve decided a witch needs baptism, holding you under the water until you finally stop, your nails broken and bloody.

Baekhyun finds you there, hours too late because he’d been sleeping off the night before, when he’d warned you about Mass, when you’d both stayed up all night, love talk and making love and a good deal of fucking, too, and he hates himself.

Hates that even though he is what he is, he needs sleep and food and water. He hates himself when he lifts you up, your fire red hair darkened by the water, hates himself when he kisses your bloody nails one by one and buries you behind the garden where you used to plant roses that never bloomed.

He hates himself most because it never gets easier, seeing you die, never gets easier knowing that he can’t, that he’s cursed to do this over and over.

In 1402, in Malaysia, you’d just had two streaks of red locks in the front, tendrils that stuck to the sides of your face when you were sweating, and you’re sweating when he first sees you, although you hit him before he ever sees your face.

You’d dropped down from a tree branch, locked your arms around his neck and cut off his airflow. It isn’t as if you could have killed him, but he respects it, all the same. You’ve got this little knife and you slice his throat but it doesn’t bleed, closes up as you watch and you drop to your knees, wide eyed but still, not submitting. Even when you know he’s a god, you never submit. At least, not that way.

Later, he kisses all the scars on your forearms and wrists, defensive wounds from battles and scuffles with the male soldiers who’d found you out.

"I never let them break me," you'd said, proudly, but there's something behind your eyes that makes him want to slaughter all the male soldiers in their sleep, bring you their heads, a sacrifice like the old gods had demanded.

As he had once demanded, before he met a human girl with an immortal soul full of fire and was punished for worshipping her.

Now it's 2021 and he's been through so many years, and he's tired. He's changed his name, over and over, from Eros to Cupid to then more common names.

He's been Baekhyun the last four lifetimes because you seem to like it, it makes you giggle in 1924 when your red (always red, red like fire and blood and love and all things that are important to him) hair was bobbed and you were wearing a black sequined dress at a speakeasy.

"Baek," you'd laughed, tipsy, one hand on his arm and he couldn't stop smiling at you. "Almost like Bark, like a dog."

"I'll be whatever you want me to be," he'd answered, flirting but also honest. He'd always been whatever you wanted because he got so few years with you, each time.

"You'd be my dog?" Your eyes sparkled with booze and excitement.

He nodded. "Follow you around like a puppy."

When you'd given him an incredulous smile, he'd opened his mouth in the middle of a packed speakeasy in New York City and barked like a dog.

The way you'd laughed is something he can hear in his dreams years later, tries to make it the memory he remembers most instead of the ones where you'd died screaming.

Now, there are no more gods who want you for sacrifice, all of his kind who were vengeful had gone silent, moved on or passed on, including his father who'd cursed him in the first place.

He's hoping, every lifetime, that this is where it ends. He's hoping that this time he doesn't have to tell you.

He's wrong, just like he had been in 1425 and 1604 and 1976. The curse outs itself, as curses always do.

You sit up in bed, watching him sleep and shivering, for what seems like hours after that dream.

He wakes slowly, but scrambles up into a seated position as soon as he’s fully conscious, being careful not to touch you.

“Do you remember?” He asks.

“I don’t know.” You mumble, even if you have a feeling you do.

“At some point, you always remember.”

“What are you talking about? Why are you so goddamn cryptic?” Your voice is hoarse and loud.

He nods, as if expecting your outburst.

“Sometimes you’re not ready to hear.”

You want to scream in frustration. “Hear what?”

“What I am. What we are.”

“And what are we?”

“Immortals.”

You gawk at him. He makes it sound so simple, like he’s talking to a child.

“You’re an immortal?”

“You, too.” He pauses. “Well, in a different way.”

“So what, you’re telling me that was real? My dream? Angelica?”

Baekhyun lets out a long breath, shifts on the bed to face you.

“You were Eva. Angelica. Yui. In Greece I called you stellina. You’ve had more names than I have.”

You look up into his eyes and if he’s lying, he deserves an Academy award for the performance.

“What… what are you?”

You aren’t sure if you’re frightened or intrigued or both.

Baekhyun smiles then, wryly.

“Eros. Cupid. Angelica simply called me Love.”

“You’re telling me you’re like... the god of love? The one with the arrows?”

He looks as if he wants to laugh at you but wisely, he doesn’t. Instead he nods.

“Is it… is it always like it was when… when I was Angelica?” You ask, breathing in deeply because you remembered the pain in your chest, the way the blood spread out on the dirt in your lucid dream.

“Almost always,” he says softly, and reaches out to put his hands on yours.

You would have thought you would have flinched away but instead, his touch seems to comfort you and you lean into him.

“What happens when I don’t?” You ask, curiously, and something shutters over his eyes.

“You’re happy.” He rubs your knuckles between his fingers.

It’s a lot to take in and you have a million more questions but also, you can’t think of a single one that you can put into words. You pace around the bedroom and when that’s not enough, your entire apartment, and then outside to the elevator and back and he stays put, sitting cross legged in bed and looking at you with those deep brown eyes.

Finally, you plop down on the edge of the bed, exhausted.

“So what do we do?”

He just looks at you, again with that bemused smile playing at the edge of his mouth.

“How do we fix it?” You demand.

Instead of responding, he takes your hands in his again, brushes his lips across your knuckles but this time you do recoil.

“I’m not going to die horribly again. You can’t want that.”

“Of course I don’t,” he murmurs, and you want a reaction, something other than the way he’s just looking at you so you shove him and he just lets you, falls back on the bed when you do it a second time.

“You just keep letting me die?” You accuse, crawling up onto the bed and he makes a growl in the back of his throat, grasps your wrists with one of his hands and pins you when you try to shove him again.

“I never let you die. I try over and over and over to save you, but I can’t. The only way I can save you is by finding-”

He looks away from you, shuts his mouth with a click of his teeth and you wriggle under him.

“Finding what?” You insist.

He lets you go, rolls over and puts his forearm over his eyes.

“Your true match. In all the lifetimes that you’ve lived to old age in, I shot my arrow to find your true match.”

You deflate, lying there next to him and staring up at the ceiling.

“So you’re saying in order to live like a normal person, I have to fall in love with someone else?”

“Yes,” he says miserably. After a few moments, he lifts his arm and opens one eye to look at you. “Got anyone in mind?”

You shove at his arm, but not as hard this time, and he breaks into a smile, takes you into his arms. You melt against him, just like before, because that’s what feels right, that’s what feels natural.

“That happened? Before?” You ask, stroking his hair and usually he preens at the attention, leans back to kiss you but now he buries his face in your hair, avoiding your gaze.

He murmurs something in affirmation and kisses just under your earlobe.

“You found someone else for me?”

He nods, still not lifting his head, and you huff out a breath, wanting some kind of reaction out of him.

“Was he hot?”

Baekhyun groans and laughs, rolls over onto his back. ‘You always do this.”

“Always do what?” You demand, poking at his side. “You know all these things about me...or well, some version of me, and I don’t know anything about you.”

He looks at you, smiling just a little. “You know everything about me.”

You huff, frustrated. “It doesn’t feel like it. I want to know more. I want to know how I died, why I died, what all this means.”

To his credit, Baekhyun tries to explain it to you. The curse, his family, but it’s all twisted up in your mind with these memories you have of him in past lives, of being so in love with him you can barely breathe, wanting him so badly you can barely sit still, and it ends with you tearing off his clothes and him laughing into your mouth as you guide him inside you.

After, you’re contrite, kissing along his collarbone.

“I don’t want you to find anyone else for me.”

Baekhyun makes a sound in the back of his throat and you don’t know if it’s surprise or something else.

“I don’t want anyone but you,” you continue, orgasm drunk and with this fire burning under your skin, remembering how Angelica felt, how Yui felt, moving closer to him on the bed because you can’t bear to have your skin not touching his in every place you can.

He pulls you on top of him, kissing you after you squeal in surprise and your lips feel swollen and bruised already but it’s the sweetest ache.

“I don’t think I could, even if you asked,” he admits, and something about the way he says it makes you proud, makes your heart swell. His hands skate over your upper arms and his touch gives you goosebumps.

“No?” You shift to spread your thighs, liking the way he hardens under you with just the barest movement.

Baekhyun shakes his head, his tongue coming out slowly to lick his lips. You see that you’ve bitten his bottom lip bloody and it sends a shot of heat through you.

“Usually I never found anyone else for you, not after I’d touched you. I started out meaning to find someone for you. Touching you first… having you first… it makes things complicated.”

You don’t speak but shift again and it seems to spur him on.

His face is flushed and it’s cute, makes you smile.

“You know why.”

“Do I?” You’re grinning now, like the cat that ate the canary, and he groans but he’s smiling.

He sits up suddenly, bracing himself against the headboard and he puts his hands on your hips to move you backwards so that his half hard erection sits right at the cleft of your cunt and when you gasp and try to guide him inside you, he tightens his hands with a slight shake of his head.

“You gonna make me say it?”

“You know I am.”

You gasp when he puts pressure on your clit with his thumb, humming in the back of his throat.

“I’ve loved you for centuries, and I’ll love you for centuries more, stellina.”

“What does that mean?” You gasp, your insides on fire with lust and love and full to bursting, rocking your hips forward and he gives you what you want, puts more pressure on your clit and lets you guide his cock inside you.

“Star,” he says softly, moving a hand up to cup your cheek. “Because you burn.”

You do burn, you burn inside and out and you want to tell him that you burn for him but he sticks his thumb in your mouth, presses down on your tongue just how you like and all you can do is moan around it.

He keeps his other thumb positioned just right so that you can rock against his hand and lift your ass so that his cock slides against your g-spot and you suck on his thumb until he hisses and bucks beneath you, moving so that you can lean down and kiss him hard, brace your hands on either side of him so that you can get more traction.

You’re sure that you’ll be sore in the morning, ever since you’ve met him (in this lifetime, at least) you’ve been in some type of bittersweet pain, an ache across your throat, soreness in your thighs and hips and ass where you’ve been riding him, a rawness deep inside from too much sex and not enough rest.

There’s never enough, never enough of your sweat misted skin sliding across his, never enough of his hand fisted in your hair, of his cock at the back of your throat, of his fingers hooked inside you. The past couple of weeks you’ve only left his apartment for work and a few changes of clothes (not that you wore them much, anyway).

It makes you feel more sane, knowing that you’ve wanted him this way in other lifetimes, makes you feel like the way you feel makes more sense, because you were beginning to think you were going crazy.

It isn’t as if he’s some kind of sex god, exactly, he just seems to know exactly what you like, exactly what you want, right away. That makes a kind of sense, now, how even when you’re on top he knows exactly what to do and say to get you to tip over the edge.

“I love the way you look like this,” he rasps, looking up at you as if maybe you are a star exploding and it isn’t just some nickname he gave you in Rome. “You’re so fucking beautiful, you know that?”

You cry out his name, throwing your head back when you cum and he palms his hands across your breasts and the stimulation across your nipples sends an aftershock through you right after. You’re like a ragdoll for a few moments after your orgasm and he shifts you around just like one, using you to get off and you kiss and kiss and kiss him, loving the way it feels when he spills inside you.

You say it then, maybe because he said it to you first or maybe just because your heart is full to bursting with it.

“I love you.” It’s almost defiant. “I love you, and I don’t want to love anyone else.”

He strokes your cheek where you’re still lying on top of him.

“I don’t know if we get a choice, stellina.”

There’s always questions when you find out, and Baekhyun is prepared for them. There’s often questions that hurt, somewhere deep in his bones, questions you’d asked over and over again.

Sometimes you’re curious about your other perfect matches, and that stings. Sometimes you want to know about your deaths, and those are hard memories to bring to the surface.

The question that always hurts the most, though, is the one you ask after you’ve both showered, lying sated and exhausted in his bed, the curtains blacking out the sun outside.

“Did we ever have children?”

You’re rubbing your stomach and there’s something caught in his throat and he has to cough to clear it.

“We didn’t. You did. Sometimes.”

You look up at him and frown. “With my true match?”

Baekhyun heaves a sigh so deep it hurts his chest. “With him, yes.”

You pause. “Was it the same guy? Same… soul, I guess?”

Baekhyun nods slowly, his heart sinking, but you don’t ask anything more, you just lie your head on his shoulder.

He wonders what you’re thinking, wonders where it branches off from here. He’s been here so many times before. He feels more tired than he should.

But instead of asking more questions or storming out crying or any of the things you’d done after you’d found out, you start to snore softly, curled up next to him.

Baekhyun wonders idly if he’ll be able to sleep, but he’s drifting off before he’s even completed the thought.

When he wakes, you’re gone, and he scrambles out of bed in his boxers to pace around the house. He can feel you aren’t around and it’s like a hole in his chest. It’s always been that way, he knows when you’re close and when you’re not, and you must be miles away because now, there’s nothing.

When he checks his phone you’ve texted that you’ll be back with food. He’s shocked that it’s nearly noon, it hadn’t even been sunset when he’d dozed off.

Perhaps immortals can be just as bone tired as mortals, sometimes. After a dozen lifetimes of fighting, he doesn’t know why he’s surprised.

He waits for you, sitting on the couch and idly flipping through the channels, and he thinks about when it all ends. His father had moved on, had no one worshipping his name anymore, and it isn’t as if school children are learning much about Eros, Cupid relegated to only one day out of a year with awful sour sweet candy and paper mache hearts. He’s stored his bow a few hundred miles away, hoping that this lifetime he wouldn’t need it, hadn’t actually found a true match for anyone but you in centuries.

Baekhyun wonders, with no real sense of urgency or fear, if this is the last lifetime. There’s a kind of exhaustion he’s never felt before that seems to weigh him down, and he’s finding it hard to care about anything but you. He hopes it happens before you pass, before the curse ends your life too young and too violently. He wants to move on and set you free, because he knows he can’t resist you for more than a couple of lifetimes. He’s tried too many times and failed.

You return bright eyed and with half a dozen books and a notebook, a pen pinched between your teeth.

At your urging he goes out to the car and brings in the breakfast you’d bought and you spread your books across the table.

“Greek and Roman Mythology for Dummies.” He reads aloud, laughing, and you look up at him from the floor and frown.

“Don’t judge me, this is all new to me.”

He holds up his hands. “Not judging. What’s all this for?”

“I’m going to find a way to end the curse, of course.”

Baekhyun sits down hard on the couch. “Oh.”

“What does that mean?” You demand, your nose scrunching up just a little.

He can’t help but smile at you, and he shrugs.

No reason to shoot down your hopes. Not yet, at least.

Four hours later, your eyes red rimmed from staring at books and your laptop screen, you jump onto the couch and into his lap.

“I found it!” You screech, and kiss all over his face.

Baekhyun smiles, kisses you back, and you make love there on the couch. You want to be bent over, his hand on the small of your back to keep you over the couch arm, up on your tiptoes and making a little grunting noise every time he thrusts into you.

Baekhyun may be exhausted after all this time but he never gets tired of this. He never gets tired of you.

Your moans are muffled in the couch cushions but he hears his name, the one he always uses with you, ever since you were Angelica and that hunter’s arrow had pinned you to the ground.

Baekhyun is tired. He’s tired in a way he’s sure no human ever could be. He’s tired of all the times he’s lost you, to your true match and then worse, to death, and he’s tired of living them over and over again.

But when you stand up, twist his face to kiss him, your eyes bright when you grin against his mouth, he thinks that it’s all been worth it.

You’re always worth it, and the thought of getting to meet you again, another you, is all it takes for him to keep going.

It takes a few months to get the time off work, match up travel plans, and get supplies.

Supplies meaning mostly travel gear and light clothes and a passport, the place you need to get to is high up on a cliffside in Northern Greece.

Baekhyun’s supportive enough, you guess, but you feel a bit nervous about his lack of excitement when you’re finally there, in Greece, at a gorgeous resort near the cliffside. Money hadn’t been a problem. Apparently when you’re immortal you manage to accrue a bit of savings.

“Aren’t you happy? Doesn’t this feel like home?”

Baekhyun laughs, loud and open, for what seems like the first time since you’d found out.

“This isn’t my home, stellina. I’m older than Greece.’

You blink, shocked. “But you are Eros.”

He nods. “I’m Eros, and Cupid, and Ishtar, and Kuni. Many gods and goddesses, different names. My duty and purpose was always the same, but I’ve never had a home. Except with you.”

He brushes your cheek with his nose and you sigh, hate that the way he says that so simply, as if it’s the whole truth, makes your heart clench.

“Still, you remember being here.”

Baekyun nods, staring out at the sea, reliving some life you only half remember.

You don’t ask many more questions, at least not until the next day when Baekhyun is listlessly pulling on his clothes and you’re tugging at his hands, excited, wanting to hurry and have this curse looming over your head end, so that you can stop thinking about it.

“Why aren’t you happier about this?” You pout, but you quiet when he looks up at you, his usually warm brown eyes dull and exhausted.

“You haven’t been sleeping?” You ask, softer now.

Baekhyun shrugs. “Some.”

Then he grins at you and there’s a flicker of life in his eyes. “I’m a very old man, you know. I need my rest.”

It makes you laugh, makes you forget, and you don’t think of it again until you’re hiking up the trail, about an hour’s long journey to reach the top.

He’s behind you by a few hundred feet and you frown at him, waiting until he reaches you. You’ve never seen him out of breath.

You take his hand, tug him further up the trail but it’s only a few moments before he stops, bracing himself on a tree near the trail.

“Stop,” he wheezes, and you do, tilting your head at him in confusion.

“Baekhyun, we have to-”

“Just stop,” He insists, and you’d think he was angry if his voice weren’t shaking.

“Why? What’s wrong? What aren’t you telling me?” You fire off at him, moving closer, and he shakes his head.

You take his chin in your hand and force him to look at you.

His brown eyes are still as tired as earlier, and wet now, too.

“I don’t want to do this again,” he manages hoarsely.

You take a step back. “Have we done this before? Have we been here before?”

Baekhyun doesn’t answer, but there’s a truth in his silence.

Your eyes begin to well with tears. “So what? Maybe this time it’ll work, maybe this is different-”

“It’s not different. In France you were called Jacqueline and we came here. You read books about it, forced me here just like you did this time. You were so certain it had worked.”

You shake your head but he keeps talking.

“You were so certain that after a couple of months, I was certain too. Three months later, there was a bus accident.” His voice breaks and he’s quiet again and you feel like you can’t breathe properly for the ache in your throat.

“We don’t know that will happen again.”

“I know!” He bursts out. “I know it will happen because it does, over and over again! Listen, we should go back to the hotel. I can get my bow out of storage and-”

“No!” You cry, stalking over to him. “No, that’s not the way to fix this.”

Baekhyun laughs bitterly, and he won’t look at you. “There’s no way to fix this.”

“You don’t know that,” you say stubbornly. “Whoever I’ve been in the past, I’ve never been this person, and I know I can fix it.”

He pushes himself away from the tree as if it takes effort to do it. “You always say that,” he says, and he doesn’t sound angry anymore, just tired.

You’re angry, heat rushing through your veins, and you don’t know if it’s at him or the fact that some ancient curse has decided to come through your life like a brushfire.

You push at him and he doesn’t fight back, doesn’t even keep you from pushing him against the tree.

“You don’t care, is that it? You’re what, bored of this? You want to get your bow so you can get rid of me?”

His jaw tightens and he looks away from you. “Maybe I do.”

You push him again and he has nowhere to go, backed up against the tree so he just takes it, stands there.

“Coward.” You spit. “You’d rather match me with someone else. You’d rather let someone else-”

“Stop it,” he says, something like a warning in his voice and you want to laugh or cry or both.

“Look at you. You can’t even hear me say it, but you’re going to marry me off like some 14th century child bride-”

“I’m not-” Baekhyun huffs, then stops, runs his hand through his hair. “He’s your true match. You… you always love him, when you meet him.” He struggles with the last sentence but he maintains eye contact, jaw working.

“Fuck my true match. And fuck you if that’s your answer to this.” You rage.

He doesn’t speak. “You’re always happy when you find him.” His voice is weak and it sounds like a weak excuse to your ears and you’re shaking with anger and fear.

You have this memory, sudden and sharp like a knife.

You're in this stone room, an inn you think, and you're half asleep but you can hear a low murmur from the room. It's familiar, from your traveling companion of the last few weeks.

His name is on your lips as you sit up but he's pacing around the room, not paying any attention to you. The way he's talking to himself makes you worried.

"You have to do this. You have to, you know you do," he mutters and there's something liquid in his voice.

Suddenly he slaps himself across the face and you yelp his name, stand up to take his wrist in your hand.

"Baekhyun," you whisper. "What are you doing?"

His face is flushed and his eyes look so tired, so worn, like he's lived a thousand years.

"I'm sorry I woke you," he manages, pulling away from your touch as if you'd burn him.

A few days later, his hands are shaking when he draws his bow, and your eyes are on him instead of your true match.

"Wh-what if you miss?" You whisper.

Baekhyun smiles but he won't look at you. "I don't miss."

He doesn't, but part of you wishes he had.

The memory just makes you angrier, makes you want to push him again.

“Am I? And what about you? What about you, Baek, are you happy without me? Are you happy giving me away?”

He scoffs, finally looking at you.

“No, really. Tell me. You must be happy giving me away because you want to do it so badly-”

“I hate it!” He bursts out. “I fucking hate it, every single time. I hate the way you look at him. I even hate how happy he makes you. I should be happy giving you away so that you can be safe, so that you can have the family that you want, but I fucking hate it.”

“Why do you hate it?” You demand to know, tears streaming down your face.

“You know-” he starts and you shake your head.

“I need you to tell me.”

Baekhyun puffs out his cheeks, he does that when he’s frustrated, when he wants to scream but you don’t have time to think about how cute it is right now.

“I hate it because I love you. I hate it because whoever your true match is, you’re mine.” He says, finally, heaving in a deep breath and exhaling slowly.

“Because I’m yours,” you parrot back at him, and his mouth opens, brows furrowed in a frown.

He takes a step toward you, now, but you don’t back away, and you don’t flinch when he takes your hips in his hands, tugs you toward him, claiming your mouth.

You claw at him, can’t help yourself and you don’t care that brambles are scratching your legs when he lies you down on the ground, don’t care because he’s panting your name into your ear, your name, not all those previous yous. You don’t care because you’ve chosen him, despite whatever the gods had determined to be your “true match.”

“We have to do this,” you tell him as you’re adjusting your clothes and he’s still lying there, panting.

He nods, as if humoring you, but he isn’t as listless when he starts back up the trail with you, keeping up with you and stealing kisses and making small talk.

You’re sweating by the time the two of you reach the top of the mountain, and when you look back, Baekhyun has fallen behind a bit, struggling up the hill.

You startle when thunder cracks overhead, sudden and close, but you walk back down the path to him, put your hand on his arm and he’s trembling.

“We’ve never made it this far,” he says, voice hoarse. “I don’t know what will happen next.”

“We don’t ever know what happens next, Baekhyun, but you know what happens when we don’t.”

Baekhyun shakes his head. “Not if you let me get my arrows, we can stop all of this, we can-”

“No!” You yell. “No, shut up about that, I can make my own choices!”

You tug on his arm and he stumbles forward only a few steps before stopping again and you can see the circle of stones at the top of the hill, where you’re supposed to stand according to the legends, and you haven’t done weeks of research and travelled across the world for nothing.

You take his hand in yours, squeeze, and look into his eyes.

“It’s okay,” you promise, and you have no idea what’s about to happen and it’s raining now, cold against your skin, but you know that you have to do this.

Baekhyun looks at you and there’s nothing in his eyes but fear and uncertainty but you tug at his hand again anyway and this time he follows without resistance.

It happens so quickly after that.

You step into the circle first, and he pauses, hesitating before breaking the barrier by stepping over one of the irregular stones. The second he does, lightning cracks above your head and you cry out, frightened.

Baekhyun grabs you out of instinct or some desire to protect you and you go down, scraping your elbows against the rock and sand as you try to catch yourself. Baekhyun puts his hands on either side of your head and it’s raining so hard that it’s all you can hear, that and the thunder, and there’s lightning everywhere, lighting up his features as he looks down at you.

“I was never strong enough to do this before,” he says, nearly yelling over the storm. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t-”

He’s cut off by another crack of lightning and he seems to be… lighting up, somehow, some glow that you think is from the lightning but then you see it’s coming from inside him. He arches his back, his face lined with pain and you realize something’s happening, something bad but when you reach up to touch him, he’s giving off so much heat that the tips of your fingers burn.

“Baek,” you whisper, and he manages to focus on you again. When he does, his face… it isn’t his face, but somehow you recognize it anyway and it keeps changing, cycling through all the lifetimes you’ve shared together.

“I’ve been so many things,” he says, and his voice is strong even over the chaos. “but I’ve always been yours.”

He manages to touch his forehead to yours and you’re terrified by the storm and what’s happening and especially how it seems to pain him to even move, how he’s glowing brighter and brighter until your eyes start watering.

He says your name but it’s your name and Jacqueline and Eva and Yui and so many others, all wrapped into one, and kisses you, the bright light coming from him forcing your eyes shut as he gets closer.

When you open them, there’s no sound of the rain or thunder and the ground under you is dry, as if you’d imagined it all.

But you can taste the rainwater in your mouth. You can still taste him there, too, but he’s gone.

You scramble up, yelling out his name and there’s nothing, just the sound of the birds in the trees. Moments before, the sky had been black, but now it’s sunny again.

You don’t realize you’re crying until you feel the tears running down your throat as you stumble down the path.

You’re sobbing by the bottom of the path because there’s nothing, no evidence he was even there at all. You’re remembering what he said, how he said you’d never been that far before, but you’re wondering if he’d known, anyway.

You’re wondering if breaking the curse means that he has to die and how all of this is your fault your fault your fault.

There’s a sound in the woods and you barely realize it until there’s a man standing next to you.

“Miss? Are you all right?”

You sniffle, looking up at him, and your breath catches in your throat.

It’s Baekhyun, just the same, wearing the wet and sandy clothes he’d been wearing just a few moments ago, but something’s wrong and you can’t rush to him like you want to.

“Baekhyun?”

He rubs the back of his neck, smiles a little sheepishly. “Is that my name? I seem to have forgotten it. I think… I think I got lost.”

You think about how this feels, how there’s not a single light of recognition in his eyes and it feels like your chest has cracked wide open. You think about how he must have felt this, over and over again, and understand why he didn’t want you to have to feel it.

You take a deep, shaky breath and wipe at your eyes with the heels of your hands.

“You’re not lost,” you tell him, and take his hand.

Baekhyun looks down at your hand in his and then back up to you, a smile breaking across his face. “No, doesn’t seem like it anymore.”

You’re trying not to cry as you lead him back to the resort when he stops and you turn back to look at him.

“I know this might seem like an odd question, but… have we met before?”

It hurts but you crack a smile anyway, remembering how he’d done this for you over and over, remembering what he’d said to you a few months ago.

“Maybe in another life.”

[oddsnendsfanfics]

Unraveling in the Sheets

Genre: Fan Fiction

Pairing: Henry Cavill/OFC

Warnings: Language, Sexual Content, NSFW

Rating: M

Length: Short Story

Disclaimer: a strict work of fiction, I own nothing except the original characters and the plot line. In no way am I affiliated to any of it.

A/N: Spoiler Alert, there is smut. Be warned. It's there.

Also, I am no longer doing tags on posts. Since my list exceeds the tag limit. Please feel free to join the chat in place of the tag list.

Henry Cavill Master List

“How did you do it though?” Gliding the car into a free parking space, Henry glanced at Nell in the passenger's seat.

“How did I do what?” Eyeing him curiously, she tried to hide her gloating smile. She could be a terrible winner, even if she wasn't the winner, she had came ahead of Henry.

“You know what I mean, Nelly.”

He looked so silly, his new mustache curling when he laughed or smiled. Nell had to admit, if any man could wear the 'stache Henry did it well.

“Oh, you mean how did I suddenly leave your ass behind and finish nearly 50 positions ahead?” She laughed, crinkling her nose. “I told you, I've been working hard for this. Besides, you're too big. You move slower than I do. It's that simple. Maybe next year, you will finish ahead of me.”

“You're impossible.” Unbuckling his seat belt, Henry hurried to get out of the car and around to the other side, before Nell could open her own door. Nearly there, he frowned when she opened the door, stepping out of the Aston Martin. “You were supposed to let me open that.”

“I am supposed to do a lot of things that I do not.” Nell grabbed her hand bag. “I'll let you open the door, next time. You big dork.”

Henry was always the gentleman, even when Nell would rather rip his eyes out than speak to him in a civil manner. Not that she ever felt the former much, but on the rare occasion. Sometimes that's how things went for ex-lovers. The mid May air was growing cool, leaving a few goosebumps on Nell's exposed arms. She had expected to be back before now, which is why she'd left her sweater in the hotel.

“Well, happy late birthday. It was nice having dinner with your family. I've missed them.”

“They've missed you, too. I could tell that dad was happy you came along. He hasn't talked that much during a dinner since the last time you came over.” Henry smiled fondly. "I'm glad that you came, Nelly." Hands in his pockets, Henry sauntered along beside Nell. Approaching the main entrance, he held the door allowing her to enter. 

When he'd invited her for the weekend, he wasn't confident that she would come. Wrapped up in work, Nell didn't take too much time away from Dublin these days.

"It was a nice break from work." Tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, Nell bit her bottom lip. "I know that you are busy, but do you have a few minutes to talk?"

"I always have time to talk with you." Scanning the hotel lobby, Henry tried to find a spot for them to sit and chat privately. "Should we have a seat at the bar?"

"We could, but I would really like to change. Do you mind coming up with me? We can just talk in the room. It's probably more comfortable anyway."

"Is this about the wild boy?"

"Isn't it always?" 

Laughing, Henry pushed the call button for the elevator. Their son was truly something else. One day he would surely take over the world; Henry could see that coming from the day he was born.  To say Ivan was Henry's pride and joy would be a massive understatement. He lived for their son. This weekend having Ivan, and Nell, in Jersey had been fantastic. A short glimpse of what life could have been. The ding of the elevator brought Henry back from his brief fantasy.

He and Nell had split up several years ago, there wasn't much chance she would feel the same as he did. Lost in the thoughts of happy little family. Allowing Nell to step onto the elevator first, Henry stood silently with his hands clasped in front of him.

“So, Ivan has been doing well in school?” He may as well get this under way.

“Define doing well,” Nell snickered. “I get a call nearly every day from his teacher. The woman is impossible, but knowing our son, he isn't making it easy for her.”

“I was like that in school. Right up until the day I left.” Henry shrugged. The elevator gently bumping to a stop, he stepped forward to hold the door for Nell.

Muttering a thank you, Nell dug for her key card, leading the way down the hall. She loved this hotel, it was the only one she stayed in, if she could help it, while visiting the Island. A great view of the water on one side, the other dazzling with a fantastic look out into the city. The first time she'd ever been to Jersey, she had stayed in the hotel and fell in love with the charm. There were days when that felt like a life time ago.

Opening the door, Nell paused to allow Henry in. “Have a seat. Anywhere you'd like. Sorry it's kind of a mess. I'm going to change.”

The hotel room was anything but a mess, minus the few sketch books that Nell had dropped on the bed. Always working. Henry took a seat on the edge of the king sized bed, casually glancing at the colour coded notes and designs that Nell had in one of the open sketch books. Costumes. A few notes detailed leather armor and Viking era clothing. She'd done well for herself, since he'd met her. The same shy costume apprentice hiding out on set of The Tudors, was now helping drive forward the details of Vikings.

In the bathroom, Nell pulled off her dress. The fabric had became clingy after a while and she needed to be more relaxed. Running shorts and a tshirt would do the trick. Sighing at her reflection, she bit her bottom lip glancing down at her top. The worn coral Nike tshirt was her favourite, it was showing the love and wear in a few spots. Perhaps she should have picked something less frumpy? She was a busy, single mom she didn't have to look the part. Ah fuck, who cared. Henry certainly wouldn't.

He was here to discuss their son, not flirt with her until she gave in to that smile. Or got lost in his eyes, those gorgeous blue eyes – the left with the flecks of brown. His charm alone was enough to make anyone weak in the knees. Damn it, she needed to get over it. He had moved on. She needed to do the same.

Blowing out a breath, Nell reached for the door, pausing when she heard Henry talking. His tone told her that he was speaking to Ivan. Quietly slipping out of the bathroom, she smiled.

“Hold on, just a sec.” He pushed the screen of his phone, allowing the speaker to connect. “Alright, wild boy. Say goodnight to your mum.”

“Mum, momma, mum.” Ivan's voice filled the room. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Ivan. Are you being a good boy?”

“Uh huh. I love you. Good night.”

“Good night, wild boy. I love you.”

“Night dad.”

“Good night, I love you. I'm going to be back soon, you go to bed and I will see you first thing in the morning.”

“Okay. Oh, dad, can Kal sleep in my room tonight?” Ivan was fond of the large black and white American Akita. Henry laughed.

“Of course he can. You and Kal go to bed, now.”

“Okay, bye.” A little too quickly, Ivan hung up the phone. Henry laughed at the eagerness, he would talk to his mother when he got back to the house. Making sure that Ivan and his dog had gone to bed as they were told, with no fuss.

"Can you believe he is growing this fast? My god where has that time gone?" Henry rubbed his hands against his face. His mustache and subtle stubble scratching his palms. 

"Time is a cruel mistress." Rubbing her hands on her shorts, Nell stood. "Drink? I have a bottle of Johnnie Walker." 

"Of course you do." Smirking, Henry shifted on the side of the bed. “I had a look at some of these designs, by the way. They're magnificent. My god, Nell, you are so talented.”

“You're saying that to be nice,”

Shaking his head, Henry accepted the glass, resting it on his knee. “No, I am saying it because its true. You are one of the most talented costumers that I had ever met. Are you enjoying the job?”

“I love it.” Nell smiled, leaning against the large wooden desk in the corner. “The work is great, the people are amazing, and Ivan is really enjoying it. I'm glad we went.”

“Good, that's good. He talks about it, a lot. He really seems to love being there. I'm glad. Once things settle, I am going to try and come visit. I kind of miss it, Dublin.”

“You should.” She smiled fighting the urge to scoff and roll her eyes. Henry was always busy. He'd make it to Dublin, when Hell froze over. “So, how is work coming on this new character.”

“I can't say much, but I can say that I will be happy when I can shave.” He rubbed the mustache expertly. “It's not as bad as some of the beards that I've had to grow, but it's not my favourite look.”

“You look good with a beard. I know you hate them, but you do.”

Leaning forward to set his glass on the bedside table, Henry licked the whiskey off of his lips. “I'm glad to have that compliment.”

“Sure.” Nell nodded, tipping her glass to finish the drink. “Another?”

“Uh, I'm good.” Henry motioned to his glass. Rubbing his hands across his jeans, he furrowed his brow. “I've been thinking, since I am fairly busy the next few months, what if I keep Ivan for a few extra days? Once you leave, I will take him back to London with me, until I have to go.”

Shifting on the bed, her face warm from the second glass of whiskey, Nell sniffled and cleared her throat. “What about school?”

“What about it? He isn't going to miss much, is he? They're nearly finished up and I don't know how long it will be, until I see him. Possibly not until Christmas.”

All he wanted was to spend a little time with his son, was that so hard? His next move would have to be calculated, Nell had been known to stat arguments over less. If Henry wanted to avoid a shouting match, he would have to go about this carefully. Reaching for his glass, he downed the remaining contents in one large gulp. Sighing.

“I want to hang out with him a little. It wouldn't be more than three days extra. Then you get some time alone, as well. Nell, I know that you need a bit of a break. You work so hard and take care of Ivan, please.”

“If you want to, then I suppose I can't really say no. What kind of mother would I be, if I didn't let you see him?”

“Don't say things like that, please.” Henry reached out, his hand taking hers. Gently stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. “You are a wonderful mum. You know that.”

“Sometimes, I feel like I could do better. I really do.” Nell shrugged, allowing Henry to continue holding her hand.

“All parents feel that way, I am sure. I know that I feel like that, all the time. I guess it's natural, always wanting to do better, to be better, for our children.”

There he went again. There were times when Nell could not stand to be near him, other times she wanted to be as close as possible. Damn it. Watching him talk about Ivan and the few extras days they would be together, Henry's eyes lit up. His smile broad and the enthusiasm in his voice was one that dictated proud father. Nell nodded, only because she felt it was appropriate to the conversation.

Henry continued to chatter about how he wanted to take Ivan to a new exhibit at the Natural History Museum, in London. Leave it to the father and son, finding a day at the museum to be high on the list of fun. Nell sighed, continuing to half listen, half gaze at Henry in awe. One thing she loved – well love could be a strong word – adored? Enjoyed? About Henry was how much he loved Ivan.

Mid sentence about some Sir David Attenborough documentary that he'd watched with Ivan; Nell couldn't help it any longer. Leaning in, without warning, she grabbed Henry's face turning it to her and kissing him. Lips connecting, she stopped and jumped back as if hit by an electric shock.

Clearing his throat, Henry rubbed the back of his neck, but not pulling back. “I didn't know that the National Geographic was that exciting.”

“I'm sorry.” Hiding her face in her hands, Nell shook her head. Oh that had been a mistake. She had absolutely no right. None. Henry was crazy, if he didn't get up right now and walk out. If he was angry, then she deserved that.

Blushing, Nell shook her head. “Henry, I shouldn't have.”

“I'm certainly not going to complain.” He shrugged, leaning in his arm sliding around her shoulder. Nell glanced up, getting the nerves to look at him. Oh she had fucked up. “Next time, I would like some warning though.”

“Warning? Next time?”

“Hmm, yes. Kind of like this, close your eyes.” Henry instructed pulling her closer and kissing her. Nell sighed her body melting against him. She loved the way his lips felt on hers. Soft, with a slight force.

Straddling his waist, her arms wrapped around his neck, Nell's fingers laced together. Her lips leaving his, tracing along his jaw, nearing the sweet spot below his ear. A slight nip and he was an unraveling mess. Henry nuzzled his face into her hair, she smelled amazing. Comforting and warm. A groan erupted from deep in his throat, as predicted she had gone straight for that spot.

“Nell, Nell,” Henry cleared his throat, holding her at arm's length, “Janelle, stop.” Looking for any sort of sign that she truly felt that this wasn't a good idea, he sucked in a breath. “Are you sure about this? Because if we continue, I won't stop until...”

“I am.” She nodded firmly, “I don't want you to stop. I don't want to stop. Oh god, Henry. Please.”

“I need to know that you truly, absolutely want to do this.”

“If you don't stop talking and bend me over, I am going to kick you out and do this myself. Please, stop talking. If I didn't want this, I wouldn't have started it.”

A deep rumbling laugh followed, Henry rolled his eyes. God, she was something else. Who was he to deny a gorgeous woman what she wanted? Would this come back to haunt him? Probably. Did he care? Not much. Come morning they would once again go their separate ways, but that didn't matter right now. Right now, he could pretend that he had everything he wanted. And what he wanted was her.

Pulling her to him, Henry kissed her hard. Nell moaned, the force of the kiss was nearly dizzying. Arms around his neck, she rubbed her body against his, trying to grasp the friction that was created when she started to grind herself against his thighs.

“Henry,”

“Hold on, you need patience.” He brushed a bit of hair out of her face, “all in good time.”

Nell squealed when he stood, her legs desperately scrambling to hold onto him. In a futile attempt she huffed, when he let her go, standing in front of him pouting. Unbuttoning his shirt, Henry smirked giving her a heated stare. “Well, are you going to get on the bed or make me do all the work? Shorts off.”

Sliding the mesh shorts down her ass and along her legs, Nell made a bit of a show letting them pool at her feet. Stepping out, as slowly as possible, while lifting the old tshirt from her body. Allowing it to go where it would, as she dropped it. Sitting back on the bed, she could feel her heart in her throat and her stomach where her heart should be.

“Lie back.” Henry instructed, kneeling at the edge of the bed. Arms around her thighs, guiding her to him, he studied her for a moment. She was trembling as his fingers slid across her thighs, positioning her in just the right way.

“Oh god, Hen-Henry.” Nell's mouth was suddenly dry and her voice hoarse. His hot breath between her legs was tormenting her, in unimaginable ways. In anticipation she bucked her hips forward, trying to clench her thighs. Holding her knees with his shoulders, Henry chuckled.

“Eager.”

“Please.”

“You are...” He lingered, kissing the inside of her leg. “Gorgeous. Look at you.” He brushed his thumb against her. Nell whimpered trying to push further. “Hold on, hold on.”

“Why are you teasing me?”

“Because I want to enjoy the view, for a moment.” He shrugged, her legs lifting gently. A hand on her lower abdomen, as if holding her in place, he used the other to gently tease and trace along her calf. Without warning, his lips attached to the most sensitive part of her body with his mustache adding an extra sensation, Nell bucked her hips hard, shoving his face further between her thighs.

Nell's head was swimming, it had been a while since she'd felt this good from such an act. Sure, she'd had the odd date here and there, semi-serious relationships, but nobody could do this the way Henry could. He was a fucking magician, she was certain of it. Humming against her mound, Henry couldn't hide the laughter in his eyes, when she began to squirm and wiggle against his face. She was desperate and he was going to prolong this as much as he could.

Sucking her clit, his tongue generously lapping at her, he thoroughly enjoyed the show. Pushing his head as far down as she could, Nell was nearly in tears each time he leaned in, his mustache tickling in just the right way. Oh god, she gasped trying hard to find release. Henry was cunning, backing off at the right moments.

“Henry,” She whined, threading her fingers through his hair. “Don't tease me, I really need you to finish.”

“Stop being so impatient.” He was teasingly stern. Pushing her hands away, he locked his fingers with hers, holding them at her side. Lifting his head, he smirked, kissing up her body ending with another dizzying kiss. Nell sucked on his tongue, freeing her hands from his, she tugged him closer, pulling at fistfuls of hair.

Cleaning herself from his tongue and lips, she sighed. “I'm going to need more than that.”

“You're sure?” Henry paused, holding his weight on his forearms, resting above her. His jeans still on, he could feel the strain against the denim.

“Jeans, off.” She demanded, sitting up to watch. Shivering against the slight chill, her breasts on display giving him the perfect view of her erect nipples. Nell blushed under his gaze. She was not the tight, toned, and perky body she once was. She wasn't out of shape, by any means, but compared to Henry...

“You are gorgeous.” Henry complimented, his jeans on the floor, boxers being pushed down to join them. Stepping out of his pants, he stood at the side of the bed, in all his glory.

Nell licked her lips, reaching out to take him in her hand. Hissing under her touch, Henry involuntarily bucked his hips forward into her hand. Rubbing the head, Nell intently watched Henry while she leaned in taking him fully in her mouth.

“Fuck, Nelly.”

“Hmm,” She hummed, sliding her head back along his length. Hand wrapped around him, stroking in place of her mouth. Bobbing her head back down, she swirled her tongue around the base. He nearly choked her the first time she'd ever gone down on him. Oh how long ago that felt.

Dragging her tongue against his length, she felt her core tighten, with each moan Henry gave. His slight salty taste mixed with the aftertaste of the Johnnie Walker, Nell inhaled deeply through her nose, hollowing her cheeks around him. Gripping the back of her head, Henry tried to not force her too hard, as he began to guide her movement.

Happy to go along with what he needed to feel good, Nell allowed him control over her guidance. Her finger nails grazing the back of his thighs, she mentally checked the small victory when he threw his hips forward at the sensation of her wrapped around him and her nails on his skin.

“Good girl,” Henry mumbled, his head lulling back, his chest rising rapidly. “Keep it up, just like that. Oh shit,”

Nell's chest swelled a little, she could still make him feel good, even after all of this time apart. That was not something she would take lightly, even if this shouldn't be happening. Oh fuck, who cared? They were two consenting adults. Henry's legs quivered, his hands unsteady stroking the back of her head.

“Nell,”

“Hmm?” She glanced up at him. His face soft and his jaw slack, she could feel him tightening. The perfect time to stop her actions. “Not yet,” She smirked, wiping her hand across her chin, drool gone. “Fair is fair.”

“Jesus,” Henry grumbled. He had been so fucking close, the knot in the pit of his stomach clenched Slowing his breathing, he took a moment to think of anything else. Laundry? Running? How much longer until he had to renew his passport?

“Henry?”

“Yeah?” He snapped his head to look at Nell.

“Are we going to stand here all night, or...” She shrugged, a devious smirk on her face. Laying back on the bed, she curled her finger beckoning him to her.

“You're still sure about this?” Henry asked. His eyes on her, waiting to see if she had any hint of doubt or hesitation.

“I don't have a condom, but I'm clean. It's not like I'm getting pregnant, so....” If she were to get pregnant, there was going to be on hell of a hefty lawsuit against that surgeon.

“You're sure? I know that I'm...but I don't have.”

“if you don't want to, then I understand.”

“I do, though, but...”

Nell shook her head. “No buts. If you want me, then I'm yours.”

“Fuck, you're making this hard.”

Giggling, Nell glance down. “I think we're beyond things being hard.”

His body betraying him, Henry cleared his throat, she certainly had a point. Fuck it. What did they have to lose? Unless this, some how, came back to bite them. No, no he had to stop that. Give in, enjoy what was happening. It had been too long since he'd been able to watch her in such bliss. Bliss that he was responsible for.

“You're sure?”

Nell nodded siting up, opening her arms, “Come here.”

On the edge of the bed, Henry sighed, his large frame leaning into her. Nell held him for a moment, stroking his hair, the feel of his warmth against her sent shivers through her spine. Pushing him back on the bed, she bit her bottom lip, waiting for the go ahead. Henry gave her a slight nod, adjusting himself on the bed to get comfortable. Straddling his hips, Nell lifted herself to slowly take him.

Sheathing him inch by inch, Nell groaned at the fullness. This was her favourite part, taking him to the end, feeling him stretch her. Rocking her hips forward, she countered the motion sliding them back in the same tantalizing pace. Henry held her hips, pushing his up to meet her. Nell squeaked and giggled. She loved the way he hit all the right spots.

“You can touch me, don't be shy.” Nell winked, lifting her arms and crossing them above her head, allowing him a full view of her breasts. “Go on.” She encouraged.

His large hands cupping her breasts, Henry softly rolled her hardening nipples between his fingers, giving on a slight flick when she moved herself up on his length. Close to letting him slide out, she moved back down, her ass grinding against him.

The way her body moved against his was mesmerizing. Massaging her supple skin, from her breasts down her sides, one hand settling on her ass and the other on her hip. Henry loved the shape, even if she had changed a little since having Ivan. God she was stunning.

Hastening her pace, Nell rocked back and forth, up and down. Henry closed his eyes feeling every bit of movement, each clench. Taking in the sounds of her breathing, mixed with his, her small moans not going unnoticed.

“Henry,” She whispered, biting her bottom lip, leaning forward to touch her lips against his. “Please,”

Without having to be asked twice, he moved swiftly, turning them over to pin her beneath him. Nell sighed and stretched her arms over her head, the pull of her muscles caused another shiver. Her head now against the pillow, she reached, tracing the lines of his face with her fingertip.

“I don't know that I can be as slow as you were.” Henry nipped her finger. Holding back on his desire to pound her into the bed.

“Then don't.” Nell batted her eye lashes at him.

Somehow that was all he needed, that tiny bit of permission. Picking up the pace, Henry grunted. Nell moaned drawing her knees upward, allowing him an even better vantage to this position. As if the pent up emotions from the last few years, hours, minutes had been released the couple were lost in the sensation of skin on skin. The feeling of sparks and electricity coursing through them. Connecting them.

“Fuck, Janelle.” Henry hissed, his arm locked into position on either side of her head, keeping him from tumbling on top of her.

“Henry,” She squealed splaying her hands against his chest, tugging at the soft hairs. “Oh god. Please, don't stop. My god, oh fuck.”

“You are fucking amazing. Fuck, look at you.” Kissing her roughly, he sighed, steadying his pace. His hips slapping hers, Nell shook slightly her soft sobs of pleasure were enough to send him to an end.

Shaking with pleasure, Nell gasped trying to bring herself down from the high. Henry moaned, his head back and chest heaving. It had been a while since he had felt that good. Nell laid with her legs hooked around his thighs, no desire to move. Collapsing with his head on her chest, Henry allowed his body to rest. Sweaty and sticky, they laid tangled together. Neither one wanting to break the feeling.

Dosing in and out, Nell was the first to move. Her body growing heavy with Henry still on top of her. She needed to move, before seizing up. Pushing his head to the side, she giggled and kissed the tip of her nose when he lazily looked up.

“I need to pee,”

“Hmph.” Henry nodded, slowly rolling over. Allowing her to escape. Laying flat on the bed, while she scurried off to the bathroom, Henry pushed himself up off of the bed. He should be getting back to his parents, back to Ivan.

All thoughts of moving were squashed, when Nell came back, climbing in beside him. Her clothes still on the floor. Her body was comforting against his. “Hi,” she whispered, sliding in under his arm.

“Nell?” Henry laid with his arm around her shoulder.

“Huh?” Nell grunted, her face buried in his chest.

“I should head back.”

“If you want to. You can stay, I don't mind.” Nell yawned. Her eyes closing.

“Okay, but only for a little while.” Henry agreed, closing his eyes. In a few minutes, he would get up, shower, and head back.

With a start, Henry woke, a loud banging noise rattling him. Looking around the dark room, he squinted to find the source of the noise. Hearing someone whispering at a distance, Henry laid in bed, listening. Against him, Nell stirred, but didn't wake. Someone in the hall was talking, no doubt they had been the source of the banging. He had fell asleep, Nell wrapped against him.

Looking at his watch, Henry frowned. 4am. If he left right now, he could be back before anybody woke. If he left now, he risked Kal barking and waking the house. If he waited, he would risk walking in and having to explain himself to one or more person. Of course he could tell them that he'd ran into some old friends, had some drinks and stayed on a sofa somewhere. Too drunk to drive.

Shifting in bed, Nell sighed, her arm around his waist she snuggled in closer. She was content, who was Henry to try and disturb her sleep? He would wait an hour or two, before he made his departure. So what if he waltzed in, being faced by one of his brothers, or even his mother. He was an adult, if he wanted to stay out all night enjoying the company of a fantastic woman, then he would do just that.

Kissing the top of Nell's head, Henry smiled, sinking down further into the covers, closing his eyes.

Tag List Chat

[askdracomalfoyofficial]

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𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮

Note: The paragraphs that are in italic are the thoughts he is thinking —

TW: Mild thoughts of killing her. Swearing. Possession. Nothing to serious, but thought I would put this before-hand. Enjoy!

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It all started after I had called you a Mudblood. You see, my father taught me all about blood-status, pure-bloods being the highest form of witch or wizard. Magic comes easy to us, our veins are filled with it. We have control over it. Then theres you, someone who has Muggle parents, making you just that. How you had a outburst of magic is something I'm currently questioning. I can certainly see you being someone who's Drabble around with it, study it in your books.

But my father warned me about people like you. Warned me that your blood is dirty, and anyone whom surrounds themselves around you, or even do much as become friends with you is a blood-traitor.

Anyone under us, we don't care for.

Yet, there was something about you that had always piqued my interest somehow, someway or another. I can't tell you what it is, Granger. But, Merlin… I don't know how you are our Brightest Witch of Her Age became such a thing for a Muggle-born. You and your swatty ways, always raising your bloody hand in class every two, three seconds. Basically… dissecting the answers or things the Professors would teach us. God, how I wished I could cut your hands off, or cast a silencing charm on you so your mouth stops moving, you annoying wrench.

The witch with unruly messy mop on her head. Tame your fucking mane, Granger. Get some tips from Pansy for all I care, maybe then… you'd learn something. But, you're not someone who cares about appearances are you? You're the first girl I know to not. Doesn't surprise me.

He breathes out a sigh.

I bloody fucking hate you. You have no idea. I want to wrap my hands around your throat, and watch the life leave your eyes but not as much as I want to run my fingers through your hair, grab a fistful and yank your head back just to crash my lips onto yours. To make you feel the hate I have for you, to make your lips swollen. To have my tongue vigorously dance with yours, a duel to win. I want to press my lips to your neck, find your pulse and feel it beat against my lips then suck your breath from you. Suffocate in your aroma, to smell your hair and taste the salt of your skin against my tongue.

“For instance… I smell,” she leans her face more over the steam. “Freshly mown grass, and new parchment, and–“ Her words trailed off as she started to realize who it was.

Thinking about it is repulsive, thinking about you, specifically is repulsive. I’m thinking about all this, while you're smelling your Amortentia, and I bet what you're smelling is that daft bimbo, Weaselby.

Ah, the lovely Amortentia. The most powerful love potion that there is. It has a smell for each and every individual according to what attracts them.

Draco adjusts his stance, hands finding a home in the pocket of his trousers. Eyes on her, more so the back of her head, watching while she smells the steam that swirls endlessly up towards her face, and the way her hair grows with the humidity. In a way, it matches the way his had been tousled at his fringe. It looks as if someone had ran their fingers through his own hair and ruffled it up. Hers just looks like straight bed head, yet not taken care of.

His brow raised, looking through his lashes at her.

Weaselby smells like mown grass, well that's quite bloody disgusting. And, you're telling me that's what attracts you?

A scoff slipped out from somewhere in the room, and for a moment he panicked because he knew it came from him the moment Blaise lifted his eyes to look at him with a brow of his own raised. But, Draco's eyes were on the back of her head, which in that moment he regretted because she turned around and automatically met his. Jaw muscles worked as it snapped shut, clenching his teeth together.

Don't look at me like that. Who do you think you are?

Professor Slughorn dismissed the class, he hurried to get his things situated and left the room without so much as a second glance back at his fellow classmates; including her. But he could feel the way that her eyes bored into his back, setting his skin ablaze.

Eventually, Blaise caught up to him. “What was all that back there, mate?”

“What? What do you mean was all that?” He stopped in his tracks, and lifted his eyes to meet Blaise’s but grew uncomfortable and looked away, ah, the stone wall was helping particularly well in this moment.

“Why did you act that way after Granger smelled her Amortenia?”

Merlin! He wasn't going to let this up. Fucking always so observant.

“Because what she smelled was ridiculous.”

“No, what is it really? You can't possibly think I'm that stupid, Draco.” He persisted.

Draco’s eyes gravitated back to him. Jaw tight. “What would you like me to say, Blaise? Is there a specific thing you're expecting me to answer with? Because whatever you're trying to get out of me, isn't there. So, I suggest that you stop while you're ahead.” Was what he left the conversation with.

Blaise, if I told you anything, you'd think that I’ve gone bloody mental, shit, I'm beginning to wonder myself if I did.

All through the years I’ve been watching Hermione Granger, bullying her and her friends because I get amusement out of the looks on their faces. How I know that I piss them off, and I'm good at it. There was once a part of me who loved to watch her cry, to bathe in those tears that fell down her cheeks, those very cheeks I want to grab in my hand and attack her jaw with my lips.

Draco shook his head as if he were trying to dismiss the thoughts, dismiss the way he was feeling and thinking as they weren't quite appropriate.

This year was so utterly fucked. I just want it to be over.

He made his way through the corridors, retreating from Blaise and dipping around the corner. He needed some down time, perhaps the library would do some good. Settle down with a book, in a far corner sounded lovely.

An hour gone by, and he'd been so enveloped in multiple books because he couldn't just decide on one and he needed to distract his mind from the interaction with Blaise, and Hermione interfering his thoughts.

But low and behold, she came into the library. Of course! The know-it-all loved to read just as much as he did.

Oh, you got to be fucking kidding me.

Draco rolled his eyes, clenched his jaw tight and pretended to read but every so often his gaze would lift to where she was. She was huffing loudly, even two exasperated sighs left her mouth. His teeth gritted and the muscle in his jaw worked.

After a couple of moments, perhaps five minutes gone by of her continuing with her loud outbursts of breathing, huffs and sighs he had enough of it all. Draco slammed the book shut, picking up the others and went to return them to their slots. When he was done, he approached her. Shouldering the frame of one of the bookshelves.

“Do you need to be so loud? This is a library for a reason.” His voice was cold, like a cool breeze brushing through the space between them. By the looks of it, he could tell that when he spoke that he had startled her.

She turned around mid-way while pulling out a book. Her chocolate-colored eyes lifted to meet his with a glare. Her head tilted to the side, and a retort was just waiting to leave her mouth. Draco had noticed this when he seen her lips twitch.

“Do you wish for me to apologize to you? Because,” she scoffed, crossing her arms with the book over her chest and under one arm. “You won't be getting it.”

“Who said anything about you apologizing?” His brow raised. “It's the fact that you are in a library, being loud with just your breath.”

Hermione looked around them. “Seems to me like we're the only ones in here, Malfoy. So —” she put the book back and moved down the shelf more, opposite of where he was standing. “I don't really see a problem here, you're just always bothered unless it's you doing something someone doesn't like.” She retorted, rather calmly.

How are you always able to handle your composure when around me. Yes — keep going down the aisle, pretty soon you'll be stuck in that corner.

Draco’s jaw snapped, his throat clicked. He hadn't really observed the room when he came in, but she was right about it being empty and the only ones in there being them. What a situation to be in.

“And you breathing loudly happens to be something that I don't like. I wouldn't be standing here right now if otherwise.” A hand slipped from across his chest, as his index finger lifted from the light fist he held, raising it like he were thinking before taking a step closer, slowly. “I am always bothered by you. Your presence is insufferable. Anywhere I go, I always have to see your face, I'm repulsed by it.”

It's true, I am always bothered by you. You are insufferable, but I am sure I could put you into your place; if you'd let me. I may be repulsed by your face, but I can't help but also like looking at it, at those lips —

She laughed manically, like what he said was the most hilarious thing she'd ever heard, or perhaps she had seen right through him. Hermione stopped what she was doing with the books, what book was she trying to find anyways? Her body shifted, feet angled towards him and arms remained crossed over her chest.

“You're the only one who thinks these things, and quite frankly they do not bother me.”

Man, you are bloody stubborn — not as much as I am.

He stepped closer, a hand coming up to grip onto the edge of the shelf. His own height towering over her own, blocking out the library light from her face. They were now sharing each other's exhaled breathes, and he knew she could feel the way his ghosted along her face. She didn't at all seem bothered by his presence now crowding her, backed into the corner of a bookshelf. He was looming over her.

“They don't bother you?” He asked and his tone dripped sarcasm. She shifted uncomfortably. “Do tell me, what does bother you then?”

“Why would that be something you're curious about? Since when did you care about what bothers me or not?”

Draco smirks, his head turning to the side while his eyes fell to the door of the library. Tongue grazing the bottom of his upper teeth. “You're right,” he turned his head back, glaring down through his lashes. “Why would I care? I don't care for someone of the liking of you.”

With that — he leaned down towards her more, for a moment he looked as though he were going to kiss her. But it was just to give a look of intimidation before his weight pressed into the hand that gripped the shelf to push himself off. Hands finding their way back into his trouser pockets.

I fucking hate you. I fucking hate you so much and you already know that don't you, Granger? Because I make it known, it's all over my face whenever you look at me, whenever we run into each-other. I hate you, yet I want to fucking kiss you, I want to do these things to do you that I, when I was younger couldn't see myself doing. Let alone have never done with a witch before besides Pansy, she always knew how to keep my best interests in mind.

I want to have my hands in your hair, tangled in my fingers and watch as your curled locks fall through. I want my hand around your throat possessively, let my thumb graze along your jaw and down the front of your throat like I'm thirsty for you and just want a little taste.

I want to have your clothes pooled at your feet while my eyes roam your naked canvas, I want to take in every scar, beauty mark, freckle. I want to do it all.

I want to trace the pads of my fingers down your spine, to your tailbone and trail them around to your hips.

I want to do so much to you — I want to possess you.

But then I'm reminded just by looking at you that you're a Muggle witch, and I fucking hate you, you're repulsive and insufferable. A know-it-all swat, who just can't keep her fucking mouth shut.

I'm conflicted, my stomach is in knots and this'll be the one thing that takes me to my very grave.

[margarethelstone-2]

if I loved you less (i might talk about it more)

requested by one and only @nerdypanda3126. thanks so much!

Read on AO3!

"Taichi... You still like me, don't you?"

The young man in question raised his eyes from the book he'd been trying to read for the past quarter, and fixed them on Chihaya, confused. It wasn't just the question that surprised him, even though its content sure would have been enough to puzzle a better prepared soul.

The fact that Chihaya had barely spoken at all for most of their time together today was the main reason why he felt startled by her words now.

She really had been quiet for most of the day, even though they were spending it at his place, determined, as she herself had claimed, not to get in the way of his studies. Taichi had tried to make her realise that it wasn't what he wanted at all, that the very reason he'd invited her over was to get a break from all the reading and just relax a little. He'd explained over and over again that he needed her to be a distraction; tried – unsuccessfully – to get it into her head that she was actually doing him a favour. He knew how much of a workaholic he could be and so he specifically planned the visit as a means to enforce the necessary break he might not have taken otherwise.

He had told her all of that. And yet, she'd remained quiet.

All the way until now, that is.

And just what on earth was she going on about?

"What's with that question? You know the answer to that," he replied casually, almost dismissively, before going back to the textbook in his hand. He really had no idea what had gotten into her all of the sudden, but then again, he didn't care to delve on the subject. He knew she'd tell him anyway.

"I was just wondering," she answered, a trace of hurt ringing in her voice; Taichi needed to hold back the smile that sprang on his lips at the sight of her pout. "Is it so bad if I do?"

Taichi hummed in thought.

"Is that why you've been so quiet all day?" he asked right after. "You've been just busy considering my possible affection for you?"

"Stop with the mockery. I'm thinking of it seriously."

"Oh? And what conclusions did you come to?"

"I wouldn't have asked if I'd come to any."

He had no choice but to close the book and put it away after a statement he'd just heard. Not that he minded. Throwing it on the floor rather carelessly, he sat up straight in his corner of the couch and, resting his chin on his palm, he fixed his gaze on the girl seated by his desk on the other side of the room.

She really was being impossible today.

Well, he supposed that wasn't anything new. He'd known Chihaya long and well enough to not be fazed by the swings in her mood or the inane schemes she so often came up with. He had learnt to expect the unexpected, every day, every hour of his otherwise boring life, because that was obviously the only way to keep up with her. The one thing he had to keep doing if he still wanted to be a part of her life.

Because that was how Ayase Chihaya was.

Chihaya. His best friend. His fiercest karuta rival. The girl he'd been in love with since fourth grade of primary school and the girl who'd rejected him straightforwardly at the very beginning of their third year in Mizusawa High. The girl whom he'd thought he could never win over, on whom he'd given up again and again, fooling himself he could move on and blight the love he'd had for her since he'd been a ten year old squirt.

He sighed and shook his head, remembering her question from a moment before.

She knew damn well he was still head over heels for her.

She was his girlfriend, for sanity's sake.

"I can't believe you actually have asked, you know," he picked up with the same fake weariness he'd shown before, if only to cover his growing amusement. Seeing her very real anxiety made him assume a more solemn expression, as he asked, "Seriously, what brought this on? Are you mad about something?"

"I'm not mad," she disagreed instantly, and with good emphasis.

"Are you unhappy then? Did I do something to make you feel like that?"

Again, she denied. Now she just looked sad. "That's not it."

Wrong. She was flustered.

"Then what is it?" Taichi asked, as gently and warmly as he could. Not for the first time, he felt grateful for all the hard training his patience had received. It was obvious that Chihaya needed that from him now. "It's not like I could get over you like this, you of all people should be aware of that. You're the most important person in my life. The best companion I could think of. You know I get lonely and grumpy when I can't see you, and you know I still get absurdly jealous, even though I hate being so. And so I can't help but think there's something else I'm not doing right."

Taichi stopped there, waiting for her to, if not answer his question, then to contradict him in one way or another, at least. After all, he really was at a loss.

He thought he'd been doing a fairly good job as a boyfriend, when all was said and done. He'd already shared Chihaya's most important interest and it wasn't difficult to at least understand the new ones she'd found. He made sure to be there for her when she needed him, and tried his best to give her space when she needed that more. True, he'd had some trouble coming for help on his part, but even that was a thing of a past rather than present – certainly not something that could shock Chihaya into thinking like this.

He would think that the all-day-long date he'd come up with and seen through in celebration of their first anniversary as a couple last week was a good show of how much he still cared.

He wasn't perfect. Neither was she. But never in his life would he have thought that he'd failed to get his feelings across.

"Chihaya," he prompted once more, his voice audibly quieter. "Please tell me what it is. I can't fix it if I don't know what's broken."

She looked up from the floor she'd been glaring at for a while and met his gaze, a shadow of unease still clouding her big brown eyes. She opened her mouth to answer; she closed it instantly and looked away again, abashed. There was a hint of pink on her cheeks, and it only grew darker as the time passed, though whether it was because of embarrassment or something more alarming, Taichi couldn't tell yet.

"Chihaya–"

"It's because you never say it."

He supposed his eyes opened wider than ever, what's with the utter astonishment he felt growing inside him immediately. For a few moments, he could do nothing but stare, the craziness of the situation overwhelming enough to successfully prevent him from forming a sensible thought, and much less coming up with any kind of solution. One look at Chihaya was enough to sober him up, however.

She was distressed. She was insecure.

No matter how stupid he thought the reason to be, he could hardly allow the situation to last.

With a groan that was bound to startle her, he bent over and buried his face in his hands.

Only one thing he could do now.

"Come here," he said, his face still hidden behind one hand as he tore the other one away and beckoned her towards him. "No excuses. You'll talk later. Now just come here, please."

She did, albeit tentatively, as if afraid of the reaction he might show her. With his patience starting to run thin at last, Taichi didn't wait for her to cover the whole distance, instead reaching out and grabbing her by the wrist, only to pull her down on the couch right next to him.

And then he pulled her even closer, locking her in a bone-crushing hug.

"I'm gonna do something to you," he mumbled into her hair, his voice a mixture of laughter and complaint. "You cruel, cruel, woman. Have you no heart? Here I am, mind reeling as I try to figure out what the hell I did wrong again and you say it's because I don't say I like you enough. As if you didn't already know you've got a firmer hold of my heart than I ever did. Tell me, am I really this bad at showing you that I care that you doubt it?"

It was Chihaya's turn to growl at him, though it surely – and fortunately – didn't stop her from burying her face even deeper into his chest and digging her fingers into the shirt on his back. Again, Taichi laughed at the display, but didn't loosen his grip one bit.

That silly, unbelievable, most beloved girl.

"This and that are different things," she muttered finally in response against his buttons, her stubborn indignation probably being the only reason why he could discern the words at all. "There are different kinds of love languages. We even talked about it, you know."

"Yes. And as far as I remember, we've already established that neither of us cared for this one. So your argument doesn't work."

Well, this was a lie, or at least, it wasn’t fully true. After all, he could never get tired of hearing her say those words, to him and him only. But he didn't need it that much, not when he already knew of so many other ways in which Chihaya expressed her love towards him. He'd always assumed it was the same for her, too.

Funnily enough, he still didn't think he was mistaken.

"I've had feelings for you for the past fourteen years, you dummy, I wouldn't change my mind just because you decided to return them," he threw in only half-jokingly, as if to make sure he got his point across before moving onto the next part. "So? Care to tell me what's the source of it all?"

He felt her tense against him for a split second, only to relax in the next moment with a long, weary sigh. He waited for her to make herself comfortable in his arms, shifting ever so slightly to make it easier for them both. And then he heard her speak.

"I met up with Kana-chan the other day," she admitted weakly. "Her and Desktomu. And I guess... They're always so sweet with one another, now more than ever. I suppose... It made me feel a little jealous. But most of all, it just made me think."

"And you decided that I'd fallen out of love with you, because I don't talk like Komano does?"

"I didn't decide anything, I told you already. I just wondered if maybe I was doing something wrong to deserve that treatment. Sorry for being so terribly scared of losing you again because of my own foolishness."

Words caught in his throat as Taichi tried to protest against this new development. That last addition Chihaya had made – and more importantly, the wounded, truly uncertain voice with which she'd spoken – would have been enough to melt his heart even if he had actually been angry with her. Right now, he had to hold back from grabbing her by the chin and kissing her senseless until all the idiotic ideas evaporated from her overworked mind.

The things she did to him without as much as trying.

You evil little imp.

"They're newly-weds. You can't use them for reference," he managed to stutter out at least, conveniently ignoring the hoarseness of his own voice and the emotion that hovered behind it. "Not to mention, those two are the opposite of us when it comes to talking about feelings openly. There's a reason they got together six years before we did. Just because something works for them doesn't mean it's the best course for us to take as well."

He smiled again and planted a kiss at the top of her hair, before adding, "I still can't believe you really doubted me, though."

She huffed and pulled away, although she still didn't move from her place on the couch. They were still close; close enough for Taichi to see the light reflecting in her eyes and the blush that hadn't left her cheeks, and to reach out and comb her tangled hair with his fingers. Another gesture so full of love, even though it was but a fraction of all that she made him feel.

"Well, since I never understood what had made you fall in love with me in the first place, it's only natural that I'd have this kind of doubts."

He chuckled and she smiled on her part, her obstinacy giving it to the desire to just be with him. It was another thing Taichi was able to read in her eyes – and, knowing the feeling well enough from his own experience, he had no trouble deciphering it.

Delayed, the first part of her sentence entered his brain.

What made me fall for you, I wonder?

He didn't know. It had been so long since he’d realised his feelings after all, and longer still since those feelings had been born. Even all those years earlier, he probably wouldn’t have been able to point out the reasons clearly, never mind finding the one spark that had started it – trying to do so now seemed downright impossible.

There were so many reasons, after all.

Maybe it was because she had never considered herself a possible love interest for anyone, first when she was too engrossed in karuta and later, when she thought she didn't deserve to be one. Maybe it was her hot-headedness and her drive, and how different she'd always been from him, and yet never failed to tell him how much she'd admired and envied those qualities of his that she lacked.

Maybe it was the fact that she'd always been with him, so close and so dear and yet so impossible to grasp.

Maybe it was because she'd loved him long before either of them dared believe that was the case.

Maybe...

"Maybe," he said out loud, though in fact not loud at all, his lips moving against her forehead as he leaned in to put a kiss there, too. "Maybe, if I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more."

Edging away, Taichi saw tears gathering in her eyes. He wiped them away with his thumb, his hand cupping the side of her jaw fittingly.

And then he kissed her properly.

Just like he had wanted to ever since he'd first seen her that day.

[tangent101]

Max Caulfield and Post-Storm PTSD

One thing I find interesting (and have done so myself) is speculating on how broken Max will be in a Post-Storm (either Sacrifice Chloe or Sacrifice Arcadia Bay) setting. While some people (usually those who killed Chloe) like to say "she'd bounce back!" the predominant view is that we have a shattered Max after this who needs a lot of therapy. So I thought I'd unpack this and look at why I look at this this way.

At this point I should add there is potential triggers here. I'll be examining my own PTSD and elements of Max's state of mind that may in fact result in her being in declining mental health in the wake of the events of Life is Strange.

First, let's consider what PTSD (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder) is, and what causes it. And for this I'm going to start by sharing my own trauma. Because I have PTSD. I gained this after I saw a vehicle go out of control and hit two people and run over two others. The final person was trapped under the vehicle and they had to push the van at an angle to pull him out, do CPR, and... he was dead. Even if EMTs had been right there, he'd not have survived.

I suffer flashbacks thinking of this, though it's gotten better. I will flinch, visualize what happened, and feel nausea. I get tense over this and... well, it's not a happy experience to put it mildly. And I have what is likely a milder case of PTSD. I also developed it despite being in an environment that put me at a lower risk of developing it. And yes, I had minor twinges of PTSD writing this up. Two years ago I probably would have had an actual visualization and anxiety break. So you can get better with therapy and help.

But what specifically is PTSD? According to the website for the National Institute of Mental Health, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) develops in some people who experience shocking or dangerous events, with people who have PTSD feeling stressed or frightened even when they are not in danger. PTSD can occur within 3 months of traumatic events or even have you be fine and then crop up *years* later. And symptoms include flashbacks where you relive the trauma, bad dreams, and frightening thoughts which can disrupt a person's everyday routine.

People with PTSD are easily startled, can feel "on edge," have angry outburst, and have difficulty sleeping. They could go through avoidance of staying away from reminders of the experience and avoiding thoughts or feelings related to the event. Further, cognitive and mood symptoms include problems remembering key features of the event, self-negativity, distorted guilt or blame feelings, and loss of interest in enjoyable activities.

Okay, so how can you avoid PTSD? And how could Max avoid this? Well, factors promoting recovery after trauma include seeking support from friends and family, finding a support group, learning to feel good about your own actions in the face of danger, positive coping strategies, and learning to act and respond effectively even when feeling fear.

And this is the kicker. This is why Max is likely screwed as a result of the events of Life is Strange, especially in a Sacrifice Chloe setting. Because Max blames herself and her time travel for the Storm and all the weird shit that happened. She may very well believe that if she uses time travel for any reason, it will result in the Storm and a lot more people dying. And this will get in the way of being in a healthy environment to avoid PTSD.

First, consider friends and family. Max can't tell them what happened because she has absolutely no proof of what she went through. She can't prove her time travel because if she does then she dooms wherever she is and a lot of people die. (It doesn't matter if this is the case or not, she assumes it is true.) So Max is not going to confide in Warren or Dana or Victoria or anyone. She can't. And she's quite likely going to isolate herself because we have already seen at the start of the game, Max is a bit of a loner who doesn't have many friends.

In fact, her two "friends" are Warren (who she feels threatened by due to his attraction to her, as seen by his inclusion in her Nightmare sequence including learning he doctored photos of her to include himself in the picture, his peeping activities on the second day, and the honestly-creepy "Go Ape" thing), and Kate. Kate is going through her own shit and Max remembers Kate killing herself. Is Max going to unload her own issues on someone going through a lot of shit as well or is she going to swallow her problems so not to trouble her friend? And Warren is someone she feels nervous around and who has engaged in some activities that set up warning flags in her psyche. Further, when she told Warren the truth, he promptly blames her time travel on fucking everything up. In short, she trusted Warren and Warren said "you caused all this destruction." (Even if Max initially blames herself, he reinforces that point of view before Max jumps through the photo to save Chloe.)

Nor can I see her telling her parents. Again, she has no proof. Her parents are overprotective already. If she starts going off on this fanciful tale, are they going to believe her? Or are they going to assume their daughter is cracking and force her into therapy and possibly hospitalize her "for her own good" (and thus she ends up medicated and miserable, having lost her autonomy and agency)? It doesn't matter if they wouldn't as Max will worry this could happen. It is better to never say a thing. So Max internalizes everything. And we already see evidence that Max has done this sort of thing in the past. Max keeps her secrets close to her heart. She never told her parents of the time travel even when she could have had proof. So why tell them after Chloe died?

I have been overcoming my PTSD by revisiting it and working through it. Part of this was guided by therapy. Max would not be in a position to talk about this. And how could she? After all, she didn't find Rachel Amber's body (and we have no proof her body is uncovered in a Sacrifice Chloe setting). She didn't see the Storm. She didn't see most of the incidents. The closest that happened was being in the bathroom when Chloe was shot. And her story of what happened would change from the week that beta-Max was in charge and when Max Prime returned to the timeline. So even if she was talking to a school counselor? She'd quickly learn that her story changed and probably shut up and stop seeing them so not to give away her story.

Remember: Max cannot admit to the time travel because doing so means either killing hundreds of people due to the Storm or being locked away for being crazy because she has no proof.

Next, we have feeling good about her actions. For five days Max had hammered into her skull her actions have consequences. More, those consequences are predominantly bad. Far too often Max has to Rewind to fix things from her actions. If she can't Rewind? That means by acting, she's going to fuck things up. In fact, the fundamental aspect of Sacrifice Chloe states that her action to save Chloe caused all of this destruction. Max is going to second-guess herself constantly.

I mean, if she sees Kate on the roof again at a later point (because women who are the victims of crimes are often blamed by society for the crimes inflicted against them as seen time and time again with how we blame victims of sexual harassment and rape for the crimes committed against them, so of course her church and mother and aunt will continue to blame Kate for what she went through), will Max dare to act? If she does, then she might cause another Storm. She might cause damage. If Kate is on that rooftop again, maybe she was supposed to die. Who does Max think she is by trying to stop Destiny?

So yeah. Max is not going to feel good about her actions. She is going to second-guess herself. She already had that tendency at the start of the game, and Sacrifice Chloe hammers down the truth that action is bad. Better to do nothing and not interact.

We end up with Avoidance. Well, what is the biggest Avoidance? Photography. Max already has a murderer who kidnapped her associated with photography. She remembers being in the Dark Room, being powerless in the face of the man who murdered her Chloe. (Just like she murdered her Chloe. She might not have pulled the trigger, but she caused Chloe's death.) She will see Chloe's death and Rachel's death and her own suffering each time she looks at a camera and remembers Mark Jefferson. More, she knows if she focuses on a photograph she could end up traveling through time and causing the Storm. So she can't even enjoy pictures anymore because they are a threat.

That's not to say that the Sacrifice Chloe setting is all dark and dire. She does have music. She loves music. So if she puts aside the camera she might pick up her guitar and embrace music. (Hannah Telle, Max's VA, once speculated that Max would enter a career in music, probably due partly to her own musical inclinations.) So while she might give up her greatest loves, she might eventually embrace a future in music. I doubt she'd ever play in public but... that might be an outlet for a hurting soul.

Now, I've gone on at length about how dire things are for Max in a Sacrifice Chloe setting, but what about Sacrifice Arcadia Bay? Well, things end up a bit more positive in this setting because she can actually talk about going through some of these things. For instance, Max dug up a body with Chloe. She saw Chloe almost shot by Nathan in the bathroom. She saw Kate attempt suicide (whether or not she stopped it is immaterial to the suicide attempt). She learned that a trusted teacher and mentor was in fact a predator who was kidnapping young women, saw pictures of these crimes, and thus "suffers flashbacks visualizing herself in this setting." She can go to therapy and talk about many things she cannot in a Sacrifice Chloe setting and in doing so she can start to work through elements that could result in PTSD developing.

She can also talk to Chloe about what happened. Chloe knows about the time travel. She knows about almost dying (and Max witnessing Chloe's death multiple times). This gives Max a needed outlet for overcoming her own fears and concerns. But more importantly is this: Chloe is likely to tell Max to face down her fears. Chloe is the person who always pushed Max to try new things. And I honestly cannot see that changing as a result of what they went through.

Max also will learn to feel good about her actions. I mean, she chose Chloe over Arcadia Bay. This is the ultimate action, and while she may feel remorse for those deaths and that destruction... she also knows she saved Chloe and Chloe is by her side. She knows that her actions led to the capture and arrest of Mark Jefferson and saving Victoria Chase's life. Hell, it led to David Madsen (and probably a couple Arcadia Bay police officers) surviving the Storm because they were in the Dark Room at the time of the Storm. Her actions have consequences... and those consequences need not be dire. They can be beneficial.

So the Max of Sacrifice Arcadia Bay has a support group, she has access to therapy and can talk about some of the things she went through, she has someone she loves who believes her, she knows that her actions have benefit, she has someone who urges her to move forward. This isn't to say she won't have PTSD... but she is in a far better environment to overcome this to the point that in Life is Strange 2, we learn (in the Save Chloe timeline) that Max is submitting to galleries and that Chloe is still with her. So she's taking pictures and is in a good place in her life.

Now, what about Chloe? After all, Chloe went through some truly horrific shit herself. Chloe was almost shot by Nathan, she almost got hit by a train, she was threatened by Frank, she dug up the body of a girl she truly cared for, dozens of yards from where she was hanging out regularly, she saw a huge-ass Tornado wipe out her home town and kill her mother... yeah, Chloe's been through some horrific stuff, about as horrific as Max. More, she is in an unhealthy position at the time of the game.

But much of what benefits Max in the Save Chloe timeline also benefits Chloe. She can talk to a therapist. She has Max by her side. She has Max by her side and Max out-and-out chose her over hundreds of people. Joyce chose David over her, and for four years Chloe was in an unsafe environment. Rachel was... Rachel, and she was cheating on Chloe anyway. But Max... Max comes back, she saves her life several times, she helps Chloe time and time again, and at the end she chose Chloe over Arcadia Bay. That is big. That is bigger than big, it is... for once, Chloe was told "you are important." I mean, I'm getting teary-eyed just thinking of how big this is. Chloe has realized just how much Max loves her.

So... Chloe might develop PTSD. She is at risk of it. I think her triggers might similar to Max's - both girls probably will freak over thunderstorms for a while, and both may develop an aversion toward guns... at first I thought they'd differ but really, they'd align fairly well. About the only trigger issue Max would have Chloe doesn't has to do with photography (which is why Chloe is the person who'd help Max overcome any such issues).

[wastelandcth]

Startstruck - cth

part five: all night long  part one || part two || part three || part four

summary: calum visits his superstar on the set of her new project and learns a thing or two about jealousy.

author’s notes: back with starstruck! i love this series and everytime i get to write about these dorks i get so happy. i hope you guys enjoy!

masterlist || request

Calum knew that dating a movie star wasn't going to be sunshine and butterflies every day. He knew there would be times where they barely had time for a five-minute conversation or to even send a good morning text. He understood that there would be times they wouldn't see each other for months on end while he was on tour or while she was away filming. But they were both adults who loved one another and they were willing to work through all of that to be together.  

Calum didn't realize how much her on-screen love interest would bother him. 

He was sure that she'd mentioned it to him before in passing, how her latest project was a romance movie and she'd been excited to venture out of the action movies for once. He hadn't been too worried about it, she was an amazing actor and even if that meant she would be gone for another couple of months, Calum had plans to visit her on set and spend a couple of days with her before flying back to finish recording the latest album the band had been working on. 

He’d spent the first part of his day on set writing in his journal while she was getting ready in the makeup trailer. Her dressing room had been a comfort, a place Calum could hide away in while she filmed scenes that Calum wasn’t allowed to be on set for. He’d spent those hours writing or talking with his mom, sometimes he’d even doze off for a short nap before the door would open and he was met with the sight of his girlfriend in another beautiful dress and her trusty water bottle in hand. During one of her breaks, where she’d walked in on Calum humming a soft tune she hadn’t heard before, her camera going off brought Calum’s eyes up to her where his smirk said more than words ever could. 

“You’re looking rather dashing, darling,” Calum said in the best posh accent he could muster up, a wink sent her way, “What do I owe the pleasure of this visit to?

“Oh please,” she laughed, smacking his chest playfully as she sat down next to him on the small couch, “I had a break before the big dancing scene and I came to see if you wanted to watch.”

“Oh I always want to watch you, should know that by now.” 

“Ugh, you’re a flirt, you know that?”

Calum loved whenever he got to visit his superstar on set. He'd always loved watching her movies and being able to see how the magic on screen was made was like a dream come true for him. He loved standing in the shadows and watching her shine bright through stunts and action scenes. But with a romance movie, Calum couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy run through him as he saw her dressed to the nines in old period clothing dancing with a man he had no interest in seeing dance with his girlfriend. 

"Calum, I want you to meet my costar," she'd said happily, her cheeks flushed from the latest dancing scene they'd finished filming. 

"Nice to finally meet the man who's got her head over heels! She hasn't stopped talking about you ever since filming has started," the man chuckled as he reached a hand out for Calum to shake. 

"All good things, I hope," Calum mumbled as he took his hand and gave it a shake, "It's nice to meet you too." 

Calum saw the look that his superstar gave him, the tiny glance that meant she'd caught on to his sudden change of attitude. Usually, Calum was cool-headed and nothing really bothered him but seeing the woman he loved dressed in a beautiful dress dancing away the fake night with someone who wasn't him struck a nerve. He knew that she didn't have any feelings for him, knew that they were just coworkers at best and the dancing and flirting were just on-screen. And yet, Calum figured out that the pit in his stomach that had been growing all day was jealousy. 

"I'm done filming for the day, Cal, want to go with me to my dressing room?" she asked, bringing Calum out of his thoughts and back into whatever conversation they'd all been in, "Then we can head back to the hotel." 

"Yeah, that's fine. Nice to meet you," he told her costar before following behind his superstar who was walking a few steps ahead of him. 

Walking into the dressing room, which was more like a small walk-in closet where Calum had been hiding in for most of the day while he did some work, Calum had expected her to be upset or disappointed in him. He hadn't been the most polite and he knew that he'd messed up being so short and distant with them today. What Calum hadn't expected was her lips on his the second that her door had closed and they were alone. His hands were on the waist of the dress she was wearing, a soft groan leaving him when the scratchy fabric rubbed against his palms. 

"You know, for someone who claims to be a great dancer, you've never taken me out dancing," she whispered as she pulled away from his lips for a second, "Might need to change that, can't have other men take me ballroom dancing before my own lover." 

Calum chuckled as he pulled her closer to his body, the pit in his stomach disappearing as his lips met hers again. No matter how many times Calum had gotten lost in his head and lost in the what-ifs of the world, his superstar was always there to bring him out of the fog and show him that she loved him just as much as he did her. She could notice from a  small change of body language that Calum had gotten too far in his head and knew the way out. 

"Don't know the first thing about ballroom dancing," he admitted, his cheeks flushing as he rested one hand on her waist while the other found a spot between her shoulder blades, "But this pretty dress and your love could teach me anything, don't you think?"

There could have been a full-blown orchestra playing for them to dance and all Calum would be focused on was how her laugh was the perfect song. Maybe Calum had been childish for feeling jealous for even just a second. For thinking that there was a connection between her and the man who'd she had danced with today. But as she and Calum danced around the small dressing room, Calum counting a constant one two three in his head, nothing else mattered. The tune from earlier in the day, one he’d been trying to fit into a new song, was hummed into her ear as they swayed together in the small and frankly cramped dressing room. But as long as he had her by his side, Calum would dance all night long. 

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