#but at least it's still winter where i live so maybe i'm not too late

[eyanin]

Seasonal bows 🌸🌿🍂❄️

[endofthelinepal107]

henry winter - praise fucking dionysus

{a secret relationship can only stay so secret when everybody's immersed in a bacchanal. dionysus is the god of debauchery, not secrets.} 11k words

notes: kinda OC henry, henry's a virgin, the twins are NORMAL, no bunny, ngl the original draft of this is even more depraved than this one but i edited it down to make it slightly less alarming (what can i say i'm down bad for henry)

warnings: explicit(!!!) sex scenes, cursing, kinda dom/sub dynamic, mention of ritual sacrifice

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You arrived home late. There were plenty of excuses you could give. Julian had given you too much work. The book Henry had recommended to you was a slog. It was too warm to take the car. Really, there was only one reason: you were avoiding your friends. Or, more specifically, you were avoiding Henry.

It wasn't his fault.

Over the past few months, you had started to see your friend in another light. It had taken you a while to realise what the feeling was. You weren't always very perceptive about yourself. But, luckily, you had Francis and Richard, who very quickly pulled you aside and demanded to know why you were suddenly head over heels for Henry Marchbanks Winter.

Richard was the least surprised out of the three of you. He'd become friends with you and Henry at the same time, and therefore seen the two of you together in a different light to everyone else. Your other friends wouldn't have noticed how similar you and Henry were, after knowing you both so long. They wouldn't have seen the way that Henry's eyes changed when he looked at you, or how your eyes flitted to meet his when the two of you were in the same room.

It seemed sensible, distancing yourself from Henry for a bit. Maybe if you could spend less time with him, you'd be able to let your feelings fade away. Hopefully, he'd be out of sight, out of mind. So that was the plan you'd gone with. For two weeks, you'd barely seen Henry outside of Greek. If he noticed, he didn't make it obvious.

That was when Francis decided to thwart your plans. He and Richard wanted to see the two of you together. So they organised a spontaneous holiday to Francis' house in the country. The two of you would be forced into the same house for weeks. How could you possibly avoid him?

That was why you were late getting home. Because you knew that they were all waiting in your living room, chatting about the plans for the holiday. Henry's car would be parked in the driveway, behind yours. His keys would probably be in his hand, resting on the table. Everybody would still be in their coats, ready to go.

You slowly pushed open the front door.

"There she is!"

"Finally!"

You smiled tiredly, shuffling into the room. The scene was laid out just as you'd imagined it. The only deviation from your prediction was that Henry was sitting in your chair. Your eyes landed on him, resting on the comfortable seat and then his body in it. His gaze flicked to you, stayed for a moment, then settled on the glass of whisky he was nursing.

Why was he in your seat?

"Everybody okay?" You asked, walking in. There was a brief moment where you hesitated, unsure of what to do with yourself now that your designated seat was taken. Everybody noticed you fumble, glancing helplessly at Henry in your chair. Your eyes didn't meet his, but you knew he was watching you. All you could wonder was why he was doing this. He knew just as well as anyone that the chair was where you sat, every day, every night.

Francis came to your rescue. "Take no notice of him, Y/N," he said lowly, voice smooth. "Got a perfectly good seat for you right," he paused, resting his hand on your wrist and giving you a moment to move away. When you didn't, he pulled you onto his lap. "Here," he finished. His slender arms wound around your waist, head resting on your shoulder. Henry watched in silence from your chair. He and Francis exchanged looks. One was filled with smug satisfaction. The other was perfectly unreadable. Both raised the tension in the room.

"Well, I'm good, thank you," Camilla said loudly, effectively breaking the tension. Most of you looked at her with gratitude. "I can't believe Julian agreed not to give us homework over the vacation."

Charles chuckled. "Well, the request did come from his favourite student."

"He wants us to have a break," Henry shrugged. "We should just be grateful."

Richard nodded. "I'm sure he'll make up for it when we get back anyway. Let's just enjoy it while we can."

"Papen's right," Francis piped up. "We should enjoy it! So let's go enjoy it! Right, Y/N?" He had jumped to his feet by now, clutching your hands in his and pulling you close. When he saw a smile start to creep onto your face, he continued dramatically. "Let's run away to the country! We'll dine on wine and bread! We'll wander the hills under the morning sun! We'll cherish each day and go to sleep with a smile!"

An incredulous snort of laughter left your nostrils as you gripped Francis' hands. "How many drinks have you had, Francis?"

"One," he replied.

Camilla pointed at the stack of margarita glasses on the coffee table. "Five," she corrected dryly. "But I agree with the drunk. We should go now. That way we can spend as much time there as possible."

"Alright. Who's driving?" Charles asked. He stood up, throwing an arm around his sister's shoulders. You suspected it was more for balance than anything else.

Richard stood too. "Who isn't drunk?"

"I'm not."

"I'm not."

Henry's eyes met yours for a moment before you looked away.

"Great," Francis smiled. "Y/N can drive. Henry's driving makes me feel seasick." He walked out of the house. Camilla and Charles followed. Henry stood by the window, sipping his drink while you and Richard cleared up the glasses your friends had left.

Richard’s eyes were on Henry as he spoke to you. "Francis has a plan, you know."

"I guessed so," you nodded. "Are you at liberty to tell me what it is?"

Richard looked towards you. Simultaneously, you saw Henry turn to look at him. "Actually, I sort of want to see if it'll work."

"Fair enough," you shrugged, nudging him with your elbow as you walked past to put the dishes by the sink. "It's not going to, but if it was you or Francis involved, I'd probably do the same."

Henry looked between the two of you blankly. He had no idea what you were talking about. Richard smiled. "I think we all would. We all want to see each other happy, right?"

"I don't think this is the way it's going to happen, though," you reasoned, walking back over. Before he could say anything, you nodded towards the door. "Okay, you go first, I need to lock up." You turned your head towards Henry but didn't quite meet his eyes. "You too, Henry."

Richard hummed, disappearing out of the door. Henry lingered. You went upstairs to grab your luggage. When you came back down, he was setting his glass down by the sink. "I shouldn't have taken your seat," he said suddenly, his low voice loud in the silent house.

"No," you agreed. You were a little too tired to try and please him. "Can I get past you? I need some coffee if I'm going to be driving."

Henry didn't move. "Are you tired?"

"Yeah," you nodded. You were in front of him now. "So...can you move, please?"

He looked at you, dark blue eyes staring you down. You had to look away. "I don't think you should drive. You should sleep."

"I can't sleep in moving vehicles. Thanks, though," you shrugged.

Henry shook his head. "Then you can rest. I'll drive."

"Francis said-"

You caught the end of something flashing across his face. Anger, or jealousy, maybe. "I don't care what Francis said. I'll drive." He walked back over to the table, seizing his keys from the table and marching out of the front door. You followed a few steps behind, watching awkwardly as he ordered everyone out of your car and into his. Francis opened his mouth to protest and was silenced with a surprisingly harsh glare.

"What happened?" Richard whispered in your ear, standing beside you as he waited for everyone to sort themselves out.

You shrugged. "Nothing. I don't know what's wrong with him."

"Did you tell him that Francis didn't want him to drive?"

You laughed. "I did. You can try telling him again, if you like. There's a chance you'll end up under the car instead of in it."

"I’ll give it a shot," he decided. "You know how annoying Francis gets when he's feeling sick."

You hummed. "Say it loud, so the others are listening in. Maybe it’ll make him listen." He nodded.

"Henry," he called. The tall man turned around, looking at Richard with a blank expression. "I'll drive. Francis gets sick when you drive." Before Henry could protest, an idea occurred to Richard. "Also, there's not enough seats for all of us."

Henry frowned. "Another one of us driving won't change that."

"Oh," Francis murmured from the passenger seat, smiling over at Richard in understanding. "Henry, there's not enough seats. I'm in the passenger seat. Richard'll be in the driver's seat. Camilla and Charles are in the back. There's only one seat left. You and Y/N still have to get in."

The realisation of what they were saying dawned on Henry before it could dawn on you. Richard saw this and nodded towards you. Francis continued for your benefit as Henry tried to make a decision.

"If you drive, Richard and Y/N'll have to squeeze into that one seat together. There isn’t enough space for them to sit next to each other. Richard would have to sit her on his lap." Francis spoke with a particular relish, knowing just what to say to sway Henry's decision. "If that's okay with you, then sure, drive. But if it's not.."

You finally understood what Richard and Francis were telling Henry. The last bit had been mainly for your benefit, but it still served to push Henry into making a choice. He took a step away from the car, nodding towards Richard.

"Fine." Your eyes widened in surprise. Wait, what? Before you could protest, Henry was sliding into the backseat and looking up at you. His face was shaded in the darkness of the evening. "We should leave now," he said simply. The hidden words rang out clearly in the silence: come and sit on my lap, before this gets worse.

You didn't say anything. There was a long pause as you stared at him. Then, still wordlessly, you ducked into the car. Henry's hands rested on your waist, guiding you to his lap. As soon as your back was resting against the place where the door met the car, his hands fell to his sides. There wasn't much space on his left because of Camilla, so his hand ended up wedged beneath his thigh.

Richard started the car.

--

Richard and Francis' plan had been a clever one. But it had one major oversight: they hadn't considered how awkward you and Henry were. They'd had a certain image in mind when they began. Something romantic, like the two of you holding hands or you leaning your head back against his chest and kissing his jaw. Instead, they got two of the stiffest people ever known to man. Henry was sitting so straight that he looked like he was experiencing rigor mortis. You were so still you looked like you were carved from stone. Both of your eyes were wide and panicked.

But, slowly, the two of you relaxed. There was only so long that muscles could stay so tense and eventually you had no choice but to loosen up. Henry melted into the chair beneath you. The curve of your back slotted into his front. Your head rested against the window. Your eyes met in the glass. Francis noticed the change and switched the radio on, giving the two of you the illusion of privacy.

Henry hummed, getting your attention. Everybody tried really hard to look like they weren't listening. "I apologise if I'm making you uncomfortable," he murmured.

"You're not," you whispered back. You turned your head to look at him. Both of your breath hitched; he was far closer than you had realised. His dark eyes bored into yours as you pressed the back of your head against the window, trying to maximise the few inches of space between his face and yours. "You make a comfortable seat," you joked, trying to alleviate the tension. Charles bit back a chuckle at the look on your face as you realised how inappropriate your remark had sounded.

Henry, with all his bookishness, wasn't well-versed in innuendoes. He didn't pick up on the crudeness of your joke. At least, not before he returned the sentiment. "I'm sure you're a wonderful place to sit too." When you looked completely uncertain, he realised how he sounded. There was a pause as the two of you blinked at each other. Then the corner of your mouth twitched. As the two of you laughed quietly in your little corner of the car, you quickly forgot about the others.

"But, seriously, Henry, you're not making me feel uncomfortable," you promised once you were calmer. He nodded. You could still see a flicker of disbelief hiding behind his eyes. Up this close, it was easier to see through the mask of indifference Henry put up. It still wasn't easy, but he was definitely more readable up close. You could see how unsure he was of where to put his hands and how to look at you when you were so near to him. You could see the fatigued twitch of his right eye and pick out each eyelash.

Your inspecting gaze didn't bother Henry too much. It gave him the opportunity to take a good look at you too. He appreciated every inch of skin, every flutter of your eyelids, every line on your lips. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," you nodded, looking up to his eyes. "You can ask me anything."

Henry felt a little warmed by your simple, genuine words. "Have you been avoiding me?"

He watched indecision flicker over your face. You considered lying to him, preserving his feelings. Then you considered telling him the truth, which you knew he'd like more. "Yeah."

"Will you tell me why?"

"I don't think so."

"Okay," Henry nodded. His eyes drifted to the hedge that was flashing by outside the window as he processed your words. "Will you stop?" You faltered. Henry filled the pause. "I want you to stop."

His words, spoken so matter-of-factly, took you by surprise. You couldn't help but nod. "Fine. I'll stop avoiding you." How could you refuse him? You'd never known Henry to be so upfront about something like that, something emotional.

"Thank you," Henry murmured. You hummed in response. The two of you turned your attention to the window, silently watching the scenery flashing by. Slowly, Henry moved his hands to hover over your lap. "Can I touch you?"

You were careful not to show how much his words affected you. "Sure." His hands rested in your lap. One of his arms shifted to wrap around your middle, fingers grasping the material at your side. Wordlessly, you dropped your hands down to rest with his. Henry turned his hand over, palm-side up. You slipped your hand into it. His fingers closed around yours.

--

By the time you reached the country house, it was early morning. The sky was still dark but the black was starting to melt away, slowly but surely. It took a while to get everyone's stuff in the house. Everyone opted to dump it and sort it out after some rest. You all traipsed upstairs to sort out sleeping arrangements. Francis and Richard's plan began to swing into motion again.

"So, there's six of us and five bedrooms," Charles pointed out superfluously. "Who's sharing?"

Francis chuckled. "I think the better question would be who's not sharing. Me, for one."

"Me," Richard agreed.

"Me," Camilla chimed in.

"Me," Charles nodded.

You blinked, a little too tired to catch on. Henry looked at you, then at the looks on Richard and Francis' faces. He sighed, unamused. "Oh, I see what you're trying to do."

"What? What are they trying to do?" You asked him.

He looked at you again. You could see dark circles beneath his eyes. You couldn't remember if they'd been there forever or just that night. "They're trying to get us to share a room."

"Oh," you nodded. "I don't mean to make things difficult, but I'm too tired to argue. I'm going to sit outside for a little bit." You disappeared down the stairs. They heard the front door open and shut.

Henry turned to glare at the others. Charles raised his hands in surrender. "What? She wasn't upset."

"You shouldn't try to make her uncomfortable," Henry insisted.

Camilla shook her head. "Actually, I think it's a good idea that you and Y/N sleep in the same room. I think she'd be most comfortable with you, out of all of us."

"And we all know you would be plenty comfortable with her," Francis pointed out.

Henry chose to ignore his comment. "Are you sure?" He addressed Camilla. When she nodded, Henry took a step towards the stairs. "Fine." He started to walk down.

Charles couldn't resist calling after him. "We better not wake up and find the two of you fucking on the front porch!"

"Why am I friends with these people?" Henry muttered to himself, opening the front door and slipping out.

You looked up at him from where you sat, perched on the swinging chair. "That bad?"

"Charles said.." Henry trailed off, deciding not to tell you what he had actually said. "He was just being an idiot."

You smiled. "Nothing new there, then." Your eyes flicked up and down his form. "You can come sit down, if you like."

Henry nodded, crossing the deck in a few strides. He sat down beside you. The swinging chair was too big for one person, but it was a little small for two. It was still comfortable. You were grateful to have a little warmth from his body pressed against yours. Henry had expected to feel uneasy being so close to you. However, he found that after sitting in the car with you for so long, he savoured the intimacy.

"Every time we come here," you said, voice clear in the crisp morning air. "I see you come out and sit here. I always thought that you looked peaceful out here. I thought I'd try it."

Henry glanced at you, smiling ever so slightly. "I have trouble sleeping. I wake up early. And when we're in a place like this, I feel like I should take it in. And you're right, it is relaxing."

"Blest who can unconcernedly find hours, days and years slide soft away in health of body, peace of mind. Quiet by day, sound sleep by night; study and easy together mixt, sweet recreation," you recited softly to yourself. You hadn't meant it for Henry's benefit, it had just popped into your head. You'd read it a few days earlier and the conversation made the poem spring to mind.

He looked at you. "Who is that?"

"Alexander Pope," you replied.

Henry hesitated before shaking his head. "I don't know him."

"Well, he's not Homer," you joked.

He smiled slightly sheepishly. "I read other things too."

"Like the Lexicon?" You continued to tease, liking the pink you could see tinting his ears. Henry smiled a little brighter, looking straight ahead. You hoped that this mini-holiday would be full of moments where you got to see him like that. "You know, when I found out about your obsession with Homer, it made perfect sense."

Henry was gazing up at the sky, admiring the soft pinks and oranges as the sun rose. "Mm?"

"It fits you," you nodded. "There were always a few quotes that reminded me of you. Like..." You wracked your brain. "Beauty, terrible beauty. That's just like that time you said beauty was terror."

He looked over at you. "Did I say that?"

"Yeah," you hummed. "To Julian. You really struck a chord in Richard, I think."

Henry nodded, pride swelling in his chest. Not only had he inspired a friend, but his words had stayed ingrained in your head for months. He decided to return your wordy affections in kind. "The Iliad. There's a line: Any moment might be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we're doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again. Every time I read that, I think of you. Your nihilism, your philosophical pessimism. And your beauty."

"Fucking hell, Henry," you protested with a bashful laugh. "I recited a poem about grass."

He blinked in surprise, not expecting that reaction. When he saw on your face that it was more genuine than anything else he could have gotten, he smiled. He liked that you were being more open with him. He'd seen you like that with Richard and Henry, even Charles and Camilla sometimes. But you and Henry had never really been as vulnerable with each other as you were in that moment.

"You can try again, if you'd like," he offered.

You looked at him, nodding and thinking. "Okay. Give me a moment." You thought. "Okay. Some Shakespeare for you, since I can't remember any more Homer." Henry nodded, turning to face you expectantly. You cleared your throat dramatically, winking at him in your awkwardness. A smile settled on his lips. "Shy love, I think of you as the morning air brushes the window pane. And how much time of all it takes to know the movement of your arm, the steps you take, the curves along your head, your ears, your hair. For all of this, each hand, each finger, each lip, each breath, each sigh, each word and sound of voice or tongue, I would require an age to contemplate. But for your heart: your mind, your thoughts. All these, to love them all, I need at least five centuries."

It was only once you were finished that you realised you had repeatedly said 'love' throughout your recital of the sonnet. You had just thought of the words you could think of that best described how you felt about Henry. You hadn't stopped to consider how strong those feelings were, especially when translated into poetry.

Henry was almost as surprised as you. It completely shocked him that someone could feel that way about him, even if you didn't feel as strongly as the poetry made it sound. But he found it very predictable that you would accidentally reveal the secrets of your heart by reciting a bit of poetry. He hadn't made quite the same fumble, always expert in his choice of quotation. But then he'd explained himself and had thoughtlessly called you beautiful.

"Get a room!"

The two of you peered upwards. All four of your friends were hanging out of the window above you. Francis, Richard and Camilla were trying desperately not to laugh. Charles looked a little drunk and was grinning down at the two of you.

"Honestly, your lovesick poetry's making me feel ill!"

You rolled your eyes. "No, Charles, that's the alcohol poisoning." Everybody laughed, including Henry, who chuckled at your retort. He waved them off and they all disappeared back inside. "I think I'm going to go in now," you informed Henry, slowly standing up.

"Would you mind if I joined you?"

You shook your head, holding a hand out to him. "Not at all." Henry accepted, grasping your hand firmly in his as he stood up. The two of you walked inside, hands naturally falling away from each other’s. When you figured out which bedroom had been left to the two of you, you let out a sigh of relief. Your friends had the decency to give you the master bedroom, with the largest double bed.

"I thought they'd give us the single," Henry admitted, peering out of the window before drawing the curtains.

You hummed in agreement as you sat on the edge of the bed to take off your shoes. "Same. I'm glad, though."

"Will it bother you to sleep with me?" He asked, sitting beside you. You looked at him, but he was bending over to unlace his shoes. "I can come up later to get some sleep."

You shook your head. "No, you don't need to do that. I'm fine with it. If you're not, I'll go down. We won't be on top of each other, anyway." 

Henry just shook his head. He stood up again to take off his blazer, folding it over the wardrobe door. You pulled your jumper over your head before lying down. Henry turned around, adjusting his suspenders before lying down beside you.

--

"I can't believe it worked that well," Richard whispered.

Camilla hummed. "They just needed a push. Someone to tell them it was okay."

"I feel like we should give them the room," Charles chuckled.

You kept your eyes closed as you listened to your friends talking. You guessed they'd come to check on you and Henry and found you in your current position. You didn't blame them for gawking. The two of you had migrated to the middle of the bed. Henry was spooning you, his front pressed to your back. His long legs were tucked under yours, pushing you closer to him. His arms were wrapped around your body. Your hands were gripping onto his forearms.

"What are you doing?" Henry asked suddenly. His voice was deep and low, nowhere near its usual volume.

Richard let out a gasp of surprise while Francis answered. "Looking at a changed man, it looks like."

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" He pointed out.

Charles shook his head. "Don't pretend you haven't been pining over her for months, Henry. Dishonesty doesn't suit you."

The room was silent for a few seconds. Then Henry spoke. "Don't wake her up."

"Why?" Francis asked smugly.

Henry sighed. "Because she's exhausted. Just like everyone else. I'm just trying to keep my friend healthy."

"Uh huh," the red-head chuckled. "You're not convincing anyone, Henry."

You could feel Henry's muscles tensing behind you as he tried to keep his composure. He just wanted to shout at them all to leave the two of you alone. He wanted to be able to relish in your closeness for a while longer. They were ruining it.

"Let's go," Camilla interjected. Everyone shuffled out, Charles and Francis complaining the whole way down the stairs.

You waited a minute before humming. "Hey."

"Did they wake you up?" Henry asked, voice already a little angry.

You shook your head. "I woke up just before they came in. I didn't want to make things worse by speaking up." 

He nodded. It occurred to him that you were both awake, yet you were still pressed against him. "Would you like me to move?"

"No." The response was too quick, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. Especially not when Henry's arms tensed a little, pulling you even closer. "When did this happen?" You asked, referring to your position.

Henry hummed. "I don't know. In our sleep, I think."

"It's nice," you admitted.

He smiled at the back of your head. "It is. I like being close to you." He regretted the overly-honest words immediately after he'd said them.

Before he could take them back, you answered him with a smile. "I like being close to you. Can we stay like this for a while longer? Or do you want to go down?"

"I want to stay here," Henry replied.

The two of you laid in comfortable silence for a while. You cleared your throat. "Do you mind if I take off some clothes? I'm getting all twisted in the fabric."

"Take off whatever you like," he shook his head. "I might take something off in a while." 

You nodded, detaching yourself from him and standing up beside the bed. Henry watched you step out of your pants, letting them fall to the ground. You didn't notice his piercing gaze until you lifted your hands to unbutton your shirt, eyes falling to meet his at the same time. Henry winced internally when your fingers faltered. You looked at each other in silence. Then you just continued as if nothing had happened. Henry cleared his throat, looking up at the ceiling instead of at your body. Still, the curves of your figure were ingrained on the backs of his eyelids every time he blinked.

By the time you laid back down on the bed, clad only in your underwear, Henry was decently flustered. You moved back into the same position. When Henry made no move to lie against you, you turned onto your other side to look at him.

"Henry?" You questioned. He hummed, not looking at you. Your eyes narrowed. "Everything okay?" He just nodded stiffly. Your eyes scanned his body for any indication as to what had suddenly changed. "Henry-oh."

His eyes widened and flicked to yours. Your eyes were fixed to the sizeable tent quickly forming in his pants. Henry's mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. He blinked at you in complete horror. Your eyes flicked between his face and his crotch. You drew in a deep breath, reminding yourself not to freak out. Henry already looked like he was about to pass out.

"Okay," you began gently. "Do you want to go into the bathroom and take care of yourself? We have the en suite."

He was still staring at you. "Take care of myself?"

"Yeah," you nodded. His expression was blank. "You know, uh.." Hundreds of different phrases danced along your tongue. You couldn't decide which one was appropriate for someone like Henry. You settled on a completely blunt one, since he seemed so clueless as to what you were telling him. "Do you want to go fuck yourself in the bathroom?"

A rose flush spread across his cheeks, unlike anything you'd ever seen on Henry before. "I..." He gulped, looking away from you. "I can't. I can't do that."

"You can't.." You frowned at him in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Henry squeezed his eyes shut, looking far more vulnerable than you had ever seen the stoic before. "It disconcerts me. I can't do it. I've never been able to do it." He swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "I know it's…strange. But I can't."

"It's not that strange," you assured him.

He shook his head. "You're just saying that."

"I'm not," you shook your head. You moved closer to him in your eagerness. "It happens to plenty of people. It's not that weird."

Henry nodded. "That's a small comfort, then." He looked even more troubled. You only realised why when you felt his arm twitch beneath your fingers. Looking down, you saw that you had grabbed onto his arm as you'd been speaking. You quickly withdrew your hand. Henry glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. "What should I do?"

"I don't know," you shook your head. "If you can't… do that, I guess you just have to wait for it to go away on its own?"

He nodded slowly. "I can... I can do that."

"Okay," you nodded. "I'm going to lie down. I'll face away so you don't feel... observed." 

Henry just nodded again, watching as you turned back over. You stared at the sheet in front of you, imagining him lying beside you. Up until that moment, when you'd thought about Henry in sexual situations, he'd always been pretty vanilla. But with him lying behind you, willing away a boner you were almost certain had happened because he'd watched you undress, your views had changed. You were beginning to see Henry in a new light, only furthered by the information about his never masturbating. Your mind slipped into daydreams of teaching him a few things right there and then, suspenders and all.

Henry's low voice pulled you from your reverie. "It's not working."

"Why?"

He turned his head to look at you, taking in the soft slope of your waist and the roundness of your ass in the simple panties. "Because I keep looking at you. And you're all I see when I close my eyes."

"Oh," you murmured, pleasantly surprised by his admission. You weighed up your options. You took Henry's apparent inexperience and naivety into consideration. Then you hummed. "You can cuddle me still, if you'd like."

Henry blinked, pushing himself up onto one elbow. "Are you sure?" He really hadn't expected you to say that.

"I told you," you shrugged. "I like having your body against mine." Both of you were aware that neither of you had said those exact words. But it was still true. Henry turned onto his side, hesitantly shuffling closer. His chest brushed yours, but he angled his hips so that they didn't make contact with you. "Henry," you said, voice low. He felt his heart squeeze in his chest. "Come on. Do it properly." He moved quickly, arms sliding over and under your body. He pulled you against him. Your ass pushed against his hard-on. "Isn't this more comfortable?"

Henry swallowed. "Not the word I'd use."

"Which word would you use?"

He thought. "Arousing?"

"Why is this arousing?" You questioned. The lilt in your voice made it clear that you were fully aware of why being pressed against you with his cock already hard was arousing to Henry.

He found himself answering anyway. "You're touching me."

"Women touching you is arousing?"

Henry shook his head. "No. You touching me is arousing."

"Oh," you hummed, smiling slightly. "You can come closer, you know." Henry looked down at the minimal space between you. Then he realised what you were implying. He tightened his hold around your waist, bucking his hips up into yours. His cock nestled between your plush ass. Henry's breath stuttered slightly. You leaned your head back so that you could see him. He looked down at you. You flashed him a smile. "Are you a virgin, then?"

He blinked. "I... Yeah."

"Oh," you hummed, frowning to yourself.

Henry panicked a little, worried that whatever was happening was about to stop because of your new insight. "Why?"

"I just always assumed otherwise, I guess," you shrugged. "I figured you'd be the kind to have sensual weekend-relationships all the time. Probably with men, like the Greeks did."

He shook his head. "You thought wrong."

"Very wrong, it seems," you smiled again. Henry got the feeling that you were getting some amusement at his expense. He didn't care in the slightest. "Have you really never had anyone?"

Henry shook his head again. "I'm not exactly the romantic type."

"Aren't you?" You frowned. "I think you are. I mean, over the past few months, you've turned up at my house with flowers, you've taken me out to dinner and lunch, you've walked with me, you've studied with me. Henry, you could be very romantic if you wanted to be."

He blushed slightly. "I didn't realise I was doing all of those things romantically until recently."

"What?" You blinked.

Henry frowned. "Is that not what you were implying? That you knew I was trying to- well."

"I didn't realise that at all," you shook your head. "Is that what you were doing?" He nodded. "Oh. Well, thank you, then. Does that mean this," you gestured between the two of you. "Can continue?"

He nodded slowly. "I thought you would be put off by my inexperience."

"Actually, I think it's making me want you more," you mused. "My neck's hurting, sorry." You tilted your head back to its natural position. Henry hesitated before resting his head on your shoulder. You smiled. "Comfy?"

He hummed. "More than I was before."

"Does it hurt?" You asked.

Henry frowned. "What?"

"Your cock."

He choked on air, surprised by your bluntness. Henry was used to hearing you make crude comments and lewd jokes all the time, but they were never addressed to him. When he recovered, he answered you. "Yeah, it does. I'm used to it, though." You nodded. You'd forgotten that Henry must have had years of dealing with blue balls.

"You can use me a little, if you'd like," you suggested.

Henry processed your offer. "I don't know how to do that."

"Do you want to?" You asked. He nodded. "Okay. I'll guide you through it, okay?" He nodded again. "Have you got a good grip on me? You don't want me to move around the bed." Henry's arms tightened around you. "And now you just... move against me. Say when you need something more."

Henry moved slowly at first, trying to find a rhythm that felt good. His hips slid against your ass, cock dragging against your panties. He was still fully clothed so there was plenty of friction. It also meant that he had to press himself against you a lot harder to feel all of the sensations. Henry gripped you even tighter, using his grip on you as momentum to drag himself over you repeatedly. Wetness pooled in your panties as you felt him moving against you. His grip was tight, nearly bruising in his earnestness. Your teeth sank into your bottom lip, eyes falling closed. You focused on the soft pants Henry was letting out. After a minute, he faltered.

"Can... Can I have more?" He asked in a hushed voice, as though he was asking something incredibly wrong.

You smiled to yourself at the timid question. "Of course you can." You decided to ease him into the more submissive role. "Say please."

"Please," he repeated without hesitation. He didn't seem to have really noticed your request.

You rolled over onto your front in his grip. "Move above me," you told him. He did as you asked, leaning all of his weight on his arms, pressing into the pillow either side of your head. You looked him over, smiling at the sweat starting to seep through his shirt and the heavy rising and falling of his chest. You lifted your right thigh. "Put your legs on either side." Henry followed your instructions. You dropped your leg. "Hump, Henry," you murmured.

His blue eyes were blackened with lust as he blinked up at you. He looked genuinely surprised by your words. But his legs still dropped down onto the mattress. He rocked his hips against your leg.

"No," you said firmly. He stopped immediately, looking at you again. "I didn't say grind. I said hump." Henry swallowed, nodding slowly.

He looked over your body. "Can I touch you?"

"Mhm."

His hands found your waist, flexing around your hips. When he was satisfied, he dragged his crotch up your leg, then back down again. His lips parted in pleasure. "Oh."

"Good?" You hummed. He nodded. You cleared your throat. "Henry."

He started to move faster. "Y-Yeah, it feels good."

"What feels good about it?"

His eyebrows furrowed as he shifted slightly to the left. The tension disappeared from his face when he found the angle he was looking for. "Your leg. It feels good against my.." He trailed off, unsure of which word to use. It wasn't like Henry to swear, or to talk dirty. You wanted to urge him to do it, to try and flick a switch inside of him. But then you also liked the idea of him shying away from it still.

"Say it," you whispered.

Henry let out a gasp, jaw going slack. His movements were starting to falter. "You feel good against my c-cock."

"Good boy," you praised, feeling a jolt of satisfaction when his cheeks flamed red and his eyes sparkled. "Get off, before you cum."

He sat back on his knees, looking at you in confusion. "Did I do something wrong?" The lost puppy look was surprisingly fitting on his face, a nice contrast to the hubris he usually exuded.

"No," you smiled. "I just want to draw it out. I don't want this to end so soon. Is that okay?" Henry nodded quickly, still amazed this was something you were offering him. "Are you going to keep doing what I tell you, then?"

Henry nodded again. "Anything." From the way he was looking at you, like you were Helen of Troy herself, you knew he was telling the truth.

"Stand up, then," you told him. He did as you asked. You moved to your feet too, padding around the bed to stand in front of him. Henry towered above you, but his head hung to look at you and his eyes showed only awe. It felt like you were bigger than him, not the other way around. "Look at you," you murmured. "Can see the precum on your trousers."

Henry looked down in confusion, shocked to see that there really was a wet patch spreading on the grey fabric of his pants. "I only brought one pair."

"Really?" You smiled, looking back up at him. "We better get you out of them before you make more of a mess, hm?" Henry nodded. Your hands fell to his crotch, ghosting over his hard length. You paused to rid him of his shirt, folding it roughly and throwing it on the bed. You smiled at him warmly. "Have you kissed before?"

Henry shook his head. "No."

"What do you think about it?" Your fingers worked at the button on his trousers as you spoke. You could feel him pulsing beneath your fingertips.

He watched you with bated breath. "I don't think I want someone's tongue in my mouth."

"Do you want someone's tongue anywhere?" You asked.

He nodded. "Anywhere else. E-Everywhere else. And teeth, too." You hummed with interest, storing away everything he was telling you. You pulled his trousers down his legs, falling into a squat as you pulled them from his feet. You couldn't help eyeing his cock as it sprang up in your face. He looked big.

You rose to your feet, looking at him again. One of your hands splayed across the back of his neck. You pulled him down a few inches to meet you, nudging his nose with yours. Henry's eyes fluttered shut. You closed yours too, closing the small space between you. His lips weren't too warm, a little chapped from his heavy breathing earlier. He was a sweet kisser, as you'd expected. Your lips parted and you smiled at him gently. The two of you kissed slowly, like you had all the time in the world. His mouth was a little clumsy against yours and it took your lead for him to lose that characteristic stiffness.

"Pick up your trousers." It took Henry a minute to register your request. When he did, he quickly turned around to find them, picking them up and looking at you again. "Fold them and put them by the basket, I know you want to." He smiled slightly, nodding his head and doing as you'd said. He had been wanting to sort them since they fell to the ground around his ankles.

He turned to you when he was done. "What now?"

"We're going to make Henry Winter cum," you smiled, stepping closer to him. Your chest pressed against his. Henry glanced down at your breasts, then back to your face.

He looked incredibly nervous as he asked, "Can I touch you there?"

"Not now," you shook your head. "Next time, if you want a next time."

Henry nodded rapidly. "I do."

"Next time, then." Your hands slid down over his surprisingly toned torso to his briefs. Your eyes bored into his as you slid a hand over his cock. Henry's breath hitched in his throat as you took a firm hold of him. This felt completely different to all of the times he'd tried to relieve himself, before he'd given up on sexual pleasure completely. You started to palm his erection, still staring at him, watching his reactions carefully.

When you heard the beginnings of a proper moan rumble at the back of his throat, you took your hand away. Roughly shoving his underwear down to his knees, you pressed your hands into Henry's chest and pushed him backwards. He stumbled until his back made contact with the wall. You tilted your head to press a searing kiss to his lips.

"Wrap your hand around mine," you told him, pressing your chest against his firmly. "And look at me." He did both things, looking down at you as his chest heaved. His hand fixed to the back of yours.

You slid your hand down his body again, this time without underwear obstructing your access to his cock. Your fingers brushed over him with a featherlight touch before you took him into your fist. Henry's hand squeezed yours painfully hard and didn't relent. You didn't mind. You started to pump your hand around him, adjusting your ministrations when he had a slightly different reaction. He started to let out soft sounds, more audible than his pants.

"Sweetheart," you whispered. "I want to hear you."

He swallowed what sounded almost like a whine. "O-Okay. Please.." Henry trailed off.

"What?" You asked.

He let out a moan, hips bucking into your hand. Your free hand pushed his hip back against the wall. "Sweetheart. Will you call me that again? Or something like that. Please."

"Yeah," you nodded. "Don't move unless I tell you it's fine, okay, baby?"

Henry let out a breathy moan. "Y-Yeah." His mouth hung ajar as he looked down at you. He caught his breath enough to let you know where he was. "I'm going to-to-"

"Say my name," you murmured. "Say my name when you cum, honey."

His head lolled forwards, forehead pressing against yours. You opened your mouth slightly, inhaling every one of his breathy moans. "O-Oh.." He looked completely debauched, barely able to keep his eyes open as you gave him his first orgasm. Henry let out a cry, muscles tensing and his whole body shuddering. "Y-Y/N!"

"There it is," you hummed. "Good boy, Henry. Let go." His cum spurted across your hand in hot ropes. His body continued to shudder against yours as you supported his weight. He was as heavy as you had guessed he would be and it was quite an effort to hold him steady until he came to his senses. When he did, he swallowed, tongue darting out across his lips. His dark eyes fluttered open and he gazed at you for a moment, looking stunned. Your eyes flicked between his. A small smile crept over his hard line of a mouth and he opened his mouth to say something. Then he stopped, face falling.

"Henry?" You frowned.

He staggered forwards, catching you off guard. You barely had time to catch him. "I've got a headache," he muttered, clutching onto you for balance. His eyes squeezed shut.

"Is it my fault?" You worried, helping him to the bed. His briefs were still around his ankles, so you leaned down and pulled them all the way off.

Henry shook his head. "No, I could feel it coming on anyway."

"What can I do?" You asked.

He gestured weakly towards the window. "Pull the curtains all the way, please. I think I'll just sleep a bit more."

"Okay," you nodded, doing as he asked. When you turned back around, he was laying in bed. You pulled the duvet above his waist, giving him some semblance of dignity in case someone walked in. "Do you have medication?"

He nodded. "In my suitcase." That was downstairs still. You moved around, getting dressed as quietly as you could. After a quick trip to the bathroom to make sure that you didn't look like you'd been doing anything sexual, you grabbed Henry's stained pants and wandered downstairs.

You'd hoped to be able to do what you needed to without being noticed, but Richard and Francis were sitting in the kitchen. They looked up as you walked into the room. Both grinned, but Francis was the one that spoke. "How's Henry? Bedridden from pleasure?"

"Bedridden," you nodded. "He's got one of his headaches."

Richard winced, remembering the one time he'd walked into Henry in the middle of one of his headaches. "I hope he's alright."

"Me too," you agreed. You picked up his suitcase, putting it down on the counter. As you opened it, you put the trousers down beside it. You found the medication. While you were pouring out a glass of water, Francis leaned forwards and inspected the trousers. He spluttered when he found the stain in the crotch, genuinely struggling to wrap his head around what he was seeing. You turned, sighing and snatching it from his hands.

Francis stared at you in disbelief. "What are you doing, washing Henry's trousers?"

"He only brought one pair," you replied, taking them over to the sink and rubbing away the stain. "Honestly, Francis, you're very childish sometimes."

Richard smiled. "Did you two..?"

"We're talking about Henry, Richard," you pointed out, hoping that you could get out of the situation without lying.

You were halfway up the stairs when Francis called after you, "You totally did!" You smiled, shaking your head as you slipped back into the bedroom.

"Henry?" You asked. He grunted, lifting a hand in acknowledgement. You hung the trousers over the radiator to dry out. Then you sat beside him on the bed. "Oh, love," you cooed, seeing the sweat beading on his brow. "You don't look too well."

He shook his head. "It's not as bad as usual."

"I got you your medicine," you informed him. 

Henry tried to lift his head, wincing in pain. You shuffled closer, on your knees. You rested a hand behind his head. Henry didn't speak as he opened his mouth. You gave him the pill, then helped him sip the water. He leaned back down, catching your hand in his. You brought your other hand up to brush over his forehead, absently smoothing away his forehead creases.

The two of you sat there for a while before Richard walked in. You looked up at him, mouth falling open in dismay. This felt somehow worse than if you'd been caught earlier. Henry, who you'd thought was asleep, spoke. "What, Papen?"

"Francis wants..." Richard looked between the two of you again before taking a step back. "I'll tell him that you're busy."

You smiled when you saw the genuine smile on his face. He was happy that the two of you were happy. "Thank you, Richard." You nudged Henry.

"Thank you," he muttered, sending you a weak smile when you glared at him playfully.

--

A few hours later, the others were getting restless. They'd planned a bacchanal for that evening. Francis and Camilla were making the robes, adjusting sheets to make an approximation of a toga. When you'd gone downstairs earlier to find something for you and Henry to eat, you'd found Charles and Richard wandering around in theirs already. Yours and Henry's were the only ones yet to be fitted. All of the supplies had been gathered. They didn't want to leave without you, and they needed Henry's knowledge. So they had been waiting.

Charles burst into the room. "I'm fed up with waiting," he declared.

Francis and the others came in shortly after. "I thought you had a headache?" He asked, seeing Henry sitting beside you. He had recovered impressively quickly. It really hadn't been as bad as usual. The position the others found you in was only really compromising for Henry. You were reading, sitting with your back against the headboard. Henry was lying perpendicular to you, his head in your lap. He wasn't wearing a stitch of clothing. You'd heard footsteps approaching the door and quickly covered his bottom half with the sheets.

"He did," Richard supplied. "I came up earlier and he was genuinely sick."

Camilla stared. "Is Henry naked?"

"You two did-"

You cut Francis off. "Henry got too hot."

"Too hot for you to resist, sure," Charles hummed. You sent a glare his way.

Francis sighed. "Look, whatever. We'll delve into you and Henry and your promising sex life tomorrow. For now... the bacchanal. Camilla and I need to fit you into your robes."

"Alright." You stood up, gently patting Henry's forehead as you did so. You walked over to Francis and Camilla. She was unfolding a sheet.

Francis was a little happier now that you were standing in front of him, ready to be made into an Ancient Roman. "We're doing makeup in a minute, too."

"On everyone?" You asked.

Camilla nodded. "Yes. Just redder lipstick on you and me."

Francis' fingers started to deftly unbutton your shirt. Henry sat up quickly, eyes flicking between the two of you. The sudden movement caught all of your attention. Everybody blinked at him. Henry cleared his throat, clutching the sheets to his lower half and looking away. You smiled slightly to yourself.

Francis rolled his eyes. "I'm starting to regret pushing you two together."

"Nothing's happening," you sighed. 

You met Henry's eyes for a split-second before you looked away. Francis continued to undress you. You didn't bat an eye. It wasn't the first time you'd all attempted a bacchanal. Last time, Francis had been in a rush to get all of you in robes before the sun set, Camilla doing people's makeup at the same time. He'd stripped you down to your underwear then, too. Now, you supposed that making Henry jealous had played a role in that.

Henry cleared his throat again. "Francis." The red-head looked up, nodding slightly and walking over to Henry. He leaned down as Henry whispered something to him. Francis came back looking amused, yet bewildered.

"Yeah, you'd better undress yourself," he told you, cracking a grin. "I'd like to keep my hands."

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head at Henry. He just shrugged. You undressed quickly until you were standing in your underwear. Henry watched you from the bed with undivided attention. Everybody was too amazed by his obvious adoration of you to be annoyed with him. There wasn't any sexual tension in the room anyway, because you were focused on recovering the lost time in preparation for the bacchanal.

"Okay, I'm ready," you said, pushing the straps of your bra down. Camilla appeared in front of you, Francis behind as they wrapped the sheet into a robe like everyone else's.

Charles whistled. "Underwear! Gotta go all natural for the Ancients!" You laughed, slipping your hands under the robe and pulling your underwear off. Again, you didn't bat an eye. Henry gripped the sheets with white-knuckles.

"Let me do your makeup quickly," Camilla pulled you towards her. You stood still in front of her as she drew on your eyeliner and dark eyeshadow. Then, true to her word, she painted your lips with the brightest red you'd ever seen in lipstick.

Francis looked over at Henry. "Your turn, Winter."

"I'm not wearing any clothes," he deadpanned.

Richard snickered. Charles laughed. "I don't think you've worn an item of clothing since last night, Henry."

"Can I have the sheet?" You asked, taking it from Francis. You walked towards Henry. The others watched, biting back laughs as you replaced the sheet of the bed with the makeshift toga. You managed to pull it around his body like a cloak. "Stand up, love."

Charles jeered, "Love!"

Henry did as you asked without question. He pulled you back when he saw that you were going to lead him over to Francis to fix the robe. "If the bacchanal works, we'll lose all inhibitions." He spoke in a conspiratorial tone.

"Yeah," you nodded. "Isn't that the point?"

He shook his head. "I don't want to... do things with the others."

"Oh," you hummed in understanding. You thought. "I won't do it, then. I won't do the bacchanal."

Henry nodded. "Will you stop me from doing anything with the others?"

"If you consent to that now, completely sober and under no influence," you nodded. "Because it could get violent. It's a bacchanal after all, right?"

He nodded, taking a step closer to you. He seemed to have forgotten about your friends because he leaned closer. "Do whatever you need to do. I don't want to do anything with them."

"Should I stop you from doing things with me, too?" You questioned.

Henry shook his head. "I don't want you to. But if I make you uncomfortable, yes."

"Okay." You turned to your friends as Henry walked over to Francis and Camilla, getting his sheet fixed and his eyes painted. "I'm not going to take part in the bacchanal."

Charles hummed. "Why?"

"I think it's important that we have someone sober and sensible there, just in case. We haven't had a successful one of these yet, but if we do, crazy things can happen. I'll be able to prevent anything too serious. Also, I can tell you about what fools you've made of yourselves tomorrow." You added the last part with a smile, hoping that they'd forget about how Henry had whispered to you.

Richard looked at you. "It's not because Henry just asked you to?"

"No," you lied. "We've all read about the ritual madness. I just want it to be safe for everyone."

Charles hummed. "I think," he said dramatically. "I think that Henry asked you to make sure he didn't do anything with anybody else. But if you want us to think otherwise, because you somehow think we're all going to buy that you two aren't fucking, then sure. You're being safe." You were genuinely surprised by how well Charles guessed your conversation. Still, you shook your head and made sure to keep your expression impassive.

"Y/N," Camilla called. You looked over at her. "You do Henry's lips." You opened your mouth to protest, not wanting to support their beliefs. She shook her head. "It's not because of that. I need to get in the bathroom and do my own."

You nodded, taking the lighter lipstick from her. Henry stood in front of you, dark eyes boring into yours. "You suit the eyeshadow, Henry," you complimented him.

"When monarchs and nobles bled, guillotines and flags turned red, those revolutions were jealous of the red of her lips," Henry recited to you with a smile. You smiled back at him, pleased by the warmth you could see returning to his eyes after a day of sickness. Your hand cupped his jaw as you swiped the lipstick over his lips. You dropped the stick, using your thumb to smooth it organically. Henry pressed a light kiss to your fingertip as you pulled it away.

You turned to follow the others out of the room. Thankfully, they'd been talking and hadn't witnessed your moment together. The six of you made your way down to the kitchen. You were charged with carrying the wine while Henry brought the speaker. Your fingers traced over the ribbed glass bottles. Then you all journeyed out into the countryside.

They'd chosen a good night; the air was still warm, the ground dry. You walked for only half a minute before stopping. The group couldn't be too far from the house in case of an emergency. The speaker was set in the middle of a circle that the six of you formed. You handed around the wine, not taking a single sip yourself. Henry caught your eye from across the grass, nodding slightly. You knew what he was saying; remember what you promised me. You nodded back. I will. He tipped his head back and drank. You leaned forwards and pressed play on the speaker. The Dionysian ritual began.

--

It was madness. True, complete and utter madness. You were thankful that you'd chosen to not take part in the ritual. It had started slow at first, with your friends looking drowsy and absent. Then it escalated suddenly. Now, you were scanning the marshes for Henry's white robe. You caught sight of him, finally, and rushed over to him.

He was walking quickly, stumbling over tufts of grass and sticks. He didn't notice you at first. You followed his intent gaze, seeing that he was walking towards Camilla, who was lying beneath a tree.

"Oh, no, you don't," you mumbled, catching his wrist.

Henry whirled around on his heel, staring at you. It took a few seconds for recognition to set in. His reddened lips parted and a sweet, toothy smile pierced the dusk. He looked like a purer version of himself, freed of hauteur and ego. "Y/N," he whispered. "Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, Y/N," he chanted your name like a prayer, taking steps towards you.

"Hey, Henry," you smiled, catching his hands in yours. He was holding a half-full bottle of wine. "Feeling a little woozy?"

He was still smiling. "Lie down with me."

"What?"

He yanked his robe off, laying it on the grass. Henry fell to the ground, rolling onto his back and staring up at the night sky. You blinked before laying beside him. He looked at you. "I love you," he declared. Your mouth fell open.

Henry smiled, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. He moved onto his front again, leaning on his elbows. Suddenly he was on top of you, looking down at you. He reached over and picked up the bottle of wine, taking a long swig. Then he was sliding down your body until his head was level with your crotch. He sent you another grin before disappearing underneath your sheet. You moved onto your elbows in surprise. This was the debauchery that you had all known bacchanals would bring, but seeing it in Henry was something entirely jarring.

His lips pressed against the insides of your thighs as he felt his way around. You knew he had no idea what he was doing, so you were surprised when he licked a wide stripe over your pussy. You gasped, falling back against the sheet beneath you. He gave an experimental prod of his tongue into your hole before changing his mind. His lips moved upwards, lapping at your juices.

You moved your hands to his hair, tugging the robe out of the way. Henry hummed when you tugged his head higher. His lips fastened onto your clit. You let out a cry when he gave a harsh suck.

"Fuck, Henry."

He took note, continuing to do what he was doing. Even without being able to see his face, it was obvious Henry was completely focussed on his task. He ate messily, sloppily. The abandonment of any of his rigid manners made it oh-so much better. Your body melted into the grass, eyes fluttering.

"Oh, christ," you whispered.

Henry’s head lifted to examine your expression. The bottom half of his face glistened in the moonlight. His eyes were darker than usual as he moved up your body, lips finding yours. Your eyes rolled at the sweet taste of yourself and wine on his lips. His hand snaked between your legs, fingers clumsily finding your clit and drawing firm patterns that you were sure he didn’t know felt so good. He pressed  kisses to your lips repeatedly. Your mouth fell open as you panted. He didn't stop kissing you, just moved his targets to around your mouth instead.

When you came, Henry lifted his hand to his lips and licked away every drop. Watching him treat your body like something to be venerated and treasured turned you on more.

"Henry," you whispered. He looked at you. "I want to have sex with you.”

He jumped to his feet, grabbing the wine in one hand and your wrist in the other. You clutched your sheet around your body as you ran with him through the grass. Henry stopped once you were close enough to the speaker to hear the music properly. Then he laid down in the grass, looking up at you with earnest expectedness. You wished that you were a painter, so that you could commit the masterpiece in front of you to an oil canvas and hang it proudly in a gallery.

"Ruin me," he whispered, looking up at you with wide eyes. Dionysus’ perfect old Roman.

You stared down at him in disbelief. Then you moved to straddle him. "Sit up, sweet boy." Henry did as you said. You took the wine from his hand, pressing the neck of the bottle to his lips. His eyes didn't leave yours as he chugged the alcohol. You pulled away a few seconds after it became too much. Wine trailed down his chin.

Henry watched you. "Cover me in it," he murmured, kissing your lips. You licked the wine away from his chin.

"I want you inside me first," you told him. Your hand found the base of his cock. Slowly, you slid him inside you. It took you a moment to accommodate his size. The whole time, Henry was sucking at your neck. Once you were used to the feeling of him inside you, you moved his head so that you were looking into his eyes. He looked back at you. You trailed kisses along his neck, leading upwards to his jaw. You kissed the junction of his jaw before sucking a mark there. Part of you felt like this was some messy, depraved dream, and you wanted to leave a mark to prove it was more than that. Henry's hands lifted to grab your hips. You took his jaw in your hand, pushing his head back. "Close your eyes, Henry," you told him.

Henry's eyes fluttered shut. You tipped the wine bottle, watching the stream of red disappear into Henry's hair before it flooded his face and shoulders. His jaw jutted outwards as he gasped. You watched hungrily until the bottle was empty. You pressed kisses to Henry's lips as you swiped the wine from his eyes with your thumbs. They opened and he grinned at you.

Finally, you started to move, rocking your hips against his. Henry laid flat on his back, pressing his feet to the ground so that he could buck his hips up into yours. He hadn't forgotten about your clit, which he had only just discovered the existence of. His thumb moved from your hip to your clit, rubbing circles there as the two of you gasped and groaned.

"Y/N," he moaned. "Please, don't stop." You watched him, feeling his strong body tense beneath your fingertips. He let out a cry that was loud enough for anybody out of the grass to hear. "Y/N!"

--

"So, where's loverboy?"

You looked over at Charles. All of your friends were sitting around the dining table, making their way through breakfasts that you'd prepared for them. They were all drowsy, but not too hungover. "Charles, don't make me take back your breakfast."

"Okay, okay," he chuckled, raising his hands in surrender. "But, really, where is Henry?"

Francis hummed. "Speak of the devil. Morning, Henry."

"Morning," he replied. You had already turned around to plate up food for him, so you didn't see what all the others did.

Camilla gasped. "Henry, what's happened to you?"

"Are you hurt?" Richard frowned.

You turned around in confusion, eyes widening when you saw him. "Oh, Henry," you murmured, placing the plate down on the table. "Love, you look like Satan."

"I don't feel that hungover," Henry frowned. Charles laughed. You grabbed Henry's hand, pulling him to the bathroom in your room. He looked in the mirror. "Oh."

You chuckled. "Yeah." His hair was stained a reddish-brown from the wine the night before. To make matters worse, his face was still covered in trails of maroon.

"What is it?" Henry frowned.

You blinked. "You don't remember?"

"No," he shook his head. "Did you stop me?"

You nodded. "Yeah, but we did stuff. You asked me to do that." You gestured towards his face.

"To... cover me in blood?" Henry frowned. “Was it some kind of ritual sacrifice? A lamb, or something?” He didn’t look as concerned by the prospect as he probably should have.

You shook your head. "It's wine."

"Oh," he nodded. "Of course." He looked in the mirror for a few more seconds before he shook his head slightly. His eyes flicked between yours. "Will you help me wash it out?"

You smiled. "Sure. Strip off, get in the tub." Henry did as you asked, naked and in the bath within seconds. You switched on the shower, holding the showerhead in your hand as it warmed up. Henry watched you with his constant and once again unreadable gaze.

"What did we do? Last night?"

You shrugged, starting to massage his head. "We had sex. You gave me oral sex. I rode you and covered you in wine."

"I see," Henry mumbled to himself. "I wish I remembered."

You hummed. "I'm sure we can do all those things again when you're not completely out of your mind."

"When we go home, after this," Henry began. "Do you intend for us to just return to normality? Or can this- can we continue?"

You smiled. "I'd like it if we did. Especially if we spend our time doing what we've done this holiday."

"It is the Greek and Roman way," Henry pointed out, tilting his head back.

You pressed a kiss to his lips. "It is."

He hummed against your lips. "Praise Dionysus."

"Praise fucking Dionysus."

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

thanks to anon for asking me to edit and publish this one. i'm so sorry about how depraved it gets lol i swear i toned it down from what it was originally. there's a critical shortage of henry winter content on here though so as far as i'm concerned it's god's work.

F <3

[highhhfiveee]

can I request mike, reader, and Abby going to the beach :p!?

[i'm combining this with another ask! they requested the same setting, but with a scenario!]

wc: 3k tags: sweetgf!reader + dickheadbf!mike, light smut (oral [deepthroating and come swallowing], m!receiving), mostly fluff and being grateful for life and the people who you live it with [: proofread but maybe there are still errors! kill me, i'm human! a/n: i wish i could go to the beach so bad!! i fucking love the summer and it's damn near the dead of winter where i live ],: i also get cold so easily and i can't take freezing every morning lmao

i am imagining:

you and mike are sitting on the couch on a late friday morning, hypnotized by daytime television after a big, indulgent breakfast and chats about mike's shift. abby had retreated to the adjacent loveseat, fast asleep with a stomach full of pancakes and eggs.

"it's so hotttt," mike grumbles, stretching his sweaty body out like a starfish. the limbs on his right side invade your space, leaving you to shrink into the couch with a groan.

"yeah, mike, too hot for you to be doing that. stoppp," you return his irritated tone, bringing your hands up to push into him. it was the hottest day of the summer so far, and it wasn't like you weren't also feeling the elements. not even the AC unit turned to full blast could cool the living room, and it made every breath feel thick and labored.

mike stands from his spot on the couch, dramatically dragging his body over to the kitchen. you watch as he yanks the freezer door open with impatience, craning his head into the crystalized cool and saying, "it's too hot to be living."

you turn your body to extend across the whole sofa, thankful that your hair is up and out of your face so you're able to feel the tickle of a breeze on the nape of your neck. you bite at your bottom lip as the gears of your brain churn through a heat-induced fog, thinking of how to keep cool at a time like this.

abby stirs then, stretching and yawning and squealing, "it was hot in my dream too." you turn your head to her, pursing your lips to the side in disappointment.

"aw, abs, i'm sorry. that sucks."

"i was at the beach though, which i think makes up for it---"

"omg, the beach! we should go!" you cheer, but mike shuts you down once he hears abby wholeheartedly agree.

"uh, the closest beach is six hours away."

"well, maybe we can make a weekend out of it," you suggest, motioning for abby to come sit with you. she delicately settles on your thighs, relaxing into the couch and swinging her legs over the edge.

"yeah, with what money?"

"i can dip into my savings a little bit, at least for the hotel and gas," you offer, and mike is shutting you down again, shaking his head as he cranes it towards you and humming "nuh uh"s.

"c'mon mike, i don't mind! listen, i want to do this for us," you're hugging abby into you, pressing your cheeks together and telepathically communicating for her to help you convince mike with her own set of puppy dog eyes. "we'll leave in the evening so you can get some rest, and we can split the drive."

"abby doesn't have a license."

your face scrunches as you confusedly mutter, "why would you include your eleven year old sister in a 'we' of that context?" as abby states, "you're weird, mike." in the same tone.

"i know, my joke didn't land, i guess," mike sighs, letting his head drop between his shoulders as he closes the freezer door. the sound of suction punctuates his action, and he turns to you and abby with a grimace before saying, "three hours behind a steering wheel just doesn't seem appealing. two would be a hell of a lot more digestible."

"oh my god, mike, you're so pitiful," you playfully chide, crossing your arms over your chest. "i promise that you'll survive, grumpy. tell you what, i'll drive four hours so you'll only have to drive two."

the sweet drawl of your voice and trivial suggestion to take on more work is all it takes for mike to fold and drive all six hours.

he doesn't do it with a smile, but you're still grateful for his sacrifice, cupping his face and kissing his cheek as he drives into the sizzling orange pulse of the sunset. "i love youuuu," you sing, and he grumbles for like the millionth time that day as you ignore him and muse, "and abby loves you, and we're gonna have so much fun on our beach weekend!!"

you and abby begin to whoop and cheer and dance in your seats, chanting, "beachbeachbeach!", and you pretend not to notice the slight smirk that cracks the perpetual stiffness of mike's mouth.

you spend the first half of the trip singing along to an old CD abby had burned sometime ago--"you always have to keep a road trip mix on hand"--, playing various word association games, and sucking fluorescent orange dust from your fingers after you chuck a cheeto into mike's mouth and pass the bag back to abby.

the second half is stiller; abby has fallen asleep again, soothed by the motions of the car, and you're staring at mike's side profile as he drives. he's so tired; it's painted in his eyes and over his body, with the way he slumps into the driver's seat and focuses on the road like nothing else is around him.

he catches your gaze after a bit, breaking himself away from his trance. he switches hands on the wheel so he's able to clutch your thigh, gently kneading at your skin, and with a small grin, asks, "got a nice view?"

"yeah, but it seems the view isn't feeling so nice," you raise your hand to his shoulder, your turn to massage into him. he's so tense under your touch, and you watch his eyes flicker with your words, training back on the four lane highway ahead. "i think this will be nice for us. we all deserve a nice vacation; especially you, mikey. you've been working hard, and i know you're tired."

"yeah," mike breathes softly, the gentlest you think he's been all day. "i'm sorry about the way i was acting about the drive. i just couldn't think straight after my shift, your delicious breakfast, and sitting in the heat."

"i understand. three hours of driving isn't fun, but that's why i offered to take more of the load after you made that...bad joke."

"so now it's just categorically bad?" mike pouts with comical sorrow, and you giggle at him, nudging at his shoulder with soft pressure.

"yes, because why was she included in we? obviously abby can't drive."

"it was supposed to be one of my sillies,"

"you're just usually better at them," you argue, and it sends the both of you into a laughing fit that gives you a stomach cramp, mike affirming, "yeah, yeah, you're right, you're right. shit, are you okay?" as you try to calm down.

after relaxing back into a comfortable silence, you're bringing mike's hand to your lips, kissing at his knuckles when he blurts, "thank you for putting up with me, and for paying for stuff so short notice."

"oh hush. i love you, mike. truly. we take care of each other, don't we?" you squeeze his hand as you continue, placing it over your heart. "there hasn't been a second i've been with you where i haven't felt supported, and now it's my turn to support you. plus, this is like abby's first real vacation. i want her to have the best time too. we don't have any money when we're dead, so we might as well say we had experiences, yeah?"

"i love you. you're an angel on earth," mike hums lovingly as he pulls off of an exit, able to relax his head against the headrest and leer at you once he brakes at a red light. "our angel on earth." you writhe under his enamored stare, blushing and gnawing on your bottom lip with an airy giggle, and later, after you've gotten to your hotel and tucked abby into bed, you're back in the car doing that same giggle with his dick lodged in your throat.

"my angel on earth," he repeats as he folds his fingers into your hair so he can pull on it, maintaining eye contact while you sloppily guide yourself on him. his toes curl and his thigh muscles spasm, and he's panting down on your face as his other hand grabs his steering wheel in a white hot grip. "fuck, baby."

you're grateful that you were able to book a room facing outwards on the first floor of the hotel; you could be disgusting with mike in the car while ensuring abby's safety through the front windshield.

it helped solidify that there were no worries in your orbit; everything here was perfect, and you feed that passion into taking mike deeper, holding his gaze even as a tear runs down your cheek after an obscene gag that resonates through the whole car.

you swallow around him as you reach down to caress his balls, and crack a triumphant smile when he tenses, brokenly whimpering and bucking his hips into your face with sinful desperation. he doesn't stop as he shoots his come into your mouth, using the hand in your head to tilt your head back so the overflow doesn't choke you.

you moan as you taste him on your tongue, drinking it down while you flash mike the watery, filthy twinkle in your eyes. he thinks that it extends his orgasm, his balls tightening with another spray of white down your throat.

though his body burns with fatigue, mike brings his thumb to the corner of your lips to collect a spilt remnant of himself, pushing it into your mouth where he feels the warm plushiness of your tongue wrap around his digit. "god, i think you're gonna kill me one day. this mouth is deadly."

"one day, yes, but not today or saturday or sunday. not while we're on vacation."

you both retire to the room after, two immovable stone statues in bed until 7 am, when you're both ripped from your sleep by abby's noisy movements. she's enthusiastically throwing the curtains open, drowning you two in painfully bright sunlight and skipping over to hop on the bed, narrowly missing your shins and knees with her uncoordinated steps.

"abby, abby, abby," mike drones groggily, reaching out for her ankles.

you blearily watch as she snatches it out of his reach, and you can't help but laugh as you two make eye contact. "come on!! we're on vacation!! we've gotta start vacationing now!!"

"we don't have to start at...seven twenty-two in the morning," mike complains, wiping at his eyes after throwing his gaze to the alarm clock. "maybe we can do...ten."

"ten is way too late! if we eat now, we can wait it out and then go to the beach and stay all day! pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease--" you wrangle abby into your arms, squeezing her close to your body in an attempt to quiet her.

you smooth her hair down, tucking it behind her ears as you whisper, "hey, hey, how about we go get breakfast and meet mike a little later, okay? we can go in our pjs and everything," abby's eyes light up at your plan, and she's nodding excitedly, pulling on your wrist in order to wrench you from the warm bed. "let's go now then!"

"let me brush my teeth first, sweet thing, at least."

after another generous breakfast, two cat naps, and endless searching through bags marked with the sharp zztt zztt zztt of zippers, you, mike, and abby are established in the warm sand of a southern beach; it'd been a bit of a hassle to put the umbrella up, with its complicated, ancient instructions, but your tired muscles and mind are extraordinarily grateful for the effort as you lounge in your chair, leaning your head back into a neck pillow and scanning your eyes over your science fiction read.

after a bit, you stick your bookmark into the crease of your pages and remove your sunglasses from your face so you're able to get a clearer view of abby and mike along the shoreline.

they're laughing together, running back and forth and taunting the tide as it crashes against the sand in a white foam. "you can't let the tide get you, abby! the sea monsters will take you whole!" you chuckle as mike sweeps her up in his arms, swinging her over the water as he treads deeper.

you set your book down and travel towards the tide, picking up more of their conversation over the soft wind.

"wait, what---what---oh no, the sea monsters are speaking to me. they're saying...i have to give you up." mike shakes his head in faux despair, beginning to fake cry as abby yelps in his arms. "they say they've been looking for an eleven year old girl named abby for their mission!" he continues swinging her, pretending to dunk her in some moments and keeping her away from the water in others, claiming, "no, i won't let them have you!"

you place your hands on your hips, raising your eyebrow in preparation to play along as they make their way back to land. "everything okay over here? i heard something about...'sea monsters'."

"the sea monsters have mastered mind control," abby matter-of-factly explains, wiggling from mike's grasp and curling her toes back into the wet sand during her impromptu intermission. "they specifically need an eleven year old abby, but mike is such a great brother that he wouldn't dare give me up."

"wouldn't do it for all the money in the world," mike affirms with a smile and finger wag pointed to the sky. after a moment, he winces and squeezes his eyes tightly in pain, rubbing at his temples with two fingertips. "they're still in my head though. it's taking all my willpower to fight against them."

you nod at the both of them, an oddly fascinated smile etched onto your face. "well maybe you two can take them down and make them reform. ask them why they need children for their mission in the first place."

"well they don't always, do they, abs?" abby shakes her head as mike reaches out for you, his eyebrows pulled together in confusion. "in fact...they're asking for...you now."

you widen your eyes, playing up your shock with a hand to the heart. "oh jeez. well, thank god it's an adult this time. what would the world be without abby?"

"what would the world be like without me? you ask great questions, y/n. that's why i love you."

"i love you more, abs. i'm not letting them get you either," you reply, running your hand over the crown of her damp head with an affectionate grin as you feel mike sneakily wrap his arms around your waist, pressing you into him. "mike, wh--"

"the sea monsters have spoken. they want you!" you're off your feet before you can even finish your screech, flying towards the cresting waves. one moment, mike had you in his arms, trudging into deeper surf, and the next, you're shrouded in icy ocean water, the salt stinging your eyes and coating your unexpectant tongue in a disgusting layer of minerals.

mike's laughing as he slowly makes his way to the sand, his back facing the shore while he waits for you to come to the surface. he's beside abby when you finally rise, the joy dropping from both of their demeanors when they take you in.

your staunch displeasure could be seen from football fields away and it makes abby mischievously gulp, "uh oh" as you irritably trek through the water, stopping when it reaches your mid-thigh.

you're like a goddess, appearing from the ocean in your simple black bikini, water droplets beading over the exposed parts of your smooth bronze skin, and it's all mike wants to make you feel like in order to atone for his obvious mistake. he wants to throw you into his arms and apologize profusely and plant kisses all over your body and ask you what he can do to make it right; he'll do anything if it means he won't see you with crossed arms and a deep scowl.

your attitude has mike sprinting over, almost face planting as his feet slip in the waterlogged sand. his eyes are overwhelmingly remorseful, and he begins to spew sentiment as he grabs for you.

"i'm so sorry baby, are you okay? are you hurt?" his voice cracks as he examines you thoroughly, grazing his hands over your face and body. you nearly give up your act at his attentiveness, but you maintain, rolling your eyes at him. he deflates at that, whimpering, "fuck, i'm sorry. i'm so sorry. i should've asked before i did that, i-i-i just thought since you were playing along that maybe it'd be okay...." mike's ramble trails off as he focuses on you stepping back into deeper water, and even more terrifyingly, your continued silence. "baby, hey, hey. are you okay?"

he follows you closely, and it's a foolish mistake on his own part; his consideration leaves him vulnerable, and you're able to ram your small frame into his torso, wrapping your own arms around his waist and tackling him into the chilly water. he goes down with a yell and comes up soon after with a cough and a smile, shaking the saltwater from his hair.

he wipes at his eyes as he reorients himself, rasping, "oh, i see. you were just getting back at me, being all cold and shit."

you watch him with your lips pursed amusedly, traversing around his recovering form so that you have an unobstructed escape route. "you gave me to the sea monsters, mike. i couldn't not get revenge."

"yeah, well, now this sea monster's gonna get you!" you noisily squeal as you run with high knees all the way to abby, who jumps and cheers for you back at the dry shore. "don't let them get you, y/n!"

"i won't!" you scream back, your words broken up with chuckles as you try your best to escape mike's aquatic nefariousness. you've made it out of the water, pulling abby into a wet embrace when mike clammers into the two of you, sending you all down to the lush sand.

it sticks to your skin as you belly-laugh with abby under mike's weight, feeling his heart pump through his ribs with adrenaline, and you can't help but think about how memorable this time will be for all of you.

mike and abby would be your family forever, and moments like this cemented that.

cute beach time!!! i love sweetgf and dickheadbf, they warm my heart.

faire's seedlings ✿

@leahdhopkins4321-@pyr0-kai-@angstywhore-@sunazroo-@nyxthoughtss-@mirophobic-@fayethor-@marixsimps-@regretfulme-@ithinkitszeph-@707xn-@cattt777-@violetta-ximena-@amnesia33-@topnerd03-@fastnights-@laprvphette-@savage-aespa-@mfdxz-@0-tatiana-0-@dusstory-@delwrites-@mikeschmidtgf-@jun1p3rlol-@xyzstar-@aquamarine001-@atrociouslybear-@ickleronniekinsemotionalrange

[cxtherine]

spencer reid x fem! reader - all too well chapter II- i love you, i'm sorry

a/n: i literally had to rewrite all of this, so i'm weeks behind where i wanted to be because my laptop deleted this, and the next 2 chapters so i'm sorry it's so late

tw: bodily harm, gore, unrequited love etc.character death, train crashes.

when the train doors slam behind me, i know it's too late. i should've probably thought it through more than i did- but at least the slam was satisfying enough, bags in one hand with my favourite things. i've left everything i've ever known behind. 8-year-old me would've been upset, but now i'm sort of numb, like the way you just get used to cold ice cream on a hot day.

the sky, though, is gorgeous. perfect ambers and pinks, sinking down with the sun. if i could, i'd paint it.

the train is almost empty, and i sit down by myself, in one of the seats with a table so i can put my bags underneath, and my phone and water on the table. the scenery that's starting to flash by outside the huge window is stunning, and it's perfect for me to reminisce on everything that led up to my somewhat-running-away to start a new life, to get away from who i'd become.

when i was a little girl, people used to tell me i should be a lawyer. it was their own, politely masked way of saying i was rude, outspoken. i'd hated my loudness, and knew it wouldn't do me any favours. in the end, i suppose it did.

i met my ex-boyfreind, spencer reid, because i was shouting at a man on the train for my first day at work. he'd touched me inappropriately, and in my disgust, stress, and evident anger i'd yelled in his face. it was then that spencer stepped in, the doe-like brown eyes i'll never forget flickering with concern, and then disgust as they landed on the man i'd been confronting. his hand slid into mine, and it was clammy but somehow, for a stranger, oddly comforting. it was half-an-hour of awkward, polite conversation with spencer after he'd intervened, that made me realise he was going to be one of my new colleages.

it was half a week after that that he became my best freind. we'd done everything together- dr who conventions, nerdy as it seems- and we sat together on every flight to and from cases for work, and just enjoyed the freindship we had. he taught me chess, which i was awful at, and then every card game under the sun. it was a surprise, really, when it became my three year anniversary of working with him, and three years of him being my closest freind and supporter.

more unsurprisingly, we fell in love. it was just perfect, like the movies i would've watched as a teenager on my parent's old TV. coffee shop dates, pinkies interlinked, winter walks. kisses at work, kisses at home and under that big old oak in the town center. in short, everything was just as i'd hoped for all my life. i had a job which made a difference, and a boyfreind who was as kind as he was handsome. i met his mom, and he met mine- diana and i formed a bond, over laughing at his childhood pictures.

maybe i was naive to expect it to stay that way.

it'd been 4 months, of perfect, pure love. we sat on the bench, beneath the oak tree where we'd first kissed, where we'd talked about children and marriage and..other things. every 'thing' we could possibly think of. i hadn't really planned it, spencer'd always been more organised than me, but when i told him i loved him, i wished he'd said it back.

i knew, and still do, what spencer's been through. love has let him down, over and over, but i really thought that we were the greatest thing in each other's lives. 'i'm sorry' isn't exactly a typical response to your girlfreind saying she loves you.

the angry, disappointed little girl who just wanted love had taken over. we'd fought, of course, like any couple does,but it was worse. so much was said. too much, so much that i cried and yelled until my eyes and throat felt scarlet and he just.. blinked those big doe eyes,like i was being irrational, like i was the problem, and left.

left,like both of us had promised we never would. i ran, and i ran faster than i ever have. booked a train ticket, sold my flat. bought another one, upstate and hours away. resigned from the BAU, found another job as easily as that can happen.

i'm going to hate my new job. i know that already. tucked into my train seat, i sigh. the train is finally out of Quantico, and i feel the tenseness that has slipped through the cracks in my heart and into my bones slowly, slowly leaking away. i never really believed in heartbreak. maybe soul-break is the better term, because there's no part of me that doesn't feel utterly destroyed.

the train jolts, and the sip i'd been taking of my water splashes down my front. confused, i rise to my feet. a few minutes later, we're still stuck. i just want to leave. i follow the carriages to the engine-room, irritated. why can't anyone just help me escape? i hate it here.

there's a body, and it makes me jump. slumped on his side, blood pooling down his chest. the profiler in me knows it's been an efficient kill, by someone impatient and well-trained. a perfect slit through the carotid, and then, when i turn him over, fingers trembling, the human in me makes me gag.

his stomach is cut, wide and deep and enough to expose his stomach. suddenly, everything is too bright, too much. i can't even profile what the hell's going on, because there's a honking in my ears, loud and deep and irritating. i straighten up, and look out of the train window.

there's another train, coming right towards this one. i realise there's nothing i can do at the same time that i realise i'm going to die, and then there's the crash, and everything vanishes.

[finelinevogue]

the weather starting to get cold so they sleep in or making fortress in the living room watching movies drinking hot chocolate while cuddling under the covers 🥹 playing with their toes giggling forgetting about the movie playing BYE 😭

i am so fucking cold today that i thought it would be perfect to write this one :)

summary - winter is supposedly the saddest time of the year, but maybe not this year

warnings: swearing maybe? kardashians, it's just fluff like.. what else did you expect?, a little bit of heated kissing too

word count: 1.4k

"Fuck, fuck, fuck.."

A train of curses fell from your mouth as you ran from the bus stop down the road to your front door. As your ran, your coat hood fell down and you cursed even more.

"Not today please." You sighed, running up the steps to your front door and under the porch. Rummaging through your bag only took a minute to find your key and then you were finally inside your house.

Looking at the clock hanging in the hallway and seeing that it read 5:58 made you sigh and curse some more. You dropped your bag to the floor with a huff and tried to scramble out of your coat, but between an arm getting stuck and the zip getting caught it was not looking to be the quickest escape.

And then the doorbell went.

"Fuck." You said to yourself.

Quickly walking towards the mirror in the hallway you realised that there was no fixing the wet hair or the dripping mascara. You sighed once more and made it to the front door, unlatching it and opening it to see Harry as expected.

"Hey bab.. What happened to you?" He frowned, no doubt noticing how much of a mess you looked right now.

"I know. God, I'm sorry H. Like my boss kept me late and then I missed the stupid bus and caught in the silly rain and now I'm not prepared for you and—"

"Hey, hey." Harry shushed you, pushing you back into your house out of the cold and allowing himself to step inside too. His arms rested on yours and he made sure that you were looking at him when he was talking. "No need to stress, alright? Now, before I allow you to continue your daily rant I want you to go have a hot shower and—"

"But—"

"No. No buts. Listen to me, please. Go have a hot shower and change into something more comfortable." He said as he unzipped your coat for you and helped your trapped arm out. "I will put on the kettle and have a cuppa tea and an episode of Keeping Up With The Kardashian waiting for you, okay?"

This time you sighed with relief.

"Yeah, okay. Thank you."

You leaned up on your toes and puckered your lips for a kiss. Harry most gladly accepted and kissed you back, reaching up a warm hand to cup your cheek and bring you closer to him. The warmth from his body was so comforting and familiar that you could have cried after the day you've had. His lips continued to softly press against yours, until he pulled away to give your cold nose a quick kiss instead.

"Now go, okay?" He tapped your bum lightly, encouraging you be quick so you could come back and kiss him some more. "And after you're done, we can talk about how you didn't call me to come pick you up and instead got the bus."

Instead of responding you smiled as you jogged up the stairs and towards your warm shower.

After a long, hot, shower, where the water scolded your skin and your body smelt like honey and roses, you bundled up in one of Harry’s jumpers he’d left here the other night and some joggers that were a tiny bit too big for you.

Harry was too busy trying to create a bundle of blankets on the sofa that he didn’t even notice that you’d finished upstairs and had entered the room.

You walked up behind him and linked your arms around his waist to give him the tightest hug you could.

It had only been 7 months since you and Harry started dating and, for you at least, it was still too early to say you loved him yet. You definitely knew someday soon you would be ready to say it, but there were a few more firsts that you wanted to experience with him first before letting your heart become half his. The hugs you gave him symbolised how much you adored him and were getting ready to love him, just without the words. He knew that too.

“Y’smell good.” He hummed in delight over your freshly showered hair.

“Thanks. I used that body wash I stole from you.”

Harry’s hands slid over yours on his stomach and turned his head around the best he could to see you behind him.

“You thief.”

“You told me I could.” You pouted.

“Steal anything from me when y’smell this good in my products and y’look this good in my hoodie.” He twisted himself around completely, breaking your hold on him.

“Hi.” You smiled up at him.

“Hi. You feeling better now?” He asked seriously.

“A little. Just wanted this evening to be perfect but—”

“It is. Any evening with you, lovie, is perfect.”

Harry then led you to the bundle of blankets, walking you backwards until your legs hit the back of the sofa and you fell backwards. You laughed as you fell backwards, trusting Harry that he wouldn’t let you hurt yourself on the way down. He fell down too, toppling over you with his arms still wrapped snug around you. 

His face fell into your neck and he breathed deeply, inhaling the smell of you covered in his scent. He smiled to himself, happy in this moment with you. If he could, he would be want to be frozen in this moment in time. Holding you for a lifetime was what his dreams were curated of. 

“Are we watching a movie tonight or do you just want to cuddle?” You asked him, stroking your hands softly through his hair.

“Both?” He popped his head up to smile at you, hoping you were thinking the same thing.

“That was silly of me to ask, wasn’t it?” You chuckled to yourself. 

Harry rearranged his body on you, tilting himself just slightly off you so he didn’t crush you under his weight. His head rested high on your chest and took padding from your boobs - his favourite part about you too. One of his hands snuck up your hoodie and onto the skin of your stomach, already stroking small circles there. His other hand kept a hold around your waist. 

Reaching for the remote, you flicked through some channels on the TV first. You quickly skipped over the news, since there was no good news as of recently. On ITV there was Naked Attraction, which you paused on briefly. It just so happened the point you paused at was a woman showing off her very perky breasts and you had to quickly put your hand in front of Harry’s eyes.

He laughed, knowing you were making a joke but he wanted to reassure you anyways.

“Weren’t as pretty as yours, baby.” He titled his head to kiss the valley between your boobs over your clothes.

“Or yours.” You said, referring to the ongoing joke that Harry was building bigger and better than yours - and only 50% of the worlds women population. 

“Well mine are the prettiest, so...” He added to your joke, making you giggle before changing the channel.

“Shall I just put on the Kardashians, then?” You asked, always wanting to check in case he wasn’t in the mood to see an ex on screen that day.

“Sure. Whatever you wanna watch.”

“That’s not what I asked, H.” You stroked his hair again, coaxing a better answer out of him.

“Y/N, honey. Promise, y’can watch anything. I kind of enjoy watching the Kardashians and knowing that I’m not affiliated with that family anymore.” 

You leaned down on kissed the top of his head and Harry snuggled deeper into your chest. Smiling as you put the newest season you, you got ready for an episode of overdramatic drama about salads and Hollywood. 

“Wait...” Harry sat up quickly.

“What?” You paused the show.

He turned around and grabbed some more blankets, throwing one over you and tucking you in carefully like a little burrito. You laughed as he accidentally tickled you whilst he was making sure you were all bundled in. Then he laid back on top of you, throwing another blanket on top of him and regaining his original position on top of you. 

“Better?” 

“Couldn’t let m’girl go cold.” He answered.

“No. Now I’ll overcook like a burnt potato instead.” You pressed play on the TV, but you kind of wish you didn’t because you missed what Harry said afterwards due to the Kardashian show credits. It sounded like he was replying to you, but you never did catch what he said. 

If you had heard him, it would’ve gone something like; “Well I’d still very much like you as a burnt potato.” 

[simping4villains]

Here’s a part 2 of the Shigaraki oneshot I posted awhile back (since some of y’all were asking for it). I do have both parts posted on both my wattpadd and ao3 account under the same username (along with many other fics). I think i’m going to keep the story going, so check there for more regular updates! <3

~~~~~

Warning: Sexual content

It had been a couple of weeks since that night in Tomura's apartment. You'd been avoiding him, not responding to his texts and dodging his calls, but he started threatening to stop by your apartment or the elementary school you taught at to check on you, so you finally agreed to see him.

He asked you to meet up with him at the South entrance of the mall where you'd first met. He was wearing the same black hoodie he'd worn on that day. Originally, you had thought he was just introverted and anxious, but now you realized that he probably wore it in an attempt to hide his identity. He didn't want to be recognized in public and have the heroes called in.

God, what an idiot you'd been. You were too naive, too trusting. Now you were in too deep.

"Y/n," he smiled when he saw you. "I wasn't sure you'd come."

Neither were you.

"Of course. I'm sorry if it feels like i've been ignoring you lately, i've just been so busy with my students," you lied. "It's almost winter break."

Tomura had never shown any signs that he'd be violent toward you, but you still weren't sure what he was truly capable of. You'd tried to do research on him and his villain group, but the media didn't have a ton of information. It seemed like he hadn't had any sort of life before the league—not one that you could find, at least.

"It's alright," he said, though you weren't sure if he really believed you or not.

"So, what are we doing? Your text was pretty cryptic."

"I was thinking we could grab a drink and talk."

You were confused. You'd never known Tomura to have much of a taste for alcohol. "Um, I'm not so sure there are any bars in the mall."

"That's okay, I know a place." He turned and started walking down the sidewalk, glancing at you over his shoulder. "Come on."

Alarms were going off on your head. He wasn't giving you enough information. You didn't like not knowing where he was taking you. Then again, you weren't sure how he would react if you refused to follow him. What choice did you have but to play along?

He led you to a bus stop, which only made you feel even more unsettled. When the bud arrived, you took note that it was headed for the Kamino Ward. It wasn't a place you were very familiar with.

Walking through the streets, you tried to guess which bar Tomura was bringing you to, but he kept passing them by. Eventually, the streets became less lively and more deserted. Many of the buildings looked abandoned, including the one that he finally stopped in front of.

"Well, here it is."

"I don't understand, is it like a speak easy or something?"

He gave an amused laugh. "I guess you could say that."

He slipped through the boards that covered the busted door, urging you to follow him. Against your better judgment, you did. The room inside was battered and covered in dust.

"There's nothing here."

"It's downstairs."

You started to feel nauseous. Had his plan been to just kill you all along? Did he not think he could let you live now that you knew who he was?

"Tomura, it's getting late, maybe I should get going. I promised my aunt that I'd stop by tonight. I don't want her to worry."

It was another lie, but he didn't have to know that. You wanted him to think you had places to be, people who would notice if you didn't show up, didn't answer their texts and calls. Your aunt had met Tomura before, so she'd probably give his name to the police if you went missing.

Then again, what had the police been able to do to stop him up to this point?

His smile dropped. You'd never seen him look so hurt. "I knew it. You really are afraid of me."

"Tomura, that's not it at all."

"Then just trust me. Please. Don't leave yet."

You nodded. "Okay."

What else could you say? What else could you do? If he thought you were a flight risk, that might only cause him to kill you sooner.

The two of you crossed the room to a door, which he opened to reveal a closet. You braced for an impact, thinking maybe he would use your confusion as a means to distract you while he knocked you out. Instead, he reached out to the back wall of the closet and pushed it forward, revealing it to be a hidden door. Beyond it was a set of stairs that led to the basement. As soon as he revealed this secret entrance, he pulled a hand out of his pocket and put it over his face. It was part of his villain costume—you remembered the chills it gave you when you'd first seen it on that special news report.

You followed him down and were surprised to find that there really was a bar in the basement of this abandoned building. There were a few people in the room, but the person who caught your attention was the man standing behind the counter, polishing a glass. His body appeared to be made of smoke or something. He looked up at the two of you as you entered.

"Ah, young master Shigaraki, you've returned."

A man sitting at the bar in a skin-tight suit turned toward the two of you. "Yeah, and it looks like he brought a friend. Who the hell is this, boss?!"

The girl sitting beside him, who couldn't have been more than 17, tilted her head and smiled. "Is she a new recruit?"

Tomura shifted awkwardly. You could feel the way he tensed with embarrassment. "This is Y/n. We've been seeing each other for a while now and I thought it was time for her to meet you."

"The boss has a girlfriend? Get it, boss!"

The girl hopped off of the stool she'd been perched on, running over to circle around you and size you up. "What a cutie! I wonder what your blood tastes like?"

Tomura wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you against him in a protective manner. "Maybe this was a mistake."

The girl laughed. "Oh, don't worry, boss! We're going to be best friends." She beamed at you. "My name's Toga."

The man in the suit hopped up to join you all. "And I'm Jin. But my villain name is Twice because I can duplicate myself and make copies of other people! I don't know if i'm the real deal or just a clone!"

"Don't overwhelm her," Tomura warned, his eyes narrowing at them between the fingers of the hand he wore.

"Oh, no, we wouldn't want to scare her off," one of the other members piped up from the corner of the room, his tone sarcastic. "God knows how hard it is for you to get a date."

You hadn't noticed him before, which seemed shocking now that your gaze met his. His body was covered in what looked like burn scars and even from across the room you could tell he had the most piercing blue eyes you'd ever seen. His demeanor was fairly casual, but still conveyed that he wasn't someone you'd want to mess with. He was a bit terrifying.

Any embarrassment Tomura felt was quickly melting into rage. It seemed he and this other league member didn't get along too well. Despite whatever internal conflict you were facing, you couldn't help but feel bad for him in that moment. Your hand brushed the one he had on your waist, just long enough for him to understand that it had been on purpose and that you'd intended for it to comfort him.

"Just ignore him," Tomura mumbled. "It's what the rest of us do."

"So, what's your quirk?" Toga asked, trying to shift the attention away from the other man.

Twice cut you off before you could answer. "Are you going to join the league? You totally should!"

You looked between Toga and Twice. You had been ready for Tomura to kill you, but nothing could have prepared you for this. "Oh, I—"

"No," Tomura snapped. "She's just here to better understand our cause."

You could feel the silent rage radiating off of him. In his eyes, these two had crossed a line by inviting you to be a part of the league. If it was something you'd decided for yourself, he would have welcomed you with open arms, but he wanted to protect you, and he knew that you would be safest if the heroes never found out about you.

The man in the corner scoffed. "Of course she isn't joining the league. Look at her. She probably couldn't keep up with us."

Tomura's fingers dug into your hip. He was trying to hold himself back, to keep his composure. If this man had been insulting him, he could've just ignored it, or even come back with his own sarcastic retort, but when it came to you—well, it was harder for him to brush it off.

"Y/n," the man behind the bar called. "Come and sit. Would you like some tea? I've always got it ready for master Shigaraki."

"Tea would be lovely," you smiled, glad for someone to diffuse the sudden tension.

You took a seat at the bar, trying to ignore whatever lecture Tomura was giving Twice and Toga about the way they'd ambushed you. You wondered whether or not the other man would get a lecture too. He didn't seem like someone who would really listen. . . or care.

"Sorry about them," the man said as he pushed a cup of tea across the bar to you. "Some of the newer members are so full of charisma. And Dabi, well, he's. . ."

"It's alright. I'm sure they mean well," you replied, forcing a smile. "I didn't catch your name."

"It's Kurogiri."

"Kurogiri," you repeated. "How did you end up becoming a bar tender for the league of villains?"

He laughed. "I am not just a mere bartender. It is my job to keep Tomura Shigaraki safe. I am his sworn protector."

"I didn't think the leader of the league of villains would need protecting."

"There are plenty of people who want to see his downfall—heroes and villains alike. Most don't agree with his mission."

You were about to ask what his mission was when you felt three fingers gripping your shoulder, telling you that Tomura wanted to leave.

"Kurogiri, I'll be in my room if you need me. Come on, Y/n."

He led you through the bar and down a hallway, stopping at the very last door. His room at the league's hideout was smaller than the one in his apartment, and somehow even less decorated. It was very reminiscent of a college dorm, though he had a full-size bed. On his desk you noticed he had a photo strip of the two of you that you'd taken on one of your very first dates. Besides this, his desk was almost completely bare.

"I'm sorry about them," he said as he took a seat on the bed, removing the hand from his face and setting it on the nightstand. "Maybe bringing you here was a mistake after all." His fingers found their way to his neck, mindlessly scratching lines in familiar tracks.

You moved to sit beside him, gently pulling his hand away from his reddening skin to hold it palm-up in your lap. "Toga and Twice seemed nice."

"I just thought maybe if you met everyone then you would see that we aren't as bad as the heroes make us out to be. You'd see that you don't have to be afraid of me."

"I'm not afrai—"

"Stop," he said, his eyes pinching shut like the words pained him to hear. "I feel like you can barely look at me now. You think I wouldn't hesitate to kill you, that your death would be just as meaningless to me as those who have died as collateral—a small sacrifice for my cause."

You didn't know what to say. You had hoped you'd been convincing enough, but Tomura had seen through it. He could tell things had changed between you. Your heart was racing now, wondering what he would do.

He turned to you, his eyes soft and pleading. "I would never do anything to hurt you, y/n—and I would gladly kill anyone who tried. I couldn't forgive myself if anything happened to you."

You swallowed, searching his eyes for any sign of deception, but ultimately decided that this was the truth. He didn't bring you here to kill you, he just wanted you to understand him.

"Kurogiri mentioned that a lot of people don't agree with your 'mission.' What is it you're doing?"

"I want to destroy the world that we live in. You don't know what's going on, so you don't understand how wretched it really is. From the ashes, I'll build a new world—similar to what you believe ours to be."

You had never seen this side of him before. He sounded so. . . evil. "But why do you have to destroy things first? Why can't you just try to make things better?"

He shook his head, pulling his hand away from you. "Society is too far gone. There is no 'making things better' as it stands. We need a fresh start, and I can give it to us."

You nodded slowly, processing everything he was saying. "And what would this new world of yours look like?"

"No more heroes who are only after the pay and praise of a job well done. Just people. People allowed to live their lives without being forced to worship these corrupt imposters."

You thought of your mother, who had been a hero and had died saving others. Had she really been so bad? Had she done it for the wrong reasons? You'd be lying if you said there was never a time where you thought her sense of justice had been selfish. Because of it you had grown up without a mother, without a father, isolated from the rest of the world, discouraged from using and training your quirk. You often wondered how different your life might look now if she had picked a different, more sensible career path.

He continued when you didn't respond. "No one is born a villain, they're created—they're spit out and shunned by this cruel world one too many times. I just want to live in a world where everyone is equal, where no one is treated differently for their quirks."

"Well, I guess. . . I guess that doesn't seem so bad."

He smiled and rested his forehead against yours, bringing a hand up to cup your jaw. "I don't want to live in that world without you by my side. I really do love you."

You held your breath and closed your eyes, weighing everything that he'd said. The man you'd spent the past few months with, Tomu, was sweet, shy, caring. Tomura Shigaraki, the leader of the league of villains, had a reputation for being something else entirely—cold, ambitious, and merciless. Before, you couldn't have believed they really were the same person. Yet sitting here, listen to him speak, it all came together. And you hated yourself because, despite it all. . .

"I love you," you whispered, as if you were ashamed to say the words too loud, afraid that might somehow make them more real.

He pressed his lips to yours, winding his hand into your hair, always careful to keep at least one finger away from you. He'd missed you those past few weeks. He was worried he had lost you. He wanted you to know how much you meant to him—how much he needed you. He had been a mess without you, barely eating or sleeping. He would have fallen apart completely if you'd left. He needed you to know that.

"I thought i'd lost you," he whispered between kisses, his voice like a plea, begging you to keep proving him wrong.

Honestly, you'd thought he'd lost you, too. You had every intention of ending your relationship by avoiding him. Maybe it wasn't fair to do it that way given how long you'd been together, but after learning who he really was, you worried that if you met up with him to end things then he might overreact and become violent. You couldn't have predicted that seeing him would instead make you change your mind.

"I'm still here," you told him, feeling ashamed of yourself. What would Aunt Marci think if she knew you were in love with a villain?

He pulled you onto his lap so that you straddled him, wrapping his arms around your waist so you were caged to his chest. "Are you sure tou don't hate me?" He asked. "You aren't only here telling me the things I want to hear because you're afraid of me?"

You frowned. "I wish that were the case. It would make this all a lot easier."

"You don't want to want to be with me, right? To love me?"

"Right," you agreed, your voice barely audible. You were worried how he might react knowing you were so apprehensive.

His expression didn't change. He didn't erupt into a fit of anger. He brushed the tips of his fingers through your hair before ghosting them along your jaw. "Then i'll just have to keep giving you reasons to want me."

Your lips met again and you melted in his arms. He ran a hand up the back of your shirt, pressing four fingers into your back so that he held you closer. You gasped at his touch and he took the opportunity to catch your bottom lip between his teeth, lightly tugging at it. It was all a painful reminder that, despite everything, you still burned for him.

   You were so weak.

He guided you back on the bed, spreading himself over you and bending to trail feather-light kisses along your neck. "I want to prove that you don't have to be afraid of me," he whispered, his breath tickling your skin.

"How are you going to do that?"

His teeth grazed along your neck. "I'll show you how gentle I can be."

"Tomura, I've already seen that side of you."

He lifted his head from your neck to meet your gaze. He was smirking. God, he was so beautiful. "Not like this."

You didn't even realize he'd grabbed your shirt until it disintegrated around you, flitting away from your body and leaving you feeling vulnerable beneath him, guarded only by the thin lace bra you wore.

He ran his fingers along the edge of it, humming to himself. "Pretty. I don't want to ruin it."

You frowned. "You know, I really wish you wouldn't ruin any of my clothes."

That made him laugh. He thought you were cute when you were mad. "I'm sorry, I didn't know it upset you so much. I just like giving you reasons to wear mine instead."

"I don't have a problem with wearing yours, I just don't want to have to keep spending money on clothes that actually fit me just for you to make them disappear in seconds."

"That's fair." He pressed his lips to your chest before trailing soft kisses down your stomach, stopping at the waistband of your jeans. "But it really is so much quicker to decay them," he said as he fiddled with your belt and zipper.

You lifted your hips to help him guide your pants off of your legs. You were surprised when he dragged your panties along with them, exposing you to him. He ran the tips of his fingers down your thighs before settling between your legs. Your breath hitched at the sight alone.

He wove his arms under your legs so that he could grip your hips, pulling you closer to him. Your heart raced as you felt his breath against your core.

"Are you gonna make it?" He asked. "You're looking a bit flustered."

"Will you quit teasing me?"

He flashed a devilishly playful smile. "I'm not teasing you. I fully intend to give you everything you want. It's not my fault if you lack patience."

He placed a gentle kiss on your clit, the rough cracks of his lips creating enough friction to make your toes curl, but it was the soft warmth of his tongue against you that finally drew a moan from your throat. He hummed his satisfaction, which only added to the sensations as he continued exploring your heat with his mouth.

"Tomura, fuck. . ."

Your hand moved to grip his hair, needing something to ground you in reality as pleasure overtook your body and clouded your mind. His tongue moved faster against your clit, rushing you closer to your orgasm. It wasn't long before you completely fell apart, pulling at his hair and crying out his name. Once you'd gotten past the peak of your climax, he moved to lay next to you. He propped himself up on his elbow and lazily ran a few fingers through your hair.

"I'm surprised," you said.

"What do you mean?"

"No games."

"I told you."

"Maybe you aren't so evil after all," you joked.

He laughed, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you closer. "Don't tell the others."

"I dunno, you might have to buy my silence," you teased.

"What's your price?"

You snaked a hand behind his neck and pulled him into a kiss, hooking your leg over his hip at the same time so you could press his body against yours. He smirked against your lips, chuckling to himself.

You broke away from him. "What?"

"Was that your answer?"

You avoided the question, instead tugging at his shirt. "This isn't fair. I'm practically naked."

"So that's a yes?"

"Will you just shut up and take your clothes off?"

He clicked his tongue, shaking his head at you. "So impatient. We'll have to work on that."

Despite his chastisement, he listened. He pulled his clothes off and threw them next to yours on the floor before reaching behind you to unhook your bra. His hands covered your breasts, careful as always to keep at least one finger off of you. Then, he leaned into your chest and replaced one of your hands with his mouth, sucking bruises on your skin and flicking his tongue against your nipple.

You bit your lip, trying to contain a moan, not wanting to seem anymore desperate, but it just became a whimper in your throat. You felt him smile against your chest and move his free hand down to between your legs. You were so wet that he slid two fingers in you like it was nothing. He scissored them back and forth, stretching you out as he continued toying with your nipples. You couldn't contain yourself any longer. You tugged at his hair as you moaned his name.

"What is it, baby?" He asked.

You grabbed at his hip, trying to pull him closer to you.

"You want something?"

"Stop teasing me. You said no games."

He feigned a sudden realization. "Ohh, you want me in here?" He thrusted his fingers deeper into you, making sure to curl them over your g-spot and drag another moan from your throat.

"Fuck. Yes."

He kissed your forehead. "Of course, baby."

With the hand that was on your chest, he steadied himself on the bed, and with the other he lined his tip up with your entrance. There were no games. He didn't tease you, he didn't make you beg, he just eased himself in until you were completely filled. You arched against him and dug your nails into his shoulders, loving the feeling of him stretching you out.

"Am I good to move?" He asked after a moment, gently brushing his nose against yours.

You nodded.

He slowly pulled his hips back before sinking into you again, repeating the motion over and over until he found a good rhythm.

His movements were different this time. Before, he had seemed desperate, slamming into you at a rough pace. Now, his stokes were slow, controlled, passionate—like he was using his body to show you all of the things he couldn't say out loud. He was begging you to stay, to love him, to give him a chance to be the person you'd originally thought he was.

And despite all of the alarms going off in your head, you knew you would.

You could feel the knot building once more in the pit of your stomach. He was pushing you closer to the edge with each languid movement, and you could tell by his breathing that he was getting closer too.

At one point he paused and grabbed one of the pillows from the bed, lifting your hips and setting you back down on it. The new angle that it provided was absolutely euphoric. He reached deeper than before, rolling his hips so that he hit all of the right spots.

"Tomura," you moaned.

"Does that feel good, baby?"

"Yes."

"Are you close?"

You nodded.

"You wanna cum with me?"

"Please," you begged.

"I gonna count you down, alright?"

"Okay."

"Five."

He moved his hand between you.

"Four."

He started drawing quick circles over your clit with his thumb.

"Three."

You could feel your pleasure coiling tighter and tighter.

"T-fuck-two."

You dug your nails into his skin, arching against him.

"One."

You both fell apart, panting and moaning as you let your pleasure wash over you. He caught your lips in a sloppy kiss before moving down your neck, trying to cover every inch of your skin. He wanted you to understand how much he loved you—how much he worshipped you. He wouldn't let you go so easily.

The two of you cleaned up and Tomura gave you another sweatshirt to borrow since he'd decayed your shirt. There was no bathroom attached to his room, so you had to go down the hall. You hadn't taken more than two steps on your way back to his room when you heard a mocking voice.

"Ohhh, Tooomura," He said in a tone meant to mimic your own. "God, it's fucking pathetic."

You turned to see the man from before—the one who'd been a jerk to you in the bar—leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets. Your cheeks felt hot—a combination of rage and embarrassment. Had he been listening in on you two?

"It's Dabi, right?" You asked. "Look, I don't know what the fuck your problem is, but will you just leave me the hell alone?"

He kicked off of the wall, closing the distance between you and getting in your face. "My problem is you. I've got big plans for my future and the league can help me see them through, but not if you're here. You're too much of a distraction. You'll just end up making Shigaraki soft—him and the rest of the league."

"I'm not trying to be a distraction," you insisted.

"Oh, please," he scoffed. "It's only a matter of time before you brainwash Shigaraki into thinking that what we're doing is pointless. Love is like a fucking poison."

He shoved past you and disappeared down the hallway. You must've seemed off when you got back to Tomura's room because a look of concern quickly spread across his face.

"Are you alright?" He asked.

"Fine," you replied, clenching and unclenching your fists as you kept your gaze trained on the floor. You were trying to keep your anger from bubbling over and causing you to do something stupid. How could Dabi think you were bad for Tomu? You wouldn't make him soft. You wouldn't make him give up on the world he was trying to create—a world where everyone was equal. Why would you?

"Are you sure?"

You finally looked up at him. Your determination was radiating off of you as you announced: "I want to join the league."

[theonceandfuturequeenoftarts]

(Late) Happy Monday!

In some random scenario, some magical mayhaps of a happenstance, Harry has to bake Voldemort a cake. Maybe it's out of goodwill, maybe it's the secret to the dark lord's destruction. What cake do you think he'd bake? Would he put effort in? I'd wager Harry at least knows what a crumbcoat is, having lived under Petunia's roof.

Don't know how this ask came to mind, but it's lighthearted and silly.

Well wishes :)

It's almost two months late (I'm sorry @known-concepts) but it's once again Monday, so I thought I'd give this a shot. Thank you for the ask! <3

(If anything doesn't fit with canon, like where Harry spent the sixth year winter holidays -- please ignore it)

Harry's been spending a little too much time thinking about Voldemort lately thanks to his trips into pensieve memories, and now he knows the snake-man's birth date, and Harry knows how much receiving birthday gifts from other people has meant to him. So, he decides to bake Voldemort a birthday cake.

(He briefly debates poisoning or cursing the cake, but 1. Voldemort would probably have wards to detect things like that, paranoid berk that he is, and 2. it will be all the more unnerving if there's nothing wrong with the cake. Psychological warfare but make it delicious.)

He decides on a chocolate cake, as dark as he can make it, with thick raspberry jam between the layers and a chocolate ganache frosting. Maybe he can kill Voldemort with rich, chocolaty flavour. "Death by chocolate" is a thing, right?

The house elves are overjoyed when he comes down to the kitchens and ply him with foods of all kinds. At first, they try to insist on letting them bake the cake for him, but once they realise how firm he is on the subject, they set him up with a station and all of the ingredients he needs. (He'd tried to tell them he could do it himself, but the elves were already on edge from his refusal of their help; he gives in and lets them bring him the ingredients when a couple burst into tears.)

Harry bakes three eight-inch circular layers, the cocoa in them so dark the cakes are almost black. He spreads the jam generously between the layers, does a thin layer of frosting to hold the crumbs down, and then dumps the still-warm ganache over the cake, letting it run down the sides in heavy drips. The slight sheen and dark chocolate make it look a bit like an oil slick.

Harry dithers on what to put on the cake, because he's not exactly happy Voldemort was born, given all the pain and suffering he's caused, but Harry's bothering to make a cake, so he's not exactly unhappy either. But "[complicated feelings] birthday to you" is a little weird, and also won't fit on a cake, probably. He could leave it blank, he supposes. But no.

This is how Harry ends up sending an almost-black, shiny cake with the word "BIRTH" written in blood-red frosting on it to Voldemort for his birthday.

The wordless, hissing confusion (along with a very small, very buried, very mortified bit of happiness) he feels through their connection later that night make it all worth it.

[whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk]

And, darling, all my dreaming has only been given a name (ao3)

Surprise and merry Christmas, @shadowsxgwynriel!! I'm your Secret Santa, and I'm so excited to finally deliver your @acotargiftexchange fic! I hope you like it-- I really loved writing this fic, and getting to know you over the past few weeks has been super fun. Enjoy, and I hope you have a wonderful holiday season! ❤️

It’s late— dark, and cold, and in the wake of Clotho suggesting that Gwyn begin to explore the world beyond the library, the priestess finds herself seeking comfort at the House training ring. But with her favourite Shadowsinger away on a mission, Gwyn finds herself musing on her fears and insecurities as she looks out over the city below, wondering if she’ll ever make it down there. When Azriel returns and takes her by surprise, the pair of them begin to realise that maybe they've been something more than friends all along. 

Moonlight bathed the training ring in quicksilver.

The vast space crowning the House of Wind was entirely empty, home to nothing but cold air and starlight and the promise of frost when the sun rose, and alone, Gwyneth Berdara stepped onto the smooth rock floor of the roof, fighting a shiver as the late-winter wind brushed her cheeks.

She wasn’t entirely sure what she was doing.

Barefoot, she wondered if she should have paused to change, or at least thought to wrap something around her shoulders to keep away the cold. But the night was deep and dark and quiet, and even though it was cold it was better than being inside— where she had lain awake in her bed in the library dormitories for hours, watching through her window as the moon tracked a slow and steady path across the sky. She had closed her eyes and wished for sleep, but it had slipped through her fingers each time she came close to grabbing it.

So here she was— still in her pyjamas, standing solitary on the roof, looking out at Velaris spread below.

Her eyes scanned the roof, searching in vain for shadows she knew she wouldn’t find tonight. There was no Shadowsinger in the corner, sharpening blades. No Spymaster wrapping his knuckles by the sparring ring.

For the first time in a long time, she was entirely, completely, alone.

The city sparkled below her, a swell of warm, golden lights. The moonlight turned the river to a ribbon of molten silver, and if she listened hard enough, if she strained her ears, she thought she might just be able to hear the sounds of those who lived only by starlight, who came alive at night, drifting up towards her on a gentle winter breeze. It was like another world, the city down there. Like another realm entirely— one that lingered just beyond the reach of her fingertips, a reality she could only ever reach for, never quite grasp.

It was a world Clotho had softly suggested Gwyn begin to explore.

But when it came to it - when Nesta knocked on her door in the library dormitories that morning ten days ago - Gwyn hadn’t found it in her to leave the shelter of these walls. Nesta had tried to persuade her, but it didn’t matter.

She wasn’t ready.

She might have been— had she not been abducted and forced to take part in the Blood Rite almost eight months ago. She might have been down there now, soaking up the moonlight in one of the late-night cafes by the Sidra. But she’d emerged from the Illyrian mountains all those months ago bruised and bloody, with nothing but a title she hadn’t ever wanted to earn and an overwhelming desire to bury herself back within the deepest parts of the library, where not even the sunlight could find her. For weeks afterward she had surrounded herself with nothing but the feel of parchment and the smell of ink, avoiding the outside world just like she had the first time she sought refuge there. 

Carynthian.

Carynthian— and too consumed by terror to take so much as a single step outside those mountainous walls.

It might have been funny, if the irony weren’t so brutal.

And with the nights drawing in and Solstice just a handful of days away, Gwyn didn’t quite think she’d see the candles burning in the windows up close this year— didn’t think she’d manage a walk by the Sidra, all frozen over, ice crawling up the banks.

And to make it all worse…

Azriel was away. Had been, for two weeks now. Fourteen whole days, not that she’d been counting.

…Except she had.

Every night as the sun sank behind the horizon, she’d added to that mental tally, keeping track of every minute he’d been gone.

If he were home, she knew she’d find him on the House roof. Perhaps that was why she’d ventured up here, seeking solace and hoping to find it even in his absence. He spent as many nights as she did kept from sleep, and where she had once tended to toss and turn until the sun stained the horizon pink, Azriel worked off his restlessness until his body had no choice but to rest— his mind no choice but to quiet. 

In the cold, she sighed.

She’d told him, before he left, what Clotho had suggested.

Two weeks and a day ago, she’d mentioned it to the Shadowsinger, and his reaction—

Well, she didn’t know what his reaction was.

He’d tried a smile— a typical Shadowsinger smile, one that was gently encouraging and only barely there. He’d looked intrigued, and told her he was proud of her, and something in her chest had practically glowed at that, a warmth reaching right the way down to her toes. She was sure the smile that had spread over her own face had been practically luminescent, and for a moment he’d looked stricken senseless. But then, later, when she’d been up at the House with Nesta and Emerie and she’d run into him again… his face had been stoic, and he’d been harder to read than usual, which was saying something. He’d told her that he was being sent away on a mission for the High Lord, and even though he’d told her he was looking forward to hearing all about her exploits in the city, there was something in his eyes that said he wasn’t looking forward to it at all. 

Something like disappointment. 

He was an enigma, that was for certain, she thought as she crossed the roof and leaned on the railing, looking down and down and down towards the city so many hundreds of miles below. Azriel was something she simultaneously felt like she knew down to her bones, but also something she hadn’t even begun to decipher.

It was… complicated. That’s what it was.

It was something that Nesta and Emerie liked to tease her about whenever they saw the opportunity— whenever they saw the blush that inevitably crept over her cheeks when they brought him up in conversation, or whenever they spied the easy grin that spread across her face whenever she was in the ring with him. They’d tease her about the way his shadows seemed to linger around her too, the way they seemed drawn to her lately, like they picked up on something their master did not.

Gods, Gwyn didn’t think she’d been subtle.

She’d never been subtle in her life.

And Nesta and Emerie had picked up on it, certainly. They had noticed the way her eyes followed him around the room, the way she sat up straighter whenever he entered. The way she was just… more when he was around, like he brought out something extra in her, something she’d been missing before. But Azriel… well. Either he was entirely ignoring the way he had her weak at the knees every time he looked at her, or he was entirely clueless.

She didn’t know which would be worse.

All she knew was that— she’d missed him.

These past two weeks, she’d missed him.

Another sigh left her, one that ached in about a hundred different ways. She rested her forearms on the stone ledge that surrounded the House roof, feeling the cold biting her uncovered skin. Perhaps she really should have brought a shawl or something— perhaps she should have paused for even a second to put on something warmer than her satin pyjamas.

Wryly, she shook her head.

She wasn’t thinking straight.

Hadn’t been thinking straight for fourteen days, if she cared to admit it.

Azriel had gone off on his mission and taken some small piece of her sanity with him, and she didn’t want to let herself wonder whether he’d been thinking of her these past two weeks the way she’d been thinking of him. Instead, she glanced up towards the moon— to the cold and distant light that bathed everything beneath in silver, and the sky that was a sheet of black pierced by the light of a thousand stars. 

And just as she was about to return to bed—

Something gave her pause.

The air shifted, and an awareness came over her that sent goosebumps scattering over her arms and a shiver crawling down her spine, borne not of the cold but solely of anticipation and expectation. Glancing over her shoulder, Gwyn felt something in her chest begin to hum, like the quiet beginning of a gentle overture, and as the sound of wingbeats sliced through the silence, she didn’t need to look up to know that Azriel had come home at last.

She didn’t need to— but she did, anyway, and as he landed smoothly on the smooth rock surface of the House roof, that humming in her chest felt more like a melody than anything else.

Clothed in the deepest black, Azriel was the night itself as he straightened and stretched his wings. From his midnight hair to his charcoal boots, the only colour was the blue of his siphons— a brilliant azure that glowed dimly and cast his jaw in sapphire light. His shadows swirled in the darkness but didn’t shy away from the light of the moon, and though he paused for a moment - looking at Gwyn like he couldn’t quite believe his eyes - one of those shadows darted out, separated from the pack, and skated along the stone wall until it rested right beside her wrist.

Gwyn smiled.

His shadows had grown bolder, lately.

A month ago two had even come to find her in the library, and followed her through the stacks until she tilted her head and asked, with no small degree of amusement, whether their master had sent them to check up on her. They had scurried back into the shadows, but she knew they remained there for the rest of the day, watching. And when she’d asked Azriel why he’d sent them, he’d only looked at her blankly, confusion written plainly all over his beautiful face, and said he had no idea what she was talking about.

She looked at that shadow now, suppressing a smile.

It’s master let his wings spread again, as if working off a long journey, and crossed the roof, his steps slow and considered as he made his way directly towards her.

“You’re back,” Gwyn said, pulling away from the wall that overlooked the city.

Azriel blinked once before his lips cut into a familiar, dry smirk. “Glad to see your observation skills haven’t dulled in the two weeks I’ve been away, Berdara.”

Gwyn felt a laugh rise in her throat. It was always like this between them, this easy kind of banter. He arched a brow, but there was a tentative sort of mirth in his eyes that he didn’t bother to conceal, and it made her feel… warm, despite the winter chill hanging like ice in the air. She tilted her head as he moved smoothly across the roof, and when he gave her a withering glance - one loaded with sarcasm - she felt her heart skip a beat.

“Glad to see you’re still an ass,” she retorted.

The smirk pulling at his lips grew bigger, and he dipped his head to hide it, but oh, Gwyn wished he wouldn’t. It was something he did often, she’d noticed, and now his hair fell across his face, and she wished, too, that she could reach out and push it back. But she figured that would be crossing some kind of line, one she wasn’t sure either of them were ready for, and so she kept her hands to herself, even as that lock of midnight dark hair brushed his eyebrows. He shook his head to shift it before rolling his shoulders and stretching his wings wide once more.

“Long journey?” she asked.

Azriel shrugged. “Long day,” he amended. “Long week.”

Gwyn took in the tension that cloaked him like a fine mist, the way he tucked his wings in and kept them close to his spine. His hand flexed towards Truth-teller at his hip, and as innately as if it were a sixth sense, she knew instantly that there was a reason he’d come right to the training ring upon arriving home. She could practically feel the weight of whatever it was that was on his mind, and so as she took a single step away from the stone wall and the city below, she said smoothly,

“I can’t sleep.”

It was an invitation hidden beneath such ordinary words— a hand extended in the language of evasion that the both of them spoke so well.

Az blinked. “Nor can I,” he admitted quietly.

Gwyn smiled, and even though she was wearing satin pyjamas, her hair in a loose plait, she put her shoulders back and cocked her head to the side, walking purposefully to the other side of the roof— where the sparring ring sat beneath the full light of the moon.

“Rematch, then? The last time we were in this ring I beat you, if I recall correctly.”

He snorted, but followed her nonetheless. “And if I recall correctly, that still leaves me with a running score of eight this month, compared to your paltry score of…” His eyes sparked. “What was it? Five?”

“Six,” Gwyn corrected flatly, folding her arms over her chest. “And about to be seven.”

Azriel rolled his eyes. “You’re hardly wearing sparring gear.”

She raised a brow. “Scared, Shadowsinger?”

His eyes darkened instantly, just as she’d known they would. “Scared?”

Just as she’d expected, his siphons flared. If there was one thing she’d learned in the time she had known him, it was how push him over the edge, how to get a rise out of him. It was ironic, really, she thought dryly, that he was so adept at keeping secrets and shutting himself away, but she’d still learned to read him like a book.

Idly, she hummed. “Mhm.”

“Am I scared that you’ll win?” His laugh was rough, acerbic, but his eyes glinted as he reached for the sheath at his other hip and took out a slender dagger. He tossed it to her, and when she caught it by the hilt, she saw the corner of his lips twitch. He lifted his chin, the moonlight glancing off his jaw, and— Gods, Gwyn could swear she felt her heart stop.

What she’d give to trace that jaw with her fingers. 

Silently she cursed, but Azriel didn’t seem to notice.

Oblivious, she thought wryly. Why is he always so oblivious?

He didn’t seem to notice, either, when her throat went dry as he removed his jacket, leaving him only in his leather pants and the black tunic that was doing nothing to hide the muscles of his incredibly sculpted chest. His shadows retreated, letting her catch a glimpse of his golden-brown skin and the tattoos swirling across his collarbone.

She cursed again as she tightened her grip on his dagger.

“I’ll take it easy on you,” Azriel drawled, dragging Gwyn from her thoughts, and if the timbre of his voice set a fire beneath her… well, then it was just one more thing the Shadowsinger either didn’t notice, or didn’t react to.

He rounded her, like a predator about to pounce, but Gwyn knew him too well by know, knew the way he moved and the way his weight shifted just before he was about to strike. They had spent too many nights up here, too much time in the sparring ring beneath the moon, and though Azriel might have had centuries of training on her - and a hell of a lot more strength to put behind his hits - Gwyn moved faster, and knew how to recognise his tells.

A second before he moved, he glanced to the right.

Once, Gwyn had fallen for it.

Once, she’d thrown all her weight in that direction, only to find he’d feinted.

Once— only once.

Az turned his head more definitely to the right, but when he slid to the left, Gwyn anticipated the move, and slammed her palm into his chest as her other hand, the one still holding the dagger, flipped and aimed a punch at his ribs with the flat side of the pommel. His hazel eyes widened.

“Good,” he murmured when the blunt end of her knife connected with his side. But before she could pull away completely, he hooked his leg around hers and pulled her weight from under her at the knee. He jerked back, leaving her to break her fall with her hands as she fell backwards, his dagger slipping from her hand and leaving only her palms to stop her back from hitting the ground. “But not good enough.”

Without hesitation she leaped up, dagger back in hand and eyes narrowed in determination. “You haven’t won yet, Shadowsinger.”

He smirked. “Oh, Priestess.” He practically purred as he unsheathed Truth-teller and flipped the blade in hand, and if Gwyn hadn’t been so determined to knock him on his back, she was fairly sure she’d have burned beneath his gaze. “I already know I’m going to win.”

“Don’t you remember the last time you bet against me?” she bit back. “Or do you just like the way losing feels?”

She cast her mind back to the obstacle course— the way Azriel had been so smug, so sure the Valkyries wouldn’t beat it. Their victory had been sweet enough, but it had been made oh so much sweeter when Azriel had been forced to admit that he was wrong.

He snorted, tilting his head as a cluster of shadows whispered along the white line that marked the sparring ring’s boundary.

And then the spymaster frowned.

Azriel was all too used to those shadows murmuring in his ear during a fight, predicting his opponent’s movements and giving him the upper hand, but whilst several of them remained twined around his arms… a band of shadows had drawn back, lingering outside the ring. Watching. And with the furrow that creased his brow, Gwyn didn’t think Azriel had ordered them to separate. Her eyes flicked to the side, curiosity cresting inside her, and from the corner of her eye, she could have sworn one of those shadows jerked, as if pointing at something— at the Shadowsinger’s left foot, where his balance was just ever so slightly off. Swiftly, Gwyn dropped to a crouch, wrapped her hand around that ankle and pulled, and when the Spymaster came crashing down into his back, she shot another glance to that patch of shadow, and thought that the way they shivered looked an awful lot like laughter.

Azriel lay there, beneath the night sky, with his chest rising and the expression on his face caught somewhere between stunned amusement and disbelief.

A smile tried to bloom in the corner of his mouth, but once more he masked it, pressed his lips together to suppress it.

Gwyn didn’t know why he still did that— fought it whenever his lips twitched. His smile was something beautiful, something rare, and made even more precious by its scarcity. The light danced over his cheekbones, and Gwyn straightened now, pulling away before she could get lost in the hazel of his eyes. She sat back and crossed her legs, but Azriel didn’t rise. He remained lying there, shooting a glare at the shadows lingering at the edge of the ring before shifting his gaze back up to the sky.

“You cheated,” he said dryly.

And Gwyn couldn’t help it— the huff of breath he let out clouded in the cold air, and the furrow between his brows deepened as it dawned on him that he’d lost… and it made something in her chest swell as her laughter broke free of her, cutting through the night and echoing off the bare rock of the mountain. And—

There.

That twitch at the corner of his mouth pulled in earnest, and as Azriel pushed up onto his elbows at last, bringing his face within inches of her own, she was rewarded with a real smile— one that was beautiful and bare and as bright as the moon overhead.

“I won fair and square,” she answered tartly as her laughter died, lifting her chin with conviction. “It’s not my fault your shadows like me more than they like you.”

He rolled his eyes, but didn’t sit up any further. He remained there, weight braced on his elbows, legs extended out as his wings brushed the floor of the training ground. Unguarded— this was the Shadowsinger at his most unguarded, and it was so rare that for a moment Gwyn wished for a moment that she were Nesta’s sister, wished she had the skill of the High Lady, so that she could paint this moment and remember it forever. The fearsome and fearless Spymaster, lying before her, exposed as the moonlight cast him in a silver glow.

And as her heart thumped once in her chest, something behind her ribs starting to ache, she found herself feeling more at peace than she had in the past two weeks, like his presence was somehow inherently soothing to her. It was a thought that her her lifting her head, and despite the way her pulse trembled, she said, softly,

“I missed you, you know.”

The spymaster smiled again, and she thought it might have been the most wondrous thing in the world.

And, quietly, he said,

“I missed you too.”

***

She was going to be the death of him.

Especially in those ridiculous satin pyjamas. A bright teal with thin straps at the shoulders and cut off at the ankle, Azriel didn’t think there could have been anything more inappropriate to spar in. But her auburn hair was like a fire beneath the moon, and the blue of her eyes was made deeper by that length of teal fabric, and for half a moment he let himself think that he could have had no better homecoming than this— a friend there to say hello as he landed.

I missed you, you know.

Did she know how her words seemed to echo? How they seemed to fill some long-abandoned void within his chest?

I missed you too.

It had shocked him, how easy it was to admit it. To say it out loud. He’d spent days thinking it, thinking of her, and it came so naturally now, to sit before her and say those words. Her lips parted, her eyes gleamed, and Azriel had to clear his throat before he did something stupid.

“How was the city?” he asked, changing the subject too swiftly to dwell much on how he had spent days dreading her answer. He wondered if she could tell that it was taking every ounce of strength he had to keep his voice easy, casual.

Azriel had never really thought he was one for jealousy.

But when Gwyn had told him that Clotho was encouraging her to leave the library… he hadn’t been able to stop himself from imagining it, imagining him being the one to take her down those cobbled streets. Gwyn was his friend, and he wanted to be the one looking at the wonder in her eyes the first time she saw the Rainbow. He wanted to sit beside her and order cake at a riverside cafe. He could almost smell the hot chocolate in the air, taste the sugar that would dust her lips…

And then Rhys had tasked him with surveillance on the Continent, a two week mission, and he’d known that he wouldn’t be the one taking her anywhere.

It shouldn’t have stung as much as it did, and he’d be lying if he said it hadn’t bothered him these past two weeks. Lying, too, if he said it wasn’t why he’d come straight to the training ring on arriving home, instead of heading for his bed. 

One lone shadow crept closer, moving slowly until it brushed Gwyn’s ankle and rounded it. Again Azriel frowned. He hadn’t told it to do anything, but it moved of its own accord. Gwyn’s lips curved into a soft smile, those depthless eyes glinting in the silver light. She uncurled her fingers, spread them like she were wading through water, and the shadow by her ankle drifted to her hand, weaving through her fingers.

Briefly Azriel wondered what it would be like if it were his fingers sliding in the gaps between hers rather than his shadows, but he shut the thought down before it could do anything more than flicker across his mind. 

It wouldn’t do him well to think along those lines— never had, if his past experience with Mor was anything to go by.

Gwyn tilted her head now.

“The city?” she asked, and though her voice was light, Azriel didn’t fail to notice her hesitation, or the way she’d dropped her gaze to the floor beneath them. He hummed an affirmative, but the priestess only shook her head. Still, she didn’t lift her eyes. “I didn’t go,” she said quietly.

That surprised him.

“Can I ask why?” he began slowly.

He didn’t know why he felt like he needed to know— it wasn’t like he had any right to pry, did he? His shadows tittered in the corner, and not for the first time he got the uncanny feeling that they knew something they weren’t willing to share with him. Gwyn shook her head and lifted her chin, forcing a smile onto her lips, but it was wan and thin and entirely superficial. Her teal eyes flicked back down to the single shadow dancing between her fingers.

“I just— didn’t feel up to it.”

She shrugged, like it was nothing, but Azriel knew her well enough by now to know it wasn’t nothing. He leaned forward, draping an arm casually across his knee.

“Why?” he asked again, a shade softer. Her eyes finally lifted— met his. And maybe it was the moonlight and the way it shone on her freckled skin - the way it made him want to count each and every one of them scattered across her cheeks - or perhaps it was just the long day he’d had - the long fortnight - and the fact that sleep had evaded him for days, but the air suddenly felt a little bit thinner when their gazes locked.

He blinked.

Gwyn lifted her chin, ever brave in the face of adversity.

Damn if it wasn’t one of the things he admired most about her.

His chest warmed at that thought. His shadows tittered again, and he fought the urge to frown as he focussed all of his attention on her, sitting cross-legged by his side. A breeze ruffled her hair, and suddenly he wondered if she was cold in those satin pyjamas. 

“I don’t think I’m ready,” she whispered, like it was a confession.

Azriel was silent for a moment, before he leaned forward an inch.

“It’s a big step,” he said, his voice more gentle than he’d heard it for an age. He’d almost forgotten he could be that way. So caught up was he in death and darkness, he’d forgotten that parts of his soul sometimes yearned for the light, too.

Gwyn shook her head again, as if trying to shake off her uncertainty. Her smile turned soft— genuine.

“Alright Shadowsinger,” she said briskly. “I told you why I was up here at this time of night in my pyjamas. Your turn.”

Azriel lifted a brow. “My turn?”

She hummed, and gods, the sound was like music to him, a melody he felt resonate deep inside his bones.

“Tell me what it is that’s bothering you,” she demanded.

He stilled, pulling back the inch he’d leaned forward earlier.

How did she know?

And how did he even begin to—

“Come on,” she said, poking him in the knee. The casualness of it might have astounded him had his mind not been too busy trying to figure out some way of evading her question. He might have scoffed— the mighty spymaster, chief of Night Court intelligence, expert at extracting secrets from sealed lips… practically falling apart under that blue-eyed gaze, like her eyes were sharper than any blade he’d ever used to uncover unwitting truths.

I was jealous, his mind whispered. Jealous of someone else being by your side when you see the world outside these walls. 

Selfish— he knew that.

It was ridiculously selfish.

And yet.

Gwyn pursed her lips expectantly, and Azriel let out a bitter huff.

He would not give in.

He would not give in.

He would stay silent, and absolutely, categorically, would. not. give. in—

“Az,” Gwyn said, and just that one word, those two little letters…

Fuck.

“I wanted to go into the city with you,” he said slowly, his voice low. It sounded stupid, sounded pathetic, and he hated it.

Gwyn blinked, her eyelashes fluttering as her lips parted in surprise. He’d shocked her, and he couldn’t say he did that often. She usually had an uncanny ability to know what he was thinking before it had even crossed his own damned mind.

“You— that’s what’s bothering you?”

He glowered at the sky as he waited for the moment she drew back, drew away from the parts of himself he kept most closely guarded.

But it didn’t come.

She let out a soft, tentative breath that sounded unnervingly like a giggle.

“It’s ridiculous,” Azriel said flatly, not knowing why he carried on speaking. He cursed his mouth for shaping the words when all he wanted was to keep them inside— but something about her coaxed honesty from him. Made him want to step out of the shadows for the first time in centuries. So he took a breath, steeled himself. “I’d had this whole trip planned out—”

Gwyn surged up onto her knees.

“So take me,” she said, her eyes still wide. Her hair had escaped her plait, brushed her cheeks, and Azriel longed to reach out and tuck it back behind her ear. “I want you to take me into the city.”

A beat passed between them, a moment of loaded silence, and then, quietly, she added,

“I could do it if it were you by my side.”

“Truly?”

A brave smile crossed her face.

“Tell me what you had planned, Shadowsinger.”

So he did— the Rainbow, the river, the cafe, and the cake. All of it. And when he was done, Gwyn leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. Just once— but her lips lingered for a moment, and his heartbeat stilled. A warmth spread through him, one that felt startlingly like coming home, and even though his bruised and battered instincts were begging him to pull away, to put up his walls and retreat behind the safety of them, he looked into her eyes - as wide and as blue as a Summer Court sea - and realised that, for the first time, he didn’t want to pull away— didn’t want the safety that came with distance and isolation. 

And perhaps it was her bravery bringing out the same in him, because when he looked at her, he didn’t see the priestess he’d rescued that awful, awful day from Sangravah. Instead, he saw a woman strong in the face of her past— brave and determined and somehow still managing to smile through it all, and gods—

She…

She was more than a friend, wasn’t she?

He thought of every moment they’d ever spent in that training ring, every time they’d run into one another in the halls of the House. Every look she’d ever given him suddenly felt so much more significant, and everything he’d been too apprehensive to understand before suddenly became clear. A feeling he didn’t dare to name pulsed through him, a trembling that started in his chest and echoed right through to his fingertips.

For a moment, he didn’t move, too stunned to think, to breathe, but when her eyes dropped to his lips…

It was the only confirmation he needed. 

His shadows tittered again, and he got the distinct impression that they’d known about this for far, far longer than he had.

“Shadowsinger,” she whispered, her eyes catching once more on his mouth.

And Azriel felt himself smile - and how foreign it felt, to truly smile - before at last being bold enough to reach out and brush those loose strands of hair back from her face. 

“Priestess,” he answered.

Her heartbeat stumbled— he heard it, clear as day. Her eyelids fluttered, and good gods, he wanted to kiss her. Realised that he’d wanted to kiss her for a long time now, but had been so adept at pushing away his own damn feelings that he hadn’t even realised. She’d snuck up on him, worked her way inbetween his cracks and settled herself right within the centre of his heart.

And he didn’t mind one bit.

He let his hand drop from where it had tucked her hair behind her delicately arched ear, but he didn’t let it fall completely. No— for the first time in years, he wasn’t thinking about the skin of his hands, roughened by scars, as he let it hang in the air between them. He wasn’t thinking about the pain in his past, either. But for the pain in hers… he kept his every move slow, giving her every opportunity to pull away, and when he turned his hand and skimmed her cheek with the palm of his hand…

Gywn loosed a soft sigh.

His fingers came to cradle her jaw, his thumb brushing the edge of her lips, and he didn’t think she was breathing anymore. Come to think of it, he didn’t think he was, either.

His shadows practically thrummed from the edge of the ring, but he wasn’t listening to their whispers. His attention was focused solely on her, on the way the silver light made her blue eyes shine like the deepest, most precious kind of topaz. The clouds shifted and the moonlight shone on her auburn hair, and when he heard her heartbeat flutter—

Azriel cast off the last of the trepidation, and kissed her.

Slowly at first— like the first tentative steps in uncharted territory. Achingly slowly, he traced her lips with his own, feeling her melt into him at the first brush of his tongue against her, and gods, he thought a light might have erupted behind his eyelids as her hands wandered across his neck, her fingers tracing the tattoos inked there before tracking a path up and into his hair. He might have groaned as her fingers grew tangled there, might have felt himself tremble as she tugged on a strand of sable hair and pressed him closer to her.

“Is this okay?” he breathed.

Gwyn laughed against him - he’d never heard a sound more beautiful - and batted at his chest. His heart swelled in answer.

“Okay?” she repeated. “I’ve been waiting for you to do that for months.”

He felt his lips curve as one hand fell away from her jaw and rounded her waist, resting in the small of her back.

“Sorry I’m late then,” he drawled.

She shrugged, winding both of her arms around his neck and holding him there, in the circle of her arms.

“Better late than never,” she whispered, before bringing him back to her for another kiss, one that seemed to ignite every part of his cold, shadowed soul. A fire raged within him, and as his hands drifted lightly across her waist, fingers slipping on satin, he held her closer to his chest, savouring the taste of her, the feel of her, the weight of her against him.

And when she breathed his name against his lips, Azriel could swear he felt her soul twine around his, like they’d been stumbling in the darkness all this time and now, now, they had found one another at last. He pulled back to let her breathe, and moved instead to press soft kisses to her cheek. Her fingers wound themselves back in his hair, and as the dawn began to stain the edges of the horizon, Azriel felt Gwyn in his arms and couldn’t help but think—

Better late than never, indeed.

[tia-amorosa]

Sunset Died - Alto/Landgraab Household

Splits

It's now evening and Holly is back from her daily outing. “Oh man, that's so unfair"/ ”What's unfair again, Holly? “/ “You know that very well, mom! I'd love to give the juice to the people here instead of letting him drink it all. “/ “hh… You know…”/ “I don't know anything anymore. Some people are already thinking about getting together for the winter months so they don't have to freeze”.

Holly was really pissed off. After all, she and her family had everything they needed. “Great…if you would at least cook your spaghetti for everyone…”. Vita tried to remain calm. Despite all the circumstances, her daughter's words really got to her. And now that she's pregnant, her nerves are even more frayed than usual. “How's the school set-up going?"/ ‘We're still missing a few tables and books’….

It was almost too late to build a small school for the children. Now that winter is coming, a well-heated room will be needed. But maybe they'll find a solution for that too. “I'll bring my easel at the school , so others can use it"/ ‘Yes, Holly, that's a good idea’.

Since you never knew when a good time was, Gerhard seized the moment anyway. “Would you have a moment to talk after dinner, Nick?"/ ‘How important is it, on a scale of 1-10?’/ ”Cut the nonsense, will you? “. Nick looked at him blankly for a moment. “You've got 20 minutes then, after that I have to go to the bedroom.” Gerhard and the others knew what that meant.

“Don't eat so fast, Malcolm, you had a tummy ache earlier…"/ ”It's all right now. Can I really have my own room, Mom?"/ ‘When we find the right house, then yes…’. Vita looked at her a little skeptically. “Are you sure you'll find something there, Nancy?”. She just looked at her with narrow eyes “You haven't really looked around yet, Vita! At least you don't have to worry, your house is still standing!”.

Vita was piqued. “Oh please, our house hasn't stayed quite intact either, our bedroom is now in the office and the kitchen is just a makeshift"/ ‘at least I helped you build a new kitchen and besides… when we're gone, at least you'll have one more room for the little thing’, Nancy looked at Vita's stomach with a movement of her head. And she just looked at her again with narrowed eyes “Do you think it's better somewhere else than here? I don't think so!"/ ‘That shouldn't be your problem, Vita.’.

The room was silent for a brief moment. Then Nancy continued. “Where have all the good times gone? We were young once too, Vita. Nothing was laid in our laps.” Vita looked at her hesitantly and with one eyebrow raised. “You had a rich mother who left you a lot…"/ ”Leave my mother out of it, do you hear me? And besides, there's nothing left of that or I would have made sure we didn't have to live under one roof with you any longer. I'm sorry, Vita, but we're out of here tomorrow”.

While the women were talking animatedly in the house, the men were talking to each other outside. “When are you going to get some sense, Nick? Can't you see how the others are doing? It all depends on you, why can't you just give in?"/ ”Because then I'll have nothing left but the house."/ ”as you know, money is slowly becoming irrelevant here, only you're still holding on to it”.

“It wasn't just you who built this city back then, don't forget that. My wife also contributed a lot to making the city what it is… Was. And now look around you. Do you really want to go on like this forever? You're going to be a father again, Nick, maybe you'll think about it? Or do you want to raise your offspring to be the selfish asshole you are right now?”.

Nick turned to him and got a little louder again. “Do you think I give a shit? No, damn it…"/ ”Then finally put an end to all this. Give them your shares and finally accept the help of the military. The people here have done a lot on their own by now. And almost got themselves killed in the process. There have already been enough casualties, Nick… And it won't be long before they'll be here on your doorstep because you're not cooperating, believe me.”

“Man Gerhard…"/ ”No… I'm getting sick of hearing it. It would be so easy if you just had a little compassion. And sorry, I'm not going to be a spy for you any more… When's the next delivery coming by the way?"/ ‘I think it's Sunday…’/ ”Then make sure we're not the only ones who benefit from it. Did you know that VJ Alvi has now shot two deer? He distributes the meat among the people… The boy is going to be something”.

“Yes, I… I've heard about it… I need a break "/ ”Nancy and I will look for a new place to stay tomorrow. She can no longer be under the same roof as your wife. And think about your daughter, she's more of a Samaritan than you two ever were. “. Nick had to admit to himself that Gerhard was right. His daughter had taken very good care of the other inhabitants since the meteor storm. “Yes, I know… Now please excuse me”….

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

End of this Part

@greenplumbboblover 😊

[yours-the-author]

Hey, I'm back from my trip and got ya'll some stick ship goodies. It's no longer fair season where I live, but I had ideas for my favorite ships going to the fair and finally decided to draw them, so here you go!

CopperRight

I imagine that Right Hand Man is either the kind of guy to actually hate fairs/carnivals/things like that, or the kind of guy to say he hates them, but actually really enjoys them. He'd probably play all of the "test of strength" games and win the the giant prizes for Reginald. Reginald doesn't actually want/need the giant prizes (and isn't really a fan of fairs, either; too loud and dirty!), but if he gets a petty sense of pride when showing them off, he can do that because he's a rat man who loves his husband.

On the other hand, though, Reginald does have a serious sweet tooth, and sometimes only a treat found at the fair can do the trick! (I imagine RHM doesn't really like sweets, but he's not gonna leave Reg by himself in a strange theme park where danger could be at any corner!)

_____________________________________

Curtisson

Burt actually really likes carnivals and fairs, but he acts unimpressed at every fair he goes to.

Burt: Nice theme park. Be a shame if someone broke it.

Sven, on the other hand, does NOT like fairs or carnivals. They're crowded, noisy, the food is terrible for you, and it's too hot all the time! I imagine he'd go maybe once just to say that he did, and would somehow get goaded into going on a big scary ride (or maybe even a not-so-scary ride) only to sob uncontrollably afterwards for like ten minutes.

The Curtisson date at the fair would almost be completely ruined... but at least there's a petting zoo, and they both like small and fluffy animals.

Date saved!

_________________________________

PanPrice

Believe it or not, Dave's actually pretty okay with most rides. Nothing extreme, like triple loop-de-loop rollercoasters or anything, but maybe one of those "roller coasters" that just go around in a loop over and over. Dave knows what he likes and doesn't like, and can plan accordingly.

Rupert thinks he can handle a few amusement park rides. He's a trained military man who was on the police force for nearly a decade before hand! He can handle a baby roller coaster!

He cannot handle the baby roller coaster

But once Rupert gets the feeling back in his everything, it's time to play some games! Probably a shooting game of some kind; something challenging that takes a lot of skill and precision (but most importantly, something with a prize that Dave will like):

Obligatory Dave Panpa / Panda fanart

And of course, what's a fair or carnival without the FOOD! Dave loves fair food and has a hard time picking what to get. Rupert is less inclined to fried and sugary foods in large portions, but he likes to see Dave indulge every once in a while, because Dave deserves it.

___________________________________

Poly Threat

A group of thrill seekers like the Triple Threat would definitely be the first in line for some rides! And they know exactly which one to start with, too...

(Fun Fact: There was actually a ride shaped like a helicopter at the last fair I went to, which is what inspired all of this art!)

Of course, there's nothing wrong with having fun in a more relaxed way. Henry might need some downtime away from the crowds, and Charles and Ellie are happy to accommodate.

Who doesn't like a little face paint every once in a while? (Bonus points if you know what the significance of the symbols are!)

A day at the fair can be long and exhausting, but there's still stuff going on after dark! Maybe Charles is a little sensitive to loud noises, or maybe Ellie is legally barred from being near gunpowder, but there's nothing like a picnic under the fireworks to wrap up a fun day!

Technically, fairs and carnivals and such are more late summer things than early winter things, but I had fun making these pictures! I hope you like them too!

[balkanradfem]

So, some of you might remember, how I found an abandoned 'banished settlement' where people used to live 20 years ago, and they left plenty of cultivated and edible plants behind, including one huge rose plant. It was spread more than 10 meters in both directions, made thousands of roses, I used to decorate my entire place with them, dry them, they didn't have a scent so I didn't make food from them. However, the city has decided to build some ugly buildings in that place, so they flattened half of the area to the ground, made it into nothing but empty dirt. Needless to say I was devastated when I went foraging and found most of my plants, including the rose, gone.

However, the rose wasn't just a plant you can run over and destroy; in the spring I found new shoots, it's starting up again from the roots, and it's not going to get exterminated so easily. I do believe they're intending to destroy it completely, so I'm going to try and rescue it by taking some cuttings and propagating it.

Here's what it used to be vs what it is now.

:(

I took a few of the most sturdy stems I could find, I had to get plant cutters in order to do it, they will not break easily. Here's me propagating them at home:

All of the leaves and growth is stripped down, because a plant without roots cannot support foliage. For roses, I think stems of 12-15cm in lenght are reccomended for propagation, that way they have enough stem to try and grow roots from, and not too much to support. I stabbed them in a pot of soil, and then covered with this big glass thing, because cuttings will usually only grow in high humidity, they need to be supplied with water from air, because they don't have roots yet. I had to cut them down a bit more to fit them in, but I think that will be okay. I watered them excessively, and sprayed the cover with water too, so it would create super humid conditions.

I left this on the kitchen window, so it doesn't have to deal with a lot of sun or heat, it's best for cuttings to be put in mild conditions so they can focus on development of roots. If they start growing new foliage, that's the sign that the propagation is successful!

Here they are 10 days later:

To me it looks like all of them are already growing new foliage, but, it's suspicious, I don't think they would have managed to grow new roots so soon, in my mind it should take a ~while~. Maybe they're just using the plant power they had stored in the stem, and haven't figured out they've been turned into cuttings yet. The only way to really check would be to pluck them out and check for roots, but I won't do it yet, I'll leave them in here for at least 2 more weeks before trying to transplant them somewhere else. But for now it looks hopeful! I might have roses on my balcony!

Here's the first post I ever made about this rose, if you wanna see more pictures of how it looked.

(edit: I later looked into how long do rose cuttings take, and it said 2 months, but it also said that in late spring, you're supposed to only take young, flexible, and not-woody cuttings, and they'll grow faster. So I have messed up a little, sturdy cuttings are to be taken in the fall and winter and they're the most difficult ones to root. It also said you need 25cm and to bury them 70% in the ground. But it seems that it's still going well so do not follow the rules! I did have one that was young and flexible and that one is showing the strongest signs of growth.)

[lilabella12]

1321 - Day 2

It takes some time getting used to, but Ian and Daniel develop a good routine at their new home. Daniel managed to learn a few basic recipes for breakfast.

Daniel: "I have to go to the market today, I wanted to sell some of the produce from winter harvest and some flour I made... do you think you will be okay on your own or do you want to come as well?"

Ian: "I think I'll stay here. I wanted to explore a bit... do you remember where that tree was that you and Evie talked about?"

Daniel: "The one we used to climb on? Of course, it's right by the fields."

Ian: "I will stay, then."

Daniel: "Okay. If I make enough money today, maybe we could buy some chickens next."

Ian: "I would like that... I always took care of them at unlce Evan's."

Daniel leaves first thing in the morning and after Ian takes care of some chores in the fields, he is free to explore. He finds that tree his siblings used to climb all the time and even their old stone doll-house...

Daniel arrives early at the market, not many people are around but he manages to sell some of his stock. Not yet enough for a chicken coop and some animals, but he's getting there slowly but surely.

When midday breaks, he spots Annabeth in the crowd.

Daniel: "Annabeth! It's so good to see you, how have you been? I haven't seen you in ages... at least that's what it feels like."

Annabeth: "Yes, I'm sorry... I can't get out of the house as much as I used to. How have you been? Did your siblings move in now?"

Daniel: "Well, that's... let's sit down and I'll tell you about it. I'm almost done here anyway."

They sit down at a secluded spot behind the shops.

Daniel: "Hey, do you remember? We met here for the first time. When my father was selling his wares and me and my sister..."

Annabeth: "Yes, I remember. You and Eve were playing in the trees and I just moved here."

Daniel: "Yes, Evie... I have to tell you... she passed away. A few weeks ago."

Annabeth: "Oh no! Daniel, I'm so sorry to hear that. What happened to her?"

Daniel: "The phsyicians say it was tuberculosis. She had a very bad cough and she just... didn't wake up one morning. At least that's what my uncle told me. Ian found her that morning and came to get me as soon as possible but it was too late. We buried her next to my parents."

Annabeth: "That must have been so hard for Ian...."

Daniel: "He doesn't speak much about it but I think you're right. I know it's been hard on me. He lives with me now... he wanted to. I think he fears of losing me as well. The two of us are the only ones left."

Annabeth: "Then it's a good thing you took him in. He needs you now and perhaps you need him as well."

Daniel: "Do you want to come with me and meet him? I think he would be happy to have some company other than me. It gets quite lonely out there."

Annabeth: "Well... I don't think I can. There's a suitor I have to meet this afternoon, my father has been... pushing me."

She chuckles a bit.

Annabeth: "He thinks I'm getting too old to be living with my parents."

Daniel: "Oh.... I... that's.... you don't have to come."

His stomach does a funny flip. He felt that way the last time she sopke about it as well.

Annabeth: "You know... I don't think it's that important. Let's go. I can't wait to meet Ian.

Daniel is right - Ian is happy to meet Annabeth and the two spend the afternoon by the stables to talk a bit.

Before she leaves for home, Annabeth tries to reassure Daniel.

Annabeth: "You're doing a good job with Ian, really. He's happy here with you even if he can't show it that well right now. I think he still needs to mourn a bit before he can move on."

Daniel: "Thank you, Annabeth. I would love for you to visit again. I missed you these past few weeks."

Annabeth: "I will if I can. But.... I don't know if my father will approve."

Daniel: "I don't want to get you in trouble of course. Travel home safe, okay?"

When he watches her leave he thinks about marriage for the first time in his life. Should he introcuce himself as a possible suitor to her father? Is it a good idea to do this at his current stage... and his living conditions? Would she even want to?

Evan and his family also have to get used to living without Daniel and Ian now. The twins miss their cousins, but at least they still have each other.

But it won't be long until the family grows again... Valeria is expecting a child! Evan and the children are excited to meet the new family member... Valeria meanwhile hopes that she will carry this baby to term and everything will be fine. She does not want to repeat her last pregnancy.

| previous | next |

[leebrontide]

Hello random stranger I don’t even follow! I grew up on Lake Erie and we have a storm hag and I am so excited to talk about her! Mostly she’s from like the war of 1812 and partially forgotten about, but she’s said to cause storms that take down ships so she can feast on sailor flesh. She has a spooky little theme song but by the time you hear it it’s too late and she’s already next to your ship about to pull you under. Which like, you’d think then that we wouldn’t know the song but it’s:

Come into the water, love, dance beneath the waves

Where dwell the bones of sailor lads inside my mossy cave

She’s said to live in a cave under presque isle, which does not make sense because it’s a sand bar full of swampy lagoons, but also there’s a rip current medium often on the beach side so arguably she’s still out there sucking down souls. I’m just saying there’s bluffs on the other side of the bay that seem more reasonable as a place to find caves. But like also historically during the war of 1812 (but really 1813) Oliver hazard Perry’s fleet spent the winter in misery bay, which is sort of toward the end of presque isle, and they were very cold and hungry. I do also like to think that the people that fall through the ice dunes and die in winter are her victims. Maybe also the people that snowmobile on the ice too far into spring and go under. Then again she probably can’t be blamed for every kind of stupid death that happens.

Anyway apparently her name is Jenny Greenteeth, which makes it pretty clear that she’s an English import at least in name, but I love her.

Also, in case you don’t already know, Lake Erie is shallow which makes the currents weird and there’s like, so many shipwrecks. It’s warmer than the deeper lakes so they aren’t as well preserved as the ones in Lake Superior or anything, but there are genuinely a nuts number of them. Also there’s at least one ghost ship, the dean richmond. There’s this whole area called the Lake Erie quadrangle that they’re thinking about protecting federally because there’s so many shipwrecks? Like, beyond a Bermuda Triangle amount. But on the bright side, it doesn’t have as much of a plane crash history as the Lake Michigan triangle!

Also there are some giant goddamned sturgeon in that lake, and if you feel the need to go mermaid tail/person body with the mermaid thing I recommend a long twisty sturgeon tail and body! I forgot what this was for in my excitement to tell someone about my girl Jenny Greenteeth, but have so much fun!

THIS is what I'm talking about!

[dearunreliablenarrator]

✨Good day and happy STS!✨

What is the Coolest thing you have ever come up with lore-wise? Could be anything—a sick motif, a compelling character design, unique worldbuilding, anything!

Feel free to Ramble !!!

and have an awesome day ✨✨✨

✨howdy!

umh, there's honestly so much i can touch on because i've realized i don't really share much on my WIPs outside of Mystic Mondays or sporadic snippet drops.

but i think i'll start with the most important thing that will carry over through the unreliable universe.

so. generational ties/crossroads/parallel timelines/red string theory, i believe are the backbone to the lore inside what we'll call Project NM (PM for short). which wasn't an intentional thing until I started to plot for the duo/companion book for WTRB (where the river bends-a speculative comp. romance (something like that)), because I needed way to bring all four of the characters together in their events naturally, since they'd be referenced and also (technically) be happening at the same.

this was a pretty significant plot hole eraser and pace fixer, because it gave me a sense of timing for events and as someone who isn't planner when it comes to writing, it definitely made me realize that this projects couldn't been done on the fly. (mind you writing now compared to writing in middle school is a complete different world, didn't really worry much about plot holes)

now! i can add as many side stories as i want because i've given myself a backbone to Project NM, and not have to worry about creating world building details from scratch every time i have a new idea. (this also cut down on some overactive world building things, that would have been too complicated to be real or explain)

so, it works lika this. The timeline generationally goes all the way back to GG (a sort of prequel to the unreliableverse) which i could say is set in the feudal/middle age/era because of the Age of Enlightenment is interesting and I've watched Ella Enchanted one too many times to not have my own take on it. (and knights are cool...)

And with GG (which will also have a companion, maybe) the two female leads respectively are the reasons MOST if not ALL of the female leads throughout the series are connected.

So, with that being said. No matter what timeline is currently being lived through, their descendants (or they themselves) will meet and have to face whatever challenges (curse as people are saying nowadays) together, that were never dealt with previously.

But what this doesn't mean is that they're all happening at different times or generations. For clarity, we'll stick with the Big Three. WTRB (where the river bends), CUTS (cherries under the sun) and ALT (altheia).

canonically, CUTS and WTRB are happening that same time but the entry point to their stories are staggered. CUTS and all it's horror begins in the late summer/early fall (starting from the prologue) while WTRB opens in late winter/early spring and at some point meet at a crossroad. whether that's characters referencing one another or events. There will things that shift the actions of each group, respectively as their stories go on.

as for ALT, this is maybe 500 or so years later, i haven't really decided yet. but its far enough out for some consequences to be eliminated, and close enough to still see and feel some of the repercussions of not just the actions of our characters but also the world they live in or grow around. so, 5 generations later at the least, at the max 10.

so,tiny diagram here!

i'm linking a youtube playlist, that i hope will make this make a little more sense if i've gotten you lost. it'd probably be a piece of media i'll reference alot along with Everything Everywhere All at Once (2022).

while there are some more things i want to expand on here, i'll plug mystic monday one more time. there is no tag list, but it does have a dedicated tag for your searching ease. #unreliablelore or just search mystic monday!

i find the lore here- while being a bit more detail oriented and researched base, it isn't really significant to the storyline. think of it as a living library, to be referenced throughout the story. and probably the answers to easter eggs as they come.

i think thats all i can ramble on about at thee moment, if there's anything i can clarify or expand on just let me know.

k-bai✨

[xxsycamore]

𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐬 𝐎𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐒𝐩𝐨𝐭

↬ 🌸 You and Napoleon welcome the spring out in the fields, trying an interesting new date idea... And Napoleon learns about something curious from the future, along the way, using it to his own advantage.

Napoleon Bonaparte x f!reader • rating: G • tags: Picnics; Painting; Dates; Fluff; Humor; Married Characters • wordcount: 1, 680• masterlist

a/n: This is a birthday gift for a fellow Napoleon lover! This fic was a stay idea lounging in my mind since forever, but it's for @topaz-carbuncle that I decided to put it on paper, with hopes that it would make her smile ❤ With that birthday date, I was so sure that it overlaps with the first day of spring - it turns out it was the day prior, but!! Spring actually came late into the evening where I am, so I really hope it counts! Happy Birthday, dear Lucille! Thank you for being here and sharing your lovely works with us, from one napo lover to another I hope you'd accept this humble gift in turn for all the smiles you've put on my face (and undoubtedly, on many others', too!), I wish you a great day today!! ❤❤🎉🎉🎉 Woooho! • Also for day 8 of Spring Showers Spring Flowers by @aquagirl1978 & @violettduchess Prompt: Picnics (fluff)

"Now, the sun might not be that strong, but I'm still demanding you wear your hat, Mrs. Bonaparte."

You sigh, staying still with chin tipped up while a pair of familiar, sturdy hands tie the ribbons of your straw hat for you. Glancing at Napoleon's face behind your lashes from that point of view, you think it might be fair, after all. He looks a little silly with his own straw hat, it's the one that Sebas uses when working in the garden… maybe it's because you're so used to seeing it on the butler's head that you're seeing something comedic in the current situation.

"Alright, alright, whatever the monsieur wants."

Napoleon smirks at your words, shooting you that boyish gaze while finishing up tying the ribbons under your chin.

Oh, wait! Now you're actually protected against his hair-ruffling attacks! Maybe it's not such a bad idea after all.

"Allons-y!"

***

It's surprising how much the grass has grown, fresh and green as if winter hasn't come to your secret spot at all. With the exception of the few trees in the distance, which are now spots of white instead of spots of green - all in blossom, and surely buzzing with bees, you almost can hear all the way here - the sight is reminiscent of those of the summer days. Napoleon is right, the sun is not as cruel today - and that's why you both intend to use its welcoming rays for company in today's pastime.

"Napoleon, give me those already… you don't have to carry everything."

"Nonsense. What other reason is there for your strong boyfriend to be around?"

You sigh. Again. Napoleon can be such a show-off occasionally, but oh well, it's not like you're too annoyed by it… and it looks like you've arrived too.

Napoleon sets down the many items he carried - picnic basket full of yummy refreshments; another, larger one, filled with painting supplies; two foldable chairs; and of course, the two wooden easels. Today is the first day of spring, and what other way to welcome and commemorate its glory than to capture it on the canvas…! Or at least attempt to, and have fun in the course of it. It's a bit different from your typical dates, but you love the idea either way. Spending time with the love of your life is always exciting, no matter the activity.

"Vincent showed me how to put those up, so I won't do the same mistake as last time. Just watch."

True, last time you two tried painting together Napoleon has been stubborn about putting up a painting easel by himself, refusing to ask for help even when the tripod kept falling apart. To think that there are things even Napoleon can't do…! Alas, that was a short-lived miracle, as you're now witnessing the work of a professional, putting the easel as if it's something mundane he does every day. And so, waking up early remains the only thing Napoleon Bonaparte cannot master.

"There. Please tell me what direction would you like yours to face."

You let out a lengthy hum, cutting it off as soon as the invincible light bulb pops up above your head.

"How sad are you going to be on a scale from 1 to 10 if you were to not see my face through the whole duration of our date?"

"Huh? Ten. No, even more than-"

"Okay, but listen - it's a good idea, listen - both this side," you gesture to the outstretching meadow ahead of you, "and that one," you turn around to point to the opposite one, "are worth putting on the canvas… so why don't we paint two different paintings? We'll sit back to back, and we won't turn around until we're done. No peeking! How's that?"

"Well…"

You suspect that a battle is taking place in his heart this very moment, but you know that his mind is always a little louder than his feelings. You think.

"Yeah, that actually makes a lot of sense. That's my clever Nunuche."

"That sounds like an oxymoron."

***

Even though the sun was high in the sky when you came here, the spring day remains a little too short for your liking, calling for final touches to be added soon.

It's true that somewhere amidst it all, a bear roared - not the real kind, the one that would make you pack your stuff and run, shouting at Napoleon not to attempt dueling with it with his rapier at the ready - but also not the one in your stomach either! Instead of that cute bear cub Napoleon likes to tease you about, it was a papa bear, awoken from its slumber in… Napoleon's belly. You thought the lunch you made earlier at the mansion was enough for him, but alas, a snack break was due. And a snack break you had.

Napoleon was a bit grumpy when you denied him the afternoon nap'n cuddle™ on the picnic blanket, but the slight change of scenery in the afternoon spoke to his inner artist just as it did to yours, fortunately.

Armed with a paintbrush anew, there you are, dipping the bristles into shades of rose-gold mixed on your palate. Napoleon has been quiet for awhile, but that's okay - the wild birds speak enough in his stead, in their various whimsical languages.

The pink on your palate seems to be dominating over the warm yellow shades, and instead of trying to mellow it down, you stand with your brush in the air, staring at the canvas.

Your painted field is a satisfactory still image of the one behind the easel - not that the real thing is much more dynamic. As rules call, one third is taken by the greenery, two thirds are taken by the sky. The occasional trees in the distance make for a good perspective, yet the upper part of it seems rather… empty? You trail off in thoughts about skies you've seen, and naturally, they're all skies you've seen in your own time period.

"Hehee…"

"What are you giggling about, Nunuche?"

Napoleon leans a bit onto you, using you as a backrest. He's not putting his whole weight, of course, but it successfully makes you huff and takes your attention. You push back against him likewise, nudging until your backs are parallel again. It's actually you that have been using him as a backrest in the last half an hour, but, but, he was the one who wholeheartedly suggested it!

"Nothing. I'll just add a little detail in mine."

"Oh? Can I take a peek?"

The whole ordeal about not looking at each other's paintings has been a bit too much… and you give in with a shrug. You clutch the brush with determination, peach-pink paint still at its top.

And you draw a straight line across the stark blue sky of your painting.

Just on time, Napoleon turns on his chair, moving his long legs so they're on either side of your chair.

"What is that…?"

You chuckle some more at his confusion, understandable as it is.

"A chemtrail! I've told you about the advances of planes in modern times… that's the trail their engines leave in the atmosphere. It's a white line showing their trajectory."

"But yours is pink?"

"That's because," You look up beyond the margins of the painting, as if there is a chance you'd see exactly what you're explaining in that very sky above you and Napoleon. "When the sun goes down and we can't see it on eyelevel anymore, sometimes planes are up there - and with how high they are, the sun is still shining on them. And on their chemtrails, too, painting them orange-pink, like so. It's just a little something I've always noticed, sooo…"

"I like that. Thank you for sharing with me."

You smile, turning halfway to meet Napoleon's cyan gaze. You recognize that thirst for knowledge in his eyes, your heart beating warmly in your chest with the sentiment of the moment.

Napoleon reaches over your shoulder with his own brush, dipping it in your freshly blended pink and stealing some.

"Hey!"

"Now I want to add a futuristic element in my painting too. I'm not going to be left behind you like that."

You watch in awe as Napoleon's hand strikes boldly on his own freshly painted landscape. But it's not a straight line like yours.

"A heart?!"

"Yep, a heart… what, don’t tell me they can't do that. There's no way things are so advanced yet they can't do that."

The need to close your jaw triumphs over your bewilderment, somehow, still left speechless at Napoleon's clever deduction. No wonder he is one of history's greatest geniuses, his place among the mansion residents is deserved.

His painting skills… they're so-so, but it's because of that that the line curving in a heart shape in the middle is so eye-catching, making his painting a whole masterpiece.

"I still like yours better, though. You've got talent, Nunuche."

"I think you might be biased, Monsieur de Wahaha." You nod with eyelids fluttering shut, finally turning all the way on your little chair so you can face Napoleon. The impending talk about stunt planes and his right guess about their existence can wait. "…Because I thought the same about yours."

"Oh? And why is that?"

"Because a person in love is naturally biased for their partner, and everything they do."

Your sudden straightforwardness surprises Napoleon, coloring his face in shades you picked and mixed personally. He holds your gaze like that for awhile, then it all happens in the way it always does.

Napoleon shortens the distance, and so do you. And right in the middle-

"Oh!"

The resistance of two straw hats colliding startles you both, making you withdraw from each other in a rush.

"Pfft. Hahahaha!!"

As Napoleon falls into another of his infamous laughing fits, you wonder if the protection against his hair-ruffling attacks was worth the ruined moment. But the rising urge to laugh - with him, or at him, it doesn't matter all that much - might be worth it all.

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[rosethornewrites]

NR, E, & M reading since 3/18

Finished

Not Rated:

JC & WWX role swap (LWJ/WWX/JC), by nirejseki

Prompt: au where wwx comes from the old and respected yiling wei sect and jc and jyl are the children of rogue cultivators (or maybe madam yu ran away with rogue jfm?), taken in by sect leader wei

four letters: H-A-T-E (Wei Wuxian's POV), by Edith343redwood

What if the first night they met was rewritten?

Four letters. One word.

that's all it took to send Wei Wuxian spiralling.

They say words hold power, but what can words do?

If a word could be rewritten into a story, what would it be?

Possible works 1 - Ghost Child, by Hauntcats

Wei Ying returns to the day Jiang Fengmian found him and decides to do something different.

None of these are very Jiang Cheng friendly. I'm not even sure if they are Lan friendly. At least one of them is nicer to Jiang Yanli.

Explicit:

The Best Laid Plans, by Admiranda, Rynne (11th in a series)

After a long day traveling, Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian just want to have a bath together. Those simple intentions don't last -- and neither does the bathtub.

and we can be anything, by Imatableclock (2nd in a series)

"You’re so good at this, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, panting.

From the look on Lan Zhan’s face, she probably considers it an offence that Wei Ying is still speaking. Wei Ying is very happy to learn this about Lan Zhan.

---

Two lesbians in one apartment, and their firsts.

Microphones and Camera Reels, by UseMyMuse

Wei Ying and Lan Wangji have been happily married for five years, their careers are at an all time high, and they really couldn't be happier. Purely by chance, the public is unaware of their relationship, and Lan Zhan's fans are severely misjudging his horny glare for hate and they decide to ban together to get rid of the thorn in their favorite star's side.

One Day We're Loving Each Other, by sami (2nd in a series, 2 chapters, reread)

The wedding is lovely, the bride is very beautiful, and Jiang Yanli comes to live at the Unclean Realm.

Mature:

Blood of the Black Earth, by wirevix (15 chapters)

By the time Jiang Cheng and his small rescue party managed to clear away the rubble at the cave's collapsed entrance, it was too late.

Wei Wuxian had already gone cold.

The Moon Reflected Upon Two Springs, by Rubberduckieassassin (🔒)

In many ways, this part of Wen Ning’s existence has felt like winter. Winter is the most Yin of all the seasons. It is a time of stillness and quiet reflection. Remembering how to ‘live’ again as best he could.

Possible Works 2 - Numb, by Hauntcats

Wei Ying returns to his teenage years, but can't shake the memories of what he has lost.

The Tamed, by pj_moonchild (7 chapters)

Wei Wuxian believes he can change the past for the better if he never misbehaved and remained considerate of the Jiang Yunmeng Sect the whole time. At the same time, he sacrifices meeting Lan Zhan but inevitably, they do meet again once the Wen Clan decides to take over the other sects.

Unfinished

Not Rated:

I'd Give You The Moon, by Teadrenched

Wei Wuxian is very smart, but you wouldn't think that if you saw him now, lost alone in the woods at night and being choked by a witch. Despite his predicament, all Wei Wuxian can think about is how pretty the witch looked, and that he didn't know boys were allowed to wear dresses (but after seeing Lan Wangji, definitely thinks more should)

OR

Wei Ying finds fem witch Lan Zhan in the woods and goes to bother him whenever Madame Yu has been a bit too much

Friday Nights, by Autumn_leaf101

“A-Cheng there is someone I would like you to meet with this Friday. He is the successor to Lan Academies. I’ve spoken with his uncle and we shall see if you both are suitable for each other.” Said Yu-Jiang ZiYuan, with a tone of clarity and finality.

“Yes A-Niang” Having expected this he felt relieved to get it over with.

“The Lan Academies huh? The heirs are quite the handsome duo.” A cheeky Cangse Sanren pointed out. “Isn’t the younger, the pouty one you’re always talking about A-Xian?! Oh, and the older, he has the sweetest smile, doesn’t he?” She continued an excited rant, met with an equally excited Wei Wuxian.

As the conversation steered to the rumours of Jiang Cheng’s potential betrothed, he wanted to know what was being said but no amount of effort could help him concentrate. His only focus; convincing himself that a lifetime of neglect and passive-aggressive companionship wouldn’t be too bad, or maybe, just maybe he could love and be loved the way a husband and wife are meant to.

wing bones touching, by ShanaStoryteller

Mo Xuanyu is the hastily legitimized daughter of Jin Guangshan.

Wei Wuxian wakes up in her body the day before her wedding.

Explicit:

the long way back home, by Misila (🔒)

Wei Ying always knew he was the single discordant note in the Jiang household. That was why, after graduating from university, he didn’t return home. With him gone, Yu Ziyuan wouldn’t have anyone to compare her son to, and Jiang Fengmian wouldn’t have to keep avoiding his own family to prevent further conflict.

…Right?

(Seven years later, married to the man of his life and with a four year-old son, Wei Ying returns to his hometown and tries to reconnect with his siblings and befriend his nephew; but, most of all, he struggles to figure out what’s wrong with his brother and how to help him, despite Jiang Cheng not wanting to have anything to do with him anymore.)

Lupine, by Anonymous

It’s never been an option before—to see Wei Ying after that dream. Typically, Lan Wangji jolts awake in bed, alone with his quaking limbs, and resigns himself to reading or meditating until morning.

But here in Qinghe, dawn is far away, and Wei Ying’s room is so, so close.

The Second Hand Unwinds, by trulywicked (🔒)

Sent back in time without his husband after a night hunt gone wrong, Lan Wangji is determined to ensure that Wei Wuxian’s safety and in the process hopefully mitigate, if not prevent, the war.

Through marriage among other things.

Heart of the Beast, by WaitForTheSnitch

“Wei Ying?” Nie Mingjue prompted him gently. “Where are your parents?”

“They went on a night hunt,” Wei Ying said, a bit evasively.

“Your parents are cultivators?” Da-ge asked in surprise. “Did they leave you here while they hunted? When did they go on their night hunt?”

“Four summers ago,” Wei Ying said a bit uncomfortable.

“Four summers ago,” Nie Mingjue repeated. “What are your parents’ names?”

“My mama is Cangse Sanren and my baba is Wei Changze,” Wei Ying told him, and recognition registered in Nie Mingjue’s eyes.

“Wei Ying,” Nie Mingjue said, sounding a bit regretful, “Your parents aren’t coming back.”

Or, Nie Mingjue and Nie Huaisang run into Wei Ying while in Yiling and decide to bring him home. And it changes everything.

Mature:

Dreams of Paradise, by Hauntcats

This on begins during the siege of the Burial Mound. Wei Ying is trying to destroy or nullify the tiger seal before anyone else can get it. The results don’t work out quite how he thought they would. His essence is trapped in between time where he witnesses different scenes of the lives of those he cares about. (The 13? 16? Years when he was dead.)

Then he wakes up in a place he didn't expect.

Once again, not Jiang friendly. If you don't like that, please, don't read.

Tragedy That Befall Upon Us, by xoxoholic

"Hey! What's this?" Jin Ling yelled, pointing at the glowing, black and red orb. Jiang Wanyin marched over to Jin Ling, but the young Jin sect leader had already touched the orb.

"Jin Ling!" Jiang Wanyin yelled in anger. If his golden core was not sealed, then Zidian would be cackling furiously.

"..Oops?" Jin Ling sheepishly smiled as he hid behind his friends. Lan Jingyi laughed at Jin Lings predicament while Lan Sizhui sighed. Ouyang Zizhen laughed with Lan Jingyi in amusement before he was hit in the back of his head by his father.

UNDER EDITING

【银 劍 探 心】| Silver Jian Seeking Hearts, by stiltonbasket

“A ghost bridegroom?” Wei Wuxian asks, when he receives his latest night-hunting assignment from Uncle Jiang. “Have women been going missing?”

If brides have been going missing, this is the first that Wei Wuxian is hearing about it; which is strange, because the systematic kidnapping of brides should have quickly been recognized as spirits’ work and reported as such to the nearest cultivation sect as soon as possible.

“Three women and ten men have gone missing so far,” his uncle tells him. “Jinshan town is out of our jurisdiction, and the records say there hasn’t been a hunt in the area since before my grandfather’s time. But no one from Jinshan thought to report the disappearances until today, so the victims must be long dead by now.”

Four hundred years after the Sunshot Campaign, a reincarnated Wei Wuxian dresses himself in wedding red to defeat the ghost of a bridegroom.

Deep within the forests of Jinshan Mountain, the mourning calamity Yin Jian Tan Xin waits to marry his beloved.

What If..... Jiang Cheng Understood?, by ToxicAngel13

It didn't take a genius to realize just what had happened in the time that Wei Wuxian was gone. Not with that damn ribbon on his wrist and Jiang Cheng was not going to let his brother be taken advantage of!

Or a tale in which one insight sparks a world of change.