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h2llish · 7 months ago

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for your event: gn!reader x idia

prompt: black calla lily + "i honestly don’t even know who you could possibly be referring to.”

sorry if it's a bit vague and let me know if i forgot anything. i like this event, though! remember to take breaks '^'

✉ ─── 200 follower event ♡ idia shroud

prompt ─── black calla lily: reincarnation ─ to live again and again, to go through the motions of wanting and needing from the very beginning, it was exhausting. but it was easier when you had them in your life every new breath. it's unfortunate you're only the one who remembers the before. + "i honestly don't even know who you could possibly be referring to."

warnings ─ angst, romantic, pining, gender neutral, lowercase intended, open ending

reincarnation has always been seen as nothing more than myth. the idea of living life after life was quite ridiculous. there are people who choose to believe, the idea of living again comforting in it's own way. but then there were those who truly thought it nothing more than a story told in books and legends. ─ and you'd agree with them, if you hadn't experienced a new breath every moment you took your last.

you no longer remember a number to put down for the centuries you've lived ─ for the many times you've been reborn to a new family. you have experiened death a thousand times and you'd experience it a thousand more. you have fought wars not in history books and witnessed the birth of people who would go on to change the lives of many. you have bled out on the roots of a thriving tree, and suffered from plagues that broke your skin. you have lived and you have died for so long that you no longer had much to experience. you have lived through it all, and you will live through it again.

you once thought it to be a blessing ─ to try again at another life and remember it all. but after so many lives, the excitement of it wore off, and you wondered if it was perhaps a curse. if you had angered the universe in one of your lives ─ perhaps your first ─ and it cursed you to have to live all over again, to remember things that often tore you apart from the inside.

many would think such an experience ─ to be born again and again ─ would be exhausting. and it was, the moment you could remember the memories from old lives in every new birth, you would find yourself with the same feeling ─ the feeling of anguish to have to live through it all again.

but although you often loathed to be born anew ─ to have to relieve moments in which you'd find yourself at the receiving end of hard feelings ─ you also had fond memories of your past lives. memories that filled you with warmth even after so many years. memories you always hoped, and intended, to relive again and again.

the universe worked in odd ways ─ and the universe did not leave you to suffer its gift (blessing or curse) alone.

you don't quite remember your first lives, you've lived too many after all, but you know you've never been alone. your dear lover has always been there, you have searched for him again and again, in every life. you have been drawn to him since the moment you took your first breath as every new person. you have loved him in every life, and in every in between.

but you've always thought the universe cursed you ─ despite gifting you the only person who has lived as many lives as you ─ it has forced you to live through the same heartbreak of knowing he will never remember you from the life before.

you don't know why it has only ever been you, you who is the only who remembers every life that has come before the one you live now. you have loved him since your first life, but every new life you can only seek him out, grasp at him and hope he falls in love with you again, as you always have been. ─ he always has, the universe was cruel you deemed, but it did not leave you to pine for your lover for too long. and you hoped it would only continue ─ to live a life where he was not beside you would be the last of your joy in continuing again.

and you can only wish again that the universe will not choose to be cruel come next life, as you grasp the hand of your aging lover, fingers intertwined and holding him close to you. ─ death did not bother you, you have died too many times, but you grieved the loss of your lover, as you have done come every end. you will find him again, you have promised that same promise every life, and you've no intention of breaking it. you will find him, again and again.

"[name]?" you blinked, snapping your head to face the confused eyes of your peer, a clover near his eye and concern on his face.

"you were zoning out again." cater said, phone in his hand and looking at you with the same concern to match the clover beside him.

"sorry." you said, repitive, as you do it much too often ─ apologize for your thoughts running off from you, and taking you away from your present company.

trey smiled at you, that awkward smile he always seemed to have, "you're always zoning out. even in class."

"yeah," cater agreed, "makes you wonder how your grades are still so good."

if only they knew, that everything the college put in front of you, was everything you knew. you lived the history they taught you, and you've mastered the spells and potions they've introduced. you knew it all and more.

you forced a chuckle, "perhaps i'm just lucky."

your new person was fortunate to end up in night raven college, a prestigious maic academy, where you were now a freshman. ─ but lucky was not a word you'd use to describe yourself ─ you didn't much believe in luck, even if you had, it wouldn't be of much help. if luck truly had an effect, you must lack any for it to do anything, unlucky was most fitting.

and unlucky you were ─ after all, you found yourself pining for the reincarnation of your lover all over again. you knew where he was, you knew who he was, and yet, you found yourself unable to grow closer than a screen to look at and the sound of his voice. he was in a new body, but you knew it was him, you'd always know ─ but he did not.

the universe was cruel ─ but you still pleaded with it silently to help you reconnect with your lover all over again. it had been only a year since your new life has brought you to night raven college, since the pull of your soul has led you back to your lover who did not remember you. but you have only found yourself with so many glimpses of him, he was a closed off individual this life. you believe it to be what this reincarnation has done to him ─ you aren't sure what, but you can see it when you catch sight of him in the rare moments he leaves his room. he was withered and hurt, something has scarred him, and you can only wish to be there for him, to compensate for all the time that you were not before.

it was not easy, loving someone ─ it was a pain you had been through for far too many lifetimes. but you made a promise to always find him, and you intended to keep that promise for as many lifetimes as the universe puts you through.

─ even when it seemed as if he wanted nothing to do with you in your current lifetime.

"hi, [name]!"

you smiled at the boy who waited for you on the other side of the mirror to ignihyde's dorm, "hello, ortho." ─ the technomatic humanoid, ortho, you had come to know as idia's brother in his new life, had become a friend. he was quite different from idia ─ other than being made of technology ─ he was a lot more energetic and extroverted. he didn't hide away in his room and avoid people like your reincarnated lover.

"my brother is in his room! come with me!"

you had been paired with idia for a project nearing freshmen year, and you had come over to start and plan. ─ you did agree with idia the day before about it in class. (but you're not all that sure he was actively listening to anything you said.)

as ortho ledyou down ignihyde's halls and towards his brother's room, you followed ─ it had been many lifetimes, yet you always felt the same feelings of nerves that came with seeing your lover again.

"wait here!" ortho said, just before he called out to his brother through the door. "idia! [name] is here!"

you could just manage to hear his muffled response of, "who?" ─ and your chest tightened.

"[name]." ortho repeated, almost pouting now.

you should be used to it, after so many lives where he has forgotten, where you are the only one who remembers your past lives where you two would reunite and love again. but it is never easier to listen to him express his confusion about who you are. much like now ─

"i honestly don't even know who you could possibly be referring to."

─ you believe you could very well hear a crack in your never-dying soul, one of many after so many lifetimes of the same response.

you don't quite remember much of ortho's response, other than reminding idia that you were his partner on the end of freshman year project.

it always hurt more; despite so many times you've been through this. it always did, the pain of being forgotten by the only person who you had by your side every life, it was always worse every new beginning. and it was more unbearable the longer you stood at his door, listening to your lover express uninterest and confusion in who you are.

"they're waiting, idia! you agreed to work with them here!"

"ortho," you said, cutting him off before he could further try to push his brother into coming out of his room. you smiled at the robotic boy, "it's alright. i should've checked in beforehand. i don't wish to make him anymore uncomfortable. you have my number, don't you?" ─ a nod from ortho, and you continued, "give it to him and we can figure out another way to work on the project on his terms."

"are you sure?" ortho pouted; you have no doubt the boy could manage to convince idia to come out of his room, or at least send out his tablet, but you weren't sure you could handle that right now after experiencing the familiar feeling of rejection from him.

"of course." you nodded.

it was never easy to reunite with him every life ─ but you always had your promise you made to him many lives ago that kept you going.

idia didn't contact you until the next morning, and you only seen it after breakfast. he told you to meet him in the library after classes, where you'll work on the project together ─ you knew it would just be the tablet he sent everywhere so he didn't have to go in person, but that did nothing to stop your heart from beating quickly. even after so many years of loving him, he still had that effect on you.

you were the first to the library once classes ended, sitting somewhere in a corner near the entrance with your head down as you pulled out the supplies you needed for the project. you eventually stood to wander the aisles of the library, looking for books you think might help the project ─ although it was mostly for idia, who did not remember the topic of the project like you did.

you expected to return to the table to find idia's tablet looking for you ─ only to be caught by surprise as that wasn't the case at all.

with books in your hands, you stopped before you could completely leave the cover of the towering shelves. your body felt heavy as you stared at the entrance of the library with wide eyes. ─ it was not his tablet that waited in the library's doorway, but rather the reincarnation of your lover himself. blue hair flickering and eyes glancing around with such obvious anxiety, you felt terrible for being the reason he stood in a public space where other students loitered about.

you swallowed thickly, pushing the books up in your grip and approached, fighting back whatever nerves you had that came with seeing your lover (or, at least, his reincarnation) so closely. as you approached, he seemed to finally notice you, tensing up in a way that made you frown.

"hello, idia." you greeted upon reaching him, and nodded your head politely. ─ because while he was your lover in many lives before, right now, he was only a reincarnation who did not know such a thing about himself. and you've no intention of ever telling him ─ there was no guarantee he would ever believe you even if you did find yourself holding him as you have done in your past lives, and neither would he remember such a conversation. ─ you'd learn your lesson long ago, there was no point.

"uh, yeah, um, hey." anxious as he was, you found yourself fighting back a fond smile; you'd hate to scare him off the first time you actually managed to exchange conversation with him.

you gestured down at the books in your arms, "i found topics i believe would help us with our project, follow me and we can get started." you turned away, and began toward the table you'd taken in a corner, only sending a glance back at him to make sure he followed you.

perhaps you were getting ahead of yourself, but you surely hoped this gave way to a start of another life where you could have him by your side. ─ but for now, you suppose you should get through this school project.

"so this our tenth reincarnation?"

you hummed, running a hand through his hair that felt smooth against your fingers as you stared up at the stars from where you lay together against an old tree, "that's correct." he shifted in your grip, and you finally turned your attention towards him, meeting his eyes that held obvious confusion. you made an attempt not to get distracted and doze off into your thoughts as you stared at him ─ you had a habit of doing that.

"why can't i remember?"

you paused, "i don't know." you sighed, "it's been this way for all our past lives, including this one. i'd hoped telling you now might do something to help you remember me when we reincarnate again."

"and if it doesn't?" he asked again, and you found yourself at another pause.

if it didn't? well, you suppose you'd just have to keep loving him.

you smiled, "even if you don't remember, i promise i'll always find you."

notes ─── first request done! hope you like it ferris, mwah mwah.

do not repost, translate, copy or run my writing through an ai

#【 ❀ 200 follower event !#shrimpnetwrk #x gender neutral reader #twisted wonderland #twst #idia shroud #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x gender neutral reader #twst x gender neutral reader #idia shroud x reader #idia shroud x gender neutral reader

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midnightsun-if · 6 months ago

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Are the angst romance asks you reblogged something you actually take for RO scenarios? Because if yes, I would love "I'm not giving up on you, ever"! Mainly asking for Sloane, but if you feel like it, you can also do it for everyone!

You're not sure how the argument started; nor are you aware how it had escalated to such a degree -- how such a sweet night could have shifted so drastically into one where you're standing across the room from the one person you always wished to be closest to.

Everything, up until this point, had been a blur, wherein you couldn't distinguish one thing from another, and, even if you aren't aware of what had truly caused this, you are firmly knowledgeable of that fact that nothing could ever make you abandon what you had just found.

Nothing.

"I'm not giving up on you!" The words explode from your lips, exasperated rage etched across your face, as you try to contain the extent of the emotions warring within your chest; a unique feeling of desperation coming to the forefront as you stare into the conflicted gaze before you. "Ever!"

Koda: All the fight seems to leave him in that moment, the unusually stiff lines across his face smoothing over into a gentle smile. His eyes shimmering with an almost golden hue as they take you in, even as guilt swims within them. "I think things took a bit of a turn for the worse, huh?" Koda shakes his head, looking down at the abandoned food that had no-doubt gone cold due to the length of the argument. "I'm not sure if this'll make it better, but I'll make you some dinner from my nana's recipe book." He looks thoughtful for a moment, a large hand rubbing the back of his neck. "And, just so you know, I won't ever give up on you either." His expression softens even further. "You have been by my side, dealing with my own brand of thoughts, without complaint, without making me feel like I'm just an obligation to you. You mean more to me than I ever thought could be possible, and I know I'm not the best at coming up with things to say, or the proper ways to showcase them, but you make me happy, you make me feel cared for. I don't think I could ever want to be anywhere else but by your side."

Scarlett: Viridescent eyes, if possible, narrow even further, agitation creasing an elegant brow, drawing a sharp distinction from the softness that typically settled upon her face when seeing you. "I don't believe that you would, but that's not the main issue we're having." Auburn locks shift across delicate shoulders, lithe muscles tense as Scarlett begins to pace back-and-forth like a caged panther; the current expression across her face not far off from how you'd imagine a big cat would look. "Our problem is that we're both not even sure what the other wants. We can make vows and promises until our final days, but they mean absolutely nothing if we don't have a common goal in mind. You may not wish to give up on me, as I wish to do for you as well, but that's a sentiment that can also be shared with family or close friends." She turns to finally look at you, an almost tortured expression taking over the earlier agitation. "What do you want? Do you want to be with me? Do you want to spend the rest of your life with me? Because, if you do, if you wish to share everything I wish to with you, then I’ll make this vow to you now: I will cherish and love you like no one has, or ever will, and I will ensure you never doubt the truth of what's inside my heart. For you found the pieces of myself I believed to be dead long ago and, because of you, because of what you've given me by simply being yourself, I found a love I no longer believed could ever be real." Scarlett tilts her head. "So, I ask you once more, what is it that you want?"

Cyrus/Cyra: "Phoenixes represent various things through mythos and legends; from rebirth to hope to courage to a number of other things. I've never truly taken stock in any of them. Not because I don't care about what has been said, or what has given people a glimmer of something light when they're surrounded by the dark, but I've always had a hard time in attaching myself to what a phoenix could potentially mean to others and what I am every day. I've never felt like I live up to any of the legends that surround what so many have created." Golden eyes glint like twin suns, warmth exuding from them that reminds you of standing underneath the gentle rays of a summer sky. "I've always tried to figure out what it all meant. Why I could potentially feel so disconnected, why I couldn't uncover what seemed to separate me from my kin, and I didn't uncover the truth until I met a vampire that seemed to turn everything on its head." A soft chuckle escapes them, as if they still couldn't believe the impact you had inflicted upon their life. "For, you see, a phoenix isn't a phoenix without the thing that makes rising from the ashes possible, that makes shining a light into the never-ending darkness to offer a hope an actuality, that seems to burn within every courageous heart with unparalleled zeal. A phoenix isn't a phoenix without fire, without the flame that burns within their heart and soul to ignite their being." The royal heir steps closer to you, softness etched across their serene features. "I never realized that I was so cold, that I was lost within my own self-inflicted darkness, until you lit my way, offering me a warmth I had long accepted would never come. You are my flame, my eternal light, and I will never leave you, never give up on you, because, to do so, would mean casting myself back into isolation, back into the abyss, which is all I would deserve if I did such a thing to you."

Quinn: "I knew from the instant my wolf felt a connection with you that I wouldn't be able to leave your side. That I would do anything to ensure that you were safe and taken care of." Sapphire eyes glint with their typical intelligence, a tinge of calmness added a softening edge, and the typical smile they always seemed to direct towards you. "I don't think I've ever met a single person that has perplexed me in the way that you have managed. I don't think I've ever met someone that intrigues my wolf in the manner that you've been able to do so. Giving up on you has never, and will never, cross my mind. To do so would be giving up a part of myself I never knew I needed. It would be something I'd never be able to rationalize, and something I'd always live to regret, and I don't like having regrets in my life. I've already had my fair share of regrets, my own heart breaks, and set backs, but I know with absolute clarity--" Quinn steps closer to you, their gaze imploring to you listen, and truly hear, what they're about to say next. "--that I never wish for you to be either of the first two because I know that you'd never be the last one. There's not many people in my life that I can say I was supposed to meet, that I was supposed to find them, either to make me better in some intrinsic way, or because they needed to set me on the path I was meant to be on." They shake their head, a rueful smile appearing. "It's kind of silly but, since I met you, I've started to believe that their entire purpose had been to lead me to you."

Caden: Silver eyes shimmer with the promise of tears, casting a shimmering hue over pale argent that brings out the depth of their adoration for you. "I never wish to give up on you either," they affirm, clearly wanting you to understand that the thought to do so had never crossed their mind. "You are the first person, in quite a long time, that I feel like I can be my actual self with. That makes it easier for me to look back at my life, at the memories I try to bury, and see the beauty within each one. A fog has always held itself over my mind, obscuring things from view and making it hard to know one thing from another." A bashful smile curls their lips, head ducking down, causing raven curls to fall across their forehead haphazardly. Slender fingers tugging at the delicate fabric of their onyx button-down as they clearly tried to figure out the words to what they wished to say. "But, even on my worse days, even when I can't see anything through the grey-hued air around me, I could never, and would never, misplace you from my memories, from my thoughts, and from my heart. I would never give up on you, I would never forsake you, because your face is the clearest I have ever recalled, and I know that it'd haunt me forever if I were to hurt you. I could never give up on you because, to do so, would partially be allowing me to give up on myself and the happier future I can see myself having with you by my side."

Sloane: "I've heard that load of bullshit before," they hiss, anger etched across their face, shoulders hunched as they seemed to sink into themself in protective stance. "You won't ever give up on me, really? You won't suddenly find out that the grass is just a bit greener on the other side? That you've been wasting your time trying to fix something that wants to stay broken? Spare me that line and the empty promises that come with it. My own family couldn't even hold up their end of it. Why the hell should I believe that you'll be any different? Because you say so?" Hazel eyes seem almost luminescent due to the fire burning within their depths, lips pulled back into a snarl as Sloane obviously tried to rein themself back in. "I've gone down that road one too many times and I'm a bit tired of realizing it's been a one-way street the entire time. I think it's about time I say no, right? That enough is enough. To show that I'm tired of sticking my neck out and getting burned. Every. Single. Time." They finally turn away from you, the air lightening away from their almost accusatory glare, and the tension, as well as the fight, seems to leech from their body in one fell swoop. "I'm tired of believing that I finally deserve to be loved, to have someone stay, only to discover that I had just fooled myself into seeing what I wanted to. If I couldn't make my own family stay, the people I thought were my home, how the hell am I supposed to make you? How am I supposed to trust that you won't leave me either? How am I supposed to believe that I'm worthy if you do?" Sloane meets your gaze, sadness etched within every part of them. "And, how the hell am I supposed to deal with the fact that I'd rather let that all happen, give you a free shot to completely shatter me, then to see you go?"

Blake: Guilt flashes across their face at the fervor behind your words, the clear certainty within your tone, and they seem to shrink underneath the intensity of your gaze; as if they were trying to hide behind the last little piece of themself, of the persona that they carry, before everything comes tumbling down around them like a house of cards. "I have never doubted that, as I hope you have never questioned my own commitment to you, but that's not the crux of our issue, is it? We've been toying a line that neither of us has either been willing to, or strong enough, to cross, and now we're at an impasse and this little crossing is about to be flooded, and one of us is about to go down." A hint of their typical smirk plays at the corner of their lips, violet eyes flashing briefly. "Which isn't something I'd typically mind when it comes to you, angel… but--" Blake's brow furrows, an uncharacteristic level of seriousness transforming their typically jovial disposition into one you could barely recognize; not even giving you a chance to fully react to the innuendo they had managed to slip into the conversation. "We both know this particular storm has been brewing for some time. Have heard it rumbling its warning well before things started to get muddled. And, because of that, I don't think it's going to be one we can simply bunker down and wait until it passes. It's something we're going to have to face, and I'm worried about what that landscape is going to be once everything is over and done with." They shake their head, expression twisting into something you don't even have a name for. "Or, even worse, I'm worried that one of us is going to get caught in the current of the flood we created and be lost to the other forever. It's not about whether we'll stand by the other, angel, it's about whether we'll have the choice to even do so."

Reginald/Regina: "Do you really mean that?" A gentle effect takes hold within their eyes in that moment, turning the turbulent storm of blue green into a soothing expanse reminding you of a cloudless summer sky. "I-I'm aware that I can be difficult at times. That's not something I've ever truly minded. I know that I talk too much, that I can become fixated on the smallest things, and that I have an almost unhealthy obsession with science fiction and space, but I've never wanted to let any of that go, because that's what makes me… Well, me." They meet your gaze, a gentle smile playing at the corner of their lips. "For the first time, when it doesn't come to my family, I finally feel like I'm not just being dealt with. That I'm not simply being handled until I'm able to pass on to the next available person. When I talk, even if it's about the most random things, I actually feel like you're listening to me, even if you don't understand, and that means more to me than you could ever know. I hope you know that I, or at least try to, do the same thing for you. I know what it's like to feel like you're being ignored, or when you're having a conversation with someone it feels like talking to a brick wall, and I never want you to feel like that with me." They take a hesitant step closer, ensuring that you understood their wish to be closer to you, but allowing you the chance to take the reins. "I will listen no matter what. Even if it's midnight and you simply want an ear to listen to something you just thought of. I won't ever give up on you either, I promise."

#midnight sun #asks #can choose for yourself how you think the fight started with your chosen ros #ro: blake herrera #ro: quinn grant #ro: sloane addams #ro: c aurelia #ro: r presley #ro: koda kingston #ro: caden randall #ro: scarlett voltaire #midsun: snippets #konoi and noir #hope this is what you meant when you said you wouldn't mind seeing all of them

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mermaidsirennikita · 1 year ago

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I’ve started watching The Artful Dodger and loving it, it’s far better than Bridgerton at actually capturing the essence of a romance novel (my first thought upon seeing Jack and Belle interact was that it could’ve been ripped straight from a romance novel). Do you have any recs for tv shows or movies that have the vibes of a romance novel?

Ooh yes!

Oldie but a goodie and if anyone hasn't seen it they should (and really, the whole trilogy--the second movie gets a bad rap, but I personally so enjoy it, and I love the third movie for a lot of reasons but the "REIGNITE. OUR. LOVE." sequence is absolutely one of them, the "we are gonna FUCK THIS SHIT OUT" vibes are sooo romance novel for me). Bridget Jones's Diary. Mark Darcy is just an amazing hero. Bridget is a legend. Hugh Grant as Daniel Cleaver is PEAK Hugh Grant, and his introduction in that film is one of the greatest character intros I have ever. Seen in cinema. I see some people knock on it because of things that have aged--Bridget worrying over her weight because it's the early 2000s and super skinny was the trend, the workplace harassment. I don't give a fuck. If you haven't seen Bridget Jones's Diary, you are doing yourself a disservice.

(It is based on a book, but that book is not a romance novel. The movies are.)

Ummm speaking of Hugh Grant, Music & Lyrics is an underrated BANGER and absolutely fucking reads as a romance novel. A washed up has-been pop star begins a creative partnership with the messy neurotic woman who waters his plants? He does a flop attempt at defending her honor to do the guy who did her wrong. There's a grand gesture/grovel moment ffs. It's GREAT. The music is AMAZING. POP! Goes My Heart!

This one is borderline because it is more of a girls trip comedy, but the romance is truly centered so well and is a swoony romance and it features peak Richard Madden and it is again, so underrated. Netflix's Ibiza, dude. Buttoned up marketing girl goes on a business trip to Spain, her two best friends (who are both much wilder than her) accompany her and they go to the club one night and see DJ Richard Madden (LEOOOOO WESSSSST) and he and the main girl have this amazing meet cute that involves someone drawing a dick on her face in glow in the dark marker and him coming to the rescue, but then he has to go to a gig in Ibiza and she and her friends decide to track him down because some people are destined to go to the moon, but her destiny is to FUCK. THAT. DJ. But Harper and Leo's connection is more like love at first sight than pure horniness? I just miss movies that like, unabashedly capture zany happiness and the flutters of first love (and the sex scene is so good???). This movie is amazing and I adore it.

Bros. Look dude. I know Billy Eichner fucked up the marketing for this one. I know he's annoying as hell. Bros is objectively a romance novel movie lol. It's not as inclusive as it could/should be, I will agree with that always--but the romance arc is so good, and it is legit funny, and it has a FAILED GROVEL which we all know is one of my favorite things. And I do think it has a deeply true heart and soul and is really amazing.

Brown Sugar. PEAK Taye Diggs and Sanaa Lathan. It's a slow burn friends to lovers movie in which there is sooooo much sexual tension and so much angst and so much follow the fuck through. Also, Taye Diggs has one of the most magnificent line deliveries of all time with "riCHARD LAWson".

Imagine Me and You. The sapphic romcom we deserve. A bride falls in love at first sight with hot florist Lena Headey while walking down the aisle to marry her groom, as you do. What follows is a woman desperately trying not to cheat on her husband while experiencing extreme sexual tension with Lena Headey. Surprisingly soft and super romantic.

Lady Chatterley's Lover (2022). Required viewing for historical romance novel fans. Obviously based on a book, but again, that book is not a romance lol. The movie is. And it's one of the hottest movies in recent memory. Jack and Emma did the WORK. The kiss right before he goes down on her is maybe my favorite movie kiss of all time.

Obviously. Pride and Prejudice (2005). I shouldn't have to include this, but to be fucking clear lol. I will always maintain that while P&P (the novel) is a predecessor and a shaper of romance novels, it is not a romance novel. It is a contemporary novel with a lot of social commentary and a good love story. This movie? Makes it a full, sweeping romance with some of the best tension ever committed to screen.

Faraway. Omg, an amazing slept-on movie that is a rare romcom featuring a middle-aged woman! Basically, right when her mom dies she finds out her husband is having at min an emotional affair with his younger employee, and she also discovers her mom had a secret property on a Croatian island. She goes there, and is immediately courted by this younger real estate developer guy, but why is she constantly butting heads with the gruff guy who's been living in her mom's house????

Far and Away. Hate to recommend a Tom Cruise film, BUT it is is very romance novel, and it does star Nicole Kidman as well, and I hate to say it but those two did have bomb chemistry when they were married. The Irish accents are rough, but the plot is delightful because he's a poor guy who ends up getting roped into her scheme to leave for America (after his harebrained revenge scheme against her dad fails lol) and they live in a boarding house together pretending to be brother and sister... But like, everyone can tell they aren't because of their extremely obvious sexual tension lol.

When Harry Met Sally. Cliche, but it is a classic every romance lover should see. I'm not a big Billy Crystal fan, but his chemistry with Meg Ryan is MAGIC in this, and you really do get the sense of two people slooowly falling in love without even realizing it until suddenly they do all at once.

#romance novel blogging

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juraianlantern · 4 months ago

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Knowing you aren't doing anything wrong, that you are doing your best to be healthy and now have the hardest time finding a date... sucks.

I've tried sites, only to be met with nothing. Oh, try Bumble or Hinge- it takes all the pressure off! Only then...nothing happens. No one messages you, hell the only likes you get are bots. But its not even that many bots, because even the automated fake profiles don't like you. And why would they? You don't drink or smoke. And apparently goth/hiker/DnD-er/otaku/Trekker of questionable gender doesn't test well.

You try in person, hoping that whatever g-ds are watching make you come off better in person than online. Nothing. The closest you get to meaningful connection doesn't even want to know you, let alone be something like a friend. The other closest ends so terribly, it becomes a in joke that you can't help but chuckle at.

Maybe you're just too horny, try Grindr or Tinder. That'll help. At least you get more bots.

So your friends ressasure you. "Gotta love yourself", "be patient, the right person will come along", "don't worry, you're great"...hell you even have one friend joke they'll have a party of single friends, but oops! Why would they invite you? You don't drink.

Ironically? You feel healthier than you have in over a decade. Good job you like? Check. Afford rent? Mostly, but thats life. Good hobbies? Hell yeah, thriving even. Friends? The stuff legends are written of and I mean that. Family? More good than bad, plus several I adore. Properly medicated to boot, which makes all the above possible to begin with. I read, I consume poetry, hike more. Loving every minute.

Yet I burn. I yearn. I feel complete, but lacking. Is it so wrong to be a hopeless romantic and want another person? Moreover, the pain is from not feeling wanted in that way. It'd be one thing if I occassionally felt desired romantically, but the abject absence piles up in a truly crushing way. Sure I may be content with where my life is headed, even hopeful, but no one else likes the look of the ride?????

#single #sad thoughts #die alone #dating

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thenextdoorneighbour · 6 months ago

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Life. What is life? No one wouldn't exactly call it a miracle cause miracles happen for a reason and life just is. What you need to learn is realize your worth. Yes life gets tough but who cares? Ofc it's gonna be hard. All you need to do is learn to overcome this. And also, what you need to learn is why it happened? Everything happens for a reason right? Then why did this happen to you? Why were you given the life you never asked for? Why this suffering and pain? A very simple answer to this. It's to make you stronger. These experiences only build you better and stronger for the tomorrow. These will rip you apart, destroy and torture you but the more you learn the better. See, when an arrow is to be shot very far away, it's need to be pulled down to the ground for maximum range coverage. That's what is life.

Right now it's pulling you down. But once it let's go, you'll only go upwards. Everything is gonna fall in place. You lost yourself for a moment. Who cares? It's alright. Get back up and begin the domination. Everyone's special but the people who fail to realize it are what people call "failures". But failing isn't bad. Failing is a very necessary event in life to happen cause it helps you for your ultimate purpose.

Heartbreak is hard, really hard

Especially if you still love the person truly.

But the thing is, We need to experience every emotion fully, so that we can appreciate The Good when it happens.

Take your time, it’s ok to cry

It’s ok to feel the pain but once you’re done, never look back. We are but weak creatures.

Yes we go down, Yes we get sad but what really matters is how you get up and fight it. Love yourself no matter what. You're not lazy. You're just tired. It's alright take your time but not too long. You have a full, long happy life to live. The emptiness you feel is absolutely Normal. Don't be afraid that you're different from the society. You're not alone you absolute legend. We all fight our demons in the dark but keep a smile on the outside. You're nice. You have a good heart. Keep it that way. You're loved. If no one then God fucking dammit I love you.

Don't ever feel alone and you have to overcome this alone. That's when most of us lose. Everyone needs help and support and I'm always here for you. Now dry those tears, fuck that feeling and get up. Keep your head high. Go out for a walk. Do anything that makes you happy.

Tell that girl you like her. Everything that has happened in the past, every moment has led up to exact this. Where you are now. We all lose motivation. But overcome this shit. You're not this weak you fool. The loneliest people are the kindest. The saddest people have the brightest laugh, the most damaged people give the best advice. Don't ever fake your feelings cause you're a human and you have to share them. If you don't heal what hurt you, you're gonna bleed on people who didn't cut you. Please don't ever get tired of being a good person with a good heart. Yes i know it sucks being taken advantage of and feeling like it's better to be cold hearted but people like YOU matter and you're the most important to this world. Always remember that everything heals. Your body heals. Your heart heals. The mind heals and so do the wounds.

Your happiness is gonna come back to you. Bad times don't last forever don't worry. Those who died yesterday had plans for today's morning, those who died this morning had plans for the night. Don't take life for granted. In the blink of an eye everything can change. So forgive often, love with your whole heart and live life to the fullest. You may never get the chance again. If your absence doesn't affect them, that means your presence never mattered to them In the first place. Life is so ironic. It takes sadness to know what happiness is. It takes noise to appreciate the silence and absence to value presence. If you're reading this, relax your shoulders. Unclench your jaw and remove the tongue from the roof of your head and stop frowning. We physically tend to hold stress in the least noticeable ways ever. Just relax hmm? :)

Take a shower. Wash off the day. Drink some water and make the room dark, lie down and close your eyes. Notice your heart beating. Still beating. Still fighting. You made it after all. You made it another day. You made it another year and you can keep making it. You're doing absolutely fine. I love you <3

Take care. You matter. Remember it. You matter ♥

#motivation

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playermagic23 · 6 months ago

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intretimp · 1 year ago

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Myths and legends

What happened to you? What happened to us? Weren’t we all just little kids yesterday? When did we grow to be like this?

How did a seemingly happy boy go on to become a barely functioning addict? Or has he always been a functioning one that managed to hide till he hit the breaking point? Was it the death of his brother? Was that the damn that broke and flooded the entire village, our little dysfunctional village? When I asked him this question, he wasn’t sure, he said he had always been drowning, he couldn’t remember a time when his head hasn’t been underwater. The worst part to his unfortune was that he managed to pull us all under as we tried to help him. He wanted to drown and there wasn’t anything more to be done about it. In the beginning he tried out some laps in a bottle, burning his throat, as his mind numbed. I still beat you to it, I took the first shot and looked everyone in the eyes expecting more. My first terrible choice in long line of more. Still, not my story yet, now it’s about you, about all of us. You wanted to prove something more than us, you could finally prove it to him that you weren’t just a clueless little boy anymore, you were all grown up, old enough to mingle with everything that came in existence through his stories. People looked at you and saw a carbon copy of him, so that’s what you tried to become. The myth and the legend, the creation of words. No longer a meagre little boy, but a legend in the making. No longer human, but the Frankenstein of stories and expectations.

But what happens to the creation when the scientist dies? What happens to a person when the first human to show him love and care perishes? It becomes a perversion of dishonest expectations. A monsters of wants, who doesn’t know its core needs anymore.

You lost yourself and while on the search to help you refind yourself, we lost ourselves. When he died, it wasn’t just you that got lost through the myths and the legends, it was all of us. We all tried to emulate his legend, all the monsters of Frankenstein in one room sharing a pack of cigarettes. You started skiing , someone disappeared behind a canvas, while me and someone else discovered that our bodies could bring us more validation than our parents did. All the monsters of Frankenstein and their vices. We managed to find a vice in each other, we both knew the expectations of the other, so we assumed that was the person we were loving. It wasn’t. We loved the idea of each other, of not being alone, of someone that could see the ugliness underneath the white fence we created, and maybe, love it. At a second thought, a second creation of myths and legends.

Still, you broke the cycle first. You went so down that you discovered there was nothing more. Someone tried to pull you out, but you ended up pulling him in more. A brother is a brother, be it blood or shared drunken nights. When you returned back in our astral plane, the first thing you told the boys was: can I smoke a cigarette with Saint Peter now? Fortunately, not your time yet. That’s when we started healing. When you left, we all remained alone, no longer talking to each other afraid that we might follow soon. The lack of the others became a moment to flourish, the fear shaking our cores so strongly that we started to realise we had to heal. All the monsters of Frankenstein dispersed, no longer little kids, but adults that needed to live. No longer a sum of legends and myths, now we had been put face to face with ourselves. We lost the coat of expectations and ideas, a ratty coat that had barely managed to keep us warm through the long winter, through the piles of snow and vices.

Months later, years mentally, we finally got to meet each other. Funny how what we used to call a normal outing, became the first moment when we all truly met each other. We met the people behind the monsters. No longer the myths and legends, but the meagre humans. I was calmer, no longer trying to fill the emptiness of the quiet, happy to simply exist at the same time as others. You opened bottles of water and cigarettes in front us. Someone introduced us to his boyfriend, while another made us laugh when we used to think he was mute. Everyone was so different from the legend we first met. Seven people we thought we knew, in reality, were just strangers that finally got introduced. We healed.

The monsters of Frankenstein, the myths and the legends, underneath one roof sharing their last pack of cigarettes. I guess some vices stick more than others. Now, after the years, we finally said goodbye and wished the best to the people we thought were forever. Maybe that’s what we needed, the distance to finally know each other. The distance to allow one another to finally heal.

#writers on tumblr #spilled thoughts #women writers #observations on life #writers #writbr

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latte-to-go · 4 years ago

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the art of loving you [alcina dimitrescu]

summary ━━━ sometimes, it was difficult for you to tell if what you and lady dimitrescu, or alcina as she has allowed you to call her, had was love. it remained a lingering thought in your mind as her daughters continued to call you their mother’s ‘human play-thing’ and most days, you let it not get to you. but, it was difficult to ignore that fateful night and the lady of the house had easily noticed something was upsetting her little pet.

pairing ━━━ alcina dimitrescu x reader.

words ━━━ 1612

fandom ━━━ resident evil.

warnings ━━━ pure fluff, honestly. but, it has some hints of nsfw vibes but it doesn't go into them.

author's note ━━━ lady dimitrescu owns my heart and I have spent so much time reading fanfics about her that I just needed to write one of my own. who knew a tall sexy vampire lady would be what broke my hiatus and brought me back to tumblr? but, I am here to stay and I am so excited to write more reader inserts! and to continue to fill requests! for now, my requests are open! but, I will probably write a lot more for alcina as well! so, I haven't finished resident evil village yet because of how busy I am with work and that might make the characters a little out of character! but I couldn't wait to write about alcina! hopefully, I will have the game finished soon! some things have been spoiled for me already, but a lot of the game is still unknown because I am still in the very beginning of the game where ethan just gets to the village. but, I still hope you all enjoy this one-shot! it's just fluff between the reader and our lady!

DARK CLOUDS LOOMED AGAINST THE HORIZON, matching the catastrophic thoughts that lingered in the back of your mind as you numbly flipped the pages to the book you had tried so hard to distract yourself with. But, your mind had not retained any of the words written on the yellowed pages as your mind stayed on the woman that held every inch of your heart. With a sigh, you turned your gaze out the window instead. The window pane was cold to the touch, courtesy of the snow that remained a constant of the land.

It had only been two years since you had arrived at Castle Dimitrescu ━━ a mistake, truly. At least, at first, it had been as you stumbled across the maidens that the grandiose home belonged to. It should have been the last night of your life, but the lady of the house had taken a keen interest in you. You had not understood it at first, but you had grown attached to Alcina Dimitrescu and her… mysterious ways. Perhaps, you would even go as far as to call it love at first sight. And, you had thought she had felt the same way with her sweet words and burning touches. But, then doubt had become to creep into the dark crevices of your relationship with the woman.

It was often her daughters teased you, complaining about how they couldn’t stand to hear the beat of your heart. But, their mother had explicitly forbidden them from touching you. Though, you did not feel unsafe around them and had grown to trust and like each of them. But, their words tended to hurt whenever they referred to you as their mother’s play-thing. It was as if there was a timer on your life and it wouldn’t be long till Alcina grew bored of your presence and decided it was your time to join the dead.

“The day has come and gone and you have yet to leave our bedroom,” the regal voice belonging to Alcina echoed throughout the room, startling you at your spot in the window sill. She stood tall with her golden eyes watching your every move, making you hold your breath as you waited for her to speak. With long strides, she quickly reached the window as she looked down at you with an unreadable expression. Regardless of your height, you always dwarfed in comparison to her as she stood taller than most she came across. But, she looked even taller whilst you sat. She leaned down, placing a gentle kiss against your lips. When she pulled back, her gaze met yours. “Has something happened?”

“No,” the word quickly left your lips as your felt your cheeks burn at the sudden closeness. Her scent of her old vintage lavender perfume with hints of blood filled your nose ━━ the old mixture had become a comfort for you. With a clear of your throat, you continued to speak. “Everything is fine.”

A hum left her red lips, seemingly vibrating every sense of your being. With two fingers, she trailed against your jaw as she continued to stare at your parted lips. “You should know better than to lie to me, my darling.”

“I do not wish to bother you with my human problems,” you muttered bitterly, pushing her fingers off your skin. For a moment, her eyes flashed with an unknown emotion but she did not utter a word as she took a step back to create space between the two of you.

“So, something has happened,” Alcina commented, standing to her feet as she towered over you again. It made you feel small in every sense as a wave of tears made their presence known. Hiding them from her was futile as she continued to watch, making you sniffle as you tried to wipe them away. “Tell me, who has hurt you?”

“No one.” It wasn’t like you to throw her daughters underneath the bus because of some harsh words. After all, you needed to be stronger than that.

Her hand reached forward, wiping away the stray tear with her thumb before she caressed your cheek. It took everything in you to not lean into her touch, refusing to place a kiss against her tender skin. Despite your lack of reaction, Alcina moved closer as she took a seat on the window sill. It was difficult due to her size, but she made it work as she continued to run her thumb against your cheek. “Then, why the tears?”

She waited for you to speak, listening to the shaky breaths that left your lips as you tried to gather your thoughts. “I’ve been having doubts,” you confessed, biting the inside of your cheek as you met the woman’s eyes. “About… us.”

“What do you doubt about us?” She asked softly. And, for the first time, you could hear worry in her tone as she slowed her movements. Her sharp gaze had softened, lingering on your saddened expression.

With a deep breath, you took her hand off your cheek as you held it close. Her hands were larger than an average person’s, but you still fit perfectly in them. “I fear that you do not love me the way that I love you,” you whispered, keeping your eyes on your interlocked hands. “I feel as if I am something that you use to pass the time. Someone to warm your bed at night for the time being before you get bored and move to the next.”

“People say I’m heartless,” she started off slowly, taking your words deep into her heart as her gaze flickering to your hands as well. “They call me a monster ━━ a frightening legend that mothers tell their misbehaving children. And, for a long time, I believed in those legends that painted me as a cruel vicious beast. That is, until I met you, my darling.”

Her words made you look up, daring to meet her eyes as she stared at you unblinking. Her beauty had always taken your breath away, making her perfect to you at anything that matters. Still, you remained quiet.

“Perhaps, I did not love you at first,” Alcina confessed, ever so slightly tightening her grip on your hand as she let out a heavy sigh. “But, you came into my life like a storm and I had learned how to dance in the rain. Regardless of what you think, my love for you is true. My darling, you make me feel whole ━━ the missing piece I had unknowingly been searching for.”

“Do you really mean that?” you asked softly, barely finding your voice as you faced the woman. Her words were like honey, dripping sweetness onto your tongue as you tried your hardest to believe her.

Her free hand caressed your cheek, moving closer to you before she left a chaste kiss against your forehead. “Have I ever lied to you before?”

“No, but…”

“Cease your doubts, my love,” Alcina said, staying inches away from your lips as her breath fanned against your cheeks. She whispered your name, letting out a deep sigh as she took in your scent. “What can I do to convince you that my love for you is true? To convince you that I want to spend the rest of our days together? To convince you that my heart yearns for you and only you?”

"Alcina…” you whispered softly, closing your eyes as her lips hovered over the skin of your neck. She didn’t move, waiting for some indication from you. “I love you more than anything in this world and… I wish to spend the rest of my life with you. If you would have me, that is.”

The soft words caused Alcina to open her eyes as she faced you, showing no emotion as usual. It made it hard for you to predict her next move as you waited for her to say anything. But, then a soft smile presented itself to you as she leaned in close. “Of course I would have you, my darling,” she whispered, meeting your eyes. “I would do anything for you.”

Her words brought a smile to your lips, pushing you forward as you engulfed her lips with your own. She was quick to pull you into her lap as she held you close, kissing back with the same intensity that you gave her. It made you feel warm with her love as any doubts you had begun to vanish as she held you. There was no doubt that Alcina Dimitrescu was hopelessly in love with you as you were with her. Yet, the sweet moment had ended too soon.

There was a knock at the door, causing a deep growl to leave Alcina’s lips as she pulled away from yours. It left you breathless as the two of you looked to the door to see Cassandra. She wore a sadistic grin, moving deeper into the room as she regarded the two of you. “Forgive me for interrupting,” she cooed, stealing a glance at your flushed expression with playful vice. “But, he’s back.”

A frown marred your features, causing you to glance back at Alcina and see the irritation blooming. “Who is back?”

With a sigh, Alcina looked to you as she forced a smile to her lips. She moved forward, leaving a chaste kiss against your lips that had become stained the same color as hers. “Only a nuisance that you needn’t worry about,” she whispered softly, moving to stand to her feet. “I shall be back soon, my love.”

At her words, you smiled. “I will be here waiting for your return.”

#alcina dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu x reader #resident evil #re8 #lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #resident evil village #resident evil 8

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bluedevilsrpg · 2 years ago

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QUEEN OF PLAGUE

GUNNER. W. ( 30-34 ) Jasmine Daniels.

HISTORY

YOUR RUINATION BEGINS THE DAY YOU ARE BORN. The history of your family begins with the patriarchal legacy of madmen. Your father was no different with his relentless pursuits for strength and subjugation. In those stark, cold eyes, you with your delicate bones and quiet disposition could never compete with the legends of your forebears. Your father convinced himself of your incompetence when in truth, he desired a male progeny. There was no violence in his disregard but you never dared to meet his gaze; that was his cruelty - for a daughter, you must know your place. Was it mercy or was it malice that you were cast from paradise from your very first breath?

You realize your place could only be made by your hand, that your life was yours to live. You buried yourself in a makeshift grave the day you chose to die. It was the last act of grace for your self-preservation. The silks that adorned you, the flowers that decorated your tresses remained in memory of the beautiful girl who sacrificed herself for fruitless piety. Girlhood is like godhood is what you learn. It awakens your potential. You are reborn anew in a baptismal of blood, finding new meaning in tearing things apart. Carnage calls to you as your new Goddess and you swathe yourself in your newfound worship of me, myself and I. You will anoint yourself into the palace of Saints where myth remembers you as the one who died for your place among Gods. Father, aren't you proud? Look at what I have become.

CONNECTIONS

KING OF DROUGHT ⌱ THE WORLD WAS CREATED BY A GODDESS AND DESTROYED BY MAN

The throne was almost yours to claim. A future Queen that would rule nations, you never dreamt of becoming a damsel in distress. You were a reflection of your father’s ruthless nature, his stubborn ambition and his talent for conquest. But due to centuries of tradition and your brother, it was you that was thrown away like a disposable pawn. You loved your brother at first but this love festered into twisted hatred. He who was kind, sweet and gentle in disposition was given all that you had ever wanted. You saw the privileges that came as heir as you were forced to stand aside with your head bowed. You seethed and plotted for a place of your own. There shall be a day where all others regret that you weren’t the one to lead. You left on your own accord and when you see him again, you see a newfound torment that replaced the child prince. You can’t help but grin, so this is the weapon your father has made him. Your hostility remains and his face reminds you of a world that should have been yours. You bide your time to see what he’s worth, you won’t hesitate to show him how it feels to bleed. The world is a cruel place brother so I must teach you how it works.

BELLS OF HELL & SUNKEN WITCH ⌱ WE DREAM, WE DEVOUR, WE BECOME MURDERESSES

You became the woman you are now with the help of a captain who found you and taught you how to sail the seas and become something beautiful and something equally terrible. You weren’t the only one who she saved and your days were spent with BELLS OF HELL and SUNKEN WITCH who were as carefully selected as you were. You never truly liked BELLS OF HELL, with her crude personality and her starvation for attention. Where you utilized all you had been taught to shift the turning tides of a country, she abandoned herself completely and became akin to scum. Her strength was in the brutality of her tongue and the piercing nature of her voice; both which never ceased to grate upon your nerves. SUNKEN WITCH, who had nothing to her name or history, became enthralled with riches and all things beautiful. At one point, even you were infatuated with her loveliness but you refused to trust a woman whose only interest was in making profit. Beyond a lingering kiss, you desired nothing more. The bond that connected the three of you was fragile and it instantly vanished the moment you were left to fend for yourselves.

CURSED SOLDIER ⌱ SOMEDAY YOUR SWORD WILL MELT AND YOUR LIFE WILL BE CUT

A heartless soldier who only cared about his own desires, he refused every proposition you offered. You remember the day he detained you with his cold, apathetic nature. You attempted to bribe him with the thought of a coup and when that didn’t unravel in your favor, you chose more violent means. Yet despite your attempt on his life, he carried out his duties with little care. His arrogance and strategy was something you considered promising once upon a time but his refusal to bow to your status and power was a big enough bruise to your hubris that it marked him an enemy. You’ll never forgive him for what he has done. You lived your life so gloriously free from the place you were discarded that to be dragged back into the hell of your royal cage only stirred carnage in your heart. Your several attempts to run resulted in severe consequences that will forever be imprinted upon your memory. One day, he will taste the very same suffering he has caused you and you will relish it when you are the one seated on the throne.

MOON BLADE ⌱ A PRETTY TRINKET MADE DISPOSABLE

Her devotion to you was blindly granted and if there was anything more satisfying than submission, it was narcissistic devotion. At first you saw little use for her beyond the pleasures of shared companionship between the sheets. But slowly, you began to fan the flames of her twinkling greed. You could see how badly she desired to be more than what she was born into, and you dangled it all before her. She was a prized tool that would be an extension of your own political agenda. Despite your fondness for her, your own ambitions and dreams stood above every living being. When a pawn was no longer useful to you, you made no hesitation to toss them aside and she was no different. Your last act of grace was permitting her to live, a favor for old time’s sake.

QUEEN OF PLAGUE IS OPEN & THEIR SPECIAL STAT IS INTELLIGENCE.

#queen of plague.#all.#intelligence.#open.

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alexskarsgardnet · 4 years ago

Photo

New Interview & Photo Shoot! Alex photographed by Johan Sandberg and interviewed by Timothy Small for L’Uomo Vogue (October 2020)!

Alexander Skarsgård: the photo shoot and interview for L'Uomo

BY TIMOTHY SMALL, JOHAN SANDBERG 25 SEPTEMBER 2020

Alexander Skarsgård is a really, really nice man. A Swede through and through, Alexander, or Alex, is a very down-to-earth gentleman who could definitely act as more of a big shot, considering he is also one of the most interesting actors in Hollywood right now, a town that, in true Swedish style, he once defined as “kind of silly”. After getting his first big break as the lead in David Simon's excellent Iraq War mini-series for HBO, Generation Kill, Skarsgård exploded in our collective imaginations as Eric Northman in True Blood, while also acting for Lars von Trier in the wonderful Melancholia.

Since then, he has been a very buff Tarzan in The Legend of Tarzan, a mute bartender in future Berlin in Mute, a very dark killer in Hold the Dark, and a hilarious Canadian Prime Minister in Long Shot, as well as giving an Emmy- and Golden Globe-winning turn in HBO's Big Little Lies. The self-defined “restless” 43-year-old is set to star in The Northman, Robert Eggers's highly anticipated third film, a “Viking revenge story” that Skarsgård himself was crucial in bringing to production – and, by all accounts, it seems like it could have all the right pieces to become a future cult classic. It certainly has that kind of hype.

L'Uomo Vogue: The Northman is such an interesting project. I know it's important to you. It's also part of a growing resurgence of interest in the Viking era and Norse mythology and that sort of epic Scandinavian adventure. How did it all begin?

Alex: It all started seven or eight years ago. As a Swede living in America, I realised there was a certain level of fascination with the Viking era and Viking culture – and this was before any of the Viking shows that have since happened. It made me realise that there basically had never been a real great epic Viking movie made, and I thought that that's what I wanted to do.

LV: So how did the project kick off?

Alex: I started having conversations with a studio back then, trying to crack the best story. All I knew at the time is that I wanted to make a big Viking movie. We had a couple of potential different starting points: we had a story about two brothers, and then one about the Viking travels down to Constantinople with the Viking siege of the city. We were looking for the right story, but I never really felt we were there. I knew the scope I wanted it to exist in. But what was the story?

LV: And that's when you met Robert Eggers.

Alex: Yes, like three or four years ago. We met about something else. I can't remember how, but we started talking about Vikings. And he was, like me, a huge fan of Viking culture and of that historical era, and I immediately felt he would be the perfect guy to direct this movie. And then we found an author and poet in Iceland, Sjón, who came onboard to write the screenplay – and they did a fantastic job, just cracking the story and the essence of it.

LV: Sounds great.

Alex: It's a real adventure movie, but it's much more. It taps into the culture, and the mysticism of the Vikings, it becomes more intimate and more personal. I didn't want it to be a generic “swords-and-sandals” movie. Robert is one of the best filmmakers out there. And the whole process is so much more gratifying than when you're quote-unquote “just an actor”. It's been truly extraordinary.

LV: But then you had to halt production.

Alex: Yeah. I was in Belfast, Northern Ireland, three months into prep on The Northman about seven days away from principal photography. Just gearing up, you know, getting ready to start a very long, very intense shoot -- a shoot that we were scheduled to wrap in July – and that's when the virus hit.

LV: What did you do then?

Alex: I normally live in New York, while my family lives in Stockholm. When the first wave came, I was on the fence: nobody really knew how long it would be, or what precisely was going on. So we shut down production for six weeks. The idea was to then see what would happen. I basically moved to Stockholm for four months.

LV: How do you feel about this forced break from work?

Alex: I had not been home for this long in... more than 20 years. It was strange. We were in a bubble; we were all healthy and safe. In a lot of ways, I had moments when I felt being surrounded by my loving family, feeling safe and loved, and taking a break from work, but then also feeling very guilty because I was, for the lack of a better term, being spared.

LV: In the past, you've described yourself as being a nomad. Did you miss Sweden and the North?

Alex: I realised how much I have been missing it. I go to Sweden regularly, but usually only for three or four days, maybe a week, tops. My father and two of my brothers are actors, so we're used to never being in the same city. We all travel all over the world. Maybe we'd get back together for Christmas. And I can really say that I had missed spring in Sweden.

LV: Do you think we will change the way movies are produced?

Alex: We're going to have to figure out how to shoot movies with dozens of crew members and hundreds of extras while still respecting social distancing rules. It's an unprecedented situation and everyone is scrambling to figure out the best approach. My brother was one of the first people who worked in our industry during the pandemic. He shot a movie in Iceland in the middle of the lockdown. The way they solved it is they split the crew into colour sections. So, hair and make-up had yellow armbands and the camera department had blue, and they had a “Corona appointee” on set who would call out, “Now blue go in!” and then “Blue, out! And yellow, in!” And then they would all do their job in turns. It was very military-like. Productions are already complicated, so we'll just have to add another layer.

LV: How did you become an ambassador to the Clarks brand?

Alex: To me, authenticity is very important. I don't want to endorse products I don't genuinely like. That's why I was excited when Clarks reached out. I've been wearing Desert Boots for 25 years. Also, I like to travel a lot. I like to explore new cities by foot. I want to be able to walk around comfortably in a classic, iconic shoe. I travel from movie set to movie set, and I often live out of a suitcase. And this teaches you to be frugal. Whatever fits in that suitcase, that's all I can bring.

LV: Is that the Swede in you?

Alex: Maybe. But we consume way too many things in this society. Also, you give things more meaning when you live with them, and when you go on adventures with them. Like, these are my boots. I've been places with them. And when they fall apart, I'll buy a new pair. If you have the right stuff to begin with, you don't need more.

LV: Going back to The Northman, that really sounds like a dream project.

Alex: It is. It will be a rollercoaster ride. I can't wait to get back to Northern Ireland and get back to the production. It's also a very physically demanding project, so I have been training for, well, since a few months before production stopped.

LV: In a way, getting into a role, getting on a movie set, acting through it, the whole process of making a movie is a bit like a little adventure. You have to prep, you have to travel, often with people you don't know, and you have to push boundaries.

Alex: Absolutely! A huge part of the appeal of this profession is you get to travel, and you meet amazing, interesting people from all over. And the uncertainty, you know? What was it, 12 years ago, I was in New York, and I'd never heard of Generation Kill. And then two days later I was on a plane to the Kalahari Desert to be out there for seven months to shoot the series. And I'll never forget the feeling, sitting on that plane, thinking, “Two days ago I didn't even know about this project, and here I am on my way to Southern Africa to spend seven months in the desert with 200 strangers.” It's very exciting.

LV: What a feeling that must be!

Alex: And every single job is like that. Every movie is different. Your part, the tone, the energy, the people – it's always different. And for someone like myself, who has that kind of wanderlust, who's always looking on the horizon, it's very attractive to never know just what the next adventure might be.

October 14, 2020: Updated with the full interview courtesy of our friends at the ASkarsLibrary (x).

Fashion credits:

Photographs by Johan Sandberg Styling by Martin Persson Grooming Karin Westerlund @ Lundlund Hair Amanda Lund @ Lundlund Stylist’s assistant Isabelle Larsson Digital Daniel Lindgren Production Madeleine Mårtensson and Olle Öman @ Lundlund

Read the full interview by Timothy Small and see the photo shoot by Johan Sandberg in the October issue of L'Uomo, on newsstands from September 22nd.

Sources/Thanks: Interview: Timothy Small for L’Uomo Vogue (x), Photos: Johan Sandberg for L’Uomo Vogue (x), artlistparis.com (x) via artlistparisnewyork instagram (x), luomovogue instagram (x) & atomomanagement.com (x) via atomomanagement instagram (x), our caps from artlistparisnewyork’s September 23, 2020 insta story (x, x)

#Alexander Skarsgard #alexander skarsgård

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roger-that-cap · 3 years ago

Text

doubt comes in

orpheus!bucky barnes x fem!eurydice!reader

summary: a retelling of orpheus and eurydice for an extremely late entry for a mythology challenge!!

warnings: uh- yeah i was not playing with this myth lol… fluffy beginning, uh, that’s all imma say about that and ALSO i haven’t edited this so haha, i am running on fumes but had to post this jeez

word count: 11.3k good god

There were gods that were unexplainably strong. There were some that could bend fire and metal to their will, some that could string up love and cast it upon others, and others that knew more of war and how to win more than they even knew themselves. Others were the faces of glory, like Zeus and Hera and the sun god Apollo and so many others. There were many that were worshipped by humans every day of every week, and others that were forgotten until they were desperately needed. There were some that lived immortal lives and demanded respect from humans and gods alike, and then there were the ones invested in their art, in themselves, in the beauty of life itself.

That was Bucky. He was so immersed in song, in the gift that he had inherited from his mother, Calliope, that it was all he could think about. It was what made him different, it was what made him stand out from the boys that he grew up with that were just plain old strong. He had a talent, he had a mother that was a myth and a legend alike, and he had a lyre. He had a lyre, a lute, his voice, and a bit of speed, and that was all that he would ever need in life. That, and a pretty landscape to look at while he strummed his golden strings. But that was all he ever thought he would need- which was why he was knocked right off of his planted feet when he saw you walk by.

You were a human. You were a beautiful girl, probably the most beautiful being he had ever seen in his entire life. He had met goddesses and nymphs and princesses alike, but never had he met someone who had such a sweet face, such a gentle aura, and even more, a beautiful voice. You had only said a few words to someone else that were delivered with a gentle smile, but he could have sworn that your words were a melody. Before he knew it, your entire being was stamped into his mind, and he knew that he would never be able to forget you.

It was by complete chance that the next day, he decided to wallow in his sadness by a fountain in public, strumming his lyre too quietly for anyone else to hear. Anyone who knew him knew that he was devastatingly off. And coincidentally, the only ones who truly did know Bucky were Steve and Sam, two forest nymphs that had been his best friends since he taught them the ways of the lute years and years ago. They were sitting by him in silence on the marbled fountain, waiting next to him for the second shoe that they doubted would ever drop. But then, like Bucky was a sunflower following the sun itself, his back straightened, his head perked up, and his mouth dropped, his eyes wide and swirling with admiration as he watched you- the same human woman he was enamoured with- walk through the square again, a woven basket full of fresh fruits on your arm and your lilac dress swishing in the wind.

“No way,” he heard Sam mutter, and Steve poked his side.

“You were always such a doubter,” Steve mumbled, but the smile on his face was audible through his tone. “There she is, in the flesh.”

Bucky could hardly hear anything but the soft melody stirring up in his mind, louder than his racing heart, and just as tender as the feelings swirling inside of him. He saw you wave to the older woman you were talking to and then start to walk away, and he knew that he couldn’t let you go, not when the Fates so obviously gave him a second chance. Without a second thought, he slid off of the fountain, leaving his friends and his lyre, striding towards you with the brightest smile, trying to cover the fact that he was nervous.

His clumsy feet were carrying him a little too quickly, and he could hear the snickers of Steve and Sam from behind him. He craned his head backwards to look at them and laugh too, but he tripped over his own left foot, barreling right into you and knocking you flat onto the ground. His half immortal heart beat heavy and hard in his chest as he watched you wince under him. He scrambled up, cheeks flushed and hand shaking as he watched you sit up and brush the dirt off of your dress. He was looking down at you with a look that he prayed wasn’t as desperate as he felt. But he had to know you.

“I’m Orpheus,” he started, and when you turned your bright eyes to him with your brows furrowed, he shook his head like he was trying to get water from his hair. “No, I meant that I was sorry- I’m so sorry. For knocking you over, miss.” He extended his hand to you again, and he swore that he saw your lips quirk up a bit at him. You took his hand and stood up, brushing the fabric of your dress once again. He caught a trail of your scent, and he was immediately overtaken by the scent of fresh flowers and lavender.

That was when he really got a good look at you for the first time. The first time he saw you had been brief. You weren’t even looking anywhere near his way, and he only caught a look at your stunning side profile before you walked away. His vision had been practically blurred from excitement while he walked up to you, and he was so embarrassed about crashing into you that he was subtly trying not to look in your eyes. But… damn, he had been missing out.

He swore that time stopped. His own heart stopped beating, even the sluggish beat leaving for a few moments. The noises from the town square were so dull that they seemed muted. The stares of Steve and Sam felt so far off that he didn’t even notice them. All he knew was that he was utterly entranced by you, and for a second, he could have sworn that by the look in your eyes, you felt the same way. But like the blaring of an alarm, something knocked you both out of it, putting you in the present, with present problems.

“Oh, the fruits,” you muttered, looking at the peaches and apples that tumbled right out of your basket, bending over quickly to collect them despite the fact that they had gotten bruised. Bucky’s heart jumped to his throat with guilt when he realized he had ruined the fruit you had either picked or paid for, and then he was rushing to get them even faster, praying to the gods that you didn’t automatically hate him.

After looking into your eyes, he doubted he could live with himself if you even so much as disliked him. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to, I don’t have the best footing,” he apologized again, gently placing the fruits back into your basket.

“It’s okay,” you said, and your eyes trailed behind him to look at his friends that were howling with laughter, holding onto each other. He saw your displeasure, and his heart dropped when he understood that you probably thought they had sent him over just to mess with you. Your eyes whipped back to Bucky, and he blushed something fierce. He felt his cheeks warm up under your scrutiny, and then there was a smile creeping back onto your face. “I'm Eurydice.”

Oh, Gods. Eurydice. He swore that he had never heard something so beautiful in his life. He had grown up with the Muses, even had a mother as one, and was surrounded by music and poetry and epics every second of his childhood. Music was imprinted in his mind, every note embedded in his everyday life, yet still it was the most beautiful- “But I go by Y/N.” No. Eurydice was now second. But your name, the one he knew you had chosen for yourself, was the most beautiful thing that life had ever offered him to hear.

His brain was going many miles a minute, as quick as Hermes on a mission, but all he could do in the end was blink and offer his true name first, like politeness called for. “I’m Orpheus,” he extended his arm again to you, and you shook it twice. Your hand was soft, so soft that he didn’t want to let go of it. He would never forget the feeling of your hand in his, and the way he swore that the nerves under his skin were alight with the gentlest and sweetest of fires. “You can call me Eurydic- I mean, Bucky. I’m Bucky.”

You could both hear the laughter coming from Bucky’s friends, and while you were cracking a small smile, Bucky was dying on the inside. “You like to be called by other people's names?”

“I wouldn't mind being called by yours,” he blurted softly, his words coming out as a quick and uncalculated slur. He blinked abruptly when he realized that he was truly having the worst first introduction he had ever had in his life, and it was the one that somehow meant the most to him. “I- only because Eurydice is such a pretty- so is Y/N- I… I’m sorry.” He shook his head, knowing that he was so close to just having to walk away. Instead of embarrassing himself further, he just gave you a short smile and waved, turning on his heel.

“I’m Orpheus, then. Maybe Bucky, too.” He slowly turned back around, a shocked look on his face. Had you really spoken to him again with your own free will?

Bucky knew that he wasn’t ugly. No god or demigod was ever ugly, other than poor Hephaestus. He knew that he had his own sort of charm and that he could bring the roughest of people to tears and the saddest of people to joy with his music, but he didn’t know anything else. He had three redeeming qualities that swirled in his head constantly- he was pretty, he had music, and he had a famous mother.

“Are you a singer?”

“Huh?” So much for eloquence.

You bit your lip. “You speak… you speak like you have a song in your heart. Are you a singer?”

He was stumped. Most knew at least of his music if nothing else. He was the most famed god or man to ever strum a lute besides maybe Apollo. Most knew nothing of his personality and nothing about him other than the fact that he was born to play and sing, and you didn’t? Where had you been living? “Well, I’m Orpheus.”

There was a grin on your face, and Bucky knew that he never wanted to see anything other than that for the rest of his life. “And that makes you a singer?”

He opened his mouth again, ready to talk about who he was born from and where he learned to play and who taught him, but when he looked deeper and saw the spark of mischief in your eyes, he leaned back and held back a small smile of his own. His heart fluttered and grew two sizes. “You know who I am, don’t you?”

“Maybe I don’t,” you said, obvious teasing in your voice, and somehow it still stayed kind. “Maybe I do, and just wanted a free song out of you.”

She knows me, he thought, and his heart may as well have let out a lovesick sigh from within the confines of his chest. She has never heard me sing before, but she will. I’ll sing her a thousand songs.

“I’ll sing you all the songs you desire if you marry me,” he blurted, and while his mind was scolding him for uttering those words so quickly, his heart was steady on beating and so sure of itself that he told his mind off.

To his subtle surprise, you didn’t look shocked. You weren’t disgusted by his rather bold approach and most importantly, you weren’t laughing at him. He held onto your silence in limbo, waiting for you to say something that would either crush him to bits or send his soul rising so high that he reached the cloudy gates of Olympus.

“If you can make me a song that can make the skies open up and weep without singing a word, then I’ll marry you.”

His heart soared. His hands shook. He could have sworn that even his toes clenched. But all you could see were his wide, boyish eyes, and the hopeful look that dawned across his face. He nodded quickly. “I’ll do anything.”

He saw your lips pull up into a smile, genuine and even a little shy, and he couldn’t help but want to step closer. But he knew he had already been up front and abrupt, and the last thing he wanted to do was scare you away.

“Okay,” you said, nodding your own head slowly. “I’ll see you soon, then, Bucky.” You took a step back, eyes still connected to his blue ones until you finally turned around and walked away with the same basket on your arm, same dress swaying with the tuneless song of the wind.

The three of them stood in silence, watching you walk away, taking pieces of Bucky’s heart with you in your cradled arms. The bustling of the town was loud, moving about like nothing of significance had happened right where they were all standing, and Bucky found it nothing short of insane. Did no one else just see how the world stopped turning for that one girl? How the Fates put a pause on the clock just so that they could meet?

Steve’s voice brought him out of it. “Did you just ask for her hand in marriage?”

He didn’t even have the energy to shrug. All the swirled in his mind was love, passion, music, and you. You, you, you. “I had to.”

“How will you even find her again?” Steve asked, his logic once again being the only thing that held Bucky down to the ground.

“I know the work of Eros when I see it,” Sam said to Steve, shaking his head somewhat fondly at the pale boy with brunette hair who was still staring off in the direction you left in, like you would miraculously appear again. “They’ll find each other again soon enough.”

The hours went by and then the daylight turned into night and back to day again, and Sam’s words couldn’t have been truer. Your spirit and your face and your voice found Bucky with every few seconds that passed by. He couldn’t blink without seeing you. He couldn’t listen to anyone without hearing you. He couldn’t breathe without smelling your beautiful scent. Everything tasted bland, looked plain, and sounded like white noise after he met you. He knew that until his last (and unlikely) breath, his heart would ache for nothing more than to be yours. He wanted his ring to be on your finger, and yours to be on his.

So he began to make a song.

§§§

He worked tirelessly. The hours below the sun that used to be spent laughing and playing with Steve and Sam were exchanged for hours of composing. His normally perfect posture was hunched over as he tried to find the melody that had stirred in his heart when he first saw you- because he knew that was it.

By the end of twelve days of pure struggling, most of the song was finished. He was a fast worker, so fast that it made everyone else’s heads spin, but he felt it was going too slowly. But then again, he was fast at everything. The melody was as stuck with him as his skin was to his body. He was sure that it would never leave him, even if he wrote a thousand more songs. And part of him never wanted it to go, because it was so you.

He had only held one conversation with you, and it wasn’t long enough, but he felt like he had known you for years. He felt like he had sung to you hundreds of times and danced with you a hundred times more. Your soul felt so familiar yet so foreign that he had to chase after you, and had to discover anything that he could have missed. He knew that you were his destiny, and he had a feeling that you knew he was yours.

The song he was writing wasn’t sad, but it brought tears to his eyes all the same. It wasn’t about longing or loss or chasing after something that would never come to you, but it made Steve and Sam wipe their eyes all the same. It was about your beauty, your inherent wit and kindness, and the way that you set his soul free from chains he didn’t even know of. It was about a love he had never dreamed of finding or even thought to be true, and that was enough to make the three of them weep.

“I think it’s finished, Buck.” This came from Steve after he wiped his eyes again, sitting through the full song again even though his heart aches for a love he had never felt before. “Sam thought it was done days ago.”

Sam had left the two of them alone days ago, claiming that he couldn’t stand to hear the melody and cry each time, claiming that it was beautiful but too much. It made sense. Even Bucky himself was starting to feel the effects of it. But Steve was a stubborn thing, and he would sit through it for as long as Bucky would play it.

“You think it’s enough to make the skies open and cry?” Bucky breathed out, loosely quoting the words he had heard from you not too long ago.

“Even if it’s not, it will surely win her over,” Steve said. “She was already wooed by you, you’re a fool not to see it. She was excited enough that you even agreed to make the song in the first place, anyway.”

Bucky sat there for a few minutes as his fingers tingled, expecting to be used again to pluck the magnificent strings. But he set his instrument down on the log he sat on, sighing and placing a hand under his chin, his thoughts trailing over to you for the thousandth time. “I hope she accepts it.”

Steve just looked at him. “I think that if you came empty handed and told her half of the words you tell me and Sam, she’d follow you anywhere.”

Steve was right. Steve had to have been right, or he was going to wilt right in front of you. He had to be. The brunet nodded, biting his pink lip before opening his mouth again. “Where do you think I’ll find her?”

§§§

It didn’t take long to find you at all. Bucky went to find you alone, finding you because something inside of him told him to search the flowering fields nearby, and there you were. There was a hat made of straw over your head to cover your eyes and face from the sun, and you had the same basket on your arm that you had the other days. It was empty this time, and he had no doubt that you were looking at the flowers for fun before going to look for fruit. He couldn't help but smile fondly at you from across the field, and then he was gripping his lyre and taking a deep breath.

“Y/N,” he called out, his voice full of emotion instead of being the strong sound he wanted it to be. Nonetheless, it caught your attention, and then your pretty eyes were wide on him. Immediately, your feet turned in his direction and you made your way across the meadow, and he followed suit. He met you in the middle, so nervous that the grin that was deep inside of him wasn’t coming out at all.

You were both at a loss for words as you stood close to each other. His hands shook at his sides, aching to hold your hands in his. He wondered if they were as soft as your voice, or as smooth as the petals flowers you admired. “You came?”

He blinked. Of course he did. It was all he could think of doing. “My only regret is not coming sooner,” he admitted, and he watched you angle your eyes downwards, and he smiled at your shyness. “Would you like to hear it?”

Your eyes were connecting with his again, and he could have sworn that your smile could have put him in an early grave. He was momentarily stunned by you and your brightness, so stunned that he hardly even heard what you said. “Of course I would.”

“So then you’ll hear it,” he said softly, his heart and mind completely taken over by you in your presence. He fixed his lyre into position, his fingers already fixed into the correct spots as he began to play your song.

His eyes were shut as he strummed just as he had practiced thousands of times, but he knew it felt different. His body was buzzing with excitement and something else he couldn’t identify, but he loved it. It made him play stronger. His eyes shut even more as he felt the music, swaying side to side a bit as he felt his heart open up to you, finally content with you hearing the song.

He didn’t even realize that he was done until all he could hear was quiet sniffles. He pried his left eye open, almost too scared to look for your reaction, but when he saw that you were just looking up at him with watery eyes and a wobbly smile, he opened his other eye, ready to spring into action.

The only thought going through his mind was that it was impossible that you liked it. The way you were looking at him reminded him of the way people looked at sculptures of ancient monsters— a muted type of awe, but also a sense of discomfort. He brought you to tears, and not in the way he wanted to. He ruined it.

“I- was it bad?” He blurted out, and he cursed himself at ruining his own chance. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry you didn’t like it-”

“How long have you been playing that song?”

You were too beautiful. Too gentle. You were melting his brain into mush, and he doubted that he would be able to pick up his lyre for another round even if you begged him. “I… I just made it. For you, I made it with you in mind.”

Your facial expression didn’t change. “Where’s the ring?”

He blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“The rings we’re going to wear when we wed,” you said, almost teasing. “Do you have them?”

His eyes widened. “You want to marry me?” He asked, leaning forward a bit in shock. “The sky didn’t- the rain never came.”

“I cried,” you said, a small smile on your face. You still hadn’t wiped your tears, and he watched them frozen on your face, stuck in time. “I didn’t expect the work of the gods. I just wanted you to play for me.”

He was bewildered. He had half of the mind to ask you if you truly meant it again, but he took his excitement and ran with it. “And you… you feel this too?”

You took his right hand into yours, and he swore that his souls ascended to the gates of Olympus and waltzed right in. “I felt it the second I saw you, Bucky.”

He blushed something fierce before looking down at the ground, shame overtaking his sheer admiration for you. “There’s something I should tell you before you say you want to be with me.”

“Tell me anything,” you encouraged softly, one of your hands coming up to brush his warm cheek.

“I don’t have much.”

And he didn’t. He had Sam and Steve and a nomadic lifestyle. He never stayed in the same place for long, and he didn’t have a roof over his head. He didn’t need one. Rain and wind and fire didn’t bother him. He preferred to live under the canopy of trees and the protection of nature. But he knew humans didn’t. He knew humans— especially women— liked when their partners brought things to the table, and he had nothing but strings and whistles. He had nothing materialistic. He had no gems, no coins, no house, and fancy clothes— nothing money could buy. But he looked at you and saw that you deserved it all, and even more he saw that he had no way to even provide it for you.

“I live in many different places, I don’t have a home. I don’t have money. I don’t have… I can’t buy you dresses or shoes or any of the stuff you would probably like… and I’m sorry. I know that will probably change everything, but I just wanted you to know.”

You took a step forward, strong and secure, and then your chin was tilted upwards. “Like I said, where are the rings?”

Bucky grinned.

§§§

The day of your wedding was blessed by the gods, whether they admitted it or not. You married each other in the meadow Bucky found you in with a small crowd of people, and when you kissed as man and wife, peace washed over the both of you, and it felt like your marriage had been approved by all far and wide. The kiss that you shared to make the wedding official was short and sweet and full of the most innocent of passion, and he felt so adored by the soft touch of your lips that he felt a singular tear cross the terrain of his pale face for the first time in years.

He didn’t even deny it.

He didn’t deny the way that you danced together was perfect. He had never guided you, had hardly even danced with another woman, but it was perfect. It was like he had practiced with you before a hundred times, and the feel of your hands in his was what kept him sane. He was convinced that you could do anything new with him and it would feel like you had done it before, just because you were so familiar to him as a whole.

He had known you for what felt like seconds in the grand scheme of things, but you knew him inside out and he knew you better than he knew himself. He could find you in the dark, you could identify him with just a whisper of his voice, and he could fall in love with you over and over without even touching you. He would perform the Sisyphean task of falling in love with you over and over again if it meant that he could be next to you.

And luckily, it turned out that you didn’t need the things that Bucky was sure you were going to. He got you a small house just for the two of you to come back to, and he still roamed around in the area. Steve and Sam would walk off and come back weeks later, just like they used to when it was the three of them together. And there would Bucky be, at the house he made possible for you, and happier than ever.

Bucky lived an extremely modest life with you, and he liked it. Farming and getting water from wells and working for the food that was on your tables, cutting wood to feed the flames in the pit in the middle of your main room. Life was somewhat repetitive, so repetitive that he was scared he would lose you to your wild imagination and beautiful, adventurous heart. But it had never been as fulfilling as it was with you.

The little things were what made his day. It was waking up with you at his side, tucked into his arms and still sleeping soundly while he made songs up in his head dedicated to you that made him smile. It was listening to you hum to yourself while you washed corn and peaches and squash in the buckets of water you had carried down the hill that served as your property. It was the way you would pull him out of a funk by taking his hand and leading him out of his chair, dancing to music that didn’t exist, or the way you would coax him to sing to the moon because you wanted a longer night. A longer night meant more time spent with each other.

When you woke up after your long nights, sometimes you would coax him out of bed for some daily challenge, a challenge that usually he would end up beating you at. Part of him believed that you just wanted him to show off, but you always said otherwise. You would challenge him in singing only to have him go first and not even sing, claiming you had already lost. You would tell him you wanted to race him to the stream and back, knowing that you would lose by a long shot. He could run circles around you if he hardly tried, and that was just in his godly blood. But there was never any jealousy, never any animosity, never any bitterness. It was all just sweet, it felt.

You were just so magical. It was so simple, the things that made him happy, but he knew that just one call from your soul to his was more than just communication. He craved it. He knew from the moment that he met you that his soul would always seek yours, even into the afterlife. He knew that every day with you would be as beautiful as you were on your wedding day, shining brighter than any gem or any star in the night sky. And none of it would ever change.

§§

Things changed. Just as the sun rose and set, so did time. It cranked on without a single hint of Bucky aging, and you were still as youthful as you were the three years prior. Life was still beautiful, and that was all that mattered.

You had traveled around the world with him, kissed in so many different cities with different kings and different cultures and different music. You had met so many different people, lived so many different lives, just to go back home and settle there. It was wonderful. He loved you, and you loved him. It was the kind of love that was never at risk of fading or thawing away. It was the kind of love that was only spurned on as the years crawled by, the days acting as twigs added to an already strong fire. It was such a beautiful thing that he had with you, and every day with you felt like one that was blessed by the gods themselves.

Until it didn’t.

Bucky had never felt fear in his heart like he did when he heard your scream travel across the meadow. He didn’t even put on his shoes before tearing off to find you, torn between begging you to make another sound so that he could hear you or pleading the gods to make the sound of your distress stop and never happen again. His chest rose and fell with the exertion, and he knew that he had never been so afraid in his life.

The scream was all that echoed in his mind when he ran through the woods, and as he stumbled upon fallen fruits and flowers that he just knew were yours. He realized he was at the end of a ravine almost too late, and when he looked down, following the steep curve of the slope with wary and partially-knowing eyes, he immediately doubled over.

There you were in all your fallen glory, legs bent unnaturally and neck twisted even worse. The light yellow of your dress was stained with brown and dark green, and in some places a deep red that made him sick to his stomach. Your eyes were looking up at the sky, staring right into the sun as it shone down on your figure, taunting him just like the breeze that began to make your dress look so lively.

Bucky fell to his knees right on the edge of the ravine, his heart not even lurching when he lost his balance. An arm reached out to you, like it was stuck in the moment before you fell and he could reach you. Tears were coming down his face slowly, steadily as he fought to get breaths in. He called your name.

He didn’t know how many times he called your name, or how far the sadness in it traveled. It must have been loud and long enough, because before he knew it, there were hands on his shoulders. They were warm and familiar and even the smallest bit comforting in that moment, but not enough. He wanted your hands.

“Let’s get away from the edge, Buck.” It was Steve’s voice, strong and gentle and the backbone of the situation. Bucky’s eyes pried open at the feeling of Steve’s sturdy hands pulling him backwards, and he retched in his mouth at the sight of your broken, soulless body at the bottom. He hadn’t even realized he had gotten so close to it himself.

“I’ll go down to…” Sam started, trailing off with a soft and distraught look on his face when he caught sight of Bucky again, and Steve nodded at him.

“Let’s get you up, Buck. Up and Washed off.” He hadn't even realized he was dirty at all. His hands were covered in dirt and under his fingernails were the same earthy brown he was used to. He had been pulling up grass from where he grieved without even noticing.

His sobs were so loud that they hurt Steve’s ears. His dragging steps were causing such a disturbance to the land around him that animals seemed to crane their necks at him and cast their glances his way, as if wondering how on earth a person could be that distressed. His mouth was moving, but it looked and sounded more like babbling and trembling as waterfalls came down the canvas of his pale skin.

“Buck, you have to calm down. You’re about to have an attack.”

He didn’t know if he meant heart attack or a panic attack, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that you were dead, all twisted up at the bottom of a ravine. Your soul had left the earth, left your body, and you were just laying there like you had never been alive. Like you had never held his hand, or kissed his cheek, or wore his ring or laughed or sang or read fine poetry while eating the fruits you had picked. Seeing you down there with your open and dim eyes felt like you had never lived at all.

“Keep walking with me, buddy. You’re going to be just fine.”

But he wasn’t. Every step he took away from you made bile come up in his throat. He wanted to be as far away from your lifeless body as possible, but he didn’t want to ever let you go. He wanted to hold you close to him until it felt like you were alive again. But as his heart beat seemed to freeze up but race like a horse all the same, he realized that you would never be alive again. You were only as alive as your last few moments, whether they were filled with the joy and freedom of having the wind on your face or the fear of falling. He could do nothing to change it.

But he would try to do everything.

§§

He spoke to everything and nothing. Steve and Sam would take turns coming to him after they celebrated your life. It reminded Bucky of the way that his mothers friends used to come watch him while his mother was off and away somewhere, and how it felt like they thought of him as a cute little burden. He knew deep down that his friends cared for him more than anything and that he cared about them just as much, but he couldn’t think about anything but you. He wouldn’t.

It was a service that made the skies open just like you said they would for his voice. The day lilies that surrounded you and Bucky seemed to be weeping with him. The wind came from east to west and west to east, spinning around and throwing in the scent of the flower with the smell of oncoming rain, reflecting the turmoil he was feeling on the inside. He could have sworn that the earth had trembled just like his hands that held your cold and still ones. But if the world had caved down under him at that moment, he wouldn’t have moved. He wouldn’t have opened his mouth to scream, or even say a word. He would have only held your hand tighter.

He spoke to the moon more often than he did Steve and Sam. They hovered, but it was the kind of hovering that Bucky felt he would appreciate sooner or later. He would sit every night and talk to the moon with his legs pulled into his chest, small and in such a vulnerable position that it would have made him feel uncomfortable at any other time. But he was vulnerable. He had been knocked off of his feet and winded. The world kicked him while he was down more times than he could count, and they had opened his chest and peeked right into his heart before seeing it was unworthy and walking away from him. It left him bleeding out in the forest while he listened to the birds eventually go on back to chirping, and watched the flowers push through and grow, and people laugh and smile and talk like nothing changed.

He was doing just that. He was lying in the flowering fields that he would always swear belonged to you, the both of you, when he heard soft footsteps. He didn’t care to look up. He knew it wasn’t Steve or Sam, but why would he care? He had nothing to be scared of now that you were gone.

“You’re Orpheus.” It wasn’t a question.

He didn’t even blink, but an annoyance he couldn’t shake bubbled up inside of him at hearing the name his mother granted him coming from a stranger. As much as he wanted complete silence, he couldn’t help but say- “Bu- sure. I’m Orpheus.”

“Everyone heard, you know.” The voice was of an old, frail woman. Bucky knew that without even looking, He ignored the fact that pity was strong in her voice, and that he knew exactly what she was talking about. He ignored the way he knew that she thought that she had the right to talk about his wife, about the way he had lost you far too soon. She knew nothing. But he let her speak. “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t say a word. He didn't even recognize words as an option. He would stay silent and wait until she left. Maybe if he was quiet enough or stared up at the sky in such a still manner that it scared her, she would leave him. If he pretended to be as dead as he felt, he was sure she would leave.

“There hasn’t been a good song since you’ve stopped playing.” He heard rustling, and then he dared to look off to the side to see the old woman struggling to sit, cane wobbling in her hand as she finally plopped her frail bones onto the ground near him. He sighed heavily and looked back up to the sky. “You know, you’ve gotta be the most moving musician to ever walk the earth, from both god and man.”

It was a compliment that would have had him blushing years ago. It would have had his young mind fumbling for his lute or lyre and clearing his godly voice, asking if she wanted to sing with him or just listen. Now, it incited nothing. It meant nothing. “I doubt I’ll ever play again.”

“You pleased god and man,” the old woman carried on, almost like she had never heard him open to speak with that raspy voice of his that was so uncharacteristic of him that it hurt to hear. “Anyone would have done anything to hear your music.”

He finally turned to the side to look the old woman in her face, and he blinked at her. “I’m grieving.”

“You could persuade anyone with seven strings and five notes, don’t you understand that?” Her voice was almost angry. It was hard and nearly pleading, so different from her previous tone that Bucky snapped his head her way. “If I were you, I would have been at Death’s gates.”

They were staring at each other. Bucky was looking at the decrepit woman with curly gray hair that looked like she had dodged a visit to the Gates of Death herself more than once with shocked eyes. His heart started to beat again, like her words were arousing some kind of vicious hope that he never even knew could exist.

“The gods blessed your union. They won’t ever say, but they did bless your marriage. What makes you think that if you beg, you won’t get a blessed reunion as well?”

She disappeared within seconds of her final words, leaving a revelation swirling around in his mind and haunting his every thought.

§§

His feet ached. His hands were beginning to blister from stroking the strings of his tired lyre, and his throat was even beginning to strain. He had been singing for hours, pouring his heart out at the hidden gates of the Underworld, begging for an audience. But above all the physical pain ranked the ache in his heart, the unbearable feeling of your death sitting on his shoulders and ripping him apart from the inside. His grief was destroying him.

Hades might as well have had ears plugged up with the same wax that was used by Odysseus and his men. Usually he went undisputed, because just as life was certain, so was death. There was no questioning the decision of it, or the Fates, or the rule of Hades and his acceptance of his dear Eurydice into his kingdom. Everyone was allowed to plead and beg, but no one ever went down to the gates of the Underworld to ask for the release of a loved one, whether they were man or god. But there he was, standing in dirtied pants with fingertips plucked pink, and tears running down his face.

He didn’t know if he would ever gain the strength to leave. He didn’t know what he would do if someone even bothered to humor him. He wasn’t going to be able to have you back. He was never going to be able to bring you back up above, have you under the sun and shining beautifully like you were born to do. What would he beg of them? For them to let him see that your soul ended up in the Asphodel Meadows? For them to let him hold you one last time before you drank from the Lethe and forgot everything that happened? What if you had already drank from it? Each thought made his stomach lurch more, and his music grew louder and more desperate, like the final battle cry of a warrior.

His back was up against a tree as he sang out again in the night, praying for someone to hear him and take pity on his poor soul. Strike me down and send me with her, if you cannot give me the gift of seeing her again. The same tears that had been steadily pouring down his face were gathered in a puddle at his unmoving feet, yet he didn’t mind. He couldn’t.

“You have woken my wife.”

Bucky’s playing stopped immediately. “What?”

The man before him was dark. He was tall and seemed to take up almost the entire space even though he was only a bit wider than Bucky. His shoulders were broad and his chin was strong, and his eyes were sharp even under the gloomy look they had to them. His cheekbones were sunken in and his eyes had a ring of black around them, like he hadn’t slept in a thousand years. His lips were set in a hard line, but he didn’t look displeased. Most notably, he had a dark aura surrounding him, even black most coming from behind him and nearly encasing him.

“I don’t repeat myself, and luckily, it looks like you heard me the first time.” His voice was deep, enthralling, like a song that Bucky would never dare write himself.

What was a man this terrifying, this powerful, doing in the forest? How had Bucky woken a soul when he was in soulless territory? He hadn’t seen houses for leagues.

Something inside of Bucky begged him to apologize. It begged him to get into his knees and look downwards towards the growing grass and hope to be spared. If this was before he lost you, maybe he would have listened to it. But what did he have to truly live for now that his darling was gone?

“I’m sorry to have brought you out of your dwellings because of my grieving.”

There was a certain kind of silence that would have made Bucky’s skin crawl if he even dared to look the being’s way. “Grieving?”

“My wife.” He breathed out, finally letting his arms loose as he let his trust lyre fall down to his side. “She… has fallen prey to death.”

“Ah,” the man said, his voice nearly a scoff. “I see. The circle of life.”

“And now my life shall go in circles, on and on and down the same miserable path without the woman I love,” Bucky stated, resting his head back against the tree. “I wish I knew a man that grieved. Me… I live amongst gods. We don’t grieve. We don’t die. I have never met a man who had an inch of grief in his heart. I feel like the first to ever feel it.”

“We can lose people in other ways than death,” the man said. “Death is the most absolute, but it seems to hurt a lot less than voluntary abandonment.”

“This is my first brush with death, and I have to admit that I’m not the biggest fan.” What an understatement.

“That’s a shame. My wife is quite the fan of you and your… grief. She says it’s the most moving thing she’s ever heard.” Bucky just nodded, eyes far off. “She wants to meet you.”

“I don’t really want to meet anyone.”

“You don’t want to see my wife? You don’t want a two way ticket to the world you’ve been singing about taking passage to for days now, Orpheus?”

His head turned slowly, eyes widening as he tried to piece thoughts and facts together with his sluggish mind. “What?” But he knew. He knew with another glance at this man that he was no man at all, but one of the original gods. He was Hades, in the divine flesh, standing right before him with a glint in his eyes that meant he was satisfied by Bucky’s shock. He went to his knees, kneeling as a sob piled up into his throat.

“Your Excellency,” he began to plead, recalling back to the times he was a young god, listening to his mother explaining the way that he should speak to all the gods who came before him- especially one as powerful as Hades. “I apologize. My mind is not set right— the loss of my wife has taken a toll on me. Please forgive me.”

“Your grief blinds you.”

There was no point in lying. “It does.”

“I, too, was blinded by grief. In fact, it happens every other six months, though I suppose you young gods and humans call it winter and fall. My wife would leave, gone with a stroke of wind and then come back only to wilt again. But she, just like your own wife, will learn that there is nothing we can do about the situations we are in. Destiny will have us where she has us, and your Eurydice’s path above has ended.”

Bucky wanted to scream at him. He wanted to refuse him and tell him that Destiny and the Fates would have to bend to his will, because there was no other way. He couldn’t last another day without you, let alone a lifetime. But the god he was speaking to was Hades, and Bucky was just Orpheus, a low level demigod.

“However, my wife still wants to meet you. She wants to hear your song clearly, where it’s not muffled by distance.” His heart began to race. His hands were shaking. His eyes were wide as he tried to take in a deep breath, waiting for the gloomy god’s next words. “If you agree to see her and play her that song of yours, I’ll let you see this wife you speak of. Does that sound fair?”

Nodding was all Bucky could do to stay awake.

§§

The Underworld was just as gloomy as it was in the stories. Black and grey ran together to create a shadowy world, dismal and dark. It was full of strange sounds, like the whistling of thick wind that almost sounded like wailing humans. The air was so heavy that Bucky was finding it hard to breathe, and there was a mist so hard to cut through that Bucky could hardly see more than three feet in front of him at a time. Hades led him, and the only reason he could see him was because of his true height showing, and the fact that his dark smoke was even darker than the mist.

His hands shook. Both of them held onto his lyre for dear life. It was close to his chest, strings facing away from him, but still it felt like he could feel the vibrations of it, like the air was mocking him back by playing a song of its own. He resisted the urge to close his eyes and fall to his knees, the environment putting him in near shock.

But he had to find you.

Hades stopped in his tracks, turning his sunken face towards Bucky, who had to fight to not flinch. “If you play for my wife and she likes it, I’ll take you to see yours.” He nodded his head quickly, putting his lyre into position, his arms trembling with anxiety. The double doors opened without the old god even touching them, and then Bucky was faced with an ancient throne room, elegant and dark all the same.

The first thing he did once he got near the sitting Queen of the Underworld was kneel. Tears were already swirling in his eyes, and his throat was lurching. If he were a human, he was sure that he would have been throwing up. He prayed silently to his mother, calling upon the strength of the Muses and their talents into his blood once more.

It was silent until the queen finally spoke. “So you’re the musician?”

“Yes, Your Excellency.”

“I expected you to be much older,” she said, her soft voice a plain contrast from her husband’s, and the dark setting of the Underworld. And then, Bucky understood that the stories weren’t embellished. At first thought, she didn’t seem to belong down there, least of all with Hades. He didn’t dare look up at either of them. “Your grief seems to be centuries old.” It felt like it was. The hole in his heart felt older than he was.

“This is Orpheus, son of Calliope,” Hades explained. “He can’t be more than a few thousand years, if I remember correctly.”

“Young, very young.” Persephone mused, the tone of her voice almost curious. “And what causes you to play this song?”

He explained it. He explained all of it. Your death, his need to see you, his stupid hope of bringing you back home where you belonged. He left it all on the table for them both to hear, even though he knew that the odds were unlikely for him. He didn’t care. He didn’t care if he got ridiculed or thrown back out of the gate, all that mattered to him was that he tried his hardest to get you. And that you knew, deep down in your forgotten mind, that he tried.

“Your music has moved me so, truly.” Persephone said, and then Bucky looked up. She was beautiful, flowers all over her body. She was the brightest thing down there, no doubt, and she still had that godly glow that all the other gods had, a golden rim around her body. She turned her face toward her husband without taking her eyes off of Bucky. “And I want to give you a chance.”

Bucky’s heart stopped. “Your Excellency?”

She was facing Hades now. “Give him a condition.” She muttered, her hands gripping the arms of the throne she sat on. “But let him try.”

Hades frowned. “If I let her go, how many humans do you think will hear of this tale and try to do the same?”

“None.” The goddess answered quickly. “They’re afraid of you. This boy is not. And unlike gods, humans accept death. They know that it is a part of the cycle, and they wouldn’t dare dispute it. This is just a confused young god. He hasn’t seen death before. This will be the only time anyone will ever ask this of you, Hades.”

It was pure silence. It seemed to stretch on for eons as Hades contemplated his wife’s words. The lyre had fallen to the ground minutes before, and Bucky felt himself reaching for it. Tears were streaming down his face now. “I’ll play for you again. I’ll play for you for a decade straight if you let me take her home at the end, if you let her remember me.” He added desperately, body trembling with anticipation.

Hades had dark eyes, and those dark eyes were full of uncertainty and something close to anger while he stared at Bucky, with a look on his face that was so blank that it frightened him. His wife’s hand was on his chest as she pleaded with him on Bucky’s behalf, yet he only stared Bucky down.

“If you can walk your way out of my domain without turning back to look at her, you can take her with you above ground.” Bucky sobbed. “If you look back, boy, she stays in the Asphodel Meadows.”

Bucky sobbed again.

§§

His back faced everything. He couldn’t hear anything except for the beating of his own heart, the heartbeat that seemed to extend all the way down to the fingertips that gripped the infamous lyre in his hand. He shook with every breath, and every blink was harsh on his eyes as he tried not to cry.

He wished he could hear you. He wished he could hear your soft voice reassure him, tell him that you remembered everything, that you were right behind him and that you would follow him everywhere, just like he would follow you. Just like he had followed you. He wished he could hear you.

He wished he could feel you. If your warm hands could just ghost over his shoulders and push him forward without quite letting go, he would have made the trek a thousand times. If he could feel your hands brushing away the hair out of his line of sight, he would have been walking before Hades even gave permission. He wished he could feel you.

He couldn’t. But he would walk anyway.

He hardly heard Hades give permission, his ominous tone echoing through the otherwise empty cavernous area, or the sound of Persephone’s whispers. But he could feel it in the air, suffocating and burying him.

Every lift of his foot was agonizing, every step far heavier than he ever imagined he could bear. But he would do it for you. He would push. Every whisper of doubt that crossed his mind, he would throw away.

It didn’t matter that at times, he wasn’t sure if you got what you needed from him. It didn’t matter that he felt like you weren’t fulfilled by the life you had with him. He had faith. It dwindled with every step, but he had faith. He would keep it and nurture it with every breath he had inside of him on the long journey back home.

Seconds started to feel like minutes, and minutes started to feel like hours. He hated it. His throat was closing in on itself like his voice was his enemy, like the voice everyone thought was so golden was the voice that would be the final nail in his coffin.

His feet were still aching, but the ache had become dull. Louder and more painful was the feeling of the cold biting his skin, like it was a reminder to stay conscious, to stay alert and thinking. Thinking was his vice and virtue. The silence was too loud. His mind was in pain, his heart even worse as he started to feel like the cold was his antagonizer. It was cold up above. It was in the cold where you suffered the most, where you struggled to stay positive. It was in the cold where he could hardly provide for you. It was in the cold where he had to hold you so close to him that air didn’t stand a chance between the two of you because every other man had already chopped the good wood.

But at the same time, he began to feel warm. It felt so warm to his skin that it felt like he was about to step into Tartarus. And it was in the warmth that you dressed in that pretty, short dress that got you harassed by men without humanity. It was in the summer that he found he couldn’t defend you. It was in the summer that he had a flash of realization that he wasn’t strong enough. It was in the summer that he got an even more fleeting flash of the thought that he wasn’t enough at all.

It was in the spring, in the months where there was sun and soft breezes, that he realized again that he was of no help. He had gotten a job one spring that was honest work, but brought in a lot less for the household than you did. He was working with the hands that were already calloused over to help men far more experienced than him craft things to sell to the town. He worked hard to come home tired just to know deep down that for all his work, he had not much more than chump change and a positive outlook to his name.

It was one autumn that he realized how much he had failed you, and he swept it under the rug like he did every other season. One autumn, he walked in on you crying in the arms of your friend- the local plum vendor that Bucky always used to buy from- about how you were terrified of being pregnant. As he walked through the Underworld, he asked himself how he could have ever forgotten that moment. Because what you said had shaken his heart to the core.

“There’s no way I would be able to take care of it.”

It wasn’t the certain doubt that was plants in your mind. It wasn’t the fact that neither of you had noticed Bucky hovering in the door because you were sobbing so hard. It wasn’t the way the woman comforted you better than he thought he was ever able to- because with him, you just never addressed the bad. It was as swept under the rug as dirt was. It was the way you said “I”. Alone. By yourself. Him and his contributions weren’t even in the picture. Were they even contributions?

It was never his voice that was his greatest feature and his worst. It was his mind. His mind was his killer. His mind was a killer, his poison and his weapon, and he was turning it right onto himself. His legs trembled as he fought the urge to look, to crane his neck and get his disappointment over with. Were you following him? Did you even remember him- or had you already drank from the river that would steal all of the life that you had before? Had Hades tricked him into leaving quietly?

And if you did remember him, why on earth would you follow him? You would be following him back to a land that was full of struggle and making it through day by day. You would be trudging after him this time only for him to bring up the rear in everything else. He would be the one smiling at you after you came from working to the bone, providing for him and yourself. That was all he ever had to offer, a smile and a song. What could he truly trade for a smile and a song? What could he get you?

Nothing.

What could he do if you got hurt again?

Nothing.

What could he do with his life when he surfaced and found you not there, far behind in the Underworld?

Nothing.

The doubt piled up. It replaced the faith like the faith was a forest and doubt was a wildfire. Every footstep added to it. He was convinced. He was sure that the result of him turning around at that one moment could be no worse than him turning around when he got to be above ground and away from the suffocating death. You weren’t going to be there. Whether he turned right then or in a hundred years, you weren’t going to be there. If you were in your right, beautiful mind, you would have seen him begging and turned your eyes from him and pretended like you hadn't known him.

He couldn’t tell where he was. His breathing was too shaky for him to think about anything else but breathing and thinking about you. It was too dark. His feet hadn’t touched grass yet and he knew he had to try to keep pushing, but he couldn’t wait any longer. He was bursting at the seams to confirm something that he already knew was coming for him.

His feet dragged. His steps sped up but it felt like he was fighting quicksand. He was struggling to walk through it, fighting to take breaths in it. The shallow breaths were somehow pitched high, bouncing off of the rocky, cavernous walls he began to hate. The only thing on his mind was doubt, doubt, doubt. It was a fever he couldn’t sweat out. A tremor he couldn’t shake away. A dark color he couldn’t paint over. A shadow he couldn’t run from. And just when he couldn’t fight it anymore, he saw light.

He never ran so fast in his entire life. He wanted to escape the feeling clawing at his throat and chest, the dread and preparation for pure disappointment. He wanted to step into the light, step into something he knew, before he allowed himself to collapse in grief again. It felt like the light was getting closer, and then it would fade again and come back lighter. He didn’t register the sound of sobbing until the sound faded out and stopped echoing, and then he was aware that his feet were touching the grass.

His feet were touching grass.

His hands shook as he raised them to his face, cupping his cheeks as he came to the realization that he was out of the nightmare that was the Underworld. Emotions were rushing into him faster than he could understand what they were, and then his mind stopped. His face was dry. His head whipped around.

Your eyes were wide and watery. Your dress was torn and bloody, just like it was when you had died. Your hair was a mess, and you were shaking from crying so hard. You stood there like a ghost, transparent and out of place, but crying real tears all the same. The sobs he had been hearing weren’t his own. They were yours. And you were still encased by the shadows of the Underworld.

You had been trying to catch up to him.

“Oh!” His exclamation was more of a dying moan than anything else. His trembling hands cupped his mouth again as he watched you cry again, crying even harder than that one time where the leaves were falling. He uttered your name once, and then once turned into four times, and as your cries got louder, his muttering turned into a shout, your name the one word he was calling out over and over again.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry baby.” He watched as you opened and shut your mouth over and over, shaking your head as silence was all you could produce. “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” He was drawing blood from how his fists were clenched. “Baby, my sweet love, my darling,” the names were dripping from his tongue like honey, like it was a balm that could soothe the both of you. His apologies were just as tender, as quiet and disbelieving as the language his eyes were speaking. He couldn’t help but reach out to you with a dying apology on his lips, his foot crossing the barrier you would be stuck behind forever, and just before he touched what must have been your cold skin, there was nothing but air.

Nothing but your lingering presence and his poisonous mind.

§§

He never thought that life could be so meaningless. Even before he met you, he felt like he had a purpose. He was an entertainer, a traveling man, a man who brought joy and music with him effortlessly wherever he went. Not anymore.

He was empty, and he felt like an empty glass jar. He wasn’t even an empty box— he was something anyone that had eyes could see right through. Everyone saw him and knew he was the one who had lost a wife and in turn given up all his divine talent. They looked at him through lenses that were wet with pity. He hated it.

He hated himself for doing the same to the humans who had lost loved ones. He felt horrible for giving them those looks, for telling Steve and Sam their stories without really knowing it. Now he was going through the unimaginable.

Nothing mattered, he learned. He thought that thought over and over again every time he woke up and every time he was going to sleep. He thought it while he sat in the cold on one winter night with no fire in the fireplace. It was something that would have made him worry a bit, or made him irritated at himself. Nothing really caused him to get angry or sad anymore. He was just there. It was like he was living yet another death by extension. The world gave him his cards and he played them in the worst way possible. But that’s what he did. He couldn’t change it.

He couldn’t change anything. All he could do was pray that you forgot the way that he failed you time and time again, and then where it was most important.

He would remember enough for the both of you.

****

hi guys! i feel like i literally have come back from the dead with all the time i’ve been in and out of here. it’s been so hectic and busy that i’m proud i got this out so soon lmao- i worked hard on this, so if you were feeling it please like and reblog!!

#mythology au #greek mythology au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #marvel fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fluff #nexsgreekmythchallenge #IM SO SORRY THIS IS SO LATE JESUS #bucky barnes x you #orpheus! bucky #my fics #god i am so sorry this is trash

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chilligyu · 3 years ago

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info: lee jihoon/gender neutral reader, pg, best friends to lovers au genre: fluff, romance | word ct: 5.5k warnings: none summary: when it came to love, no one was prepared. not even jihoon, who could spend hours turning words into magic, especially when love was mysteriously delivered in the form of a letter to his locker. note: heavily inspired by to all the boys I've loved before, but with a twist! no love triangles or anything like that, so just enjoy awkward people falling in love! and thank you to @dreamystuffers and @starlightjoong for taking a sneak peek and telling me what you think!

tagging: @xfirebenderx, @moriiyun, @ohmygoshcheese, @gyu-log

Lee Jihoon, a genius in many ways, was never good when it came to words. At least, not the spoken kind. The kind that you had to think up on the spot, responses, answers, comebacks, small talk, he was absolutely terrible at it. But if you gave him the time to think, to really dwell on his thoughts, he could create something truly beautiful. Which was why he preferred to express his feelings with letters. And while, yes, he could pen something magnificent, the next great classic novel perhaps, he typically kept his messages short and to the point. Much like the man himself.

There was one time that he wrote a “letter” that was simply—

F U C K Y O U

—printed out on seven separate sheets of paper and taped to a row of lockers. All in response to a teacher confiscating his iPod. No one could prove it was him, though, and nothing happened in response to it. He never admitted to his crimes, and despite it being painfully obvious who the author of the message was, there was no hard proof pointing to the culprit. It became the most well-known secret at their high school. And Lee Jihoon became somewhat of a living legend because of it.

The only one who knew the truth was you. His best friend. You were his go-to when it came to proof reading all of his letters. He was the writer, you were the editor. Half the time you were also a berating parent, chastising him for trying to assault people with words. Which was also why, more often than not, his letters never got sent. He would sit in his room for hours, writing letters that were either half the length of novels or only a few sentences long, and after giving it over to be edited, it would get tucked away in his desk drawer. Never to be seen or heard from again.

See, Jihoon was an emotional person. Not in the sense that most people would assume, he didn’t get offended easily, one mean comment wouldn’t leave him crying, he was simply—emotional. Whatever he was feeling, whether it be good or bad, it was powerful, sometimes overwhelming. So instead of erupting like a hormonal volcano, which he had already done plenty of, he put his emotions to paper. At the behest of his aforementioned best friend.

“You can’t go around yelling at people.” You began one afternoon just after entering high school. “Even if you’re writing it down, you’re still yelling at people.”

Jihoon, the definition of “hard to read”, was visibly pouting. “You’re the one who told me to write down how I feel. Now I can’t even send these to anyone?”

“I mean, you can.” You backpedalled. “I’m not your mother, despite Seokmin’s insistence. I can’t stop you from doing anything you’ve set your heart to. All I can do is advise you not to because you’re going to have a terrible few years here if everyone hates you.”

He clearly wasn’t thrilled by your logical response, but he admitted defeat anyway. “Fine. Don’t send the letters that I write. I get it. No one wants to read them.”

You groaned loudly. “You are so dramatic. I’m saying don’t send the literal hate mail to people. Don’t send the stuff you write to vent out your feelings. But if there’s something you want to say to someone, something that you can’t bring yourself to say out loud, by all means! Send the thing! I know you loathe the idea of talking to people, you also hate being misunderstood more.”

He also hated how well you knew him, not that he would ever say that out loud.

That was also something he wrote down in a letter, one he decided to send.

You crumpled it up immediately and threw it back at his face.

“Letters are powerful things, Jihoon.” You added. “They can break hearts, mend souls, and change lives with nothing more than words. Because words mean so many different things to so many different people. You just gotta say the right ones.”

At first, he was only humoring you. Honestly, he thought you completely senile until he gave it a shot. After spending hours hunched over his desk writing things no one else would see, he was starting to realize that maybe you had a point. Instead of roaming the halls shouting obscenities in his head, he was able to reassure himself by knowing he could write about it later. Even the smallest grievance, he would write it down. He would sometimes scribble it down on the margin of a textbook if he was feeling particularly overwhelmed in the middle of the day.

The letters became his therapy, his outlet, eventually he could stroll past some annoying upperclassmen and not feel rage coursing through his veins. It was—nice, almost. Not being subjected to his own hectic imagination at every turn. Feeling at peace for the first time in what felt like ages.

Until he found a letter in his locker, one addressed to him during his senior year. From a secret admirer. The contents of which would be seared into his memory for the remainder of time.

Lee Jihoon, it began.

I have never been able to tell you how I feel, in person or in a letter. For several months now, I’ve tried. I’ve tried to write letters like you for so long, and I just can’t get the words right. I don’t know how you do it. So I’m going to do something different. I’m going to stop being scared. If you meet me in the courtyard after school, I’m going to be brave for the first time in my life. Please help me be brave, Jihoon.

Again and again, he read that short letter. Practically baffled that someone out there wrote an honest-to-god letter that was addressed to an honest-to-god person. And that he wasn’t the writer, that he was the recipient. The thought alone made his heart race, and to comprehend that this secret admirer perhaps harbored feelings towards him? It was next to impossible. But no one writes a letter without true emotion behind it. That’s a fact he was coming to understand.

“I need you to come with me.” He told you after showing you the letter. “I’m—I’m not sure I can do this alone.”

You rolled your eyes. “Jihoon, obviously this person doesn’t want to make a public event out of their confession. You should really do this without me.”

“I know, and I’m not asking you to stand at my side or anything.” He reiterated. “Can you like—stand in a bush or something? If I know that you’re there I won’t feel the need to—"

“Did you just ask me to stand in a bush?” You guffawed. “You did not just ask me to stand in a bush Lee Jihoon because if you did then you’re about to get your ass kicked into next year!”

“I didn’t mean literally!” He quickly denied when he did, in fact, mean it literally. “Just—stand around the corner, okay? Be my moral support!”

Pursing your lips, you knew that there was no getting out of this. “Alright, fine. I’ll come with you. But I’m not happy about it.”

“I’ll pay you back, I promise.” He swore. “Have I ever told you that you’re the best?”

A smirk teased at your lips. “You could mention it more.”

“Consider it done.” Jihoon grinned, gathering up his things and heading for the door. “Don’t forget! After school! Courtyard! Don’t be late!”

Once he was gone and you were completely alone, your face fell in disappointment. “I wouldn’t dream of it…”

By the time that school was finally over for the day, Jihoon was a bundle of overactive nerves. He was excited and terrified and anxious and nauseous all at once. The bombarding sensations kept him cemented in place, gripping the edge of his desk until his knuckles were about to burst through. He had been like that for the entirety of their last class, still as a statue as a cold sweat broke out across his brow. You were standing in front of him, head tilted and wondering what he was planning to do next.

“Class is over.” You reminded him. “Everyone’s left.”

Very slowly, he nodded. “Y-yeah. I can see that.”

His voice sounded as if it had been completely stripped down. Like he had screamed himself hoarse by saying those few words.

“Your secret admirer is probably waiting.” You tried to spur him. “We should get going before I change my mind and head home.”

He audibly swallowed past a lump in his throat. “Well—maybe that’s best. Yeah, I can wait until tomorrow.”

You eyed him incredulously. “You’re going to stay here until tomorrow. You’re insane, get up.”

“I’d rather not.”

“And I’d rather not grow old and die here.” You countered. “C’mon, Jihoon. Your admirer asked you to help them be brave, how exactly is this helping them?”

He had to admit, you had a point. If they were brave enough to put their feelings out there, he had to at least meet them half way.

Sighing loudly, he started to pry his fingers off his desk. “Alright, fine. We’ll do things your way.”

You rolled your eyes for perhaps the hundredth time. “You’re absolutely insufferable. Why do I hang out with you?”

“Because I’m funny.” He said with the most serious face in the world.

Which actually made you laugh.

“I hate you.” You chuckled. “C’mon, let’s get going while we’re still young.”

Jihoon inhaled and exhaled deeply to calm himself down.

This is just the beginning.

Except—it wasn’t.

He stood in the courtyard, seemingly alone, with the note that brought him there clutched tight in his hand. As his moral support you were keeping your distance, as promised, but no one else joined you. Minutes passed and he did his best to remain hopeful. It was hard, especially when a familiar voice nagged at the back of his mind. The same one he struggled with every day to ignore.

No one would ever like you, so why did you bother thinking otherwise?

While the negative thoughts slowly took over, Jihoon didn’t know what to do next. He was defeated, almost destroyed. And even though you walked up behind him and took his hand in yours, it did little to stop the bitter tears from welling in his eyes.

“I should’ve known…” He whispered angrily. “This was all just—a joke. It’s always a joke. Who could ever like me?”

“Stop it, Jihoon.” You hissed at him, squeezing his hand tighter. “They said they were scared, maybe they couldn’t follow through with it. Maybe they were afraid of being rejected. You never know what’s going through someone’s head. Don’t beat yourself up, okay?”

Nothing you said was going to make him feel better. He quickly wrenched himself from your grip and backed away from you.

“I’m going home.” He clipped. “Bye.”

Before he left, he made sure to crumple up the note and toss it at your feet. When his heart was broken, he wore it on his sleeve. You understood what Jihoon was feeling, he had been living with an extremely low self esteem due to his height and his general inability to make friends for as long as you knew him. He was quiet, shy, reserved, he was slow to open up to others and hesitant to trust. That’s why you tried to be excited for him, and now that things hadn’t gone as planned in more ways than one your heart ached just like his.

The next day, Jihoon strolled into class like a drunk zombie. By the looks of him, he hadn’t slept a wink. Too busy being destroyed by his own thoughts to bother with anything like sustenance or sleep. He took up his seat beside you, and you immediately shoved your desk into his.

“Still upset?” You asked, even though you already knew the answer.

Sluggishly he lifted his head up and then quickly dropped it back down.

It was worse than you thought.

“Are you going to talk to me today?” You teased in an attempt to get a reaction. “Or am I going to have to go bother Hansol?”

Grumbling slightly, the barely responsive mass that was your best friend raised his hand and dropped a crumpled wad of paper on your desk. At first, you assumed it was just another one of his letters. They weren’t uncommon when he was feeling—unwell.

But it was another note from his secret admirer.

You were startled because he didn’t usually stop at his locker in the morning.

Lee Jihoon, it started similarly.

I’m sorry for not showing up yesterday, I was scared. I couldn’t bring myself to face you, please don’t be mad at me. I’d like to keep writing you letters, if that’s okay. Let’s get to know each other and maybe one day I can be brave again.

Once you were finished reading, you immediately began analyzing Jihoon’s face again. You had never seen him look like this before, completely vacant. While he was hard to read to the entire world, he was always an open book to you. Now reading him was nearly impossible even with your expertise.

“What are you gonna do?”

He shrugged lazily. “I don’t know. Sit here for the rest of eternity. Wait for the soft embrace of death.”

“Jihoon.” You exasperated. “We both know you’re not actually going to do that.”

Except he actually might and you actually couldn’t take that chance.

“Are you going to write them a letter?” You tried, again. “Maybe that will work out better.”

“I already did.” He murmured. “I don’t think they want to read it though.”

“Jesus Christ…” You groaned loudly, taking Jihoon’s face in your hands and looking him dead in his lifeless eyes. “They still like you, they’re scared and human like the rest of us, it is not the end of the world! Give them another chance and stop being such a goddamn drama queen!”

Silence. Pure unadulterated and perfectly aggravating silence.

“Alright, you leave me no choice. I’m bringing out the big guns.”

Being careful to keep an eye on the teacher, you pulled out your phone and started texting Jihoon’s mother. According to your message, you and Jihoon were going to be studying late at the library, and he would probably need to spend the night at your house. Which wasn’t a complete lie, maybe you would get some studying done. But, in all honesty, you had other things in mind.

“Take your pick.” You instructed, a box set in each hand. “Descendants of the Sun, or Record of Youth.”

Immediately after school, you dragged your best friend to your house and sat him down in front of the TV. Your parents didn’t even question it when you told them this intervention was a matter of life and death, that the patient might need to be admitted for the night. They simply let you do what needed to be done.

Jihoon, who had been relatively catatonic for the past 24 hours, finally showed a glimmer of something. He gave the slightest suggestion of a nod towards Descendants of the Sun and you happily popped in the first disk. As you claimed a spot beside him, popcorn and banana milk in tow, he naturally relaxed against you. You were the only person who got to see him unguarded like that, the only person he himself would allow. And while he was typically someone who kept his true self hidden from the world, there was a part of him that would forever belong only to you.

“Thanks.” He practically whispered, resting his head on your shoulder. “I—I needed this.”

“I know.” You smiled. “Are you ready to talk yet?”

He sighed heavily. “No. Not really. I still have a lot of thinking to do.”

“Well, if you need help thinking you know where I’ll be.” You offered without wanting to seem pushy.

If you weren’t mistaken, you could’ve sworn he actually chuckled.

“Yeah. I do.”

Little by little, your best friend was slowly returning to normal—or as close to normal as you’ve ever seen him. Eventually he started getting sucked into the drama, going rigid when things got tense, and actively pretended he wasn’t crying whenever You Are My Everything played. It was, overall, a job well done. You could sleep easy knowing that Jihoon would be just fine. As you drifted off, you felt him hold your hand and squeeze it gently.

Everything was going to be okay.

And if only to prove that point, the next day was nothing like the one before. Jihoon was back to his old self as if nothing had happened at all. Just another Thursday without a word or whisper about the chaotic tornado his secret admirer had unleashed onto your day-to-day life. He even had a letter for you to read by the time lunch rolled around. Apparently, some freshman irritated him over something seemingly small. At least—to you it seemed barely worth mentioning. But nothing ever really felt small to Jihoon. It was all or nothing, always living in black and white. Which meant that almost everything was important to him in some way. So you read the letter, and you edited it gladly.

Once you were done, he had something else for you. Another note from the admirer.

“This is the third one, right?” You murmured, glancing it over once before looking up at him. “Have you written back yet? Besides the one where I assumed you insulted their very existence with your entire arsenal of hurtful words.”

The blush crawling up his neck was an answer in and of itself, but the thick stack of paper he pulled out of his backpack solidified it.

“I’ve tried a few times.” He admitted hesitantly. “Nothing I write is good enough.”

“Oh, only a few times?” You teased, knowing full well that Jihoon’s definition of a few was the same as calling Jane Eyre a short shopping list. “What’s got you so stuck? Usually you have no issues penning essays over trivial things like cracks in the sidewalk.”

His brow furrowed defiantly. “Hey, proper sidewalk and road maintenance is important to modern infrastructure. If we start overlooking cracks in the pavement, then what? What about traffic lights? Can we afford to allow a single bulb to go out? No, of course not. That’s anarchy.”

You couldn’t believe your ears.

“Jihoon…” You started with an exasperated look. “I was joking.”

Trying to hide the fact that his blush was turning a deep crimson, and failing quite miserably, he pulled a paper from the stack and put it back in his bag. Also something he tried, and failed, to hide from you.

“Are you kidding me!” You laughed, raking a hand down your face. “Did you seriously have a letter in that pile you were going to send to our congressman?”

“No—yes—ugh!” He groaned. “Can we forget about the stupid sidewalk for a second! That’s not important right now! Help me! How do I do this?”

Deciding you had teased your best friend enough, you placed your chin in your hand and smiled at him. “How do you do what, exactly? I’ve never had anything to do with the letters you write, I just read them so someone knows how you’re feeling.”

Who were you kidding, you could never tease Jihoon enough.

He rolled his eyes so hard that he rolled his whole head with them. “Like you’ve ever needed further insight into my head, you always know what I’m thinking before I do.”

True.

“But I don’t understand the first thing about—this.” He finished with a labored sigh, gesturing sharply to the handwritten novel in front of him. “You know that better than anyone.”

Again, he was telling the truth. In the years you had known Jihoon he had never developed serious feelings towards someone else. He had barely entertained the notion since entering high school. He always talked himself out of it because feelings were complicated and bothersome. Plus, he was terrified of being rejected. Like most people are. His intrusive thoughts just so happened to be louder than most.

“I hate to break it to you, Jihoon,” You started in a whisper, “no one knows the first thing about this. Not even me. The only person who can help you is yourself.”

His sour expression made it obvious that he obviously didn’t like your response. “Great. Super helpful. Thank you for your continued wisdom.”

When he moved away from you, you grabbed him by the sweater and pulled him back in. “Why do you always stop listening to me when I’m about to make my point?”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Because it takes you forever to fucking get there.”

“Alright, you got me there.” You chuckled. “Listen, I’m not kidding when I say that you’ve got to do this one on your own. As much as I can usually sense what feelings are doing somersaults in your stomach, this is a first for you and therefore a first for me. I’ve never seen you like this before, so unfortunately you’ve got to discover this one on your own.”

As you spoke, his features slowly softened until all that remained was a very nervous teenager who didn’t want to screw up his first real chance at love. That’s all Jihoon was at his core, that’s all anyone was.

But you had to admit he almost looked kind of cute.

Almost.

“How do you always know what to say?” He grumbled while crossing his arms. “It’s annoying.”

“You’ve got a really weird way of saying thank you.” You smirked playfully. “Well, maybe this last nugget of advice will get you started in the right direction.”

“Why are you always—” He seethed through his teeth. “How are you still not at whatever your point is!”

You shrugged, because you honestly had no clue. “I'll get there when I get there. You want to hear it or not—”

“Spit. It. Out.”

“Now is that anyway to—”

Wow. You stopped, suddenly fearing for your measly life. If looks could kill—

“Alright, alright, you win.” You conceded. “If you’re having issues writing a letter to your secret admirer, here’s my advice. Stop trying to put words to your feelings and start putting feelings into words. You’re spending too much time trying to say it perfectly that you’re not saying it at all. It doesn’t need to make sense to anyone else, it doesn’t even need to make sense to you. So long as you put them out into the world, they’ll be heard and one day they’ll be understood. You get me?”

The look on his face was—strange. You had a hard time placing it, which should’ve been weirder than it was. In fact, you were seeing lots of different sides to Jihoon lately, sides you never thought existed. This time his eyes widened, the aforementioned scarlet blush had disappeared, and there was a radiance to him that you had never seen before. Like suddenly he could see clearly through the storm of his thoughts.

“Thank you.” He exhaled with a smile. “I’ve never thought about it like that before.”

Feeling triumphant, you wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “I’m starting to wonder what you’d do without me, Jihoon. Three days and you’ve been completely undone and redone by this letter.”

“Letters are powerful things.” He muttered. “They can break hearts, mend souls, and change lives. You taught me that.”

“I guess I’m a pretty good teacher.” You boasted, giving him a squeeze. “Despite the fact that I’m actually quite terrible with words.”

He shrugged off your arm. “Except you always know what to say, how exactly does that work?”

“Just because I can make you see reason doesn’t mean I’m good with words.” You laughed easily. “That simply means that I’ve perfected the art of understanding the impossible. Lee Jihoon. I can’t use words like you do. Trust me I’ve tried, I can never get the words right.”

For a moment, he didn’t have any sort of response. Which was definitely weird. It was a well-known fact that he was terrible with the sorts of words he had to speak, but he didn’t have issues when talking to you. That’s because you were friends, best friends. There had never been this sort of unnerving silence before. Not that you could remember, anyway.

What is going on in your head, Jihoon? You found yourself wondering since you couldn’t read his face. Have you started to figure it out?

“Sorry, I was thinking.” He muttered suddenly, shaking his head. “But I know what I need to write now. Will you read this one too? Even if it gets pretty long?”

“Of course!” You exclaimed with a smile. “When have I ever shied away from a challenge?”

The soft glisten in his eyes made your heart flutter.

“Never.”

When the bell rang and you parted ways, you wondered if Jihoon had ever written you a letter.

Well there’s a first time for everything.

For the next week, he was in full writer mode. And there were no more notes from his secret admirer, not that you expected there to be any. Every chance he got he was scribbling something down on whatever surface he could get his hands on. Textbooks, paper, his arm, he was more inspired than you’d ever seen before and nothing was going to stop him. He didn’t even come over to your house over the weekend, a ritual you hadn’t broken in the ten plus years you had known each other. It was a lonely week, for sure, but you knew it was for a good cause.

Then, after what felt like an eternity of silence, he approached you in the courtyard with a single sheet of paper in his hand.

“Hey…” He started uneasily, his grip tightening. “How’re you?”

Seriously? You mused to yourself with a smile. “I’m good, how’s the writing?”

“Done.” He clipped. “And—I think I covered everything.”

“Are you sure?” You asked, eyeing the sheet of paper. “With all of that writing I thought you’d have a novel for me.”

He shook his head, while a blush crawled up his neck. “Sometimes being concise is more effective than being overly wordy.”

“That’s true.” You grinned. “Easier for me to edit anyway.”

Nodding, he shoved the paper into your hand. “Here. Take your time, I don’t want you to rush it.”

“I won’t.” You promised, resisting the urge to start reading right away. “I know you put a lot of thought into this.”

With that, he turned around and walked off without another word. Leaving you holding something that looked like little more than pen ink on paper, but felt like a confession on fire. Once he was out of eyesight, you exhaled a breath you had been holding unintentionally and started reading.

To the person I have never loved before. It began, and you weren’t prepared for the roller coaster you had willingly climbed into.

This isn’t for the person I’ve loved all along, no. This is for you, someone who managed to stir my emotions more than a raging monsoon with only a few words and the hint of a promise. Who are you? I wondered to myself, because you were without equal. How could I have missed you? You were extraordinary. You didn’t have a face, all I had of you was a letter slipped into my locker, you were a ghost and I was set ablaze by your words. I had never felt like that before, my heart was unprepared. As was I. You made me question everything, and made me realize things I had never seen before.

What I felt for you wasn’t love, even though I thought it was at first. You presented me with feelings I decided I would never feel, so I could only assume that it was love. I felt like a live wire, ready to spark at a moment's notice. All I could think about was you. The infinite options and scenarios I dreamt up, all because of you, was astronomical. It was exhilarating, and I found myself drunk on the endless possibilities that you presented me. What else could make me feel that way, if it wasn’t love?

The answer was one I didn’t expect, and it hit me like a tsunami. I started to feel that way towards someone I already know. Someone who has cared for me more than anyone should, they have been my best friend for years so how could I suddenly feel the same way? How could my friendship for them become intertwined with the love I thought was solely reserved for you? And how could I have missed it after being enveloped by their warmth for so long?

You changed all of that. You made me see clearly for the first time in years and I was completely undone. Everything I knew was suddenly challenged, my feelings towards the most important person in my life changed without any warning, and I didn’t know what to do. How could I ask them, a friend, to see me as anything more? I was lost, trapped in an endless loop of destructive thoughts and desire. Desperately wanting to scream my feelings from the rooftop while fearing the voice that would have to put words to them. Your feelings for me awakened my feelings for them, and suddenly the words that have given me comfort for so long escaped me.

Still, you helped me.

In ways I can only thank with this letter.

You helped me because you are the one who told me to start writing letters. It’s always been you. You are the one who has given my thoughts meaning when I struggled to communicate with the world. One that could never understand someone like me. You are the one who wrote me a letter, asking a coward to help you be brave. It took me a while to realize that you were one and the same, but I picked up on the hints you left behind. I’m sorry it took me this long to figure it out.

Would you have showed up had I not asked you to come with me? I think about that often, were you only afraid because my initial thought was that there was no way it could be you? The impossible notion that my best friend could love me anymore than they already do? I have a thousand more questions I want to ask you, but I think I’m brave enough now to ask you in person.

So I’m going to end this letter here, because you deserve so much more than the words I’ve hidden behind for years. A letter I started to write for someone I thought I didn’t know, to the person I’ve never loved before. Funny, how it ended up being a letter to the person I’ve loved all along.

As you read the last line, tears already streaming down your face, you had never felt happier.

“You figured it out.” You whispered, almost in disbelief. “For a second there I thought you never would.”

You don’t know when Jihoon came back, but he was suddenly standing in front of you taking your hand in his. “It really shouldn’t have taken me that long, I’ve only seen your handwriting a thousand times before.”

Laughter bubbled past your lips as you dried your tears with your sleeve. “I was terrified that you would’ve figured me out from the very beginning. Looks like I really give you too much credit sometimes.”

“You do.” He agreed. “So, what did you think of the letter? Any edits you can think of?”

“This isn’t the type of letter that needs editing.” You stated plainly. “It would take away from the author’s meaning.”

“What would that be?” He asked, clearly teasing you. “Enlighten me.”

You shook your head defiantly. “No, no way. It’s your letter, why don’t you tell me what it’s supposed to mean?”

Part of him didn’t want to make it easy, that much you knew with absolute certainty. But, for the sake of time and your poor heart, he would let you off the hook. Just this once.

“That I love you.” He said softly. “More than anything else.”

Choking out a sob, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in close.

“I love you too, Jihoon.”

In the end, neither of you were good with words, but you only needed to know what to say to each other.

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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years ago

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The Mirror of Erised // Draco Malfoy

Summary: Curious professors, treasure hunts, romantic feelings.

A/N: This idea gripped me and I couldn't let it go. I haven't written for Draco in so long, I forgot how much I love this character.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Female!Reader

Warnings: fluff, pining, mutual pining, kissing, treasure hunts, humour, swearing, mentions of food and drink

Word count: 4.4k

The air of the greenhouses was always humid; thick with moisture, creating the perfect environment for the magical plants of Hogwarts to thrive and grow. Tended by all students, the greenhouses saw an abundance of visitors every day.

The collection of greenhouses had been your solace as a teenager studying at the enchanting school. Too anxious from the state of wizarding society, the greenhouses became a place of calm for you. Professor Sprout had taken you under your wing after your fourth visit to the unconventional classrooms. From there, your knowledge of magical plants and their properties grew until you were the one they called when the school was destroyed, and students were injured.

It wasn’t long after the Battle of Hogwarts that McGonagall offered you a teaching position, wanting a trustworthy, welcoming soul to take over from Professor Sprout. Sprout hadn’t worried; she knew she had left her beloved greenhouses in safe hands.

Days in the greenhouses always flew by. You constantly found yourself entranced by your work; the potting and repotting of Mandrakes, the drying of nettles, the harvesting of Asphodel root – it was enough to keep you thoroughly occupied as well as a hive of information for the students that line the greenhouse work stations.

However, today you found yourself occupied not by the Aconite plant that also went by Monkshood and Wolfsbane. Instead, you were caught up in a rumour delivered to you this morning by Nearly Headless Nick. The resident ghost of Gryffindor had flitted over to you, already grinning with excitement at the information he had to share. By the time such information had been imparted onto you, your excitement rivalled his.

There was only one person, however, that you wanted to share this rumour with.

Draco Malfoy followed you into teaching a year after you began your position at Hogwarts. He hadn’t wanted the job at the ministry; his name scorned by most witches and wizards. McGonagall had seen something in him and had offered him the position of Potions Master, knowing how comfortable the Malfoy heir would been in the subject.

The friendship with the Slytherin Prince happened over many shared meals; breakfasts, lunches, dinners in the Great Hall in which you always found yourself saving a seat for the blonde in case no-one else at the table did. Draco’s allegiance in the Second Wizarding War was a well-known fact amongst staff and students.

After a while, the two seats became reserved for the both of you. An unofficial seating plan in which you would save a seat for Draco, and he would save one for you if you were running late. It was a friendship you so dearly cherished, and if you happened to have recognised the familiar stirrings of love in you as you glanced at the blonde, then that would be your secret to bare. Draco didn’t need to know how he made your heart race and sent your head into a spin; he didn’t need to know how often he featured in your dreams, waking up with your arm outstretched as if reaching for him in the deep of your sleep.

The man occupied your mind as you left the greenhouses, wandering to the Great hall where you caught sight of the shock of blonde hair amongst the rest of the staff. It’s as if he senses your presence, Draco looks up from his plate of food to meet your gaze. A slow smile spreads across his face as he waves at you, hurrying you over.

“Have you heard?” You smile, remembering your earlier conversation with Nearly Headless Nick, childish excitement written across your face as you reach out to grip Draco’s forearm.

The blonde indulges you with a wide smile of his own. “Have I heard what?”

Your grip on Draco’s arm grows tighter as your excitement peaks. “It’s back at Hogwarts – the Mirror of Erised.”

Shock pulses through his body as Draco tries and fails to keep the alarm from showing on his face. “What? Where did you find that out?”

“Nearly Headless Nick who heard it from Professor Binns who overheard Professors Flitwick and Trelawney discussing the subject matter outside of McGonagall’s office.”

Draco’s grey eyes narrow as he takes in the admittedly weak and confusing chain of gossip. “Are you certain that it is back here?” He asks; curiosity burning through him, but not wanting to risk falsities.

“There’s only one way to find out,” You tease, biting your lip as you peer up at the Potions professor through your lashes. You knew that Draco would be apprehensive about such a magical object, but even he couldn’t resist catching a glimpse into his own soul – his own heart.

Draco groans; repressing the urge to let his head fall into his arms. “Another treasure hunt?”

He didn’t remember the last one too fondly. You had heard whispers of the Necklace of the Lady of the Lake being housed in an offshoot of one of the many tunnels that lay undisturbed underneath Hogwarts. They had remained undisturbed for over a thousand years until you had chosen to find the necklace. You had no interest in wearing it; you couldn’t be bothered about being unfathomably loved, but you had simply wanted to see whether there was any stock in the legend preached by Professor Binns in History of Magic.

Unfortunately, whilst the tunnels did exist, the necklace did not, and it was left to Draco to pick up the pieces of your disappointment as well as heal numerous scratches and welts covering your limbs after an ill-timed fall.

After that, Draco had made you swear that your treasure hunts would remain above ground and somewhat safe.

“Please, Dray,” You plead, shaking the arm which you still hold in your grip. “Help me find the Mirror of Erised.”

“We were warned away from it as students,” Draco argues, desperate for you to see sense so he can protect you from further injury, “Why should we find it now?”

“Because we are no longer students,” You protest, gesturing to your seats at the teacher’s table in the Great Hall where you both currently sit.

“What do I get out of this?” He asks, already feeling his resolve crumbling as he takes in the excitement shining brightly in your eyes.

“You get to spend time with me, of course,” You laugh, anticipation curling in your gut.

“Well, if you’d led with that,” Draco begins, his voice trailing off as he watches your eyes grow wide with the realisation of what he is saying.

“You’ll help?”

“I’ll help,” He nods, unable to keep the smile of out of his voice and off of his face.

“Thank you!” You cry, releasing your hold of Draco’s arm to throw your own around his neck, pulling him in for a tight hug. “I knew I could count on you.”

Draco laughs; his arms coming to wrap around you. “I’ll come to your rooms after dinner, deal?”

“Deal,” You answer, pulling your head out of his neck long enough to reply to him. You stay wrapped up in each other for another moment; enjoying the closeness of the other until you begin to feel the gaze of colleagues and students alike – all curious to whether the two of you had gotten your act together yet.

-----

Draco knocks on your door an hour after the end of the dinner. The many students at the school had been sent off to bed though many still roamed the halls despite the nearing toll of curfew. Draco had passed many teenagers on his way to your rooms; each either greeting him verbally or offering him a nod as he passed. He wasn’t going to remind them that they needed to head back to their dorms; he was out after hours too, and despite being an adult, he still sometimes felt like the student he was so many years ago.

At this point in this teaching career, Draco had spent countless evenings in your rooms. He could explain the layout like the back of his hand from the personalised tapestry backing the wall behind your bed to the bookshelf in your living room whose shelves are bowing from the weight of the books laid upon it.

He could picture it all in his mind’s eye as he knocks twice more upon the faded, wooden door.

“I wondered when you’d be dropping by,” You greet as you step to one side to let the potions professor enter.

Draco rolls his eyes at the mock impatience in your voice. He toes off his shoes before following you through to the small living area where he spies a mug of his favourite tea waiting for him on the coffee table. He reaches for it as he settles down on the worn couch.

“What’s the plan?”

“Find the mirror, look into it, try to achieve our desires.”

“Very thorough.”

“Piss off, Dray,” You laugh, hitting him with a couch cushion.

“In all serious, do you know where the mirror could be kept?”

“I have three ideas.”

“Enlighten me.”

Holding up your hand, you show Draco three fingers as you count off the locations in your mind. “The Room of Requirement, the Chamber of Secrets, and the place where Harry found the Philosopher’s Stone in our first year, just off the Third Floor corridor.”

“All difficult places to get into,” Draco notes wryly.

“Your point being?”

“You never make this easy for me.”

“I’ll repeat my words from earlier: piss off, Draco.”

“Why do you want to find it so badly?” Draco asks; finally voicing the words that have been sat on the tip of his tongue since dinner.

You shrug, messing with a loose thread on a dark red cushion. “Why not? I’d like to see what I truly desire.”

Understanding that he isn’t going to get a longer answer, Draco changes tact. “Which room do we hit first? What’s the plan?”

He’s rewarded with a smile that lights up your whole face and sets his heart pounding in his chest.

Draco does his best to listen to you; he does his best to pay attention to every word leaving your lips and every gesture of your hands, but he finds it hard when all he can see if the excitement in your eyes and the pure happiness written on you face. If he already didn’t think you beautiful, he would think so now.

As Draco watches you, he finds himself thinking back to the time he first realised his feelings for you. It had been at a quidditch match – Ravenclaw vs Hufflepuff. Draco had attended only because you had asked him to; Hufflepuff had been your house when you were student, you were an avid supporter of the team. Parents had been attending this match as well; many of them old enough to remember the first wizarding war, his parents and his side in the second wizarding war. It had awkward until one parent made one too many comments. You had defended him, embarrassing the parent until they had no choice but to leave. When Draco had asked you why you had done such a thing; you had simply reached for his hand, squeezed it and told him that that is what friends do.

Draco had fallen in love with you then and there.

“You weren’t listening to a damn thing I was saying, were you?” You ask, a wry smile curving your lips as you settle back against the many cushions on your couch, pulling Draco from whatever daydream he found himself in.

Draco bites down on his bottom lip to keep the smile from spreading across his face. He shakes his head, “I’m sorry, I got distracted.”

“Thinking about what?”

He blanches; feels all colour leave his face as he’s put on the spot. Draco isn’t ready to confess what he feels for you; he hasn’t quite figured out whether it would ruin the friendship he so dearly cherishes or whether it would create something more between you. Either way, he isn’t ready. Instead, he offers, “I was thinking about the treasure hunt we went on for King Arthur’s sword.”

You groan dramatically, pulling a cushion over your face. “I didn’t know King Arthur’s sword was going to be that sharp!”

Draco snorts, “It’s a sword! What did you think it would be?”

“How many times do I have to apologise?”

“As many times as it takes for the scar to fade,” Draco states, lifting his pant leg to show you the puckered skin of a three inch scar running up the length of his shin. You wince at the sight of it.

“Still,” You whisper, sheepish from Draco’s reminder of the danger these hunts pose, “Will you help me?”

Draco sighs, settling once more against the many cushions on your couch. He takes a sip of his tea, pretending to mull over his decision. He knew he would help; he would follow you to the ends of the earth, but he wouldn’t be a very good friend if he didn’t make you stew over it. Ultimately, Draco smiles, turning to you, he asks, “Where do we begin?”

------

The Third Floor corridor is searched later that same week; the two of you coming up empty handed as you stride through the various tasks completed by Harry Potter in his first year of schooling at Hogwarts. You cannot stop the disappointment from flooding your veins when you come up empty handed; no sign of the Mirror of Erised when you reach the end of the path.

“We’ll find it,” Draco promises, an arm wrapping around your waist in comfort, “We’ll try the Chamber of Secrets next, see what that brings up.”

The Chamber of Secrets also has you both coming up empty handed. Draco had paused momentarily as you opened both doors to the chamber; shocked at your use of parsel tongue.

However, both of you felt the keener sting of bitter disappointment when all that is left of the Chamber of Secrets is a Basilisk skeleton. Fascinating though it may be, the chamber doesn’t hold what you seek so you leave the place, hoping never to return.

------

The Room of Requirement can be located on the seventh floor corridor; its entrance appears across from a tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy, but it only ever makes itself known to those who need it. On your list of locations for the Mirror of Erised, the Room of Requirement was your last option.

“What if it isn’t here?” You worry, standing next to Draco at the supposed entrance of the room.

“The mirror or the room of requirement?”

“Both,” You cry, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

“Hey,” Draco hushes, touching a finger to your chin briefly. “It will be. I’ve entered the room of requirement plenty of times.”

“Did you ever see the mirror?”

Draco shakes his head. “I didn’t, but I wasn’t searching for it then. I am now. Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” You reply, steeling yourself with a deep breath.

Draco takes your hand in his; tangling your fingers together for extra security as you begin the walk past the rumoured entrance. Three times you both walk past, thinking only of the Mirror of Erised and not of the way Draco’s hand feels in yours.

The grinding of stone is what makes the both of you pause. Draco squeezes your hand in hope as you turn to see the appearance of an ornate, dark wooden door. A glance at the blonde has further hope blooming in your chest when you spy a glimmer of familiarity in the eyes of the Slytherin Prince.

Taking the lead, Draco guides you through the door.

The room can only be described as cavernous; stone columns hold up the large room, all circling the Mirror of Erised which sits in the centre of the room, only accessed by walking down stone steps.

Excitement settles deep within your gut as you reach out for Draco’s hand only to find that he’s reached for you first. Turning to the blonde, you find triumph and happiness written across his face. “We’ve found it,” He whispers, not wanting to speak louder in case he disturbs the peace of the mirror.

“We have,” You reply just as quietly.

In sync, you both look out towards the mirror. It stands impressively in the centre of the room; its stature demanding any and all attention. It’s hard to look away with the knowledge that it could show you what you truly desire.

“Who looks first?” You ask, keeping a tight grip on Draco’s hand.

“I’m not sure,” Draco states, wanting just as much to look into the mirror now that he’s standing in front of it. He can feel its pull; he’s desperate to answer its call.

“Rock, paper, scissors?” You suggest, offering the childish game as solution to your problems.

“Alright,” Draco replies, letting go of your hand to offer it up as a fist. “Ready when you are.”

“Rock, paper, scissors,” You both chime, voices echoing off the stone walls. Draco laughs as loud as he dares when you lose for a second time in a row; he tries to offer you another go but it is clear you’ve lost this round.

“Just go stare into the glass, you arse,” You huff, shoving at his shoulder. Draco blows you a kiss as he steps down into the pit where the mirror awaits.

“Well,” You hiss, keeping your voice low in case Filch happens to walk by, “What do you see?”

Draco stands before the grand Mirror of Erised. He had heard of its prowess; Harry had preached so often about it that its legend only grew in Draco’s mind. He had never thought for one second that he would be standing in front of it, watching the ancient glass swirl and whirl as his deepest desires are reflected for him.

“Draco?” You call, voice louder, breaking the blonde from his pre-occupation with the mirror. He turns to you, eyes beginning to focus on the room around you. “Hmm?” He asks, “What did you say?”

“What did you see?” You ask, hands settling on your hips as you fix the man in front of you with an unimpressed but desperately curious stare.

Draco glances back to the mirror; his right hand twitches by his side, needing to know that if he reached out towards the immemorial glass, he could step right through and live his true desires.

He must stare at the mirror too long for he feels your hand slip into his; he feels your fingers tangle with his and tug once, pulling him from his yearnings with an ever-growing sense of urgency. “Draco,” Your voice calls though it sounds muffled as the grey swirls of fog in the mirror begin to take shape once more. “Draco,” You call again, “Come back to me.”

The words are muffled, but the pleading note to your voice cuts through the fog surrounding him. Draco comes back to the present with a start; his whole body jolting as he registers the feel of your hand in his, the weight of your fingers tangled with his.

“Where did you go just now?” You ask, concern tightening your voice, making it hard to speak.

Draco blinks once, twice, three times before whispering, “The mirror is very powerful. You can see why witches and wizards have wasted away in front of it, their desires played out for them as if on a stage.”

“Are you okay?” You ask, bringing a hand to Draco’s cheek, registering his drop in temperature. “You’re freezing cold.”

“I feel fine,” The man murmurs, sounding very far away as his grey eyes glaze over once again.

“This was a mistake,” You spit, hating yourself for dragging him along every step of the way.

“No,” Draco states firmly, “Not a mistake at all.”

“Draco, you’re freezing cold and you’re barely present enough to have a full conversation with me. You’re not okay.” You shake your head in frustration, “We’re going back to my rooms. With any luck, we won’t come across the mirror again.”

Draco goes to argue; he goes to scream and shout, but he takes a look at the stricken expression on your face and chooses to close his mouth. It’s a look he hasn’t seen in years; a look he hasn’t seen since you took in the sight of the destroyed courtyard after the Battle of Hogwarts, registering the dead bodies lined up at the side, knowing there was nothing you could do to help them. It was a look Draco had hoped he would never see again, but as the look ages your features, any argument Draco wants to pose dies on the tip of his tongue, the bitterness seeping its way to back of his throat. Instead, he holds on tightly to your hand and lets himself be led back to your rooms where warm blankets and hot tea awaits.

--------

Having barely slept after your first encounter with the mirror, you closely resemble a ghost as you take a seat at the teacher’s table for breakfast the following morning. Draco’s seat next to you is empty as you pour yourself a hot pot of tea, needing the warmth to replace what you lost in that awful room last night.

As you reach for a piece of toast and the pot of raspberry jam, you wonder whether Draco felt well enough to come down for breakfast. It had taken numerous mugs of tea to bring his temperature back up to what it was, and he remained infuriatingly tight lipped over what he had seen in the mirror despite your deluge of questions.

You only look up from your food when you catch sight of Draco out of the corner of your eye. He settles in the chair next to you, looking as if he had barely slept a wink either. He had left your rooms looking close to a corpse, the tiniest hint of colour in his cheeks. Your concern for him had interrupted your own sleep; tossing and turning all night to try and stop yourself from kicking down his door.

“How are you?” You whisper, not wanting anyone to overhear this conversation.

“Better,” He answers after a brief sip of his hot drink. “Thank you for last night.”

“Always, Draco.”

“I want to go back,” Draco announces over his breakfast, “I need to go back.”

“Why?” You ask, aghast at his decision.

“I need to be certain of what I saw.”

“And you can’t be certain without having to go back to the mirror?”

“Look,” Draco sighs, resting his teacup back onto its saucer, “I’m going back to the Mirror of Erised. Now, you can come with me and find out what I saw the first time which I know has been killing you to find out about. Or you can stay here and worry about me and not find out what I saw. What will it be?”

You purse your lips, keeping any and all barbed retorts behind your locked lips. Draco had you in a bind and he full well knew it. Eventually, after much deliberation, you roll your eyes at the blonde. “Fine,” You huff, “I’ll come with you. When are you going?”

“Tonight. I’ll come to you after curfew.”

------

The excitement upon finding the cavernous room the first time had quickly faded upon your entering the second time. You remain two steps behind Draco, watching him intently from the back as he takes a deep breath, stepping further into the room.

The Mirror of Erised remains unmoved in the centre of the room; the stone steps leading to the ancient, powerful object have a slight sheen of frost over them. Draco pays the frost no mind as he steps down to the mirror; the heels of his oxford reverberating loudly off the stone walls of the room. You wince slightly; safe in the knowledge that Filch wouldn’t be passing this room tonight, but still not wanting to take any chances.

Had the Mirror always been this foreboding? You ask yourself as you watch the man you’ve slowly fallen in love with get closer and closer to the archaic magic trapped inside the glass.

Draco pauses long enough to flash you a smile that you suppose is meant to relieve you of some of the stress and worry you feel, but it does nothing to calm your nerves as Draco steels himself to stare into the mirror again.

You remain close by as Draco watches the fog; you watch out for any signs of Draco losing himself like he did last time. As he had said previously, the mirror had turned scores of witches and wizards into bumbling fool, obsessed with watching their desires play out in front of them but refusing to act upon them. You couldn’t help but harbour some hatred for the mirror as you watched Draco fall under the mirror’s spell once more.

It takes only a moment for it all to become too much. Taking a tentative step forward, you call out his name only to receive no reply. Worrying your bottom lip, you call his name louder.

Draco’s right hand twitches as he pulls himself from the mirror. “You called,” He smiles, a poor attempt at humour.

You glare at the blonde; your heart pounding as Draco walks back to where you wait. “How do you feel?”

“Fine,” He answers, “Nothing like last time.”

“What did you see?”

“Us,” Draco answers; the single word tumbling from his lips as a smile begins to grace his face.

“Us?” You repeat, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“I love you,” Draco states honestly, plainly as if the very fact had been common knowledge for a long time. “I love you,” He repeats, arms slipping around your waist to hold you near.

“You love me?” You squeak, unable to comprehend such words after an evening as eventful as this one.

He nods; his nose brushing yours as his lips barely graze over your mouth. “I love you,” He repeats almost breathlessly as the need to kiss you tries to overtake his body.

“I love you too,” You murmur quietly, letting yourself fall further for the man holding you so tenderly.

Draco’s only answer to that is to kiss you.

*****

Harry Potter Taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @harrypotter289 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @figlia--della--luna @imboredandneedalife @levylovegood @awritingtree @haphazardhufflepuff @chaoticgirl04 @accio-rogers @dreaming-about-fanfictions @lestersglitterglue @msmimimerton @obx-beach @izzytheninja @slytherinprincess03 @bbeauttyybbx @breadqueen95 @oopskashish @slytherinsunrise @remmyswritings @they-write-once-in-a-blue-moon @ria-rests-here @superbturtlemakerathlete @inglourious-imagines @ithilwen-lionheart @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @ilovejjmaybank @theweasleysredhair @theonly1outof-a-billion @phuvioqhile @moatsnow @storyisnotover @himooonlight @potters-heart @amourtentiaa @joyfullymulti @pandaxnienke @mesmerisedangel @angelxnaa @iamninaanna

Draco Malfoy taglist: @the--queen-of-hell @obxmxybxnk @obx-beach @sycathorn-slush @dracomalfoyswifey @justmesadgirl @detroitobsessed @aspiringsloth20 @just-a-belgian-girl @lahoete @minty-malfoy @fallinallinmendes @ravenclawbitch426 @ochrythum @beiahadid @gryffindors-weasley @dracosathenaeum @belladaises

Specific fic taglist: @regulusarcturusblack2008 @randomlimelightxxx @ranhanabi777 @yegreatdragontamingpiratecaptain

#draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy fanfic #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy imagines #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy fluff

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