#and would always snow in the place if just left lmao

[jinchuls]

i don’t remember the last time it snowed and idk if i like it

[atrwriting]

future problems — coriolanus snow x fem!wife!reader

hi everyone :) jumping on the bandwagon

this man is so fine i couldn’t help myself. i hope everyone had an amazing holiday if they celebrate — i celebrate christmas, so here is my almost 10k word christmas gift to all of you xoxo love u all v much thank you for reading !!

as always, warnings: corio-lame-o is a fucking warning holy fuck, smuuuuut, arranged marriage (i think this counts?), coriolanus is a distrustful evil fuck (but he’s super hot), fem!reader, reader is married to this dickhead (i say as if i wouldn’t want to be lmao), angst, sexism and misogyny is def in here, p in v penetration, m receiving oral, choking, dom!corio, asshole!corio, sub!reader, subspace kinda

informal warnings: bro what the fuck was i on this is literally 10.2k words and i refuse to edit because im super lazy anyway we die like men you've been warned

anyways… here is future problems:

he never wanted to get married.

he saw it as a potential problem, one that would most definitely lead to loose ends — and he hated loose ends.

despised them.

however, his innate need to maintain an image was far more important to him. he weighed the costs and benefits in his head like an algorithm — check, check, check. coriolanus’ mind left no stone unturned, especially when future problems were to be squashed before they could ever be wiped from memory. in the end… he decided he would marry.

and it would be you.

he never allowed himself to be naive — so he would never allow himself to marry someone he already loved. lucy gray? a child’s want for something they can’t have, and something they wouldn’t realize until later that it was a walking regret. no — he could never marry someone that would harm him. absolutely not. out of the question. therefore, it had to be you.

it had to be you because what harm would you cause him? you were shy, quiet, of satisfactory social standing, and uncontroversial. everything a patriarch of the snow family would want. deserved. be entitled to.

he needed someone that wouldn’t be a problem — a loose end in the future. he had conquered so much — he refused to let anything else, especially as irrelevant as a significant other, stand in his way.

however… it did not aid him in his stone-cold lack of a love affair conquest that you were absolutely breathtaking.

at first, it was just an ego boost. he simply couldn’t stop his thoughts from voicing, of course she’s perfect. the snow legacy can only have perfect.

but then… oh, then…

then he saw your smile.

oh, your smile.

your fucking smile.

the first time he caught himself enjoying it — he scolded himself. he refused to see you for a week. a punishment of sorts. more so for him than for you. after, he refused to let his eyes wander on the pretty features of your face for him to witness a reaction to something someone had said or done. he didn’t want to be reminded of what it was like to experience joy or peace because someone else was experiencing it — that was what almost costed him everything he had built.

no one would ever tear that down. not again, not ever.

no one.

when the day of your marriage came, it was business as usual. he refused to meet eye contact, and did not partake in more conversations with you than he had to. he could tell you felt uncomfortable — but he forced himself not to care. he drove it down, down, down like a miner drilling for more coal — hoping, one day, it would be worth it.

and it was… until he was sick.

it was a minor ailment — nothing major, but he was on bedrest for about a week or two. he had employed enough adequate members to his staff to feel that things would at least be taken care of until then. he also found comfort in the fact that two weeks was not long enough for something irreversible to occur. if a problem had taken placed, he would be able to rectify it once he was well and able and… set aside the responsible party.

however, he did not expect one problem.

and that would be you.

he knew you were asking to see him. he knew, he knew, he knew, but he refused to let you in. you were not disrespectful — you had only asked once a day, which happened to be every day in the afternoon. he had picked you specifically because you were too quiet to be annoying. however, his own perfect, pristine, and proper plan had stabbed him in the back. he had never considered that the perfect, pristine, and proper wife would be this dutiful to him, checking in once a day on his condition and to speak with him. despite his illness, he laughed at himself — leave it to him to not expect the expected: the hand-selected dutiful wife would, in fact, be dutiful.

he had to put an end to it. he couldn’t keep saying no for another week. how was he expected to get better if you kept bothering him?

so he let you in. this once. just this once. he reasoned that if he let you in this once, you would be less persistent. just this once — and another problem would cease to plague his mind.

just this once, he chanted in his head. just this once.

he sat up straighter, and attempted to shape his hair so it wasn’t terribly unkept. he reasoned that if you saw him appearing to be healthy, you wouldn’t feel the need to come back. he thought —

but he couldn’t finish the thought.

because you walked in.

smelling like fucking lilacs.

lilacs, of all things. lilacs! not roses, not anything else — lilacs. he did not hate lilacs, but he despised the actual flower. only beautiful for so long before it died and the stench was intolerable. an inconvenience. a nuisance. a guaranteed future problem.

however, when you gifted him with a small smile — you realized why small shows of beauty were so valuable in this world. no one else saw your smile — except for those closest to you. people he hand selected to be around you to prevent future problems. he realized then — he had more control and ownership over your smile than either of you thought.

he was so stunned by your smile he didn’t even notice the tray of tea and cakes in your hand. you took a few steps towards him and he shifted in place.

“i brought your favorites,” you spoke softly. “i know you should rest — i just wanted to ask if there was anything i could do to make your recovery easier.”

“no, thank you,” he replied, voice raspy. “i should be well in a few days.”

you nodded and offered an uneasy smile. his eyes flickered over to how once you had set down the tray on his beside, you slowly wiped the palm of your hands down the front of your dress. your eyes were cast absentmindedly in front of you, on the wall — and he could tell something was plaguing your thoughts.

he then also realized there was a book on the tray, much to his dismay.

“someone had mentioned that this was your favorite author. this was published a few days ago,” you began. “i understand that you have been experiencing headaches, and may find it difficult to read… so i wanted to offer to read aloud for you, in case you found these walls dull.”

you smiled — it was an attempt at a joke. he smiled back, but only to be polite. “today i find myself wanting to sleep. i appreciate your offer.”

you smoothed your hands over your dress once more before nodding and forcing a smile. “i’ll leave you to it, then.”

you did not bid him farewell — and he found himself wondering if he was annoyed or grateful. you simply exited the room, and let the door shut softly behind you.

he scrunched his eyes at the door, swallowing hard.

however, he didn’t understand why.

he had wanted this. the perfect wife — knowing when to take a hint and frankly, fuck off. you had done that, perfectly well — so why was he pissed?

he then found himself glaring angrily at his favorite tea cakes. the swap of sugar for honey, another one of his favorites. his favorite author, a book he was excited to read when he was better. he knew that you hadn’t asked about him — he employed people with the requirement to let him know when you were asking questions. he knew your every outward thought and concern, and sometimes even the ones that weren’t shared aloud because they were so evident on your face.

and then he realized: you noticed things like he noticed things.

however, he knew why he went out of his way to notice things, but why did you?

his jaw clenched as he glared angrily at the wall in front of him. he picked up a tea cake and chewed it aggressively, swallowing it half-intact. he coughed at the barely there food, anger rising further to his flushed cheeks.

he needed to understand how, and he most certainly needed to understand why.

he never went out of his way to get to know you, because he thought he already did. he thought he had you boiled down to one thing, and one thing only: passive. incapable of proving to be any sort of roadblock that was capable of getting in his way. now that he knew you shared something with him, what else was shared? was there something he had to look out for? was there something he missed? was he wrong about you?!

he had to know. he had to.

to do that… he called you back that evening. it was two hours before midnight, and he knew you were awake. despite having separate chambers, he knew your daily schedule. you would be reading at this moment, and he would ask you to read for him.

as if on cue, he heard a soft rapping on the wood of the door. he beckoned you in, and you entered the room. you were clad in a night dress with a matching robe over it, all pink silk. this time, he returned your smile.

"i apologize for the late hour," he spoke. "i hope you had not retired for the night."

you shook your head, your tendrils of perfect hair shaking slightly. "i was reading. i am glad you sent for me — can i get you anything?"

"i was hoping the offer to read for me was still on the table," he rasped. "i find myself unable to sleep."

you blinked once, staring at him. in an instant, a small smile was threatening to overtake your face into a large one. you cast your eyes down to a blushing manner, but his eyes narrowed slightly on your face. what would you get out of reading for him? what we he not seeing? what did he miss?

"of course," you responded. "i have not had a chance to read anything by this author. i am glad i have the chance now."

why. why. why.

he did not show his discontent. he simply rested back against the pillows as you reached for the book on his bedside table. you sat down on a chair on his side, and you crossed your legs. he eyed the small portion of the exposed, soft skin of your legs and wondered if your new ploy would be to try and seduce him. however, you quickly covered your skin with the extra material over your robe and placed the book in your lap. once opened, you read for him.

he was not listening to what you were saying, but he was listening to how you said it. the tone, the enunciation, the pauses, and the speed. he wanted to find some clue as to why you had made it a point to be at his beck and call, and he wanted to see how long the act would last until it dropped.

the act would drop. it always did.

the hour would approach midnight before he found that he could not discern anything from how you were reading aloud. his plan did not yield the results intended, as you had not broken from fulfilling his task for two hours. two hours. you had not stopped out of boredom or exhaustion, nor to talk to him. you were poised, soft, and he hated to admit it... but sweet. he found your voice sweet, and he hated it.

and he fucking hated himself for it.

he needed this to end so he could plan further. out of necessity, he yawned. if you were to apt at picking up clues, then hopefully you would believe that he was finally tired. you had succeeded in his given task, and you were free to go.

but you had kept reading for him.

he grew angry.

when you had paused to breathe, he spoke up. "I think i am able to sleep now. thank you, sweetheart, for indulging me."

your eyeline raised with your eyebrows, almost out of surprise. you either were not expecting him to ask you to stop, or you did not want to stop. he wondered which, and if that would answer his ultimate question.

"my apologies, i should've inquired sooner," you replied. "he is a very talented writer... i found myself enjoying his perspective."

you grabbed a piece or scrap paper from his bedside table, and tucked it in between the pages where you left off.

"most people would fold the corner," he remarked, eyes drifting closed — a show.

you smiled. "i didn't want to ruin the integrity of your book. goodnight, coriolanus."

she left with another smile — and all he was left with was confusion, and rage.

the next morning, he found himself wanting to call you back in for a further rouse interview. he would have if he had a plan in place.

that was the second thing about you that annoyed him: you annoyed him to the point where he wanted to act without a plan in place. a loss of control —which he was highly against.

that would have to be righted immediately.

he spent the morning reading the pages that you had already read to brief himself as if he was listening last night. he reasoned with himself that the best course of action would be to ask you to read to him again to see if you had grown comfortable enough to let a few of your true colors slip.

they always slip.

the sudden task that was presented to him gave him a new bout of energy that he needed to inch closer to recovery. it gave him the push he needed to be closer to walking out of this room and continue to run panem, and he was lost grateful to you for giving it to him — almost. at the moment, you were a problem — and that needed to be corrected. immediately.

he found comfort in control, so he was very content with routines. he had grown accustomed to bracing himself for your check-in in the afternoon. however, it did not come until the approaching hours of the evening had almost descended upon the capitol. he waited, and waited, and waited — so long that he considered asking you to come for himself. the hour would approach dinnertime when you had finally asked about his well-being, and he sent for you.

how dare you ask so late in the day, as if you didn't care? he allowed you access to his life that he had denied you for so long, and you return his kindness with carelessness? this would not do. this most certainly would not do.

you had knocked on his door, and he had to stop himself from sounding to eager. he permitted you entry, and you entered with the same soft smile.

"good evening," you greeted.

"hello," he replied, voice still raspy from his sickness.

"I wanted to ask if you need anything," you announced.

he offered a small smile. "i enjoyed our time last night. perhaps you would read for me, again?"

your eyes fell to the floor in a blush. "of course. I was hoping to read more of the book eventually. i found it intriguing."

you sat down in the chair and pulled the book in your lap. as you were opening it, he spoke, "i thought when you had not checked-in in the early afternoon you found the book dull — afraid i would ask for you to read it for me again."

you shook your head as you smiled. "i like his writing very much — i was concerned as to whether i had prevented you from sleeping the night prior, and didn't want to disturb you further."

he swallowed. "why would you have disturbed me?"

your eyes glanced upwards from the pages to rest on his face. coriolanus stared back as slight concern washed over your features, making your lips part and your eyes widen. your tongue darted out from between your lips, and smoothed over the skin of your bottom lip. you responded, "before you fell ill, we hadn't spent much time together and i understand that is because of your position — but, to be frank, i wanted to respect your space.”

your answer perplexed coriolanus. he wanted to find out what type of person you were — and your answers were not yielding the expected results. there was no obvious form of manipulation in your words, which then worried him. were you smarter than he believed you to be? were you as cunning as him? more so?

so he went with what was natural: manipulation.

“i apologize my station has not granted us the freedom to get to know each other further,” he replied, holding your gaze. “it is a regret of mine.”

you smiled in an affirmative manner, like you didn’t believe him but accepted his answer anyway. this expression arose the same feelings he now detested your presence for: he acted without calculating his actions and the outcome they would produce.

“what troubles you?” he asked.

your lips parted and slightly quivered. you were not expecting him to ask.

“i-i was worried that i may not… please you,” you admitted. “that… you may regret our union.”

“you have been a kind and dutiful wife,” coriolanus spoke, eyes holding yours. “there is no regret.”

there was that affirmative smile again. he found himself hating it — wishing it would be replaced by the warm, soft one.

“i guess i was hoping that, when i was married, the marriage would be more than… a union.”

your candor shocked coriolanus. he would never have expected you to say something… so out of turn.

“please, forgive me,” you spoke, slightly laughing and waving your hand in the air. “the hour is almost late and i was hoping to read more. do you still wish me to?”

“please,” he answered and nodded.

you gave him a quick, thankful smile, and began reading.

this would be the second night coriolanus had not listened to a word you had said.

he had gotten his answer, and it was possibly as bad as the one he was actually afraid for.

you were good. pure, innocent, and your outlook on the world untainted. you were not striving to find a loose screw and let the empire fall. you wanted… to support the man who built and kept the empire together. it was worse than anything he could’ve ever imagined — you actually cared for him.

you cared for him, and now coriolanus snow was fucking terrified.

and yet... he had asked you to return to his chambers every night after that.

for research purposes, of course. only research purposes,

to read to him, but his goal was to learn more about you rather than the text.

you would sit there and read until he asked you to stop. when he did, you would close the book, smile at him, place it back on his nightstand, and bid him goodnight.

after, he would wrestle with the blankets and pillows in order to find out how to deal with this.

how had he not expected this?

his only fault was that he neglected to realize how far your shyness would go. you had grown comfortable with him — and you admitted that you wanted something more, something he always felt he could not give. you weren’t shy — you just weren’t open with people you weren’t comfortable with.

he should’ve known. he should’ve. fucking. known.

he didn’t know how to deal with this, if he was being honest with himself.

he told himself that he asked for you every evening to get to know you better, for his own sanity and safety; but then he began to realize he had found out everything he needed to know.

good and honest. how fucking unfortunate.

he saw a part of you, but now he needed to know more.

so what did he do? he sent you flowers. flowers. an arrangement of red roses and lilacs.

he hated himself for the lilacs.

he got somewhere with you when he had made the first move before — maybe this would yield more promising results.

however, it didn’t.

all he received in return was an extra tray of food that had arrived in the afternoon. his favorite tea cakes, and a handwritten thank-you note detailed in your appreciation for the beautiful flowers. you signed your name, and that was it.

she doesn’t make first moves, he thought. she responds to them.

he knew what he had to do.

he found himself feeling better that day — well enough to end his sick leave and return to his matters. dinner was approaching, and he sent for you to join him for a private dinner this evening.

he was washed, dressed, and coiffed within the hour.

he found you in the dining parlor waiting for him, inspecting his large bookcase. you were trying to reach a book a bit above where your height would allow, extending yourself onto your toes. coriolanus walked up behind you, towering over you, and retrieved the book for you.

you glanced up at him with wide eyes. “thank you, coriolanus.”

“what intrigued you?” he asked, grinning softly.

“first one i couldn’t reach. i was working my way up.” you smiled at him, and then the book. “please — you must be hungry. let us eat.”

you sat down at the table across from him. dinner manners were rather stiff and uncomfortable, but your upbringing that was similar to coriolanus’ prevented you from straying from them. you ate in silence for a few moments before you spoke.

“how do you like his new book?” you asked.

coriolanus cleared his throat. “i find it riveting. i wouldn’t have been able to read it for some time if it hadn’t been for you.”

you smiled at your plate, blushing. “his points are very interesting. i was never very interested in politics — so the insight of someone so heavily involved with them is very informative. do you find that your opinions align with his? or does he not share your perspective?”

he appreciated your willingness to engage with him about topics you weren’t very fond of. an underrated trait, not found very often — he had to admit.

“a bit of both,” he responded. “the one thing he does not discuss is how important it is to have a certain type of person or persons in your regime that allows the flow of success to continue.”

you nodded. “you have built a strong administration — i’m sure he would admire what you have to say.”

“what do you believe?” he asked. “about partnerships?”

you swallowed, contemplating your answer. “i think… a successful partnership is where everyone is complimented by another. for instance, someone is better at briefing documents rather than the presentation of them, and another is the opposite.”

“which one are you?” coriolanus inquired.

you paused once more, folding your lip under. he realized that was a sign you were uncomfortable — unaware of how to proceed. after a moment, you answered, “i feel the most confident under a strong leader. i prefer to be behind the scenes. minute details are easier to be taken care of that way. while you and i are different, i respect you for being the strong leader panem needed. i am sure the majority would agree with me.”

now was the time.

“it is easy to be strong when one’s wife makes sure they are well,” he replied, eyes resting on your face. “i hope you know i appreciate your willingness to accept change and make sure needs are met.”

you smiled at him once more, then turned back to your food.

damn, he thought. didnt bite.

“and for being the companion i… didn’t think i would come to enjoy the company of,” he added.

you glanced up at him then, astonishment written in your eyes as plain as the words on the paper you read for him every night. “may i ask you… a question?”

he nodded.

“did you believe you wouldn’t enjoy my company before, or after you had first met me?”

“i don’t understand.”

you swallowed, clearing your throat. “were you… wary of the idea of marriage, or wary of me?”

your gaze did not break from his. you were braver than he thought.

“marriage,” he answered honestly, hoping to witness your reaction.

there was the affirmative smile — the one he hated. “thank you for — for being honest.”

your eyes didn’t wait for a response. you turned back to your food, and left him dumbstruck.

“i hope i have not displeased you,” he stated.

“no, coriolanus,” you spoke. “if i am being honest… i was wary i would not be suitable for you. if i have not displeased you, then i am well.”

“but you stated you wanted more,” he countered, tone even.

“i hoped we would… spend time together,” you answered. “and we have.”

it was coriolanus’ turn to be at a loss for words. what would this admission relay? it only solidified what he was afraid of — you wanted a marriage filled of love, and he was not prepared for that. ever.

“the flowers were beautiful,” you spoke, interrupting his thoughts. “thank you for sending them.”

“your lilac perfume is a wonderful addition to the capitol,” he spoke, unsure where this had come from. “i wanted you to know that.”

you weren't supposed to say that you weren't supposed to tell the truth you weren't supposed

you smiled at him appreciatively, that accompanied a slight twinkle in your eye. you were quick to return to eating, but coriolanus couldn’t stop staring at your face. he realized then that was his new favorite smile.

there was a moment, a small moment, where he wondered whether it would be such a crime if he did allow himself to enjoy your company more than he had. in that moment, he couldn’t think of how it would go wrong. for that moment, you were a simple, low-maintenance, beautiful woman on the other side of the table with him that just liked spending time with him — and he enjoyed that you weren’t a problem. would it so bad if he entertained the idea?

he immediately cut himself off. of course it was a bad idea.

once dinner has finished, he had requested to walk you back your chambers. if time spent together was what kept you at bay, he could manage that. he most certainly could.

when the pair of you had approached the door, you stopped for a moment and paused reaching for the handle. you spoke, “would you… like to come in?”

“not tonight,” he rasped. he gave you a polite smile. “another time.”

he watched as you blinked your eyes a few times and your lips quivered. you didn’t meet his gaze, for it fell — in what appeared to be embarrassment.

oh.

you invited him in to… to…

that he had not expected.

before you had the chance to leave, he swooped down and grabbed your chin in his thumb and forefinger. he pressed his lips to yours ever so softly, holding it there. the moment your breath caught in your throat, there was a strange feeling inside his chest that made him feel like he’d like to quell your worries by catching you off guard another time. and another. and another. and another. he couldn’t have you feeling rejected, no — not when he didn’t want to reject you. he needed heirs, sure — but they could wait. he would contemplate how long later.

once he pulled back, you smiled. inside you were bursting, and you wanted to hurry behind a closed door so he could not see your reaction. he continued to hold your chin and gaze at your face. feeling brave, you looked him in the eye as you bid him goodnight and went into your room.

you left him standing outside your door, facing its wood paneling.

what was he to do?

he wanted to keep you as emotionally far away as possible to avoid anything like this occurring. he was prepared for people who had an ulterior motive… not a young woman who only wanted to be good to her husband.

the worst part was… not every part of him wanted him to keep you away.

would it be so bad, if he had actually courted you?

you were not anyone from his past, no. you were not irresponsible and impulsive, and you could be trusted to remain within a designated role and space. you were rarely outspoken — you never strayed from your cue cards, nor did you get smart in private. you never spoke out of turn, which coriolanus always knew — this was just the first time he was more turned on than he was just grateful.

he reasoned a reward was in order.

he found his knuckles wrapping on the door before he could stop himself.

the small movements inside your apartments stalled for a moment, pulled taut like a string in an instrument. he could picture you — standing still and silent, waiting for an explanation.

then he heard footsteps approaching the door before the door handle turned. when you opened the door, the first thing he saw was your eyes.

those big, beautiful eyes that looked at him with surprise — and the slightest bit of hope. coriolanus would most likely try to convince himself that he stayed completely still to exercise a form of control over you — but deep down, he would never be able to believe that completely.

however… when you reached out with your soft, delicate hand, and pulled at his own — it didn’t matter why he did it, because he won.

he shut the door behind him, keeping your gaze.

“i would be coy and ask if we could spend time together in a... different way than usual…” you began, sighing. “but up until this moment i was convinced we would never…”

coriolanus was in no mood to quell insecurities and anxieties. he understood that words could not compare to actions, and so he would do just that.

coriolanus stepped forward, and pressed his large hands against the sides of your face. for a split moment — you almost looked terrified. he usually relished in that look from others, but with you it only made him concerned — angry, even.

“i don’t know what it is about you.” his voice was shaky. it was the first moment in your entire marriage that coriolanus had shown even a shred of weakness. “you smile, you obey, you take my transgressions like they’re fucking sweets. why?! tell me!”

your big, round eyes were blown wide as your brow was knitted together. your lips were parted in an innocent manner, and it only fueled his anger. one of your hands came up to gently lay across the back of his. “coriolanus — have you ever considered that i just wanted to get to know you?”

his eyes searched yours like they were an important document and he couldn’t believe what bullshit he was reading. his lips pursed in a manner that suggested a sour taste, and you felt your joy slipping, slipping, and slipping.

“coriolanus — if you want to go, then go.” your voice was breaking. you knew he was a cool, hard man — but this? this? it was almost too much. “you don’t have to stay if you don’t —“

he couldn’t take your nonsense anymore. he shut you up with a kiss.

he smashed your lips together like it was the first thing he should’ve done when he walked back into the room. a squeal died in your throat at the contact, but coriolanus held you there and upright. both of your hands found the firmness of his chest for balance. when he pulled away — he barely did. he kept his lips an inch away from yours as little tuffs of air pushed past. he leaned his forehead against yours, almost bonding the two of you.

“my greatest displeasure will be making you regret this,” he rasped, eyes screwed shut.

your breathing began to hasten as you contemplated your next words. you began to stroke coriolanus’ hands with your thumbs, hoping to coax him. “you say that like it’s inevitable.”

“it is not far from,” he choked through anger and sadness.

you couldn’t help but stare back at him as he almost glared at you — but then you realized that wasn’t the case. he wasn’t glaring at you — he was glaring through you. whatever traumatized him, whatever made him so distrustful of the world around him and the people in it… you realized then that you represented all of that to him. you had to be different. you had to show him that you were different than all of that.

“i’ve trusted you,” you whispered, almost pleading. “i would like for you to try and trust me. please, coriolanus… i’ve never asked you for anything — just this once —“

coriolanus shook his head, dismissing you. “it’s corio.”

he slammed his lips to yours. his kiss was that of a fight; burning with every cut of anger, frustration, desperation, and sadness in his soul. you weren’t sure if he accounted for your inexperience, but you let him lead as you swallowed all of his suffering. you knew you may never be everything you wanted to be for him — but for this moment, or for whatever he would allow — you could be his escape, and he could be yours.

just this once, you both thought. just this once.

his hands were on both sides of your face, caging you in as you were at the mercy of his bittersweet affection. you tried to keep up with him, almost afraid that you wouldn’t be enough for him — but corio didn’t care. he couldn’t have cared less as he backed you into the foot of the bed. he didn’t stop kissing you as the back of your legs hit your soft mattress, and you were forced to sit down.

with his tongue tangling with yours, you managed to lift your hands to the top buttons of his shirt. he batted your hands away and went to work on his own buttons. you reached behind for your zipper to your dress and attempted to undue it.

corio then pushed your hands away with that too — ripping the zipper down its track and pushing the sleeves down your shoulders.

“corio —“ you gasped through the kiss, struggling to keep up with him.

he pulled away for a short moment, staring into your eyes. “i have denied myself being with you for so long — nothing is stopping me now.”

he held the glare, and you could only stare back at him in fright. however, that was when you realized that he had felt the same way, or at least similar — you both wanted each other, and had been scared to approach the other. your heart filled with warmth, threatening to explode, but all you could do was nod.

he seemed to calm down then, glancing down towards your lips where he prodded your bottom lip with the tip of his numb. “i have wondered for so long what it would be like to kiss my perfect wife — and now that i know, i don’t think i’ll ever give it up.”

you smiled at that. “can i tell you what i have been wondering?”

his eyes met yours once more, almost a warning. you didn’t falter, though. he replied, “yes?”

“i’ve wondered what it would be like to please you,” you spoke softly, a pink hue rising to your cheeks.

his flat look broke then, softening. a smirk greeted his features and you could see his confidence in himself rise. “my lovely wife wants to please me?”

“yes,” you spoke, holding your breath. “if you’ll let me.”

bright and striking, flames of mischief came to light in his irises. emotions of excitement and fear rose within you, and you weren’t sure which was stronger. all you could do was watch as your strong, powerful, larger than life husband stood over you, chin raised, looking down his nose at you, as he unbuckled his belt. his pants and briefs, once around his ankles, were discarded — but you didn’t see that. you couldn’t look away from his eyes — holding you, and your gaze, in place.

it was like you were an enemy he was testing. you didn’t know what he expected, let alone what would make him happy — but you hoped his expectations were slightly lower in light of your inexperience. you swallowed the hard rock of nervousness in your throat, stood up, and gestured for him to sit down on the edge of the bed. he raised an eyebrow at you, but complied. you sat down on your knees in between his, and waited patiently for direction.

“can you…” you began. “can you teach me?”

he smirked once more. “take me in your hand.”

you bent your head lower, and grabbed him by the base. he was hard and warm in your hand as you saw him trying to fight the twitching feeling in his limbs. his muscles were tight, afraid to show weakness. you grew uncomfortable — you didn’t want him weak, but you did want him to feel comfortable enough with you to enjoy a fucking blowjob.

holding his muscle upright, you stuck your tongue out and licked around the tip of his cock. he was salty, but smelled so masculine after a long day. his scent infiltrated all of your senses and had captured your attention. it made you hungry, greedy — so much so that you closed your lips around his cock and began to suck.

he jumped then. “teeth,” he spat.

you paled in embarrassment and fright — but didn’t allow your fear to show for long. you adjusted your tongue and lips — so that your top lip was folded under your top set, and your outstretched tongue covered your bottom set. hollowing out your cheeks, you took him into your mouth once more.

a low hum filled his chest.

you couldn’t see him, and could barely hear him — corio was being a selfish lover and not letting you know whether or not he was enjoying himself. he told you once before you were doing something wrong, so you tried to trust that he would tell you.

that was easier said than done, frankly. with your free hand, you reached up and began to massage his sack in the soft skin of your palm. the hum in his chest turned deeper and louder, and you felt his hips twitch once.

maybe it shouldn't have mattered that he wasn't vocal — but it wasn't like he was shy. you would not fault him for not doing something he didn't want to do, but it was like he was denying you that. if you were making him feel good, and he was fighting the volume of his moans — how fucking dare he deny you of that! there you were, constantly at his beck and call, and he couldn't even freely moan with you? you were obedient, quiet, grateful, everything he wanted — but this? this? too much. absolutely too much of an ask.

you had to do something.

"mr. president," you cooed, twisting your soft tongue around the tip of his cock. "you're awfully quiet above me."

he let out a laugh as he struggled to keep his composure. one of hands found the back of your head as his fingers struggled to tangle themselves in between your strands. they were tugging and pulling, but there was no strength in his grip. his grip — wouldn't catch. couldn't catch. corio, you husband — struggled day in and day out to keep the control in the capital and inside his castle. there was a part of you that believed he just needed to let go, let someone else be in control — but you were his pretty little wife after all. you had until death to try everything. losing control could wait, because tonight... tonight was about making corio the grateful one for once.

you let your loose grip run circles up and down the length of his cock. his shaft was wet and thick, begging the attention of the light from above so the skin was able to glisten. the tip of his cock, red and angry, almost neglected — never had you seen something so delicious, nor deserving of affection. your lips, swollen, wrapped themselves around the tip of his cock as you sucked. notes of salt and sweat mixed together on your tongue, and you hummed at the taste.

"taste sweet, mrs. snow?" you heard from above you. your eyes glanced up to find corio's eyes glazed over with pleasure. his eyelids were drooping over, and all you could think about how badly you wanted to make him close his eyes in bliss. your eyes watched his eyes, but his eyes watched the way your mouth sucked him in. "being so good for me. let your husband see what else you can do."

your ears perked in interest. you didn't know what he meant, but you were intrigued to see if he would teach you.

"please... show me what you like," you spoke, extending your neck as he lowered his face to yours.

"so eager to please..." he spoke, staring down at you in awe. his hand slid down for your scalp to cup your cheek. he looked into your eyes like he was studying you — searching for something surface level. a flaw, or something good... you weren't sure. "i suppose some would say i'm lucky."

you didn't like the sound of that... but you didn't let it show. you gave him a hint of a smile. "i don't think it matters what anyone else thinks. i think what matters is you telling me what you like... so you can decide if you're lucky or not."

he chuckled at that, but his laugh was reserved. always holding back, your husband. "you really want to be a good little wife for me... don't you?"

you fell into the strength behind the hand on your face and keened into his touch. his hand was warm against your skin. "please, corio... please let me."

he stood then, and your gaze raised with his body. you gazed up at him as he stared down at you. there his eyes went again — searching yours. he stood closer to you then, bending down slightly. "it would please me if, at any point, you told me to stop because of the pain. i don't want to hurt you." his voice was low and soft then, immediately striking you. "can i trust you to do that? hmm?"

"i'll tell you," you replied, nodding your head. "i promise."

"never break a promise you make to me," he warned.

you nodded your head once more, unsure how to proceed. he led you over to the side of the bed where he gestured for your to lie down. with the passing of time, you became more and more aware of how bare you both were in front of each other. you were ready to let down every fence of insecurity for the man before you... but there were still walls of his that threatened to come down. he was hot and cold every other moment, it seemed... and you weren’t even sure where to begin.

“husband,” you spoke, unsteadily, as he found his place between his legs. “you seem so… distrustful of me. what can i do? please, corio, i just want this moment to be special for us — for you.”

there his eyes went — searching yours again. it was like he was rereading a page in a book over and over, hoping to find the hidden message in the black and white scripture. his eyes, going back and forth, appeared to be looking over unclear smudges and scribbles as his lips began to purse. you almost said something — stopped him from withdrawing into himself, but he moved before you could.

he sat back against the pillows, which faced a mirror across your bed. you rose curiously, hoping that he would finally give you some direction. he simply took your hand in his, and gestured for you to come closer. “come,” he spoke.

in his lap, maybe? you thought curiously. you went to throw your leg over his, before he stopped you. with a furrowed brow, you watched as he adjusted you so your back laid against his chest.

“do as i say,” he whispered against your ear, sending shivers up and down your spine.

your eyes were cast to the side, his outline in your peripheral vision. you nodded, letting your lips fall apart. you felt one of his hands on the soft skin of your thigh, grazing upwards towards your hips. you almost let your eyes fall closed, hoping to lose yourself in the sensations, before corio stopped you.

with that same hand, he reached upwards and grasped your chin between his fingers. your eyes shot open as he moved your head to now face the mirror, and the pair of you in it.

shallow breaths were pushing past your lips as you stared into the mirror. your cheeks were flushed, your hair in a slight disarray, and your lips were swollen. with a flutter of your eyelashes, your gaze flickered towards corio’s reflection. your husband was always perfect — so even the slight persuasion from tidiness was a remarkable sight to you. his eyes were focused — unable to remain cool, calm, and collected as usual.

his eyes, you thought. his eyes will always tell me.

“you will watch,” corio spoke suddenly, voice hard. “you will keep your eyes on my hands. you stray, and i leave. understand?”

you nodded, looking into his eyes through the mirror.

he cocked an eyebrow.

“yes,” you spoke, almost breathless. “i understand.”

corio’s hand then found its way to your center. the tips of his finger tips, soft and hot, lightly drew a line up and down your slit. your eyes wouldn’t leave the mirror — focused on his fingertips. it was like your skin knew every correct button to tap, tap, tap. every part of you was so sensitive, so keen to his touch that you were embarrassed. you felt so pathetic against his chest, bent to his will — but you wouldn’t have had it any other way. the voice in your head was whining and hoping you would give in, just give in, let down your guard, give in, forget manners. you wanted to keep your composure as long as possible, but when corio’s middle finger found your clit…

oh… you were done for.

one of your hands immediately snapped up to find corio’s bicep and clutch onto whatever foundation he could give. you didn’t dare let your eyes meet his, even in the mirror — what if he stopped? what, huh? what then? when you were the closest you had been ever? you couldn’t allow yourself to be greedy, not when he was being oh, so selfless.

the circles he was drawing taunted your ability remain calm. he rolled your tiny clit underneath the weight of the tip of his finger and pressed down with every circle. it pushed, and pulled, and fucking pried at every fiber of your being. you could only force yourself up and back against corio, whining like a pathetic mess.

“running away from me, my sweet?” he whispered in your ear. “when i’m being so kind?”

his words bit at your ear, reminding you of your position in his world. your eyes were threatening to drift closed, hoping, praying, that corio would let you slip this once from your responsibilities. naive, you were, to believe that.

“remember our deal, wife,” he darkly cooed in your ear. “one request was all i had. i refuse to be denied it.”

“i know, i know…” you whined, rolling your hips with his hand. “it just feels so good, corio… i’ve never… no one’s ever…”

“i can tell you never knew how bad your body would crave it,” he spoke, nipping at your earlobe. “even your pussy obeys me, drenching my fingers. too sweet for this world, aren’t you?”

“just wanna be sweet for you, corio,” you whined as your vision began to blur.

the approaching orgasm was anything but a warm and fuzzy feeling around you. it was hot and jagged — making your muscles jerk, yet force your hips to roll into every movement of corio’s. the cloud over your brain felt like a warm haze of the finest whisky or tobacco the capital could offer. you were numb, drunk, and unable to process the world around you unless it was corio. his touch, his taste, his scent, his look, his orders… everything was setting you off and keeping you in place all at once. your body was hot to the touch, feverish as it tried to fight your sophistication and just fucking —

“that’s it, sweetheart. so focused on the mirror you can’t even find the strength to let go for me,” he spat, pressing a kiss to your cheek and breathing in your scent. “ride my hand like the good girl you are. you wanted to show me, remember?”

tears were brimming your eyes and blurring your vision. your teeth were gritted and bared for him. one of his hands came up to loosely grasp your throat as your hips began to spasm. it was so much, too much, so much —

“corio, please —“ you cried. “please let me look away. i can’t — i have to cry, i can’t —“

there was no softness in his movements against your aching clit. corio had now employed two fingers to dip into your core, collect your slick, and rub it along your sensitive bud in harsh circles. it sent your mind through a suffocating tube and gasping for air. you were begging, pleading — unsure what would happen if you were denied the ability to finish in peace. you began to cry in frustration and fear, so sensitive to the touch and his approval.

“corio…” you whimpered. “please, please let me…”

“do it,” he spat, holding your throat and kissing your face. “show your husband how fucking messy you can be for him.”

you grasped onto him and threw yourself back.

it was like a rollercoaster. twists and turns, yanking your body every which way. corio’s body rocked with yours as the sensations climbed and fit into every single one of your limbs. your lungs, burning, were screaming for air as you tried to fight for consciousness. the world was white, milky, foggy — unable to navigate, let alone exist in. all you could feel was corio’s body moving with yours and coaxing you through the most insane moment of your entire life.

tears fell down your face, and you struggled to conceal it. corio refused to let you hide from him. he bent his face low to yours and pressed the side of his face against the side of yours.

his breaths were heavy, similar to yours.

“corio…” you whimpered, almost whining.

“i know, sweetheart,” he cooed. “so good for me, weren’t you? asking so obediently and politely.”

you nodded, pressing your forehead against his. “i’m sorry that i was —“

“what’re you sorry for?” he demanded.

you clenched your jaw. “i was — i am — i’m worried i was too much — i was so — out of control —“

he shut you up with a kiss. coriolanus snow refused to allow you to continue, or else he knew he would be offended if he had let you finished.

“i wanted that,” he stated. “every bit of that. what, you don’t find it agonizing to be prim and fucking proper every day?”

you laughed uneasily, a bit spooked by his outburst of aggression. “i thought you — i thought that was what you wanted from me.”

he shook his head. “out there — it’s necessary. in here, when it’s only the two of us? don’t ever hide yourself from me. you must promise.”

you swallowed as your haze began to disappear. “only if you promise the same."

you saw his jaw pulse from the corner of your eye. “i promise.”

“i promise,” you returned.

you quickly reconnected your lips. you couldn't let the moment slip away. you needed to seize him while he was there — trusting you for the first time in your entire relationship. you found both of your hands on the side of his face and held him to you. corio fought for control, but you gave in immediately. the need for him to need you was stronger and more satisfying that anything else you could've experienced in that moment. you turned around, straddling his lap and pushing him down to the bed.

everything you were doing was improper: grabbing your husband, forcibly kissing him, sitting in his lap, pushing him down... you almost stopped. you almost gave into the insecurity and made friends with with meekness and shyness once more. however, you made a promise — and you intended to keep it.

"i want you inside me, corio," you whispered against his lips. "please, i want to feel you —"

"again, sweetheart?" he ripped himself from your lips to grunt out his teasing. "one taste, and you're addicted?"

you hummed approval against his lips, tangling your tongue with his. with one hand on the back of your head, holding your face to his, corio's other hand fished between the pair of you and grasped his leaking cock in his hand. the tip was red and swollen, aching for some stimulation or attention. he spread his precum over his tip and with a firm hand, corio slid his cock inside of you.

you arched your back away from corio. the feeling of him being fully sheathed inside of you bent your attention in every which was. both of your hands cradled the back of his head into your chest, where he found himself nestled between your breasts. his breaths were hot and heavy, moist against your skin. his swollen lips found one of your perky nipples and sucked it into his mouth, caving to his primal urges. coriolanus snow wanted every part of you for himself, and needed to place that claim on every part of your body. he wanted your thighs to shake and ache from being locked around him, your fingers to tremble from your hard grip, and he wanted your lips to be bruised from how hard he made you bite them. and, most of all, he wanted every loud moan to rip itself from your aching throat and fill the perfectly painted walls of this damned room.

he cursed you when you threw a hand over your mouth, and he immediately ripped it away. "don't you fucking dare," he spat.

you ignored him. he was your husband, and he was the scariest man you would ever meet, and yet you ignored him. most of all, your hips ignored him. they began to roll against his own the best they could for their inexperience. up, down, and grinding down was the best they could manage before corio grabbed you by the flesh of your hips and moved you to his liking. and when your mouth parted and a loud cry made your throat shake when he twisted your hips forward, he knew he found the spot.

"do not ever deny me what i am owed," he spat, fucking into that spot that wrapped a tight band around your abdomen. "i want to hear how good i am making you feel, and i will. i get to hear. those are mine. i am owed those."

again, you ignored him. what did he expect when your eyes began to roll back into your head and you began to match his pace? you were close, you were so, so close...

that was when corio grabbed you by the chin, refusing to let up his pace. his eyes were full of darkness, yet focus. like he had found his prey. you tried to focus, tried to give him the respect the deserved... but you couldn't. your mind was swimming, and your arching cunt was dripping down his length and onto the skin of his pelvis. you were lost. so fucking lost.

"yours, corio!" you whined. "all yours. only yours."

his voice was gruff against your lips as his thrust became rougher. "say it again."

your eyes began to drift closed as you leaned your head into the crook of his neck, rolling your hips against his. his cock had found its way to the most sensitive and purest part of you and ripped down every wall you had. you sobbed, "yours, corio. only yours."

corio threw you off of him and your back hit the bed. he was on top of you in an instant. he threw your legs up and pressed them against your chest. with your ankles on his shoulders, he pushed himself inside of you and began to relentlessly punish your perfect fucking pussy.

"mine, you got that?" he spat against your ear. "i have watched you, day after day, put on this fucking act! perfect and proper — but i made a proper whore out of the most desirable woman in the capital, didn't i? and now she's mine — forever warming my bed."

"forever, corio," you whined. your sobs were music to his ears, going straight to his cock. your cunt was raw from the friction and slick, unsure if corio should stop or keep going — but you didn't let him guess. "inside me, corio, please... want it to bad. been so good for you..."

his hand was around your throat and demanding your attention. "as if i'd waste a drop when every man in the capital would be able to see you round with my child. you want that wife? my seed, my child? you want to be fully claimed by me?"

"yes," you cried, tears falling down your cheeks. "give it to me, husband, please —"

corio reached down in between your hips and rubbed your clit with whatever energy he had left. his thrust were growing sloppy, but his movements against your swollen bud were worse. he was hissing in your ear as he continued the assault against you. your moans were loud as they escaped your lips and filled the room, setting corio's skin on fire. sweat dripped down from his brow and down his neck to mingle with yours as your second orgasm of the evening began to approach. it snapped the rubber band in your lower belly and you immediately sobbed into corio's neck. his hips continued to rut in you, forcing you down onto the bed as he swallowed all of your sobs for himself. your nails dug into his back and down his spine, hoping to rip parts from him that he had taken from you.

when corio came, you were in a stupor. cock drunk with your mouth hanging open, dazed. when corio came, one of his hands grabbed your messy pile of hair, wrenching at the roots. he pulled you to the side to suck on the sensitive skin of your neck as he pumped your cunt full of his cum. your walls were hot and sticky, full of him, but it only caused the most sickeningly warm feeling to spread throughout you. every primal need of yours was satisfied, and corio could see every bit of it on your face. the pride that welled within your husband... shameful. no man should be in possession of such an ego boost like making the prettiest, more desired woman in all of panem break from all bounds of social etiquette. you were warm, and wet, and craving every bit of his touch, so he couldn't deny you... not anymore. not when he felt the same. with each sob that left your mouth, he felt a kick in the pit of his stomach as his balls throbbed. never in his life had a woman ripped from him what he had taken from her, cheeks hot and muscles worn out.

he would regret it in the morning, maybe, but not now. no — not now.

"husband, forgive me, but..." you spoke. "my mind is a mess. i don't think i can read to you this evening."

corio rolled his eyes and laughed. "that good?"

you pressed a kiss to his lips as you hummed in approval. "never wait that long to bed your wife again."

he chuckled darkly. "watch it, sweetheart."

---

love u guys sm sorry it was so long ty for reading love u love u love u

-L xooxoxooxox

[withleeknow]

seasons of you.

pairing: minho x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, tooth-rotting fluff or at least i hope so lmao, not v edited and literally no one is surprised lol i sound like a broken record atp just adding that into every post word count: 0.7k note: inspired by a highly fucked up thing that @matchannie said to me yesterday lmao it has not left my brain since you said it you absolute monster

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / masterlist / ko-fi

minho falls in love with you four times a year.

minho falls in love with you in the spring, over blooming cherry blossoms and vibrant daffodils that greet you on your weekly sunset walk. over the feeling of your fingers intertwined with his own without soft fluffy gloves getting in the way, now that it's finally warm enough to retire that extra layer of protection for the season. over the sun coming out of hibernation and filling your days with golden light, falling upon your face and casting you in a magical hue. over the remnants of winter that still leave behind a palpable chill in the air early in the morning or late in the night, that has you reaching out for the comfort of his warmth. over your delighted smile when he brings home a bouquet of tulips after a long day at work. over your glassy eyes, reddened nose and flushed cheeks as he takes care of you when the seasonal allergies kick in.

minho falls in love with you in the summer, over picnics in the park where you both lay on blue gingham picnic blankets, your head on his chest, as you watch the clouds overhead drift peacefully. over watermelon gelatos passed between teasing lips, the confectionary melting too quickly for your liking under the blazing sunlight. over spontaneous drives to the beach even though neither of you can swim, but you go just for fun, just to build sand sculptures in the shape of your cat babies and stand on the edge of the water to splash at each other. over long naps on the couch on days where you're too lazy to venture into the outside heat, preferring to stay cuddled up together under the air conditioner with niki playing in the background.

minho falls in love with you in fall, over shared slices of pumpkin pie as you watch the leaves turn yellow and red right outside your window. over the adorable way you hide your face behind your hands on nights where he puts on a horror movie because he insists on honoring the halloween spirit. over your off-key rendition of taylor swift's all too well (the 10-minute version) for most of the season because you adamantly claim that it's autumn's official anthem. over weekends spent attached at the hip, baking sugar cookies for hours on end. over your crestfallen pout as you take note of how the days keep getting shorter and shorter, already missing warm sunny weeks with all your heart.

minho falls in love with you in winter, over matching scarves and beanies, even though he often has to carry them for you because you have a bad habit of forgetting them before you go out. over the first snow of the season because they say that if you witness the first snowfall with the person you love, then you will stay together for a long, long time. over sweet cuddles in bed as a bad christmas movie plays on tv, and you fall asleep on his shoulder about half an hour into the movie despite being the one to select the movie in the first place. over your return from a shopping spree with your girlfriends with nothing for yourself but everything for soondoongdori, from christmas themed clothes to treats and toys.

but then again, maybe it's not entirely accurate to say that minho falls in love you merely four times a year. if he wants to be precise, then he would say that he falls for you anew every morning he wakes up and sees you asleep in his arms like a delicate miracle granted by a star he once used to wish upon. if he wants to get technical, then he falls in love with you with every smile that you send his way, which is a terribly sappy thing for him to admit but it doesn't make the statement any less true.

minho loves you every day of every week, of every month, of every year. he's loved you before he even met you, when you were just a romanticized idea in his head and hadn't yet walked into his life like the angel he was always meant to find. he loves you every minute of every hour; there isn't a second where you're not on his mind, not a single beat of his heart that doesn't spell out your name. he loves you throughout the seasons and a million times in between.

permanent taglist: @onlyycb97wife @starsandrqindrops @borahae-reads @abbiestearsricochet @cutiespaghetti @anthropologykpopmultistan @moonlinos @mjnhoz @caitlyn98s @piercidh34rts  @stayceebs97 @linocz @yaorzu-blog @biribarabiribbaem @kayleefriedchicken @extrhotjne @caitxx1 @palindrome969 @todorokiskitten @azuna-sz @meanergreener @nxzz-skz @jazziwritesthings @poutypoutybin @bookyeom @jisuperboard @wyzminho @amarecerasus @channection @lastgreatamericandynasty1 @judeduartewannabe @chanshyunjin @firelordtsuki @astronomicallyyy @alm334 @lashaemorow

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 08.04.2024]

[groceryreceiptss]

𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 | j.p.

james potter x reader | word count : 7.2k | requested

↳ part one / part two ───✧₊∘

summary : james always said that you were his best friend and you always said that he was yours. but you didn't realize that the meaning of the words had changed for you until it was a week before the yule ball and you two were walking through the snow covered streets of hogsmeade (reader's pov)

contains : my writing (warning lmao), pretty cheesy. (childhood) best friends to lovers!! flufff, herbal tea slander (sorry if you like it), lots of out-of-place references (like pjo and spiderman, i'm SORRY, i can't help it). i’m never sure on what to put in here to be honest so just let me know!

a/n : soo i might have gone a biiiiit overboard and make it a two part! this one takes place in hogsmeade (mostly), told from reader's point of view. i'm planning for the second one to be from james' point of view and for it to take place during the yule ball (no promises on when i’m going to finish it though TT )

credits : lovelyy dividers by @cafekitsune, pins i used (1) (2) (3)

───────────────────────

The castle seemed to have its own separate life in December. Snow, trees, warm hearth, lights, candles, sweaters, hot drinks, and not to mention the food. The students always seemed to be reinvigorated by the time this month came too. Excited whispers floated the hallways in strings of exclamations.

This year, they were way louder than usual though. And the reason for it was visible in every room. The vibrant yet elegant posters, the talks of elaborate plans, scenes of people asking and being asked (and the cheers that would follow it), conversations of suits and dresses, and absolutely nonchalant talks of dates and hopes.The Yule Ball.

This extravagance of the event only happened once in every four years, so of course, everyone was excited. Nothing could be more thrilling than a chance to live out your silly teenage dreams and be like one in the movies.

You loved it too. The smiles, the laughter, the gossip, the drama. It was fun, though you weren't expecting much for yourself. You weren't being a downer or whatever (which was what James would definitely tell you), it was just that, if truth be told, you had learned not to hope too much in anything. Retrospective had taught you a long time ago that it would only tarnish the joy out of a perfectly good moment. 

Today was a festive Saturday morning. Talks of the ball were echoing off the walls in a more persistent way than ever. Understandable for they only had a week left before the festivities, anxiety and anticipation were sure rising.

You were just about to enter The Great Hall, the comforting smell of good breakfast already reached your nose, before someone suddenly threw their arms around you from the back, throwing you off balance a bit, his warmth enveloping you. James Potter.

Funny how someone's laugh could be so familiar to one's ears.

"How are you in this fine lovely morning?" The bespectacled boy greeted you as you turned around, eyes meeting his, your lips turned upward mirroring his smile. He really did have the most annoying charming smile. It was infectious.

"Freezing to death," you responded, slinging his arm around your shoulders as both of you walked the rest of the way to the hall. "Where are the others?”

"Already there," he scoffed, and continued on dramatically, "They left me to fend for myself!"

"To be fair, you are a heavy sleeper."

"You're one to talk," he grinned at you, "Why do you think both of us are the last ones to arrive?"

And he hit it right. You straightened up, ready to defend yourself. "Well, look–"

But he was way ahead of you. "Good book?" he smiled knowingly. And right again.

"So good," You nodded your head vigorously. "You should read it sometimes. I'll add that to your list." You waved your hand away casually, as if to say ‘done and done.’

"I look forward to reading it."

You smiled up at him, agreed. "Good, because you must." And before you could stop it, you went on telling him all about your reading from last night.

He didn't seem to mind, he never did. In fact, he always seemed to be interested in everything you had to say, so you continued. It had become a routine. You told him about a book he had never heard of, he told him about a match you had never watched.

James Potter was your best friend. Always had and always would be. The two of you had known each other since you were five and knew nothing and everything. Both of your parents had been best friends and it just progressed naturally. They would often spend the holidays and breaks together and so his house was yours as much as yours was his. 

And when both of you got the Hogwarts letter at the age of eleven and were sorted into Gryffindor, it was inevitable that you grew even closer. Everything about him had become so familiar now. It was like you knew him at the back of your hand.

His favorite color, his favorite food, his favorite song. How his eyes brightened a bit when he laughed. The dimples that came with his smile. How he would bite his lip a bit when McGonagall caught him and his friends in their mischievous schemes, or when he was thinking of a lie to tell her.

How he liked to put his arm around your shoulder, or tucked it in the inside of your arm every time he saw you. His glasses that were always lopsided, and his hair that was always tousled. Just like it was right now.

Both of you sat down in front of Remus and Sirius, who were laughing about something. Crisp toast, bacon, and eggs on the plates completely abandoned. You eyed them closely and wondered how two people could be so oblivious to one another when they were sitting that close to each other. And look at Remus! He was almost red.

If only you did not have a sense of decency and could have it in you to interfere with these two, then maybe, just maybe, they'd finally admit their feelings and go to the Yule Ball together.

"Where's Wormtail?" James asked them, getting himself a plate of eggs and sausages. You decided to grab some toasts, marmalade, and some eggs.

"Don't know," Sirius shrugged. "Probably hatching a plan to ask Jane out."

"Doesn't she already have a date?" You asked him, confusion on your face.

"Not sure," Remus chimed in, "it's hard to keep track these days." True that.

The four of you talked some more. You and James tried multiple times trying to get these two to talk about their dates to the ball—or more like the lack of it—and did a bait and switch. And you were good at it, but boy were they better.

After their plates had emptied, Remus said that he was going to make a quick run at the library and Sirius, very subtly and casually, offered that he could come too because he was "bored." You and James could barely contain your smiles until they disappeared out of view.

He grabbed a bit of your toast, put some of his fruits on your plate in exchange for it, and asked, "So... what about you?"

"What about me?"

"Who are you going with to the dance?"

"Oh," you pondered a bit, biting one of the strawberries. "I don't know. I'm thinking of going by myself, maybe? I think it'd be fun."

"No one has asked you yet?" He asked, surprised.

You let out a laugh at his expression. "Don't pretend to be shocked now, James. I don't exactly have a line of people waiting to ask me out."

"People here have bad tastes then.” He concluded. 

You shrugged, “I don’t mind. It’d be a pity spending the night with some stranger I don’t know, or even like, anyway. What about you and Lily?”

James' die-hard affection for the red-head girl was never a secret. The entire school knew it. It had been going on since first year and you doubted it would ever stop.

The way he always talked about her — with so much fondness and care. It was, the way she smiled, the way she laughed, the way she talked. But you noticed the way he looked at her too. It was like he fell in love every time he laid his eyes on her.

You figured that he was going to at least work up the courage to ask her out to the ball, even if it would only end up in vain, but no news from him so far. It was weird, like a sudden change of the weather. You had had to endure listening to him for what seemed like ages after Lily talked to him for the first time. And then another and another and another about his failed attempts at asking her out. What's with the quiet and silence now?

Was the fact that she turned him down again for the dance hurt him that bad? Oh, now you felt guilty for asking.

What was so strange, though, was that there wasn't sadness on his face now. No hidden pain or aches. Instead, he said, ever so casually, your toast in his hand "I haven't asked her yet."

You were taken aback, shocked, eyebrows scrunched up. "What?"

James' fruitless efforts with Lily was also very much widely known, but he was never ashamed of it. You couldn't remember the last time he passed an opportunity to confess his— as he said it —undying love for her.

"What, what do you mean you haven't asked her out?" You sputtered out.

He chuckled nervously at your response, raising his hands in trying to calm you down. "Is it really that surprising?"

"Considering the fact that you, James Potter, have been after her for like forever and never faltered in his efforts to make her know that he is head over heels for her, then I'd say, yeah. It's pretty surprising." You responded, baffled. "What changed?"

"Nothing! I just figured that she'd turn me down anyway and didn't bother. And then I heard she already accepted someone else's offer anyways." he shrugged.

"Oh," you put his hand in yours and gave it a squeeze. "I'm sorry."

James squeezed yours in return and gave you a smile. "Nothing to be sorry about. I'm fine, honestly." he assured you. “I think it might be for the best.”

Though you didn’t believe that, he did look fine. And James was never one to hide his feelings from you— in fact it was the total opposite, he was always ever so dramatic — so you took his words. You bit your lip and asked, "You want some tea?"

"What is it this time?" He asked as he took a bite of the egg.

You grabbed one of the teacups and gave it a sniff. "Oh," you scrunched up your nose from the smell, "Herbal, I think." you put it down. "That's a no then."

He groaned, "Why couldn't they just serve normal tea?"

"Because then we won't have a ‘refined’ palate." You rolled your eyes, quoting something Madam Pince had told you in the library for what seemed like a long time ago.

"That's a silly excuse for serving only herbal tea at breakfast."

You couldn't say that you disagree.

"So,” he started. “What are you doing today? Any plans?" 

"No,” you shook your head, “Nothing much." You poured yourself a glass of orange juice and passed the jug to him. "I'll probably just read. You?"

He poured one himself and grinned at you. "That depends, you want to go to Hogsmeade?" 

"Uh-oh," you let out a laugh, sensing trouble. "What are you up to?"

He gasped dramatically. "What do you mean ‘what are you up to?’ I am offended.” He placed a hand on his chest for good measure. “Could it be possible that maybe I just want to spend the day at Hogsmeade with my best friend?”

You raised your eyebrows at him.

He laughed. “I’m not going to do anything, honestly. And It'll be fun, I promise!" he nudged you. "We haven't gone there in a while." Well, that was true.

"It's cold," you argued.

"I have an extra coat if you want double."

"It will be very crowded."

"Then we'll find some place no one knows."

"That's impossible."

"Anything is possible, love. Please." He pleaded, looking at you with his big doe eyes. It was so unfair of the world to give someone such gorgeous brown eyes and left the others to dust. So unfair.

You sighed, letting out at last. He would be the death of you one of these days. "Fine," — which brought a whispered "Yes!" from him— "But we're going to have to visit the quill shop."

"Consider it done." 

──────────────────∘

Hogsmeade was truly beautiful in the winter. Its snow-covered roads, the orange lights visible in every shop, and the chattering crowds in their coats and scarves. Though the hits of cold wind on your face made you shiver, you were glad that you decided to go. And that you were with James. His arms around your shoulders provided you warmth just as much as his breath on your cheeks did.

As promised, both of you visited Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop. James had complained at first and tried to negotiate by saying you should "save the best for last" and head to Zonko's instead to open the trip, but after both of you saw the line the place'd formed, he agreed that maybe quills were more fascinating.

"Why are there so many types of ink?" he whispered loudly at you as he examined the shelves, "Who cares if it's lavender purple or lilac purple? They're purple!"

"Lots of people do." You answered before quietly squealing to him after finding a rare gem. "Look!"

You pushed the ink bottles to his face so he'd read the label. "Rainbow ink?"

"Rainbow ink!" You nodded excitedly.

"You do not need rainbow ink, love." He shook his head but couldn't force back the affectionate smile that had appeared on his face.

"Just like you don't need those hand-biting teacups or whatever from Zonko's, and yet here we are." You hummed giddily as you grabbed one of the brand new boxes of rainbow ink from the shelf.

"It's nose-biting teacups— please don't take the fun out of it," he corrected you, "and yes I do need it! It's fun! Trashy fun, but fun!”

"Whatever you say, love." Something caught your attention and you immediately grabbed the cuff of his shirt. "Oh! Let's look here!" 

With the rainbow ink tucked safely in your coat pocket, you and James walked out of the shop and visited Zonko's. He recounted all of the items he had once bought and how he had used them up, mostly with Sirius. He ended up getting something called Inflatable Tongue (for what you didn't want to know) before both of you walked out. 

You turned to him with a glint in your eyes. "Honeydukes?" 

He returned the mischief and grinned. "I thought you'd never ask. Time?"

You thought it over, looking at the clock nailed onto the wall of the shop through the glass.

“Five minutes,” you pointed out. “Letter?”

"B,” he decided as he rubbed his gloved hands together. "Ready?"

"One..." you looked over at him, I'm going to obliterated you. 

"Two…”

“Three.. Go!" you declared before both of you ran to the brightly colored store. 

You and James had many traditions. This was one of them. 

The challenge was simple. You only had to find as many candies as possible that started with the decided letter in those few minutes.

It had started with a silly argument in second year, about who knew more about sweets and, later on, the knowledge of Hogsmeade's own candy shop's stocks and products. You only had been able to visit by third year of course, and the real game had only begun there, but the fire was already established way before. 

Your friend, Marlene, thought it was stupid, and so did the rest of the Marauders, but there was something to be said about the similar stubbornness you two had. Sirius had said they were eerily alike.

You and James entered the shop with thrill and jumpy nerves, but were still decent enough to try not to run like little children that would definitely result in getting kicked out. Like that time both of you visited those muggles candy stores over a summer when you were younger. Lessons were learned.

You immediately went to the right part of the store, claiming the territory. Directed by your decision, James went to the left. 

You knew the store well. James didn’t know it, but you had been visiting this cheerful shop a lot recently. Mostly because Mary was so down after her breakup with her toxic ex and these treats are one of the things that could cheer her up. But on the side, you had done your research. The Bs were on this side of the store.

Bolandi’s Exquisite Crystallized Pineapple. Blood-flavored lollipop. Bat’s Blood Soup? Gross. And some chunks of brownies. 

Five minutes passed, and with James only got Bertie’s and bubblegums, you came out of the shop victorious. 

You jumped and threw your hands in the air. “And miss y/l/n won again. Thank you, thank you.” You bowed to a nonexistent audience. 

He only smiled at you. “Don’t be so proud now. Remember, miss y/l/n, I am still the running champion here. 3-2” he reminded you with a smug smile on his face. 

You shrugged. “That won’t be hard to feat, you mark my words.“ you offered him a look into your paper bag. “Want to try some?” 

“What’s new?” 

“Bat’s blood soup.” Your nose wrinkled at the name. “He said that it’s actually chocolate, but the name is too off putting.” 

“It’d be good with strawberries,” he offered. “We can grab some from dinner later.” 

You nodded your head as both of you made your way through the village. “I think Mary would like it too anyways.”

“Oh, right.” James said. He and Mary weren’t close but they were friendly, especially from being past neighbors and all. “How is she these days?” 

“Better every day I'm sure. It’s for the best, Matt’s an asshole.” 

“We can only hope that that itching powder will find its way real soon.” he grinned at their latest form of tricks. “Or maybe during the Yule Ball actually. That would be so much better.” 

You snorted. “Usually I would say that’s cruel, but he deserves it. We thank you for your service.” You continued solemnly. 

He waved his hand as if tipping off his hat. “And you are so very welcome.” 

Both of you walked through the well-lit village. Talking about everything and nothing, laughing at that student making a fool of himself in one of the shops, and slipped some bites of the crystallized pineapples.He asked you about how far into the book you were now, and you asked him about his Quidditch team and whether the newest member– someone from year two, you believed–was still afraid of heights.  

James had his left arm around you and your gloved hands were holding his–the one near your neck–fighting for some sense of warmth. You and James hadn’t done this in a while and you’d forgotten how much you missed it. You looked up at him as he was talking about the second-year boy and saw the flecks of snow scattered on his face, his askew glasses, and his jet black hair. It made him look a tad bit adorable, you thought. His brown eyes that had that bit of green in them were alight with something so charmingly infectious that you couldn’t help but smile. 

You looked at him as he talked about the latest match, his right hand going everywhere as he was talking at the speed of 893 miles per hour. You loved seeing him talk excitedly about something. There was just something so beautiful in hearing the people you cared about talk about things that they cared about so passionately and ardently, no matter how trivial they may be. It was like you were trusted enough to see this crazy side of them. It’s nice.

A group of third-years passed by and you heard them complaining about not being able to go to the ball yet. Something about dances, dresses and suits, and dying alone. 

"Oh," you fought a smile to keep it from surfacing as you remembered a particular last week incident. “How are your dance moves coming along?" 

He groaned. “Not this again.  You're trying not to laugh." 

"I'm not!" but a chortle escaped you either way. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry. I know you're trying your best."  

"I am!" he whined. "It's just really hard and Padfoot isn't exactly the best dance partner for practicing," he grumbled.

"Steps-on-you-shoes kind of bad or doesn't-catch-you-after-the-spin-that-you-end-up-falling kind of bad?" You said with a smile and with raised eyebrows. 

He rolled his eyes as he revealed a sheepish smile. As if he could forget. "I said I'm sorry."

“I know. but it was right there. I couldn't not do it.”

A week ago, in the empty common room at night, James had asked you to teach him the basic dance steps most people used for the ball. Despite his mother's graces for it, you found that her son was very much an amateur. 

He kept stepping on your foot and collided with you as he took the wrong directions. You were laughing and kept saying that it was fine, but he still apologized every other second of it. 

The ending to the attempts was a disaster. A playful one for you, but he seemed very embarrassed of it. You had suggested the spin—and honestly it was your fault to have recommended it in the first place when it had only been an hour and a half—and as he tried to pull you back, he might have tugged your hand a bit too hard and you ended up crashing into one another. Your figure on top of his, his hands on your waist. 

His cheeks had turned slightly red, and yours had grown hot as the fall stopped and you found your face so close to his. Your eyes inevitably found his brown ones and you felt his rapid breaths on your skin. His eyes have a little bit of green in them, like stars, your mind wandered before catching yourself. You let out a slight awkward cough and tried to laugh it off as you made yourself stand up. 

He gave you a string of apologies afterward, and although you had assured him that it was all in good fun, he never asked you to teach him again. You kind of wished he would, for reasons you couldn't quite explain, but you didn't want to push him when he had turned to Sirius to "let the failures just befall on him", as he'd said it. 

"But, either way, have you improved under the capable hands of Sirius Black, Mr. Potter?" you asked him now, an eyebrow raised. 

"Well, he's definitely not as capable as you." He gave you an admiring smile, and you almost looked away from it. Taking compliments was never one of your talents. Especially if you felt undeserved of it. 

"Well, it might come to you as a surprise, but what we learned was the easy part. I'm an intermediate myself." Deflected and dodged. 

He laughed. "Either way, you're still graceful at it. You know, the incident did happen again. With Sirius." 

You snorted. "What?" 

"Yeah. Luckily, it's still in the privacy of our dorm. so it's good."

"I'd give money to see that." 

"Would never let that happen in a million years."

“With the way things are going, I might. The dance is a public affair.” 

“I’d have to get better by next week then.” He said it solemnly like it was a promise, but he probably was kidding. That small child-like smile on his face said it all. 

You had walked to the empty side of the village. You didn't think there was one, but the snow covered streets around you were scarce of people. Only a few passersby before they too disappeared into the warm shelter of a wooden shop. Just the way you preferred it.

A sudden thought crossed your mind and before you could even give it a second thought, your mouth decided to give it a voice. "You want to try again?"

He looked around, his snow flecked eyebrows raising, and his smile tinted with a hint of amusement. "Here?"

Well now you wished you hadn't. But, playing along was always better than an embarrassed "never mind, that was stupid" right?

"Well, yes!"  you told him as if you definitely didn't have any second thoughts at all. "Almost no one’s here. Besides," You continued with a light feather edge on your words. "I heard it's freeing to dance in the cold December wind."

He shot you with one of his cheeky smiles. "Is that so?" before putting on his thinking face, a guess on the tip of his tongue. "Romance?" He ventured.

"Partly. It's a coming-of-age drama and such." You corrected him. "It's also on our winter list for this year you'll see."

"Can't wait." and he meant it. But only because, "I hope you'll also like that match tape I got of a muggles' football match. They're entertaining too to say the least."

After years of being best friends together, he had learned that you liked to talk in quotes from the books you'd read and the movies you'd watched. And after years of spending winter and summer breaks together watching and listening to the muggles' form of entertainment media, it was like you shared the same frequency. He could guess which type of movies or shows or songs you had probably heard the saying from, and you could guess which sport match did he reference that joke from.

It was a whole different game. Total number of players : two.

He stopped in his tracks, letting his arm fall from his shoulder, making your neck shudder a bit at the loss of warmth.

"So," he gave you a gentleman's bow—and a playful smile along with it—and offered his gloved hand. "May I have this dance?"

You almost let out a surprised laugh at the gesture. You took a ladylike bow, pinching the fabric of your invisible royal dress. "That depends," you said in an exaggerated accent, "are you able to do so without giving me a head injury?"

He returned the overplayed accent. "I shall make no promises. But, if i were to slip and let you fall, best believe I'd try my best to catch you."

On the usual days, you'd bring up Gwen Stacy falling into her demise in one of the remakes of the Spider-Man movies. How Peter wasn't able to catch her and she ended up dead. James would've gotten the reference—you had cried to him for hours after that first watch last summer—but you couldn't bring yourself to do it.

And yet instead, you were here, trying not to let the invisible red take too much space on your already freezing cheeks. You smiled, and it was a smile you couldn't contain. Not like others. It was one that just kept going wider and wider the more you looked at the beam plastered on his face until it wasn't physically possible anymore.

James, your head echoed his name as you mentally shook your head. A soft laugh escaped your lips. What have you done?

“We’re going to look stupid.” You admitted.

“Hey, it was your idea." He reminded you, his hand still stood in the air.

"It was a moment of foolery." But you took it.

The wind had started to pick up its course again and caused the snow to fall rapidly. Under the glow of the streetlights, you two danced and laughed. It started off as an attempt to the formal dance two would usually use at a ball, but after one or two or seven missteps, you agreed that maybe you should start over.

There was no music to accompany you but there was a faint piano playing from one of the shops. It whispered gently with the wind that swept you and James' rowdy steps. 

His laughters were echoing in your ears, into your mind. His breath was on your cheeks, and his gloved hand on your woolen one was a warming touch. His glasses were a bit askew, and a part of his hair that came out of his beanie was flecked with snow.

There was no rhyme nor reason to your steps or the placement change of your hands. It was so stupid and silly. One minute it was an amateur attempt at classic dances, and another you were fooling around as if you were at a house party.

It was nice. Like you two were five again and you knew nothing and everything. Childhood innocence, where have you gone?

There were a lot of things you were late to realize about your friendship with James. You guessed you didn’t really think much about a friendship that had started since you could remember. It had always just been there, all your life. So long that you couldn’t imagine a life without it. A steadfast thing, the most you ever had one with someone that used to be a stranger to you.

You couldn’t even imagine that now. James Potter, a stranger. It felt so wrong. You had known too much about him, he had known too much about you. He was memorized in your mind.

From his hazel brown eyes that felt like the warm hearth of your home every time you looked at them, to the quirk of his lips and the gentleness of his smile.

To his voice that had once become a soothing presence after you had had paranoid nightmares about one of the people you knew dying. To the sound of his laughter that accompany the hot days in June and the freezing weather of winter, like how it did right now.

How he would run his hands through his hair when he was frustrated or didn’t know what to do. Or how his handwriting looked and how the Gs and Ys are always so sloppy and how the Ss barely look like one.

And so many things. So many other things you couldn’t imagine living without. Maybe this was just you being too present in a moment that you couldn’t think of it being ripped away and making you not be there anymore, but you weren’t sure.

You looked at him, and it was like the rest of the world fell away. His eyes had stars in them and his cheeks were red from the cold.

Your thoughts raced in a hundred miles per hour as your breaths and the pulse in your veins tried to catch up. All of them were beating to get out of your skin and onto the snow. They all had the same jitters, the same sound, and the same beat. And they all were talking in one unison, a whisper of the name of the person in front of you.

James Potter. James Potter. James. Oh. Oh.

It was a moment too late before you realized you had not been watching your steps and tripped yourself over a good mound of snow.

“Woah, woah” You started as you fell forward onto the snow, with your hands still on James’.

You heard the soft thump of the snow hitting James’ head, as your body fell on top of his. The rough old material of his father's coat met with your similar one. Your eyes were inches from his and so were your lips. You didn’t know what to think, your mind just went blank at the sudden proximity.

You should— wait, what should you do? You should— right, oh my god, apologize!

Fighting your inner thoughts and denying its claims, you immediately got up. Maybe too quickly for nonchalance but your racing brain didn’t have time to think it through. Not when it was jammed with mixed and confused signals from your heart.

“James! I’m so so sorry!” you offered him your hand and pulled him to stand, brushing off the snow from his coat. “Sorry, I wasn’t in my mind for that one second. Sorry.”

You couldn’t meet his eyes, or even look at him—which almost never was a problem before, at least not because of this kind of… thing— so you resumed correcting his lopsided beanie. 

He just laughed though. All casual as if you didn’t just find a big revelation. “It’s okay, it’s fine.” He tried to assure you. But you still wouldn’t stop, so he took hold of your hands to stop them from fixing his woolen headwear.

Great, now you were forced to look at him. You just hoped the cold weather was still a believable reason to cover up for whatever your face may look like now. Flushed, probably. But hopefully not too embarrassed.

You looked at his face, a trace of mirth still on his lips that were so close to you a minute ago. His face was kinda red too, but it was probably because of the season.

“It’s okay,” he assured you again. “You know,” an end to his smile turned a bit more upward and you knew that a tease was coming. “You reminded me of an old me,” he continued breezily, “i made this same mistake too back then. When i was more foolish.”

You couldn’t help but let out a snort. James, james. Alright, just let things—and especially you—calm down a little, you told yourself. Let everything go back to normal.

“You mean a week ago, old man?” You lightly punched his arm, before dusting off the snow from your own coat. 

“Time is relative. Miles Morales said it himself.” He said as he helped you brush the snow out of your hair and coat. “Or actually it was Ernest whatnot but whatever.”

You let out a breath of laughter as you shook your head. His glasses were crooked so your hands automatically went up to fix it. Like you had done so many times. “There. It was crooked.” You heard yourself explaining.

“Thanks,” he said with that stupid silly smile of his. You hated that smile now. How can one have such a charismatic smile? It wasn’t fair. 

“No problem, wise man.” You responded with your new-found nickname for him, playfully rolling your eyes.  

“Seaweed brain," He called back, and that made you smile– you didn’t even realize it.

You gave him a nod of approval. "The Percy Jackson reference. Touché."

"I've learned sooo much from you." He said solemnly.

"I know." You smiled up at him. And he looked right into your eyes, that blinding smile of his radiating onto them before suddenly averting his gaze onto the ground, where evidence of your very own accident made a mark on the snow.

James rubbed his hands together, searching for warmth. "Hey, you want to go to the Three Broomsticks? It’ll probably be emptier now.” He offered, like he always did because he was your friend. Your best friend since you could remember.

You didn’t know why you were acting weird. It was only an hour ago when everything was normal. You didn’t know how everything could just change in a matter of seconds. He was your friend, it would be okay. However this would unfold, everything would be fine. Both of you had always overcome things before. It was with James, you two would get through it. You were grateful to have him. 

“Oh yeah sure.” You agreed. Wait, was that too quick of a response? Oh fuck it. He was your best friend, he had known you all his life too—which was exactly why if there was something off with you, he’d definitely be the first person to notice it, but you didn’t want to think about it too much. You shook your heads to clear all maddening thoughts. “Have you heard from Frank? Haven’t gone there in a while.”

“Oh, yeah he’s great.” He continued in a whisper, “I heard he has just received a new package of fire whiskey and Sirius and I are hoping to get a snatch of it or two. You know, for the house.”

“Right, for the house,” You rolled your eyes.

He lent out a hand to you, "Shall we?"

You took it and he gave it a soft squeeze, its grip sending vibrations through your bones.

"We shall."

───────────────∘

James was right, it wasn't as crowded as it would be if you had come earlier. Most people here had their drink and company either at noon or late afternoon and night. 3 pm wasn't exactly a busy hour. Though there were still too many people and noises for your comfort, you and James could at least find a table for two in the corner, quieter spot.

He came to the table holding two butterbeers in his hand. Both served hot to minimize the cold. He slid yours down the table and took a seat in front of you. His glasses are turned slightly uneven again. 

"So, y/n" he started as you picked up your drink and sighed at the heat it gave you. Your hands were absolutely freezing.

"Hm?" You responded, more focused on the comforting smell that radiated from your cup.

"I've been thinking," He continued, and now you looked up. You were so distracted before that you didn't notice how his hands were moving as if he were drumming his thighs under the table— a habit he often did when he was nervous.

You furrowed your eyebrows for a second but decided to ignore it. "Uh-oh. Nothing good ever comes up from that." You took a careful sip of the butterbeer, its warmth traveled all through your withered body. "New horrible trick ideas?"

He rolled his eyes, a breathy laugh came out of his lips. "Why is it that you always always think the worst of me, miss y/l/n?"

Just this morning, at the Great Hall, every part of you was functioning alright. Nothing going haywire. But now, there was a skipped beat in your heart and a flip in your stomach. You tried to deflect it but the butterflies couldn't be bothered.

"I don't always always think the worst of you James. I just know you." You did, you really did. You wondered if he knew it though.

"Well, I bet you wouldn't guess what's going to come out of my mouth this time." He claimed in a challenging tone.

You raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"Five guesses." He grinned as he pulled up five fingers to illustrate his point. "No retracting."

"Alright then," You accepted the challenge. You silently thought to yourself before voicing it all aloud. "Wasn't a trick, so maybe you are... planning to do something to the Marauders? Like, I don't know, maybe get those two idiots together to the ball?"

He pulled down a finger. "You know, maybe I should. But that wasn't it. You were kinda close though." 

Close where? “Sirius and Remus?”

He made a loud incorrect buzzer sound and pulled down another finger.

“Hey, that wasn’t-”

“No retracting,” he reminded you, as he took a sip of his own beverage.

“Not fair,” you grumbled. You thought about it again before guessing, “Oh! Yule Ball shenanigans? Oh wait no-“

Another buzzer sound, and two fingers left. “My, you really don’t know me, do you y/n?” He feigned a dramatic hurt on his face and a slight pout. “You’re close though.” 

About the dance? What’s about the dance? “What, you’re going to skip the ball?” You said it as a joke but he wasn’t laughing. In fact, there was just a trace of truth in that smile of his when you said it. “What, I’m right?”

“No. But that depends actually.”

“You’re talking in riddles.” 

“Yeah, it’s fun, isn’t it?” His smile had a slight smirk now, like it was still held back or something. “That counted as incorrect by the way.” He made another buzzer sound and one finger left.

You sighed in frustration. The Yule Ball, but it wasn’t about any tricks. So what? Oh. The realization hit you as you felt your heart drop. It was so silly, but bad timing, James. Bad timing.

“You’re finally going to try and ask someone else to go to the ball with you?” You voiced out your thoughts, hoping there wasn’t a hint that could suggest something else; reluctance and hesitation. What, did he meet her in the hallway before you two went out or something? 

He pulled his lips together and gave you a small shrug. “Close,” he concluded. “But again that depends.”

You sighed. “Alright, fine. I give up. I surrender. Just tell me.” You almost pleaded with him. 

“You’re my best friend, right?”

Right. Best friend. Of course. You nodded. “Mhm.”

“So…” he stopped, like he was nervous to get the words out. That was weird.

A worse idea came to mind.Oh please don’t tell me he’s going to ask me to become his fake date for the ball to make Lily jealous, you silently desperately prayed. It would’ve been easy if it had been any other week before, but not this week. Not today. And specifically not at this hour, when you were still processing everything. 

“Will you…” he continued hesitantly, his fingers playing with a loose thread on one of his gloves, a smile fighting to still be displayed on his lips. “Give me the honor and go with me to the dance?"

You said nothing, only slightly raised your eyebrows in surprise. That depends. You didn’t want to let the fireworks surround you. Skepticism came first, as it always had to.

But your silence seemed to jittered him, and he immediately jumped to explanation. “You know, because we’re best friends, and none of us have a date, and I don't know, I thought it would be fun? To go together. As friends. Casual thing. You know.” He shrugged.

You let out a smile at that, and it seemed to relax him a bit. Why was he so nervous? Of course you’d go with him. You were his best friend, and he was yours, he knew that. “Well, you are not a stranger I don't know or even like.” You joked.

He gave you a grin at that. “No, I’m not. So, you’d go? With me, I mean?”

He was cuter when he was nervous, it wasn’t fair. Why was he nervous again? You’d understand if it was you who were nervous, but why was he?

You couldn’t focus on anything besides the annoyingly loud flutter in your heart—and how hard you are trying to beat and stomp it to death right now. This doesn’t mean anything, it was just a friendly gesture. James was in love with Lily, there was no question, of course.

But you still felt the butterflies on your stomach go wild. You were fighting to contain that smile on your face, scared he’d figure out it wasn’t just any casual thing for you. You were going to the ball with your best friend and you realized there was no else you’d rather go with. 

“Of course, James. You’re my best friend!” You smiled up at him, the warmth coming through your gloves from the hot drink was now small compared to the thrill that coursed through your body. “Though do you have a written contract for possible head damage compensation because I might need it.”

He shook his head, a slight relieved laughter came out of his lips. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love me because of it.” You were only teasing, but you thought he looked at you with such sincerity in his eyes that it jarred your senses a bit. 

“Yeah, I do.”

───────────────────────

[helloalycia]

𝐍𝐎 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐁𝐘𝐄𝐒 [𝐎𝐍𝐄] — 𝐊𝐀𝐓𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐍

summary: when Katniss gets sick and doesn't show any signs of getting better, you fear the worst and have to do whatever you can to make sure she does.

warning/s: mentions of dying + usual warnings that come with writing for the hunger games.

author's note: thanks to everyone who voted on my first lil poll yesterday haha, here’s the katniss one that won! there’s 2 parts and it was written after i just reread all the hunger games books and became hyperfixated on katniss again lmao

i’ll post the jackie taylor yellowjackets one after this for anyone who voted that too :)

two / masterlist / wattpad

I tightened the woolly scarf around my neck, hoping it would do something to keep the cold, bitter air out despite its flimsiness. Winter in District 12 could be unforgiving, but by the look of things from the front window, it hadn't snowed anymore last night.

"I'm leaving, mum!" I called from the front door, grabbing my school bag.

"Have a nice day, hon!" she called back from the kitchen.

When I left my house, the first thing I stepped foot in was grey slush, and I wasn't sure if that was worse than a blizzard at this point. Nonetheless, I sucked it up and headed over to my best friend Katniss' house, not far from my own in the poor, ragged part of the district, the Seam.

We always met at her place before school since it was on the way and we could walk in together, but when I arrived, her little sister, Primrose, answered and looked worried.

"Hey, darling, what's up?" I asked, accepting the hug she gave me as I stepped inside.

"It's Katniss," she muttered. "She won't get out of bed."

Trying not to show my concern, I said, "I'll go check on her. You finish getting ready so we're not late, yeah?"

She nodded and I watched her go into the kitchen to finish her breakfast with her mum, the older woman offering a small smile when she saw me. I returned it before letting myself into the other room of their house, the bedroom that all three of them shared. Inside, Katniss was still in her bed, under the covers and blocking out the light. Whether she was awake, I wasn't sure, but this was certainly unlike her.

"Katniss?" I called, shaking her body slightly. "We're gonna be late, you've gotta get up."

She groaned slightly, not appreciating my interruption, and then seemed to realise what was happening as she rolled over, eyes squinted with confusion.

"Huh? What are you doing?" she mumbled, rubbing her face, and her voice was raspier than usual.

"It's time for school," I said knowingly, before frowning when I saw her cover her eyes with her hand. "Why are you still in bed? Prim has been trying to wake you."

"What...? I don't..." She stopped, before attempting to sit upright, but she squeezed her eyes shut and steadied herself on the bed.

"Hey," I said, much more concerned now, taking a seat on the edge of her bed. "You're not okay. Is it your head?"

She clutched her forehead, breathing out slowly. "I don't know. It hurts, it– god, it's bright in here."

I frowned, taking in her pained expression and connecting all the dots. "You're sick. You should stay home today. Get better."

As if I'd accused her of murder, Katniss shook her head and pulled the duvet off her with determination. "I'm not. I'm fine, I–" But just on cue, a throaty cough rattled her.

"I can stay home if you want," I offered, already pulling the duvet back on her. "Help you."

The last thing I wanted was to leave her alone whilst she was ill. Technically her mother would be here, but she wasn't the most attentive since she'd lost her husband, so it was essentially like leaving Katniss alone.

"No, you don't need to," Katniss gave in with a sigh.

"I don't mind," I offered, resting a hand on hers. "I can–"

"It's one day," she assured me, before clearing her throat. "I'll be okay. Go. Please. Or you'll be late."

I sighed disapprovingly before nodding, knowing one day of rest would hopefully prove to be useful. I leaned forward to hug her, about to wish her well, but she shoved me back quickly.

"Don't or you'll get sick," she argued tiredly, making me rub my chest where she shoved me.

"Ow," I said with annoyance, before rolling my eyes and standing up. "Very well. Lay down at least."

Thankfully, she obeyed which was how I knew she must've really felt rundown. Pulling the duvet to her shoulders, I tucked her in before wishing her well and leaving the room. After letting her mum know what was wrong and to keep an eye on her, Prim and I left the house together.

"She's okay, right?" the twelve-year-old asked me as we trudged through the muddy snow.

"Oh yeah, of course," I reassured her with a smile. "It's nothing. Just that time of year."

This seemed to work, as Prim sighed with relief before smiling too. But deep down, a small part of me was a little worried. Firstly, Katniss never got sick, ever. And secondly, whereas a cold might not take some people out, it could be the difference between life and death in a place where it was freezing and had no electricity. I only hoped she'd be able to sleep it off and recover soon.

All day I was thinking of Katniss, unable to focus much at school. When the final bell rang and we were finally let out, I was relieved, only wanting to check on her and hopefully see some improvement. Our friend, Gale, accompanied Prim and I back home, since he lived in the Seam also, and we all went to the Everdeens to see if Katniss was okay.

When we reached their house, we saw Mrs Everdeen helping someone out as part of her job as a healer, so decided not to interrupt and instead headed straight for Katniss. When we walked in, Prim ran to her bedside whilst Gale and I took in the scene. Katniss was still under her covers, as if she'd not moved all day.

"Hey, Catnip," Gale said, hoping to lighten the mood and stir her awake, if she was even asleep.

An annoyed moan was the only response we got, so I settled by her bedside and pulled the duvet down carefully, revealing her face. Her eyes were closed, scrunched with discomfort, but she was sweating. I felt her forehead, surprised at how hot she was, and my worry was increasing.

"How is she?" Prim asked from behind me.

I cleared my throat, pulling my hand back. "Er, warm. But it could be nothing."

Clearly I wasn't the best liar, since she pushed me out the way and felt her sister's forehead before frowning immediately.

"That's not nothing," she exclaimed, before going for the door. "I'm getting mum."

I sighed, but knew it was for the best. When her and her mum returned, the four of us attempted to coax Katniss awake properly. She was reluctant, but finally opened her eyes when I closed the curtains, blocking out the light that was bothering her.

"You're burning, Katniss," I told her gently, taking her hand. Her mum rested a cold cloth on her forehead, moving her hair from her face, and I looked back to her tired eyes. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm just tired," she said dismissively, yawning. "A little cold."

I exchanged nervous glances with Gale, who was as concerned for her as I was.

"You need to listen to your mum and sister," I told her. "They're gonna help you feel better, okay?"

"I'm fine, I just need to rest," she tried to assure me, but she wasn't very convincing.

"Katniss, please," I said quietly, and she looked to me with dark eyes, softening. "Just listen to them."

She nodded, giving in, and I offered her a small smile before looking to her mum for the next step.

"You should both go home," she said to Gale and I. "You can visit tomorrow."

I nodded, not keen to leave Katniss' side but knowing the best care she could be in was her family's. Gale and I said our goodbyes before walking home.

It was supposed to get better after that, Katniss was supposed to get better. But none of it did. She was still bedridden when I visited her after school the next day, though a little more awake than yesterday and itching to get up and leave.

"My legs work fine," she told me with frustration. "Why can't I just get up and push on?"

"Because you're weak, idiot," I told her, giving her a disapproving look. "You've still got a fever, too."

She frowned petulantly, staring off at the wall instead of me. I sighed, resting a hand on hers, and thankfully she didn't pull away.

"Your mum is taking good care of you," I reminded her. "You're gonna be okay, but you need to rest."

"You shouldn't visit me meanwhile," she said after a moment, finally looking at me. "What if I'm contagious?"

I tried not to smile, the thought of not visiting her sounding insane. "I'll live, Katniss."

She exhaled weakly, not bothering to argue. I swallowed hard, taking in her expression. Circles were becoming deeper under her eyes, showing her struggle to sleep properly, and she was still glistening in a thin layer of sweat. Even now, her hand was hot beneath mine, and it terrified me. But I tried not to think of the worst, instead manifesting positive thoughts the best I could.

Enough positivity to make Katniss puke, that was the goal.

Unfortunately, it only got worse from there on out. It was getting colder the deeper we got into winter, which wasn't helping, and Katniss was missing more and more days off school. And then we finally finished school for the year, and Katniss was still unwell.

Unlike that second visit, she wasn't fighting her weakness anymore, unable to play it tough when her migraines were ruining her. Her fever would break, then return, then break again. I didn't understand what was wrong and I'd never been so scared in my life. Gale and her family felt the same, but her mum was surprisingly consistent with her care, doing everything she could to make her daughter better.

But we all knew what nobody would admit – Katniss needed real medicine, none of this herbal stuff.

One day, I was visiting Katniss, going over more and more now that school was done, but she wasn't always awake when I visited. Thankfully she was today, and when I walked in, her head turned to the door to see who it was. When she saw it was me, she shook her head, unimpressed.

"You shouldn't be here," she said as she always did, and I rolled my eyes playfully.

Ignoring her, I took a seat at the edge of her bed, aware of her eyes following my every move.

"Prim," she began, but I answered before she needed to finish.

"She's at Gale's," I reassured her, making her sigh with relief.

Having Prim seeing her like this always worried her, but I was making sure that the younger Everdeen wasn't always around. Of course, she was stubborn like her sister and sometimes insisted. Today though, she was content spending the day with Gale's siblings.

I looked down at Katniss, noticing how much weight she'd lost these past few weeks. She was already skinny, a consequence of living in District 12, but this was sickly, haunting. I'd never seen her so rundown before and I was seriously terrified that if we didn't get her real medicine soon, she could die. Nobody had a cold or flu or whatever it was for this damn long. She was struggling to eat properly, to stand at all, and she looked like hell. I couldn't just watch her deteriorate like this. Not my best friend. Not the girl I cared way too much for.

"Stop it," she said, an accidental whisper. "Stop looking at me like that."

"I'm not doing anything," I defended, embarrassed I'd been caught.

She knew me too well though. "I'll be okay. In fact–" She paused, and then suddenly attempted to sit upright, but her arms were too weak to hold her up and she slipped right back down. The tears were quick to pool in her eyes, a matching scowl on her face, at her incompetence.

"It's okay," I said sympathetically, taking her hand in between mine.

She squeezed it tight, like a lifeline, but avoided my eyes. A tear slipped from hers, and I pretended not to see it for her sake.

"I need to hunt," she said with a hoarse voice, no doubt holding in her emotion.

"Gale has it under control," I said, only imagining all she'd been worrying herself with whilst stuck here. She was the sole provider for her family, and with her out of action, the responsibilities were piling up.

"He has his own family to worry about," she snapped, before catching herself, instantly feeling bad. Quieter, she said, "It's not enough."

She wasn't wrong, of course, but I would never let her know that. Gale barely found enough to feed his own family, especially during winter, and he was sparing what little he could to keep Prim and her mum afloat. I did the same with what scraps I got, but I was no hunter and couldn't offer extra game like he could.

"We're sorting it," I said confidently. "Your mum and Prim are okay, aren't they?"

She finally met my eyes, hers glassy and exhausted. "For how long?"

It was much harder to lie to her when she was looking right at me, so I cleared my throat and forced a small smile. "All the more reason to get better, right?"

She pursed her lips, looking away again. It was quiet as she laid there, me holding her hand and keeping her company. I knew how horrible it could be when you were sick and alone, so I made sure not leave her side, as her eyes began to flicker close, struggling to fight the tiredness. I moved closer, pushing the hair from her eyes and raking my hands through her roots, knowing she liked the feeling but would never admit it. I was proven right when she let out a deep breath, squeezing my hand in approval, and I smiled softly at how cute she could be when she didn't even know it.

Only when she was out of it did I feel my tears blur my vision, unable to pretend that I was okay. She wasn't looking any better, and I couldn't just watch her like this, unable to do a thing.

I leaned forward, kissing her forehead, and closed my eyes briefly, praying to whatever God was out there that she'd be okay.

Everyone had their special something, a skill they had perfected or a hobby they could get lost in. Mine? I hadn't discovered it yet. I suppose I was doing pretty well in school, so taking tests could count, though it was a shit skill to have, impractical. But hunting, that was Katniss' and Gale's thing. No, definitely not mine.

They'd taken me out once, letting me join them on their weekly escapade. Gale found it hilarious that I moved too loudly, scaring away the prey, or that I stepped in my own trap, getting my foot stuck in the rope. I let him enjoy himself at my expense, knowing it was inevitable. Katniss however, despite the small smile that would ghost her lips at something stupid I'd do, was adamant on helping me. She took it too seriously, showing me how to use her prized bow and how to sneak around better. I'd like to say it worked, that I learnt something, but it didn't. It was safe to say they never took me again.

So, when I found myself in the forbidden woods outside the District 12 fence, with Katniss' bow in hand, I felt like a foreigner. I wasn't familiar with these woods, especially not in winter when it was a completely different ballgame to what I'd 'practiced' in last summer. Katniss' bow was too big for me, and no matter how hard I tried to take her familiar hunting routes, my approach always scared away the prey.

I was out there for two hours, certain my fingers would fall off from the cold, but I refused to give up. I couldn't return empty handed. Gale hadn't been successful last week, and family responsibilities had kept him from hunting today like he usually did. So, I took it upon myself to do it, especially because Prim was so hungry, her little face shrinking the longer Katniss was bedridden. I couldn't let her down, any of them, so I pushed on.

But every arrow I let fly missed its target, and every squirrel I approached scampered off. The sun, hidden behind thick clouds, was setting and it was getting dark out, even though the afternoon was barely over. I had to go home, but I had nothing to show for it. I couldn't even pick any edible plants because everything was frozen. I was a failure.

I couldn't catch a thing; the one job I had, to keep Prim fed, was failing; Katniss was dying and I couldn't do a thing to change any of it.

Tears streamed down my face, hot against the cold of my cheeks, and I collapsed in the snow, unbothered by it melting into the cotton of my trousers. It didn't matter anymore.

She wasn't getting better. Every day I visited her, she looked worse for wear. If it wasn't her fevers, it was her migraines. And if it wasn't her migraines, it was her throat. I was losing her day by day and I felt powerless. I couldn't even shoot a fucking squirrel to help. Nothing was working.

I was going to lose her.

Admittedly, I wallowed in self-pity for a little longer, appreciating having somewhere private to let it all out. It was hard playing it positive and tough all the time, for Prim's and Katniss' sake, when the truth was I was scared shitless. Living in a world without my best friend, the girl I so deeply loved to the point that she'd laugh if she ever found out, was terrifying. I didn't even want to envision it.

It was dark by the time I returned to the Everdeens home. I would have much preferred to go straight home, but I couldn't not update them on my false promise.

"Y/N!" Prim exclaimed when she opened the door, before tugging me in instantly.

"Hey," I said, forcing a smile, and I was glad the redness from the cold disguised my red eyes from crying.

"You're freezing," she realised, before calling for her mum. "You were gone for ages! Come, sit in front of the fire."

I pulled back as she attempted to drag me to the fire, and then her mum appeared and noticed the same thing Prim did.

"Y/N, you need to warm up–"

"I will, at my house," I promised her. "I just came to tell you that I– that–" I paused, afraid of the shakiness of my voice. Swallowing thickly, I said, "I'm sorry. I couldn't– I'm not–"

Fuck, why was this so hard?

"I'm gonna figure it out," I changed my words, nodding confidently. "I'll get some food. I'm sorry. I–"

Prim suddenly hugged me, arms wrapping around my torso and squeezing so tightly that I could have snapped in half from how frozen I was. But I appreciated it nonetheless and returned the gesture, letting out a shaky breath.

"Don't do it again," her mum said gently, resting a hand on my cheek before hugging me too.

I blinked back my tears as I let myself relax in their comfort.

I couldn't just stand by and do nothing anymore, and there was only one thing that I knew I could do. None of us could ever afford the medicine Katniss needed from the doctor in town, unless we traded something valuable, like food.

If I used my tesserae, adding my name another time into the potential tributes for District 12, I would receive a year's supply of oil and grain. Participants could only apply once for themselves, and once for any of their family members if they were between the ages of 12 and 18. I'd used mine for this year, but I could still use it on behalf of my parents. They never wanted me to, but this was an emergency and they didn't need to know.

So, on behalf of them, I used my tesserae and traded that two years' supply of oil and grain with the doctor in exchange for the medicine that would make Katniss better. After describing all her symptoms, he explained how it was some complex form of a cold, rare but deadly. I was lucky I'd got to him in time.

Gale didn't approve of my plan when I told him, trying to talk me out of it. Just like Katniss, he cared about whether I used my tesserae without needing to. I could see it was killing him to watch me do it anyway, wanting to do it himself if he could, but he'd already used all his family's tesserae for the year. It was the first thing he did every time it was available, having no choice since he had a big family.

After I collected the medicine from the doctor, I was quick to return to Katniss' house, giving a rushed explanation to her mum about the medicine and what the doctor said about administering it and how it would save her life.

"Y/N, how did you get this?" she asked once I finished to catch my breath.

"It doesn't matter," I said to her. "But it'll help. We can give her the first dose now."

"Y/N–”

"Mrs Everdeen, please," I pleaded, and she must have seen the desperation in my expression because she nodded slowly and went to make Katniss some tea with the medicine in it. It was a syrup of some sort, so the mint tea should have made it a bit more palatable.

Eventually we both went to Katniss' room, where Prim was sat beside her, holding her hand and chatting quietly. When she spotted us both, she perked up and smiled a little.

"Hey, Prim," I said, returning her smile and joining her side. "How's the patient?"

"She's got a headache," Prim answered, and I looked to Katniss who had a wet towel pressed to her eyes, both cooling her down and also blocking out the light.

"Y/N?" Katniss whispered, though unmoving.

"Yours truly," I said playfully, needing to disguise the permanent concern that was in my voice. "We brought you some tea, Katniss."

She groaned quietly. "I don't want it."

Her mum glanced at me, unsure how to proceed, so I took the mug from her hand and placed it on the bedside table.

"It'll help," I promised her, before gently pulling her duvet down. "Can you sit up for me, please?"

She sighed but thankfully obeyed, allowing me to help her sit upright. She leaned against the bed frame and let me remove the towel from her eyes. I smiled when I saw her blue eyes, though they were fatigued as they had been since she'd gotten sick. Not for long, hopefully.

"Drink up," I encouraged, offering her the mug.

She silently accepted it, blowing on the tea before taking the first sip. Her face scrunched up with disgust. "What is that?"

"New herbal remedy," her mum answered before I could struggle to.

Katniss wasn't impressed, but managed to drink the whole thing, probably because she knew I'd let her go to sleep if she did. After laying back down, I pulled the duvet back over her and pushed her hair behind her ear, smiling reassuringly.

"You should feel better with that," I told her with certainty.

She didn't reply, eyes avoiding mine, something I'd noticed she'd been doing for a while now. It was like she knew she wasn't getting better and was scared to admit the truth, but this was different. This would finally work.

Prim and I stayed by her side until she fell asleep, and that was when I told her about the medicine. The pure joy and relief on her face was enough to let me know I'd made the right decision, and she hugged me so tightly that I almost lost my breath.

"I told you she'd be okay," I said with a small smile, accepting her hug. "And so will you."

"Thank you," she muttered into my shoulder.

I squeezed her gently before we stayed there, sat side by side. She didn't want to leave Katniss' side, and neither did I, but it was getting late and, at some point, Prim had dozed off on my shoulder. Only after I had tucked her into her mum's bed did Mrs Everdeen politely kick me out, forcing me to get some rest of my own at home. For once, I didn't argue it, my exhaustion catching up to me. Plus, I could sleep well knowing Katniss would already be doing a lot better tonight.

As soon as I woke up and remembered the medicine the next morning, I headed straight to the Everdeens place, hoping to see some sort of improvement with Katniss. So you can imagine my surprise when I walked into her room and saw her sat upright in bed, eating an actual breakfast on a tray.

"Katniss!" I said with disbelief, before rushing to hug her. "You're eating!"

She returned my hug and I pulled up a chair beside her bed, studying her curiously. She'd looked like she'd had a better sleep than she usually did, and she was actually holding up her own weight which was an achievement in itself. The medication was working!

The sight of her looking a lot healthier and actually improving from her poor condition brought tears to my eyes, but I willed them away. She'd hate to see me crying over her, but I genuinely couldn't believe it.

"I'm not stupid," she said with a raspy voice, eyes narrowed my way.

I furrowed my brows. "What?"

She frowned. "You think I don't know that you gave me actual medicine last night? There's no other explanation for why I'm feeling better. And I know it's not because of a damn herbal remedy. I was doomed, Y/N. So, what the hell did you do?"

"So you do feel better?"

"Y/N!"

I sighed as she raised her voice. "Okay, look, I'm sorry for lying to you, but you wouldn't have taken it if I'd told you."

"Damn right I wouldn't have!" she snapped, glaring at me. "We can't afford that! Which brings me to my next question. How the hell did you get it?"

I shook my head, looking down at her breakfast tray. "It's not your concern."

"Y/N, I swear to God I'll–"

"What?" I cut her off, meeting her hard stare with my own. "You'll what?"

Her eyes flickered between mine before softening. "Y/N. Please."

I could have given in so easily, just from a simple glance, but I refused to let her bait me. I ignored her instead, shaking my head and returning my gaze to her breakfast tray.

"You traded something," she guessed, back to her irritated self. When I didn't answer, she said, "What? What did you trade?"

Again, I said nothing, neither confirming nor denying, but she wasn't having it.

"Goddamn it, Y/N!" she shouted, but her voice was still weak so it was more of a broken yell. "You can't just sit there in silence whilst I–"

"Stop it!" I raised my voice too, glaring at her.

"What the hell were you thinking?!"

I frowned, eyes pooling with tears. "I was thinking that I couldn't just sit here and watch and not do anything! I was thinking that I was terrified that you would die! That you were getting worse and worse every day, and that I would lose you, Katniss!"

Her eyes were glassy as they met mine. "How many times?"

I scoffed, looking away. "Katniss, not now."

I expected her to yell again, but she said in a quiet voice, "Please. How many times is your name in there?"

I clenched my jaw, crossing my arms over my chest stubbornly. But when I glanced at her, she was watching me like a little girl who'd just lost her puppy, and I couldn't not respond.

"Not a lot," I tried to sugar coat it. "Only twelve times." At this, she released a sharp breath. "I traded two years of food with the doctor. It was enough to get the medicine."

She pushed the tray off her lap before pulling her knees to her chest, hiding her face between them. She was shaking her head and I knew she was crying, the sniffling giving it away. Feeling insanely bad, I sat on the bed beside her and pulled her in for a side hug the best I could.

"It's okay," I told her, rubbing her arm. "I chose to do it, Katniss. And I'd do it again, over and over, if it means you'll be okay."

She shook her head. "You shouldn't have," she said with a muffled voice, her head still tucked between her legs.

"You shouldn't have got sick," I tried to joke, but she only looked up at me with red eyes and quivering lips. I lost my smile, admitting, "I wasn't going to lose you. You don't get it."

I love you, I wanted to add, but I couldn't.

"Neither do you," she mumbled, before shoving me off her childishly.

I didn't get to question her because she pulled the tray back onto her lap and tried to finish off the remainder of stale bread in her plate. I returned to my seat next to her bed, watching as she sulked, ate and gave me the temporary silent treatment. I didn't care too much, as long as she was eating.

Once she finished, I took the tray and put it to the side momentarily, flashing her a supportive smile.

"You finished every last bit," I pointed out. "I'm proud of you."

She rolled her eyes, but that only made me smile more because it meant she had the effort to be annoyed at me, which was something she hadn't had for a while now.

"Did you have your morning dose of medicine?" I asked reluctantly, but needing to know.

She nodded, crossing her arms. "My mum gave it me earlier."

I relaxed. "Good."

Before I could say anything else, the door to the bedroom opened and Prim ran in, a bright smile on her face. Despite Katniss' annoyance with me, she couldn't resist returning her sister's smile, accepting her onto the bed and hugging her.

"You already look so much better," Prim was saying with amazement. "I was so scared."

"Well, there's no need to be," Katniss reassured her. "You didn't struggle too much without me, right?"

Prim shook her head. "Gale and Y/N have been helping. Y/N wouldn't leave. Mum had to kick her out a lot."

I facepalmed, feeling my cheeks heat up with embarrassment. It only deepened when Katniss glanced my way with an unreadable expression.

"Yeah, she has a tendency to not listen," she said, making me roll my eyes.

"She saved you," Prim said to her.

Katniss licked her lips. "I know."

I felt awkward, definitely not wanting the credit, I just wanted her to be okay. But then Prim changed the subject, catching Katniss up on all she'd missed, so I was able to sit back and witness it all, chiming in whenever Prim needed.

For once, Katniss was able to listen and actually hold a conversation. It was heartwarming to see, and if this was what she was like after one dose, I couldn't wait until she'd had the full thing.

[onestepbackwards]

So according to Bulbapedia (or Serebii, I forgor) the time difference between our world to legends arceus is one minute here = one hour there. Assuming the self aware AU's time still runs like that even after you close the game, one day here is 60 days there, more or less 2 months. Which means if the player plays PLA, say, 1 and ½ hour every day, the people of Hisui are graced with their god's presence for nearly 4 days straight every 2 months.

And that's assuming the player also doesn't take breaks from doing it. Nevermind dropping it for years, if you stop playing for a week, Volo would already be begging on his knees for an explanation and pleading for forgiveness (becuase of course his first few conclusions would be that they've done something wrong) since, for him, you've left them for a year without any explanations.

Which makes some shenanigans even funnier. In my case, since I wanted a main team with a shiny Zoroark and an alpha Braviary before the main story progresses, I'd go hunt them before quelling Avalugg. (At the time, I didn't know that random alpha spawns were only available after you quell the noble so I wasted a lot of time lmao. Still working on the shiny Zorua tho.) For the most part of that, I already grabbed the eternal ice but actively avoided the next main story interaction since I thought it would trigger the noble battle. And this search lasted for weeks before I decided to finally trigger that dialogue.

And whaddaya know, it didn't trigger the noble battle, and it was just Volo and Gaeric talking in the snow. Which means I've left them standing in the middle of the cold, day and night, sometimes enduring blizzards, for multiple years before I finally came and Volo instantly ran away from the area (and Gaeric continues to suffer bc I still won't progress w/o my shiny Zoro)

When I read Volo saying "Oh, have some mercy! Can't you see I'm dying (to tell you what I've learned)?" and "...well, I did want to see that Avalugg but perhaps not at the cost of my life. So I suppose my freezing digits and I will be off!", I immediately burst out laughing while feeling slightly guilty about that.

alsfjdklfjd;f

Poor Volo, having to be stuck in place for ages because the strings of code force him to do so

I always liked to imagine perhaps if the game was off, people in a self aware au could wander around as if everything was normal. They are just stuck to one spot when you play.

But that still makes a funny scenario.

You boot up the game after making them all wait ages, just to keep Volo in the snow again for days. He swears he gets a cold every time he finally can go home-

[dulcewrites]

White Christmas

Pairing: Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x wife!reader (a spy/The Americans au)

Summary: Bob has never been one to reminisce - his job keeps him ever-moving forward. But the holidays calls for reflection. (Wc: 1k +)

Warning: this came out more angsty than I thought :/

A/N: First, just want to say Happy Holidays and or Merry Christmas to those that celebrate. I wanted to get this out a bit earlier but life was life-ing lmao. This is my submission for @lewmagoo’s a lew magoo Christmas. I can’t wait to go back and read/interact everyone’s submissions. This is based off the song by Bing Crosby. This was not the original idea I had; this is much more melancholy but I think it came out well. I could not decide if I wanted to do a fic or moodboard so I kind of put them together. Please like, reblog, and or comment if you read something you enjoy ❤️❄️

Masterlist

I'm dreaming of a white Christmas

With every Christmas card I write

May your days be merry and bright

And may all your Christmases be white

Bob has been able to mark his life through events. Not exactly just with time or his age. Instead through a series of actions and domino effects that have set his life up to where it is now. He does not remember being 10, he just remembers the little house he was taken from. He doesn’t remember being 16, just the cold, smooth metal of his first revolver. His 26th birthday, with the real day he was born, was uneventful and terribly dull.

… that was until he got the envelope.

A face. A name. A never-ending mission. A wife to be.

27 was marked by a quick wedding. 28 was cemented by a crying baby girl and the sickly-sweet smell of baby wipes he grew to love. By 30, he saw his first gray hair and one little girl turned into two. Now he wonders what he can hang 37 on. He doesn't want it to be the bodies that have been left behind or 'daddy's business trips' as Georgia says.

Bob wants more. For once he wants something different. Something softer.

An idealist with the bloody ledger of a cynic, you call him. It is always with a smile but the biting edge that your voice can have never fully leaves. Bob thinks you resent that about him while likes to believe that it is a good thing - the little tug in the bottom of his stomach that he gets. Bob does his job, and he has done it valiantly for. Some days he may say he even loves what he does. But with his love comes a soft layer of sadness. It comes with wondering if there could be more outside of kills and mission and the bullshit, he would not have chosen for himself as a child. When things were syrupy in the way everything is when you're a kid.

The wistfulness grows stronger as the weather changes, and a dusty of white magic settles over the ground. The first winter snow he can remember in a long time.

The cabin idea comes with apprehension from you. Christmas was a holiday the two of you grinned and bared for the sake of the girls, but Bob found the words slipping out of his mouth. His fingers already inched looking into places - a little blue house in the snow. He knows that face well. Brows drawn tight and mouth pursed in thought.

“Emmie mentioned wanting to go camping.”

It was a bit unfair to mention your youngest daughter, Emerson. The frown lines on your face softened a bit, followed by a resigned sigh. There was little that made you like that - malleable. He knows you would never say it out loud but only the girls could do that.

I’ll have to talk with Maverick about it. He may need us.

Then it was his turn to frown. The growing dissolution bubbled under, and it all started with Pete Mitchell. But how does one turn his back on the only real family he has known. Bob cannot say he knows Regina and Don, - the people he should think to be parents; instead, thinks he was made in Mav’s image. Just like every other agent that has come through Top Gun. Your loyalty to Mav in admirable as it is a thorn in Bob’s side.

He likes to say there is three in your relationship if he could even call it that.

But he takes what he can get from you. A knowing smile when Aria says something completely out of left field. A kiss where you don’t flinch away or tense up.

It all works together in the oxymoron that is his marriage with you. Husband and wife. Partners in crime. He loathes you as much as he couldn’t imagine doing this without you. He endlessly pines for a woman he has two children with.

Nothing has ever been easy for the two of you, and he supposes he would not have it any other way.

———

“I don’t know your real name.”

The general statement made you pause as your looked away from the fireplace in front of you. Bob was sitting on the bed, the green reindeer slippers the girls gave him matched his pullover. While him and girls seem to thrive in the cold, you hated it. You liked the uncomfortableness that came with humidity and heat. You were used to beads of sweat above the brow and clothes sticking to you back. Uneasiness was your default setting.

A snow-covered cabin is beautiful in theory, tortuous in practice.

“What,” you muttered, gaze going back to the fire. The flames danced against the brick surrounding it. The name thing was an issue he pressed. For reasons you still don’t get.

“I don’t know your real name,” he repeats. “And you don’t know mine. You don’t know anything about me before we…”

He trails off contemplatively. You shrug softly. “I think Robert suits you fine. Perfectly, even.”

There was a beat of silence. You wanted to tell him it was better this way. Life has been separated into two different parts: BB and AB. Before Bob and After Bob. It was no use focusing on what happened before then. You hope he drops the conversation, but Bob has never been one to let things go. A dog with a bone.

“Do you know why I suggested coming here?”

“You enjoy watching me freeze,” it was a joke but there is little mirth in the room.

“I grew up in a little blue cabin, sort of like this one -,”

“Bob”

“In a small town in Illinois.”

“Bob,” you hate him for this… or at least you want to hate him for this. Hate him for trying so damn hard.

“Every winter, I remember sheets of snow on ground and - and my ma-,”

“Robert,” your voice echoes a bit off the room. You fully turn to him, wishing to have bit of venom in your voice but it comes out broken. “What do you want from this? From me?”

“Why does it have to be something? Why can’t I just want you, all of you?”

Penny warned you about this. She’s taught you everything you know. And for better or worse, it has led you done a straight and narrow path.

Even in our business, people grow… attached. It will be up to you to either let them in or close it before it gets to be too much.

You wouldn’t call yourself frigid, but you are sure others would. It never bothered you really. Not as you grew older. There was a weakness in others that you simply did not have. The coldness was an easy barrier that deterred most, if not everyone you came across.

“You have me,” your fingernail scrapes across the wool blanket wrapped around you. “I am right here, aren’t I?”

Cobalt eyes mute with sadness.

“That isn’t what I meant.”

You grow more exasperated. “And you think me telling you about my past life will do that?”

“No, but I think you being honest would. Honest about how you feel about me, about the girls, would.”

Does he want you to write on a piece of paper if he loves you and make him check yes or no like you’re in the fifth grade. There was something so innocent about the look he gave you. The stunted nature of how the two of you work around each other may be less of your faults and more of the world that failed the both of you. You look at Bob now and he doesn’t seem like the man you have seen dodging bullets or choking out men twice his size. He seems so utterly human. And despite yourself, all you can think about is how much Maverick would hate it. The spurred want others to think the same.

You do love the girls, frankly more that you would like to admit. Two little knives to which people can twist. And Robert…

People get hurt, killed, when feelings are involved.

let them in or close it.

“I am tired,” you mutter. “I really don’t feel like rehashing the past. Certainly not with you.”

It is the end of the discussion, and you try not to flinch when the door closes behind him. The silence had become a gentle friend of yours. A safe companion to embrace. You wait for him to come back, thinking he must be letting off some steam outside in the cold. But 30 minutes turns into an hour and you start to think he may have crashed in one of the other rooms in the cabin.

After numbingly sitting at the fireplace, the only thing you can think to do is get ready for bed. You crave a bottle of wine but agreed to a painfully dry Christmas.

Your fingers don’t go towards the drawers where you unpacked the plethora of long Johns and sweaters you brought; they go to Bob’s instead. You know he’d probably laugh at you if he could see it, and you’d deserve it. Can’t even admit your feelings but want to sleep in one his shirts. While digging for an old Led Zeppelin shirt. Your digging is thwarted when your hand grazes across a chest inside the drawer. Biting your lip, you look towards the door. Bad things come in threes. He’s already upset you; you’re digging in his stuff… might at well get your third strike.

A familiar sinking feeling muddled in your stomach as you lift the chest to see tinier ring box in it, along with a mini snow globe. You both promised no presents this year for Christmas, but of course he wouldn’t stick to that. Your gaze goes to the simple ring on your left hand. It wasn’t something either of you picked out. It was left in the envelope you received.

“You should be happy you even get one off the bat,” Natasha sighed. “Jake gave me a ring pop as joke before Mav stepped in.”

You don’t have it in you to open the ring box, a bile stuck in your throat. But you do pick up the mini snow globe. It is like nothing you have seen before; it looks homemade. Inside a little blue cabin with sparkles dusted around it. On the bottom, tiny writing painted on. Chicken scratch that could only come from kids.

To the best wife and mommy in the world. May all your Christmases be merry and bright.

You set the snow globe back in the chest hastily, as if you have been burned.

God you’re fucked.

[nametakensff]

Suggestible (D/isco E/lysium, M/M)

The first fic of a few I have for these two because I am deeep into this shit now lol. Ended up at 4K!

H/arry, whilst working on the murder case in M/artinaise and ever so slowly piecing his identity together, notices an interesting reaction in K/im to his budding cold. I guess the first part of a series that will become increasingly NSFW, but for now mostly just alluding to it!

Based on an insane little piece of dialogue in the game where K/im suggests that other people sneezing makes him sneeze

~~~~~~

Content:

Future/hinted M/M, cold sneezes, sympathetic sneezes, H/arry has a latent sneezing fetish that he doesn't remember having yet, spray, stifles, sneezing into handkerchiefs, slight elements of voyeurism but only because H/arry is a confused mess lmao

CW: lots of drug and alcohol mentions, lots of self-hatred

NB - I guess please don't read if you plan on playing the game and want to go in with no prior knowledge - it doesn't really have any plot heavy spoilers but takes place within the story

(also also - decided to write this in 2nd person narrative to somewhat resemble the style of game play - it's not perfect but it was fun to try haha)

Minors DNI please!

Lieutenant Kitsuragi trails behind you as you jog your way across the empty boardwalk and towards the fishing village. The air is piercing and bitterly cold – you are starting to feel the effects of it as the salty air whips against your face. It has been snowing on and off for hours, and you are woefully underdressed. This has not been a good day for you – few new leads, endless dead ends. And a hangover. The hangover to end all hangovers. Not even the frigid winter weather can distract you from the dull thud of a lingering headache, painful pulses beating in time with your heart. It feels as though your brain is too swollen – or your skull is too tight.

Suddenly, you feel it – the familiar, fluttering sensation of a building sneeze. You have been a little under the weather ever since you awoke in your hotel room several days earlier, having no recollection of who you are and woefully bereft of substances to abuse. You had put any subsequent discomfort down to just that – the miserable lack of alcohol, nicotine and narcotics in your system. This tickle, however – it is something all of its own. You stop dead in your tracks, practically skidding to a stop as it crests. You have no hope of holding back the encroaching sneeze. Your mouth hangs open, a great yawn of irritation, before – at last – release.

It comes out sounding more like a desperate shriek than anything else; a few startled seagulls scatter, flying away in a maelstrom of confusion and feathers. You didn’t mean to cause such a scene, but the cold air, the breeze, and now the beginning of a miserable cold – it all proves too much for you. You take in another shuddering gasp before you’ve even recovered from the previous explosion and do it all over again.

“HAAAEEEIISHHHHhhh!!!”

There are no seagulls left to scatter this time, but you hardly notice for the way this sneeze, even more violent than the one before it, sends you flying forward and staggering on your feet. You manage to catch yourself before you fall face down on the sandy ground, panting slightly in the aftermath. It practically tore itself out of you, leaving your throat more than a little hoarse. Perhaps a drink would be just the thing to remedy your misery…

You’re shaken out of your alcoholic deliberation by a familiar, soft voice. Lieutenant Kitsuragi is resting a gentle, gloved hand on your shoulder, hovering next to your crouched form. His voice is as placid as always, but you can’t help but notice a slight hint of concern. You right yourself immediately and snuffle at the mess that’s threatening to overflow from your nose, already a bright shade of red from years of alcohol abuse and the biting cold of the beach.

“Are you alright, Lieutenant Double-Yefreitor?”

The Lieutenant notices the thickness of the sound, a barely perceptible look of displeasure passing over his face. You see him reach into his pockets and pull out a large handkerchief – the very same you have seen him use before to cover his face as you performed a field autopsy together. He proffers it to you and you hesitate for just a moment - then your nose starts to run into your moustache. This prompts you to take it from him and snuffle into it apologetically. You realise this pathetic sniffling will do nothing to stem the flow – you surrender and blow your nose with as much conviction as you possibly can. The sound of it is devastatingly loud, almost as disruptive as the sneezes preceding it. You glance at Kim sheepishly from behind the material. If it’s as disgusting to Lieutenant Kitsuragi as it sounded to you, he doesn’t so much as flinch.

When you’re finished, you offer the soiled fabric back to him with an outstretched hand. He looks at it with mild dismay.

“You keep that, officer. I carry a spare with me at all times.”

Stupid. That was stupid of you. Why would you hand him a snot rag? You dismiss the thought before the negativity drags you down further into the already miserable grips of your hangover. But for whatever reason, you keep note of this new information regarding the handkerchiefs. It’s not as though this is out of the ordinary for Kim. He’s so organised and focused – a great cop. Not like you. Of course he would carry a spare. Moving on, you ask the lieutenant for his opinion of what you ought to do next.

“Hm…We should return to the Whirling-In-Rags. Try Klaasje again and see if she’s ready to discuss the murder in more detail.”

It sounds like a perfect idea to you. The wind is fiercely cold and you never did get round to buying a windbreaker. Your hangover is making it impossible to tell if the major discomfort you’re feeling is from the alcohol dissipating within your husk of a body, or the virus threatening to take hold of your sinuses. Either way, getting out of the cold is imperative.

You approach the vicinity of the Whirling-In-Rags Hostel – at last. Your chest burns. Normally, a brisk jog is nothing to you – if anything, it energises your ailing body after a particularly lengthy binge. But today, you feel miserably worn out. You pause for a moment, look towards the Lieutenant, and attempt to speak. You fail, nothing but a series of wheezing gasps issuing from between your lips, followed by an increasingly hacking cough. You buckle over your knees and continue to hack like the washed-up middle-aged man you know you are. Kim places a hand on your back - he seems worried.

“This isn’t good. You’re unwell, detective. Perhaps you should rest a while in your room?”

Something tells you this isn’t a suggestion exclusively for your own benefit. A perfunctory glance tells you that Lieutenant Kitsuragi is tired, and as miserably cold as you. He wouldn’t mind a break inside a warm building, thawing out over a cup of coffee. Nevertheless, you feel disappointment blooming in your chest. As if you weren’t already a pathetic excuse of a policeman - missing memory, decked head to toe in questionable clothes and with a penchant for drug and drink on the clock – you’re now so weak you can’t even handle a mild case of rhinovirus. Pathetic.

You stand upright in an attempt to signal that you are and always have been a perfect beacon of health. You tell the Lieutenant that time is of the essence; you’ve been working on this case for days and have no time for further setbacks. He acknowledges this with a small nod; he seems to appreciate this professional, business-like approach to the matter. He doesn’t say anything more but merely walks beside you as you stride towards the Whirling-In-Rags.

You barely manage to take a few steps before the tickle is upon you again. You tense your jaw and attempt to quell the sensation by taking in shallow, measured breaths, but no dice. In seconds, it tears its way out of you as before, echoing off the walls of the nearby buildings. It is so loud that you wonder if the scabs protesting outside of the Union can hear it over the sounds of their own angry chants. Again, you stumble forward under the force of it, feeling light-headed.

The Lieutenant reaches out to grip your shoulder, steadying you just in time. You wait and sniffle miserably in preparation for the following sneeze, lingering in the depths of your sinuses, but it never comes. You straighten up, blinking tears of effort from your tired eyes, when you become aware of a certain sensation. Kim’s hand squeezes your shoulder with a sudden flex. Could this be a gesture of affection? Reassurance? This is not the Lieutenant’s regular style. He is far too cool for that kind of thing.

You look over your shoulder in curiosity as the Lieutenant continues his grip, despite your having collected yourself. You can see that behind the lenses of his glasses, his eyes are unfocused and heavy-lidded. His mouth hangs slightly open, and he is holding a fist – expectantly? – before his face. The expression is…familiar. You’d seen it before, though not on Lieutenant Kitsuragi.

As you furrow your brow in deep consideration, reaching for an explanation that only just manages to elude you, slight movement from Kim pulls you out of your thoughts. You watch as his head tilts back, stays there for a just a moment before he’s jerking forward into his gloved fist, pressing it against his nose and mouth. His features contract severely, moulding his ordinarily placid face into a twisted, almost angry and unrecognisable countenance. You feel his fingers flex again. His entire body shudders, and as it does so, you hear him utter a tiny sound.

“-hHdt’!”

You blink, still not putting two and two together. Maybe this amnesia was worse than you had initially assumed it to be. Was he – seizing? No. Of course not. You continue to watch in confusion as he seems to uncrumple with a gentle exhalation. You think he might be done, but no. Just as quickly as one breath is exhaled, a replacement is sucked back in hurriedly. You watch as he repeats the action, ducking forward into his fist again, more forcefully this time. His shoulders jump with the effort and his hand squeezes substantially harder against you.

“h’Ngxt-!! hh…”

That strange sound again – this time followed by an uncharacteristically shaky exhale.  A moment later the Lieutenant straightens up and assumes his regular composure, releasing your shoulder as if nothing just happened. If you hadn’t watched this series of events unfold right in front of you, you’re sure you would have missed it altogether. He blinks several times as if to clear away tears. Still you have no idea what the fuck just happened – any remnants of the pained expression that cinched his features tight has vanished, leaving him to look as calm and collected as before. You stare at him, eyes roving over his face. This intrusive observation gives you the last bit of information you need to understand. His nostrils flare delicately as he indulges in a sniffle, moisture gathering around the irritated rims and glittering ever so slightly in the afternoon sunlight.

Had those been…sneezes? Those tiny little swallows of air?! You feel a grin spread across your face, any discomfort of your own forgotten for the moment. You bless him enthusiastically. Ignoring the inkling that tells you not to tease or cajole him, you also comment on how adorable the Lieutenant’s sneezes are. Like a kitten. A badass cop kitten.

He thanks you somewhat reluctantly, blatantly ignoring the kitten comment. He clearly wants you to move on from him and focus again on the case. You continue to make your way towards Whirling-In-Rags, but don’t miss out of the corner of your eye the sight of the Lieutenant covertly pinching his nostrils shut, before pulling down towards his septum. He is wiping the resultant moisture of those sneezes away with his gloved fingers. This realisation makes your heartbeat spike for just a moment. You choose to ignore this.

You walk into the establishment – the increasingly familiar sounds and sights greet you as you pass through the door. The Hardie boys are in their booths, an unwelcome fixture. You glance sidelong at them – Titus glares daggers back at you. You think you should puff up your chest and stare him down in a battle of warring machismo, but at last minute think otherwise. It would do nothing to repair your already abysmal lack of authority if you sneezed at him mid stand-off. You glance away. He smirks, arms crossed firmly over his broad chest, clearly enjoying this silent display of dominance. You get an all-consuming urge to spin around and put him in his place – but you feel shitty. Much too shitty. It would probably end with his fist in your face.

You approach the staircase leading to the bedrooms when you feel that familiar, irritating tickle blossoming anew in your sinuses. Not again, not here! Not in a busy room full of so many people. You want to maintain your cool cop image – sneezing is not a cool thing to do. You briefly think to yourself that Kim is cool, even when he sneezes - but it is a foolish thought. You’re not him. You fight to suppress the gasp that fills your lungs, fumbling in your jacket pocket for the handkerchief the lieutenant had given you – but you’re too late. Two huge sneezes rocket out of you, sending veritable clouds of spray across the base of the staircase. They practically break the sound barrier, two near identical “IIIIEEEESHHHHhhtt!!!” screams of irritation. Kim doesn’t steady you this time – you reach out and do that yourself with the help of the banister.

Jeers erupt from the Hardie boys across the cafeteria floor – you only just manage to hold back an embarrassed blush from creeping over your weary face. You have finally managed to extract the handkerchief from your pocket. You decide a honking performance will do very little to remedy this utter humiliation, dabbing softly at your aching nose instead. You begin to climb the stairs; a sordid walk of shame.

“That’s just what this establishment needs, following the hanging, bloated corpse – a biohazardous drunk anointing his plague unto us all.”

That snark came from Garte – the bartender. No, the Cafeteria Manager.

“Just ignore him.” Kim mutters close to your ear. You proceed to flip the bird at Garte instead. As you make your way upstairs, you swear you can hear a tiny gasp from behind you. Without the sensation of a hand gripping your shoulder and signalling the completion of a sneeze, you have to strain your ears to even confirm they happen at all.

“’Ngxt’ch! h’ddt’! Hh’Ggkt!!”

Those are definitely sneezes. Slightly louder than before, enough that you can hear the Lieutenant’s own soft voice blending in with the strained sound of them. Your stomach is suddenly alive with butterflies. In your mind’s eye you can visualise the way his face crumples with each of them – nostrils flaring outwards as he valiantly bites down against them. You are sure if you try to do the same, your head will explode. Or at the very least, an aneurism is a surefire possibility. You shudder at the thought of it. You want to offer a blessing to the Lieutenant, but based on the previous reception it received, you decide against it. This could be the start of a beautiful partnership – Harry’n’Kim, Du Bois and Kitsuragi. Disco Cop and Cool Cop. You can always brainstorm on your trademark duo name at a later date. Either way, you decide to ignore the Lieutenant’s strangled outburst. A soft exhalation behind you signals that he is finished – for now.

You reach the top of the stairs. With great dismay, you realise that perhaps for the first time in your life, you are experiencing firsthand the effect of all those years of chain smoking. The wheezing gasps bend you over for a moment. Lieutenant Kitsuragi stands nearby, just short of nervously hovering, waiting for you to recover. You finally catch your breath and stride as confidently as you can towards Klaasje’s room. You extend a fist to knock on the door when you feel the soft touch of Kim’s hand on your arm, stopping you in your tracks. This has to be a new record. He has touched you on four separate occasions – all in a span of under thirty minutes.

“Perhaps you should take this opportunity to rest after all, detective.” Kim offers. You sense by the firmness of his voice that this is less of a gentle suggestion and more of a request. He smiles wryly.

“You are not very likely to get her to open up to you if you deafen her with your sneezing.”

Your stomach flips at hearing that word come out of his mouth. It is confusing but not entirely unpleasant. Whilst he doesn’t laugh, you can see the amusement held in the subtle quirking of his lips. You think for a moment that you should tell him your sneezes are the pinnacle of masculinity – ladies dig a huge, manly sneeze. You choose instead to sigh, practically deflating as any will to remain poised upright seeps out of you. You know he’s right. The filthy sheets of your bed beckon to you.

You agree with him and turn heel to your own room. He looks pleased – perhaps a little relieved. How disastrous did he think the interaction would have gone, had you proceeded? He turns to face you as you stand outside your respective doors.

“Don’t worry, detective. I will wake you up in a couple of hours, and we can resume our investigation. There is no point in making yourself ill.”

You nod. You are both about to enter your rooms when you feel it again. The tickle. It is persistent and increasingly difficult to control. You feel a gasp inflating your chest, helpless to do anything other than let the sensation overpower you. There is no time to even lift the handkerchief to your face. You do manage to turn away from the Lieutenant as the sneeze rips through you, baptising your own door with a trembling “aaAAAAEEEEGSHHHHhh!!!” A cloud of spray settles on the wood, droplets of spray shimmering under the harsh lighting. Gross.

“Bless you.”

A blessing. You feel relieved – and slightly giddy. Your stomach flips again. It is likely out of politeness, but the Lieutenant has at least not run for the hills in response to your disgusting display. You start to thank him when – oh, sweet confusion - he interrupts you with another sneeze of his own. He isn’t fast enough to bring a fist to his face this time. You can see every minute twitch of his facial muscles as he suppresses the sneeze through sheer willpower alone.

“Hh’Gnxt!! Huh’NGxtt!!”

The second sneeze follows immediately – his head dips twice in quick succession. That look of desperation suits him just fine, you think. You decide to abandon the thought as quickly as it forms. You are only partially successful in doing so. His hand reaches into the pocket of his trousers – he succeeds in removing the handkerchief in the duration of that second sneeze, you notice in great appreciation. You would never have managed to pull that off.

You watch as he raises the handkerchief before his face for a final sneeze. This one looks more irritable than the ones prior – the expression plastered on his face is openly more agonised than before. He pauses for what is likely only a second longer before the tickle reaches its apex, but that is more than enough time for another thought to cross your mind – one of an entirely salacious nature. You think that the face he is making resembles the sweet agony of another kind of release. You try to unthink it, but it’s too late – you’re absolutely, undeniably thinking it. The second passes. At last, the lieutenant smothers his final sneeze into the waiting folds of the handkerchief. It is considerably louder than before, even with the assistance of the fabric covering.

“hHh’nNGgxtt!!..chu…”

The soft vocal exclamation that rounds off the sneeze sounds weary, like it took a lot out of him. He sniffles briefly into the handkerchief, rubbing at his nose before tucking the cloth back into his pocket. Is it your imagination, or is said appendage starting to look a little reddened from the effort?

“Excuse me.” The Lieutenant mumbles, sounding uncomfortable. Embarrassed, perhaps?

You bless him before you remember to bite your tongue. Luckily, he accepts it with a soft “Thank you.” You watch as he removes his glasses and swipes at a stray tear rolling down his cheek. He replaces them just as quickly, giving you hardly any time to take in the sight of him without the thick frames. It is for a brief moment only, but the word ‘vulnerable’ comes to mind.

It dawns on you quite suddenly that he must be sneezing because you have infected him with your disgusting, no good germs. You ask him if this is the case, unable to hold back the shaking guilt as you voice your question-cum-self-abasement. He waves it off immediately.

“Oh, no, it’s nothing like that, detective, I assure you. I’m fine.” He pauses for a moment, looking hesitant to say more. You say nothing. This awkward silence seems to prompt him to continue.

“Sometimes the power of suggestion is too much for me. When somebody sneezes in my vicinity, I find my body often wanting to do the same. And your sneezes are particularly…” He trails off for a moment, in want of an appropriate term.

Masculine? Sexy? Bad-ass? You go with the first one. He shakes his head gently.

“…Suggestible.” He finishes. You’re not quite sure you catch his drift, but you do recall that he had mentioned something like this before. ‘Dancing makes you dance like sneezing makes you sneeze’. He had said that, in the church – he had been enthusiastic to interject, and then immediately changed the subject. You had had no idea what he had meant at the time – not once had you ever heard anyone say anything even remotely similar. It had been easily forgotten. Until now.

You smirk. You hope it isn’t akin to ‘the expression’, but is happening nonetheless. You cannot help it. This. Is. Gold.

You manage to hold back from laughing, but what you cannot help is calling him adorable. For the second time that day.

“I’m a 43 year old RCM policeman. I am far from adorable, officer.” He states firmly, almost as if he is chiding you. You do not miss, however, the softness in his eyes and the momentary twitching of his lips into a tiny smile. You do laugh at that. Bad idea. The laugh quickly morphs into a painful, wrenching cough. Whatever light-hearted moment you’d been sharing, you have ruined it. Your throat burns with the effort. God, but you want a drink. And a smoke. Maybe some speed. You finish at last, wiping spittle from your lips with the back of your sleeve.

“Please rest, Harry. I will check up on you soon.”

He casts a final worried glance your way before nodding curtly. You watch as the door clicks shut behind him. After a moment, you make your way into your own room, not even bothering to kick off your shoes as you collapse onto the pile of twisted sheets. Far too tired to think about the past that eludes you, about the case, about any of it, your eyes start to slip shut.

But it is back. The tickle. You have no means of fighting it, and you’re not sure you want to. You sneeze, smothering it into your sheets at the last second.

“HHHRRMMMPPPSHHHh!!!”

You peer cautiously at the sheets. You have left a considerably large damp patch on the section that covered your mouth and nose. Gross – that should be your middle name. You feel disgusting, but before you can begin another spiral of self-deprecation the exhaustion overwhelms you entirely. A final thought passes through your mind as you surrender to it. Did the Lieutenant hear you?

Next door, settling into the chair at his desk, Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi tenses at the sound of your sneeze. It was loud enough to be heard not only the next room over – indeed, anyone on the second floor may have been startled by it. His breath hitches, once, twice, before he is tipping forward into his gloved hands, steepled around his face. Depleted of energy from the prior onslaughts, he is unable to hold them back at all.

“-hh! Hck’tshuu! Hupt’Tshhht!! ‘TSCHH’uu!! hm...”

He glances in unmasked irritation at the damp speckling of moisture now adorning the palms of his gloves.

“Merde!” He grumbles under his breath. The Lieutenant pulls the gloves from his hands, pausing to scrub at his itchy nostrils with his knuckles for one indulgent moment, before resuming the paperwork he had failed to complete the night before. He hopes, for both your own sake and his, that once he wakes you your sneezing spell will have passed – due to a temporary chill and nothing more. Neither of you have the time for this absurdity. He sniffles once more and begins to write.

[atopvisenyashill]

Harrenhal will be the new seat of what’s left of the Seven Kingdoms at the ending.

I know a few people have already said bits and pieces of this but I wanted to get everything in one post for my own sanity lmao. There’s three kind of main branches to this theory: geographical reasons, historical reasons, and reasons specific to King Bran theories.

Geography surrounding Harrenhal

It’s the center of everything! Let me show you on the map because i’m a visual learner:

Ignore the North and Dorne and probably the Iron Islands too, bc the first two are not gonna be part of The Seven Kingdoms anymore and the Iron Islands is…gonna be a fucking mess lmao. Lemme zoom in:

It’s a very centralized point in the Riverlands but it’s also fairly centralized to the Crownlands (which will probably get absorbed into the others), the Stormlands, the Eyrie, the Reach, and the Westerlands. It makes sense, from a geographical standpoint, that if the lords need to choose a new ruling seat - and they will no matter what, because King’s Landing is gonna go boom - that a more centralized location for easier access to the capital would be their decision.

The Riverlands is also an excellent choice in general because geographically, they are always getting screwed due to being right in the middle of everyone. They get fucked during the Dance, the Blackfyre Rebellions, Robert’s Rebellion, AND the War of the Five Kings. The only area that really gets screwed over more during the various wars is probably the Dornish Marches, because of the conflicts between the stony Dornishmen and the Storm and Reacher Lords but you can’t really set up there because it’s too far from the Eyrie and Riverlands.

And the thing about the Riverlands is that part of why it gets fucked up is that it’s right in the middle of everything and has no natural defenses. The Eyrie has the mountains, the North has their snow, the Dornish has their desert. The Reach manages to stay out of a lot of fighting because that’s where the food is (although the Iron Islands are about to screw them, but that’s because the war has spiraled out of control) and while both the Stormlands and the Westerlands have seen big battles, they have some protection in their coasts, which gives them ships that the Riverlands just can’t quite access. Having the King set up in the Riverlands gives the smallfolk of the Riverlands some much needed protection and potentially, a break from all the fighting.

So the Riverlands is a good place to set up shop, but Harrenhal specifically? Well, that’s because it’s huge:

Every child of the Trident knew the tales told of Harrenhal, the vast fortress that King Harren the Black had raised beside the waters of Gods Eye three hundred years past, when the Seven Kingdoms had been seven kingdoms, and the riverlands were ruled by the ironmen from the islands. In his pride, Harren had desired the highest hall and tallest towers in all Westeros. Forty years it had taken, rising like a great shadow on the shore of the lake while Harren's armies plundered his neighbors for stone, lumber, gold, and workers. Thousands of captives died in his quarries, chained to his sledges, or laboring on his five colossal towers. Men froze by winter and sweltered in summer. Weirwoods that had stood three thousand years were cut down for beams and rafters. Harren had beggared the riverlands and the Iron Islands alike to ornament his dream. And when at last Harrenhal stood complete, on the very day King Harren took up residence, Aegon the Conqueror had come ashore at King's Landing.

If it’s going to be the capital, it has to be somewhere that can hold a whole lot of people and Harrenhal is ginormous and perfect for holding lots of people. It’s even happened before; part of why Lord Whent stages his big tourney where Lyanna is crowned queen of love and beauty is because likely because Ser Oswell Whent, his brother on the Kingsguard, asked him to stage an excuse to get all the Lords together so Rhaegar could discuss with them what to do about his father and Harrenhal is the biggest castle they can do that in outside of King’s Landing. From The Kingbreaker chapter:

Old Lord Whent had announced the tourney shortly after a visit from his brother, Ser Oswell Whent of the Kingsguard. With Varys whispering in his ear, King Aerys became convinced that his son was conspiring to depose him, that Whent's tourney was but a ploy to give Rhaegar a pretext for meeting with as many great lords as could be brought together.

It’s also built up to be sturdier than King’s Landing. Whereas King’s Landing was kind of haphazardly thrown together as it built up over the years, Harren the Black had always meant for a lot of people to be housed there. We see how many people can live in it during Arya’s chapters as she runs around inside of it and Harrentown and this is with a ruler who has no interest in keeping a lot of people in it. With a King or Queen living there, it opens itself up to growing in a much more easily defensible way than King’s Landing.

Historical Reasons Harrenhal is Significant

As you can see on the map, it’s built right on the edge of a very important place: The Isle of Faces and the lake that surrounds it, called the Gods Eye.

It’s a key place for the history of Westeros because it’s where the First Men and the Children of the Forest made peace:

Inexorably, the war ground on across generations, until at last the children understood that they could not win. The First Men, perhaps tired of war, also wished to see an end to the fighting. The wisest of both races prevailed, and the chief heroes and rulers of both sides met upon the isle in the Gods Eye to form the Pact…

It’s also notable for being the only place the Andals never managed to conquer:

It is possible that a few [Children of the Forest] survived on the Isle of Faces, as some have written, under the protection of the green men, whom the Andals never succeeded in destroying.

It’s a place associated with peace and negotiations between people, a place to stand strong against war and untouched by its horrors. A monument to what could be, if you will. And Harrenhal sits on its shore; it would add a very rich layer to setting up King’s Landing in a place associated with peace. And this isn’t the only time a succession crisis of sorts is settled there. The Great Council of 101 AC was held there.

To resolve the matter of his heir once and for all, Jaehaerys called the first Great Council in the year 101 AC, to put the matter before the lords of the realm. And from all corners of the realm the lords came. No castle could hold so many save for Harrenhal, so it was there that they gathered. The lords, great and small, came with their trains of bannermen, knights, squires, grooms, and servants. And behind them came yet more—the camp followers and washerwomen, the hawkers and smiths and carters. Thousands of tents sprang up over the moons, until the castle town of Harrenton was accounted the fourth largest city of the Realm.

Once again, we have Harrenhal associated with peace and negotiation in its history. However, that’s not all it’s associated with; there are several very significant battles that take place near the Gods Eye - again, it is in the middle of everything. It’s a place with lots of history and lots of ties to everyone in Westeros. There’s the Battle Beneath the Gods Eye between Maegor and Aegon the Uncrowned, The Battle of the Lake Shore and The Battle Over the Gods Eye during the Dance, as well as the story of Addam Velaryon landing Seasmoke on the Isle of Faces to take counsel from the green men after being accused of treason. It is, all in all, a very significant place in Westeros.

But that’s not the only reason Harrenhal is talked about. Basically every single time Harrenhal is brought up, someone will mention that it’s haunted. This belief comes because of Aegon the Conquerer and Harren the Black. While Orys Baratheon and Rhaenys march for the Stormlands & Daemon Velaryon and Visenya left for the Vale, Aegon himself first turns towards Harren the Black and the Riverlands. All three face opposition but Aegon conquers the Riverlands first because Harren is so ill loved:

So now the riverlands rose against him, led by Lord Edmyn Tully of Riverrun. Summoned to the defense of Harrenhal, Tully declared for House Targaryen instead, raised the dragon banner over his castle, and rode forth with his knights and archers to join his strength to Aegon’s. His defiance gave heart to the other riverlords. One by one, the lords of the Trident renounced Harren and declared for Aegon the Dragon. Blackwoods, Mallisters, Vances, Brackens, Pipers, Freys, Strongs … summoning their levies, they descended on Harrenhal.

And he makes very quick work of Harrenhal, making it the first Kingdom to become part of the Seven Kingdoms:

The riverlords outside the castle walls said later that the towers of Harrenhal glowed red against the night, like five great candles … and like candles, they began to twist and melt, as runnels of molten stone ran down their sides.

Ever since the burning of Harrenhal, no House has been able to hold it without going extinct soon after. For House Targaryen’s rule in Westeros to start with Harren the Black’s hubris and the fall of Harrenhal, and end with Harrenhal becoming the new seat of the King of the Four (??) Kingdoms is a really neat connection.

Reasons Why It Works With King Bran

But wait! you say. Didn’t you just say that Harrenhal is cursed??

Why yes I did. HOWEVER. There is one family that the Curse of Harrenhal supposedly never touched: The Whents.

You see, from Harren the Black up until the Whents, every other House in charge of it has gone extinct.

House Hoare? That’s Harren’s house and we all know what happened there - they don’t call him Balerion the Black Dread for no reason.

House Qoherys? Dead less than three decades later.

House Harroway? Wiped out a decade later.

House Towers? died out within two decades, ending with sickly Maegor Towers and then old and tired Rhaena Targaryen, until the two odd friends died and the holdings were free again.

House Strong? Well…between the fire that kills Harwin and Lyonel, Larys’ shenanigans getting him merced by Cregan, and Aemond just straight committing a minor genocide in the Riverlands, they all died out (except maybe Alys Rivers’ baby but we don’t have any info there).

House Lothston? Interestingly, they hold the castle for several decades, but they too went completely extinct under King Maekar.

So we come to House Whent. They’ve held it for about 6 ish decades and though they’ve also had some bad luck, they’ve had their people grow old - Walter Whent who threw the tourney is called “Old Lord Whent” by Barristan, and Shella Whent is old when she dies. But the most interesting thing is Minisa Whent.

We don’t know a lot about the Whent line, only that Shella refused to bend the knee to Joffrey, fled Harrenhal when it was attacked, and later died. You could say the curse still got them but in every other case, the whole line dies, not just the main line! Even Janos Slynt has no descendants and Littlefinger will have none to inherit either. But the Whents do: they have House Tully. Minisa Whent married Hoster Tully and had Catelyn and Edmure. The Whents are known for their sharp cheekbones and both Catelyn and Sansa, funny enough, are described as having sharp cheekbones. This very close relation could mean that the Starklings have a claim to Harrenhal through their mother.

This fits with King Bran because we know the lords are perfectly fine fudging things and going through the female line if it fits their needs. They did the same thing with Robert and his grandmother Rhaelle Targaryen, who married Ormund Targaryen, Steffon’s mother. Renly says here:

Oh, there was talk of the blood ties between Baratheon and Targaryen, of weddings a hundred years past, of second sons and elder daughters. No one but the maesters care about any of it.

The maesters love a loophole inheritance.

And remember that the odds of surviving the books for the Baratheons and Targaryens is very, very low. It’s pretty much just bastards all the way down (on both sides lmao, because I do not think either Young Griff or Dany are gonna survive). And whenever the inheritance isn’t clear, a Great Council is called. Catelyn even suggested it while parlying with the Baratheons:

Let the three of you call for a Great Council, such as the realm has not seen for a hundred years. We will send to Winterfell, so Bran may tell his tale and all men may know the Lannisters for the true usurpers. Let the assembled lords of the Seven Kingdoms choose who shall rule them.

Mentioning Bran, of course. A lot of people think it’s far fetched and while I do think him being so young is gonna be a hard sell now that the time jump is gone, I don’t think it’s that far fetched that the lords of the Stormlands, The Reach, the Eyrie, and The Westerlands would be convinced to choose Hoster Tully’s grandson and Ned Stark’s baby boy to rule over them.

And finally, Robb wasn’t called “Robb Stark, King in the North” he was also explicitly called “King of the Trident.” All the talk about who is Robb’s heir but look at how they all think of themselves - “as brave as Robb” “as strong as Robb” or they’ll have sons and name them Robb. Whereas Who Rules The North is all tied up in Robb’s legacy, the Iron Throne isn’t! If King Bran rules from the Riverlands, however, it gives Bran that tie to Robb; he gets to protect and rule from the lands Robb swore to protect, the lands he ultimately fought and died in. For Bran, he still gets to be Robb’s heir, at least in spirit, and I think that would be, to Bran, something very bittersweet.

[fat-oc-battle]

MATCH TWO, ROUND ONE

samael once-died (he, the elder scrolls) character by @finalshaper

Samael is a Dunmer (Dark Elf) sporting a black Mohawk. His left eye is completely blind, almost Pearl-like in appearance, while his right is a deep red typical of TES’ Dark Elves (forgive me if I got my lefts and rights mixed up lmao). His lips are painted a deep black and matched by the blotchy corpse paint-like face markings around his eyes. He stands at 4’11 and (even though I don’t yet have art or images to accurately depict him) I would describe him as a bear. He is a werewolf (specifically snow-white). He is a member of the Dark Brotherhood assassins and a student at the magic College of Winterhold.

VS.

merlin ambrosius (he, the king of the nameless) character by @thekingofthenameless, art by @cat-gh0ul

Merlin is a romance and sex repulsed non-partnering aroace, and he’s also disabled for several reasons. He’s highly empathetic, cries easily, and is as gentle and nurturing as he can be to everyone he meets. He’s also calm and mellow, quick to smile on a good day.

He prefers long, flowing outfits, (such as robes, peplos, togas, bliauts, and frocks), and he’ll always choose them if he can. He’ll also add a cape to his outfit of choice. They help excuse a regal, dignified presence, which is important for being one of King Uther’s top advisors. Sometimes he’ll seem slightly formal with strangers, but on a good day where he can clock their personality, he’ll either warm up to them quickly, or distance himself, depending on the person. He has a strong sense of justice, which also makes him distrustful of authorities for the most part. (unless they’ve actually proven that they’re not just in their position for the power of it, or because of nepotism; and really do want to help people.) He’s extremely loyal to his loved ones, and protective of them, but in a worried way. He has a lot of trauma from 4000+ years of living, (he’s an immortal wizard) but is still kind because he’s not going to make people suffer just because he did.

If killing isn’t necessary, he won’t do it. (He’s usually ready for a fight because of hypervigilance, but he won’t kill until he absolutely has to, and when he does he doesn’t regret it. Ex: if he’s in a place that has guards or something, he’ll just use a sleeping spell.) He also doesn’t really do lethal injures, like head ones as much as he can; his goal is usually to incapacitate as much as possible. His beige flag is that he’s very punctual. If you tell him to come at 5, he’ll be there at 4:30. At most. He’s also horrible at jokes. He’s just not funny as much as he tries, unless it’s unintentional.

[chochomin]

snowfall (toji x fem! oc)

minors dni! cw/tags: smut with plot, piv, megumi doesnt exist yet, angst with post angst fluff, height difference, pet names (princess, brat, doll, pretty girl) loss of virginity, love bombing, and violence AN: this made me get carpel tunnel lmao i hate my computer character disc: Umeko Koizumi "the plum blossom sorcerer" known for her curse reversal healing technique and beautiful domain expansion causing those trapped in to violently choke on pollen and flowers. She is 149cm or 4'8, hip length plum shade hair; with a plum blossom hairpin accompanying her lengths, she has cloudy grey eyes with long dark eyelashes with a look of graceful sorrow, she wields a katana.

"special grade sorcerer huh? Bring it on, princess."

the trip began as Umeko had gotten commissioned on a mission in Okinawa to defeat a grotesque curse that took the appearance of a living mass, a tumor of abomination, the mass would scream and birth out different living things of the biome. Yes, it was a curse, but it was quite odd seeing tropical fish in the snowy weather. with one final blow, the curse dissipated into dark smoke.

"mmmphh..why did they even commission me..?" Umeko sighed sheathing her sword to then start going on a soothing walking the gorgeous scenery..silence..for once.

Umeko was always a people pleaser but only did it to protect the innocent. it broke her heart to see people die. Lost in thought, now caught off guard by a deep calloused laugh, she unsheathed the ages old cursed weapon.

"special grade sorcerer, huh? bring it on, princess." it was no other than Toji Zen'in, 'The Sorcerer Killer' "i heard things about you, Zen'in," her breath fogged in the cold air "oh please, just call me Toji. it doesnt matter since youll be dead soon." another chuckle before their weapons clash "oh dont be so confident." she kicked and spun around him "cursed technique: petal swarm!" umeko yelled jumping high into a tree with the blossoms swarming Toji in the mauve delicate blooms, "brat!" he husked before a clink of a chain captured the branch she was attacking from then falling into his grasp, fast. Umeko didnt try to escape, her arms still free. "domain expansion: fall of blossom" the scenery around them turning into a pristine landscape of plum trees and pagodas, Toji fell to his knees choking on the petals and pollen that fell before him "my domain is to make my opponent suffocate on the blossoms that grow and to make my allies heal from their injuries-" Toji crawled up and slashed his weapon across her face then impaling her kidney "thats..aughh..what..cunts like..oughh you get" blood and petals he spat onto her as she started to scream in pure agony watching her guts and blood spill onto the snow "..cur..cursed..reversal..technique..everlasting beauty,," she held onto the shredded fabric as her wounds healed "you're going to pretend like you don't know me, Umeko, and try to fight me like a silly little curse." he spat onto the sorcerer's almost revealed chest, her kimono shred to rags. "Its been a long time and you tell me to bring it on like im some long term rival?" warm tears stung her freezing cheeks as the snow started to fall harder.

umeko fell to the ground sobbing and begging forgiveness "toji..." she looked into his viridescent eyes with her snowy ones full of tears. "spit it out." he stared down at her "tell me youre proud and..that you didnt want to kill me..and that..you love me back" she hiccuped and shivered. Toji picked her up and wrapped his haori around her befor kissing her frozen lips

"i love you, but i hate you for leaving."

Placed on the bed undressed, her hairpin pulled out, her waves falling onto the silk sheets, harsh aggressive but gentle and loving kisses all over her body made her gasp and whimper her lovers name "toji..gentleplea..se" he left love bites across her collarbone making her squirm "let me indulge in you." the fire cracked and small licks were made to her untouched folds, his large calloused hands spread her full plump thighs apart. "not a chance" he breathed harshly out of his nose and lapped her sensitive pearl like he hadnt eaten in days. "toji,,toji..imclose.." she breathed before shrieking as one of his thick fingers entered her, ruining the rhythm making the knot dissipate. "feels good? dont it?" he teased as she swept her bangs from her brows to embarrassingly cover her face. "mmm don't hide your face, pretty girl" he frowned removing his fingers to move her hands "wha,,nooo" she blubbered before getting stretched with an unfamiliar feeling. he was heavy in her, pressing her down into a mating press. she felt like she was dying. toji held onto the window ceil above and stared down on the flustered mess that was umeko, she released sounds of bliss as his length plummeted in and out of her, shaking her cherry wood bed which she was begging him to be careful not to break but he promised no promises. "is it okay..if i cum inside of you?" toji grunted, his hips rutting then getting eager pleads for him to. Toji growled biting deep onto umekos full breast making her scream and release around him for his to eventually paint her insides.

the night seemed endless they both ravenous for each other but umeko would fall into toji's embrace at the end of the night "i love you and i dont want to leave your side," he vowed kissing her gently

The snow fell and blood trickled down his weapon, the sorcerer gone like the rest. but this time it wasnt out of hate or malice but because she had gotten struck with disease,,

[sylvia-plaths-fig-pie]

Snow fall ♡ peeta mellark

pairing : peeta mellark x implied female!reader (can be read as gn!reader)

cw: barely edited, no use of y/n, suggestion on cannon typical violence, kissing (not very descriptive lmao), I wrote this a loooong time ago so hopefully it's proper english

Trope: friends to lovers

Word count: 1.4k

Summary: you have just found Peeta as it has just been announced that there can be two victors if they are from the same district and as night begins to fall it starts to snow in the arena...

♡♡♡♡♡

You and Peeta were sat breathing in the moment of peacefulness that drifted over the cruel, harsh and unforgiving arena. As you let out a sigh a gentle snow flake drifted down from the heavens and layed calmly on the floor. One by one more snowflakes fell encapsulating the same calm aura that descended with the snow.

"I love the snow." Peeta stated as almost a whisper. you turned to face him, coming out of your almost mesmerized state as you watched the snow fall. "Why?" You asked, your eyes alight with confusion, you couldn't understand why someone who spent their whole life in district twelve loved the snow; after all it was the savage winters that claimed the most lives and left families distraught, hungry and freezing. It wasn't somthing to live, it was somthing to fear.

"It reminds me that beauty can lie in even those who appear cold," he turned his head, giving you a weary soft smile, "a bit like you."

you scoffed, "no. i-" you paused unable to find the words to respond, "maybe a long time ago but not now, I've seen too much..." you contemplated your next words very carefully. "Besides," you said in a soft whisper, "I've got too much blood on my hands. If... if by some god sent miracle i make it out, we make it out of this hell hole they will adorne us with jewels and other useless displays of wealth, they may mend my face and figure to fit their liking, but... but after this," you vaguely gestured to your surroundings, "after the games, after the amount of innocent lives i have taken, the lives i couldn't save," your words began to waver as your frame began to shake. "I will forever remain ugly on the inside for what i have done."

"You don't have a choice, none of us have a choice, we have to kill or we die our self, it's unfair but we have to."

"No." You stated, your voice reduced down to a whisper, yet it still possessed a fiery determination. "There is always a choice."

"We don't there are rules in place-"

"I don't give a damn about the rules." you spat. "Look where following the rules got us! Fighting for our lives killing innocent people who are a product of an unfair system that everyone is expected to comply with!" Peeta watched as the determination and desperation grew in your voice. You were right it wasn't fair but he knew the more you spoke about your hatred for the capital the harder the game makers would work to get you killed. And he wouldn't, he couldn't, let that happen.

"Okay, okay, i get it. The rules are stupid the hunger games are stupid but right now, at this very moment we need to focus on getting out alive. Then you can go one your adventures to destroy the patriarchy or whatever," Peeta dismissed with a light hatred wave of his hand, which made you let out a small laugh. "Well i never," Peeta smirked, " ladies, gentlemen and anyone in between the great warrior from 12 actually knows how to laugh," he said as if he was announcing a great discovery to a thousand people, which depending on who they were broadcasting at this moment could be very true. "Oh shove off," you jeered, giving newt a light push on his shoulder. To your surprise he caught your hand, and kept a hold of it as if it were precious cargo. His fingers dipping in and out of the grooves of your knuckles keeping at a regular rhythm providing a sense of comfort and solidarity among the cold and forbidding world.

your eyes were glued on Peeta and you realized how deeply he cared for you and for everything he does in life. He liked the snow because of the beauty that can be found in the cruelness, because at the end of the day he always valued the fragility of life, he had a close call with death before, after all they are in the hunger games, he knows that life is inconsistent and irregular but always manages to find the beauty in that. It was as if you were seeing him for the first time. Peeta was widely regarded as perfect in district twelve, he is kind, clever, beautiful, a merchant's boy. you had always been so careful not to fall for people in your district, there was always too much to do, you had little time to spend with your friends, you had responsibilitys, just like everyone else in the seem. But here, this very moment your mind seemed to almost shift, being here with Peeta felt right. It felt like it was meant to be.

your eyes hovered on Peeta's face as the dull moon hung in the sky and illuminated his features. He was still tightly holding your hand, his thumb weaving in between your knuckles with the same rhythm as before. It was as if you were in a trance, your thoughts could go on no longer than two seconds before they drifted back to Peeta. you sighed, closing your eyes for a brief moment, and the rhythm of Peeta's thumb over her knuckles stopped.

Before you could ask what he was doing as he heard him edge closer to you, you felt his arms wrap around her from behind, your protests falling silent as you were drawn back against his chest. you swallowed thickly then let out a shaky breath when Peeta dropped his chin onto your shoulder. "What are you thinking about?" he asked,placing his words carefully as if he was somehow afraid at this very moment. you knew without having to look at him or even ask him out loud, that he was waiting for you to pull away, to put up a fight or even indulge him in a sarcastic comment.

But you didn't.

It made all the sense in the world for you to push him away and demand what on earth he thought he was doing. It made no sense whatsoever for you to relax in his arm and lean back on him, feeling the warmth of his chest ease your mind.

And It also made no sense for you to answer so truthfully, "you." He breathed out a satisfied huff against your neck and the ticklish sensation was what cut through it all; you felt as if you needed to push away from his, to stop losing yourself in this twisted fairy tale but you couldn't. Peeta's arms tightened around you as if he knew exactly what you were thinking. Still, you turned in his arms, not drawing too far back, but not submitting ether. You were torn. Part of you wanted to give in, part of you refused to do so.

Reading the conflict in your eyes, and knowing that you needed calming, he grasped your chin, lifting your head towards him and kissing you. All too soon he pulled away, but he didn't dare avert his eyes, not even when he said softly, "we can win this together, they said as long as we are from the same district there can be two winners and i'm not going to lose you."

You didn't know how to vocalize what you wanted to say, you didn't know how to let him in, you didn't know how to tell him you felt the same. You drew him towards you and kissed him again. It was enough. For him, it was always enough. And for the whole of Panem, district twelve had created one of the most unlikely love stories to unfold within the hunger games. 

[crimsonxcloverr]

I saw your post about asking for writing ideas, and I might have a teensy weensy little request lol. Dale's S/O is pregnant with his child, how would he take care of them? It can be NSFW or SFW :)

Thank you! -anon

omg i always thought about this! :3

i don’t think dale ever wanted to be a father, considering the circumstances and how devoted he is to both his work and satan. the news would be earth-shattering to say the least. not only his work and the black magic, but his guitar playing days will eventually come to an end when the baby arrives. he would definitely be pissed off at first, probably blame you for “destroying” his life. he’d get over it though— he couldn’t bring himself to let you do this alone, especially seeing you deal with the symptoms. morning sickness and the whole shebang. but he also has a pregnancy fetish and a breeding kink. him filling you up nice and full with his seed, knowing he still has some swimmers left definitely boosts his ego, turns him on too.

he’d make sure you take care of yourself. pregnancy is exhausting and takes a massive toll on the body. he’d assist his s/o when it comes to bathing and shaving, getting those hard to reach places as your bump gets bigger. days you don’t feel like doing anything, he’d bathe you and wash your hair, massage your feet and lower back. he would try his best to make it to appointments, they aren’t his thing, but he’s so in love with this baby already and wants to support you any way he can. be prepared to get scolded a lot though :/ he gets paranoid when you walk outside in the snow or the icy driveway, clinging onto you and making sure you’re stable. or if you’re walking up and down the basement steps and being too “active”. sex included. if he feels you’ve been riding his cock for too long, he’s making you lay on your back or on your side so he can take the reigns. he thinks you, your big belly, and big tits, something that he helped you create, is so hot. we know he’s obsessed with boobs, so being pregnant and in dale’s vicinity is a dangerous game. anytime you’re about to shower or he’s assisting you with getting dressed, he’s eyeing you up. he loves seeing your massive, engorged tits. you’ll be sitting on the mattress to relax and he’ll come over randomly and lay across your lap, lifting your shirt and nursing on you, his free hand playing with your other tit.

also you’ll gain fifty pounds, probably more! this man will be spoiling you with yummy treats and cooking for you whenever you’re hungry. or whenever he feels you’re hungry. if you’re craving something late at night, disturbing his sleep, he’s going to be a grumpy old man. mumbling and cussing under his breath as you cry over a burger, but he loves you too much not to go out and get you some fast food. dale would even grab himself a burger to enjoy with you :) i feel like he would put on sympathy weight, not too much, but a little pudge to his belly. speaking of bellies, he would touch your bump all the time. any chance he can get. his big hands moving all over you, feeling for a kick or any movement at all. “oh my, sweet angel, you look like you’re ready to pop,” he’d whisper as he pepper kisses on your bump, talking to the baby knowing they can hear him. he gets so excited when he sings any t.rex song and feels movement. he would say something like, “oh, this little angel has some good taste already!”

dale would say weird philosophical things about life and the gift of life like the freak he is. or spit random fun facts at you about babies or pregnancy/birth that he learned from ruth or a “pregnancy for dummies” book. you just can’t escape his weird antics.

overall, dale really would be supportive! but he thinks this is all a big science experiment too lmao. he finds pregnancy and birth to be beautiful, which is a little ironic.

[thethreeeyed-raven]

a love which cannot be

navigation | warnings : slight suggestiveness, time skips, jealous bran, father being arsehole, robb seems like an ass, cringey description of bran lmao, i just fucking love brans nose oml, lmk if there’s more | a/n : sorry if you guys don’t like it i just get ideas all of the time lmao, will be writing a part two :) | tags : @knight-of-flowerss | bran stark playlist

The journey to Winterfell was long and excruciating. The land you came from was nothing like Winterfell. Yours was filled with exotic animals, it rained nearly almost everyday, and the heat was so hot you could melt.

Maybe Winterfell would be a nice change, perhaps this Robb Stark man would be a good husband to you, and not beat you or be disloyal as you knew some women's husbands to be.

Your father wanted you to marry the heir to Winterfell, thinking it would strengthen your connections with the Starks.

Robb was seven years older than you. You only being 14 and him 21.

"Father, are we nearly there yet?" You asked nervously. In truth, you did not want to marry this Robb Stark, you wanted to marry someone of your own age, someone of your own choosing.

"Yes, nearly. Just another day." Your father answered in a coarse voice.

You had finally arrived in Winterfell. The Starks were all lined up. There was one that stood out from them all. You assumed he was the bastard, Jon Snow. He looked nothing like Lady Stark. He had dark brown curls, almost black and his eyes were the exact same too. He looked like he tried hard to earn a place beside his half-siblings.

Your father and Ned Stark gave a curt nod to each other, they weren't as close as Ned and King Robert.

"Lord Y/L/N." Ned started, your father replying with "Lord Stark."

As they conversated, you eyed the Stark children. The one you were betrothed to, Robb Stark, had brown curly hair and tried to look like he had authority. Then there was Sansa, with fiery red hair, icy blue eyes and a kind smile graced her soft pink lips. There was Arya, her hair was wild and her clothes were all over the place. Rickon was the youngest, with golden hair and eyes that twinned Sansa's. Lastly, your eyes travelled to...wait...that was Bran Stark?!

Seven hells, he's gorgeous...

His hair was a fair shade of brown, adorned with light curls. His eyes were dark chocolate, you could stare into forever, perhaps you could find the universe in them if you gazed long enough. His lips were a cherry red, and his cheeks sprinkled with light freckles.

Oh gods, his nose is so big...

"Y/n." Your father had been calling your name for the past five minutes. "Come and say hello."

Bran had noticed your intense gaping at him, so he gave you a good observation too. A light blush appeared across his cheeks when he realised everyone had caught you both, so he ducked his head down, but his eyes never left your figure.

The Starks of Winterfell held a feast for you and your families arrival.

The air in the room was getting too stuffy, so you left your seat next to your mother and went outside.

You walked farther away and found yourself in the training grounds, finding Jon teaching Bran a few things about swords.

"You have to hold it like this with a tight grip but not too tight-"

"Why aren't you inside with everyone else?"

They both shot round not expecting you to be there.

Bran gulped, looking at Jon, then diverting his eyes to the ground.

"Why aren't you mi'lady/mi'lord?" Jon knew Bran wouldn't speak to you until after he got over the shock of your existence.

"I don't like it in there." It felt a little bit difficult trying to make conversation with them as they were awkward people. "Also it's a little bit boring, sick of hearing about marriages."

Bran let out a little huff of amusement, he had grown jealous over Robb.

You had been staying in Winterfell and your relationship with the Stark children had grown.

You and Robb were still very distant with each other, both of you always doing your own thing. You were fine with it, as you were closer to the other other Stark boys, especially one in particular.

"Bran, stop."

Both of you were sat under a tree, eating fruit you had both picked. He had forbidden himself from climbing ever since he fell out of that tower and fell into a coma for a few months.

"I'm not doing anything."

"You're trying to hold my hand." You could feel his little finger brushing against your own on top of the fur you were sat on.

You watched as he jutted his bottom lip out of annoyance, he really, really wanted to hold your hand but didn't know how to ask.

Sighing, you took his hand into yours, relishing in the warmth it provided you.

Bran rested his head against your shoulder, his breath tickling your ear. "I wish I could hold your hand all the time."

It was like time stopped. Everything was perfect, you and bran together, but then you had realised that you hadn't been trying to stop your betrothal to Robb at all, you had Bran right beside you and you weren't snatching him up like you could've done.

"I'm going to meet you in your room tonight."

"Bran, Bran open the door." It was the middle of the night, and you kept your word, making your way to his room once you knew everyone was asleep.

You heard the handle rattle and the door opened to reveal a very tired Bran who was barely awake.

"Y/n?" He was very much awake now once he realised you were still in your night clothes. "Come on it must be freezing out there." Bran grabbed your wrist and dragged you inside, some of the candles and the fire was still lit. Was he waiting for you?

"I didn't think you'd actually come, you did take a long time." He averted his eyes, too overwhelmed to look into yours.

"I had to wait 'till midnight, my parents notice everything." You licked your lips before continuing. "My mother specially, she has noticed that we have been spending lots of time together."

Gods, please say our time doesn't have to end, Bran thought.

"My mother will mention it to my father." You took his hands in yours, noticing how clammy they were. "I shall not be separated from you, I am yours and you are mine."

"...I am yours?"

"And you are mine my love, no matter who I marry, whether it is a Dornish man, or a Northern man, you will always be the one to hold my heart."

"You will always hold my heart, no one can ever compare to you."

None of you could hold back anymore. You smashed your lips together, letting your hands roam wherever they wanted.

You opened your mouth and his tongue slid in. His hands caressed your face as yours rested on his chest.

"I don't want to go too far." Bran said, his eyes glazed like he just drunk two cups of wine.

"We won't."

In the morning before everyone woke, you snuck away, leaving Bran to sleep soundly for a few more hours, not noticing the bruise forming on your neck.

Your maids were currently dressing you, choosing what shoes you should wear, how to have your hair styled etc when your mother came in.

"Ah, there you are, your father requests your presence." She said as she crossed her hands in front of her.

"What does he want to talk with me about?" You said, turning towards her once the maids had finished.

"He-what's that?" Your mother pointed to a spot on your neck

What?

You looked down to where she was pointing, just to see a red bruise which had formed. The colour in your face drained.

"Mother-" She took you by the arm. "Come with me now, your father will want to know who did this.

Your father was extremely angry when your mother had taken you to him. He was so angry in fact, that he startled the Starks that were enjoying their peaceful morning with their delicious breakfast.

Ned quickly stood, trying to calm your father.

"My lord, I assure you we will find out which one of our children did this." His wife, Lady Catelyn tried to reassure him.

"You best do, and whoever it is, see they are punished." Your father gave a disgusted look to the Stark children and stormed out of the hall, leaving you and your mother there.

"Come, child." Your mother beckoned you away.

You gave one last look towards the Starks, holding eye contact with Bran. You mouthed 'I'm sorry' as you were gently pushed through the doors.

Catelyn paced back and forth as she looked at her children, Ned stood in the corner letting his wife do the talking.

It couldn't have been Sansa and Arya, they were with me last night, She thought.

"If I will, Mother, I was with Father last night." Robb decided to break the awkward silence. "And Jon was in the blacksmith's."

Catelyn finally stopped her pacing and turned to look at Bran who kept avoiding everyone's eyes and biting his nails.

Ned lifted himself from the wall and stood next to Catelyn. "Son,"

Bran squeezed his eyes shut feeling the pressure of everyone's gaze. "We didn't do anything!"

Ned knelt to his son's height and placed his hands on his shoulder. "Son, what happened? Tell the truth and tell it true."

Bran sighed, defeated. "All we did was kiss."

"Bran, do you realise what you've done? This could greatly affect Y/n's betrothal to Robb!" Catelyn was always the more harsher parent when it came to disciplining her children.

"Good! I hope it does!" Bran yelled back. In other instances, Bran would never talk back to his mother.

Before she could respond, a knight came through the door. "The Lord Y/L/N requests your presence."

Ned sighed and turned back to Bran. "You're a good lad Bran, we just have to hope no harsh punishment will be carried out for this."

Your father had been informed of the situation, and yet he was still infuriated.

"We are never coming back to this place again, you should teach your son some respect." That was the last thing your father said to Eddard Stark.

And it would be years before you saw Brandon Stark again.

[dev-solovey]

I rewrote the first chapter of My Immortal if it were a super pretentious literary fiction novel

I came up with this idea at like 3am and I'm not great at litfic, so I just dialed up the purple prose to 10 and hoped for the best lmao

here it is:

My Immortal

Chapter 1

Slush battered my dorm room window, half-rain, half-snow, existing somewhere between two states of matter. Siblings of a sort, meshed in disharmony, coating the campus outside in its misery. I watched as the pretty-in-pink girls with their fluffy faux-leather boots and paper thin leggings slipped and struggled their way across the courtyard. Suffering. I loved it.

One of them, a girl in garish Aeropostale garb, caught my eyes, and her face twisted with bitterness. Her minions gathered around her, “are you okay, Brittney? What’s the matter, Brittney?” but she didn’t answer them. A petty impulse gripped me, and I raised a single night-painted nail, baring my teeth in a wicked grin and making sure all of her friends saw the crude gesture. Brittney and her entourage stormed off, and I waved them away with self-satisfaction.

I returned to my vanity, picking out bottles and jars and palettes of Hot Topic-brand makeup. My tastes were simple, but refined. Unlike the baby blue and bubblegum that all the other girls wore, I understood the need for contrast. Where there is heat, you need cold; where there is light, there will be dark. White foundation, black lipstick. And, perhaps, a bit of eyeliner and some red eyeshadow for flare.

Black is an essential part of my wardrobe. It’s how I stand out from the mindless masses, how I tell the world that I’m not like other girls. I find variety through texture—lace for my corset, leather for my miniskirt, stitched canvas for my combat boots. Any colors I use are bright, but they’re carefully placed. Pink for my fishnets, red and purple highlights for my long ebony hair, neon bright like patterns on a poisonous frog.

The year 2006. My seventh and final year at Hogwarts. It was hard to believe I had made it this far—focusing on your studies isn’t easy when you’re always the center of attention. I had men tripping over their heels for me left and right, an intensely annoying phenomenon. I could spell it out for them a million times, that they could never handle me, that I don’t want to talk to preps and normies, and still they simper, my words like olive oil sliding off their brains. The fact that I was a vampire apparently wasn’t enough of a deterrent, nor was the hatred behind my icy blue eyes.

I walked outside, the cold air like a cooling balm against my pale skin. There was rarely any sun in Hogwarts during the winter months, the ideal environment for me. I was almost sad this was my last year. I took a deep breath, then walked out into the courtyard, with little more than a lacy parasol—black, like always—to shield me from the slush.

Once I reached the middle of the courtyard, I saw him. Draco Malfoy, standing in an adjacent walkway speaking to a few of his friends. Blond hair whipping in the wind, almost blending in with the frost. One of the few men at this school that I could tolerate. I recalled the day I met him, our first day in Potions class. The teacher spoke my full name when calling attendance, “Ebony Dark’ness Dementia Raven Way.” A mouthful, but one I owned with pride. He called the name of the boy sitting next to me, “Draco Malfoy.”

He turned to me once we broke off to work in groups. “Your last name is Way?” he said, a glint of curiosity in his captivating hazel eyes. A mischievous grin split his face, and he said, “You wouldn’t happen to be related to Gerard Way, would you?”

That wasn’t the first time I heard the comparison, but it was also how I knew Draco wasn’t like other guys. He was actually cool. “I wish,” I said, smiling for the first time that day. "because he's a major fucking hottie."

“You look more like Amy Lee,” he replied.

I was charmed. I couldn’t help it. “You can call me Ebony,” I replied. “Like my hair.”

He spotted me in the courtyard, and his hazel eyes lit up. “Hey, Ebony!” he said, waving eagerly.

I felt myself blush as he approached me. “What’s up Draco?”

A small breath escaped his lips, as the sound of my voice seemed to bring something out of him. A short burst of exhilaration, perhaps at hearing his name spoken on my lips. A shade of longing passed over his face, and he was suddenly shy. “Nothing,” he finally said, still staring at me.

I opened my mouth to speak, but I paused, noticing my friend Willow behind him waving at me and calling my name. The bell for class rang, an infuriating interruption that made my stomach drop. Reluctantly, Draco and I parted ways.

END

hope you enjoyed this mania-fueled atrocity I've committed lmao

[the-cult-of-riley]

Sleeping With Ghosts (Act One: Chapter One)

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Female OC

[[Masterlist]]

A/N: So, I hope Simon doesn't come across as out of character or anything in Act One. Just as a reminder, this is Simon and not Ghost. In my opinion, he doesn't become Ghost until after the Mexico incident and after his family have all been killed, which hasn't happened yet.

I've got a few different Ghost stories on the go and it's fascinating to me how many different facets this man can have depending on the circumstances. With this story, he learns to love and winds up married before he's Ghost which obviously changes things. This Simon is very different to one of my others who never had that and then has to learn to deal with feelings as Ghost. The man's brain is just fun to dive into and to watch how things change when I switch things up.

Act One starts off… well, it starts off horny, not gonna lie lmao Act One and Act Two have very different vibes as you'll come to find out.

Nine Inch Nails - Closer

(Help me) I broke apart my insides (Help me) I've got no soul to sell (Help me) The only thing that works for me Help me get away from myself

I wanna fuck you like an animal I wanna feel you from the inside I wanna fuck you like an animal My whole existence is flawed You get me closer to God

2006

The sky was dark and murky, a light dusting of rain starting to come down. The kind of rain that was so fine you barely felt it, yet would soak you anyway. Simon was glad to be sitting under the roof of the bus stop. The bus had almost ten more minutes to get there and he was already impatient. For the millionth time, he asked himself why the fuck he didn't get a car, wasn't like he couldn't afford one now. 

Being back here always set him on edge. He hated Manchester, it just held too many bad memories for him, yet something about it was just inherently… home. Not to mention he wanted to be close to his mum, to Tommy and Beth. The girl was pregnant now and he felt something stirring in his chest at the idea of his baby brother being a dad. That was all he ever wanted for him, to have a good life, and now he was freshly married to the love of his life and expecting a child. Simon was happy for him. Happy and maybe secretly a bit jealous. He knew he wasn't built for that though, just wasn't in the cards for him. 

He heaved a sigh as he glanced around, watching as cars moved passed in a blur. It wasn't exactly the same piss poor area of Manchester he lived in as a kid, the military paid far better than the butchers did. He could afford an apartment on the outskirts of the city centre now. Could afford one in the city centre if he wanted it but he really loathed being around so many people. He'd always been antisocial and with a childhood like his, who could blame him? But now at 23 years old, after seeing and doing things in the military that most people couldn't comprehend… well, he didn't feel human half the fucking time. 

With another deep sigh, he brought his arm up, pushing his navy blue jumper sleeve out the way so he could see his watch. 8 more minutes. He wondered if he should just walk home, never one to enjoy the wait for anything. He wasn't too far. Tommy had invited him out for a drink and he'd picked a pub near the city centre. He reckoned he could get home in under 15 minutes if he walked, but then movement caught his eye and he lazily glanced to his left. 

A girl was hurrying down the pavement through the mist of rain. She had on a black dress that screamed ‘night out’. It looked shiny, like some kind of satin that clung to her in all the right places. She was a tiny thing yet her body was the perfect hourglass, the dress only highlighting it with its thin straps and its neck that was dangerously low. She had long brown hair tumbling down her shoulders in waves, the colour a stark contrast to her skin that was as pale as snow. 

Instead of the ankle breaking heels he'd expect with a dress like this, she was wearing combat boots. Docs, he noticed, when she got closer and he saw the yellow stitching. As she got nearer, he saw the glint of a nose ring and could see a few tattoos dotted along her pale skin. Fuckin' hell. She was so… different. 

It had been a while since his interest had been piqued. He'd resigned himself to just one nighters that meant nothing when he was on leave. Nameless faces from bars when he was out of it. Pretty enough to get his dick going but not interesting enough to stop him from sneaking out in the morning and never speaking to them again. 

He expected the girl to walk right past the bus stop, anticipated the glorious view he knew he'd get from behind as she did. But instead, she turned into the bus stop, hair dripping wet as she shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. She plonked heavily on the bench beside him, leaving some space between them. Her scent floated over to him then and he was powerless to take a deep inhale. Fuckin' hell. There was something fruity like peach or apricot, but there was also vanilla and something deeper, darker. Something so alluring that he shifted in his seat and cursed himself. He hadn't been laid since his last leave and he blamed the lack of human touch for the stirring in his jeans. 

He cast a sideways glance at her, his dark eyes taking in her trembling form. He noticed a few things up close then that he hadn't seen in her approach. Like the tear tracks down her pretty cheeks and her red and puffy eyes. Bright blue they were. Like the ocean in some far off country when the sun hit it just right, but they were marred by the red surrounding them. He noticed then how her right arm, the one closest to him, was covered in what looked like fresh bruises and a graze down her forearm that was slowly oozing blood. Something quick smacked him in the chest as a barrage of memories struck him like a freight train. 

“You in trouble, sweetheart?” He asked, his voice low and she whipped over to look at him. Those pretty blue eyes flicked over his face rapidly, taking him in, sizing him up. Then they settled back on his own dark eyes. Fuckin' hell. When was the last time someone had looked at him like that? He wasn't sure he'd ever been looked at with whatever this look was but it was stirring something deep inside of him. His eyes darted to the arm she'd fucked up and her eyes followed, realization crossing her face as she did. 

“Oh… no, I fell over,” she replied with a shake of her head. Her voice was soft, sweet sounding and despite the situation he found himself in, his treacherous brain wondered what it would sound like moaning his name. He didn't realise he'd turned into a touch starved sexual deviant. 

“Heard that one before, love,” he countered with a raise of his brow and it caused her to snort, amusement dancing across her pretty features. 

“No, I really did fall. Tore out of the club like a bat out of hell and tripped over. Bouncer was nice enough to help me up,” she murmured, giving him a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

“Not nice enough to patch you up though, yeah?” He asked sardonically and her smile brightened into a more genuine one with amusement once more. 

“Guess not,” she shrugged as she turned to look back out at the road. He watched her sombre face for a little longer before his eyes drifted back to her arm.

“You’re bleedin’,” he muttered, pointing out the obvious. She glanced at her arm before shrugging again carelessly. He sighed to himself before he shifted, grabbing the bandana from his back pocket. 

He gently took her arm, making her eyes snap to him, watching him curiously as he held her forearm. It gave him an excuse to touch her. Fuckin’ hell, she was soft. He also got a glimpse at some of her tattoos now. On the inside of her forearm were three cards. Tarot cards or whatever the fuck they were called. He had no idea what the cards meant but there was Death, Three of Swords and The Tower, all of which looked not very positive and made him wonder why the fuck she had them inked onto her skin. He had to admit that the artwork was pretty nice though. He felt her pretty blue eyes boring into him as he started to wrap the bandana around her forearm where it was bleeding from the graze. It was silent and he tried to think of something to say, wishing he was more social so he could actually get to know her a little better. 

“You ever wonder what the point is?” she asked after a long moment. He was taking his sweet time tying the bandana off, wanting to prolong the contact he had with her. 

“The point of what?” he asked curiously, eyes flitting to her morose face.

“Living. What's the point in everything, why are we here? What's the point?” she asked with a frown and he felt something tugging deep in his chest.

“Should I be worried you're gonna fling yourself off a roof, love?” he asked warily, finishing tying the knot in the bandana. His hands left her skin then but he stayed facing her. She heaved a sigh that even he could feel the heaviness to as he watched her carefully.

“I’m not gonna kill myself. I just… everything's miserable, you know? I came out of the womb with the umbilical cord wrapped around my neck. Almost died. Mum always told me it would have been better if I would have, maybe that was a sign,” she muttered and the words made a deep ache pinch inside of him. She said it so matter of factly and a frown etched onto his face. 

“That's pretty grim,” he remarked, unsure of what to say. He wanted to comfort her but he had a feeling she didn't want comforting. She laughed then and it startled him. A genuine laugh that felt like bells chiming all around him and making his inside feel like they were about to turn into outsides. She smiled up at him and he suddenly felt unable to breathe. Fuckin’ hell. 

“Grim should be my middle name with the life I’ve had. Just found out my boyfriend of four years has been cheating on me with my best mate. So now I’m out of a boyfriend and a friend,” she was still smiling but this time more mockingly and she turned her eyes away from him. 

“Whoever he is, he's a fuckin’ tosser then. What kind of arsehole would cheat on a girl like you?” he asked with a shake of his head. It annoyed him to think. Whoever this dickhead was, he didn't deserve her. That bright smile graced her face again then and he found himself wanting to bring it to her face more often.

“A girl like me?” she asked with a cheeky glint in her eyes. It made his heart thump wildly against his ribs as he looked down at her. 

“You're beautiful,” he said simply, watching as heat seemed to sweep up her entire body. What a pretty colour pink was on her cheeks. She let out a breathy laugh as she turned away, a bashful look on her face that melted off in seconds.

“Not beautiful enough apparently,” she replied with a shrug. He wanted to argue with her. Wanted to tell her that she was more than beautiful enough and the guy was just a  piece of shit. Yet the words died in his throat, struggling to comfort a stranger at the bus stop.

“The relationship was a mess anyway, I should have seen it coming. It got to that point where we stayed together because it was more convenient than to split. We were just going through the motions. But my best mate? It's a slap in the face having both of them sneak about like that. It's the lies that bothers me the most, you know? Probably for the best anyway, the sex was miserable,” she rambled with a huff and he chuckled at her. 

“That right?” he asked with amusement and she glanced to him with that pretty smile and eyes that spelled trouble.

“Mhm. Never had an orgasm with him, can you believe that?” she asked and he blinked dumbly at her for a moment as his brain registered her words. He hardly expected her to come out with something so personal. 

“Never?” he asked, sounding incredulous. This arsehole was bringing shame to all men with this bullshit. It wasn't hard to get a girl off, he had no idea how some guys had problems like this. 

“Never. Had to fake it the entire time and it was so boring. He never wanted to try anything. Probably ‘cause he was doing it all with Jessica,” she said the name with a mocking smile and a roll of her eyes before her face turned miserable once more. 

“What kinda stuff did you wanna try?” He asked. He was curious, he wouldn't lie about it. Wondered just what naughty things the girl wanted to get up to that her miserable wet blanket of an ex wouldn't allow her to. But he also didn't like that sad far away look on her face so he figured they could keep the conversation going in this direction. 

She glanced at him then with that pretty pink hue back on her cheeks and a demure look in her eyes. He could practically see the cogs whirring away in her head as she contemplated telling a random stranger at the bus stop about what she wanted to get up to in bed. 

“I won't judge, love. Promise,” he added, hoping to ease her worries. His curiosity was getting worse with each passing second, a more primal part of his brain just itching to know what she wanted, wanting to know just what she liked. 

She looked away again, pursing her lips for a moment before she blew out a breath. 

“It's nothing… too kinky or whatever. I just didn't get to try anything. Wanted to start easy, I guess. Wanted to try dirty talk, or more like someone talking dirty to me. Guys being vocal, words or moans… it always got me going a bit, but fucking him was like fucking a corpse,” she huffed and a chuckle got pulled from Simon's throat. 

“And I've always wanted to try… being submissive. The idea of a dominant man in bed appeals to me. Spanking, hair pulling, a bit of choking… But not like degradation or anything, my self esteem is too battered for that,” she snorted self deprecatingly and a smile tugged at his lips at her admission. Little lamb wanted to play submissive, did she? He shifted where he sat, hoping to conceal the bulge forming in his jeans at the thought of her submitting to him like that. His hands wrapped around that pretty little throat as he impaled her on his cock over and over. Fuckin' hell.

“Praise, then?” He asked, dark eyes boring into her and watching as she nibbled on her plump lower lip. Her blue eyes locked on his at his low and gravelly tone, something sparkling behind them as a shy smile curled her lips.

“I've never been praised in bed but I think I'd like it. Like a cat getting head rubs,” she grinned impishly and it was so endearing that he had to temper the urge down to kiss her.

“You wanna be called a good girl, is that it?” he asked, unable to hide the sinful undertone to his voice as he leaned closer to her. He felt the energy shift between them as he blinked lazily at her, like a lion basking in the sun and watching its prey. She looked at him with those pretty doe eyes, lips slightly parted and he watched how her eyes drifted to his lips before floating back up to his eyes. She nodded, the dusting of pink still sitting prettily on her cheeks.

“Words, sweetheart,” he drawled, a surge of something primal stirring inside of him at her little intake of breath at his words.

“Yes,” she admitted softly, seemingly unable to take her eyes off him. He was painfully hard now, his cock pressing uncomfortably on his restrictive jeans.

“You wanna be my good girl, love?” he purred, dark eyes swirling with so many promises if she agreed. Jesus, he wanted her to agree, more than he wanted anything in his entire life. He wasn't quite sure what had come over him.

“Yes,” she murmured breathlessly, “please,” she added and the smile that graced her face was devilish and he once again felt unable to breathe. Fuckin’ hell, I’m in trouble.

A noise he could only describe as a growl rumbled in the back of his throat as he reached out, his large hand gripping her jaw as he leaned down and crashed his lips to hers. Her hand fisted his jumper as she leaned closer, melting into him in a way that pleased him deep inside. His grip on her jaw was firm and his other hand snaked to the nape of her neck as he fisted her hair, tugging it a little. 

She let out a gasp that jolted through his entire being and he took the opportunity to slide his tongue inside her mouth to really taste her. She relented to him instantly, allowing him control as he explored every inch of her mouth. He could taste the cheap whisky she’d had back at the bar and he’d never liked the taste more. He lapped up every bit of her he could, allowing it to set his body on fire before he had to pull away, only for the sheer need to breathe. 

He was breathless when he pulled away and she looked dazed, her pretty eyes blinking up at him like she was somewhere else. His thumb stroked her cheek gently and it brought a smile to her face that had him melting all over again. Her eyes drifted to his lips before back to his eyes and this time, she was the one to lean up, capturing his lips. It was more tame and a lot slower than his desperate kiss but no less sensual. He let her explore him this time, loving how her hand splayed over his heart as she pushed closer to him. He pulled away when he heard the tell tale sounds of the bus down the road and he moved away from her, flashing her a sinful smile as he stood,

“Comin’, love?” he asked her, raising a brow. She flushed pink, taking his hand as she stood.

“I hope so,” she murmured wryly and it startled a laugh of him which only served to make her face light up.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he snorted, shaking his head fondly at her. He tugged her closer and she fell into him, one hand still wrapped in his as the other went back to his chest. His eyes darted to the bus as it got closer before back to her radiant face. 

“You'll definitely be comin’, sweetheart, I promise you that,” he assured her, giving her a serious look. 

“You seem confident you’ll get an orgasm out of me,” she grinned cheekily at him and he licked his lower lip, loving how her eyes darted to the movement.

“I’ll get more than one outta you,” he smirked and she snorted a soft laugh, eyes twinkling at him.

“That right?” she asked, sounding amused like she didn't believe him. She’d damn well find out. 

“Mhm. I’ll get at least three outta you,” he grinned wickedly and her eyes widened as she swallowed thickly. He already knew just how he’d be getting those from her too.

“Three? Are you serious?” she asked slowly, like he was stupid.

“As a fuckin’ heart attack, love,” he murmured and her cheeks flushed. The bus pulled up then and he led her on, paying both their fares for them before leading her to the back where no one was sitting. 

She sat close to him, hand still in his and he was glad she hadn't tried to take it back. He had this deep desire to be as close as possible with her and he still didn't understand it. He never did this. He did impersonal fucks after getting drunk at a bar. Going back to their place so he could slip out before morning without having to speak to them. Hell, sometimes he couldn’t even be bothered with that and just fucked them in the alley outside or the fucking toilets. He didn't do whatever the hell this was, yet he couldn't bring himself to stop. He just wanted more. The bus started moving again and he glanced to her as a thought occurred to him.

“Name’s Simon, by the way. Thought you should know since you’ll be screamin’ it soon,” he drawled, leaning closer to her. She laughed, amusement and mischief dancing across her face as she blinked up at him.

“Does that line usually work?” she asked cheekily and he scoffed, trying to look offended but it was hard when she was making him smile like a fucking psychopath. 

“Dunno, never used it before. Did it work?” he asked with a devilish grin and she giggled at him. It was such a precious sound that he wished he could record it and play it over and over when he was overseas in the deepest trenches of war. Her tongue swiped over her top teeth and she looked deep in thought for a moment, her body leaning into him even more and allowing him to drink in her scent.

“I’ll give you an eight out of ten for trying,” she smirked and his jaw dropped for a minute, eyes narrowing at her.

“You're givin’ me a participation award?” he asked slowly and she snorted, flashing him a pretty smile.

“The good girl line was way better,” she shrugged with a grin and he leaned in, unable to help himself. Who the fuck was this girl and why was she making him feel this way? His lips ghosted hers and her breathing hitched, making him almost purr in delight at her reactions to him.

“Never told me your name, love,” he murmured softly, rubbing his nose against hers teasingly as she tried to chase his lips for a kiss.  

“Charlotte,” she supplied and he finally graced her with the kiss she was after. Her lips were so soft against his and he loved the way she clung to him, gripping his jumper when he kissed her like this. He broke away, nipping at her lower lip and dragging a moan from her that should have been shameful on the back of the bus but neither of them seemed to care. 

“Charlotte,” he repeated, testing how her name tasted on his tongue. She seemed to light up at hearing it coming from him though. Pretty little thing was so responsive to him, he couldn't wait to get her into bed.

Looking up, he saw his stop coming up and he stood, leading her by her hand again to the front of the bus. She went willingly, her other hand curling around his arm as the bus swayed and jostled her. He glanced down at her, so small but yet fitting perfectly at his side like this and he felt something light up deep in the recesses of his hollow chest. She looked up and gave him this sweet smile. As if he wasn't some random stranger she met at the bus stop. Some random guy that was bringing her back to his place for a good time. She looked at him like she’d known him her whole life, like they'd known each other before. Looked at him like he meant something. 

He was brought out of his thoughts by the bus stopping, the door opening with a screech. His heart was hammering with anticipation of what was about to happen. Never in his life had he been this excited to fuck someone. Not even when he lost his virginity to some older girl in school he couldn't even remember the name of. This whole situation had him feeling so unlike himself, but he didn't hate it either. He felt like he was being sucked into a black hole and he was just allowing it to happen. He just hoped he could hold on long enough to enjoy the ride.