#imagie

[lanaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa]

what does the imaginary parkour guy outside your window do when you're on a plane instead of a car

[ferrarifinnick]

THEY NOTICE YOU'RE HUNGRY | MEN OF SQUID GAMES HEADCANONS

summary: most to least likely to give you their food when they notice you’re hungry.

warnings: mild starvation, age gap (legal), manipulation, intimidation, father figure in a sexual dynamic, teasing, daddy kink, toxic!relationship (sang-woo), stealing, thanos because he is a warning in and of himself.

includes: daeho, young-il, sang-woo, thanos (in order of most to least likely)

a/n: currently trying to improve my writing, so feedback is very much appreciated! also this was sooo much fun to write. enjoy <3

DAE-HO

for all the glances he sneaks your way, it takes him a couple of meal times to notice you’re struggling for energy. he’ll think you’ve just had some poor sleep and are tired from running in red light green light, but when you wake the next morning, shoulders slumping and your smile not quite reaching your eyes, he’ll realise something’s wrong. cue lunchtime where he watches you wolf down your milk, lifting up the carton and shaking the last few drops onto your tongue. he’ll take the carton from you.

“it’s empty,” he says obviously, like you couldn’t understand the concept. but he’ll fill your empty hand with his carton and say, “try this, there’s still half left.”

“dae-ho,” you sigh softly, shaking your head and handing it back. “i can’t take this from you, you need it.”

he’ll burst out with “i hate milk,” without so much as wiping the remnants of it from the corners of his lips. he’ll notice your scepticism and shrug cooly. he’ll say, “never liked cows much, either. like why moo, right?” all while waving his spoon passionately.

you’ll blink and your brain will struggle to follow, and in your processing, he’ll slide his hand under yours and lift the carton to your lips. you’ll drink what’s left, not because he’s convinced you, but because it’s easier than encouraging any more of dae-ho’s thoughts.

he won’t watch as you drink. he’ll hunch back down to scoop up the rest of the rice on his tray, avoiding your eyes not to distract you from drinking.

when you’re done, he’ll take the carton from you and give it a shake. satisfied that it’s empty, he’ll hold his hand out for you to high five and then sling an arm over your shoulders. “now we wait.”

“for what?” you ask, glancing up at him.

he meets your eyes. “for your muscles to grow as big as mine.” he feigns taking a look at a watch that is not strapped to his wrist and sighs. “looks we’ll be here a while.”

he’ll grin and catch your wrist before you can playfully slap his chest. he’ll drag it up to his lips and kiss it, shooting you a little wink before setting your hand over his thigh while he finishes the rest of his tray.

YOUNG-IL

he won’t even say anything, he’ll just hold his carton of milk out to you. you’ll glance down at it, blink, then look to him. but you won’t find his eyes. he’s too busy picking at his tray to pay you any mind, but if you don’t take the carton quickly enough, you’ll make him sigh.

“take the milk,” he’ll say flatly, but not necessarily annoyed just yet. if you still don’t, he’ll look up at you with his lips pulled into a straight line. “now, please.”

the narrowing of his eyes tells you not to push further, not to be a brat. he doesn’t like brats. so you’ll take the carton and sip from it, just to please him, but your gut twists because you don’t want him to go without just for you. he deserves it more.

he’ll notice your tiny sips, and he’ll sit back on the bench, dropping the spoon onto his tray with a quiet clunk. he never was one for causing a scene, but with the members of your group well within earshot, he couldn’t stop himself from tutting.

“don’t be difficult,” he warns you, and if you were clever you would listen. “finish it, now.”

you hesitate, but he won’t back down. he’ll stare you down, his eyes growing darker and you know this is the part where you listen. you’ll bring the carton to your lips and gulp this time, and you won’t stop until a tiny stream of milk escapes the corner of your lips, running down your chin, your neck, and finally to the collar of your t-shirt.

young-il will reach out and stop the trail with his finger before it can go any further. he’ll lift it to your lips and say, “lick it.”

the nervous flick of your eyes to the other members of your group will only draw out his smirk. when you return to his gaze, he’s stone faced again. the relief in your face makes him satisfied that nobody heard, but he wouldn’t care much if they did. he gave you an order and you still hadn’t followed it. that was more pressing to young-il than maintaining his image.

“don’t make me repeat myself,” he says, staring you down with those stern eyes.

your tongue darts out and runs across the pad of his finger. his eyes narrow, watching the trail of saliva stain his skin, his lips twitching into a smirk once more. when your tongue retreats behind your teeth, he nods, satisfied.

he turns back to his tray. your stomach drops, and he feels the way your body leans ever so slightly closer to his, waiting, wanting, and he knows what you need. he holds you hostage with his silence, waiting to see how loud you’ll make your desperation, and then, only when he catches the quiet whine that escapes your lips, he’ll give you what you need.

he doesn’t bother suppressing the sly grin when he, without lifting his head to face you, says, “good girl.”

and you’ll live up to his praise and kiss his cheek.

SANG-WOO

sang-woo hears the growling in your tummy, and it sounds as violent as the rumble in his own. he glances down at the meals given to you both. your tray is just as full as his, and in his head he justifies eating the rest of his food under the reason that you’re smaller than he is, you should be better sustained by this amount of food. if anything, you should be sharing yours with him.

he’s much taller than you, and don’t forget about all the energy he burns when he’s looking out for you in the games, or protecting you at night when the lights turn out. he needs this food. for him, for you.

but even though he deserves it, part of him twists with guilt. he’s a gentleman, and gentlemen don’t sit back and watch pretty girls starve.

“i’m sorry you’re hungry,” he says quietly, picking at his food. he was trying to balance his acting just right to get you to comfort him.

he keeps his head down as you reach over and rub his back, savouring it when you press a kiss into his shoulder. “it’s not your fault, sang-woo. i know you’re hungry, too.”

he nods at that. “i am,” he agrees, and won’t let himself look down at the food he wanted to take off your plate.

you set a handful of grapes onto his tray and only then does he look up at you. he’s grateful when you hold your finger to your own lips, because he doesn’t want to thank you. he doesn’t think you deserve it.

but he does take your hand and presses his lips to the back of it. he knows you think he deserves more, too.

THANOS

he knows you’re starving. he’s the one to blame, too, because he’s been stealing your food. it’s exactly why he’s been so kindly collecting your tray from the guards for the last few days, and why he asked nam-guy to stay behind with you on the benches when he did.

“no señorita of mine is gonna get her own food,” he said insistently the first meal time in the games, a big hand pushing down on your shoulder until you sank onto the bench. “i’m a gentleman, i got you.”

“it’s okay, really, i can carry it myself,” you tried, but thanos lifted a finger and set it against your still moving lips while you we’re talking. his skin brushed against your tongue, and it tasted like salt and metal.

he stepped closer, towering over you and narrowing his eyes. “sit down,” he ordered this time, and you knew he wasn’t to be defied any longer so you wanted to avoid trouble. when you slowly sank down, he pointed right at nam-gyu and snapped his fingers to you. “look after her.”

then he spun and shot off, and it has been the same routine ever since.

every time he returns, he shakes his head and lets out a disappointed sigh. “they did it to you again, girl,” he says, handing you the tray with barely half the amount of food as his own. “they got it in for you.”

“again?” you gasped, taking the tray from his hands and examining the scraps you were supposed to call breakfast. “but, but…” you trail off, tears welling up in your eyes.

thanos rolls his when you hunch over to cry into your hands, but still slings an arm loosely over your shoulders. “it ain’t that deep,” he says and scoops a heaped spoon of rice into his mouth.

the longer you cry, the less he bothers comforting you, and when you eventually stop sobbing, he’s too deep in a conversation with nam-gyu to notice. it’s only when you lean back down and notice even less food on your tray than before that he realises you’re still sat next to him.

“oh,” he says, leaning closer and pointing down at the tray. “i ate your kimchi,” he says and leans back, nodding enthusiastically. “best thing they’ve made since we got here, you’ll love it…” he trails off, lifting a hand to cover the giggles spilling from his lips. “or i guess you would have loved it.”

sang-woo can have take everything and i’d still call him my brave knight in shining armour hehe. like, comment, reblog. love <3

[imaginationblur]

Which Sal, which Sal...

[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

Through time and space; you're Mine.

Summary; Alt end to 'The girl who shattered time!' instead of staying, (y/n) goes back to her time, only everything is different. Way different.

warnings; Tom Riddle(way more on point in this version), obsessive Tom, possessive Tom, referenced murder and implied murder, horcruxes used to make 'kids' so Tom can have 'you.'

i like how this came out, its not long! hardly even 2,500 words! but it feels good so i left it where it was~ the requester of the girl who shattered time did request an alt end but their idea was different and i wasnt, really into it? so i did this instead because this feels...more like Tom. enjoy!

=

“Please stay,” he said, achingly, pleadingly, his jaw clenching horribly as he stepped towards her-she stepped back-he stopped.

“What?” she asked, and she watched as the sound of her voice made his eyes flutter and he took a deep breath, holding the diary with both hands.

“Stay. Please.” He said again, begging. “Don’t go back to your time-don’t go back to…that war. Don’t go where I can’t follow.” He whispered, looking up at her.

“How can you ask that?” she whispered, clenching her jaw, fists tight at her sides. “You saw it all, you know why I can't stay, you know why I’ve been avoiding you-why I want to go back.”

Tom’s eyes were hard yet sad-anger, not at her, filling his face.

“I won't stay with someone who becomes…him.” (y/n) said, not even daring to say the name and Tom nearly flinches, his eyes going back down to his diary, trembling.

“If you go back. I’ll find you.” he says, voice low and dark with promise, looking up at her-his gaze intense. “I'll find you, no matter what-I’ll track you down.” He steps closer and (y/n) backs away, gasping as he grabs her wrist and pulls her close- the diary falling to the floor, his eyes locked onto hers.

“I’ll make you mine again, I don’t care what I have to do, who I have to get through-I will find you, and we will be together again.” (y/n) shakes her head,  panic filling her whole body, she does not want to be with Voldemort, she didn’t want him-she didn’t want this.

She slaps him with her free hand and his head snaps to the side-his eyes going wide, before turning back on her as she runs back towards the dorms. “You can’t escape me (y/n)!” he roars, knowing he couldn’t chase her into the girls dorms, the barrier keeping him away from her. “I will find you! you will be mine again! Dark lord or not-I will have you!”

He loved her. And he would never let her go.

-

She rushes out of the Slytherin common room before sunrise, panting heavily as she books it down the hall towards Dumbledore’s office, tears in her eyes as she rapidly knocks on the door and he opens it. “ah-I have yet to leave for the ministry Ms-are you okay?” Dumbledore's voice turns to concern as (y/n)’s shoulders jump with a sob and she slumps into him as the weight of everything crashes into her.

Tom’s ‘promise’, the threat of the war, returning to a world where she’d be hunted down-it’s all too much.

But still-she wants to go home. She wants to see her friends again, and if need by-die next to them.

Dumbledore hugs her and after the sun rises, he goes to the ministry through the floo network, (y/n) curled up on the seat in front of his desk until he and a ministry worker returned-holding the time turner that would send her back. “Okay, you traveled back in the defense class room right?” the ministry worker asked, following Dumbledore to the DADA classroom.

(y/n) nods, quietly standing beside Dumbledore as he unlocked the DADA classroom and the three entered, the ministry worker handing her the time turner. “All right, here you go, just finish the loop and it’ll send you to your time, and then to send it back to us-just take it off and leave it in a safe spot and the time turners fail safe will send it back to us. Understood?”

(y/n) nodded again, putting on the time turner and lifting the two ends in her fingers, twisting it to complete the loops and she felt her stomach turn as she was sent forward in time-May 2nd, 1998. She landed in the DADA classroom-it was untouched by the chaos that sent her here in the first place so she quickly took the time turner off and put it in a safe spot-near the book cases, far away from where she’d gone back the first time.

She looks at the desk that she’d knocked over that held the original time turner, sneaking over and opening all the drawers-eventually finding the time turner that had sent her back. She looks up as she hears someone approach the door and quickly hides. Except…there's no blast of magic or chaos of battle.

Instead, there’s hushed whispers, and light laughter. “Go go-“ a voice whispers, one that is vaguely familiar. (y/n) peeks around her hiding spot, seeing herself sneaking into the DADA classroom, a group of girls-her friends from this era, including Luna, oh goodness it’s so good to see her-all watching her sneak in. (y/n)’s brows furrow, why was this so different? It should’ve been the same, right?

She’d expected to return to the battle of Hogwarts but…there seemed to be no battle…What changed?

She looked back at her past…alternate self and she tripped in the darkness, knocking open the desk drawer and it slid out completely-making a loud noise and then things began to whirl around-past/alt (y/n) gasping and then she was gone-the broken time turner sending her to the past.

…HUH?!

(y/n) stared in shock-this was not how it happened at all! She’d been chased and blasted into the room by snatchers! Not dared to sneak around and then accidently knocked the desk over!? What happened?! What changed so much! Her friends all rushed into the room-whispering out her name in worry and (y/n) winced, coming out of her hiding space.

“uh-something went wrong.” She said and the girls all screamed and jumped-eyes wide as they looked at her.

After a long moment, and some panic-(y/n) was able to explain, sorta. She explained that she’d been sent back in time by a broken time turner and she’d just gotten back from the 1940s, only to see how she got sent back in time but-differently.

It was a bit confusing to explain but her friends, especially Luna, took it in stride and soon (y/n) was back in her dorm, lying her ravenclaw bed-finally her bed.

Things had changed in this world.

After some digging from her friends-who took her questioning in stride since the timeline (y/n) knew was now gone.

There was no Boy who lived. That was a shock to see her friends be confused when asked about Harry Potter-to them, Harry was just a regular boy, no lightning scar, no dead parents-captain of the quidditch team and all.

“what-what about-death eaters?” (y/n) asked and her friends looked terribly confused.

“What In the world was happening in your timeline?” her friend Ruby asked and (y/n) slumped back onto her bed, eyes wide.

No death eaters. No boy who lived.

…no…Voldemort? She sat up, asking if they heard that name before-their reaction this time was different.

“oh yeah-Minister Voldemort? He’s been minister for magic for nearly 30 years now,” Irene said and (y/n) nearly fell out of her bed.

Minister for Magic Voldemort-not dark lord. What in the actual fuck?!

“I need to sleep.” (y/n) croaked and her friends agreed, Luna giving her a hug and a necklace to keep the wackspurts away. “Thanks Luna, I missed you.” (y/n) said softly, hugging her friend back and Luna hummed, floating back over to her bed, brushing through her wavy hair.

(y/n) laid back in her bed, struggling to sleep.

What had changed? Tom had said he’d find her-and yet it seemed this world was so much better. Voldemort now minister for magic-but she’d have to find out if this was a good thing or not in the morning.

She needed sleep.

-

She heads right for the library in the morning, clad in her Ravenclaw uniform once more and her bracelet from Julia feeling strangely heavy on her wrists. She pours over recent history textbooks, finding newspapers from the last 50 years in search of finding what changed.

1943-a girl dies in the Hogwarts bathroom; rumored to be killed by the Chamber of secrets monster, a student is expelled-blamed for the girls death, an accident. Prefect Tom Riddle is praised for his heroism in finding the culprit.

(y/n) swallows harshly, looking at the picture of Tom, he looks angry, beneath the proud look on his face that seems forced. Anger that simmers beneath the surface, heartbreak.

She looks through more newspapers.

1945-world war 2 ends, Grindelwald is defeated by Dumbledore.

1950- a woman named Hepzibah Smith is poisoned by her elf

1954- Tom Riddle-youngest to run for ministry for Magic, supported by the rich and famous pureblood families-such as the Malfoy’s, Black’s, Lestrange’s, Flint’s, and Rosier’s.

1955- Youngest Minister for Magic; Tom Riddle.

1960- Minister Tom Riddle; while no interest in marriage, reveals newborn son, named after him. Tom Riddle Jr.

1961-Tom Riddle once again elected for Minister of Magic.

1970-Youngest Minister for Magic changes name to Voldemort, support from purebloods is great for Voldemort ‘abandoning’ his Muggle birth name.

1968- Voldemort is elected as Minister once again.

And so on and so forth.

(y/n) rips through newspapers like a wild animal-searching for anything that can tell her why things changed so much. Had Tom really given up on the whole ‘dark lord’ thing? Instead going for a more diplomatic way of taking power? Becoming the minister for magic?

She pulls up another newspaper. 1982- Minister for Magic proudly announces his Grandson, Tom Riddle the third. She looks at the picture, it’s Voldemort, uncomfortably human looking-a silver fox if one to describe him, though he has a slight…oddness to him-standing beside him was his ‘son’ Tom Riddle Jr; who was in his early 20’s, hardly even 21 actually-holding a newborn boy.

All three looked exactly the same-like they weren’t truly born, but copies.

(y/n) looks at the date again. 1982. January.

Something nags at the back of her head-telling her something was wrong.

She looks through the papers again. Her heart freezes.

1982-Headmaster Dumbledore passes away, Deputy Headmaster McGonagall to take his place. Cause of death unknown, found dead in office on the morning of June 15th-only days before the school year ended.

That was the exact day Dumbledore died in the original time line-except more than 10 years earlier. Voldemort had been the one to order his death before-he must’ve waited until Dumbledore's guard was down to kill him-this time also having a new vendetta against him-for sending her back.

She leaned back on her heels, newspapers everywhere around her, the one about Dumbledore's death tight in her hands.

Voldemort was minister for magic-he’d had two copies, one son and one grandson, the grandson her age.

She didn’t know how, but this was all a way to get to her-to find her and have her. He knew she’d never accept her as Voldemort, but if he had copies-younger versions of himself, one the exact same as she left him-then she’d have no choice.

“You seem antsy,” A chillingly familiar voice came from just next to her and she glanced-yelping at the sight of Tom’s face in hers; almost the exact same as she left it not a day before-but for him? Almost 50 years ago. “Woah, jumpy much darling?”

Tom teased, picking up newspapers with a flick of his wand-this one dark brown in color, snakes and (fav flowers) carved into the wood.

“Wha-how-you-“ (y/n) panted, back pressed against the table edge of a bookcase as Tom stalked towards her, his eyes almost…red under the dim lighting.

“Oh, my love-did you really think I wouldn’t find you?” Tom said softly, almost eerie-he traps her against the table, arms on either side of you. “You’ve read it all, haven’t you? Seen what we’ve done for you?”

Tom whispers, forehead against hers, his eyes intense and terrifying as he slowly grips her face in his hand-it’s cold. “You feared the dark lord, feared to return to war and death-I stopped it all. Can't you see? You don’t have to be afraid anymore. Not of me.”

“How are you here?” She asks-voice cracking from the swell of emotions she feels and Tom smiles-its unsettling- pressing a kiss to the corner of her lips, his arm wrapping around her to keep her close.

“Oh, my dear, Horcruxes can be used for so much more than immortality.  I was the first.” He pulled out the diary from his uniform inner pocket, pressing it to her upper chest, his eyes still intense on her. “I made this, so when I found you again-I had all my memories of you. Voldemort, or as everyone thinks him to be-my grandfather, birthed me from a simple-allowed me to be born with you.”

He kissed her cheek, soft but it felt wrong and (y/n) pushed at him, but he didn’t budge. “Don’t you see my love?” he whispered against her ear, the diary achingly cold against her neck as he pushes it up against her throat. “I did this for you. I split my soul for you-to be with you. You don’t have to fear me, or Voldemort-we did it all for you.”

“You’re insane.” (y/n) spits at him and he coldly smiles, thumb brushing over her lip-pulling at it slightly.

“I’m a man in love, insanity is only the tip of it.” he whispered, eyes on her lips, flickering between deep brown and red. Snake-like. “we did it for you-there is no war, there is no boy who lived-I kept peace, for you.” he said, his lips connecting with hers in a cold kiss, his hand leaving the diary to cup her head, not letting her pull away.

Her eyes snapped closed-tears burning-her hands fisting into the fabric of his uniform sleeves.

She hates that it still feels so good to kiss him. He pulls away, feeling her tears on his face and he wipes them gently with his thumb, kissing them away. “Don’t be afraid my love-there's nothing more to fear. There is no dark lord, only me.” Tom murmurs and (y/n) sniffled, allowing him to brush her bangs back-both her eyes now on him. His thumb runs over his scar-which was growing fainter as time went on.

“He never touched you.” Tom whispers, her brows furrow-unsure of what he meant and Tom smiles-still intense. “Your uncle, he never touched you-i-or well ‘my father’, killed him before he could even think about touching you.”

(y/n)’s breath stutters in her chest as Tom holds her close-now in a hug, his head tucked against hers. “no one will hurt you again. Including me.” He whispers, clutching tight to her robes and she gasps for breath, unsure of how to handle-anything that was going on.

“I’ll never let you go.” He whispers, a finality to it.

She knows that he’d make sure to keep that promise, whether she wanted it or not.

-end of alt end-

Part 2 as requested

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Tender Care.

Written for a very lovely, very indulgent anonymous commissioner.

Pairing: Yandere!Yor x Reader (SxF).

Word Count: 2.5k.

TW: Non/Con, AFAB!Reader, Slight Asphyxiation, Overstimulation, Implied Violence, Bad Medical Advice, Oral Sex, Delusional Behavior, and Prolonged Stalking.

[Part Two]

Your first instinct was, unimpressively, to assume that she’d followed you here.

It wasn’t the most brilliant idea that’d ever flashed across your mind, but honestly, what else were you supposed to think? You could count the number of days in the past three months you hadn’t ‘coincidentally’ run into the Forgers on a single hand, and you had to hold the precious few nights you didn’t spend helping Loid cook for his busy family or attempting to tutor Anya or trying to talk your way out of whatever family outing they’d invited you on close – if you could really call Yor showing up on your doorstep with a spare dress and a beaming smile an invitation. You couldn’t seem to get rid of them, so it wasn’t out of the question that you wouldn’t be as safe as you’d hoped in the sanctuary of an opera house two trains and three taxis away from the little apartment complex that’d become your waking nightmare. Even if it was only Yor, rather than all three. Even if she clearly wasn’t paying attention to you, her concentration solely on the man she had pinned to wall, one hand wrapped around his throat and a long, needle-like blade clasped in the other. Even if she couldn’t have known you would’ve gotten lost on your way to your seat, couldn’t have snuck into a place like this in a dress sporting so many strange, crimson stains. Even if nothing you were looking at made any sense, you couldn’t help it.

Your second instinct – when you realized that the man she had pinned to the wall wasn’t breathing, that the strange substance painted across her dress probably had something to do with the blood leaking from his throat, that you could only pray she hadn’t come here for you – was to scream.

You covered your mouth as quickly as you could, but it was too late. Yor snapped in your direction, letting the dead man fall to the ground as she turned to face you. Suddenly, as those prying crimson eyes met yours, the hallway between you and her didn’t feel as long as it had, a moment ago, the threat she presented less psychological and more immediate, more physical. Yor seemed to recover from her bloodlust before you managed to pull yourself out of your shock; her eyes widening as she took a step towards you, then another, tucking her weapon into her belt as she approached you slowly, as if her pace would be what scared you away.

And, to her credit, you didn’t move. It was one thing to dread running into your clingy neighbor in an unused wing of an opera house on the other side of town, another entirely to see that same neighbor strangling a man to death. It was all you could do to remind yourself to breathe, to try and fail to stop yourself from shaking as she came to stand in front of you. There was an airy sigh, a quick shake of her head, then her blood-stained hands came up to cup your face, to tilt your head back and force you to acknowledge her adoring stare, the tentative grin tugging at the corner of her lips – not entirely dissimilar to the expression she wore as she forced you out of your peaceful seclusion.

“What are you doing here, sweetheart?” she asked, in the same gentle tone she used when Anya got into a fight with one of her classmates, when Loid came home with bags under his eyes and only half the energy it would’ve taken to stumble to bed. “I thought you were supposed to be staying home, tonight.”

Did you? You didn’t remember that. Then again, you couldn’t remember much of anything beyond this, beyond the feeling of Yor’s warmth seeping into your cheek, the sight of her looming above you. Had she always been so tall? She couldn’t have been. If it’d always been so clear just how easily she would be able to overpower you, you would’ve moved to the other side of the country the day she and her awful husband moved in.

You didn’t respond, but Yor didn’t seem to care. “It’s alright,” she went on, as if that would be enough to stop your knees from buckling underneath you, as if that would be enough to stop you from running for your life as soon as you remembered how to move your legs. “I’ll have this cleaned up in a few minutes. Then, we can spend the rest of the night together.”

She bowed her head, ducking low enough for her lips to brush against the top of your head and linger there.

She didn’t get a chance to pull away before your legs gave out and the world around you went dark.

~

Yor’s first instinct was, of course, to catch you, smiling as your body went limp and collapsed into her arms.

Her second, rather belatedly, was to remember that she was still very much in the middle of a mission and think that maybe, just maybe, she should stage your little reunion somewhere other than her crime scene.

It helped that her time alone with you was cut short before she could let you distract her, again. For as adorable as she’d found it, your scream had drawn more than a little unwanted attention; she could already hear a rush of footsteps only a few hundred feet away, five or so civilians she didn’t have the clearance to dispose of. With a small frown, a disappointed sigh, she took you into her arms and found somewhere to stow you away – a cramped, forgotten dressing room, left neglected by those responsible for its upkeep. She didn’t bother trying to turn on the lights, relying on her limited sight to find a dust-coated vanity and lean you against a cracked mirror she could only hope wouldn’t cut you. She wouldn’t know what to do with herself if you got hurt because of her carelessness.

Even unconscious, it was clear you were already in distress. Your breathing was uneven, ragged, and she could practically feel your heart beating as she pressed her ear to your chest, even if she was glad to know it was beating at all. She’d let rose-colored joy tinge your greeting, but she now that she thought about it, Yor could remember how shocked you’d looked to see her, how shaken the sight of so much blood had left you. Oh, poor thing. She couldn’t begin to imagine how scared you must’ve been.

She couldn’t begin to imagine how scared you still were. With her head still resting against your chest, she felt you start to stir, shifting underneath her as your own restlessness brought your brief respite to an abrupt end. Your hands – still shaking, much to Yor’s shame – rose to her shoulders, shoving her away gently as you attempted to speak for the first time since you’d run into each other. “P-please, I need—Please, don’t—”

The footsteps were closer, now, a small collection of vaguely masculine voices coming into earshot. Her hand was around your throat in a moment, her palm forced over your mouth in another. You let out a panicked, muffled shriek, and Yor did what she could to hush you, to comfort you. You looked like you could use some comfort, right now.

“I know, I know, it’s scary,” she started, doing her best to keep her voice down, to make sure her hold on your throat wasn’t too tight, that she wasn’t pressing too hard on anything you couldn’t live without. It’d be a shame to accidentally snap your neck, or worse – choke you until you passed out for the second time that day. Even you wouldn’t forgive her for something like that. “Please, try to stay with me. We just have to wait until the commotion dies down, then I can explain what’s going on.”

Her excuses did little to soothe you. Her heart broke as you kicked and struggled, your nails biting into her wrist and thick, warm tears soon flooding down your cheeks. In any other situation, the sight would’ve brought her to hysterics too, but she couldn’t, she had to be strong for you. Catching her with her mark must’ve left you more off-kilter than she’d thought. You weren’t just startled, you were terrified – no, worse than that, you were irrational, past the point of anything Yor could think to say. You were—

You were hysterical.

The phrase rose up from a half-remembered conversation she’d had with Loid weeks ago, after she commented on how cutely your voice shook and wondered aloud if you were always so nervous, if there was anything they would be able to do to help you lower your guard. It was only a passing thought, an ill-advised suggestion, something he’d mumbled about in a state of exhaustion and refused to mention again after a full night’s rest. Pelvic massages, he’d called them, an outdated treatment administered to women experiencing fits of extreme emotion. Often administered without consent, let alone proper documentation.

‘Outdated’, Loid had called it, but he never said ‘ineffective’.

Yor took a deep breath, steeling herself. She tightened her hold on your throat until each shallow breath took every last drop of your concentration. Only when she was sure you didn’t have the oxygen to cry out did she let her palm fall away from your mouth – taking to the space between your thighs, instead. “I’m going to help you,” she whispered, more for herself than for you. “Just… just let me do this for you, please.”

Her voice shook as she found the hem of your dress. Thankfully, your skirt had pooled around your thighs when she set you on the vanity, meaning she’d only just started to blush by the time she’d dragged it up to your waist. She tried to think about how Loid would handle this, about how he would handle you, but nervous static overwhelmed her more rational thoughts the moment her fingertips made contact with your panties, already damp where the fabric pressed against your slit. That was good. A doctor would’ve thought that was good, surely.

Yor couldn’t help but think that it was great – just how quickly you’d gotten wet for her.

She slipped too fingers underneath the thin material, pulling it to the side. In response, you let out a noiseless whine, only identifiably by the slight reverberation of your throat against her palm, and tried to shut your legs, to stop her from helping you. She worked a knee between your legs before they could close completely, forcing your thighs apart and finding your clit with her thumb, eager to prove how useful she could be before you tried to shut her out again. Admittedly, she wasn’t the most experienced caretaker you could’ve had, but she tried to picture the anatomical models she’d seen in Loid’s study, to think of the way she touched herself when she had a excuse to let herself into your apartment, when she was surrounded by things that smelled like you and unable to hold herself back. Slowly, carefully, she started to circle the bundle of nerves with the pad of her thumb, mindful not to hurt you or leave you feeling neglected, unloved.

When you bucked against her, she only held you more securely. Soon, her chin rested on your shoulder, quiet coos and words of comfort falling past her lips as she slid two fingers into your pussy and scissored them apart, savoring how you clenched around her. You weren’t in a relationship (she would’ve noticed if you were, would’ve made sure no one else got close enough to hurt you), and while she wasn’t sure how often you… how often you took care of yourself, it couldn’t have been often enough. All she had to do was curl her fingers, flick her wrist, pay a little attention to your clit, and you were practically melting around her. As your slick began to drip down the inside of your thighs, she added a third digit, and your body stiffened underneath her touch, a pair of hands shooting up and taking hold of her shoulders. You really were adorable, she thought, as your nails bit into her skin. You really did need her.

It took more than a little strength to remember why she was doing this, to keep herself from leaning into your affection and keep her pace steady, her tempo constant. The most self-indulgence she allowed herself was a stolen kiss to the curve of your neck, right above the point where her hand wrapped around your throat, then another to your collarbone, a satisfied hum escaping despite her best efforts when she realized you were wearing the low-cut dress she and Loid had gotten for you, last time you accompanied them on a day-long shopping trip. Still, it wasn’t enough to stop her heart from skipping a beat as you stiffened, as your pulse raced underneath her palm and the walls of your pussy convulsed around her fingers. Your mouth fell open, but she managed to keep any sound you might’ve made silent as she brought you to your first climax; your orgasm gentle, but intense enough for her to draw out for minutes before it ended and left you limp, clearly exhausted. Your eyes flickered up, meeting hers in a wordless plea to stop, but she couldn’t afford to be soft with you, not when your own well-being was at stake. Not when you so clearly needed her help.

Tearing a strip of material from the ringed collar of her dress, she pushed an apologetic kiss into the corner of your lips and fastened the makeshift choker around your neck, tight enough to keep you quiet, tight enough to make sure you’d have that pretty, glassy-eyed look for just a few minutes longer. She couldn’t hear the civilians anymore, but then again, she couldn’t hear much of anything over the sound of her own heart beating in her hears as she kneeled in front of you, her hands keeping your thighs spread open as she buried her face between your thighs, mouth latching onto your dripping pussy as if by instinct. Attempting to think about what was medically necessary, what was best for your health was beyond her, now, as her tongue lapped over your entrance, as she tasted you for the first time and found pure euphoria between your thighs. For all the joy she felt, she wasn’t surprised. She’d always known you’d be the sweetest thing she ever tasted.

Any noise you might’ve made was quickly replaced by the slick noise of sucking, lapping, savoring. It was messy, not as calculated as she wanted to pretend to be or as tender as it had been whenever she imagined your first time together, but Yor’s best traits had always lied with her passion, her brute strength, and it only took seconds for you to let out a breathy, muffled sob of a moan, to grind stiltedly into her mouth as she swallowed down everything you had to give her. This time, she didn’t attempt to pull away, to act like she could let that much distance form between you and her. Loid had called it a treatment, right? No, it wasn’t a question, she was sure – this was supposed to be a treatment.

And, as far as Yor could tell, that meant she’d have to help you until you were completely, entirely, absolutely better.

No matter how many hours it took to cure you, she wouldn’t leave your side until you’d made a full recovery.

[byeuijoo]

crush on you 𐀔 boynextdoor

genre : fluff ⋆ warnings : none ⋆ word count : 0,5k

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ୨ ✩ ୧

⭒ park sungho

when sungho realized he'd developed a crush on you, he began to act like a gentleman. hold the doors for you, gives you his umbrella, make you dinner.. all these little attentions to try and tip you off. and even if you notice that he acts differently with you than with other people, you don't immediately understand that he's crushing on you. it's only when he lets the words “ i like you ” escape his mouth on the other side of the phone, that you finally understand why he was like that.

⭒ lee riwoo

riwoo is a little shy, so he started dropping love letters in your locker to express his love for you. obviously, he didn't sign the letters with his name.. but he tries to make you understand that it comes from him by smiling at you when he cross paths with you in the school's corridors. after a while, he finally dares to approach you, trying to hide the smile itching his lips and the reddened tips of his ears.

⭒ myung jaehyun

if jaehyun has a crush on you, he'll suddenly become the clingiest boy you'll ever know. he will sometimes act timidly, especially when you are alone together — in front of his friends, he possesses a certain self-confidence that instantly disappears when your eyes meet his. his hand is often close to yours, innocently brushing against it, and the smile that paints his lips is different from his usual one : more flamboyant, more charming.

⭒ han taesan

taesan is a shy boy : he prefers to watch you from afar and imagine all sorts of scenarios in his little head rather than approach you boldly. so for weeks on end, he watches you silently, trying to find the best way to attract your attention without making a fool of himself. then one day, when he finds himself working with you on a musical project, he sees it as a sign of destiny — and decides to leave clues here and there about his hidden love for you.

⭒ kim leehan

i think when leehan has a crush on you, he won't hesitate to tell you. one day after school, he just stood in front of you and smiled as he said he liked you, without worrying about the answer you'll give him. who are you to resist and reject him anyway? after that, he becomes the perfect gentleman, makes sure you get enough to eat and sleep, helps you with lessons and takes care of you when you're not feeling well.

⭒ kim woonhak

to show you that he's got a crush on you, woonhak will leave little love notes and chocolate milk on your school desk. every morning when you arrive at school, you see a note on your desk — and day after day, something is added. a flower, a drawing, a packet of sweets.. until you decide to come early to surprise your mysterious secret admirer. and when woonhak enters the classroom, and sees you sitting in your chair, your gaze locked in his. he can swear his heart has never beaten as fast as it did then.

⠀⠀

reblogs & feedbacks are highly appreciated !

taglist ౨ৎ @leehanist @wtfhyuck @florainnie @dazzlingligth @yuma-is-mine

[fattuccini-afraido]

Dazai: Hah! Nice clothes, Chuuya. Where'd you get them from? The trash?

Chuuya: Hmmm.

Dazai: Hey, I insulted you. Now you're supposed to insult me back. There's a rhythm to these things!

[canisbeanz]

Tobio 09 redesign

Hello everyone, I've been cooking something up >:D I (and my brother a bit too) have been working on an Astro boy 2009 rewrite thingy. I'm gonna be redesigning most, if not all of the characters so here's my Tobio/Toby design.

Idk how often I'll share updates on here, but don't expect them to be frequent lol.

+ bonus demented notes I made for this.

[iinsertblognamee]

mama's little diva

summary ― it's finally time to play against Iran in Perth, but a certain someone has other plans

pairing ― sam kerr x reader

warning/s ― fluff

based off this request

You looked distressed as Sam tried grabbing the toddler who was throwing a tantrum on the floor in front of the two of you. Her earmuffs were long forgotten on the floor next to your feet. 

It was way past her bedtime and her whole routine had been messed up since arriving back to your wife’s hometown. 

You shook your head a little as you continued to watch Sam try to wrestle your daughter who wasn’t giving either of you the light of day. A sigh left your lips as you looked at the time on your phone. 

“Sam, just go out there”. 

“She’s crying, babe”. 

“That’s what kids do Sam! You can’t just delay the game because she’s crying, she needs to learn”. 

You watched as a pout took over your wife’s face, one you saw on your daughter's face too often. This was slowly becoming a normal occurrence in your household, Sam having an extra soft spot for your daughter. She was a great mum, the best but in moments like these, you just wished Sam wouldn’t be so easy on her. It made it a million times harder for you when Sam wasn��t around to defuse the situation and you were left with a screaming child. 

You knew she was still young and was learning how to use her emotions, and most times she was great - but right now you were ready to rip your hair out. 

“Ju-just let me take her for a second or two” she tries again, your patience wearing thin. You could see the security guard who was meant to take Sam to the tunnel was getting weary, and you sent him a small apologetic smile. 

“Y/N-” Sam starts but the security guard mentions that she needs to leave now to be able to play. You watched as Sam tried to grab your little one again, despite the disapproving looks you were giving the back of her head as your daughter raised her arms up on cue to let Sam take her into her arms. 

“She’s a diva just like her mama” You called out as you watched Sam turn around and give you a small wink before walking out towards the tunnel where her teammates were waiting for her. 

You hear the crowd go wild as Sam walks out on the field, your daughter in her arms as the screams get unbelievably loud. You couldn’t help but feel pride welling up in your chest. The noise startled your daughter for a few seconds, her head pushing into Sam’s neck as you watched Sam plant a kiss on the top of her head - rubbing her back to give her some sort of moral support. 

You watched from afar, teammates of your wife coming over to Sam and your daughter - which both of them thrived for. Despite the annoyance you felt towards Sam at this present moment you couldn't help but pull out your phone and snap some shots of your two girls mucking around. Smilies on both their faces. 

You could see the flashes going off around the stadium, fans screaming for Sam to come over. Your daughter - now found her confidence was now kicking the ball between Caitlin Foord and Haley Raso as some of the other girls nearby cheer her on. 

Both you and Sam watching with pride. 

Eventually, you were handed back your daughter, the two of you getting seated in the friends and family section. The game went on, both of you alongside the rest of the crowd cheering when Ellie and your wife scored their goals. 

It didn’t take long when the girls were making rounds for Sam to make her way towards the pair of you, a smile on her face as your daughter started jumping up and down for her mama to take her. Sam lifted her out of your arms and onto the other side of the barrier, the second her legs touched the grass she was off running towards any of the other girls. 

“Be careful baby!” you call out as you watch her slam into Mackenize’s legs, bringing her arms up to indicate she wanted to be carried - which Macca did. 

Your focus moved off your daughter and onto the smirk on Sam’s face - shaking your head as you attempted to step away. 

“No way” 

“Come on love, you know I can do it” 

“Sam no!” 

Her hands were already moving to your hips, as you grasped onto her shoulders. She lifts you over almost as if it were nothing, placing a kiss on your lips. “See” 

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the cocky grin planted on her face.

“Hi there” she mumbles onto your lips, the crowd calling for her attention but she doesn’t pay attention to it. 

“Good goal out there baby” 

“Had to put on a show for my beautiful wife and daughter” 

The conversation closed up shortly after that, Sam making her way back to the crowd as she went off and signed anything and everything for the fans. You couldn’t help but admire it all - having been to many games before, it was amazing to finally see the girls getting the recognition they deserved. 

And as you stood there, watching it unfold with ‘Kerr’ written on your back you knew there was nowhere else you would want to be.

[twisted-wonderland-but-gayer]

Do you think any of the teachers would give femYuu a taser or pepper spray? Would twisted Wonderland even have that stuff?

Hmm though I do think fem Yuu will definitely encounter some creeps at NRC I don't think it's too much for to warrant them and special weapons.

Epel gets harassed a few times but everyone pivots to bullying his looks when they say he's a guy. Plus Yuu has a fuckass cat, very aggressive first years, a lot of dorm leaders friends, and a direct line to Crowley with that ghost camera. It wouldn't be wise to fuck with then. Plus Yuuka doesn't seem to be treated too differently in the Manga either.

A lot of boys would have to debate if their housewardens punishment would be worth it as well.

Now that being said I do think Yuu is at messy given the choice to present more masculine but also you cant convince me they pick up something. Yuuken does kendo, Yuuka juudo. Game Yuu is a fucking tank that can't die even when they take a disk going 100mph to the head. So Yuu prob already knows how to fight, or is so good at handling it in general.

Plus if your wity the first years and having to deal with lots you definitely learn how to handle shit/fight by now.

Also TWST would have that stuff considering book 6

God forbid if Yuu is androgynous/gender too.

[dracowars]

miracle | draco malfoy

pairing: draco x reader

word count: 1,5k

summary: where draco and y/n save christmas in hogwarts

a/n: a little christmas surprise for you <3 i haven't written for draco in a long time due to no inspiration and wanting to write for other characters, but i admit that i missed him so here we are with a short and sweet christmas story with our favourite boy, hope you enjoy!! ♡

warnings: none

universe: harry potter

The wind howls through the dark castle, gusts of snow whiz past the window, the snowflakes whirling around wildly. The frost climbs up the windows and the candles flicker in the late hour of the evening.

A snowstorm has been raging outside for several hours - something you really don't need right now. Yesterday was the last day of school at Hogwarts before the Christmas break, but this raging snowstorm is ruining all of your plans. The headmaster has forbidden anyone to leave the castle because it is far too dangerous to go out in this weather. But that also means that you are stuck in here. All of you.

Because no one can apparate out of here and the Hogwarts Express, no matter how magical it may be, cannot withstand this weather either.

Of course, Hogwarts offers the opportunity to stay in the castle over the holidays if you do not want to visit your relatives or simply have no one to visit. However, you know that many of your friends have been looking forward to their departure, preparing for weeks.

Even though Hermione is engrossed in one of her books right now, you see from the expression on her face how much it hurts her not to be able to see her parents, at least not in the foreseeable future. Harry and Ron are busy playing a game of Wizard's Chess, their board placed in the middle of the huge Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. Harry would have spent Christmas with the Weasleys this year.

On one of the benches you watch Cho Chang and Hannah Abbott talk to each other, but they do so with sad faces. Over at the Slytherin table, the mood is also gloomy, their quiet murmuring washing over to you. But the worst thing is looking at the faces of the younger students - first to third years - and seeing the frustration and sadness in them.

After Dumbledore had you gather in the Great Hall earlier and informed you of these unfortunate circumstances, hardly anyone left the hall. Many were too shocked, too sad, too surprised or even too overwhelmed to leave.

Which leaves you with a lot of sad, even bored figures who seem to have completely lost the Christmas spirit.

But you weren't chosen as Head Girl at the beginning of the school year for nothing, and that's the reason why you suddenly find yourself at the Slytherin table, with none other than Draco Malfoy in your sights.

At first, he doesn't even notice you. He has his chin resting on his hand and looks up sullenly at the candles floating under the ceiling. Apparently, this situation doesn't even leave his dark heart cold.

"Can I talk to you for a second?", you ask, catching his attention. Draco's grey eyes wander to you, but he doesn't move. He doesn't have to, because his intense gaze already makes you shudder and your heart beat faster.

Yes, you admit it - you had a crush on him for a while. But that was only from fifth to sixth year, because suddenly everyone was swooning over him. Well, your heart apparently hasn't yet understood that this crush is long gone and no longer relevant.

Whoever decided that Draco should be Head Boy in your final year remains a mystery to you. (You know it was Dumbledore. After all, only he can fill that position, but still.)

The others at the table give you looks that you can't quite interpret. But you don't have time to do that anyway because Draco finally stands up from his seat at the table and gently places his hand on your arm. Then, he leads you away from the table to prevent the others from overhearing you.

"What's wrong?", he asks and if you didn't know better, you'd think he sounds almost worried. He doesn't ask what you want in that characteristic snarky tone of his, but what's wrong with you specifically. Suddenly you feel seen and suppress a blush before you sort out your thoughts and turn to the problem at hand.

"We have to do something. I can't bare to look at another sad face. The younger students in particular are desperate to go home", you explain to him, holding his gaze while he looks at you with peaked interest. "So I thought we might as well try to make the best of it?"

It's more so a question than a statement, but something inside of Draco's eyes lights up at your words.

"What do you have in mind?", he asks in a lowered voice and bends forward so that his face is now much closer to yours. His pale skin shines in the candlelight, his eyes standing out even more because of the black and green uniform.

To your surprise, Draco actually likes all your ideas, he is almost enthusiastic about them. While you tell him about them, he folds his arms in front of his chest and looks at you intently with a slight grin playing around his lips. Only when you ask him for his opinion does he seem to come back to reality and straighten up.

"I'm in", he winks at you with a genuine smile and immediately gets to work. Within a few minutes, the Great Hall is even more festive than before. With the help of the other Slytherins, Draco lets snow fall from the ceiling.

The Gryffindors, together with the Ravenclaws, are taking care of further Christmas decorations. They are lighting more fires in the fireplaces all around so that it is cozy and warm in the big hall. The Hufflepuffs, on the other hand, have been given a very important task - together with the house elves, they are carrying numerous baking utensils onto the huge tables.

After a while, some of the teachers have also heard about the celebrations going on in the Great Hall and are gradually joining in. Professor Flitwick is teaching some of the second years a Christmas carol while the choir is already getting into the mood.

With the help of Professor Snape, who looks as grim as ever and thus looks very similar to Ebenezer Scrooge, the Slytherins conjure up a huge ice surface in the entrance to the Great Hall. The students immediately go out onto the magical ice with ice skates that appear out of nowhere and do their laps. The snow piles up in some corners, leading to several snowball fights. Due to the snow being magical, no one gets cold or wet. Laughter echoes through the hall, and you are suddenly met with happy faces everywhere.

"Well done, Head Girl", Draco nudges you with his elbow as he suddenly appears next to you. You didn't even hear him approaching you, too busy watching the students doing pirouettes on the ice rink. The warmth emanating from him by your side makes you feel content.

"Couldn't have done it without the Head Boy", you smile at him, nudging him back playfully.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you just complimented me", Draco laughs and his eyes have that sparkle again. His laugh is something you see so rarely that you are rendered speechless for a few seconds.

"Don't get used to it, Malfoy", you reply once you have rediscovered your voice. Draco looks at you with that intense look again and you have the feeling that only the two of you exist in this very moment. That's why you are glad when you see something out of the corner of your eye, a distraction.

The house elves have been helping the students bake cookies on the huge tables. However, it has obviously gotten out of hand because a first year walks past you, completely covered in white. Not from snow, but from flour.

Startled, you run towards the tables and demand that the children stop, but it is far too loud for them to hear you. And you doubt they would even listen to your words if they did.

Draco, who is standing next to you again, is watching the events in front of you with a grin tucking at the corner of his lips. Whether it is because of the flour fight or the fact that no one is listening to you, you don't know. You look at him for help, but instead of helping you, he picks up one of the finished cookies and holds it in front of your nose.

The sweet, delicious smell fills your nose immediately and calms down your nerves. As soon as you take a bite, the chocolate, which is still a little warm, melts on your tongue.

However, you can't enjoy it much longer as a cloud of flour suddenly breaks over the both of you and completely covers you and Draco in white powder.

With your mouth open, you look at Draco in shock, who stares at you with a similar look. Then you both start laughing loudly at the exact same time. You are white from head to toe, the children around you giggling as well.

"Merry Christmas, Y/N", Draco speaks through your laughter, catching his breath while gently removing flour from the top of your head with his hand.

"Merry Christmas, Draco."

[sadbearsnoplayroom]

Replace president with president furby. Looks the same. Nobody would know, Would do better job.

same picture, yes?

[p3achj3llyf1sh]

i love when narinder just stares with his big evil eyes

[imaginationblur]

Edited and unified my Archie series, no more displacements and more notable edits (looking at you Clove and Cassia)

Here is the vertical ones ->>

[call-me-pup2]

Knotted and ready to sleep. Already so needy even though I've just cum, I'm going to be a mess when I wake up I just know it 😳😣😣

[choerypetal]

A Lumberjack's love story / Coriolanus Snow (ft Treech)

summary : You found yourself appointed as Treech's mentor. You had believed that falling in love, especially with someone from a District, was an impossibility. The idea of developing feelings for your tribute seemed even more far-fetched. However, it became unmistakably evident that Snow had become somewhat obsessed and jealous of this unexpected connection. The love that was once rumored to be a mere Game strategy now revealed itself as undeniable truth. Snow is determined to assert your allegiance and make you aware of where your loyalties lie, employing Treech's memories as a strategic tool in the process.

p.s.: english is not my native language, so I apologize for any errors or mistakes. Additionally, I am open to writing about other tributes, like Treech x reader, or any other characters. Feel free to make requests; my ask box is always open!

Snow was never inclined to publicly display the bond between the two of you. Given the stakes of his family name, he recognized that their relationship was merely a facade. As time passed, it became not only unattractive for a woman of her youth but also jeopardized her reputation as a young aristocrat in the streets of the Capitol. Such thoughts that became fueled within your mind as you were compiled with a reminder of your mother’s desire to know what were your plans upon graduations. And to be completely fair, you had zero idea. 

While the Academy expected you to maintain unwavering focus, Snow found himself increasingly intrigued by you. However, he wasn't the type to initiate things. Instead, he expressed his interest through subtle glances, careful not to be caught observing you during class. Despite his reserved yet confident demeanor, it was evident that Snow harbored an attraction towards you during his time as a student at the Academy. If only both of you were aware of the mutual sentiments brewing between you. If only. 

In the initial weeks of the 10th Games, he witnessed you under the relentless summer sun of the Capitol. Your forehead glistened with a sheen of sweat as you struggled to maintain professionalism with your tribute. Treech.  Recognizing the challenging nature of the task, he found himself increasingly captivated as your vulnerability became more pronounced each day. It was this vulnerability that marked Snow's first overt fixation on you. From the way you pampered Treech’s wound after training, to how you carefully swiped his sweet, making it slightly harder due to his curls peaking beneath his hat. How he had envied to be in Treech’s place.

The following day, as you prepared lunch for your tribute, he offered his suggestion. His very first interaction with you. "I'd recommend the sandwich." He said. Having noticed your early arrival in the cafeteria, he quietly approached you from behind, his gaze fixed on the softness of your skin as your fingers delicately folded the freshly cooked food into an aluminum bag. The aroma lingered, a distinct scent that had left an indelible impression on him since the first day he could approach. You responded with a smile, taking his advice to heart and adding additional sandwiches based on Snow's recommendation, expressing deep appreciation for his input. 

On that very first day, Snow found himself unable to divert his thoughts. Whenever both of you shared the same space, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy when you attended to Treech’s skills during training. At times, he pondered whether your sentiments were equally directed towards someone like him, someone he considered beneath you. This notion offended him, yet he couldn't deny that he, too, harbored affection for his tribute. However, for Snow, it was more about care and presentation than genuine emotions. 

Unlike Snow, you had gradually developed deep feelings for Treech. Similarly, even though he needed to take care for his female tribute, especially in your absence. Treech could only think about you. He often expressed his longing for you, complaining about how much he missed your presence or simply wanting to catch a glimpse of your face when you served him his regular meals. These seemingly ordinary gestures were significant to Treech, and he was determined to make you proud once declared the victor. To run away from the Capitol– To build a family of your own. However, that aspiration crumbled when, in the end, Lucy—Snow's tribute—claimed victory herself. Despite your efforts to conceal any sorrow and refrain from openly grieving for the person you loved, Treech's name appeared from Flickerman's announcements, and he was declared as deceased. 

On that fateful evening, during the closure event of the 10th Hunger Games, Snow observed you closely. A sense of pride welled up within him as he witnessed his tribute not only surviving but excelling. However, this sentiment quickly shifted when he laid eyes on Treech's lifeless body in the arena, just moments before his demise. In his mind, he could almost hear Treech's voice pleading. "Be proud of me, Y/N." Despite suspecting that you might not be able to, given the emotional toll, Snow couldn't resist locking eyes with you, even with other tributes still alive. 

Before just a few minutes that Lucy was announced the winner. Snow had yearned to approach you, to envelop you in a comforting hug, assuring you that everything would be alright. He wanted to commend your efforts in standing by Treech's side, supporting him in his quest for victory. Yet, a conflicting feeling gnawed at him, a sense that he was supposed to be the one you cared for, the one you cherished as you did Treech. It was a realization that he, too, would soon need to confront. 

It was inevitable that you will be compelled to pay homage to your District. The profound impact of your care for Treech had touched his family, leading them to extend an invitation for you to visit his home District. Gratefully acknowledging this gesture, you agreed to be present at Treech's funeral. Simultaneously, Snow, prompted to return to District 12 himself, sought a distraction for his troubled mind. Before his departure as a Peacekeeper, you seized the opportunity to express your congratulations, a sentiment you had unintentionally neglected during the Games. And informed Snow about Treech’s funeral. "Treech's family invited me to their son’s funeral... I'm uncertain about the duration of my stay, but can you promise me something before I go?" 

Your melodious voice, as you spoke to him, almost turned his stomach. He observed every nuance of your movements, noting the way your gaze traversed from his body to his lips. The awareness of your attraction to him lingered in the air, though you attempted, albeit futilely, to conceal it—thanks in part to Treech providing a convenient distraction. Or was it only in his head?

 As you prepared to share your concerns, expressing the challenges of being a Peacekeeper, a role your sibling had also undertaken, he sought to reassure you. His fingers tenderly traced the contours of your soft cheeks, creating an irresistible desire to kiss those plump lips of yours. They appeared too tempting to resist, with a fleeting fear crossing his mind that Treech might have been the first to experience that indulgence. Despite the conflicting emotions, Snow found a peculiar satisfaction in Treech's demise. Yet, he remained steadfast and resolute in ensuring your promise. "I'll promise. I swear on my father's grave." 

"Promise me you'll be cautious? When I return, let's meet at your grandmother's garden. No questions asked." Clarity was crucial, and Snow understood your aversion to ambiguity. Even in the aftermath of the Games, with Snow away during your grieving for Treech, the uncertainty gnawed at you. You couldn't shake off the nagging doubt about whether Snow would indeed come back from his duty or, worse, not return at all. "I will." He assured you sincerely. Leaning in, he planted a gentle kiss on your forehead just as his name was called to depart the Capitol and head back to District 12. What you didn't know was that his decision to serve as a Peacekeeper and be in District 12 wasn't solely an act of care; it was driven by a desire to reunite with Lucy. If only you were aware that things weren't unfolding as expected, and Snow was returning as a completely different man. "Noon?" He asked quickly before nodding to his colleague, indicating that it was his cue to leave. 

“Noon.” 

Snow detested every moment of his stay to District 12. Honestly, witnessing how he treated Lucy served as a constant reminder of you back in the Capitol. Your image would casually infiltrate his thoughts, diverting his actions as he found himself doing everything with you in mind. Forgetting that the Games were still being aired, the revelation of the strong opinions on other Districts held about the tributes and their mentors left a bitter taste in Snow's mouth. It was especially repugnant if your name was uttered by those with the filthiest tongues. Snow harbored a visceral reaction, ready to eliminate anyone who dared to disrespect you with tasteless comments or words he hoped you hadn't heard during your time in Treech's District. Since emerging from that harrowing experience, he vowed to ensure that those in District 12 who spoke ill of you would suffer the consequences, every bit of it. 

And the memory was etched in his mind, vivid as if it happened yesterday. Snow hadn't intended to be invited to the Hob, yet he found no reason to object when offered. Lucy remained a distraction for him, seated just a few tables away when he overheard those contemptible words. While he tried his very best to remain his eyes on the silhouette that was on the stage. The one he “Loved”. He imagined as each words began to fuel his determination to make their speaker cleanse their mouth with the foulest soap, a gesture to demonstrate that such opinions should be worn like armor, wielded like a weapon. "You know, Treech's mentor? Apparently, they fell in love during the Games... I can't even imagine, let alone see the person you loved in such a distraught situation." Although the speaker may not have sounded offensive to an average person, to Snow, it was the complete opposite.  

Without a moment's hesitation, Snow unleashed a punch. He paid no heed to the gasps around him or the attempts of other boys to pull him away or defend themselves. In his mind, you belonged to him, and he couldn't fathom, let alone accept, the idea of you being with anyone else but him. The mere thought of enduring more distasteful words about you from the most insensitive individuals during your absence was unbearable. Regardless of the consequences, he was determined not to let it slide. When Snow, meant he’d do anything for you, he meant every words. 

As Snow neared the end of his tenure as a Peacekeeper, with only a few months remaining, his anticipation to reunite with you grew stronger. Fortunately, he had the opportunity to receive updates about you during his breaks, thanks to calls with Tigris. Hearing her speak about your successes in university brought immense joy to Snow. Knowing that you were thriving and well was what mattered most to him. However, there was an underlying concern that continued to nag at him. Despite your objections, Tigris felt compelled to address it, especially considering Snow's already demanding role as a Peacekeeper. "She hasn't been coping well with Treech's death, Coryo. There are times when I see her crying in her sleep. She mentioned how she wishes he were here, sensing his presence, you know? I can’t believe I am going to say that but– I think they were genuinely in love. And it wasn’t just for the show."  

Truly in love, the revelation that struck Snow the hardest was the hidden well of genuine skill that only emerged when necessary. Lucy lingered in his thoughts, a constant presence, while you were navigated the grieving process for you first love as well. He too, had doubts that Lucy was amongst his first love. Although genuine doubts crept in as he questioned whether the efforts he invested were truly worthwhile. The chaos he instigated at the Hob last night, the desperate plea from Sejanus – all of it was orchestrated for your sake. Yet, the realization that you hadn't given up on Treech, your former love, dampened his spirits. Snow, however, knew that your heart now belonged to him. Upon his return, he vowed to assert his claim unequivocally, free from any expectations. 

Anticipating his imminent return, Tigris meticulously selected the most exquisite dress she could envision for someone of your stature. While the occasion might have seemed extravagant, she understood that her cousin Snow would value the effort, especially since your meeting was set to take place on Snow's rooftop—an ethereal space where innocence, purity, and passion converged. Restlessly, you began nervously nibbling at the cuticles of your fingers. "Don't be too shocked when you see him without his curls." Tigris quipped as you arrived at their apartment.

Since Snow became a victor, you noticed a shift in the opulence of the place compared to your last visit. Tigris's room now exuded her fashion sensibilities with a palette of pinks and light beiges, while Snow's room contrasted sharply with bright white walls and accents of crimson red. A broken frame holding his father's portrait captured your attention, and as you surveyed your surroundings in Snow's empire, you couldn't help but see a parallel with yourself—a broken frame that Snow seemed determined to mend with his love. 

Before encountering you, Snow had a few errands to run, one of which involved settling the score with Casca. The second stop was to finally meet you. As the gentle rays of Capitol sunshine transitioned into the evening darkness adorned with stars, anticipation for the exciting yet thrilling meeting with you heightened since his return. "Where is she?" Arriving just in time at the entrance of his apartment, although he was well aware of your whereabouts. He played the part to make it appear otherwise, a little trick that didn't escape Tigris's notice. Her chuckle prompted him to follow her, momentarily catching his breath as she revealed. "At the rooftop. Waiting for you." 

A wave of relief swept over him, and he expressed continuous gratitude to his cousins. Tigris attempted to assist him in catching his breath, noticing Snow's heightened excitement upon seeing you. She, too, was well aware of his intense fascination with you. However, witnessing the spectacle involving Treech and you, she grasped the potential threat her cousin might have posed.  Bound by blood and family, she couldn't deny the reality and opted not to pretend. If Snow was genuinely in love with you, she had to believe him. "Just be gentle, okay? She just returned from Treech's District. Even if it’s been a few months. She might need more comfort than one can fathom." 

She might need more comfort than one can fathom. Was read like butter to Snow’s ears. As if this was his very own speciality let alone being with the one he truly learned to hear that she was the one for him. He did not approached this statement as a sort of threat. In fact, he was going to use to his full potential and let you completely be compiled by him and emblembed the relationship between the two.

Upon entering, the familiar fragrance of fresh roses enveloped him—a scent he had sorely missed since his grandmother used to present him with one during the reaping ceremony. Despite his absence, the care bestowed upon the flowers was evident. It became clear that, much like him, you had also been away for some time. However, upon your return, you diligently attended to the flowers daily, diverting your focus from Treech. Among the many qualities Snow admired in you was your meticulous attention to detail, a fact he subtly acknowledged as he casually plucked a fresh rose and delicately inhaled its scent, all while listening to your sweet voice. "I'd be careful if I were you." he remarked nonchalantly. 

And there you stood, flesh and blood. Your skin bore a slight tan from the harsh weather of Treech’s District, which quickly faded upon your return to the Capitol, where the grief over Treech proved more challenging than anticipated. Tigris noticed the change in your complexion, the lack of color that had manifested in your skin. Fortunately, you maintained the bold red lip, a shade crafted from the lipstick your mother often made for you—a detail Snow admired, especially as it harmoniously blended with his own colors.

"Thank you.” He managed to say, though in his defense, he was so captivated by your beauty that he found himself absentmindedly caressing the rose, which had fallen on its own. "You've picked the wrong rose. It was about to wither." You added, your words revealing both concern and almost boredom.

Snow detected a subtle tremor in your demeanor, observing how you had become fragile and adrift amid the chaos of your own emotions. Despite your efforts to conceal them, your vulnerability remained apparent. Inwardly, Snow acknowledged that he, too, wasn't immune, having fallen for a Snake that led him back to a recurring beginning. "How are you doing?" Was all he managed to say, careful not to exacerbate your grief for Treech or delve into the complexities of Lucy's memory. This one-on-one interaction became a delicate balancing act, particularly since you were well aware of the romantic display he had been showcasing. 

"Okay, I suppose." Was your cautious response, accompanied by a hint of uncertainty, as if contemplating whether to revise your answer. In truth, you hadn't been doing well, resorting to sleeping at Snow's place to hide your tears. It added another layer of complexity to rest in Coriolanus's room, knowing he would return soon. You were aware that upon his return, you'd need to find your own place, a life independent of others. Yet, it seemed this wasn't part of Snow's agenda. "How was District 12?" You inquired, steering the conversation toward another topic. 

"Could ask the same, sweetheart." Snow retorted, a reluctance to recall evident in his expression. Yet, for you, forgetting proved to be a much harder task. The memories of moments spent with Treech haunted you – sneaking him out of the Capitol's Zoo, hand in hand, discussing a future that now felt lost. Memories of him teaching you to wield an axe, his relationship with Lamina, and the dreams of building a family together. The breaking point came when you saw his eyes on the screen, calling out your name, almost begging and apologizing for deciding your fate. In that moment, you desperately tried to erase it all, but it only resulted in a torrent of tears. Your trembling fingers betrayed the pain at the thought of Treech. Sensing your anguish, Snow reached out, comforting you and reassuring. That it wasn’t all your fault. "Hey— Hey— I'm here." 

Snow, despite his aversion to everything, understood the pain of losing someone dear. Despite his pride and the incident that involved being bitten by a snake, Lucy had become a memory he learned to rely on, blurring the lines between that memory and the reality of you. "You did everything you could..." He spoke, the resonance of his voice echoing the tone he maintained during the Games. "You taught him everything, prepared him to be a victor, and yet—" He paused, a moment of reflection taking him back to his own experiences in a similar position with Lucy. 

"Please..." You pleaded, attempting to bury the remnants of memories. Yet, as your gaze locked onto Snow's, you found yourself fully engulfed in his eyes, surrendering to a state of vulnerability and desperation. You implored Snow silently, begging him to restore you to the woman you once were. Snow was prepared to undertake that task, ready to unveil the true essence of himself.

"Stay with me." You uttered the same words spoken that night with Treech by your side, the eve before the Games commenced. Feeling Snow's arms enveloping you, he whispered the same reassurance Treech told you, that everything would be okay, that tomorrow would bring us all home. Unfortunately, that promise remained unfulfilled. “You are at home now.” Snow implied on reassuring you the best he can offer. An offer of love, protection, and making sure you were the queen in his very own eyes. The same way Treech did. 

"I'll ensure your protection, shower you with love, and take care of you." Snow vowed, his words echoing those once spoken by Treech when he confessed his love to you. With that commitment hanging in the air, Snow approached, and this time, with no Peacekeepers present. Snow was fortunate enough to feel his lips meeting yours for the first, and not the last, time. As he leaned in, he silently and gently brushed the bottom of your lips. Unbeknownst to you, Snow had been well aware of the connection between Treech and you. He had observed the way Treech looked at you and noted the similarities in their demeanor just before a kiss. Everything had been meticulously calculated to make you his own. 

Every details were orchestrated to convey the authenticity of a man you had once deeply fell in love.