#tom Blyth

[tomblyth95]

I wish he was under my tree this Christmas

[ashwinsher]

🙂😐

[lucygxybaird]

12 Days of Christmas - Day 7

You really should have seen this coming.

Your balance has never been good, as proven multiple times over the course of your childhood. 

You still have a small scar on your left knee from an accident suffered when you were learning to walk (why your parents let you toddle around on your gravel driveway, you still don’t understand). It took you nearly four months to learn to ride a bike, because you kept falling over every time your dad let go. After your mother enrolled you in a gymnastics class, as a result of you begging for months, she had to take you out again after you first lesson because the balance beam represented such a risk to your safety — and the safety of the other children — that she feared a lawsuit. 

Even as an adult, you can’t wear those fluffy slipper socks on stairs for fear of serious injury. 

So you really don’t know why you decided to volunteer to hang up the green-and-red streamers over the gymnasium door. Point of fact, you don’t know why you agreed to help decorate at all. You mean well, but you’re not crafty. Every stamp on the Christmas cards you sent out this year were crooked, for God’s sake.

Your only excuse is that you really, really want to fit in at this school. You’ve always wanted to be a teacher, and the high school in East Linfield seems like a good one. 

It certainly didn’t help your worries that you started so late in the year, because the previous teacher had moved with his husband to Palm Springs. The kids hadn’t even finished reading A Tale of Two Cities, and here you were trying to fuse your own lesson plan with the one they’d been working on. You were excited and frazzled and anxious all at once, a potent cocktail that meant you had your guard down. 

So when another woman in the English department asked if you were free tonight, because they really needed an extra hand decorating the gym for the Winter Snowball, you found yourself smiling and saying, “Sure! I’d love to help out.”

Which is how you find yourself balancing on your tiptoes, on the very top of a stepladder, and you’re so, so close to getting the tinsel where you need it to be. If you could just get it a little bit — you push yourself a smidge higher on your toes, your fingers brush the nail where you’re meant to drape it, and — 

There’s a very concerning creak, and you feel rather than see the stepladder slip out from under your feet as it collapses like a house of cards in a wind tunnel. You clutch uselessly, desperately, at the yard of tinsel in your hand as you fall backward, your arms windmilling like that’s going to help you in any way whatsoever.

Bang!

You wish that was the sound of the stepladder hitting the ground, but that flimsy thing couldn’t make so much noise if it was bounced around in a car trunk by a very tiny, very angry gorilla. No, in actuality, it’s the sound of your head smacking against the gym floor hard enough for you to see stars. Which is something you thought was a cliche, but it’s true. Points of light explode behind your eyes, one after the other, like silent fireworks.

When you open your eyes — not that you remember closing them — you see a face hovering over yours, and you realize you aren’t actually on the floor anymore. You’re being cradled in someone’s arms, propped up in their lap. It takes you a few moments to realize that the arms and the face bent over you, concern etched all over it, belong to the same person. 

Moments after this realization comes another one. 

You know this guy. 

“Alex,” you say fuzzily, and his anxious expression melts — momentarily — into a smile. 

“That’s right,” he says. “Yeah, I’m Alex. We met last week, remember?”

You do, if only because you’d thought then — as you do now — that he’s very, very cute. “I remember,” you assure him.

He smiles at you again. “Okay,” he says. “I’m gonna try to get you up now, alright? You ready?”

You nod.

“Okay,” he repeats. “Alright—!”

And then he scoops you up into his arms, standing up with a little grunt of effort, and you clutch at him like you’re holding onto a life preserver in the middle of the ocean. Both your stomach and your vision stage separate revolts, like they’re eighteenth century American colonists and French citizens, respectively. You clutch at Alex’s shoulders for a moment while he looks at you with increasing alarm. 

“Are you okay?” he says. “We should get you to the emergency room.”

Your stomach flips all over again at the thought of doctors, not to mention the astronomical bills you’ll have to pay. “No, no, I’m fine,” you assure him. “You can put me down now.”

“Oh—” It seems like he’s forgotten you’re even in his arms. “Oh, yeah, right, of course, sure.”

He sets you down, his hand still on the small of your back. By now, other people are starting to rush over, all of them looking concerned, although you think at least one of them — the woman who asked you to help, for one — might be more worried about how litigious you are than the state of your skull.

“I’m okay,” you tell all of them, a statement which immediately collapses as soon as you try to take a step forward.

The moment that you do, your knees buckle as a wave of dizziness washes over you. Multiple pairs of hands reach for you, but when you’re actually able to focus again, it’s Alex’s face that you see.

“I don’t think you’re okay,” he says, his tone so deadpan that you have to bite on your lower lip to keep from laughing. Maybe he mistakes this for a grimace of pain, because his eyebrows beetle down lower over his eyes as he frowns anxiously. “Really, I think you need to go to the hospital.”

Maybe it’s because you’re too dizzy — and increasingly nauseous — to think straight, or maybe it’s because Alex looks so endearingly concerned, as if you’re more than some coworker he only met a few days ago. As if he really cares. 

You cave.

“Okay,” you say. “Yeah, okay.”

Alex lets out a breath as you agree, not so much a sigh of relief as of resignation, as if now he’s gotten one item on his checklist done and he has to move on to another. “Come on,” he says, and he anchors an arm around your waist, supporting you as he leads you toward the gym doors.

From the corner of your eye, you see everyone else just standing there, looking bemused if not helpless. A few of them start drifting back to whatever tasks they were working on before you so elegantly displayed how graceful you are. They all seem perfectly happy to let Alex take care of you, but you can’t fault them for that.

You’re perfectly happy with it, too.

As Alex nudges the doors open with his shoulder, you say, “You’ll stay with me, right?”

The doors swing open to admit the two of you into the hall, and as they bang shut behind you, Alex pauses to look you right in the eye. “Yes,” he says. “Unless somebody with a stethoscope and a degree way beyond my capabilities tells me I can’t.”

You can’t help but smile, and when you do, his face softens again. While he’s looking at you like this, you really have no choice but to revisit the he’s very, very cute idea again. And very tall. Which you suppose isn’t saying much, since you stopped growing when you were around fourteen.

“Thank you,” you say softly.

He gives a little bow of his head, a movement that’s oddly formal but nonetheless absolutely adorable. “Of course.”

Alex helps you to his car, tucking you into the passenger seat. “Hold on,” he says, and lopes around to the trunk, which he unlocks — you wonder how old his car is — and then rummages around in.

He returns a few moments later with a first aid kit, which he balances on the dashboard in front of you before popping it open. After a few moments of semi-frantic rummaging, he pulls out a cold compress and gently cups the back of your head, laying the cold compress against the rising knot poking up near your left ear.

“What are you doing?” you mutter, as he takes your hand and puts it against the other end of the compress, before moving his own.

Alex jogs around the hood of the car and slides into the driver’s seat, starting the engine before he answers you. “It’s for the pain,” he says. “And to bring the swelling down.”

“Oh.”

He navigates out of the school parking lot and you tip your head back, pinning the cold compress between your throbbing skull and the headrest. 

You reach the center of town without incident, but then — 

“Oh my God,” Alex says, and you can’t help a snort-laugh (although you wish you could, because it makes your headache worse).

It’s as close to bumper-to-bumper traffic as a relatively small town is capable of exhibiting. Looking at the sea of cars stretching beyond the windshield, you let out a faint moan. Alex shoots you a worried look from the corner of his eye that you aren’t meant to see, but you do, so you bite your lip.

“Are you okay?” he says. “I mean, do you feel — I don’t know — queasy or anything? Or like you’re going to pass out?”

You consider this. “No,” you say. “My head just hurts. I’ve never had my had squeezed by the Hulk but I’m guessing it would feel pretty similar to this.”

Alex huffs out a laugh. 

“Don’t worry,” you tell him. “I don’t think I’m going to throw up in your car.”

“I’m not worried about that,” he says. “I’m worried about you.”

You smile, looking over at him. “You’re telling me  you wouldn’t absolutely freak out if I threw up in your car right now?”

The line of cars ahead of you moves forward a few precious feet, and Alex manages to weave his car ahead of a few others. He’s concentrating so much on this maneuver that he doesn’t respond to you at first, but then he admits, “Well…I’d try to keep my freaking out to myself as much as I could.”

“I appreciate that.”

It takes nearly half an hour for the hospital to come into view, and even then, it takes another fifteen to finagle a way into the parking lot. By the time Alex has actually found a spot and parked, you do in fact feel a little queasy.

The whole time, though, Alex keeps asking you questions, probably just trying to keep you awake (although you’re pretty sure you read somewhere the whole “concussed people shouldn’t be allowed to sleepthing” is a myth or something, but still). 

Where are you from?

You told him, and he says that he’s been there on a vacation with his best friend. You asked him what he liked best. He said the food, which made you laugh. “Did you go to this place called Justine’s? They have the best friend chicken in the world.”

No, he’d said, and you told him that the two of you would have to go back someday and you’d take him. The words had slipped out before you could stop yourself — this was the first full conversation you’d really had with him, and here you were offering to whisk him away — but Alex had only smiled at you. “That sounds nice,” he’d told you.

He asked you when you realized you wanted to teach — in the sixth grade, when you met an English teacher who encouraged you to write, and you never forgot that — and why you moved to Linfield. You said that it was far enough from home for you to have independence, but not so far that traveling back home would cost an arm and a leg.

You’re pretty sure he’d said, I’m glad you chose this place, but at that point you’d hit a speed bump and an invisible railroad spike had been driven into your skull. By the time Alex had finished apologizing, the moment had passed.

“Okay, here we are,” Alex says, pulling into a space. “Wait for me.”

He hops out and is about to slam his door before he takes a look at your face. Closing the door so carefully it could be made of porcelain, he hustles around the front of the car and opens your door for you, scooping his arm around your waist and helping you to your feet. 

“Almost there,” he says encouragingly, his tone suggesting you’re lagging in the final leg of a marathon.

He propels you through a pair of automatic doors and into the waiting room, which is — of course — packed, but fortunately not too packed that you can’t find two chairs together. Alex deposits you in one of them while he hurries to the front desk.

He returns a few moments later with a clipboard loaded with insurance forms, which he looks apologetic about. “I know this seems like a lot,” he says, waving the clipboard around, “but I’ll help you. I’ll write stuff down if you want.”

“Please,” you say.

So he sits next to you, his shoulder bracing yours, and writes down your answers in his careful printing. You smile. “You have really nice handwriting,” you say. “It looks like typography.”

Alex chuckles. “Thank you.”

When all the forms are finally done, you realize your head is on his shoulder. It feels very, very heavy, but you do your best. “Sorry,” you say.

To your surprise, Alex reaches over and puts his hand on your cheek, pushing your head back down. “It’s okay,” he says. “Leave it, if you’re comfortable.”

You are. His shoulder is broad and warm, and with your head nestled there, you catch the faint but distinctive scent of pine. “Okay,” you sigh.

Alex pats your knee gently. “Okay,” he agrees.

The two of you sit in (relative) silence, before you say, “Alex?”

“Hmm?”

“Why are you being so nice to me? We barely know each other. You could have just as easily have dropped me off and gone back to your day.”

From the corner of your eye, you see him shake your head. “No,” he says simply. “I couldn’t have. It’s not how I am.”

It’s not the most verbose explanation, but you don’t need one. His words strike you cleanly and easily as true, as if someone has told you the sky is blue or water is wet. You don’t have to look out a window or dunk your head in a lake to know that. Alex just isn’t the sort of person who can turn his back on someone who needs him.

“Thank you, anyway,” you say. “I’m glad we’re getting to know each other, even if I might have lost a few brain cells in the process.”

He chuckles. “I don’t think that’s how that works,” he says. “But me too.”

“It’s okay,” you say. “It was probably just some math brain cells. I was never very god at that, anyway.” 

“Two plus two is?”

“Mmm — 22?”

“So close.”

Later, you try to blame it on the fact that your brains have been scrambled around in your skull like the little white flakes in a snow globe; a little while later still, you think it just felt right. It takes you a while to realize you’ve even done it, but eventually, you look down to discover that you’re holing Alex’s hand.

And not lightly, either, but with your palm nestled into his, your fingers laced together. You frown down at this, puzzled. “When did this happen?”

Alex glances down at your linked hands. “I don’t know,” he says, and gives a little shrug, the motion small enough not to jostle your head. “It’s okay.”

And then he squeezes your hand, running his thumb lightly over your knuckles in a way that indicates maybe it’s more than okay.

A voice calls your name, and you reluctantly pick your head up from Alex’s shoulder. “We’re ready for you,” a nurse is saying, and Alex helps you to your feet.

You hop up on the little table-bed thing with its crackly wax paper spread over the top, your feet swinging idly. You catch Alex muffling a smile into his collar, and you smile back at him just as a nurse steps into the room.

By the time you walk out of the doctor’s office, clutching a prescription for pain medication, Alex looks marginally more relaxed. “At least we know you’re okay,” he says, letting out a long breath. “Do you have anyone to check on you?”

“Check on me?” 

Alex nods. “You’re supposed to check on someone with a concussion to make sure they’re breathing normally,” he says.

You blanch. “Is that unlikely? That I’d be breathing normally?”

At once, consternation washes over Alex’s face. “No, no, no,” he says quickly. “No. It’s just…I mean, they say it’s okay to check on someone with a concussion, to make sure — you know — but — I mean, I guess…I’m — I feel like it’s better safe than sorry, and I don’t want…”

You smile, mostly to reassure him but also because it’s adorable, the way he’s babbling, trying to comfort you. “Alex, if you’re trying to invite yourself over, you can always just ask.”

He smiles back at you. “Can I come over?”

“Sure.” 

You direct him to your apartment, and he insists on helping you up the stairs, like you’re a feeble little grandma whose hip will shatter if she lifts her foot at the wrong angle. When you let the two of you into your apartment, Alex asks where your linen closet is.

“I’m not a middle-aged woman with a collection of needlepoint throw pillows,” you say. “I don’t have a linen closet.”

“Okay, so where you do you keep your extra blankets?”

You tell him you keep them in a storage ottoman at the foot of your bed, and he says, “Oh, a linen closet is too old for you, but a storage ottoman is the peak of youth culture?”

“Did you ask just to make fun of me?”

“No.” He nudges you toward your own couch. “Sit.”

So you do, and you turn on the TV, flipping through your streaming services until you just pick something and try to find a show or movie that you both might like. Which is difficult because you have no idea the sort of thing Alex likes to watch, so you settle on a docuseries about the Love Has Won cult. Doesn’t everybody find that fascinating? At least in the “can’t look away from a car wreck” kind of way?

You look up to find Alex carrying a couple of blankets and a pillow, all of which he tucks around you until you’re shaped rather like the Michelin man. He settles down beside you and raises an eyebrow. “Isn’t this the Mother God woman?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm.” He wriggles his shoulders until he’s more comfortable beside you. “Interesting. Good pick.”

You find yourself smiling way bigger over that little sliver of approbation than you probably should.

When the show is over, the streaming service offers up similar choices, and you let Alex pick. It’s another multi-episode show, which takes you four hours further on, and then he lets you pick the next.

By the time that one is over, it’s pitch black outside, and you hesitate. “Don’t you have to get home?”

You don’t want him to leave.

“No,” he says. “My cat has an automatic feeder. She’ll be okay without me until morning. Actually, she’ll probably appreciate the solitude.”

“What’s her name?”

“Flannery O’Connor.”

You hum softly. After a moment of hesitation, you put your head back on his shoulder. “Well, she was wrong,” you say.

“Who?”

“Flannery. A good man isn’t hard to find.”

You think there’s a smile in his voice. “No?”

“No,” you say. “I found one right here.” 

The two of you sit in companionable silence for a moment, watching a former cult member detail how she had to change her name to Aurora and give up all her credit cards. After a few moments, Alex’s hand finds yours again.

“Do you have plans for New Year’s?” he asks quietly.

“No,” you say.

“Would you like some?”

You smile. “Yes.”

A pause, and then he says: “With me?”

You laugh. “Yes, Alex.”

His fingers tighten briefly around yours. “Good,” he says. 

You wonder if he’s thinking about the possibility of a New Year’s kiss. You certainly are. When you flit a glance up to Alex’s face, he’s already looking at you.

Judging by the look in his eyes, you don’t have to wonder if he’s thinking about kissing you at midnight on the last day of the year.

He definitely is. 

[milliesfishes]

౨ৎ꣑ৎThe Road Not Taken౨ৎ꣑ৎ

꣑ৎ"There's an ache in you put there by the ache in me."꣑ৎ

౨ৎ꣑ৎ12 Days of Christmas Masterlist౨ৎ꣑ৎ [fem reader] contains: mental illness pairing: fem reader x alex nilsen summary: alex was your first real love and your first real heartbreak. so why have your parents invited him to their holiday party? author’s note: so...this was very hard for me to write for some reason, and I'm still not 100% about it but it is done and here and I hope it is good Spotify Playlist

The journey from the airport was a nostalgic trick.

Every road, every business, every traffic light was tainted by the past's glow. You weren't sure if you should stare into it or turn away. Your parents chatted excitedly in the front seats while you sat staring out the window, feeling as though you were universes away from them.

The skies were blue, the fresh layer of snow trampled by footprints on the sidewalk and torn to slush on the roads, turning grey as tires rolled through it. People out walking were bundled in puffy coats, woolen hats covering their ears as they chattered, excitedly based on their expressions. Tinsel candy canes and bells interwoven with string lights decorated the street posts, the city's attempt at being festive. You smiled a bit at the sight.

"Camille made it down yesterday," your mother said, stretching and tilting her head back to look at you. "She and John are staying at a hotel so you can have your old bedroom."

"Is there something wrong with the guest room?" you asked absentmindedly, tilting your forehead so it was pressed against the cool glass, a welcome relief from the air blasting you turned up to the highest setting.

"No," your father said simply, and you shrugged, adjusting the neck of your sweater. You supposed if you had a fiancé you wouldn't want to sleep in your childhood home either.

As the car pulled into your street, you lifted your head, rubbing at the smudge your forehead left. The house you grew up in looked the same as always, down to the usual holiday decorations. You could practically see your father standing on the ladder, hooking the lights to the roof while your mother nervously held the ladder, yelling at him not to fall like Clark Griswold in Christmas Vacation.

You went to unload your bags but your father insisted, making you feel more like a guest than you'd like. As you carefully made your way up the steps, avoiding ice patches, you paused as your mother grabbed your elbow, pulling you close. "I wanted to tell you...Camille and John aren't the only ones we've invited for Christmas."

"Oh?" You began to sort through your mind who else they could have brought over. Your aunt, maybe, from California? She loved a palm tree covered in lights more than anything, so you weren't sure why she'd come all the way to the Midwest for Christmas. Even so, you felt a twinge of excitement at the thought. She was sure to diffuse any possible tension that came with family in close quarters.

Turning around, you saw a vaguely familiar car parked in the far part driveway that you hadn't noticed before. Your aunt would have flown first class to Ohio, but she'd grown up here, so maybe she'd borrowed an old friend's vehicle? Thinking of how smooth and charming she was, you supposed anything was possible.

"It'll be nice," you decided, looking at your mother. "To have someone else here."

"It will!" She patted your arm, beginning to walk with you up the porch steps again. "This is part of why your sister couldn't take the guest bedroom. We wanted it available. And she had no objections."

"I'm sure she didn't," you commented. John was a soon-to-be heart surgeon from a wealthy family. You were sure he and Camille were staying in the nicest place in town. Again, not that you could blame them.

Opening the door, you stepped inside and slipped off your shoes, inhaling the scent of the peppermint candle your mother always burned for the duration of the month. The smell comforted you, and a barrage of memories dragged over you like a tidal wave, You pushed the bad ones down and sorted through the montage of good. Hot chocolate and snowball fights and knitted scarves and pink wrapping paper.

Wandering toward the kitchen, you daydreamt of a hot tea after your long journey, the perfect remedy to whatever stress you'd brought with you from home. In your experience, there was no problem a hot drink couldn't fix. Not that being home was a problem but...oh well. You hummed as you opened the cabinet, turning around, your eyes widening.

The mug slipped from your hands, and you barely registered the distinct sound of a thousand tiny pieces separating themselves from one, bouncing on the floor around your feet and creeping into cracks and under places out of reach. All you could do was stare straight ahead.

Because Alex Nilsen was sitting in front of you, looking like he'd seen a ghost even though he was in your parents' house.

Holidays with your family came in a set of traditions, like Russian nesting dolls. One thing led to another until the famous party at the end on Christmas Eve. It was a classy affair, long upheld by your parents since before you and Camille were born. Other happenings were developed and kept over the years, creating the sequence you could see so clearly in your mind.

And it was all about to be dismantled by a puppy-eyed new addition.

"Ed's going to be with David for a few weeks," your mother had said, trying to soothe you in the living room after the incident. "And poor Alex couldn't leave with the end of the school term. The Nilsens have been to their fair share of Christmas activities with us before-"

"But why isn't he at his own place?" you whispered, eyes darting to the living room entrance. "He lives close, doesn't he?"

"His apartment flooded," she explained, and you nodded once, biting your cheek. Of course it did. "So we offered for him to come stay here for now, since he's going to be with us so often for the next bit anyways."

"Right." You nodded, trying to remain calm. "Okay. Fine. This is fine."

"We thought you'd be happy about it." Your mother frowned, touching your elbow. "You used to be so close..."

"Yes. Yeah." You interjected, folding your arms over yourself. Push it down. Push it down. "It's fine. It'll be great. It was nice of you to invite him."

You hadn't told many people what happened. Maybe if your parents had known, they wouldn't have asked him over. They still would, you thought bitterly as you unpacked your things that night. You couldn't stop thinking about the unexpected houseguest sleeping down the hall. Was he thinking about you?

The thoughts were overwhelming. They plagued you even as you tried to sleep, tossing and turning in your time capsule of a room. You were turned to the side, facing away from your old bulletin board. The pictures hadn't been replaced since your senior year of high school, and you could feel their eyes on you even in the dark.

You didn't mean to sleep late, but it was past noon when you woke up, eyes still heavy. Lying in bed, one arm flung over your head, you strained your ears for the sounds of the house, but found none. It was quiet, a fairly unusual occurrence.

Pulling on a too-big sweatshirt and leggings, you trudged downstairs, pulling your hair back on the way. Alex was in the kitchen, and you gave him a half smile, opening the cabinet. You were determined to make a cup of tea without dropping the mug this time.

"Your parents went to lunch with Camille and John," he said behind you, tone light. "They'll all be back later."

"I see," you said casually, setting your mug in the microwave and pressing a few buttons. Turning, you found Alex with his laptop open on the table, blinking up at you.

Time is a funny thing. It seems to lengthen things, suggest change, but you could have sworn nothing about him did. If he was a map, you could have drawn him from memory and not one bit would be different. Hair, eyes, hands, nose, mouth. You didn't know if he felt the same.

He cleared his throat, leaning back in his seat. You tilted yourself back, trying not to slide in your fuzzy socks on the floor. "You're teaching here?"

"Yeah," he said, nodding once. "I like it. Same high school we went to."

A tiny smile quirked your lips up. Of course. You knew from your mother, but you had wanted to hear it from him. That he'd stayed.

Alex drummed his fingers on the table, waiting until after the microwave went off and you took the mug out to ask, "You're in Seattle now?"

"I am." You adjusted the string of your tea bag so you didn't have to look at him. "I've been there for a couple of years."

"Ah." Another bout of silence had you itching to race out of the kitchen, but you held it together. Be an adult.

You continued, trying to keep it casual. "My parents were a little upset that I didn't move closer, but Camille's close, so it's okay." You swallowed. "Her fiance's a-"

"Heart surgeon. Yeah, your mom mentioned it," he said, and you bit the inside of your cheek. He was studying you in that intrinsic Alex way. "She seems really excited about it."

"Very," you responded, taking a sip of your tea and daring to meet his eyes. Once you did, you immediately regretted it. He had a way about him that felt as though he could see straight to your secrets. "He's been really good for her. For Camille."

"She's doing better?" Alex asked, still watching you.

You swallowed. "Yeah. She's doing a lot better."

"Good," he said, and you looked into your tea for a second, unsure what else to say. Just when you were about to leave, he continued. "Look...I'm sorry. For showing up like this. I thought you knew about it-"

"It's fine." You shook your head, meeting his eyes again, giving him a small smile. "Really. It is. It...everything was a long time ago."

"It was," he agreed, eyebrows furrowing. "But it still-"

"I'm going to shower," you interjected, turning and starting to leave. "I'll be back down later." Without waiting for an answer, you trailed away, heart pounding in your ears.

It was more evidence nothing had changed. He was supposed to be a stranger now, but he pulled you right back in. A force of magnetism, just how he'd always been. And just like before, he made your heart beat differently, like it had found its other half.

He had been that. Someone you loved. And a secret voice inside you said that you hadn't stopped. Was that why you could hardly look at him? Why even the sight of him sent you into a spiral, guilt flooding you like a dam burst open? The one person you wanted to tell about it was downstairs where you'd left him, after you'd brushed him off like a stranger.

You avoided him all afternoon until you couldn't anymore, when the tell-tale signs of your parents' voices wafted upstairs, keys rattling, footsteps loud. Reluctantly, you began to wander in their direction, taking your sweet time with every step. For some reason, you were nervous, tense about it. Camille's pretty laugh pierced the air, and you took a deep breath before walking in, keeping a smile on your face. You're happy to see her.

"Hi!" she squealed, pulling you into a hug. You returned it, relaxing a little. This is your sister. You love her. It's okay.

"Hi Cami," you muttered, and she beamed, stepping aside so you could greet her fiancé. You hugged him too- he was famously good at it. "Hi John."

"You look so pretty," she gushed, looking over you. Smiling tightly, you took in her soft sweater and designer earrings. "We've gotta go shopping sometime. I just found the cutest boutique in town that you'd love."

"Right," you said, stepping to the side, accidentally bumping Alex's shoulder.

"Look at you two," Camille giggled as John slid an arm around her. "It's just like in high school."

Alex and you shared a look, and you pursed your lips. He tried not to smile. "I guess it is."

"We got everything at the store for baking," John said, the tips of his fingers rubbing your sister's side. "I think we're making one of everything."

"That's how it goes," you smiled. Yours and Alex's shoulders were touching but neither of you made any move to separate.

Your mother called from the kitchen that the cookies weren't going to bake themselves, and you all trailed in, standing alert and waiting for your assignments. This was the first tradition in the holiday set- making enough cookies to feed a small nation. This kitchen had multiple ovens, and this was the main reason why. They were all preheating thanks to your mother, and she was separating ingredients into groups.

Predictably, you and Alex were put to work on one recipe, while your parents, John, and Camille tackled the other two. The kitchen was lively with both chatter and one of Frank Sinatra's Christmas albums in the background. Camille was telling a story about how she'd accidentally ordered a tree that was far too tall for her and John's living room, and your parents were laughing along across the counter with them.

It was easy to feel disconnected like this. They were all here, and you were off in the big city, the one who left. The outsider. Even though you'd been raised here just the same as your sister, it all felt like a story from somewhere else. Somehow you were an intruder, a guest, where she was at home.

Alex bumped your hip with his, and you nearly melted. He said it quietly, and you knew the others wouldn't be able to hear it. "Do you think he's ever going to let go of her?" You looked at John, who was cracking an egg with his hand on Camille's waist.

A giggle bubbled up out of your mouth, and suddenly it was as if the tension had never been there at all. You looked at Alex with bright eyes, heart fluttering a little. It was him. You'd forgotten your best friend somehow, and as you watched him start to laugh with you, you realized you never wanted to again.

"If he lets go it's cause he's kissing her," you whispered back, and he grinned.

"Should we try it?" When you raised your eyebrows, he flushed and clarified, "I meant baking with one hand."

You gave him a daring look. "We might have to scrape char off our cookies."

"Worth it," he said, and you giggled again, the pieces of you and him falling back into place.

"Let's do it," you decided, holding up your arm. As if reading your mind, he linked his own through it, and you turned back to the ingredients, trying to ignore the press of his elbow to yours.

Reaching for the vanilla, you set the appropriate teaspoon on the counter, methodically uncapping the bottle with your one free hand and pouring carefully, only spilling a few drops on the counter. Next to you, Alex was struggling with the sugar, dipping the measuring cup into the container and trying to delicately shake it so there wasn't too much on top.

"Having trouble?" you giggled, watching him spill for the third time.

"I'm not using my dominant hand," he pointed out, and you squeezed his forearm without thinking, eyes glued to his labored movements. "But I think I've got- there!" It wasn't perfect, but there wasn't as much overfill. He poured it in, and you did the same with your vanilla.

As you struggled to effectively add ingredients, laughing at the missteps, you felt lighter than you had in a long time. Being here with him somehow erased the worry that had plagued you lately, over being home and feeling like a stranger looking through a window to your family.

He'd been that way for you in college too. Always over to study or make dinner, your home away from home. You'd been so nervous about missing Linfield, but he had been everything good about it. It was glaring at you in neon letters. If what you had before was a dying flower, with a single bump of his hip it was nourished back to life.

Sliding your first sheet of cookies into the oven, one of each of your hands on either side, you found your mind bubbling up with a million things you wanted to say to him. You thought of all the times you'd picked up your phone to send a picture of something wild you saw in the city to him, every time all you'd wanted to do was call and hear his voice.

You'd missed him. More than you'd thought.

Alex set the timer and nudged you gently with his elbow. "We're each gonna need one oven mitt."

Your heart fluttered again. He smiled at you. On the other side of the counter, your parents, Camille, and John burst into laughter.

"Oh yeah, the power went out and when we opened the fridge, water came out."

"I really thought that snow was gonna make it to July."

Alex laughed, tilting his head and stretching his legs out on the couch, underneath your bent ones. You pulled the sleeves of your sweater over your hands, giggling. He set his mug down on the coffee table. "Do you get much snow in Seattle?"

"A bit," you said, tilting your head to rest on the couch. "Not near as much as here. Or maybe it feels different because it's in the city."

The tree was twinkling in the corner of the room, and the TV was on, playing your favorite Christmas movie. Ever since cookie night, you'd spent a lot of time together like this- binging Christmas movies and gorging on chocolate, conversation wandering aimlessly. If you weren't doing that, you were traipsing behind your family at whichever activity you were at. Sledding, shopping, caroling. You began to know him again.

At first it'd been a little more formal. You'd sat further apart, shoulders barely touching. It had only taken a day or so for you to fall back into your old habits. It felt as though all was right with the world after that.

You'd just gotten home from another tradition- driving around to see the lights. There hadn't been enough room in your parents' car for all of you, so you and Alex drove separately.

It turned out to be fun- the two of you laughing and watching the lights blink in time to a radio station. When you shivered, he had immediately started to fiddle with the vents, taking your hand in his and blowing warm air. The gesture made you smile.

The two of you had bailed long before everyone else, deciding to head home and warm up. You made peppermint hot chocolate and he found the movie, getting out blankets and turning the fireplace on.

When you came over with matching mugs, he'd held out his arm, the space against his chest inviting and warm. Without a second thought, you'd positioned yourself close, tucking yourself into him. He was always so cozy to lay against, several nights from college evidence.

"I've missed this," he mumbled, and you smiled at that, scratching your fingers on his chest.

"I've missed it too." You nuzzled into his shoulder and he smiled, chin on your head. "I wish I could take it with me."

He was quiet for a moment, fingers drawing patterns on your arm. You were about to ask something else when he said, "You were brave to do it, you know? To get out."

"I don't know if I really left," you confessed, snuggling closer. "I spend so much time worrying about everything here."

"Yeah, I get that," he said, hand finding the top of your head and smoothing your hair. His arm rested on your shoulder, bent at the elbow. "That's what made me stay."

"There's no shame in it," you murmured, eyes on the movie as you thought. "You wanted to take care of your dad. You're doing what you love."

"It feels like I missed out sometimes," he said quietly, thumb following the line of your hair. "Everything's good here. But that's the thing. It's good. I was worrying for no reason."

Sitting up slightly, you faced him, searching his eyes. You knew every corner of him, it felt like. His ends and beginnings. His love and hate. And so you were purposeful when you said, "You know it would be okay, right? If you were to leave?" When his lips parted, you amended, "Not that staying is bad. Not at all. You did what felt right for you, but..." you searched his eyes, reaching for his hand and squeezing it. "It would be okay if you didn't want to be here forever."

There was a moment where he was just watching you, eyes soft in a way you remembered so well. He half-smiled, patting your waist. "Yeah. Yeah, I know."

Satisfied, you smiled and settled back against him. He adjusted his arm around you, and your sense of deja vu heightened. How many times had you laid like this with him, talking for hours about one thing or another? Breathing in and focusing again on the movie, you said, "I thought I would end up here. After everything with Camille and seeing how fragile it all was. But I left." Something tightened in your chest. "That sounds selfish."

Alex shook his head, squeezing your knee. "It's not. It's really not."

"I mean... you know what happened," you murmured. "They needed me." Your mind was spiraling now, plummeting to the depths of something you weren't able to stop. The tightness in your chest was suffocating, and you pressed your palm there. "And I left." The panic settled, and you said the last part simply. That's all it was. Simple.

Alex just watched you, his eyes solemn. You bit the side of your cheek. The way he looked at you hadn't changed one bit. His soulful eyes could pry the same secrets out of you if he wanted them to.

But he didn't push, didn't question. He just squeezed your side, pulling you back into him and letting you rest. You closed your eyes, trying not to cry. He was familiar. He was home. Alex leaned down, lips finding your hair. You laced your fingers through his, and he pulled your hand up to rest over his heart.

The feeling blanketed you like a fresh coat of snow, and you knew he was swathed in it too by the way he rubbed up and down your spine.

Footsteps. It was like your body knew something was wrong before you did. Sitting up, you turned your head to the open door, pushing away your laptop as your mother rushed by. "Mom?"

Coats sliding against each other, hangers clicking. You stood up, padding into the hallway and saying it again. "Mom?"

She looked at you briefly, seeming harried. "What?"

"Is something wrong?" Your heart began to pound, every possible scenario running through your head. Sick, dying, accident-

"Your sister," she began, and it hit you like a punch to the stomach. "She's having an episode. John has a meeting at the hospital, and he called us to go be with her until he can get back."

"An episode?" Unwanted memories had awful timing. They had been piling up all week, and you could feel them beginning to overflow. "But...she..." you swallowed. "It's been years since she's-"

"No," your mother said curtly, finally finding the coat she was looking for and pulling it out, the hanger sticking out when she closed the door. "She has them still."

Another gut punch. You watched with wide eyes as she descended the stairs, frozen even as you began to follow her. Your instincts kicked in, and you began to panic. She was rifling through her purse, expression solemn. You searched for your shoes, still reeling from this news.

"I'll be back later," she said, turning to the door.

Your eyebrows shot up and you reached for her arm, meeting her eyes. "Mom, just give me a minute and I'll be ready-"

"No, you stay here," she said, shaking her head. "I don't think it'd be a good idea if you came." Your hand fell from her elbow.

"I can help," you said in a small voice.

She sighed and smiled softly, reaching out to pat your shoulder. "It's fine. We always figure it out when you aren't here."

Only once the door shut did you realize she was gone. The chasm of your mind was eating you alive, swallowing anything you'd felt before and replacing it with something you didn't want. You could feel tears rising in your eyes, a sob in your throat, and you sniffled, bringing a hand to your face.

It was all too similar. Too close to how it was before. You thought it was all gone now. Buried because the past was dead. Maybe it was more alive than you thought.

Glimpses flickered before your eyes. You closed them, feet rooted to the spot. She didn't mean to hurt you. You knew she didn't. But it still stung, itching at your skin and reminding you of what you'd forget if you could. Someone said your name. You shifted only to find Alex in your line of sight, his eyes soft.

You collided. His arms encircled you, chin falling to your hair. A miniscule sob hitched your breath and he flattened his cheek on your head. "It's okay, it's okay..."

"She...she's..." you choked. He shook his head, smoothing his hand up and down your back.

"It's not your fault," Alex whispered into your hair, carefully herding you to the couch. You thunked beside him, leaning in close as he rubbed your side and bunched his fingers over your leg. "You were trying to help."

"They don't need me," you murmured, fresh tears springing to your eyes.

Alex was quiet, smoothing his hand over your head and rubbing his thumb to your hair. You burrowed into him and he let you, lifting his arm so you could more easily reach his chest. Shame painted you suddenly, and you sat up, pulling your knees to your chest. "I'm sorry."

"Hey-" Alex reached for you again. "No, it's okay. Let me help you."

"I shouldn't be...I'm sorry, I'm-" you took in shuddering breaths, instincts telling you to get far away from this. To let it fade into the dust where it was only kicked up every now and then.

Alex kept hold of your hand, and you were drawn to the magnet of his eyes. He shook his head just slightly. "This is what happened last time."

Last time. When you'd gone home for winter break, excited to share Christmas with him now that you were officially in love. The wreckage that had met you when you came home. Your sister always in tears, an unsolvable issue newly tagging her. The way you'd tried to help after seeing the exhaustion in your parents' eyes. They'd needed you.

Doctor's appointments. Trips to the pharmacy. Staying with Camille for hours, watching over her and making sure she remained healthy and safe. Christmas came and went without any fanfare, the best gift that she was still here.

After a troubled semester, you'd come home to rest. Instead, the weight of someone's life fell into the palm of your hand. The hole in your chest only widened, and you felt as though you were drowning. Holding three people you loved up above the water with only your hands, lucky if you got a wisp of air. The place you knew as a comfort had morphed into something entirely different, something that said you couldn't afford to be taken care of anymore. It was your time to step up. Be strong.

You'd barely seen Alex. He offered to come help, offer any kind of support. But you'd insisted he stay with his family, burning yourself to the nub by the time January came around. That was when you ended it with him.

So many tears. A million untrodden paths surrounding you. You hadn't imagined anything without him, not since you were a kid. He'd always been there and you'd loved him more than anyone and you'd ruined it.

But it was too much. You were both young and he was bright and smart and he needed to fly high. Away from where you would drag him down.

He didn't grace your apartment after that to study together or bring over dinner. You didn't spend the night at his place watching movies or tucked in his arms anymore. Time separated you. It seemed as though the story was over.

But everything you'd swept under the rug was back, holding you tight as you sank back into his arms and shed another tidal wave of tears. Alex was quiet as each one seeped into his shirt, and you nearly melted into nothing when you felt his lips in your hair.

Despite it all, he was here. He was here, and maybe he always had been. Another bout of tears overwhelmed you when you realized it had never needed to be so hard. One call for him and he would have been there, right where you needed him.

"I'm sorry," you choked, fingers finding his shirt. "I...you..."

"Shh," Alex soothed, shaking his head and rubbing your back. "I know. It wasn't your fault."

"H-having two kids with these issues is too much. I couldn't-" you got out before he pressed your face into his chest, nose squishing into your head.

"It's gonna be okay," he murmured, and you heard the hitch in his voice. Despite it, Alex snuggled you close, lightly rubbing your shoulder. It was the first time in what felt like forever that you'd believed someone when they said it.

You were content being held by him, cozy in the cradle of his arms. He used to do this often when you would have panic attacks or a particularly bad day. His arms were always open, and you hadn't thought you'd get the luxury of needing them again.

Looking up at him, you almost told him so many things. Everything you'd never said was spilling from its sealed envelope, flooding your senses with only him. Alex held your gaze, a single word falling from his lips. "Baby-"

The front doorknob rattled, breaking the moment into dust. There were footsteps on the porch, accompanied by your parents' voices. If they saw you crying...

You sprang from Alex's arms, eyes wide as you looked at him. He frowned, reaching for you again, but before he could say anything you fled to your room. Maybe in an hour you'd wash your face and return downstairs, act as though all was well.

It didn't feel right, but it was all you had. Running away and putting on a face was the one part of your past that you still clung to.

Garlands twined around the banisters, red bows on the edge of everything. You dusted your hands of glitter, tucking a strand of hair away. It had taken practically all day, from the moment you rose from bed. From the kitchen wafted the smell of appetizers, Camille's voice echoing alongside your mother's.

Your mother had apologized when she returned home, but what happened still sat heavy in your heart. Camille was fine. Apparently, she always was.

It only confirmed that you wouldn't be saying anything of your own troubles.

Alex remained at your side, nary a word of what happened escaping his lips. You loved him for it, for doing the opposite of pretending nothing happened. It was silent reassurance that you loved him more than anything for. He stood at your side, as steady as what you'd always needed.

Baby. It played in your head more often than not. When the fluttering of your past feelings had beckoned you again, you'd shooed it away, but now you wondered of their return. The way he looked at you, like you were the center of the universe- it melted your heart and shook your being.

Did he feel the same? Was it just as time-stopping for him to look at you as it was for you to look at him?

He was a ghost in your mind, in your every thought. Indeed, he was there, lingering as you dressed for the holiday party. Your hair was done, earrings on, and you were about to don the dress you always wore for this event. Black knit, with tights.

There was a knock on the door, and then your sister entered, a shopping bag dangled from her fingers. She looked beautiful as always, wearing a silk green dress with her hair pulled up. You recognized her necklace: an engagement gift from John.

"Is anything wrong?" you jumped up, eyes wide and hands going to her elbows.

She smiled fondly. "No, nothing. Nothing at all. I just wanted to give you this." Holding out the shopping bag, Camille smiled delightedly when you took it, bouncing on her heels. "To wear tonight. You'll look so pretty."

"Thank you," you said quietly, smiling back. This wasn't unlike her- to surprise you with little gifts at any time during the year. But a whole new dress was something else.

Camille sat on your bed, taking your usual black dress and folding it in her lap. "I wanted to apologize. For not telling you anything." Her smile faded. "It's silly. You...you were there for me when I needed you. You deserved to know."

"Camille-" you sat beside her, eyes nearly welling up. Taking one of her hands, you whispered, "I only want you to be okay. This whole time I've been away, I've been worrying-"

"But you shouldn't," she cut in, squeezing your hand, her eyes soft. "I'm fine. Really. Every now and then there's a bad episode, but truly for the most part I'm okay. I have John and he keeps me stable. I guess I never said anything because I thought there was nothing to say."

It was like a weight off your shoulders. You could have burst into tears as you looked at her, glowing and happy in front of you. So far from the girl she'd been before. You weren't sure how you'd failed to see it before. In all your worry and swimming in the sea of memory, the present was lost on you with everything.

With Alex.

Camille gave you a fond look. "I do hope you'll wear the dress tonight. It'll be so pretty and..." She said her next words with a secret smile. "...and Alex will like it."

"Alex?" You lifted your head, nearly panicking. "He doesn't-"

"He does, trust me." Camille tapped her nose with a sweet grin. "Just wear the dress and see what happens."

Almost like a fairy, she was gone in an instant, in a whirl of dark green. You stared at the door after she left, only remembering the dress a few moments later. Plucking the tissue paper from the bag, you reached in and lifted a silky red dress with thin straps and a bow in the middle from the bottom.

It was so pretty- definitely something she would have picked out. But inexplicably you at the same time. You noticed she'd snipped off the price tag but left the brand name. Classic Camille.

It was perfect when you tried it on, soft and well fitted. Your jewelry even matched it well. You stared at yourself in the mirror, adjusting your hair accordingly and garnering the courage to step outside your room in it. All you could think of was Alex's reaction. If Camille was right...what if she was right?

Biting your lip, you played with your skirt for a moment, lost in thought. Had you really been so lost in mending the past to focus on the future? Alex was something you thought you'd left behind, but really...maybe he was standing right in front of you, ready to be your future.

Maybe all the hurt, the pain, the damage had led you to this.

Your heart raced, only one thing in your mind. It was him, always him. When he'd held you through your tears and smiled so softly when you leaned into his chest during a movie. When he'd stroked your hair and told you it was going to be okay. Fingers twitching, you yearned for him under them, for the warmth of his skin. He'd started to hold you again so eagerly, and you'd thought it the feelings of old friends.

What once was love lost was at your fingertips again. You weren't sure if you should hold tight or run the other way.

The party filled up quickly, the noise drifting into your room and beckoning you down. It was sure to be shoulder to shoulder, and you weren't sure if you would even see Alex for the evening. Cautiously, you descended the stairs, immediately greeted by a barrage of neighbors asking about life in another place.

You answered their questions with a smile, feeling as though you were giving the same answer over and over again. Yes, you liked your job. No, you weren't moving back. The weather is rainy, but lovely, and you are living in a nice place. Every year you marveled at how many people your parents knew, doubly at how that number seemed to grow by the month.

Finally, you were able to make your way to the refreshments, taking a glass of water and practically pouring it down your throat. Though it was chilly outside, the heat inside multiplied by the amount of people was nearly suffocating. You moved closer to the window, hoping the cool glass would give you enough strength to dive back into greeting the other guests.

Camille brushed by you with a wink and a squeeze to your arm. You smiled at her, gratitude filling you up all over again. For the sister you had. For the way she'd grown. You watched as she gravitated towards John, meeting his open arms and smiling as he brushed a kiss to her forehead, whispering something. She nodded, looking up at him so lovingly it could have stopped time. The way he looked back, you wouldn't be surprised if it did for him.

Turning back to the window, you were startled to see Alex on the porch bench, staring at the horizon. Maybe you weren't surprised he was playing the avoidance game at a crowded function, but it felt alarming for you to be able to see exactly who you wanted to at the very moment you wanted him.

Almost fairy-like, you glided outside, drawn to him in such a familiar way. You were numb to the bite in the air as you sat beside him, watching the sun sink into the hills like the space between two fingers. The sky was smeared with pink and orange and blue- a popsicle melting into itself.

When he looked at you, butterflies sprung from their cocoons in your stomach, flittering around and spelling words you couldn't read yet. His smile was soft. "You okay?"

"Yeah," you breathed, watching the misty evidence of your voice evaporate in the air. "Are you?"

Alex nodded, seeming to search you. You shivered in a way that had nothing to do with the cold, and his eyebrows lifted. "I..." he looked down at himself. "I'd give you my jacket if I had one."

“No need,” you said, still sweating from being inside. Alex disregarded your statement, sliding his arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his sweater covered chest. He was always so warm. Even though you weren't in need of it, it was comforting, and so you stayed.

A moment passed between you, still and unmarked. The street was quiet save for the sounds of the party inside, and your eyes fell to the snow caked at the sides of the road, pushed up to the sidewalk by tires. Breathing out, you watched the motion puff in the frozen air.

Alex’s thumb drew circles on your shoulder. He exhaled softly. “I like your dress.”

“Thank you.” You smiled softly, leaning your cheek on his shoulder. “Camille gave it to me.”

Silence again. Then he asked, sounding a little hesitant. “She’s doing alright?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, eyes on your knees, fidgeting with your fingers. “Yeah. I guess this kind of thing happens a lot.”

“And they didn’t tell you?” You didn’t need to look up to know his brow was furrowed.

You shook your head slowly. “No.”

His thumb stopped its motion, and you risked a look up at him. For once, his eyes were not laser focused on you, instead burning a hole in the porch. Sitting up, you tried to meet his eyes. “But I understand why.”

“Why?” His head turned so quickly you were stunned, lost in his face for a moment. 

Collecting yourself, you spoke slowly, trying to gather your thoughts. “They didn’t need me.” Alex started to say something, but you shook your head. “They didn’t need me. And that’s okay.”

He watched your eyes, expression soft. Your heart jumped with every glance, and now it was spurring you toward something you didn’t know if you would have confessed fifteen minutes ago. “Sometimes I think I’m tired of learning about myself. It’s like…I’m an adult. I should know these things.” Swallowing, you closed your eyes for a second, mind moving quicker than you could keep up with. “I thought I knew what had happened with Camille. I thought I knew what happened with you and me and I thought I knew how I felt but…” you trailed off for a moment, lips parting as you searched him. “Alex I don’t think I’ve ever stopped loving you.”

With your new discovery, you expected it to feel different. But he was the same Alex, the same heartbeat under you. With the way you'd tried to leave your past, maybe you'd made it all out to change. But when he said your name, it was just as intoxicating as before. There were some things you could leave behind, but others you found yourself determined to hold onto.

Alex said your name again, his voice nearly caressing the word. He looked so pretty in this light, with the sun waving goodbye and the moon turning its face. You clocked his hand on your knee, and then he was talking again. “When I moved back, I think a part of me expected it to be the way it was before. But it couldn’t have been.” You swore your heart stopped for a moment. “It didn’t have you. I never stopped loving you either.”

With a little gasp, you were reaching for him, and he pulled you closer somehow. A tear escaped your eye, and you leaned forward, throwing your arms around his neck. He held you for a long moment, and then you murmured into his chest, "I didn't know what I was missing so badly until I was with you again."

"Baby," he muttered, and you drew back, bringing your mouth to his in a swift motion. Alex held you to him through the chill, his hand at your back as he kissed you tenderly. It was home. He was not only your past, he was the future you'd dreamed of with only hazy figures that now seemed clearer.

"I ran away before and it was the wrong thing to do," you whispered, and he thumbed your cheek, nose nudging it. “I should have stayed-”

"And I stayed in all the wrong places when I should have stayed with you,” he said back, and you pressed your mouth to his again, a long kiss burning your insides in the most pleasant way. You leaned into him, suddenly cold, suddenly glad he was so warm.

Any minute now, you were expecting to wake up in a cold sweat, disturbed by what could have been and what you wished would happen. But he was still in front of you, chin resting on your head as he

"I don't care if we have to play phone tag every day forever once I go back home," you murmured, snug against his chest as he covered the bare portion of your back with his hand. "I'm not letting you go ever again."

His fingers froze, and you frowned, lifting your head. Alex's lips were parted, and he looked as though he were holding something back. Your brow knit, and you sat up, half in his lap. "What is it?" Worry flooded you, and suddenly you were worried you were about to wake up. A million possibilities flooded your mind, each one worse than the last.

Alex was frozen for a few seconds, and then his eyes found yours again. You braced yourself for whatever he was about to tell you, stiffening in his hold. But nothing could have prepared you for what he said.

"I'm moving at the end of the school year."

Your mind blanked, and "What?" fell out of your mouth before you could regulate it. He was serious- you could see it. Alex would never joke about something like this.

He lifted his hand to your cheek, brushing away a strand of hair, the action seeming to ground him. "The job offer was confirmed this morning. I've been trying to figure out a way to tell you ever since."

"Where is it?" You had a million other questions, but this one made it out first.

"Seattle."

For the millionth time since you came outside, you were speechless. His hand was still on your cheek, and you leaned into it, blinking up at him in utter disbelief. "You...you..."

"I've been thinking about leaving for months," he said quietly, eyes steady on you as he spoke. Though the sounds of Frank Sinatra's Christmas hits were still emanating from the house, your ears were tuned into the sound of his voice. "I started looking, doing remote interviews. All the while I was telling myself that I could say no even if I got it. And then an opening came up where I knew you lived and I thought maybe..."

Alex Nilsen had never been one to do something out of the blue. He was meticulous and you loved him for it. You knew how comfortable he was in your shared hometown, how much being near his family meant to him. Even the idea of him thinking about leaving was indictive of something deeper than you could imagine.

"I accepted it," he confirmed, thumb still rubbing your cheek. "I'll start in the fall."

Emotions were running wild as you stared at this man who'd just proved he'd move mountains for even a chance at being with you. You'd loved each other your entire lives, but even then, you didn't think it ran so pure.

"You're leaving everything behind," you whispered, reaching up to hold his wrist. "How do you know it's going to work out?"

"My dad is fine. My brothers are fine," Alex said, and the way he looked at you nearly made the world stop spinning. "And I've never been sure about anything in my life, but I'm sure about this."

"We've only just reconnected this week," you said softly. "I don't want you to do this just for me. What if you regret it someday?"

"It was something you said to me that pushed me to take the job," he said gently, his other hand rising to your face. "You said that it would be okay if I didn't want to be here forever. And it made me realize that maybe I never have." Taking in a breath, Alex leaned in and kissed you so softly that you nearly melted. "I've loved you as long as I've known you. I would regret it if I didn't do this."

Now you were sure you were dreaming. It was so unexpected but so utterly him. To be so sure.

The holidays would pass. You would unwrap presents with him on Christmas morning and kiss him on New Year's. You would part in tears at the airport but with the knowledge that you would see him again as soon as possible. The future laid ahead with bright lights, winking and telling you it was going to be okay. Your past and future merged together to create now and it was wonderful because it was with him.

Nostalgia had led you back home. To a love you had thought past, but you knew would stay.

Even as you left, you would stay.

[venusbyline]

i can fix him (no really i can)

[ayo-edebiri]

The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds & Snakes (2023) + tweets

[xplore-the-unknwn]

Coriolanus Snow in TBOSAS a summary:

[vivicendium]

i think something that elevates the hunger games franchise is not just the quality of writing but the integrity of it. tbosas isn’t just a cash-grab by suzanne collins in the age of sequels and reboots (though i won’t pretend that didn’t play a part), it’s a character study of the main antagonist with a different structure than the main trilogy. and importantly, it doesn’t just re-hash the same old themes and beats the main trilogy had, it expands on not just the world of the hunger games but the themes as well, it actually has something new to say about the trilogy’s themes about class, capitalism, power, and control, in a way that couldn’t be explored with the main story because the protagonist of that story simply did not have access to the world that’s being explored in tbosas.

i understand the people who call for books/movies to be made about haymitch, finnick, johanna, different years of the games — we love those characters and want to see more of them! i’d kill for a novella on finnick’s days mentoring tributes, or katniss’s parents falling in love. but at the end of the day we probably wouldn’t be very satisfied with those stories being fleshed out if they had absolutely nothing new to say about the world, they’d be enjoyable, but not as interesting and engaging as tbosas has been.

[cosmicschmidt]

I need this man biblically.

[ghostfacd]

YOU CAN LET GO NOW ! | TOM BLYTH

PAIRING. tom blyth x fem!actress!reader

SUMMARY. in which tom blyth can’t let go of your hand after an intense argument scene in your film

installment of this au | your character and Tom’s lines in the film are written in italics

“Action!”

Tom and you have probably been on your tenth cut by now, the scene was an argument between yours and his character, Balleona and Coriolanus. It was fierce and intense, filled with lots of angry yelling and a few tears.

Needless to say, your director was on both of your asses to make sure you got everything down perfectly, from the lines and hand movements to the crocodile tears.

“You can’t just expect everything to be okay Coriolanus!” You yell exasperated. You look up at Tom, who was currently looking down at you with a cold gaze. “You decided to cheat! You decide to risk your entire career for Lucy Gray, now you go sit with the consequences!”

Tom slams his hand on the table nearby, making you flinch back. “I had to! I did it for us! All of it! The rat poison—the scarf—I did everything for us! And now you repay me by yelling at me like a child?!”

You push Tom back with an accusing finger, eyes lingering with hurt. “You’re acting like a child Coriolanus Snow! I told you that my family has enough money, enough for you to go to university. But you just had to ruin the entire system, didn’t you? Is it Lucy Gray? The disgusting filth from District 12? Is she influencing you?”

Tom places his hand on your chin, grabbing it harshly, making you let out a whine.

“You don’t speak about her like that, do you understand?” Tom tightens his grip, making your hands come up to try to get out of his grasp. “Do you understand?!” He yells, causing you to close your eyes tightly.

“Let me go, you’re hurting me.” You say, “Coryo, let go, you’re hurting me.”

Tom’s eyes suddenly switched from anger to softness, and he lets go of his hold on your face. “I’m sorry sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

He brings you into a hug, letting you bury your head into his chest. “You know I didn’t mean it right? You know you’re more important to me than Lucy Gray—that’s why I did all of this. It was for you.”

You nod, letting out a few tears. Tom breaks the hug to hold your hand, his other one coming up to wipe them away.

“And.. cut!”

Tom stops wiping the tears that have fallen down to your cheeks, sighing in relief when the director says that they don’t have to redo the scene again.

However, he’s still holding tightly on your hand, nodding slowly at each of the words that come out from the director’s mouth.

“You okay?” You whisper to him.

“Hm? Yeah, no, I’m fine.” He reassures you, smiling down at your figure. “I’m a bit thirsty. Water?”

You smile and nod, letting him walk you two over to the water dispenser. He’s still holding firmly onto your hand, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by your co stars, Rachel and Josh.

“Geez Blyth, do you always have such a possessive hold on our dear Y/N here?” Rachel jokes, smiling teasingly at you two.

You roll your eyes, looking up at your boyfriend. He doesn’t seem to hear Rachel’s words, instead, focusing on getting the two of you water.

“Do you want some Rachel? Josh?”

“I’m good,” Rachel replies, “and Josh is too. We were gonna head out to this smoothie place for our lunch break.”

“Ah.” With his free hand, Tom pulls you closer to him until you’re practically leaning against him. “Well have fun you two.”

Rachel and Josh say their thanks, but before they leave, Rachel slips by you, whispering “he’s stuck to you like glue, isn’t he?” in your ear.

You try to hold in your smile, butterflies filling your stomach. Despite shooting the scene 15 minutes ago, Tom was still holding onto your hand as if you were his lifeline.

“Hey babe,” you say, which automatically makes all the gears in Tom’s hand focus their attention on you.

“Hm?”

“How come you’re still holding onto my hand?”

He seems to be surprised at your words, glancing down briefly at your intertwined fingers.

“Oh, I didn’t realize.” He says, shrugging.

“Yeah,” you tease him. “Obsessed with me aren’t you?”

He rolls his eyes, but nods in agreement. “Just a habit I guess. I felt really bad for yelling at you so much in the scene and grabbing your face. I’d never do that in real life.”

You let out a laugh, making Tom furrow his eyebrows in confusion.

“Aww Tom,” you say, leaning into his chest with your head. “I know you would never do that in real life baby. It’s just acting.”

“I know,” he sighs. “I just hate arguing with you, whether it’s acting or not. Coriolanus is a loser for not realizing what he has, you know.”

Now that made you laugh even louder, “yeah, but Tom Blyth is a sweetheart.” You tippy toe to reach his nose, placing a small kiss on the bridge of it. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[darknight3904]

It Burns For You

𝕊𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: ɪɴ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏʀʏᴏ ɢʀᴏᴡ ᴜᴘ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀᴘɪᴛᴏʟ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏɴᴇ ᴅᴀʏ ᴄʀᴏꜱꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪɴᴇꜱ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅꜱ

𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: ɴᴏɴᴇ, ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ. ᴏᴏᴄ ᴄᴏʀʏᴏ, ʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴛᴏᴛᴀʟʟʏ ʜᴇᴀᴅ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ʜᴇᴇʟꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ. ᴄʜᴇᴄᴋ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴍʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ!

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ

Coriolanus is 12 when he sees you for the first time. Your red uniform is pressed perfectly and your school bag looks brand new. Your lunch consisted of a hearty-looking sandwich with roast beef and lettuce and a container of fresh fruit that had his mouth-watering.

"Do you want a piece? Our maid always packs too much and I can never finish it. You can have some if you want." Your voice fills his ears

A delicate-looking hand is holding a juicy-looking strawberry in front of him. He reaches for it and it takes every ounce of self-control he has not to shove it in his mouth. Instead, he takes a small bite and thanks you for sharing.

"Don't you have a lunch today?" You ask

He doesn't. The school had said they would start supplying the students with lunches soon but how soon? Coriolanus had already been attending for a number of years and still nothing.

"I already ate it." He lied

"You're still hungry though. You can have the rest." You say with a smile as you push your fruit bowl to him.

"Is it your first day?" He asks

"Yes, my mother thought that my governess wasn't doing a good job so she had my father enroll me here. I miss being at home with my new kitten though. She has long white hair and she is the cutest thing in the whole world." You said

Coriolanus can't believe that you had your own governess, let alone a pet to call your own. He later learns from Arachne that your father became incredibly rich by manufacturing weaponry for the Capitol. Despite your inherent wealth, you've never flashed it around him.

You and Coriolanus are 15 when you discover all the lies he tells at school about his family. He had left his uniform jacket behind on his chair and you got his home address from Sejanus, meaning to give it back so he'd have it for tomorrow. Instead, you had discovered the Snow's decrepit-looking building and barely functioning penthouse. Coriolanus' heart nearly stops when he emerges from his room to see you and his Grandma'am sitting together as she compliments your shoes.

"What are you doing here?" He asks, ready for your judgment and teasing words

"I wanted to return your jacket, Coryo. You'll need it for tomorrow."

The red of the jacket in your arms matches his face as he ushers you to the door, trying to hide the fact that Tigris was preparing cabbage in the kitchen that would undoubtedly stink the entire place up with the scent of the Snow's poverty.

"Stop rushing me, your cousin invited me to stay for dinner." You say trying to stop the way he is leading you to the door.

"You don't want what she is making. Tigris is a terrible cook." He said

Tigris lets out a shout of disagreement from the stove and Coriolanus ignores it.

"How about, I go out and get something to add to the meal Tigris is cooking, and by the time I get back you change your attitude about me staying for dinner Coryo. "

And with that, you walk out the door and slam it in his face. He's rather stunned at your declaration but knows you're serious. He rushes around their home, trying to clean up what he can while Tigris laughs at his frantic motions. Then, just as he was debating whether or not he wanted to change out of his uniform, you return from your short trip to the closest market.

"I wasn't sure what Tigris is cooking so I got a couple of things." You say placing the bags on the table.

Coriolanus is sure you spent a fortune on what is in these bags. Fresh bread accompanied by a sickly sweet fruit spread and a block of butter sits in one while the other holds something else in a brown box. You take your seat next to him at the ugly little table he has eaten too many meals at and cut a piece of the bread for Grandma'am. He is worried when Tigris starts portioning out the cabbage she cooked on the stove. Coriolanus watches your expression as you take a bite but nothing that he expected happens. You don't knit your brows in disgust or get up to leave and take your fresh bread and mysterious box with you. Instead, you go back for a second bite and compliment what Tigris has done with the food.

He sits stiffly next to you and can barely accept the slice of bread you offer him. You excuse yourself to use the bathroom and Tigris reaches across the table and pinches his shoulder.

"Stop sitting like that, Coryo!" She scolds

"Like what?" He asks,aware that Tigris meant how oddly straight his back was.

"You're making her uncomfortable. You've been friends with her for years she isn't worried about what our home looks like." Tigris says

"She might not be but what happens when she goes to school tomorrow and talks?" He asks

He shuts up when he hears the sound of the bathroom door opening again.

"That was lovely Tigris. I've never had anything like it, I'll have to invite you all to my own home for dinner sometime. Our cook makes these pastries that are simply wonderful. They even get sold at local markets, which leads to this..."

His eyes widen when you finally unveil what was hiding in that second bag. A dozen expensive looking deserts sit in the brown box you brought, each one decorated differently.

"I hope I picked something everyone would like. I know Coryo mentioned that Grandma'am liked chocolate so I picked this one just for her."

Coriolanus feels a wide smile stretch across his face as you pass out your little desserts. His worries about you gossiping to their peers fade from view as he bites into what he thinks is a croissant. You laugh at his reaction and toss a napkin at his face which is most likely covered in the gooey fruit filling that was in his pastry.

He walks you back to your home that night and thanks you for making his night. He can't remember the last time Grandma'am had smiled from eating chocolate. You accept his thanks and gently tell him that he shouldn't be ashamed about his financial situation. He never gets to disagree with you though because a soft kiss is pressed to his lips followed by a rushed,

"Goodnight, Coryo! Thanks for the cabbage!"

He walks back to his own home with a jump in his step. Thoughts of you consume him as he smiles to himself, proud his first kiss was shared with you. He feels his heart burn with something that felt like it was going to come up and out his mouth as he finally made it back to his room, you officially had him wrapped around your finger.

Your room is flooded with sunlight the first time Coriolanus sees it. A soft, silky-looking bed spread sits atop one of the biggest beds he has seen as you beckon to your cat, Maisy to come and say hello to him. He looks at the oversized wooden dresser that sits against one wall. He sees the photograph of him and you that was taken a few weeks ago at your 17th birthday party nestled among little knickknacks. Books Coriolanus has never even heard of line your shelves as he you place a record on the player that sits on your desk. Soft sounds of a piano and the words from an unnamed singer fill your gorgeous room as he turns to you.

"Do you want to dance?" He finds himself asking

You accept and he leads you or well tries to. You're rather stiff and it turns out dancing is harder than it looks because he isn't any good at it either. You laugh as he trips over his feet and end up falling with him, landing on the ground entangled in each other. Your fingers brush his curls from his eyes as his nose brushes yours.

"What're you doing?" You ask quietly

"Nothing." He responds, his eyes flicking to your lips.

The moment his lips touch yours, a tingle shoots down his spine. This is a real kiss, not what you gave him when you were both 15. He cups your face and your hands are tangled in his hair as he deepens it. He felt his head spin as you moved against him, almost as if you wanted him to swallow you whole right here on your bedroom floor. A giddy feeling swelled in his chest when he pulled away for air.

"Coryo...what was that?" You ask

"I thought you'd know by now. That was a kiss, darling." He laughed brushing his thumb across your lip

"I know that...but why'd you give me one?" You ask

"Don't you know?" He smiles and places a chaste kiss on your lips "My heart, it burns for you, it always has."

Part 2 is out now!

Series Masterlist

[rain-carradine]

Katniss Everdeen + Coriolanus Snow parallels

[milliesfishes]

౨ৎ꣑ৎCandy Cane Mocktails౨ৎ꣑ৎ

౨ৎ꣑ৎ12 Days of Christmas Masterlist౨ৎ꣑ৎ [fem reader] contains: hurt/comfort pairing: fem reader x university coriolanus snow summary: the university's annual christmas gala with coriolanus author’s note: some good old forced proximity for you my darlings <3 Spotify Playlist

Sweethearts. That was the idea of it. You begrudgingly took Coriolanus' outstretched hand, walking with him through the open doors of the library. Being who you were attracted certain looks, and being on the arm of Coriolanus Snow attracted even more of them.

He led you down the front steps, chin held high, shoulders squared. Of course he looked handsome- nobody ever expected anything less. The way he carried himself exerted power, drew one's eye to him. You supposed you would be the same way if you were happy about being engaged.

It had come out of nowhere. Your father's announcement that your family and the Snows would be intertwined. He made it sound like such a gift, but all it did was dim your spirits. And now you were wondering what the point was of sending you to the university to begin with. Why educate you if you were destined for a life of social calls and public appearances on his arm? At least he was young, you supposed.

It wasn't that he ignored you. If there was ever a man more attentive to his fiancée, you knew him not. There was no shortage of affection, and not in public certainly. But it was all tainted by the circumstances of this engagement. He was only good to you for the inheritance with your name on it, for the sake of having an accessory.

It was for all these reasons that you were not looking forward to the upcoming gala hosted by the university.

Naturally you were expected to attend with your betrothed and do all the usual couple-in-public things.

Kiss his cheek. Hold his hand. Laugh at the appropriate times. Act like you were in love. It was sure to be exhausting. With Coriolanus' expectations, you would be on your toes, glancing over your shoulder at every turn. You were already dreading it all.

You nearly slipped on the icy steps in your heels, gripping Coriolanus' hand. He turned his head, wrapping an arm around your waist. "Careful, darling." Your next step was slow, supported by him, but you still managed to slide. He huffed through his nose, hoisting his bag over his shoulder and leaning down to hoist you into his arms.

When you gasped, he pressed a kiss to your forehead. "I'll contact someone about salting the steps." As if he hadn't just done what he'd done, he began to descend the stairs again, ignoring the watchful eyes of onlookers in the street.

Naturally there'd been a flutter in your heart at his show of strength, one that you quickly suppressed. Only for appearances, you reminded yourself. He just wants to seem like a gentleman.

You'd known little of Coriolanus Snow from your time at the Academy, only that he was a star pupil, the apple of nearly every teacher's eye. For the most part, you'd kept to yourself, keeping your grades up and your head down. If he'd recognized you from school when you'd become acquainted, he hadn't shown it.

The rock on your finger was a sign of intimacy that you hadn't earned. Given how shy you'd been at the Academy, before Coriolanus you'd never kissed anybody. He'd caught you by surprise when he did it for the first time on one of your study dates, late at night in the library. It was another thing you shelved away as mere curiosity, almost-marital duty.

The strangest thing about it was that you'd been alone. Not a single other soul in the library that night, and still he'd kissed you, lips surprisingly soft against yours. Sometimes in the moments between wakefulness and sleep, you replayed it, wondering things you didn't want the answers to.

You kept your eyes on the scenery once in the car, enchanted by the snow that began to drift from the sky, fat flakes melting on the window. Determinedly, you were not looking at him, although you could feel his sharp blue gaze on you.

Only once he said your name did you turn, blinking innocently. Coriolanus had set his bag to the side, and you let him bridge the space between your seats to grasp your hand. “I’ll be there to pick you up at seven tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to, we can just find each other once we’re there,” you said, looking down at your joined hands.

“It would be best if we arrived together,” he countered, and you nodded simply, looking out the window again. In truth, you’d known he would insist on going together- you’d only wanted to see how he’d refuse.

Every facet of Coriolanus Snow you uncovered was one you turned over until there was nothing left to study about it. He was so closed, you felt as though you were collecting fragments and piecing the puzzle together. Heaven knew if you’d ever finish it.

You never quite knew which part of him you would uncover next. Even now, as the car parked in front of your home and he looked at you expectantly, you were unsure what he was thinking. Leaning forward, you pressed a kiss to his cheek, and he looked pleased, reaching into his bag and rummaging for a moment. “I want you to wear this tomorrow. Hopefully it’ll go with your dress.”

His hand emerged from the bag holding a sleek box, which he promptly opened to reveal a creamy string of pearls. Perfect and pure and predictable. But they were beautiful, and you risked a look into his eyes, surprised by how much you liked the gift.

"It will," you confirmed, accepting the box from him once he'd closed it. "Thank you. They're lovely."

"You're welcome, darling." You gave him a little smile as you tucked your new necklace into your bag, reaching for the door handle. Coriolanus caught your elbow before you could step outside. "Seven o'clock. Remember."

"I will," you affirmed, blinking innocently at him until he let go, leaning back in his seat. The image wasn't at all bad on the eyes- Coriolanus Snow, knees lazily spread, eyes blue as a summer sky, expression slightly amused. He was a picture many a woman would like to have in their hands.

You shut the door before you could think anything else you didn't want to.

The party was dreadfully predictable, but at least your dress was pretty.

Low neckline, thin straps, silky material with a high slit in the leg. The color matched his tie- deep wine red. The pearls he'd given you fell perfectly on your collarbone, and you'd noted his look of approval when you'd gotten in the car. He preferred when you wore his family's color, and you supposed you'd done it tonight so things would go smoothly.

His hand was on your waist, big and warm as he spoke to a man whose name you did not know, making you feel more like a decoration than ever. You were looking around, trying to distract yourself, but your fiancé squeezed your side, making you turn your head back to him. His signal. You weren't being interesting enough.

"I agree," you said automatically, and he lifted his eyebrows, searching your face.

"Let's get you a drink," he said, reaching for a glass before you could protest and setting it in your grasp.

Coriolanus watched you expectantly, and you decided, screw it. Pulling a wide-eyed doll face look, you batted your lashes, pushing it back at him. "You said I can only have one tonight." It was true that you'd already had one, but it had been non-alcoholic, tasting vaguely of peppermint. You didn't feel like drinking tonight, knowing alcohol would only make you sluggish.

He melted a little- you could see it as he took the glass, pressing a kiss to your temple. "That's right, sweetheart." You watched as he took a sip, fingers rubbing up and down your side. Trying not to slump, you turned your head, weary of what was sure to be hours more of this. Of talking, of pretending to be interested, of clinging to your fiancé's arm and acting enamored with him.

Coriolanus' hand on your waist tightened, and you looked up at him, confused. There was a shift in the air- something was wrong. Your heart began to pound, and you blinked, shoulders tensing. A feeling of dread pierced you, and the instinct to run was strong. You had to get out of here.

Covering his arm on your waist, you began to speak, voice tiny and strained. "Coriolanus-"

The lights were cut. You heard the hiss of something being shattered and then you were on the floor, body tense with fear as Coriolanus pulled you into him. His arms were fully wrapped around you, covering your back and pressing your face into his chest. You didn't resist, feeling limp as the threads of anxiety pulled you tight.

It felt like an eternity that you were on the ground under your fiancé, the worried chatter in the air causing tears to spring to your eyes. You tried to hold it back, but a whimper escaped you, faint under the noise.

Embarrassingly, Coriolanus seemed to catch it, his arms under you tightening, his nose falling to your hair. You unwillingly took in a sharp breath, your tears building up to the point where you couldn’t freeze them anymore.

He didn’t say a word, just shifted so you were more comfortable, one hand starting to rub up and down your back faintly. You fell into a lapse, senses blurring, mind going numb. Rebels. It had to be rebels. And this was the perfect time to attack too, at one of the most important events of the year.

In your fog, you didn’t notice Coriolanus nudging your side, voice hushed but urgent. Snapping awake, you found his eyes in the dark. “Darling. We’re going to go to the safe room. Come on.”

Feeling weak, you tiredly reached for him. He exhaled, sliding his arms under you to hoist your body into his chest. As he stood, you hid your face in his shoulder, nearly trembling. Suddenly he was the safest person in the world- your only hope in this dark hour.

He was all you had.

You barely registered making it to the safe room, only that he was there and he was warm and he was safe. Someone else was speaking and you weren’t sure if it was to you. Fabric draped over your shoulders, and you shivered as he pulled the edges of his suit jacket over you.

It was nearly humiliating how shaken you were. In all the parties you’d attended, all the events you’d graced, the rebels that were whispered about so much hadn’t ever shown their faces. A part of you had shelved them away as an urban legend, something feared but never come to life.

But now as the crashes from upstairs grew louder, the evidence was overwhelming. Looking up, you found Coriolanus’ eyes, still sharp although the rest of him was the closest to a mess you’d ever seen on him. His hair was no longer neat, tie slightly askew. He was kneeling on the floor with you, hands on your knees. He was studying you like a map, trying to ask something you didn’t know the answer to.

Shivering, you tensed and he squeezed your knee lightly. Softly, Coriolanus said, "It's okay. We're going to be okay."

With no choice but to believe him, you nodded, eyes darting around the darkened room. For once, nobody was paying attention to the two of you, caught up in their own fear. In a different setting, that would mean you could drop your act, seek respite from your game of pretend. But you found yourself leaning into him, your forehead meeting his chest.

Shifting, Coriolanus parted his legs so you were closer to him, leaning sideways so you were right against his heart. Covering your ear with his other hand, he dropped his chin to your head. You closed your eyes.

He'd never done anything like this before, but you supposed you'd never let him.

It felt like hours before the lights came back on. Even then, you kept your face hidden, and his hand remained on your back. You took in a breath as he pressed his lips to the part in your hair. "We're going to go home now."

It seemed that all you could do was nod. Coriolanus helped you stand, and the rest was a blur.

Getting out of the building and into the car were blips in memory, mere seconds to you. All you knew was that he was there, grounding you to the earth and holding you close.

"I'll get you home as soon as I can," he murmured, and you shook your head, fingers closing around his shirt.

"Can we go to yours?" The words were tiny, punctuated immediately by his kiss to your temple. He nodded, immediately telling the driver where to go. You clung to him all the way there, steps shaky when you finally did get out of the car with him.

Reaching the floor to the penthouse, you forgot your fear for a moment as you looked around wide eyed. You'd never been here before, and your imagination hadn't done it justice. It was somehow sleeker than you'd thought it'd be, more polished. Coriolanus flipped on the lights, revealing a tree in the corner, scarlet ornaments gleaming along with the star on top. You stopped, staring at it with wonder in your gaze.

"Darling?" He paused too, hand on your elbow. "What's wrong?"

"I just..." you almost didn't say it, but something compelled you to. "I didn't expect you to have a Christmas tree."

There was a pause. Then he nodded, swallowing. "Of course I do."

You let him lead you to a bedroom that must have been his, if the desk in the corner strewn with papers was any indication. He left you standing close to the bed, disappearing behind a nearby door. While waiting, your eyes fell to your hand, at the ring sparkling on your wedding finger.

Here was the intimacy you'd lacked all this time. Hardly a bit of him had been known to you, and now you were swathed in it. His scent, how he lived. It was intoxicating.

"Here." You looked up at him, suddenly before you holding out a folded pair of silk pajamas. His.

Taking them hesitantly, you whispered, "What will you sleep in?"

Coriolanus shrugged, a boyish move you wouldn't have expected from him. Putting a hand on your shoulder, he brushed it off. "Let's get you to your bedroom."

You swallowed, looking to the door. It seemed terrifying to leave this room, to be alone with only the thoughts in your head. Inhaling sharply, you looked up at him, trying to hide the conflict within.

Hesitating, he studied you, looking into your eyes. "Do you want to stay here?"

Fidgeting, you bit your lip, wearing a hole in the ground with your eyes.

Sighing a bit, he nodded, turning you back around. "Okay. Alright." You let him guide you closer to the bed. "Change. I'll be back, alright?" Though a pit of dread opened in your stomach at the thought of him leaving you, even for a minute, you nodded.

Before you could ask, he reached around, unzipping part of your dress and leaving you afterwards, shutting the door with a click. You methodically undressed, stepping out of your heels and donning his pajamas, trying to ignore how cozy it felt to be surrounded by something that smelled like him.

Sitting on the bed, you took a moment to look around this space you'd built up to be so mysterious in your mind. It was easy to see how this space was his when you really looked at it. Wandering over to his desk, you scanned his possessions, smiling a bit when you saw his planner, tonight's event penciled in alongside your name in neat cursive.

When he returned, you were picking up your dress from where it had pooled on the floor, hooking your shoes on your fingers. Coriolanus set two mugs on the bedside, holding out his hands and nodding at the mugs. "I can take those. Drink that, it'll make you feel better."

You sat on the bed, reaching for your allotted one and taking a sip. Warm chocolate with a hint of peppermint. A little smile crept onto your face, and you drank some more as he set your dress neatly over a chair, your shoes with it.

Coriolanus began to unbutton his shirt, and you looked away, listening to his belt clink as he undid it, fabric rustling. The mattress sunk on your other side and you looked up when his arm reached across you to take his drink. A faint blush colored your cheeks when you saw that he was shirtless, and you averted your eyes even when he leaned against the headboard, holding out an arm for you.

"Here." He nodded when you looked over. "It's okay." When you still didn't venture over, he raised an eyebrow. "We're engaged."

That got you over, leaning into his body as he settled his hand to your side. Coriolanus' fingers stirred a soft rhythm on your hip, and you felt yourself relax. In the back of your mind, you wondered how something so terrifying had coaxed you into him so quickly.

Thinking back to all the times you'd smothered the twinges of what was caused by his touch, you wondered if it was sudden at all. Maybe it had been there all along, just waiting for you to accept it.

Swallowing, you softly said, "I've never seen your room before."

His response was quiet too. "You never asked to."

Silence. You looked up, meeting his eyes. Coriolanus' mouth was pulled straight, but you could see something else behind it. He was tired, and the usual mask he kept up wasn't as firm as it normally was.

Maybe he wanted what you pretended not to. Maybe he was just as lovely in this as you were.

You took in a breath, lowering your head to his shoulder and closing your eyes. He took your empty mug before it could tip, and you let your hand float down to his chest, finding a home there. His body seemed to loosen, and you relished the feeling.

"Tonight was scary," you found yourself whispering, and he stroked your side.

"It was." You nodded, letting him slide you down so you were laying with him, something soft covering your legs.

"I'm glad you were with me." It was so soft, you weren't sure if he would hear it.

You swore he pressed another kiss to your hair. "I'm always going to protect you."

It only made you feel safer as you slipped into sleep, swaddled in his pajamas and his arms.

[billysgun]

smitten

billy the kid x fem!reader |requested!|billy is still love-sick for you with your new domestic life and baby boy|

the baby stirs in your grip softly, a grin spreads on your face as your infant sleeps soundly in your arms

you turn as the door opens, billy takes his hat off and a wide smile finds his lips at the sight of you two

"how was your ride?" you whispered. billy often rides into the meadows -sometimes turning for the town if you need anything- after he left his outlaw life behind and married you. he's a cowboy at heart, though, so he rides almost every morning

"it was great," he said, voice low, he moved toward you pushing a loose strand of your hair to the side to get a good look at your face

"you look gorgeous" he whispered, a smitten look deep in his eyes as he moved down to kiss you

still as lovesick as ever, you melt into the kiss, and the baby in your arms whines at your attention moving and billy makes sure to greet him too

"hey little cowboy" he whispers and kisses the top of your baby's head, the infant's eyes barely open to see his dad

billy impossibly grins wider once your baby boy smiles at him, their matching eyes filled with love as billy scoops him up

"did you sleep good last night?" billy babbles to the baby,

"I'll make breakfast while you too talk" you giggle as you make your way to the kitchen, billy follows as the mumbles to the child

"mama's gonna make us some food. you'll help her one day so pay attention"

he narrates your movements to your baby, as you fry a few eggs your eyes drift to your husband and you couldn't help your heart as it swelled at the sight

this tall, threatening-looking man with a gun on his hip rocked your baby ever so softly with a love-filled grin plastered on his face

"I love you" you told him, he looked up at you before stepping closer to kiss you slowly

"I love you more than you could ever know"

an: thank you for the request! <3 I love love love the simple life with billy 🥺🫶

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

hii!! could i request a snow fic where she finds out she cheats on him and voluntarily tributes and hes trying to get her back? i loved the other fics!! I NEED MORE CHEATING SNOW FICS OMGG

Don’t blame me, love made me crazy. || Young President!Coriolanus snow x district!reader

A/n: Sorry anon I hope you’re not disappointed that I didn't fully write your request. I wanted Coryo to lowk suffer in this which is why I didn't dive into details of him getting her back. There is also one scene that is heavily inspired by a scene in the movie Priscilla! I also spent so many hours perfecting this and it was super fun!!!

Warnings: fem!reader, implied infidelity, toxic!coriolanus, manipulation, not proofread, if there's anything else pls lmk!

Wc: 1609

Divider by @firefly-graphics

The rapid clicks echoed throughout the hallway, the sound reverberating off the 12-foot-high ceiling walls. You walk with an eager stride, each step filled with anticipation as you take the familiar route to Coriolanus' office where he spent most, if not, all of his time cooped up in due to the upcoming hunger games.

There was a heaviness in your heart. You have always been the epitome of grace and composure, a woman who played her role in the political theater with finesse, albeit your brief upbringing in district 2. However, behind closed doors, the truth unfolded, resulting in you heartbroken and most of all betrayed. You couldn't ignore the letters that would pile up weekly, the gifts, all for him, from someone by the name Lysandra.

Not bothering to knock, knowing it would provoke a reaction from him, you forcefully swung the double doors open. There sat Coriolanus Snow, seemingly unbothered at your entrance. "Is there a problem?" An icy, impersonal tone carried his words, sharp and emotionless.

Your nose flared as you felt a surge of frustration, his lack of concern and emotion fuelling your anger. Besides, you had never stormed into his office unannounced before. Surely, he would question your sudden abruptness and, visibly, your anger.

Your voice, though filled with a trembling resolve, posed the question, "Who is she?" You hold a letter between your fingers, lifting it up to show him. He lifts his head up from his papers. "And why on earth is she sending my husband gifts and-and love letters?" You stammer, throwing the piece of paper with writing and a kiss—in the form of a lipstick mark in a shade of deep red—on his desk; your façade crumbling at your feet.

Snow stares at you before a scoff leaves his lips, leaning back on his chair. "You know how the people admire me, it's likely that whoever it is, she's simply passionate about expressing her feelings to me," Coriolanus shrugs. Your eye twitches at his response. Lies.

"Really? Well, Lysandra is ever so passionate about expressing her undying love for you," You recite the words from her letter as you watch a subtle glint of knowing in his eyes, "She's the only one who has described her so-called affection for you so intimately!"

As you question your husband's loyalty, an unsettling quiet settles around him. His eyes, cold and calculating, hold yours without a trace of vulnerability. The absence of words from his lips becomes a formidable response, leaving an ominous uncertainty lingering in the air.

His office echoed with a tense hush, broken only by a subtle tapping of his fingers against the armrest in a rhythmic patter. "For god's sake, Coryo. Say something! Who is she?" The slip of his nickname makes you swallow.

"I won't entertain your accusation. She's merely an admirer, nothing more! Have you finished exhausting yourself with this matter, wife?" Coriolanus seethes, abruptly standing up as he gathers his papers, opens his drawer, shoves them in, and slams it shut with such force that you swore you felt it in your bones.

"Is there something your hiding from me?" There was a tense silence that followed your question, Snow's features contorted with a mix of frustration and defiance. Avoiding eye contact, he clenched his jaw and emitted a sharp exhale. The air was thick with unspoke tension, revealing an anger that simmered beneath the surface.

"I have nothing to hide from you," He says calmly but you knew damn well there was anything but calmness within him. Annoyed and frustrated at the lack of information, you open your mouth again.

'"Throughout our entire marriage, I have done nothing but showed you how grateful I am that you chose me to marry, a district girl. You helped me build a reputation here in the capitol so that I would finally be respected, and now, I ask just one simple thing of you," As you speak your voice wavers slightly, revealing the depth of emotion behind your words. "Who is she to you?"

In mere seconds, Coriolanus storms past you, a blur of motion, leaving you momentarily bewildered as you blink, only to find yourself in the same spot. "Coriolanus!" You yell, spinning around as you follow him. "I've just had about enough of you for today y/n," He spat as he briskly walked up stairs, you following him. Servants who were around hurriedly walk pass, heads down.

He steps into your shared private chamber, adorned with decadent furnishings and overlooking the Capitol. He walks a couple steps before he just stops. His breath came in heavy, rhythmic waves, his chest rising and falling with urgency, leaving you standing frozen at the entrance.

"You know, I think you should go see your family for a little while," He turns around as you felt your heart drop. "What?" Your voice echoed with a helpless tone. "You heard me, I think your family has been missing you in the districts, go pay them a visit. Tell them how grateful you have been that I chose you as the First Lady of Panem, hm?"

He takes purposeful strides to the next room, filled from top to bottom with expensive, lavish pieces of clothing befitting both him and you. Coriolanus then pulls out a travelling trunk. The thought of you going back to district 2 sent shivers up your spine. You knew that everyone there now thinks of you as a traitor.

"What- No- Coryo, I'm not going-" Coriolanus cuts you off with a yell, tears forming in your eyes, "I think you should! Matter of fact, I'll help you start packing." A loud noise comes from the trunk making contact with the floor making you jump, a sob leaving your lips. The trunk opening as he starts aggressively pulling your clothes from the black velvety hangers, tossing them into the trunk.

"Coryo- please. Don't make me go back there," You fall to you knees in front of the trunk as your shaky hands remove the pieces of clothing from it. "Yeah, well I think a few months in the districts, away from your lavish life here, will make you realise how easy it is that I can send you back there." He forcefully takes your chin in between his thumb and index as your glassy eyes stare back at his icy, raging, blue eyes.

"Please, please don't send me back there-" Your beg becomes interrupted as he drops his grip on you and yells out the door, "Simon! Get the train ready now for Y/n to go back home!" He calls out to his assistant who answers out a "Of course Mr. President," You let out another sob as you rest your head on the pile of clothing.

Coriolanus glances over his shoulder, his breaths lingering in the air, he could hear your quiet pleas. There's a yearning within him, a desire to approach you and envelop you in a reassuring hug, to tell your that everything is alright and that forgives you. Yet, and unyielding pride restrains him, holding him back from acknowledging that what he was doing was wrong.

With one final look, he turns around, leaving you in a crying mess. Coriolanus was going to send you back to district 2 until the hunger games finished, then, he would come get you and hope that your time there made you ponder your actions, although he knew they were quite reasonable.

Your allegiance to your husband shattered when you were forced onto the train, Coriolanus stood a couple metres away from you as you squirm in the peacekeeper's grips. As you made your way back to a place you once called home, a quiet determination settled within you as you hatched a plan that would not only expose Coriolanus' betrayal, but also allow you to reclaim a piece of your shattered identity.

~

As the Reaping day approached, you made a choice that sent shockwaves through the carefully orchestrated world of Panem. With a steady hand, you inscribed your own name on a slip of paper and placed it in the glass ball, committing yourself to the Hunger Games.

On the day of the Reaping, the Capitol Square buzzed with anticipation, the districts, not so much. Coriolanus, very much unaware of his wife's hidden actions, stood in front of the dignitaries on the stage.

The customary ceremony began, the escort pulls a slip pf paper from the glass ball, announcing the male tribute who would face the Capitol's twisted version of justice.

As the tension mounted, the escort unfolded a slip of paper and read aloud, "Y/n Snow." A gasp rippled through the crowd, and Coriolanus's face contorted with disbelief. Time seemed to free as he processed the shock of seeing his wife's name called out. Surely there was a mistake.

The realisation hit him like a sledgehammer, and anger boiled within him, mixing with the shock and confusion as the crowd erupted in whispers. A woman of Capitol elegance was now standing among the district 2 residents.

You weave through the rows of people, maintaining a stoic expression. As you step up on the stage, your eyes land on the camera a couple feet away from you where you know Snow was watching back in the Capitol.

Coriolanus stared at your face and in that moment, he saw the resolve and defiance that had replaced the hurt in your eyes. The Capitol, known for its love of spectacle, witnessed an unprecedented turn of events. Coriolanus Snow, the powerful President, was rendered speechless as his own actions came back to haunt him in the cruelest twist of fate.

[ayo-edebiri]

The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds & Snakes (2023) + text posts