#the most adequate christmas ever | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

atrwriting · 5 months

Text

future problems — coriolanus snow x fem!wife!reader

hi everyone :) jumping on the bandwagon

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

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

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

anyways… here is future problems:

he never wanted to get married.

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

despised them.

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

and it would be you.

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

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

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

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

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

but then… oh, then…

then he saw your smile.

oh, your smile.

your fucking smile.

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

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

no one.

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

and it was… until he was sick.

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

however, he did not expect one problem.

and that would be you.

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

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

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

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

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

but he couldn’t finish the thought.

because you walked in.

smelling like fucking lilacs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he scrunched his eyes at the door, swallowing hard.

however, he didn’t understand why.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he had to know. he had to.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

why. why. why.

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

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

the act would drop. it always did.

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

and he fucking hated himself for it.

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

but you had kept reading for him.

he grew angry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

that would have to be righted immediately.

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

they always slip.

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

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

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

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

"good evening," you greeted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

so he went with what was natural: manipulation.

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

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

“what troubles you?” he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“please,” he answered and nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

for research purposes, of course. only research purposes,

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

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

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

how had he not expected this?

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

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

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

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

good and honest. how fucking unfortunate.

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

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

he hated himself for the lilacs.

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

however, it didn’t.

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

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

he knew what he had to do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“which one are you?” coriolanus inquired.

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

now was the time.

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

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

damn, he thought. didnt bite.

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

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

he nodded.

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

“i don’t understand.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

oh.

you invited him in to… to…

that he had not expected.

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

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

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

what was he to do?

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

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

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

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

he reasoned a reward was in order.

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

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

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

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

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

he shut the door behind him, keeping your gaze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he jumped then. “teeth,” he spat.

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

a low hum filled his chest.

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

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

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

you had to do something.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you nodded, looking into his eyes through the mirror.

he cocked an eyebrow.

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

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

oh… you were done for.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you grasped onto him and threw yourself back.

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

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

his breaths were heavy, similar to yours.

“corio…” you whimpered, almost whining.

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

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

“what’re you sorry for?” he demanded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i promise,” you returned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he chuckled darkly. "watch it, sweetheart."

---

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

-L xooxoxooxox

#corio smut #coriolanus smut #coriolanus snow smut #corio snow smut #corio fic #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x you #corio snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus fic #coriolanus imagine #corio imagine #the hunger games #lucy gray #sejanus plinth #young coriolanus snow

9K notes · View notes

aethon-recs · 8 months

Note

Hi! Thank you for all your recs. I have downloaded most of them and read most of them during my 2 weeks family vacation. They were great. I was wondering if you could recommend me any tomarry crack fics that are hilarious.

This was such a fun ask, thank you for sending this in! I had a ton of fun revisiting some old favorites in this ship that made me laugh and cry-laugh and then laugh some more. As I was rereading and sorting through the fics on this list, I noticed a few recurring themes that came up... coffeeshop AUs, social media fics, funeral-themed fics(!???), and a myriad of food-themed fics.

I really hope you enjoy this selection of hilarious silly clever witty cracky takes on Tomarrymort 🤍

Tomarrymort Crack Recs

A Slice of Heaven by jellybeantarot (M, 3k, complete)

Tom is a sex worker under an agency that masks as a pizzeria, Harry orders a large sausage pizza, and yep, that's a dick in a pizza box.

almost got in a knife fight after work (a thread) / things i’ve learned since dating knife boy (a follow-up thread) by chaoscookiescrimes (T, 2k, complete)

just Harry @'thechosenone' All im saying is a pocketknife is a purchase you’ll almost never regret.

and they were roommates by @purplemineralwater (M, 3k, complete)

Tom and Harry, roommates and stars of Gogglebox, are adored by their fans. Unbeknown to them, the fans of the show want them to be more than friends.

cam and get it by @swoontodeath (E, 3k, WIP)

Harry Potter isn't one for pornography. He's got a perfectly adequate imagination, thank you very much, not to mention a fully functional right hand. One accidental glimpse of Tom Riddle's arse, though, threatens to change everything.

Coffee Moste Evile by @wynnefic (T, 4k, complete)

After graduating Hogwarts, Tom finds work at Borgin & Burke's, where he diligently sells the darkest of arts(-themed coffee and pastries).

Dark Lord Coffee by @being-luminous (T, 4k, complete)

In which Voldemort runs his empire from a coffee shop, and wizards are generally very ridiculous.

Dearly Beloved by @wynnefic (T, 3k, complete)

Worn down after countless demands, Harry breaks and finally goes on a date with the incredibly ostentatious, vain, and self-absorbed Tom Marvolo Riddle the Third. A few days later, he attends Tom's funeral, which goes much better.

Do You Want Fries With That? (part 1) / Tom's Time Has Fry-nally Come (part 2) by jellybeantarot (T, 16k, complete)

Harry really needed some money, Dumbledore needed someone to dress up as Wendy, and Tom was the only one with the desperation to be Ronald McDonald.

found you sleeping in my coffin by @the-wig-is-a-metaphor (M, 6k, complete)

Harry gets turned into a vampire. For better or worse, Tom is there to help.

Full circle by tetsurashian (NR, 67k, WIP)

Harry and Tom’s souls are tied together. Which is why they’re in this endless loop of rebirth. At some point, they stopped caring and just started fucking with people.

Harry James [Redacted] by @duplicitywrites (T, 24k, WIP)

It had been three weeks since Harry had mistakenly landed in the 1970s, given his name to Dumbledore as Harry James, and been re-Sorted as a Slytherin. He's now broken the timeline, busted his parents' first date, and potentially botched his chances of ever being born. And, just maybe, he's also caught the attention of a certain rising Dark Lord.

Harry Potter and the—Well, Anything But This by @cindle-writes (E, 21k, WIP)

It’s 12 years after the war has ended that Death sends Harry back in time to fix the timeline and save his soulmate. Except there's one catch. Harry has to start over again from his first year.

Hiss Hiss by @vdoshu (G, 1k, complete)

Harry goes to buy himself a pet for Christmas. Tom sees this as an opportunity.

Inventing Paradoxes (part 1) / Deconstructing Paradoxes (part 2) by @perhaps-sunlight (G, 75k, complete)

When budding Dark Lord Tom Riddle overhears a prophecy predicting his demise at the hands of Harry Potter, he hatches a devious and brilliant plan: befriend the enemy, master the power-that-he-knows-not, and then eliminate him.

Keeping Your Human-Child Horcrux Happy in Captivity; A Guide to Enrichment (part 1) / The Horcrux Hotline (part 2) by @cannibalinc (M, 9k, complete)

A self-improvement series for Dark Lords with troublesome human-horcruxes.

Local Preteens Entrap Murderous Wraith (You Won’t Believe What Happens Next) by @being-luminous (T, 22k, complete)

Harry, Ron, and Hermione discover a spell. They decide to perform it, and no one is pleased with the result.

Magically Delicious by @dividawrites, @duplicitywrites (E, 10k, complete)

Draco Malfoy is selling 'Voldemort Bathwater Boxes' at Hogwarts for questionable, unknown reasons. Harry is more curious than he should be, and this has disastrous consequences for everyone... but mostly for Harry.

no amount of therapy can help by @the-wig-is-a-metaphor (G, 2k, WIP)

The entire internet is aware of occultist youtuber Lord Voldemort's infatuation with niche content creator JustHarry. The entire internet is baffled.

no helping hand by TheOnceandFutureQueenofTarts (M, 2k, complete)

Harry just wants to have a wank; Voldemort just wants to make that as difficult and unsatisfying as possible.

Once a Paw a Time by @youlighttheskyfanfiction (T, 3k, complete)

In which Tom is still Tom, and Harry is a black cat intent on making Tom miserable. Or happy. Who knows? Certainly not Harry the cat who is absolutely just a normal cat.

Oversight by @dividawrites (E, 21k, WIP)

Voldemort’s resurrection ritual doesn’t go as smoothly as he’d planned. He requires assistance and there’s only one person he can ask—the boy tied to his father’s gravestone.

Prison Blues by @metalomagnetic (E, 68k, WIP)

Harry and Voldemort find themselves locked up in a mysterious prison.

r/AITA by @seagate-blog (G, 3k, complete)

A budding relationship seen through the eyes of Reddit posts.

Right in Front of My Salad? by IceLynx (T, 2k, complete)

In which Draco Malfoy is dead in the kitchen, Harry is regretting moving in with his boyfriend, and Tom has never been more in love.

Stories Told at Your Funeral by IceLynx (G, 5k, complete)

Tom Riddle fakes his death. To Harry Potter, the man in charge of Tom's funeral, it's all very vexing. Harry might be an undertaker, but this is a very different undertaking.

Terms and Conditions May Apply by @duplicitywrites (T, 17k, WIP)

Lord Voldemort gets one chance at a new life. This new chance comes with a lot of conditions.

The Potter Problem by Icefall (T, 8k, complete)

During his twenty-fourth time loop, Lord Voldemort meets Harry Potter at a Muggle nightclub.

The Way to a Man’s Heart by @mosiva (T, 26k, complete)

Tom has an unknown nemesis. Harry has Tom’s lunch.

The Voice of Victory by @vdoshu (T, 3k, complete)

Lord Voldemort loves a good villain speech. Harry’s just the sort to interrupt him.

Thigh High by @kushimanii (T, 400, complete)

There, covering Harry’s long, smooth legs, were the most horrifying things Tom had ever seen. And Harry was lying in their bed with them. Tom knew what his new Boggart was.

Until Midnight Comes by @dividawrites (E, 26k, complete)

A few years after the war Harry reluctantly attends a party at Malfoy Manor. He drinks a few too many and runs into a handsome man called Tom. What happens after is definitely not a drunken error in judgement—it’s love at first, blurry sight instead.

Welcome to the Cultys by @duplicitywrites (E, 12k, WIP)

Harry had two main regrets in his life: 1. Asking the question “What if I set up a mock awards show to get cult leaders to show up for my thesis study?” 2. Responding with “That is hilarious” when Ron had suggested they call the awards show 'The Cultys'.

Would You Still Love Me? by @chiocchi (M, comic/artwork, WIP)

"Harry, would you still love me if I was a snake?" Harry knows how this question works. No matter how deranged and unreasonable it is, he has to say yes. A notion he may come to regret once Tom's questions start to get darker and oddly specific.

yer a monster fucker, harry by @exarite (M, 3k, complete)

Voldemort suggests they fake a relationship. It's a reasonable suggestion, so of course Harry says yes.

#tomarrymort #tomarry #harrymort #aethon recs #tomarry recs #tomarrymort recs #harrymort recs #hp fic recs #ao3 recs #fanfic recs #crack #crack recs #crackfic #tomarrymort crack

214 notes · View notes

saltymongoose · 1 year

Note

hello! I was wondering if you got my request! if you didn't, it was basically about yandere Phobos spoiling you, getting you anything you even glance at and doesn't make you lift a finger. Your a god! let him treat you like one!

Hello Anon! :) I received this request while I was writing some other Phobos stuff a while back, but I decided to make a separate set just for this topic. Hope you like these, Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! <3

Phobos Spoils the Player ft. (Phobos + The Nexus Core)

(TW: Yandere, Obsessive Behavior, Mentions of violence, Religious Fanaticism (from Phobos, of course))

"All-encompassing" has always been the most suitable term to use for the Director of the Nexus Core's devotion to you. It permeates every fiber of his being, with each order he gives and each action he takes being diligently carried out with you in mind. Every step forward for Nevada, every inkling of true progress contained in all of the Nexus Core's experiments that he fostered, were made in the hope of making you - his God - genuinely proud of what his life's work would become. That's not even to mention the shrine of goods and personal effects he amassed to make his worship of you that much more effective.

The effort he went through just for the chance at getting your clear approval wasn’t something to scoff at, especially since nobody in the Nexus Core could remember a time when Phobos put anyone above himself. An effort that would only intensify once he finally had a chance to show his reverence for you in person.

While you might've insisted that there's no need to make others worship you (despite how you're entirely deserving of it in his view), he'll make it clear to everyone around that you're truly something to behold nonetheless. His gentleness is nearly unmatched, and his sharp glares in response to anyone treating you without what he considers adequate respect is enough proof of this goal of his. If those in the Nexus Core call him Director, and might even refer to him as their rightful God Emperor (if they're trying to be extra nice with the hopes of getting a holiday bonus), then you should naturally be regarded as higher than that.

Until you tell him to stop, he'll make sure that his people bow their heads in respect, and generally stay out of your way. "Speak only when spoken to" was drilled into their heads days before your arrival, and the tightening of their Director's hand on the pommel of his sword is enough of a threat to adhere to that. In his eyes, you probably shouldn't be socializing with the lowly grunts of his organization anyway; you're too high up to do that.

Of course, you contradict this (as it's entirely too stifling and uncomfortable to be treated like you're some priceless gem), and the Nexus workers appreciate it. Your own exasperated, if not slightly amused, commentary on every interaction they have with their Director makes them more comfortable with being around you. Although judging by the rather harsh punishments laid out for their coworkers, it'd be best not to get too close.

However, the Nexus Core's newfound respect for you, due in no small part to how you reign Phobos in, only makes them happier to accommodate you as he asks (demands). It is at his request that you have all your necessary tasks completed by them, from cooking when you're there to even trivial things like making your bed in your suite.

(It's tedious sometimes, but so much better than what they usually have to do, so you'd be surprised by how okay with it they are.)

Really, Phobos will try to make it so you don't exactly have to do anything at all. A person as important as you deserves to have these things attended to, and he's the best person to provide you with this. He's an ever-dutiful follower with incredible, far-reaching power; who else could make it so you never have to lift a finger for anything?

Furthermore, Phobos' tendency to seek out only the finest of things hasn't been stopped by your arrival either, the only difference being that now he gives them directly to you instead of placing them on your shrine. You've never seen so many precious stones and metals in one place, and you honestly didn't know how to react when he prompted you for any jewelry you might want to be made out of it. (Since it seems he apparently just realized that you have nowhere to put them all. Unless you just stay with him from now on, which is also an option he'd highly recommend.)

It definitely took some getting used to on your part, to always have the very best of everything that Nevada could offer just handed to you without complaint. The softest of bedspreads, the highest quality of clothing, and the best food from the most lauded of chefs; no expense would be spared to give you everything your acolyte knew you deserved.

(Phobos doesn't even care if he has to...extract them from their previous places of work to get them right where they should be, just to be useful. It's an honor to serve you anyway, and the chefs should realize that quickly. For their own safety, if nothing else.)

It's also evident whenever you go out, on those occasions where you decide to spend some time exploring Nexus City (with the Director by your side, naturally). It was actually really fun; it’d been too long since you were free to go wherever you wanted. The other grunts in the city were a little perturbed but decided to ignore it. Judging by the cold glares of warning leader of their city seemed to give them when they so much as looked in your general direction, it was best left alone. But they grew to welcome you, as Phobos tended to be very generous whenever you accompanied him.

He’s willing to do anything for you, and this includes spending money. If you even glance at something for a millisecond too long, he’s already approaching the clerk to get it for you, no matter how expensive it is. He'd insisted on giving you things without you asking, so if it's clear to him that you want something, it's only right that he gives it to you. As your most loyal subject, it's only the most logical course of action for him.

The fact that you get so flustered and even try to refuse his gifts only motivates him to go further with it. Although it makes him feel oddly warm that he's the first to really treat you how he knows you deserve to be, it also annoys him that those in your world were such fools to not realize how they should regard you. So he'll just make his care for you so evident and obvious through his gestures that it'll make you realize you don't need anyone else.

You said you didn't want anyone else worshiping you like him, so you'll obviously agree with him on this eventually, right? It makes perfect sense.

("Phobos, I really don't need any of those," you tried to explain, tugging on his sleeve as he took the bags from the nervous grunt at the counter. It had been some cute plushies you eyed for long enough to get his attention, and he took the attention as a sign that you wanted them.

"Your Grace, whether you "need" them is irrelevant," he responded, turning to give you an uncharacteristically warm look. "Nevada's goods are yours; so long as you desire them, I'll do my best to get them for you, no matter what they are or how necessary they might be. Your needs are something that I'll take upon myself; you don't have to worry about that regardless. But as your acolyte, I can't leave you wanting for anything either. Please understand this."

You held his gaze for a moment before looking away, scratching the back of your neck with a silent nod. 'He's so stubborn,' you mused to yourself as you felt heat creeping across your cheeks. It's charming, in an odd way. Though you couldn't stop from feeling guilty over how much he spent on you, you guessed you could put up with it if it made him so happy - something that was obvious from how he purrs when you accept it.)

The way that Phobos spoils you is a way for him to show you just how much he cares for you and your happiness, so of course he’d be happy to drain the Nexus’ budget for anything your heart desires. (Or that he believes you desire, anyway.)

He loves you in a way he's never loved anyone else before, and he'll surpass everyone else in his effort to try and prove it to you. Besides, what fool would anyone deny a God what they're entitled to, regardless of their status in your following? You deserve to relax, so just let him, your eternally loyal God Emperor, take care of your every want and need, okay?

#tw: yandere #you *looking at plushies in a random store window*: “Huh I didn't know dogs looked like that in Nevada.”#Phobos: 💳 💥 💳 💥 💳 💥#The grunts seeing Phobos spoil you: “...Am I hallucinating?”#yandere phobos #phobos x reader #phobos #player!reader #self aware m:pn au #samau #yandere madness combat #yandere madcom #madness combat x reader #madcom x reader #my writing

303 notes · View notes

fandomfaeofveryfewf4cks · 5 months

Text

5 times Merlin got Arthur a good Christmas present and 1 time Arthur got Merlin the best Christmas present

Contains: temporary angst, banter, merthur, banter, mentioned argwen (not end game),banter, no smut, banter, Christmas Carol levels of effort applied to the happy ending, banter

ao3: 5 times Merlin got Arthur a good Christmas present and 1 time Arthur got Merlin the best Christmas present

The Start of a tradition

"MERlin."

Merlin sighs at the clear sign of an unavoidable list of chores or ribbing he's about to get.

"Yes, sire." He turns to see Arthur peeking out from behind the changing curtain, shirtless, of course, before he steps out and starts strutting over. He grabs Merlin by the shoulder and says as he drags him behind the curtain, "What is this?"

"Ah, that." Merlin notes.

"I know your brain is the size of a pickled egg, Merlin, but surely there was enough room to store an adequate amount of vocabulary to describe all the unusual things you get up to for when you get caught doing them."

The unusual thing in this particular instance was the pile of assorted items wrapped in some of Arthur's old shirts.

"Well," Merlin replied, "you know that holiday Christmas?"

"I've heard of it," Arthur replies with raised eyebrows, awaiting what he's sure will be an entertaining explanation if not an original one.

"Well, it is a tradition to give gifts to people on this holiday, and there are a number of kind, hardworking people I know who I thought might enjoy a little festive token of my appreciation for them."

"And you decided to hide them in my chambers?"

"Well, Gaius has a habit of popping into my room unannounced and you've been in council meetings all day, so I figured this was a good place to wrap and store them for a bit until I could find an effective way of sneaking them into a good hiding spot."

"Mmhm. And the shirts?"

"Well, it's a shame to waste good paper when there's more reusable and decorative material at hand."

"I see. Well, ignoring your complete disregard for whose chambers these are and whose shirts those are, I suppose it is a rather thoughtful thing to do for the recipients of those gifts."

If Merlin, wasn't mistaken, Arthur may have just complimented him. How peculiar. "Thank you, sire."

"Especially since you typically have no thoughts at all."

"Of course, sire," Merlin said with minimum sincerity (which, in this case, is less than none).

"And in the case of the surprise being spoilt for me already, you can go ahead and give me my present now."

Arthur had that look on his face like he had set up Merlin to get in trouble, not that Merlin ever needed help getting into trouble.

"Your present?"

Arthur pouted comedically. "Don't tell me you forgot to get me one."

"Well, to be fair, I did say I only got gifts for kind and hardworking people."

Arthur then had his most shocked trying-not-to-smile-face break free. That was one of Merlin's favorites.

"But as a matter of fact, I did get you something."

Arthur suddenly looked skeptical. "Really?"

"Yes." He walks over to the laundry basket he had brought up earlier with Arthur's freshly cleaned clothes, and dug around for two socks, which he proceded to ball up haphazardly and place in Arthur's hands before stepping away with an exaggerated bow.

Arthur quirked his lips and squinted his eyes the way he does when Merlin calls him a word he doesn't know. Another one of Merlin's favorite looks that Arthur does. "Gee, thanks."

"You're welcome," Merlin says gleefully. "Shall I finish getting you ready for bed, sire?"

Arthur sighs and rolls his eyes fondly as he walks over to where Merlin has started turning down the sheets.

"You know, gifts are usually something one does not already own," he says as he lays part of the way down.

"Well, I thought it would be a nice reminder to appreciate what you already have, sire." Merlin said with a cheeky smirk as they stared into each others eyes, closer than they really ought to be. Merlin breaks eye-contact first and gives the covers a last pat before extinguishing all the candles except the one immediately by Arthur's bedside, which Arthur will blow out when he's ready.

"Good night, Arthur. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Merlin." Arthur says with an exasperated sigh. Merlin shuts the door on his way out and Arthur lays his head down to feel something hard underneath his pillow.

"Ow! What the?!" He shoots up and yanks the pillow away, to find a small box.

He picked it up and saw there was a note that said "For the best dollophead one could ever have the misfourtune of working for." Arthur huffed out a laugh. He opened the box to find it was an assortment of Arthur's favorite sweets. Some of them he hadn't had since he was a child. He remembers telling Merlin about it to prove him wrong when he complained about Arthur having no concept of what makes a sweet actually good.

Arthur smiled to himself. He put the box on his bedside table, tucked the note safely in the bottom of the drawer, and blew out the candle.

2. Penny for your thoughts?

Arthur sat at his desk and pressed his hands to his face, letting out the most exhausted breath of air he'd held all day. He still had three speeches to write for various holiday events in the coming week and a plan for food rations to draw up and later present to the council. He'd already had a long morning of training. It seemed he was now in for a long afternoon.

Suddenly a tray with three scrolls on it was plopped down in front of him with a loud clatter. He looks up into a familiar smiling face. "Hello Merlin."

"Your royal highness."

"What are these?" He asks as Merlin turns to get started on dusting, if you could call his version of it that.

"Drafts for your speeches this week. I'm sure you'll find them quite well-written."

Arthur did his best to contain his surprise. "Oh, you didn't trust that I could write them myself, then?"

"I just had a feeling you were going to ask me to write them, like you always do. Besides, I couldn't bare to let all those people die from boredom by letting you be in charge of what'd come out of your mouth."

"I resent that," albeit halfheartedly, Arthur notes to himself.

Suddenly, a paperweight fell off his desk. Strange, his arm wasn't anywhere near it. He bent over and picked it up. As he did, he heard the sound of something being open and shut. He looked up, but nothing seemed out of place.

"Did you hear that?" Arthur asked.

"Hear what?" Merlin asked back.

"That sound. I could've sworn I heard something."

Merlin gave him a look that told Arthur he didn't believe him. One of his least favorite looks from his manservant. "I think you're just tired, sire. Now, if you'll excuse me. I need to help Gaius with some potions and you have speeches to look over. I'll be back later."

And then Merlin was gone. Arthur looked at the scrolls before him and decided to get things over with. He opened one up and it didn't take long before he found one of the 'jokes' Merlin likes to throw in that would never be appropriate to say as a drunk in the local tavern, let alone as a future king addressing his subjects. Most of the speech was fine, but he certainly wasn't going to refer to himself as "His royal highness, Prince Cabbage Head," nor speak the plans he apparently has to give his manservant a year off.

He can't help but smile to himself as he opened a drawer to retrieve a quill for adding in the things he'd actually say in these places, which he always has to do. He never crosses out Merlin's jokes, though.

He opens the drawer and notices there's something in it that wasn't there before. It was wrapped in one of his old shirts. He picks it up, takes the shirt off of it and sees it's a journal. Nothing anywhere near as extravagant as he's used to. On the first page, is an inscription that reads

"With the face of a toad,

and the voice of a donkey,

here's a place to come up with better jokes,

Because yours are a bit wonky.

Merry Christmas Dollop-head."

He turns another page to find a somewhat poor drawing of a donkey with the face of a toad.

He thinks of the nights when he and Merlin would be sat by a fire on a trip. The calm of the night and the way the firelight cast everything from the tree branches to Merlin's cheekbones in warm shadows would often move him to write a few words of poetry on a scrap of paper.

Merlin is the only person he'd ever admitted to about his hobby. Or rather, the only person who'd found out despite Arthur's best efforts. And he always ribs him about it. Yet, Merlin is the only person Arthur trusts to read his poems without being genuinely unkind about their quality...or even just their existence. Granted there are some poems he wouldn't let anyone read, including Merlin. Especially Merlin.

This notebook would hereafter come with Arthur on trips as often as Merlin would.

3. Two Turtle Doves And a Little Wooden Bird

Arthur was currently preparing to face his worse nightmare. Dancing. In public, no less.

Every year, the five kingdoms held a winter ball to celebrate another year of peace and prosperity as well as to show that they would be ready and willing to aid and provide for one another in times of need, such as in the winter when food is scarce and travel is difficult.

This year, Camelot was hosting, which Merlin loved because it meant they didn't have to trek through the snow for days on end. He also loved it because part of this sacred tradition was for the hosts to start the ball with a dance.

Therefore, Merlin was getting the wonderful opportunity to watch Arthur prance around in frilly clothes. Finally, he gets payback for that stupid hat.

However, he enters Arthur's chambers to find him nervously practicing the steps, looking like he's going to throw up.

Okay, maybe payback is going to have to wait.

"You alright, Arthur?"

Arthur snaps his eyes to Merlin like he's just had an epiphany.

"Merlin!"

"Yes, that is my name. Woah!"

Merlin suddenly found himself getting dragged to the center of the room, Arthur circling him like he's checking the quality of a horse. This is strange, even by Merlin's standards. "Arthur?"

Arthur suddenly stops, his hands gesturing pointedly and his face looking like he's about to make Merlin do one of his least favorite chores. "I need you to help me practice for the First Dance. I only have a few days left to practice it and you're feminine enough to make a half-decent dance partner."

Merlin was certain he heard that wrong. "Come again?"

Arthur huffs annoyedly. "I need you to dance with me so that I don't make a fool out of myself in front of all the five kingdoms during the first Winter Ball where I'll be presenting myself as king."

"Ah." Merlin should've known. Every "first" Arthur has gone through as king so far has led to him being a huge ball of nervous energy. Merlin couldn't blame him. He knows perfectly well how much the weight of the land can take a toll on one's shoulders. And he's known Arthur long enough to understand the toll it's taken on him, in particular.

"Arthur, I'm sure you'll do fine. Besides, you have days to perfect the dance and you'll have Gwen to help keep you in time with the music."

"Or to be humiliated by her oaf of a husband. I've already shoveled so much responsibility on her by making her queen; a queen half the council disapproves of solely for the circumstances of her birth. I can't ask her to make up for all my short-comings on top of everything else. I need to be as much someone for her to rely on as she is someone I rely on."

To say it's rare for Arthur to be emotionally vulnerable is an understatement of great and prophetic proportions. This is always where Merlin needs to tread carefully.

"Gwen knew what she was getting into when she married you. She knew you were a leader of one of the greatest kingdoms in the world. She knew you are constantly having to talk your way into the minds and hearts of your fellow leaders, the council members with dated views on what is good and just, and even your own people, many of whom are used to your father's way of doing things, if not supportive of them.

Arthur settles a bit, though still with a tightness to his shoulders and stress in his eyes.

"She knew she would gain an immense amount of responsibility and have her honor and capabilities picked at viciously. She knew she would have to get used to protocols and traditions of which there are thousands to learn about and keep in mind at all times.

"She also knew she'd have you at her side. She knows you love her and would do anything to ensure her happiness and well-being. She knows if there is anything she can't handle, which you and I both know is not a very long list,"

He got a small smile and hum of agreement out of Arthur for that.

"She knows she can come to you for anything. She does rely on you, Arthur. As much as you rely on her, and you know why?"

Arthur's eyes light up with hopeful curiousity.

"Because you've already proven to her that she can. You continue to prove it every day."

It's true. Merlin has seen how a touch of his hand calms Gwen when the crowds or the sternness of the council gets too overwhelming. He's seen how one shared look from either of them can change the other's scared expression to battle-ready. They were both born to be leaders. Putting them together only made them each more powerful and the kingdom more secure.

"She also married you knowing you couldn't dance for the life of you, so I really wouldn't worry about disappointing her there. I'm sure her expectations aren't that high."

A laugh burst out of Arthur at that. He'd barely had stopped laughing by the time he said "Thank you Merlin."

Merlin smiled back at him, then looked away as though considering something. "You know...Here." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small wooden carving of a bird, similar looking to the bird that is engraved on his mother's sigil. Very similar, indeed.

"I have a carving of a dragon, one of the few things I ever received from my father. Whenever, I hold it, I feel protected. Hopeful. Like I am more... capable and strong than I sometimes... feel I am."

Merlin takes a moment to swallow and gather the words he'll say next. Being emotionally vulnerable isn't all too easy for him either.

"It's also just something of a good luck charm. I just sort of figured, if you ever felt like you needed an extra bit of luck, it might be nice to have something to remind you of your own strengths. The things that make you a good king, a good husband, a good son. A good friend."

He looks Arthur in the eyes when he says this.

"You truly are destined for great things Arthur. You have everything you need within yourself to continue being a great king. And you don't have to do everything on your own. You have people who care about you. People who trust you and who will never judge you for whatever missteps you may make because they know you're only human. And that you're true-hearted enough to set things right when you need to. The people who matter will never abandon you for something as small as not satisfying the impossible standards of stuffy old farts."

"You know, you really shouldn't insult them like that," Arthur comments.

"Fine, I'll insult them even more creatively, then."

Arthur rolls his eyes. They land on the steadfast gaze of Merlin's, as strong in hue as they are in character.

Merlin holds out the small wooden bird. Arthur takes it and observes it. The detail on the wings. The familiarity of the shape. The smooth texture. He quickly glances up at Merlin before saying "You made this yourself?"

"I did." he answers softly.

"So wood-carving is one of those hidden talents you're always going on about, huh."

They smirk at one another, knowingly.

"One among many."

"I'm sure."

They're silent for a moment longer before there's a knock on the door and a guard reminds them of a meeting Arthur is being summoned for.

A few days later, the ball would take place and Arthur would actually have fun dancing with Gwen. He also, would only trip once, totally on purpose, to make Gwen smile amusedly, which she does. After a few dances, however, he's had enough. Gwen had too, and she goes to make charming conversation with their guests for a while, occasionally taking a break to converse with her ladies in waiting, many of whom, she's been friends with since before she was queen.

Arthur makes pleasant small talk with everyone as much as he can, but it is exhausting. He tries to get away so that he can banter with Merlin and just breathe, just to calm down a bit. He can't though. Everyone wants to talk to him and the room is so full of people dancing and milling about that he can't even see where Merlin is. He reaches a hand casually into his pocket and takes hold of the wooden token Merlin had given him. He thinks of what Merlin said. About his father, about their friends, about hope and strength.

Arthur will never tell Merlin this, but he truly must be a genius, because that little bird really did end up making him feel better.

4. Practice Makes Perfect

Arthur holds Excalibur in his hands. It truly is a magnificent sword. If ever there was a blade to convince you a legend was real, it was this one.

Still, Arthur has a hard time believing Merlin was being entirely truthful about the whole thing. He watches as Merlin speaks with some of the villagers. There really was a lot to do. Still, there was something he wanted to do that he didn't want to risk losing the chance to do.

"Merlin!"

Merlin immediately looks his way, excuses himself from the people he was talking to, and walks over.

Arthur reaches into his pocket and before Merlin can get a word out, shoves his old sword into his hands, much to Merlin's annoyance.

"Is polishing your sword really a priority right now, Arthur? I thought we-"

"That's not my sword."

"What?" Merlin blinked at him.

"That's not my sword. This is," he says, grasping the hilt of Excalibur.

Merlin looked delightfully flabbergasted.

"That's your sword." he continues.

"Arthur, you know I'm rubbish with sword-fighting. What am I supposed to do with this?"

"You're supposed to hit people with it. Preferably enemies. Consider it your Christmas present this year."

Merlin was flailing his mouth open and closed like a dying fish. Arthur told him as such.

"Arthur," Merlin called as he followed Arthur, who was resolutely walking away. He stammers for words. "Why your sword?"

"Practice makes perfect. Or, in your case, it ought to at least make you able to fight something bigger than an ant without getting knocked on your bottom. Besides, It's a practical gift. Don't I always get you practical gifts?"

"Yes, warm clothes and books, things I use regularly. But I hardly use a sword on a regular basis. It's not that I'm not grateful, don't get me wrong, but I just want to understand, why the change in routine?"

Arthur stops and looks at Merlin, then at the sword that he's had for quite some time. It was one of his favorites. Well-balanced, easy to wield, and not too flashy. Excalibur was clearly symbolic enough to justify the gold inlay and engravings, making it quite clear that this was not just a king's sword, but the king's sword. Arthur could feel that this sword was meant to be in his hands. Nonetheless, "That sword has served me well, Merlin. Even if your skillsets are lacking, and I worry for the safety of yourself and those around you when you have any sort of weapon in your hands, we're going to need all the help we can get now. And I trust that sword to be the most helpful to you in battle. So just take it."

He looks at Merlin intensely, making it clear that he won't back down.

Merlin sees this, and gives in with a nod. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Later, after they get back home and finally have time to rest, Arthur will find a new journal wrapped up for him; He had filled the last one and, evidently, Merlin had noticed, which wasn't very surprising.

This time, the inscription reads,

"Even if my skillsets are lacking,

Yes, I remember that slight.

Stop telling me I'm slacking,

I can still beat you with words if not in a sword fight.

Merry Christmas Clot-pole."

5. I'm Sorry

It was the first Christmas without Arthur. Merlin did as he often did these days, and visited the lake. He kneels by the edge, feeling the cold mud soak through the knees of his trousers, which he found vaguely comforting.

"It's that time of year again," He speaks aloud. "I've had the hardest time thinking of what to give you."

"When you gave me your sword, you told me you trusted it to be the most helpful to me in battle. I had given you a sword that I had hoped would be most helpful to you in battle. In the end we probably would've been better off if we'd have swapped, I think."

"I went through your journals the other day. I found...some poems, that sort of explained why you were always hesitant to let me so much as glance at the damn things, when I'd already seen a number of your other poems. I must admit, I feel like a fool for...well, for a lot of things. For my part in turning Morgana into a monster. For pushing Mordred to her. For not telling you about my magic sooner..."

"For not telling you-" He's near sobbing now, his tears falling to wet the ground even further.

"For not telling you everything. For all the mistakes I made. For not being able to save you."

"I'm sure, if you were here, you'd be underwhelmed at my choice of gift for you, but I truly think it's the best I can do."

"...I'm sorry, Arthur. That's my gift to you. I'm just sorry, for telling you 'there could be no place for magic in Camelot.' I'm sorry for the lies and the secrets. I'm sorry for letting you go anywhere near that battlefield. I'm sorry."

"I'm so sorry."

+1. All I Want For Christmas Is You

Merlin would visit the lakeside every year, sometimes for a very long while, sometimes for just a few moments. Eventually, he'd barely find the strength to stop by at all.

Several hundred years after that, he'd get a job as a mail carrier, with a route that goes right by the lake. He walks that route now, in the winter cold and pauses for a breath. He doesn't look. He knows it's there. He knows he's not there. Not yet. Possibly not ever, at this point.

He continues along his route, as he has done over and over again, and will continue to do so over and over again until something forces him to change his habits as things do over and over again.

Until then, he keeps walking.

On this particular day, however, he must have been due for something to change again because something catches his eyes and ears. He hears the splash of water. He sees a glint of something shiny rising out of the lake. His heart stops. He drops his bag. He runs. His joints ache. He de-ages himself as he runs, so he can get to the lake faster. He gets there. He gets there and sees a fully armored, soaking wet, King Arthur of Camelot standing before him. They lock eyes. Arthur says his name and Merlin barely keeps from knocking him back into the water as he hugs him. Arthur hugs him back just as fiercely.

One year later, Arthur and Merlin will stand together in their house that stands somewhere close enough to the city that they can easily visit many of their reincarnated friends, who'd found wonderful lives for themselves in this new modern world(including Gwen and Lance, who had already been married for two years by the time everyone's memories came back), but far enough out that they can be left alone when they wish it.

It turns out that everyone aside from Arthur had been born into this new time and had new lives. When Arthur came back, they all regained their memories, and were all happy to see one another (mostly). Morgana and Mordred would each have a number of very long discussions with everyone. Over time apologies from all parties would be accepted.

In the meantime, Arthur and Merlin would be together, talking with each other, healing together, loving one another. Soon enough another Christmas is right around the corner and Arthur says, "I may need help finding a gift for you. I truly can't fathom how one can buy things with that same small card over and over and over. Not to mention the fact that your money is basically invisible now. It's ridiculous."

Merlin chuckles as he lays his head against Arthur's shoulder, the two of them sitting on the couch together as Merlin introduces him to the masterpiece that is "Monty Python and the Holy Grail."

After a moment of thought, he responds "Honestly, I don't think you need to get me anything ever again. You came back. That's all I've wanted for the longest time."

Arthur hugs him more tightly at that. Then he says "You're not getting out of me getting you a gift, by being all sappy."

"And you're not getting out of learning about modern currency by being cute."

"But you admit I'm cute."

"I didn't say that."

"Yes, you did."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did!"

"No, I didn't!"

They quickly end up wrestling each other until they've fully rolled off the couch and soon, it turns into a giggling mess of kisses and holding onto each other for dear life.

Even though he tried his best, Arthur has never been the best at picking out gifts for people. But in Merlin's book, nobody could ever beat the gift he got him that year. Nothing would ever top reuniting with the love of his life and finally living happily ever after.

#bbc merlin #merlin bbc #merlin x arthur #merlin/arthur #merthur #5 plus 1 #fanfic #fanfiction #christmas gifts #the number of headcannons I've shoved into this fic holy fuck #merry christmas #happy holidays #christmas fic

37 notes · View notes

akajustmerry · 6 months

Note

saw ur tag on the silent night gifset, just wondering if u have any more recs for christmas media for people who find christmas miserable 👀❤️

hello! tis a short list but nevertheless. here is a watchlist for cathartic tv/film for people who are just miserable on Christmas ✊🏼

Anna and the Apocalypse (2018). Dir. John McPhail - musical horror film about the world ending on Christmas day and bunch of teens trying to survive. Unironically one of the best movies ever made that is catharticaly miserable about Christmas.

Silent Night (2021). Dir. Camille Griffin - best to go into this knowing as little as possible, but it's sort of a slowburn thriller about a bunch of friends gathering together for the last time.

It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia, s6, ep13: A Very Sunny Christmas - iasip is famously a sitcom about the most miserable terrible losers on Earth so naturally the Christmas episodes are no exception.

Iron Man 3 (2013). Dir. Shane Black. I recently decided this movie is actually very good and even better it's one of the only mcu movies not funded by the military but most importantly it's a movie set at Christmas where the main character is fucking miserable the whole time.

The Family Stone (2005). Dir. Thomas Bezuca - this is probably the most cozy movie on this list cos it does a happy-ish rom com ending for everyone but the preceding 90 minutes are an adequately miserable cringe mess of going home to your family for Christmas

The Bear. Season 2, episode 6: Fishes. This episode of The Bear is a flashback to the last Christmas the Berzatto family were all together. I think it stands well enough on its own to watch it without the rest but oh man this episode felt so real in how it portrayed dysfunctional parents under stress at Christmas I was crying from empathising but also from relief that someone out there Gets It

These are off the top of my head but if I think of more I shall let you know <3

#films #film recommendations #/

15 notes · View notes

theonethatyaks93 · 5 months

Text

Happy Holidays!!

Here's a little one-shot I did just in time for Christmas! I have a link to AO3 if you want to read it there but I'll post it here as well, in case you want to read it that way:

Brain could not fathom what had gotten him to this point. He was struggling to comprehend why he had decided that today, of all days in the year, he’d chosen to admit to Pinky about his personal feelings towards him. It was Christmas, a time for cheer, for good tidings. He couldn’t bare to face rejection today, especially since he’d given up concocting a world domination scheme in favor for…what he supposed was an elaborate confession.

But he couldn’t say it aloud. Not in the slightest. That would require weeks upon weeks of careful planning for Brain to even come close to verbally communicating with his partner in an adequate style. So, he decided to show rather than tell. Which wasn’t his forte in the slightest. He prided himself on his extensive vocabulary, his desire to inform all around him. Yet when it came to talking with Pinky about his non-platonic thoughts, his mind went blank and dry. He supposed a physical gesture would suffice perfectly fine.

The megalomaniac opened the unlocked caged door, a slight waiver in each step he took, his body trembling ever so slightly. The Christmas lights strung all about were calming, but his nerves were high. This would either go extremely well, or... it could signal the end to their friendship. Permanently.

He sighed quietly when he saw Pinky happily dancing with tinsel, finishing the last of the decorating. He seemed to not have a care in the world, his pretty pleasant humming sending shivers down Brain’s spine. He took a deep breath, swallowed heavily, and approached his companion, the blush already forming on his face.

“Pinky, come here now.” Brain tried to sound irritated, but it just sounded like he was unsure and skittish.

This wasn’t going to go well.

The taller mouse gladly set down his tinsel and sauntered over to where Brain was standing, a large grin on his face. “Poit! Hi, Brain! Need somethin’ for your plan thingy? I was just decorating, but I can totally stop and help you!”

Brain rubbed the back of his paw, biting his lip as the words he was trying to say left him. “No, I’m not executing a plan tonight, as bizarre as that sounds, but I appreciate your consideration for assisting me.”

“Oh, alright! Troz! So then, what did you want to tell me Brain?” Pinky clapped eagerly. “Ooh, is it a surprise? Or do I have something in my teeth again. I hate it when that happens!”

“Your teeth are…fine.” Brain reeled the conversation back to where he was initially leading it, mostly so the lingering pink in his cheeks could hopefully dissipate. “I just wanted to show you something…important…yes…very important.”

Why was talking to Pinky so hard today?

Pinky’s eyes widened. Brain could tell his friend was interested in whatever he had prepared and that allowed him to feel somewhat reassured. Maybe this ordeal would go better than he expected.

“Oh, what is it, Brain? Narf! Another super-duper sweet Christmas gift to go with all the other ones you got me? You didn’t have to!”

“You could say that.” Brain felt his stomach churn a little “Think of it as another Christmas present for yourself to add onto your expansive collection.”

Now that he so carelessly phrased his little profession as a gift for Pinky, he could comprehend that his companion’s expectations were raised. The what-if questions popped into his head about the possible scenarios that would occur, some were optimistic, but most were damaging to a catastrophic degree.

“Brain!” The lanky mouse pulled him into a tight embrace, squeezing all the oxygen out from inside him. “Thank you, thank you! I owe ya one!”

Brain wheezed in Pinky’s crushing hold, attempting to move his arms to free himself, but to no avail.

“Pinky…can’t…breathe…stop.”

“Sorry!” Pinky let him go, a sympathetic and embarrassed look on his face. “Sometimes I don’t know me own strength. Troz! Anywhosies, where is this gift for me?”

“It’s a…well…it’s a surprise sort of thing…so I think it would be most beneficial to…” He stopped dead in his tracks when he glanced at Pinky’s soft blue eyes so full of a bright hope. Brain felt the temperature rise around him, the words he was attempting to say catching in his throat. He was extremely uneasy, though he quickly realized that he needed to show Pinky, or his chance would slip away.

Granted, he probably would get an ample number of opportunities in the future, but he’d already pushed these emotions away for far too long. Now or never, he supposed.

Being briefly lost in his stuttering, the shorter mouse finally found his coherent speech again after what seemed like an eternity. “…to close your eyes and just let me guide you to what I want to show you, Pinky. Can you do that?”

“Of course I can close my eyes, silly! I do that to sleep!” Pinky patted Brain’s head gently. “I’m dumb, but I’m not that dumb! Zort!”

“That’s debatable.” Brain retorted with an eyeroll.

“Close your eyes. No peeking.”

Pinky followed Brain’s order with ease, even covering his face with one of his paws to go a bit further. Even that, however, couldn’t restrain his incessant giggling.

Brain fidgeted in his spot, not really confident on where to go next. He looked at Pinky’s other paw, his breath hitching as he reached out to hold it. His blush deepened when he heard Pinky make a shocked gasp as their hands met. “Are you comfortable, Pinky? I’m not holding anything too hard, right?”

“Absolutely, Brain! Nothing to worry about here! Your hand is very soft!”

The mouse sighed and began pulling Pinky along behind him, trying his best to avoid all obstacles in their path. Luckily, it wasn’t far to Brain’s…what he supposed was a gift. At least from Pinky’s perspective.

He only glanced at Pinky once while they walked hand-in-hand (mostly because he didn’t want to see his partner’s endearing face), but as soon as he saw his friend, his anger increased when he caught a tiny glimpse of Pinky’s eyes through his fingers.

“Pinky! I said no peeking! Why can toast follow instructions better than you?”

“M’sorry Brain.” He immediately covered his face again, a sheepish grin ever present on his lips. “I just couldn’t help myself. Poit! I promise I won’t look again.”

Brain groaned but continued to guide his companion to a more secluded area of the room. His heartrate drastically increased, and he could feel sweat forming on his forehead. What he was about to do was extremely risky. It could change everything.

It wasn’t going to work. Pinky would certainly reject these “advances.”

He positioned his partner to where they were standing face-to-face. Brain hastily let go of Pinky’s paw, still not entirely being used to this more intimate handholding. He brushed himself off before the moment of truth, where things were likely going to be altered considerably.

Brain inhaled deeply and suppressed his worries to his best ability. “You can open your eyes now.”

Pinky gladly obliged, removing his hand from his face and opening his blue eyes. He began looking around, a slight bit of confusion lingering in his expression. Brain felt his chest sink a little.

“Brain, I don’t see anything.” Pinky scratched his head for a second before his face lit up. “Did you get me air for Christmas? Troz! Oh, thank you, that’s so thoughtful! I can use it to breathe and…”

“No, Pinky.” Brain covered his companion’s mouth before he could say anything else, though he admitted to being relieved that Pinky’s initial uncertainty had not been as a result to what he actually had planned. He gestured upward, holding his breath as he did so.

Here we go.

A tiny green plant with white berries hung down from a pole, swaying gently in the light breeze that chilled the lab. Brain felt extremely lightheaded as he finally revealed his stab at a confession. But he felt himself almost pass out when he noticed Pinky’s face change from joy to one of…even more confusion? What?

“Uhm, Brain. How’s a plant going to help me breathe? You aren’t making sense. Is everything okay in that big ol’ head of yours?” He rested a paw on Brain’s shoulder.

Great, now he’d have to basically spell everything out for him. Just perfect.

Brain sighed, letting the last string of dignity he had left go and fully allowing a dark red blush to invade his face. “You are mistaken, Pinky. This plant doesn’t aid in breathing. Rather it’s…it’s…mistletoe.” He had to face away from his partner to avoid the awkward conversation that was about to unfold.

His attention was grabbed once again when he heard a quiet squeak from the mouse standing behind him. It was so unusual to hear something so primitive come from his companion. Brain turned around to see Pinky, who looked positively bewildered, eyes widened.

“What did you say, Brain?”

It was his shocked tone. Usually, Pinky would inanely ask Brain to repeat a part of his plan for global conquest, but he would sound optimistic. Pinky was anything from jovial now; rather he was almost quiet.

Brain nervously rubbed his paws together. He wasn’t exactly sure whether Pinky’s reaction was good or bad. “It’s mistletoe, Pinky. Y’know, that Christmas tradition...some people do.” He trailed off as he lost any motivation to keep talking, especially after seeing Pinky’s glance towards him.

He looked so lost, even a little anxious. What was he thinking?

“Brain, I-”

“No, no. Let me finish.” He interrupted his partner, trying his best not to shake like an idiot. “Listen, I’ve been having these…feelings for you as of recently. When it started, how long it’s been going on, I have no reasonable idea. I couldn’t just tell you these personal thoughts. I don’t think I would’ve been able to execute it expertly. So, since it’s Christmas, I decided to…well uhm…show you with this.”

“Hmm-”

Brain silenced him again, but this time, it was by him pressing his lips against Pinky’s. He closed his eyes, doing his best to sink into the kiss like it was the only time he could ever make a move. He heard Pinky elicit a soft gasp, causing him to fall back to reality.

What was he doing?

Brain tore away from Pinky, his heart racing, and his mind spiraling. He’d made a huge mistake; he’d lost something else that he could never get back. He blinked back the tears forming in his eyes as he tried to salvage what little he had left of their relationship. “Pinky, I-I’m sorry for doing that. It was impulsive of me, and I’ve made a grave fault with your emotions. I’ll just leave now for your…”

“Do it again.”

He turned to face his friend, voice fading to only a discreet murmur at what he’d just heard.

“Pardon?”

“Do it again, Brain.”

Oh. Oh.

He couldn’t have meant…that. Could he?

Just to clarify, Brain spoke up, using all his willpower not to make assumptions. “As in what…”

“Can you kiss me again, Brain.” Pinky cut him off abruptly.

This wasn’t a joke. He really wanted this.

Brain felt his ears pin back, his eyes widen in elation. He could only stare at Pinky and his gentle features, how calm yet excited he appeared and the soft smile he always held on to. Brain moved towards him, ready to accept his partner’s request.

“Y-yes, I suppose we could…repeat my previous action if you so desire to.”

And with that, the megalomaniac held Pinky’s cheeks and pulled him into another kiss, only this time, Pinky kissed back. Their lips seemed to move in tandem. Brain let down his tough exterior for a moment and allowed himself to moan against Pinky’s mouth. Pinky’s arms wrapped around Brain’s waist, pulling the two even closer together than before. Brain moved one paw from Pinky’s cheek to his chest, as he began to stroke his mildly unkept fur. He could also feel Pinky’s heart beating against his palm, loud and quick yet tender. He heard Pinky sigh once before he leaned into Brain more, deepening their kiss.

Almost a little too deep.

Pinky leaned so far, that Brain felt his legs give out, sending both mice tumbling to the ground, ending their kiss abruptly. Pinky burst out in hysterics, giggling as he pulled Brain to his feet, but not before planting a tiny peck on Brain’s nose. For once, Brain didn’t even mind that Pinky had caused him light pain. He was still recovering from their kiss. Both of them, to be precise.

“So, I’m guessing that you appreciated my little gesture.” Brain felt his cheeks burn red, though he appreciated his ability to mildly flirt with Pinky.

“I loved it, Brain! Narf! Why didn’t you show me sooner? I would’ve kissed you even then!” Pinky pulled the shorter mouse into a side hug, nuzzling his head.

Brain felt like he would melt where he stood. Pinky reciprocated his affections. And best of all, he still wasn’t done with his “surprise.” He planned out a phase two, specifically if Pinky had returned his feelings.

“Pinky, I don’t suppose you’d want to…”

“Kiss again and again? Yes, yes yes!!” Pinky cheered. He quickly pulled Brain into another embrace, locking their lips together in a swift manner. Brain felt himself swoon a little before his arms found their way to Pinky’s waist. When they parted for air, Brain closed the space again.

To add to his plan, Brain tugged at Pinky’s back, guiding them to below another conveniently placed mistletoe. Pinky briefly parted and glanced above them. He blinked once, before letting out an excited squeal.

“Brain! There’s another one!” Pinky looked behind the shorter mouse, seeing a line of mistletoes on string, sort of like a path. “And there’s another one! And another! Zort! Wow! There are so many!”

Brain chuckled, satisfied with Pinky’s reaction to his setup. He grabbed Pinky’s shoulders, their noses pressing together. “Are you pondering what I’m pondering?” Brain said, in a seductive whisper.

Pinky flushed, a pleasant smile accenting his features. He moved his paws to Brain’s cheeks before responding. “I think so, Brain. But are we reeeeeallly going to kiss under every single one of these mistletoes? Seems like a lot, doesn’t it?”

Brain could tell Pinky didn’t really mean it by his goofy, lovestruck expression, and his half-lidded eyes that conveyed flirtation rather than outright uncertainty. His hold on Pinky increased in vigor. “Your assertions are correct, dearest Pinky. Just follow my lead, and we can both enjoy this Christmas tradition.”

“Sure thing, Brain.”

This time, Pinky made the first move, instigating this kiss in a gingerly fashion. Brain instantly felt his mind turn to mush as Pinky’s cloud-like lips pressed against his, and even though it was their fourth kiss, he still felt a weird bubbly sensation invading his chest. How was Pinky so good at kissing?

They separated for breath, with Brain pulling Pinky beneath another mistletoe. Their lips met again, only this time, they didn’t immediately move to another plant. They kissed a few times, Brain feeling Pinky’s quiet moans and sighs against his mouth. This was going better than he could’ve ever hoped for.

It became almost kind of a dance. They’d kiss, pull apart, and move on to stand beneath another mistletoe. At first, they simply just strolled in a daze, remaining close to one another. But quite quickly, Pinky introduced mild twirls and back and forth swaying before they’d return to each other, and their lips would meet again.

Brain was enjoying this far more than he expected. The push and pull of their “dancing” was invigorating and enjoyable. As he and Pinky traveled down his mistletoe path, his cheeks were a dark red and he felt invincible as Pinky literally swept him off his feet.

“Oh, Brain! I could do this forever and ever! Troz! You’re such a great kisser and dancer!”

Brain was almost far too lost on his own romantic thoughts to respond, “Thank you Pinky, for everything. Especially your consideration of my emotional needs. But the thrills aren’t finished just yet.” He held his partner by the waist, placing a soft kiss on his neck. “Just one more kiss and then we’ll have reached the crescendo to my surprise for you.”

Pinky purred dreamily. “I’d like that very much, Brain. And I’m very excited.”

Standing under the final mistletoe on the path, Pinky and Brain kissed once more, the most deep one by far. When it ended, they both were huffing messes.

“Ooh, that was incredible! Poit!” Pinky said breathlessly. “Please say we’re not done.”

Brain chuckled, reaching down to grab Pinky’s paw and interlace their fingers. “We are not. There’s one last thing I did that I hope you will enjoy.”

Pinky beamed, squeezing Brain’s hand as the pink-eyed mouse led him to a wide-open space. He gasped at what he saw.

“Oh. My. Naaaaaaaaarf!”

The entire area had dozens upon dozens of mistletoes hanging from poles. Most had glittery bows that seemed to sparkle in the faint light. Pinky dashed to the middle of the mistletoes, turning around to see all the pretty plants. He was awestruck.

“It’s beautiful Brain! You did this all for me? So we could kiss as much as we want?”

Brain walked over to Pinky, nodding bashfully as he attempted to conceal the pink tints on his face. “I guess you could say that. I truthfully thought that you would reject my advances and you’d never get to see this. But it appears that I was mistaken.”

Pinky pulled Brain closer to him, resting his head on top of Brain’s. “Why would I say no? This is the bestest thing anyone’s ever done for me. Troz! I’m so happy!”

“I’m glad you liked what I made.” Brain felt relieved that his companion was so grateful for what he did. “I don’t suppose that since we’re surrounded by this mistletoe, we could…oof!”

Brain was cut short by Pinky tackling him to the ground. While he was a little peeved at the abrupt contact with the floor, his initial distaste was stifled when Pinky’s lips pressed against his own. He closed his eyes as he sank into the kiss, his paws finding their way to his partner’s back. His body grew very warm when Pinky gently touched his cheeks before he began stroking his ears. Brain felt his heart skip a beat when he heard Pinky moan softly; it sounded, dare he say it, adorable. He deepened their kiss, sensing Pinky’s head angling back to allow him to do so. Despite the fact that Pinky was larger than him, Brain felt comfortable that all of Pinky’s weight was on him.

When they parted, Brain closed the space between their mouths almost instantly. The entire world seemed to stand still as they kissed. He didn’t even bother noticing any of his surroundings. All that mattered to him was ensuring that this kiss be satisfactory for Pinky.

Somehow, Brain found himself sitting on the taller mouse’s chest, meaning they had been rolling around during their little kissing session. Pinky giggled at the sight, ruffling the fur on Brain’s head playfully before he forcibly grabbed Brain’s back and pulled him into another kiss.

Time passed, it could have been seconds, minutes, or hours. Brain didn’t pay attention. He was utterly transfixed by the stunning mouse that was kissing him passionately, making him feel so lucky that he’d taken the chance to confess. But still. Something wasn’t adding up right.

Why was Pinky so adamant about them kissing?

As if he’d read his mind, Pinky pulled away, looking at Brain with so much adoration in his sky-blue gaze. “Does this mean we’re a couple, Brain?”

“What?”

“I mean, we’ve done all the fun couple-y things I see on T.V. Troz! We kissed, we daaaanced. Oh, and we hugged, and you bop me on the head, and we sleep together. Egad, we’re just like those old-timey sitcom couples!”

A dawning realization hit Brain. Did Pinky truly have feelings for him, too? And how long had he had them? Years it seemed. He didn’t know how to respond initially.

Brain’s ears pinned back as he pondered, finally reaching a decent conclusion. “Yes, Pinky. I believe that due to these circumstances we’ve found ourselves in, I sense that we may have a non-platonic relationship currently.”

“What does that mean?”

He rolled his eyes. “What it means is, yes. It seems we are indeed a…couple.”

Pinky’s smile grew bigger, and tears of joy ran down his face. “Does this mean we can smooch whenever? Not just under the mistletoe? Narf!”

Goodness his face was red.

“I-I suppose so.” Brain was going to faint.

“Brain! We’re a couple! Oh, and we can kiss whenever we…”

The megalomaniac placed a finger on Pinky’s lips, silencing him. When he removed his finger, he wasted no time and began kissing Pinky, continuing their mistletoe-induced affection anew.

After a few minutes of nothing but their lips pressing together, they parted, both mice gasping for air. Brain got off Pinky’s chest, pulling his friend to his feet with a light tug. He heavily disliked ending their intimacy but it was getting a little late.

“Pinky, can you be so kind as to prepare dinner for the both of us? I’m quite famished after…all of that.” Brain gently combed his fingers through Pinky’s chest fur, doing his best to persuade his companion.

“Righty-o, Brain! I’ll make the food pellets just how you like them, aaaaaaand I might add a little somthin’ special just for you! Zort!”

Brain gave Pinky a quick nuzzle. “Do what you must. Don’t take too long though. We have things to do later.”

Pinky gave the shorter mouse a little salute, before kissing Brain’s cheek as the two departed. He skipped away, only to turn around once.

“Can we come back to the mistletoes after dinner?”

Brain pretended to be annoyed, but he was secretly pleased. “Perhaps, if you’re well behaved. I mean, I said we have things to later.”

“Love things?”

“I-I suppose...uh…maybe. You’ll just have to wait and see.”

Pinky celebrated. “Yay! Alright, food will be ready in five, darling! Poit!” His pace increased drastically until he disappeared from Brain’s vision.

Though Brain could hear Pinky “whispering” to himself as he ran.

“Brain kissed me! Narf! Brain kissed me!”

The shock from what had just unfolded rushed to Brain’s cranium, causing him to collapse onto his knees. He couldn’t even believe that Pinky was also interested in him, romantically. And they’d essentially made out. For a good thirty minutes. The logical part of his mind told him it was preposterous, unlike his usual mindset.

Yet, he felt riveted, stimulated even, at the prospect of Pinky and him becoming a couple. It caused a feeling only akin to butterflies to occur within his stomach. His heartbeat was fast, his face a deep shade of red. Brain’s Christmas desire had come to pass.

Pinky reciprocated his emotions. It blew him away at just the mere thought of the matter.

As he just sat in his hazy thoughts, Brain couldn’t help but feel slightly enthusiastic about the possibility of them kissing again. Specifically, underneath the mistletoe. It was a thrill unlike any other.

Honestly, he couldn’t care less that it made him seem vulnerable, of a weaker standing.

Finally, being allowed to start a relationship with the mouse he…tolerated most was all he could think about.

And Brain fully admitted, it was going to be a wonderful new chapter in his life.

#pinky and the brain #patb #brinky #happy holidays!#merry christmas!#for those who were wondering about fic requests im still taking them sorry for the delay #this isn't my only Christmas fic #stay tuned!! :)

10 notes · View notes

bluespring864 · 5 months

Note

Hello :)

I've noticed that you've been showing a bit of an interest in Discworld lately.

So naturally, being very much into Discworld right now, I can't just ignore this. :D I don't know how interested you actually are of course, but I'd still like to try and nudge you towards starting it rather sooner than later. Obviously no pressure - I know how it is, sometimes you just don't want to get into something new, let alone a 42-volume book series. :D (Although you don't have to commit to reading all of it right away; most books can stand pretty well on their own.)

It's just that I'm quite certain – no, actually I'm even inclined to say I know – that you would love Discworld. This might come across a bit presumptuous, especially since I don't actually know you. But judging by your interests and generally what I see of you on my dash, I would be very surprised if Discworld wasn't right up your alley.

Because even leaving aside characters and storylines, the writing alone should be a major draw. I regularly marvel at the masterful way in which Terry Pratchett uses language: as a means of characterisation, to convey an idea or even just to describe someone's facial expression - and of course to make us laugh.

And the puns, oh the puns! They're probably what made me fall in love with his writing in the first place. Can't resist a good pun. I could provide examples if you want. :D

I won't get into characters, themes or what have you right now because this ask is long enough as it is. One thing I want to say, though, is that I feel like a lot of the messages conveyed in those books would resonate with you, because you strike me as a very compassionate and caring person.

So, to come to an end: If you need any more information or incentives to get into Discworld or are still on the fence about how or where to start, feel free to ask me anything. And in case you will actually start reading the books, I'd be more than happy to exchange thoughts or just gush about stuff. :D

PS: I hope you had a lovely christmas and wish you all the best for the new year*. :)

*Isn't it somewhat annoying that English doesn't have an adequate translation for "Guten Rutsch"?

This is definitely the nicest thing I've had in my inbox all year, you lovely person <3

I am still to this day confused as to why I never read any Terry when I was a teenager. I assume the local library didn't have a lot of his books or put them so far in the boy's section that I never really noticed them (and why tf were the teenage books gendered, I hope that's not the case anymore... hm, now I'm wondering whether I'm remembering this right, but I really think there were boy's and girl's sections). I picked one of his books at random a few years back and read it on holiday, jetlagged (it was a bit confusing, because of the jetlag and because I think I picked something that belonged somewhere in the Discworld universe without me ever having had a real introduction to it) but I still liked it, and have been meaning to read more Discworld ever since.

Unfortunately, when I read that book I had just started a demanding job that often requires me to speedread through hundreds of pages in a few hours, which has left me with much less capacity to read for pleasure. The books are literally piling up around me. But I will get round to Discworld one day, I'm sure of it, not least because of your glowing recommendation! And as soon as I do, I will most definitely let you know so we can be language and literature nerds about it together ;-)

#having a 'love the people in my phone' moment #(I'm writing this on desktop but you get the sentiment)#bluespring asked and answered #weidenwinde #i am still blushing and i have been smiling the whole day each time I remembered there was this ask to answer once I got home <3

6 notes · View notes

writingwitharlo · 2 years

Text

Let Me Rephrase

a/n: set sometime around Vol.4 - no spoilers within the fic but for context, keep reading: Charlie gets admitted to a clinic for his ED and now gets to visit his family for a weekend, so obviously he spends most of it at Nick's.

(Heartstopper; Nick/Charlie)

Summary: Charlie finds out why Nick is so suspiciously terrible at fighting back.

1817 words

Somehow, Charlie couldn't see himself ever getting bored of just snuggling up in bed with Nick. Granted, they had only been going out for a few months now, which was not a reliable timeframe to be making such kinds of assumptions. But with everything in their lives being rather overwhelming recently, moments like these felt like absolute heaven on earth.

Charlie lay curled up under the covers of Nick's bed, cozied up against the miserably grey January weather in a pair of festive flannel pyjama bottoms and one of the many 'borrowed' jumpers he had stolen off his boyfriend over the winter season.

The multi-coloured fairy lights twinkled overhead silently, oddly joyful in contrast to the sound of gusts of stormy wind and intermittent rain splattering against the window. Along with the bright laptop screen illuminating that corner of the room, a seemingly impenetrable bubble of safety lingered in the air.

Charlie couldn't help the smile that lit up his face the moment Nick appeared in the doorway, returning with two cups of steaming tea. Something about the way his hair stuck out from under the hoody's pulled-up hood, all dishevelled and careless, sleeves pushed up halfway up his forearms; the hem on one side of his shorts had rolled over on itself somehow, leaving them slightly uneven... It felt like Charlie's chest swelled three times in size at the mere sight of him.

"Hey," they greeted each other breathily, enough time having passed that it seemed adequate, albeit cheesy enough to have them both grinning.

Gratefully accepting one of the cups, Charlie sat up slowly, allowing Nick to crawl back into the spot beside him with his own cup. They sat in comfortable silence for a while, each occupied with their own thoughts as they carefully sipped their tea and watched the dark clouds blow past the window.

"What are you thinking?" Nick asked quietly after a couple of minutes, from where he rested against the headboard, cup propped against his chest. When there wasn't an initial reply, he reached over with his free hand and rubbed it against the other's lower back.

"Hm?" Charlie hummed, turning his head to look at Nick's expectant but patient face. Charlie cracked a smile. "That this is the best cup of tea I've had all year." And Nick laughed - a warm, hearty laugh.

Chuckling at his boyfriend's reaction, Charlie set his cup down on the window sill, just in time to receive a pointed pinch to the side. With a jump and short yelp, Charlie twisted around, instinctively fending off the offending hand.

"Funny. Glad to see they managed to retain your irresistible sense of humour," Nick pointed out with a grin, setting his cup down on the little bedside table. When he looked back, Charlie was shooting him that smile. A smile he had last seen sometime around Christmas, a smile that always left him a little flustered, a smile that let him know he had just said something undeniably sappy.

Charlie turned some to better face Nick, his hand reaching over to poke at the older boy's cheek. "Aha, I knew it! You find me irresistible."

Nick rolled his eyes and grabbed Charlie by the elbow, giving his arm a strong enough tug to have him topple over right onto his chest. "Is that what you tell everyone when you're talking about your super-hot rugby boyfriend back home?"

The giggles were already pouring out, Nick's hands just roaming, not yet decided on a specific spot to target. But with the amount Charlie was squirming in his arms regardless, it didn't seem like they'd even have to.

Nick made no attempts of hiding his amusement at his boyfriend's predicament, chuckling along freely as he continued his torment. "Is that all I am, huh? Some heart-eyed fanboy?"

Teasingly gentle fingers wiggled into the creases and folds of the oversized jumper. It wasn't like Charlie couldn't escape him if he really wanted to.

"Obviously," Charlie taunted, his head ducking away with a snort a second later when a hand found its way to the side of his neck, the sensation immediately shooting goosebumps down his arms. He shuddered and sat up abruptly, enough for Nick's half-hearted attack to falter.

They gazed at each other, eyes matching the other's playful glint, grins still tugging at the corners of their mouths. Nick tilted his head to the side fondly, his grin casually turning to a smirk. "You'd like that, wouldn't you, Charles?"

Charlie squinted at him, making a sound that indicated doubtfulness, despite the blush rising to his cheeks. "Don't think I haven't noticed your pining arse hanging around, Nicholas." Clawed hands shot forward and attached themselves to the older boy's hips.

With a surprised cry, Nick lurched forward, doubling over in an attempt to protect himself, his hood flying off in the process.

But Charlie was not so easily deterred. Easing up on his touch, his hands wandered upwards slightly, one hand squeezing and pinching, the other scribbling and grazing at the fleshier parts of his sides.

Nick's head flew back with a new wave of wheezy laughter, almost knocking against the headboard. Luckily, Nick had started sliding down the bed, thinking it would get him away from Charlie's exploring fingers. It didn't, of course.

"Hm, maybe Miss Singh should reconsider your captain-ship. Your tactical thinking is clearly compromised under pressure." Charlie's teasing voice had a way of getting under Nick's skin.

"Shut up," Nick whined. Trying to curl in on himself, his knee drew closer to his chest, but got intercepted too soon.

Charlie caught him early enough and swung his leg over Nick, swiftly straddling his thighs. "Yeah, no, I don't think so."

"Oh, come on!"

"You, come on."

Charlie smirked, dragging his fingers across the quivering stomach and higher to the ribs with a sudden lightness, it had Nick gasping through spluttering giggles. But the sensation didn't last long, the previous determination of Charlie's fingers returning just a couple of seconds later between his ribs.

"Too late for that now, love," Charlie pointed out when Nick's elbows pressed closer to his body. But he felt gracious, so he let one hand graze back over Nick's shaking belly-

"Don't you dare," Nick warned, only able to sound semi-threatening for about half a second. Three fingers, like pincers, tweaked at and around his belly button before he was overcome with boisterous cackles.

"But you look so cute when you're all flushed like that."

Nick could practically feel Charlie's watchful gaze on him as the younger boy's head tilted to the side ever so slightly.

Charlie had started observing his reactions once he noticed that Nick's arms were just sort of uselessly tucked against his sides.

"You're not trying very hard to stop this, are you? Waiting for the right moment to strike, or just trying to wear me out first, hm? Oh, I know, you're just enjoying having my hands all over you, aren't you?"

Nick's face turned bright red and hot. Now would be the right time for his bed to swallow him up.

Fingers stilled. "Oh, my god. Look at you blushing!" Charlie's voice sounded far too delighted to match Nick's inner dread.

There was a pause.

"You do enjoy it."

Charlie's voice was so soft, that Nick could have easily missed it over the sound of his own subsiding giggles and panting breath, had he not been anxiously awaiting his reaction. And although Charlie's words were far from the judgmental or revolted tone Nick had anticipated, he still couldn't bear to look at him.

"Am I right?"

Nothing.

"Come on, you can tell me."

"Char...," Nick groaned, his hands coming up to cover his burning face.

"Aha, he does speak," Charlie teased gently, closely watching him as he waited for a reply, but nothing more came.

"Hey." Nick felt Charlie's weight lift off his thighs as the younger boy leaned forward, tugging his hands away from his face, fingers intertwined as they were pinned on either side of his head. "Look at me."

It took some internal persuasion but finally, Nick tore his eyes away from Charlie's chest and looked up, where he was met with those blue, warm, most beautiful eyes he had fallen in love with.

Charlie smiled that dimpled smile of his. "Would you like me to keep tickling you?"

Nick's lips parted before he realised that he couldn't form any actual words while Charlie's question had him this flustered. So he closed his mouth again, swallowing thickly instead.

Those blue eyes were flickering all over Nick's face as if the answer was going to jump out at Charlie from the way his lips pressed together, the way his nose scrunched, the way his nostrils twitched or from one of his many freckles. But when the silence continued, a thoughtful look overcame Charlie.

Bringing his face even closer, Charlie pressed a gentle, reassuring kiss to Nick's lips, who gratefully accepted it. Anything to keep from answering any more exposing questions. But that wasn't exactly Charlie's plan.

Once he felt Nick melting into him, letting his guard down, craving for more, Charlie broke the kiss, their faces a few inches apart. Perhaps rephrasing the question would get him a more coherent answer.

"Do you want me to stop, then?"

He was doing that stupid sweet smile again, making Nick want to squirm. And when he tilted his head to the side again, raising his eyebrows expectantly, Nick couldn't help the little, embarrassed smile as he hesitantly shook his head. "... No."

"Very good," Charlie whispered and dove back in, their lips crashing together more vigorously this time.

A soft, strangled sound of surprise escaped Nick. He tried to match Charlie's enthusiasm, but couldn't shake the thought the question had not referred to the tickling after all. But Charlie's kisses were distracting, becoming sloppier as they travelled along his jaw and down further.

Nick, ever-helpful, tilted his head to give Charlie better access to his neck, which was gratefully received with an appreciative hum from the other. About to let his eyes flutter shut completely, Nick gasped quietly when Charlie's energetic kisses suddenly turned light, airy, teasing, and his eyes snapped open wider once he realised what was happening.

"Oh, my god," Nick giggled out sheepishly, feeling silly for having doubted Charlie's intentions in the first place. He squirmed, ready to scrunch his shoulder up when flittering fingers found the other side of his neck. "Oh, my god!"

Charlie grinned into the skin, which, from the sound, Nick let out, made everything else tickle worse. "There is no god!" he cried dramatically as he sat up, releasing Nick's other hand in favour of plunging his own into an unsuspecting armpit.

Nick's bright laugh filled the room, head rolling back against his pillows, all flushed and beaming and cute.

No, Charlie couldn't see himself ever getting bored of this.

#heartstopper #heartstopper tickle fic #tickle fic #tickling #ticklish!nick nelson #ticklish!charlie spring #ticklish!nick #ticklish!charlie #nick/charlie #nick nelson #charlie spring

155 notes · View notes

seasons-beatings · 5 months

Text

Happy holidays, @pigeonwhumps!

From your gifter: For @pigeonwhumps Merry Christmas Ruth, and the best wishes for an amazing 2024!

Showstopper

Cw: character death (temporary), immortal Whumpee, lady whump (not as focused on), non human whumpee, multiple whumpees, blood, reluctant whumper, forced to whump/kill, knives, torture, circus setting, mentions of beatings/canings, exhaustion whump, mentions of starvation, over exerted whumpee, forced to perform

There were no gloves today.

Pythias cringed as she felt the dulled edge of the ringmaster’s favored cane prod at her back. Not quite a strike, not yet. Her jaw clenched as another insistent poke encouraged her forwards.

Last night’s show had been adequate, as the circus director had put it. Substandard. Prosaic. No one cares about the resurrecting man if his death is boring to begin with. There hadn’t been enough energy in their performance today, enough flair. Pythias had been tired, her and Damon had been up into the early hours of the morning working at the circus assistant’s hand to perfect some small details of their show. Damon was obviously exhausted, emotionally and physically drained from the exertion of being murdered over and over, a knife twisted into his gut just to strike again at the turn of the hour. All the rest in the world, and Pythias doubted he’d ever truly recover.

It hadn’t been him, really. There was only so much of the show that could be laid on him. Obviously the resurrection and the presentation that followed, he had to pull at every string to shape the audience’s perception into something entertaining. But for the most part, it was her. It was the flourish of the knife before she artfully buried the knife between his ribs, the way she twisted the blade to encourage the blood to pour and stain his white shirt crimson. It was her who stood above his lifeless corpse and played the brutal murder off as a show, encouraging the audiences’ laughter and amazement. All Damon had to do was die and then come back. He didn’t have to kill the closest thing he had to a friend over and over again, a dozen times a day, six days a week, fifty weeks a year. All he had to do was survive, die and survive, which in the ringmaster’s eyes was easy. Simple.

Should’ve been impossible to mess up. That’s what Mosi had hissed, the friendly hand on Damon’s back turning into a rough grasp on his hair the moment the curtains closed behind them as he escorted the two performers of the sideshow out of the public eye. As the wooden planks of the floor of their ‘stage’ turned to hard, packed dirt, the bright colors shifted starkly to dull, dark neutrals.

There was color now, Pythias thought bitterly, a bad taste in the back of her mouth as her eyes inadvertently shifted to the ground. The dirt was a dull copper, so much blood spilt over and over again, only broken by the occasional bucket of water that was tossed over the pair when the slick coating of blood started to impede with the act. Pythias used to think that she would choke on the smell, like the taste of iron would lodge in her throat and never be washed out, but now it sat with her like a headache, in the back of her mind, aching faintly.

Before the focus had been on Damon’s part of the act, working on his reaction until he was about to drop and Mosi was satisfied enough. Now it was her turn, and they were working on the flourish. A single stab was too boring, Mosi decided. Nowhere near enough to keep an audience enthralled. Three hours of murdering the closest thing she had to a friend, in varying manners of gruesome execution, Mosi had finally decided on which performances he liked the best. A slit throat was classic, he said, the gush of warm blood over Pythias’ hands. The small gasp and gurgling that the circus director decided would make for the perfect show haunted Pythias’ thoughts, and she knew she’d be hearing the terrible sounds in her dreams.

For a while, Mosi had tried experimenting with knife throwing, but had ruled that out when Pythias’ aim was consistently poor. Her hands were shaking too badly, half the time the blade would slip and land harmlessly in the dirt. Each time that happened, she had to grit her teeth against the stroke of the cane, her failure alternating punishments between her and Damon. She wasn’t sure what was worse, the sting of the wood against her own back, or the small cringe on Damon’s face that was the only sign that he felt anything. His reactions to pain had been getting better, that was at least one thing Mosi found to be somewhat pleased about. He was getting better at hiding it. Eventually the ringmaster decided to revisit throwing later, and returned to classical approaches.

“Step, spin, grab.” Mosi voiced the actions as Pythias went through them, her motions stiff and ordered. Damon’s skin was cold and clammy to the touch as she pressed behind him, the hand that wasn’t holding the knife twisting in his hair. He wore only a thin pair of shorts and a tank top, ragged and worn. Through the fabric, the stubs of his wings were visible, small juts out of the fabric. Tails of scars curled around his shoulders, evidence of what he had suffered in the past when their shows didn’t gather enough revenue. She tried her best to be gentle, but exhaustion weighed heavily on her limbs, and she was beginning to grow blunt and unfocused. Damon leaned back slightly, into her hold. Subtle encouragement to continue the act, when his voice couldn’t speak the words.

“Brandish, smile, cut.”

Pythias’s stomach flipped as she held the knife up for an invisible audience, her mind filling in the sick cheers of encouragement. Her lips curled into a gleeful smile, looking to the tarp wall as her mind turned each discolored patch into a face. Laughing children chewing on their candied apples and sugar floss, adults speaking hushed to each other over the circus music that buzzed in Pythias’ ears, all with their eyes turned directly towards her blade. Her breath hitched quietly, the only falter of her act to the invisible audience.

She tried to make the cut quick, pulling Damon’s head back slightly as she drew the knife across his throat to give her better access to his neck. The first time Mosi had her try this way, she hadn’t quite hit the artery, and Damon had bled out slowly, the light in his eyes surrendering as his body went limp. She knew better now, knew exactly where to press the knife deepest to make this as quick as possible. Both for Damon’s sake and her own. No audience liked waiting for a show.

The stench of iron stung her nose, but there was nothing Pythias could do. She pulled the knife away, barely avoiding the cascade of blood as Damon let out a strangled wheeze, the air he sucked in with a gasp only causing more blood to spurt from the wound, the breath never reaching his lungs.

“Release, move.”

She wasn’t really hearing the words anymore. The motions were ingrained in her mind, automatic at this point. The first time, she had depended on his instructions, fearful that her performance wouldn’t be good enough. The first ten times, he made small tweaks each repeat, choreographing the murder as if it was an intricate dance, a duet between just the two of them.

Damon collapsed to the ground when Pythias stepped back, fresh blood splattering along the copper dirt. During a show, she would hold him longer, long enough for the blood to seep into her gloves, down his shirt before he bled out on the ground. But for now, Pythias felt as if she’d be sick if she felt the slick, warm liquid against her palms again. Dried blood stuck beneath her fingernails, embedded in her nail beds like a polish that would never come off.

She was too tired to smile right now, but she looked at her invisible audience and forced her lips to curl back. It looked more like a grimace, and to the side of her vision she could see Mosi’s frown.

Damon shuddered, a final gurgle escaping him before he stilled. For a minute after his chest stopped rising, blood continued to weep from the wound, a growing puddle slowly inching towards Pythias’ shoes. Her stomach twisted as she went through the routine following his death, making a show of taking the rag from her pocket and sliding it along the blade, leaving glinting silver in its wake. During a show, the cloth would be an ornate white handkerchief, tucked in the folds of her dress, but without the onlooking eyes, a rag sufficed. Already stiff and coated with dried blood, scratching her fingertips. She dropped it, letting it flutter to the ground to her side as she tucked the knife in its sheath, which would be concealed beneath a ruffle but for now was strapped to her thigh, just below the hip. Just as her hand left the blade, the form before her shuddered, a small shiver that quickly turned to a jolt. A moment passed, the terrible moment where his eyes opened and all Pythias could see was the hurt in his expression, the hurt that she’d caused. Then he turned onto his side, pushing himself up, palms nearly slipping in the puddle of his own blood as he stumbled to his feet. The flesh across his throat knit together as he moved, leaving only a thin, discolored line that was barely distinguishable from his skin, unless one looked close.

She recited her closing lines with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, which was not much. She prayed it would be enough. She linked her arm with Damon’s, steadying him as he swayed during their bow. When she straightened, she looked to the circus director as Damon leaned heavily against her, his eyes fluttering like he was struggling to keep them open.

Mosi’s cold eyes met hers, his expression unreadable. Was this it? She knew her performance wasn’t perfect, but considering the hours upon hours they’d spent practicing, did he finally understand? Would he finally spare a shred of sympathy and let them rest, eat and recover?

She knew the answer to her outlandish hopes long before he opened his mouth.

“Again. From the top.”

#season’s beatings gift #whump #whump writing #season’s beatings

5 notes · View notes

thegloweringcastle · 1 year

Text

Home for the Cold Spell - Part One; December 21st

For our one and only @the-lonelybarricade as part of her gift for the @acotargiftexchange! My dear, I owe you an apology - I really wanted to make it better but I eventually ran out of time and didn’t want to keep you waiting. Still, I hope you love it and can stand to read another few parts :)

Warnings: none (I think)

word count: ~3.9k

The first time Feyre left town for her birthday was not supposed to be a happy occasion. After months of working three jobs while continuing her studies at the community college, Feyre was looking forward to a cozy celebration with her sisters and friends. It didn’t matter to her that tensions were strained, it didn’t matter to her that they were all alone in the world. She was just happy to be making an effort, to belong somewhere in such an uncertain world.

Her sisters, apparently, did not feel the same.

Feyre’s knowledge of the English language was not advanced enough to know of any words that could adequately describe the city she had just arrived in.

Stunning could be one. Breathtaking could be another. But even those didn’t do it justice.

Old fashioned light posts lined the walkways, red metal benches could be found every dozen paces, and vast, snow capped mountains loomed over the bustling city. Like a cherry on top, holiday decor dripped from every surface; banners with the city emblem - three stars hovering above the Illyrian mountain range - hung beneath wreaths from each light post, silver and navy banners swept between awnings and windows, and bright, sparkling lights dripped from branches of every tree lining the main street. It was like she stepped out of the modern world and into a postcard.

And it was perfect.

Feyre felt as though she were walking through a dream, an entire world devised solely of what she had always wanted. A busy city that felt like a small town, towering mountains mingling with a winding river, and sparkling lights that put it all into a kaleidoscopic glow.

As if this wasn’t enough to hook her, the first thing Feyre stumbled upon was an entire section of the city dedicated to the arts. Immediately, she was drawn to a fabric shop on the corner with vast windows leaking a warm glow. She didn’t even like sewing as much as she liked painting, and yet her hands were itching to run along the shelves of material she spied from the outside.

The bell on the door made mention of her presence, but there was no one to be found behind the till or lurking between shelves. Tentatively, Feyre began exploring.

Bolts of fabric lined the floor to ceiling shelves; pine garlands were strung from the rafters and bordered the windows. Menorahs were placed in both front alcove windows, and a Christmas tree stood proud and shimmering at the front of the room. The shop smelled like cardamom and jasmine, and Feyre couldn’t get enough. Something about it felt so homey, so warm and calm and safe, that Feyre never wanted to leave.

What was most impressive about the interior were the gowns hanging from seamstress forms lining the bare pathways, a pale, shimmering one immediately catching her eye. She touched it reverently - almost hesitantly, as her work-worn, calloused hands brushed along the chiffon and beading. She halted at the price tag, figuring it would do no good to ruin a dream like that by turning the card over. Feyre had no doubt it was worth every penny the artist was asking, but simply by looking at it she knew she couldn’t afford it with her measly salary and underwhelming savings. Reluctantly, she moved on, eyeing a pair of silk dancing slippers she knew Nesta would love.

Lost in the shelves, Feyre pulled bolt after bolt of fabric and spent far too long sifting through an assortment of silk threads hand-spun in Velaris.

After nearly an hour of being lost in the shelves, she stepped up to the counter and set her items down with a thud, only to come face to face - or face to chest, really - with the most beautiful man she had ever seen. Honestly, he looked like a Greek god. Feyre was not proud to admit that her jaw actually dropped.

Autopilot took full-throttle of the situation as she told him how much of each fabric she wanted, and she was pretty sure she asked for the wrong amount more than once. But she couldn’t really bring herself to care.

The man's hair was so dark it seemed to drink the light; it swirled around his temples and curled at his forehead in tidy cowlicks. His entire physique was that of a sculpture, as if every toned muscle and elegant bone hidden beneath his sweater had been carved by Michelangelo himself. But truly, it was his eyes that had Feyre so mesmerized. His eyes were so blue they were nearly violet; so blue she wanted to swim in them, sketch them, paint them.

It was a shame he had to open his mouth.

His gaze flicked back up to hers as he wrapped the slippers - far more affordable than the dress of starlight. “There you go, darling.” His voice was smooth as velvet, practically a purr. “Is there anything else I can get for you? Buttons? Pin cushion? Clothing patterns?” He folded the last panel and leaned over the cutting mat, the epitome of suave cockiness. “A date, perhaps?”

Just like that, the enchantment broke. Feyre shook her head and rolled her eyes, handing him a wad of cash to pay for her purchases.

The man took it, brushing her hand as he did so. “No? Then, what about a kiss?

She scoffed. “Bite me.”

“Is that an invitation, darling? Surely you know I wouldn’t even dream of doing something like that. At least, not without knowing your name.” He winked one mischievous, violet eye at her, and Feyre flushed. She told herself it was from anger.

“Prick.”

He quirked one perfectly manicured brow. “Prick? Really? I find it hard to believe your parents would choose such a crude name for someone as beautiful as you.”

She glared daggers at him; he knew exactly what she meant. “You.” She growled. “You’re a prick.”

The man only grinned wider and stuck out his hand. “No, I’m Rhysand.”

Feyre hated his sly smirk. She hated his weird eyes. She hated his symmetrical face. Really, every last detail about this man was obnoxious. And it was ruining her vacation.

She batted his hand away. “Not interested. Happy holidays to you.” Without another glance, Feyre brushed past the counter and left the shop, stomping down the snowy stoop so harshly she nearly slipped.

The nerve of men. So arrogant. So smug. So egotistical. She truly couldn’t believe the audacity of people.

It wasn’t until she was blocks from the shop - grumbling and cursing the entire way - that she realized she left without her purchases. A fat stack of gorgeous fabric she intended to use as holiday gifts, left in the clutches of the prick. Of course.

Feyre’s overnight holiday was not turning out to be quite the escape she had planned.

She stomped her feet where she stood, trying to keep blood circulating to her toes. Feyre figured she could woman up, turn around, and take the walk of shame back to the shop where she would surely be greeted with that heinous grin. Or… she could keep exploring and make the most of her time in the city, picking up her purchases before leaving the next morning. Feyre felt there was only one obvious answer.

And so she proceeded, poking around in art shops, walking along the river, and strolling through parks. She captured the beauty of the mountains through the lens of her camera and began dozens of mental sketches depicting the people she saw and places she went. Before she knew it, her day was nearly over, and Feyre was sorely regretting making reservations for only one night. Her mind overflowed with shapes and colors, ideas and images.

Her train didn’t leave until early the next morning, and already she missed Velaris. Something about the city, bustling yet peaceful, felt like home. For the first time in years, Feyre felt like she truly belonged. And she wanted to cling to the feeling with every bit of strength in the hopes it would make everything else fall away.

As the sun began to set, Feyre finally made her way to the building she had most anticipated: Velaris Museum of Art.

The stairs were icy, and she traversed them slowly and carefully, until she hit the very last step. She threw her hands out for balance, but it was too late. Feyre slipped on a patch of ice-covered snow, only to be caught by large, strong hands at the last second. When she regained her footing enough to look up at her savior, her smile dropped.

“There you are,” A voice softer than velvet, right in her ear, made her shudder despite the warmth of the person. “I’ve been looking for you.”

***

The woman had caught his eye across the street as she made her way towards the Velaris Museum of Art. He would notice her anywhere, anytime, in a crowd of millions. Especially after searching for her the entire day. Her honey brown hair, her constellations of freckles, her piercing blue eyes, her attitude. You’d have to be a fool to not notice it all, to not love it all.

Up close, these qualities were even more magnificent. And perhaps to anyone else, her attitude would be a nuisance, her ice-blue eyes nothing more than that. But to Rhysand, that attitude drew him in like a magnet, and those ice-blue eyes seemed to watch the world in an entirely different way. To say his curiosity was piqued would have been understatement.

“Have you been stalking me this entire afternoon?” She pulled away, and Rhysand watched her straighten her coat and smooth her hair. “You shouldn’t do that.”

“But darling, how else was I supposed to return your purchases to you?” He held out a paper bag with the shop name printed across the front, a peace offering. “And if I weren’t here just now, who’s to say you wouldn’t have gotten hurt from slipping on the ice.”

She took the bag from his hand. “Thank you, Rhysand.” She tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear before tentatively going up the last step. “I hope you have a good holiday season and New Year. Take care.”

“Hold on, darling.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets and stepped around her, smoothly avoiding the ice and cutting her off. “I still don’t know your name.”

“Why does it matter?” She crossed her arm, and though the bag on her wrist banged her in the side it didn’t ruin the effect her stare had.

“I figure a name for a name sounds fair.” Rhys shrugged.

She rolled her eyes but stuck her hand out nonetheless. “My name’s Feyre. Now would you please move so that I can see the museum and get out of the cold?”

“Of course, darling.”

“It’s Feyre.”

“Of course, Feyre.”

But still, he didn’t move, just stood there with an impish grin. She stepped around him, and Rhys heard her mumble Prick, under her breath. It only egged him on.

He made it fifteen feet into the museum lobby before Feyre turned suddenly. “Why are you following me?”

Rhys made a show of looking to the side, then behind him, then to the other side. Wide eyed, he placed a hand on his chest. “Me?”

“Yes, you. Why are you following me?”

“Darling, surely you understand this is a public place. I just happened to plan on visiting the museum today. Is there something wrong with that?” They both knew that wasn’t true. His smile dared her to call him out.

“You. Need. To. Stop. It.” She poked him in the chest to emphasize each word. “I am not going on a date with you. By the Mother, would you please let me go about my business in peace?”

“Of course,” He held up his hands in surrender. “I’m not stopping you. Enjoy yourself, Ms. Feyre.”

He waited a moment as she stepped into the queue, then stepped in himself after a rambunctious family with many children separated the two.

It was after he made it into the exhibits, when he was admiring the Mother’s most beautiful work of art, that something hit him square in the face. It snapped Rhys from his reverie, and he could only imagine what he looked like as he glanced around with wide eyes. A silk slipper lay at his feet.

He’d been staring right at Feyre and not even flinched when she had pulled a silk slipper from one of her bags and thrown it right at him.

“I told you to leave me alone!” She stormed up to him, a second slipper in her hand. “Why are you following me? Go away, you prick!”

“Feyre darling, there are children here.” And security. A woman in a dark uniform with a radio on her belt quickly approached them.

“Ma’am,” Her voice was soft but firm, careful to not draw attention to the situation. “May I ask what’s going on here?”

“Forgive me, miss.” Rhysand spoke before Feyre could, somewhat guilty for their predicament. He figured he wouldn’t earn points for getting her kicked out of the museum. “The name is Rhysand Moreno.” Her eyes widened and he continued speaking before she could interrupt. “You see, I was being… What did you say, darling? A prick, I believe? And she was certainly correct and handled it accordingly. I am entirely responsible. But I promise you, we’ll be much more considerate from here on out. Won’t we darling?” Rhys figured a wink wouldn’t hurt the situation. Behind him, Feyre huffed, and he could practically hear her eye roll.

“Ah, I see.” The woman’s cheeks flushed. Triumph flickered in Rhysand’s chest. “Well, I’ll let you off with a warning, but I’m afraid I will have to escort you both out if you can’t control yourselves.”

“I understand. Thank you, ma’am.” He turned to Feyre. “Now, that wasn’t very nice of you.”

“You’re-” Feyre began, then took a breath. “Rhysand. I appreciate you returning my purchases to me. But now you have completed your mission, and I would like to move on. I am only here for my birthday and would appreciate it if you let me enjoy myself.”

“It’s your birthday?” She nodded. “Of course, Feyre darling. I would be more than happy to grant you your birthday wish.” He leaned in closer, and he saw the resolve in her eyes gutter. “But as I said earlier, I already had plans to visit the museum today.” Her glare chilled Rhys to his very marrow. He knew he’d never get enough of the feeling. “I suppose the most beautiful things in life are better when experienced with friends, and nobody should be alone on their birthday. Please join me, darling. I look forward to seeing Van Gogh’s work, but would be so lonely without you.” Without another word, he looped her arm through his and led the way.

***

Feyre didn’t know what to think. This beautiful man was the most infuriating person she had ever met. Relentless, obnoxious, entitled. None of those were good qualities. But his one saving grace was not his looks; it was the fact that he didn’t feel… wrong. There was no sleazy persona to him, there was no malicious glint in the depths of eyes. His grip was loose, so loose they barely made contact. Though their arms remained looped together, he was careful to not touch her anywhere else, and she didn’t once catch him peeking down her shirt. Even Feyre couldn’t claim innocence to that.

She found herself looking at him just as much as the artwork, a truth she would never confess as long as she lived. She ought to have been appreciating the historical, one-of-a-kind pieces surrounding them, pieces she had only ever dreamed of seeing in person. But… Michelangelo. Up close, she could see the perfect, sharp edge of his jaw, the tendons in his neck, the veins in his hands. The tips of his collar bones peeked out from his black sweater, and Feyre couldn’t stop her mind from wandering further south.

Perhaps it was the colors and shapes of the art that surrounded them - a language Feyre truly understood - or the comfort of having someone by her side after so many years spent alone. Either way, she felt far more relaxed than she expected.

When Rhysand broke their silence with a question, Feyre surprised herself by answering.

“I assume you like art?”

Feyre chuckled. “That’s an understatement. I love art. I love it so much that I’m studying it at the community college back home.”

“Ah,” His eyes sparkled, and Feyre had never wished she had a camera more. “Impressive. How long? I study political science here at U of V. I graduate in the spring.”

“Lucky,” She laughed, suddenly self conscious. “I’m just starting; I’ve got two years to go. But I’ve been painting since I was little.” When there was nothing else to do, no one else to be around; when her family had fallen apart and she was left in the crossfire with nothing but art as a defense.

“Could you show me some of your work?”

Just like that, the arrogant prick was gone, replaced with… a man. A gorgeous man. A man who, despite keeping his arm looped through hers, respected her personal space. A man that was showing interest in her art instead of blowing it off as some pipe dream.

“I…” They stopped, and Feyre moved her arm to face him fully. There they were, stopped in front of a Frida Kahlo, and he was asking to see her artwork? “It’s.. Are you serious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? You’re so beautiful, I can’t begin to imagine what your art must look like.”

It was bad. It was so bad, even he couldn’t keep a straight face. Feyre tried not to laugh. Really, she did. But she just couldn’t help it.

“That is one of the worst pick-up lines anyone has ever used on me,” She gasped out. “And my ex-boyfriend thought calling my hair ‘clean’ was a compliment.” She dug through her purse, opening her phone to a picture of her favorite painting. “But here you go. Don’t judge. As I said, I’m a student. It’s nothing as good as…” she gestured around the entire room. “This.”

“I think I will be the judge of that,” He winked at her as she handed over her phone, but quickly sobered when he focused on it. “That’s…” he trailed off, not taking his eyes from the picture. Feyre nudged him out of the way of people who were there to look at real art, and he hardly even noticed.

His silence was unnerving. “I do promise it looks better in person,” Feyre wrung her hands. “The lighting at the time just wasn’t very good, but-”

“This is perfect.” FInally, he looked up at her. Feyre waited for an impish grin to take over, or for him to start laughing and shout ‘gotcha!’, but he never did. He just handed her phone back to her and asked, “Can I buy a painting from you?”

“I don’t-”

A staticky voice came over the speakers, announcing the museum would be closing. Something sank in the pit of Feyre’s stomach as the end of her stay began to feel all too real. Her train left early in the morning, and she didn’t have the means to visit again for a long time.

“Let’s walk and talk.” Rhysand said, proffering his arm once again. “I’m intrigued. Your work is beautiful, and I would love to gift one of your pieces to my mother next Hanukkah or christmas.”

Now they stepped out into the cold, and as a gust of icy mountain wind blew around them, Feyre pressed closer to Rhysand. For warmth, she told herself.

“I have a proposition for you, Feyre darling,”

Feyre pulled her arm from his and began putting her mittens on. “It better not be another invitation to a date.”

“That was part of it…” When Feyre sent him a death glare, he only winked. “I will make a deal with you. You create a painting for me to give to my mother - any style, medium, and design you deem appropriate - and I will do whatever you wish in return. Be it a date, a tour of the city, or perhaps a nude modeling session. I work out quite often, you know. I’m a perfect specimen.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

“Rhysand-”

“Rhys is fine, please.”

Feyre huffed. “Rhys-”

“Oh,” His smile turned wicked. “And you personally have to deliver the painting directly to me.”

Feyre gaped at him, and she spoke the first thing that came to her mind. “I have never, in my entire life, met anyone as arrogant as you.”

“Why thank you. I do try, you know.” That smirk again.

Feyre knew she wouldn’t do what she was about to do if she was wholeheartedly against it, but she still chose to feign reluctance. Perhaps it was from a childhood where she was given no choice, or perhaps it stemmed from previous relationships where her input had mattered little. Whatever the case, it was safer to be annoyed and distant than to look the truth in the eye.

“I will agree to your deal on one condition.” Feyre huffed and placed her mitten-clad hands on her hips.

“Oh?” He drew the syllable out, raising his eyebrows in sly curiosity. “Do tell.”

“I agree to personally bring you your commission, and you will do…” Feyre considered the possibilities. “Whatever I decide I want you to do, as long as our exchange will take place 365 days from now.”

Rhysand’s grin, which had been growing ever more confident with each word she uttered, fell flat. The satisfaction Feyre felt at the sight burned bright.

He cleared his throat, and tried to plaster the smile back on. It was amusing. Even slightly endearing. “An entire year? Darling, surely you don’t want to wait that long, especially if it means seeing my face again.”

“Not everyone can afford to travel that often, you know.” And she wanted a trip to Velaris to become her own birthday tradition.

“Well, darling, if that’s the only thing preventing you from gracing our city with your presence, then please let me pay for your train ticket.”

“Ah-ah,” Feyre moved to wag her finger, but remembered the mittens and thought better of it. “You’re clever, Rhysand, but so am I. I’m not letting you do anything else for me, lest you use it as leverage for another silly bargain.”

He opened his mouth, then shut it. There was no trace of mischief to be found on his face. His eyes were clear of that sly spark, his mouth was not turned up in that smug grin. He simply looked thoughtful, his smile small and genuine.

“Well then, I suppose I will just have to wait three hundred and sixty five days.”

***

The next morning, when Feyre’s train departed, she was not thinking about the glowing city or looming mountain range. Rather, it was Rhys’ violet eyes that crept into her mind and stayed with her long after she arrived at her destination. Those eyes followed her back home, all the way to her studio, her kitchen, her bedroom. They stayed vigilant in their watch. During late nights with her sketch pad and lazy weekends in front of her easel, she would zone out for indiscernible periods of time and jolt back into reality, only to be met with those endless violet eyes.

…

Master list for this fic :)

#acotar fanfiction #acotar holiday gift swap #feyre archeron #rhysand #Feysand #home for the cold spell

40 notes · View notes