#he still has trust issues and push people away | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

underoossss · 1 year

Text

Head over Heels - S.H

masterlist

pairing: steve harrington x grumpy!f!reader

summary: Steve falls for Robin’s grumpy friend, and he falls hard.

warnings: family problems mention, trust issues, angst, hurt/comfort, no spoilers, (there’s fluff I promise!!!)

grumpy x sunshine trope

an: I know this is the first Steve fic I’ve posted IN FOREVER and I’m sorry! my writer’s block, personal problems, work and health, have all contributed to how long it took me to finish this. But I promise to make it worth your while, this is the same length as babe baby beautiful and I hope it makes you happy. I dedicate this to all my grumpy beloveds out there, who, like me. don’t relate 100% to the sunshine tropes bc sometimes life just freaking sucks. I poured my heart out with this one so, I hope this comforts you and that you like it! Please let me know. 💘

——-

The September breeze pushes Steve’s hair back as he makes his way to the Hawkin’s start-of-autumn fair, a new thing the town is trying out to make the citizens feel more upbeat after all the incidents they’ve experienced. His friends trail after him, Mike and Lucas arguing over something he doesn’t understand, Max listening to Dusting complain about some prank the soccer team played on the Hellfire Club and Robin walking by his side. Everyone shouts food orders over their shoulder, running towards the picnic tables in search for an empty one, and leaving Steve and Robin alone.

His friend is rambling by his side, and Steve nods along to what she’s telling him. She has a new friend this year, met her at homeroom when she was introduced as a new student. A senior like Robin, she got along with her just fine. I talk a lot and she doesn’t, it’s a good fit, I think she really needed a friend that day, Robin says, and now she’s friends with all of us. Steve hums in understanding, switching schools in senior year sounds awful, and he wonders why you chose to do that. He wouldn’t, unless it was for something serious.

“Anyway here she comes!” Robin says excitedly, waving you over. “I can’t believe she actually came, she’s not comfortable with strangers and she doesn’t know you. I thought she’d sit this one out.”

Steve follows Robin’s line of sight and spots you walking towards them in the distance. Baby blue sweater, light washed jeans and black high-top converse, make you stand out from the orange foliage around you. Your face is serious as you get closer, only breaking into a small smile when you wave at Robin and accept her hug. When you step back your face morphs back to neutrality, a slight furrow to your brow as you hide your hands in your back pockets.

Robin says your name and motions towards Steve. “This is Steve, the friend I told you about.” She explains, “He’s our chauffeur, monster-fighter and designated babysitter.”

Steve furrows his brows and looks sideways at Robin before he looks at you and grins. “Hi, nice to meet you.” He offers his hand and you give it one quick shake before pulling back and looking away. Steve wasn’t expecting that reaction, but he guesses what Robin said is true, you don’t like strangers.

“We’re going to get Apple fritters! They have massive ones here and they serve them with big scoops of ice cream.” Robin tells you, glancing down the line as it moves. There are only three people left to order, so the three of you step into line. “Let me check if they’re still doing the ice cream on top.”

With that, Steve is left to wait next to you until Robin is back. You shift from one leg to another, almost nervously and Steve glances at you. Your eyes meet his and then look away, not scared or nervous, just looking away like you can’t be bothered to make conversation with him. Is he intimidating? Steve asks himself or are you just a massive buzzkill that can’t even comment on the weather.

Steve tries again, scratching his cheek. “So, uh, you’re in senior year like Robin?”

You nod, looking down at your feet before looking at him. “Yeah, we have a lot of classes together. I know the guys over there as well.” Your hand lifts to point at Eddie, who’s just arrived at the table, and the kids talking around him.

Huh, so you do speak, Steve notes, but only when prompted. “Cool.” He nods, looking at your face and noticing the way you look away immediately. “So why did you move to Hawkins all of a sudden? I mean senior year, that’s gotta be rough.”

You press your lips together, looking uncomfortable by the question. Steve has the faint idea that he asked the wrong thing. “I should go say hi to everyone.” You say after an awkward cough. “If there’s ice cream can you tell Robin I’m good with cookie dough?”

Steve wordlessly takes the 5 bucks you hand him and sees you rush away from him. In the distance he can see everyone’s faces light up when they spot you, beckoning you over with excited waves, and your reluctant barely there smile as you greet them and sit down. Steve doesn’t get it; he is half mortified and half confused when Robin comes back. How is it that everyone is your friend when you’re so closed off and Steve doesn’t want to say it but… grumpy.

“Are you sure your friend wants to be here?” Steve asks Robin, looking over at you again. You’re sitting with your elbows leaning on the table, listening to everyone talk around you, neutral expression on your face. Bored, even.

“Of course, she does.” Robin is quick to say. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, she doesn’t look too thrilled to be talking to you.” Steve shrugs.

“You clearly don’t know her.” Robin shakes her head. “What did you do?”

“I only asked her about her move to Hawkins.” Steve holds his hands up defensively, then adds. “She said she likes cookie dough ice cream.”

They pause their conversation to order the fritters and pay, then continue talking while they wait.

“Okay, you shouldn’t have asked that. First of all.” Robin rolls her eyes, “Second of all, she’s friends with all of us.”

Steve huffs in disbelief. “Oh so she likes you? That’s her I like you face.”

“She adores us, you… not really but that’s cause she doesn’t know you.” Robin nods with certainty, then worries her bottom lip. “The move question is just tricky for her.”

Steve moves to say something when their order is called, and she go back to the booth to take the trays laid out in front of them. There are eight apple fritters with ice cream they have to juggle back to the table but manage to fit in their hands and arms.

“Look Steve.” Robin says seriously, lowering her voice after a sigh.” She slows her pace, so they take longer to get back to the table. “She has been through a rough time; I won’t tell you what because it took her a long time to trust me enough to open up.”

“Okay…” Steve nods, going over her words and feeling a soft pang of guilt. He wouldn’t have judged you so harshly if he knew you were struggling with something. He wouldn’t have asked you about you changing towns. “You could’ve told me that before I messed up earlier. Before I was bitchy too.”

“You’re always bitchy.” Robin huffs, then hums when she looks at you sitting in the distance. “She’s wonderful Steve, in her own way, so don’t judge her by the way she presents herself. When she trusts you, you’ll see what I‘m talking about.” She gives him a pointed look.

Robin’s words echo in his head as they reach the picnic table and hand over the food to their friends. Steve places yours in front of you with a nod to which you say thank you. Now that he knows a little more about you, Steve guesses you were both left with a bad first impression. They aren’t his forte, and it’s not his fault you weren’t the same person with him as you are with Robin. You don’t know each other, of course it was going to be awkward. Steve sees what Robin means as everyone chats and eats; he sees it in the way your eyes soften, and lips smile slightly when Max begins to tell you something. He sees it in the way you lean closer to the redhead and whisper something that has her laughing soon after; you smile as well before turning your attention back to the group. Dustin and Eddie are planning some sort of revenge on the jocks from the soccer team who messed up something in their Hellfire Room.

Steve tries to focus on what they’re saying but he’s too busy looking at you, trying to figure you out. What happened? What’s the thing that you told Robin that made you keep the gentleness you showed to Max tucked away? You feel him looking at you and meet his eyes, it’s a distrustful glance from the way you narrow your eyes at him. Okay, Steve probably stared at you too long. He looks away and hears you sigh before you do too, tuning back into the conversation between the Hellfire club sitting at the other end of the picnic table.

“That’s a horrible plan.” You say plainly, making Max snort and Eddie pause the conversation. The metalhead rolls his eyes –no annoyance, no malice in sight. Steve supposes Eddie knows you like Robin does.

“Why is that, buttercup?” Eddie asks.

“They’ll know it was you, and they’ll beat you up, Munson.” You tell him seriously with an eye roll of your own –Steve doesn’t need to know you to catch the concern in your tone. “Put some laxatives in their protein powders instead.”

Steve lets out a bark of laughter that startles the table; that would be a good prank if he’s being honest. Everyone turns to look at him, including you and Steve clears his throat. “It’s a good idea.” He mumbles rubbing his chin, then meets your eyes briefly to find something like amusement in them.

“No, no, no.” Dustin shakes his head. “It is an objectively good plan, there’s no way they’ll know it’s us.”

“Yeah, we’ll wait for them to leave and then sneak into the locker room.” Eddie adds. “We’ll seal their lockers shut, they can’t change into their gear the next day and their coach yells their ears off.”

“The perfect plan.” Dustin says proudly and looks around the take to see who agrees.

“You sure they won’t be able to trace the prank back to you? See it as immediate revenge for what they did?” Max asks nodding towards you, “She’s right.”

“We’re absolutely sure.” Eddie confirms with a nod, clapping his hands in front of him.

“Can I read the eulogy at your funeral then?” You ask Eddie and Dustin with fake enthusiasm. “I call dibs.”

Steve chuckles and next to him, Robin fakes discontent as she rolls her eyes. “Damn, I wanted to do it.”

You send a smile her way before you clear your throat. “Eddie and Dustin died as they lived.” Your words are solemn as you speak. “With bad plans and too much confidence that they’ll work.”

“They always work.” Eddie says, chuckling at your words with everyone else. You simply raise one eyebrow at him, which Steve must admit is hot, and Eddie shakes his head. “I guess they sort of work.”

“So, laxatives?” Dustin asks Eddie after a minute, a defeated hunch to his shoulders.

“Laxatives.” Eddie and the rest of Hellfire repeats before the table bursts into laughter– including Steve.

His eyes don’t leave you though. You’re not laughing like everyone else but there’s a small smile on your face. It is reserved but softens your face in the loveliest way. It shows him you are enjoying their company despite the otherwise inexpressive look on your face. Steve begins to wonder then… if he wins your trust, the one you have with Robin and Max, will you smile at him the same way you do with them? Bright and beautiful enough to blind him? He guesses it would be worth a shot, getting to know you more, because if he’s being honest, he’s intrigued.

--------

The next time Steve sees you it’s at a party. It’s mid-October and the cold weather turns it up a notch with the cold bite to the air. He wouldn’t have gone to the party in the first place, if he’s being honest, but Robin forced him to go. Everyone will be there she’d said but Steve didn’t know who everyone would be. Only when he arrived at Kevin Rotner’s house did he begin to recognize some familiar faces. Nancy, Johnathan, and Eddie arrive at the same time he does and the five of them walk up the driveway and the small path leading to the front porch. There’s loud chatter inside and a boombox playing to the loudest volume in the dinning room. There are people sitting in the staircase laughing at a joke and more loud conversation coming from the backyard. He navigates the house with his friends until Robin spots you in the kitchen, and Steve doesn’t know why he’s so nervous when he sees you. You greet Robin with a hug and shrug when she tells you something, he can hear. Your face is pretty and serious as you look over Robin’s shoulder, spotting everyone else coming to say hi. Steve sees you take a deep breath before you greet everyone — almost as if you’re preparing yourself for small talk and hugs. He greets you last, more open and approachable than last time, and he’s surprised when you wave. “Hi, Steve.”

Something inside Steve jumps, but he thinks it’s only his own surprise. He’s about to say something, when Robin and Nancy take your hand and drag you away with the promise of some new gossip, they have to tell you.

Steve talks to a few people here and there; mostly the ones he’s kept in touch with after high school. Other than that, he doesn’t know anyone else; he doesn’t know if it’s cause he’s grown up but he’s not really having fun. There are people jumping into the pool despite the weather while those who mind the cold have gathered inside the house. Steve’s mostly avoiding the crowds, where the air is too hot despite winter being near, while keeping an eye out for his friends. Nancy and Jonathan are talking to some people he doesn’t know in the kitchen, Robin is trying not to combust while she talks to her crush —her lab partner in biology— and Eddie is walking around the entire party with his lunchbox.

When Steve sees you again, you are people watching in the living room, eyes trained on a few people in the middle of the room. He moves to stand next to you, and you shift your gaze towards him but say nothing; Steve thinks it means it’s okay if you stand here. Your foot taps to the music –Tears for Fears’ Head Over Heels –and your head moves almost imperceptibly to the music. The two of you are quiet for a while, and it’s not awkward like Steve expected it to be, not after the way he messed up at the fair. He’s pleasantly surprised, and relaxes a bit more next to you, slouching slightly against the wall. One of your arms is crossed over your chest while your other elbow rests on it, a red cup in your hand. The music continues to play and your eyes are still trained on the people talking in the living room, they’re some old Hawkins High students Steve kind of recognizes. There’s Angela and Karen, Bradley and Peter and some other people he doesn’t know the names of. Steve leans his weigh on his right leg, which brings him closer to you.

You don’t move away, simply pass him your red cup. Steve moves to shake his head no and say he’s driving, but you speak up before he does. “It’s only soda.” You say and nod at the cup that Steve takes the cup from you shortly after.

“What’re you watching?” Steve asks.

“The only interesting thing that’s going to happen in this party I think.” You look at him finally and lean closer, Steve isn’t sure you’re aware of it. “I think there’s going to be a fight.”

Your eyes hold amusement in them, like you’re excited for what’s about to happen. The tiniest movement of your mouth has Steve glancing down, you’re grinning, barely; he thinks it’s cute.

Steve’s eyebrows raise, interest spiked, and is about to say something when you turn your head again. Bradley is saying something to Angela, his voice loud and slurred but incomprehensible over the music, and not a second later an equally intoxicated Peter swings a punch at him. Another girl, who Steve doesn’t know, confronts Angela they start arguing with Karen joining the fight. Bradley and Peter fall to the ground, wrestling each other while others try to break the fight.

“Wait isn’t she?” Steve’s mind catches up the everything that happened puts two and two together. He’s pretty Angela is dating Bradley, not Peter.

“Yup.” You say with a shrug, tilting your head. “It was all a matter of time before it happened.” It’s all you say, then chuckle. Steve does too, he can’t help himself at the sound of your own laughter, until the two of you are giggling at the fight in front of you.

The music changes then, to something more upbeat, and Steve’s mind can only think about asking you to dance. Would you say yes? Probably not. Before he can ask you though, you step away from the wall. More people have gathered in the living room to watch the fight, and you decide to make your way to the front door. Do crowds bother you? Steve wonders.

“Wait.” Steve goes after you and closes the door behind him. “Where are you going?”

“Home.” Your back is turned to him. The cream-coloured sweater you wear over your lilac skirt and your black boots look lovely on you, and so does your hair. Steve doesn’t know why but he thinks it frames your face perfectly. There’s also a hint of remaining lip-gloss on your lips that shines with the streetlamp’s light… and Steve, well Steve thinks You’re so pretty.

“It’s cold, don’t tell me you’re going to walk.” Steve speaks again, shaking away his previous thoughts.

You shrug, “I usually do, it’s not too far.”

Steve doesn’t know where you live but he knows Rotner lives far away from almost everyone in Hawkins. Your house is probably far away. “I’ll drive you.” Steve offers, but you sigh and look away.

“Go back to the party Steve, you can drive Robin home.” You say simply. “I’ll see you around.”

“No, she can go with Nancy.” He follows you until he’s walking next to you. “It’s not safe for you to walk home, come on.”

You sigh again and look up at the sky, annoyed. If you’re annoyed, then he’s too, because you’re making a dumb decision for the sake of being stubborn. And you probably don’t know that he’s stubborn too, so you might have to argue all night about whether this decision is right or not. Why is it so hard for you to accept a ride home? You offered him soda and were talking to him just now; it was nice. More than nice.

“I won't stop asking.” Steve says, crossing his arms and stepping in front of you.

Your eyes meet his in an intense half-glare, and Steve can’t help but think how nice your eyeliner looks on you. It does something to him he hasn’t felt in a while. He feels like he can’t breathe while heat creeps up the back of his neck —it’s October, he shouldn’t feel hot at all. A moment later you roll your eyes, though backing down first, and giving Steve some time to breathe as you turn around.

“Alright.”

Steve can’t help smiling in triumph, knowing he just won, and follows you as you walk towards his car further down the road. Amusement paints his eyes as he looks at you; your lips are pursed, and a huff escapes you.

“You’re pouting” Steve says, looking at your lips and the annoyed look on your face. It makes him smile. You’re pouting.

“I’m not” You look sideways at him.

“Oh, you are.”

“Shut up, Harrington.” You say and he laughs, opening the passenger’s door for you.

-------

From then on Steve does his best to increase his charm and be a gentleman. He offers you his help as well as rides home whenever he can, especially when you’re alone. The last thing he wants is for you to think that he’s only being nice when your common friends are around. Steve sees you more often now, not as much as he’d like, he must admit, but enough to know more about you. What you’re okay with sharing, more like.

As he suspected from the party, you don’t like crowds (they make you nervous), and when Steve asked why you’d changed the topic. You work at the Deli on Main Street, have a younger brother named Chris, and you love coffee. He always sees you drinking one in the morning when he gives both you and Robin a ride to school, and whenever he stops by at the deli for lunch during your shift. Most important of all, Steve is starting to see what Robin meant when she said not to judge a book based on its cover. Because, despite your grumpy exterior, there’s a whole personality hidden underneath.

Steve can tell. There are hints and pieces; from the way you dress, to the music you like, and comic books you read and often exchange with Max. When he takes the time to look, he sees the gentleness with which you do things, and the care with which you treat your friends. He also sees your distrust for what it is: fear. You’re afraid, to let new people in, to get hurt, and Steve doesn’t know why.

He wishes there was something he could do to fix it, to make you see the glass half full instead of half empty, or to change your sporadic pessimism. But then he figures, he would be changing you, and that’s not something he wants. If he’s being honest, your friend group (Steve isn’t sure if he’s your friend, officially at least) needed someone with an objective outlook on life to set their heads straight. And if he’s honest with himself, he likes all the things that make you you. He likes your confidence when you don’t care what people think about you. He likes it when you fight with Robin over who chooses the music, despite it being his car. And he's pretty much obsessed with your face; the hard set of your jaw when you get impatient, the brow you silently arch that makes him feel things he shouldn’t, and the silent way you listen to conversation, only speaking up when you think it’s necessary. Steve is more than a bit obsessed.

He had been wrong that first day. He didn’t know you and wrongly assumed you weren’t happy to be there with them, when you actually were. He reflects upon it now that he knows your facial expressions; your eyebrows had been relaxed, and your eyes didn’t have a hard edge to them. You had been at ease, only closing yourself off when Steve tried to dig into your move to Hawkins. He really started off with the wrong foot, but it all takes a turn on a Friday night.

You visit FV for a tape mid-afternoon, surprising Steve at work. The weather is more than chilly outside, and Steve notices right away how you have no jacket on, only a dark red sweater. He’d been doing some paperwork behind the counter when the bell over the door for his attention. It rewarded him with the sight of you walking in, looking around before your eyes settle on him.

“Hey, Steve.” You say voice light as you approach him and lean your elbows on the counter. “Do you have karate kid available? My brother is begging us to watch it again tomorrow.”

Steve doesn’t know why but he struggles to speak for a moment —it probably has to do with the fact that you look very pretty, and two, this interaction is so different from your first one he shortcircuits. After a long pause you raise a questioning eyebrow, “You okay?”

Steve clears his throat. “Yeah. Um, we have it, let me go get it.”

“Thank you.” You nod as he dashes away from the counter.

“Did you walk here?” Steve asks once he’s cleared his head and reaches the action movie aisle. He sees you shrug over the stands.

“I usually do, I don’t mind it.” You explain simply.

“You’re not wearing a jacket though.” Steve grabs Karate Kid and goes back to the counter. Why are you always out in the cold without a jacket? It’s a miracle you haven’t fallen sick, he thinks.

“I left school in a rush, I was gonna be late for work.” You shrug again, eyes visibly lighting up when you spot the movie. “Thank God. Chris would have been insufferable if someone beat me to it.”

Steve crouches down behind the counter and retrieves his own jacket —a grey bomber— before placing it on the counter in front of you. “Here.”

“Steve,” You tell him seriously, rolling your eyes. “I’m not taking your jacket.”

“Why not? You’re the one walking out in the cold, I only have to walk towards my car.” He dismisses your refusal with a wave of his hand.

“Hey!” Robin says, calling your name as she emerges from the back room. “Perfect timing, I was going to call you.”

“Here to rent karate kid.” You tell her, a small smile on your face.

“And choosing hypothermia over my jacket.” Steve chimes in, sliding his jacket pointedly towards you.

“It’s not that cold Steve.” You roll your eyes at him again, “But I know you’ll annoy me until I say yes.”

Steve gives you a triumphant smile and you shake your head, Steve would even say it’s shyly, before you take the jacket and shrug it on. “The movie? Please.”

Robin speaks up while Steve rings you up. “We’re gonna hang out at Nancy’s tonight. The kids will be there too, you should come.”

Steve risks a glance at you, in his jacket; a huge mistake. He seriously underestimated his reaction to seeing you in his clothes, because it is downright adorable and something he was unprepared for. The sleeves go past your hands and the whole thing is oversized on you, his shoulders being broader than yours and his torso longer. Steve bites back a smile —he hopes you never give it back to him; this is a sight he’d love to see more often. He turns back to the computer to hide his grin from you and silently hopes you’ll say yes.

“Will there be other people?” You ask Robin, and Steve is quick to shake his head no and reassure you. Too quick.

“Just the usual gang.” Steve tells you, clearing his throat to hide his eagerness. “No one else.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” Robin insists with a smile, then moves her gaze towards Steve, who tries to ignore the way she raises a knowing eyebrow at him. He’s gonna have an earful once you leave, he can bet on it.

“Okay, I’ll be there.” You nod, then exchange some cash for the movie Steve hands to you. “Thank you, Steve.”

Steve leans his forearms on the counter, trying to give you his most charming smile to see if he’ll get one of those you give Robin in return. “We’ll pick you up after work.” Steve says and you look into his eyes for a long second before nodding.

“Sure.” You shrug, eyes shifting away from his. “I’ll see you guys later.”

------

At Nancy’s, chaos ensues. The kids argue over what board-game to play while Eddie and Robin argue over what record to play next. Steve is listening to Nancy and Jonathan talk about a volunteering drive she’s organizing and from where he stands, he can see you leaning against the wall next to Robin. Your face is neutral as you listen to the record that’s currently playing, tuning out Eddie’s argument for the most part until you speak up.

“Or you can let me choose?” You ask calmly, glancing at them briefly before going back to looking down at your feet.

“No!” Both Eddie and Robin say at the same time, and Steve notices the corner of your mouth twitch upwards.

“You chose this one, buttercup.” Eddie says with a sigh. “You’re only gonna choose one to annoy us.”

This earns Eddie an eye roll. “How exactly do you know that?” You ask. “It could’ve been a great pick, now you’ll never know Munson.”

Steve tries to tune back into Nancy’s explanation when Max pushes the board game she wanted to play away with a huff. It clatters to the ground as she stands from her place in front of the coffee table. You spot her and call her name only a moment later.

“Hey Max, I got the new Wonder Woman!” You say after a moment when the read-head stops glaring daggers at the boys.

Her eyes light up, a dramatic change from the look in her eyes moments ago. “Really? Can I see it?”

“‘Course, I brought it for you.” You roll your eyes, this time full of fondness, and nod towards the kitchen. “It’s in my bag.”

Steve can’t follow your conversation because the doorbell rings, signalling the pizza Nancy ordered arrived. The weather feels much colder than earlier as he opens the door and steps outside, he pays for the pizza, tips the delivery guy and goes back inside. Arms full of pizza boxes, he walks back to the dining table, shooting a pointed look at Dustin and Mike. “Zip it or you don’t get a single slice.”

The high schoolers move more discarded boardgames away from the table in a heartbeat, scrambling to undo their mess and opening the pizza boxes in a hurry. Steve spots you still standing in the kitchen talking to Max as everyone helps themselves to pizza and decides to let you both know the food is ready.

“So, you skate too?” Max is asking you excitedly, leaning her hip against the kitchen counter.

You chuckle — it hits Steve in the chest and Steve doesn’t know what to do with that. “I do,” You grin, “I mean I used to when I lived in Indianapolis, but I haven’t since I moved here.”

“We can go to the skate-park tomorrow.” Max proposes raising her eyebrows, “If you want.”

You nod, “Sure. I’ll look for my skateboard tonight, let’s hope I still remember how to use it.”

“Pizza’s here.” Steve says, interrupting and smiling at you both. When your eyes meet his, your lips move to smile but in a matter of seconds you stop yourself.

It makes Steve furrow his brows and walk over to you as Max leaves to grab a slice. “You okay?” Steve asks, and your eyes meet his again briefly before they dart away as you sidestep him.

You make your way to the front door in a rush, this time though you do grab your jacket—his jacket— on the way. Just like he did the night of the party, Steve follows you, worried and confused at your reaction. Robin glances at him from the dining table, an unspoken question in her eyes but Steve can only shrug. He is certain he didn’t do anything wrong just now, but somehow, he messed up because you just fled from him.

“Stop.” Steve says after calling your name. “What happened?”

“Nothing, I just need some air. You should go back inside Steve.” Your back is to him, shoulders tense and close to your ears defensively.

“No,” He shakes his head. His lips go down into a frown briefly as he looks at your back. He voices the question he always asks himself when you shut him down. “Did I do something?”

“No.” You say when you turn, eyebrows meeting in the middle as you glare at him but Steve sees the way you struggle to hold it in place. After a second it falls, and your face just crumples to exhausted look. “I want to be alone.” You whisper.

“You think a glare and a pout are intimidating enough to drive me away?” Steve shakes his head.

“I don’t pout.” You say, lips pursed and jaw tense. Pouting.

“You do and it’s not working.”

You change tactics then, raising an eyebrow and staring him down like the night at the party but Steve shakes his head. “That’s not working either.”

“Why are you insisting so much on this!” You finally ask, raising your voice and crossing your arms in front of you. Your jaw clenches as you look away and Steve sees your eyes squeeze shut.

He runs a hand down his face and breathes out. “Whether you like it or not there are people who want to get to know you.”

“What, like you?” Your eyes cut a suspicious look Steve’s way and he can see your walls come back up right in front of him. A tear falls down your cheek and you’re quick to wipe it away, harshly. “Why?”

Steve throws his hands up in the air, exasperated but not raising his voice, “To be your friend! Just like Robin and Eddie are your friends.” His shoulders move up and down, trying to cover up how much he likes you and looks forward to your company. “Why are you so distrustful, is it something I did?”

“It’s not about you, Steve.” Your eyebrows meet in the middle again, and you look away from him, directing your gaze to the snow-covered lawn. “If… If it bothers you so much, why do you even want to be my friend? Because you’re wrong Steve. No one else does, and I’m more than fine with that.”

Steve shakes his head, knowing you’re lying to him and trying to convince yourself. His voice softens. “Because despite it, I like you, I think you’re… cool.”

“Cool?” The way you raise your eyebrows makes Steve chuckle.

Funny, caring, fucking beautiful, Steve wants to say but he just nods his head at your question.

“Yeah, and you’re interesting, and I… want to be your friend.” Steve’s hands settle on his hips as he shifts his weigh to one leg, looking down to the ground. Glancing at you briefly, he drops his voice to whisper your name. “Don’t leave. I’m not lying… that’s what worries you right?”

Steve assumes that’s where your distrust comes from; you told him it wasn’t something he did, then it must be that you’re scared to trust him. He’s known there are many feelings behind your hard exterior, one of them being fear. Steve doesn’t want you to fear him, and he wonders who broke your trust in the past. Silence settles between the two of you; you seem to be going over his words and Steve is giving you the time to do so. He’d wait an hour if necessary and reassure you a thousand times if it would mean you believe him. Steve panics when he sees you swallow hard and shift your eyes at the sky, the last thing he wanted to do was make you cry.

But you don’t cry. Instead, you take a deep breath and look into his eyes. There’s a vulnerability there that awakens an urge in Steve to hug you. “You promise?” Your voice is a whisper, but he hears you clear as day. You’ve never spoken so softly before, and Steve wishes it could have happened under other circumstances.

Steve looks into your eyes and nods with sincerity, hoping you can see he’s being completely honest with you. “Yes.”

“I do like you, Steve. You just scare me.” You look down at the ground for a moment and nod to yourself as Steve’s eyebrows shoot hop in surprise. A moment later, your eyes drift back to Steve and there are emotions dancing around in them he’s never seen before. “I’m sorry.”

Steve nods and something inside him tightens when you offer a small smile. It’s like something shifts between the two of you despite neither of you moving. In a matter of seconds, everything feels easy, natural, like the brief moment your shared at the party in October. Steve realizes it’s because you’ve let your guard down; you stand differently in front of him, more comfortable, less apprehensive. You scare me. “You wanna tell me why?”

You press your lips together and shake your head. “Another time, maybe?”

Steve tries to hold back a smile, but he can’t, it takes over his entire face. When he sees you shiver, he offers his hand. “Let’s go back inside, or I can drive you home if you want to leave.”

“I can stay a bit longer.” You say when you grab his hand –an electric shock goes up his arm. “I really want some pizza. But if they play Monopoly I’m definitely leaving.”

Steve’s laughter follows you as he leads the two of you back to the house.

The coffee cup Steve places in front of you at work the next Monday lands with a soft thud on the counter. It’s black coffee with some milk and sugar; the way Steve’s learned you take it every day. The sound and his presence make you look up at him over the top of your book, a doubtful eyebrow raised and a serious look on your face. Fuck your pretty, Steve thinks. Your eyes shift from the coffee to his face a couple of times before you close your book.

“What’s this?” You ask, leaning back on your seat and tilting your head.

Steve leans his elbows on the counter in front of you and tilts his head right back. “Considering you drink around 5 of these a day, one would think you’ll know what it is.”

“Ah, that’s where you’re mistaken. I actually drink 10.” You deadpan, looking at him with fake disappointment. “I thought you knew me, now that we’re friends and all.”

Steve laughs, looks down and shakes his head. When he looks at you again, there’s a half smile on your face. “Come on.” He says. “Let’s go grab some food.”

“I literally work at a deli, Steve.” You tell Steve seriously, motioning to your surroundings. “We’re surrounded by food.”

Steve copies what you just said with a roll of his eyes and smiles again. “I mean something else, babe. Come on.”

With a sigh you stand up from your seat and round the counter, leaving your apron behind. “You’re lucky I get a break in a couple of minutes.” You tell Steve before yelling over your shoulder. “Hank I’ll be back!”

Steve’s eyes light up and he considers his visit a triumph. He’s becoming surer and surer his feelings for you go beyond friendship and fondness and lean more towards: I want to hold your hand all the time, and cuddle you while we watch movies then forget about the movie and get lost on you. He wants to put his arm around your shoulder freely, have you lean your weigh against him and steal a kiss, probably more than one. No. It won’t ever happen so Steve shouldn’t even be thinking about it. He opens the passenger’s door to his car for you and smiles when you get in, your coffee in your hand.

It becomes a routine of sorts, either you visit him at Family Video bringing sandwiches for him and Robin or he picks you up, a coffee waiting for you in his car and drives you wherever feels right that day to eat your lunch. You talk about your day, or whatever gossip you heard that day. One day you even confessed to be scared about graduation.

“Everyone is so excited to finish school, and here I am so terrified about the future I haven’t opened any of my college application letters.” You muttered, picking at a loose thread on your sweater.

“Why are you scared?” Steve asked you and you swallow hard.

You turned your body on your seat, facing him as you shrugged. “I feel lost, I don’t know what I should major in. I also don’t know where I’d like to go, and I can't even research these colleges without panic settling on my chest.” Your eyebrows furrowed and your jaw got tense and Steve knew that meant you felt angry and this time it was at yourself.

Steve took your hand without a second thought, but you let him. “You know, you don’t have to figure it all out right now.”

“It feels like it.” You whispered looking at him, frustration and embarrassment shining in your eyes. “Everyone else has it figured out.”

Steve shook his head; you shouldn’t feel embarrassed with him. “If there’s something I’ve learned about you, is that you don’t care about what other people are doing. What do you want?”

“I ask myself that question every day.” You mirrored his head shake and looked away. “Let’s talk about something else. Please?”

Steve was happy to change the subject, anything to cheer you up. By the time you go back to the Deli to continue your shift, he realized it was the first personal thing you’ve told him. Ever. It made him happier than he cared to admit.

-----

Two months after your talk in Nancy’s driveway, you invite Robin, Nancy, Eddie, Jonathan and Steve to your house. It’s the first time you’ve let anyone other than Robin into your home, this time for movie night. Your father and brother went back to Indianapolis to pick up other stuff from your old house, you said, it’s perfect timing. Steve and Robin arrive together, and shortly afterwards Eddie’s knocking on the door.

Your house is cozy and simply decorated with a forest green comfy looking couch, a dark brown coffee table and a TV in the living room and all the basic stuff in both the dining room and kitchen. There’s a record playing somewhere, and Steve can’t help the smile that comes to his face when he sees the way you’re mouthing the words as you move back and for the between the kitchen and living room bringing snacks, drinks and pizza for everyone. You’re wearing a cream-coloured sweater he recognizes from the party back in October and something funny happens in his stomach when he realizes just how far your friendship’s evolved since then.

“Babe come on take a break, we can help.” Steve stops you from going back to the kitchen with a hand on your shoulder and a fond look on his face.

You open your mouth to say something when Eddie and Robin appear on either side of you, presenting the movies they –surprisingly– were in charge to pick. “The best horror movies.” They say in unison.

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise as you take the three VHS tapes from them. “Oh. Um, great! Thank you.” Your reaction hides behind the grin you shoot both, who nod and disappear to the kitchen.

“You’re pouting.” Steve says stepping closer to you again in the living room; your eyes that were fixed on the VHS tapes drift upwards to meet his own. Steve smiles.

“I’m not pouting.” You tell him with a roll of your eyes, lips settling back into a pout as you scan the titles of the movies once more. “These are just scary.”

“You’re still pouting.” Steve whispers, like it’s a secret. His eyes drift down to your lips, a mistake that has him swallowing hard, before the doorbell rings, signalling Johnathan and Nancy arrived. He’s quick to turn and go let them in. It’s a perfectly timed distraction. He shouldn’t think about kissing you, because despite no matter how badly he wants to, you’d never let it happen, or feel the same way he does to let it happen. “Just saying!”

Once the first movie plays, Eddie and Robin settle on one end of the couch, while Nancy and Johnathan sit on the floor in front of them. Steve shoots Robin a I know what you’re doing look before sitting next to her and feeling the couch dip under your weigh when you settle on the empty seat next to him. A sweet floral scent he now recognizes as your shampoo or your perfume reaches him and Steve actively decides to focus on the movie, not the way he wants to pull you over his lap and breathe you in. Eddie and Robin laugh every now and then and the four of you turn to look at them, there’s nothing funny about the movie. You begin covering your face with the bucket of popcorn as the movie progresses, your face grimacing as the suspenseful music picks up.

Steve leans closer to you, his voice a whisper as he speaks. “It’s just special effects don’t worry about it.” You turn to look at him, worried puppy dog eyes gazing into him and dammit you make it so hard to keep his distance. “Trust me.” Steve winks, lightening the mood only to jump and scream when he turns to the movie once more and a jump scare comes on.

It seems like the perfect medicine for your fear. For you forget about it and lean your head back laughing, a full-on belly laugh, that’s so contagious and beautiful Steve laughs with you. Nancy and Robin share a knowing look he doesn’t notice before they shush the two of you, shoving at his elbow and your knee. You cover your mouth with your hand and your shoulders shake as you lean your head on Steve’s shoulder, turning your body towards his; Steve’s never been so happy to be scared in his life.

Everyone leaves after 3 movies. Robin gets a ride with Eddie, and Nancy leaves with Jonathan as well. Steve though, stays behind insisting on helping you clean up, but it’s a weak excuse to check on you before he leaves. He noticed you getting nervous, fidgeting with your hands anxiously when everyone started to leave. The films were long done, so Steve knows something else is worrying you and it doesn’t sit well in his heart to leave you like this. Which is why he is currently picking up trash in the living room while you do the same in the kitchen.

You’re finishing placing the dirty dishes in the sink when Steve enters the room. He noticed right away the way your shoulders hunch and you take a deep breath. “Steve…”

“You okay?” Steve closes the trash bag and moves to the sink. His eyes roam your face as he looks sideways at you and washes his hands.

“I um… I wanted to apologize to you.” You tell him quietly, passing him a kitchen towel before moving away from the sink. “For how closed-off I was when you met me.”

After drying his hands quickly, Steve turns and leans on the edge of the sink. “It’s okay, it’s not easy to trust new people right away.” He reassures you –it’s something he understands now; he understands you.

You sit on the counter opposite to him and stare at the floor for a bit, polka dot sock clad feet dangling in the air. “It’s more than that. I’m just scared of getting close to people since…”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” Steve shakes his head, keeping his eyes on your face.

“I trust you, Steve.”

Those four words make Steve’s chest flutter –relief, happiness, nerves– but he pushes the feeling to the back of his mind and patiently waits for you to continue. Your lips are pursed as you stare at the floor, gathering your thoughts.

“My mom…” You swallow, getting chocked up with those to words but soldiering on. With a shake of your head, you look up to the ceiling and will your tears away. “My mom left my dad, brother and I last April. She’d been cheating on dad for years… and that’s not even the worst part.”

You wipe your eyes quickly, lips pulled downwards into a deep frown when you pause again –an upside-down U Steve wishes he could smooth out with his thumb. But he stays where he stands and lets you continue.

“The other man was married too” Your eyes find Steve’s and where there’s usually a spark –like that night at the party– there’s only sadness directed at the memory. “He’s the father of a popular kid at my old high school, so you can guess what happened when everyone found out.”

Steve’s mouths opens again and this time a soft no escapes him.

You press your lips together and nod, “So not only did the news wreck our home… they made life at school unbearable for my brother and I. People who I thought were my friends just threw me away as if I was trash for something I didn’t do. Something I had no fault in.”

“Is that why you moved here?” Steve asks softly, walking closer to you. The answer to the question he asked many months ago, right in front of him and it doesn’t make him feel any satisfaction. No, it hurts him to know this. Moving away from everything you’ve known and starting over again during senior year sounds brutal.

“Yes.” You whisper and close your eyes briefly; more tears fall down your cheeks and Steve’s heart aches. Teary eyes move away from his and fix themselves on the kitchen window instead, your lips are pressed so hard against each other they’re losing colour. “She packed her bags right after school the day we found out. We saw her leave with that man, no other explanation, not even a goodbye or a note. Everyone except my dad and my brother decided to leave me that day.”

A sob escapes you then, finally breaking free and shaking your whole body; another one replaces it once it stops. Your hands move from the counter to your face, covering it as cries continue to escape you in succession. Steve wastes no time and walks to stand in front of you; he hates seeing you in so much pain. God, it must have hurt so much, just being left behind like that. His hands move to your hips and gently urge you to hop off the counter before he wraps you up in his arms. His shoulders shake with the force of your sobs as you cling to him.

“Stevie.” Your hands are bunched up in the back of his polo, holding onto him like a lifeline.

Steve can’t even relish the sound of your calling him Stevie so softly. He swallows hard as he witnesses the pain, you have felt inside of you for so long. “I’m so sorry.” He whispers.

“She left us, Steve. She just disappeared and left us grieving her despite her being alive.” You say between your tears, they soak the right side of his shirt, but Steve couldn’t care less, his arms just tighten around your waist. “She’d been pushing us away for years, treating us like garbage and now I can see it’s because we weren’t good enough for her anymore. She didn’t love any of us anymore. We… we didn’t make her happy.”

Your voice sounds hoarse from crying, and your hands tighten behind Steve’s back. When you bury your face in his chest, Steve hunches his shoulders and forms a cocoon to protect you from the past. His protective nature takes over as he holds you flush against him; his hand moves up and down your back firmly –you need to know he’s there, that he’s got you. Steve puts his cheek over your head and whispers his next words. “I’ve got you; you can cry as much as you need to, I’m not going anywhere.”

It takes a few minutes, but your sobs soon transform into soft sniffles even as you press yourself closer to him. Steve doesn’t want to upset you anymore, but he’s itching to comfort you and let you know what he wishes someone had told him years ago. “I know my own shit experience with my parents isn’t the same as what you went through.” He starts, taking a small step back so he can look at you.

His fingers take a gentle hold of your face until puffy and teary eyes meet his; Steve wipes away some stray tears. “But what your mom did to you doesn’t say anything about you alright? You’re more than good enough for anyone. If she didn’t see that, then she made the worst mistake of her life.”

You close your eyes at his words and look away, but Steve shakes his head and urges you to face him again with a whisper of your name. “You don’t have to prove your worth to anyone because your mother left. All of us see it, and we’re so lucky to have you here.”

Steve’s thumb catches more tears as your lips begins to tremble again. “I’m so fucking lucky that you trust me, and I understand why you didn’t at first, okay? I understand you.”

Your hands on his waist tighten again as your forehead drops to his right shoulder. “I didn’t used to be like this… I’m sorry that this is the me that you met.”

Steve shakes his head, sure that you feel it when he does, and pulls you flush to his chest again. Is this how you’ve felt since last summer? He wonders. Like this version of yourself is wrong or unlikable.

Sure, you’re not a smiley person, but that makes your rare smiles even more special –and they drive Steve crazy. You see the glass half-empty most times to protect yourself if things do indeed go to shit, but you also recognize genuine goodness. You don’t hesitate to encourage or celebrate everyone else’s happiness; he’s seen it firsthand, with the kids, with Robin and even himself. Steve doesn’t think he could ever get tired of your dark humour or that pretty pout that settles on your lips when you get annoyed, not to mention that making you laugh is his favorite thing in the world. Steve understands your anxiety and panic at your college decision, you don’t want another change; you don’t want to choose something you don’t like and face another disappointment again. Most of all, Steve finally understands your hesitance and the root of your gruff exterior, and he wouldn’t change a thing about it. He’s stupid in love with you; your grumpy and soft looks; your frowns and your smiles; your heart; and that tender way you’re holding onto him right now.

Steve places a kiss to the side of your head to keep himself from saying all of this out loud –it’s not the right time, not yet. Instead, he whispers above your ear, “I wouldn’t change a single thing about you.”

For a moment, stillness surrounds the two of you in the kitchen and there’s no other sound but your quiet sniffles against Steve’s shirt again. Steve doesn’t mind, he’s happy to hold you for as long as you need, which ends up being five more minutes. You take a step back and look at him with those pretty eyes of yours; they’re teary and red-rimmed but lovely all the same.

“Thank you, Steve.” You whisper, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips until your gaze drops to his shirt and embarrassment shines in your eyes. “Sorry I cried all over you.”

“I don’t mind.” Steve shrugs and looks at you softly, hands still on your waist. “I think I know what we should do.”

You look at him curiously. “About what?”

“To cheer you up.”

The head shake you give him is immediate, just as he imagined. “I don’t–”

“You deserve a happy life.” Steve states as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world and sends a wink your way hoping to amuse you. “And I think, ice cream is a good way to start. I should know, I worked at an ice cream shop remember.”

He leaves your side and walks over to the freezer to grab the ice cream he saw earlier that night when he got up mid-movie to get more ice. It’s cookie dough ice cream, which he knows to be your favourite –he’s known since that first night he met you. Knowing he’s completely serious now, your eyes stare into his eyes for a moment before you turn and grab two spoons from a kitchen drawer.

“I guess we’re having ice cream then. Considering you’re an expert.” You say with an eye roll Steve can only describe as fond when you approach him again. A moment later, you sit on the counter and Steve follows suit, sitting next to you. “Spoon?”

“Thank you.” Steve says and takes it from you after opening the ice cream tub. He offers the tub to you first, letting you scoop some ice cream with your spoon which you pop in your mouth. Your arms brush from how close you’re sitting, and Steve has to lean forward to look at you, but he doesn’t mind. He’s happy with the proximity.

A sigh escapes you and you close your eyes as you savour the ice cream. Steve feels heat creep up the back of his neck at the sound, but he shakes the feeling off; you’re only eating ice cream, to make you feel better. “You were right Harrington, this is like medicine.”

“Told you, I’m an expert.” Steve chuckles and eats his own spoonful, the creamy ice cream melting in his tongue before he laughs as you search for the cookie dough in the tub. “This is going to be just plain vanilla ice cream if you keep doing that.”

“Finders keepers.” You tell him with a shrug as you bring the cookie dough to your mouth. “It’s arguably the best part of this ice cream.”

“You’re supposed to eat the ice cream with it!” Steve argues, holding the tub away from your reach. “I want cookie dough too you know.”

You roll your eyes at him, but there’s a soft look on your face as you look at him and nod. The two of you go back to eating ice cream in silence until Steve speaks up again. There are so many things he wants to know about you still –he thinks he’ll always want to know more. “What’s something you miss from living in Indianapolis?”

You pause mid-scoop and concentrate for a few moments going over his question. A moment later a tiny smile makes its way to your lips. “There used to be a wonderful campsite my dad used to take my brother and I; we’d camp for three days and do all sort of activities.”

Steve smiles. “Like what?”

“Dad and Chris love fishing, so we’d do that. There was also hiking, swimming, s’mores. Oh! We’d all tell each other stories sitting next to the fire. They were all completely made up of course, and I think the more ridiculous they were, the more fun we had.”

Your eyes wander around the kitchen, like you’re back in the forest with your family and not next to Steve anymore. Light dances in your eyes and Steve can almost picture the three of you laughing around the fire as the catch of the day roasts on a grill nearby. He knows better than to ask about your mother, he’s got a pretty good idea what the answer would be. Besides, you’ve cried enough already, so much that Steve’s own heart feels bruised from seeing you in pain.

“You haven’t camped here in Hawkins?” Steve asks after a minute, voice quiet to avoid disturbing your memory.

You shake your head and sigh, the mirage in front of you disappearing as your eyes drift back to Steve’s. “Dad’s not the same person he was during those camping trips… he hasn’t scouted a good place for us to go. I don’t think he even wants to go camping anymore.”

Steve puts the ice cream tub on the counter and takes your hand instead. “Maybe we could go camping someday, invite everyone, have fun…”

Your head moves to rest on his shoulder, the dizzying smell of your shampoo and perfume reaching Steve’s nose at the proximity. He leans his cheek on top of your head and feels the faint nod you give him. “Maybe.”

A comfortable silence settles between the two of you, your hand still in Steve’s grasp. Until he gives it a squeeze that makes you jump, as if you forgot you were holding hands in the first place. Steve chuckles. “What?”

Your head leaves his shoulder in an instant and for a second Steve is sure you’re going to hide behind your walls again, like you did so many months ago. His fear though, is replaced with concern when you hop off the counter and check the time with a frown.

“Babe come on, what’s going on?” He hops off the counter and stands in front of you. His eyes search yours until finally your gaze meets his, your embarrassment clear in them.

“I just hate being home alone at night. It makes me anxious.” Your hands fidget in front of you, as if you’re waiting for Steve to laugh at you. Oh, so that’s why you were nervous earlier. “I can’t sleep. At all.”

He looks down at his watch and sees that it’s midnight already. “I don’t mind staying over.” Bringing his eyes back to yours, he speaks up again. “Would that make you feel better?”

You close your eyes and let out a shaky exhale before you nod. “A lot better.” When your eyes open again, they’re full of gratefulness and surprise, as if Steve wouldn’t do anything for you.

A smile grows on Steve’s face, and he takes your hand before you can thank him, threading your fingers together as he speaks. “Come on, you’re probably tired.”

Steve, however, is everything but tired. His heart is racing at the thought of spending the night here with you. You’ve never spent so much time together in a day, he’s never seen your bedroom, and there’s something about this impromptu sleepover that makes heat creep up the back of his neck. No. He’s here to give you emotional support; you were so anxious earlier and there’s nothing he wants more than to see you happy and comfortable. If staying here, despite it sending his feelings into a frenzy, is the key for you to rest then so be it. He can stay for one night.

You don’t let go of his hand as you lead him upstairs, passing various pictures of you and your family that hang from the wall opposite the handrail. There are three bedrooms upstairs and yours is the last one down the hall, its view towards the backyard. You open the door a moment later and let go of his hand as you step inside. Now that he’s here, Steve remembers neither of you made sure the doors were locked downstairs. He should do that.

“I’m going to take a shower.” You tell him as you walk towards your dresser.

Steve nods and swallows hard, using the excuse of your safety to be downstairs while that happens. “We forgot to lock everything downstairs. I’ll go do that.”

“Oh, right.” You press your palm to your forehead; Steve can see you reprimand yourself. “Thank you, Steve.”

“No problem.” Steve is quick to shake his head as he takes a step back from the room. “I’ll be right back.”

Once Steve is back downstairs, he makes sure to check the windows and lock the front door. He fiddles with the light switches for a while before he finds the right ones and turns the lights off. The whole process takes him less than five minutes, and the shower is still running when he’s back in your room. With a deep breath he finally looks around, gazing through a metaphorical window into your world, which he surprisingly already knew a lot of. The pastel walls make him smile, and he walks along the furthermost wall where various posters have been hung –all bands and singers Robin and you have played in his car. There’s a small vanity by the closet next to the bathroom, full of tiny bottles and a couple of lip-gloss tubes. Steve also spots a purple bottle of perfume on top, and a grin makes its way to his face –that’s the one that drives him crazy, he’s sure of it. He’s about to move closer and look at the pictures you’ve pasted in the vanity’s mirror, but he’s startled to a stop when you speak.

“I left a shirt for you to sleep in, if you want it.” You say and Steve turns around.

His heart summersaults when he sees you, fresh dewy face, hair out of your face, an oversized grey t-shirt with a pink Queen logo on the front and pink cotton sleeping pants. The overhead light of the bathroom makes a small rectangle in the carpeted floor, and some steam from your shower still circles around behind you. It takes all Steve’s self-control to stay where he is and not walk up to you and pull you into his arms; no tears between you this time, just Steve holding you the way he wishes he could all the time. He looks at the t-shirt you left on your bed to distract himself and laughs when he notices the colour.

“How’d you guess I love pink?” Steve asks you, glancing your way as he walks towards the bed and holds up the t-shirt. It’s very oversized like yours, and it has a black and fuchsia print of Blondie’s lead singer on it.

“Dunno, just thought it would suit you.” you chuckle, and Steve sees you hold back a smile as you point towards the bathroom. “There’s a spare toothbrush on the sink.”

Steve nods and hurries to the bathroom, lest you notice him blushing. He finds the toothbrush instantly and proceeds to brush his teeth, and though he doesn’t know why, Steve feels extremely happy to know both of you use the same toothpaste. He glances around and looks at all the details that are entirely yours around the room. There are some facial creams on a shelf next to the mirror, a vanilla scented hand soap on the sink, and a look towards the shower shows him two purple and pink shampoo and conditioner bottles –the ones that make your hair smell like flowers. Steve rinses his mouth, then takes off his sweater and jeans before he puts on the pink t-shirt you gave him and, like a freak, smells it to find that somehow your scent still lingers in the soft cotton.

If he was panicking before, he’s panicking even more now. He’s obsessed with you, he realizes, stupidly head over the heels and all of this is making it worse; lying on a bed next to you will make it so much worse. He’s got to pull himself together. He’s doing this because of fear of being home alone, that’s all. He can sleep alongside you for a night without making a fool of himself –or worse, accidentally confess his feelings. So, pushing all bed related thoughts to the back of his mind, he walks out of the bathroom to find you already under your duvet in bed.

Not letting himself think too much about it, Steve turns off the lamp on your nightstand and slips under the duvet too. He keeps his body still, tense more accurately, as he lies next to you. That is until you turn to face him, and he immediately does too, like a magnet naturally attracted to you.

“Do you ever fear that you’ll wake up one day and everyone you know will be gone?” you whisper in the dark; your voice is almost silent, but Steve hears you loud and clear with how close he is to you. The minty smell of your toothpaste mingles with his own breath. Is this how things are going to be between you now, deep conversations and secrets you only trust to each other? He really hopes so.

Steve shakes his head, trying to make out your face in the dark as his heart constricts in his chest. “No,” he says just as quietly, “But sometimes I’m afraid that something terrible will happen and I won’t be able to help.”

Steve closes his eyes and exhales through his nose as he voices one of his fears for the first time. He’s sure that everything that happened in the Upside Down that they managed to fix was thanks to the brains in his friend group. Steve is all physical strength, which has proved useful in the past, but against monsters or whatever the hell could come next, he’s not sure it will be enough. The thought of being useless like that and everyone suffering because of it terrifies him. Even more now that you’re a part of said friend group. He’s sure of one thing though, he’d protect you and all his friends no matter what.

Your hand slowly moves to his shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “Knowing you, Steve, I’m a thousand percent sure you’d find a way to help. Your stubbornness can be a good thing.”

A breathy chuckle leaves him as your words punch the air out of him. He’s silent for a moment, scrambling for something reassuring to say back. Words aren’t his forte, not unless he’s flirting. He’d rather pull you close to him and comfort you that way, the way he did in the kitchen. “You know… if we were to disappear for whatever reason, you can bet I’d fight my way to you. You won’t be alone.”

Steve sees you nod your head in the dark, his only sign that you haven’t fallen asleep yet. Your hand goes back to your side, in front of his before you stifle a yawn. Assuming your eyes are tired from all their crying, Steve moves his hand to cup your cheek gently.

“Go to sleep, you need to rest.” He whispers; he wants to give you more comfort, pull you close and rub your back until you fall asleep. He doesn’t because he can’t, that would make things weird.

“Thank you for staying with me.” You whisper back.

Remaining silent to avoid saying something that’d give away just how deep his feelings for you run, or the fact that the opportunity to be lying here next to you is something he should be thankful for, he only rubs his thumb softly on your cheek once more before letting go. With another yawn you turn around, your back facing Steve as you whisper goodnight.

Steve doesn’t know when he falls asleep, but he knows he sleeps more peacefully than he has in a while. Not that he doesn’t sleep well often, but most days his dreamless sleep is a result of the exhaustion of the day and not peacefulness. Last night though, there were no nightmares, no tossing and turning, just a distant dream of a campfire in the woods, fireflies, and a silhouette standing peacefully by the water. At some point, early in the morning, he finds himself waking to the light sneaking into the room from a small gap in the tulle curtains. His eyes that were too sleepy to open, blink awake at the awareness that you’re in his arms. Lovely floral scent and cozy softness pressed to him.

It seems that during the night, you’d shifted to your side and burrowed yourself on his chest, an arm around his waist and leg thrown over his hip. His left arm is around you, settled between your shoulder blades, holding you to him. He lifts it and checks his watch, barely 6am but Steve knows he should go. The last thing he wants is your father getting back home and finding him in your bed. Steve doesn’t know him and that’s not the first impression he’s looking for. Besides, there’s a pressing problem in his briefs, that has appeared from being tangled up with you, that he needs to hide in his jeans before you notice. Shifting his hips way from you he looks down at your sleeping face, brushing hair away from your face before he whispers your name.

“Hmm,” You frown, eyes still closed. “What?”

“You’re a cuddler,” Steve says as he smiles; it’s something that should surprise him, but it doesn’t. Not at all.

“I’m not.” You mumble and, contradicting yourself, press closer to him.

“Yes, you are.” He chuckles, shifting his hips backwards again. “I have to go.”

You frown but move away from him, turning and facing away. “Why?”

Steve slips from bed and puts his jeans back on, adjust himself, before pulling his sweater over his head and on top of the pink t-shirt. Call him a lovestruck fool, but he’s not giving it back. “I don’t know when your dad’s gonna be back, I don’t want him to find a boy he doesn’t know in your bed.”

You chuckle, then yawn as you shift and sit up in bed. Steve stares at you longer than he should. His eyes take in your messy hair and your still puffy eyes from all your crying the night before. He smiles widely.

“I have drool on my face, don’t I?” You sigh, moving the back of your hand to the corner of your mouth.

Steve laughs and shakes his head. “No, you don’t; you look pretty that’s all.”

His words reward him with an eyeroll and a headshake before you stand up. “Come on, I’ll walk you out.”

You remain silent as the two of you walk side by side all the way down to the front door. Steve takes his car keys, and you move to open the door, but pause after a moment. Steve’s eyes look into yours as he wonders if there’s something wrong but when your eyes shift up to him, a small smile settles on your lips. Next thing Steve knows, your arms go around him in a hug.

He can’t help but sigh at the feeling and leaning his cheek on top of your head. “You okay?”

You nod and look up at him. “Thank you, Steve.” You say, stepping on the tip of your toes and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Don’t thank me.” Steve smiles, letting his arms fall to his sides as his heart skips several beats. “Wanna get a coffee later?”

Is he bribing you with caffeine just to see you again? Of course, he is. Steve is charming, and he has a lot of work to do if he wants to make a move soon.

“Only if I get to pay.” You raise an eyebrow but smile nonetheless, that rare big smile he loves.

Steve huffs and opens the door. “Sure, babe.” He says though he knows you don’t believe him.

He walks to his car when you nod –heart pounding– and smiles as he drives away. Your figure on the rear-view mirror watches him leave until he turns at the end of the driveway. Steve leans his elbow on the door, his hand settling over his mouth as he thinks about the events of last night and this morning. Hope fills his chest, and Steve feels like this is the beginning of something really good for both of you.

---

There’s a small shift in your dynamic after that late night conversation in your kitchen. It’s like almost as if it brought you both closer: like a barrier breaking between you and Steve. Steve knows he should take it slow, that he should better conceal his feelings to avoid scaring you off. But another part of Steve wants to throw caution to the wind because there’s been a change in you too. I trust you, Steve, you’d said, and it shows. In the way you sit closer to him, how you give away more pieces of your past and yourself when you talk. There’s less apprehension and more curiosity from both of you and Steve can’t help but fall and fall and fall. He only hopes it doesn’t end up with him crashing down painfully.

The two of you make a new habit of visiting a small the café on the weekends; you sitting sideways on the couch and Steve talking nonsense to make you laugh. It starts the day after the sleepover, and the two of you use it as time to catch up on the events of the week. It delights him; every Saturday, he wants nothing more than to lean close and kiss your smile, the one he never thought he’d be at the receiving end of. You have bad days too, days in which Steve knows you’ve been crying, days where all you want to do is sit in silence with him. Steve doesn’t mind, at all, in fact he loves all your mood equally and now that he knows the backstory of what you went through, he offers you the quiet reassurance of his presence next to you, so you know you’re not alone.

Weeks pass like this, until winter leaves and spring comes. Overnight, the breeze has no bite to it anymore, the flowers bloom again and you begin to wear the prettiest floral dresses that give Steve a whole new reason to be obsessed with you.

“You two are adorable; when are you going to tell her, dingus?”

Steve and Robin had stopped by the Deli to get something to eat during their lunch break while you were on your lunch break too. The three of you had spent the 30 minutes talking between bites of your own sandwiches until the moment Steve had to drive away and you had to go back to your shift. He hears Robins words but his eyes follow your retreating figure until you’re out of sight –his mind is begging him to find you and steal a kiss just so he doesn’t go crazy. Robin snaps her fingers in front of his face and laughs when Steve startles. He rolls his eyes and gets in the car while Robin asks him the same question again.

Steve rolls his eyes again, “Tell her what?”

“That you’re obsessed with her dummy!” Robin hits his arm, Steve sends her an annoyed look, “You love her come on, you have to tell her.”

“No, I can’t.” He’s been thinking about it more often now. Keeping it to himself has been almost impossible lately and he knows he should do it before he breaks.

“Yes, you can, and you have to.” Robin asserts, setting her converse on the dashboard. “She clearly feels the same way.”

“She doesn’t.” Steve’s answer is instant as he focuses on the road and getting back to FV, his fingers gripping the steering wheel so hard they turn white. It’s a half-lie, and they both know it.

“She does and you know it.” Out of the corner of his eye he sees Robin shake her head. “The way she looks at you Steve… it’s unbearable to watch, coming from her.”

Steve knows it, he’s seen that change. He’s felt the pitter patter of his heart, the way his hands shake when you look at him like that, like he’s all you want. But Steve is a coward in denial, he doesn’t want to assume wrong and send you running away from him. But if Robin’s seen it… “You really think so?” He says as he parks his car and Robin nods enthusiastically.

“Duh!”

He nods to himself, “Okay... I can tell her tonight. We are hanging out at my place anyway.”

“I’ll make myself scarce, just say the word and I’ll disappear.” When Steve nods Robin cheers, opening the passenger door and stepping outside. “Don’t mess it up, Steve.”

“I’ll try.” Steve grips the steering wheel, trying to calm himself down.

Steve doesn’t get a chance to though, for that afternoon with greying clouds in the sky you show up at Family Video as soon as your shift at the Deli ends. Steve is about to go to the back and finish some inventory he has procrastinated all week when he sees you pacing in front of his car, arms crossed over your chest. His heart soars, then fills with dread –somethings wrong. He knows it right away which is why he rounds the counter and rushes outside in a heartbeat.

“Babe, what’re you doing here?” Steve says as soon as he opens the door. “It’s gonna rain come on, let’s go inside.”

But you shake your head and look at him with a look he can’t name. It’s a sad look, and it makes Steve panic; he panics even more when he sees your eyes are teary and red-rimmed. “Did something happen? At work or at home?”

“I love you.” You say, at the same time thunder cracks in the distance. Your trembling lips press together when Steve’s move to smile, and your headshake makes Steve pause. “But I don’t think we should see each other again.”

“What?” Steve’s question is a whisper, almost lost to another booming thunder. “Why would you say that? Did I do something?”

“No, Steve.” You sigh, voice shaky, looking everywhere but his eyes. Steve knows this tell though; you don’t want to be caught in a lie. “We just don’t fit–”

“No.” He says simply, shaking his head as he interrupts you. This is that night in the Wheeler’s driveway all over again, you trying to shut everyone out. His hands still shake slightly though, at your confession, your words afterwards, at the idea of losing you.

“Steve it won’t work.” You tell him, it cracks halfway with feeling, and you swallow hard before repeating yourself. “It would never work.”

“Yes it will, it’s us.” Steve tells you, shaking his head. He remembers how far you’ve come, how close the two of you have gotten. He should’ve have known it would scare you, after what happened with your family. “Of course it will! It has worked for months.”

“It won’t! It won’t work regardless of our feelings. Because I’m me! And you’re you –you’ll get sick of me and then leave. And it’ll hurt more than anything I’ve ever experienced.” You tell him, shaking your head and looking at him with reddening eyes. Both your arms are crossed over your chest, as if you’re physically protecting your heart from feeling what if feels for him. I love you, you said. Around you, the sky begins to open, bathing both of you with big droplets of water. “I told you before, you scare me because I’ve never felt this way before.”

Steve tries to take a step closer, but you take a step back; it makes him groan in frustration. “You can’t make that decision for me! How can you think I’d just leave you?”

“Because the person who I thought never would, LEFT.” You yell, eyes brimming with tears that roll down your cheeks. They mix with the raindrops that fall on both of you and Steve’s heart aches.

“Then she didn’t love you enough, not the way you deserve.” Steve places his hands on his hips, looking at the wet concrete underneath his shoes. His eyebrows meet in the middle as he swallows hard. He can’t put into words how angry it makes him that someone hurt you so much, that you’re scared of being happy again. “I thought you trusted me.”

“I do.” You tell him, hands falling to your sides. Your voice is so quiet that the rain falling around you almost drowns it out. “You know I do.”

“Then let me love you!” You’re stunned into silence by Steve’s words, confessed loudly in an outburst as he brings his hands to his hair. He meets your eyes and feels his own tear up; he really doesn’t want to lose you. “Let me prove to you that I love you like crazy, baby. Because I do, you have no idea how much.”

Your eyes squeeze shut and Steve knows you can see all of his feelings reflected on his face. “I don’t want to be heartbroken again Steve! Can’t you see you’re sunshine, and I–”

“Don’t say that.” He whispers and steps closer to you, holding both of your hands. The way you cling to them sparks a fire in his heart, keeps his hope alive. “I told you I wouldn’t change a thing about you, that I’d fight my way to you.”

You try to let go of him, but Steve only pulls you closer even as you look away from him, lip trembling. “You know my issues, especially after what happened last year.”

“I do know them, and I’m telling you now that I don’t plan on ever letting you go. This isn’t just a fling, and you know it.” His hands go to your face, holding it gently and looking into your eyes. Those beautiful eyes he’s seen tear up, the ones that crinkle in the corners when you laugh and turn steely when you’re mad. He wants to look at them forever.

You close them, bracing yourself, as the sky continues to fall all around you. Big drops of water hitting your skin and soaking your clothes every second that passes. “Even if I have bad days, or get exasperated with you, or I’m a grump?”

Steve smiles and shakes his head. If only you knew. “I love it when you’re a grump, I want to kiss your pout so badly every time.”

“I don’t pout,” You roll your eyes, but Steve can see you’re trying to hide your fear. He’s learned every little detail about you to memory, this is you trying to build a wall. Well then, Steve knows how to break them down.

“I promise,” Steve says, like he did that November night you fought outside in the cold. His nose brushes against yours as tenderly as he can, rainwater sliding down between your faces –his breath catches on his throat. “I love everything about you, everything baby, trust me. It’s you and me, that won’t change.”

You nod, trust shining in your eyes as a teary smile makes its way to your face when you let it free. It knocks the air out of Steve’s lungs. “Stevie, I love you.”

He leans his forehead against yours, happy beyond words and because he’s not good with them he says, “I really want to kiss you.”

“Then kiss me,” You urge him.

Steve leans down, holding your face in his hands and lingering close as he braces himself for this; this moment he’s wished for so many times. He smiles, and thinks finally, before leaning in and kissing you. A noise dies in the back of his throat, his chest feels full of helium and his mind reels at the everything he’s feeling. It’s even better than he dreamed it would be. Your lips soft against his, your hands in his hair, the sigh that escapes you when one of his arms wraps around your waist and presses you flush against him. His skin is buzzing, his fingertips are tingling. So he kisses you until you’re both dizzy, brushing his tongue against yours, matching your intensity head-on. Everything is intoxicating, the sweet scent of your perfume, the softness under his hands, the way your face feels like it’s on fire as his hand remains cupping your cheek. Steve is so in love he could faint, so he breathes you in as he kisses your cheek, your jaw, your neck and just below your ear until the two of you pull back. Soaked in rain, without a care in the world.

“Does this mean you’re my boyfriend?” You ask him softly, stepping impossibly closer to him.

Steve smiles proudly, heart soaring. “Yes it does, I’m yours.”

“I want to kiss you again.” You confess after a minute, blinking away that raindrops that have gathered in your eyelashes and smiling at him. “But I’m cold.”

Steve laughs when you frown and pulls you closer to him. “Yeah, we should probably get out of the rain.”

----

thank you for reading! reblogs are really appreciated and so is any feedback 💖

(I also wrote this tiny insight to grumpy reader’s feelings here )

#steve harrington fic #steve harrington x f!reader #steve harrington x you #steve x you #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x reader fluff #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst

4K notes · View notes

mediumgayitalian · 6 months

Text

“Come here, you dweeb. Let me fix it.”

Will pouts, dragging his feet over and slumping half on top of him. Nico allows it with a smile and a roll of his eyes, pinching Will’s shoulder. He doesn’t react except for a wounded noise, muffled in Nico’s lap, so the situation is evidently quite dire.

“It’s just hair, Will.”

“But I worked on it!” He shifts around until he’s got his head in Nico’s lap, face turned towards him, body curled up on the grass around him. Nico brushes his tangled bangs off his forehead, meeting his big sad eyes. “I spent forty minutes with a stupid brush! And yet!”

“And yet,” Nico agrees, unable to appropriately school is face into one of somber understanding. Will scowls at him for his lack of proper sympathy, a little bit of genuine hurt in his eyes, so Nico leans down and kisses right between his brows in apology. He seems mollified, if only slightly, or at least he leans into Nico’s touch and stops mumbling quite so much.

“‘S’not fair.”

“Mhm.“

“Your hair listens to your instructions.”

“Yep.”

“Even Cecil’s hair listens to him, and no one listens to Cecil.”

Nico purses his lips thoughtfully. “I think Austin listens to Cecil.”

“Yes, I know. It’s an ongoing issue. I’m trying to train him out of it.”

“And how’s that going?” Nico murmurs, curling a strand of golden blond hair around his finger.

“Oh, well, I’m doing my best, so of course it’s going horribly.”

Nico snorts. He resists the urge to hold his palms to Will’s cheeks and kiss every single freckle at light speed, because he will screech something about how Nico is one-upping him in the romance department or something stupid like that. Instead he settles for looking at his dumb dramatic boyfriend’s face and marvelling over the fact that the cutest boy in the entire world, and Nico is being totally objective, hunts around camp until he finds whatever tree Nico is hiding under and curls up into a ball around him and trusts Nico to hold him while he complains about stupid things that genuinely hurt his feelings a little. It’s nice. So many people at camp are still so rigid around him, like he’s collecting information for their judgement day or something. Will prefers to exercise his lesser-known Apollonian talent of being a bigger drama queen than the god himself.

“Stay still,” Nico says softly, moving Will around so he’s laying perpendicular to Nico, now, head centered in his lap and staring up at the sky. Will sighs and squirms a little and turns his head to press a kiss to Nico’s knee, scrunching up his face and releasing it, and then settles in the position.

Humming something soft that exists on the fringes of his foggy memories, he sinks his hands into Will’s hair.

“It’s not that bad,” he promises, moving slowly and pausing whenever he comes across a knot.

Will harrumphs.

“I mean it, Marilyn Monroe. You can tone down the histrionics.”

“I used gel.”

Nico flicks a dried clump of it onto Will’s forehead, amused. “I can see that.”

“I followed every single one of Mitchell’s instructions!”

“I bet.”

“And yet!”

“And, yet.”

Nico has a sneaking suspicion that someone made a comment about Will’s hair, in the last few weeks. He can never confirm it and Will has been shifty about it every time he asks, but Nico has noticed the uptick in hoods and hats the past month and his little flinches every time Nico reaches up and tugs on it. Despite being oddly confident about the oddest things — why he is so proud of being able to fit his fist in his mouth, Nico will never know — Will is very sensitive to how people think of him. He needs to know he’s liked, and when people don’t like him, he gets…desperate, pleasing. The opposite of Nico, who becomes worse in an attempt to push them away on his own terms.

Nico leans down and presses a long, lingering kiss to his forehead.

“I like your hair, you know.”

“It’s a stupid mess.”

He smooths down a handful of it, pressing it over Will’s eye. He manages to keep a straight face for one, two, three seconds before he huffs a laugh, batting Nico’s hands away. Nico grins.

“I like the stupid mess.”

“Yeah, well, you like a lot of weird things.”

“Like you?” Nico suggests, pressing another kiss to the tip of his rounded nose.

“Shut up.”

Another strange thing about him, that Nico has to duck his head to hide his automatic smile: he gets embarrassed easily.

Nico never expected it of him, with all the dorky, medical-themed pickup lines and general shamelessness in his affection towards everybody on Earth, but especially Nico. When the poking, prodding attraction is turned on him, however, he shuts down like an overloaded Playstation. Nico can sometimes see the error messages playing behind its eyes. It’s hilarious.

“Will.” He pokes him in the cheek. “Hey.”

“What,” Will grumbles.

“I think you’re beautiful.”

Watching the slow spread of red from below the collar of his shirt to the roots of his hair is a delight. Nico watches in glee, wrestling Will’s hands away when he tries to slap them over his face.

“Shut up! Leave me alone! Go — flirt with somebody else!”

“You’d curse them to speak in rhymes for ten years,” Nico teases.

Will makes an agonised noise. “Who! Asked you! Shut up!”

“You’d sic Kayla on anyone who so much as winks at me, you jealous bitch.”

“I would not!”

“You would so. You rolled your eyes at everything Percy said for three weeks when you found out I used to crush on him —”

“I did not!”

“— and you didn’t even have the balls to ask me out, back then.”

“You are a — peddler of falsehoods! A prevaricator, a perjurer, and a fabulist!”

“And you sound like you swallowed a thesaurus,” Nico snickers. He catches the hand Will flails at him, pressing a kiss to the wrist, which only serves to fluster him more. He decides to take mercy when the kisses he trails down his arms result in one loud, long, tortured screech, pulling back and giving him some space.

Notably, he doesn’t move from Nico’s lap.

“I like it,” Nico admits, once Will has calmed down some. “I like that you’ve liked me for so long.”

Will peeks through the fingers he has covering his eyes. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Yes.” Nico squeezes his shoulders. “And endearing, which seems to be your sweet spot.” He presses a much softer kiss to the underside of Will’s ear, lingering there until he sighs, slumping under all the tension finally leaving his body. “I love you, Will. I love your clumsiness and your rambles and your nose and your freckles and your awkwardness and your jealousy and your hair and I love you, Will, all of you. Even the embarrassing weird parts.” He kisses him again. “Especially the weird parts.”

Will breathes slowly, carefully, evenly, face pressed to the inside of Nico’s thigh. His long eyelashes tickle his skin. Nico can feel the press of his Adam’s apple when he swallows, pulsing against his calf.

“I never thought you were a freak.”

Nico brushes his knuckles over his cheek. “I know.”

“I used to — talk about you. All the time. And your oxytocin levels.”

He smiles.

“I know.”

“Lee had a — chart.” Some of the flush rises back up in his cheeks. “A ‘Days Since We’ve Heard About Di Angelo’ chart.”

Nico bites his lip. Hard.

“The number never got higher than six.”

“…I am trying really, really hard, Will.”

Will sighs.

“You can laugh.”

Nico cracks up, trying desperately to muffle his giggles in his bitten fist. It doesn’t work very well, but the glare Will sends him is somewhat softened by the smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

“Gods, you are — a mess.”

“Mhm.”

Nico cups the side of his face. Will turns, slightly, enough to press a kiss to the centre of his palm and then stay there, eyes closed, breathing against his sword-callused skin.

“I love you too, by the way. Obviously.”

“I know.”

“Don’t Han Solo me, you bastard.”

“Go ahead and try to stop me,” Nico challenges, grinning into the passionately indignant kiss Will presses to his lips, finally, letting Nico curl his hands in his hair.

562 notes · View notes

hidden-poet · 2 months

Text

Commander Snow: 10

Commander Snow

Summary; Under the advice of Dr Gaul Coriolanus returns back to district 12 where without blinding light of lucy-grey he could see you.

Warnings; dead dove to do not eat, stalking, unrequited love, breeding kink, violence, possessive!Snow, unco/dubco, sexual content, she/her pronouns, explicit, violence, death, sexual assault, child birth, Capitol bullies.

Editor: @hotline-to-hell

chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

chapter 9

Chapter 10

The bed you were asleep on felt like a cloud under you.

The bedding was fresh, and smelt slightly of lavender scented washing powder. It held a crispness that could only be given by drying in the sun.

Pillows surrounded you, giving you a sense of security while heavy blankets nearly pinned you to the mattress from their weight.

You slept easy despite your predicament. Only the morning sun, as it streamed through the airy curtains, woke you. Still, you don’t move. Too comfortable, and too tired to face the day.

Coriolanus was not next to you. The large bed was only occupied by yourself. You wondered how long he had been missing, and how much longer he would stay away.

You were in an entirely new world, only he was familiar. And even he had changed. He was President of Panem, not Commander of District 12. His hair was long, and his clothes were fashionable. He even held himself taller and talked slower.

Still, he was what you knew. Your lifeline in an alien world.

Would you change too? You supposed you had.

A District girl, now wife of the President. Soon the weight of the diamond on your hand would become unrecognizable. You would get used to the strange people here. Tigris and Grandma’am would become family and not Capitol enemies.

So quickly, your life was snatched from under you. Everything you have ever known has been replaced. Even the air felt different upon your skin. The people around you ate differently, talked differently, dressed differently. Would anything be left of you? Would you be able to keep anything of your home inside of you?

Your heart hurts to think of your mother and brother. Were you to trust Coriolanus when he said he had released them? He was likely to have had them

released and then shot outside of the gates. How could you ensure their safety? Would he let you call them? What would it cost you?

The quiet turning of the door knob broke your train of thought.

You wondered if it was a maid or Coriolanus but you couldn’t bring yourself to turn and look.

You didn’t want to face either one so you closed your eyes hoping that they would leave you.

Coriolanus did not. He gently shook your shoulder, and you rolled over from your fake sleep.

“Good morning,” he pushes back your hair, tucking it behind your ear, “Did you sleep okay?”

You brush his hand away. Your ring scratches the skin of his hand as you do.

“I have a doctor on standby. Are you in any pain?”

You sit up and surprisingly find very little pain. More tightness from a muscle that had never been used before. You were quite wet already, and he was slow. Allowing you time to adjust.

“I feel fine,” you respond, “What time is it?”

“It’s early. I’m sorry. The sign-in is at noon, so you need to start getting dressed. Just like yesterday, some women are going to come in and help you.”

“The same women?” You hoped not. They were so Capitol. You felt repulsed at the thought of sharing a room with them again.

“I don’t know. Was there a problem with them yesterday?” His Commander's face was put on. A displeased stone expression that made you feel like a scolded child.

“No.” You deny. Your eyes go to your ring that sprays out a pale rainbow from the sunlight.

He pulls your attention back to him with a hold on your chin.

“You’re my wife. First Lady of Panem.”

Him calling you wife made your heart curdle.

“You hold the power over them. If there’s an issue you need to tell me.”

“There was no issue,” you insist.

He doesn’t push you on it.

“They will be here soon. Come outside for breakfast.”

He gives your arm a tap before rising from the bed to retrieve a warm dressing gown from the closet.

It was soft around your body and brought a surprising amount of warmth.

The journey to the dining room table was simple. Just past a long hallway, it opened into the living room, where to the right an elevated platform formed the dining area.

The Snow women were not dressed as casually as you were. Fine dresses and jewels were worn for breakfast.

You looked to Coriolanus to see he was also dressed fashionably and felt embarrassed that he had brought you out in last night's worn make-up and a dressing gown.

The women seemed unbothered to see you.

“Good morning, Y/N.” Tigris greeted you.

“Good morning.” You offer back.

Coriolanus holds out a chair for you amongst the 12 available.

“Did you have a good time last night?” she asks.

You looked at her and saw no vindictiveness in her eyes. It was a genuine question, offered to make you feel at ease.

It was, in fact, the worst night of your life. But you were a stranger at her table, you would not repay her kindness with scorn.

“Yes,” you say instead, “Did you?”

Tigris nods her head, as she pours out coffee from a pot into the small white tea cups.

“Bet you never saw anything like that in the Districts.” Grandma’am quipped.

You weren’t sure if she intended for her comment to be a way of reminding you of your place, or as an encouragement to how great the Capitol could be.

“No, I haven’t.” You agree.

There was food displayed on the table, across a long white cover. Coriolanus picked food from and dropped it onto the gold plate in front of you.

You had no appetite. It was all so ghastly rich. There was no need for this amount of excess.

Coriolanus did not share your off-put. He ate his plate, while you examined the strange contents of yours.

Grandma’am doted on her grandson. Telling stories of his younger years. He always had leadership skills, she said. His presidential future was never in any doubt.

“Even when-” Grandma’am stopped herself, suddenly looking at and pushing her food around on the plate.

You were eager to hear what she had to say. Even when he was sent to be a Peacekeeper? Even when he got involved with Lucy Gray? Was there something else that Coriolanus has kept hidden?

“If only your father could see you now,” she redirects, “Oh he would be so proud.”

“We’re so proud,” Tigris states. Trying to defuse the somber mood.

Coriolanus smiles at Tigris under her praise.

“And you?” he asks, turning to you.

You nod your head, unsure on what he wanted to hear.

“Congratulations, President Snow.” You offer.

“It sounds right, doesn’t it?” Grandma’am squeals.

You wait until the rest of the company has finished their breakfast between idle chatter.

Coriolanus was on his second cup of coffee. His arm slung over the back of your chair, as he sits casually, talking to Tigris.

He leans down to your ear, the second Tigris is occupied with Grandma’am.

“Can you eat something, please? The stylists will be here soon,” he whispers.

His casual demeanor returns as Tigris’s attention does.

You follow his request, taking a bite of some sort of breakfast biscuit. It was fresh, and soft, even stone-cold. You could taste the butter in it. Real butter, not the imitation type found in the Districts.

“I am going to miss you,” Tigris sighed.

“We’re not staying here?” You turn to Coriolanus who had just taken another sip of his drink.

Your stomach fills with knots thinking about a new place. You didn’t want to move.

He swallows quickly, trying to answer you before anyone else.

“No. We’re going to the presidential estate, but we’ll come back and visit. And you're both always welcomed at the Presidential Palace.”

You jump as a ringing sound breaks through the air, looking around to try and see the small bell hidden in the room.

Coriolanus’s hand comes from the back of your chair to the back of your neck. “It’s okay,” he soothes.

He reaches for a panel of buttons built into the table and holds one in.

“Yes?” He answers the call.

“Mr. President, the PR team is here,” a voice spoke back.

“Send them up.” His hand returns from you, back to the chair.

“You don’t have long. Try to have another bite,” he commands.

You finish the breakfast biscuit by the time the two Peacekeepers escort a whole team of people up to the penthouse. It sat heavy in your stomach.

You see the same two women in the group. They stand side by side in ridiculous outfits. The one who had burnt you with a curling iron had a spiky, purple hat that reached tall into the sky.

Two racks of clothing, and four big black boxes on wheels, were carted behind them.

Coriolanus walks to the living room to greet them. They all congratulate him on his win, which he brushes off quickly to talk to the head stylist about the plan for today. They mutter between themselves, and the stylist shows Coriolanus a large book, pointing to the pictures. Coriolanus points down the hall, explaining the layout of the apartment.

The book shuts with a heavy snap, and the stylist turns to his workers directing them to their places.

The team split up behind Coriolanus, as he walked back over to you.

“You’ll go back to the bedroom. I’ll use one of the spares. If there are any problems, you come and find me.” He tells you.

You nod in response, noting that three other women follow the two women from yesterday down the hall.

Coriolanus says goodbye to Grandma’am and Tigris, before leading you back to the bedroom where he lets you go without a word. As he closes the door behind you, the women in the room snap their attention to you.

They all begin talking to you. Not one voice is heard but hands are felt all around you as they pull you into the bathroom.

They bicker amongst themselves on what needs to be done first. You had many faults that needed to be fixed before the signing. Your skin wasn’t tight or dewy enough. You needed a facial, and eyelash lift. Your chipped nails were disgusting. Your hair was dull and lifeless.

You feel vulnerable as hands dig harshly into your clothing, pulling it off your body. As you push hands away, more hands take their place. They call you difficult as you beg them to allow you to do it yourself.

The shower is turned on too hot, you could feel the heat of it standing five feet away.

Stripped, you notice the mess of semen still between your legs. Others notice it too and begin to giggle to themselves. Coriolanus had run a wet towel over you so you could sleep comfortably, but it wasn’t enough.

The shower was boiling as you were pushed under it. Your skin instantly turned red. The women themselves didn’t want to get wet, standing outside of the shower screen, and pulling you by your hair to bring you closer.

One lathers a strong-smelling liquid into your hair without much care, while another scrubs a hard brush against your skin to rid the old skin.

It hurt as it raked across your body without soap. The woman's rings got caught in your hair as she scrubbed your head, it yanked as she pulled back.

With a cry of pain, you are pushed back under the stream of hot water.

You think about running to find Coriolanus, but they are here now. Another team would not be sent. He would only reprimand them, and then you would be left alone with their wrath.

You sob instead. You should be at home. It was Wednesday. You were pretty sure. You should be at work, making idle chatter with your co-workers.

“Wash it out!” The woman commands, “We don’t have much time.”

Trying to appease her, you do a quick rinse under the water.

“All of it,” she sighs.

‘'The water’s too hot,’’ you cry. You felt like a cornered animal.

She looks at her co-workers annoyed. “Turn the water down,” she commands.

The water is turned ice-cold but you make no further complaint.

Another round of the strong-smelling liquid is harshly rubbed into your hair, and a nice-smelling lotion is rubbed into your skin.

The cold water makes you shiver as you stand under it, trying to wash everything off you.

The water is turned off leaving you standing shivering in the shower.

“Come on” the women demanded, “hurry”.

You go to her, and she throws a towel at you. It helps to dry the cold water off you, bringing back a little warmth.

They watch you as you dry yourself making you feel self conscious. The attempt to cover yourself with the towel is ripped from you, and thrown to the floor. You are once again being pushed instead of asked to do something.

You were laid flat on a table they had brought. Bare under their eye. Nothing was given so you could cover yourself.

Five women stand above you and begin work.

You close your eyes trying to dissociate from everything. A mask is put on your face, leaving space around your eyebrows so they can be waxed. Another oil is put on your hair and skin.

You could hear the buzzing of the laser and feel its zap as it took the hair off your body. She scaled the length of you with the laser, paying extra attention to your most private parts.

Only a reprimand was spoken to you as tears ran down your face. You were wasting the product with your tears.

For a long time, you laid still against the table as they worked. Your body became sore and stiff before they told you to get up and into the bedroom.

It was there you were given back your dressing gown and placed in front of a vanity.

The women talk amongst themselves as they work. Not one of them asks you anything. You tune them out, thinking about home.

It felt overstimulating to have so many people working on you at once. Someone cut your hair, while the other women took one hand or one leg. They massage more oil into your skin, before shaping and painting your nails. Your ring is given a shine, and they speak about how beautiful it was.

You feel their jealousy as they work. Your fingers were twisted into unnatural positions as they were filed. Your hair was pulled ruthlessly as it was cut. One woman stepped on your toes as she rose from the floor for some polish.

In your head, you were at home, baking for your market stall. Your mother would keep you company in the kitchen, reading a letter from your brother. He had found someone. A nice girl, who treats him well. He wasn’t lonely anymore and had plenty to eat. Edmund was alive, and you would see him when he finished work. He would be joyed at the news that his best friend found a girl, and after dinner that night you would sit with him and draft a letter explaining your new relationship.

It was a surprise when they all stopped to address the President.

You turn to see Coriolanus standing in the doorway with a large mug in his hands. He had been taken from his clothes this morning and undressed into a white singlet. He had no shoes on his feet, and his dress pants still had pins in them from the tailoring.

“It’s time for a break,” he announced. His hair appeared to be cut back, and slightly curled more. His skin glowed with treatment.

You had never been thankful to see him until that moment. A tear slipped from your eye and you quickly wiped it away.

“Sir, we still have lots to do,” one of the stylists said.

“Leave the room,” he commanded.

Tools are dropped as they follow his request.

The five women pass him through the door, and he kicks it closed as the last one leaves.

You get up from the vanities chair with a headache from all the pulling.

“I came to check on you. Are you okay?” he says.

The tea in his hands was a welcomed surprise. The hot shower had dehydrated you, and your crying left your throat scratchy. You take it from him and take three large gulps.

He takes your waist into his hands once they are free from the cup.

“Yeah,” you lie. Your voice was quiet and broken from having not spoken for a long period of time.

The tea was hot, burning your throat as you drank it, but it was good. You broke away from his hold, going to sit on the ottoman by the bed. He followed you as you sat.

Certain parts of your head felt like they were burning from the harsh treatment, You reached up to soothe the sore spots. Coriolanus’s hands follow yours. You knock them away, wanting nothing more than not to be touched.

He moves onto the bed behind you, sitting with either leg by your sides. His strong fingers reach into your hair and massage your scalp. It felt nice as his fingers dug into your head so you allowed him to do it.

You lean back into him, the hot cup burning your lap.

“Do you want to tell me something?” he gently asks.

His fingers press into a very sore spot on your head, causing you to wince and pull forward out of his hold.

He doesn’t let you sit up, pulling you back by your shoulders into him. His fingers go back to your hair once more, but he rakes his nails through your hair instead of pushing in.

He rakes his nails in a continuous backward motion, soothingly as he talks.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. That shouldn’t have hurt.”

A gentle kiss is placed against your ear.

“Are you alright? Do you want me to stay? I’ll stay.” He offers.

You think about it. The women would surely be kinder with Coriolanus in the room. But you didn’t want to admit you needed him. Worse, you didn’t want to feel indebted to him. After all, it was because of him you were going through this.

You get up from him once more, and he allows you to create distance as you go back to the vanity set.

“Leave me alone, Coriolanus,” you demanded.

You wipe the tears harshly away from your face, and he sits there watching you.

A gentle knock is heard at the door. Coriolanus rises to answer it.

“Come in,” he orders.

The women single file in, past him. Only he stops the women who had been barking orders at everyone all day.

You watch him in the mirror as he brings his hand down across her face.

A gasp leaves your lips as you watch her fall to the ground from the force.

“I entrusted her to you. If you make me regret it, I’ll make you regret it,” he warns, staring down at her with eyes that spoke of his anger.

He steps over her and back to his room.

“What did you say?” the woman in the purple hat hisses at you.

“Nothing,” you admit, “I said nothing. I promise.”

The woman who was hit gathers herself from the floor, coming over to you and pinching the skin on your arm between her long, fake nails.

“Well say less.” she rasped.

“It wasn’t my fault. He’s like that,” you contend, rubbing the skin she had pinched.

“Maybe to District scum, but not to us.”

“Your red cheek would suggest otherwise,” you sass.

It earns you a harsh tug on your hair as it is yanked to one side.

“Just do as you are told and face forward,” she spat.

She spins you by your hair towards the mirror. No more tears fall from your eyes, but a satisfied smirk stretches across your lips. The moment had made you feel powerful.

While their nail files dug into your skin, and your hair was gripped too tightly just to be cut, they no longer spoke. Coriolanus had scared them into silence.

A few moments later he reappears with his own styling crew as they struggle to bring everything they need into the room.

He sets up next to you, and under the watchful eye of Coriolanus, your stylists turn gentle. With your body done, they move to your hair and make-up.

The large room is crowded with all the people and equipment. The head stylist tries to persuade Coriolanus back to his own room, but he would hear none of it.

As your hair is curled and pinned into a loose bun, the iron used slipped slightly from her hands as she pinned. It burnt behind your ear, causing you to jump from the hot touch, but no sound escaped you.

Coriolanus noticed anyway.

“Be careful. Watch what you are doing”, he reprimanded.

“Yes, President Snow” the woman apologizes.

With a spray all over your hair, the woman steps back to admire her work.

“Alright. We are fifteen minutes behind schedule. We need to get her in her dress”, the woman with the red cheek called out.

Coriolanus was done. Only one stylist was there with him, shining his shoes.

They lead you to the bathroom with a dress bag.

As soon as the door was closed, one of the stylists who had remained quiet all morning began to speak.

“Yes, President Snow,” she mocked.

“Shut up,” the hair stylist barked.

The dress was pulled from the bag without a wrinkle.

It was a sweetheart, white satin, strapless gown. The bodice had pearls strung along it, and it curved up in the middle into a line of pearls.

It was matched with a pair of white heels with pearl straps and a jacket of the same material that was only meant to go around your shoulders and not to be worn, you learned.

The shoulders of the jacket clipped into the dress so it didn’t move.

“There,” the head woman snapped, “You’re done.”

You quickly rushed from her presence, back out to the bedroom where Coriolanus stood alone.

You turn back as you walk to him, expecting the woman to come from the bathroom. But they never do.

He takes you into his arms, gaining your attention from the door

“You look beautiful,” he comments.

He did too, but you wouldn’t admit it. He wore black instead of white, but his shirt and pocket square matched the material of your dress.

“Thank you,” you reply.

A slight squeak of the bathroom door had you pulling back. You would hate for them to see you so cozy in his arms. But the door never opens.

Coriolanus pulls you tight against him again, leaning down to whisper something to you.

“Do you want me to have them killed?” He asks.

“No,” you say, astonished that he could think of no other solution.

“It’s up to you,” he states, “Come on. We are late.”

He leads you back to the living room where Tigris and Grandma’am stood waiting amongst the stylists packing up.

“Give us time to settle in before you come to visit,” Coriolanus spoke to his family. He leans his tall frame down to kiss each of them.

“Of course,” Tigris answered. After she had kissed him, she moved over to you. Wrapping her arms around your shoulder, and placing a kiss on the corner of your head.

“We’ll see each other again soon,” she promises.

You smile back at her before she is replaced with Grandma’am. The older woman's hug is shorter and less affectionate.

With a final goodbye, you follow Coriolanus and a series of Peacekeepers to the elevator and down to the car park.

A sleek black car was waiting. A driver held out the back door, and Coriolanus placed you in the car first.

The Peacekeepers piled into a large truck. Only one sat in the front of your car with the driver.

The divider was raised so you couldn’t see them, but you could have sworn you had seen the Peacekeeper before. You wondered if Coriolanus had brought back men from District 12.

The car ride passed through the city. You had never seen such buzz. Colors and colors flew past you. Buildings that reached the sky gleamed. Tall statues were littered across the drive. You counted seven, and a possible eighth that flew past too fast to see more than a gray figure.

You wanted to put the window down for a better view as the tint from the window dulled some of the colors. But Coriolanus denied your request. The wind would undo the work done on your hair, and it was important that you arrived looking your best. He had promised to take you out again later with the windows down.

When you arrived at the presidential estate, it was surrounded by supporters of Coriolanus holding banners and sticks with a picture of Coriolanus’s face attached. They waited outside of the tall gates guarded by peacekeepers.

As the car passed them, screams and cheers deafened you.

It got worse when you entered the gates, the screaming was matched with flashes of white light.

Coriolanus was unbothered by it all. His focus is all on the approaching building in front of him.

The building was grand, surrounded by meticulously kept gardens. Large Panem flags hung on flag poles on either side of the staircase that led to the entrance. A line of staff stands at the top of the staircase. All of them were dressed in expensive white material that formed around their bodies in a long coat, and pants. Gold detailing was added to the stitches and a gold pin fashioned into the Panem symbol was pinned across their chest to keep their jacket closed.

Even the servants dressed nicer than the high society of District 12. They looked better fed too.

The car stopped as close as it could to the stairs and Coriolanus turned to you, taking your hand in his.

“Stay close to me. People are excited and that can cause them to act mindless.”

The door is opened by a Peacekeeper and Coriolanus leads you along the slim path through the sea of people.

People reach out to touch him, yelling out to gain his attention. But his mind stayed focused on the approaching building. A look of smug satisfaction and determination played across his features. You must have looked terrified as you followed him.

These people looked like animals. They frenzied around you with only a few Peacekeepers to keep them in check.

You stay as close as you can to Coriolanus, taking the back of his shirt into your spare hand.

The path ends as it comes to the bottom of the step. Coriolanus reaches his hand back to release you from his shirt, bringing you to stand by him as you climb the steps.

One woman in an all-black ensemble stood out in front of the line of staff. She greeted Coriolanus as he reached her on the steps.

“President Snow, an honor to serve you as your head of staff.”

She reached out her right hand but his right hand was latched around yours. He was hesitant to let it go.

She pauses when he doesn’t react but quickly switches out hands which Coriolanus accepts in a handshake.

Upon realizing your importance to him, she turns to you in a curtsy.

“And you, Mistress.”

The crowd cheers once more for President Snow. White roses are thrown from the crowd, falling on the road and upon the bottom of the stairs.

Peacekeepers push back against the crowd. Things were not to be thrown at the President.

“A pleasure. Perhaps we should get inside before the crowd decides to see how close they can get.” Coriolanus suggests.

The woman steps back, nodding her head quickly and too many times.

“Of course. If you would follow me, I will take you to the signing.”

The rest of the staff remain on the steps as you and Coriolanus follow the woman.

The loudness of the crowd was shut out from the big, heavy doors. It offered you two seconds of relief before taking in the vastness of the house.

The floors were polished and matched the furniture. A big lush thick carpet was laid out to add some warmth to the room. It was dark red and had cream accents that splayed out in intricate designs. The entryway must have been 50 feet in width and length but the red carpet covered nearly all of it.

Both you and Coriolanus looked around in wonder. Only Coriolanus was better at hiding his amazement. He acted indifferent as the women explained the history of the house. But you could see his eyes linger on the expensive and well-decorated decor of the house.

Staircases were everywhere, leading up and down in all different forms of design. The house was too big. It would be easy for a person to get lost but the woman led you without stumbling.

You wonder about her. How long had she been here? Was it a choice to serve the house?

She didn’t seem scared or upset. There were no marks upon her cream skin suggesting a lifetime of servitude. She wore make-up, and her thick, black hair was styled fashionably. But looks could be deceiving in the Capitol.

They liked to hide behind their fine things and sharp appearances.

She leads you into a large office. The original flag of Panem hung framed behind a large desk. The dirt and blood that had gathered on it during the war blotted the bright colors.

Only five reporters were allowed into the room, amongst a few other important people. They all greeted Coriolanus with a firm handshake. Only one reporter was female, and she towered over the men, assisted by her six-inch heels. She looks at your ring, and you notice an absence of one on hers.

She was too smart to get trapped by the Capitol men.

Coriolanus thanked them for being here with his dazzling smile while you stood behind him mute, and useless.

The women who brought you in interrupted the polite conversation between the group.

“President Snow, it is custom to sit in the chair while signing,” she directed.

“Yes,” Coriolanus obliged, leading you behind the large oak desk.

You tug your hand from him as he sits. They wanted him, not you.

A dark green plush couch with colorful cushions called out to you. You needed to sit as your legs felt like jelly.

“President Snow, did you want the picture with or without your First Lady?” The woman reporter asked as she readied her camera.

“With.” Coriolanus beckoned you closer but your legs would not cooperate.

You stood until the head of staff pushed you forward.

“Alright, dear, you stand behind your husband and don’t forget to smile. Big smile!” She commands.

You are thankful that her hands moved you into position. The referral to Coriolanus as your husband froze you. She told you once more to smile which activated your lips into a thin smile.

“Okay, Mr. President when you’re ready,” one of the male reporters called.

The cameras flash blinding you as Coriolanus signs his name on the parchment.

His signature is a series of neat loops finished by a long line that curled underneath his name.

It was official. Coriolanus Snow would now rule over Panem. With the hopes that it was over, you go to move back out of the camera frames but it only caught the attention of the journalists.

“Mrs. Snow, how about a kiss for the President?” One of the reporters called out. The comment frenzied the rest who shouted out encouragements.

Coriolanus turns out to you in his chair, permitting you to follow the command.

So you do. Bending down to his height and placing a kiss on his lips. He steadies you with a hand on the side of your face so that the kiss deepens.

The cameras liked that. You pull away, but Coriolanus' hand keeps you in place.

His thumb brushes against the lipstick that had smudged getting rid of it before wiping his hand over his mouth.

A make-up artist comes over to him, helping him to rid the lipstick off his face and reapplying power from a compact.

“Okay, can we get a shot of just the President staring down the lens with the flag in the background?” The woman once more directs.

You move quickly out of the way as the journalists kneel on the floor for the shot, and point their cameras up.

You find comfort on the couch and watch as Coriolanus is directed for the magazine shots.

When he is not directed to stare into a camera his eyes are on you, making sure that you are still in the room.

A deep regret sets on your posed photos. You should have said no. Coriolanus would be too cautious to correct you in front of what constituted the entirety of Panem. You could have gotten away with it. Now your family was sure to see the photos of you happily smiling behind him. Kissing him, with a diamond ring on your finger.

What would Edmund's family think? Your own family would think of you as a traitor. What would the family who lost everything due to you think? Edmund was keeping them afloat. How would they get by now? Would your brother take care of them as Edmund took care of his family? Would they accept the help of a traitor's brother?

Coriolanus stands from the desk in front of the reporters.

“As you can imagine, yesterday was a long day. If you are satisfied with the photos I would like to settle in with my new wife.”

“Of course, Mr. President,” was the resounding response.

He comes to collect you on the couch as the head of staff briefs the people in the room on what is to happen now.

“No one is to leave this room. Peacekeepers will come and escort you out. You and your equipment will be searched before you are released back to your firm. The President thanks you for your time and service to your country.”

Coriolanus brings your arm to loop through his as you follow the woman back out into the vast space of the house.

She takes you up a large, twin staircase back at the main entrance of the house, and along a corridor lined with a long carpet. At the very end came a double-door entrance that stretched from the very bottom, all the way to the top.

This was the President's quarters. She unlocks the door with a key that was passed to Coriolanus, and swings open the doors so you can see the space.

Another enormous space was filled with plush rugs and expensive furniture. Back home a house consisted of the bare necessities. In the Capitol, they had space for every activity and filled it with unnecessary furniture.

A breakfast nook, a long dinner table, a sitting area, a living room, a walk-in coat closet, two full bathrooms, a tall wine fridge, and a set-up bar were all contained within the floor. A staircase that led up suggested that there was more to the living space.

The woman asks if she can do anymore, but Coriolanus assures her there is nothing to be done but rest now.

She shows Coriolanus a button he could push to call for a servant before bidding him goodbye.

He was quick to shut the door behind her as you wandered into the apartment.

“What do you think?” He asks.

“People live like this?” You run a hand over a soft blanket draped over the couch.

“I never have,” he admits.

From a war-ruined boy, to a Peacekeeper, to Commander of District 12, Coriolanus lived far from the luxury of the Capitol.

He got nights of Capitol living when he came to visit from District 12 but his home had always been rat-infested slums.

“It’ll feel more like home when you settle in, and make it your own.”

“It’ll never feel like home,” you remark snidely.

Coriolanus picks up a small decorative statue and examines it.

“Well not your home back in District 12, but your home in the Capitol.”

He places the statue back down and holds out his hand for you to take.

“Shall we see upstairs?”

Upstairs was as impressive as down. Six spare bedrooms each with their own bathrooms and ready for guests, a sizable private study that conjoined to a lavish sleeping arrangement.

You open the doors to your closet to find that it already had been filled with clothing. A pair of comfortable-looking pants and a singlet call out to you, and you ask Coriolanus if you could change.

He gives you permission, telling you that he was going to look around the estate but he would be back soon.

The bathroom had heated tiles which helped to keep you warm as you tried to figure out the shower. There was a pad with buttons that had too many commands to work.

You finally figure it out with pure luck and a heavy stream of water shoots out from the shower head.

You shower off the make-up and hair spray. Some glitter that had been dusted on your skin had to be scrubbed off which left you red, and pruny from the time it took.

Another battle to turn off the water, before you could reach for a white fluffy towel off the rack. It was warm too from the heated rack.

With Coriolanus gone, you explored the room. Everything was set up as if you already lived here.

You find a book about the history of Panem in the bookcase and flick through it. It talked about the Dark Days. How District people were dangerous and out to ruin Capitol life.

Large black and white pictures taken during the war were displayed in large form across the page. The Capitol during the war looked like District 12 now.

The next page showed a photo of rebels being lined up to be shot. The page after that had a photo of a man. A general during the war. The name shocked you.

General Crassus Snow. He looked a little like Coriolanus. Same blonde hair and blue eyes, but without the name, you wouldn’t have known.

A hero they called him. It turned out Coriolanus wasn’t lying to you when he said his father was killed in 12. You wondered how that must have felt for him, to go back there and rule over the place that left him fatherless.

A little blurb read that Crassus Snow was known to have an excellent head for strategy and nerves of steel. With a commanding presence that rose him quickly through the military ranks before he was cowardly killed in an ambush.

Coriolanus had followed in his father’s footsteps. The page could have been Coriolanus' autobiography.

Your fingers trace the photo of the man standing tall in his uniform. If he was alive, you doubt he would have let Coriolanus get involved with you. But he wasn’t, and you were here, trapped in the Capitol, while he was buried somewhere in District 12.

You continue with the book, scoffing as they skew history to fit their narrative. War was never one-sided.

You hear him as he enters the study. The door was heavy and loud.

Expecting him to appear, you continue flipping through the pages of the book.

But time passes with no appearance.

You finish the book and go to find out what he is doing.

Taking the side door, you could see his back as it faced a large painting on the far wall. You knew from school that the picture was of the past President Ravenstill.

He gazes at the portrait with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Coriolanus?” You call. It breaks his concentration, and he unhooks himself from his rigid posture to extend his hand out to you. But he never faces away from the painting.

You rush to accept his hand, looking up at the painting with him. There was nothing special about it. An oil painting that depicted a hateful man in a powerful position.

But something about it captivates Coriolanus.

“Are you alright?” you ask. His broody eyes normally meant bad things for you.

“You see this?” He bends his forehead to your level and points to a faint scar on the top corner of his head.

“During the war, I went looking for scraps around the Presidential palace. I found a great big bucket full of half-eaten bones with meat still on them just sitting there over the fence, so I reached my hand in to try and get one. I was found by a Peacekeeper who informed me that the President said they were for his dogs and left me with a scar from the butt of his rifle.”

He looks away from you and back to the painting. You were grateful for it. There was a darkness in his eyes that scared you.

“Now I am the man in the palace,” he mutters.

“I am sorry that happened to you.”

He smiles at your words. Pity was something he wanted from no one but you.

“You can do a lot of good, Coriolanus,” you temper with a squeeze to his hand.

He nods his head in agreement, “I will. The Capitol will flourish under me.”

“You could do good in the Districts too. You saw the disadvantages there.”

His grip around your hand tightened, and his jaw locked in place. The painting was no longer of any interest. You now bore his intense stare.

“I saw a bunch of animals clawing at each other to get ahead. You should be thankful that I saved you.”

“Saved me?” You questioned.

He had not saved you from a burning building but taken you from your bed at night.

“It wouldn’t have been long before the animals tore into you.”

The hold on your hand loosens and he takes a step back from you.

“I’ll ring down for lunch.” He disappears from the room, leaving you in front of the painting. That night it was replaced with one of Coriolanus. The painting of him was still wet but hung proudly in the room.

The next morning after a luxurious breakfast you went straight back to bed and stayed there until Coriolanus returned home.

You had no idea if he locked the door on his way out, you never checked. There was nothing out there for you. No family or friends to shield you in their arms. No familiar faces, or sense of community.

Tigris and Grandma’am visited on the weekend, wanting to be shown around. But you only knew the bed, and Coriolanus spent too many hours at the official office downstairs to know the little details of the apartment. The head of staff was called again to show the group around the property. It took nearly half an hour to explore the place.

Grandma’am was too old to do that much walking but she wouldn’t slow down. She had dreamt about this day, longer than Coriolanus had. She held on to him as he assisted her in walking, and you held her handbag.

They stayed for coffee and cake which delighted Coriolanus. You spoke very little, even as Tigris tried to coax a conversation out of you. The crushing weight of defeat was hindering your ability to be social.

When they left, you got an earful from Coriolanus, who was disappointed in your behavior. All was forgiven, however, when the lights turned off and you were alone in bed with him.

The staff thought it was odd when you insisted that you would do the cleaning and cooking for yourself and Coriolanus. He took great pride in it. Feeling as if it was a testimony of your love. But in truth, your days were so much longer without it.

Sometimes there were visitors from the Academy or acquaintances from high society. Grandma’am and Tigris came over consistently but most of the time you were left completely alone.

For a brief period, while the facilities for you to cook and clean were installed, you lived back in the Snow Penthouse.

You enjoyed other company besides Coriolanus. One night after he was finished with you, you asked him if home could be here instead of the Presidential Palace.

He gave a laundry list of reasons as to why that wouldn’t be possible. The Presidential Palace was safer. It was the place where the President and the First Lady were supposed to live. Besides he didn’t want Tigris, and Grandma’am around while he adjusted to married life. You knew it all boiled down to the fact he simply didn’t want to.

—------------------

The night you return to the Presidential Palace, he comes to bed with a stack of papers.

“Look,” he leans closer to you, holding out a bit of paper that you couldn’t read under the sporadic flashes of light from the Tv.

“My first official act as President. Schools will now provide breakfast and lunch free of charge for every school student.”

“I thought children in the Capitol never had to worry about food”.

“Some do,” he responds, “There are poorer and richer classes in the Capitol too. Not to the extent of the Districts, but we have our own troubles in the Capitol.”

The Capitol people, no matter how poor, were not treated like animals, and terrorized by a militant group. They were still Capitol, and thus worthy of respect.

“And university is free for those in the top 10% of their cohort. I’ll make the announcement first thing tomorrow morning.”

“That’s wonderful” you praise, although you cared little for the new change.

He felt as if the bill would rewind the clock. Damn the Hunger Games, and the Plinth Prize. If he could bury the mistakes of his past, they never happened.

—----------------

Coriolanus grew desperate for a baby after his first month of presidency. He wished he had gotten you pregnant back in District 12 so he could have a baby halfway through his first term. But he didn’t dwell on the past when he could focus on the future.

He tried desperately every night to put a baby in you, but nothing stuck.

He grew worried that time in the Districts had made you barren. After a very uncomfortable examination by a doctor who assured him that you were able to bear children, but simply have not.

The thought of children made you feel sick. You had no idea how you would manage it on top of everything. You did not want his children, but how could you stop him? He was the one who decided your future.

Every morning he would wait outside of the bathroom door for you to do a test. You would bring a negative result back, and his face would sag.

His frustration was rough in form. Since election night, fun was the only objective for Coriolanus. But as his want for a child grew, teasing and pleasing you were secondary to his need. Again and again, in the same night, he would manhandle you in positions he thought were best. They left him with a sore wife and no baby to show for it.

A doctor had suggested that extreme stress can disrupt the ovulation cycle making it difficult to plan strategic timing of sex. This had annoyed Coriolanus greatly. You went on only a few official obligations in which you stayed by Coriolanus. You were fed, clothed, and rested. There was no extreme stress in your life that would hinder you from his baby.

You verbally agreed with his rant but laughed in private at his delusional hissy fit.

Every night when he was finished, he would sleep thinking tomorrow he would wake with good news.

One day he did. He was getting ready to go down to the office, waiting for you to present him with the test.

You expect the same as before, but as you expect the test, you notice an instant difference.

Scrambling for the box, you check the instructions. A cold shot through you as you looked back to see the indication of pregnancy.

In hope you take another one.

Coriolanus knocks on the door, telling you he has to leave soon.

You don’t care, you stare at the test waiting for a negative result.

It appeared the same as the other.

Coriolanus calls out again. On auto-pilot, you unlock the door and show him the test. He knew from your expression that it was positive but he looks anyway.

He kisses you deeply, but you can’t move against him. You were going to be a mother. Die nursing Coriolanus’s babies.

“A baby,” he says joyously. He brings his hand to your stomach and smiles, “A Snow.”

He ushers you back into bed, and calls for a maid to come tend to you while he is at work. All day you only move to throw up once.

The maid annoys you all day by asking you to do things. You just wanted to cry in bed without an audience.

As soon as the news was announced, floods of gifts came piling into the apartment. Designer clothes, a gold crib, flowers, and chocolate were sent for you. You threw them all out.

Every day you spend organizing and putting away presents only for more to come.

If you had thought your life was miserable before pregnancy, your life was unbearable while you were pregnant. Coriolanus was anxious about losing the baby.

The whole nine months at breakfast each morning a doctor checked for any complications. It made it difficult to eat which frustrated you as you woke every morning with great hunger. Only to throw it up again by mid-morning.

You were young and healthy so the pregnancy was low risk. Due to the rations in the Districts, your iron was low, but with your meals now being made by qualified chefs and nutritionists it quickly came back up to an acceptable level.

Coriolanus insisted that everything was a risk. Cooking over a hot stove, or bending to clean. You came to work with him like you did at the Compound. It was then you realized that he was more worried about you self-sabotaging the pregnancy than he was about the chemicals in cleaning products.

You grew big and uncomfortable. With the hormones raging in your body you would cry randomly during the day. One time when Tigris came to drop off the baby clothes she had made you, Coriolanus insisted she stayed for tea in the garden.

It was a beautiful day, and you had company other than Coriolanus. It was one of your better days. But upon seeing a dead baby bird at the edge of the garden, you began to cry uncontrollably.

You resisted Coriolanus' hold as he shouted for the bird to be taken away. The scene greatly shocked Tigres who quickly left when Coriolanus returned you to your room.

In addition to the mood swings, your baby kicked all day long giving you little rest. It took a toll on your appearance, leaving you looking half-dead.

Everywhere you turned someone was handing you a pillow and a blanket or offering you food. You felt like the main attraction at a circus. The only good thing about the pregnancy was that no meant no.

Coriolanus was far more respectful of your boundaries. All you had to put up with was his interactions with his unborn child. He liked to speak to it in your stomach and feel it kick. On daily walks for the baby's health, he would hold the bump as he accompanied you around the grounds. He was excited to be a father but you were terrified of being a mother in an entirely different world than your own.

Both you and Coriolanus attended parenting classes to help with the transition. Even raising babies was different in the Capitol. Mothers were not supposed to leave the house for 40 days after the birth. District women went back to work before the week was out.

The teachers talked about safe sleeping practices in a cot, District babies slept in a basket cushioned with rags.

Special food was designed for every stage of toddler life here. Babies back home ate what was available.

The classes made you grateful that your child was Capitol. At least you could give them a happy, comfortable life.

Coriolanus would ensure the best for his child that you were sure of.

—--------

Nine months passed quickly. One early morning you woke up in a great deal of pain. Coriolanus was still asleep next to you. You knew the baby was ready to come, but you were not ready for the baby.

You try to delay the baby. The midwife said you had another week.

A hot bath stops the pain for a little while, but the sound of running water wakes Coriolanus. You’re in the bath for thirty minutes before he rises from bed to join you.

He doesn’t knock as he enters. There was a time when you would have tried to cover up, but those days were long gone.

Coriolanus kneels by the bathtub and places a hand on your rounded stomach.

“Kicking, is he?” Coriolanus asks.

“Yeah. Something like that,” you state.

“He’s just excited to be here next week.”

As if it was a call to action, your stomach begins to contract painfully tight. You wince, trying hard to keep a sound from coming out.

“Are you alright?” He asks with concern.

“Yes. Can you help me out of the tub?”

The plug is pulled by twisting a round knob to your left, and the water drains quickly.

He helps you out of the tub gently, wrapping you in a towel and helping you walk to your wardrobe.

All of your pregnancy clothes were loose dresses that fell down to your ankles. You picked a light blue one but as the fabric fell around your body, your stomach gave a harsh twist. It felt as if your stomach muscles were being pulled from your stomach.

You feel Coriolanus place a hand on your back.

“I’ll call for the doctor,” he says.

The doctor and his nurses had been moved into the presidential palace for the pregnancy. Coriolanus wanted to be sure that if anything went wrong, a team of experts was at hand.

“No,” you moan, “He’s just moving that’s all.”

The next contraction had you yelling and kneeling over in pain.

“Is he coming?” His voice carried an excitement that could only be found in a person not about to give birth.

“To the bed,” he demands, “Come on.”

The team is quickly called up, bringing with them scary-looking machines. Your doctor had previously explained what they did and how he would deliver the baby. But none of it mattered now. You were terrified.

Coriolanus only left your side to get dressed. The labor was nearly fourteen hours, during which Coriolanus held your hand and waited for the contractions to get closer together.

He tried his best to make you comfortable. Hard pillows were brought in for you so you could sit up, and he held a water bottle close, ready for you.

As you enter the second stage of labor, the pain intensifies as your body gets ready for the push. Your fear spikes, knowing that a baby would soon be placed in your care.

“No, no,” you mutter. This wasn’t supposed to be like this, You were supposed to be married to the love of your life, and have your mother to coach you through this.

“You’re alright, darling. He is almost here,” Coriolanus dabbed an ice-cold rag over your forehead as he spoke.

“No,” you state more forcibly, “I want my mother.”

“Mrs. Snow, you need to start pushing,” the doctor instructs. Your body pushes automatically, causing a painful groan to resound around the room.

Coriolanus gives you words of encouragement but they buzz in your ear. The sound of your mother's name coming from your lips was the only thing you heard.

“You don’t need her. Just keep going.” He soothes.

You scream at the pain. The room felt as if it was on fire around you, but you knew it was cold outside. The world began to blur, the beeping of the machines and talk of the medical team lapped.

You look towards the doorway as your body begins to push again. You swear you see your mother peeking in.

“Mum!” you scream, “Mum, please, don’t leave me.”

“No, No.” Coriolanus consoles.

“No. Coriolanus, I want my mother. Where’s my brother?” You ask in a state of panic that brings tears to your eyes.

“Mrs. Snow, push.” The doctor bids.

“No!” you scream back, “Not without my mum.”

“Mrs. Snow, this baby is coming. You don’t have time,” the doctor says.

“Push,” Coriolanus tells you.

“Please, Coriolanus, please,” you beg. All you wanted was to see her. If he didn’t want you to speak that would be fine. You just needed to see your mother as you delivered your first child.

“What have you done?” You sob, looking at his worried face.

“I haven’t done anything,” he defends, “You need to start pushing.”

Pain ripples through your body and you push to ease it.

Three big pushes that burn, and suddenly the pressure in your stomach is gone.

A loud cry fills the room, in constellation with your heavy panting.

The crying buddle is brought to you by the doctor, but you push his hands away. One peak at his light blonde hair had you feeling sick. He was supposed to have dark hair like Edmund’s. He was supposed to be Edmund’s child.

Instead, the child was given to Coriolanus who accepted him into his arms.

“Coriolanus, where is my mother?” You ask.

“She’s not here. You know that,” he answers.

Still, you scream for her to save you.

“Commander Snow, please! Just let me see her,” you beg.

He looks down at you puzzled, with the screaming child in his arms.

Despite feeling as if you had been hit by a train, you attempt to rise which is discouraged by everyone in the room.

Coriolanus steps forward to stop you, but won’t release his hands from his son.

You feel the pressure from the nurses on your shoulder as they press you back into the mattress.

“Sir, can I administer a sedative to calm her?” a nurse asks.

Coriolanus nods at the nurse, and she inserts a needle into your IV drip.

“Get off. No!” You try to tug against the IV connection, but your hands are pinned down.

“Mum!” you shout, “Archie!”

The sedative works fast. You soon find yourself unable to hold your head up. The fight kicked out from under you.

You watch as Coriolanus holds tight to the small blanket.

“Commander, please.” You mumble, but hear no response as you slip into a deep sleep.

—-----------

When you wake it feels as if each limb has been torn from your body, and you have been hastily stitched together again.

The room is blurred but your eyes are opened. You could feel their sting as you failed to blink.

You had a son, you think, but where is he? Why can’t I hear him crying?

With newfound motivation you will yourself to get your bearings.

Your muscles move at your control once more, and your eyes focus on the lamp on the table.

As you regain control, you hear footsteps by the end of the bed. Your head rolls on the pillow to see Coriolanus as he stands over a bassinet, still for a second, before he reaches down and picks up your baby, wrapped tightly and swaddled.

You wanted to call out and demand that he place your baby back down but you were still hazy from the drugs. You're too slow to gain back your voice.

He sits in a nearby rocking chair with the baby tightly in his arms, beginning to rock gently as he gazes down at the small bundle.

The baby fusses slightly but is soon soothed back to sleep.

Seeing your baby in no harm, you try and sit up

“Coriolanus,” you call. His eyes shoot up to watch you as you rise into a sitting position but go back to your baby as he speaks.

“Take it easy. He’s okay,” he consoles.

“Is he healthy?” You ask.

Coriolanus smiles down at his son, as he rocks back and forth.

“He’s perfect. I’ve named him, Crassus Alexander Snow, after my father.”

You hate that your son is named after the man in the book. You hate that Coriolanus has named him without your approval. Your son wasn’t a doll for him to play with. He had taken enough from you, now it felt as if he was after your son too.

“You named him?” Your voice was hard with your displeasure.

“I had to. The nurses needed a name. Don’t worry you can have the next one.”

The next one. Not even 24 hours after an excruciating labor, and he was talking about the next one.

Looking around, you see that you only felt like you had just given birth. The machines, apart from your IV drip next to you, had been taken back. The bed was fresh under you, and you had been changed into comfortable pajamas.

You lean back into the bed, silent. This was not how you pictured your first child. You wanted your mother and brother to see him.

You picture seeing them again. Just one last time to say goodbye.

The thought of it makes you break the silence you otherwise never would have broken.

“Coriolanus, do you think I could write to my mother to let her know I had a child?” You ask quietly.

He is quiet which worries you. Your mother would know when the Capitol news circulated through the District, but you were hoping to at least let her know you tried to tell her.

“Yes, you should,” he finally spoke.

He gets up from the rocker and walks slowly towards your bed.

“Here, do you want to hold him?”

You open your arms for Coriolanus to place your son into.

He fits perfectly and doesn’t wake.

You stare at him. He didn’t feel like your son. Crassus was a small baby, with light blonde hair. Not how you imagined him.

Coriolanus lays on the bed next to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders so he could bring you close.

“Thank you,” he says, “I know how scared you were. You called for your mother. Do you remember?”

You were hoping that he wouldn’t mention it. That it could just be something that happened and then forgotten.

“Did I?” you fawn.

You're careful to keep your eyes on your son, and not to look anywhere that could gain Coriolanus's attention.

He captures it anyway by bringing your chin up to his height.

“You did so well, and I am so proud of you,” he praises. He places a quick kiss on your lips before drawing his head back.

“I love you.” He states. His eyes look at you expecting.

“I love you too, Coriolanus.”

You never know if the letter you write is sent home. No return was ever given.

—--------------

A week later your baby boy lay between you and Coriolanus on the bed. He was sleeping after you had just fed him. It took a while for you to feel connected to him but now a mother's bond was established, and you could watch him sleep for hours.

Coriolanus ran his finger down the side of his baby's face and down to his little belly, rubbing soothing circles to try and help him digest the milk.

“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” Coriolanus spoke to you but kept his gaze on his child.

“Yes,” you agree.

You wished your mother could see your baby. To hold him as is her right as a grandmother. You had wanted to ask Coriolanus, but you knew the answer. Still, you had to ask. Maybe he would be kinder to you after birthing his child.

“Coriolanus, I was wondering if I might be able to take him back home to see my family?”

His eyes shot up at you. The answer was more than no, it was how dare you.

“Don’t you ever ask me that again.” he seethes.

You held little hope that he would agree so his denial hurt less.

“Can we video call them?” you try to compromise.

“No,” his answer was hard and cold, “Put him in his bassinet and come back.” He commanded.

Crassus’s bassinet was only at the end of your bed. Coriolanus wanted to keep him close.

Your baby stirs as you gently pick him up but settles back into his mother's arms. He was so milk-drunk that the normal fight to set him into his bassinet was won with a gentle rock.

You knew you were in trouble with Coriolanus. The only time you had wished that your baby fought sleep was so you could avoid Coriolanus’ wrath.

He holds his tongue until you are back lying next to him.

“I don’t want you speaking about your family ever again. I don’t want our son to know that you are District. Think about them if you must, but if you continue to speak about them, I will have them killed.”

“They are my family,” you spat.

“We are your family. Us. Your son and your husband.”

You get up from next to him, even though you know you shouldn’t.

“Lay back down,” he demands.

“I’ve done everything you have asked of me,” you snivel, “Gone to every event where they look at me like a trained animal. Cooked your meals, washed your clothes. Gave you a son, just like you wanted.”

Your voice was wobbly and raised. The hormones that were still raging through your body from birth trapped you between uncontrollable sadness and an unquenchable fury.

“Be quiet. You’ll wake Crassus,” Coriolanus scolded.

“I don’t care!” You yell.

Coriolanus looks to the bassinet at the end of the bed, expecting his son to wake, crying.

All is silent. You lower your voice as you continue speaking. If you upset Crassus all conversation would stop.

“Crassus doesn’t have to come. I can have a one-hour phone call a month without him. He doesn’t have to know, but I can’t live like this.”

His eyes snapped to you as he lay in the bed. “Can’t live like this? I have given you a life so terrible that you can’t bear it?”

He rises from the bed, and you take a step back. You were in a bad condition after birth. There was no way you could defend yourself against him.

“Nothing I do for you is ever good enough for you” he exclaims. His eyes squint at you but his voice is calm and collected, “You know how dangerous it was for me to help you in 12? A Commander, and a District girl. How that looked for me in my presidential run? But I didn’t care. From the day I met you, I have looked after you. And you want me to feel in debt to you, because why? You cook the food I give you? Wash the clothes I buy? Birthed a beautiful son that you never would have had without me.”

“You didn’t ‘take care of me’, Coriolanus. You took me. I never asked for any of it. I want to go home to my family.”

Coriolanus stood across from you, his face unmoving and hard.

“You’re right. Family is important,” he suddenly says. His face relaxes, and body unwinded.

He moves quickly to the end of the bed where Crassus lies.

“Your brother had a child. A little girl, named after you,” he rocks the bassinet gently despite his threatening words.

“You want to see her? I can bring her here,” he taunts.

“No,” you whisper.

“No? All this talk of family, and the answer is no?’’

He looks down at his sleeping baby, checking for any signs of distress.

“I could bring them all here. They could work in the presidential estate. You’re the only one who doesn’t have to earn their keep”.

You imagine them dressed in the same white uniforms as the other servants. How much control Coriolanus would have over their lives daily.

“That’s not what I am asking,” you state.

“You’re asking to have your family around you, and I couldn’t agree more. Unless you don’t consider them family?”

“Well?” he pushes after a moment of silence.

“No.”

“Who do you consider family then?”

“You and Crasuss,” you gave the answer he wanted to hear.

“That’s right!” He cooed, running a hand over Crassus’s head, “Just us. All you need is us.”

He straightens once more, giving his full attention back to you.

“I am not asking you to be grateful, but I will not allow you to be thankless,” he shoves his hands in his pockets in a casual manner.

“You should sleep as he sleeps,” he suggests. He wanted the fight to be over, and the newborn bliss to continue.

“Lay back down, and go to sleep. No more talk of Districts.”

He leaves you in the room with your son, retreating from any further fighting.

You wondered if it was true. Did Archie have a baby?

Some part of you hoped it was true, and that she would fill the void of you in their lives. Just as Crassus filled the void for you.

—-----------

With the success of Crasuss, Coriolanus was eager to have another one. You were still getting used to motherhood. You weren’t sure if you could deal with this one, let alone another one.

Coriolanus stayed home with you for the 40 days that you were supposed to be on bed rest. He was up late with work, and then during the night with Crasuss.

He tried to give you as much rest as he could. But Crassus needed you for feedings, and sometimes he would only settle if he was in your arms.

Coriolanus was unversed in assessing others' needs. He would bounce Crassus when he needed to be held, change his diaper when he needed to be fed, and give him toys that were too old for him.

He couldn’t decipher his cries like you could, leaving him frustrated.

You knew he tried, which was more than you expected of him.

You wake from the sound of your son crying from what feels like a two second nap. Coriolanus tried to prolong it for you by trying to soothe the baby himself.

“He needs to be burped,” you tell Coriolanus, “Put him up on your shoulder and pat his back.”

He had only just fed so you knew it was just tummy pain.

Coriolanus does as you say. Crassus settles as he is put upright but no burp comes.

“It’s not working,” Coriolanus panics. Every little thing the doctor was to be called to check it out.

“Keep going,” you encourage.

Coriolanus sighs in relief when Crassus lets out a little burp and returns to being a happy baby.

“You’re good at this,” he commented, “ A natural.”

He always knew you would be, but to see it in action filled him with great joy and admiration.

You huff in response, closing your eyes to go back to sleep.

Coriolanus had to go back to his usual duties, leaving you with the full responsibilities of being a mother.

It was overwhelming to have no one else to talk to but a baby. You spent your days in the apartment which drove you crazy.

You eye the door. Coriolanus never told you to stay in the apartment. It was just an assumption you made. You knew you would never get outside of the gates, but you would settle for the gardens.

With your baby in your arms, you cautiously twist the knob.

There is no booby trap as you step out. No alarm rings. So you continue your journey.

You vaguely remember the way from when you were out of the apartment with Coriolanus.

A maid was polishing the wood of the staircase you needed to go down. You curse but try to act casual as you approach her.

“Mrs. Snow,” the maid seemed surprised to see you, “Can I do something for you?”

“No. I am just going to the gardens,” you justify.

You walk quickly away from her. You hear her calling your name but you don’t stop.

The house is large and echos as you make your way across it. The entrance out into the gardens was almost hidden.

You wanted to run, but you were careful not to shake your baby too much.

The big door comes into view. A sense of excitement and apprehension overcame you. You had never been outside of the Presidential quarters without Coriolanus. Now you were stepping outside. It felt as if you were gaining some independence back.

When you open the door, you are confronted with a Peacekeeper, who stands aside out of your way.

You thank him as you move past him, but he follows wordlessly as you cross the field.

The maid had called the Peacekeeper on you, who called Coriolanus on you, and Coriolanus had told the Peacekeeper to keep an eye on what you were doing.

You find a spot under a tree in the lowest field, the Peacekeeper stands ten feet away to give you and your baby some privacy.

You play with your baby in the short grass. He liked the feeling of it.

Some maids come, bringing a picnic blanket, and a glass of lemonade.

You thank them although you wanted none of their assistance.

Crassus has some tummy time listening to the birds. You lay back on the grass and watch the sun as it goes down. It was comforting to know that your mother and brother would be looking at the same sun. As far away as they were, at least something still connected you.

You tell Crassus about them and he babbles back as if he was trying to talk. You tell him about Edmund in the prime of his life. You don’t discuss Edmund’s death or his father's involvement.

You begin to explain District 12 to him just as the sun disappears behind the trees, when you hear the Peacekeeper stand to attention in greeting. You shut up immediately.

“It’s time to come inside” Coriolanus’s voice is heard.

He picks his son up and places him on his shoulder after a quick kiss.

You get up with the blanket and cup as you follow him back to the house.

Coriolanus takes the items from you and gives them to the Peacekeeper in passing.

“Look at this,” Coriolanus pulls out a small doll from his pocket, “A senator's little girl gave it to me. She was so cute. We should try for a girl next.”

You still had four weeks before the doctor gave you the go-ahead to engage in intercourse. But you knew Coriolanus would push the limits on that time frame.

“I want to wait at least a year before another one,” you tell him.

It already was so difficult, you wouldn’t survive having to care for another one.

“No,” Coriolanus protested, “I would like a girl before the years out.”

You knew how obsessive Coriolanus could be when he had a thought trapped in his head. You also knew that nothing you said was going to change his mind.

You wait until Crassus is asleep, and your shift with Coriolanus starts.

He was waiting for you like he usually is. After Crassus was asleep, it was his turn to have his wife.

He had opened a bottle of wine and was flicking through the tv channels. It surprised him when you dropped to your knees in front of him.

Your hands reach for his trousers, and he eagerly helps you to take them off. During pregnancy he didn’t want to force you to do anything, thinking that it might harm the baby. After he was born, there was a recovery period that he had to wait through. It left Coriolanus pent up and hungry for your touch.

Your lips were warm on him and worked so well.

After all of your experience, you knew what Coriolanus liked. You swatted his hands off you as he tried to take control. He relents, bringing his hands to his thighs in a tight grip.

You feel it grow in your mouth with your attention. It twitches under your tongue and you knew it as a sign he was close.

Just as he is reaching his high, you drag your lips back and off.

He gasps as you do, throwing his head back onto the couch.

“What are you doing?” He groans. He was irritated, which was not your desired effect.

“Crassus turns one before another baby,” you demand.

His hands curl into the couch as he counters, “Eight months.”

You move to get up but his hands stop you, “Okay, okay, a year. Just finish.” He begs.

You do finish him off, with the smug satisfaction that Coriolanus Snow is just a man.

The day Crassus turns one, Coriolanus keeps you to your bargain.

Coriolanus was determined to have a girl. Clothes and bows had already been brought.

While Capitol technology allowed you to artificially change the sex of your baby, Coriolanus was more interested in conceiving the natural way.

He researched old myths to increase his chances, and he tried all of them.

He made you drink lemon juice before sex. He initiated sex on even days of the week. You were on a diet of fish, eggs, and vegetables. And you had to leave your legs raised for a couple of minutes after he was finished.

You were slow to conceive like you were with Crassus. But one of the old wives' tales worked, for nearly nine months after Crassus turned one, you fell pregnant with a baby girl.

You named her Aurora meaning dawn. A silent homage to your family back home, and the sun that connects you.

—--------------------

Having children strangely settled you. You had five children in total within years of each other. Your fifth child was your last. After you had lost too much blood during the birth of your next boy, Coriolanus put off plans to have a sixth. It scared him, seeing you so pale, laying half dead in a bed like his mother. The goal of children was to bring you closer, not to use you up.

They gave your life purpose and little room to think about anything else but their needs. As they grew, you got more freedom to explore the city. Always under an army of guards. Coriolanus wanted them to have a full life, even if it meant granting you access to be far from him.

His children were not to miss out on anything the Capitol had to offer. Their names were on the top of the list for any attractions, child star concerts, and plays. The world was at their fingertips, and you got to experience Capitol life through them.

He went when he could but his work was demanding. In his absence, a team of Peacekeepers escorted you and your kids around the Capitol.

Despite his many faults, Coriolanus was a doting father. His children were first, sometimes before you. Where once his hold was tight around you all night, now you wake to find that one of your children had escaped their bed and taken your place.

You always worried about his temper. He hasn’t hit you in years. You figure it was partly because you gave him little reason to, and partly because if you weren’t physically holding a child in your arms, you had one in your belly.

But as your children grew would they be in the same danger as you if they acted out?

They all had the signature blonde hair of a Snow, but only the firstborn had Coriolanus’s blue eyes. Your other two boys and girls had your eyes. Something to tell you that they weren’t all Coriolanus.

Date night normally consisted of an official event. They were far and few between as Coriolanus preferred you to be home with the babies. He disliked nannies but conceded to their usefulness.

Tonight was a charity event to raise money for a new public swimming pool. Vapid and silly. At this stage, only Crassus and Aurona were born to be left crying as you tried to leave for the event.

They were not used to being parted from you, and you were not used to being parted from them.

“It’s okay,” you hush, “Mummy will be back soon, and she will check on you.”

Aurora was too young to know what your words meant. Her only cue that something was wrong was Crassus as he screamed.

“No, Mummy, no!” His face was bright red from tears. You worried that he was short on breath from his screaming.

He knew when you dressed up, you were leaving. He was four but a smart little thing. As soon as the stylist crew arrived, his meltdown began.

You held him as they did your hair and make-up, trying to soothe him. Coriolanus was still at work. All he needed to do was change his suit when he arrived home.

He arrived home to chaos he could not settle.

He stood behind you, watching as your son tried to tug off your elbow-length glove.

“It’s alright, it’s okay. Mum will be back,” you promise.

Aurora throws her head back, throwing her body off balance in your hold.

The two nannies try to gain the kids' attention by holding out new toys, and calling out to them.

“Once you leave they will settle,” one of the nannies promised.

With teary eyes, you kiss both of your crying children, Coriolanus does the same, and Aurora is handed over.

Crassus’s little hands claw onto your dress, he has to be picked up and yanked away by his nanny.

You try not to let your tears fall as you walk to the car. It would ruin your make-up, and once you started to cry, you weren’t sure you would be able to stop.

“They will be fine,” Coriolanus promises on the way to the event.

“Why do I have to go tonight?” It was a silly thing that would survive without you.

“Because you’re my wife. That’s why.”

Despite many years in the Capitol, events like this reminded you that you don’t belong.

People would only talk to you in an attempt to gain an audience with Coriolanus.

You would remain civil but not overly friendly.

They all thought you were shy and timid as you were rarely seen, and always by Coriolanus’s side.

Your relationship with Coriolanus had changed over the years but his overprotectiveness never dissolved.

His hand was always on you in some form. Where he went, you went. Who he talked to, you talked to. You were only an extension of him in public. At least at home, you were your own person to your kids.

Tonight it seemed to all children. Only one person spoke to you apart from Coriolanus.

It was a little girl, who passed you a flower in thanks. The public pool didn’t seem so silly in your eyes anymore. You bent down to talk to her, thanking her for the flower. You asked her about school and her siblings. You told her about your own children who were too young to attend a party like her.

You were disappointed when her nanny came to collect her. She scolds the child for running away and bothering the President.

Tucking the flower behind your ear, you blow the girl a kiss as she is carted off.

The rest of the night was dull as you acted as Coriolanus’s shadow.

Coriolanus had just finished a speech on stage, you were walking back down the hallway to the party with him. You passed a few people running the events. They tried to talk to him, but he seemed in a rush.

He turns off the direction of the party, and tugs you down an empty hallway.

You ask him what he is doing as he checks the doors until he finds one that is opened and ushers you inside. It was a supply closest. Small and smelling slightly damp.

He pushes you up against the wall, knocking over a broom and a bucket.

“You’re such a good mother. Such a good little wife. I don’t tell you that enough,” he says.

“Okay,” you respond, pushing back on his shoulders.

“I love you so much.” He kisses you so hard, that your head is knocked painfully back into the cement wall.

It reminded you of the harsh and needy kisses he used to give you as a Commander.

You feel his hands slide up your dress and grip the flesh of your butt.

“Coriolanus, not here,” you beg.

His lips go to your throat in slow, sexual kisses.

“I want another baby,” he requests.

“Not here. Someone could find us.”

“Not if you are quiet.”

“Coryo,” You try. A bit too loud for this liking. He clamps a hand over your mouth, and shushes you with a hard look that tells you he was serious.

“It would not look good if they found the President and First Lady fucking in a closet.”

He kneels on the floor in front of you, going under your dress and up your legs, bringing down your underwear.

You feel him put his mouth on you, and you try to relax. It took you months to fall pregnant the last two times. This time wasn’t anything special.

His fingers dig into the back of your thighs, keeping you close as he works.

Soon a lapping sound is heard, and Coriolanus leaves your cunt with a kiss.

You try one more time to dissuade him. Telling him to wait until home. But he unbuckles his belt and hoists you up around his waist.

Your arms circle his shoulders as he pins you to the wall.

You can feel how hard he is against your heat. He bucks up against your wetness in desperation before he lines himself up properly.

You engulf him in your wetness as he thrusts his hips up into you.

With no way to hold yourself up, you feel yourself sink and then be thrusted up into.

“Are you going to give me a baby?” He grunts.

He is fast and rough as he slams up into you. His words were heard but your mind was far from them.

“Yeah?” He teases. His lips go to your neck again, trapping you head against the wall.

He seemed to continuously hit the spot that you liked, no matter how you moved your hips.

The pressure means you come too quickly. Coriolanus was nowhere close so would continue.

You can’t help to groan as he fucks you through your orgasm.

He reminds you to be quiet once more, and you bite his shoulder to stop the sounds you couldn’t stop coming.

He knew you had come from the way you clenched around him.

Taking the back of your neck, he leans you into his shoulder and wraps an arm around your waist.

He delivers you to the floor, releasing you gently into the tight confines of the cluttered room.

“Think you can manage another one?” He asks.

You shake your head ‘No’, your words failed you as he continued his brutal pace.

“I think you could,” he states.

He uses two fingers to circle your pearl as he drives into you.

The door had no lock. Anyone could open it and see you.

You were being too loud. You knew you were. But he forced the sounds from you. Your whole body tingled under his touch, your legs shook with pleasure.

He was not being entirely quiet himself. He grunted and shutters above you feeling his own end coming.

You feel him twitch in your preceding his exploding into you.

He beats you but doesn’t stop swirling his fingers, determined to have you finish again.

You come too loudly causing Coriolanus to cover your mouth with an open palm and look to the door, expecting detection.

His hand is pulled and with a kiss, Coriolanus pulls back on his ankles with a stupid grin.

He uses your panties to clean up the excess cum from you before placing the underwear back on you.

If you had any energy, you would have taken them back off but all you could do was lie there, watching him transform back into a respectable gentleman.

“We have to get back out there before they send Peacekeepers looking for us.”

He finishes tucking his shirt back into his pants before reaching down to help you to your feet.

You’re a little wobbly at first but Coriolanus keeps a firm grip to keep you upright.

You spend the rest of the fundraiser with damp panties and shaky legs which causes you to bump into Coriolanus as he stands next to you.

The stupid grin never leaves his face, even in the car ride home.

Your children are asleep when you arrive home.

You leave them with a kiss, before going back to your room and rushing to beat Coriolanus to bed while he is occupied going through the messages left for him.

He joins you in the shower but it’s quick and with the intention of going to bed.

He talks about the night. Recalling things he enjoyed and disliked.

He asks you what you think but you shrug. All Capitol events were the same to you.

You finish your shower while Coriolanus washes his hair. Giving you time to dress and get into bed before him.

You roll to your side, hoping that the supply closet tryst fulfilled him enough.

You feel him as he moves in the bed to come over to your side, his arm wraps around your shoulder and his head rests against yours.

“We should take the kids to the zoo tomorrow. I’ll have it cleared out.”

“Okay,” you reply, knowing that there wasn’t any other option.

The zoo was large, and there were too many animals to see before nap time.

Crassus got whiny and tired from all the walking and climbing on things. He demanded to be carried. Instead of using his words, he would scream when he got sick of looking at the same animal.

Normally you would have returned home to put him down for a nap, but Coriolanus enjoyed having his son rest on his shoulder. Crassus was a mommy’s boy and very rarely wanted to be held by anyone else.

It was not your first time at the zoo. You had taken Crassus while you were six months pregnant with Aurora. It still amazed you, however. You could spend hours just looking and learning about the animals, but Crassus was lucky to push a five hour awake period.

It was a blessing to visit the penguins where the sound of the gentle flowing water, and cool air sent him to sleep on Coriolanus' shoulder.

You pushed the pram that Aurora was asleep in as you and Coriolanus searched for a comfortable resting place.

Finding a canopy, you sit with your family in the shade. Coriolanus had successfully transferred Crassus from his shoulder to the bench with his head resting on his father's thigh.

Coriolanus’s other leg went out to gently rock the pram with his expensive shoe.

You lay back resting your eyes yourself. Crassus had woken you up from a nightmare. With him in your bed, you got very little sleep as he tossed and spread out.

Coriolanus disturbs your peace by reaching out to place a hand on your stomach as if there was something already inside.

“What do you think it will be?” he asks.

“We don’t know there is anything in there.”

Coriolanus had wanted you to take a test this morning but it was chaos trying to get the children ready for the day.

“I don’t care what it is myself. I was thinking Marcellus for a boy, and Lillian for a girl”.

You cry at the thought of being pregnant again. It was a horrible experience. It was uncomfortable, tiring, and you suffered great nausea all throughout the nine months. That's all before the recovery period while you run around after two other children.

“Hey,” his voice is soft and reassuring. He stops rocking the pram to reach his hand to yours.

The hand that wasn’t captured by Coriolanus went to your mouth to quieten your blathering. You were always cautious about what the children saw.

“If it’s too much I’ll let you get a nanny to help during the day” he offers.

You rip your hand out from under him in anger, “I don’t want a nanny.”

You didn’t trust Capitol people to be around your children. Only when you were forced to where you parted from them. They were too young. They needed their mother.

“You’re tired,” he pandered. His hand wraps around your shoulder to pull you down to his lap. You rest your head on his thigh like your son, and find your eyes shut by themselves.

You feel his fingers itch your head until you are asleep. Coriolanus waits until your breath evens before returning to rock the pram with his hand. With his arm rested over his oldest child, and his hand lulling his baby girl to sleep, Coriolanus felt a swell of pride.

His family slept under his protection and lead. Pamen had entered into a new golden age. All paths led him here.

You woke to the sound of Aurona crying which woke and upset Crassus.

On instinct, you shoot up from Coriolanus to retrieve your baby girl. She needed to be fed again, but Crassus was now rejecting Coriolanus’s hold, wanting to be picked up by you.

You oblige him when his face starts to turn red from crying. You feel their tears on either side of your collarbones. Their screams rang in your ear.

Coriolanus stretches his dead legs, slowly easing himself up to place a hand on Crassus' back.

“Let's get ice cream,” he bribes.

Crasuss turns his head to look at his father and nods.

With a bright smile, Coriolanus claps his hands together before opening them wide, “Come to daddy?” He asks.

You never let him get ice cream at the zoo. It was too close to nap time. So with the promise Crassus eagerly goes into his father's arms.

At the ice cream shop you could feed Aurona but it took far longer than normal with the anxiety that you were pregnant with your third. Something told you that you were.

It was a boy. A gorgeous baby boy. Doll was your nickname for him, but Coriolanus officially names him Adrianus. He cried very little, and at six weeks old he slept through the night. He latched easily, and from 3 to 4 in the afternoon, he would laugh insatiably at everything. He was a dream child. You were very happy with him, despite his initial undesired conception.

Life settled for a little bit as Coriolanus worked to quell a quiet rebellion brewing in the Districts.

For a year Coriolanus was kept busy. His mind off expanding his family.

For the moment he was happy with the three wonderful kids you had given him. Something you could share. Three young kids, five and under, left you exhausted by the end of the day, yet when the day was over and the kids were asleep, Coriolanus demanded your attention.

Coriolanus was not immune to jealousy even from his own kids. You had learnt to give him enough attention during the day when he was around but it only starved him off until night time. He rarely talked about work. Only upcoming events that concern you. He was more interested in you recounting every single thing the kids did.

After having the kids hang off you all day, your least favorite thing to do was have Coriolanus all over you. But when it was his time, he followed you everywhere you went. Insisting that you sat on the couch with him for an hour. He didn’t feel like it was much, but you felt as if it was the last bit of energy zapped out of you.

You normally got a break when Coriolanus returned home from work. He started early so normally he was home in the late afternoon. While you had lots of staff to help you with chores and cooking, you preferred to do it yourself. It gave you a routine that you could go auto-pilot on.

From five to six every day you were in your kitchen while Coriolanus watched the children. Capitol food took some getting used to. Half of the meat you had never even seen before. Coriolanus organized cooking lessons to help you as a Mother’s Day gift.

Dinner was often followed by free play if they weren’t too messy, allowing you time to feed Adrianus. It was important that he had your full attention as you fed as he was so quiet that you might miss a cue of his discomfort.

Crassus sat coloring at the kitchen table while you were in the kitchen trying to feed your youngest boy, Adrianus, who had just turned one

Coriolanus sat next to his son watching as your daughter Aurora showed off her expensive ball gown that her father had brought her simply because she wanted it. ‘No’ was not in Coriolanus’s vocabulary when it came to his children.

He held out accessories in his palm for her as she explained what they were and where they went.

Despite ruling a country with an iron fist, at home, it was you who disciplined the children. He let them run wild, while you tried to raise them to be respectable, and moral children. Your work mostly paid off. They were good children.

Aurora having free reign over her father and older brother, who both bent over backwards to please her, was spoiled. Her tantrums were something you were yet to stop, but she was sweet when not disappointed which was more often than not.

She only had to cry and Coriolanus would pick her up, giving her what she wanted. It annoyed you to no end. If your marriage was equal, you would push more for him to discipline the kids, but Coriolanus only ever gave you the illusion of partnership.

“Mummy, how did you meet Daddy?” Crassus asks out of nowhere as he draws.

The small spoon in your hand drops to the floor as memories that you had buried spring up. The stalking, the harassment, the loss of freedom. You remember the late nights as your mother cried out from pain from the flogging that he ordered.

“Mummy used to own a cake shop, and Daddy would go by every morning before University to buy one.” Coriolanus answered for you. He reaches out and brushes Crassus' hair lovingly.

“Dad, you can’t have cake for breakfast!” Aurora exclaimed.

“Oh, but I did! Your mother would make them special for me.”

You close your eyes remembering the words, ‘Can you make me some more of those oat bars.’ A demand, not a gesture on your behalf. You remember the hard wall behind you as he pressed you there. Just the thought of it brought your heart back into your throat as if it was happening all over again.

“She doesn’t let me have cake for breakfast!” Aurora complained. Tears sprang to her eyes causing Crassus to push a lollypop you had given him for eating his dinner across the table, trying to fight off his sister's tears.

Coriolanus picks her up from the floor and places her on his knee so she can cry into his arms.

“Darling, these are special cakes. Ones you give to someone you want to marry.”

You remember the cakes you used to make Edmund. Edmund, you hadn’t thought about him in years, yet the scar on your heart never healed.

“Not growing little girls.” Still, your daughter cried, which displeased Coriolanus.

He rises from the table with Aurora in his arms and heads into the fridge.

“Let's see if Mum baked any for you”.

Your youngest son begins to cry from hunger which snaps you out of your spiraling. With your daughter receiving a cupcake and your son resuming feeding, the room is calm once more. But your hand shook as your mind flooded with memories of Commander Snow.

Moments later, Crassus presented you with a picture of two stick figures surrounded by out-of-proportion cupcakes. You stared at it with the weight of your baby resting on your hip.

Just like that Coriolanus had rewritten history. Commander Snow was a distant dream. District 12 a vague thought. Lucy Gray no longer haunted the woods. No longer made Coriolanus Snow the victor of the 10th Hunger Games. The war scar had faded. He had fixed history’s mistakes.

He had taken his rightful place as President of Pamen. Only you were left to remember him as Commander Snow.

The end!

Thank you all for reading, and coming along for the journey. Especially to those who commented and motivated me to write. This story would not have been complete without you.

A HUGE thank you to @hotline-to-hell for editing the work, and restructuring the mess.

And a HUGE thank you to @thaleleah and (who i assume is the same) anon who took the time out to encourage me with their long, and hilarious feedback.

Hope to see you all in my other works!

taglist:

@sarahskakskskskajakwwnwjw

@mrsjobarnes

@greekyoghurtwithberries

@namelesslosers

@urfavnoirette

@aleemendoza2425-blog

@hiatuswhore

@jacesvelaryons

@swimmjacket

@brooks-lin

@dawnissunnysideup

@astarborntowrite

@someonefromwutheringheights

@purriteen

@homopheli

@devils-blackrose

@poppyflower-22

@bruher

@dawnissunnysideup

@winter-bearv

@tempt-ress

@serinatly100986

@becauseseaotters

@aleemendoza2425-blog

@inloveallthetime

@hufflepuffxsworld

@chennyetomlinson

@slumnit

@saharadesertaj

@missbeeentertainment

#coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #dark!coriolanus snow #tom blyth #commander snow #dead dove do not eat

368 notes · View notes

deathnguts · 1 month

Text

Barty crouch jr who’s a disowned trust fund baby who still gets a monthly allowance from his mommy and invests in tech stocks probably and lives in a huge ass apartment in a nice building but it’s literally not furnished at all and he never cleans it ever and he spends most of his time on high on his pc and he’s got the gamer sleeper bod with pierced nipples and belly button and the worlds sluttiest hip bones and happy trail under his stained sweat pants and the most dead eyes under his scraggly hair that’s in desperate need of a haircut he doesn’t feel like getting but he’s getting a new tat at least once a month and they’re usually from himself because he bought a tattoo gun online but doesn’t have a license to tattoo others and he literally only goes outside to club and drink and visit his mommy because what else is there to do and he doesn’t even try to make friends or start relationships because he doesn’t care about people and why should he why does it matter and he’s literally just the most burnt out loser you ever did see but he gets away with literally everything because he’s rich and pretty

Evan Rosier who’s just another middle child in a pond of siblings to parents who have never tried to look at him so they don’t notice at all when he leaves with a shit load of their money and never comes back and they’d give him more if he asked to keep him out of the house but he would rather die than do that so he immediately gets into the shitty office pencil pushing Patrick Bateman type shit that his father and oldest brothers did but in a business that wasn’t just handed to him so he can feel like he’s made his money and therefore his life himself and he lives the rest of his life that way with a grind set around hours spent in the gym and specialized diets and crisp tasteful fashion and very demure stoic presentation of himself to the world and actively cuts himself off from everyone around him because of the mindset he gave himself through this life style that everyone is below him and waisting his time so he literally doesn’t have friends or family and barely says any words or feels anything everyday but no one can see that because he’s too far away to make out and too good at painting a picturesque image of himself for anyone to try because he’s rich and pretty

Regulus Black who has never lived for himself and isn’t starting now so he ignores the voice in his head reminding him he’s a boy and chokes it to sleep every night with his long hair and flowing dress skirts and tries to assert that by marrying the rich family friend that raised him more than his own parents (who barely even looked his way during his own wedding that they planned) right when he turns seventeen and locks himself away in the perfect white house his husband made for him and keeps trying to nail on the mask of being the perfect little wife but he just cant and goes stir crazy and obsessive and is a nightmare to be around during his rising amounts of emotional breakdowns and if it were a hundred years ago he’d probably get lobotomized but it’s not a hundred years ago so his husband (Rabastan if you couldn’t guess) tries to distract him by funding some pity studies and encouraging him to go to an old and privileged college for useless degrees he’s only getting so he’s too worn out to start fights at home but it works and keeps him civil and mostly empty and comfortable enough to continue to be a half dead powdered and pretty wife that can continue to float through life with literally no one in his life sticking around through his tantrums and bone deep issues except his husband who wants him to stay that way for convenience and everyone is h the outside looking in thinks he’s just perfect and mysterious because he’s rich and pretty

Literally just the unholy trinity in a modern, nonmagical setting as the worst versions of themselves in a context we know: closed off rich young people who are bubbling with hate but too depressed to really do anything about it and too rich and privileged to have to so they genuinely believe what they have must be good and not in need of change because they have it all right?

Anyway then one day they meet and they feel alive for the first time ever maybe and smooch and stuff woo modern rich pretty douchebag romance.

I just need something like that, soemthing that showcases their flaws and genuine awfulness without sugarcoating it but in turn shows how their love for one another genuinely brings out the best in them. Just like remembering that they’re messy bitches but their love trumps all like actually. And who cares, they look fantastic together and they have enough to own your entire bloodline, there is nothing you can do about anything they do.

187 notes · View notes

thinkingotherwise · 5 months

Note

Hi! I hope I'm not too late for a request but can you please do a head canon on Wind Breaker(satoru nii),Haruka(Platonic pls)& the Bofurin,Hajime,Hayato,Akihiko,Ren,Mitsuki,Kyotaro & Ren,with s/o who is haruka sakura's older sister, who is about 22 years old, she's a hikikomori, has the same personality as Haruka, unlike Haruka, she appreciates kindness & generosity, calls Haruka an idiot but has a heart even though they don't get along.Fem Haruka's older sister s/o, used to be a sweet kid to haruka, but somehow she got bullied due to not living up to high expectations as a girl & causes her to lose him & suffer trust issues who has no friends. Her personality is similar to zooble from the amazing digital circus pls. Sorry if this explanation is long.

No worries, write as much as you want. Though I honestly didn't know The Amazing Digital Circus and I watched the pilot just to get the feeling of Zooble's character. She's a MOOD. Also, I thought about making the reader hikikomori but I wanted her to live alone, so she came to be mostly social-distant and not keen on human interactions - I hope I captured the characteristics correctly. It's also more focused on platonic relationships. I hope it's still alright.

Wind Breaker characters x Haruka Sakura's older sister (mostly platonic)

part 2, part 3

characters as written in request: Haruka Sakura, Hayato Suou, Akihiko Nirei, Hajime Umemiya, Kyotaro Sugishita, Ren Kaji, and Mitsuki Kiryu TW: bullying (mentioned), manipulation (mentioned)

- As the older sister of Haruka, you were the one who got him into training martial arts and fights, it was you who first saved him from bullies when they laughed at his hair and eyes. - You were the only one whom he could go to for comfort and the only one who hugged him whenever he needed it. - With time you got into more and more fights helping your younger brother and because of that, you got bruises in more visible places making your parents lecture you each time and each time it was worse. - You got in a lot of trouble not only with your parents but also with your boyfriend at that time, who just like them thought that girls shouldn't fight and whenever he saw your bruises he yelled at you saying that you look awful. - You didn't talk about it with anyone, and maybe that was your mistake because, after the n-th time of hearing such horrible words, you gave up. You changed and vowed to never fight again leaving Haruka alone. - Your emotions were in turmoil seeing Haruka beat up and knowing he had to fend for himself, especially when your so-called boyfriend started having heated conversations with him, but you still didn't interfere knowing that it wouldn't please others knowing that you as a girl fought. You didn't want to disappoint them more than you already did. - After some time your friends and boyfriend started turning on you. Even though they pretended to be nice, they were manipulating and soon started bullying you. - Every interaction with them started making you irritated and annoyed but you kept it in for the time being and as soon as school finished you cut everyone off, moved out of your home, and found a small flat in the nearby town. - All those false relationships had an influence on you and made you socially-distanced, you didn't want to feel more betrayed and kept your interactions with other people to a minimum. - You spent most of your time at home, thankfully you got online job and didn't need to leave your house. The only people you kinda appreciated and talked with were your neighbours who always asked how you were doing and sometimes gave you some snacks but you never let them in keeping them at a distance.

Haruka Sakura, Hayato Suou & Akihiko Nirei - Now then during one of your shopping trips Haruka recognized you. He was at one of the patrols and the sight of you, who left him, got him angry. - Nirei and Suou tried to get some information from him but he pushed them away and went to confront you. They tried to calm him down thinking he was about to beat some woman. - You heard the commotion and looked in their direction. Surprised to see your brother you became uncomfortable and tried to quickly leave. - They grew louder as Haruka started calling after and stopped you. Your irritation was apparent and you tried not to show how awkward you also were to see your brother. - "What do you want, pipsqueaks?" - "Huuh?! Pipsqueak?" - Your brother got annoyed and started lashing out at you saying you left him and why are you even here, that you should go back to all these people you chose instead of him. - Your blood boiled at the accusations and you raised your voice too, telling him how awful you felt, how everyone was putting pressure on you, and how you were never enough for all of them. - The loud argument was cut off by Suou, who proposed talking it all out privately. - You reluctantly invited them home and told them about the issues you had and that you were sorry you had to cut Haruka out of your life. - He left that day mad at you and it took him some time before visiting again. - You didn't expect to see him again and what was even more surprising was why he came. - Haruka tried to be angry and he told you, you were a coward for running away like that but that if you want you can start talking again. - It made you happy but also flustered and you tried to deny needing him and others. - Somehow after this meeting, the guys started visiting you and tried to get you used to becoming social again. - Talking with Suou was very calming and his understanding nature really helped you open up slightly more to others. - Nirei, however, was the one to fluster you the most, saying that you were pretty cool, as soon as he got to know you were the one who ignited the flame and fight skills in Haruka. - You were grateful for what they did and how hard they tried for you, so you let them introduce some other guys from Bofurin.

Hajime Umemiya & Kyotaro Sugishita - For you, Hajime was one of, if not, the most annoying. - "What? Oh God, please no, I don't want to take part in any of your so-called family meetings." - You responded once again when he invited you to the cafe he frequented with friends. - Even though you tried to push him away he was sticking to you like a leech, constantly trying to make you see that you can trust people again. - He annoyed you so much and you tried to act tough and not be swayed by him but you would lie if you said he didn't grow on you. - His friend, Sugishita, however, seemed to be the complete opposite of Umemiya. - Your first meeting went so wrong. - When you first met him, he was in the middle of arguing with your brother, and seeing him ready to throw a punch awakened some protective instinct in you, that you felt a long time ago when it came to Haruka. - "What the hell, you better step the fuck away or I'll make you." - You stopped his hit gripping his fist and ready to beat him to a pulp. - "Hey, now, now let's calm down." - Thankfully Umemiya stopped you and cleared the situation between you and the first year. - After the next few meetings although still alert near Sugishita you found comfort sitting in silence next to him, he was a great escape from Umemiya and his constant yapping.

Ren Kaji - You met Ren once, maybe twice and both of them he ogled you as if judging your mood and emotions. - Then he would reach for his pockets and hand you lollipops. - Just like with Sugishita you appreciated the silence when you stayed near him. - Occasionally the silent sounds coming from his headphones, as he listened to the music, calmed you down and brought comfort to you.

Mitsuki Kiryu - Mitsuki seemed to be the one hardest to get along with, his style was loud and clashed so badly with your shut-in personality. - Surprisingly he made a good substitute for all the friends you had during your high school years, he wasn't false like them and he actually listened to your complaints. - Not to mention the late evenings you spent on "girls talk" when you felt more in the mood for some social interaction. - He'd always have all the newest gossip to share.

Tags: @misticbullet

#wind breaker (satoru nii) x reader #wind breaker (satoru nii)#wind breaker x reader #wind breaker #haruka sakura x reader #hajime umemiya x reader #hayato suou x reader #akihiko nirei x reader #ren kaji x reader #mitsuki kiryu x reader #kyotaro sugishita x reader

356 notes · View notes

seresinhangmanjake · 10 months

Text

The One I Want: Part 7

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x plus size!reader

Summary: You’re new in town and some guy named Jake is about to be your roommate. Being skeptical of new people keeps you lonely and uninterested in any entanglements, but Jake is desperate to change that.

Notes/Warnings: traumatic past, trust issues, cursing, very likely typos

Words: 3262

The One I Want Masterlist

Jake Seresin is a puzzle whose pieces, as you have come to see, are already slotted together. You learned tonight that a few of those pieces are worn from being picked at, but they don’t impede his ability to be complete. Jake is beautiful and smart with a well-built confidence and a certain quality that, with enough time, makes you want to open yourself up to him. Everything about him goes together. It all works. Those pieces make Jake the man he is, in all of his perfection. So being in his presence, you want to be who he wants you to be. You want to be just as put together. But you’re not sure you’re strong enough for that.

“You can trust me,” he says, your hands still clasped together. You glance down at those hands, wondering when exactly he wove his fingers with yours. “I’ll share first if that’ll make it any easier.”

Eyes flicking up, you take in the intensity of the pair staring back at you—the depth within them, the swelling pupils that are pushing the green into a thin ring and drawing you in. They’re too honest, and it hits you like a ton of bricks.

Has anyone else ever looked at you this way? You think the closest instance you can recall involves the man you’d naively fallen in love with who lived in the first town you’d moved to on your own. But his look was a hidden lie discovered far too late.

You suppose there was a fraction of Jake’s honesty in Millie’s eyes when she expressed her thoughts and told her story so openly. She would probably be willing to attempt understanding you if you offered it.

You know you’re reaching, though. Trying to grasp at something that isn’t all there to prove that the way Jake is looking at you now is nothing unique. That it’s not special. That he doesn’t make your heart pound or your stomach flutter or cause a tingle to creep up your spine.

But when you consider telling him the truth of your history, you already sense the shame you’ve been living with for years preparing to double in force. And how can you allow that? You don’t need anything else weighing you down. You can’t possibly handle more. Certainly not from him.

You tear your eyes away from his and aren’t shocked to find that that’s exactly what it feels like—a tear. A tearing that holds so much resistance you can practically hear the slow rip that severs the connection.

“It’s not that easy,” you whisper.

“It can be,” he says, fingers tightening around yours. “You know how much I want to know you.”

The closing of your throat doesn’t allow you to swallow. An invisible hand is wrapped around your neck, blocking your oxygen, fogging your vision with unwanted tears. Your lip quivers all on its own.

Jake reaches out, lightly pressing his thumb to that lip as if he could stop its trembling.

Then you shake your head and his thumb disappears.

Standing, you try to step away, but his hand, still tangled with yours, stops you. You think he’s doing it on purpose, refusing to let you leave until he gets what he wants, but when you look at his face, it’s blank. His eyes stare ahead, the corners of his mouth are turned downward, and he doesn’t seem to feel you prying open his fingers to free your hand.

His arm drops and slides into his lap, and you take that as a sign to retreat to your bedroom.

You’re not quite through the door when you hear, “I wish you felt like you could trust me.” His voice is as defeated as his facial expression had shown. Low, dark, raspy. “Whatever it is, it's not going to change how I see you.”

You want to believe him so badly. So much so that, without any effort, you could let it consume you. But you can’t bet on his words. So you close your door the rest of the way.

—

You’ve thought about him for a week straight, and each of those thoughts has scribbled their way into the notebook you’d sort of kind of—would deny it if anyone asked—stolen from the shop.

But your little notes on Jake you don’t allow to blend with the chaotic notes of your past. He gets his own pages with words written in neater script. There’s not a single smudge of ink from your hand rubbing the paper in a rush to get your memories down before you forget some of their details. Not a single splotch of liquid black from a pen pressed too harshly onto the paper. No holes from that pen tracing the same words over and over in a fit of dampened anger. Like Jake, your notes on him are neat, and beautiful, and perfect in appearance.

What they contain, however, is something different: bunches of sentences warring with one another as you try to decide what you’re going to do next. You live with him. You see him every day. You’ll have to interact, which means you’ll have to get over this hump. The only problem is that it may not be a hump Jake wants to get over.

In the months you’ve known him, you’ve never seen him the way he was that night last week. So much was crammed into a couple of hours and it provided you with a fresh image of him—not an image that changed, exactly, but simply an image that developed a new layer. And you liked having that layer of his visible, until it became clear that the spotlight was turning to you so you may develop another layer as well.

Stepping out of that light meant plenty to you—you knew the message you were sending, even though you felt resistance from every part of you screaming to stay put—but it did more to Jake than you imagined, and that realization came in the form of Jake not speaking to over the past weeks worth of mornings, not smiling, not waiting for you so you could share breakfast. He’s gone before your alarm goes off.

It only took you ten hours to notice the void that formed in your chest from missing him around you. After ten hours—most of which you spent trying to sleep—you felt awful in more ways than one. Not only were you exhausted and absorbing your dislike of his absence that first morning, but Jake, despite his hurt state, continues to take care of you.

Those breakfasts he doesn’t wait around to share with you are still available, already made up on a plate with saran wrap keeping them safe in the fridge. The post-its he sticks to the coffee pot to inform you of said breakfasts never fail to have a small smiley face drawn in the corner. And to be fair, he does speak to you a little, but unless it seems to be a matter of life or death, which you haven’t been able to manage, his answers are clipped. Even then, it could be that those short answers are the best he can do for himself rather than anything he is doing for your benefit. With how much Jake talks in general, and with how lively you are used to seeing him, maybe he can’t be one-hundred percent silent no matter how much he wants to.

Regardless of what it really is, the tension has grown thicker by the day.

These days are not ones you want to morph into routine. You can’t watch them settle and solidify when you crave him and what he adds to your new life to this degree. Which means you have to figure yourself out. Not all of you—that will take some time—but enough of you that you can approach Jake and take the chance to be honest with him. His offer to exchange stories shows that it is not just you who needs it, but Jake as well.

That is what has prompted you to bring your notebook to work over the last seven days. And the more time you spend writing your notes, the more you release from your damaged soul, and the more good things about Jake start piling up. His faults are underwhelming and overshadowed, and all it confirms is that you want him back. So you decide that when he picks you up from work, something you never expected him to continue doing considering your current relationship, you’re going to break the silence by asking for another chance.

—

When Rooster’s truck pulls up to the store, Millie is leaning halfway out the passenger side window, one hand waving your way, the other arm bracing her precarious position. A moment later, her elbow slips on the sill and she lurches forward with a sharp yelp. Looking past her, you can see Rooster reach over the center console and wrap his arm around her waist to pull her back to safety.

“Babe, please,” he groans. “You’re stressing me out.”

She glances at him over her shoulder. “Oh, you hush. I’ve never fallen.”

“Yet,” he emphasizes. “I’d like it if my girlfriend stayed alive. I've got plans that involve you.”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head, Darlin’. You know my hips will save me from making it all the way out the window.”

Rooster only rolls his eyes in response before unwrapping his arm and giving her ass a light smack.

Millie looks back at you, her grin wide and displaying a row of straight, white teeth. “Hey, honey. Workin’ hard or hardly workin’?”

“You can only work so hard here,” you say with a weak chuckle. “Where’s Jake? Is he okay?”

You want that answer as much as you don’t. You pray he’s fine and safe, but then it means the tension that hasn’t dwindled the slightest has finally become too much for him. Though you’d rather he avoid you than be injured or ill, it hurts no less. Right as you devise a plan to bring the two of you back together, he pulls further away.

“Oh, he’s um…” Millie bites her lip.

“Staying on base tonight,” Rooster says, leaning back to meet your eyes over Millie’s shoulder. “He went in to get some extra work done and thought it would be easier.”

If the lie weren’t so terribly obvious, Rooster’s face would’ve betrayed him. The man is not a master of deception. He can’t pull it off. You suppose that bodes well for Millie, if he would ever dare tell her an untruth. Not that you can imagine a situation where he would.

Millie’s nerves wipe from her face at her boyfriend’s explanation, and you almost snort from how cute they are. They operate as their own little team, supporting and backing their partner up to keep the other from falling. Whether they succeed in their mission, like trying to convince you Jake is busy, is another thing.

Your little red-headed friend transforms back into her giddy self. “Right, so he asked us to come get ya,” she says with a wink.

Now that, you do believe. Jake may not want to see you, but he wouldn’t leave you stranded. And as disappointing as it is to see Rooster’s truck instead of the one you perfer, you know it’s not enough to convince you to give up on your end goal. With your plan thwarted, you only gain more time to figure out exactly how you’re going to bring up what you want to tell Jake.

—

You’ve decided Sundays are the best days. Sundays are easy days. They are days set aside for relaxing, where you can spend twenty-four hours in your home with only a robe wrapped around your body and not be judged. Many stores are closed on Sundays, the gift shop included, and most people don’t work, Jake included. And Jake Seresin, though not the type to sit around, does allow himself the mornings of Sundays to be what he would normally consider lazy.

When you first moved in, you didn’t love this habit of his. Knowing no one but him and knowing no place but the apartment meant you didn’t do anything or see anyone else. He had you locked in with him for at least three hours before he met his team at the gym, and he took those three hours very seriously. Most of their minutes he dedicated to being around ta you,lking to you, asking you questions—anything you did, he was there to do it with you. And while it once bugged you a bit, it eventually grew on you. He grew on you. You stopped caring about how he spent his Sunday mornings because your routine and his melded into a comfortable place, and you've had no intentions of disrupting that—until now.

After forgoing sleep to spend the entire night thinking about Jake, you’re sure you look like hell when you step out of your room and into the living room where he sits. You didn’t think to check yourself in the mirror, and Jake doesn’t acknowledge you in favor of reading his book to confirm or deny your likely-ragged state.

You don’t care how you look, though.

You care about pushing yourself forward.

“Jake?”

His hum is dismissive, but you don’t hold it against him. You understand his feelings too well, and you accept them. When he was so vulnerable and raw—when he told you something he’d not told even his closest friends—you denied him the same courtesy, and that decision hurt him. He aches. You still see it on his face and in his movements. The way his fingers gripped the book and his shoulders tensed the moment you entered the room. How he pulled his bottom lip inward and trapped it between his teeth and has yet to let it go.

He’s trying to hide the discomfort your presence causes, and he is doing so well that, as someone with plenty of experience, you’re almost proud. But the act unravels completely when you say, “I trust you.”

His head slowly rises. Then, closing the book and setting it aside, Jake stands from his spot on the couch, brow pinched as if he had not heard you correctly. “What did you say?”

“I trust you,” you repeat.

One hand settles on his hip as the other goes through his hair. He squeezes his eyes shut in a two-second long blink as if trying to snap himself awake. Lips part, perhaps to say something, anything, but then they seal again.

Before you lose your nerve, you inhale, exhale, and with a single nod, mutter to yourself a final, “I trust him.”

Then you spew out everything you’ve kept inside—everything you’ve kept away from him.

“My parents left me,” you say aloud for the very first time. You try to hold them back, but tears accompany that statement, gathering in the corners of your eyes. “Dad first, when I was nine. Mom when I was fourteen. They left and I don’t know where they are, and I don’t really care, but they disappeared and it…it messed me up. It left me lost, and I learned to let people hurt me because no one showed me anything else. I let people treat me however they want, which most often means attacking the insecure parts of me. I let them call me names and look at me in ways that strip me of my dignity, and I can’t stop it. I don’t stop them.

“When I can’t take it anymore, I leave wherever I am,” you say before pausing to catch your breath.

Jake doesn’t take the opportunity to speak. He stands there, staring, listening, waiting for you to offer him more.

“You weren’t that far off at the diner when you said I was trying to live in every beach town for two months before moving on to the next. They haven’t all been beach towns, but there have been many of them and I never stay for long,” you admit. “The minute I have the means, I go. I graduated high school by myself and left my hometown, fell in love with an asshole in the second town and left, got a job at a bar whose drunks found me an easy target, so I left again, and it’s been the same everywhere I’ve landed, again and again and again. People break me down so I find someplace new. You are—” You cut yourself off to reconsider your words, “This is my eleventh new place.” One of those tears breaks free to slide down your cheek. “And I don’t know how long I’m going to last here, but I already hate the thought of leaving.”

Done with your speech, you release a heavy breath.

When Jake looks away from you, it’s a bucket of ice water dumped over your head. Your heart crushes with the realization that you were right. Jake was wrong. Seeing you differently is not as difficult as you had hoped and he had promised. In fact, he doesn’t see you at all anymore because he won’t even give you a glance. You presented the reality that you are unloved and unwanted and explained exactly why that is, and now he has in his hand all of the reasons why others mistreat you, the ability to evaluate those reasons, and decide for himself if those reasons are valid.

And in that moment, you know you are fucked. You’re about to be lost again. On your own, in the dark, with nothing to hold on to. Not that you didn’t anticipate this coming along eventually, but you would have liked to stick around a little longer.

Through the blur of tears, you see Jake nod. That’s all. No words, no shift in facial expression; he nods to the floor rather than give you the respect of nodding to your face. He nods again, and then he looks up to meet your gaze.

Jake’s hands fall from his hips, and in four strides he closes the space keeping you apart, cups your jaw in the heat of his palms, and plants his lips on yours.

His kiss lands somewhere between hard and soft, between eager and restrained, between needy and downright desperate. And after adjusting to the shock he plunged you into, your mouth begins to move against his.

Jake is warm, and cozy; he tastes like the one Splenda packet he puts in the oatmeal he occasionally has for breakfast, and it all makes your brain hum in a comfortable delight. You take from him all that he takes from you, and give to him all that he gives you, and in the process, accept that you truly want this and he wants this and that’s all that matters. You’re not working harder to please him than he is working to please you. You’re not thinking about what he will think when your lips separate. You’re not afraid of being a disappointment because were that the case, surely he would have released you by now. But he hasn’t released you. He holds on and pulls closer and doesn’t let go, not even when the kiss breaks.

Thumbs stroke your cheeks as your eyes slowly drag from his swollen lips to his nose to that mossy-green shade you’ve become attached to. There’s a hint of concern in his stare. But then you smile, so he smiles, and the concern fades.

“Your turn,” you whisper.

---

tags: @wkndwlff @kmc1989 @sagittarius-flowerchild @dempy @oliviah-25 @rosiahills22 @xoxabs88xox @matisse556 @hardballoonlove @ssa-sadboi @lynnevanss @pono-pura-vida @tgmreader @amgluvsbooks @ravenhood2792 @djs8891 @shakespeareanwannabe @sailor-aviator @penguin876 @rogersbarnesxx @nani-kenobi @tgmavericklover @athenabarnes @emilyoflanternhill @wretchedmo @shanimallina87 @elite4cekalyma @buckysteveloki-me @shelbycillian @kissmethric3 @fox-bee926 @hangmandruigandmav @waltermis @fandom-life-12 @a-serene-place-to-be @bruher @cehenyne @tngrace @mamaskillerqueen @emma8895eb @benedictsvestcollection @blackwidownat2814 @himbos-on-ice @entertainmentgal8 @hookslove1592 @whoeverineedtobe @alwaysclassyeagle @chaytea06 @cherrycolas-things @turtle-in-a-tornado @have-a-nice-day-k @inkandarsenic @kidd3ath

#jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin #top gun maverick #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin fic #jake hangman seresin fic #top gun hangman #top gun #jake hangman seresin x y/n #jake seresin x plaus size!reader #jake seresin fluff #jake seresin angst #jake seresin fanfic #jake seresin fanfiction #tgm #tgm fic

568 notes · View notes