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#grief bacon
possumcollege · 1 year
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May include a side of Kummerspeck.
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what-marsha-eats · 2 years
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America’s Been Eating A Lot of Grief Bacon Since 2020
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torse · 2 months
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one day when Notkin is making breakfast, he starts singing "bacon pancakes" it becomes a habit and he does it every time it's his turn to cook
after a week or two, Grief yells at him to stop, it's driving him INSANE
but later, on one of Grief's days to cook breakfast, Notkin catches him humming it 👁️
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commanderfreddy · 9 months
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i never remember to explain shit anymore i just vaguepost and expect people to catch up but i finally have good news, we've made a lot of progress with my parents' estate (they both ran their own businesses and you know those images of nightmare cable management? well imagine that with bank accounts) and i actually have money now - im taking a trip to Aotearoa NZ with my mate Jules next week (dark sky reserve! lotr filming locations! snow! FOOD!) and then in august i will be moving to nyc to pursue a 2 year masters degree in library science with a focus on rare materials archival studies!! shits happening in my life!! im not just sitting in my house doing nothing all day!! and like i said i have money!! if you're taking commissions lmk bc while im focused on my getaway for the next few weeks i wanna support my friends and their art and when i get back i wanna throw u cash to draw my ocs!!
#fred says a thing#personal#i havent slept (its 8am) but not for sad reasons! i was reading a good book and then i just had a lot of thoughts!#invariably i will be sad again - probably soon! i will definitely see stuff on my trip that i will want to show my parents and have to#experience the strange nature of grief-for-what-never-was several times over during otherwise great moments#- but i will also be happy in the future too!#my therapist says i definitely have ptsd! im learning more about emotional flashbacks and how to manage them!#im a human being and i will continue to be one for the rest of my life!#i hope thats a long time!#but even if that isnt something my genetics allows i was happy now! and people were happy to have me in the world!#im realising that sounds rather alarming but i just have a lot of fears about my genetics considering. you know. the cancer orphaning.#im trying to manage both my health fears and my health itself in a reasonable way! i made a chicken tomato pasta sauce last night#just from ingredients i had lying around and it was pretty good!#i have a ripe tomato i picked from the garden yesterday that today i will fry up with bacon and put on some toast i think#there are so many books i want to read#there are so many books i want to write#in a few days i will be experiencing snow (a rarity for me) and i will probably be handling the cold very poorly and i will feel excited#and uncomfortable at the same time#and for much of my life i will experience a lot of contradictory things at the same tiem#and i will experience times of great boredom and inaction! we all have to stand in queues and wait for buses and go to the dentist#and wonder what might have been#but i will experience them. i will.
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clemsfilmdiary · 1 year
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Sweet Carolina (2021, Peter Benson)
3/15/23
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pheonix-inside · 1 year
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Wrote a vent fic. Again. Lol.
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chvoswxtch · 4 months
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i got you
pairing: frank castle x fem!reader
summary: frank tells you the truth about how he lost his wife, and drops a heart-wrenching bombshell along with it.
warnings: swearing, angst, lots of grief, mentions of blood, death, and gun violence
word count: 4.8k
a/n: the jokes about billy and frank came from @thyme-in-a-bubble & I wondering what a sleepover would look like with them and I hope that's enough comedic relief for how heavy this one is. as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!
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Delicate kisses of warmth caressed the tops of your cheeks when peaceful rays of sunlight began to peak through the open curtains. Stirring lightly, your hand subconsciously reached out in search of the man that had been occupying your dreams for several months now. But when your fingertips found absent sheets that were cool to the touch instead, your eyes finally began to flutter open, and you soon realized that you were in a large cozy bed alone. Sitting up slowly and holding the soft sheets to your bare chest, your fuzzy brain tried to piece together your surroundings while you let out a quiet yawn, but the only thing you could focus on is what was missing.
Frank.
Rubbing the remnants of sleep out of your eyes gently with the heels of your hands, it finally dawned on you that you were in the master bedroom of the cabin. You remembered falling asleep on Frank’s chest next to the fireplace, and the thought that he must have carried you to bed caused a giddy school girl grin to stretch over your lips and indent into your cheeks. For a moment you just fell back against the plush pillows, letting out a content sigh and stretching out your limbs with a soft hum, relishing in the afterglow that carried over from last night. There was a slight ache between your thighs, and as you traced your own lips with your fingertips tenderly, you could still feel them buzzing from colliding with Frank’s own repeatedly last night. 
For a moment, you wondered if you were still dreaming. You had never felt such raw  exquisite happiness like this before that it truly didn’t feel real. How else could you explain it? Here you were, in an isolated cabin with no one around for miles, alone with Frank, waking up naked in his bed after a fireplace confession and the best sex you’ve ever had in your life. If you didn’t factor in all the hell you went through to get to this exact moment, it would’ve felt too good to be true.
The scent of freshly brewed coffee and applewood smoked bacon swiftly pulled you out of your own head, and there was only one thing you wanted right now more than coffee and breakfast.
Frank.
Slipping a shirt over your head, you were making your way down the hall when something caught your eye. It must not have captured your attention yesterday, but there was another door in the hallway, and it was faintly cracked open. Out of pure curiosity, you gently pushed the door open just a smidge, causing the hinges to creak quietly. The sight you were met with caused thick confusion to weave between your brows. Against the wall to the right was a set of wooden bunk beds, complete with a ladder leading from the floor to the top. There wasn’t anything else in the room except for two sets of small wooden dressers, with four drawers each, spaced out against the left wall. 
The bunk beds were made neatly, almost as if they had never been touched. The bottom bed had a navy blue comforter covering it with a hunter green pillow, while the top one had a violet purple comforter and a rose pink pillow. But as you glanced around the room, you noticed there was nothing else in it. No other furniture, no decor of any kind, nothing. 
Why would Frank have bunk beds? The first explanation that popped into your head was perhaps Billy joined Frank at the cabin from time to time, and then that unleashed the image of Frank and Billy having a slumber party in the bunk beds, and then you were uncontrollably giggling to yourself while continuing your path down the hallway towards the kitchen.
As soon as you turned the corner, your breath caught in your throat. Frank was standing in front of the stove, without a shirt, wearing a loose pair of grey sweatpants on his hips that made it very clear he was wearing nothing underneath them. The sight of his muscular back momentarily distracted you from the fact that he was cooking bacon without a shirt on, which further cemented your belief that he may actually be a masochist. But then you caught sight of the tousled dark curls spilling from the top of his head, and you couldn’t help but smile. You had never seen Frank’s hair quite this long, and you wondered how much curlier it got when he actually let it go.
By this point you were practically salivating, but it wasn’t the freshly brewed coffee or the scent of bacon and pancakes that had you ravenous all of a sudden. While you silently observed him from where you stood in the entryway, you noticed there were faint pink lines along his tan skin, cascading down his shoulder blade. Heat quickly flushed into your cheeks when you realized that those lines were from your nails. You hadn’t had a chance to look in the mirror yet, but you were abruptly curious if Frank had left any marks of his own on your skin. God, you hoped he had.
The flex of his bicep caught your eye when he lifted his coffee mug up to his mouth to take a sip, and you couldn’t stand there silently anymore. Trying to clear the lust that had clouded your brain, you were brought back to your former curiosity about the bunk beds, and a faint smirk curled at the edge of your lips as you stepped further into the kitchen.
“So between you and Billy, who’s the top and who’s the bottom?”
Frank immediately started sputtering, nearly dropping the ceramic mug in his large hand onto the floor as he quickly spun around to look at you. His thick brows were bunched up in the center of his forehead, but his warm brown eyes were widened in bewilderment, and he wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand after his coughing fit settled down.
“Do what, now?”
You couldn’t help but bust out laughing at Frank’s hilarious reaction. Walking towards the cabinets, you opened a few of them until you found the mugs and glasses. As you grabbed a tall glass, you looked at Frank over your shoulder with a teasing smirk and arched one of your brows.
“The bunk beds?”
Turning your attention back to the task at hand, you poured some of the freshly brewed coffee into the glass, adding some flavored creamer and milk along with a couple ice cubes. It wasn’t the “iced” coffee you were used to, but it would suffice for this morning.
“I’m assuming you take the bottom. Something tells me Billy would probably be worried about the top bunk collapsing under your weight and ruining his pretty face.”
With your back still turned to Frank, you couldn’t see the way his expression was shifting, and he hadn’t replied to your teasing. Assuming he was probably looking at you with his usual expression of pure exasperation that always covered his sharp features when you annoyed the shit out of him with your antics, you giggled quietly to yourself and kept pushing.
“So, do you guys braid each other’s hair before, or after the face masks?”
A few moments of silence stretched on before you rolled your eyes, turning around finally to face Frank with a grin, prepared to laugh at whatever face he was giving you at the moment in response to your teasing. But the second you saw his face, your smile instantly dropped, and a pit of dread opened up in your stomach.
Frank wasn’t annoyed. He didn’t look angry either. He looked…crestfallen. His brown eyes were softened somewhat, but shining with sorrow. His lips were pressed in a line, but it wasn’t harsh, and it made him look like he was struggling to hold something back. His broad shoulders had visibly deflated, and there was a clear lump in his throat that he forcefully swallowed down. Solemnly turning to the side, he reached out and slowly turned two of the knobs on the stove all the way to the left to shut the burners off.
For a second he just stood there, his gaze locked on the floor, and you watched as he quickly clenched and unclenched his jaw. Whatever you said wrong struck a nerve within him, even harder than you had in the motel when you touched the scar on his temple and questioned its origin. Panic flared within your bloodstream the longer he avoided your gaze and stayed silent, and you desperately wished you knew what you had said wrong so that you could take it back, or at the very least apologize for it.
“They uh…they were for…”
He couldn’t meet your eyes. Frank’s voice was the softest you had ever heard it, and the internal conflict he was wrestling with was painted clearly across his face. Closing his eyes for a moment, he let out a heavy and deep exhale through his large nose, and then lifted his head to look in your direction after what felt like an eternity. The expression in his eyes was muddled. There were strong notes of grief, swirls of melancholy, but there also appeared to be faint traces of something that almost looked…apologetic?
“They were for my kids.”
Every molecule of oxygen was harshly forced out of your lungs with that one sentence. The immediate shock of it shielded your heart from the initial blow, and you blinked in complete dumbfoundment while staring across the kitchen at Frank. Your investigative brain swiftly kicked into overdrive as you tried to make sense of those words. 
They were for my kids.
Frank didn’t have kids. He lived alone in a one bedroom apartment. He had only left your side twice in the past six months. You never heard him talking to anyone on the phone except for Billy or Dinah. And since his wife had passed, that would mean if he did have kids, he would have sole custody of them. If there was one thing you knew about Frank, it was that he was fiercely loyal, and even more relentlessly protective. If he had kids, there was absolutely no way in hell anyone could keep them away from him. A puzzled set of lines creased along your forehead while you stared back at him.
“Wait…that doesn’t…that doesn’t make any sense. You don’t have any kids, Frank. I mean, if you did…they…they would…they would be here, they would be with you. You wouldn’t let someone else-”
The heartbroken look on Frank’s face quickly cut off your rambling of denial. At that moment, you seemed to finally notice that his soft brown eyes were glimmering in the natural light filtering into the kitchen. But it wasn’t the sunlight causing the sheen. There were thick tears welling up in Frank’s eyes.
The band-aid that the initial shock provided was abruptly ripped off by that sight, and a desolate bolt of lightning struck right through your heart, cracking it in half like an unsuspecting tree in a dreadful storm. Your eyes widened in horror when the unspoken truth emerged from the embers of that destruction.
Frank hadn’t just lost his wife; he had lost his kids too.
All at once, the kitchen felt entirely too small. Your iron grip on the counter was the only thing keeping you up right. It felt as if someone had reached directly into your chest and pried your ribcage apart with their bare hands, puncturing your lungs with splinters of bone, leaving your lungs to fill up with your own blood. The stove had been shut off, but there was a heat encircling you that felt suffocating, making it hard for you to breathe. Frank looked absolutely forlorn as he took in your reaction to that painful confession.
“We uh…we were at Central Park. We had this uh…this tradition, ya’know. Every time I came home from a tour, we’d pack a picnic and go, make a whole day of it. The kids they uh…they loved that carousel, ya’know. They’d ride it so many damn times, Maria and I, we…we’d lose count.”
An overwhelming sensation of nausea flipped your stomach completely upside down. Something about the way Frank was talking caused your anxiety to skyrocket. You didn’t like how small and quiet his voice sounded, or how vulnerable it was. You didn’t like that the tears lining his bottom lash line looked like they were seconds away from falling. You didn’t like that you could feel in your gut that he was about to reveal something that would ruin you.
“I don’t uh…I don’t remember when the shootin’ started. I don’t…I can’t remember where Maria was, or my boy…I don’t…I didn’t see ‘em. But my girl…my baby girl, she…she was…I had her, ya’know…in my arms. I was tryin’ to…fix it, ya’know…keep it all in…then everythin’ just…went black.”
His voice was so low, barely a decibel above a whisper, and he faintly mumbled while fighting to get the words out. But in the silence of the kitchen you heard every syllable as clear as day. His eyes kept shifting back and forth over the floor, and you weren’t sure if it was because he couldn’t look you in the eye, or if it was because he was trying to keep himself from falling apart. Frank’s hands were loosely connected in front of him, his index and middle finger twitching repeatedly while he spoke.
In an instant, an icy chill suddenly caressed your spine. Bits of Frank’s words had triggered something in your brain, and you couldn’t figure out why. Something about it sounded…familiar. When the pieces began to align in your memory, you quickly covered your mouth with your hand in horror, and a choked sob caught in your throat.
You knew exactly what Frank was talking about, and it made you sick to your stomach.
“Oh my God.”
The Central Park massacre. 
Ben had covered that story when you first started interning with him three years ago. The details of that case had been…brutal. A gang war had erupted right in the middle of the park. Nine people had been murdered as a result, and several others were injured. But the worst of it was a family of four had been caught right in the middle of the crosshairs of the shootout. The mother and son died instantly due to blood loss from their wounds, but the daughter…the carnage was so bad that she couldn’t even be identified by dental records. The father had been shot in the head and had slipped into a coma on the way to the hospital, but there was never any coverage on what had happened to him after he was admitted. Ben hadn’t even allowed you to look at the crime scene photos, they were so horrific.
But for the past three years, you had always wondered about what had happened to that man. The optimistic part of you imagined he’d woken up from the coma eventually, but then you felt bad for even hoping that he would’ve. Who would want to wake up from that just to find out that their entire family had been murdered? The realistic part of you figured he had most likely died due to his injuries. After all, who survives a bullet to the head?
Never in a million years would you ever have imagined that exact man you had always wondered about for the past three years would be the one standing in front of you right now.
“That was you.”
Given the nature of the brutality, the victims' names were never released, no matter how hard the press begged for them, and the abhorrent details were watered down significantly for the media. 
There was a flash of perplexity in Frank's eyes, as if he was trying to figure out how you seemed to know what he was referring to. But then he almost appeared to be relieved that he didn’t have to go further into the gruesome details.
Everything seemed to fall into place like a torrent row of dominoes. That’s why he had shut down when you asked about the scar that night in the motel. It was a physical reminder of the day his entire family was gunned down right in front of him.
This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be happening. Frank had just come home. He had survived months, years, of real fucking war…and came home just to, what? Have his family slaughtered in front of his face, and nearly die himself? It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fucking fair. How could that happen? How could that happen to him?
The sound of Frank gently shushing you and the feeling of his rough hands carefully cradling your face made you realize that you had been voicing those thoughts aloud. The calloused pads of his thumbs wiped at the wetness lingering on the tops of your cheeks, and you suddenly noticed that you had started crying at some point. Glancing up at Frank, you watched as a single tear slipped down his cheek, and that devastated you to your core.
“Frank-”
Hearing the way you sobbed his name, Frank immediately pulled you in, cradling your head delicately against his chest, carding his fingers through your hair softly while he quietly shushed you. You felt guilty. You felt so fucking guilty. Here he was opening up about the most traumatic day of his life, and yet he was the one consoling you. But you didn’t have anything to offer him in that moment. All you could manage to do was wrap your arms around him and hug onto him as tight as physically possible. 
You couldn’t even begin to imagine the aftermath of something so awful. To wake up from a coma, just to be told your entire family is gone. You wouldn’t have survived it. You would’ve laid in that bed, begging whatever God was listening to just put you out of your misery. How can you go on after that? Even though you had suffered a great loss of your own, and there had been moments where you wanted nothing more than to quit and give into the grief, you’d found a reason to push through it. But how do you even want to live after losing that much?
What had kept Frank going?
The half-cooked bacon and pancake batter were left abandoned on the stovetop, along with both of your coffees on the counter. The kitchen was eerily quiet and still apart from your quiet sniffling and the occasional chirps from a visiting cardinal outside. Frank held you in his lap while the two of you sat on the floor of the kitchen with his back pressed against one of the cabinets. His thick fingers carded through your hair slowly, and his lips were pressed gently against your forehead while he rocked you ever so slightly. You hadn’t released your tight hold on Frank. Your arms were still firmly wrapped around his neck, and at this point, you weren’t sure if you could ever let go. For the past fifteen minutes, the two of you had been sitting in silence; you processing the trauma of his past, and him reliving the worst day of his life all over again. 
“I shoulda told you before-”
“No. No that…you told me when you were ready.”
Closing your eyes for a moment, you tried to focus on the steady rhythm of his strong heartbeat and not the ache you felt for him in your own chest. A flurry of questions were swirling around in your head, and you didn’t even know where to start, or if it was the right time to even ask any of them.
“What…did you…I mean how-”
“I was angry. S’pose that kept me goin’ for awhile.”
Frank let out a deep exhale through his large nose. He seemed to know what you were getting at, even if you couldn’t get all the words out. That was one of the things you had grown to love about your relationship with him. The two of you seemed to be able to understand each other in a way that didn’t require a whole lot of words. Pulling back slightly to look at him, you brought one of your hands up to tenderly hold his face, brushing your thumb lightly along his sharp cheekbone slowly.
“And when you stopped being angry?”
Frank met your gaze, his warm chocolate brown eyes meeting your own. 
“I never did.”
There was a finality to those words that hurt you, and he seemed to be able to tell. He gave a gentle shake of his head, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
“I…made peace with it, ya’know…laid it to rest in my own way. But…not a day goes by I don’t think about ‘em.”
The sincerity in Frank’s vulnerability cut right through you. Leaning in, you pressed your forehead against his, closing your eyes for a moment while hugging him close and keeping your hand against the side of his face. There weren’t any words to express the varying emotions you felt for Frank right now. The anger for what had happened to him and his family. The anguish for what had been stolen from him. The grief for what he carried around with him every single day.
“I’m so sorry-”
“Hey hey hey, you ain’t got nothin’ to be sorry for, yeah? It ain’t your fault-”
“It wasn’t yours either.”
Frank looked into your eyes with a softened expression, the faintest of creases forming between his thick brows. The distress in your voice tugged at his heartstrings, and he gently grabbed the back of your head to pull you in so he could press a tender kiss to your forehead. His strange behavior from yesterday when you asked about the cabin now made sense. Tilting your head back a little, you looked at Frank with a soft frown tugging down the corners of your lips.
“This was a surprise project for them.”
The tiniest of melancholic smiles graced the edge of his mouth as Frank gave a slight nod of his head.
“It was. I got it a couple years ago. I meant to work on it when I would come home, I just…never got ‘round to it, ya’know? Didn’t wanna miss a moment with Maria and the kids. The last tour I came home from, I was gonna surprise ‘em though. Tell ‘em I wasn’t goin’ back, and show ‘em the cabin. I wanted to tell ‘em the night I got home, but I was just…tired. I couldn’t stay up with Maria, couldn’t play ball with the boy, or read my girl a bedtime story. Hell, I couldn’t even drink a goddamn beer. But I thought, ya’know…they’d be more excited if I tell ‘em tomorrow while we’re at the park. Make it more special.”
Frank was going to surprise them that day. He was going to surprise them and tell them that he was staying home for good, and also surprise them with the cabin. He’d been home for one day. 
One day. 
Everything was going to change. Frank was going to get to be home with his family. He wouldn’t have had to leave them anymore. But then everything was changed for him in the worst possible way, and now you were in a place that you didn’t belong in. A place that was meant for his wife and kids that they never got to step foot in. A fresh wave of tears poured from your eyes as an insurmountable amount of grief and guilt crashed into your heart like a merciless tidal wave.
“Hey hey…c’mere. S’alright, sweetheart. Everythin’ is, yeah? C’mon, I don’t want you to cry. Breaks my heart every goddamn time seein’ you cry, baby.”
He wiped under your eyes and along the tops of your cheeks gingerly with the pads of his calloused thumbs, cradling your face in his large hands while letting out a heavy sigh.
“Look, I can’t sit here and tell you one day it ain’t gonna hurt like hell, cause it’s always goin’ to. I mean…I ain’t even gotta tell you that. You already know it. You already know how it feels to miss someone you can’t get back.”
Softly wrapping your hands around Frank’s wrists while he held your face, you nodded your head slowly while staring at him with eyes full of sorrow. You did know that feeling. You had felt it every single day since your mom had passed. But you hadn’t lost her the way Frank had lost his family. She was taken from you in a way, but nothing even remotely close to what Frank endured. At least you had gotten to say goodbye.
Frank took in the somber expression haunting your features, and he let out another deep sigh. He tenderly stroked his thumb along your cheek, searching the depths of your eyes for the words he wanted to say that could lift the heaviness that had settled in the space between you.
The most heartbreaking thing about this revelation was knowing that Frank had been alone. You had known from the start that he kept to himself, apart from his friendship with Billy, and…whatever it was he had with Madani. And based on the way he had spoken about his parents, it was clear they had already passed some time ago. But then he lost his entire family. Hell, he had even lost parts of his own identity. For the past three years, Frank hadn’t had anyone but himself.
“You’ve been alone.”
Frank was still gently stroking his thumb along your cheek in an effort to comfort you. His other arm was wrapped firmly around your waist, holding you close to his chest. Hearing the delicate concern in your voice, the edges of Frank’s lips tugged upwards in the most miniscule of smiles.
“I ain’t alone no more. I got you.”
He tilted his head faintly in your direction to get his point across, pressing his thumb lightly against your lips, and warmth suddenly blossomed within your heart. Letting out a soft breath, you closed your eyes for a moment, pressing your forehead against his tenderly once again while a fleeting smile graced your lips as you kissed his thumb gently.
“You have me.”
While he leaned in to press the softest and sweetest of kisses to your lips, Frank ran his large hand through your hair in a comforting way once again, and then looked into your eyes in complete adoration. 
“You’re the first good thing I’ve had in a long time, sweetheart. A long goddamn time. I want you to know that.”
Your heart felt like it was going to burst through your rib cage as you gazed into those warm coffee irises that had captivated you from the very moment you met Frank. Something about him had drawn you in from that first introduction. Even though he had been stoic and closed off, there had been a spark there that lit an ember which had been steadily growing ever since. 
Wrapping your arms tightly around his neck, you hugged onto him and rested your head on his shoulder while closing your eyes, inhaling the comforting scent that was uniquely and wholly Frank.
“So are you.”
Even though your voice was barely above a whisper, you could tell Frank heard you by the way he embraced you even tighter against his chest and pressed a lingering kiss to the crown of your head.
While you sat there in his arms, it began to occur to you that your appreciation for your bodyguard had steadily evolved into something greater than you originally thought. It was something deeper, and far more profound than just simple admiration. Every time Frank was around, your restless tension and incessant anxiety seemed to vanish, because you knew that you were safe with him. You didn’t filter your words, or tone down your personality, or even give into the effort of putting on a mask, because you didn’t have to with Frank. 
There was a subtle seed that had been planted within your heart months ago that had been languidly blossoming into something you had never been able to grasp before. It was something magical and terrifying you had only ever dreamed of discovering, and it was beginning to become clear that it was something you had possessed the entire time.
Every crooked smile, every bellow of laughter, and every lingering stare unleashed a basket of butterflies to flutter around aimlessly in your stomach. You could hear it pounding within your chest and feel the heat of it nipping at your bones. It called to you in the subconscious of your dreams, and the taste of it was still tingling on your lips. It had been under your nose all along.
You were in love with Frank.
tags: @thyme-in-a-bubble @day-dreaming-goddess @messymissy @itwasthereaminuteago @strawberry1042 @queenofthenoobs @wanda2themax @xcastawayherosx @avengerstower-houseplant @stevenknightmarc @ponyosmom35 @babygal-babygal @wellwwhynot @oldermenaremyreligion @combustiblemeow @tired-night-owl @fairykiss32 @danzer8705 @calkissed @fxckahs-blog @lemon-world1 @polskiperson @imperihoe @v4leoftears @harperdoodle @spideyvibez @joalslibrary @cherry-berry-ollie @sorrowfulfragmentation @kdogreads @sumo-b98 @blackhawkfanatic @gloryekaterina @whistle1whistle @starbritestarlite @callmebrooklynbabes @hallway5 @scarletfvckingwitch @bifuriouslatina @soupyspence @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @wonwoosthetic @linguist-breakaribecca @nerdytreeflower @mrs-bellingham @smhnxdiii @s3riou2 @slavic-empress
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lovingmattysposts · 4 months
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Friends with Benefits Part 4
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welcome to the illicit affairs chapter, you have been warned enjoy..
P1 P2 P3 P5 P6
paring: y/n and matt sturniolo
Summary:You and Matt are best friends, who occationaly have sex on the low. No string attached, just sex. Well, just sex for him. Little did he know you were falling in love and falling fucking fast.
warnings: smuttt (lowkey nothing major), mentions of not eating, depression, anxiety, drugs, effects of being high, drinking, cursing
first of all i just want to thank you guys so deeply for the love and the never ending requests for the next part of this series. The fact that i wrote this before i had tumblr and was never planning on releasing for others to love, blows my mind. this one is a long one and a rollercoaster, love y'all.
xoxo, Autumn.
Y/n pov
I never thought my body or mind could handle the amount of pain it's endured over these past few days. Never thought the amount of tears that have come out of me was possible either. But here we are. I haven't let my bed in days. I've just been watching reruns of the vampire diares and the notebook feeling sorry for myself. Yeah, I'll admit it. I have nothing else to do but feel what i'm feeling and I think that's the worst kind of punishment you can have.
I heard the door of my room creek open. I glanced over seeing Lucy peek in my room. She smiled. I just looked at her. "Good, you're up" She smiled walking in with a plate of food. I sighed leaning back as she walked up to my bed.
"I made eggs, hash brown casserole, I know how much you love that so I made extra" She smiled up at me. I smiled softly at her. "Bacon and some fruit" She pointed to the plate. "Well-I didn't make the fruit, but I cut it" She said laughing to herself. I just looked at the plate of food.
"You don't have to eat it, but I thought If you did get hungry you could have something good" She said setting the plate down on my side table. "Thanks Luce" I said softly. She nodded but didn't leave.
"I know this is the last thing you wanna hear right now, but how are you doing?" She asked cautiously. I just looked down at my lap. Just hearing the sentence tore my heart in two. I breathed, leaning back.
"Better" I lied. She smiled and nodded. She looked down at my shirt-Matt's shirt. I hadn't taken it off since Lucy gave it back to me that night. It's the only part of him I have left. The only smell of him left in this house. The only thing that I can keep of him. I looked down at the shirt and looked away from her.
"If you need anything-anything at all-" She said looking up at me. "I know Lucy" I breathed, she nodded and started to walk away, but I sat up. "Lucy?" I asked making her turn around. She raised her eyebrows looking at me. "Has-" I bit my lip. "Has he texted you at all?" I whispered. She sighed looking down, before shaking her head slightly. I sighed before nodding.
"Okay I just thought-" I stopped myself. "Okay" I nodded pulling the covers back over me. I let out a breath, before I heard Lucy close the door to my room. I felt tears come on again. He hasn't even tried to reach out. It must really be over. I don't think I can maintain a reality without Matt. I let out a shaky breath as I felt a tear drop onto my nose. I wiped it quickly, imagining it was Matt, telling me everything was going to be okay. But it wasn't and it was never going to be.
I closed my eyes as a silent sob came out as I gripped the T-shirt inhaling his scent. The scent I loved so much. The scent I craved. The scent that was like a drug, because it was his.
-
They said that grief comes in waves. That there are different 'stages' as people say. They say you can go back and forth between stages but they usually most of the time stay in order. It's been almost an entire week since that dreadful night and I've allowed myself to cry and cry and cry. Cry on the shower floor, cry in bed, cry in front of the mirror and I was done with it.
I was still hurt, I felt it in my chest like an elephant laying on my chest, but tonight I wanted to move past what I was feeling. To mask it. To forget about it, even if it was just for a few hours. If I could trick my brain into thinking about anything other than Matt Sturniolo for just a few hours, I didn't care If that meant it would take me twice as long to get over him.
I felt my phone buzz beside me. I stood frozen for a second, before hesitantly picking up my phone. I opened my phone to messages and sighed when I saw a text from Tommy.
from:Tommy Boy
Ayo Y/n/n, party tonight at Zao's place. It'd be cool if you came be there or be 🟥
I shook my head and smiled at the text. Tommy. An old friend of mine, we have been friends since high school. I've known him for like forever. We've always been close but ever since I started seeing Matt, we stopped hanging out so much. That and the fact that he's a hard-score stoner. Not really my vibe, but he was always a good friend and fun to be around nonetheless.
That was until Matt was around him and that whole thing went down about 2 months into our friends with benefits thing.
"Shut the fuck up" I died laughing pushing Tommy's chest. Tommy laughed looking down. Matt stood beside me on my left while Tommy spoke in front of us with a joint in between his finger.
"I swear you did. You looked the guy in the eyes and said that If his pull out game was a strong as his attitude maybe he wouldn't have knocked Sarah up" Tommy said reminiscing on an old story from high school. I wiped tears from my eyes as I laughed. I shook my head.
"I was drunk" I stated. "Still a badass move" He said taking a rip from the joint. I looked up at Matt, who's eyes were fixated on Tommy. "Why don't you ever come around anymore Y/n/n? The guys miss you. Even Blake, who you shitted on so hard." Tommy laughed. I rolled my eyes smiling.
"You're the only girl cool enough to smoke with, everyone else is so uptight nowadays" He sighed. I glanced up at Matt who's eyes were still on Tommy. I sighed looking down. "You know life lately is crazy. I've just been caught up in shit" I said looking at him. He nodded looking down and then at Matt.
"Or caught up in your little boyfriend"  He motioned to Matt. I glanced at Matt who's jaw was hard. "Oh we're not-" I started to say. "We're not together" Matt said over me. I looked at him, but he didn't look down at me. I swallowed the lump in my throat and looked back at Tommy.
"Yeah" I said quietly. Why did that kind of sting?  Tommy looked between us. "Dude, you're an idiot. If she'd give me the chance, I'd hop on that a long time ago" Tommy said taking another hit. Matt bit the inside of his cheek, his chest raising. I looked over at Tommy.
"Tommy" I felt my face go red. He rolled his eyes. "Oh come on y/n/n, I was kidding. You rejected me out-the-bat freshman year. I got the memo. I'm just saying you're a hot chick either way." He chuckled. I looked over at Matt who grabbed my arm slightly and pulled me away. I waved a slight wave at Tommy who smiled shaking his head.
I turned to Matt who's face was hard. "Matt" I said through gritted teeth as he dragged me back inside. He let me go and stopped in front of me. "What the fuck?" I whispered up at him.
"You can't hang out with him anymore" He said looking down at me. I scoffed. "Excuse me?" I asked raising my eyebrows. He looked to the side before back down at me. "He's a dickhead and did you see the way he was looking at your tits?" He asked briefly looking down at my chest. I glared at Matt.
"You mean the way you've been staring at my tits all night?" I asked raising my eyebrows. He rolled his eyes. "He wants to fuck you Y/n, I can see it in the way he looks at you" He said shaking his head, as if it was my fault. I shook my head. "Tommy's been my friend forever Matt" I breathed.
"I don't like the way he looks at you" he sighed looking down at me. I smiled looking up at him, wrapping my arms around his neck. "Matt are you jealous?" I smiled. He rolled his eyes. "No I'm just telling you that he looks at you the way I do" He said softly. "Hm" I hummed pulling him against me.
"Does that make you mad?" I whispered. He just looked at me. "Because you seemed a little mad back there" I said smiling. "I just want to be the only name you're screaming for the time being" He breathed. I rolled my eyes and released my arms and started to walk past him.
"You're ridiculous" I shook my head. He grabbed my waist and pulled me back in front of him effortlessly. "If you want to go around fucking random guys, go do it. I'm not telling you not to." He said pressing against me. "I'm just saying you and I both know they don't know how to please you the way I do. They don't know where to hit the spot that makes you see stars. They don't know that you like it when you can't walk the next day. You and I both know the only eyes you want staring at your tits are mine." He said into my ear. I swallowed as he leaned in front of my face.
"Tell me you won't hang out with him anymore and I can make all those things happen right now princess" He whispered. I blinked at him as he tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. I nodded slowly as I looked into his dark eyes.
He reached up sqeezing my jaw, opening my mouth. "Didn't hear you" He said. "I won't see him anymore" I said breathlessly. He smiled. "Good" He breathed before connecting our lips.
I blinked, attempting to forget the memory. This was what I was talking about. A break from the thoughts. Old friends. It would be nice. I texted Tommy back.
To: Tommy Boy
Weirdo, guess i'll see you there 🥱
I stood up, throwing my sheets off me and ripping the shirt from my body discarding it on my bed. I looked up walking over to my mirror. Looking at myself. I leaned in, looking at my face. My eyelashes were still wet and my cheeks slightly a pink color from the tears. I put on the most convincing smile. Pretty. I leaned back looking at my body, investigating it. Pretty.
I smiled letting out a breath before walking over and turning on my speaker. I shuffled through my playlist landing on love is embarrassing by Olivia Rodrigo. I played it loudly through the speaker before looking through my closet, not thinking about anything other than the sounds screaming through my speaker.
"I told my friends you were the one after I'd know you like a month"
"and I stayed in bed for like a week, when you said space was what you need. Waited by my phone like a-"
"GOD DAMN FOOL!" I screamed at the top of my lungs and shook my head as I danced around my room. I smiled as the song played, this felt good. I held up tops in the mirror before landing on a new one I had just got last week. I jumped up and down as the song played, swinging my head around, singing along. I pulled the top over my head as I moved over to pick out some jeans.
"love's embarrassing as hell" I sang to myself. 
I suddenly heard my door crack open. Lucy walked in with her eyes wide as she watched me slide the jeans on smiling.
"Get dressed!" I said over the music with a smile. She looked at me concerned. "Y/n, you're scaring me" She said withe straight face. I rolled my eyes and smiled walking over to her. "Come on, do you want me to be sad forever in here or do you want to go out and be normal?" I asked looking down at her. She just looked up at me, like she wasn't sure if i was serious.
She glanced to my speaker
"and I'd give up, I'd give up everything-" I smiled and jumped to the music, walking over to her. "And i'm planning out my wedding, for some guy i'm NEVER MARRYING!" I yelled moving around her. She just stared at me like I was a freak, and maybe I was, who cares. I sighed looking at her as the song ended.
"No tears, No sadness, No M-" I stopped myself, swallowing. She raised her eyebrows at me. "I'll let you wear my Chanel top" I said suddenly. Her mouth fell open. "Wow, you're serious" she said looking at me. I nodded. She smiled. "Deal" She breathed running to my dresser.
-
Matt pov
I heard my door crack open, but I didn't move. Normally If I just didn't move they would think I was asleep and they would leave.
"Nick went to drop Nate and Justin off at the airport" I heard Chris's voice say. I didn't say anything and I heard him sigh. "Matt" He stated. I rolled over and looked at him. He looked sadly down at me.
"You can't stay in here forever" He said walking fully into my room, making me groan. He stopped and crossed his arms. "You've been in here all week long, in the dark, alone" He said looking down at me. I just looked up at him. "It's getting sad" He breathed. I looked away from him.
"Are you done now?" I asked pulling the blankets back over to me. I heard him walk over and sit on my bed. I looked over at him. "Did you text Lucy?" He asked quietly. I looked down before pulling up my phone and pulling up the texts
to: Lucy (Y/n/n roomie)       Aug. 1  11:48pm
Lucy, is she okay? Please I just need to know if she's okay.
to: Lucy (Y/n/n roomie)      Aug. 1 11:52pm
I need to talk to her. She didn't give me a chance. I have to make sure she's okay.
to: Lucy (Y/n/n roomie)   Aug. 2    1:03am
I know she likes to go home to her parents when she's stressed. Is she there? Is she at the apartment? Is she doing okay? Does she want to see me?
to: Lucy (Y/n/n roomie)   Aug. 3  11:58am
Lucy. Im dying here just tell me that she's okay. I don't want to overwhelm her, does she want to see me?
to: Lucy (Y/n/n roomie)    Aug. 4    3:07pm
I can't live without her please.
Chris looked up from the phone after scanning the messages. "Not a single response?" He asked, I shook my head. He sighed. "Maybe you should just text Y/n" He said looking at me. I looked up at the ceiling, feeling my heart clench even at her name. I let out a breath.
"I can't say what I need to say over the phone to her. She won't listen unless I make her" I said softly. Chris looked at me and sighed. "Then make her listen" He said standing up. "You said you wanted to fix this. You're saying you don't want to lose her, but you're letting her walk away" He said shaking his head. I bit my lip, he was right.
"What do I do?" I asked looking at him. He bit his lip, thinking. "Do you remember what happened when her dog died last year?" He asked looking down at me. I furrowed my eyebrows. "Chris I'm serious-" I said sitting up. He shook his head. "Think. How did she react?" He said looking at me. I squinted and looked down at my lap.
"She loved that damn dog like a child, she was devestated" I explained, remembering. He nodded. "She cried for a week straight and then she-" I paused sitting up. He raised his eyebrows at me smiling. "She snapped out of it for a couple hours and made us all go downtown to some party, she said it was how she processed things like it was like clockwork" I breathed looking at him. He nodded as he looked down at his phone.
"There a party on sunset, her old friends are there. If I had to guess that's where she'd be" Chris said standing up. I stood up quickly running to get my keys.
-
Y/n pov
"Drink" I said handing Lucy a bottle. She shoved it away from herself. "I'm driving remember" She shook her head. I sighed. "How am I suppose to have fun without you drinking withe me?" I whined. She rolled her eyes. "I'm here to make sure you don't do anything stupid" She smiled. I rolled my eyes before looking around.
"Like what?" I asked turning back to her. "Like hooking up with a random guy, or puking everywhere" She said narrowing her eyes at me. I sighed before pointing to guy. "Why? He's cute" I frowned looking at the boy. She lowered my hand. "He looks like Matt, and I'm not listening to you cry tomorrow morning after you regret it" She said looking at me. I rolled my eyes before bringing the bottle back up to my lips. She lowered the bottle.
"Slow down" She said softly. "Drink every time you say the M-word. I've made it my little game" I smiled sarcastically. She rolled her eyes. "I appreciate you wanting to move on Y/n/n, but you're deflecting. You realize you have to process these emotions at some point right?" She asked, making me walk away from her.
"I can't hear you! To busy deflecting!" I yelled as I walked away. I rolled my eyes as I set down the bottle and walked towards the bathroom. I knocked on the door and sighed as I waited. I saw a guy start to walk up to me. I just looked at him.
"Hey" He breathed. "Hey" I said looking down. "Where are you from?" He smiled looking down at me. I looked to the side and then back up at him. "Were in California aren't we?" I asked looking at him. He furrowed his eyebrows and smiled. "So?" He asked. "Use context clues" I smiled sarcastically. He laughed and looked down.
"I'm Thomas" He held out his hand. I looked down at his hand. "And I'm not interested" I smiled. He dropped his hand. "Boyfriend?" He asked. I sighed looking down. "Complicated" I explained. He nodded. I suddenly felt a wave of guilt come over me.
"I'm sorry I didn't mean to be rude, I've just had a hard week" I sighed. He shook his head. "You're okay, I get it. This city will get to you" He laughed. I nodded smiling. He reached in his pocket. "I got something to take you're mind off it if you're interested" He said holding two pills. I looked down at them, suddenly feeling nervous. I don't take pills like that.
"Oh, No thanks I don't do that kind of stuff" I said shaking it off. He shrugged. "You should" He said popping one in his mouth. I just stared at him. "You're kind of beautiful to be in something that's complicated" He said smiling down at me. I smiled, when all of the sudden I felt eyes on me.
I furrowed my eyebrows and looked around me, feeling like I was being watched. I scanned the room before my eyes stopped. Brown hair, blue eyes, black t shirt, staring at me. Matt. My heart dropped to my toes. We stared at each other. He just looked at me from across the room. My body lit on fire. I couldn't do this. No. I can't. He can't-
My body filled with panic. I had to get out of here. I looked back up at the boy standing in front of me. "Nice to meet you, I have to leave" I said turning without waiting for a response, I didn't look back at Matt as I sped in the opposite direction and walked down a hallway, walking out onto the back porch. The cold air hit me as I attempted to breath. Air. Where was the air?
"Y/n/n?"
I turned quickly and I saw Tommy sitting in a chair, along with Blake, Tyler, and a few other people I knew. I turned around and didn't see anyone following me, so I looked back at him a soft smile.
"Hey" I breathed. He stood up off the chair and walked over to me wrapping me in a hug. "Thanks for coming, It's good to see you" He smiled letting me go. I nodded smiling. "Come sit" He said motioning to the open chair. I nodded looking back towards the door, still nothing. I walked over seeing a bunch of weed, rolling papers, and trays laid out on the table in front of everyone.
I raised my eyebrows and looked at him. "Should have known I'd find you out here" I laughed lightly. He smiled and nodded as he sat down next to me and picked up the joint he was previously rolling.
"Where's that little white boy you're always with?" He asked looking up at me briefly before going back to the blunt focusing on it. I looked down at his hands and then towards the door. "Uh" I breathed. I leaned back in the chair. "I don't know" I lied shrugging. He raised his eyebrows. "I didn't scare him off too badly did I?" He chuckled, making me smile. I shook my head.
"No, he just uh-we don't-" I stopped biting my lip. He nodded looking at me. "Ah, I see. No more white boy" He said. I sighed looking at the table. "No more white boy" I said back. He smiled. "Good. Now you can hang with me again" He smiled. I laughed and shook my head at him.
He finished the blunt and held it over to me. I shook my head scrunching my nose. "You know I don't smoke" I said pushing his hands away. "Yeah you're pussy ass lungs can't handle it" He chuckled. I rolled my eyes. "Whatever Tommy" I smiled. He leaned up reaching in his bag. "If you want to get high though, me and my buddy made these this morning" He said throwing a plastic bag of brownies on the table in front of us.
I looked at the bag and then to Tommy. Ediables. He looked at me as he lit the joint in his hands, inhaling it. I shrugged. "I don't know Tommy" I breathed. He rolled his eyes. "Sounds like you just went through a shitty breakup no?" He asked raising his eyebrows. I pursed my lips, looking down.
"And you're here to get over that because you wouldn't be here right now if white boy had a say. Am I right?" He asked leaning his hands on his knees. I sighed looking up at him. He shrugged leaning back. "I know you, you're deflecting" He pointed at me smiling. I pushed his shoulder shaking my head.
"Did you drink?" He asked. "A bit" A said quietly. "Then if you take an ediable it just intensifise the drunk part, you'll be good" He nodded. I sighed looking at it. "Just eat the damn brownie y/n/n" Tyler said from the other side of me, clearly high out of his mind. I groaned picking up the bag and staring at it.
Did I really want to do this? What would Matt say? Why wasn't he coming and looking for me? I bit my lip. Does he not care? Why is he here?
I closed my eyes. Get out of your head Y/n. This was the whole purpose of tonight. Forget about it for a little while. Just eat that damn brownie.
I blinked my eyes opened. "Girl, you're freaking me out" Blake laughed. I glared at him. "Shut up, don't you have a baby at home?" I said his face dropped as Tommy and Tyler laughed.
I opened the bag and took the brownie out. I looked at it before taking a bite and chewing it. Tommy just looked at me as I swallowed it. I furrowed my eyebrows.
"Damn girl that was a big ass bite" Tyler laughed. "Ew, it tastes like grass" I laughed. Tommy nodded. "That's what it is dumbass" he said making me laugh. I sighed and leaned back. This would be good for me. Wouldn't it?
-
Matt pov
I practically ran out of my car and up to the front of the house, my heart beating out of my chest. Was she safe? Was she okay? Was she talking to another guy? My breathing was unsteady as I walked through the front door. My anxiety was at an all time high. I didn't even know if she was here. Something in my chest told me she was. I took in a breath as the crowd of people around me appeared.
I glanced around, looking for her. Face after face, nothing. I didn't recognize anyone. I swallowed as I moved through the crowd. How did I let it get to this point? I waited too long. My heart pounded against my chest, I could hear it in my ears. Please be here. Please be here. I moved by some people, one girl attempting to talk to me but I completely ignored her.
Y/n.Y/n.Y/n. Was the only thing I could hear in my mind. The music blaring so loud but I couldn't even hear it as I looked at girl after girl. None of them her. I walked into the kitchen, letting out a breath.
"Where are you?" I whispered glancing around the room. I walked past a group of people moving into the living room. My eyes scanned the room. My heart dropped when I saw her. She was leaned up against the wall, looking down. She looked so beautiful. Her jeans hugging all the right curves and her eyelashes batting slightly down, her hair tied up to show her face. I let a smile come to my face. Mine.
"Thank you God" I whispered. I let out a breath, before stepping forward but stopping when I saw a guy approach her. I stood frozen. My feet practically cemented to the ground as anger rose on my face.
I saw his mouth move, she glanced up at him responding and then looking back down. I just watched them from across the room. He spoke again, her face screaming 'i'm not interested' as she glanced away from him as she spoke.
Her sarcastic smile, made me smile. She wasn't interested. I let out a breath. He held out his hand but she just looked down at it and then back up at him with a straight face. This boy has no idea what he's doing clearly. She kept speaking to him and I saw him reach into his pocket saying something and holding two pills out in his hands. My heart dropped along with my smile.
Y/n don't. My mind screamed, but my feet wouldn't move. She looked down at his hands and shook her head. He shrugged before taking one.Y/n walk away. I wanted to scream. He said something making her smile. My face tightened, then her eyebrows furrowed as she glanced around the room, before her eyes landed on me.
The power of her gaze, of her acknowledgement almost making me sick. I swallowed as I saw the expression her face change, her face turned white as she stared back at me. We just looked at each other as I saw a million thoughts race through her head. She quickly turned back to the guy in front of her and said something before bolting in the opposite direction.
My heart dropped. No, please. I stepped forward, but felt someone grab my arm, pulling me backwards. I turned around glaring when I saw it was Lucy.
"What the hell are you doing here?" She snapped. I let out a breath, looking down at her. "Remove your arm from me now Lucy" I stated calmly. She roughly let go of my arm. "You're lucky i'm not ripping it clean-off dickhead" She spat at me. I pinched the bridge of my nose. There's no way I'm dealing with this right now.
"Seriously. What are you doing here? You need to leave" She crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm not leaving" I said shaking my head looking at her. Her face hardened. "She doesn't need this. Not tonight. Not right now. She's trying to move on. Why won't you let her?" She said shaking her head looking up at me. I swallowed. "She's deflecting. She's not moving on. You don't call this moving on" I said motioning to the party around me.
"You don't think I know that Matt? She's my best friend" She sighed looking at me. I turned looking towards the direction she walked. "Don't" Lucy warned making me look back at her. I glared harshly. "Do you know what you've done to that poor girl? She hasn't left her room in a week. She's not talking to me- She's not eating. God, she's not even herself!" She yelled at me. My heart clenched. I looked down at my feet, swallowing imagining what Y/n's been going through completely alone.
"Why didn't you respond to my texts?" I asked looking at her. She sighed looking to the side and then back to me. "Because you don't get to know how she's doing Matt. You don't get to know if she's talked about you or if she wants to see you or any of that shit Matt, because you're not apart of her life anymore. You don't get the priveledge of knowing what's happening with her at all" She shook her head. I bit my lip. She was right. I didn't deserve to know anything.
"Did you tell her I've been texting you?" I asked raising my eyebrows. She just looked at me with pursed lips. "Lucy, come on." I groaned. She shook her head holding her hands up. "I'm not apologizing for it either. It's better for her if she thinks you haven't reached out" She said looking at me. I shook my head letting out a shaky breath.
"You don't understand Lucy. You don't understand anything about us. We're-" I stopped. Why was I sitting here explaining this to her and not searching for Y/n. "I'm not doing this. I'm going to find her" I said turning and walking away. She grabbed my arm again stopping me.
"Not if I can help it, leave Matt. She doesn't want you here" She said glaring at me. I ripped my arm away. "Lucy" I said closing my eyes letting out an angry breath. "No, you can't keep playing this game with her! You're selfish! You're-" She yelled at me.
"I love her goddammit!" I yelled back, her face dropped. I just looked down at her shaking my head. "I'm so fucking in love with her, I can't even think straight" I breathed. She closed her eyes sighing. "You're an idiot Matthew" She breathed calmly. I bit my lip. "Don't you think I know that? I'm trying to fix this" I said feeling tears brim at my eyes. She tapped her foot, looking at me contemplating believing me.
"I c-can't live without her please" I whispered looking at her. She rolled her eyes before looking at me sadly. She licked her lips. "You check upstairs, I'll ask around if anyone saw where she went" She said looking at me with a straight expression. I sighed a breath of relief and smiled.
"Thank you" I breathed. She nodded looking annoyed. "Go" she waved me on. I nodded before turning and running towards the steps. I could barley see, my mind was racing as I ran up the steps of the house. I looked from side to side, seeing people crowding the hallways. I sighed, worry filling my chest. I walked to the bathroom and banged on the door.
"Someone's in here" I heard a girl say. I banged on the door harder. I few seconds later two girls I didn't recognize opened the door with a annoyed expression. "Geez how bad do you have to pee?" One blonde said angrily. I looked behind them, she wasn't in there.
"Fuck" I whispered before turning down the hall, opening a door walking in seeing a group of people sitting and talking. None of them were her. I swallowed walking out without saying anything. Opening door after door, people making out, people doing drugs, people passed out. Not one were her.
I swung one door open to see two people full on having sex. I closed my eyes and slammed the door, trying to delete the imagine from my brain. I shook with disgust. God, I hope that's not what we look like.
I opened the door beside it and saw two people pressed against each other against the wall. My heart dropped, brown hair, jeans. Please, no. Please, no. I froze looking at them. Y/n No please no, don't be you. God please don't let it be her. Not her. Not mine. Someone else's not mine.
The two people pulled apart glaring over at me. Blue eyes, big nose, not her. I sighed of relief, leaning back. "Sorry" I breathed walking out of the room, closing the door. I closed my eyes and sighed.
Y/n, where were you?
-
Y/n pov
"If you think about it science fiction is not really science fiction because the fiction part of it might actually be true, we just don't know it yet" Tyler said looking up. We all looked at him with a blank stare.
"Dude" Tommy laughed leaning back. Blake started dying laughing and I chuckled to myself, shaking my head as smoke circled around me. "I hate this conversation" I laughed. "Then let's talk about you" Tommy said motioning to me. I shook my head leaning back. "Let's not" I smiled. He rolled his eyes.
"You feeling anything yet?" He asked, I shrugged. "Not really" I replied. "Then eat the rest" He motioned to the half finished brownie. I furrowed my eyebrows looking down at it. "Dude" Tyler said looking over at Tommy. "What? She must have a high tolerence" He shrugged. I just glanced between them. I was feeling it a little bit, I was a tad foggy but not high.
"Should I?" I asked looking at him. He glanced over at me. "Are you still thinking about white boy?" He asked taking another hit of his joint. I sighed looking down. His face, eyes, smile, and voice came over my mind like a storm. I bit my lip.
"Eat the brownie" He said clearly knowing my answer. I sighed picking up the brownie eating the rest slowly. Tommy smiled as he went on to talk with the rest of the people around us. We'd been sitting out here for almost 30 minutes now. I engaged in the conversation here and there, but mostly just listened. I was really trying to feel the effects of the entire weed brownie I just ingested.
Now, I feel kind of stupid. Turning to drugs just to forget. I placed my hand against my forehead. God, i'm an idiot. I looked towards the door. I wondered If Matt left. I wondered if he came to see me or happened to be here and saw me and the left. I wondered if he missed me, or at least the sex. God. I leaned back looking up at the sky.
I was calm. I smiled to myself, wait this was cool.
"Y/n/n?"
I looked up and everyone was looking at me. I smiled loosley at them. Tommy chuckled. "You feeling it sweetheart?" He asked. I nodded, feeling myself start to laugh. Tommy shook his head smiling.
I missed Tommy. I wondered if he did want to fuck me though, I wondered if Matt was right. I scrunched my nose. Ew. Thinking about having sex with anyone other than Matt made me physically Ill. I wondered If Matt thought the same thing. Ah, Matt. He's so cute. His eyes were so blue. I loved him so much. Why was I mad at him again?
I blinked slowly, trying to regain my thoughts. Wow, my head hurt. I swallowed leaning up and sitting forward, but my vision came afterwards. I closed my eyes grasping my hands on the sides of the chair, trying to regain my sense of movement. I blinked my eyes open. Fuck. My vision was going in and out of focus and the people around me were here and then they weren't. The voices around me I no longer could hear. The chirping of the crickets around us were no longer chirpping.
I closed my eyes. Focus. You're just freaking yourself out, it's just weed. Just a drug, control yourself. You're stronger than it. I suddenly felt a jolt, as if someone touched me. My eyes shot open as I flinched, I gripped the sides of my chair.
I looked around and everyone looked at me like I was crazy. I looked around, horrified. Tommy leaned into me. "You....Okay?" His voice was slow. I squinted my eyes at him. Why was he talking so slow? I just looked at him trying to understand him. My heart felt like it was beating out of my chest. Oh no. Oh god no. I was too aware of my heart beating and I was too aware of my breathing as I attempted to breathe in.
I saw the door open that led out to where we were. I glanced slowly and I saw what looked like Matt, the boy I loved so much. But he wasn't here. Was he? I narrowed my eyes and saw Matt sighed and a worried expression spread across my face. I squinted my face as I gripped the sides of the chair harder, screaming in my head. Fuck.
Matt, help. Matt help me please. Baby. Please. Help, I'm so high. Help, I think I'm dying. I'm freaking out. I can't breathe.
eekkkk live laugh love life uhh see yall tomorrow? (im sorry)
tag list: @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @miastromboli @secret-sturniolo @strunsclutter @sturniolodreamz @ejswift @mmm1234 @dandeluvr @paper-crab @mwah0mwah
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roosterbruiser · 1 year
Note
would you perhaps be able to do “please talk to me” from the angst list with bradley?🥺👉🏻👈🏻
when Rooster wakes up, he doesn't get even one moment of normalcy. usually when he wakes up beside your sprawled figure, he peppers your shoulders with lazy kisses. then slink out of bed, brushes his teeth, slips into his tennis shoes, and goes for a run down the shoreline. sometimes he even watches the sunrise there, panting, taking an earbud out to hear the gulls caw. sometimes he'll even grab smoothies for the both of you on his way home, and hop in the shower as you finally woke up, lips wrapped half-heartedly around a neon straw.
but you're not in bed when his eyes flicker open for the first time today. your side of the bed is crumpled, cold. you've been out of bed for a while.
the morning light is gray--not an early morning gray, but an endless slate. one that means rain, probably.
he glances at the clock, head muddled from his deep sleep, and sees that it's almost 11am. he sits up, brows furrowed, and feels that hollowness grow inside of him immediately. it's like a jolt--something that infects wholly and completely immediately.
oh. his body is reminding him.
today is November 7th.
how could he forget?
instead of jumping out of bed like he usually does, which is a habit he vaguely remembers his father having, he allows his shoulders to slump and his chest deflate. he sinks back into the covers, feels his eyes grow heavy, and pulls the blankets up beneath his chin.
there are two days of the year that Bradley lets himself stay in bed all day: July 29th and today. the anniversary of both of his parents deaths.
you're trying to balance this goddamn tray of food as you walk up the stairs in your monkey slippers, cursing yourself for settling so many beverages on here. does Bradley really need three choices?
whatever, you think. he'll have his pick of the litter at least.
the bedroom door is cracked just enough for you to carefully back your elbow into--just enough for you to step into the room in near-silence except for the shivering glass on the metal tray in your hands.
honestly, you're expecting Bradley to be asleep still. he slept in on that hot day in July, didn't say much at all, just pressed his face against your belly and let M*A*S*H reruns play all day. after, you'd felt guilty; you hadn't done much to make him feel better, stupefied from being this close to such palpable grief. your only prerogative was being there for him, which is how you ended up staying beneath the sheets despite the heat.
but you find Rooster's knit brows and glossy eyes immediately. in your spot in the doorway, you freeze, then grin.
"well, good morning, merry sunshine!" you say softly. "how'd you sleep?"
Bradley's just staring at you, eyes moving from the tray and back up to your wanton gaze as he slowly begins to sit up against the headboard.
"fine," he tells you.
"thought you'd still be asleep," you tell him, shuffling to the bedside carefully. "hope I didn't leave you waiting too long! and I hope you're hungry, 'cause I made a little bit of everything."
Rooster, stunned, just watches you with his hands in his lap. you're wearing his class t-shirt from high school and an old pair of cotton underwear, your eyes bleary and your hair untouched. but all the same, you're grinning at him, nodding for him to move his hands from his lap.
"for your drink selection, we've got coffee, orange juice, and a strawnana smoothie--if you're feeling frisky. for our meats we've got turkey bacon, Impossible Sausage, regular bacon, and--well, are eggs meat? no, right? okay, moving on," you say, shrugging as you point to all the foods as you list. "then we've got scrambled eggs--lots of cheddar cheese and no sage this time, okay? I won't do that ever again, baby, I promise!" you press a lewd and sweet kiss to his forehead before continuing. "and then we've got two pieces of French toast with maple syrup--like that healthy kind you like, the one that gets, like, milked from the trees or whatever. we've also got a short stack of buttermilk pancakes with the sprinkles I know you like but you won't admit it, so we'll say that I like sprinkles in my pancakes! and then the usual suspects--grapefruit, cinnamon oatmeal, sliced apples, grits. pick your poison!"
and that is when Bradley suddenly lets his head tip forward, tears spurring from his eyes suddenly as if a spice had been broken.
oh fuck. this isn't what you meant to happen.
"baby?" you ask tentatively, holding the back of his head with a frown planted on your lips. "I was just kidding about the sprinkles."
with his face angled down, he can see those stupid monkey slippers on your feet. he can see the eggs you made just right, leaving out the sage you sometimes like to sneak in. he can see the different beverages and the rainbow sprinkles. he can even see the sly nibble you took out of his French toast.
he is totally and completely overwhelmed--but it isn't by grief right now. it's love. love and affection and honey and everything else in the world that is sweet and perfect.
"talk to me, baby," you whisper, shuffling to move the tray from his lap and sitting on the bed. he immediately lets his face fall on your shoulder, choking on his sobs. "please."
November 7th was the worst day of his life--one of them, at least. it was when his mother let go, moved on, left him behind. he remembers how peaceful it was when she was gone: all the monitors turned off, the IV drips empty, her face slacked and serene. and he remembers being so angry about it all--why did she have to go to be okay again?
but now it's November 7th and he's eating breakfast in bed and you're in your monkey slippers and those old panties and stroking his hair. he feels entirely swollen with it--love.
"I love you so much," he tells you, unable to put it any differently. "and I really do like sprinkles in my pancakes."
the knot in your throat dissipates at his words. you never push him to talk about his grief--only nurture it when he trusts you enough to speak on it.
so, you kiss his head a few times, hold him against you.
"that was really brave of you to admit," you tell him, a smile tugging at your lips.
he laughs through his tears, sniffling, tracing your spine with his fingers delicately.
"I know," he sniffles. not so subtly, he wipes his nose on your tee. you don't mind it one bit. "you're my best friend."
"me?" you whisper, voice thin with emotion. but you know that you can't start crying, too. so, you clear your throat. "you must be a real loser then."
he laughs weakly, inhaling all that sleep on your skin.
"yeah," he agrees. "I must."
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Text
The Farmer's Daughter 8
Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Characters: Walter Marshall
Summary: You notice a peculiar change in a family friend. (short!reader, sorry size kink is out)
Part of the Backwoods AU
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.
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You finally manage to quell your sobs. A slight trickle stains your cheeks and falls onto Walter’s shirt. You sniffle and reach to wipe your nose with the back of your hand. As you do, your fingers brush against his chest. 
You hear his heartbeat, steady as you’re anything but. He’s warm and soft and sturdy. You feel a sudden rush of guilt for spilling all this out on him. You slowly sit up, pulling away as Walter gently, almost reluctantly, slackens his embrace. 
“I’m sorry, I–” you raise your head but find your words smothered.
You don’t realise what’s going on at first. Walter’s hand cradles your face as his lips press to yours, tilting your chin up as his thumb slides under it. You hum in surprise, eyes round as the scent of his sweat invades your nose.
You put your hand flat to his chest and push. You bring your other up and shove until he lets you go. His arm falls away and you turn, shifting and sliding off the step. You stand, dizzy and confused, clutching your splitting head.
“I… I’m sorry,” he stammers as he rises too.
You run past him up the steps, legs wobbling, skull pulsing from the hangover of your grief. You push the door inwards and clamour inside. You don’t stop. You barrel upstairs and down to your door, swinging inside with a careless snap of wood on wood.
You lean on the door and slowly slide down, knees bent to your chest as you hang your head forward and shield it with your arms. You hear shuffling and a set of hinges groan. Footsteps pad quietly outside your door.
“Honey, are you okay?” Your mom calls through.
“Yes,” you force out evenly, the effort further thumping in your temples.
“Oh, uh, I’ll be downstairs,” she says, her voice silty with sleep, “you in the mood for coffee?”
“No thank you,” you eke out.
You wait until she’s gone before you can breathe again. It can’t be real. That can’t have happened. You really didn’t believe it when your mother said it. Walter? Why would he ever think of you like that? And now? Of all times?
Your father is sick, your mother is in shambles, and life is already so complicated. It isn’t that he’s a bad guy, he’s nice and helpful and all of that. It’s just that you’re already scared and lost. It would only make things so much more complicated.
🌾
You stay in your room for the rest of the night. When your mother comes to check on you, you tell her you have cramps. Your period isn’t due anytime soon but PMS can be a bitch. Just as much as life can.
She leaves a plate on your nightstand regardless and you thank her. You’re not very hungry and only pick at it before giving up on the meal. You wallow in your restless discomfort. Your head pounds until you’re nearly delirious.
You fall into a sleep less than refreshing. Your headache follows you into the void and its shadow greets you with the daylight. You wake and roll over, unready for the day but knowing you must face it. You wash and dress and head down to pretend everything is okay. Again.
You start on breakfast as your mom has yet to appear. You don’t mind, it keeps you busy. You count out the eggs and strips of bacon, a few sausages too. You stack a plate with bread ready to toast and yawn over the percolator as you put it on to boil.
You hear tires and an engine. You go rigid, frozen as you stand at the counter. What do you do? Go get your mother? Help her with dad? Or Timothy? He can keep Walter distracted.
Too late. There’s footsteps on the porch then a tap on the frame of the screen door. You panic and clear your throat. Nothing happened. Nothing’s changed.
“Come on in,” you call and pull out a skillet to heat up.
The front door opens and your ears tweak as you listen to his movement. Deliberate and drawn out, as if he’s also avoiding you. You keep your back to the door as you work at the stove, adding a touch of oil to the pan.
He enters, his shadow flickering over the wall, and you sense him. Is he watching you? You refuse to look back and check in fear of being caught. You grab the sausage and the bacon and lay them out on an oven sheet.
“Good morning,” Walter says.
“Good morning,” you return in a small squeak.
He’s silent. Neither of you know what to say. Each time you try to think of something, the friction of your lips remind you of the feel of his. You hadn’t been thinking in the moment but you remember how soft but determined he was.
Why would he do that? After you were just bawling on his shoulder? Seeing you like that, a mess, vulnerable, half-broken? Your stomach knots as you keep your hands moving and eyes averted.
“How are you?” He asks in a strained timbre.
“Fine,” you answer sharply, taking a breath to ease your tone, “you?”
“Tired,” he says, “you need any help?”
He steps forward and you shy away. You stop yourself from going any further and shake your head, “I got it.”
“Right, I…” he begins.
“Alright, Patty,” your mom’s voice wafts from upstairs, “that’s it. You’re doing so well.”
“Oh, I gotta–”
You turn with the spatula and nearly run into Walter as he also moves towards the door. You stop as you face each other, wavering as you stare. His jaw squares and his cheek twitches, his eyes sparkling.
“You’re cooking. I’ll help.”
“Really, you do too much–”
“I know,” he agrees staunchly and turns away, “too damn much.”
He strides out and you stand there. What does he mean? Too much of what? Well, you can’t ask from him. He has helped more than he should, but is that what he means? Or does he mean… that? 
He wouldn’t just walk away because of that, would he?
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cordeliawhohung · 3 days
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Soft Spot - Part 1
Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!Reader - part thirteen of "soft spot"
taglist
someone's opening old wounds
warnings: mentions of misogynistic views against pregnant women, crude language, pretty chill overall.
wc: 5.3
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There was a song Simon’s mother used to sing to him as a kid when he couldn’t sleep.
The words had gotten lost in his mind over the years, but the tune still stuck with him like it was imbued in his DNA. The notes were certainly intended to be sung by someone with a wider range than him, but the deep baritone of his humming still carried it well enough. A special kind of comforting somberness permeated the tune in a way he wasn’t sure he would ever be able to convey to anyone. Not properly, anyway. It was the bittersweet nostalgia of his childhood, full of an inexplicable pain and grief, yet still brimming with longing. 
However, like most days, Simon didn’t have the necessary time to dwell on the past, no matter how much that tune haunted him. If he got distracted and overcooked the eggs again, he knew he’d be paying for it later at work when you’d eventually bombard him with text after text requesting that he bring you something actually palatable. Really, he didn’t mind doting on you, even if he had to secretly do it at work, and he knew Johnny didn’t mind being his errand boy. But being away from you, even for a short period of time, made his skin crawl, like he was only ever at ease when you were within sight. 
A part of him had always been that way; attached to you in some anxious and unhealthy way. It just grew more as your due date grew closer.
“You’re humming again.” 
Simon brought his attention away from cooking in order to glance over his shoulder at you. Countless months had passed since the day you found out you were pregnant, since the day you both got a first look at the life that grew inside of you. That little blip on the screen was completely unrecognizable compared to the near full grown baby boy that had your stomach swelling like a water balloon. He would come any day by that point, which only concerned Simon further that you still chose to go to work despite it. Though, he knew it was pointless to try and convince you otherwise.
“You’re awake,” Simon countered, refusing to acknowledge his less than melodic humming. 
“Hard not to be when your son is playing football with my bladder,” you chuckled. 
With a hand on your stomach, you slowly crept into the living room where you plopped on the couch. Any sort of movement completely exhausted you those days. Standing, sitting, walking; it had all become a chore after your front had suddenly become so much heavier than the rest of your body. The prospect of birthing your son was nice when you thought about not having to carry around that extra weight anymore, yet it was terrifying when you fully remembered you would actually have to have him. 
“We’ll sign him up for the little tykes when he’s old enough,” Simon humored as he turned the stove off. 
“Good,” you hummed, “he’s gotta burn off all this energy somehow.” 
With a plate in each hand, Simon sauntered off to the living room where he handed you your breakfast before sitting down next to you. Forks scraped against china as you both devoured your meals in the quiet stillness of the morning. The eggs went down easy, perfectly cooked just how you liked them, but once you got to the sausage and bacon, you took one sniff and nearly spewed. 
“Christ,” you muttered as you scraped them onto Simon’s plate. 
“Still?” he questioned. 
“I guess,” you replied sourly. 
In exchange, Simon gave you half of his remaining eggs, and only chuckled a little when you ate those like you were starved. Even though the room in your stomach grew smaller, your appetite only increased. Though you hoped otherwise, you knew it was just an omen for what your son would be like when he was older. If he would turn out anything like his dad, your fridge and pantry would be empty within days of going to the market. 
“You don’t have to keep comin’ into work,” Simon suddenly piped up. 
Smirking, you glanced at your husband before continuing to peck away at your breakfast. “Are you saying that because you think it’ll be good for me to get some bed rest, or because you’re tired of the way Sallow and the others keep looking at me in the halls?” 
“Both,” he deadpanned. 
“Ah.” A breathy sigh escaped you as you placed your empty plate on your lap and leaned back against the couch. If you stayed like that much longer, you were certain you’d melt into the cushions. “I’ve only got one more day. Just a few more things to sort out, and then I won’t have to see Sallow, or any of the others, for a long time. I think I can manage.” 
“Or they can get fucked and handle it without you,” he shrugged. 
“There’s that, too,” you chuckled. 
Once Simon finished his plate, he slipped yours out of your lap before quickly slinking back into the kitchen to wash them. With an overdramatic grunt, you pushed yourself up from the couch. Everything spun for a short moment before you steadied yourself and wandered into the kitchen behind Simon. Had your stomach not been as large and stretched as it was, you would have snuck up behind him to embrace him from his back. Instead, you opted to lean against the counter next to him. 
“It’s okay to be nervous,” you assured him. 
“Not nervous. Just preparing,” he excused. 
“Nervously preparing?” you teased. 
He gave you a look that forced you to pause, and your expression softened as he turned the water off. A gentle hand reached for his arm where you gave him a good squeeze to catch his attention once more. Brown eyes locked onto yours as his hands absentmindedly wandered to your stomach. Your son was always restless in the mornings, and the slight smile that pulled at the corner of Simon’s lips at his kicks was unmistakable. 
“We’ve done all we can for now,” you said as you rested your hands over his. “We’ve got the nursery set up, and we’ve got him clothes, diapers, bottles… All there’s left to do is wait. Besides, I don’t think either of us will ever fully be ready for something like this.” 
“I know,” he replied softly. “Just worried ‘bout you. You’re the one who has to do the hard work.” 
Chuckling, you gave his hands a small squeeze. “I’ll be alright. Promise.”
There wasn’t much time left that morning to dwell on the intimidating prospect of the near future, no matter how much you wished you could have stood in that kitchen forever. Instead, you had to shove your growing body into the uncomfortable maternity wear that your stomach seemed to grow out of weekly. A part of you was excited to give birth just so your clothes wouldn’t feel constricting any longer, yet of course there was the obvious obstacle of actually having your son. That realization hit you about twenty times a day, if not more.
Like you had told Simon earlier, there was no use in stressing over what would come anyway, and eventually you were too busy to even think about it at all. Despite your best efforts throughout the week, there were countless stacks of paperwork for you to sort through and file, and you were almost certain someone did this to you on purpose. Someone out there was certainly attempting to keep you chained there longer than you wanted to be, and you were half tempted to take Simon’s advice of fuck it and let them deal with it. 
When noon rolled around and your stomach started growling, you were approached by your guardian angel. Or, at least that’s what you started calling Johnny those days. Apparently he had learned about your pregnancy pretty early on, not that you really minded. Johnny proved time and time again that he was worth keeping around, as you weren’t quick to forget the days during Simon’s time as prisoner. You weren’t sure you would have survived long enough if it wasn’t for him, and that was a debt you were certain you wouldn’t be able to repay anytime soon. 
Once Johnny approached your desk, he looked down at you with a grin as he placed a takeout box in front of you, accompanied by the largest bottled water you had ever seen in your life. Its mouthwatering scent wafted over to you, and you wasted no time sliding the box closer to you with unapologetic hunger. 
“Got sent on another errand?” you teased. 
“Nah, I did this of my own volition this time,” Johnny smiled. 
Flipping open the takeout box, you were met with one of the most greasy meals you had ever laid your eyes on. Certainly not at all the healthiest thing for you to eat, but those days you craved anything high in calories. You were certain you could have the meal finished in a few minutes tops, and if you were lucky you wouldn’t even get heartburn afterwards. 
“Figured I’d get you a treat since it’s your last day and all,” Johnny admitted as you began to dig in. 
“You make it sound like you’re never going to see me again,” you joked. 
“Well, I’m sure you’ll have your hands plenty full,” he said as his eyes flickered to your stomach. 
“Not busy enough to where the little guy won’t be able to see his favorite uncle.” 
Johnny’s grin grew wider at your comment, if that was even possible. Though he had been rather quiet about his excitement for your child, it was still obvious. The way he never seemed afraid to dote on you, always helping you at work where Simon couldn’t afford to; really, he was the closest thing to family you were able to get, and there wasn’t a day that went by that you weren’t grateful for him. 
“Favorite?” he prompted as if urging you to go on about how great he was. 
“Well, of course. You’ll be his only uncle, so it’s not like there’s much competition,” you teased.
Johnny raised a hand up to his chest as if you had wounded him, which only got you to giggle. Shaking your head, you quickly shoved another bite of food into your mouth before chastising him. 
“Get back to work, MacTavish.” 
“Yes ma’am.” 
Really, there wasn’t much work for him to do that day. There never was. He wasn’t an officer, yet he still was higher rank than a majority of the soldiers that spent their workday there. More often than not, he would give Troopers busy work, help with training sessions, and on the very rare occasion, give lectures. 
He had a love-hate relationship with his rank. Most would call him an extrovert, which wasn’t exactly incorrect. He enjoyed his conversation and banter just as much as the next man did. It was easier to be a part of more laid back conversation with others when he wasn’t their direct superior. However, he was never allowed to deal out punishment how he saw fit, and that was more frustrating than anything else. People being able to get away with bad things, people being able to walk around freely without a care in the world.
And there were plenty of people who needed punishment. 
“Soap?” 
A majority of Johnny’s day had gone by in a blur, and though he probably could have snuck off base, he had decided to stick around to work on the Sudoku puzzle in that day's paper. That was, until Loughty decided to interrupt him. Though, he had to give credit where credit was due. He had been trying to get the man to call him by his nickname for ages rather than use that Sergeant MacTavish bullshit, and it seemed like all his prompting had finally gotten through that thick skull of his. 
Looking up from the puzzle, Johnny was quick to take in the man’s appearance. Loughty always dressed as if he was going to be inspected at any moment, and truly was a man who followed every rule like he would be shot on sight if not. No amount of sharp looks could hide the fact that there was an aura of pure anxiety that always seemed to exude from the guy. Perhaps that was why he was the rule follower that he was. 
“What is it?” he asked as he tapped his pencil against his thigh. 
The lump in Loughty’s throat was visible, and though he did his best to swallow it, the pure worry was evident on his face. Still, he steadied his hands and straightened his back before speaking. 
“I think Arlo might be getting himself into trouble,” he finally admitted. 
Unphased, Johnny had to hold himself back from laughing at the man as he tossed the newspaper onto the side table next to him. “When is he not?” 
“No, I mean real trouble,” Loughty insisted. “As in, I think this could get him discharged, or worse.” 
Somehow that didn’t surprise Johnny either. Despite Loughty’s apparent anxiety and a need to follow the rules, he had certainly made a friend that was the complete opposite of him. Still, despite his personal reservations about the man, Sallow was an annoyingly good soldier. Wicked smart, he passed every test with flying colors. His only downfall would be his own hubris. 
“What’s he done now?” Johnny asked. 
“We were assigned to sort away some paperwork in the archives. I think Sergeant Callaghan was just trying to get us out of his hair,” Loughty said, attempting some tone of humor. Once he realized that his words fell flat, his face hardened to something more serious. “He started going through bins that he shouldn’t, even though Callaghan told us to keep our hands off of anything but the Urzikstan archives. I guess the point is, while I was actually doing my job, he started going through the bins one by one until he came across some files marked with the location Salthouse and I guess found something about Mrs. Riley and-” 
“Where is he?” Johnny cut him off. 
Salthouse. Fucking Salthouse. Of course. Johnny could still recall the events of that day all too well. Everything they went through to save you. How they had to rush you off for medical after you had been shot. Then there was the utter torture that was healing. What had really haunted him the most was the pictures of you; the ones Simon had shredded. He was glad that those pictures were gone, because if Sallow had gotten his hands on them, had even gotten a glimpse of them, he wasn’t sure he would be able to hold himself back. 
“That’s the problem. I’m pretty sure he’s trying to talk to Mrs. Riley about it.”
Five o’clock was so close you could nearly taste it. Your entire day was spent working double time in order to get everything prepared for your leave, and the many times you had to use the restroom didn’t help expedite things either. The dying drone of your computer shutting down was like music to your ears, and as you stood from your desk you made sure to do a quick glance over it. Everything was tidy, neat and hidden away. All that was left to do was go home. 
Except it was never that easy, and really, you should have known better. That giddy smile on your face quickly vanished the moment your eyes landed on Arlo Sallow. The expression on his face was the same as it had been for the last few months as your pregnancy grew more noticeable. Some poorly hidden disdain, yet a sick humor, like he was in on a joke that you weren’t. 
Over your pregnancy, you had learned something terribly heart wrenching and frustrating about being a woman; you were less than human, and especially while pregnant. Your body had changed and spent so much energy to grow your son, and yet still you were seen as nothing but a trope. An annoyance. People looked at you as if you were a freak of nature. And of course you could not talk about how excited you were to have your son lest someone complain about how they could never have kids, but if you didn’t seem enthusiastic enough then you were a bad mother before your child was even born. The double standard of it all had a dull rage bubble in the back of your skull, and it was only worse when Arlo fucking Sallow of all people had the audacity to stare at you like that, too. 
“Mrs. Riley,” he greeted you with a suave he didn’t deserve to hold. 
“Sallow,” you replied, your voice less than enthusiastic. “If you have any more paperwork, I suggest handing it off to someone else. Unless you don’t want it to get filed for another year or so.” 
“Oh, I’m well aware of your maternity leave starting today, don’t worry,” he dismissed. “I just figured I’d stop by with the hopes you could answer a question for me.” 
It took everything in you to hold back the urge to roll your eyes. There was always something so infuriatingly proper about Sallow. How he would speak so kindly and yet his words were laced with such malice you nearly choked on them. 
“Shoot,” you said, already bored with whatever game he tried to play. 
“I was wondering if you could tell me a little about Salthouse?” 
Everything around you melted away at his words, asked so nonchalantly yet with insidious intent at the same time. Your skin ran cold, and you could feel your blood pressure skyrocket as you assessed him, trying to figure out how he could have found out about something like that. It had been ages since you had last even thought of Salthouse and everything that happened there. Why was Sallow of all people trying to dig that up? 
“What the hell are you getting at?” you questioned, your voice low but sharp. You were still in the office with plenty of prying eyes. You couldn’t afford to get emotional. 
“Well you see. MacTavish was going on a while ago about how you used to be some sort of intelligence agent once upon a time. Got yourself captured by Mark Sizov after helping to rescue Ghost, or whatever. But, you see, I came across some files in the archives that said differently,” he explained coolly. He quickly glanced over his shoulder as if to assess the room behind him before turning back to face you once more. “Apparently, you weren’t ever an intelligence agent, or anything of the sort. Just a regular civilian. I’m just curious as to why the Sergeant would lie about something like that.” 
Sallow’s admittance of hearing Johnny’s fabricated story didn’t come as a surprise to you. The man made sure to tell you as soon as he was able to, and explained he did it in order to throw him off of your and Simon’s tail. What did concern you though, was how he managed to get that new information. 
“If you’re so curious, you should probably bring it up with your CO. I don’t think I’m exactly at liberty to share classified information,” you said in an attempt to dissuade him from pushing any further. 
“I figured I’d give you the chance to answer me first, actually,” he replied. “The reports I read through mentioned some… interesting photos that didn’t seem to be present with the rest of the files. Seems like someone had tampered with evidence, which would certainly get them court martialed. Or worse.”
Oh. So that’s what this was. A threat. Or more accurately, an ultimatum. You weren’t quite sure who exactly got rid of those photos of you, but if you had to guess it was almost certainly Simon, and by the look in Sallow’s eyes, he probably deduced the same thing. What he was really trying to tell you was that you would either re-live everything that happened to you in Salthouse for whatever demented joy he would get out of it, or he would formally report Simon for tampering with classified evidence. 
“Would you not also get in trouble for sleuthing through files you shouldn’t have?” you countered. 
“I think we can both agree that one of these transgressions is certainly worse than the other,” Sallow shrugged. 
You hummed as if you actually considered his words, when really you wanted to rip him a new one. There was something so intrusive about everything he had said, and you were nearly proud of yourself for holding everything together. All it was, was another game. You were so sick and tired of playing games.
God, he really was just like Bukin. 
“What do you get out of this? Truly? Does it bring you some sort of sick joy to toy with people the way you do? Because I’ll be the first to say I think everyone’s getting a little tired of your pompous attitude,” you said, teeth grinding. 
“I don’t see it as toying as much as… putting people in their place,” he explained. 
“Oh?” you prompted. 
“It’s a good reminder that people shouldn’t get too comfortable. You obviously got too comfortable with a certain member of Task Force 141. Had you just realized you should have stayed the stupid civilian rather than some soldier’s bitch, you probably never would have found yourself in Salthouse in the first place, right? At least, that’s what it sounds like. And Ghost’s authority is a farce at best. He struts around the place like he owns everything, and everyone just gives into his bullshit as if they’re too scared to challenge him. If only they knew how he failed.” 
Your teeth gritted so hard you swore one was about to shatter, yet you attempted to calm yourself by glancing away from him and gathering your thoughts. You were so fucking tired of games. Of people trying to force you to be a player when all you wanted was to be left alone. 
“So you’re… running around like an angry child because you have a problem with authority?” you concluded. “Listen, Sallow, I don’t like you, and never did, but believe me when I say I’m doing you a favor right now. Drop this. Whatever crusade you’re trying to go on? You’re not ranked nearly high enough to get off scot free. I don’t think you want to see just how far Ghost’s authority stretches.” 
A heavy smirk crossed Sallow’s face as he leaned forward. You didn’t realize how close the two of you had gotten to one another during your argument until you smelled his breath. It was annoyingly minty, like he kept a pack of gum hidden somewhere in his uniform. 
“You don’t scare me,” he claimed. 
Tilting your head to the side, you slowly blinked at him. “That’s fine. The last man who wasn’t afraid of me is dead in an orchard. Bravery doesn’t save you from consequences.” 
“Sallow!” 
Johnny’s voice boomed like dynamite throughout the open office, and everyone’s head perked up in a single, strong wave. You had never seen him look so angry before with eyes brimming with fire and a glare so sharp you were surprised Sallow wasn’t keeled over dead on the ground. Not even in Salthouse did he harbor such fury, as most of his expression had been saturated with concern. But not that time. That time the only expression you could read off of him was the insatiable urge to throttle Arlo Sallow. 
The look of confusion that the other office workers wore quickly grew into concern the moment Johnny and Sallow started to get into it. Though you could have stayed and watched the show, an odd wave of exhaustion clung to your body. Your lovely conversation with Sallow had taken more out of you mentally and emotionally than you cared to admit, and your thoughts began to wander to slinking off back home where you could rot away in bed for the rest of the night. 
While the men were distracted with their arguing — which couldn’t seem to quite reach your ears — you slipped out of the office before exiting the building. The promise of rain loomed over your head as you began your trip home. Whatever old wounds Sallow attempted to open, the memories he tried to pry from the shadowy depths of your brain, you refused to let them take you again. 
Grounding yourself was easier than ever those days. Perhaps you had the months — no, years — of intensive therapy to thank for that. Or maybe it was just the bed. A mixture of fresh linen and the smell of Simon imbued in the bedsheets calmed your mind as you curled on your side and breathed the scent in. Your son began to stir with restless feet against nearly every major organ inside of your body, and even in the emptiness of the apartment you couldn’t help but laugh. Not even born yet and he was already so much like Simon; such a restless fighter. 
Simon arrived home earlier than he normally did. It didn’t take him very long to find you either, as your resting form wasn’t exactly inconspicuous underneath the comforter. His body weighed down your side of the bed as he sat next to you where his hand instinctively made its way to your stomach. His hand always seemed to end up there eventually. 
“You alright, sweetheart?” he asked, gently prompting you awake. 
Blinking the sleep from your eyes, you sighed while you adjusted yourself in order to better look up at him. A smile flitted across your lips as you took his hand in yours where you reveled in the touch of his skin with a hum. His clothes were damp, and you could hear the faint sound of water tapping against the window. 
“Right as rain,” you teased. 
But Simon didn’t smile. His worry for you was nothing if not obvious, and his eyes assessed you as if he feared your body had sustained physical wounds with your argument with Sallow. 
“Johnny told me about everything. Said you ran off before he was able to check on you,” he said. 
“I didn’t run off,” you chuckled. “It was past five, and I wanted to go home. I certainly don’t get paid enough to listen to Sallow spew out that bullshit.” 
Simon paused for a moment before tenderly asking, “What did he say to you?” 
A laugh nearly escaped your throat when you thought back to everything that transpired between the two of you. Instead, you gently sat up in bed before adjusting your pillows so that you could lean against the headboard. 
“He basically admitted to snooping through files he shouldn’t have. Found the archives about Salthouse, which I’d like to mention for the record, I didn’t know those existed until he brought it up. Either way, he basically made it seem like I was a meddling bitch for getting involved with you, and you’re just some power hungry officer and that both of us needed to be put in our place. He also insinuated that you had destroyed those pictures of me and that he’d try to get you court martialed for it.”
He paused. “I did destroy those pictures.”
“I figured as much,” you chuckled. “But really, I’m fine. It was more of a nuisance than anything else. When Johnny showed up I didn’t really care enough to stick around.” 
Simon’s thumb brushed against the wave of your knuckles as a gentle rumble of thunder reverberated overhead. Being on the top floor of the apartment complex was nice because you didn’t have to worry about the noise anyone would make above you, but it always meant the wind and storms hit twice as hard than usual. 
“I’m sorry you had to go through that. Cunt shouldn’t have had access to the archives in the first place,” he muttered. 
“It’s fine. I won’t have to deal with him for a year or so anyway,” you said as you squeezed his hand. 
“You won’t have to deal with him ever,” Simon corrected. “His verbal altercation with Johnny became physical. Swung at him in front of the entire front office. Cunt will probably be dishonorably discharged by the end of the week if he’s not locked up first.” 
“Seriously?” you questioned. “Johnny’s not hurt, is he?”
“‘Course not.” 
Still, there was something terribly satisfying about that news. As far as you could remember, that was the first time someone had wronged you and they had received justice without you or anyone else you cared about getting hurt in the process. Well, terribly hurt anyway, but you were sure Johnny didn’t mind taking a punch or two for you. The terrible nuisance that was Arlo Sallow would finally be snuffed out. 
“Good,” you smiled. 
“You sure you’re alright?” Simon pressed again. 
Huffing, you playfully rolled your eyes. “Baby, I’m fine. Just tired. Worked my ass off filing the remainder of that bullshit paperwork.”
Your playful and lighthearted attitude seemed to finally convince him that you really were alright, and he stood from the bed with a sigh. As he stripped off his wet layers of clothing, he insisted that you lay back down for a nap before he slid into bed next to you, pulling your back close to his chest. 
Another wave of thunder rattled the room as you settled into the mattress, and as usual, Simon’s hand rested on your stomach. Your child rested with you, but only for a short while before he was right back at it again using your bladder as a trampoline. 
“Christ, kid, I just got comfortable,” you chuckled, though you made no attempt at getting out of bed. 
“Think he can feel the thunder?” Simon wondered. 
“Maybe. He’s probably trying to fight it off,” you joked. 
A small chuckle left Simon, and you could feel his grin form against the back of your neck. “Atta boy.” 
Soft pitter patters of rain drowned the silence of the room as the two of you laid there enjoying one another's presence. Even after everything that had happened that day, you felt remarkably fine. More than that, you felt great. You were free from work, at home with your husband, cuddling in bed without a care in the world. It was the domestic life you had always craved. The one your mother had always wished for you. 
“I’m taking my paternal leave early,” Simon suddenly admitted. 
You made a poor attempt at trying to look at Simon from over your shoulder, only to fail terribly and plop your head back on your pillow. “Are you sure?” 
“Yeah. Best if I don’t stick around while Sallow gets investigated. Don’t really wanna leave you alone, either,” he explained. 
You would have been fine alone for another few weeks until your due date, and though you could have laid there and explained that to Simon, you knew it was pointless. He had become your shadow, never wanting to leave you alone, always sewed to your side. It wasn’t like you could pretend to fully enjoy your time if he wasn’t there with you, anyways.
“You’re not worried about anyone putting any pieces together?” you asked. 
He shrugged. “Don’t care about what they think. Just care about you.” 
Smirking, you snuggled back into his chest. “Are you gonna thank Sallow for giving you a good excuse to stay home?” 
Simon chuckled sourly behind you, his breath hot on your neck. His laugh was infectious, and you crooned as he squeezed you tight. 
“Never in a million fuckin’ years.”
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marvelfanfn2187a113 · 3 months
Text
Let It Out
Sam and Dean Winchester & little sister!reader, Castiel & teen!reader
Requested by Anonymous
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Having two older brothers who fight monsters had its own set of problems. Being a witch doubled those problems. Suffering from a depression that you didn’t dare tell your family about, that just multiplied everything until every little task felt impossible to complete with such a weight on top of you.
You had had a handle on your life for a long time—after all, you were used to the hunting and the lack of sleep and the loss. That is, until a certain archangel friend of yours died. That was when your depression really got going—Gabriel was gone, and it was like his death reminded you of everyone you’d ever lost, and you couldn’t take it.
The worst part was that you couldn’t tell your brothers; they were busy saving the world, the last thing they needed to hear about was your problems. Besides, they had it just as hard as you, if not harder. Why should you make it all about you?
So, you didn’t say anything, and it was taking its toll on you and your skill set. Magic was dependent on emotions, and yours were everywhere.
It wasn’t just your magic that was changing; school wasn’t going so well either. The boys were too busy to have noticed, but your grades were dropping and—
“Y/N?” Sam’s voice snapped you out of your reverie, and you turned to see him holding up a piece of paper. When you caught a glimpse of the front, your stomach dropped. It was your report card. “What’s this?”
“I-um…” you had nothing to say.
“You can do better than this. Much better. We both know that, so what happened?”
“I-I just…got distracted.”
“Distracted?” You hadn’t noticed Dean in the corner of the room until he stood up and spoke. “By what, hunting? I thought you agreed, school comes first.”
“It does!” You insisted. “I just—“
“If you can’t do both, you know which one you’re dropping,” Sam said.
“No!” You panicked. Hunting was the only outlet you had for your powers, and right now your powers were the only outlet you had for your grief.
“We agreed!” Dean insisted. “You said you would drop hunting if you can’t do both.”
“But I can!”
“This says otherwise.” Sam waved your report card.
“That’s not fair!” You cried. “One report card doesn’t-“
“Your grades have been dropping for a while,” Sam interrupted. “I just didn’t think they would get this bad. I should’ve mentioned it sooner, I just…” he sighed. “I thought it would get better.”
“It will! Don’t stop me from hunting,” you pleaded.
“You’re not giving me much of a choice!”
“Sam, you can’t—“
“That’s enough,” Dean barked, and you both shut up. “We made an agreement, and you’re going to honor it. Until the grades go up, you’re not hunting.” Dean slung his bag over his shoulder as he spoke. “We’ve got work to do. You stay here and study for that test you told me about, understand?” Dean’s tone left no room for argument.
“I understand,” you grumbled, unable to look him in the eye, whether from anger or sadness you weren’t sure.
“Good.”
Your brothers were gone without another word.
As the Impala’s engine started up and the boys drove away, your hands curled into fists and you let out a yell of frustration. You jumped in surprise when the table next to you fell over. Did you bump it? You didn’t think you did.
Maybe you needed to pay closer attention to your powers. Or maybe you just needed to put them to good use.
“What do you think you’re doing here?” Dean demanded.
“I think I’m saving your bacon!” You retorted before casting a spell on the closest ghoul.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Sam insisted before taking a headshot at the ghoul heading for Dean.
“You’re welcome,” you grumbled as Dean shot the ghoul that you had petrified with your spell.
“Y/N behind yo-“ a third ghoul pounced on you before Sam got the chance to warn you.
Dean tried to aim at it, but he couldn’t get a clear shot without risking hitting you.
Sam jumped into action at your cry of pain. The ghoul had bitten into your shoulder before Sam managed to tackle it off you.
As soon as you and Sam were clear, Dean blasted the ghoul’s head off.
“Y/N?” Sam was by your side in an instant, peeling the fabric of your shirt away from your bleeding shoulder, cringing when you cried out in pain. “Ok, you’re ok, you’re gonna be fine.”
“That was crazy,” Dean grumbled as he knelt next to you to examine your injury. “That was really stupid, kid.”
“I-I didn’t see him,” you cringed. “I-I’m sor-“ you broke off with a cry of pain when Dean lifted your head, jostling your injured shoulder.
“You shouldn’t have even been here,” Dean sighed, glaring at you. “And I thought you got that guy with a spell! Your magic doesn’t seem to—“
“Dean, she’s bleeding a lot,” Sam interrupted quietly, glancing nervously at the growing puddle of blood beneath you. “I think we should try for Cas.”
“Hey Cas,” Dean stepped away from you to talk to the angel. “Cas, we need you over here! Y/N’s hurt pretty bad. Can you—“
“I’m here.” Sam jumped in surprise when Castiel appeared next to you.
“Cas,” you croaked, whimpering when Sam moved to make room for Cas.
“Shh, it’s alright little one. This won’t hurt at all.” Cas placed two fingers on your forehead, and your wound slowly sealed itself with a blue glow.
“Thanks Cas,” you breathed as you slowly sat up, rubbing your shoulder as the pain slowly went away.
“Cas,” Dean spoke up. “I think her magic’s gone all wack, can you—“
“Dean, I’m fine, really,” you said. The last thing you wanted was your brothers looking in too deep to why your powers seemed to be failing. You would look weak.
“Her powers aren’t anything physical,” Cas said. “If they’re not working correctly, she either mispronounced the spell, or she’s not in the correct mental state to perform magic.”
“Cas.” You wanted to interrupt him, but it was too late.
“Y/N.” Dean stepped closer to you, and you ducked your head to avoid his gaze. “Sweetheart what’s he talking about?”
“I’m fine.” Your voice came out small and timid.
“Y/N, talk to me.” Sam stepped forwards.
You shook your head, blinking hard and fast in a failed attempt to keep the tears at bay. Your hand unconsciously sought out something to hold onto, and your fingers clamped onto Cas’s trench coat.
“Are you alright?” Cas’s gentle voice was the only invitation you needed, and you practically flung yourself into his arms, burying your face against his shirt as your tears began to fall. Cas froze for a moment, unsure of what to do, but slowly he wrapped his arms around your shoulders, pulling you tightly against him.
“It’s alright,” he soothed. “It’s ok, I’ve got you little one.”
“I can’t do this anymore,” you sobbed, clutching onto Cas like a life preserver. “I-I miss Gabriel. And-and Joe and Ellen, and my-and my dad.”
“I know,” Cas sighed. “I know, it’s ok.”
“I didn’t mean for it to mess up the hunt.”
“It’s not your fault,” Cas promised. “You’re allowed to feel like this. It’s ok to feel sad, it’s ok.”
“Maybe we should take her home,” Sam cut in.
“Don’t go.” Cas’s heart constricted at your whimpered plea as you held on even tighter to him.
“I won’t,” he whispered to you before looking at Sam. “Go on, I’ve got her.” With that, Cas disappeared with you.
You jumped in surprise when you arrived suddenly in your room.
“I’m sorry,” Cas said. “I didn’t mean to surprise you.”
“I’m ok,” you sniffled, still unwilling to let go of Cas.
“Ok.” Cas smiled. “Would you like to lay down?”
You nodded, and Cas led you over to your bed and let you lean on top of him after he laid down.
“I’m sorry,” you said finally, your throat constricting as the tears returned.
“Don’t ever apologize for what you’re feeling,” Cas said, wrapping his arms around you. “You can let it out now, you don’t have to hide it.”
“I just don’t want Sam and Dean to think I can’t do this,” you cried.
“You can trust them. You don’t have to be alone with this, you never do.”
You didn’t respond, and Cas didn’t push it. He held you in his arms and you finally let out your years upon years of tears that you hadn’t let yourself cry before. Eventually you fell asleep, and still Cas didn’t move.
Most times when he was needed, it was so he could heal your or your brothers physically, and that was easy for him. This was much harder; he wasn’t well versed in human emotion, and he wasn’t all that sure that he was helping you correctly, but he sensed that his presence was all you needed.
So here he would stay.
Taglist:
@nyotamalfoy
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applcrumbl · 9 months
Text
Seven Stages
Pairings: Rafe Cameron x Ex! Reader, JJ Maybank X Reader Warnings: Strong Language, Talk of Alcohol Author's Note: Do I smell a series? perhaps....
Summary: When your boyfriend Rafe leaves you for another woman, You find solace in JJ Maybank.
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part i. shock.
There are 7 stages of grief. Shock, Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Testing, and finally, Acceptance. After your boyfriend of a year broke up with you for no apparent reason at all, it felt as if you’d never get past stage 5.
When Rafe told you that it was over, it was a blow to the stomach. The initial impact knocked the wind out of your lungs and left you frozen to the spot. You knew what he was like, you should have seen it coming, but that didn’t mean you hurt less.
“I’m sorry” he explained, staring into your impassive eyes, “But, It’s what is best,”
“Is it someone else?” you asked, the question was engraved in your mind, though you were scared to ask it.
Rafe was taken aback, “Don’t you trust me?” He accused.
“Tell me the truth, and I’ll answer that”
He hesitated, “Yes”
You didn’t say anything more and instead went to bed.
In all honesty, it didn’t feel like it had actually happened, and when you woke up the next morning you made two plates of scrambled eggs and bacon. 3 slices for Rafe, the way you knew he liked it. It hadn’t quite occurred to you yet, that he hadn’t spent the night. The lonely half-hour at your family’s breakfast bar is what made that apparent.
The plate was thrown at the wall, and a string of curse words tumbled out. You ripped the chain from your neck, tiny golden links and a wildly expensive pendant scattered along the floor. Never one for material things, you felt no guilt at the action. Though part of you wished you just sold it, or donated it. Even kept it as something to give back to him later - an excuse to see him again.
Rafe’s things got thrown haphazardly into a cardboard box and left beside the front door. Some clothes, a set of cufflinks and his favourite polo shirt. Along with the gift you were set to give him on his upcoming birthday.
You called him that night. It was supposed to be a quick phone call saying that he could come to collect his things from your house, but transformed into a full-blown argument. Screaming down the receiver, you called him every derogatory name under the sun. At that moment, you hated Rafe Cameron.
“Stop calling me, Y/N.” he would say.
“Stop being such a dickhead, and just talk to me!” you begged, “Why?”
“Y/N”
“Please”
The dial tone sounded. A noise that became all too familiar.
The depression came in quickly and stayed a while. The previous stages had flown past in a whirlwind, and now you were left to wallow in your feelings. Much less angry with Rafe and his wandering eyes, and much more upset with yourself for not being good enough. By the time you managed to pull yourself out of your bed, the news of the breakup had spread throughout Figure 8. The cut heard soon after, almost like a celebrity break-up so the small island of Kildare. Gaggles of giggling girls all made faces at you as you passed. Each ready to get their hands on the islands newest, and richest, eligible bachelor. Talk of your ex boyfriend littered every teenage social spot. Kook and Pogue alike.
You tried to phone your best friend Sarah. But, she never answered the call. Probably choosing Rafe’s side in order to keep the peace at home. She was his sister after all. So you were entirely alone.
That was 3 months ago. It was a fresh new year.
You’d moved on, completely skipping the 6th stage and moving on to acceptance. Rafe didn’t want to be with you, and that was fine. It was his choice. Besides, had you never gone through those stages of grief, you wouldn’t be where you are now. Your new boyfriend tapping on the edge of the fridge.
“What do you wanna eat, Babe?” JJ asked, head peering from the kitchen. 
“I’m not sure, what do we have in?”
With a hand resting on the top of the fridge, JJ peered inside. “Nothing interesting, I’ll go pick up something from the wreck then, yeah?”
“Your treat? Or am I just wishfully thinking?”
“I’ll pay you back in other ways?” he jokes, ghosting a kiss on your lips, “I love you.”
You rolled your eyes, giving him a sly smirk. You had money, he had none. But he made up for that in other ways, ways that Rafe never could. JJ left the house with another peck on your lips, almost tripping on the box that stayed gathering dust at the front door. Rafe’s things. Which he still hadn’t come to collect. 
They didn’t bother you anymore, you were just eager to see them gone. After all, JJ and you were due to move to your own condo late that week, and nobody wants to move their girlfriend’s ex’s things into their house. It was bad enough that they still sat there. And it was bad enough that JJ couldn’t stand Rafe at the best of times.But, he put up with it, for he knew that she was 100% with him. That Rafe was no longer even a whisper on her mind.
The night was a relaxing one, Sarah had finally spoken to you, a rambled apology about her absence. You brushed it off, she had to pick a side, and after all, Rafe was still her brother.
“But I’m not even fond of Rafe,” she said, “There is no excuse for ignoring you like I did”
The phone call was long and comforting. You hadn’t spoken to many people since the breakup, at least not those who inhabited the rich southern side of the island. You spent your time with JJ’s small group of friends. Plus, you knew that Sarah was skipping out on a potential date with Topper to talk to you instead. You insisted that she could go if she wanted, but you could practically hear her eyes roll through the phone.
“Who’s there?” a familiar voice slurred in the background, “is that Y/N?”
“She doesn’t want to talk to yo-”
Sarah’s protests were cut off by the drunken man who had grabbed the telephone and promptly pressed it to his ear. You could hear her struggle to ge her phone back, but understood her plight, knowing all too well how stubborn her brother was.
“Y/N?” the voice asked. “Baby is that you?” Rafe practically pushed Sarah from the bed as he fought to keep possession of the phone. Both hands clutching it in desperation. As if it were to dissipate into thin air.
“Hi Rafe.”
It was the first time you had spoken to him since stage 3, and you were surprisingly calm.
“I’ve missed you so much” he cried, voice wavering from both a mixture of the booze, and his emotions, “I fucked up, baby. I need you”
“How much have you had to drink?”
“That doesn’t change anything,” he argued, the letters in his words melting together. It was barely understandable. He was very clearly inebriated, and for someone who could so easily hold his drink, it was almost worrying.
The front door opened again, the vinegary smell of fish and chips wafting through to your nose. “I’m home” JJ called
“Can you hand the phone back to Sarah now, I have to go see JJ” You excused. Part of you wanted to just hang up, but a bigger part wanted to say goodbye to Sarah. She deserved that.
“Maybank? That Pougue?” Rafe asked, sounding much soberer. Almost angry. “Why the fuck are you with him?”
“He’s my boyfriend, Rafe. Now can you hand the phone ba-”
Your words fell on empty ears, however, as Rafe thrust the phone back into Sarah’s hands. Clicking the end call button as quickly as he would have answered it.
There are 7 stages of grief. Shock, Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Testing, and finally, Acceptance. After his ex-girlfriend had revealed the news that she’d moved on, with another man. Rafe started his cycle at stage 1.
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ladykailitha · 6 months
Text
Grief (A Friend Indeed) Part 2
Hey, guys! Part two has arrived. A little bit of Steve whump in this one.
Part 1
***
The next morning saw Wayne waking the two boys up at a little after five with coffee and breakfast.
Steve stood, leaning against the counter cup of coffee in his hand in a mug that proudly stated “Not a Morning Person”. He had mindlessly choked down breakfast on sheer auto-pilot and had poured a second cup of coffee while he wait for Wayne and Eddie to eat their bacon and scrambled eggs.
“I thought you’d be used to waking up this early,” Eddie said with a feral grin. “You know, having to be up for your sports stuff.”
“I didn’t know you played a sport, Steve,” Wayne said, directing the conversation away from Eddie’s teasing.
Steve stuck his tongue out at Eddie. “Technically three. Baseball, swim, and basketball. Stopped baseball when I got into high school because practice was the same afternoons as swim, and I was better at that so...”
“Just tell me you aren’t a Bulls fan I’ll let you on this trip,” Wayne teased.
Eddie looked at his uncle, scandalized. “Why do you get to tease him and I don’t?”
Steve laughed. “Not a Bulls fan. Pacer fan all the way.”
Wayne nodded sagely. “You’ll do.”
Steve laughed again. “The reason he gets to tease me and you don’t, was you were mocking my jock-ness and he was asking about which team I liked in a teasing matter. Two completely different things.”
Eddie ducked his head and began pushing his food around on his plate. Steve twisted his head down to try and see around the curtain of curls.
“Hey,” he said gently. “I know you weren’t serious. I didn’t mean to call you out like that. Not in your own house. That was rude. I’m sorry.”
Eddie just half shrugged.
Steve sighed and put his mug on the counter. He walked over to his friend and put his arms around his shoulders, just holding him.
After a minute or two Eddie relaxed back into Steve’s arms. “I’m sorry, too. I wasn’t trying to make fun of you for being a jock. I was just surprised you weren’t all perky and cheerful first thing in the morning. It was more about a you thing and less about it being a sports thing.”
Steve hugged him tighter. “Okay. Just so you’re aware, I got hopelessly teased for being a grouch first thing in the morning on every team I’ve ever been on.”
Eddie tilted his head back so he could see Steve’s face. “Duly noted. Still, I’m sorry.”
Steve nodded. “You can be the chipper morning person, and I’ll be the grumpy one, okay?”
Eddie chuckled. “Sounds like a deal.”
Wayne decided that moment to clear his throat. “If you two boys are done, I’d like to get on the road, please.”
Steve stepped back and scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “Just let me finish this cup and I’ll be ready to drive.”
Eddie got up and pulled out a small styrofoam cup from the pantry. “We keep these on hand for when Wayne gets called in to work a double.” He poured Steve’s coffee into it and put on a lid. “There. Now you can sip on your coffee and I’ll drive until you’re awake enough to.”
Steve blinked at him a moment and then nodded, gingerly taking the cup from him. “Thanks.”
Once they got out to of the vehicle Wayne pulled out a map. He pointed to a speck on the side of the road. “This is a truck stop. We will stop there and refuel and stretch our legs. No matter who gets there first does not move on until the other one shows up. Am I clear?”
Eddie and Steve nodded.
“I have no desire to show up on Aunt Penny’s doorstep without you,” Eddie said fiercely.
Wayne chuckled. “She might think you done me in to get a big cut of the inheritance.”
“She absolutely would,” he agreed. “See you in three hours!”
Wayne smiled and swatted Eddie with the now folded up map. “Go on. Get!”
Eddie and Steve laughed all the way to the BMW. Steve slid into the passenger seat and buckled in. He held the coffee tightly in both hands. Eddie had just gotten in the car, when Steve called, “Wait!”
Eddie looked at him strangely.
“I forgot to call Robin!” He handed the cup of coffee to Eddie and scrambled out the car.
Eddie shook his head and tossed Steve the keys so he could get back into their house for him to call Robin.
He was back out in two minutes mumbling apologies to Wayne and Eddie as he got back into the bimmer.
Eddie and Wayne shared an amused glance before they got back into their vehicles.
Once they were both back in the car, Eddie handed him back his coffee.
“Thanks,” he murmured. “She would have killed me when I got back.”
Eddie chuckled. “Yeah she would have. But you remembered in time and that’s what matters.”
Steve nodded hands curling around his coffee. As Eddie backed out of the driveway he spotted a cooler on the back seat. Once they were on the road, he asked about it.
Steve blushed. “I remembered that when I was little and we’d go on road trips we would always have drinks and snacks for the journey. So we have cans of soda in there as well as some cookies and stuff.”
“Homemade?” Eddie asked with a grin.
Steve sighed. “Sadly not, I didn’t have time. I hope store bought will do.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine, Stevie,” Eddie soothed.
Once they were down the road and Steve was more awake, he reached back and pulled the cooler up front.
He handed Eddie an orange Crush and took a can of Coke for himself. He opened the bag of cookies and offered them to him.
“Fudge Stripe cookies?” Eddie asked with a fond smile. “What made you pick those?” He took two and took a bite of one.
Steve held the cooler on his lap and looked down into it mournfully. “It’s what we would take on our roads trips when we’d visit Nana.”
Eddie blinked a moment. He was the one that supposed to be grieving but seemed like this trip stirred something up in Steve, too.
“You want to visit her while we’re close?” Eddie asked. It was only a two hour trip, he had made longer trips to Indy for the latest D&D guide.
Steve shook his head. “Don’t tell Keith, but she died when I was seven. It’s how we were able to afford living in Loch Nora.”
Eddie glanced over at Steve a moment before he turned back to the road. “You’re weren’t always super rich?”
“No,” he murmured, still clinging to the cooler. “I’m not sure what we were, to be honest. My dad made good money. We had a nice house in Indy where we lived until Nana died and a nice car.
“You really are full of depths, Stevie.”
Steve scoffed, Eddie had said something similar yesterday. “I guess.”
“Appreciate you coming with,” Eddie said, “but I can’t help but feel like this bringing up lots of bad memories for you.”
Steve put the cooler down between his legs. “She left my mom a lot of money. Like proper life changing money. Only instead of making things better, it only served to show how badly matched my parents really were.” He twisted his hands together nervously.
“My dad started sleeping around. My mom started drinking herself into oblivion and then when she saw that my dad paid for an abortion for his secretary’s twenty year old daughter, she started going with him on trips to make sure he kept in his pants. I grew up not having to want for any material thing, but I was still old enough to remember what life was like before the money. I think that’s why I always envied you.”
“Me?” Eddie squeaked. “I lived in the poorest part of town, dealing drugs to make sure the power stayed on and you envied me?”
Steve nodded. “It sounds so twisted, but you had Wayne. I used to imagine that I had a uncle somewhere. Kentucky, Chicago, New York. England sometimes. That he would hear of my neglect and abuse and sweep in like an avenging angel and take me away.”
“Shit, dude,” Eddie said thickly. “You’re going to make me cry.”
Steve pinched his nose and rubbed the end. “Sorry. I think this trip is a bit for me too. To final grieve the life I could have had...had she lived a little while longer.”
He reached over and grabbed his hand, giving it a squeeze. “We’ll still take a trip to visit her grave, okay?”
Steve let out a shaky breath. “Thanks, man.”
“Was she who you were thinking about when you called Keith?”
He shook his head. “I miss her. But no, that’s not who it was.”
Eddie glanced at him again and decided not to pump him for that tidbit. He could tell whoever it was, their death had really hurt Steve in a way that left a deep scar. One that hadn’t healed right.
He turned on the radio and just let it fill the silence between them.
About an hour into their trip, Eddie looked over to see that Steve had slumped against the window and had fallen back to sleep. He smiled fondly at him.
It wasn’t just anyone who drop everything in his life to take a road trip to the last place he had been happy, knowing that place had been a person like Eddie’s own grandma. Eddie always knew Steve and he were more alike than what appeared on the surface, but this trip was starting to be an eye opener in the worst way about just how similar they were.
He made a vow then and there that he would be there for Steve like he was there for him. Robin was good, great even. But she had loving parents who deeply cared for her and didn’t understand what it was like when someone who should love you, just didn’t.
So he would be that shoulder to cry on for Steve, someone who understood far too well.
***
Pt 3|Pt 4|Pt 5|Pt 6|Pt 7|Pt 8|Pt 9|Pt 10|Pt 11|Pt 12
Just...about Eddie and Steve's interaction at breakfast, grief can make you stupid. They're just bumping against each others wounds old and new and learning how to navigate all that. They'll get there, I promise.
Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @chaoticlovingdreamer @goodolefashionedloverboi @messrs-weasley @maya-custodios-dionach @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @emly03 @bookworm0690 @itsall-taken @bookbinderbitch @redfreckledwolf @littlewildflowerkitten @vecnuthy @scheodingers-muppet @mira-jadeamethyst @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @gutterflower77 @genderless-spoon @hel-spawn
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bloodycassian · 5 months
Text
Bow + Scrape, angst. TW - cheating/mention of bodily harm/groveling
Anon Req. "in the mood for angst lol what about cassian x reader, marriage in crisis, grovelling etc"
Thanks anon, this was a bit therapeutic
A deep, soul level crack had been leveled inside of you when you’d seen Cassian being bounced on by a petite female at Rita’s.A server off her shift, likely half as drunk as Cassian was, and a horrible dancer as she leaned up against him and shook her body at him. A deep well of unnerving feelings erupted from the canyon in your being, followed by a cold, calm fury that overlapped all else. 
You watched for a long while, sitting across the bar, debating if killing your partner would land you in a regular trial or if you’d be dragged straight to the prison beneath the mountain by his brethren. 
His eyes half closed and dazed could only half focus upon her as she twirled and stomped to the beat the band played. His hands rested upon her hips, but didn’t move from there while she swayed to a slower song. The hands that had done everything from wipe away your tears to make you squirm while he was making you come. The ones that now betrayed you, that took your trust and care for the male and tossed it into the abyss of your heart as it split wide. 
He slammed a handful of coin into the females hands at one point, and began stumbling through the crowd. You slipped out the door before he could notice you there, racing back to your apartment. The burn of cold air against your lungs a welcome distraction from the hatred and disgust that roiled in your stomach. 
You slept beside him that night, cringing away from his hands and flushed body. Your eyes were wide, staring out at the glow of streetlights through the sheer curtains. Planning, curating your hurt and betrayal into something tangible. With every small detail that fell into place, it made it more bearable to be at his side, at least for one more night.
The tears came silently, but profusely in the bathroom. You mourned, you pleaded to wake up from the nightmare, but there was no end. The only relief from the hot, overwhelming grief was the chilled tile against your cheek when you passed out in the bathroom.
In the morning you cooked his favorite breakfast, and ran down to the shops to get his favorite coffee. You plated everything, then particularly loudly began doing dishes. He emerged shortly after, rubbing at his face and groaning. He sighed when seeing the bevy of food, and began eating immediately. No good morning, no thanking you, not a single acknowledgement. 
Your rage began anew. You gripped a butter knife, stared at the small serrated edge, and scrubbed viciously at it’s surface.
Your love for him had been replaced by the cold bitterness that you’d honed into a million different words, different jabs and arguments to hurl at him now. Killing him wouldn’t give him the same suffering he’d offered you. Death was too easy, living and knowing he’d hurt the one who loved him most was a much better alternative. 
Once the dishes were done, you sat across from him, where half the plates sat empty and a small drip of coffee marred his white shirt. His head rested in his hands, nursing the pounding in his head. Your excitement to make him hurt was ungodly. 
“Tell me what you did last night.” You demanded. There was no room for conversation in this. If he didn’t tell you on his own, there would be no point in trying further. It was your sign to get out.
He cradled his head in one hand still, gnawing on a piece of bacon. “Huh? ‘Dya mean?” He breathed, scratching at his tangled hair.
“You have two chances to answer me Cassian. What did you do last night?” You said the question slowly, allowing him to hear the rage in your voice.
“You know where I was, we talked about this before I went out.” His tone sharpened, and he looked at you with a frustrated expression. It only fueled your fire. You wanted him to worry about this, you wanted him to stress. You wanted to see your pain tenfold be unleashed upon him. A vengeful, dark part of you wanted his penance to be unending. You’d given him everything, every part of you without limit, an unending well of love and he so easily went and… nausea made your stomach clench in disgust at the memory of his hands upon her, the way he’d watched her.
“With Azriel, right? At Ritas… So who else was there?” You spat, wishing you had something to hold on to, somewhere to place the tension that seeped from every fiber of your being.
He froze, his face going paler than it already was. His mouth popped open, then his brows pulled together. “Did I-” He began, then the food fell from his hand. “I-” He stood, the chair scuttling out from under him when he did. 
You watched, cold and furious as he recalled exactly what he did. 
“Baby I-” He went to you, making the distance in two long strides of his muscled legs. He stopped though, his hands reaching for you. He knew better. He knew just what kind of injuries he’d end up with if he tried touching you when you were angry. He’d had to learn the hard way more than a few times, but never to this extent. 
He’d never done this. You’d never expect him to do anything quite like this. It certainly wasn’t predictable by the way he treated you normally.
“Holy shit.” He buried his face in his hands, his voice going muffled. “Holy shit honey, baby- I’m….” His head moved back and forth slowly, and when his hands moved in front of him, in a praying motion, his eyes were glassy, wet marks appearing upon his cheeks. “I am so sorry- no… Sorry doesn’t begin-” He sighed, and a fresh wave of tears washed across his face.
You couldn’t help but smile at them. At his hurt. At the same time, the part of you that cared for him - the part that was locked away behind a frozen door at the moment - reached for him, cried with him and wanted to hold him and make him better. That part of you, the portion of you that loved him that he’d torn to pieces, and you weren’t sure if it could be fixed.
He reached for you, and when you did not move he placed a hand upon yours. You were frozen, stuck between the strange sense of wanting to go to him and wanting to crucify him. “I thought- no… I- I’m-” He struggled for the words, his other hand pulling hard at his hair. “I’m going to fix this.” He said, his eyes meeting yours. 
“How? I dont think they’ve made a potion to erase memories yet, Cassian. I guess unless you get as drunk as you did, then that counts as one.”
“I know I- I’m a fucking idiot. I… There are no excuses. There’s not a thing I can fucking say to justify it and-” He stood suddenly, then went to the bedroom. You waited, nearly getting up when he came back with his weapons belt. He went back to his knees before you, laying out the items, different knives, small tools, a blunt hammer, the black stone you’d gotten him to sharpen his blades with. “Take your pick. Do what you’d like.”
“I wont-”
“I’m deserve it.”
“I know. Hurting you like this isn’t even close to the pain that you’ve made me feel, though.” 
He crumpled at that, tears rushing down his cheeks as he paced the dining area, his hands upon his head as he took deep, choked breaths. He wasn’t used to this kind of anger from you. He was used to the yelling, to the easy hot and fast arguments that left your voice raw and made wanting to slap him so easy. 
“She didn’t even look like me Cassian-”
“I know, I was drunk and fucking stupid and thats all I have as an excuse.” He managed, his voice wavering. 
“Did you want to fuck her?” You asked calmly. 
He bit his lip, eyes squinted shut and shook his head. “No.” He breathed. 
“Or you already have, and I just caught it before it could happen this time?”
“No, nothing like that- not ever. I have no reason. Not when I have you.”
“Had.” You corrected quickly. 
He hung his head. 
A long silence passed, the pale sunlight painting the dining area in blues and greys. Children outside laughed and screamed as they played in the puddles left overnight. Your mind flashed to the instances when you and he had discussed children, how he’d held your belly, imagining it round with his child. The hands that’d held the hips of that barmaid. 
He went to the pantry, and came out with several bottles of his various liquors. A tendril of his siphons power popped the corks on several, if not cracking the glass mouth entirely. He then laid them all down in the sink and went to you, grasping your hands in both of his own. 
“I am going to fix this. Look-” He moved his head to catch your gaze. “I’m going to do everything. I’m going to make this right, if you want me to burn Rita’s to the ground I’ll make it happen. I’d defy the mother to make it like it never happened. I can’t change that it did, I can’t take it back but gods above I would if I could. If you’d give me the chance to though, if you’re willing to allow me to try -” His voice caught, his chin quivering before he continued. “to make you love me, make you trust me again. If you’d have me.”
Your eyes swam, your cold demeanor, your will to see him suffer cracking beneath his words. 
The hurt still roared beneath it all though.
But if he was willing to try… if he still wanted you, if it’d been a drunken mistake- 
“Nothing you ever do can make this go away.”
“I know, I know baby.” He brushed his thumb over your knuckles. “I don’t expect it to.”
“You’ll never be away from this, from your fuck up- are you saying you’re okay with hearing about this for the rest of your existence?”
He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that hadn’t truly stopped since you’d left the bathroom. “Whatever it is, the answer is yes. If it lets you tolerate me, then yes. As long as I can still be with you.” 
You sniffed, unable to hold back the burst of hurt, of fear and sorrow any longer. He held you, rocked you and gave you your space when you wanted it. He bowed his head and nodded when you screamed at him. He went to his kees and clutched your legs when you were nothing but a statue before the window. 
Your heart ached, your body and soul ached by the time the sun crested over the city and fell behind the ocean. 
Cassian watched over you while you slept on the couch, passed out mid conversation while he tended the fire. He watched you all night, taking in every inch of you while he could, because if when the sun rose, and you decided he was no longer yours, he’d need the reminder that something as exquisite as you was worth living for. 
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dotieeee · 14 days
Text
The Gamemaker's Apprentice
Level 12
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Pairing: Dark!Young!Coriolanus Snow x You, named!Reader
Overall Warnings:
NON-CON, DUB-CON, Dark!Young!Coriolanus Snow, Snow himself should be a warning, lots of blackmailing, gaslighting, manipulation, obsession, possesiveness, eventual forced marriage, eventual loss of virginity, breeding kink, canon-compliant major character death, reader is named but has no physical descriptions in the fic so one might also consider her an OC but in 2nd POV, will have canon inconsistencies, drugging, somnophilia, and other stuff that may be added
Masterlist
Level 12 Warnings:
The blackest of mails, like vanta-blackmail lolol,
Replay Level 11
Ready? Level 12 Start:
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The satisfied hum on the other line almost makes you throw the receiver into the wall.
“You win, okay? Let my uncle go.” You’re unable to hide the tremor in your voice as you concede. Coriolanus lets a pause pass before responding.
“Sugarplum, I’m happy you finally see things my way, but I think that’s a conversation best had in person.”
“I think it’s fine just this way, Coriolanus.”
“Now, don’t be stubborn,” he admonishes. “I will have my driver pick you up from your home in thirty minutes and bring you to me. We have much to talk about.”
Good grief. Obviously, you’d rather put in your safe space and not face him now – hell, not ever – but he’s been holding all the cards since yesterday and his tone isn’t giving you room to argue at all.
“Nellie. Thirty minutes.”
His almost-warning is followed at once by the dial tone. Having no choice, you use the remaining time preparing to head out. The warm bath you take takes a little bit of the tension off, but by the time you get inside your ride to Hell, it returns tenfold, and nothing you do save the fidgeting on the hem of your coat gives you a modicum of comfort. You arrive at the luxury apartment building where a valet opens the car door for you, and the doorman escorts you to the private elevator.
And just like that, you find yourself ringing the doorbell of Coriolanus Snow’s – now apparently your fiancé’s – penthouse.
A maid opens the door for you and motions to take your coat, before leading you to the living room. She then disappears, presumably to call for the master of the house, leaving you standing in the middle, fiddling with the hem of your dress and half-wondering whether you should make a run for it.
“Good morning, sugarplum.”
Ah, the said master of the house.
You look up to see Coriolanus grinning at you from ear to ear, wearing a thick designer crimson bathrobe with golden damask embroidery with matching house slippers. You freeze in place, which he takes advantage of; he places his arms around you and plants a single, lingering kiss on your lips.
Pulling away as he nudges your chin, he says, “You’ve made me very happy by just coming here. Have breakfast with me; the chef should be almost done.”
If you hadn’t been at a disadvantage, you’d have reacted incredulously at the nerve, as if he’s invited you here for mere casual chitchat.
“I thought you said we were going to talk,” you say.
“And we shall,” he replies. He puts an arm around your waist and, steering you into the dining room, he adds, “But first, you need to eat. When was the last time you ate anything, sugarplum?”
The smell of bacon coming from the kitchen invades your senses, and to your absolute mortification, that’s when your stomach chooses to betray you by grumbling audibly. Coriolanus laughs heartily, and for a moment you’re reminded of the days you spent with him as friends – and yet here you are now, ensnared and trapped by that friendship which you now know was just a front.
“I can’t have my future wife starving herself and risking her health,” he says with a smirk, pulling back a chair for you to the left of what you assume is his seat at the head of the dining table.
The table has been set lavishly with silver cutlery and fine chinaware, and in a few moments, you’re both served by the maid a steaming cup of tea, followed by a plate of eggs benedict with arugula salad on the side. 
Breakfast breezes by quietly, with your eyes fixed on your plate as you chew mechanically while he steals glances at you in between bites. He urges you to finish off your plate, which you comply with just to get the entire thing over with. Once he’s satisfied, he motions for the maid to clear the table and gives her one final order as she curtsies.
“Clean up, and then you’re free to go home for the day, as is the chef. My betrothed and I will need the privacy.”
You wish he’d stop referring to you like that, but it’s not like you have a choice in the matter.
Coriolanus takes you back to the living room by hand and offers you the loveseat. He then takes his place beside you with a contented sigh as he turns to face you with his legs crossed and his back leaning against the backrest.
Well-fed in his bathrobe and slippers, he paints this relaxed, almost cheerful picture you could only hope to achieve. You scoot a little more away from him as much as the two-seater couch allows you to.
He takes your trembling left hand in his cold ones and kisses the back of it before placing it on his knee as he speaks.
“We have so much to do, so much to talk about, but first, let’s discuss the matter of our story.”
Ah, yes. He can’t really tell the public about ‘winning your heart’ by way of coercion, can he?
“I told Mr and Mrs Plinth that I have good news for them, so they invited us for afternoon tea and dinner.”
With his grip impossible for you to wrench away from, your hand remains on his knee, clenched at the prospect of revealing this devastating news this quickly.
“But, why now?” you ask. “Can’t we…I don’t know, wait? Isn’t this a little bit too sudden?”
He tilts a corner of his lips as he responds, “The twelfth Hunger Games is just two weeks away, and the Capitol will surely be happy to know that the two gamemakers responsible for its success are now tying the knot. I plan on announcing our engagement as soon as it finishes. There is no better timing than this, sugarplum.”
How typical of Coriolanus Snow to use the Games to further publicise this farce of an engagement and shift the limelight to himself. All that aside, however, you have only one focus which he hadn’t yet touched.
“And what of my uncle? Has he been released?” you insistently probe.
“That depends entirely on your cooperation today, sugarplum,” he says as he draws circles absently on your hand which he still clasps. “If you follow my instructions, if you stick to our story, word per word, I might be inclined to let him go home by tonight, just like nothing happened. If not…”
His grin grows colder and wider – an ominous sign that this isn’t going to end well for you and your uncle if he doesn’t get his way.
“Your uncle will stay detained, and by tomorrow I will give the order to have him exiled somewhere in the Districts. I’m feeling generous today, so I’ll let you take your pick, save District 3, of course.”
His other hand reaches out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear before asking, “So, will you be good today, and do exactly as I say?”
Numbly, you nod once. He just tuts and tugs your hand to bring you closer.
“Use your words, sugarplum,” he whispers.
So, you swallow that lump in your throat, your voice shaking as you say, “Yes, Coryo.”
As an approving smirk grows on his face and victory dances in his chilling blue eyes, you get an overwhelming feeling that you’re going to have to get used to saying that more often.
“Good girl,” he praises.
He gets to his feet at once with a quiet order for you to stay put as he exits the living room. Before you could even know what for, he returns after but a few moments clutching something with his hand you can’t see. You watch, confused and increasingly dumbstruck, when he bends on one knee. With your faces now level, he peers into your eyes as he reveals what he’s holding in his hands: 
A red-velvet jewellery box, the lid of which he flips to unveil a ring; at its head is the largest emerald-cut diamond you’ve ever laid eyes on, with its white-golden band accented with smaller round diamonds at its shoulder.
Clearly pleased at your reaction, he uses your momentary stupefaction to explain, “I could’ve done this more properly and in a better setting in the near future, but I suppose this will have to do.”
Coriolanus pries the ring off its case and very gently slips it on your left ring finger, where it stays there in its glimmering radiance, weighing down your hand and almost mocking you with its implied permanence. As if to seal your fate further, he captures your lips with his in a searing kiss that raises the hair on your arms and the back of your neck. His tongue pushes past your lips insistently to make you respond – instead, you turn your head away and break it off. You’re breathless, partly because of the kiss, but mostly because  this is now happening – you’re going to have to get used to kisses like these and you’re really now engaged to Coriolanus Snow – and any chance of getting away from him is smaller than it has ever been and will likely vanish entirely as soon as the Games is over.
He lets out a sigh of displeasure the moment you break the kiss.
“Sugarplum, when I said, ‘do everything I say,’ this is part of it,” he chastens, but he lets out another exhale and shifts to his previous carefree mood. “But like I said, I’m feeling a little more lenient at present, so I will let that slide.”
He then smooches your exposed cheek instead before adding, “Disobey me again today, however…” he trails off with a suppressed chuckle – a warning not to fuck up again in his eyes – and briefly stroking your cheek before settling down once more on the seat beside you.
From there, he begins giving you his instructions – how to act and react, how to respond to anticipated questions, and most importantly, how to defer to him when it comes to matters you haven’t brushed over. He gives you room for questions and objections, but to these, his explanations are clipped – and since he won’t allow opposition, you try to keep your dissent at bay no matter how much his orders appal you. He doesn’t stop pressing you until your performance is every bit as perfect in his eyes. You don’t finish until about half-past twelve, when he asks if you’d prefer going out to eat for lunch with him or have it ordered in; both of which you refuse at first, but you opt for the latter the moment you see his eyebrows start to furrow.  
Once the food arrives, he says something about getting ready to go out for an important Sunday errand before sauntering away. He leaves the apartment, but not without a kiss on your forehead. You let enough time to pass for him to have left the building entirely before you run to the door and shake the knob open, only to find that he’d locked it from the outside, and no matter what you do with the keypads on the inside, it would not budge.
No way out of this glorified cage, it seems.
You get the inkling that you’re going to have to get used to being locked in this apartment from the outside more often.
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“Oh, my goodness, Nellie, my dear!”
You’re encased in a huge, warm embrace the moment a delighted Ma Plinth sees you cross the threshold of their Corso home. You return the hug gladly, almost melting into her arms.
“Ma, I’m so happy to see you,” you whisper in an almost pained voice. You needed that hug so badly, you realise.
Ma pulls away to cradle your face as if to get a better look at you. “Oh, it’s always a pleasure to have you,” she beams brightly before that smile turns into a small, worried frown. “How are you? Have you been eating and sleeping well, sweetheart? You’ve lost a little weight.”
“I have?” you mutter absently. Not that you really care what you look like right now; you’re just glad to be with a friendly presence for once in your Uncle Cas’s absence.
From behind you, however, Coriolanus places a cold hand on your shoulder, overwhelming the warmth Ma exudes.
“I’ve made it my personal mission to make sure she’s taking care of herself, Ma, but my sugarplum can be stubborn at times,” he says teasingly. 
Ma lets out a lilting laugh before him in for an embrace. Once the maid has taken your coats, you follow the two into the lounge, paying their animated conversation very little mind as you go over in your head silently the things you’re supposed to say and the topics you’re supposed to avoid and defer to him. The three of you are eventually seated at a small round table by a tall window overlooking the Corso circle, where you’re served hot tea and an assortment of teacakes and pastries, which both Ma and Coriolanus urge you to eat as much as you’d like. Mr Plinth arrives shortly, so you and Coriolanus pay your respects by getting to your feet and greeting him. Plinth senior returns the gesture by shaking Coriolanus’s hand firmly and pulling him in for a brief one-armed hug and a clap on his back.
“Strapping young man, as always,” he comments with pride. Turning to you, you extend a hand to him as well, but he says, “None of that, my dear girl, we’re practically family!” 
He gives you the same one-armed hug and smiles warmly at you, before motioning everyone to take their seat.
After he’s served some tea by the maid, thus begins the inquiry.
“So, Coriolanus, what is this news you bring? I can tell it’s something good,” Mr Plinth asks with a bright, expectant smile. Like he already knows what it is but he’s waiting for your companion to spill it. Ma wears the same look, sipping her tea but looking over her cup excitedly.
Coriolanus’s right laces with your left hand – the one bearing the token of imprisonment masquerading as an engagement ring – over the table where it’s clearly visible to the Plinth couple. You force yourself to smile at him like he had instructed, which he returns. He seems over the moon, a genuine display which you’re mildly surprised he’s still capable of, when he starts to explain.
“I suppose it could’ve waited until dinner, but I was too overjoyed at the news.” Pausing to lick his lips, his posture straightens as he continues, “Just the other night, Nellie made me the happiest man in the world by accepting my bid for her hand in marriage.”
Under duress, you inwardly add.
The gasp that Ma lets out is immediately drowned out by her husband’s loud ‘Ha!’ and if that doesn’t tell you he was expecting this bit of information, he says jovially, “I knew it, I kept telling everyone that you two children were bound to get there.”
Ma lets out a teary ‘oh’ while she clutches her chest, gushing over the way Coriolanus grips your hand and gently runs the pad of his thumb over your knuckles. She bursts into quiet sobs while Strabo pats her on the back and holds her hand.
“Oh, you kids!” she exclaims amidst tears of apparent joy. “I’m sorry, I’m just so happy you two have finally decided to settle down together. It’s just so obvious you’re meant for each other.”
Strabo pulls a handkerchief out of his coat pocket and hands it over to his wife, who proceeds to wipe her tears demurely, and says, “About time, too! Congratulations, both of you.”
“Thank you, sir,” Coriolanus replies.
“I’m just glad Nellie finally gave you a chance! I was starting to think your famous charm had finally found its match, my boy,” Strabo teases.
Coriolanus’s eyes twinkle when he catches yours and kisses the back of your hand to further drive this image of a couple head-over-heels in love with each other that he wants to portray. And just like he wanted, you give him a smile, which is getting increasingly harder to do while you battle with your inner self to keep you from breaking character.
For Uncle Cas, you remind yourself.
Your fiancé goes along with the jest. “I’m certainly lucky she did, sir. I would’ve otherwise resorted to other measures to make sure she ends up with me.”
This earns a laugh from the married couple across the table, making them miss the rather knowing glint that passes over Coriolanus’s eyes.
Jokes are half-meant, so they say.
When the joyous tone dies down a bit, Mr Plinth brings up a topic that Coriolanus had anticipated and trained you with.
“What of Acacius? Does he know? Your uncle should be here as well, should he not?”
Those blue eyes tell you what you don’t need to be reminded of: don’t fuck it up.
With your hands on your lap, you slowly say, “He’s aware, sir, but it’s...a little complicated.”
“How so?”
“My uncle didn’t approve, and we’re currently not on speaking terms,” you explain with rehearsed ease. Just like he told you to. 
Back at his apartment, he had ordered you to stay away from your uncle, which he claims is to corroborate with the story of him not approving the match. To you, however, it’s likely just to keep you and your uncle from planning ways of escaping his clutches.
As if on cue, Coriolanus holds both your hands on your lap and squeezes, making it look like he’s trying to comfort you.
“Oh, you poor dear,” Ma whispers empathetically. 
“Well, that is absurd,” Mr Plinth nods to himself with his brows stitched together. “Acacius should know better than to interfere with the decision of two consenting adults! Quite frankly, I’m disappointed in him, given his speech back...” he seems to catch himself, possibly to refrain from mentioning a certain meeting you weren’t privy to.
“But, never mind that,” he amends. “Perhaps I should have a word with him.”
It’s Coriolanus who speaks this time. “I appreciate the gesture sir, but Nellie and I have decided to give Mr Innis time and space to come around. If that’s what he needs to accept our decision, we’re happy to give it to him.” Then he adds with a soft smile directed at you, attempting to lighten the mood, “The last thing I want is to put pressure on my future in-law.”
Mr Plinth hums to himself and bobs his head in affirmation. “You have a wise head on you, my boy. I think that’s for the better.” Turning to you, he says, “I’m sure your uncle just needs time to think. After all, it’s understandable – to him, you’re his daughter, and he loves his little girl too much he can’t bear the thought of losing you, even if it’s to a man who clearly loves you.”
“Thank you, sir,” you say.
Ma mirrors her husband’s words and adds, “Nellie, once he sees how genuine the love is between you two, I’m positive he’ll give you his blessing.”
Coriolanus thanks both for their support and takes this time to veer into another matter he’s rehearsed you with.
“I’d like to also announce, Ma, sir, that I’ve taken it upon myself to let my Nellie stay in my apartment for the time being, given the circumstances; this is my way of giving you a heads-up.”
Another one of his mandates which just cements your initial idea that he wants to keep you under his watchful eye to prevent you from running away. It’s despicable, but like anything he does, it’s efficient and well-thought-of. The idea, however, is met by silence, followed by the couple exchanging unsure looks. You can only hope that their more traditional views would mean they’d be against Coriolanus’s rather bold move.
Ma, who seems hesitant, asks him carefully, “Why would there be a need for Nellie to move into your home, Coriolanus? This...this is a huge, uh, step, even for engaged couples.”
Once more, Coriolanus’s eyes find yours, and he gives you this look that you interpret pretty well: ‘Do it exactly as I said.’
So you swallow any reservations in you and explain the ‘mutual’ decision.
“After I told Uncle Cas the news that Coriolanus and I got engaged that night, we got into an argument. He said a few things that didn’t sit well with me, so, I decided to just pack my things. I ran away yesterday at dawn. I didn’t think I could live with my uncle anymore, not when he couldn’t see fit to respect my choice.”
Lies. All lies. And you’re getting to be quite the good liar, yourself. Then again, you’re learning from one of the best out of all of them.
“Oh my,” Ma says as she places her fingers over her lips in distress. “I’m sorry, my sweet girl…” She reaches over to you to clasp your hand momentarily before letting go.
This is Coriolanus’s turn to interject. “I caught up to her that morning trying to board a train to her aunt in District 3.”
Ma lets out a gasp of shock and Mr Plinth raises his eyebrows in alarm. To appease the couple, you add, “I admit it was a brash move, but I had nowhere else to go.”
“Nellie,” Ma says in a chastising tone. “The Districts? It’s not safe, even if you have family there. You could’ve gone to us instead.”
“I’m sorry, Ma – ”
“Nevertheless,” Coriolanus cuts off, as he once more reaches for your hand over the table. “We talked it out, and I made a choice to offer her my place. I am willing to take her in, as is my duty as her future husband. Besides, better that, than gambling her safety in the Districts. I’d be more at ease if I knew she’s safe and I can protect her should the need arise.”
The Plinth couple, visibly concerned with your predicament, exchange looks, as they contemplate their verdict.
Please say no. Please say no.
Finally, The Plinth senior lets out an audible exhale and gives Coriolanus a firm nod.
Rats.
“A wise decision, then,” Strabo says with a smile of approval. “You have my wife and I’s full support, Coriolanus. I’m proud of you for stepping up, young man.”
The young man in question sighs in relief – another point on his proverbial scoreboard – as your insides wilt inwardly. To you, this just means you’d never get to interact with your Uncle Cas anytime soon, given that he’s now been painted as the villain in this fictional love story.
“Well, then, let’s not let this joyous day be eclipsed by mere unfortunate events,” Strabo declares. “We should be celebrating. You two youngsters, most especially!”
Ma continues to sip her tea and says cheerfully as her hand finds her husband’s, “Indeed, this is a wonderful occasion. Can you believe it, dear? It seems only like yesterday since Coriolanus announced over dinner that he’d set his eyes on Nellie, and now here we are!”
As you sip your tea in silence, your fiancé chuckles heartily over a bite of a chocolate macaron. “I know, Ma. Time does fly by. But so you don’t feel left out, sugarplum, I told them about a year ago that I planned on marrying you.”
You smile at him like a trained pet, but knowing he planned this a year ago, probably even more, is nothing but jarring. 
“And have you talked about when the wedding will be?” Strabo inquires.
His honorary son and his wife seem to pass each other knowing smiles, before Coriolanus responds, “Yes, sir. I originally intended for us to marry by January, but we’re now leaning towards the end of the year, perhaps by December, if all goes well.”
By the end of the year. You’re not even close to graduating college yet.
A lighthearted conversation ensues until five thirty, with everyone entirely oblivious to your inner turmoil. When Ma excuses herself from the table so she can supervise making dinner herself, you volunteer to help – Ma looks extremely pleased at this – just so you can get away from the stifling presence and keen scrutiny of your so-called groom-to-be.
“Come, Nellie dear, it’s time we had a chat, just the two of us girls,” she says with her eyes crinkling as she links both your arms. Gratefully, you allow yourself to be steered away into the kitchen where those piercing blue eyes can’t reach you and it’s only Ma’s reassuring presence that’s keeping you company.
There are maids already awaiting their orders when you enter, but Ma instructs them to retire early for the night so she can have the entire kitchen to herself. Once they exit, Ma instructs you to chop some onions.
“We’re having copadia* tonight,” Ma whispers excitedly as she begins toasting some peeled almonds on a skillet.
Curious about the dish, you ask, “Won’t that take three or more hours to finish, Ma?”
But she just winks at you and whispers mischievously, “I have my ways.”
You do as you’re told, quite looking forward to watching Ma perform her magic on the food she makes. You’re halfway through the onions, seeing to it that they’re sliced evenly, and while Ma begins crushing the toasted almonds in a marble mortar and pestle, she peers into your eyes with an anxious look.
“Nellie, tell me something: how are you in all of this?”
Maybe it’s the way she asked so gently, kind of like how you imagine your own mother would if she was alive, or maybe it’s because of the pressure building up inside you that you can no longer contain, and without your Uncle Cas, you’ve no one else to confide to – whatever it is forces a rush of bottled up emotions in the form of sobs you can barely control, making you pause your task completely. Familiar warmth envelops you, and you find yourself in Ma’s arms as she whispers into your ears.
“There, there, dear child, it’s quite alright,” she coos, rubbing your back to soothe you. “Your uncle will come around, you’ll see. It’s okay to feel overwhelmed, too; I felt quite the same before my wedding, but Strabo’s a good man; as is Coriolanus. I know he’ll do anything and everything to make you happy. And I’m sure you’ll make the perfect wife for him, and a loving mother to your future children.”
The warmth you’re basking in vanishes completely with her last sentence, making you let go first. Ma cups your face to wipe your tears with her thumbs, her kind eyes glimmering with unshed tears at what she perceives as your dilemma.
No, you can’t possibly tell her the truth about the kind of man she just let into her home and her family – the knowledge alone would break her.
So, instead, you whisper your thanks, and she returns to her side on the kitchen island to continue pounding the almonds. Likewise, you pick up the knife and resume slicing the last onion. 
“I’m sorry if this feels rather intrusive, Nellie dear, but I have to ask: are you pregnant?”
The knife in your hand misses your forefinger by about three millimetres.
“Oh, dear, careful, that was close – but my question stands, Nellie,” she says gently, pausing her task entirely. “You can tell me anything, sweetie, I hope you know that.”
Vehemently, you shake your head. “No, Ma, we haven’t…b-but, why do you ask?”
She looks over her shoulder, before leaning closer and saying with a softer voice, “I’m not supposed to tell you this, but we may have been planning your reception since several months ago – don’t worry, we can make changes to anything you don’t like – but I brought it up because I distinctly remember Coriolanus being fine with the wedding dating a year after, at most. So, I was merely curious about the rush; that’s all.”
If they had been planning this accursed wedding behind your back, what other plans are they making and setting in motion? The kitchen suddenly doesn’t seem so welcoming anymore, and even Ma’s presence is beginning to feel foreign, if not hostile, altogether.
“Nellie, you’re sure you and Coriolanus haven’t…? I mean, I understand young couples these days no longer wait until their wedding night, and as I gather, he and you have been spending so much time together alone, so it’s okay if you’ve...slept together and protection slipped both your minds.”
Your skin prickles at just the thought. “Oh, Ma, please don’t worry,” you say; you even try your best to put on a reassuring smile, which you hope doesn’t come out as looking constipated. “I swear we haven’t.”
I would know.
“Alright, then,” she relents, nodding to herself. “Coriolanus is every bit the gentleman he appears to be, it seems. Oh silly me! I must look like such a busybody to you, barging in on your privacy like this; I’m sorry, dear.”
“It’s okay, Ma, I know you’re only looking out for me.”
Thankfully, she makes no more mention of anything related to the concept of procreation, and the conversation moves on to her methods of improving the ancient recipe.
From there on, the rest of the evening with the Plinths becomes predictable. There’s good food, as usual, which you attempt to enjoy; then there’s the inevitable shift to discussions of your work in the upcoming Games; finally, more talk of wedding preparations, which, although completely foreign to you, you feign interest in. This cycle goes on until tea after dinner and you still engage, now mildly desensitised to it all, watching Mr and Mrs Plinth interact with their found family. Somewhere along the conversation, someone has turned on the television, which is tuned in on this wildlife documentary of a lovely bird’s nest, with the mother and the father bird tending to their hatchling. Almost transfixed while the chatter goes on around you, you watch the lovely bird family as the camera pans to this white snake which had burrowed underneath the nest. It had just donned on likeness of the little hatchling after swallowing it whole, and it seemed to bide its time with the intent of devouring the mother and father bird as well. You can’t fault them for their nurturing nature – no one can – but there isn’t much one can do to help fix the now-infested nest, either.
As the night grinds to a halt, you say your farewells to the Plinth couple and obediently allow yourself to be carted off back to the car which will take you to your new living space – it’s hardly deserving to be called a ‘home’ – and Coriolanus lets out a drawn-out, self-satisfied sigh. Cupping your face from the side, he plants lingering kisses on your temple and on your cheek before whispering his praise: “You did exceptionally well today, sugarplum.”
You simply purse your lips the entire car ride.
He accompanies you from the car all the way to his penthouse door. Punching his keycard in, he ushers you inside and leads you to the bedroom beside his.
“This is your room now,” he says. “I’ve taken the liberty of moving some of your things from your old apartment. If they missed packing some of your clothes, I can always buy you new ones.”
Then he adds that he’ll be with you shortly after running an errand. What errand, he doesn’t elaborate, and you barely get enough time to look around the bedroom when you hear the apartment door close. He’s locked you in again, and this time, you don’t need even to confirm for yourself.
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Snow lands on top.
The phrase he’s come to accept as the truth rings over and over Coriolanus Snow’s head before his day has even begun.
It started this morning at seven when everything began to fall into place for him. When things became right again, when all his years of planning, fantasising, and scheming, had finally bore fruit.
Prunella Innis had at last become his.
Well, you were already his, to begin with, but it’s nice to have you essentially admit it out loud. Overall, Coriolanus is relieved to find his winning streak still ongoing – the Games, the Plinths, your uncle’s work, and now, you, but even he admits this isn’t over. There is so much more work to be done, so many things to prepare for – all of it to so he can lock in your future with him, secure the Snow bloodline and move on to further his political ambitions.
The image in his head is clear it almost looks like a memory: you, standing beside him, timelessly beautiful as you always are, your arm clinging to his, your other resting on the shoulder of a blond-haired child, his son; his perfect, beautiful family wholeheartedly supporting him right before a herd of Capitol residents as they celebrate his inauguration as the President of Panem…
Every day is a day closer to this goal, and there is no one else left who might get in his way.
“Mr. Innis.”
Almost no one else.
Coriolanus made a promise to you this morning – that if you went along with the story he wants to portray to the Plinths, he’d have your uncle released – a promise he almost regrets making, seeing Acacius Innis in his cell, leaning back on his chair with his feet on the table looking perfectly nonplussed, even bored, like he’s merely waiting for his turn at the doctor’s office.
The thing is, you had exceeded his expectations by a mile, so what kind of husband would he be if he isn’t true to his word?
Coriolanus closes the door behind him. No one else, save his future in-law, has to be privy to the words he has to say.
“Snow,” Acacius greets with a curl of his lips. The chains binding his hands rattle as he rights his posture. “How’s the digging through my stuff going?”
Coriolanus almost raises an eyebrow at this nonchalant display, but he knows better. He simply takes the vacant seat facing the presumed former rebel.
“I did not come here to interrogate you, Mr Innis,” he says. “I came here out of respect for the man who singlehandedly raised and cared for my future wife. I’d like to thank you for protecting her all these years.”
Acacius crosses his arms and just shrugs half-heartedly. “I was doing a pretty good job with it, too. At least, until very recently.”
Now this, Coriolanus is genuinely perplexed with. Acacius Innis has always been adamant about securing your future, and in that, they share a common goal. Why the older man can’t see his way is beyond him.
“You’re shielding her from what, exactly?” he asks, an incredulous tone bleeding in his voice. “Achieving her true potential? From living a good life?”
“From nasty little cunts like you, that’s what,” the Innis patriarch sneers. “You see, Snow, I’ve been trying to keep her away from your grubby fingers since I saw you set your eyes on her on the night of her twentieth birthday.”
Coriolanus can’t help but twist his lips in the same contemptuous smile. “You’ve done your part. You don’t have to worry. I’ll take over her protection from here on out. This time, only I get to turn away the other ‘nasty little cunts’, as you put it so eloquently.”
A mirthless chuckle erupts from Innis senior. “Oh, yeah, you’ll do a great fucking job, I’m deeply reassured. I guess I should be more worried now about the people you’ll poison along the way.”
So, he knows. Even in duress, he can’t help the sarcasm. Coriolanus wonders if you’ll argue with him like this in the course of your marriage. That aside, he shouldn’t be surprised; the Innis prick, after all, has managed well in meddling with his affairs as of late.
“You know. How?”
“Which one? Highbottom, or Braun? Last time I checked, I’m what you call a math teacher, so, it was just like putting two and two together.” Acacius leans forward as if to drive his point. “I saw right through you, Snow, and although Nellie was late to it, she figured you out. She was smart enough to see who you really are underneath that fancy garb.”
That’s true, Coriolanus admits. It’s a trait he deeply admires in you.
“She got that from you,” he concludes.
“Oh, she got more than that from me,” Acacius says proudly.
“Clearly. She’s got your sharp tongue and your penchant for rebellion.”
“Good.” Acacius Innis laces his fingers as if he’s addressing a mere student. “And I’m assuming you’ll purge it all out of her. Anything that makes her who she is – save her brains, of course, because she’s the only one around here who can do what I can – but everything else, you’ll stamp out of her, so you can fit her into your perfect little world and put her in your high shelf like your perfect little doll. I suppose, compared to what you did to that Plinth boy, it’s a hell of an upgrade, isn’t it?”
Ah, so he’s deduced that, as well. Perhaps even before you did, given his free access to all the Citadel laboratories. 
“You led her to the Citadel that day. You knew she’d make that connection herself.”
“Like you said: Nellie has my intuition.”
“Why did you do it?”
Acacius raises a derisive eyebrow. “You see, Snow, you’re not as clever as you make yourself out to be, because if you were, you’d have figured that out yourself. I raised that child like my own, but I’d rather her be dead than see her in the arms of an evil psychopath such as you.”
This time, it’s Coriolanus’s turn to get under the Innis prick’s skin, and he knows just where to strike a blow. Leaning forward to rub it in his face, he says, “Well, if I’m not as clever, Mr. Innis, she wouldn’t be living in my house right now, dutifully waiting for me to come home.”
An image of you lying in his bed in his choice of lingerie invades his mind, but he shuts that part of himself down. Plenty of time to indulge in that later.
If your uncle is fazed, however, he doesn’t show any outward signs.
“That must feel nice, right?” the Innis senior asks. “Having someone who loves you await your return? That must be how Sejanus felt as well. That kid was always writing to her. I risked a lot to make sure their letters don’t get intercepted, well except for one, which I think you have.”
“Ah, the letters. Is that how they avoided detection? Your little band of rebels doing all the leg work? I hope it was worth sacrificing your immunity for.”
“You did your research, I’m impressed. Have you cracked their code, yet?”
Unfortunately, no matter how hard Coriolanus tried, the code has since evaded him. A little roadblock, sure, but an inconsequential one in his eyes.
“The meaning of those letters doesn’t matter now,” he says dismissively. “Nellie is mine, and I think it’s in your best interests to accept that. After all, I’d like our children to have their grandfather around.”
The Innis senior just nods thoughtfully at his jab. What might make this old man crack, Coriolanus has yet to discover.
“But I also think it’s in your best interests to know that every letter they exchanged ended in the same gist: that they’ll be with each other soon to make a difference in this world. Nellie loved that boy you betrayed and, in consequence, executed.” 
And then the meddling, cunning Innis prick smiles – the kind of smile Coriolanus loathes to his core – one that his old self has been given a lot to remind him just how powerless he was then. “You may have her, marry her, have children with her, but you’ll never have her heart. Which begs the question: do you truly own something if you don’t own it in every sense of the word?”
If Coriolanus Snow could just wrap his hands around the fucking prick’s throat, he would. At this point, he has to remind himself to keep his composure; he’d rather drink an entire bottle of rat poison than admit the Innis prick has hit a rather sensitive nerve.
He made you a promise.
So, he simply returns the venomous smile as best as he could and says, “Our plan is to be wed in six months’ time.”
“You mean ‘your’ plan,” Acacius says under his breath.
Coriolanus decides to ignore that. “We have decided that, due to your disapproval of our relationship, Nellie will stay with me and have no contact with you until you publicly announce your blessing. We would appreciate it if you’d attend both the engagement, which we should be announcing soon, and the marriage to show support and solidarity between our families. We’ll let you know when they’ll be.”
“I hope you get good cake. You already know her favourite,” Acacius says casually.
Seeing no further need to acknowledge him, Coriolanus finally gets to his feet.
“This isn’t over, Snow.”
Nor does he see the need to respond to that either. He wordlessly exits the cell and motions the peacekeeper standing on guard to remove Innis senior’s handcuffs. He’s fulfilled his promise to you, but perhaps he can think of other ways he can get Acacius Innis as far away as possible from ruining what he’s worked so hard to build (save killing him because that would just break you).
All Coriolanus needs now is for him to make a single misstep.
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You groan audibly as you wrench the doors to your closet open.
Having come out of the shower from the guestroom’s private bathroom, you proceeded to raid the adjacent walk-in closet for your pyjamas, but you didn’t find a single pair of them anywhere. Everything else the movers didn’t seem to miss.
So, when you hear Coriolanus arrive, you step out of the room clad in only a bathrobe barely reaching your knees, hoping he knows where they put your pyjamas.
“Those looked old, so I bought you new sleep clothes instead,” he replies as he enters the guestroom closet. He pulls back the last cabinet door, which you’ve already checked.
“There’s nothing there but – ”
You stop midsentence as he pulls out a silk, crimson nightgown trimmed with black lace at the hem.
“I can’t sleep in that,” you protest.
Shrugging, he just throws the nightgown on the bed with a playful smirk and says, “Either that or keep the bathrobe on.”
At least he exits your room completely and closes the door behind him to give you privacy. Grumbling to yourself, you put on the nightgown to find that it’s a few inches shorter than the bathrobe. How bad can it be, you wonder? You’re just going to bed, anyway.
Even with the nightgown and the bed covers proving to be comfortable, sleep evades you for the next few hours. All you can think of as you toss and turn in your bed is Uncle Cas. Has Coriolanus upheld his end of the bargain? Has he ordered your uncle’s release? Is your uncle back at home and resting?
You place an ear to your door to listen for signs that Coriolanus is still awake. It’s awfully quiet outside, so you risk stepping out of the bedroom and noiselessly amble around the apartment for a single platinum-blond hair of him, but he isn’t in any of the open rooms you peek into.
“This suits you much better than the bathrobe, sugarplum.”
You gasp as you turn around, finding yourself inches away from bumping into Coriolanus Snow himself. He has to bend a little to peer into your face given his massive height, so you almost cower at the way he leans into your space. He’s gotten so close you catch a whiff of his usual rose perfume along with notes of something else you’ve never smelled on him before.
“Coryo, have you been drinking?” you ask.
He flashes you a smirk as he replies, “A little. I had a tough conversation a while ago.”
You can’t help but tilt your head curiously at him. Who and what could’ve ruffled the feathers of the great Coriolanus Snow?
“What happened to my uncle? Where is he?”
“Why would you want to know that? What purpose would it serve you?”
You almost groan in annoyance at him needlessly beating around the bush. You just had the roughest day in your life, being engaged to him, and you’re not sure you can handle a tipsy version of him. “Coryo, just...stop jerking me around and tell me. Please.”
He just hums, walks into the living room and plops down on the loveseat he seems to favour. He pats the empty space beside him and says, “Come and sit with me.”
So, you do, while keeping as much of a distance between you as much as the sofa can give.
“What would you give me in return, sugarplum?”
“What?”
“Quid pro quo,” he says with an increasingly wider smirk. “I can keep the knowledge to myself, but if you’re willing to make this interesting…”
Coriolanus inches towards you as he draws closer. Those blue hazy eyes are fixed on your lips, and you shudder inwardly as his meaning dawns on you.
“Kiss me,” he gruffly whispers. “Or I could just go to bed…it’s an office day tomorrow, after all…”
But you have to know what has become of Uncle Cas, right? So, you swallow that lump in your throat, close your eyes and place your lips over his.
Surprisingly, he remains stationary and even allows you to break the quick kiss.
“Your first kiss was him,” he then blurts out. It comes out almost accusatory.
Oh no.
“How was it?”
“W-what – ?”
“How was it?” He grabs your arms, seemingly determined to get an answer. “Show me.”
“This has nothing to do with – ”
“I said show me.”
The way he growls that command of his and the manner in which he almost shakes your form shows you he isn’t taking ‘no’ for an answer. Whatever point he’s trying to make, he isn’t letting go of it anytime soon, so once more, you kiss him, letting your lips linger a little more on his before letting go.
Exactly the way Sejanus did.
Coriolanus Snow just managed to tarnish a cherished memory of yours without even lifting a finger.
And yet, he just scoffs like it’s nothing. You try to wrench your arm away, but this time, he initiates the kiss – a longer, deeper kiss, pushy, almost, with his tongue demanding entrance to your mouth. When you keep your lips shut, he pulls away.
“Remember that fight we had?” he whispers into your lips. “You said I took everything from Sejanus. Not everything, then. Not yet. You were Sejanus’s love. His girl.” Then, as if to further make a mockery of your dead first love, he lets out a deep, throaty laugh, continuing, “I wish he was alive today if only to see his first and only love in my arms, kissing me as he did on the day he last saw you.”
Humouring him by sitting on the same couch was a mistake. You struggle against his hold, but he just pulls you closer.
“Let me go – ”
You lean further away from his face, but you don’t get too far away, not when his grip on your arms is still vicelike. 
“Now, I get to do so much more than he ever did with you...”
In a single swoop, Coriolanus manages to pin you underneath his frame on the loveseat with your legs awkwardly hanging on the side, earning a yelp from you. Your heartbeat is pounding so loud in your ears as his warm breaths fan the side of your face – he’s taken your arms and pinned them above your head while he leans over your shaking form. Your attempts to budge are met with a displeased growl over your ear.
“Coryo, stop – ” you manage to breathe out, but you’re instantly cut off.
He’s just encased your lips with his, and his tongue roams your mouth hungrily – with every move of his lips, yours is forced to move as well. When he’s had enough, that mouth and its heated kisses travel to your jaw, finally allowing you to breathe.
But instead of an exhale, a choked sob escapes you.
Coriolanus pulls away reluctantly, adjusting his grip on your arms as he peers into your tear-filled eyes.
Finally, he states matter-of-factly, “You’re a virgin.”
Despite your distress at the vulnerable position you’re in, you retort, “That’s none of your business.”
“But it is. You’ll be my wife soon. I suppose I can tell you about my past to make it easier for you. There’s that one in the back alley, that was my first; you already know that. Then, a few after that...whores...”
His head dips into your neck, and he goes on to whisper over your exposed skin, “I want you to know that while I fucked them, all I could think of was you.”
Ignoring your frantic plea, Coriolanus angles your head and proceeds to lick, suckle, and bite all over the column of your neck to your collarbones. His bites become increasingly harsher, and from above you, you feel him grasp both your wrists in one hand, while his other travels downwards, roaming the side of your body and reaching the hem of your nightgown. That hand slowly caresses your thigh, lifting the gown in the process. As if that isn’t enough, he bucks his hips into yours, trapping you further underneath him and almost suffocating you in his warmth.
“Please, Coryo, stop…please…”
Your pained sobbing and begging seem to get to him. Coriolanus pulls away at last, getting one more look at you before he admits, “You’re right. We’ll have plenty of time after the wedding.” He pauses before adding as an afterthought, “Oh, your uncle has been released and all his confiscated belongings have been returned to him. I’ll see to it that your bag is returned to me, as well.”
You don’t get to see his face with your eyes full of unshed tears, so you only vaguely see him draw close and feel the chaste kiss he plants on your trembling lips before he gets off you and releases you completely.
As soon as he does, you scamper back into your room and push the lock on the doorknob. Still gasping for air in between crying, your eyes automatically land on a shelf in the room. You don’t why, but somehow you know it’d be there:
Your little bunny plush.
Somehow, the sobbing dies down as you make a grab for it, thanking whoever packed your stuff for somehow picking it up and adding it to the pile. You drag yourself and the bunny plush to the bed and burrow under the sheets. You hug Bunny as close as you can, squeezing it harder than you’ve ever held it.
Your uncle had been released from his cell in the Citadel, so that’s one problem crossed out, at the very least.
Just when you’re about to close your eyes, however, your fingers manage to grope at something solid – almost the side of your palm, thin and square – inside your bunny plush.
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Enter Level 13
Author notes:
Please reblog and comment, it's always appreciated!
*copadia - ancient Roman beef stew
Alrigt, more Snowball assholery xD there are so many things in this fic I'd like to make commentary on, but please comment whatchutink will happen next lol
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