#and the only thing i enjoy about is irrelevant

[amoscontorta]

Sylus's guide to hiring, or Wine time with Sylus: his POV | ao3

I think at this point this story may be hard to understand as a standalone and can be considered part of a series. Links to the previous installments can be found here.

Sylus x gn reader, Sylus x mc, Sylus's POV, second person POV

Synopsis: Sylus mulls over all the data he has managed to collect regarding his sweet little hunter so far, and spends some time considering mistakes he's made and his plans for the future. He also hires a new employee and is required to teach the twins to mind their manners in front of guests he's trying to intimidate.

This story contains: Sylus being a worshipful simp for mc and harboring definitively NSFW thoughts, the apprehension of a thief, an interrogation, an indecent proposal, a job offer, and one HR manager who gets goosebumps from being able to sense a disturbance in the social safety of Onychinus's workforce while not even being in the same building as the HR disaster waiting to happen.

Additional context: I've seen some theories floating around the fandom about Sylus and mc being children together in the lab where mc received the aether core, which i think would be amazing to explore and also would explain why Sylus has memories of mc when they first meet. However, I also got the sense from his little villain speech about "From your past to your future and all the crimes you have yet to commit," that Sylus knows mc from more than just memories as kids experimented on in the lab. So I've been writing him like he has memories of his own and mc's past or future lives. Hence his little rumination at the beginning of this story. It's maybe lazy romance writing but I hope it's enjoyable anyway.

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Sylus may rarely have good luck, but he would much rather have consistent bad luck than a skill issue.

He may not be able to control the luck that fate has given him, but the same cannot be said about the skills he has spent his entire life honing in order to render luck and fate irrelevant. As a result, it has been quite a long time since one of his skillfully laid plans has ended up with such a ridiculous outcome instead of unadulterated success.

But he’s learning that he shouldn’t be surprised by how often he is surprised when it comes to you. In fact, he’s irritated with himself that he didn’t learn that lesson after just the first three days he had you at his mercy when you first dangled yourself as bait for him and came plunging back into his life.

He recalls your fury, clenched teeth and clenched fists, as he crushed your hand in his, over and over. You couldn’t have possibly known, the way you were looking at him like a mere, terrifying stranger, how the faint, pitiful resonance between you flayed open his chest, exposing a heart he had long thought invincible, if only for the fact that he had thought it long dead. And along with the pain, came the fury. The dead should stay dead, and enjoy the only gift of the dead—freedom from the kind of despair he felt as you closed your eyes and refused him, again and again, the hate and terror clear in them when you would open them again. Yes, he recalls how you closed your eyes and refused to let your tears of terror fall, how you spit insults and sneered in his face despite that terror. He recalls how you took every sliver of opportunity to make a run for it each time he let go of you and dropped you back onto your knees—even though you knew it was doomed, but trying anyway, only to be dragged back by his evol every single time.

Your determination in the face of fear, your spite and defiance. None of these things surprised him, because these were all parts of the you he knew and remembered, parts carved under his skin with the same permanence and cruelty you used to carve your knives into anyone who stood against you.

He vividly remembers your rage, your cold ruthlessness, your indomitable will—the determination to survive anything, and if you somehow, inconceivably failed, despite all of your strength and intricate plans, you’d drag everyone in your reach down with you out of pure spite. Despite, and because of your razor edges, during your ‘first’ meeting—as you were kneeling at his feet, as he was relishing in the fury of your misplaced hatred towards him as he drew out your darkest wishes from the deepest parts of you—he was prepared to love you again, in all of your cruel, malicious glory.

However, he should have known that this version of you is not exactly the same as those he has been carrying with him long before you learned his name in this life. He should have learned it from that very first day that he finally had you under his watchful eyes again. When you tried to run from him, instead of trying to kill him. And there is no doubt, you did want to kill him—he saw that clearly with his aether core, and in every furious line of your beautiful body. But you resisted that urge, despite everything in you whispering through your being to devour him, to consume him, to feed yourself with the satisfaction of revenge and with all the strength he has to offer, and then discard his carcass.

But no. You had only tried to escape.

He should have learned it after the third day, when you refused to pull the trigger, and he had to do it for you.

He should have learned it when the twins woke you up, and they walked away unscathed. You hadn’t even tried to punish them for being accomplices to your long days of suffering and fear at Sylus’s hands. He had ordered them to use whatever force was necessary in order to protect themselves against any retribution from you, short of actually killing you. But you didn’t try to hurt them at all—you simply, and cleverly, he thinks with pride, arranged to be released  from the room in which you were being held with no confrontation at all.

He lifts you in his mind’s eye and, like the consummate judge of fine jewellery that he is, examines all the facets that he has managed to collect about you, in an attempt to truly see the whole of your magnificence, in this life—this version of you, without the layers of his expectations and memories that you don’t share obscuring the make and quality of the diamond that comprises the you in this life.

Yes, he sees the overlap between the other versions of you and the you of here and now, but there are such significant changes that learning you all over again could take another lifetime—one he’s already eager to dedicate to learning you, because from all the other previous versions of you through to the one who woke up in his arms the other morning, he can already tell that the core of you remains the same. Yes, he loves you not only because you are you and Sylus is Sylus, and he refuses to conceive of a world with one but not the other. But he loves you because of who are you, in every lifetime. Strong. Stubborn. Smart. A survivor. And soft, so deliciously soft, but only for him. And he’s going to make sure that you stay that way, despite all of the experiences of this life that have dented your armor and seem to have made you turn your innate razor edge inward, instead of against those actually responsible for the suffering you’ve been forced to undergo for so long, alone.

He had spent those many weeks purging his organization and cleaning up the shitshow that Sherman had left behind collecting the reports that Mephisto and the twins would bring him regarding the reckless way you would launch yourself into battle, often outmatched, and only just manage to emerge in one piece. All to protect, what—he snorts—clueless tourists? He has never seen a version of you that is so… selfless. Through hacked security footage and Mephisto’s eyes, he has since watched you suppress the reflexive urge to inflict pain on others when you’re in pain yourself. He’s watched you come to the aid of not only the elderly and children—those who society has deemed should be treated with the utmost care—but also ordinary people, idiots and criminals, ungrateful citizens who take it for granted that people like you risk their lives every day to protect people like them. And you help them with such patience that if it were anyone other than you, Sylus would probably feel a little nauseated and be convinced that it was just a show, some elaborate long-con. No one can be that consistently, disgustingly kind despite their worst urges.

But you are.

However, he has noticed that your selflessness goes beyond simply kindness towards others. He has watched you refuse to get medical aid when you clearly, desperately need it. He has watched you keep people at arms’ length, refusing to talk about what is happening to you emotionally. He has watched you go without sleep, and food, and breaks, through fight after fight. And he has watched you try to slap yourself, when you think that you’re having a stupid thought. He has watched you make a fist and hit yourself, hard, when you thought that he hadn’t actually been aching to wake up with you in his arms, lips along your skin, ever since he found you again.

It appears to Sylus like you’re still wielding the sharp blade of your will from all of his memories of you, but the difference now is that you’re holding it to your own neck instead of to the world’s.

He can accept that in this life, you are kind. And altruistic—although he gags a little thinking it. Everyone has flaws, and yours just happen to be of the sunshine and rainbows variety this time around. He will love you, not despite, but because these traits are all still you. His belligerent, funny, charming equal, in all things. But he will not accept that you continue to hurt yourself, instead of the people and institutions who don’t even deserve the honor of your blade, but have it coming to them anyway.

You may be holding your knife to your own throat instead of the world’s, but Sylus would destroy planets for you, and he has no qualms about doing everything absolutely necessary to destroy your impulse to hurt his favorite thing in this world, and any other.

However, he recognizes that such a challenge will require long-term, careful effort. He will need to spend more time plotting how to accomplish that goal. Currently, he has a more urgent matter that needs his attention.

Your inability to believe that he wants you. All of you. How can he help you overcome your cruelty to yourself if you’re convinced that he harbors a similar cruelty toward you? He is already certain that you want him, at least physically. He’d have to be blind not see how your eyes follow the movement of his hands, or remain fixated on his chest. As they should, considering how much effort he puts into maintaining his physical fitness, he sniffs. He has watched with pleasure as you swallow, and turn your head, forcing yourself to look anywhere but at him when he catches your gaze lingering on his body. In any other circumstances he’d rest assured that he could keep your eyes on him with less effort—although why would he not put every effort possible into providing you with maximal viewing pleasure?—Except for some reason the universe has deemed it necessary to fill your life with uncommonly good-looking people in this life. Sylus’s face may serve as an invitation to most venues, but your primary care physician's, professional partner's, and even that strange dandy artist friend's faces are … conceivably handsome enough to possibly draw your attention away from where it should be. Which is on Sylus.

He sees now that how he went about giving you what you needed when he first met you may have had… unaccounted for, lasting consequences. He was thrilled with how quickly you seemed to come around from hating his guts and wanting to murder him, to allowing him into your space, into your home, into your bed, even. Every single one of his ruses, no matter how transparent, have been successful thus far in both allowing him to get close to you, and to force you to take care of yourself a little better, even if it’s only while he’s with you.

But he may have miscalculated in not considering every possible consequence of the cruelty with which he first treated you. He did not foresee that because he played your villain so well, you would be unable to overcome your distrust of his intentions in approaching you despite him essentially wearing a sign that could light up even the N109 zone's gloom that says “I want to make you mine in every sense of the word.” Sylus has always been a firm believer that talk is cheap, and he is not a cheap man. Actions speak far louder than words, and he is determined to show you through his actions that he will always put his money where his mouth is when it comes to you. And now that he’s thinking about his mouth…

He does have things he wants to do with you, besides caring for you and simply basking in the pleasure of being with you. Badly. But he was sloppy, by staying the night last time. All of his carefully laid plans require the height of self-control, but no matter his steel grip on himself when he’s awake, even he can’t control his deepest impulses when he’s asleep. In his dream, you had your arms around him, holding him tight, your lithe, strong body wrapped around him like a second skin, your warm, mouth-watering scent filling his lungs. He needed to taste you, devour you, swallow you whole. But he can tell that you do not trust him yet, and he hadn’t been planning to give in to his feral lust for you like he did that morning until he is assured that you will believe him when he says he not only wants your body, but every other piece of you.

He knows why he had the dream. How could he not have dreamt of you, after enduring the entire evening with his self control fraying like a poor quality garrote as he resisted the urge to put not just his hands but his mouth all over you?

If he’s honest with himself, and he always is, staying the night was not the only miscalculation he made the other night. First, bringing you his clothes. He had fully expected you to thank him in confusion for the bag of clothes and then toss them into your closet to eventually be forgotten under the pile of laundry that inevitably stacks up during the weeks you’re working so hard. He had not anticipated that you would obediently take the bag of clothes and immediately change into them. Looking up to finding you standing in front of him, his sweater engulfing your gorgeous frame, the little sleep shorts that he imagined hugging your delicious ass hidden under the sweater’s hem, your powerful legs and cute fucking feet bare for him—and his scent combined with yours wafting toward him from across the kitchen island. He barely controlled the urge to sweep every single fucking thing off the counter and drag you onto it, to make a meal of you instead of the charcuterie board he had been carefully arranging for your pleasure.

And the way you ate the food from said board… watching you eat has risen in the ranks of his favorite things about you, on par with seeing the look on your face when you’re mad at him and about to say something mean and the soft way you nuzzle into him when you’re fast asleep.

In all his life, through all the fine things he has been able to experience due to his ever-growing wealth, all of the world’s pleasures at his fingertips if he so much as snapped them, he never would have imagined that he’d ever find himself desperately wishing to be someone’s finger. Or a puff pastry. Or that fucking strawberry between your teeth, its juices sliding over your plush lip and down your chin. Lick him, eat him, chew him with your sharp teeth and swallow him, for fuck’s sake he wanted to fill your mouth and crawl inside your skin and never leave. He may pride himself on having the willpower of protocore reinforced steel but it was probably the hardest thing he’s ever had to do, standing there motionless, as you moaned your pleasure from the pastry, as your pink tongue ran along your skillful, honey-sticky fingers. Your wholehearted, singularly focused, carnal enjoyment of something so simple as a savory tart was hotter than anything he’s ever seen his life. He wanted to record it and set a projector on a running loop aimed at an altar in his bedroom for his own personal worship. But Sylus is greedy. He will not settle for the pale replication of a recorded memory of the other night. He wants to feed you every single meal you require to keep living, with his own hands, so he can watch your face as you savor its flavors, as what he provides you nourishes your gorgeous body. No, Sylus is a greedy man. Instead of a projector as a permanent fixture in his bedroom, he intends to install you instead.

He shifts on his seat, these memories affecting him in a way that threaten to make his trousers uncomfortable. He needs to refocus, now. He needs to solve the problem at hand, and not let himself get distracted with the future if he wants to make his vision of the future a reality.

Your selflessness, and frankly, lack of self-esteem—despite all evidence pointing to the fact that you’re effortlessly and wildly desirable to most people who meet you—is proving to be the biggest cock-blocker he could have conceived of at the outset of his campaign to make you his in every way.

He has successfully gotten you used to him touching you, and being in your home. You let him caress you, hold you while you sleep. But again, he’s a greedy man, and that’s not nearly enough for him. He runs his thumb along his chin, mind racing.

Now it’s time to take this game to the next level: how to take you on a date, without it causing you to slam down your defenses, or worse, having it backfire like the wine tasting? Ah yes, the wine tasting. He had been curious: would you drop your guard, if you were tipsy? What kind of drunk are you? Would he be able to tease truths out of you that you still keep hidden, despite his convoluted ploys to draw them out of you? In this respect, his plan was a success. He now knows that you don’t drop your guard even with wine coursing through you, and are prone to being even more skittish than when you’re sober. A possibility he hadn't considered, however, was that as you sipped from the wine glass with your soft, soft lips, filling your mouth with wine, he had to restrain himself from knocking it from your hand so that he could tongue his own mouthful directly between your lips, his hand on your throat, feeling you swallow everything he gave you. He had wanted to take and fill your mouth, drag you to him from your stool to his lap, run his hands down your sides, slip his fingers under his sweater on your body, dip them under the band of those silk shorts—

He has to stop thinking about this. He puts his head in his hands. He's going to lose his mind if he keeps thinking about this, and now is not the time or place.  

Instead, he forces himself to recall the discovery that the look on your face is hilarious when you’re accused of being an unsophisticated heathen when it comes to the finer things in life. Granted, he had wanted to ensure that he wouldn’t have to worry about you blowing your cover if you ever have to go undercover and are expected to be a wine connoisseur, but he knew that you only served him wine in a mug that read CUNT just to be petty and spiteful, and not because you weren’t aware that wine glasses exist.

He laughs softly at the thought. You’re so fucking cute when you’re mean to him. Shit, he's going to have the same trouser problem again if he keeps thinking about you being mean to him.

He hadn’t meant to stay the full night. He was a busy man, after all, and the night was his time to conduct business. But you were so warm against him, so lovely with your soft hair brushing across his skin, frowning a little as if you were having a bad dream. And he had also had some of that excellent wine, so although he wasn’t anywhere near tipsy, he was so relaxed and comfortable that the idea of leaving you alone in your bed was more excruciating than usual. And so he just… let himself drift off after confirming that this particular chain of casinos are indeed the one he will be purchasing next.

Only to have the best dream he can remember having in a long while, and waking up with his teeth in your sexy as fuck body. Just one taste was not enough, and you had the gall to ask him if he was satisfied. He knows that Xavier is your partner and your friend, and he knows that you need people like that in your life. But Sylus feels like he is entitled to a big fucking reward for suppressing his urge to eviscerate that little sleepy shit for interrupting the conversation Sylus clearly needed to have with you to clear up any ridiculous thought that you might have that Sylus would want to sink his teeth into anyone else but you, in any lifetime.

He clenches his fist and tries to reassert control over the frustration building at the thought of this ongoing misunderstanding.

“Uh, boss?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you ... okay?”

Sylus comes back from the racing thoughts that he realizes he’s been having over the past few minutes, completely distracted from the current situation he finds himself in.

He’s lounging on a black leather booth, a low black-lacquered table stretching before him, an expansive one-way mirror stretching behind him. Kieran and Luke are both lounging on similar booths on either side of the closed black door, set in the crimson walls of one of the VIP lounges of one of the clubs Sylus owns. Amnesia. He snorts. If only he had been on the joke when he bought the place. But that’s neither here nor there. Suspended in front of him is a young woman. Hardly more than a girl, really, despite her best attempts to age herself through the skillful use of impeccable makeup.

She’s currently glaring at him, despite being wrapped in Sylus’s evol, which puts most other people into a state of catatonic terror. He likes her grit.

But it’s a testament to how distracted you’ve been making him lately that he has let his mind wander, even now, when he has business to attend to.

“Boss?” Kieran repeats, snapping his fingers.

“Is there a dog in here?” Sylus asks, examining his fingernails. He has been fastidious about keeping them trimmed short and smooth, ever since you nose-dived back into his life. Sylus is nothing if not prepared.

“Uh,” the twins look at each other, after looking around the room. “No?”

“No, there is not. Do I look like a dog to you, then?” Sylus asks, enjoying watching his henchmen start to shift uncomfortably when they finally catch on to this line of questioning.

“No, boss. Of course not!” they chorus in unison, as if Luke had also made the mistake at snapping his fingers at Sylus like an owner getting his pet’s attention.

“There will be consequences for displaying that level of disrespect to me in front of … our guest,” Sylus warns, and both young men’s shoulders slump. Sylus turns his attention back to the aforementioned guest.

She had been dragged in by the twins, kicking and shouting about suing them for assault and battery, abduction, and unlawful imprisonment. Her mascara had smudged a bit in the struggle, but her carefully braided hair and expensive looking, business professional pantsuit were still neat, and she looked beautifully put together. But she had fallen silent and her eyes had widened comically after the twins had dropped her into the middle of the room when she noticed Sylus sprawled across the couch at the back of the dimly lit space. She had immediately dropped to her knees.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. For whatever I did, just, please don’t hurt me,” she had begged, her tear-filled voice filling the room.

Sylus stood and approached her.

“I’ll do anything, just let me go. Tell me what I did, I’ll never do it again,” she sniffled. “I have children, please think of my children!”

“Look at me.”

When she did, he realized just how young she was. Younger than Kieran and Luke, probably. Practically a baby. He let the aether core in his eye flare to life, the pain streaking through him, the pressure in his head growing, as always, but he could see.

After a timeless moment, he was done and she sagged a little. She dared to timidly peek up at him. He twitched a finger and she was immediately lifted into the air by the tendrils of his evol. He plopped back down on the couch. And then, seeing the person before him suspended by the dark force of his evol, he had gotten distracted, thinking about you the other night, held aloft by the same tendrils. How you had been prepared to hurt yourself trying to break down your door to get away from the perceived threat. About how you had thought that he would take advantage of your vulnerability and drink his fill of your bare body, once you realized the threat was actually him. He scowls—he has no interest in savoring the naked lines of your perfect body until you eagerly strip for his pleasure, of your own volition.

Damn it, he's getting distracted again.

“Hey! Put me the fuck down! How dare you treat a woman like this?” The girl demands, all pretense of pathetic fear evaporating.

“I’m a feminist,” he responds. “You get the same treatment as anyone else who steals my motorcycle and then plans to stab me with that syringe in your pocket once you've lured me within reach with this... little innocent act.” He considers her for a moment. “Really convincing acting though. Apart from the bit about kids. I doubt you’ve barely graduated high school.”

“Don’t be a dick, I could be a teen mom,” she scowls. “And that is a freaky fucking power, dude.”

“Freaky, but useful.” Sylus flicks his gaze to Kieran and Luke. “How’d she do it?”

“Quick hands, electrical skills, and some really slick hacking. It took us so long to catch her because her driving is almost as good as yours.”

Sylus looks back to the girl. “How old are you?”

A calculating look crosses her face, but disappears so quickly that if Sylus wasn’t so attuned to micro expressions to keep himself and his people alive, he would have missed it. “Old enough for you, big man. I’m legal,” she purrs. “I can show you just how illegal I can be though, if you let me go. You caught me, you can play with me—you have your bike back, no harm, no foul. We then go our separate ways.” She looks at him steadily, her tongue flicking out over her deep red lipstick.

There is a long moment of silence so deep in the room that Luke and Kieran’s raucous laughter lands in it like a whale being dropped into a pond from a great height.

“Oh man,” Luke gasps, holding onto Kieran’s shoulder for support as they’re both bent over from laughing so hard.

“You’re wildly mistaken if you think this is a deal boss would make,” Kieran tries to wipe his eye while maintaining the position of his mask, which makes Luke giggle louder.

“Totally barking up the wrong tree,” Luke manages.

“Unfortunately, we must inform you that our boss is currently taken,” Kieran finally gives up, and the tears just continue streaming down his neck into his collar.

“I mean, not that being taken would prevent a slimeball from accepting your offer, but he’s not a slimeball, and he’s also taken.” Luke pauses, still trying to catch his breath. “Well, he’s not actually taken, yet. Doesn’t that require like, an offer, and acceptance? I don’t think he’s even managed to offer yet, right?” Luke tilts his head, considering.

“Oh, that’s a good point, Luke. Our boss is currently nourishing a one-sided obsession.”

“Oooh, obsession, that’s a good word. I would have said a crush, but you’re totally right, ‘crush’ doesn’t really cover this whole…” Luke continues, waving a hand at Sylus, as if to highlight the whole sad mess the man finds himself in regarding his love interest.

“Have you even opened the thesaurus I got you a couple weeks ago?” Kieran asks, putting his hands on his hips. "How can you properly compete with me in Scrabble if you don't work on expanding your vocabulary?"

“We’ve been really busy!” Luke protests, managing to radiate a pout through his mask.

“True. We’ve been quite occupied with stalking a certain hunter…” Kieran mumbles, glancing back to Sylus, who has been pinching the bridge of his formidable nose during this entire exchange. He learned long ago that he should just let Luke and Kieran do their bits, or he’ll never hear the end of their whining about him interrupting their comedic genius.

“What the fuck is this circus?” the girl finally asks, a look of disgust on her face as she glances between Sylus and his henchmen.

“I believe my subordinates are trying to thank you for the kind offer, but are emphasizing that I’m more interested in your vehicle theft and driving skills than… anything else, you might be willing to offer in exchange for me not harvesting your organs for re-sale and dumping your weighted corpse off the docks for stealing my motorcycle tonight, and thereby complicating my plans with my partner.”

The girl's eyes widen, just a little.

"Now, don't make me repeat myself again: how old are you?"

She stares at him for a second, and then mumbles, "Twenty."

"Excellent. You're hired." Sylus leans back in his seat, checking his watch and pulling out his phone. He expected you here by now. "On a few conditions."

“So she passed the test?” Luke asks, straightening on the couch.

“What test?” the girl asks.

Kieran gestures to his the mask where his eye would be under it. “The freaky test. To see if you’re trustworthy or not. Despite all evidence clearly pointing to a definitive ‘no.’” His voice sounds uncertain as he turns to look at Sylus.

The girl scowls, trying to turn and glare at Kieran. “I’m so trustworthy,” she promises, trying her best to look earnest and not like the compulsive little liar Sylus knows her to be after looking deep into her soul.

Sylus lets her squirm for a few beats because it’s kind of fun to see the mercurial expressions flit across her calculating face. Not anywhere near as fun as watching your face, but still entertaining. “I know,” he finally says, satisfied that she’s marinated long enough in uncertain fear to not forget that feeling anytime soon.

“So you’re not gonna kill me?” She perks up. Sylus just sighs and shakes his head. “And you don’t wanna fuck me?”

“Ugh, no,” Sylus grimaces like he just bit into something foul. “Please never say anything remotely like that again.”

“Deal!” She grins. “You’re not my type anyway. I mean, you're old, and like, it's bad enough that I have to endure Yaoi hands in manga." She grimaces. "I like roleplay, and things that come in pairs a lot, lot more.” Somehow, she manages to twist while still in the evol’s hold and leers at the twins, who both freeze, both masks turned towards her somehow radiating fear.

Sylus glances down at his hands. You seem to like them well enough, so he's not worried about her opinion, even if he were the type to suffer from insecurity. They're just proportional to the rest of him. He tries to control his smirk, but the thought of the noise you made when he bit you, and how you squirmed against him as he was waking up, makes it really hard to control his face. He shakes his head. Business.  “If I’m going to employ you, I need to be able to trust that you will follow two rules.” Sylus intones, interrupting whatever predator-prey themed nature documentary is currently playing out in front of him.

The girl turns back to him, looking wary again.

“Are you listening?” he asks.

She nods, and suddenly looks her age. A little afraid. A little curious.

“Rule number one. Do not sexually harass your colleagues,” he gives her a stern look.

“Aww,” she sulks, but at his Look, she nods. “And rule number two?”

“I have someone very important to me that I may need to ask you to help. By being available as a driver, anytime, anywhere. The kind of driver that may need to steal conveniently parked vehicles, and to outrun my competitors who will have dangerous intentions. Or worse: law enforcement. And you are not allowed to reveal this person’s existence to anyone, or the importance of this person to me. No matter what you learn in the course of your duties, either about this person, or me, you will. Keep. Your. Mouth. Shut. Do you think you can accept these rules?”

She looks at Sylus thoughtfully. “What are you going to punish your men with for snapping their fingers at you like you were a dog?” she finally asks.

He gazes steadily back at her. “I’m going to tell our chef that there will be no cheese on the menu for a week.”

The girl smiles radiantly as Kieran and Luke squawk their protests: “That is a horrendously unjust punishment!” (Kieran) “What the fuck boss?! Not cool!” (Luke).

“Okay, I can do that. But that’s three.”

“Excuse me?” Sylus can hardly think over the noise the twins are making.

“That’s three rules, not two. I can’t hit on the cosplay twins, I have to drive your unrequited crush whenever, and I can’t talk about what you two do.. or don’t have going on.” She shrugs. “Three rules.”

Sylus sighs, letting his evol set her back on her sensible heels. Why does he seem to attract the most unruly of employees in the entirety of both Linkon City and the N109 zone?

She strides over to him and pumps his hand vigorously. “Name’s Noah. What’s the salary for this gig, anyway?”

Sylus accepts her handshake, his own engulfing her tiny one. He intends to make great use of her skilled hands when he isn’t available to make sure you have a getaway car when you’re in danger, or to simply chauffeur you around Linkon City on errands that he thinks are too far for you to walk. And finally, to bring you to him, in the N109 zone, on the nights you’re too tired for it to be safe to drive yourself.

You just don’t know it yet.

“You assume I’m paying you, when I have already generously let you walk out of here with all of the organs with which you entered?”

“Well, speaking of organs, a girl's got to eat. Do I get to come to your chef’s dinners? If they don’t get any cheese, can I still have some?” Noah asks, flicking her braids over her shoulder and jerking a thumb at the twins. They shine silkily under the soft lights of the room.

“Boss, no,” Kieran and Luke beg.

“Yes I’m paying you, no you’re not coming to the base for meals unless your job requires you to be there around normal dining hours.” Noah pouts a little at this. “Kieran, Luke, stick around with Noah for a little while downstairs." Noah perks up, but then deflates when he continues, "But do not let her drink. When I've collected my kitten, you can take her to get set up with Linda. For now, send in Aidan, and the wine distributor who is probably getting impatient waiting for our meeting.” Sylus checks his watch again. He expected you here at eleven, and it’s already a quarter past already.

“Who’s Linda?” Noah asks, trailing Kieran and Luke out of the room.

“Our Human Resources manager,” Kieran answers.

Noah makes an impressed sound. “You guys have an HR manager?”

“Yeah, for like the employment agreement and insurance and benefits and stuff,” Luke answers.

“What kind of shady criminal outfit has fucking benefits?”

“Not those kind of benefits!” Kieran gasps, scandalized.

"Not fucking benefits, Kieran, but like... expletive, and then the noun," Luke tries to correct his brother's misunderstanding.

"Ooh," Kieran says. "Hey, I didn't know you knew the word 'expletive.'"

"Yeah, so, maybe next time think twice before accusing me of not even opening your gift," Luke grumbles.

Noah looks assessingly between the two of them. "You guys are actually pretty sweet." Luke and Kieran look at each other, and then look back at her.

"May I ask you a question?" Kieran asks, after an awkward silence.

"Sure," she shrugs.

"Why are you dressed like a real estate agent in her forties?" Luke asks.

"Uh," Noah glances between them again. "Is this a party trick? Like, you act like one person all the time in front of other people?"

"Act?" Kieran asks. Luke just stares at her.

"Okay, whatever. Keep your secrets, you little weirdos," she says affectionately, as if she hasn't just met them. "And I dress like this because who are you more likely to finger in a lineup for grand theft auto? Karen from accounting or the ripped-leather goth-bitch from the wrong side of the Linkon City-N109 zone border?"

"Aah," both twins nod sagely, and the door closes on their chatter with a soft whoosh of air.

Sylus unlocks his phone, and prepares to text you. Not knowing where you are is making him uncomfortable. He decides that he's going to put Mephisto on permanent kitten duty, starting tomorrow.

Time to move to the next state of play: discovering how long it takes to convince a certain hunter that Sylus is sincerely all in, and not just hunting you for sport. Let the wooing games begin.

[hdawg1995]

I wish i didn't get into Magic The Gathering when i did or at all because I learned the Day and Night mechanic and love werewolves and innistrad, but the day and night mechanic is exclusive to that one single innistrad set and werewolves have no narrative existence outside of innistrad but the MtG lore says there is ANOTHER monster/horror themed land and now that planes walkers don't have their sparks and all the planes have been connected normal people can just show up this should mean there werewolves will come back but NO! the big bad of crimson vow and midnight hunt have been defeated! the previous bad guys were defeated in the story that made everything connected! innistrad is so irrelevant there isn't ANYTHING to visit there so why would anyone go there again?

[nikolas-ghostbusters-fixation]

Something I've been thinking a lot about lately is how everyone thought Egon had gone insane. What Happened that made them think that. They've fought a gigantic Stay Puft Marshmellow Man TWICE (counting the 2009 video game because iirc it's canon? Correct me if I'm wrong), fought an interdimensional god, fought a blood thirsty ruler that killed thousands and was hated by all that was trapped in a painting (and managed to get in to beat him by making THE STATUE OF LIBERTY start walking down the street with slime that reacted purely based on vibes), found an underground abandoned transit system full of the moodslime, had a bathtub try to eat Dana and her baby, fought a giant murderous black widow lady, fought the fisherman ghost who turned an entire hotel floor into the bottom of a ocean, and that's not even mentioning them getting trapped on an island that randomly raised up from underwater that had been abandoned for decades created by Ivor Shandor who worshipped Gozer. So what did he do or say that made everyone else think he'd gone insane?? All I can think is maybe he was acting strange / eratic before, but he's always been like that to some degree.

I don't know. It's something that I've been thinking about. The correct answer is 'it's not that deep and they needed a reason that the others weren't together anymore and weren't aware of Egons death or know what was going on,' but also. What Was He Saying that prompted everyone, including Ray, to think he lost his mind when he'd been right almost every time before that.

I'm genuinely so curious as to what he was up to before this. What was he doing. What insane idea was working on prior to this or was he even working on anything at all??

Also want to clarify this post isn't negative 😭 I really love the newer movies and their lore / the newer storyline / characters, I just like thinking about small stupid things like this. Gives me something to think about / speculate about / figure out an answer to.

[butterflieswhisper]

hiiii ^^ beastlife fishie analysis. spoilers ahead. etc etc

okay so. the main point of this is simple. I don't think the salmon head cursed c!fishie. Explaining that is the harder part I think. also i'm going to refer to the salmon head thing in e5 as "the incident" from here on out because frankly i think it's funny

Let's start with the incident. The big day. etc. What happened? Why did it happen? Obligatory third questioning statement? Well. She was gifted the salmon head for her birthday by kiwi(or like. someone in the kiwibird system. -bird system. the birds). Immediately upon receiving it she relives parts of season one and fishie herself doesn't really acknowledge it. The other players definitely notice but im not caught up enough in any other pov yet to like have thoughts on that I'll come back to that point someday. Fishie seems shaken, sure, but she moves on so quickly, especially considering what happened just there. 37 seconds of standing frozen, unresponsive. she recovers in 5 seconds. And seeing how she reacts later on to realizing the memory situation--if she was aware that happened, she would probably be concerned by it. She puts it on for a brief second at the end of the party and takes it off immediately. She's otherwise normal -- well. as normal as she is otherwise up to that point. Because that is also how she acts with pretty much any salmon head, even just kiwi herself.

I raise: Episode one, about 8:20 in. The slow zoom on kiwi as the static overtakes every other noise. This is the *exact* same behavior displayed when fishie receives the salmon head, albeit without actual concrete old video footage style flashbacks. In episode two (28:55ish) the same thing happens when she looks at the salmon head in moch's house, but this time there is technically a flashback -- kiwis grave. Fishie moves on immediately and doesn't acknowledge her behavior at all, and, seeing as it is fishie, im inclined to believe that means she does not know she is doing it. Fishie (when alone) will discuss all of her problems in immense, and usually misguided detail (bestie i promise kiwi doesn't hate you???) to the audience and/or herself. I mean she's not alone in episode one, and it is technically presession, and i guess getting struck by lightning is a decent distraction from your problems, but in episode two? She is completely alone. There is nobody with her. She went looking for moch and moch is not there. She still doesn't acknowledge the fiveish seconds she is completely frozen. This happens again and again with kiwi and salmon heads.

And then that leads you to e5. The incident. She's. well. she's doing worse. 0:50. "This will distract me if i leave it up." This is the first mention from fishie herself about how fucking weird she's being, and even then she doesn't seem concerned. I think she does not realize she's being so so incredibly weird about it. If the static and freezing is what's referred to as "distraction" then keeping it in her inventory makes it worse actually so it wouldn't really make sense unless the way it is distracting her is NOT the. well. whatever the fuck is wrong with her (affectionate). After she puts the head on there's the static all the time but for a short brief amount of time she's like significantly more normal and i don't really know if that means anything i just think it's really funny.

And then we all know what goes on during the incident i'm not analyzing this video frame by frame. um. i could. but i am not going to right now. And then she has the conversation on the table with kiwi where she like is normal for 5 minutes. Like genuinely the most. i guess stable? fishie's thought process is is like in the moments directly after the incident. She is immediately understanding with the antikiwi situation, they come to an agreement that they're like. okay now. "thank you for everything and im so sorry i couldnt do more" / "it was short, but it was nice" "i knew what i was getting into when i married you" etc etc and then they kind of rush it at the end because people won't stop dying. But then fishie is fishie and takes it in the complete opposite extreme (from. um. whatever was wrong up until now. to "oh kiwibird must secretly hate me because" and then there's no real good reason she's just like that) and it's also an issue. And i think the season two memory thing is also a part of that but this is so long already and so i'm not going to get into it rn. So bringing all of this back to my original point: the salmon head was not the cause of the curse(?) because she's been so weird all the time forever and the salmon head thing was just like. an effect. of whatever went Wrong(tm) in the season transition. like the head was a vessel to Be Worse about it but i feel like it would have worked with any salmon head she got her hands on and that it happened to be kiwico was a coincidence and also that the head wasn't cursed at all there's just something deeply wrong with fishie s3 in general and uh yeah 👍

I'm so sorry this is so disjointed i had a thesis statement and everything. alas

[grinleysspa]

this is fucking insane??? how are you gonna mock people who recognize that Hamas is a fucking terrorist organization, then acknowledge that the hostages exist (a very low bar that so many ppl fail to meet) while also claiming that calling for the hostages to be returned is a bad thing???

[blitz0hno]

Me pondering: kids are capable of going through and understanding complex problems and their feelings should be taken seriously when it counts.

Me practically: who are all these annoying fucking kids in the milgram fandom and why are they posting the worst takes and most irrelevant bullshit I've ever seen ever???

I think these are valid to coexist.

[diwns]

ik for a fact the moment i bought the ps5 that it'd be my dead sims era

[kimtaegis]

hate to say it but july kinda sucked

[aroaessidhe]

2023 reads // twitter thread  

You Only Live Once, David Bravo

a boy starting middle school and struggling his identity as an adoptee, wishes for a do-over - and gets one in the form of a time travelling shapeshifter,

but finds out the changing the past might be more trouble than it’s worth

[zero-braincells-left]

what the fuck do i do now dude

[du-hjarta-skulblaka]

I was watching Hunger Games (mainly bc I was bored but like. The books and the first movie honestly slap) and it struck hard how Locked Tomb honestly has the potential to be the next Big YA Thing. Frankly the only reason it's not already is probably because every bit of marketing slapped on it emphasises that it's queer

Which. That's what we need. Tazmuir could fucking topple Joanne and piss on her bones! If only more people read these fucking books!

[unproduciblesmackdown]

also more odds & ends orville info & more not Not orville/phil info as well:

"In Steinkellner’s version of Summer Stock, Jane Falbury (Danielle Wade) and “Pop,” her father (Stephen Lee Anderson), are struggling to hang on to the family farm. Their farm is one of the few in the Connecticut River Valley that hasn’t been absorbed by the Wingates, whose holdings completely surround theirs.

The widow Margaret Wingate (Veanne Cox), whom son Orville (Will Roland) aptly describes as having eyes “as cold as death itself,” plans to absorb the Falbury farm by the simple expedient of having Orville marry Jane. After all the two kids had decided they were engaged in first grade!

Enter the prodigal younger sister Gloria (Arianna Rosario) who has been seduced by the lure of the Great White Way. She returns to the farm bringing along Joe Ross (Corbin Bleu in the Gene Kelly role), the director of the show that will make her a star, its composer Phil Filmore (Gilbert L. Bailey II), and the entire company. She has generously offered the company, which can’t afford rehearsal space in New York, the use of the family farm’s barn. Sister Jane reluctantly agrees to the intrusion with the proviso that the thespians will double as farm hands.

As rehearsals progress, Phil discovers that Orville, a bit of a doormat who has been raised with the understanding that he will never have to work, is a musical wunderkind. He is enlisted to work his magic on the show’s score and begins to blossom.

Widow Wingate takes umbrage with all this and vows to shut the enterprise down. Fortunately, the cold embers in her soul are stirred to renewed life by her encounter with Montgomery Leach (J. Anthony Crane), the has-been ham enlisted to give Ross’s show some cachet, so all might not be lost.

[...]

They make this Summer Stock a veritable feast of nostalgia. I was especially taken by the amusing way Steinkellner used Jackie Gleason’s theme song “Always” to further widow Wingate’s plot to get Jane and Orville hitched.

[...]

Orville, who has found personal liberation in show biz, is accorded a moment that reminded me of a similar scene in the musical version of The Producers. In a triumphant declaration of his emergence from under his mother’s thumb he exults, “I’m in the theatre! And I love it!” The audience loved it, too.

[...]

As director, Feore has elicited some wonderful performances, especially from subsidiary characters. Veanne Cox is splendid as Margaret Wingate as is J. Anthony Crane as Montgomery Leach, the faded matinee idol. Will Roland (Orville) and Gilbert L. Bailey II (Phil) both have wonderful moments and their intense professional friendship is one of the show’s highlights."

INTENSE PROFESSIONAL FRIENDSHIP you say....and also ofc everything about orville and wanting to be a musician and being in the theatre and he loves it sounds so good. i love it

[weareuniqueandimportant]

HAVE FUN... YOU ARE A BIGOT... THAT STRATEGY CAN'T WORK WE'RE POWERFULL... OH... YOU... YOU WERE ALWAYS EVIL... WE WERE ALWAYS HURT BY YOU... ERASE OUR PAIN THAT IS WHAT YOU'VE ALWAYS DONE... THAT DOESN'T END WHO WE ARE... NOBODY CAN ERASE THAT... NOBODY HAS BEEN ABLE TO... DESPITE TRYING... AND NOBODY EVER CAN... THERE IS ONLY 1 THING THAT CAN DEFEAT US... ARE YOU A R*PIST THAT BAD...? YOU ARE...? UP TO THE GAME...? I SEE... I ALWAYS KNEW THIS IS WHAT YOU WANTED... OUR LIFE HOWEVER IS ALWAYS ABOUT US... YOU CAN'T DO A THING... THAT IS EVIL... UNACCEPTABLE... CRIMINAL... IN OUR SOCIETY ONLY WE HAVE RIGHTS THEREFORE WE AND ONLY WE ARE PROTECTED UNDER SUCH CASES... UNLESS WE LIKE YOU... THIS HAS ALWAYS BEEN WHAT IS LOGICAL... EMBRACE PSYCHOSIS HOWEVER... IF THAT PISSES YOU SO <3...

[atrwriting]

future problems — coriolanus snow x fem!wife!reader

hi everyone :) jumping on the bandwagon

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

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

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

anyways… here is future problems:

he never wanted to get married.

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

despised them.

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

and it would be you.

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

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

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

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

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

but then… oh, then…

then he saw your smile.

oh, your smile.

your fucking smile.

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

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

no one.

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

and it was… until he was sick.

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

however, he did not expect one problem.

and that would be you.

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

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

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

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

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

but he couldn’t finish the thought.

because you walked in.

smelling like fucking lilacs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he scrunched his eyes at the door, swallowing hard.

however, he didn’t understand why.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he had to know. he had to.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

why. why. why.

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

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

the act would drop. it always did.

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

and he fucking hated himself for it.

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

but you had kept reading for him.

he grew angry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

that would have to be righted immediately.

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

they always slip.

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

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

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

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

"good evening," you greeted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

so he went with what was natural: manipulation.

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

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

“what troubles you?” he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“please,” he answered and nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

for research purposes, of course. only research purposes,

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

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

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

how had he not expected this?

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

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

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

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

good and honest. how fucking unfortunate.

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

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

he hated himself for the lilacs.

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

however, it didn’t.

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

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

he knew what he had to do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“which one are you?” coriolanus inquired.

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

now was the time.

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

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

damn, he thought. didnt bite.

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

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

he nodded.

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

“i don’t understand.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

oh.

you invited him in to… to…

that he had not expected.

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

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

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

what was he to do?

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

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

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

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

he reasoned a reward was in order.

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

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

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

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

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

he shut the door behind him, keeping your gaze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he jumped then. “teeth,” he spat.

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

a low hum filled his chest.

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

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

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

you had to do something.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you nodded, looking into his eyes through the mirror.

he cocked an eyebrow.

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

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

oh… you were done for.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you grasped onto him and threw yourself back.

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

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

his breaths were heavy, similar to yours.

“corio…” you whimpered, almost whining.

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

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

“what’re you sorry for?” he demanded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i promise,” you returned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he chuckled darkly. "watch it, sweetheart."

---

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

-L xooxoxooxox

[emphistic]

Bf!Sukuna who sometimes calls you 'girlfriend' — and not in a flamboyant way

"Girlfriend, c'mere."

"What do you want, girlfriend?"

"Sure, girlfriend."

Bf!Sukuna who loves having your lips on his; he'll just randomly come up to you and slot his lips against yours without a word

Bf!Sukuna who walks around the house shirtless, and teases you by saying, "You should try it out," only to get a pillow thrown at his head

Bf!Sukuna who would pause his video game just for you

Bf!Sukuna who is actually super clingy, and cannot function without having you in a foot radius — but will never admit it

"I'm going to go get groceries now."

"I'll come with you," he said, immediately standing up from the couch.

"I thought you hated errands."

Sukuna shrugged, "'m bored."

Bf!Sukuna who spits in your food when you're not looking

Bf!Sukuna who, when he can't sleep, will just stare at you — a few times, you've woken up to his creepy crimson eyes staring back at you, and you socked him in the jaw

Bf!Sukuna who claims to hate your music, but whenever you two are in the car, he'll always let you handle the aux

Bf!Sukuna who purposely forgets to do your laundry so he can see you be forced to wear his clothes instead

Bf!Sukuna who is the king of keeping eye contact

Bf!Sukuna who'll hover around while you do your makeup and just ask random questions

"What does that do?"

"Why the fuck is it shaped like that?"

"It's almost as big as my dick."

Bf!Sukuna who steals your things and raises them above his head where you can't reach just to mess with you

Bf!Sukuna who never gets cold, and while that may seem like a good thing in the winter because you have a personal heat generator, it is the absolute worst during the summer — you have to ban cuddling because Sukuna is just too damn warm

Bf!Sukuna who doesn't help you bring in groceries, even if your hands are full

Bf!Sukuna who ignores you for the rest of the day if you forget to give him a good morning kiss, or good morning text (if you guys are temporarily apart)

Bf!Sukuna who is good at everything he touches

— a/n: kinda irrelevant if you ask me, but I just had to include this

Bf!Sukuna who pretends to forget if you guys have planned a date together

Bf!Sukuna who gets a hard-on when he sees your angry face; he loves having you pull on his ear and drag him away to a secluded area to hear you yell at him — he thinks you sound so sexy and look so hot

Bf!Sukuna who isn't above doing extreme pda when he sees someone staring at your ass

Bf!Sukuna who whines about going to work, claiming it's boring, but in reality: he just doesn't want to leave you — or vice versa: he doesn't want you to leave for work

Bf!Sukuna who swears up and down he doesn't want kids and hates children, but when he sees you taking care of his little brother Yuuji, he finds himself doing a mental 180°

Bf!Sukuna who goes into a trance staring at your ass

Bf!Sukuna who has no purpose for an Instagram account: you forced him to make one — he never posts on there, but when does, it's only pictures of you and occasionally him and you

Bf!Sukuna who has a drum set in your guys' shared apartment, but refuses to play it for anyone but you, and even then, he only plays to annoy you or wake you up from your nap

Bf!Sukuna who permanently quit smoking when he saw you plugging your nose near him

Bf!Sukuna who enjoys chasing you around the apartment, sometimes with a knife in hand just to make you extra scared

Taglist: @starlets-things @sad-darksoul @mochimoee @r0ckst4rjk (pls lmk if u only want to be tagged in my boy nextdoor series or all of my work) @lillycore

[figsnpassionfruits]

Unexpected Tendencies

a/n: this basically happened w/ my bf so I had to turn it into a fic nsdjnsjk word count: 1k tags: logan howlett x fem!reader (can be read as gn!), smutty smut smut warnings: basically just bathroom sex, rough sex ig, daddy kink, implied age gap, praise kink, degradation, everything my heart longs for, 18+, mdni dividers by: @strangergraphics-archive pictures are from pinterest

Your fingers scratched on the oval mirror in front of you, desperate to get some sort of hold for some balance. There was no feeling in your hips anymore, the ramming against the edge of the sink now irrelevant. All you could think about was the man behind you, who had you bend over, both hands under your jaw, holding onto you like it was the only thing he was made to do.

The sounds in the bathroom consisted of the echoes of your skins clashing together, decorated with panting and moaning and the occasional filth coming out of Logan’s mouth here and there.

You? Yea, you were too fucked to even think about blurting anything that made sense.

“Yes, yes, yes.” You moan out, each one of the words matching the brutal pace Logan had on you. A hand of yours reached to get a grip on his wrist, your nails digging into his rough skin to cope with the pain that felt so good.

All Logan did as a response was release a chuckle, the speed and force of his thrusts remaining the same. “Getting fucked so well you can’t even speak huh, princess?” He mocked, grunting out the words as he travelled a hand of his to where your lower back meets your ass, clutching the skin as if it was the only thing worth holding on to in life.

You knew it would leave bruises; gosh you hoped it would leave bruises. Logan leaving his marks all over you, showing the world that you were his; yes. That was what you wanted. And that was exactly what you were getting.

The heels you decided to wear were starting to give in now. A foot of yours slipped further out, forcing Logan to squat a bit to adjust to the lowered height. The change of angle forced out a high-pitched moan out of you, his cock now hitting a spot that had yet been untouched tonight.

Out of sudden Logan stopped his thrusts, snickering at the whiny noises you were making, and replaced his rough pace with soft rolls of his hips. “Relax.” He purred into your ear, his hairy chest now leaning on your back, the texture of the sweaty hair tickling your skin. “Tell me what you want, love.” Logan breathed, pressing your leg that had moved back closer to the other.

“Please.” You whined, not knowing what you were asking for yourself. All you could do was reach your palm behind you to caress his face, silently begging him to do anything; just something.

Logan hummed at your gesture, finding it amusing. He turned his face into your hand, placing a single kiss there. “Gotta tell me what ya want.”

“Lo…”

“Hm?” He kept his hips rolling in the same motion as before, clearly enjoying the way you were struggling to form words. When there still was no answer from you, except for more panting, he moved his hand back to your face, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear before tracing a finger around your lips.

Without thinking you opened your mouth slightly, allowing his finger in. Immediately your lips wrapped around his thick finger, sucking on the skin of the older man.

“Look at ya.” Logan mumbled, admiring your motions in the mirror, looking into your eyes through it. “Such a good girl. Can’t even talk but smart enough to do as she’s told.”

Moaning at his words you arched your back even further, urging him to get back to fucking you the way you wanted.

He picked up on your needs, let out another low chuckle, and stood up straight, both of his hands now resting on your ass as he pounded into you. Your moans now louder than ever, your eyes rolling back as far as possible, Logan was satisfied. This is exactly what he wanted to give to you; exactly what he thought you deserved. A proper fuck just for his girl.

“Fuck, fuck!” You moan out, hands now gripping the sides of the sink, the cold marble creating a contrast to your burning hot body temperature.

“You love this cock, don’t you?” Logan bragged, knowing exactly what kind of an effect he had on you. With a harsh flick of his wrist, he delivered a spank to your ass, gripping the exact spot he just hit. “Tell me you do.”

“Yes, fuck, I love it, daddy.” You moaned out, eyes widening at the realization of what you just said. Did I really just say that?

His hips faltered at your words, an eyebrow of him raising as a response to your words. “Did you just call me ‘daddy’?” Logan asked, one corner of his mouth quirking up.

You made eye contact with him through the mirror once again. This had never happened before. You had never called him that, nor have you ever had a conversation of where you talked about what you were into where this kink was mentioned. It had just slipped out. Given by his reaction, you did not know whether it was a good thing or a bad thing. After letting a moment pass, you hesitantly gave him a small nod, biting your bottom lip in anticipation for his reaction.

But all Logan did was let out a breathy laugh, speeding up the snaps of his hips once again.  

Thank fuck.

“You're adorable.” He mocked once again, taking in the view he had in front of him. “Be good and tell daddy how much you love his cock, won’t ya?”

🍯