#i never did this one because if someone else had done it before then i didn't do it

[grimmweepers]

— ★ 𝐔𝐍𝐖𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: after waiting for so long, alhaitham finally loses his virginity to you on his birthday

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: VIRGIN!alhaitham x FEM!reader, established relationship, there is some fluff sprinkled onto all this smut i promise, p0rn with plot, virginity loss (m), slightly more experienced reader, pet names ‘baby’ ‘love’, reader wears a skirt & dress, alcohol mention, handjob, masturbation (f), deepthroat, rough fucking, no protection, creampie, cowgirl, might be a little ooc. 5.7k wc (idk what happened) MDNI. 18+ only. | masterlist

𝐚/𝐧: a birthday piece! happy birthday alhaitham! 🎁

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Your boyfriend was a virgin.

And for most people, virginity was often a touchy subject. Still, when you started dating Alhaitham, you weren’t surprised by his indifference towards the topic. He never danced around it or became flustered when the subject of sex came up. During your first conversation about it, he didn’t fidget, didn’t sugarcoat, he simply took a sip of his coffee and stated, “I’ve never had sex before.” Then after finishing his cup, he added, “Not for lack of opportunity. I just never prioritised it.”

There was no shame or awkwardness, just a fact laid bare between you. And, really, why would there be?

Sex wasn’t something he’d avoided out of fear or insecurity. To him, it was nothing but a passing thought. 

At the time, you grazed over his humble boast because, of course, Alhaitham had opportunities. He was, by all objective measures, incredibly handsome and you told him this very often as his girlfriend.

The scribe might’ve been notorious for being difficult to converse with but people were still drawn to his appearance, whether he wanted them to be or not. 

That conversation weighed more to you now. Not because of what he said but because of what it implied. Despite the passing interest others had in him and the potential experiences he could have had, he had waited. Not intentionally nor with some frivolous romantic ideal in mind, but simply because no one before you had ever made him want to.

As your relationship progressed, you discovered that contrary to popular belief, Alhaitham was still human (really, it’s a shock to some) and like any other human, he had needs that were managed with usual discretion (his hands). So while he had no qualms admitting he was a virgin, he also never pretended to be entirely unaffected by the curse of morning wood or the challenge of dating someone who was totally his type and much more vivacious than he. 

But when you turned him on (which wasn’t difficult), no matter how heated things got, they never went past a certain point. It wasn’t hesitation on his part, nor was it uncertainty on yours. 

It might’ve been because he’d never done it before, or maybe because it felt too significant to rush into. Either way, whenever things teetered on the edge of no return, one of you would always pull back. Every time it happened, it left you a little more restless than before.

It had started slow, as most things did.

Your first kiss with Alhaitham had been more curious than anything else. He always paid attention to detail so he was careful in how he studied you. The more he kissed you, the more he adjusted to the newness of it. You could even taste the hesitance on him but that had been months ago. Now, he’d memorise the way the shape of your lips fit against his, and kissing him felt as natural as breathing.

In the beginning, your make-out sessions had been tame. Nothing more than lazy, unhurried exchanges between reading breaks or in the fleeting moments before you parted from him. Uncaring for any responsibility he had prior, he would hold you close in his burly arms and take you in.

However, in time, those kisses evolved into something you had to be broken apart from.

His hands had also grown bolder. They would slide up your sides, paw at the curve of your spine, and settle on your hips to pull you closer. He noted the way you reacted to him—the way you tossed your head back when his fingers mapped your sensitive skin, the way your grip made home in his hair when his tongue delved deeper.

And you learned things about him, too.

You learned that even though the Alhaitham you first met had an air of mystery to him, there was something far more desperate laying dormant beneath that imaginary veil… lest his control slip. If you sucked on his lower lip, a groan would softly erupt from his mouth. If you allowed him to bury his face into the crook of your neck, the love bites he’d give you would feel much more erotic.

Then his touches became scandalous over time. Alhaitham seemed to explore you more. 

He started to kiss—no, lick along your jaw, then down your neck, sucking lightly at your pulse just to hear your breath stuttering. His hands, no longer satisfied with resting at your waist, began to push under your shirt time and time again, ghosting over your ribs, tracing the dip of your back, just to gauge a reaction to his touch.

Your body continued to hum with need long after you had settled on opposite sides of the sofa, swollen lips and skin warm.

Each encounter left you both embarrassingly sticky by the end of it so you never bothered to admit you’d touched yourself to the thought of him long after he’d gone home. And neither did he.

An invisible string was about to snap, and the most recent time was the hardest to walk away from.

On that particular day, while you were nestled on his lap, Alhaitham had been kissing you with extra urgency—as if the taste of you wasn’t enough and every movement of your lips was drawing him into a slow-burning fire.

Each kiss was another spark, every touch a flicker of heat that spread and throbbed in the most wicked parts of you.

His hands traveled all over you, fingers that normally stayed at your ribs and waist started drifting lower so you sluggishly rolled your hips to match his rhythm, losing it at how hard he was growing beneath you. 

Maybe it was because you’d worn a skirt that day but you felt closer to him than ever. Having your legs sprawled across his lap and feeling what you assumed was the head of his cock prod your sweet spot made your body scream even more for him. So it didn’t help your case at all when he suddenly stilled his fingers under your skirt and gingerly kneaded the back of your clothed pussy. The touch was petal soft but enough to make you whine without permission.

“Holy shit,” your words came out in plumes. 

You half-expected it to escalate then but instead, he pulled away. A familiar pang settled in your chest. He didn’t do it out of regret—you knew that much, but all that racing intention now became idly slow. 

“I’m sorry,” he said a little too quickly, it almost sounded awkward but you were too busy trying to figure out what he was apologising for. It wasn’t like he’d done anything wrong. 

“For what exactly?” You asked.

Alhaitham took a moment to think. 

“For not having more restraint,” his glossy eyes searched you, uncertain of what he wanted. “That felt impulsive.” 

It was unintentional but you’d never seen him look so innocent. Or vulnerable. 

Tilting your head, you said with a chuckle, “If I’m ever caught complaining about my boyfriend not being able to keep his hands off me, alert the authorities because that’s not me.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.” 

None of this was your fault either, of course. Stopping was as much of a crime to him as it was to you, but he quietly returned your laughter, and timidly squeezed your hips as if to ground himself. “I just don’t want this to be something that happened because we couldn’t control ourselves.” 

In other words, he wanted something planned. Maybe he had envisioned it unfolding differently.

Which was reasonable, you thought. It was his first time, not yours. And it wasn’t discouraging at all—that solid bulge pressing between your legs revealed enough about the effect you had on him. No part of him didn’t want to flip you over and fuck you senseless on that sofa but perhaps an impulsive make-out shouldn’t steer the wheel for something he held off for so long.

So despite how badly you wanted him, you stopped. You waited. You told yourself the anticipation was half the fun. “You’re right. You’re right. Must you always be right?”

“Just a gift bestowed from the Archon.” Sarcasm, even when all the blood that should’ve been in his head had rushed to his cock. He watched you sigh, “It seems you don’t agree?”

“Well if say I don’t, you could always ravish me until I do.” You smiled from ear to ear, satisfied when a pale shade of pink immediately dusted his cheeks.  

“Stop that.” 

Alhiatham was thankful when you rolled off his lap and collapsed beside him with a buoyant giggle.

Even then, he already missed the weight of you on his groin and the phantom tingle from when he allowed himself to touch you over your underwear was still fresh on his fingers. He didn’t dare look at you right away, afraid that one glance at your pretty face, kiss-swollen lips, and the tremble in your thighs would set his skin alight all over again.

— — —

Remnants of Alhaitham’s birthday were scattered around your home. Half-finished slices of cake on abandoned plates. Few too many empty glasses littering the coffee table. The lingering scent of candles recently blown out.

Looking at the mess, you felt a wave of gratitude that the last batch of your friends had already come and gone. 

Honestly, it was a good thing he chose to celebrate at your place. If he’d done it at his, there would’ve been an inevitable crowd, and he and Kaveh would’ve probably found themselves locked in a debate over something trivial like the spelling of a single word. The only thing to break it up would be the arrival of dawn.

Here, it was just the two of you. While you’d both enjoyed the company earlier, ending the night like this felt right.

As the street lamps outside flickered on to welcome the evening, Alhaitham lounged beside you. This was the most relaxed he’d looked all day, with one arm draped lazily over the back of the sofa, and the other resting on his thigh with a new tome balanced loosely between his fingers. The dim light softened the sharp lines of his face, making him appear boyish as his sea-green eyes read the pages.

But he wasn’t really reading.

It was obvious by how his eyes were fixed on the same spot. His pupils were slightly dilated and maybe he had the wine to blame. Or something else altogether. 

You finally broke the silence, leaning on the armrest to reach for your own glass. “It’s still your birthday, you know?”

Alhaitham returned his attention to you, closing the tome you bought for him without marking his place. “Is there a statute of limitations on celebrating?” 

Huffing a laugh, “Not exactly,” you said, swirling the wine in your glass before taking a sip. “But I’ve been thinking about your birthday gift.”

“Hm?” He replied, slightly confused. He’d thought you’d already given him everything earlier in the day.

“Just wondering if there’s anything else you might want,” you set your glass down and watched the dark liquid ripple. This was the perfect opportunity to bring up what had been on both of your minds.

“Oh?” He blinked at you. “Well, this book you sought was quite a rare find, I’m aware there are only two other copies. For that alone, I needn’t ask for more.” 

“And if I told you that was only the appetiser?” 

Alhaitham adamantly shook his head, “I’m not following.” 

But you both knew that was false. The entire conversation was laced with implications and this was a Haravatat genius you were speaking to. Nothing needed to be spelled out for him because you saw his throat bob with a subtle swallow. That alone told you he was already waging war with his thoughts. 

Tonight felt different. 

Aside from it being his literal birthday, ever since the morning you’d caught him eyeing your body on numerous counts. 

One instance was when you conveniently sat across from him while your friends mingled, positioned so perfectly that he could see the triangle of underwear between your legs. It left little to the imagination and when images flashed of him running his sticky tongue over your panties—he bit the inside of his cheeks in shame. 

Another time was not too long ago when you adjusted the strap of your dress—he was sitting where he was now and you had noticed his fixation on the exposed skin of your shoulder. When the flimsy strap irritatingly fell again, you pretended not to see him shifting his shorts by the crotch. 

Something other than enticement was festering behind his gaze. It wasn’t out-right staring but you had an inkling you were being carefully watched. 

Maybe assessed was the better word. 

There was only so much pretend-reading he could do before it became obvious that your boyfriend was undressing you in his mind and using his tome as a silly cover. All of that told you he was ready. 

He just needed a little nudge. A precious courtesy. 

“Haitham, you’ve been thinking about it. Haven’t you?” 

Alhaitham’s lips parted like he was about to deny it. But he didn’t. He wasn’t even sure he could. Between a sigh and a too-long pause, you were surprised when he admitted, “Of course I have. I’m not immune to… well, you.” 

An intentional smile formed at the drop of that last word and your cheeks immediately grew hot. “You look beautiful,” he continued, but then his tone dipped into something far more audacious. “I might be convinced you were trying to steal my thunder today.” 

The sincerity behind his delivery of it made your heart pound like a drumline beneath your ribs. 

When you dared slip your hand to his knee, his muscles reflexively twitched. He didn’t try to stop you as you slowly traced the outline of his leg. 

“That honesty is going to get you in a lot of trouble, birthday boy.”  

“Trouble?” He said with a knowing smirk. “I think I’m already in enough trouble for tonight, don’t you?” You let him take your wrist to his mouth and he suckled above your pulse, soft and slow.

Goosebumps danced across your arm before you stood up.

Alhaitham tracked every step you made and his burning hands instinctively moved to your waist when you stopped between his legs. As you leaned down, he almost shut his eyes, expecting a kiss. “What do you mean? I’m terribly innocent.”

The heat of his touch seared through your dress and you didn’t falter when he started bunching up the fabric. 

Alhaitham, he was different. 

Unlike the temporary touches of almost-lovers, every place his hands explored left a trail of fire in their wake. He always held you like the space between you was something he could not tolerate. Everything had to be met. Tongue. Hands. Body. Mind. 

Alhaitham loved you. Deeply. Utterly. In ways that contradicted his nature. It was neither measured nor composed, only barbaric and all-encompassing. 

And credit must be due to you for being the most patient person in the world.

“So,” you said quietly, brushing away those unruly greys that tickled his forehead. “Do you feel like this time is rushed?”

His long fingers tightened around you, answering your question before he spoke. Whatever hesitation he felt had apparently already passed. “No, this is perfect.” 

As he looked up at you through those curtain of long lashes, an indulgent question had accidentally slipped out of your mouth: “How often do you picture yourself having your way with me?”

A muscle in his jaw ticked. Clearly defeated by your feathery voice, he exhaled through his nose, almost jaded, “Constantly."

For some reason, you were still caught by surprise. Even if it lasted for a sliver of a second, when his admiration for you felt too good to be true, sometimes you thought it all a farce. But you were wrong.

"In fact, I’m thinking about it right now," he continued.

Without needing any more reassurance than that, you closed the distance. “Do you mind?” You asked over his lips. 

“Not at all,” he said like he was granting you a wish. 

One tender kiss bled into another, then another, until his tongue started rolling over yours, swallowing your gasps in between. Then it turned into something wet and visceral. Your body wilted each time they collided but when his teeth sunk into your bottom lip, a riot of sensations gathered between your thighs. 

Fuck, you swore internally. 

Alhaitham may be a virgin but he sure didn’t kiss like one.

Still standing, you snaked your arms around his neck and combed at the ends of his hair. No matter how often you’d done this, the sound of his grunts always drowned out the rest of the world. 

Your lips broke apart for only a moment when you were forced to find air. There were too many annoying layers between the two of you so the cycle of kissing and never crossing that line was forever broken when you pulled on his shirt, “Take this off.” 

Letting you go, even for a second, was unbearable so when he lifted his arms to rid himself of the barrier, he greedily chased another kiss. The fabric dragged over his torso, revealing inch by inch of warm, silky skin stretched taut over muscle, and as soon as the shirt was gone, you traced the broad plane of his chest. 

From this view, you wonder if he was thinking about how many times he had imagined this moment. How many nights he had stared at the ceiling, picturing your hands on him just like this? 

“Nervous?” You asked, following your palm over the firm ridges of his abdomen as you connected lips again, pecking them softly this time like a butterfly kissing the edge of a blooming flower.

“Impossible,” Alhaitham relaxed his shoulders and pulled blindly at your waist. You looked so pretty—if anything, he was excited to fuck you. “I’m in good hands.”

Your lips trailed downward, over his jaw, his throat, ghosting his uncharted collarbones before moving even lower. Cushions collapsed to the floor as he began to fray beneath you, his body keening toward your open-mouth kisses no matter how much he tried to hold himself together.

“Baby—” he rasped. Your knees wobbled at his sweet call. The quietest groan escaped his mouth and you felt it reverberate against your lips where they hovered just above his navel. His scent was richer here—clean but muskier, and engulfing your senses to the point of dizziness. 

Sinking to your knees, your tongue followed the dark path of hair that disappeared beneath his shorts while your hands nimbly pushed at his growing tent, “—Fuck,” he sighed, screwing his eyes shut.  It pulsed involuntarily against the restraint and already, a bead of sweat rolled down his temple. Your heart was racing, the size of it felt even bigger in your hand. 

You toyed at the waistband, “Haitham, tell me if you want to stop, okay?”

He nodded, slumping back into the sofa. Sure, but he doesn’t think he will. His lack of words made you wonder if he’d actually heard you. 

You palmed his bulge one last time before pulling everything down and immediately, his cock sprung against his stomach, giving it a good slapping sound while you ogled at the sheer size. And weight. 

It was so much prettier than you’d imagine—not too veiny, plump and pink at the tip, slightly curved, and already glistening with precum under the hues of evening light. A handful of beauty marks dotted the underside of his shaft which would only help you out in the future when you had to decide which parts of him you wanted to kiss first. It might’ve been the prettiest thing you’d ever seen. 

Rubbing your thumb over the tip, you peered up at him, and as expected, “Oh…” he rolled his eyes back, lulling himself in the immediate pleasure. At that moment, he knew fucking his fist in the dead of night would never feel the same again. Not when they can be hugged by your soft, velvety hands.

Alhaitham’s body jittered under you with each small stroke along his length. Another fat ball of precum dribbled over your knuckles and made it extra slippery—he was so hard, he could barely look at you through his drowsy eyes. 

“Do you like how this feels, baby?”

His feelings wavered between bucking for more friction or letting you dictate his ruin. “I- ah- love it. Keep going… Please…” Either way, by the time this was over, Alhaitham was going to walk away a new man. 

His cock was so heavy, so wide in your hand that you briefly imagined it training your hole open. You desperately clenched around nothing—suddenly it was your turn to feel needy and as a result, your strokes became even faster as you thought about him stuffing you with it instead. 

Each languid pump chipped away at his resolve but it was you who was beginning to lose control. Your free hand couldn��t hold still for any longer so they snaked to the throbbing heat that had been building between your legs for too long. The first roll of circles over your clit sent a sharp jolt up your spine. “Mmmm,” you were already so wet, your slick drenched your fingers within seconds.

Alhaitham's thighs twitched at the sound of you. That was a moan. A real fucking moan. A multitude of things could turn him on but watching his girlfriend play with herself and moaning above his cock made him spasm in his spot. He was begging for more, even if he couldn’t form the words. 

“Ahh, Haitham…” you mewled his name softly as you slid two fingers inside your sopping entrance. Without waiting any longer, you spat on the leaking tip as a courtesy warning before taking the entire length in your mouth all at once.

“God…” Alhaitham groaned, drawn out like the sensation alone could tear him apart. He could’ve jumped out of his seat if not for the vice grip he had on the sofa, his knuckles white from holding onto it like a lifeline. The inside of your mouth was so warm, your tongue so blissfully foreign and you felt him stiffen up even more when you sloppily sucked and popped off with a messy slurp. 

“This definitely... isn't your first time,” His voice was rough with lust.

Every tantalising lick was written off as proof of your experience.  

The praise, while indirect, made your cunt clamp around your moving fingers. You hummed, dragging your tongue along the underside of his cock before pulling back with another lewd pop, “No,” you casually admitted, licking a stray tear of precum from your lips. “But it’s my first time taking something so big.” 

“No need to flatter me,” he murmured softly, lifting your dripping chin with a single finger, “You’re already doing enough.”  

But damn, he thought. If that were true, he’d be the one to stretch you further than anyone else.

After returning your lips around him, he unexpectedly brought his hand to the back of your head. 

This time, he didn’t want to sit back. “Slowly…” he sucked in a breath. “I… want to try something.” 

Alhaitham apparently grew some confidence of his own which made your fingers work even faster inside yourself. Your lips sank lower and lower. Throat tightening as his thick cock tunneled its way through—

“Mmph—!!” Your sudden yelp was muffled when his mushroom tip nudged the back of your throat. The vibration of it made him buckle his knees beside you. 

Oh, he was weak for you. And he knew it. 

“Ugh— Look at you…” he groaned through gritted teeth. Still, despite the newfound confidence, he was losing the battle fast. He had buckled so hard, he was worried he’d already cum but he was relieved when you gagged and withdrew, leaving only strings of saliva connecting to his fat length. 

That was enough to tell him he couldn’t hold it off anymore. 

Alhaitham could barely think straight. His cock was twitching, aching, still glossy from your mouth, and somehow standing taller than when all of this started. 

“Come here,” he pleaded and now his heart pounded because it was finally happening. 

His eyes were hazy when he hoisted you up, catching you in his lap to taste himself on your tongue. The kiss was feral and teeth-clashing and the curl of your name kept being whispered again and again between breaths. 

His hands wasted no time, sliding down your body, comfortably hiking up your dress while he met his cock with your entrance. Even with your underwear in the way, you felt just how girthy he was and squeezed around the head as much as your flimsy panties allowed. 

“Haitham~” you whimpered, continuing to grind on him. 

Between his own rolling of his hips, he eagerly helped you tug your dress over your head. Then you hurriedly removed your underwear and returned to his lap.

For a brief moment, he just stared. 

His jaw went slack. His chest rose and fell slowly. 

It was a showcase of your bare body, your soft tummy, your sweat-stricken tits, and your exposed pussy. 

Suddenly, you felt shy, but he reached out with surprising gentleness, smoothing his palm over your waist, then up to your chest. 

“I know I keep repeating myself but seriously,” he hushed, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, making you shiver. “You’re beautiful.” 

He looked at you like you were something divine and overcome, your lips crashed against his.

A guttural sound escaped his throat as he kissed you back with just as much hunger.

 “I love you,” you whispered to him. Another twist of your tongue. I love you. Another hand tangled in his hair. I love you. Another peek at your loving boyfriend, eyes shut and kissing you so tenderly like it’s the only thing he knew. I love you. 

His hand slipped between your legs, fingers parting the opening where you were dripping for him. If you hadn’t known him at all, you would’ve never guessed this was his first time. Perhaps preparing for this really paid off in the end. 

Your legs trembled around his hand, but it wasn’t enough. You wanted more. The need clawed at you.

His hand gripped your putty thighs, forcing them open as he stared at the pretty mess. 

Alhaitham flicked his gaze back to yours, “I love you, too,” his voice was hoarse. “And I need to be inside you.” It was then you understood why puppy eyes worked on people. No argument could ever shield him away when he pleaded for you like that. It would be like kicking a puppy in the most literal sense.

You gave him a nod of approval. It’s okay. 

He exhaled as he positioned himself. The downright weight of it jerking against your clit made you whimper. You couldn’t help but rock into it, circling his shaft with your juices while he was on the cusp of shattering. 

Finally, he lined the swollen head at your entrance and a sharp gasp left you as he slowly pushed in, stretching you apart like all those times you fantasised in the privacy of your bedroom but this was much, much better. 

Inch by inch, your walls latched onto him and—

“Shit—” Alhaitham cursed under his breath. 

Nothing has ever felt so warm or soft. Or all-consuming. His entire vision was a blur. There was no doubt he was already painting a clear, sticky mess on your walls. 

Your nails sank into his meaty arms, his name tumbled from your lips as he gradually slotted himself completely inside you. His groan was so deep and wrecked, that it made you tremble around him even more. 

Your legs tightened at his side, urging him deeper. “T-Thoughts?” You asked, barely. It remained a mystery how you stayed teasing even as pleasure threatened to steal your words away. 

“You’re so… tight,” he managed to breathe, thrusting up experimentally. His head dropped to your shoulder as he relished in the wet heat of you wrapped around him. “Better than my hands."

"Better than I ever imagined, actually." A strained chuckle left him, “And I imagined a lot.” 

Another slow thrust. His fingers embedded themselves around your waist, possessive, obsessive, and he buried his face in your neck, breathing you in.

You smiled even though you knew he couldn’t see, “You don’t have to hold back.” 

Your cute encouragement made him snap.

He lifted you slightly before slamming you down on his hips, plunging as far as he could. Right as he did, you arched your back and struggled to find your bearings. The sound of your jutted cries echoed freely in the living room, only for it to be swallowed by his muttering against your skin—

“You’re perfect.” 

A deep thrust, much harder this time. 

“I can’t believe you’re mine.” 

His teeth scraped against your neck. 

And then he really started fucking you. 

Every bounce punctured all the right spots and you could only whine while rivers of sweat glued your bodies together. You tried to keep up with him but he was so fervent with his hips, your mind went cloudy. 

More often than not, you tend to forget how strong your boyfriend was but you’ll never need a reminder after this. Not with how easily his large hands guided you up and down his throbbing cock. You were helpless against the feverish way he moved you. 

Plap. Plap. Plap. Each wet slap of your fleshy ass against his thighs sent a violent shudder through him, decorating his skin with flushed, red marks where you landed. 

Who knew Alhaitham could be so obscene and filthy?

“I can see why—people—enjoy this,” was all he could muster you as deliciously gripped him. Every word punched out of him from the force of your tight cunt. 

However, as good as it felt, most of his enjoyment came from looking at you. 

“Mhm…!” you babbled, brain foggy and hands abandoning his shoulders to roll your sensitive nipples between your fingers, twisting and tugging and arching your back so your tits were right in his face. “But are you—?” You tried to ask between ragged moans but he cut you off with a snap of his hips.

He’d never seen you in such a messy state, “Are you fucking kidding me?” He was nearly offended at the implication that he wasn’t. How could he not be? He was buried to the hilt and drinking in every filthy little sound that spilled from your lips.

He wanted to engrave the image of this memory into his mind forever.

The creak of the sofa legs as they scraped back and forth on your floor; the squelch of your soaking pussy; your arousal smearing the base of his shaft, running down his legs with every feverish roll. 

Even like this, even while he was losing every last shred of innocence, his mind was already latching onto something else—

“I’m already looking forward to doing this again…” 

Alhaitham, who fucking loved you, was also going to love fucking you. 

Oh, and the toe-curling sensation of his balls smacking the back of your pussy intensified. 

For each erratic push, your battered clit rubbed even more against his pubic bone. Your eyes were starting to drop and your voice only came in erotic moans. “Baby, please…” You’ve adjusted to the stretch by now but you’ll never get used to how you can feel every curve or ridge mind-meltingly dragging inside you. “Don’t stop—”

He wishes he could just record the way you coo at him like that, because your honeyed tone damn near made him bust on the spot. 

“F-Fuckk-Ngh… Love, I’m close,” he groaned, forehead falling against yours as his hips stuttered. His hungry, feral eyes—wild, desperate, blown back with lust, searched yours, now certain of what he wanted.

“Inside,” you panted, cradling the back of his head with your arms. “I bought a contraceptive tonic… You can cum inside.” 

Alhaitham froze, for just a second. 

But with your permission, he lost whatever fragile thread of control he had left. Using the last of his strength, he clumsily wrapped himself around your waist and attacked your g-spot over and over. 

“Quickly,” you urged him, “Because I’m gonna—!” A feeling in your stomach coiled before you could finish your sentence. With his hips rolling at an angle, everything you were holding together finally broke apart. Your ears abruptly rang and your vision went entirely white, as if months’ worth of pent-up energy was gushing out of you.

You pushed through the untangling in your gut, feeling everything all at once as your orgasm obliterated your senses. The downpour left you mewling, writhing, and spasming around him like a tightening knot. You've cummed to the thought of him but you always felt like something was missing.

Nothing but desperate moaning and the crying of his name met his ears while you blissfully rode him out.

A harsh thrust later did it for him, too.

His merciless rhythm shattered as he rutted inside one last time, a guttural groan ripping from his throat like all the air was being punched from his lungs. “Hah—I’m cumming!” His cock pulsed violently as he came, hot ropes of ivory spilling deep inside you, with him losing focus after each shudder of his hips. 

So much of it was already oozing out of you despite how tight you still were and you saw the ruin it brought on him. He was beautiful with his brows pinched tight and strands of damp silver sticking to his forehead. Every flex of his toned arms and chest showcased the primal strength beneath his elegance.

Alhaitham whimpered—it was barely audible as slumped against your chest. He clung to you, panting, hot breath fanning your shoulder as he pumped out the last tremors of his release. His balls tightened for the final time as they emptied inside you.

Neither of you moved. Just sticky heat, layers upon layers of sweat, and the aftershocks pulsing through your trembling bodies.

Then, slowly, his hands fell to his sides.

“…That was…” he started, feeling like his mind was still trying to piece itself together. His body practically surrendered against the sofa.

You swiped a thumb over his jaw, smiling. “Yeah.”

A beat passed.

When Alhaitham lifted his head, blinking at you, completely softened by the afterglow, it hit you.

Your boyfriend wasn’t a virgin anymore.

© 2025 grimmweepers — do not repost, copy, translate, modify my work on any platform.

divider: @/adornedwithlight

[onepieceisreeeeaaalll]

You Swear A Lot | One Piece HC

For V Day, here's another little post! I haven't done an imagine/headcanon in a while, so this is a little blurb that's been in my drafts. Are you someone who swears a lot? Here's what these boys would think!

Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Law, Kidd

CW: GN!reader, no specific relationship mentions, could be early relationship/pre-relationship

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

LUFFY

Doesn't seem to notice or care. 

Honestly, he's so used to Nami's mouth at this point that it hardly registers. Not to mention Ace and Sabo growing up. Luffy himself is very familiar with strong verbiage.

When the swear words are used for comedy, though, he won't stop laughing. He loves a well-placed swear word or crass comment.

If you're getting more creative, be prepared to explain what you just said to him. 

“Hey - what did you just say? ‘Never heard that word before.”

Great, now the crew has to deal with Luffy learning a new word. Thanks for that.

ZORO

Will call you out on it, make fun of you, and join in. 

Zoro’s got a colorful vocabulary himself, but really only uses it sparingly.

The first time he hears it from you, though - oh, boy, it’s shocking that something so crass comes out of such a pretty thing like you.

“Wow. You got a mouth on you, huh?” 

But then it begins. No bars, no restrictions. Zoro’s gonna challenge you every step of the way, coming up with rude and worse things to say.

It’s a competition now. And Zoro never loses.

SANJI

Sanji’s no stranger to cursing. He’s a cook, after all - he has his own crass vocabulary to contend with.

Hearing it from you though? Someone so beautiful, seemingly innocent? 

Just like the rest of the crew, he’s heard just the same from Nami, but even still…

He blushes. Completely floored. 

“You're too pretty to be speaking like that, angel!”

He secretly likes it. In fact, he likes it so much that he has to control the places his mind goes when he hears you.

Whether you’re cursing out of anger, frustration, or just using it as an adjective, he always takes notice. 

LAW

Law is pretty crass himself, but even he has his limits.

The first few times he hears it, he doesn’t seem to comment or care. He lets it slide because it just doesn’t seem worth it. He may even find it funny or endearing, though he'd never let you know that.

Even if, in certain circumstances, he may feel that it’s needless.

Finally, after one particular day where you’ve had enough of his stern looks and you bust out your dictionary, he’s had enough.

“That mouth is going to get you into trouble one of these days.” 

That being said, if anyone else were to say that to you, he’d defend you with just as much of a crass mouth. He’s very familiar of the trouble a mouth like that will get you into, and a part of him secretly wishes to see it.

KIDD

This man is so much worse than you, so he finds it funny. 

“Finally - someone who can keep up with me!”

You guys feed off of each other. It’s not just a competition - it’s a goddamn talent show.

The rest of the crew on the Victoria Punk ranges from being humored, shocked, to annoyed.

It may be one of your most attractive qualities to him, quite honestly.

[bratbarzal]

Maggie you doing blurbs has made my whole week! Could I get “you celebrate this corny day?” “just say you’re lonely and have no one to spend it with, next time, ‘kay?” but with friends to lovers instead of enemies? With Quinn pleeeease <3

✩‧₊˚ bratbarzal's valentines event!˚₊‧✩

4. “you celebrate this corny day?” “just say you’re lonely and have no one to spend it with, next time, ‘kay?” with quinn (I took creative liberties with the exact phrasing of this but the essence is there lmao!! also love you for customising it, if anyone else is requesting feel free to jumble the tropes!!)

"You can't seriously be into all this stuff," Quinn huffs as he watches you pick up another heart shaped pillow down the seasonal aisle in the grocery store - your cart still empty despite being there almost 15 minutes, now - and the object in your hand having no conceivable difference to the one you picked up just before it. "It's so corny."

All he's heard for weeks now is Valentines this, and Valentines that, all his teammates going the extra mile for their significant others like it isn't just the same as any other Friday.

Dozens of roses, candlelit dinners, boxes of chocolates and God-forbid any of them forget a card, because how could you possibly ever show someone you love them without a folded bit of paper.

It's all so stupid.

"It's not corny, it's cute." You throw back over your shoulder, making a point of lifting the pillow higher just to show him, "Look, it's got ruffles!"

"What's the big deal about ruffles," he scowls, stepping past the cart and closer to the display that houses all the valentines themed garbage - pillows, keychains, water bottles and little plushies. He never thought you'd be into all this stuff - you barely even like Christmas - but here you are, fawning over anything you can find that's pink, or fluffy, or both. "You have like 90 pillows back in your apartment, I can barely fit on the couch anymore."

"There are 8 pillows max between both of my couches, Q, and they're decorative." You retort, rolling your eyes at your best friend as his face turns, nose scrunching in a petulant scowl. "I'm not taking interior design critique from someone with a sauna in his kitchen."

"It wouldn't fit anywhere else, you know that." he grumbles, snatching the pillow from your grip and throwing it back with the others.

"What's got you so annoyed about Valentines Day, huh?" you pick up the next item along, a fluffy keychain with cherries shaped like hearts - or hearts shaped like cherries, you're not quite sure - swinging the loop around your finger until you have enough momentum to launch it his way. "Did no one give Quinny a rose?"

He catches it, clumsily, against his chest, holding it in front of him to get a good look before he throws it straight back. "I'm not annoyed. You shouldn't have to buy any of this garbage to show somebody you love them. Just think it's a made up holiday set up to make money off of schmucks. "

"Hey, don't call me a schmuck," you jab a finger into his arm.

"Don't call me Quinny," he jabs back.

"If you don't have anybody to spend Valentines with and you're feeling lonely, you can just say that," You tell him, purposely bordering on condescending, picking up one of the stuffed animals - a bear, holding a heart that reads, I love you - and wiggling it his way. "See, we're all lovers, no one else here is gonna judge you."

He watches the way you pout down at the bear, tapping at its nose with your finger and hesitantly putting it back, like you don't quite want to.

"We're the only ones here, period," he scoffs, "No one else is weird enough to do their grocery shopping at 10pm."

"It was the only time you're free and I need you to haul the big bag of cat food into my car," you pout, remembering how much he had scolded you the last time you tried to do it on your own and hurt your back - promising that the next time you needed to top up, he'd come with and get his own shopping done at the same time.

"Whatever, you don't have anybody to spend Valentines with, either."

"I have Ziggy," you shrug, referring to your cat with the little white patch of fur around it's eye like a lightening bolt - the cat that Quinn had grumbled about when you first brought her home from the shelter, but who he always sought out whenever he came over to your place. "We're gonna watch Bake Off and eat dinner off of matching heart-shaped plates."

You hold up two red ceramic plates to him with a big smile before putting them in the cart, ignoring when he chuckles to himself, and edging past him to finally make your way off of the seasonal aisle.

"Hold on," he calls after you, appearing by your side with another plate in hand. "Ziggy already told me she'd be my Valentine, so we're gonna have to share."

"She's way too high maintenance for you." You snort, bumping your hip against his, "Especially if you think Valentines gifts are corny. She's not a cheap date, Q."

"Just like her mother," he sighs, dramatically, jumping back when you swing your leg out to kick him. "Hey, watch the shins, cat lady, you can't afford the damages on these things!"

He ignores the glare you give him as you watch him retreat, jogging back over to all the Valentines stuff and picking up two bears - the one you were just holding, and a smaller copy - one for you, and one for Ziggy.

"Here," he throws them into the cart, too. You pick the bear back up, twisting your lips as you look at the two of them side by side, and look back up to watch him walking backwards down the aisle, a glint in his eye as he watches you. "Don't check out without me, I need to go pick up some supplements."

"Big macho health-nut thinks I'm the corny one," you speak to the bear like it can even hear you, putting on a grumbly voice in an attempt to mimic Quinn.

"I'm sorry I called you corny!" He calls, further down the aisle, now.

"You called me a schmuck, too!" You call back, cheeks flushing at the lopsided grin he gives just before he rounds the corner at the bottom.

It's a smile he can't really shift as he makes a bee-line for the health aisle, content now that he actually has plans - isn't going to be sitting alone in his apartment with no one to spend his Valentines with, and doesn't need to fork out thousands just for it to mean something.

And when it rolls around a couple days later, and he's sprawled out on your couch, pillows tossed to the floor, and Bake Off flickering almost silently on your TV, he lays back with that same smile etched into his features.

You're asleep under one arm, and Ziggy is purring under the other, and for the first time ever, thanks to his best friend and your overly fluffy cat, he thinks that maybe the holiday isn't such a joke.

[king-candybug-backup]

What’s your favorite scene so far? Like not just to write but just in general.

Sad, happy, funny whatever, what’s your all time favorite? :D

OOOOHHHHH MAN. I HAVE AN EXACT SCENE IN MIND, BUT CAN’T SHARE IT YET BECAUSE IT’S IN ONE OF THE LAST CHAPTERS. 😂 I’ll give a very brief overview of what it entails, because I feel like the fact that it happens isn’t exactly a spoiler since it’s kind of inevitable given all of Candybug’s general assholery, though I’ll put it in small text in case people want to gloss over it, but basically *cough cough* Vanellope flips her goddamn lid at King Candy (long overdue and well-deserved ofc lmao) and I just can’t wait to get to that part, she tells him off VERY HARD. My favourite scene for sure. :3 (tbh there’s a lot of emotionally painful shit that comes up in that particular set of chapters that I’m just so unhinged and not normal about lmfao CAN’T WAIT TO HURT YOU GUYS MORE <333)

AS FOR SCENES OF THE ALREADY-COMPLETED CHAPTERS THOUGH, MAN, THAT’S ALSO TOUGH TO DECIDE TBH 😂 Chapter 3 and Chapter 8 have been my favourites overall of the published chapters so far, and a couple of my fave moments from those ones was a) Ralph finding out that Candybug’s still alive and the general fallout from that, and b) Candybug reminiscing to Felix and Vanny that he went through Ralph’s mud pile on purpose before coming inside the penthouse specifically to annoy Gene ghfdsgxdhcfgvhbjnkvgf

I also like these two a lot, idk exactly how to explain why I like the second one tbh, but the first one I just find fun and silly lol: 

“Alright, pipsqueak, what exactly did you mean by Cy-bug-related–” She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw the beastly hybrid in front of her.  “Hello there!” King Candy chipperly greeted her, adding on a friendly wave. “Why, aren’t you looking lovely today! Is that a new hairstyle? It suits your character model wonderfully.” “Layin’ it on a little too thick, there.” Vanellope whispered to him, an anxious grin plastered across her face. “Hmm, you think so?” He tapped his chin with one claw, eventually nodding in agreement. “Perhaps the hair comment was a tad much.”

I just like the whole vibe of like…

Vanellope: For the love of mod, please be nice.

Vanellope two minutes later: NOT THAT NICE.

Oh, KCB and his fake-ass bitch energy. 😂

And then this one:

For the longest time, it had been so hard to look at him and see anything aside from Turbo, the monster. The arcade’s personal boogeyman. The bitter, vile, heartless fiend that gleefully stole the lives away from so many people, herself included. But, with each passing day, it was becoming easier and easier to see him as Turbo, the person. Someone with feelings and interests and problems… Oh, so many problems. But still a person, like anybody else in the arcade. If she were being truly honest with herself, she hated it. She hated the dichotomy that came with seeing him in this light. She hated the ways in which she could find sympathy for him despite knowing just how undeserving he was of it. Knowing full well all the wrongs he’s done.  All of it rooted in that one particular wrong so many years ago. That one choice that she had never been able to wrap her head around, no matter how many times she’d heard the story. Now, it was time for her to understand. 

BUT HONESTLY I JUST LOVE THE WHOLE ROADBLASTERS CONFRONTATION IN GENERAL AGHSFDGJVBJNK, I LIKE DOING “NARC CRASH” STUFF WITH KING CANDY, IT MAKES MY BRAIN GO BRRRRRRRRRR

There’s also some fun Calhoun + Candybug interactions coming up eventually, and even though they don’t interact a whole lot as compared to the other characters, I love their stupid dynamic and I’m gonna share this one scene from one of the later chapters of Calhoun completely trolling him because it makes me giggle 😂

They sat in silence for a minute or two longer, Calhoun’s head tilted slightly to the side as she watched the Cy-bug eat. One more question had popped into her mind, and though she already knew the answer, she wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to have a little fun at this bastard’s expense. “So… Haven’t laid any eggs, have you?” King Candy immediately choked on his food, hacking and coughing while he tried, unsuccessfully, to regain whatever sense of composure he had five seconds ago. Turning away to jot something into her notebook (and hide the smirk on her face), she commented, “I’ll take that as a ‘not yet’.” “What do you mean ‘yet’?!” Candy’s distraught voice sputtered back, Calhoun trying very hard to muffle her snickering.

I JUST THINK THE FACT THAT SHE KNOWS WAY MORE ABOUT CY-BUGS THAN THE ACTUAL CY-BUG COULD MAKE FOR SOME VERY SILLY TROLLING SHENANIGANS. 😂

[creatingblackcharacters]

Hi, white aspiring author here! I've been tinkering with a story for years (coming up on 10... Eek!) and the main characters have shifted around a lot. Currently the cast is a Black princess and a red-headed witch! I was reading through your hair posts and trying to think about how the princess's class and standing, especially relative to the other kingdoms, would impact what kind of hairstyles she would be most likely to have, and which she may not even have access to. A few context bits I have regarding her story:

- the setting is so post-modern it wraps around back into pre-electricity (so, no one probably has straightened hair unless they have magic...?)

- her kingdom is objectively the most important due to heavy contributions to continental agriculture access

- her kingdom is culturally snubbed due to bias against connections to nature (there was a Humans vs Nature vs Magic war - tentative peace rn but aftermath is still palpable)

- she is loved and trusted by the citizens of her kingdom, and she trusts the people who work in the castle and as her handmaidens

- she is frequently on the go, especially as a child, but in recent years she's had to focus more on royal diplomacy

- her parents are trying to set up an arranged marriage due to the cultural tensions, so she's getting dressed up a lot (unwillingly)

- the plot really starts when she leaves the castle to adventure with the witch

So I'm thinking about like... How her main hairstyle is probably going to change pre-plot versus mid-plot! Before leaving the castle she has the time, wealth, and help for something like microbraids, or even microbraids that make bigger braids. But I'd imagine that'd get very difficult to maintain after a week of hiking around the woods and up and down mountains, much less months of traversing the continent. Another thing I'm wondering about is if it'd be more reasonable to assume she has enough basic practice and skills to maintain her hair with a lower maintenance style on her own after leaving, or if that's something she's starting from near-scratch with, having her hair done by someone else her whole life thus far? As in, would it be more realistic for her to remember her childhood styles and try the twist out, or would she have self-braiding skills as a young adult? She has a great amount of dexterity in general, but I'm not sure if general dexterity translates to braiding dexterity (mostly because I've tried braiding my own hair and suck at it, despite being good with things like knitting). I'd imagine that's the kind of thing where practice goes a long way?

Anyway I apologize for the wall of text but thank you very much for that master post, I'm going to keep reading through it because it's really helping me conceptualize this character a lot more in-depth, and it's helping to give context to minor world building considerations too! Really developing the details like this is my favorite thing to do, because once I have enough everything just kinda clicks and springs to life on its own! So I hope this isn't too long ;;

Hot combs don't require electricity, so people could have straight hair! It's just gonna take longer.

This really depends on your character. If you give her the skill to do her own hair, she'll have it lol. If you're implying that she always had servants who did it, then she won't. So if what you're saying is she's doing it from scratch, then no, she won't know what to do. No one just has good braiding skills lmao, you have to practice on yourself and on others. There's a reason doing hair is such a community experience.

Microbraids is a hell of a style to get stuck with when you don't know how to do your own hair 😅 they'll be fine while having them, but getting them down by herself at some point is gonna be a BITCH. I'd rather cut my shit off fr 😭 but that's why I never got micros, I'm far too impatient. Can the witch do hair lmao? Is the witch trusted enough to help take it down or magic it out? Does she get to come back to the castle every now and then for new styles, or is she just out and about? And for how long? Because if she wants more flexibility, the braids are probably not it.

I think everyone struggling with this sort of question should have their characters practice doing four simple plaits or cornrows on their head 😅 like it's gonna suck the first time, but practice makes perfect.

[theknightlywolfe]

Also, people think Vi has a complex, nuanced view of the world to understand how the systems of the world/politics affects her and the people of the Lanes. Where would she have developed this? Zaun clearly has zero education system. Vander is busy running a bar and keeping the Lanes in order while managing a truce with Sheriff Grayson. When would he have time, if he even truly understood himself (which the whole disaster of a bridge fight the series opens with would imply he didn't, he couldn't even get over a bridge), to teach politics, economics, and history to Vi to give her a basis to understand that things are more complex than us vs them? I seriously doubt that Stillwater had a prisoner education, get your Piltover GED program. (Even in the US where we have a long standing public education system and a private one so many people have zero concept of the systems of opression or even the systems of the government.)

She may be able to keep up on what is going on in Zaun because Zaunites are constantly being thrown in Stillwater. But that doesn't mean she cares beyond what it may mean for the people she cares about.

I mean this woman's thought process to finding Silco was "find out which of his staff goes to a brothel and then go punch them for information" and her first move after the factory raid was "go punch Sevika some more for pride" and not even "go to the next Shimmer factory". Not exactly tactical genius on display (let's be real, Ekko got all of it).

I said it before but the series pretty clearly shows us that Vi and Caitlyn as a team at the start of their collaboration have the ability to fix things between Piltover and Zaun if they had a systemic view of things. Vi had the position in and understanding of Zaun society and Caitlyn the resources and influence to build support systems to feed, clothe, heal, and educate Zaunites. But Caitlyn was naive and focused on playing detective while Vi had no concept of building anything and was purely focused on her sister. Someone else did a post about how the caring, empathetic daughter treated Zaun after her mother died vs how the jaded, severe, class conscious mother treated Zaun after her daughter died (i personally don't think Caitlyn is dead just Jayce and Vi but we never see Caitlyn to know) in using the Gray v the alternate world Ekko landed in. And that difference literally comes down to good intent vs good understanding.

Vi might know people well enough to know how to push them away and pull them in, which is what she would have picked up watching Vander and making her way in prison, but her mentality extends only as far as her eyesight.

ETA: As a note on my comment about Zaun's lack of education and lack of tactical knowledge that results, it should be noted that the only time a Zaunite attack successfully crosses the bridge into Piltover is when Ambessa is involved. (Jinx and Sevika's sneaking in isn't to Piltover, the colorful gasses are done from the Zaun side, and Warwick is a Franken-wolf made from corpses.)

Oil & Water, cupcake

I was rewatching the "Vi in front of the council" scene from season 1 of Arcane. And it's just super funny to me. So the setup is:

Caitlyn: Silco is the big baddie of the undercity. The only reason why you didn't know was because Marcus was lying to you. Jayce: is upset about the bridge attack. He wants to go after Jinx with violent force. Mel: That could trigger war, war is bad. Caitlyn: is worried about the casualties. Mel: wants to negotiate with Silco now that they know what he wants.

Vi is outraged that they want to negotiate with Silco and storms off.

She then has her big oil and water conversation with Caitlyn about how Piltover and Zaun are like Oil and Water and they can never work together just like Caitlyn and Vi can never work out, making Caitlyn cry.

... and then the first thing Vi does is NOT to go back to the undercity. Nope. After just rejecting Caitlyn's offer to come up with a new plan together, Vi goes to Jayce, a different Piltie.

1.) It just intensely amuses me that after like 3 sentences of Jayce Vi immediately recognized him a kindred spirit who she could easily rope into a violent revenge plan. Against the stated wishes of both their girlfriends.

2.) I wasn't really deep into CaitVi discourse in season 1, so I wonder, did we talk about how Vi's speech about oil and water is complete bullshit? And I don't mean that in a meta way, I mean this as: Vi is bullshitting Caitlyn? Yes, I get blabla, Vi is feeling down, she's pushing Cait away. But actually from what is going on on a pure action point of view, Vi is telling Cait Pilties and Zaunites can't work out and then immediately turns around and teams up with a different Piltie to fight fellow Zaunite Silco together?

Like the problem was never that Vi is disappointed that the council didn't help her or that she doesn't think the relationship with Cait can work out. The real "problem" is here that Vi thinks Cait is too kind hearted and cares too much about collateral damage. (which, you know, is deeply ironic considering season 2...)

In that sense, the Oil and Water convo has shades of Vi ditching Caitlyn at the brothel. Deciving and distracting Caitlyn so she can do her own thing.

Vi wants to go after Silco at all costs. Mel is worried that going down after him will trigger all out war. Cait is worried that innocents will get hurt. Vi cares about neither of those things. She is deeply upset at the thought that the council might try to negotiate with Silco.

So she goes after Jayce because Jayce wanted to do the same things as her "We've been talking about talking for weeks now. They're still cleaning the blood off the bridge. When do we say enough is enough?"

I think it's worth noting how masterfully Vi manipulates the shit out of Jayce here. Praising him for being smart, telling him he is a victim (aka insiutating that he's allowed to strike back), suggesting that Cait would want him to strike when we know that is a total lie. [note that I don't think that is a bad thing, like I love Vander and think he likely has his own way of using charisma and I love Silco of course]

Another interesting thing of the council scene of course is that it already shows shades of "Vi thinks Poweder and Jinx are two different people and she's okay with selling out Jinx". That's why she gives Jinx's name to the council. That's why she tells Cait in season 2 that it's okay to take the shot on Jinx.

I think it's also worth noting just how many Zaunites Vi murderizes/helps murderize with the help of enforcers in the factory raid. Beyond just the kid.

And how many more people including children she likely helps send to Stilwater

after just complaining to Jayce how bad Stilwater is.

And after getting tons of Zaunites killed and arrested in her quest for revenge because she is mad that Silco "ruined" Powder, the first thing Vi wants to do is do more raid, kill and arrest even more people.

I want to shout this from the roottops: VI DOES NOT HAVE A SYSTEMIC VIEW ON OPPRESSION. Vi does not give a shit about the undercity people when it comes to pursing her own family goals.

I think it's interesting in the context of season 2, how these threads continue for Vi. Again similarity with Vi giving Jinx's name to the council in 1x08 versus saying she's in favor of killing Jinx at the beginning of season 2.

And how she's willing to carve a bloody path through the undercity with the help of enforcers just to hurt Silco and dismantle his shimmer production. (again at this point it was explicitly stated in the council scene that Silco's core goal is the Nation of Zaun, so Vi knows this and is apparently not impressed) So is her willing to take out the rest of the Chem Barons using the Grey really that different? The only difference is that Caitlyn makes her formally wear the uniform.

It's also interesting to read this in the context of the progression of Caitlyn and Vi's relationship. Like if you read Oil and Water not as a tragic breakup but as Vi lying to Caitlyn because she sees Caitlyn as being in the way of Vi's quest for revenge. Vi ditching Cait and feeling bad or not bad about it is a theme in season 1. It leads to Cait being kidnapped and Cait's mom being killed.

I can see how this leads to Vi's guilt. I don't really see the "family dinner scene" as necessarily "Vi is already deeply in love with Cait and so can't bear to see Jinx hurt her". But more as "Vi sees Cait as a relatively well meaning innocent who doesn't deserve this treatment and also Jinx is acting kind of unhinged".

Cait got Vi out of Stillwater, tagged along, Vi tried to ditch her, Cait saved her from being killed, Cait healed her, Cait got kidnapped by the Firelights, Cait tried to make things right via the council, Vi again tried to ditch Cait and started an ill fated revenge. And then Vi gets a front row seat for Cait's grief over her mom.

This is of course where in season 2 Cait starts showing obsessive and vengeful tendencies and a more prejudiced attitude towards Zaunites.

It's also interesting in how far the season 2 raids continue the threads of 1x08, on one hand Caitlyn still talking about avoiding additional bloodshed, but also it being a continuation of Vi's bloody "dismantle Shimmer" operation (that maybe ends up going too far/veering into the wrong direction).

So the question is when and Vi actually falls for Caitlyn. My personal take as a more casual/occasional CaitVi enjoying person who was never deep in the fandom.

I think Vi saw Caitlyn was hot but basically thought from the start that anything there was a bad idea. Plus she was distracted by her family goals.

I think Caitlyn had feelings very quickly, probably starting to blossom around the "I can tell you have a good heart".

I do think there's an element there of Vi seeing Caitlyn as this well meaning sheltered good thing, the one bright spot. Again especially since imo she's respulsed by Zaun and how much it has changed on her. And yes it's super frustrating that her not feeling attached to Zaun, not seeing the beauty in Zaun seems to include Ekko. Like she is clearly admiring the tree and everything, but her thirst for revenge against Silco is stronger. It seems to me like she still lumps Ekko in with the people who have changed on her and who she doesn't fully recognize and feel at home with.

I think there's some guilt there for having "dirtied up" Cait's life. (again once more: Vi doesn't have a systemic view enough to see Cait as inherently dirtly for being an oppressor of fully grasping that maybe Cait finds it easier to be optimistic and sweet and kind because she grew up cozily, imo she just sees a kindness that she's drawn to and maybe doesn't fully understand)

I'm curious if there was ever any thinking on Amanda's side that turning Cait dark would be an interesting challenge to Vi falling for Cait for her kindness but also Vi discounting/wanting to exclude Caitlyn from certain things maybe with the idea of "Cait is too kind for that, I should go behind her back".

For the record, I don't think that Vi's motivation is just "being pissy that Silco stole Powder or that Silco killed Vander and now rules in his stead". I do think she does on some level see the plight of the undercity, and her analysis/conclusion that Shimmer is at fault for everything just happens to be very shallow. (again repeat after me: VI DOES NOT HAVE A SYSTEMIC VIEW ON THE WORLD

Stop pretending she was an enlightened Marxist/leftist in season 1 when she spent a good chunk of season 1 being very much the opposite of that and blaming Silco while comparatively making excuses for Piltover)

[unlimited-nobu-works]

[youremyonlyhope]

why won't my brain shut up why won't my brain shut up why won't my brain shut up why won't my brain shut up

[bibiana112]

Girl are you okay? Cause you've been looking through the "My lesbian experience with loneliness" tag again

Well the short answer is no :D

[tyliocellier]

Nobody ever fucks and then gets breakfast and doesn't end up somewhere between a rock and a hard place. "They don't?" He asked, and even though it was asked sort of absentmindedly, it was still an earnest question. She sounded as though she'd had this experience before. Did she? Maybe it was simply a more common experience than he realized. It could very well be the case...he was kind of rusty in the dating department. For several years now, his sole focus had been work and basically nothing else. The fact that he took this vacation was quite a miracle by itself and it had been spurred on by one of his friends after they found out that he hadn't taken a break for a whole year. Thinking about it now, it did sound rather extreme. Time just seemed to flow so quickly when he was working...one assignment after another...before he knew it, the year was over.

The more Anna explained her reasoning, the more it started to make sense to Tylio. It was much easier to reject someone she didn't know very well and to do it fast was kind of merciful in a way. Better than stringing someone along. "I understand", he concurred with a short nod of his head, because he did agree that it was very easy for things to get complicated. She'd sort of done him a favor in letting him know very quickly and concisely. Besides...their night together had truly boosted his mood so much it was hard to be too upset about anything right now.

"I've not been in this situation many times but...I know people can be complicated. I think that might be one of the reasons vacations are so enjoyable. It's very simple - go to a nice place, do the things you enjoy for a few days and then leave. Speaking of which, have you been in this city before? I don't vacation a lot...actually, almost never. I've been told it's a problem." He smiled for a moment, vaguely amused at the memory of his friend. While he spoke, he grabbed his jacket as well and put it on, briefly checking his pockets for his phone and keys. Once he had everything, he turned to look at her once more. "I told myself that while I'm here, I'd do at least one thing someone suggests to me. Maybe you've got some ideas you can give me over coffee? I'm ready to go if you are."

She bites back a smile when he agrees. God, she wishes he wasn't so...agreeable. Not to mention charming, sweet, kind...A deep breath, trying to keep her thoughts from wandering too far down that road. No, she couldn't. Couldn't handle anything serious right now...Hell, she probably never would--not after the last one. And that was OK. Or at least that's why she constantly tried to tell herself.

Not a date. And yet he still wanted to go out with her for coffee? Honestly, she was surprised. Then again, maybe he thought he could change her mind once they were sitting down at a coffee shop and chatting. He wouldn't, though...No matter how much she admired his maturity and respect.

But, ah...There it was.

She sighs, rolling her eyes a little, though she's still got a charming smile on her face. A little hum. "I wouldn't say it's a fear, more of an inclination," she explains with a small wave of her hand. "You know? Like, nobody ever fucks and then gets breakfast and doesn't end up somewhere between a rock and a hard place..." Maybe that was a bit harsh, but marriage could be a terrifying thing...A hard thing. Something most men weren't ready for.

"Look, rejection is easy to do after one night of really good sex," she continues, as if the previous explanation wouldn't be enough to persuade. "But once you add dancing and breakfast and all that comes after, it gets..." She shrugs pointedly. "Complicated."

[edge-oftheworld]

something that’s extremely underappreciated in my eyes, as a vegan and also a human with a decent understanding of mental health, is when someone with a platform promotes plant based options without turning on the guilt for someone’s dietary choice (which is often restrained by things they have no idea what are like).

I think of the many scandals the smiths have gotten into in the past as another of—unfortunately many—examples of where a drive for animal justice leads people to promote literal fascism and racism. and then I think of things like. michael and crystal recommending vegan food places from time to time. hearing the experience of calum being at a festival looking for pescatarian food. luke deciding to show us his shopping basket that just happened to have plant based pies in it—out of all the meat options that four n twenty offers. no guilting. as far as we know no band members are even vegan. but little things like this do FAR more for normalising swapping out meat sometimes than straight up promoting it as a lifestyle choice and commitment. and that’s what really makes a difference on a larger scale—in terms of demand for meat, climate impacts, and demand for vegan alternatives. we can celebrate, say, oli sykes or billie eilish for promoting veganism and the charities each of them has had a hand in building—I’m not saying they’ve done anything wrong by that—but we can also celebrate this. the little things. people doing it imperfectly too and showing us it’s possible, there’s no need to let impossible standards stop us from doing something.

[inmirova]

"it's easier to leave an abusive situation than it is to stop an abuser" :^( but it's not easy :^(

[pastelbluebutch]

Literally just venting

[blizzardfluffykpop]

I've been working on the same fic for what feels like months because I've wanted already to be out. I craved it being done since the 16th of February when the idea was presented to be by a dear friend. (We rotted so bad because of him...) ANYWAYS 😭😭😭 I'm about to cry happy tears- I finally finished it- I feel exalted tbh- (I forgot to mention it's scheduled for tomorrow at 1030 est~)

If you would like a spoiler for who it is about & what kind of an au it is- and the outfit that ran me insane- See below~

It's a mechanic au with Mr. Kim Younghoon (now originally, he was going to be in dark blue coveralls... (as I had picture him) but then I saw this photo & the performance and I've not been the same). This is Kpopnation: Warsaw, Poland: 230923 (was I only going to use 1? yeah but he: yeah)

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: NSFW, dubcon, bathroom sex, bullying, overall just really filthy smut, virgin insert, virginity loss, somewhat dom reader, somewhat bully reader, somewhat yandere reader

��� FEM reader

You look like one of those girls that never smiles. Like, if he were to take that empty seat next to you in the lecture hall, you’d scowl with stink eyes and then proceed to fully ignore him. Yeah, a real bitch. That's what you look like—scary. He bets all your socials are filled with the same picture—the same deadpanned pouty face over and over, every single one with hundreds of likes and comments saying “Wow, babe!” followed by a dozen emojis from besties and horny admirers. Selfies in the mirror, showing off skin in your tight tops and short skirts—similar to the outfit you’re wearing now. Captions saying, “You can look, but you could never touch.” Yeah, he bets you’re a real attention whore. And the worst part is that you’re not even overselling, either. You’re gorgeous—even with that sour look on your face, he’d pay cold, hard-earned cash in exchange for a pair of your worn panties.

Yeah, there’s no way he’d dare sit next to you. He’s already sweating bullets just thinking about it. Even though you’re one in a million similar girls who wouldn’t give him the time of day, he's still one in a million loser incels who would do anything for it. And that’s the cold reality.

Even if he’d like to get just a whiff of your sweet perfume, he can’t. The status quo forbids it. He’s afraid the jocks will smell fresh blood in the water the moment he does, then swarm him in a matter of seconds, circling before tearing him to shreds. They’d beat him to a pulp in the bathroom, smash his head in over the sink—piss in the toilet, then flush it down with his bloodied face—and he’d have to walk reeking of it all the way home.

So, no—he really can’t sit next to you. 

But no other seats are available, and the lecture is starting soon… 

Why did absolutely everyone decide to show up today?

Oh fuck it, this isn’t high school. College bullies surely don’t bother with petty cases like this, right? They’re all about their frat initiations and rivalries to have enough spare time to beat him up over improper seating. Oh, but what if you’re one of their girlfriends—you’ll tell on him, and then he’ll definitely be beaten up, maybe even killed.

No. He’s overthinking—like always. No one is that mean. If you don’t like him sitting there, you’ll just tell him. And he’ll move. No harm done. Right? He’s not sitting in the stairwell when there’s a perfectly good and empty seat right there, right? Is he?

Yes. Yes, he is. 

“Hey, if you’re looking for a seat, this one’s empty,” a sweet voice calls out over his inner monologue, making him clutch the strap of his bookbag tighter with a flinch of his entire rigid body—his eyes peeled as he looked around to try and find the source of the sound even though he knew where it had come from. It’s as if the possibility of your voice sounding like anything aside from a she-demon was out of the question. But no, it is you. 

But there’s no way you’re talking to him, so he looks around again—there must be someone else in need of the seat aside from him. But then, why are you looking right at him? Are you pulling some type of prank? Are you really that cruel? You’re probably filming him or something—live-streaming—the chat’s blaring with ew, what a creep and omg, uggo alert right about now. He should just go home before the jocks, along with the rest of the internet, can get him.

“Are you okay?” you ask—but no, he must be hearing you wrong—there’s just no way, even though you’re looking right at him. “I think it’s starting soon—you should probably sit.”

It’s as if his fight or flight response is broken because he does the exact opposite of either—as if on autopilot, sitting down in a rush against his better judgment.

The lecture starts shortly, solidifying his choice, but he can’t pay attention. No, he needs to keep his guard up. Any second now, someone’s going to do a drive-by and throw a milkshake at him or something vile of the like, and you’ll have filmed it all even though he can’t spot you holding a phone—and then the entire hall would burst into laughter at his expense.

“Pst—” A soft whisper comes from next to him, from between the gloss of your pretty lips. You smell like candy and fruit, and it makes his gut tighten—both from anxiety and something more shameful. “I’m sorry to bother you, but do you have a pen I could borrow? Mine’s all out’a ink.”

You give him an awkward smile, and he very nearly runs away. But no, he’s glued to the seat—with nervously wrecked hands shaking as he bends for his bag and unzips it, reaching for his pencil case painfully slow as if disarming some type of bomb. Redoing the same when he opens the case and rummages for a viable pen he could offer.

When he hands it to you, he’s almost sure you plan to stab him with it. But you do no such thing.

“Thanks, you’re a lifesaver!” You cheer instead, beaming with a much brighter smile than before. “I owe you!”

His ears ring with your praise. Blushing beat red as he rips away from your gaze—still unable to focus on what the professor is preaching—not when from out of the corner of his eye, he can see you sucking on his pen like a lollypop—or something else not so innocent.

Oh, he’d been so wrong.

So, so, so very wrong.

You do smile. You smile a lot, actually. You just have one of those faces that rests bitchy. But still, bubbly airhead or not, a girl like you still shouldn't be seen with a loser like him. It’s social suicide. And still, you’re on your knees before him in a dirty little bathroom stall—the same dirty bathroom stall he feared getting a swirlie, scraping the walls with his nails to try and thwart his assailants—only, now clutching the walls for a much different reason, holding on for his mortal soul as you seek to suck it out of his fat throbbing cock.

You want to repay him—you’d said—for the pencil. He hadn't understood why you’d winked at him before you’d all but dragged him off and flung him inside the men’s bathroom, having his very life flash before his eyes.

You both make the sloppiest sounds as you make an utter mess on and of him, making him cry on all fronts—cock weeping with thick pearly beads of pre while his eyes well up with tears down his flushed face, all sweaty with panic and bliss. 

The moans springing from his chest are virginal and raw and sweet music to your ears, panting for you like a puppy—you’re sure they can hear him out in the hallway when passing by. One of his hands clasps itself on top of his mouth, holding tightly to keep it all within—eyes shut and brows cinched. And yet, he makes no effort to shove you off—hips left jerking and jittering in response to your refined technique where you take him deeply, all the way down to the base, hallowing your cheeks, throttling him with your throat as your tongue wipes his creamy slit clean.

It’s painfully clear he’s never experienced anything like it, but that’s what turns you on the most. Sick as you are, you could suck him dry and savor every drop of him, knowing you’re the first ever to get a taste. But no, by now, your pussy’s so soaked you feel yourself dripping past the soggy lace of your panties, running down your soft thighs in waste.

He’s misty-eyed when you pull off with an ever-cruel pop—a sick mix of relief and sorrow warping his chest, feeling conflicted by the pulse making him think he’s on the verge of a heart attack if you continue—and another strumming his cock, making him think he’s going to keel over and die if you leave him unfinished.

Even so, he’s in a state of complete shell shock as you mount him on top of the toilet seat he’s melting against. Chest heaving, watching you as you lift your skirt up and peal your slick underwear to the side for him to lay his bleary swiveled eyes on your bared and dripping pussy.

“I love nice guys like you—” you moan, pouring the honeyed words down his throat as you ghost his parted lips with your spit-slicked ones, straddling his lap and shimmying ever closer until your tits squish against his chest. “They make me so wet, I lose all self-control.” 

He gulps in your shadow, looking up at you for mercy—cock twitching painfully between your thighs as your wrap your hand around his base real snug, giving him a nice tug as you line him up with your needy heat—making him all but squeal beneath you.

Your other hand makes its way into his hair, braiding your fingers within the locks to hold him steady—gently pulling his head back while leering down at him like caught prey. Playing with him just so, teasing him with your words, all in your sultry voice, making his head spin hot with a fever, “You’ll be a good boy and fuck me, won’t you? Pretty please?”

His breaths are heavy and wet, coming out shaky with his instant answer, “Y-yes—” all weak in a pathetic whimper that almost has you cum too soon.

“You’re so nice~ thank you,” you croon against his lips, kissing him sloppily with your tongue in his mouth as you shift your hips and start lowering your sopping cunt down upon his seeking length, taking him in with greedy ease, eagerly gripping his soft cockhead like a toy in a claw machine.

“Fhu—fuck—” he stutters under his breath, whinging before planting his teeth into his lip to keep it at bay—feeling like putty beneath you, sweaty and heavy and dumb, eagerly wanting all which you sought to give him—only more flushed at your mean undertones as you play with him like food on a silver platter.

You sling your arms around his neck and push your chest harder against him, moaning all too brazenly, “Oh! Fuck yes—that’s so good,” you sing while slowly taking him in further. “A nice guy with a big bad bully’s dick is the best!” 

He whines in return as his inches get eaten—each devoured one by one until his tip kneads into the mouth of your womb.

Sighing happily, you kiss his cheek and put your lips right at his ear with another wanton whimper, “You fill me up so so good.” Roosting on the size, thighs resting flush against his, feeling all giddy as it stretches you out oh-so-nicely. “Such a good toy-cock for me,” keening at the way it twitches inside you, pulsing in response to your tight walls, clenching it in ways it’s never before felt.

His eyes are already rolling back into his skull once you start lolling your hips—riding him, but keeping him deep at all times—lifting just enough for it to pull out only a little before sinking back down, making it settle into that perfect needy little spot inside you that makes your whole body shiver in delight.

“Mmh,” You suck his ear lobe, releasing it with a soft bite, before smiling down at him and his sweat-pilled expression. Cooing at him, “You’re a virgin, aren’t you?”

He can’t even answer with words anymore, only giving a dumb mewl as he nods his head. But, of course, you’re already well aware.

“Mmh—” your eyes gleam with delight, giving his lap a mean ride, leaving him all but breathless, before asking, “D’you like it, virgin boy? ‘You like my pussy? Like the way it milks your chubby cock for your cum?”

He nods again, even more eagerly this time—looking downright pathetic in every sense of the word.

“Do you want to?” you offer to his desperation, feeling as though he’s falling apart at your fingertips, needing you to hold him together. “I’ll let you since you’re such a sweet guy—” you tease while clenching his cock, making it impossible to want anything else no matter the consequence. “In exchange for a favor, of course.”

He couldn’t care less what the favor was—way beyond willing to pay any price you ask of him as he finally makes a move and grabs your hips with a strength you hadn’t thought he had the balls to perform, planting you down firmly and holding you with such need as his hips jitter and stutter—resting his cheek on your shoulder in drool and tears with a lovesick groan leaving him as he fills your pussy up with his creamy spend.

His whole body shakes—spasming in cute little aftershocks as he clutches onto your body, hugging you tightly.

You respond in kind, cuddling him and kissing the top of his head. “That was so warm and filling—what a good boy—you did so well,” you murmur ever-sweetly while petting his head, combing through his sweaty locks with your long glitter-pink nails—keeping your voice saccharine. “Did you enjoy yourself, hm? Your first time cumming in pussy instead of your dirty ol’ sock?”

You pick his face up—cupping his sloppy jaw in both palms—his eyes half-mast and glazed as you nose-kiss him with a smile on your face.

“You loved it, didn’t you? Silly virgin boy…”

Your cunt tingles at the sight of him—wrecked beauty, sweaty and undone. You feel his cock unswell inside you and decide to lift off and release him—letting it flop out and splat on his tummy in a puddle of slick.

“Look,” you fuss, holding his face in direction of it. “You made such a pretty mess—isn’t it lovely?”

Your pussy is left glistening and puffy, still wanting and waiting for its final hurrah. Your breath turns headier and so does your voice, now with a new darkness to it as  you whisper, “Time for that favor, sweet boy.” 

He blinks dumbly, impossibly hopeless, wrapped so tightly around your pinky it’s pitiful. Of course, you take advantage—guiding his head to level with your cunt. 

“Open wide, tongue out flat.”

He obeys wordlessly. And oh god it makes your gut stir viscously—watching his tongue loll free between parted lips.

Your voice flares with bliss at the sight, shy of unhinged, as you giggle breathily, “That’s right—taste the pretty mess you made.”

He’s pushed face-first, trapped between your thighs with his jaw like an open cup beneath you, tonguing the mixed slick from your slit and slurping it all up without shame.

And fuck—it feels so good, you lose even more of your mind while tugging him even closer—all but pulling him off the toilet seat, making him kneel down on the floor instead. And still, he makes no effort to escape, but the opposite—seeking to go deeper into your cunt, crying into you as he laps up every last drop of yours and his arousal—making your thighs quake around him, grinding down against his mouth, onto his eager tongue, having it pet your clit over and over until you also come to the same sudden stumbling halt.

“Yes—yes! Oh, fuck! I’m gonna—it’s coming—”

And there it goes, ripping along your loins, surging from your lower belly. With both your hands tangled harshly in his hair, he’s not going anywhere, lips locked with yours as it starts pouring.

You’re squirting on him—hot and hard—on his tongue, inside his mouth, down his throat, in his belly. You’re squirting on him and he’s drinking it, he realizes—but even so, he isn’t able to stop. Instead, he unwinds his jaw even wider, digs his tongue deeper, and accepts every drop of the warm stream as it drenches his face and splashes down his collar and shoulders, utterly soaking his shirt, making in see-through as it clings to his chest like a second skin.

You’ve closed your eyes and thrown your head back, basking in every last little twitch of your body as you relieve yourself all over his face.

Finally, after a moment, you let go of his hair and step back—feeling refreshed and happy with your work—seeing the poor loser sit before the toilet, all drenched and exhausted with his limp cock spent and messy, looking like a beautiful wreck.

You smile, pulling your panties back in place, and you skirt down again before unlocking the stall and opening the door, only looking back at him for a moment, tapping your nail at a few matching pink scribbles written on the wall. “Here’s my number and address if you wanna have more fun." And then you leave, just like that. "Bye-bye~”

♡ BNHA – Amajiki, Deku, Shigaraki, Shinso ♡ JJK – Yuuta, Choso, Nanami ♡ HQ – Kageyama, Kenma ♡ CSM – Denji ♡ BLLK – Isagi ♡ DS – Zenitsu ♡ WB – Sakura, Nirei

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[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."

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

-L xooxoxooxox