#the first time he sees snow he fucking despises it

[anidiotwithfanfiction]

Dawning on me as I write for Nathan for the first time but the most unrealistic thing about his character to me is that he, as a floridian, never says "Y'all".

I say this, as a Floridian. It's not like we have much of a country accent or anything but yall specifically is so ingrained in me and many of my fellow florida born pals that I'm kinda surprised.

[atrwriting]

future problems — coriolanus snow x fem!wife!reader

hi everyone :) jumping on the bandwagon

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

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

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

anyways… here is future problems:

he never wanted to get married.

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

despised them.

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

and it would be you.

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

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

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

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

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

but then… oh, then…

then he saw your smile.

oh, your smile.

your fucking smile.

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

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

no one.

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

and it was… until he was sick.

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

however, he did not expect one problem.

and that would be you.

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

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

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

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

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

but he couldn’t finish the thought.

because you walked in.

smelling like fucking lilacs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he scrunched his eyes at the door, swallowing hard.

however, he didn’t understand why.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he had to know. he had to.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

why. why. why.

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

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

the act would drop. it always did.

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

and he fucking hated himself for it.

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

but you had kept reading for him.

he grew angry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

that would have to be righted immediately.

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

they always slip.

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

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

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

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

"good evening," you greeted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

so he went with what was natural: manipulation.

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

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

“what troubles you?” he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“please,” he answered and nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

for research purposes, of course. only research purposes,

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

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

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

how had he not expected this?

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

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

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

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

good and honest. how fucking unfortunate.

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

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

he hated himself for the lilacs.

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

however, it didn’t.

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

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

he knew what he had to do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“which one are you?” coriolanus inquired.

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

now was the time.

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

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

damn, he thought. didnt bite.

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

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

he nodded.

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

“i don’t understand.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

oh.

you invited him in to… to…

that he had not expected.

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

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

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

what was he to do?

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

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

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

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

he reasoned a reward was in order.

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

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

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

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

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

he shut the door behind him, keeping your gaze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he jumped then. “teeth,” he spat.

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

a low hum filled his chest.

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

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

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

you had to do something.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you nodded, looking into his eyes through the mirror.

he cocked an eyebrow.

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

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

oh… you were done for.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you grasped onto him and threw yourself back.

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

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

his breaths were heavy, similar to yours.

“corio…” you whimpered, almost whining.

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

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

“what’re you sorry for?” he demanded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i promise,” you returned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he chuckled darkly. "watch it, sweetheart."

---

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

-L xooxoxooxox

[eph3merall]

dealer!chris x innocent!bff!reader hcs 🦌

dealer!chris . . . who always has a part of his mind thinking about you. what are you up to? classes? work? friends? hangouts? he'll text you and pretend to not care much, but deep down he just doesn't want to admit how much he worries over this girl who is just his friend.

innocent!bff!reader . . . loves and adores all things autumn. her clothes are fall staples that include lots of denim and earthy tones. so whenever she's hanging out with chris and sees something to add to her closet or keep as a trinket or decoration, she'll look up to chris with pretty lil' eyes and how could he deny her? sometimes he'll purposefully look away and shove her away from the store because she keeps burning a hole through his pocket.

dealer!chris . . . despises situations where innocent!bff!reader roped into his 'job'. there are shady people buying some strong shit from him, and he knows matt would also screw him over if innocent!bff!reader got harmed because of him. matt sees you as a best friend, someone he needs to protect because his brother is a little fucking stupid sometimes. dealer!chris always tries avoiding problems when it seems as if you're gonna get involved with any of his deals.

innocent!bff!reader . . . who's had a boyfriend or two before. she's just never had sex, and once she told chris he was laughing at her and giggling with his eyes all red. 'fuckin'... you're jokin', right kid?' and when she tells chris she's dated less than five people he's laughing harder. gosh, what an asshole.

dealer!chris . . . always carries a lighter with a printed cat photo on it that innocent!bff!reader glued/taped onto it. keeps a picture of her in his wallet as well—a polaroid of her awhile back in the winter, running into the horizon as snow fell around her frame. he could hear the giggles she made just by looking at the photo.

innocent!bff!reader . . . who has severe nosebleeds once every few months or so. it'll get so bad to the point she's crying because she thinks she's gonna die—with chris grumbling all annoyed with his hand fisting her hair so it doesnt get caked in blood. sometimes hes high and just stares at times while she yells at him to get her a hairtie or to grab ahold of most of her hair.

dealer!chris . . . who's, again, literally just an asshole to everyone. you're barely an exception. one second he'll be laughing with you and once he's with a buyer or some of his friends, he'll act like you're some dirt on his shoe. plus he's just plain ol' mean. wont take bullshit from anyone, not even his brothers. matt pisses him off more than nick does. but of course, they're his brothers. so he isnt.. that mean.

innocent!bff!reader . . . who grew up sheltered from everything in life. her parents are overprotective and she's their only child—only serving to make them more anxious when she's out. met chris through nick since the two were in a class together. something clicked and they've been hanging out ever since, usually in groups. chris and his friends are nott a good influence on her. but her mother doesn't have to know, does she?

dealer!chris . . . lovess cute coupley things. he just won't ever admit it to anyone he knows, not even his brothers if they ask or jab at him. secretly, he loves it when innocent!bff!reader hugs him tight or brushes her fingers across his skin. but he'll always stick to his go-to response—a scoff and he's pushing her away, muttering some shit like 'god, fuckin'.. annoying as hell always touchin' me.'

innocent!bff!reader . . . tries getting herself off with her fingers for the first time in awhilee since meeting chris because he just makes her feel so weird. all hot and bothered and it's gotten so overwhelming that humping her pillow alone in her dorm room isn't enough, so she's sliding her fingers inside her cunt slowly and mewling all softly in the privacy of her dorm room. she doesn't even realize that she secretly wants chris to see her like this.

dealer!chris . . . fucks with girls left and right. a new chick at each party that he sells some drugs to, and, if they're pretty enough.. he'll let them suck his dick or something. hey, he got to cum down some pretty brunette's throat and got a fat stack of cash? win-win. but when he met innocent!bff! reader... she went to house parties with him sometimes. which resulted in him not getting to fuck a girl's throat-which also resulted in dealer!chris fucking his own fist at night with the thought of you in his head.

—

©eph3merall 2024

[coryosbaby]

Content warning . Noncon, Tbosas spoilers!! Plinth! Reader, angst angst angst, nsfw

When you read Coriolanus Snow’s diary entry from the day of Sejanus Plinth’s death, you are betrayed exponentially.

One would think that a clever man like Coriolanus would be smart enough to not note his secrets and leave the journal unlocked. Especially since his best friend with a curious hand was left alone in his room. How dumb he was.

When he walks in, your heart breaks into a million jagged pieces. Your best friend, your coryo, is the reason why your brother is dead.

He notices the book in your hand the moment he enters the room. He moves towards you, you step back. You don’t even know who the blonde in front of you is.

“You’re a monster.”

It’s the first thing you say to him, and the faux sympathy on his face doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Coriolanus can never hide his true emotions because of those familiar turquoise orbs.

“[y/n].”

His voice is a warning, you think. A warning that you have to keep this a secret. His voice is a threat.

But the betrayal and the loss deep in your heart cuts through and your face twists up with rage.

“You killed him. You, you—“ you can’t find the words to express your anger, so your fists come up to pummel Coriolanus’ chest as tears stream down your cheeks. Muffled cries soon give way to screaming sobs, and Coriolanus tries to calm you.

“Shhh, shhh,” he coos, his hands wrapping around your form, and you wonder how he has the audacity to try and comfort you after being the cause of your brother’s death.

“What is wrong with you?!” You scream at him. “Why would you— why would you do that? He was your friend! Do you realize what you’ve done ? H-He never did anything wrong. He was innocent— he— he—”

You can’t say anything else, exasperated and torn into pieces and Coriolanus just holds you, and as much as you fucking despise him, you let him commit this act. You can’t see any type of pain written on his face— remorse, guilt, melancholy. Nothing. Just a blatant, ashy emptiness. A hollow void of Coryo. Your Coryo.

There are no remnants left.

You try to pull away from him, but he places a grip on your wrist so tight that you fear it will break. His jaw clenches, breath uneven and his clothes haphazardly strewn.

“No.” He says, and that’s it. No.

Your brows furrow, your bottom lip wobbling.

“What?”

And then he’s kissing you, something he hasn’t done since a slightly non friendly game of spin the bottle in freshman year. He kisses you harsh and, like his heart and the expression on his face, stone cold. You try to push him away, but to no avail as his hands grab your hips in a deathly grip. You cry against his lips, saltwater tears mixing with breath mints and spit, and you wish that Sejanus was next door waiting on the two of you for morning classes and that this happened under different circumstances.

But it doesn’t, and you don’t want to think about it right now, not at all. So when your knees hit the back of Coriolanus’ bed, you let him push you down onto it. You let him trail kisses down your neck and bite you until you bleed. And when the time comes, and his cock is to full hardness and you’re overcome with more lust than grief, you hope that Sejanus can’t see you from above.

Coriolanus’ teeth scrape against your lips, and your blouse becomes ripped open by the sheer force of his hands. His mouth attaches to one nipple, then the other. He leaves love bites all over your chest and then he spits down on the valley in between them. He groans, heavy and deep, his clothed cock slipping between your thighs as he grips your tits in his hands.

“Mine.” He says possessively. Evilly. Like a monster. And you agree with him, a sob racking your throat, scared and helpless.

“Yours, Coryo.”

You are his, but he isn’t yours. He isn’t the one you’ve grown with. He isn’t the one you fell in love with.

You let him slide your panties down your legs anyways.

His fingers find your entrance, and they slide in easily. Your warm wet walls are tight, and he puts two fingers in as a way to make it hurt. He moves them in and out at a fast rough pace, the wet sounds of your pussy making you feel incredibly guilty and incredibly turned on. His mouth finds your neck again, burying his face into your collarbone. Your fingers find his buzzed hair— not your Coryo’s familiar golden curls — and you whimper. His fingers crook up, hitting the spots no man has ever been able to reach before. His thumb—oh god, his thumb— moves up to rub your aching clit in fast circles. How could he possibly know you like it that way?

Your thighs try to squeeze around the man’s large hand, but he slaps them, and he slaps them hard. You cry out, spewing apologies to him and you don’t even know why you’re saying sorry. You can feel yourself fast approaching your high, and you know Coriolanus can feel it too. He laughs, a dark and sinister sound, and you come undone. Your body spasms, your mouth falling open and a loud pleasured moan escaping you. Coryo’s fingers pull out of you, coated in your cum and slick, and he presses the pads of them onto your tongue.

“Good girl,” he mutters, as your doe eyes look up at him and suck. “There’s my good little girl.”

When he pulls the digits out he rubs the spit from them onto your chest. His cock rubs against your pussy again.

“You want it, don’t you?” He says darkly, watching the way your hips grind into him. “Don’t worry. You won’t be sad after I give you my kids, pretty baby. You’ll be so happy. You’ll forget about Sejanus, and you’ll love me.”

The mention of your brother’s name makes your stomach drop. But Coriolanus’ fingers grip your face harshly when he sees the tears welling in your eyes, his face twisted up into a look of anger.

“Stop it.”

You have to sniffle and obey. When Coriolanus’ hands go down to his belt, you feel pathetic for wanting it. When he takes off all of his clothes, naked and bare with his cock hanging thick and heavy between his legs, you feel ashamed. When he spreads your thighs and says he’s going to give you a baby, you feel true fear.

But when the tip of his cockhead brushes against your entrance, all of that is replaced with carnal pleasure.

Surprisingly, he pushes in slow at first. Your gummy walls squeeze him in an almost impossibly tight grip, and Coryo has to stop and keep himself from hurting you too soon. When his balls press firmly against your ass cheeks for the third time, all heavy and plump, he begins to pummel you.

It shouldn’t feel as good as it does. He fucks you and he fucks you with an animalistic stare plastered across his angelic face. He grabs your thighs and pushes them over your head, and he claims you with your body bent in half. He gives all of himself to you, but he isn’t yours.

When you try to close your eyes and look away from him, he growls. His free hand moves up to take hold of your throat and for a moment you think you’re going to meet your brother’s fate. His fingers squeeze so tightly that your vision blurs at the edges, your breaths coming out in slow, weak intervals.

“Look at me.” Coriolanus demands. “Look at me!”

You let out a cry, your eyes flying open and looking back into insidious, icy blue ones. His bottom lip gets caught in between his teeth as he sees you, and his cock twitches inside your sticky cunt. You know he’s going to cum, and you feel pathetic. When he does cum, spilling thick white ropes into your womb, you feel ashamed. And afterwards, sleeping off your brutal and disgusting session with your best friend and brother’s killer, you feel true fear.

[theaawalker]

Something to Feel, Something Real [Finnick Odair Smut]

Pairing: Finnick Odair x male!reader Song Inspo: Call Me By Your Name by Lil Nas X Word Count: 1,394 Summary: You've seen Finnick around, often through pitying eyes, but haven't spoken to him. The times you have seen, he's either with a client (flirting) or leaving them (shaking with shame, rage, and disgust). You decide to make him feel something real and mutually pleasurable. Warnings: smut, oral (male receiving), emotional build-up, MxM, one-shot, begging, substance usage, cursing, narrator pov Masterlist: see fandoms (pc-friendly) A/N: This is not attached to "I Promise", my other Finnick imagine. The second part will be here shortly. Just adding a little twist to the end. *smirks villainously* In the meantime, here's some gay smut to tickle your tentacles. Peep the easter egg tho ;)

You and Finnick have your first real conversation when he’s arriving back at the Tribute center one night after spending an upsetting few hours with one of Snow’s clients. He’s in a foul mood, anger bordering on despair and self-hatred, still feeling the ghosts of unwanted fingers on his body, when he steps into the elevator and finds you smoking a joint.

"Shit, shit!” you curse, hiding the joint up your sleeve and coughing, waving your hands in the air like you can disperse the smell. “Sorry, someone was smoking in here before,” you lie.

Finnick can’t help himself. He laughs. “Give me a hit and I won’t tell anyone.”

You share the joint in the elevator, not hitting any button to go up to either of your floors. The chatter comes easy with both of you, but it’s not long before you’re stepping over friendly small talk into a genuine conversation about the wild shit you’ve seen in the Capitol and in your case, at home, too. District 2 loves to rub elbows with the Capitol, something you despise. Your comparisons and imitations have Finnick barking laughter.

During one of the lulls in conversation, he takes in your face and form, basking in the fact that he’s responsible for the smile on your face right now. He’d like to get to know you better, and fuck it, maybe he’s a little horny right now, too.

“Come to my floor?” he asks, the joint between his fingers. He takes a slow drag, watching you.

You stare at his lips as he exhales. God, the high must be hitting because all you want to do is cover his lips with yours. Like, it’s the only thought rattling around in your peanut brain. His lips curl into a smile and--Oh, shit. He asked you a question.

“Sure,” you answer.

One expression Finnick identifies all too easily is lust. And he sees it plain on your face. “Then let’s go.”

Finnick leads you to the lounge on the fourth floor, well away from the bedrooms. The giant windows let in light from the Capitol’s nightlife.

“I miss the stars,” you say once you’re both settled next to each other on a loveseat. “It’s not like there are a ton of them back home with all the light pollution, but still. There are more than here.”

Finnick gazes at the dark sky. “You should come to District 4 sometime. You can see the entire Milky Way. And instead of listening to all those cars you listen to the ocean. And you can forget everything for a few moments.”

Despite the lounge being much, much larger than the elevator, this feels far more intimate. Finnick and you face each other, your eyes flicking to his lips. He’s the Capitol sex icon and has always acted like an absolute peacock on camera, but you’ve seen him trying so hard mentoring his own tributes and taking care of Mags. There’s a lot more depth to him than what the cameras show. And you like the bits he shows off camera far, far more. Those bits are coming out tonight; a funny, deeply caring, deeply hurt young man with a vast capacity for kindness.

When he came into the elevator, he looked positively miserable and so, so defeated. Like he had been stomped on and ground down. You wanted to make him smile, a real smile, but then you couldn’t stop at just one, and now here you are. You know about his and Snow’s “arrangement”. You also know you can treat him better than any of the “clients” do even when they’re trying, and you wonder if he’ll let you treat him like that.

Your intense stare has Finnick shifting, feeling a few degrees hotter than before.

“Can I kiss you?” you finally ask, voice low. If there’s one thing being a Career has taught you, it’s to grab at any opportunity you see. Finnick swallows. “Yes,” he croaks. “Please.”

You lean forward and capture his lips, one hand on the back of the couch and the other securely in your lap. You’re close and leaning into him, but not holding him. The restraint surprises him at first. But he’s grateful for it and he relaxes. He sinks into the kiss, his own hands venturing to fist in your shirt collar and hold you there. You let him lead, let him feel your arms and touch your face and chest, but never move your own hands from their position, just pour your all into your lips against his.

The lights flick on. You and Finnick snap apart like a rubber band snapping back into shape. It’s Mags. She looks between you both with wide eyes before a mischevious smile breaks across her face. “No, no, Mags,” Finnick protests.

She winks, grinning, and flicks the lights back off. She exits.

Finnick groans. “I’m never going to hear the end of it.”

You grin and wink. “Well, if you’re never going to hear the end of it, we may as well make it worth it, right?”

His seafoam eyes lock on yours, an eyebrow lifting. He smirks. “Oh? What do you have in mind?”

Leaning forward, you whisper in his ear, “I’d like to suck you off.”

All thoughts leave his head and all blood flows straight to his groin. For once, he’s speechless. No one has ever offered this before. All the people he spends time with want his attention on them, want him to fawn over them, wants him to boost their egos with his attention. And if they did off, he’d wonder what they want in return. Exactly like he’s wondering right now. He should ask, but his brain is too focused on the thought of your lips around his dick. Does he really care what happens after as long as he gets what he wants, first?

At his silence you withdraw. “Only if you want me to, of course,” you add. The last thing you want to do is make him uncomfortable.

“Yes,” he hastily replies. “Yes. I’d love you to suck me off.”

That affirmation is all you need. You kneel in front of him and slowly unzip his pants, revealing plain boxers beneath. Finnick watches you, his heart pounding. With agonizingly slow movements, you touch his length and guide it through the gap in his boxers. He grips the cushions of the loveseat as you lick up the underside of his member, from the base to the tip. Your tongue is deliciously wet. Finally, you take Finnick into your mouth and work him slow, slow, slow. One hand balls into a fist on his leg and the other slips in your hair. He moans, a low sound that barely reaches your ears.

You can’t believe no one has ever done this before. You’ve barely started, and he looks absolutely wrecked and so goddamned pretty. His head falls back against the loveseat and he lets out a shaky breath.

Fisting him, you take your mouth off to quip, “Have I made the Finnick Odair speechless?”

He huffs a laugh, meeting your gaze. “Just wait until I have you on your back and—oh.” His words end in a strangled moan as you suck his head. You ease him a little bit further into the rhythm before you deep-throat him. By then both hands tangle in your hair and he’s whimpering and trembling, muscles taut. “Fuck. Fuck.” It’s so warm, so hot, feels so, so good.

He comes shortly after, cock hot and stiff in your mouth, his entire body rigid. As he comes down from his high he melts into the couch, both his hands gently tugging at your head. “Get up,” he pants. You comply and stand, bracing your arms on either side of his head, and kiss him. There it is again, that restraint.

“Touch me,” he moans. “Please.” He might combust if you don’t.

You obey and cup his cheeks. His hands mimic yours, holding your face to his while you kiss. His stomach feels warm and body completely relaxed, for once completely in the moment, his brain pleasantly quiet.

He opens his eyes. “What can I do for you?”

You press your forehead to his, cheeks hot. God, there’s so much you want to do to him, with him, but not tonight. “You can go to bed and get a full night’s sleep,” you answer.

What? He knows he heard you right, but what? “That’s not what I meant,” he says hesitantly. You chuckle and kiss his cheek.

“I know.” You brush back a lock of his hair. “And as much as I’d like to fuck you or you fuck me and make out well into the morning, you taking care of yourself is what I want the most. Can you promise me you’ll do that?”

Finnick can’t help the laugh that escapes him. “I promise.” He feels almost bashful. How do you know what he needs? Beneath your soft gaze he feels vulnerable and open, and while it’s foreign, it’s not unwelcome.

You smile at him, a brilliant smile that lights up the night. “Thank you.”

You’re thanking him. You just gave him a blowjob and you’re thanking him. Who the fuck are you?

After exchanging a few more minutes of sweet nothings, you leave to head to your floor. Finnick stays on the loveseat a while longer, smiling, watching the twinkling lights of the Capitol. The content expression gradually falls from his face and he sinks into the reality that is his life. At least this has been a sliver of good in what is his constant parade of masking for the Capitol. Maybe he can have a few more of those slivers when you’re around. He’s certainly going to try to grab the chances when they present themselves.

• ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ •

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[petrichorblue94]

What really shocks me is that the more tfota books I read (I count the extended universe here), the more I realise that Jude was actually incredibly lucky. The world she lived in was deadly, and not in a haha the main character is actually gonna be left unscathed because they’re the main character way.

I first realised that when I was reading about Wren. My girl was physically and psychologically tortured since she was a child in practically a very Ramsey Snow / Reek kind of way. She was permanently disfigured by her own parents’ torture methods, she was left to believe that she could escape and then captured, like a cat and mouse game. She was made to think her adoptive parents despised her and were horrified of her monstrous nature but they were really just bewitched.

Her biological mother turned out to be the most evil of them all, sacrificing her soul not once but twice.

I’m just reading the Modern fairytales but Kaye is basically every middle class child’s worst nightmare ; or at least mine).

Like Jude’s story is actually the best. Even her twin Taryn lives in a psychological horror, she married a fucked up narcissist who promised her love and respect and adventure and it turned out he just made her do drugs and get involved in orgies and he nearly fucked (and later nearly killed) her sister and Taryn killed Kim the same way her adoptive father killed her birth mother and then she raised his son alone, and then she fell in love again and the guy was turned into a tree.

I mean when you look at it on paper (pardon the book pun) my girl Jude was raised into the gentry, she was Madoc’s favourite daughter and he spent most of his free time training her to be his successor in a world ruled by Oak as king and him as regent. She has her family and they make up despite all the fucked up things do to each other. She married the high king (and it was a rare love match!!) and becomes respected and feared. She has only known the rich world of the gentry in Elfhame, whereas Wren was homeless in the real sense of the word for YEARS, and Kaye was a school drop out who was couch surfing with her singer-wannabe mum and her prospects were living with her gran, working in a gas station and then maybe getting pregnant by her former bully Kenny and living in a trailer in the middle of nowhere like her friend Janet and maybe becoming an alcoholic like her mam and doing drugs (I’m still halfway through Tithe).

Like even when she became queen with Oak by her side as king consort, Wren’s kingdom was nowhere near as rich and golden as Jude’s. There was darkness seeped into it even when the ice was gone.

Since the cruel prince is after Kaye’s books, we know she ends up becoming Roiben’s consort so it’s definitely a better life than being a teen mum living in a trailer and working in a gas station… But she’s still a chess piece in the game of politics (that Jude becomes a master of) since she was nearly killed by the undersea and Jude had to go and avenge her in the Wicked King.

Like yeah, Jude had a shitty origin story but she became golden if that makes sense. She was never truly touched by the grit and the grime of what was happening around her and to her, she just adapted, pivoted and kept winning.

And she was genuinely so in love with the world of Elfhame that you can see everything around her through the tint of her fascination. Whereas with Wren everything looks ugly and sad and with Kaye everything looks messy and confusing.

Which is why I think she’s Holly Black’s most beloved heroine. I just hope she doesn’t get killed off in the new books cause you never know 100% with Holly.

[skeedelvee]

Carry On Countdown Day 1 - Something Old

For this year's COC I've decided to put together daily fic rec lists! Let me know if you find any new favorite reads from these <3

For todays prompt I've gone with fics written pre-Wayward Son!

To Get to You by ikehgaan

Rated M, 40,437 words

I think of this fic often. Fight kissing! Who could ask for more!

Simon figured the Pitches didn’t exactly encourage being open and honest about feelings. Unsurprising, but a little sad. Baz always acted aloof, as though nothing got to him, except with Simon. Simon could always get to Baz. (When Simon can’t take out his frustration on Baz by fighting him in their room because of the anathema, he resorts to more… unconventional methods).

No Tomorrow by Spockzilla

Rated T, 42,142 words

I will never listen to Take a Chance on Me with out thinking of this fic. It's such a fun take on the time loop trope!

“Why didn’t you wake me?” I growl groggily into my pillow. “It’s not my job to wake you up. Get an alarm clock, you fucking numpty,” he snaps. I wonder if super hearing is a vampire thing. “You threw my alarm clock into the moat first year!” I shout over the music. “Not my problem,” he says, as he slams the door shut behind him.

Cinnamon Lips by @f-ing-ruthless-baz

Rated T, 9,249 words

I love a good drunkenly getting together story and this is a great one!

“Snow, did you drink my Fireball?” “Your what?” He blinks at me, wobbling in place for a second, so I nod at the flask in his hand and he grins. “It tastes like cinnamon sweets and burning,” he says proudly. “That it does. Now hand it over.” He scowls. “You know, you act like you’re so fucking perfect all the time, Mr. Know-It-All, Mr. Good-at-Magic, Mr. Shampoo-Advert-Hair—” “Snow—” “But imagine what people would say if they knew Basilton fucking Pitch, top of the class, hangs out with corpses and drinks cinnamon sweets?”

Two Pints of Lager and a Packet of Crisps by stellatundra

Rated M, 3,936 words

Baz sowing some wild oats? Simon getting jealous as hell? Sign me up!

After his kidnapping ordeal, Baz goes to a magickal bar, deciding he deserves just one night to forget about destiny, numpties and Simon Snow. Simon follows him, convinced he’s up to no good, but is taken by surprise when he sees his roommate kissing another boy.

All this soulmate shit by half_witch

I only read this for the first time this year. It is so fun. If you love magic soulmate tropes, this one has just about all of them!

Rated M, 31,573 words

Simon has learned to despise his ‘evil anti-friendmate’ Baz despite being connected to him through magic their entire lives. From sharing luck at ten years old, to mind reading at twelve, to teleportation at seventeen, and the Red String of Fate at twenty—Simon and Baz know only three rules: 1) The New Year’s Eve countdown brings them one new bond to share, 2) The bond only lasts the year, and 3) Bonds NEVER occur twice. But this year, the magic is out of their control and seems hellbent on bringing them closer together—even if it kills them.

I Hoped It Was You by EllisyaSyron

Simon and Baz fall for each other without knowing they're talking to each other. It's like You've Got Mail, but better since neither of them lose their family bookstore in the end. Excellent dialogue!

Rated T, 8,901 words

as requested by anon: "au where baz and simon start talking online bc baz writes drarry fics and simon draws fanart and they do a collab (they don't know that it's them)" BlackPrince: I want to kiss you. SSPuffPride: I want to kiss you too. I wish I could BlackPrince: ...Tell me how you would.

Unspoken Rules and Simon's Nights by @lilmcgil

Rated E, 5,503 and 5,822 words respectively

This was one of the first Snowbaz fics that I ever got obsessed with. Both fics are truly excellent!

Simon and Baz develop a nightly routine. In the daylight they pretend it's not happening.

Companion piece to Unspoken Rules. Same plot line, but from Simon's perspective. I think it would make more sense if you read that first. But don't let that keep you from reading this if you haven't! Be a rebel if you want.

If you have any recs that fit the prompt that I've missed, feel free to leave them in the comments! There's plenty of gaps in my reading so there's a good chance I may not have read it.

Also I've had a hard time finding if some people are here on Tumblr, so if you know someone who hasn't been tagged, feel free to leave that in the comments as well <3

@carryon-countdown

[azureblooet]

Ok gang here’s some ideas for follower Narinder habits/symptoms

(some are also geared towards narilamb/the lamb helping him but not all of them)

// CW

A lot of them are very dissociation and trauma-y so bewarb folks.

Also general illness.

And skin picking or whatever that’s called

// CW

His sense if time is absolutely fucked

Dude has no intuitive sense of how long an hour is

Also Dissociating while waiting for anything.

Like all that time got him good at checking out to pass time

Either the habit of counting in his head or a complete aversion to doing so. (Driving himself crazy counting seconds makes counting/tallying stuff remind him of the time sealed)

Visual/general sensory sensitivity. He’s been in basically sensory deprivation for way too long. He might also not like silence for similar reasons.

Absolutely despises snow.

Cold, wet, looks like the gateway. Bad.

Very touchy about his wrists and neck specifically.

Either he immediately goes into attack mode or entirely shuts down. Like his body sees that something similar might happen and fully checks out to protect itself.

Picking at/itching his wrists.

The Lamb is like Sisyphus and that fucking rock trying to keep this mf from reopening his wounds by picking at them

Everything near his bed isn’t white.

other than lamb- i mean what who said that

Lack of visual processing

has been in the all white dimension for too long

Has aches and pain all over his wrists and body.

I deadass almost forgot to put this one because it’s so cannon to me

If you jingle a bell he turns his head every fucking time.

Yes this is from that one comic but it’s funny as shit so I’m taking it

Gets sick very easily since his immune system hasn’t done shit in ages

Also so i get to give him vivid fever nightmares for like character growth and trippy surreal horror symbolism.

Probably has a main character moment standing in the rain for the first time in ages while crying or something.

(He does get sick from of it though. I have to keep him humble somehow)

The Lamb also had this moment before after the start but whatever.

They can both cry in the rain. ✨together✨

[xcaptain-winterx]

Apricity

dad!Lloyd Hansen x sunshine!reader

summary: Lloyd finds himself getting jealous once he realizes what he’s feeling

warnings: fluff, talk of NSFW 18+, Lloyd, possessiveness, rape, drugs, manipulation, obsessive behavior, denial, acceptance

a/n: English is not my first language, meaning you will probably find a lot of misspelling etc.. This is when they both were in Harvard, so way before having LJ. This is the first time we get to see a bit more of Sunshines side of the story

Main Masterlist Daddy Sociopath Masterlist

The air is cold outside, freezing Lloyd’s breath as he walks across the campus. The ground is covered in thick snow, but luckily enough people already walked through it, so it’s pretty much already stamped away. Otherwise, Lloyd would have chosen another way.

Lloyd is making his way to his next class while side eyeing the other students who are already in the Christmas spirit. It’s the first of the December and they are already wearing Christmas sweaters and are talking about how they are so excited to see their families.

He hates the holidays. Blame it on his childhood, but singing song together, going to church and faking happiness when you get some shit from your parents that you didn’t want for Christmas isn’t a thing he likes.

He hates it even more because it’s during winter and he despises that season. Like right now, he’s freezing his ass off. He would like to wear a nice polo shirt, but he can’t. He’s ok with Autumn because it isn’t that cold there yet. Lloyd gets to wear a nice sweater and a thin jacket and that’s it. During winter, he would have to wear the thickest jacket possible, which would make him look like a fucking marshmallow.

He rather freeze than look like a fucking sugar bomb.

“Hey, Moonlight”

Lloyd turns his head to see that you are walking towards him with a smile on your face. You look like a ray of sunshine as you walk towards him. The sun is shining behind you, making you look like an angel send from heaven just for him. He swears his knees almost give in as you then smile at him.

“Hello, there Sunshine” he says, facing you with his fuckboy smile. Lloyd takes in your scent as you stand in front of. If he could describe what heaven probably smells like, he would say it’s you. He quickly breaks out of his trance, trying to act unfazed by your presence. “What brings you here?”.

There was a time where Lloyd was better at talking to girls.

Though he never had a crush on-

“Can’t I just say hi to my favorite law student?” you ask, giving him a teasing smile. Lloyd continues his walk with you walking next to him, while trying to hide his blush.

“Aww I’m your favorite” he teases back.

“Of course. After all, you spend time with me in the library”.

Lloyd thinks back to the day. He thinks a lot about that day actually, and how much he hates Carmichael for showing up at the library.

“No no no, I got forced to spend time with you. The weather decided to be a bitch” he explains.

“Oh, you poor boy” you laugh at his answer, making him chuckle too.

“I’m not a boy, Sunshine. I’m a man. My dick is the living proof of that” he states, pointing towards his crotch. He turns his head towards you as you interrupt in laughter, throwing your head back. Lloyd ignores everything around the both of you and just watches you being happy.

His Sunshine

“Well, for all I know, you could be lying” you respond with a teasing raised brow.

Lloyd bites his lip, thinking of what your reaction would be of seeing his dick. Of seeing him naked in all his glory. He imagines how he would show you. At another frat party? In the football locker room? In your bedroom? In his bedroom? The options are endless, but the thought of him naked in your or his bedroom does something to him. You would be his first to see his room. He never has a girl in his room because he doesn’t want some dirty ass whore liquids on his experience bedsheets. Lloyd has sex with them on his friend’s beds.

He would break this rule for you, though. He would make so many exceptions for you.

Lloyd imagines what you would think when you see him naked. Would you be impressed or perhaps even turned on?

You wouldn’t be disappointed in what you would see. Definitely not. Lloyd knows that he’s massive, so he shouldn’t worry what you would think.

He does, though.

What if you think he’s….small?

What if you’ve seen bigger and better?

Lloyd just keeps telling himself that this wouldn’t happen. All he knows, you could still be a virgin by the way you act and dress. Perhaps you are. Perhaps you never had a boyfriend or someone you trusted enough to take your virginity. Perhaps you need a strong man to take care of you.

Lloyd’s pants start tightening at the thought of being the one who takes your virginity. To be the one to slowly break your walls and lead you through the process of pain and pleasure until you are a mess under him, begging for more. The thought of being the first to touch you, feel you, bring you to your high is making him feel something he never felt before. He knows he’s good at what he does, so he knows he would give you the best experience, how no one else ever could.

The more Lloyd’s mind wanders around this, the more he thinks about you, specifically you, naked.

He imagines what your curves look like under your clothes. How your boobs must feel in his hand. How your stretch marks decorate your soft skin, like an expensive necklace. Where your skin is covered in beauty marks. How your pussy looks, but not in a bad way. He doesn’t mean that your pussy could look unpleasant, he just wants to know what beauty lays under your panties. Lloyd wants to know all the ways he needs to touch you to make you a crying mess.

He imagines how you must look like touching you yourself at night with your little fingers, trying to bring yourself to your release. How you desperately try to give yourself the pleasure no one else is giving you. The sounds you make while you are doing it. Are you quiet? Are you loud? Do you moan or let out soft gasps or murmurs? Do you sometimes hump your pillow or even ride it? What are the things that turn you on?

Lloyd has no clue what could turn you on. Perhaps older men who know what they are doing or guys with the same interest who share the same passion about the Vincent ven Google guy. Just the thought of you liking anyone else than him, makes Lloyd’s blood boil.

“I wanted to congratulate you for winning against Yale yesterday” you say, breaking the silence that’s been going on for a minute now without Lloyd noticing. You reach into your bag and pull out a small container covered in small paint splashes. “Here, for your hard work”.

Lloyd quickly hides his growing boner behind his coat before he takes the container and looks at it, confused. He raises a brow as he studies the container. “What’s that?” he asks, even though his first instinct was to tease you about watching him play.

“A container”.

“No shit, Sherlock. I see that it’s a container” he says, putting on his jerk facade again. “I mean why”.

“As I said, you are my favorite law student and the only one who plays football too and is good at it”.

Lloyd almost blushes, but just almost.

“How many law students are your friends?” he asks, slowly opening the lid.

“Just one” you answer and watch him as he opens it. He stares at the content in the container before looking at you.

“Brownies?” he expected something….different. “I thought in there were condoms. I’m low on them”.

You roll your eyes at him. “Remember what we had when we first met?”

“Sexual tension” Lloyd answers without thinking. As he realizes what he said, he quickly looks up at you from the brownies, scared that you realized what you said, but to his luck, you just continue.

“We had some special brownies, so because of your win, I made you some” you say excitingly.

You noticed what Lloyd said and you are trying your best not to blush at what he said. Since that night where you just wanted to have some peace alone outside and didn’t expect a typical frat boy to join you, you spend every second remembering this event. You remember smelling his expensive cologne and his soft sweater against your arm. You remember how your face heat up when he leaned over you and the butterflies you felt when you looked into those blue eyes of his. Oh, his eyes. The eyes that have been haunting you ever since. You never seen such beautiful eyes. During the years you’ve painted hundreds of blue eyes, but never one’s like his. Since meeting Lloyd, you did more than just that one sketch of him. There are so many of him in your book, created whenever his face filled your mind to the brim. Whenever you felt the butterflies take over and your face heat up again.

You could say you have a small crush on him.

Hell, you didn’t even care that he ruined your favorite self made pastel purple cardigan.

Lloyd smiles as he sees that there are a dozen brownies in that small container of yours. He closes the lid before giving you a small smile. Lloyd thinks about what he’s going to say. He could say ‘thank you’ and take the chance to kiss your cheek.

Should he make a move?

“Where did you get them, Sunshine” he asks instead. He would never admit it, but he got scared.

You try not to let your smile fall at that. He’s allowed to ask that, but deep down you wished he would have thanked you or said that he likes it. “I got the weed from TJ and then started baking”.

“You buy the stuff from the Junior drug guy?”

“Yes, he’s nice and often sells me the stuff for only have the price” you say happily with a smile on your face. You like TJ.

Lloyd’s heart beams as he feels the warmth of your happiness. His face doesn’t show that though, because all he can think of is Thomas liking you.

“You should be careful, Sunshine. Thomas sold some of my friends some stuff that got them to the hospital. Oh, and he took advantage of some girls in which he gave them stuff that made them completely dazed. Once in that condition he lead them somewhere where he then…you know” Lloyd says sympathetically, giving you a pained look.

Of course he’s lying, but he can’t let you go near TJ again if that guy actually likes you. Lloyd knows that TJ never sells stuff for only have the price and that can only mean one thing.

“What?”

“Yeah, I know, but don’t worry, my friends and I gave him a good beating for that” Lloyd assures you, lying like the devil. “Please, don’t go near him again. Please, Sunshine”.

“I…I think that…ok” you say after some seconds.

“Now you could’ve picked a nicer container, you know. This one is not clean” Lloyd interrupts your thoughts of TJ and holds up the container.

“You don’t like the paint stains on my container?”

“That you gave ME” Lloyd throws back, pulling the container to his chest. You chuckle at how pouty he suddenly got.

“Oh come here, you big baby” you say and don’t give Lloyd a chance to talk back again as you take the container away from him.

“Sneaky, Sunshine” Lloyd murmurs as you manage to get the container from the football player. He’s normally faster than anyone else.

Lloyd watches you as you get out some pens from god knows where and start to draw something on the container. He tries to see what you are drawing, but a quick ‘don’t look’ from you makes him look away.

“Ok, here you go” you say after two minutes and give him the container back. Lloyd takes it and smiles at you. He loves how you do things extra for him.

His gaze wanders down, and his eyes immediately widen as he sees what you did. You expanded the paint splatters and made a sun and moon. Not only the sun and moon but also the sky to each one. The upper half is decorated with dark blue and purple lines. In the corner you have the moon and around it small stars. The lower half has orange and yellow lines. The sun is colored in a different yellow, making it stand out from the yellow lines. It doesn’t take Lloyd a second to realize that the lines are a reference to ven Googles Art Style.

“Wow” that’s the only thing that Lloyd manages to say. Everything you gave and did for him is more than anyone has ever done. You are his first. Maybe not his first in means of sex, but you are his first in true kindness.

“Do you like it?” you ask hopefully.

Lloyd’s expression is softer than ever before as he looks into your beautiful eyes.

“I like it…thank you, Sunshine” he says and reaches for your hand. He waits for you to give in and reach for his hand to which you do. Your pinkies lock together, like how they did in the library.

You smile when you hear Lloyd likes it. As he looks at you, he realizes that the sun could never shine as bright as you do. You don’t need the sun to shine.

“I need to get going. My class will start soon and I can’t be late” you say, removing your pinkie from his cold finger. Both of you don’t want this moment to end, but sadly, it has to. “See you” you say before walking away towards your next class. Lloyd watches as you walk away, his eyes following every step you take.

Everything that happened so far, everything that he felt so far, made him realize one thing.

You are his

[codename-adler]

first snowstorm of the winter here in Montréal, Canada so…

Foxes vs. the great white shitstorm

Kevin: PTSD from the-skiing-accident-that-never-was bc that’s how far his trauma goes BUT will brave the snow if accompanied bc Exy is an interior sport thank u mom for that one. chances are he also probably bunkered down at the Foxhole court beforehand so he wouldn’t have to witness a single snowflake nor be separated from his one true love. bunker supplies include a shit ton of OJ bc the man is fighting away the flus and the colds like it’s The Plague Part II: 1347.

Matt: has to be stopped by Dan, once again, from buying a snow plow to fix in front of his truck. like every place where winter = snow, the PSU campus is severely unprepared for the onslaught, it’s like they’ve never seen this shit before and if I could just help out the community that way it would be a win-win for everybody Dan don’t you get it? it’s still a no, so Matt proceeds with unleashing his energy outside, alone, grumbling and building snowmen (and snowphalluses once Nicky joins in)

Nicky: DECKS THE HALLS EVERY-FUCKING-WHERE, FA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA. it’s tradition for him to wait until the first snowfall before decorating for Christmas, as a compromise (if it truly were up to him, 1st of November would be Christmas Tree Day, but he made a deal with the twins who, despite despising their birthday, would absolutely not have Jingle Bells and and holly on November 4th). the thing with Nicky is, he exhausts himself very, very fast and loses focus/productivity in the blink of an eye, so all you see is a path of garlands and pine needles leading to a zoned out Nicky munching on frootloops in a beanbag. the Foxes will have to finish what he started.

Allison: during daytime? fab as ever, hyped to get out her winter outfits and order another 3k of winter gear, boots, scarves, gloves etc. for herself. then she shops some more for the Foxes, some genuine bougie shit, some wtf shit to make fun of this season's chosen victims (see: Kevin always, a little bit Neil to chase away the nightmare of the past year, and this year's winners: Dan and Aaron). but once nighttime hits? it's war time. it's UGLY time. thermo one-piece suit, the old 3XL PSU Foxes men's sweatshirt Seth bought himself in his first year, tight braid shoved under a tight camo sports balaclava, spy goggles slapped on her naked-bar-fake-lashes face, heavy duty boots, and snowballs. yes, snowballs. starting this year, she's initiating the Yearly Foxes Snowball War. she's got her Santa bag ready and full of compact snowballs as she goes down the hall, breaking and entering every Fox dorm and obliterating them unprovoked. queen behavior. conquering among the squeals of Matt Aaron Kevin the vanquished!

Renee: hater mode activated. it's only for the first snow, it's only for one day, but it's brutal. her smile is tight, her socks are fucking wet by noon and she's had it. the little gremlin dives under a pile yay-high of blankets, destroying one or two of her advent calendars and eating 25-50 pieces of chocolate to sate her ire. she's the only one safe from Allison's assault, she's only asked if she'd like to join in the snowball fight instead, which is a hard no from Renee. next year, though, Allison's provided her with the same tech-gear and she's ready to unleash her anger on her unsuspecting teammates. but only after the chocolates.

Dan: nope. nope nope nope. she's so cold. so cold. she's craving warmth wherever she can, making the Foxes jump when she shoves her iced hands or feet into them. she's bundled up in layers upon layers of clothes. she's drinking coffee and tea by the gallon. she's scrambling for every lip balm she can get her hands on. she's making soup, and soup, and more soup. spicy ramen, three beans, lipton, chicken cream, veggie mix. she's got 2 thermos at all times, one hot drink, one hot soup. soup mama.

Aaron: first victim of cold season. if there's a snowflake, Aaron's got snot. no amount of ginger shots, garlic nostrils, citrus slices or soup can prevent the inevitable. man down by sunset, congested af, broody and pitiful. everybody makes fun of him, most of all Neil. look at the hot shot doctor bested by a lil cough-cough. the one year he didn't get sick so early, he had to get the new flu shot bc he's premed. needless to say, man down again.

Neil: ultimate x-games galore, here he comes! for the first time in his life, he's allowed to indulge, and try out every winter sport under the sun. Exy's still his wife, but man is snowboard up there with snowshoes-running and ice-skating and sledding. he's monstrously good at hockey, to Kevin's great disappointment. he thinks he'd have quite liked being a hockey player hadn't it been for Exy. and the mafia. anyways, he's unstoppable, he's exhausting, he's everything. he's Barbie.

Andrew: tiny emo beef man is fucking-A-ready. winter tires ON, tire chains ON, windshield cover ON, broom and shovels ACQUIRED, hot chocolate cupboard FULL, cleated boots SHARPENED, hotshots warmers STACKED. and then he just- doesn't move. not one iota. absolute pillow princess without any fucking involved. that man is not getting out there, despite the Foxes' wailings of needing a ride, needing groceries, needing a hand. he is ready, doesn't mean he's involved. c'mon, the dude's got multiple plans for a zombie apocalypse, you think a little snow's gonna stop him? yes, actually.

and that's all folks... for now. fuck /yeah/ snow!

[escrivoir]

For the send me a fic, can I have "stay all night" pleeeease?

Oh lord, the fic you inspired! Congratulations and thank you for that, @reallylilyreally haha.

My favorite scene

Right after the awful snow/Bastogne-adjacent scene, wherein Nix accidentally kisses both Dick and Tab and then nearly wrecks his car when he realizes what he's done, racing home to call his secretary and tell her that he won't be in because they're all sick - and she's already rescheduled all of his meetings.

My favorite chapter (if it's a multichapter)

Chapter 8: Dick scaring Stanhope, and everything related to planning the wedding, especially because everyone in Easy is so fucking baffled about it. And there's the Easy reunion / real wedding.

Hardest scene to write

This one - it kickstarts so much insanity.

So: while she travels, she’s been bringing along reading material - journals and articles about fertility and birth control, both of which are progressing in the most marvelous way these last few years. In the most unlikely of fashions, it appears that her Stanford education is serving her well. It turns out there are options she’d never thought of, although some of them are … undignified.

“Undignified!?” her brother yelps when she lays it out to the boys that evening. “It’s a farce!” 

Dick and Tab exchange a significant look. Neither of them are rejecting it out of hand, which is encouraging. It’s something that had never even occurred to Dick, she can tell; there’s surprise and a little bit of discomfort at the frankness of the topic, but he’s not disgusted, and he’s certainly not panicking like Lewis.

“It works in animals,” Tab points out reasonably. “With quite a bit of success, and even less dignity.” Of course Bunny would know; agriculture engineering was a lot of math and science, but he’d also spent time at working farms, which has paid off in the immediate success of Ferme Parachute, as she’s now termed it. Blanche doesn’t actually know what their business is, and she’s not sure she cares. It has something to do with… food for cows?

“My sister is not a cow! ” Lewis cries. She rolls her eyes and bites back the urge to look him straight in the eyes and moo. It’s a tough sacrifice, but that’s what good sisters are for.

Favorite character to write in the fic

Blanche! The struggles of being a wealthy heiress sound laughable, but just like Nix, there were so many impossible expectations thrown at her.

Favorite dynamic to write in the fic

Friendly: Blanche & Nix - siblings with a whole lot in common, and similar chips on their shoulders Unfriendly: Stanhope & Tab - very very mildly touched upon. I love that Tab is everything Stanhope despises, and steals his daughter and son from him, more or less.

Why I chose that title

Most folks know Stay All Night, Stay a Little Longer as a song by Willie Nelson, but it was originally recorded in 1945 (released in 1946) by Bob Wills and his Texas Playboys. It's a swingy tune, and the chorus is so good for Blanche and Tab especially: Stay all night, stay a little longer Dance all night, dance a little longer Pull off your coat throw it in the corner Don't see why you don't stay a little longer

A fun fact about the fic

The fic was literally born because I had just started to talk to @reallylilyreally and we were joking about how weird it would be for Blanche to meet Tab, which is when I came up with the opening scene, and the whole fic kind of spiraled into what it is now. Will say I did NOT expect it to go the direction it did at first, and then I was just like, shrug, guess we're doing this!

[slaymitchabernathy]

Espresso

Soarynn wakes up to the soft breath of her boyfriend against her neck. A familiar feeling that never fails to make her instantly feel safe and protected.

Since the day Coriolanus Snow came into her life, all she’s ever known has been devotion and protection.

And she wouldn’t have it any other way.

His arms are wrapped around her as if she might disappear in the middle of the night. As if they don’t live in the Capitol, on the Corso, the safest place in all of Panem. Still, she doesn’t mind waking up in his strong embrace. Coriolanus takes great pride in his physical appearance and Soarynn isn’t ashamed to admit that she often admires his physique.

She squints at the bedside table to see that it’s nearing eleven in the morning but it’s Sunday so bad habits such as this can be excused for the day. Besides, she has a late night ahead of her.

Eventually, she feels Coriolanus stir behind her, his hands splay out in the soft skin of her stomach as he begins to slowly rouse from his slumber. He lets out a deep groan when Soarynn slightly shifts back on him and she grins, he’s always so easy to rile up in the morning, especially if he has to go into the office. She likes those mornings the best, where she begs him to stay in bed with him and puts on quite the convincing show.

First she’ll shed the heaviest layer she slept in which is either on of her silk nightgowns or one of his button up shirts. His adam’s apple with quiver as she plays with her bra straps, slowly peeling the lingerie off and baring her breasts for him. Then she’ll peel her panties off, slowly spreading her legs until he has the perfect view of her cunt.

He gives in every time. Fucks her into the sheets until she’s crying out his name. Coriolanus Snow is a proud man who isn’t easily swayed but he falls for her every time.

He looks so cute wrapped around her finger.

꧁ ꧂

“A coffee for the lovely lady.”

Soarynn smiles up at her boyfriend as he walks into their bedroom, two cups of coffee in his hands. She closes her book and sets it beside her, reaching out for the warm beverage her boyfriend prepared for her. “Such a gentlemen,” she says teasingly.

She brings the cup to her lips and takes a small sip, inhaling the sweet smell. She didn’t always like coffee. When she was younger she absolutely despised the beverage even though her father has always been keen on drinking it.

“You’ll see one day,” he’d tell her as they’d eat breakfast together before she went to school and he went to work, “once work has you up all night you’ll be drinking coffee with the rest of us.”

Soarynn has always just rolled her eyes at her father’s words and insisted that she wouldn’t succumb to such habits. But Coriolanus downright tainted her the second she moved in with him. He’d notice how late she’d get home, how tired she’d be in the morning. One morning in the midst of her sleepy brain fog Soarynn hadn’t even noticed that he’d slipped her regular cup of tea for a cup of coffee.

She’d been drinking it ever since.

She hums as she swallows the liquid down her throat. “What is it this time?” She asks as Coriolanus slides into bed next to her, his arm immediately snakes around her waist, pulling her closer to him. He presses a soft kiss to her temple before he answers.

“Espresso.”

Soarynn leans into him, her legs tangling with his, her shoulder against his. She can’t imagine a different life than this one, a life where she doesn’t end up with Coriolanus, where he doesn’t love her the way he loves her.

“Thank you,” she says softly, knowing that sweet gestures like this aren’t given to other girls like her. Many of her friends are in relationships but they often lack the sort of attention and intimacy that Soarynn is so used to getting.

From the very start, Coriolanus has been attentive, caring, protective and above all, loving.

She remembers when they first met at an Academy gala. He wasn’t able to take his eyes off of her the whole night and right before she left he finally gathered the courage to come up to her.

“I don’t wish to make you uncomfortable, but you are the most stunning woman I’ve ever seen,” he’d said. He smelled like roses and his golden curls and that boyish grin had left her with weak knees and a fast beating heart.

She’d given him her number and he didn’t stop calling no matter what day or time it was. Her father has gotten rather sick of it at some point when he’d attempt to make business calls only to find the line was busy due to his daughter talking to the same boy over and over again.

“At this rate he might as well move in with us,” he’d grumbled as he set up her very own telephone in her room so these pestering phone calls would cease to inconvenience him.

But Soarynn thought it was so cute the way Coriolanus was so insistent on calling her. He’d ask about her day, learn her friend’s names, inquire about her love for music, more specifically singing.

The first time she ever sang for him he looked as though he had fallen in love with her right then and there.

“You’re welcome my darling,” he replies, taking a sip of his own coffee. Soarynn already knows it’s black. No cream. No sugar. Boring. He claims that “real men drink black coffee.” Whatever that means.

“Are you coming tonight? To watch me?” Soarynn asks as her heel absentmindedly rubs against his calf, pushing up his pajama pants. Coriolanus swallows thickly which lets her know that she’s got him exactly where she wants him. “Of course,” he nods, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Soarynn smiles and places a kiss on his cheek. It’s smooth which means he shaved last night. Good, she likes him clean shaven. “You seem to have a curious foot,” Coriolanus notes, the bulge in his pants growing quite noticeable. Soarynn smirks, “You seem to have wandering hands at night.”

Coriolanus clears his throat, obviously thinking back to last night when he slipped two fingers inside of her just as they were drifting off. Soarynn doesn’t know how he manages but he gets her off every single time. She gets him off too, she loves how he looks when he finishes, his face sweaty, his curls tangled.

Coriolanus had told her once that his last girlfriend hadn’t been able to get him off and that he found it rather difficult to get her off as well.

Too bad his ex didn’t do it for him.

Soarynn however, finds it quite easy to get Coriolanus all riled up. And she can tell from the way he’s taking smaller sips of his coffee that he’s getting closer and closer to ripping the button up shirt that she’s wearing off of her body and pinning her to the bed.

“Well it’s hard to control myself with a little vixen like you sleeping right next to me,” he defends before taking another sip of his coffee. Soarynn smiles while knowing that no other girl could ever succeed in catching her boyfriend’s attention.

And she’s seen plenty of them try.

Coriolanus Snow is a very handsome man. He’s so tall, and handsome as hell. He’s got piercing blue eyes and a sharp jawline, with broad shoulders and large hands to match. She’s seen girls practically fling themselves onto him at galas and parties, desperate for his attention even though they never get it.

She can’t relate to desperation.

Not when her boyfriend seemingly only has eyes for her.

Soarynn carefully sets her cup on the bedside table before she moves to swing a leg over him, successfully allowing her to straddle him. Petunia, her beloved cat who’s been lazing on the foot of the bed quickly jumps off and scurries out of the room. She knows how these things go and quickly learned that it was in her best interest to evade the room as soon as possible.

Coriolanus rests his empty hand on Soarynn’s hip and he raises his eyebrows, “Maybe we should work on your control then,” Soarynn whispers. Coriolanus swallows and slowly nods, and she watches him shakily set his cup down next to hers before her lips are on his.

He feels so good, smells so good, tastes so good.

It’s so good with him.

꧁ ꧂

“I like that one.”

Soarynn tears her eyes away from the mirror to find her boyfriend watching her as he gets dressed. He nods towards the dress she’s chosen to wear tonight and she smiles, “That’s because it’s your favorite,” she reminds him before pushing the last pin into her hair.

She usually prefers some sort of updo when performing. The stage lights can get so hot and Soarynn doesn’t need people to see her sweating on stage.

The dress—her boyfriend’s favorite—is rose red, with a sweetheart neckline and a slit down her right leg. It drives him mad whenever she wears it out on their dates.

He chuckles before selecting a necktie, “Well you look stunning tonight my darling.”

Soarynn feels a blush creep across her face as she adds the finishing touches to her look for tonight. She lathers her smooth skin in lotion before spraying on her signature perfume, vanilla scented of course.

If the dress didn’t drive him mad then the perfume certainly would. Since the beginning of their relationship, Coriolanus couldn’t get enough of her sweet, vanilla scent. He claimed it was intoxicating.

Soarynn applies it liberally to her neck, wrists and then gives her body a good spray before she stands up from her vanity. Her red heels have already been selected and she finds Petunia playing with them. “I’m going to need those back little lady,” she says to the cat, gently tugging the heels from Petunia’s claws. Petunia lets out a meow of protest but Soarynn wisely ignores it.

Soarynn chuckles to herself before slipping on her heels and grabbing her purse. Coriolanus is waiting for her in their bedroom, slipping on his own shoes. He looks up and for a moment he simply drinks her in.

“You’re a vision,” he tells her.

Soarynn does a twirl and receives a low whistle in response before Coriolanus strides over to her, his hands come to rest on her waist, “Would it be terribly selfish of me to admit that I wish to keep you all to myself tonight?”

Soarynn giggles at his clearly flirtatious question and nods her head, “So selfish,” she replies before pressing a kiss to his cheek. Coriolanus hums and gives her waist a squeeze, “Are you nervous?”

Soarynn shakes her head. She’s not nervous, not anymore. When she first got her job as a professional singer she’d been ridden with nerves. What if she messed up? Forgot the words? Tripped and fell?

But Coriolanus was quick to soothe over any other worrying thoughts and she’s been much better ever since. She performs at the finest venue in the Capitol, Lucky Flickerman’s theater. The man can be somewhat obnoxious at times and overly dramatic at others but he’s a good host and people pay just to see Soarynn perform.

“Not as long as I have you watching me,” she says softly, wrapping her arms around his neck. To know that Coriolanus is in the crowd watching her is all Soarynn needs to feel at peace. To know that he’s hanging onto every word that leaves her lips and will be the one to give the loudest applause is such a gift within itself.

They share one last kiss before they leave the penthouse with a late night ahead of them. They’ll get home after midnight and Soarynn’s feet will hurt but he’ll rub them and draw her a bath filled with lavender oils. Then she’ll brush her hair and settle into bed and curl up into her boyfriend’s arms.

Then in the morning he’ll wake up for work and right before he leaves he’ll bring her a cup of coffee. Most likely her favorite.

Espresso.

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

[branwendaughterofllyr]

I waited almost half a year, and it was worth every second! This chapter is amazing! I want to kidnap you and make you write this all the time! Not kidding!

Right from the start, there’s a prophecy, and it seems likely that the main character is Oldgon. At first, I thought it was Aemond, but Helaena’s dream is about the sea, not a lake, and it doesn’t match Lucerys either. The mention of ‘blood-colored coral’ reminded me of Oldgon’s red symbolism—is he going to die at Storm’s End? I’m looking forward to it (sorry, Oldgon). Helaena instinctively knows the Red Spring has come, and Little Aegon’s dream is heartbreaking. Crush that cheese now, Aegon. Does he have a touch of prophecy like his sister? As a Helaegon shipper, I’m delighted (though in the story, they feel more like close siblings than lovers. Alicent probably sensed this too, which is why she opposed their marriage. She may have preferred that ridiculous idea of marrying Oldgon because of this).

Both Alicent and Alyssa endure painful separations; it seems the Red Spring has already arrived for them, with blood flowing in many ways. When Helaena sees her second blood, her nightmare will come true. Yes, that’s what I wanted from Blood and Cheese in the show! A nightmare!

The tansy story reflects a hidden disdain for Rhaenyra and shows her crumbling. Please, stop sharing things no one wants to know, Rhaenyra. The way you write her reminds me of a young version of Milly’s portrayal. I love Emma D’Arcy, but their version is a bit too gloomy. I can imagine Rhaenyra crying in front of Alyssa in their version.

Our goth girl, Alyssa, has a solid grasp of medieval politics. Yes, the necessary performance! Jace seems to miss the point, and Aemond is just jealous of Jace, yet these boys need to understand the importance of this play-acting more than anyone. You believe Sara Snow is real, right? Little Aegon is tired of this performance, and honestly, I can’t blame him. Poor kid.

Helaena’s necklace! The necklace! Fuck you, Viserys! Fuck you, Condal!

Alyssa could’ve been a septa; it would’ve been the most educational path for a medieval woman, though a very Andal-ish path. (Yes, I’m mocking Daemon here. The frustrating thing about him is his unresolved feelings for Elinor. Is it that hard to apologize and pay your respects? Yeah, that’s just who he is.)

Daemon, the highlight of this chapter, is truly impressive. I don’t mean to compare, but in some fics, he’s either a baby-eating monster or a Harlequin romance hero with too much charm. You captured the Daemon I know: a proud, violent, immature man who both loves and despises his kin. Laena, by his side, is the cheerful, relaxed mediator who softens situations (though her Targaryen nature shows in her talk with Alyssa—let’s be honest, who else but a Targaryen would marry Daemon?). I’m not a Daemon fan, but if Matt Smith could play your version, I’d die happy. He truly embodies the Rogue Prince.

I don’t want to take Viserys’s side, but Oldgon is acting like a child. I understand his unresolved trauma and anger (the heir for a day crossed a line), but claiming not to be part of the Dance while making enemies? What a fool.

Alicent… It’s heartbreaking to watch her. She does everything to protect her children, yet loses them because of it. She sends Daeron away for safety, leads Aegon and Helaena to an unhappy life(Dreamfyre omg) and is alienated (Little Aegon, don’t feel too bad; this crazy family is all miserable). And Aemond has always been distant from her (even if he’d hate to admit it—typical Andals aren’t like you, you dragonist). That leaves Oldgon and Alyssa (Did I forget Viserys? Haha). Oldgon is lost in love like a true Targaryen, and Alyssa is drowning in her own gloom and frustration. Alicent really needs a friend. Her empathy for the young girl in the scene with Alyssa was touching. Alicent was an unhappy girl, but she’s a good adult, doing her best.

Our goth girl is getting darker. Contrary to my first impression, Aemond and Alyssa seem to be forming quite a dark goth couple (I initially imagined her personality would be more like Laena’s). Alyssa is smart, understands the storm at the core of this, but doesn’t have the power to stop the game. She sees the unfair system, marriage expectations for women, and knows the future Dance ahead, but she’s helpless. Little Aegon, though not as perceptive as her, also feels this powerless dread. Watching these teenage kids try to deal with their helpless fear, Aegon’s rebellion and Alyssa’s melancholy, is so sad—no one understands them. She’s a bit like Elisabeth in the musical (I’m not sure if they perform it in your country, since I know you’re living in the US). Even if you race beyond the horizon, there’s no freedom; society haunts you like a ghost. Jaehaerys recognized this and could use it (and did so to his Targaryen children with no freedom). Sadly, Alyssa isn’t in his position. She can’t even control her father’s marriage. Oldgon, you idiot! (I don’t hate him; he’s just a typical man, as you said).

What Aemond did to Alyssa surprised me; I read it as jealousy. This poor boy seems quite taken with the goth girl, while she’s deciding whether to join the Vale war. Good luck, Aemond. And to be honest, Alyssa doesn’t seem good for your mental health. The same goes for you, Laena. Your brother and his wife probably aren’t going to be any good for your life. Don’t help them…

My overall thought is this: You must have gone through a lot writing this chapter. Capturing the calm before the storm (Driftmark) is tough, especially with so many unhappy Targaryens involved. But you’ve done a brilliant job. You’ve shown that the Dance wasn’t a one-night accident, that all our fools were playing their parts long before. Now I’m waiting for the impending storm! (Not trying to rush you—I know you’re in a busy season, and you need mental recovery. But if next chapter delays due to you, Donald T, watch out!)

I literally screamed a little out loud when I saw this come into my inbox this morning.

I had immense about of fun writing the prophecy for this chapter! I decided a while ago to embrace George's idea of dragon dreams, which are rife with strange imagery and are actual dreams, and I was heavily inspired by The Tempest when I wrote up this one.

Full fathom five thy father lies; Of his bones are coral made; Those are pearls that were his eyes: Nothing of him that doth fade, But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange. Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:                                              Ding-dong. Hark! now I hear them,—ding-dong, bell.

This is probably one of my favourite bits of descriptive writing of all time, and I had to give it a homage!

Is the prophecy about Oldgon? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ My lips are sealed, but I think we should all add this to the conspiracy board! I am going to level with y’all, Aeg II’s dream was not intended to be a work of prophecy at all, it’s based on a weird dream I had once, unrelated to B&C, lol. And yeah, I think Helaegon works best for me as a tragic brother-sister pait that should be teasing each other and sending each other silly christmas cards, but instead they are forced into a sexual relationship that makes them utterly miserable. And on the Helaena-Oldgon match (blegh, I felt so gross writing that up), I will say that I am actually playing the unreliable historicity of F&B. Remember, Alicent has never proposed such a thing on screen (the page?). I also purposefully reused almost the exact same language that F&B used to described Daemon and Rhaenyra's relationship when she was a young girl, which was- well, the Targaryens are constantly blurring family lines and one uncle's doting is another's grooming. (anyone spot the jade tiara?)

And poor Alicent and Alyssa, neither of them are having a good time. Helaena was right, spring is not going to be what Alyssa hoped at all. It's just blood, all the way down.

I actually thought a lot about how I wanted to deal with the birth of Joffrey. In the book, he came along right after Lucerys, but in the show, there was a pretty massive gap between the two. Considering the bad luck of Rhaenyra's mother and both of her grandmother's in childbirth, particularly Alyssa T on her third go after surviving two succesful pregancies, I imagined Rhaenyra as being leery of giving birth. As such, she was using the best form of birth control she could, moon tea. But moon tea and other herbal remedies are unreliable, pronce to over or underdosing and their side effects can be dangerous and even deadly. Both tansy and pennyroyal overdosing can result in liver failure, and the jaundice Rhaenyra was experiencing was a warning sign of that happening to her. Hence why she stopped using it for a while, and ended up with an oops baby. Fun fact, desserts, mainly puddings, were flavoured with tansy during the medieval and Elizabethan period leading to many people mildly poisoning themselves with the herbs. A young girl like Alyssa would have been familiar with tansy as a culinary herb rather than a abortificent, and also why Rhaenyra would be able to obtain the ingredients of moon tea fairly easily. The judgement Rhaenyra would face for using moon tea is not something I agree with, but it would be viewed negatively in world and associated with sex workers and adultery, and Alyssa would have been exposed to the misogynstic prejudice surronding such things. I do plan in later chapters to delve more into these sort of things, since I think moon tea is often used as a get out of pregnancy free card in fics, when it does have its dangers and risks. (I want to spoil my plans, but all I'll say is that Septa Alla is involved in such things as herblore and midwifery)

I think of Alyssa as a fairly astute child, and Oldgon is of the opinion that every day is “take your daughter to work” day if you are brave enough, so she’s really been immersed in the business of court politics for years now. And she takes pleasure in the game of it at this point, and the "rules" that are part of it. This mainly goes over Aemond and Jace's heads at this time, but Jace is teachable! He can learn! He grows up into a fairly politically astute young man! And lil Aegon is already so over it all, he'd rather dress in motley at this point.

I am SOOOOO glad someone noticed the necklace, I was literally googling what it looked like as I was writing this chapter, and I was like... oh? Wonder if I can add backstory to that!

Alyssa actually could have enjoyed septahood if she realized the relative independence and freedom of learning it could bring her, but all the septas she knows are non-controversial ones who very much toe the line, like Septa Victaria. And Septa Victaria is pretty damn boring. (Again, I don't want to spoil, but Septa Alla and her cohort offellow septas will be appearing later in the story, and they are heavily inspired by the likes of Hildegarde von Bingen and St. Radegund and other highly educated women who used relgious life as an escape from marriage and motherhood. Of course, some of them end tragically anyway, like Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz.) And also Oldgon doesn't Alyssa to move into a motherhouse and take a vow of silence and never talk to him again (Always the worst case scenario with this man).

I also will say that Daemon has his own thoughts on Elinor, and they will be mentioned in the future, but actually? He was not so nearly as hostile to her as Alicent. I headcanon a lot of Daemon's beef with Alicent as the result of her being Otto's daughter, and Elinor had nothing to do with any of that, lol.

I agonized so much over Daemon, because I know so many people were eagerly anticipating him. I really hope he lived up to all the hype. Even though he's far from my favourite, he can come across as deeply charming when he wants to, and deeply unsettling when he wants to set people off-kilter. I joke about Laena being his manic pixie dream girl, but she genuinely did seem to match his energy in a way that was more positive for Daemon, and I felt pretty sad for her character that the show chose to cut it all out and make it clear she was his second choice and she knew it.

And Daemon's appearance definately made Oldgon regress quite a bit, into the quiet little boy he used to be. Older brothers can do it you, and you it's bad with Viserys is rightfully scolding you for acting like a little baby.

And Alicent to be is such a lonely figure, especially during this time of her life. It's a loneliness that can't be fixed by simple company, bc she is surrounded by be her children and other women her age, but she cannot truly be herself or confide any of them. Really, sending Daeron off to foster is for the best, both politically and for Daeron's development, but that's cold comfort when her baby is on the opposite of the continent. I think Alicent, especially in my fic, is defined as an outsider in the midst of the Targaryens, and she is constantly reminded of that by even her own children who have their father's colouring and are riding dragons. Even Aemond, who I personally headcanon her being indulgent towards because he was " said to be half the size of his elder brother, but twice as fierce," which I decided to take as him possibly being premature, and a small, fragile baby that she coddled and let get away with much more than her first son, Aegon. Even Oldgon, who is very well-meaning and genuinely fond of her, is busy in his own life and he's never quite been able to grasp her struggled. I think she recognizes a bit of her own unhappy childhood in Alyssa, and she tries her best to be an example and a comfort at once.

Yes, Aemond and Alyssa are giving off very dark vibes even at their tender ages, and while I do enjoy Laena immensely, I decided to take more cues from Alys Rivers, Aemond's canon lover. And also, I love a witchy woman, I cannot lie. She is being slowly crushed under the rules and expectations of her society, especially in regards to how her gender limits her, but she can't do anything about it, and is doing her best to wiggle around it in small ways, and learn to manage within the confines. I actually really like the musical Elisabeth! I've never seen in it person, but I'm big into musical theater, and I've seen several of the taped peformances. I'm partial to the Hungarian costuming for Der Tod, lol. Kitsch is probably my favorite song, it is a bop! I am thrilled by the comparison, even though it’s not something I had in mind while writing! The morbid self-obsession combined with moments of an outgoing personality! I love the comparison! I think it really suits Alyssa!

I think Aemond has a lot of feelings bound up in his relationship with Alyssa that he’s not mature enough to understand or deal with, and there jealousy was definitely involved his “prank.” I think even as a child, there’s a sort of callousness to both book and show Aemond. Like, it takes a special kind of nasty to tell another kid you hope they die screaming like their father. I think it's safe to extrapolate that Aemond struggles with empathy to a certain degree, and he was perhaps genuinely a little startled Alyssa was so frightened, because he didn't find it particular scary himself. (and also he was a tad mad at her. He's not a very nice child, is he, lol)

Someone free Laena! She's too good for her mess! She needs to be sipping pina coladas in Pentos right now, not trying to fix Laenor and Rhaenyra's problems!

I am so glad to have this chapter done, and it was an important one, but I am sooooo ready to move onto the Red Spring, the Fire at Harrenhal, and Driftmark. The next two chapters are going to be back to back Aegon PoV covering those events, and I really don't want to a canon rehash, so I need to think about all the changes I want to make. To tell the truth, some of the dialogue from Driftmark is some of the earliest stuff I have written, and I need to update it to fit the changes in the story and also because I do think my writing has improved since then! (this chapter was meant to feature Otto as well, but it just wasn't working, so I cut all his scenes and had Gwayne come get Daeron instead. The next chapters will have us seeing more of Daemon, Larys, Corlys, and Rhaenys! (I love Rhaenys, I'm so glad to be writing her again)

[peacexatxlast]

Thomas Shelby; I'm Here

I had plans for this to be smutty... But then it took another direction and became angst with an inkling of fluff if you squint. This is my first fic of him, so if you enjoy it, let me know if you want a part two with smut? Or just give me some feedback! Thankss xx

Word count: 1,500 ish Summary: Thomas' wife has a nightmare, and once again... he's working. Warnings: Ahhh, not much. Angst! Might be swearing, I don't remember.

She had grown accustomed to sleeping alone. More accurately, falling asleep alone and almost always waking up with the ghost of comfort and warmth lingering where her husband once lay. Lately, that ghost had turned into her envy. That damned apparition getting more of her attention, lying by her side than her own partner did. Speaking to him at night more often than she had spoken to him in months. Whether or not he actually slept beside her anymore was a mystery, for she would only occasionally rouse from her slumber when the bed shifted and the scent of whiskey and cigarettes engulfed her. She used to despise the scent. It was all she had now, feeling like home in many ways. 

Sex had become a fading memory of her marriage vows. To have and to hold… so long as Thomas Shelby deemed appropriate. Whenever he had time in his busy schedule. Whenever the stress of life became so burdensome he needed to unload it upon her in a quick and passionless fuck. She never complained. She never turned him away. Any time spent under his attention was time well spent. It gave her hope. 

She dreamt that night. Alone, the only warmth was wrapped against her body in a blanket. It did little to melt the ice within her subconscious. In this state of catatonia her brows furrowed and body curled into a fetal position to return to the protection only offered while being inside of her mothers womb or being wrapped in the arms of the most dangerous man alive. A man's heart was a wretched thing. Her mother's womb stretched and made room for her, but her husband's heart would not bleed for her nor separate room for her from his work.

It was snowing in her dream. Her bare feet trod through the white tundra, and yet she felt nothing. She supposed that her concern for her husband outweighed the frostbite threatening her inside of this facade. She could see only the outline of his person, and no matter how far she traveled, no matter how quickly she ran and called for him, Thomas never was reached. Even when her breath suffocated her with each exasperated attempt to capture oxygen in her lungs, she got no nearer to him than the three hundred steps that passed. Another three hundred. And another. He was still only a silhouette of something she needed but could get to. 

“Thomas! Behind you!” The storm of snow had silenced her shriek, and the shadow of death closed in on her husband. She ran faster, tripping and rising again and again. She screamed for him. She begged his attention. She was too late, too slow, the gun rising and just as the grim reaper pulled the trigger-

She woke up with a cry. Sweat coated her forehead, hair sticking to the side of temples. Alone. She was alone. The whistle of the wind whipped at the window. It was snowing. Fear crept into her ribs, slithering around her lungs and squeezing. It drove her to her feet, wrapping herself in silk and thrusting the door open. “Just a dream… just a dream…” the mutter followed her downstairs, towards the office door where she knew he would be. She knew it; she had to see it. 

His eyes, though vacant and tired, reassured her of his safety in the house. Her gaze went past him, and there was no shadowy figure threatening him. Only himself. 

“It’s late. What’s wrong?” His pen stilled, and annoyance settled within her. What was wrong? This. All of this. Him. Her. The lack of him in their wedding bed. How could he not see the drift of their marriage? Did he see it and simply not care? 

“I had a dream. You weren’t in bed. I wanted to make sure…” She trailed off, closing the distance until the desk was all that separated them. “That you were alright.” It was only for a moment, but she swore that something crossed over his features. It had to be her imagination. She hadn’t seen anything other than absence in his eyes for months. 

“I’m alright. Just have a few letters to finish. I’ll be up in a minute, love. Go back to bed.” Up in a minute. She had heard that one too many times to believe it to be true. 

“Tommy…” Her cry came much quieter than in her nightmare. She could see him, though she didn’t dare reach out and touch him in fear of being thrown back by the wind and snow just as in her dream. “Please come to bed. You can leave when I fall back asleep. Come back down here to your wife and leave your mistress in bed.” She smiled despite the truth hidden in her statement. There was that brief expression of emotion upon his brows, furrowing at her comment. Guilt twitched against her lips, burning her tongue at how she’d possibly offended him. Even so, he stood. 

“Alright, Mrs. Shelby. I’m coming.” 

His hand grounded her from floating away, clinging tightly to the only thing she had left. Her mother had passed away three years prior to meeting Tommy and even then it was impossible to crawl back into her womb for comfort. He was all she had… 

Passing through the threshold of their bedroom, he stopped her. Pulled into his chest, withholding her from the mattress where sleep would capture her into a cold hug, she wished to be nowhere but wrapped in his embrace. Hands trailed up his chest, undoing the buttons of his waistcoat. He hadn’t even changed or visited his wife since coming home. From one office to the next. But now he was here, her nails soothing down his scalp to rest at the back of his neck. He tasted like cigarettes when he kissed her. She swore she licked the remnants of sorrow off of his bottom lip, the bitter likeness to whiskey reminding her of one of his vices. His words, however, were coated in regret. That was unmistakable. “My wife.” 

She swallowed, gaze moving from his lips to his eyes. His lips spoke lies far too often for her to trust them, but his eyes never misguided her. “Have you just remembered?” Nails drag along the back of his scalp, soothing the stress from his day with each melancholic stroke. He sighed, and again her guilt tightens her stomach into a knot. It was a woman’s duty to make a man’s life easier, not harder. Though she simply couldn’t help it. She was hardly his wife more so than a whore sleeping in his bed… He had many of them. At least they never were permitted to spend the night. Sleep in the cold bed. Was that a curse or a blessing? 

“I’ve been busy. It will be over soon.” Vacant promises assaulted her, and she no longer felt she could contain her distress. 

“I dreamed of death, Thomas.” Fingers trailed across his neck to cup his face, “It came for you. It came for you, and I couldn’t stop it. I tried, I tried so desperately to reach you but-but- I couldn’t!” 

His own hands found her face in return, shushing her soft outburst. “I’m here; I’m right here.” The blue in his eyes pierced her deeply, the cold shard of ice digging into her chest. Even in his absence he would find a way to secure a piece of himself into her being. The ice would melt, seeping into her bloodstream and mingling with her DNA; he was a part of her. She wanted to be a part of him. 

“I see you, but you’re not here with me. Where have you gotten lost, my love? Come home to me.” The rough pad of his thumbs swiped at the silent drops of torment slipping down marbled flesh. Gears were churning beyond his perplexed stare. The air within her lungs stilled to a faint whisper, searching for the metallic clanking of the ridges shifting and clicking into one another. Silence. He only breathed, shaking his head softly in a dumbfounded ignorance. 

“I’m here,” from the mouth of a liar came his subtle plea, begging her to drop the topic. They held each other, foreheads pressed in a holy union to bind two lonely and lost souls once again to one another. It occurred to her then that maybe this was their problem: they didn’t attempt to connect their sloughed minds nearly often enough. 

Her chest deflated with a sigh, sealing her lips together before she spoke to keep the negative response from slipping from her thoughts. Her husband was a busy man. His work was laid on the desk there for him downstairs, and yet he had stopped to come and see her to sleep. She tugged him with her as she backed away, guiding him towards the bed to where she would finally fall asleep with a body laying next to her again.  “Okay, Thomas. Be here then. With me, please.” 

[the-lonelyshepherd]

12, 23, 25 for yellowjackets:3

helloooooo 😁😁😁 tysm for the ask grin

12. the unpopular character that you actually like and why more people should like them.

uhhh ummm. travis. travis. i’ve said this so many times yall need to wake tf up on travis if i did a 180 on travis you can too

first watch? lwk despised his ass. also bc i was looking at fandom shit immediately after and was just o caught up i was like yeah haha annoying and misogynistic MAN whys there a MAN in my GIRLS show. but ohhhh man first rewatch??? when i was like okay i have to acc form opinions???

first of all. travis is not nearly as misogynistic as yall make him seem. he makes asshole comments in the beginning yes. his whole point is CHARACTER GROWTH!!! instead of getting worse like most of the girls travis actually has a little bit of a growth arc (cough cough transfem travis WHO SAID THAT). like yall take his original character and see that as him when the whole point is how he changes. that’s not how you’re supposed to watch a show. but yeah there’s other male characters who are lwk also misogynistic that don’t get any shit for it. i wonder why.

secondly he’s SO FUCKING COMPELLING. like AUGH just honestly am not coherent enough to put it into words rn but like him and javi and his dad, and nat and lottie and whatever they have going on and also the jackieshauna connections just.agh

he’s so important to the story he pulls so much together. his story is of GROWTH it’s of LOSING HIS OLD SOCIETAL VALUES THAT WERE IMPRINTED ON HIM!! it’s of recognizing femininity and ACCEPTING femininity!!!! and daddy issues and brother issues it’s complicated teen romances it’s vomiting over your fathers grave it’s getting laid for the first time high out of your mind while you don’t really want to and neither does the other girl it’s hallucinating the makeshift messiah while having sex with your girlfriend right before eating the girl you lost your virginity to its getting up before sunrise every day to trek through the snow to look for your little brother while everyone else thinks he’s dead and it’s eating your brothers heart while only just having gotten him back. because you have to let your brother save you. i’m going to actually throw up

i don’t think that was coherent but yeah. trav is 😁🔫

23. ship you’ve unwillingly come around to

HMMMM there’s not a lot of ships i WASNT like yes!!! let’s go!! about. okay keeping w the theme of the last one, as i liked travis more i liked travnat more but in a horrible fucked up way also they’re lesbians to me. they make me want to kill myself.

on a more casual note i used to really not like mistynat but we’re chill now i think i just needed to get used to misty lol.

25. common fandom complaint you’re sick of hearing

OH!! adult timeline was so bad

NO IT WASNT. ITS ARGUABLY LIKE MORE IMPORTANT TO THE MESSAGE OF HOW TRAUMA AFFECTS PEOPLE TRHOUGHOUT THEIR LIVESSS. like it’s everything COMING BACK TO THEM. i’ve seen people say they just skipped all the adult scenes honestly if you did that just block me like you have nothing of value to say. you didn’t watch like half the show. grow up.

anyways these are probably my more controversial ones out of the ones i’ve answered 🤭 we will see. tysm for the ask grin :)

[stormxpadme]

Whumptober 2024 No. 15 - Childhood trauma & Moment of clarity

07/01/2018

All things considered, calling the Brotherhood of all people for support in the most recently emerged crisis, and not a day after the X-Men had faced their old archenemies at the gates of the besieged city no less, wasn’t the fucking weirdest thing that had happened in Westchester lately.

Ororo and Scott had decided for this early morning hour for their desperate attempt, in the weak hope that Mystique would be sleeping off the world's worst hangover right now, after hopefully drinking her defeat away yesterday. But still, they weren’t awfully surprised when the main com screen in the IT center flashed to life, showing a disgusted grimace on a certain red and blue scaled face instead of the pink-skinned person they'd actually sought out to talk to. That Mystique had filled the mayor chair for her domicile of triumph only with one of the X-Men's former students to deliver them painful twinges in their hearts every time this certain young man showed up in a press release or on one of these incredibly cynical, demonstratively cheerful invitation videos calling mutants around the globe to this so-called paradise of freedom, had never been much of a mystery.

Artie Maddicks had never been anything but yet another masterfully manipulated, well-oiled tool for her too wield while in truth, she was calling the shots behind every decision regarding the Brotherhood's new habitat. Anything they wanted to go to the boy to for, they'd have to run by his boss first one way or another.

Fortunately, Scott had twisted himself into worse verbal pretzels, running Mutant High after Charles' disappearance. Not to mention they were depressingly low on options. "We're calling about yesterday's attack." He didn’t bother granting Mystique as much as a greeting. When you were trying to kill each other at every turn, pleasantries became extremely neglectable.

"Looking for an apology, One-Eye? After you infiltrated us, again? You might be shit out of luck there." Mystique hardly gave him more than a scathing glance with her snow-white teeth bared wide before turning away halfway from the camera, demonstratively typing away on some keyboard, obviously of the opinion, these few vicious sentences had already been far too much attention for people she despised.

Not least thanks to Ororo's brief touch to the back of his hand, invisible for the camera on their side on the conversation, Scott somehow swallowed his equally rude reply, reminding himself arduously that with yesterday's surprising developments at the end of the battle, they were all in similarly equally bad positions at the moment and would need each other for a change. "I'm not talking about yours on our extraction crew but about Flashwind's."

This time, there was a clear hint of mischief sparkling in Mystique's yellow pupils. "Wait, so you're the one who wants to apologize? Let me put you on city speaker then. That said, looked more like to me like your little wifey was trying to file a visa request. If she's looking for an apartment downtown, you should probably be working on your charm, Summers, because I'm not gonna stop her. New York weather sucks anyway."

"If that would ever be her decision, we'll be sure to let you know, Darkholme," Ororo spoke up harshly before Scott get could get too tempted after all to call out his conversation partner on all her crap.

It was his turn to gratefully squeeze her leg under the control panel. His nerves already hadn’t been the thickest since he'd been attacked by his own partner courtesy of the influence of some insane psychic bitch yesterday afternoon.

"But it's not. Emma is in her mind, and we can't get her out alone."

For the first time since having been outsmarted by two teenagers yesterday, Mystique seemed caught off guard, another snort escaping her lips, but Scott also was pretty sure to see his enemy's back tighten just the tiniest bit. Emma had dealt the Brotherhood significant losses back when Magneto had still been actively around already, and Mystique wasn’t exactly someone to forgive easily. Or not to know who the few mutants in this good world were whom she needed to be truly cautious about. "The White Queen, are you for real? See, Summers, and this is why you don't take crazy to bed."

"Unlike you, Darkholme, we keep our clothes on around most of our acquaintances." Scott found he didn’t even have a lot of energy for provocations in return right now. His fleeting gaze kept on finding the time display on the monitor's right lower half, the reminder of how much serious damage Katja's numbed mind could be taking with every damn passing minute, lowering his already not-great bullshit tolerance in record time.

Sadly, Mystique wasn’t done yet, rubbing it in his face for how long the X-Men had put their trust in the wrong telepath … again. "Too bad. How else are you planning to pay for whatever you need from us? I can always use someone in a half-thong serving drinks in my loft."

"What gives you the idea we were calling your mayor's office for a request to you?" Ororo raised her voice again before the throbbing flashing behind Scott's VISOR could find the damn communication panel on pure accident – with how the conversation was going, he seriously doubted that would have made any difference.

"You should, seeing as I decide how to use my employers around here," Mystique reminded them flatly, from one second to another back to calculating business, even finally reluctantly waving for the person that this room was actually belonging to at last, to step into the camera's field of view, even if was surely mostly only to mock Ororo and Scott with the offer of what they so badly needed, only to snatch it away from them again right away or demand retribution from them that Scott wasn’t even willing to think about.

Luckily for them, in this case, this wasn’t her call.

"Curious. And here I thought mutants in New York are free to do whatever they please."

Mystique ground her teeth so hard, he thought he could actually hear it via the – thanks to the Field interferences slightly noisy – line. But then she actually scooted aside with her chair so that said follower of hers could pull up his own, albeit with a similarly dismissive look on his face.

Well, that probably meant, Scott didn’t need to try politeness in this even more difficult part of the call either. "Cat needs your help, Artie."

It hurt, the message that immediately plopped up in the screen's chat window, typed in by fingertips almost moving in lighting speed after so many years in which they'd been forced to take over for a voice no longer working after its owner's body had turned fully amphibian ... But it was sadly also exactly what they'd expected. Artie's mutation had developed into everything he'd had feared so long at the worst time back then, and he'd clearly never quite forgiven the X-Men for how alone he'd felt at that terrible moment.

'Did you two call the wrong number?'

This time, it was Ororo who needed to pause, to swallow thickly before she could answer, the pain of not having been able to help one of her favorite charges back then darkening her eyes, just like the heavy weight on her thin shoulders that this was something she'd probably never be able to never make up for. "Artie, please ... I know how bad these last few days of yours at Mutant High were. Believe me, I wouldn't call you if we had any other way. But this is about your city, too. Right now, Hank's got Cat's mind in deep sleep with the help of the right medication, but if she wakes up and makes it out of here, for what reason ever, then the Field is history. This is the only reason why Emma is keeping her mind captive. To fight Mystique for the power in New York and declare herself leader. Do you two really want to risk that?"

'Then make sure she doesn't wake up.' There was not a single visible stir in Artie's eerie, huge white eyes when he sent those shocking next few words via the com line.

Scott could have sworn to hear Mystique chuckle in satisfaction in the background. Christ, next time he'd meet that cunt in battle, there would definitely not be half as much holding back as yesterday.

Ororo's dark skin had turned a significant shade greyer. "You can't mean that, Artie. You two were so close back then …"

In the mind monitor over Artie's head which happened to be the main reason Ororo and Scott had decided for this call although they'd already had a sad hunch that it would go exactly this way, there was the image of a dark storm cloud flashing, a symbol for the young man's growing aggression ironic enough considering whom they were talking about here. 'The way she left me when I most needed her, to wrestle with Magneto once more, I sincerely doubt that, Miss Munroe. Why should I care about the fate of someone who didn’t give a fuck about mine?'

"You really don't know, do you?" Scott leaned closer to the camera with his jaw grinding both in irritation and sadness about how deeply that hurt between his wife and her once favorite pupil really ran, a hint of guilt also stinging in his heart for a moment as he couldn’t help but wonder if they wouldn’t have had to have this discussion right now if he'd made better choices himself in this regard.

"That us others, we had to all but stop Cat with violence at least twice a year from looking for you ever since you left. And about two times a week from trying and talking to you, since we finally learned where you were."

Artie's spidery fingers paused on the keyboard for a moment, his mouth hanging open for long seconds while he seemed to try and process this information, but that deep crease of anger on his bulging forehead wasn’t going anywhere yet. 'Then why did she let you guys stop her if she allegedly cared so much?'

"Because in the end, she decided every time over that she didn't want to take the freedom of choice from you," Ororo answered very firmly, never letting go off that increasingly distraught gaze via the cameras, her hand clenching down on her thigh high uniform boot in growing agitation – in a faint breeze of hope. "That freedom has always been very important for her, too, and Cat has never been a hypocrite. Unlike some people." Ororo raised a meaningful brow in the direction of the screen where Mystique's face had soured more and more with every word.

'And yet you want to destroy what we built here,' Artie objected, vaguely gesturing around the room he'd so lovingly seemed to have furnished himself there, with all these huge cabinets with neatly filled files about his work, lots of paintings from sights all around the world and hundreds of photos, particularly of physically extremely disfigured mutants on the wall.

Scott would have loved to tell him that no one would come and take away from him what he was so enthusiastically helping to build there. But that would just have been another lie on top of the mountain of the ones that this so-called refuge was already built on. "Normal people, too, deserve the freedom of choice, Artie. I think we all know, things in New York will sooner or later come to a blow, one way or another, and I can't promise we won't be there then. You know very well we can't endorse what your boss is doing. And yet we haven’t stopped a single of our pupils who went there to live with you, have we?"

"How do I know you won't send your wifey yourself as soon as she's clear in the head again?" Mystique unexpectedly spoke up again, apparently sensing that she was quickly losing her superior position in this debate.

"One single mutant against a whole city? You think she'd be that stupid without Emma's influence, Darkholme?"

It was a rhetorical question on Scott's part because he knew the mouth Mystique had on her well enough by now, which was also why he was almost relieved when Artie started to type again, though the answer from that side wasn’t particularly benign either.

'It wouldn't be the first suicide mission she embarks on.'

"We will not start a war, Artie," Ororo stated with all the arduous conviction about that subject that Scott and she had come up with in the last few weeks, in so many arguments, fighting mostly the uncertainty in their own souls about how to approach this catastrophe. They still weren't any closer to a solution in that regard but the one thing everyone in this house knew was that they wouldn’t be responsible for mutant blood being spilled in the streets if they could avoid it somehow. "Cat knows that, too. If she should still decide at some point to do something very dumb, maybe because Mystique keeps her daughter hostage again under the false pretense of medical support, then she will have to live with the consequences, one way or another. But then that will be her decision, at least. What is happening right now? It's not. What would you have said if Emma had forced you with her powers to stay at Mutant High back then?"

'Cat wouldn’t have exactly minded that,' was the next still unbelievably bitter reply, but the way Artie's tall body had hunched in his elegantly carved chair more and more, his lidless eyes narrowing, twitching, again and again, revealed he was rapidly losing at least part of his aggression.

"I can guarantee you with 100 % certainty that this opinion has changed."

To that next solemn answer from Ororo, there weren’t any words for a short while, neither spoken nor written or mentally depicted ones.

"People can change, Artie," Scott finally spoke up again when he could be sufficiently sure, he wouldn’t make things worse instead of better. "That's what makes us human. Everything you had to endure, how difficult things always were for you … None of us can make that right. We made mistakes, all of us, including you. And maybe we'll always stand on different sides. But we never deny any mutant our help if they really need it. Will you allow me to ask you for the same?"

Artie abruptly got up from his chair, and for a moment, Scott was convinced he'd fucked up after all, blowing the last chance out of the window to free Katja from this dangerous condition any time soon … Then he saw, with relief, the image of a cab on Artie's mind monitor, and a clock the hands of which went one full-time round. An hour.

"You know I could just raze Frost Ltd. to the ground, Summers, don't you?" Mystique was audibly disgruntled that she'd been robbed of the chance of yet another blackmailing attempt of any kind their way.

"I wasn’t talking to you, Darkholme," Scott gave back coldly. "You might have nothing to fear by telepaths but if you're so happy to sacrifice mutants that Emma can kill or mentally damage for a lifetime with a single thought, knock yourself out. Otherwise, sit your ass down and pray, Artie will succeed."

The abrupt but at least silent disconnection of the com-line from his enemy's side said all he needed to know for the moment.

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