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ceilidho · 3 months

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take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 15)

first chapter >> last chapter

Sleep eludes you. You toss and turn that first night, not used to sleeping on your own. Every sound makes you jump. When the sky goes black and the bushes rustle with the breeze, you have to double check the locks on the doors no less than three times, fastening it with the wooden bolt just to be safe.

Without John around, the world is twice as loud; crickets chirp raucous melodies, buzzing so loud that sometimes you swear there must be one on the pillow right beside your head, and, in the distance, an owl hoots at an interval so irregular that each screech tugs you back from the brink of sleep. The house groans as it settles into itself; the first time you hear it, you spring upright in bed, heartbeat erratic, certain that it’s the sound of someone coming up the porch steps.

You collapse back onto the mattress with a huff when you finally recognize the sound for what it is.

You don’t sleep well that night. Dawn finds you awake before its arrival. The songbirds keep you from drifting off back to sleep when the first wispy rays of sunlight creep over the horizon, and you lie in bed until the possibility of sleep is well behind you. That makes you huff, bitter over the loss.

Again, the day is slow to come over you. It seems almost reluctant to really get going, the sunlight clear and the air brisk but the day itself slow moving. An early morning chill forces you to don heavier garments than usual.

After breakfast, you take Buttercup into the paddock to run around, watching her from the edge of the pen, humming to yourself under your breath.

Most of the morning is spent cleaning and doing chores around the house. You muck the stables, feed the horses, scrub the dirty laundry on the washboard before hanging it up on the line, weed the garden, and promise yourself that next week you’ll work up the energy to boil linseed oil to polish and oil the furniture. As it is, you stagger into the kitchen around midday for lunch, sticky with sweat.

Kate comes up the path on horseback not too long after that, a large swooped hat perched precariously on her head. She has to hold it in place by the brim to keep it from flying off. You watch her from the window at first, drying your hands from the quick wash you gave them after finishing your lunch.

“I ought to start making new friends,” you quip when she takes a seat next to you on the porch swing.

“Sick of my company already?” she laughs.

“Well, a girl’s gotta have options.”

She snorts at that, tipping her hat lower on her head to shade her eyes from the sun. It has the effect of cutting a wide shadow across her face, leaving only a swath of white teeth exposed.

Her beauty has always come as an afterthought. Tanned, freckled skin, and hair like golden wheat. But you look now and you see something different than the woman you’re used to seeing, and it dawns on you that what you’re seeing now is a version of Kate divorced from the idea of her that you’d always had in your head. Almost fuller; more robust.

You tear your eyes away only when she catches you staring and cocks an eyebrow.

She coaxes you into saddling Buttercup up and accompanying her on a trail ride. Part of you resists initially, still wounded from your last ride, and when Kate presses you for more information, you reluctantly divulge, recounting the events from the weeks prior with a tremble in your voice. She nods only once while you speak, keeping her comments to herself. That she must have already known doesn’t surprise you; she’d insinuated as much only the other week.

You’d be wise to not keep secrets from Kate in the future, you realize. Best to keep someone as omniscient as her on your side.

After some encouragement, she talks you into a leisurely stroll and even helps you dress Buttercup in the stables. The dizzying spell of apprehension settles over you like a heavy fog up until you blink and realize that the two of you have been riding beside each other in silence for the better part of a half mile.

The fear doesn’t entirely evaporate, however. Any sudden dip in the terrain or unexpected noise from Buttercup makes you start. You take several breaks to breathe and walk around. At the top of a hill, you ask Kate in a voice verging on shrill if you can take a break and dismount before she’s even answered you.

“She can sense if you’re on edge,” Kate reminds you, nodding to where Buttercup grazes in a nearby patch of grass.

“Well, I can’t help that much. I am on edge.”

She tips her head back to look at the sky and sighs before looking back at you. “Sit down for a bit then. It’s not a race.”

And you do, for a spell. You sit and rest with your back against the trunk of a tree that branches high above you, the canopy blotting out any sunlight save for the tendril thin strands that sink through like stones in water.

You’re striking a delicate balance between the needs of the flesh and the needs of the soul. What the soul wants is to push itself beyond the boundaries that formerly enclosed it; after a lifetime of servitude and desires suppressed, even a simple trail ride feels momentous. What the flesh wants, however, is to shade in the shade until the urge to retch wears off.

The walk takes the two of you by a farm with a large, fenced-in enclosure. A couple houses sit around the enclosure. The smell of the livestock is pungent at first and your nose wrinkles as you approach the farm, but you adjust after a time.

Recent weeks so far from home have spoiled you; back in the city, the pungent stench of waste and manure was commonplace, the sour cloak of tobacco stinking up the alehouses and alleyways as much as the parlors and lounges. You’d adjusted to it back then as well.

The grazing cows rumble and low behind the fence. It’s a pleasant bucolic scene, one lifted straight from a painting that you swear you’ve seen before, though the artist’s name escapes you.

Looking out into antediluvian pastures sets your heart at ease. When the farmer wanders out of the barn to greet the two of you, the two of you join him and his wife for coffee in the big house.

For a brief period of time, it’s like stepping out of your body; there’s no impetus to get a move on, and inertia doesn’t set in like a rolling fog leaving you stranded in no man’s land. Nothing like the late evenings lying in bed in your aunt and uncle’s apartment, staring up at the pockmarked ceiling and praying for something to change.

You, simply, have a coffee.

After bidding them farewell, the bulk of the afternoon is spent at Kate’s house, a tiny plot of land just outside of town surrounded by fields of ochre prairie grass. You’re wiped by the end of the ride, sweat running in rivulets down your back. While Kate brings the horses into her little stable to let them rest and eat, you fill up the porcelain bowl in her bathroom with water to wash your face.

It’s quiet. You help with a few affairs around the house and you learn, to your own internal amusement, that Kate hums through her chores. Soap stops by in the early evening to drop off Kate’s mail and stays for supper, glad for the company. You watch bemusedly as he scarfs down three corned beef sandwiches with ease, mildly nauseated by the way he talks with his mouth full.

“Can he even breathe?” you hiss to Kate while Soap is busy shoveling food into his gob.

She nods, unbothered by the display in front of her. “You should see him when he’s actually hungry.”

You pale when he belches, pushing your plate away from you.

“Ye tell yer man when he’s back what a good job I’ve done, Mrs. Price,” he says, licking a leaking trail of sauce off his thumb.

“Won’t the town still standing be sufficient evidence?”

“Aye, but it’s sweeter comin’ from the missus, ye dinnae think?”

Incorrigible boy. You shake your head, acquiescing even if only to get him to shut up. That mollifies him, gets him crowing about the raise he’ll get, or the commendation. You think he’ll start going on about lofty aspirations towards sheriffdom, but he never quite gets to that point. You wonder if the rest of your life will be similarly composed of assumptions that fall flat when you look at them too hard.

He takes you home at the end of the night as a favor to Kate, who watches you from the door until she disappears into the faraway. You only have to yell at Soap twice to slow down when he tries to goad you into a faster gallop.

You sleep better that night, but only just. This time, it’s the empty spot beside you on the bed that bothers you. His pillow is cold when you reach over to touch it. Your hand lingers on the pillow; there’s a passing thought that maybe the warmth of your hand will transfer into the pillow and trick you in sleep. You have another passing thought that maybe somewhere out there, wherever John is, he’ll feel a phantom hand creep across the bed to cup his cheek.

The blooming flower of daylight comes again to wake you up and the cycle starts anew.

The chores never end, but there’s some comfort in routine. Regularity breeds familiarity. Any contempt has long been bled out of you, almost without you even noticing.

The days pass slowly. A horse-drawn carriage. A robin nestled in the branches of a pine tree sings at evening twilight. You look up to find it stark against the dark green needles, the fir’s red heart.

A neighbor comes by with fresh strawberries that you eat from the bowl out in the sun, lying down in the grass by the paddock. You suck the juice out of a big one when you bite into it and it drips messy down your chin. When the achenes fleck off, you wipe them off on your dress.

Though you half expect Kate to come by, she never does. Perhaps she’s busy in town. You remind yourself that the brevity of your friendship can hardly measure up to competing priorities. Minding the shop, for instance, or stopping by to check on other acquaintances.

And then the waiting ends when you see a dark shadow on the horizon that you recognize all at once as a man on horseback headed towards the house.

Elation clambers up your throat. You very nearly shout at the sheer sight of him, but at the last second, you manage to reign it in.

You wave at John from the porch when you can finally make out the face of the man riding up the path. Despite the euphoric wave that washes over you at the sight of him, you feign composure, keeping your butt planted on the porch swing until he dismounts and heads down the path towards you.

There's something striking about watching him from a distance. Like Kate, you see him now from a new angle, an added weight to him. When he lumbers up the porch steps, you don't just see the man that dragged you to the court house and forced you to marry him, but a man in his prime. Square, masculine jaw; thick thighed. Something in your belly stirs when he rolls his shoulders back, accentuating the breadth of them.

When he reaches you, he grips you under the arms to pull you up, but your arms wind around his neck without any coaxing, meeting him halfway. Every inch of your body presses into his, and he smells and feels exactly as you remembered.

“Been missing you like hell, sweetheart,” John rasps into your ear.

“Missed you too,” you mutter, lips smushed into a kiss against his cheek.

And you did, didn’t you? You can say it for once without worrying that you’ll fall apart.

The two of you stumble into the house in a daze. Your hands are already trembling well before you fist them into John’s hair to drag him into a kiss. Desperation claws up your throat, need choking you when you go to tell him how much you missed him. You missed him bone deep.

He pulls away briefly, chuckling when you whine. “Darlin’, can I at least get cleaned up? I’m a mess.”

His beard has grown since you last kissed him, the mutton chops more pronounced now. It scratches your lips and cheeks when you tug him back down for a deeper kiss. He can clean himself later as far as you’re concerned. You’ve gone three days now without your husband and you can’t go a second more.

You can feel his smile when he breaks the kiss again. “Honey—”

“No,” you cut him off, a whine threading your voice. You tighten your arms around his neck, pushing your bosom into his chest. “Please, John, don’t make me wait; I can’t—”

“Alright, alright,” John sighs, and then hunches slightly to fit his hands under your thighs and hike you up his body until your legs wind around his waist. “Poor girl. Never seen you this needy before. You missed me that bad?”

“Yes,” you answer succinctly, already pressing kisses into the sweaty skin of his neck and his cheeks. His arms shake when he laughs.

He nearly trips up the stairs when you suck at the salty skin of his neck.

John smiles amusedly when you whip your dress off, nearly getting tangled in it before letting it pile on the floor by the bed.

In a different time, your eagerness might embarrass you, but you’re well beyond that now. It’s impossible to hear that distant voice in your head shrieking modesty when your husband watches you indulgently and unbuttons his shirt so slowly that you nearly bark at him to hurry it up. And then you actually do when he goes to fold his shirt instead of simply tossing it to the floor.

He laughs; it sends frissons of heat down your spine.

It’s unclear who pursues and who is pursued this time. All you know is that you either push him onto the bed or he pulls you down with him, clothes long since stripped and piled onto the floor. Your hands sink into the meat of his chest when you sit astride his lap, wet folds grinding on the hard shaft jutting up between his legs. John hisses through clenched teeth, already worked up, fit to burst. You wonder if he tended to himself at all on his trip, whether he even had time.

The hands tightening around your waist tell you that, whether or not he did, it’s inconsequential now when faced with the thing he’s been wanting most.

Your instinct is to lift your hips and line his member up with your sopping entrance before sinking down, but John surprises you by shifting up the bed and dragging you with him, not stopping until your pussy is hovering over his mouth.

It’s easy to panic over that, easy to grow skittish. You start when the flat of his tongue runs up the seam of your cunt, the only thing keeping you from tumbling off the bed altogether being the big hands clamped around your hips.

“You try to keep your pussy off my face and I’ll give you a licking you won’t like anywhere near as much,” John warns, and then pulls you down onto his face without further ado.

Your back arches at the first lick, his tongue burrowing into your hole, softened by the slick leaking out of you. His lips and tongue work you over until you’re a shivering, coiled mess on top of his face, hands braced against the wall and toes burrowing into the mattress.

A stiff tongue stabs up into your hole. The groan he lets out at the taste of you vibrates through you, making you clench around his tongue.

You’ve never been much of a drinker, but you feel drunk now, grinding on his mouth. Hands running through his hair. Blissed out, sex leaking, throbbing. Shameful noises pouring out of you unbidden, your inhibitions packed up and long gone by now. His upper lip glistens with your juices and when his eyes blink open, they’re nearly black with desire.

The hands on your bottom holding you over his head grip into you good and tight. He readjusts his hold on you whenever you try to pull off his face, yanking you back down and digging his fingers in harder, the tips wedged between your cheeks. You practically yowl when a finger prods at your back hole, worrying over the puckered flesh.

The time for gentle words is far beyond him. When you glance down between your legs, his hair is matted with sweat and disheveled, a flush high on his cheekbones. Blue eyes peer out through slits, locked on the dripping mess between your thighs. His nose presses hard into your pubic bone when he pulls you down onto his waiting mouth, lips parting and tongue sawing over your clit. That part you can’t see, but you feel the wet slide of his tongue over your slit.

You come with a finger lodged knuckle deep in your ass and his tongue rolling over your clit, coaxing it from you. Your whole body pulses and shivers. Chuckling to himself when you go dumb during it, slumped over him and panting hard. Tears dripping down your cheeks that John cleans up himself with his tongue when he drags you back down his chest and rolls the two of you over.

“God, you look so pretty like this, honey,” he coos when he’s got you under him, pinching your cheeks between his fingers until your lips go plump and pursed.

When he drags you into a kiss, his tongue still tastes of you.

He takes you on your back after that, knees over his shoulders and bending you in ways you didn’t think possible. Whatever control he had before is gone now. He thrusts in to the hilt the second he gets you flat on your back, taking three days of frustration out on you, near punching your cervix with the head of his cock.

“There we go— fuck—” John growls. “C’mon, squeeze me tight, honey; make me come in your pretty fuckin’ pussy.”

You feel like a creature turned inside of itself. All high yips, sharp pangs of pleasure, an ache in your hips that you know instinctively will worsen by morning, and a deep seated, unquenchable need. He mates you like a beast in heat, jaw clenched and brows furrowed; when your eyelids slip shut, he growls at you to keep them open, and you do only to find him staring down at you with that indelible, maddening intensity of his.

“Nngh, John—John—” you gasp.

“Just a little, darlin’—shh, c’mon, just take it. Like that, yes—that’s it.”

A dark urge flutters under your skin, blinking its eyes open. You stare up at him through half lidded eyes. “Gonna come in me and give me a baby, John?”

His eyes go black. “I’m gonna fill this tight cunt right up, you keep talking like that.”

You reach up to rake your hands through his hair. "Please give me a baby, John. Give me it, please."

His hips snap forward, knocking the breath out of you. He pounds into you with renewed vigor, lost in it, your nipples tagging his chest with every thrust.

If you could peel back your skin and tuck him into your ribcage, you would. He’s already in you anyway; everywhere it counts. Leathery musk wafting under your nose, sweat-slicked skin, his spend deep in your cunt and leaking out around his throbbing cock, the heat steaming off him and warming you from the outside in and inside out. His come spurts into you hot and viscous, so deep that you swear you can taste it at the back of your throat.

In the aftermath, you curl up against his chest and he traces a finger lazily up and down your spine.

“You’ve been so patient with me.” You don’t know what prompts you to say that, but you know it’s been sitting in your chest and waiting for you to put it to words.

His fingers pause in their ministrations, his hand resting flat on your back. “Patient?”

“Don’t play dumb, John. It doesn’t suit you.”

“Got some nerve accusing me of playing dumb,” he chuckles softly, leaning down to butt his forehead against yours.

You nearly go cross eyed. Doe eyed. Treacle tart soft in your chest. You wonder if you’ll look back on this someday in fear and awe, and think that is the very moment when you finally let him in.

This is how love suffuses into the girl: you wake up gasping to find it staring down at you.

You’re brave enough now to ask what it is that you need. The world flashes briefly before you: in it, you see every possible version of a girl, how she goes from animal skin to teeth glinting in the night. She is perforated and vibrating; lacunae as the voice drips back into the sea, papyrus crackling hot in the fire.

Maybe new love flounders again against the rhythms of the old, the song of you now sleeping beneath an alder tree, thickening with lemon and honey.

“I’m going to…—you know I’ll tell you. I just need time.”

“Darlin’, I know. There’s no use for rushing things. It happens when it happens,” John murmurs. He drops a bristly kiss on your forehead.

“…And if it doesn’t happen?”

He shrugs. “Then it doesn’t happen.”

It’s a shock when love finds you because you don’t expect it. You’d open the door to anything else in a heartbeat, but it’s love that finds you cowering under the stairs.

Love is not something you’ve ever touched, not even grazed. You recognize the insidious rot of lust or the gnarled grip of possession, but love? That has yet evaded your attempts on it. Not that you’ve ever given it a good go.

But now, when you think of it, it looks at you through blue eyes.

You sleep on it. You don’t contemplate when it’ll happen only because you know it’s inevitable. Your lips have already grown loose. When he eats you out in the early morning hours after a good night’s sleep for once since John left, you have to swallow back the wails of I love you, I love you, tell me you love me, please, please.

Your lips part, lax. Only sinking your mouth down over his turgid length after he’s made you come keeps you from accidentally saying the words. The soft, grunted fuck he lets out at that empties out any thought in your head.

Desperate times, desperate measures.

If John knows, he jealously guards your secret. Would take it to his grave you think. Just for him and you to know. Any temerity from the night before is squashed in the light of day, and you sit across from him at the table during breakfast wishing that he could hear the words in your head, if only so you didn’t have to say it out loud.

God bites the lip when you want it most to part. Isn’t that just the nature of life?

John leaves you off at the general store as always, dropping a peck to your lips before heading out on his way, but when you wander inside, you find Miles behind the counter instead of Kate. That dims the excitement in your chest a tad. It’s no fault of his, but you’d hoped to regale Kate with the revelation you’d had the night previous, omitting some of the lewder details. Instead you’ll be forced to wait until she’s back in town. When you ask Miles when abouts that’ll be, he shrugs, unable to give you a definite answer.

“Visiting a friend, she said,” he tells you, and you blink like you don’t know exactly what that means.

Her absence leaves you in a lurch though, little else to do but wander around the store. You’d leave entirely and try to find something else to occupy your time, but you feel a bit foolish coming in just to leave right away, though you’re sure Miles wouldn’t care either way. Still, you tell yourself you’ll linger for a few minutes before heading out to the library or down the road for a coffee at the inn.

The bell over the door jingles, but you pay it no mind.

You linger in the aisle with the fruit preserves and canned fish, gazing into the bottles. Tins with hand-drawn labels, branded packaging. On another shelf, you find oyster crackers, National Biscuit Company on the label. Nabisco. If Kate were minding the shop, you’d pop your head around the aisle to ask her what corned beef brand she used the other day.

The sound of spurs jangling from behind you makes you frown and turn your head.

A hand clamps down over your mouth, muffling the yelp that leaps instinctively from your throat, and you go shock cold when the blunt muzzle of a pistol wedges against the small of your back.

“Bet you thought you were clever gettin’ me out of town, didn’t you, girl?”

Your eyes widen.

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #price x reader #price x you #john price x reader #price/reader #john price/reader #captain john price

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cipheress-to-k-pop · 2 months

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romantic vs platonic

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Reader (Established Relationship), Conner Kent x Reader (Platonic)

Word Count: 1k words

romantic:

Dick burrowed his face into your neck, breathing in your familiar scent and letting out a deep sigh once your fingers began running through his hair, gently massaging his head.

He took another deep inhale and twirled a lock of your hair in his fingers as he began placing kisses to your neck. It was that one strand that was always curlier than the rest.

"Your hair smells great, baby." He murmured and your eyes fluttered shut, the warmth in Dick's embrace beginning to put you to sleep. You thanked him for the compliment with a small kiss to the crown of his head.

"I love it when my pillow smells like your shampoo the next day." He confessed and you melted.

A hot blush was growing on your face and your bleary eyes took in the sincerity of his smile. Pressing a palm against his chest, feeling his faint heartbeat beneath your fingertips, you leaned close to kiss him.

“I love you.”

"I love you more."

platonic:

You sighed, letting your hair out of the uncomfortable ponytail that you had haphazardly put up so that it wouldn't be in your face while you ate lunch.

That single strand had been uncomfortably tugging against your scalp for last thirty minutes and you gently ran your fingers through the stands, bringing instant relief—

"Woah!!"

That was until someone reached out and yanked your hair so hard you almost fell flat on your behind.

"Dude, what shampoo do you use? Your hair smells great!" Conner commented, reaching out to grab a lock of your hair so he could sniff it once again and you smacked his hand away, staring at your best friend with an expression of disgust mixed with absolute bewilderment.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

***

romantic:

You stepped out of the bathroom, gently toweling your hair dry as you tossed some clothes in the hamper as you stepped back into the bedroom.

Dick looked up from his place on the bed, giving you a passing glance before he nearly broke his neck to look back at you in surprise, a grin growing on his face that was partly lovestruck, partly teasing but completely genuine.

"Is that my T shirt?"

You chuckled at the sight of his impish grin that threatened to split his face, choosing to ignore his blatant staring of your ass that peeked from the hem of the shirt.

"Yeah? Is that okay? I didn't bring any clothes with me." You explained, towel joining your clothes in the hamper when you had decided your hair was dry enough and you perched yourself on his lap, his hands immediately coming to wrap around your waist.

"More than okay," He chirped and you kissed his expectant lips, "You look beautiful."

platonic:

The amount of time it took Conner to recognize that there was something different about you was absolutely disappointing as you lay in wait, glancing up at him occasionally as you absentmindedly browsed through your phone.

"Is that my T shirt?"

You hid the cheshire grin on your face and instead schooled an expression of surprise, "Is this your shirt? Oh, I had absolutely no idea! I thought it was a communal shirt! Considering it was left in the dryer for the last couple days!"

He rolled his eyes, immediately knowing what you were on.

"Because you see, I know you wouldn't leave your clothes in the dryer for days so that it would impede me while I was trying to get my laundry done after the countless reminders I had given you. So I just assumed that this shirt was available for the taking. You know what the scholars say: 'Finder's keepers, losers weepers'."

You still managed to give him a smile even though your words came out through gritted teeth.

"I'm sorry, alright? I won't do it again."

You gave him a fake chuckle, "Yes, you won't because as of this moment you don't have any clothes left to launder. Considering they are my clothes now."

He glared at you.

***

romantic:

"Babe! You're never going to believe what just ha—What's wrong?" The delight in his voice immediately dimmed as soon as he caught a glance of you buried underneath the covers with your back facing him.

He knew you were awake; the frantic motions you had made to wipe away your tears as soon as he entered had told him enough.

"Baby, what happened? Why are you crying?"

He didn't even wait for a response before sitting beside you on the bed, leaning down to press several kisses to your hair. You didn't reply, sniffling and hiding your face against your pillow as you felt a fresh new wave of tears hit you.

"Oh, darling."

And then you were back again in the warmth of his loving arms. He wrapped himself tightly around you, making the heavy pain in your chest alleviate and be replaced with the content you usually found when lost in his embrace.

Before you could control it, you were sobbing softly into his shoulder while he cradled you against him, gently patting your back and raking his fingers through your hair, "Let it out; let it all out."

platonic:

Conner could only stare at you in equal parts of concern and disbelief as you continued to wail in front of him, tears streaking down your cheeks in fat droplets, each followed by an equally fat successor, all while you continued to wheeze and gasp for air in the middle of your sobs.

"And-and-and-*gasp*-then he-then he-*gasp*-he—"

"BITCH SPIT IT OUT!"

"He hung up on meeeee!" You wept, now hiding your splotchy face in your hands. He let out an affronted scoff, offended on your behalf but still sitting beside you to gently pat your back. Well, he thought it was gentle. You, on the other hand, felt the sobs being knocked out of you with each 'pat'.

When your loud wails eventually dissolved into equally loud squawks as you attempted to catch your breath, he asked, "Do you want me to beat him up?"

Finally, you were able to crack a smile.

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shookuna · 2 months

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// HEATWAVE! // T FUSHIGURO

a/n: first post on tha new blog !!! eeee !!! this is dedicated to the lovely mickey @teddybeartoji <3 ty for being my FIRST OFFICIAL MOOT ! MY DAYONE ! take a lil soft!toji fic pls and thank u 🤲

wc: ~ 1k oops

summary: tired grumpy bf!toji is needy and annoying w/o cuddles. cw: nsf(w) ment, plus some tooth-rotting fluff <3

cuddling with toji was becoming a rare occurrence.

it was mid-july and swelteringly hot outside, even in the wee hours of the night. the a/c in your shared apartment was threatening to give out, and the shitty fan toji sloppily assembled did little to improve matters. so, deviating from your usual routine, you and toji fell asleep on opposite sides of the bed.

toji noticed the distance immediately, cracking one eye open to find you not curled into his side, like usual. the sight of you dead to the world, hair messily splayed across the pillow was enough to make his heart flutter. but even still, a frown tugged at the corner of his lips.

because goddammit, you did not get him used to this "cuddling" shit just to bail on him now.

you and toji met months ago at the dawn of fall, when the days were getting shorter and the nights were growing colder. your relationship was initially a fateful coincidence, a grocery store meet-cute that was as romantic as it was awkward. his series of brazen pick-up lines went right over your head (surely, you assumed, no one would tell you how good you'd look receiving backshots in the fucking frozen food aisle) but you still ended up giving toji your number that day.

and he's never been a religious man, but he was praising every god in the damn sky that you did.

one date was all it took for both of you to be locked in. he was a bad habit, an itch you couldn't help but scratch, irresistible. he was reckless, cocky at best and an asshole at worst, everything you weren't. needless to say, dating toji was against your better judgment. but for him, being with you was the first good decision he's made in a long time.

that's not to say things were perfect, or even easy. being with someone like you was so unfamiliar for someone like toji. loving you came as easy as breathing, but choosing you, choosing to work towards being a better version of himself... that was hard as shit. even small things took time, like physical intimacy. his body count was through the roof, so he had no issue when it came to having sex with you - but affection was a whole different story. it made him feel like he was in someone else's skin, someone weaker, someone who needed to be taken care of. it took til' mid-december, when the temperatures were practically sub-zero and frost crusted the ground, to get toji to warm up (no pun intended) to cuddling.

and now you'd gone and gotten him attached to this shit just to leave him high and dry?!

it didn't matter that your boyfriend was practically a walking furnace, heat radiating off of him in waves when he caged you in his strong arms. temperature be damned, toji thought, you started this, so you had to finish it.

"wake up." his gruff voice sounded out, a stark departure from the blanket of silence the night offered. when you only stirred slightly, he gave you a little shake. "oi, get y'r ass up. i'm talkin t' you."

at that firmer command, you rose your head, a displeased frown taking the place of your previous serene expression. "fushiguro, what in the ever-loving fuck are you doing waking me up at..." you paused, fumbling for your phone on the nightstand and checking the time. "...at three in the damn morning."

"don't gimme that shit. girl bye," toji grumbled, not sparing you so much as an apology for disturbing your sleep. you simply gave him a deadpan stare, making him scoff and roll over to his other side. "'s fine, not like i needed to hold ya to fall asleep anyway." he muttered bitterly into the pillow.

your eyes were already halfway closed when he turned around, but they immediately shot open when you heard his grumblings.

"what did you say? you need to cuddle me to fall asleep?" you perk up, pressing your hands on his shoulders to coax him into turning back around.

"i sure as hell didn't say 'cuddle'," he groused, but still turned around anyways. his voice might have sounded annoyed, but you knew your toji. the flicker of warmth in his eyes told you everything you needed to know.

"heh, you said it just now, dummy." you grinned as you snuggled up to toji's chest, earning a flick to your forehead from the man in question. but you were unbothered, simply humming, "thought ya didn't like cuddling."

"y'r makin' assumptions," toji grumbled, the low, gravelly timbre of his voice sending shivers down your spine. "now quiet down so i can sleep."

at that, you scoffed in playful offense. "so you can sleep? you literally just woke me u-" you started, but he silenced effortlessly by pressing his lips against yours in a lazy, heated kiss.

when he pulled away, chest heaving with each hot puff of air, you were warm from way more than just the heat outside.

"go the fuck to sleep before i put you to sleep myself." he growled out, but there was no malice in his words - more of an invitation than a threat.

deciding to resist temptation this time, you settled back into his hold, your back flush against his chest. as you began to fade back into sleep, you heard toji whisper out, "meant what i said, y'know that? can't... can't sleep w' out you now."

the next words out of your mouth were simple, but they were all it took to put him at ease.

"i know, toji."

dawww <33 hope u like this fic everyone (esp mickey mwah mwah mwah) reblogs + comments appreciated !!

#hi mickey pls take my humble offering #christening the birth of this blog w a fic in yr honor my love #jjk x reader #jjk x you #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #shookuna.writes! જ⁀➴✒

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hidden-poet · 2 months

Text

Commander Snow: 10

Commander Snow

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

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

Editor: @hotline-to-hell

chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

chapter 9

Chapter 10

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Would you change too? You supposed you had.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Him calling you wife made your heart curdle.

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

“There was no issue,” you insist.

He doesn’t push you on it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The women seemed unbothered to see you.

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

“Good morning.” You offer back.

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” you say instead, “Did you?”

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

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

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

“No, I haven’t.” You agree.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Coriolanus smiles at Tigris under her praise.

“And you?” he asks, turning to you.

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

“Congratulations, President Snow.” You offer.

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

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

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

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

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

His casual demeanor returns as Tigris’s attention does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes?” He answers the call.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“All of it,” she sighs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Five women stand above you and begin work.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Leave the room,” he commanded.

Tools are dropped as they follow his request.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A gentle kiss is placed against your ear.

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

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

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

“Leave me alone, Coriolanus,” you demanded.

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

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

“Come in,” he orders.

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

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

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

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

He steps over her and back to his room.

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

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

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

“Well say less.” she rasped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Coriolanus noticed anyway.

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

“Yes, President Snow” the woman apologizes.

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

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

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

They lead you to the bathroom with a dress bag.

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

“Yes, President Snow,” she mocked.

“Shut up,” the hair stylist barked.

The dress was pulled from the bag without a wrinkle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You look beautiful,” he comments.

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

“Thank you,” you reply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And you, Mistress.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stood until the head of staff pushed you forward.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Coriolanus stands from the desk in front of the reporters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you think?” He asks.

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

“I never have,” he admits.

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

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

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

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

Coriolanus picks up a small decorative statue and examines it.

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

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

“Shall we see upstairs?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But time passes with no appearance.

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

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

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

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

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

But something about it captivates Coriolanus.

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

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

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

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

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

“I am sorry that happened to you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Saved me?” You questioned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—------------------

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—----------------

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In hope you take another one.

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

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

It appeared the same as the other.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—--------

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

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

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

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

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

“Kicking, is he?” Coriolanus asks.

“Yeah. Something like that,” you state.

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

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

“Are you alright?” He asks with concern.

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

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

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

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

You feel Coriolanus place a hand on your back.

“I’ll call for the doctor,” he says.

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

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

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

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

“To the bed,” he demands, “Come on.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, No.” Coriolanus consoles.

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

“Mrs. Snow, push.” The doctor bids.

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

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

“Push,” Coriolanus tells you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still, you scream for her to save you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mum!” you shout, “Archie!”

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

You watch as Coriolanus holds tight to the small blanket.

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

—-----------

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

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

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

With newfound motivation you will yourself to get your bearings.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is he healthy?” You ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, you should,” he finally spoke.

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

“Here, do you want to hold him?”

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

He fits perfectly and doesn’t wake.

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

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

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

You were hoping that he wouldn’t mention it. That it could just be something that happened and then forgotten.

“Did I?” you fawn.

You're careful to keep your eyes on your son, and not to look anywhere that could gain Coriolanus's attention.

He captures it anyway by bringing your chin up to his height.

“You did so well, and I am so proud of you,” he praises. He places a quick kiss on your lips before drawing his head back.

“I love you.” He states. His eyes look at you expecting.

“I love you too, Coriolanus.”

You never know if the letter you write is sent home. No return was ever given.

—--------------

A week later your baby boy lay between you and Coriolanus on the bed. He was sleeping after you had just fed him. It took a while for you to feel connected to him but now a mother's bond was established, and you could watch him sleep for hours.

Coriolanus ran his finger down the side of his baby's face and down to his little belly, rubbing soothing circles to try and help him digest the milk.

“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” Coriolanus spoke to you but kept his gaze on his child.

“Yes,” you agree.

You wished your mother could see your baby. To hold him as is her right as a grandmother. You had wanted to ask Coriolanus, but you knew the answer. Still, you had to ask. Maybe he would be kinder to you after birthing his child.

“Coriolanus, I was wondering if I might be able to take him back home to see my family?”

His eyes shot up at you. The answer was more than no, it was how dare you.

“Don’t you ever ask me that again.” he seethes.

You held little hope that he would agree so his denial hurt less.

“Can we video call them?” you try to compromise.

“No,” his answer was hard and cold, “Put him in his bassinet and come back.” He commanded.

Crassus’s bassinet was only at the end of your bed. Coriolanus wanted to keep him close.

Your baby stirs as you gently pick him up but settles back into his mother's arms. He was so milk-drunk that the normal fight to set him into his bassinet was won with a gentle rock.

You knew you were in trouble with Coriolanus. The only time you had wished that your baby fought sleep was so you could avoid Coriolanus’ wrath.

He holds his tongue until you are back lying next to him.

“I don’t want you speaking about your family ever again. I don’t want our son to know that you are District. Think about them if you must, but if you continue to speak about them, I will have them killed.”

“They are my family,” you spat.

“We are your family. Us. Your son and your husband.”

You get up from next to him, even though you know you shouldn’t.

“Lay back down,” he demands.

“I’ve done everything you have asked of me,” you snivel, “Gone to every event where they look at me like a trained animal. Cooked your meals, washed your clothes. Gave you a son, just like you wanted.”

Your voice was wobbly and raised. The hormones that were still raging through your body from birth trapped you between uncontrollable sadness and an unquenchable fury.

“Be quiet. You’ll wake Crassus,” Coriolanus scolded.

“I don’t care!” You yell.

Coriolanus looks to the bassinet at the end of the bed, expecting his son to wake, crying.

All is silent. You lower your voice as you continue speaking. If you upset Crassus all conversation would stop.

“Crassus doesn’t have to come. I can have a one-hour phone call a month without him. He doesn’t have to know, but I can’t live like this.”

His eyes snapped to you as he lay in the bed. “Can’t live like this? I have given you a life so terrible that you can’t bear it?”

He rises from the bed, and you take a step back. You were in a bad condition after birth. There was no way you could defend yourself against him.

“Nothing I do for you is ever good enough for you” he exclaims. His eyes squint at you but his voice is calm and collected, “You know how dangerous it was for me to help you in 12? A Commander, and a District girl. How that looked for me in my presidential run? But I didn’t care. From the day I met you, I have looked after you. And you want me to feel in debt to you, because why? You cook the food I give you? Wash the clothes I buy? Birthed a beautiful son that you never would have had without me.”

“You didn’t ‘take care of me’, Coriolanus. You took me. I never asked for any of it. I want to go home to my family.”

Coriolanus stood across from you, his face unmoving and hard.

“You’re right. Family is important,” he suddenly says. His face relaxes, and body unwinded.

He moves quickly to the end of the bed where Crassus lies.

“Your brother had a child. A little girl, named after you,” he rocks the bassinet gently despite his threatening words.

“You want to see her? I can bring her here,” he taunts.

“No,” you whisper.

“No? All this talk of family, and the answer is no?’’

He looks down at his sleeping baby, checking for any signs of distress.

“I could bring them all here. They could work in the presidential estate. You’re the only one who doesn’t have to earn their keep”.

You imagine them dressed in the same white uniforms as the other servants. How much control Coriolanus would have over their lives daily.

“That’s not what I am asking,” you state.

“You’re asking to have your family around you, and I couldn’t agree more. Unless you don’t consider them family?”

“Well?” he pushes after a moment of silence.

“No.”

“Who do you consider family then?”

“You and Crasuss,” you gave the answer he wanted to hear.

“That’s right!” He cooed, running a hand over Crassus’s head, “Just us. All you need is us.”

He straightens once more, giving his full attention back to you.

“I am not asking you to be grateful, but I will not allow you to be thankless,” he shoves his hands in his pockets in a casual manner.

“You should sleep as he sleeps,” he suggests. He wanted the fight to be over, and the newborn bliss to continue.

“Lay back down, and go to sleep. No more talk of Districts.”

He leaves you in the room with your son, retreating from any further fighting.

You wondered if it was true. Did Archie have a baby?

Some part of you hoped it was true, and that she would fill the void of you in their lives. Just as Crassus filled the void for you.

—-----------

With the success of Crasuss, Coriolanus was eager to have another one. You were still getting used to motherhood. You weren’t sure if you could deal with this one, let alone another one.

Coriolanus stayed home with you for the 40 days that you were supposed to be on bed rest. He was up late with work, and then during the night with Crasuss.

He tried to give you as much rest as he could. But Crassus needed you for feedings, and sometimes he would only settle if he was in your arms.

Coriolanus was unversed in assessing others' needs. He would bounce Crassus when he needed to be held, change his diaper when he needed to be fed, and give him toys that were too old for him.

He couldn’t decipher his cries like you could, leaving him frustrated.

You knew he tried, which was more than you expected of him.

You wake from the sound of your son crying from what feels like a two second nap. Coriolanus tried to prolong it for you by trying to soothe the baby himself.

“He needs to be burped,” you tell Coriolanus, “Put him up on your shoulder and pat his back.”

He had only just fed so you knew it was just tummy pain.

Coriolanus does as you say. Crassus settles as he is put upright but no burp comes.

“It’s not working,” Coriolanus panics. Every little thing the doctor was to be called to check it out.

“Keep going,” you encourage.

Coriolanus sighs in relief when Crassus lets out a little burp and returns to being a happy baby.

“You’re good at this,” he commented, “ A natural.”

He always knew you would be, but to see it in action filled him with great joy and admiration.

You huff in response, closing your eyes to go back to sleep.

Coriolanus had to go back to his usual duties, leaving you with the full responsibilities of being a mother.

It was overwhelming to have no one else to talk to but a baby. You spent your days in the apartment which drove you crazy.

You eye the door. Coriolanus never told you to stay in the apartment. It was just an assumption you made. You knew you would never get outside of the gates, but you would settle for the gardens.

With your baby in your arms, you cautiously twist the knob.

There is no booby trap as you step out. No alarm rings. So you continue your journey.

You vaguely remember the way from when you were out of the apartment with Coriolanus.

A maid was polishing the wood of the staircase you needed to go down. You curse but try to act casual as you approach her.

“Mrs. Snow,” the maid seemed surprised to see you, “Can I do something for you?”

“No. I am just going to the gardens,” you justify.

You walk quickly away from her. You hear her calling your name but you don’t stop.

The house is large and echos as you make your way across it. The entrance out into the gardens was almost hidden.

You wanted to run, but you were careful not to shake your baby too much.

The big door comes into view. A sense of excitement and apprehension overcame you. You had never been outside of the Presidential quarters without Coriolanus. Now you were stepping outside. It felt as if you were gaining some independence back.

When you open the door, you are confronted with a Peacekeeper, who stands aside out of your way.

You thank him as you move past him, but he follows wordlessly as you cross the field.

The maid had called the Peacekeeper on you, who called Coriolanus on you, and Coriolanus had told the Peacekeeper to keep an eye on what you were doing.

You find a spot under a tree in the lowest field, the Peacekeeper stands ten feet away to give you and your baby some privacy.

You play with your baby in the short grass. He liked the feeling of it.

Some maids come, bringing a picnic blanket, and a glass of lemonade.

You thank them although you wanted none of their assistance.

Crassus has some tummy time listening to the birds. You lay back on the grass and watch the sun as it goes down. It was comforting to know that your mother and brother would be looking at the same sun. As far away as they were, at least something still connected you.

You tell Crassus about them and he babbles back as if he was trying to talk. You tell him about Edmund in the prime of his life. You don’t discuss Edmund’s death or his father's involvement.

You begin to explain District 12 to him just as the sun disappears behind the trees, when you hear the Peacekeeper stand to attention in greeting. You shut up immediately.

“It’s time to come inside” Coriolanus’s voice is heard.

He picks his son up and places him on his shoulder after a quick kiss.

You get up with the blanket and cup as you follow him back to the house.

Coriolanus takes the items from you and gives them to the Peacekeeper in passing.

“Look at this,” Coriolanus pulls out a small doll from his pocket, “A senator's little girl gave it to me. She was so cute. We should try for a girl next.”

You still had four weeks before the doctor gave you the go-ahead to engage in intercourse. But you knew Coriolanus would push the limits on that time frame.

“I want to wait at least a year before another one,” you tell him.

It already was so difficult, you wouldn’t survive having to care for another one.

“No,” Coriolanus protested, “I would like a girl before the years out.”

You knew how obsessive Coriolanus could be when he had a thought trapped in his head. You also knew that nothing you said was going to change his mind.

You wait until Crassus is asleep, and your shift with Coriolanus starts.

He was waiting for you like he usually is. After Crassus was asleep, it was his turn to have his wife.

He had opened a bottle of wine and was flicking through the tv channels. It surprised him when you dropped to your knees in front of him.

Your hands reach for his trousers, and he eagerly helps you to take them off. During pregnancy he didn’t want to force you to do anything, thinking that it might harm the baby. After he was born, there was a recovery period that he had to wait through. It left Coriolanus pent up and hungry for your touch.

Your lips were warm on him and worked so well.

After all of your experience, you knew what Coriolanus liked. You swatted his hands off you as he tried to take control. He relents, bringing his hands to his thighs in a tight grip.

You feel it grow in your mouth with your attention. It twitches under your tongue and you knew it as a sign he was close.

Just as he is reaching his high, you drag your lips back and off.

He gasps as you do, throwing his head back onto the couch.

“What are you doing?” He groans. He was irritated, which was not your desired effect.

“Crassus turns one before another baby,” you demand.

His hands curl into the couch as he counters, “Eight months.”

You move to get up but his hands stop you, “Okay, okay, a year. Just finish.” He begs.

You do finish him off, with the smug satisfaction that Coriolanus Snow is just a man.

The day Crassus turns one, Coriolanus keeps you to your bargain.

Coriolanus was determined to have a girl. Clothes and bows had already been brought.

While Capitol technology allowed you to artificially change the sex of your baby, Coriolanus was more interested in conceiving the natural way.

He researched old myths to increase his chances, and he tried all of them.

He made you drink lemon juice before sex. He initiated sex on even days of the week. You were on a diet of fish, eggs, and vegetables. And you had to leave your legs raised for a couple of minutes after he was finished.

You were slow to conceive like you were with Crassus. But one of the old wives' tales worked, for nearly nine months after Crassus turned one, you fell pregnant with a baby girl.

You named her Aurora meaning dawn. A silent homage to your family back home, and the sun that connects you.

—--------------------

Having children strangely settled you. You had five children in total within years of each other. Your fifth child was your last. After you had lost too much blood during the birth of your next boy, Coriolanus put off plans to have a sixth. It scared him, seeing you so pale, laying half dead in a bed like his mother. The goal of children was to bring you closer, not to use you up.

They gave your life purpose and little room to think about anything else but their needs. As they grew, you got more freedom to explore the city. Always under an army of guards. Coriolanus wanted them to have a full life, even if it meant granting you access to be far from him.

His children were not to miss out on anything the Capitol had to offer. Their names were on the top of the list for any attractions, child star concerts, and plays. The world was at their fingertips, and you got to experience Capitol life through them.

He went when he could but his work was demanding. In his absence, a team of Peacekeepers escorted you and your kids around the Capitol.

Despite his many faults, Coriolanus was a doting father. His children were first, sometimes before you. Where once his hold was tight around you all night, now you wake to find that one of your children had escaped their bed and taken your place.

You always worried about his temper. He hasn’t hit you in years. You figure it was partly because you gave him little reason to, and partly because if you weren’t physically holding a child in your arms, you had one in your belly.

But as your children grew would they be in the same danger as you if they acted out?

They all had the signature blonde hair of a Snow, but only the firstborn had Coriolanus’s blue eyes. Your other two boys and girls had your eyes. Something to tell you that they weren’t all Coriolanus.

Date night normally consisted of an official event. They were far and few between as Coriolanus preferred you to be home with the babies. He disliked nannies but conceded to their usefulness.

Tonight was a charity event to raise money for a new public swimming pool. Vapid and silly. At this stage, only Crassus and Aurona were born to be left crying as you tried to leave for the event.

They were not used to being parted from you, and you were not used to being parted from them.

“It’s okay,” you hush, “Mummy will be back soon, and she will check on you.”

Aurora was too young to know what your words meant. Her only cue that something was wrong was Crassus as he screamed.

“No, Mummy, no!” His face was bright red from tears. You worried that he was short on breath from his screaming.

He knew when you dressed up, you were leaving. He was four but a smart little thing. As soon as the stylist crew arrived, his meltdown began.

You held him as they did your hair and make-up, trying to soothe him. Coriolanus was still at work. All he needed to do was change his suit when he arrived home.

He arrived home to chaos he could not settle.

He stood behind you, watching as your son tried to tug off your elbow-length glove.

“It’s alright, it’s okay. Mum will be back,” you promise.

Aurora throws her head back, throwing her body off balance in your hold.

The two nannies try to gain the kids' attention by holding out new toys, and calling out to them.

“Once you leave they will settle,” one of the nannies promised.

With teary eyes, you kiss both of your crying children, Coriolanus does the same, and Aurora is handed over.

Crassus’s little hands claw onto your dress, he has to be picked up and yanked away by his nanny.

You try not to let your tears fall as you walk to the car. It would ruin your make-up, and once you started to cry, you weren’t sure you would be able to stop.

“They will be fine,” Coriolanus promises on the way to the event.

“Why do I have to go tonight?” It was a silly thing that would survive without you.

“Because you’re my wife. That’s why.”

Despite many years in the Capitol, events like this reminded you that you don’t belong.

People would only talk to you in an attempt to gain an audience with Coriolanus.

You would remain civil but not overly friendly.

They all thought you were shy and timid as you were rarely seen, and always by Coriolanus’s side.

Your relationship with Coriolanus had changed over the years but his overprotectiveness never dissolved.

His hand was always on you in some form. Where he went, you went. Who he talked to, you talked to. You were only an extension of him in public. At least at home, you were your own person to your kids.

Tonight it seemed to all children. Only one person spoke to you apart from Coriolanus.

It was a little girl, who passed you a flower in thanks. The public pool didn’t seem so silly in your eyes anymore. You bent down to talk to her, thanking her for the flower. You asked her about school and her siblings. You told her about your own children who were too young to attend a party like her.

You were disappointed when her nanny came to collect her. She scolds the child for running away and bothering the President.

Tucking the flower behind your ear, you blow the girl a kiss as she is carted off.

The rest of the night was dull as you acted as Coriolanus’s shadow.

Coriolanus had just finished a speech on stage, you were walking back down the hallway to the party with him. You passed a few people running the events. They tried to talk to him, but he seemed in a rush.

He turns off the direction of the party, and tugs you down an empty hallway.

You ask him what he is doing as he checks the doors until he finds one that is opened and ushers you inside. It was a supply closest. Small and smelling slightly damp.

He pushes you up against the wall, knocking over a broom and a bucket.

“You’re such a good mother. Such a good little wife. I don’t tell you that enough,” he says.

“Okay,” you respond, pushing back on his shoulders.

“I love you so much.” He kisses you so hard, that your head is knocked painfully back into the cement wall.

It reminded you of the harsh and needy kisses he used to give you as a Commander.

You feel his hands slide up your dress and grip the flesh of your butt.

“Coriolanus, not here,” you beg.

His lips go to your throat in slow, sexual kisses.

“I want another baby,” he requests.

“Not here. Someone could find us.”

“Not if you are quiet.”

“Coryo,” You try. A bit too loud for this liking. He clamps a hand over your mouth, and shushes you with a hard look that tells you he was serious.

“It would not look good if they found the President and First Lady fucking in a closet.”

He kneels on the floor in front of you, going under your dress and up your legs, bringing down your underwear.

You feel him put his mouth on you, and you try to relax. It took you months to fall pregnant the last two times. This time wasn’t anything special.

His fingers dig into the back of your thighs, keeping you close as he works.

Soon a lapping sound is heard, and Coriolanus leaves your cunt with a kiss.

You try one more time to dissuade him. Telling him to wait until home. But he unbuckles his belt and hoists you up around his waist.

Your arms circle his shoulders as he pins you to the wall.

You can feel how hard he is against your heat. He bucks up against your wetness in desperation before he lines himself up properly.

You engulf him in your wetness as he thrusts his hips up into you.

With no way to hold yourself up, you feel yourself sink and then be thrusted up into.

“Are you going to give me a baby?” He grunts.

He is fast and rough as he slams up into you. His words were heard but your mind was far from them.

“Yeah?” He teases. His lips go to your neck again, trapping you head against the wall.

He seemed to continuously hit the spot that you liked, no matter how you moved your hips.

The pressure means you come too quickly. Coriolanus was nowhere close so would continue.

You can’t help to groan as he fucks you through your orgasm.

He reminds you to be quiet once more, and you bite his shoulder to stop the sounds you couldn’t stop coming.

He knew you had come from the way you clenched around him.

Taking the back of your neck, he leans you into his shoulder and wraps an arm around your waist.

He delivers you to the floor, releasing you gently into the tight confines of the cluttered room.

“Think you can manage another one?” He asks.

You shake your head ‘No’, your words failed you as he continued his brutal pace.

“I think you could,” he states.

He uses two fingers to circle your pearl as he drives into you.

The door had no lock. Anyone could open it and see you.

You were being too loud. You knew you were. But he forced the sounds from you. Your whole body tingled under his touch, your legs shook with pleasure.

He was not being entirely quiet himself. He grunted and shutters above you feeling his own end coming.

You feel him twitch in your preceding his exploding into you.

He beats you but doesn’t stop swirling his fingers, determined to have you finish again.

You come too loudly causing Coriolanus to cover your mouth with an open palm and look to the door, expecting detection.

His hand is pulled and with a kiss, Coriolanus pulls back on his ankles with a stupid grin.

He uses your panties to clean up the excess cum from you before placing the underwear back on you.

If you had any energy, you would have taken them back off but all you could do was lie there, watching him transform back into a respectable gentleman.

“We have to get back out there before they send Peacekeepers looking for us.”

He finishes tucking his shirt back into his pants before reaching down to help you to your feet.

You’re a little wobbly at first but Coriolanus keeps a firm grip to keep you upright.

You spend the rest of the fundraiser with damp panties and shaky legs which causes you to bump into Coriolanus as he stands next to you.

The stupid grin never leaves his face, even in the car ride home.

Your children are asleep when you arrive home.

You leave them with a kiss, before going back to your room and rushing to beat Coriolanus to bed while he is occupied going through the messages left for him.

He joins you in the shower but it’s quick and with the intention of going to bed.

He talks about the night. Recalling things he enjoyed and disliked.

He asks you what you think but you shrug. All Capitol events were the same to you.

You finish your shower while Coriolanus washes his hair. Giving you time to dress and get into bed before him.

You roll to your side, hoping that the supply closet tryst fulfilled him enough.

You feel him as he moves in the bed to come over to your side, his arm wraps around your shoulder and his head rests against yours.

“We should take the kids to the zoo tomorrow. I’ll have it cleared out.”

“Okay,” you reply, knowing that there wasn’t any other option.

The zoo was large, and there were too many animals to see before nap time.

Crassus got whiny and tired from all the walking and climbing on things. He demanded to be carried. Instead of using his words, he would scream when he got sick of looking at the same animal.

Normally you would have returned home to put him down for a nap, but Coriolanus enjoyed having his son rest on his shoulder. Crassus was a mommy’s boy and very rarely wanted to be held by anyone else.

It was not your first time at the zoo. You had taken Crassus while you were six months pregnant with Aurora. It still amazed you, however. You could spend hours just looking and learning about the animals, but Crassus was lucky to push a five hour awake period.

It was a blessing to visit the penguins where the sound of the gentle flowing water, and cool air sent him to sleep on Coriolanus' shoulder.

You pushed the pram that Aurora was asleep in as you and Coriolanus searched for a comfortable resting place.

Finding a canopy, you sit with your family in the shade. Coriolanus had successfully transferred Crassus from his shoulder to the bench with his head resting on his father's thigh.

Coriolanus’s other leg went out to gently rock the pram with his expensive shoe.

You lay back resting your eyes yourself. Crassus had woken you up from a nightmare. With him in your bed, you got very little sleep as he tossed and spread out.

Coriolanus disturbs your peace by reaching out to place a hand on your stomach as if there was something already inside.

“What do you think it will be?” he asks.

“We don’t know there is anything in there.”

Coriolanus had wanted you to take a test this morning but it was chaos trying to get the children ready for the day.

“I don’t care what it is myself. I was thinking Marcellus for a boy, and Lillian for a girl”.

You cry at the thought of being pregnant again. It was a horrible experience. It was uncomfortable, tiring, and you suffered great nausea all throughout the nine months. That's all before the recovery period while you run around after two other children.

“Hey,” his voice is soft and reassuring. He stops rocking the pram to reach his hand to yours.

The hand that wasn’t captured by Coriolanus went to your mouth to quieten your blathering. You were always cautious about what the children saw.

“If it’s too much I’ll let you get a nanny to help during the day” he offers.

You rip your hand out from under him in anger, “I don’t want a nanny.”

You didn’t trust Capitol people to be around your children. Only when you were forced to where you parted from them. They were too young. They needed their mother.

“You’re tired,” he pandered. His hand wraps around your shoulder to pull you down to his lap. You rest your head on his thigh like your son, and find your eyes shut by themselves.

You feel his fingers itch your head until you are asleep. Coriolanus waits until your breath evens before returning to rock the pram with his hand. With his arm rested over his oldest child, and his hand lulling his baby girl to sleep, Coriolanus felt a swell of pride.

His family slept under his protection and lead. Pamen had entered into a new golden age. All paths led him here.

You woke to the sound of Aurona crying which woke and upset Crassus.

On instinct, you shoot up from Coriolanus to retrieve your baby girl. She needed to be fed again, but Crassus was now rejecting Coriolanus’s hold, wanting to be picked up by you.

You oblige him when his face starts to turn red from crying. You feel their tears on either side of your collarbones. Their screams rang in your ear.

Coriolanus stretches his dead legs, slowly easing himself up to place a hand on Crassus' back.

“Let's get ice cream,” he bribes.

Crasuss turns his head to look at his father and nods.

With a bright smile, Coriolanus claps his hands together before opening them wide, “Come to daddy?” He asks.

You never let him get ice cream at the zoo. It was too close to nap time. So with the promise Crassus eagerly goes into his father's arms.

At the ice cream shop you could feed Aurona but it took far longer than normal with the anxiety that you were pregnant with your third. Something told you that you were.

It was a boy. A gorgeous baby boy. Doll was your nickname for him, but Coriolanus officially names him Adrianus. He cried very little, and at six weeks old he slept through the night. He latched easily, and from 3 to 4 in the afternoon, he would laugh insatiably at everything. He was a dream child. You were very happy with him, despite his initial undesired conception.

Life settled for a little bit as Coriolanus worked to quell a quiet rebellion brewing in the Districts.

For a year Coriolanus was kept busy. His mind off expanding his family.

For the moment he was happy with the three wonderful kids you had given him. Something you could share. Three young kids, five and under, left you exhausted by the end of the day, yet when the day was over and the kids were asleep, Coriolanus demanded your attention.

Coriolanus was not immune to jealousy even from his own kids. You had learnt to give him enough attention during the day when he was around but it only starved him off until night time. He rarely talked about work. Only upcoming events that concern you. He was more interested in you recounting every single thing the kids did.

After having the kids hang off you all day, your least favorite thing to do was have Coriolanus all over you. But when it was his time, he followed you everywhere you went. Insisting that you sat on the couch with him for an hour. He didn’t feel like it was much, but you felt as if it was the last bit of energy zapped out of you.

You normally got a break when Coriolanus returned home from work. He started early so normally he was home in the late afternoon. While you had lots of staff to help you with chores and cooking, you preferred to do it yourself. It gave you a routine that you could go auto-pilot on.

From five to six every day you were in your kitchen while Coriolanus watched the children. Capitol food took some getting used to. Half of the meat you had never even seen before. Coriolanus organized cooking lessons to help you as a Mother’s Day gift.

Dinner was often followed by free play if they weren’t too messy, allowing you time to feed Adrianus. It was important that he had your full attention as you fed as he was so quiet that you might miss a cue of his discomfort.

Crassus sat coloring at the kitchen table while you were in the kitchen trying to feed your youngest boy, Adrianus, who had just turned one

Coriolanus sat next to his son watching as your daughter Aurora showed off her expensive ball gown that her father had brought her simply because she wanted it. ‘No’ was not in Coriolanus’s vocabulary when it came to his children.

He held out accessories in his palm for her as she explained what they were and where they went.

Despite ruling a country with an iron fist, at home, it was you who disciplined the children. He let them run wild, while you tried to raise them to be respectable, and moral children. Your work mostly paid off. They were good children.

Aurora having free reign over her father and older brother, who both bent over backwards to please her, was spoiled. Her tantrums were something you were yet to stop, but she was sweet when not disappointed which was more often than not.

She only had to cry and Coriolanus would pick her up, giving her what she wanted. It annoyed you to no end. If your marriage was equal, you would push more for him to discipline the kids, but Coriolanus only ever gave you the illusion of partnership.

“Mummy, how did you meet Daddy?” Crassus asks out of nowhere as he draws.

The small spoon in your hand drops to the floor as memories that you had buried spring up. The stalking, the harassment, the loss of freedom. You remember the late nights as your mother cried out from pain from the flogging that he ordered.

“Mummy used to own a cake shop, and Daddy would go by every morning before University to buy one.” Coriolanus answered for you. He reaches out and brushes Crassus' hair lovingly.

“Dad, you can’t have cake for breakfast!” Aurora exclaimed.

“Oh, but I did! Your mother would make them special for me.”

You close your eyes remembering the words, ‘Can you make me some more of those oat bars.’ A demand, not a gesture on your behalf. You remember the hard wall behind you as he pressed you there. Just the thought of it brought your heart back into your throat as if it was happening all over again.

“She doesn’t let me have cake for breakfast!” Aurora complained. Tears sprang to her eyes causing Crassus to push a lollypop you had given him for eating his dinner across the table, trying to fight off his sister's tears.

Coriolanus picks her up from the floor and places her on his knee so she can cry into his arms.

“Darling, these are special cakes. Ones you give to someone you want to marry.”

You remember the cakes you used to make Edmund. Edmund, you hadn’t thought about him in years, yet the scar on your heart never healed.

“Not growing little girls.” Still, your daughter cried, which displeased Coriolanus.

He rises from the table with Aurora in his arms and heads into the fridge.

“Let's see if Mum baked any for you”.

Your youngest son begins to cry from hunger which snaps you out of your spiraling. With your daughter receiving a cupcake and your son resuming feeding, the room is calm once more. But your hand shook as your mind flooded with memories of Commander Snow.

Moments later, Crassus presented you with a picture of two stick figures surrounded by out-of-proportion cupcakes. You stared at it with the weight of your baby resting on your hip.

Just like that Coriolanus had rewritten history. Commander Snow was a distant dream. District 12 a vague thought. Lucy Gray no longer haunted the woods. No longer made Coriolanus Snow the victor of the 10th Hunger Games. The war scar had faded. He had fixed history’s mistakes.

He had taken his rightful place as President of Pamen. Only you were left to remember him as Commander Snow.

The end!

Thank you all for reading, and coming along for the journey. Especially to those who commented and motivated me to write. This story would not have been complete without you.

A HUGE thank you to @hotline-to-hell for editing the work, and restructuring the mess.

And a HUGE thank you to @thaleleah and (who i assume is the same) anon who took the time out to encourage me with their long, and hilarious feedback.

Hope to see you all in my other works!

taglist:

@sarahskakskskskajakwwnwjw

@mrsjobarnes

@greekyoghurtwithberries

@namelesslosers

@urfavnoirette

@aleemendoza2425-blog

@hiatuswhore

@jacesvelaryons

@swimmjacket

@brooks-lin

@dawnissunnysideup

@astarborntowrite

@someonefromwutheringheights

@purriteen

@homopheli

@devils-blackrose

@poppyflower-22

@bruher

@dawnissunnysideup

@winter-bearv

@tempt-ress

@serinatly100986

@becauseseaotters

@aleemendoza2425-blog

@inloveallthetime

@hufflepuffxsworld

@chennyetomlinson

@slumnit

@saharadesertaj

@missbeeentertainment

#coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #dark!coriolanus snow #tom blyth #commander snow #dead dove do not eat

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jellinuy · 6 months

Text

౨ৎ — fluff ending to part 1. wc; 1k.

“…oru…satoru.”

an eye opened. then two. white lashes fluttered around hazy blue irises as the sorcerer began to come to his senses, adjusting the sunglasses that had slid down his nose with a small, ‘hm?’

at the sound of your voice, gojo’s eyes slid around to take in the scenery. but he could’ve sworn you just… wasn't he back at jujutsu high a minute ago? in the infirmary? but instead, the teenager found himself sitting on a bench, his body sheathed in dancing blue artificial light and the passing shadows of ocean creatures behind glass.

the aquarium, he realized, his heart rate spiking. it wasn’t real.

“y/n,” he mumbled slowly, a lazy grin on his face, and never before had gojo been so happy to say your name to you.

“that’s me,” and the full, clear sight of you brings immediate relief — a painkiller for the heartache he’d just endured in his sleep. it was still rattling to him, after all this time, how realistic his nightmares were. he swore he saw the blood soak the pure, ivory sheet that covered you, the paling of your dying skin, the emptiness where your gorgeous, beating heart should’ve been. felt his own heart rip nerve by nerve and his stomach clench into an ugly knot as yaga told him you were “killed in action”: finite, just like that. you were gone.

he’d never been so glad to be awake, to be here, in front of some stupid fish tank, with you. he took in your face as you talk, a worried crease in your brow when you see your reflection in his blue eyes, now glassy. transparent and red-rimmed. vulnerable, if you looked close enough.

“you, um… fell asleep on my shoulder,” you spoke when he didn’t. “you okay? been getting enough sleep?”

oh. that was another thing i loved, he remembered, and it was like his body knew you the way his heart did, as his smile stretched into a pair of dimples. your stupidly big heart.

“…yeah. don’t worry your pretty little head about me,” he assured her, much quieter than regular old satoru gojo would have. cerulean peeked out at you from over his sunglasses and from under his hair, trying to say the words his mouth couldn’t as he rested his head on your shoulder.

call him clingy, but he wouldn’t move for anything right now. feeling you, alive and well and happy against him, that was enough.

knowing you were here was enough.

in an attempt to make small talk, you lifted you arm — the one he wasn’t using as a pillow — to point at a passing beluga whale at the massive tank in front of you both.

“satoru, look, a belu—”

“y/n, i’m in love with you.”

he lied. it wasn’t enough. he didn’t just want to be near you, to be close, yet still at arms length, he wanted to be in your arms. to kiss your face and make you smile at him in a different way than with everyone else. to nap with you on days he didn’t feel like “the strongest”, to be weak around you, to feel those damned butterflies every time he heard you call him “baby.” that was what he wanted — to openly love you, to be loved in return by you and nobody else.

“you… huh?” your hearts pounded in tandem, slamming against your ribs uncontrollably, to the point where it hurt to breathe in the best way possible. “wh… s…say that again?” you must’ve heard wrong, must’ve misinterpreted.

“…said ‘m in love with you,” he repeated, muffled due to his cheek squished against your shoulder. “like, i wanna be a jellyfish with you.”

“…oh.”

“yeah.”

it would be a lie to say that you hadn’t noticed the way your best friend looked at you, the blatantly obvious hearts in all six eyes when he laid them on you, so this wasn’t as unexpected as you made it look.

“…i think,” dry as your mouth was, you still spoke. your eyes weren’t trained on him, but instead at the fish in the life-sized tank, the shadows of passing jellyfish diluting the clear blue luminescence of the waterlogged glass periodically, “i might be in love with you, too.” it came out shakier than you wanted, but you patted yourself on the back for even getting it out at all. and it was true. you came to know him, to appreciate him, to be annoyed by him, to fighting by his side, to wishing you could be there forever, next to him.

in typical gojo fashion, he makes a face. you can’t see it, because he’s still resting on your shoulder, but you feel the indent of his cheek as he pouts. his hand not-so-subtly sneaks down to yours, and he prods your fingers open so he can slide his palm on top of yours. you swear you would’ve fallen over if you weren’t sitting.

“you ‘might’? i just told you i wanna live as a sea creature with you forever, and you ‘might’ like me back?” he mumbles: maybe he spoke clearly, actually — you don’t know, because the only thing in your ears is the pumping of your blood.

the lovestruck idiot pokes at you again — “c’mon, y/n, say it properly.”

his fingers play with yours, scratching your palm gently, tracing hearts into your skin. his head continued to rest on you, and he was ever grateful you couldn’t feel the warmth of his red face through your shirt, the burning of his ears. he’d find some way to make today last forever if he had to, if it meant sitting here next to the best friend he’d come to see as more, just watching fish swim. your hand finally clenched around his, slightly clammy, and clearly nervous, but it was your hand, so he couldn’t care less. and you squeezed his hand and said it right, because if gojo had the right to anything in this world, it was your heart.

“yeah… you’re right… i’m in love with you, satoru. let’s be jellyfish in our next lives.”

@boundedbyfate, @c4ndytr4p, @iluvies, @sad-darksoul, @fayereblogs-4, @ratmilk14, @lovelymimimoo

#gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo jjk #jjk fluff #jjk #ᴊᴇʟʟʏ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇʙᴏᴏᴋ .ᐟೀ #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru #fluff drabble #SEE I KEPT MY WORD HAHA STOP THREATENING ME NOW HAHA #ik there are mistakes i’m just too lazy to look #a Big thank you to everyone who expressed their love for my other drabble :(#u guys are my reason for writing this!!#soooo sorry if i didn’t tag anyone who wanted to be tagged i just went through my comments and found people who asked

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mncxbe · 7 months

Text

I got my eye on youೀ๋࣭ ⭑

𝑭𝒚𝒐𝒅𝒐𝒓 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: fluff to soul soothing smut, dry humping, creampie, gentle, subby (sobbing) Fyodor, not proofread// now playing "Say yes to heaven"

Fyodor had his eye on you from the first moment he saw you– a pretty face buried in a hard cover volume of some novel he hasn't heard of, sitting in the back of the coffee shop he frequented with a cup of hot coffee before you. That was months ago and to this day he still hasn't forgotten the blush that tinted your cheeks when you met his gaze. Fyodor has never thought of himself as the type of man to be interested in relationships; he had his goals and his endeavours left little to no space for romance in his life– but he couldn't help it this time. Not with you.

So instead of averting his gaze from you, instead of paying his tab and leaving the coffee shop like he was supposed to, Fyodor came to your table and struck up a conversation.

He didn't expect the one time meeting to turn into regular dates at the museum and walks around Tokyo's busy streets at sunset after your shift at the library ended. At first, your relationship progressed slowly– neither of you willing to make the next step. He was often out of town, carrying out different shady business on behalf of his organization but although your bond didn't have a set lable, he knew without a shred of doubt that his heart belonged to you. That he loved you.

Months after your first meeting, he found himself coming to your place more and more often. Your invitations were most innocent– "I just wanna play a game of chess with you" you claimed every time but Fyodor wasn't stupid. He could tell by your loose behaviour and the fleeting glances you gave him that you were after something more. A lingering touch on his shoulder here, a dress hiked a bit too high there; yea, he knew what you wanted and still couldn't bring himself to give it to you.

Problem was, he actually cared about you. He wasn't willing to risk putting you in any danger by forming a deeper bond with you. Some nights, when thoughts of you kept him up 'till the break of dawn, he wondered if you two could actually work– he was smart enough to keep your relationship safe from his enemies' eyes, his precious little secret. But were his own selfish desires worth endangering you?

No, it wasn't worth it. Surely wasn't worth the risk but even a rational and composed man like him was bound to cave in eventually. That's how you ended up between the plush pillows on your bed, with Fyodor prettily sprawled under you. His hair was like a dark halo against your cream coloured pillow case, so silky you couldn't help but run your fingers through it.

"You're so pretty, Fedya" you mumbled between soft kisses, gently tugging at his roots. The man only hummed in response, his hips bucking up against your clothed core providing a much needed friction. Fyodor was on cloud nine, melting like cotton candy on your tongue as you deepened the kiss– his arms wrapped tightly around your hips, keeping you flush against him.

He wasn't used to such closeness between you– the way your love for him spilled from your plump lips into him, the hushed whispers and praises driving him closer to the edge. "Myshka... wait a moment" he chuckled weakly, his slender hands coming to rest on your hips, halting your movements but you wouldn't have it. Prying his shaky hands away from your body you resumed your movements, making the man whimper softly

"Fedya, my love, don't worry about it just let go. Relax..." you purred against the shell of his ear. Your hands trailed over his clothed arm— their touch electrifying, burning the bare skin underneath. Fyodor felt so helpless in your arms, rutting his hips against you as he pushed himself closer to the edge. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, panting softly as he tried to keep himself in check— strange, it was so strange how someone else's touch could make his hard exterior crumble. You touched his heart like no one else and still, he denied himself your comfort and love for so long... Now that he finally had it he was scared, overwhelmed, so weak in this unfamiliar territory.

You felt his hot tears against your skin before he was aware of them. "Fedya, you alright?" you asked sweetly, your lips brushing against his temple but he didn't answer. Instead, his mouth found your neck as he left wet, needy kisses along its expanse "'m sorry, dear think i'm gonna– shit i'm gonna cum soon" . His voice was cracked, barely above a whisper, betraying the desperate state he was in. A chuckle rolled past your lips as you cradled him in your arms. "Don't you wanna do it inside me, baby? I wanna feel you"

It took all the self restraint he had not to cum on the spot– his mind going blank at the thought of spilling himself inside you. You wanted this too, right? So there was nothing wrong with it... Still, as he stripped you of your blouse and panties, Fyodor felt as if he were ridding himself of all the beliefs and rules his religion imposed on him– but he was willing to do even that for you.

A choked moan left his throat as he slid inside you, filling you up inch by inch "S-so tight..." he huffed, squeezing your hips with his hands in attempt to ground himself. "All for you, my love. I'm all yours" you hummed, your silken voice raising goosebumps on his skin. You began rolling your hips against his at a steady pace, ripping moans and pleas from the man below you.

"Please Y/N slow down~" he mumbled, sniffling softly and you brushed the tears at the corners of his eyes with your thumb. "Shhh you're doing great Fedya. So, so good for me. Just focus on feeling well, okay? Let me take care of you"

Your words were so sweet and loving he felt he was actually going to pass out. The liquid heat in his lower abdomen spread in his whole body, numbing the nagging thoughts and fears. His breathing grew heavier as he felt his orgasm approaching and it didn't take him long to cum inside you, filling you up with his creamy seed. A content hum left your lips as you slumped next to him, relishing the silence that settled between you.

"Hey..." you said eventually, twirling a silky strand of his hair between your fingers. Fyodor's gaze lowered to meet your soft eyes and he smiled. "What, my dear myshka?" he taunted, and you were glad to see that he was slowly getting back to his usual self.

"Nothing" you giggled, placing a chaste kiss to his cheek that almost had him melting. "Just wanted to know if you're alright." Fyodor's hand found yours amidst the crumpled sheets, his thumb tracing idly along your knuckles.

"It was wonderful, really. It's just that I never felt like this with anyone else." he finally admitted. And it was true– there had been no one else in his life before and surely won't be after.

"Never ever?"

"Never" he insisted, watching the corners of your lips stretch into a soft smile. Your free hand finally abandoned his hair, sliding down to cradle his face as you leaned closer to him. Close, so, so close it had his stomach churning. It's as if you had him under your spell.

"Well, I'm glad" you added, nuzzling your nose against his "I wouldn't mind doing this again"

"And I wouldn't mind trying something more with you" he said back, his gaze unwavering as he placed a soft kiss to your forehead. "Would you like to be mine? Officially, I mean"

You couldn't help but giggle at his serious tone "Is that a marriage proposal or are you asking me to be your girlfriend?"

"Just my girlfriend, for now. So, will you say yes?" he chuckled, giving you one of those soft looks reserved for your eyes only.

"Yea, of course" you giggled "I mean it was about time you asked. I was starting to believe you were no longer interested"

In that moment, Fyodor wanted to confess his undying love for you, to reassure you that his heart was yours from now 'till the end of time, but he knew it'd be a bit too dramatic for him. So he simply sealed his promise with a kiss. "Silly girl. I could never get tired of you"

#𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝ღೀ๋࣭ ⭑#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd x reader #bsd fluff #bsd smut #bungo stray dogs fyodor #bsd fyodor #fyodor bsd #fyodor fluff #fyodor smut #bungo stray dogs fluff #bungo stray dogs smut #fyodor dostoyevsky bsd

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daisynik7 · 1 year

Text

Business Trip

husband!Nanami x f!reader

Rating: Explicit – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~1.7k

Summary: Nanami hates going on business trips now that he has you in his life. Even with food and hotel expenses paid for by his company, it’s not enough to distract him from the fact that he misses you. The two of you have the perfect solution for this, which includes a vivid imagination and the help of a little, but mighty, toy. cw: sex-toy use (vibrator), phone sex, explicit sexual content, language, Nanami is a bit mean, dirty talk, use of pet-names (honey, sweetie, princess), reader is called whore and slut (endearing lol), just pure nasty smut. Author’s Notes: More husband!Nanami smut! I was inspired to write this because I just purchased my very first vibe two weeks ago and boy, is it something. Hope you like this filth! Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated! Thanks for reading! Divider credits to @/cafekitsune! Tagging the lovely @liliorsstuff-blog bc I love her and Nanami is her husband. 😉

Nanami has a hard time when he has to go out of town for a business trip. He never used to mind it before; in fact, he liked being sent away to a different city every once in a while, especially when the food and hotel expenses were paid for. However, ever since the two of you have been together, he dreads them because it means time away from you. And he hates being apart from you. Absolutely hates it. And to be honest, you hate it too.

This time, he’s sent to Osaka for a convention, staying at a swanky hotel covered by his company. He takes full advantage of this, ordering room service, indulging in a bottle or two of liquor from the mini bar. He even wraps himself in a fluffy robe after showering, sitting in bed with hair still wet at the tips. A single tap of his phone and he’s calling you, waiting a single ring for you to pick up. “Hi baby!” you answer, his mood instantly lifted at the sound of your cheery voice.

“How are you, princess?”

“Good. Just in our room now. How was your day?”

He spends the next several minutes recounting today’s festivities, including a funny story about him sneaking a second complimentary bento for lunch. You rant to him about your coworkers’ petty drama involving missing office supplies and stolen meals from the fridge. You both share what you ate for dinner, you complimenting the picture he sent earlier of the full spread ordered through room service. He sends you a quick snapshot of his current view of his hotel room, including his bare feet sticking out from under the robe.

“Your room is so nice. Look at your toes!” you laugh. “Are you going to sleep soon?”

“Not yet. Still waiting for my hair to dry.” He pauses, contemplating for a split second before asking, “Are you in bed now?”

“Yup, all snuggled under the covers.”

He smiles to himself, picturing you cocooned in the thick comforter the two of you share, curled to the right side of the bed where you usually sleep. “Do you miss me?”

“Of course I do. I miss you so much.”

Without thinking, he spreads his legs wider, getting more comfortable against the pillows. “I miss you too, princess. I wish I was there with you right now.”

“Me too.”

There’s a moment of silence, tension hanging heavy in the static noise between you. Nanami decides to stop beating around the bush. It’s obvious what you both want. You’ve been married long enough, together even longer, there’s no shame or secrets anymore. “Wish I could fuck you right now,” he confesses.

You moan through the speaker, thighs splayed, reaching towards your pussy. Tonight, you’re wearing one of his oversized t-shirts, his scent lingering on the fabric, making you feel safe and secure in his absence. You sink into the cushions, whispering a breathy, “Baby.”

“Tell me what you’re wearing right now.”

“Just your t-shirt and my underwear.”

“Oh yeah? One of your silky ones?”

You hum, confirming his suspicions as he loosens the knot of his robe, folding back the cotton to expose his hardening cock. “God, I bet you look so good right now.”

You giggle softly, lifting the hem of the shirt past your stomach, fingers brushing your skin delicately, imagining his instead.

His voice is low, thick with lust. “I want to hear you come. Can you do that for me?”

“Mm-hm,” you respond, slipping underneath the waistband, teasing your clit with the pad of your middle finger.

He clicks his tongue disapprovingly, already knowing what you’re doing. “Not with your fingers, honey. Use the vibrator, remember?”

A whine escapes your mouth while you reach for the drawer to retrieve the small toy, the one you bought recently to supplement nights alone like this. He was the first to test it out on you, though. Made sure it was good enough to satisfy your needs. The recent memory of him pressing the fluttering tip to your clit, pumping wet fingers in and out of your cunt, has you throbbing.

You push your panties past your knees, sliding them off completely at your ankles. With the blanket hastily stripped from your body, you spread your thighs wide, completely exposed from the waist down. A small bead of lube is just enough to get it slick. You rub the oiled tip up and down your pussy, finger on the button, anticipating the intense sensation.

“Don’t turn it on yet,” he demands. He wraps his hands around the base of his cock, slow strokes to start. “Tease it a little bit. Just like I do it.”

Your husband always likes to take his time with you, no matter how desperate and aching for him you are. And when you’re two hundred plus miles away from each other, you predict he’s going to draw this out as long as he possibly can, both for his pleasure and yours. Not that you’re complaining.

You play with your clit, tingling bud pulsing against the smooth exterior of the vibrator. He huffs, “Don’t hold back. I want you dripping onto to the sheets. Can you do that for me, honey?”

Another moan escapes your lips, envisioning the mess you’re about to make with his sultry voice guiding you through it. “I can’t do it alone,” you whine, finger right on the trigger, raring to go. “Help me, Kento.”

“I’m right here, princess. Don’t worry. Just listen to me, okay? Follow my every word.”

You nod, hypnotized by each syllable uttered from his lust laden lips, like an obedient slut. You’ve almost forgotten that you’re alone in bed, convinced he’s whispering filthy instructions directly in your ear beside you, watching you unravel with the dormant toy pressed to your pussy. “Can you turn it on now, honey?”

He’s gentle and affectionate in the beginning, hiding wicked desires behind endearing pet-names. Soon, he’ll start taunting you, tormenting you for being so fucking sensitive, so fucking needy. The two sides of him work together in perfect sync, angel and devil, both determined to make you lose yourself in the throes of passion. There’s nothing he loves more than seeing you, or in this case, hearing you, completely unhinged for him, and only him.

When you finally push the button, the low buzz playing in the background, he can’t help but increase the pace of his strokes. He pictures your thighs open wide, the shaking tip nestled between your delicate pussy lips, the vibrations stimulating your clit, radiating down to your pointed toes. Head thrown back into the pillows, cheeks hot, tongue sticking out in that adorable dumb expression you make whenever you’re being fucked. It won’t take long for you to climax, not when he’s on the phone guiding you as he jerks his twitching cock. Just the thought of your body spasming from exhilaration is enough to get him off.

“That’s it, right on your clit, honey. Does it feel good?” He knows it does, judging by how the only response he receives are your shameless moans. He chuckles, stroking himself faster. “I can’t understand you, honey. Does it feel good?” Still no reply, he growls, “Answer me.”

You choke on your spit, drool leaking from the sides of your lips. When you catch your breath, you let out a trembling, “Yes!”, resulting in another sinister laugh from him.

“Feels so good, you can’t even speak properly, can you? Too fucked out to even think, huh? Nasty slut.” His devilish side kicks in, hell-bent on hearing you orgasm, to have you coming so hard you spill onto the sheets. “I married such a whore, didn’t I? That’s what you are, a fucking whore. You’re so fucking slutty for me, I love it.”

You’re a whimpering mess now, the vibe sending you into a spiral, clit aching from the relentless tremors. There’s not a coherent thought in your brain; you’re incapable of admitting to him that you’re close. You let him figure it out when you cry out, “Fuck!”, legs quivering and stomach tight from the intense high.

“Give me your fucking orgasm, baby. Let me fucking hear it,” he spits out, sweat forming on his forehead. He’s since stripped his robe off entirely, laying on top of It while he masturbates to the sounds of his precious slut doing exactly what he wants her to do. What he needs her to do.

When you’re finished, you slide the toy lower so that it’s not directly on your sensitive bud. The fluttering tip starts making soft splashing noises at your arousal, indicating just how fucking wet you are. You place the phone right on your abdomen, hoping he can hear the lewd squelches from your pussy. For the first time since you began, you’re able to formulate a proper sentence, body relaxed into the mattress. “Can you hear it, baby? Can you hear how wet I am for you?”

He definitely can. “Ah, fuck,” he swears, fisting his shaft faster. His hand is not enough; it never is. But he lets his imagination do the rest for him. He knows how fucking juicy his pretty wife’s pussy is. Your perfect, luscious pussy lips puffy from overstimulation, covered in sticky sweet cum. He’d do anything for a taste of it right now, to run his tongue along your glistening folds, gather your slick and swallow it to quench his thirst. Dip his finger inside that gushy entrance only to stick it into his mouth, slurping every last drop. He admires the mental image before flicking his wrist with fervor, pumping his cock until he shoots his load onto his stomach.

The two of you stay quiet for a moment, the static noise and muted buzzing from the phone settling in the silence. Nanami looks down, inspecting the wreckage splattered across his abs, leaking down his side and onto the robe beneath. He runs his fingers through his hair, forehead tacky with perspiration, exhaling with a satisfied smile before calling out, “Honey? Are you still there?”

It's only now that he remembers that the low hum is from the vibrator, still buzzing against your supple skin. Reserved moans growing louder as you circle the toy back to your needy clit, ready for another round.

Nanami smirks to himself, holding the phone closer to his ear, rock hard again. It’s going to be a long, fulfilling night.

#kento nanami #nanami kento #nanami kento smut #nanami smut #nanami fanfic #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami x y/n #Kento Nanami smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk nanami

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sweetiepoison · 4 months

Text

Famous Baby

4 Times you and Auston were almost caught and the 1 time you willingly told everyone

Warnings: smut (oral receiving, P in V) no arguing for like the first time?

You loved the morning time, especially slow mornings. It was rare for you to get a morning that didn’t involve rushing from one thing to the next, so the days you did you cherished it. This morning was extra sweet as you felt the arm that never left your waist all night still settled there.

You peeked over your shoulder at Auston who was still comfortably sleeping. The sunrise reflected perfectly on him. The lighting made him look even more attractive, almost ethereal. You picked up your phone on the night stand. Most notifications were the usual, texts from your manager and publicist, your parents and siblings, and your friends. After going though all of them the pressure on your bladder that you tried to ignore had become unbearable.

You gently lifted Auston’s arm and attempted to slip from under it, but his grip tightened as he pulled you back into his body.

“No.” He grumbled into your shoulder.

“I have to go to the bathroom.” You stated picking his arm up again and this time he let you.

“You better come back.”

“Not making any promises.” You joked going into the bathroom. After using the bathroom you stood looking at yourself in the mirror. Your body was covered with hickey’s and bruises.

As you gently touched your hips where hand shape bruises had formed you noticed the way your legs subconsciously clenched. Despite the slight discomfort you enjoyed having all of the marks on your body knowing they were from him. They allowed you to relive the night all over again.

You crawled back under the covers and into Auston’s arms but this time you faced him. You watched as his eyes remained closed, but you knew he was awake from the way his hand rubbed up and down your back.

“Last time you were in my bed there was a pillow wall.”

“I don’t see a wall anymore.” You lifted the covers to look between the two of you, “But I do see a lot less clothing.” A chuckle rumbled deep in his chest.

“You also stayed past sunrise this time.”

Your chest tightened at the reminder of the first night you stayed in his bed and how you were out of it just as quick as you were in.

You ran your fingers through his hair giving his scalp a gentle massage, “Im sorry. It’s different now.”

He shrugged, eyes still closed, “not the first time.” He slowly dragged his hand over your hip before it was on your ass and pulling you on top of him. He laughed at your surprised squeal as he finally opened his eyes and smiled looking up at you, “Now we just have more time to go again.”

He leaned up to place a kiss on your lips. His hips also moved up allowing his cock to slip between your folds. You moaned into the kiss as you started moving your own hips.

It was ridiculous, really, that dry humping could get you this hot and bothered, but it did. Another moan passed your lips as you nails dug into his shoulders.

“Auston, please.” You begged. You had him where you wanted, but you needed more, you needed all of him.

“Tell me what you need, baby.”

“You.” You moaned out into his shoulder, “I need you.” Auston grabbed himself between your bodies lining himself up with your entrance.

“I want you to be loud as you want, baby.”

But before things could go any further you heard the front door open and slam shut. Your head shot up from where you were kissing on his neck, “who is that?”

“Aus, you ready to go?” You recognized Mitch’s voice.

Auston groaned throwing his head back into his pillow, “fuck, I can’t believe I forgot.”

“What are they doing here?” You hissed climbing off of him, your previous activities long forgotten.

“We’re golfing today.”

“Looks like he got busy last night!” You could hear Willy’s voice laugh. Your eyes widened and your heart began to pound. All of your clothes had come off last night before you made it to Auston’s bedroom.

You felt a sense of panic set in as you could only imagine what Will had found. “Tell her the matching set is a nice touch.” Your cheeks burned up at the thought of him finding the blue lingerie you had worn.

“This can’t be happening.” You whispered to yourself trying to think of any excuse as to why you would be in Auston’s apartment. Specifically why you were in his bed…naked…and covered in hickeys…yep you were totally screwed.

“Auston, seriously” That was Morgan’s voice, “you’re going to make us late.”

“Get under the bed.” Auston instructed, in a hushed tone.

“I’m naked.” You yelled back in a hushed tone as well, “I’m not getting under the bed!”

“Then get in the closet.”

“Im not hiding in your closet.” You refused, feeling claustrophobic just from looking at it.

“Then go in the bathroom.” Auston’s patience was wearing very thin.

“Fine.” You huffed.

“Come out or we’re coming in.” Mitch warned knocking once.

“Give me a sec!” Auston yelled helping you stand from the bed. You wrapped the sheet around your body and ran into the bathroom shutting the door right as his bedroom one opened.

“Good morning, Auston.” Mitch said in a sing song voice, “It was obviously good for you.”

You leaned into the bathroom door until your left ear was pressed against it in an attempt to hear everything.

“You guys couldn’t wait till I came out.” Auston responded, the frustrated tone that you were used to hearing only directed at you was used.

“I voted to wait, Mitch wanted to barge in.” Morgan leaned against the door frame crossing his arms over his chest.

“I just wanted to meet the girl.” Mitch walked around the room looking for any signs of who Auston may be hiding.

“Here are all of her clothes.” Will walked in dropping everything on the floor.

“10 minutes please, just to get dressed.” Auston begged wanting nothing more than for them to leave.

“We’ll wait.” Mo shrugged. All three boys stood still watching their teammate.

“I’m naked.” Auston mumbled.

All three burst out laughing, “we were just fucking with you, we’ll wait in the living room.” Will assured letting out a loud laugh again. Right as they were all shuffling out the door you turned on the shower knowing you were in the clear.

“I swear to God if you get in that shower and have sex with her while we’re waiting, we’re leaving your ass.” Mitch warned closing the door behind them.

———

“This is (y/n), Auston’s girlfriend.” Ema introduced you to the table filled with Auston’s family members.

“My friend, mom, not girlfriend.” Auston corrected. You would be lying if you said that didn’t sting a little bit, but you brushed it off as you smiled sitting down at the chair Auston had pulled out for you.

Your invite to Arizona was something Auston had planned for a while. He knew he wanted you to meet his family it was just a matter of when. It was difficult to find a few free days with your intense schedule but you moved some things around to make it work. You knew it was risky traveling with paparazzi and your fans following your every move, but you were careful to cover your tracks.

Dinner with his family reminded you of times spent with your own family. Stories were shared, people talking over one another, and lots of laughter. You felt comfortable and for the first time in a while you felt at ease.

Even long after the plates were cleared from the table you all remained. Auston kept his left arm on the back of your chair and his right hand on your thigh as you talked with with his aunts about what exactly your lifestyle entailed.

“(Y/n)!” Paige shouted running up to your chair, “will you come play fairies with us!” You giggled looking at the little girl with fake fairy wings on her back. Behind her stood Grace and two other girls. One was Auston’s other cousin Mia who was five and Madison, their neighbor who was eight.

“Paigey, she doesn’t want-“

“I would love to!” You cut Auston off. You gave him a bright smile standing from your chair. You crouched down next to Paige so she could help you put on your fairy wings before you took her hand and walked further into the backyard.

While his family continued to mingle around him, some even talking with him, Auston’s eyes never left you. He watched as you ran around with the little girls pretending you could fly and participating in a fairy tea party.

“You are so in love with her,” Auston turned to see Alex had taken the empty seat next to him.

“I’m not.”

Alex hummed, “really? because you haven’t stopped staring at her since she got here.”

“Yes, I have.” Auston was thankful that it was getting dark and the redness that was starting to crawl up his neck wouldn’t be noticeable.

“I wish you could’ve seen yourself during dinner. Anytime she talked you would just look at her and smile.” Alex laughed, “but don’t worry…” she didn’t look over at her younger brother before continuing to talk, “She was doing the same thing.”

Auston shook his head. He didnt know if he was disagreeing with what Alex said about him or you. He didn’t want to believe he was acting like that and he couldn’t believe you were either, “Our friendship is…complicated.”

“I’m not mom or nana, I know your hooking up.” Alex shrugged like it was no big deal. While Auston never shared his dating life with his sisters, he knew they weren’t nieve.

“That obvious?”

“Mhm.” She nodded, taking a sip of her drink, “Like I said, it’s the way you look at each other.”

“How do we look at each other” his eyes still remained on you.

“Like there’s nothing better or more interesting in the world to look at.” That hit Auston in the chest…hard, “it’s actually sickening to watch.”

Alex continued talking, but Auston stopped listening. Your relationship was always clear cut, until it wasn’t. Even when you transitioned to friends with benefits you both made it clear that it was just that, but was there something more? Had he fucked everything up by inviting you here?

He remained so caught up in his own thoughts that he didn’t realize the sun slowly started to set and your game had finished.

“Aus, we want ice cream.” Grace demanded carrying her youngest sister, Hope on her hip.

“Did your mom say it was okay?”

“Yeah she’s at the fire pit and told me to ask you.” Auston looked past Grace and towards the fire pit his parents had built. A majority of his aunts and uncles sat around it, drinks in their hands.

“Alright let’s go.” He stood up picking up his two year old cousin out of her sister’s hands and led the group of girls inside, you trailing in the back.

Auston scooped each girl their requested ice cream, saving you for last. He handed you a cone which you happily excepted.

“Nice wings,” he commented at the plastic ones you had yet to take off.

You suddenly felt embarrassed about the wings and the tiara sitting on your head. You took the wings off first. “It’s silly, but the girls wanted-” You tried explaining while reaching up to remove the tiara as well.

“Don’t take it off.” Auston grabbed your wrist, “it suits you.” He smiled watching as you blushed at his compliment. He fixed the tiara so it was sitting on your head properly, holding eye contact. You cleared your throat reminded that you were surrounded by his cousins as Hope wedged her way in between the two of you. She lifted her arms to be picked up, which you happily did sitting down with her at the island.

“Hope a good girl for finishing her ice cweam.” The two year old cheered sticking out her hands for Auston to clean.

“You are a good girl for finishing.” Auston affirmed cleaning off her sticky fingers.

“Tell (y/n) she a good girl too for finishing her ice cweam.” You giggled at the two year olds babbling.

“Yeah, tell me I’m a good girl too.” You smirked up at Auston, giggling as he cleared his throat.

“She already knows she’s one.” He replied to Hope, his eyes flickering over to you.

As the night wore on more family members left, until it was the faithful few still sitting around the fire pit. You offered to help Auston with the dishes and even though he refused you stood beside him at the sink; you drying as he washed.

You worked in a comfortable silence the only sound coming from those outside and the speaker that was playing music.

“I think last time we were in a kitchen together we were baking Justin’s cake.” You thought out loud giggling at the disaster that afternoon was.

“And before that you were throwing a drink in my face.” Auston bumped you with his shoulder. It was nice to laugh about the situation now because in the moment it was anything but funny.

You took the cup he handed you drying it off, “I guess us and kitchens don’t really mix.”

“Nah.” He shook his head dunking his hands back in the water. “We could always make a new memory though.”

“If you try to stab me with the knife your mom used to cut the cake, I will sue.”

“That wasn’t my first thought.” Auston laughed lifting his hands up to show they were empty.

“What’s the new memory then?” You questioned, “Us doing dishes?” You placed another dried plate On the towel next to the sink.

“No that’s boring. I was thinking something a little more…us.” You didn’t get a chance to question him before a splash of water hit your chest. You looked over at him in disbelief as he busted out laughing. You wasted no time splashing him back. You both fought over dominance of the sink as you flung water and soap at each other. You laughed giving Auston one last splash as he slipped on the water that accumulated all over the floor. He quickly grabbed onto you with one hand and the counter with the other.

“Careful.” You giggled, “I don’t want to be responsible for breaking Hockey’s golden boy.”

You laughed at the soap bubbles that sat on top of Auston’s head knowing you probably looked the exact same.

“That’s a good look on you.” Auston joked playing with the soap on top of your head.

“Is it?”

“Mhm, probably top ten.”

“Better than after my Atlanta show?” You asked referring to the night after your concert you surprised him with an outfit that left very little to the imagination.

“Oh yeah, much better.” He nodded his hands finding your hips and backing you into the counter.

“I probably look like a wet dog.” You giggled rolling your eyes.

Auston placed his hand on your chin to make you look at him, “You look really beautiful,” the words surprised him as much as they surprised you. “I like when you don’t look perfect.”

Your eyes stayed locked on each other. Your breathing matched each other as you could feel his chest rising and falling at the same time yours was. You could hear your heart pounding in your ears and hoped his was doing the same. You felt his thumb rubbing small circles on your waist as the other moved to cup the back of your head. Your were so close, you could feel his breath on your lips, but before they could touch the back sliding door opened.

“Hey guys,” Ema greeted.

You jumped apart, Auston’s hand going to the back of his neck as you picked up the towel you were using to dry.

“Did you end up washing yourselves instead of the dishes?” His mom laughed pointing at the state of both of you.

“Yeah it got a little messy,” you commented using the towel to keep your hands busy. You refused to look at Auston and you knew he was doing the same.

———

“Cheers to summer! Cheers to (y/n)’s tour, and cheers to the Leafs season!” Justin held his glass up as the rest of you followed suit.

The Bieber’s decided to throw a pool party at their LA house as an opportunity to see all of their friends. You stood in between your best friends clinking your glasses together before taking a sip.

“We’re proud of you.” One of your best friend rested her head on your shoulder giving you a side hug. You shrugged the comment off, wanting no attention.

“Let’s go in the pool.” You suggested. It was a calculated move and maybe even a jealous one, but watching Hailey’s model friends all over Auston all afternoon had you in a bad mood.

You marched over to the seat where you placed your bag and towel earlier and took your time removing your clothes. You knew Auston was sitting at the patio table, two girls on either side of him. Both were fighting for his attention, taking turns getting closer, playfully hitting his arm, and giggling at anything he said. You spent the afternoon watching from afar and you were over it.

“Damn, you look good.” Your best friend let out a low whistle as you laughed and gave her a spin, “like really good.”

“Whose heart are you trying to break today?” Your other best friend joked giving your butt a slap.

You were aware you didn’t necessarily look like a model, but Auston loved your body, he said so himself every time you were together. And the compliments you received from others didn’t hurt either.

You and your friends lounged around in the pool even engaging in some pool games. Your best friend was on Ryan’s shoulders as you were on Mason’s going back in forth in a game of chicken.

“C’mon, (y/l/n), knock her off!” Mason encouraged from below you as he attempted to trip Ryan under the water.

“I’m trying.” You and (y/bff/n) were in a deadlock as you held onto each other’s shoulder’s.

“Now!” Mason shouted as he got his foot around the back of Ryan’s ankle tripping him as you pushed (y/bff/n) off his shoulders at the same time. They crashed into the water as you and Mason began celebrating. He pulled you off his shoulders wrapping you in a tight hug.

“The dream team.” You smiled giving him a high five before going to shake your opponent’s hands.

Despite Mason’s pleading you gracefully bowed out of another round climbing out of the water and drying off. You went over to the table set up with all of the food, filling a plate with various finger foods.

“Having fun?” You didn’t look up from the fruit you were picking up, but nodded at Auston’s question.

“Are you?” You’re tone was short and your voice even.

“I am.” He confirmed filling up a plate as well. Auston’s tone matched your own and that’s when you knew you had him exactly where you wanted him.

Auston got jealous easily, easier than you. Ever since you started your situationship he didn’t like when other guys even looked in your direction and he made that known.

You may have been watching him all afternoon, but he was also watching you. He watched as a guys hand lingered on your waist a little too long for his liking. He watched as one of your friends looked you up and down in your bikini despite him having a long time girlfriend. And he watched as you sat on Mason’s shoulders in the pool. He was the only one that belonged between your thighs.

“I bet you are.” You couldn’t help the twinge of jealousy that accompanied your comment. Auston stopped your hand from picking anything else up.

“The attitude isn’t cute.” His voice was low and hot in your ear, “I know you just want my attention.”

You bit down hard on the inside of your cheek as your body involuntarily reacted to him. You knew he had the upper hand right now, but you didn’t want to lose.

“Is it working?” You smirked feeling the bulge in his swim trunks against your leg.

“Meet me in the bathroom in 10.” He released your arm leaving you standing alone and breathless.

You took your plate of food back to your seat, but didn’t touch any of it. Time felt like it was moving painfully slow, but as it neared 10 minutes you promptly stood up.

Passing Auston on your way in, you dragged your fingers along his arm giving each other a fleeting glance before making your way up stairs. You went to the first bathroom on your left and quickly took a second to fix your hair and readjust your bikini. It wasn’t long before you heard the door knob turning and Auston came in.

“You’re acting like such a brat-“ you cut him off crashing your lips into his own. The white button down linen shirt he wore made his skin look even more tan and you wanted to kiss every inch of his body.

Auston backed you up into the counter lifting you up so you were sitting on it as he stood between your legs. He left kisses all along your chest and shoulder before meeting your lips again. You knew your lips were going to be bruised later from how forcefully he was kissing you, but you didn’t care. All you could focus on was the way his arms felt in your hands.

It was like you couldn’t get enough of each other. Your hands were all over each other grabbing and scratching. And it didn’t matter that your lungs were on fire, you didn’t want to stop kissing him. Auston finally pulled away allowing you both to catch your breath. Through panting breaths he smirked.

“You like that huh? Pissing me off.”

“Almost as much as I like what comes after.”

Auston bit down on his lip shaking his head at you before kissing you again. One hand kept you in place on the counter as the other untied your bikini top, letting it fall to the floor.

“So fucking perfect.” He breathed out staring at your chest before taking one of your nipples in his mouth and massaging the other with his hand. You kept your hands locked around his neck throwing your head back and closing your eyes.

So caught up in the moment you didn’t hear someone knocking. The door sprung open and your eyes snapped open making eye contact with Ryan.

“Oh my god.” He chocked out before covering his eyes with one of his hands and using the other to try and find the door handle. He rambled out an apology as you dropped from the counter.

“It’s fine, really.” You tried reassuring him as you pushed Auston away and scrambled to grab your top. You slammed the door shut in his face covering your chest with your free arm.

“Why are you smiling?” You furrowed your eyebrows at Auston, “he’s going to tell (y/bff/n) who’s going to tell (b/ff/n#2), who’s going to tell Mason, who will literally tell everyone.” Your voice rose as you became more panicked.

“Because he’s not going to say anything.” Auston placed his hands on your shoulders. He turned you around so your back was towards him as he retied your top.

"how do you know?"

"Because you’re going to talk to him.” Auston placed a kiss on your shoulder before turning you back around.

“I can’t talk to him, he just saw my boobs.” You whined pointing at your chest.

“And they look great.” Auston assured you, “it’s either you talk to him or everyone finds out and with how often you tell me to not even look at you in public I’m guessing you don’t want everyone to know.”

“Of course not.”

“So go talk to him.”

Auston placed another kiss on your lips, “Oh and make sure you tell him I said ‘fuck you’ for interrupting before we even got to the good part.”

You suppressed a smile, turning on your heel, “Make sure five minutes passes before you come out.” You closed the door behind you going to beg your best friend’s boyfriend to keep this secret.

———

The hot water felt both relaxing and refreshing as it glided down your body. So caught up in your own thoughts you almost didn’t hear the glass door open.

“No.” You insisted turning around to see who was attempting to break your peace.

“C’mon. I have to be back at the hotel in 45 minutes to leave for the rink. That’s not enough time to shower there.” Auston was already undressed with one foot in the shower.

“You should’ve thought about that when I told you to get up earlier.”

“Oh you mean right after I went down on you for the third time this morning? Sorry I was out of energy then.”

Your stomach did a flip at the reminder of the earlier hours in the morning.

“Fine.” You conceded “but keep your hands to yourself.”

“That should be a note to self, you’re the one who can’t keep your hands off of me.” Auston teased closing the door behind him.

You giggled innocently shrugging your shoulders, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You continued rinsing off before switching spots with Auston. You worked conditioner through your hair as he washed off. When you went to switch spots again Auston gave your hip a squeeze.

“Hands to yourself, remember?”

“It was one touch.” He didn’t move his hand though, instead he allowed it to stay there tilting his head to the side as his eyes moved up and down your body.

“And that’s all it’s going to be. I’m getting out.” You finalized after rinsing out all of the conditioner.

You moved Auston’s hand from your hip and went to reach for the door handle, but just as you were about to grab it Auston pulled you into his chest, “just one round baby, please, I’ll be quick, I promise.” He kissed along your neck starting at your shoulder and working his way up until he was sucking the sweet spot behind your ear.

“No.” You tried to sound stern, but the sigh that passed your lips and the way you tilted your head to give him more access was less than convincing.

“Give me 10 minutes.” He promised between kisses.

“5.”

“8.”

“Fine 8.”

“You’re a terrible negotiator, I could’ve been done in 5.”

“(Y/n)?” You both froze at the new voice on the other side of the bathroom door. You knew it was your manager, Veronica. You weren’t expecting her, but this wouldn’t be the first time she’s showed up unannounced. “We need to go over your schedule for the next few days.”

You slapped your hand over Auston’s mouth, “I’m kinda busy right now.”

“There’s no other time today, we have interviews, studio time, and meetings all day.”

“And why couldn’t this be a phone call or a text?”

“I tried both. You didn’t answer.” Damn you forgot you put your phone on dnd. You felt Auston’s hands begin to massage your shoulders and you let out a deep sigh at the relaxing feeling.

“We also need to decide, are we playing into this possible relationship between you and Andre Westbrook or shutting it down?”

Auston’s hands tensed on your shoulders. And you didn’t need to open your eyes to know that he was annoyed.

As of recently you have been linked to the star forward of the Lakers after attending a game with courtside seats. There was a small interaction between the two of you and every media outlet has ran with the idea that he’s your new boyfriend. To say Auston was pissed when the headline came up on his Instagram feed would be an understatement. He called you and demanded an explanation.

“Tell Rosie to Shut it down.” your publicist could make people believe pigs could fly if she really wanted to, so shutting down a rumor was nothing for her.

“Well Rosie is the one who actually wanted me to talk to you, apparently she did some research into him and he’s a big deal right now. He’s one of the best in the league. He’s on a winning team, and just signed a 2 million dollar contract.”

If only she knew you already had a world class athlete at your fingertips.

You would’ve kept your eyes closed, the conversation starting to bring on a headache had it not been for the noise Auston made getting down on his knees in front of you.

“Absolutely not.” You hissed out yanking on his arm to try and pull him up. Your effort was useless though, he was too big and strong in comparison to you. Auston ignored your pleas and began kissing up your leg, starting at your knee and working his way up your inner thigh.

“So what do you think?” Veronica’s hopeful voice traveled through the door.

Auston looked up at you as he forced your legs apart. He first placed a firm kiss to your heat gently sucking on your clit before he began to move his tongue.

“I-“ you cut yourself off to catch your breath and keep from moaning. “I don’t need him for publicity.”

“No, but it’ll keep people interested and if they think there’s even a slight chance Andre could show up to one of your shows they’ll be invested.”

“But all of my shows sold out.” One hand gripped onto Auston’s hair as the other held onto the wall.

“It’s the idea, honey. If you’re linked with him it opens up a door to a whole new audience for you.”

“Middle aged men?”

“Yes, but those middle aged men have teenage daughters and if they can connect a name with a face they’ll be more willing to pay for the concert tickets, or the merch, or the album, etc.” veronica explained.

“That’s just not me.”

The combination of Auston’s tongue and fingers mixed with the heat from the shower had you feeling lightheaded, “I just-I need to sit down.”

Auston helped you lower yourself to the ground and then he reached behind you to turn off the water. Your vision was blurry and it felt like the world was spinning.

“(Y/n), honey, are you okay?” Veronica attempted to turn the door handle.

You used Auston to steady yourself and pushed open the glass door desperately needing air, “Yeah I’m fine, I just need some time to think about everything.”

“Okay, 30 minutes and then we need to be in the car.”

“Veronica-.” You attempted to cut in.

“I’ll be waiting downstairs and tell your friend if he’s interested in the position that the maple leafs PR guy should give Rosie a call.”

———

“Damn, I didn’t expect a round of applause, but this silence is loud.” Auston commented following your reveal of your relationship to your friends.

You gathered everyone together at Auston’s apartment so you could do it all at once. But the silence that followed after Auston blurted it out felt like ages and you were beginning to panic.

You wanted your friends to be supportive, but they’ve also seen you at your worst with each other and you were scared they wouldn’t be able to look past that.

Everyone immediately began protesting with various statements like “we’re happy for you” and “that’s not what we meant.”

“We’re just surprised it took you guys this long to finally tell us.” Steph elbowed Mitch in the stomach making him double over.

“All of you already knew?!” You exclaimed looking around the room for confirmation, “Ryan! You promised.”

You turned to look at your best friends boyfriend who looked terrified while also trying to avoid eye contact with you.

“He didn’t tell everyone.” Your best friend defended, “just me.” You watched as she glanced at your other friends, “And I told (y/bff/n#2).”

You looked at your other best friend, “and I may have accidentally told Mason.” She bit down her lip also trying to avoid eye contact.

“And how’d you guys find out?” Auston nodded towards his teammates.

Will, morgan, and Mitch all shared a look before Mitch spoke up.

“That morning we came to your apartment to pick you up to go golfing and we knew you had a girl over-”

“And I found your clothes.” Will cheekily smiled before giving you a wink, “I also found your purse that you left on the couch.”

“And we were curious so we looked through it and saw your ID and passport.” Morgan finished sending you an apologetic smile.

Ryan seeing your boobs was bad, but this was even worse. You had interacted with all of them since that day and the fact that they knew what was going on made you want to cry. (Especially since they saw you lingerie)

“We said we were going to keep it between the three of us” Morgan continued to explain, “but I told Tessa.” He placed a hand on his wife’s thigh.

“And I told Steph.” Mitch rubbed the back of his neck.

“And I told kniesy and Reevo who told the rest of the team.” Willy admitted looking at the other two as a way to get the blame off himself.

Ryan laughed unapologetically, “Sorry, I just got excited for my boy.” You knew that was an honest answer and you wouldn’t be able to stay mad at him. You looked to Matthew next for an explanation.

“Im not good at keeping secrets.” He shrugged sheepishly and that did make you laugh despite yourself.

“So you’ve all known and no one said anything to us?” You were raking your brain thinking about all the times you and Auston were around your friends together, thinking you were getting away with something, but everyone knew.

“We wanted to see how long it would take for you guys to tell us, which I totally won the bet, all you boys better pay up!” Steph slapped Mitch’s arm this time cutting him off.

“But more importantly we wanted to wait until you both felt comfortable enough to tell us.”

“Thank you, but this news doesn’t leave this room. We’re not ready for the world to know yet.” Auston looked at you picking up your hand in his own, “We follow (y/n)’s lead.”

Auston made it clear from the jump that he would do whatever you wanted. If that meant keeping your relationship private he was fine with that.

“That’s enough intense conversations for one night. Lets just enjoy the rest of tonight.” You smiled up at him.

You thought doing one big reveal would be like ripping a band aid off. It would hurt, but it would be over quickly. You were very wrong. It just led to more questions all night.

“You have to give us all the details.” Tessa giggled munching down on a chip.

All the girls escaped to talk in the kitchen while the boys played video games in the living room.

“There’s not much to tell.” You took a sip of your wine. “It started when we were planning the drew house party. We got into a fight, he stopped by my apartment to apologize and then we ended up sleeping together.”

“It’s giving enemies to lovers, but in real life.” Steph smiled linking her arm with yours.

“The sex was probably so good.” You all turned to look at your best friend. “What? Everyone knows angry sex is the best sex.” She shrugged like the explanation was simple.

“And we’ve all seen the fights between you and Auston, there was a lot of tension there.”

“It’s even better now.” You smiled trying to hide your blush as all the girls cheered.

“Like before I didn’t care about what I said or did and now it’s the same thing, but it’s not because I don’t care but because I’m comfortable with him.” You tried your best to explain your feelings, “it’s intimate.”

“It sounds like you’re in love.” Tessa smiled giving your hand a squeeze across the kitchen island.

“No way.” You rejected looking around the group for someone to back you up, but they all just wore knowing smiles. “It’s too soon and I hated him literally like a week ago so that’s just not possible.” You rambled on fidgeting with your glass.

“You don’t have to convince us you aren’t feeling that way.” Aryne brought you out of your panicked thoughts, “It’s just an observation.”

You poured yourself another glass of wine starting to drink it quickly. You and Auston had been living in a fairy tale ever since you started dating, but revealing everything to your friends reminded you of just how intense it’s going to be when you reveal it to the public.

This wouldn’t be your first go around, but it would be Auston’s first time connected to someone as famous as you. It worried you that your fans wouldn’t like him or his wouldn’t like you. And all the questions your friends had would be what everyone else would ask but times a million.

“Sorry to interrupt ladies just getting more beers.” You recognized the one voice that could get you out of your own head.

Auston moved past the group and to the fridge where he grabbed another twelve pack. Before leaving the kitchen he came to stand behind you giving your hip a squeeze and placing a kiss on your head.

“I hope you aren’t giving my girl too much of a hard time.”

“Nope, just getting her to spill all the details about you.” One of your best friends teased.

“Well considering all the trash talking she’s done since we met, I’m owed a few compliments.”

You rolled your eyes, “In your dreams, Matthews. I will always be your number one hater.” You smiled giving him a wink.

There’s his girl.

Auston could tell from the moment he walked into the kitchen you were stressed. He knew telling your families and friends had been both an exciting and overwhelming thing for you. So many questions to answer and so much to talk about. He just wanted you to relax.

“I would expect nothing less, (y/l/n).” He joked before placing another kiss on your shoulder before leaving.

This was just the beginning.

#famous reader #hockey #maple leafs #nhl #nhl blurb #toronto maple leafs #celebrity reader #hockey imagine #nhl imagine #justin bieber #auston matthews x reader #auston matthews #enemies to lovers #mitch marner #morgan rielly #william nylander #matthew knies

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sturniolosiphone · 3 months

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Change Your Ticket

pairing: CHRIS STURNIOLO X READER

warning: SMUT, praising, spitting, choking, friends with benefits, orgasm denial, voyeurism

not proof read

**MDNI**

“Watching you get dressed messes with my head take that bag off your shoulder come get back in bed, we still got time left this don't have to be over”

I’m exhausted, I’m nauseous, I’m sweating through my clothes and who the fuck does a show in Oklahoma anyway? My phone has been blowing up since I landed and I feel like I could explode. I gave Chris my flight information so he could track my flight and make sure I’ve landed safely and now I have 10 missed calls. I didn’t expect him to call me as soon as the plane tire touched the runway. Chris and I have been hooking up for a little over six months and I will never get used to how needy he is. This is my first time meeting Chris while he is on tour with his brothers and I’m definitely feeling more nervous than I thought I would. I’m also surprised he asked me to come out so early in the day, I know Chris has stamina but not 10+ hours worth. I am so happy to be finally boarding off of this plane. I pray that Chris will allow me to nap when I get to the hotel because I feel like I have been traveling for years. That reminds me I probably should text him now that I am waiting for the uber:

I don’t know why I am so nervous to be here. I feel so comfortable around Chris and his brothers but traveling to him while he’s on tour just feels different than our normal arrangement of me going to his house at two am. I press my key card to the door and am met with Chris on the bed scrolling on his phone. He looks over at me and smiles hard.

“Y/n! Finally!” he says, walking over to help me with my bags. “How was your flight?” he asks.

“Yeah, finally. Not an awful flight it just felt like I was never going to get here” I sigh. “I’m surprised you wanted me to come so early in the day. I’m used to getting a text after midnight.” I laugh. Chris shrugs and scratches the back of his neck.

“I don’t know. Just thought it might be fun like maybe we could go out and do shit” he looks at me cautiously. “Also more time for fuck” he smirks. I roll my eyes and playfully push his shoulder.

“Before we do anything I need to shower. I feel disgusting and I was hoping to take a nap” I say while pulling out an oversized t-shirt and a thong.

“If you wear that I don’t give a fuck if you nap” he says while slapping my ass. “I’ll let you nap but not for too long Ma. We have plans.” he flashes me a goofy smile.

“Oh so you were serious about going out to do shit?” I ask. Chris and I’s relationship has always been about sex and that’s it. No dates, no strings attached, I mean I hardly even sleep over after.

“When am I ever not serious?” he asks, offended.

“All the fucking time Chris” I say.

“Well I’m Mr. Serious today y/n. Get your ass in the shower so you can nap so we can go on with our day already.” he says while leading me to the bathroom door.

I get out of the shower and feel my eyes start to close on their own. I need to sleep. I dry off, apply moisture and get into my clothes. I walk back into the room expecting Chris to be watching tv or something but all the lights are off and he’s shirtless sitting in bed waiting for me with ASMR on the tv.

“I don’t know how you listen to this shit go to sleep” he says, making me jump a little.

“How do you even know this is how I go to sleep?” I ask while raising my eyebrow at him.

“That one night you fell asleep after we hooked up I woke up and saw this shit on the TV so I just figured” he shrugs.

“Damn you must be in love. Paying attention to me and shit” I tease.

“So bold lately. I definitely am in love with that pussy though” he says and pats the bed. “Come on, you look exhausted.” he states. I feel my eyes close as soon as my head hits the pillow. I really was exhausted.

I wake to feeling the blankets shift above me. I open my eyes waiting for them to adjust and see Chris’ head under the blankets directly in front of me.

“Chris?” I mumble, my voice thick with sleep. I’m met with no response and feel him starting to kiss up my inner thighs. I can feel myself instantly getting wetter with each kiss. I will never get used to how my body reacts to him. He starts kissing over my clothed clit and I arch my back and whine out. I subconsciously start grinding myself into his face. I feel Chris press both of his palms to my hips to stop my movements. “Please Chris” I whisper. He slides my underwear to the side and gives my clit a sloppy kiss before pushing one finger into me stretching me out. He starts swirling his tongue around my bundle of nerves while he pumps one finger in and out of me. I move the blanket out of the way so I can watch him. His hair is falling in front of his eyes and he looks up at me with hooded eyes and I can feel his chain against my pussy.

“Are you ready for another finger baby?” he says.

“Need it” I beg. Chris adds another finger, curling up to reach my g-stop and attaches his lip back to my clit swirling his tongue and sucking. Whenever he eats my pussy his mouth makes the most obscene sounds almost like he doesn’t want a drop to go to waste. I see him grinding himself into the mattress desperate for friction. He reaches his hands up to my tits and starts massaging them through my shirt. “I’m really close Chris” I breathe out.

“Fuck yourself on my fingers y/n…yes baby, just like that. Such a good girl for me. Look how pretty your pussy looks, so fucking wet.” he moans. I feel myself getting closer and grab his hair to guide him to exactly where I need his mouth.

“Nghhh I’m going to cum…I’m cumming fuck I’m cumming” I scream out while coating Chris’s face with my juices. I watch him wipe his mouth with his sleeve and smile.

“That was so fucking hot baby. Look at what you did to me” he says while pointing to the tent in his briefs.

“Your turn?” I say while sitting up on my elbows.

“Nope! We have plans, remember?” he says getting off the bed heading towards the bathroom I assume to get ready.

“Wait Chris, are you sure? I like feel bad” I say while moving to sit on the side of the bed.

“What? Can I not just want to pleasure my woman?” he yells from the bathroom. My woman? He’s insane. Nick has told me multiple times that he thinks Chris has feelings for me. Chris and I have always been very clear that this will never turn into anything so I don’t think him having feelings for me is likely.

“Oh yes, your woman. Your woman who you booty call” I say rolling my eyes.

“I can hear the eye roll in your voice Ma” he says peeking his head out. “And can we get a move on? Told you about twenty times that we have plans. Wear something sexy.” he winks.

I decided on wearing a simple black mini dress and heels. I end up going with just some light makeup since it’s so hot I can’t be bothered to wear a full face. As I am putting my gold hoops in I see Chris walk towards me in the mirror. He wraps his arms around my hips and rests his chin on my shoulder.

“You look really fucking good in that dress” he whispers in my ear. I feel goosebumps break out on my neck and feel my face getting red. I turn around to face him and lean back on the sink.

“Thank you Chris. I bought this dress before this trip and I’m happy I decided to bring it here. You look really handsome, I’m used to only seeing you in sweats. I really like this shirt” I reach up and run my hands on his shoulders.

“Gotta look good for my girl” he winks.

“I’m not your girl Chris. I’m a girl that you fuck” I say grinning at him.

“Yeah yeah whatever you want to call it” he waves his hand and smiles. “Are you ready for dinner?” he says, looking me up and down.

“Yeah I’m ready. Are Matt and Nick?” I ask him, taking one last look in the mirror.

“Matt and Nick?” He looks at me like I have three heads.

“Well yeah. I mean I just assumed that they would be coming with” I say confused.

“Just us Ma.” he winks at me. What the fuck is going on.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Chris this place is so nice what the fuck? Do you take all of your girls here?” I tease him while I take my seat across from him at the table.

“Nope. Just you” he says matter-of-factly. I let him order our meals while I take in the scenery. I can’t comprehend what is going on. It’s never that Chris treats me like an object. I'm just not used to this. This feels real. This feels like a relationship and I can’t wrap my head around it. I really do like Chris, that's not my issue. I just have commitment issues and I assumed he did as well considering he’s never had a serious relationship.

“You good?” he asks me from across the table.

“Yeah I’m good! Just can’t believe we are here. This is so nice Chris but it’s going to be so expensive.”

“That’s not for you to worry about. I got you. You don’t think I’m good for it?” he squints his eyes at me looking almost offended.

“Oh no, I didn’t mean it like that” I begin to ramble feeling guilty. “I just feel bad. You’ve already paid for my flight, the hotel, the transpir-” Chris cuts me off by putting his hand on mine.

“Relax,” he chuckles. “I’m just fucking with you. I’d pay any amount of money for you y/n” he says.

“You’re sweet Chris. Are you excited for your show tomorrow?” I ask.

“Yeah, I’m definitely starting to get tired but I do love meeting the fans. I think I’m going to win the tour” he boasts. “Why you wanna come?” he smirks at me.

“I think I’m good on that. Your fans are like detectives I’m sure they’d figure out who I am or something” I say. “Does it feel good having all these girls fawning over you?”

“You mean all the twelve year olds? Nah. Besides I only have eyes for you ma” he teases.

“Don’t act like you don’t have any other bitches Chris” I pry. He raises his eyebrow at me and licks his lips.

“I don’t. Why? You have other bitches?” he asks me seriously.

“Oh trust me you are the only thing I can handle” I laugh.

Our waiter comes back with our food and we both thank him.

“This looks so good. I didn’t realize how hungry I was” I say, reaching for my fork.

“Eat up Ma, you’ve got a long night ahead of you” he winks at me and begins to eat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Chris, why did you get dessert? I’m so full.” I say patting my stomach.

“We can’t not get dessert, that's like criminal” he says, shaking his head. Our strawberry cake comes out and it looks amazing.

“Okay maybe I can eat more” I giggle.

“I feel like you have been so far away from me this whole time. Come here” he says, pulling my chair right next to me and putting his hand on my thigh.

“Chris, what are you doing?” I say trying to keep my voice down, scanning the room to see if anyone noticed. He looks at me confused.

“Nothing,” he smirks. I feel his fingers start to trail up my thigh under my dress.

“Chris we are at a five star restaurant we actually can not do this here” I say with wide eyes. Chris leans in, putting his mouth right next to my ear.

“I’m going to finger you under this table and you are going to be quiet, understand?” he whispers. All I can do is nod. “Words, y/n” he says, pulling back to look at me.

“Yes daddy,” I whisper, almost not audible.

“Wearing that dress just to mess with me, huh? You’ve got me all worked, see?” he reaches for my hand and rests it on his bulge. I swallow hard. “Can’t even talk. You know you’re being a bad girl wearing that out.” he tuts. He moves his hand further up thigh and reaches my pussy. I scoot forward on instinct.

“Gotta sit still baby”

“Sorry” I take a shaky breath. My god he is so hard. Fuck I can’t for him to be in me later. Chris moves my panties to the side and starts rubbing circles around my clit. Thank god this restaurant is dimly lit and we are pretty much alone in a corner.

“Eat your dessert baby. Can’t draw too much attention” he says seemingly unphased. I don’t understand how he can be so calm. I start to palm him through his pants and I can feel his hips jerk up. I giggle while trying to eat my dessert. He then roughly shoves to two fingers in my entrance pumping them in and out relentlessly. I moan out.

“Quiet y/n” he says sternly. What does he expect from me? My head feels like it's spinning. I start looking around to see if anyone notices and it doesn’t appear so. God, I’m starting to get close. I squeeze his cock roughly through his jeans and hear him clear his throat. I can tell Chris knows I'm about to cum with the way he’s looking at me.

“I’m right there Chris” I whisper, trying not to rock my hips. Chris abruptly takes his fingers out of me, brings them to his mouth and licks them clean.

“Chris what the fuck?! I was about to cum” I say, ripping my hand away from his lap. He dramatically puts his hand over his heart and gasps.

“I had no idea! I’m so sorry” he smirks.

“You’re a dick” I say through my teeth.

I sit with my arms crossed while Chris pays for the bill.

“Are you ready baby?” he asks, putting his card in his wallet.

“Are you ready, baby?” I mock him. “Yeah Chris, I’m ready” I huff with my arms still crossed.

“So bratty” he laughs.

We arrive back at the hotel and Chris stops and gets us snacks in the lobby.

“How can you even think about food? We ate so much” I say while he checks out.

“Just figured we’d work up an appetite” he shrugs. “Thank you” he says to the lady at the front desk and she smiles politely. We walk towards the elevators and I press the button.

“With what you pulled at dinner I was thinking maybe you won’t be getting any tonight Christopher” I say while pouting. The elevator dings and we step inside. I don’t even have time to press the button when I am pressed up against the wall with Chris’ mouth against mine. He presses into me and I can feel his bulge against me. He breaks the kiss while still holding on to me with one arm to press the button and turns back to face me.

“Look at you, I didn’t even do anything to you and I have you so worked up mamas. You think I don’t know how much you want me to fill you up? How much you want to bounce on my cock? You’re not fooling me y/n” Chris says cockily.

“Just fucking kiss me” I say. Chris grabs the back of my head and crashes his lips on mine. Our tongues fighting for dominance as the elevator dings.

“You are really on one tonight Chris, is it that Oklahoma air?” I ask him while opening the door to our room. I stop dead in my tracks. “Chris what the fuck is this?” I turn to look at him and his face is bright red. There is a rose petal trail leading up to the bed. He shrugs his shoulders.

“I don’t know, I just wanted to do something nice for you I guess” he says leading me into the room.

“Chris, the flight, the hotel and the dinner were nice enough. You know you didn’t have to do all of this, right?” I ask.

“Y/n I wanted to do it. It’s a thank you for coming all the way here. I really care about you and I just wanted to express that I guess” he says scanning my face for any sign of discomfort.

“I’m sorry” I sigh. “I’m just a little taken back. I have never had anyone do anything like this for me before” I say making my way to the bed and sitting down kicking my shoes off. I look up at him searching for any clues in his face. “Chris what is going on? We never do anything like this. Why are you doing all of this?” I ask him, gesturing to the rose petals. He makes his way towards me and gets down on both knees in front of me placing his hands on my thighs. He really does look so handsome in his button up shirt. I almost just want to hold him. He looks so vulnerable.

“Listen, I know we have made it very clear what this relationship is and I was totally fine with it in the beginning but not anymore. Don’t interrupt me I can see you wanting to” he says and we both laugh. “Y/n I care about you so much. So much that it scares me. I have never been a relationship guy and I know that you aren’t looking for a relationship but I am asking you to try. You have made my world so much brighter, even ask Nick and Matt.” he says looking straight into my eyes.

“Chris, I don't know. I don’t want to ruin what we have” I say nervously fidgeting with his sleeve collar.

“Come y/n, I know you feel it too. I can tell! You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t, right?” he asks, almost pleading. I reach out to cup his cheek.

“Chris, I am so scared” I whisper, my eyes welling up with tears. “I do feel it and I have always felt it but I don’t want to mess this up. I don’t want to lose you” I say, holding back tears.

“You would never lose me. I’m right here y/n” he smiles. “Please, can we try this? Believe me I have fought with myself over this. I don’t want just half of you anymore y/n. I want all of you.” he pleads.

“Chris I’m going to fucking kill you if this doesn’t work out” I say while tears fall down my face. He reaches up and wipes the tears from my face and kisses me on my forehead.

“You'll always have me baby” he whispers. I put my arms around his neck and kiss him hard. He stands up and pushes me back onto the bed. “You’re my girl, hmm?” he asks, hovering over me with his chain dangling in my face.

“Your girl Chris. Only yours” I say looking up at him. He crashes his lips against mine and I can feel his heart beating out of his chest. The kiss is passionate and frantic like this is the first time we have felt each other. Chris tangles his hands in my hair and pulls, making me moan.

“Now I hope you know this doesn’t mean I won’t fuck you like the slut you are still.” he grunts.

“I was hoping that wouldn’t change” I laugh. Chris attaches his lips back to mine and starts rutting his hips against mine. “Wait Chris” I stop him.

“What’s so important baby?” he chuckles.

“I just realized you’ve hardly been touched this whole trip” I pout. “I’m already being a bad girlfriend” I say.

“Watching you get off on my mouth and fingers is enough for me but I would love to pound into that little pussy of yours if you’ll allow me to get back to what I was doing” he chuckles.

“Proceed” I giggle. Chris lifts off of me and begins unbuttoning his shirt and slides his jeans off leaving him in his boxers. He settles in between my legs, slides my dress off and unclasps my bra but keeps my panties on.

“Such great tits Ma” he attaches his mouth to my nipple sucking and grazing his teeth on my bud while he massages my other breast with his hand. I rock my hips against his clothed cock desperate for some friction. Chris begins kissing down my stomach and I stop him once he reaches my heat.

“No Chris, it’s your turn” I say moving his head up so he looks at me. “Stand up” I demand. Chris stands up off the bed and I can see the front of his boxers soaked with precum. I get to my knees and begin kissing up and down his length over his boxers.

“Please” he moans.

“Please what baby? Remember to use your words” I taunt.

“Please touch me” he whines. I pull his boxers down and his cock springs out and he hisses at the cool air hitting his bright pink tip.

“You’re so big baby” I say while stroking his cock. Chris rocks his hips to the rhythm in which I’m moving my hand. I look up and see his eyes screwed shut with his mouth agape. I take his entire length and hum around his cock.

“Fuck ma” he says while pulling my hair into a ponytail. “Look so pretty with my cock in your mouth” he moans. Chris starts relentlessly fucking my throat while I choke and gag around him. “My good girl,” he hums. I swirl my tongue around his tip and let him use me. He slides his cock out of my mouth but keeps his hand in my hair. I look up at him confused.

“Open your mouth for me” he husks out. I do what I’m told and open my mouth. Chris leans down and spits in my mouth. I can feel myself soaking through my panties.

“Fuck” I moan looking up at him. He laughs.

“You like that mamas?” he cocks his head at me. I nod. “God, you look absolutely wrecked right now.” he chuckles. “My beautiful mess of a girl” he grins. He pulls me up by my hair and bends me over the bed. He rips my thong in half. I turn my head back and gasp.

“Now did you have to rip my thong?” I snap. He slaps my ass hard making me yelp and jump forward.

“Quiet” he says. I roll my eyes. He swirls his finger around my entrance and slides them into me and begins pumping them in and out. “You know how much I love to eat your pussy and taste you but I need to fuck you right now y/n. Are you ready for me baby?” he asks me.

“Yes Chris, always ready for you” I say while rocking back on his fingers. I feel Chris line his tip up with my entrance and I brace myself. No matter how many times we fuck I will never get used to his size. He slides his cock into me slowly bottoming out and I hear him take a deep breath.

“So tight for me” he whines. He reaches for my hair and pulls my head up off of the bed. He starts pounding into my pussy and reaches his other hand around and puts it around my throat.

“Fuck Chris” I whimper. I start rocking my hips back and begin to fuck him my back.

“Yeah baby just like that, you like bouncing on my cock hmm? Going to fucking fill you up” he says through his teeth. I can feel my orgasm building and my movements become more frantic.

“Chris I’m close” I whine out. I feel Chris slide out of me and I whimper. He flips me on my back and puts my legs over his shoulders and begins pounding into me.

“Wanna see that pretty face while you cum around my cock” he moans. I feel his tip hitting my cervix and I reach down to rub my clit. “Yes baby, get yourself off. Use my cock baby” he whines.

“Just like that Chris, just like that, fuuuuuck. I’m going to cum” I moan out.

“Cum all over me” he whispers in my ear. I feel my start cumming all over him and I sob out. “Going to fill you up baby” Chris says while his movements become more jerky. I feel his hot cum fill my insides while he puts his forehead to me and whimpers. He opens his eyes and smiles at me. “You are everything I have ever dreamed about” he whispers.

I wake up to the bright sun flowing through the curtains in the hotel room. I don’t even remember falling asleep last night but I do remember Chris cleaning me up. I turn over and see him already looking at me.

“How long have you been staring at me?” I ask.

“Just about twenty minutes. Do you know you snore?” he laughs.

“Fuck off” I mumble. I pick up my phone and it’s 10am. Fuck my flight leaves at 1pm today I need to start packing. “Shit I gotta get up! I don’t want to miss my flight home today” I say, jumping out of the bed frantically looking for my stuff.

“Why don’t you stay?” he asks, sitting up in bed.

“Stay? Like stay here?” I give him a strange look.

“Yes, like stay here" he mocks me. "Nick, Matt and I don’t leave until tomorrow. Let’s have one more night together.” Chris says.

“Well what about Nick and Matt? And your show? I don’t want to get in the way of anything” I ramble.

“Considering I woke up to thirty messages from Nick asking if I asked you and three screenshots of places he wants to go to for breakfast I have a feeling they are fine with it” he smiles. “You can come to the show if you want or I can pay for you to get a massage or something” he offers.

“What about the money Chris? Flights are expensi-“ he cuts me off.

“Don’t even start with me” he shakes his head.

“I don't have any more clothes,” I say.

“Nick wants to go shopping,” he argues. “Now please just get back in bed so we can sleep a little longer” he pats the bed.

“Fine” I say, holding back a smile. I crawl back into bed with him laying my head on his chest. “We should probably change my ticket home” I look up at him.

“Already did” he yawns and kisses my forehead.

#matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets smut #fanfiction #sturniolo triplets fanfic

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i-am-hungry-24-7 · 4 months

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Wait the lower one is from me but i don't really remember the whole details of what I've written there 😭😂 lemme dig my brain first 😔 but i remember mentioning something abt TF 141 with good smelled reader and they can't keep themselves from clinging or getting closer to reader (?)

🦈

Sharkiee 🥹 I'm lucky enough since you still remember a bit of the request! and actually I was thinking about good smelled reader these days too, but my ass get caught in my job these days 🫨 here's some hcs but I feel like there's still a lot of things I can brainrot, I'll add more to this when I can form them into words asdfghjk, as always tyvm for the ask🫡💖

Price He rarely smokes when you’re aside because it will cover your scent. Invades your personal space on the helo when you guys are heading back to base so he can bask in your smell. It’s refreshing and unlike those stinky men he says. The sleep-deprived captain got a lavender pillow from you, and he threw his old one immediately, hadn’t been so excited to end the day and sleep after years, because you used the same pillow, and your hair smells literally like it, and he relaxed lot more with it. (when you're both on leave then he will ditch it since he has you instead)

Soap Kick him into the shower before he smears his sweat on you with how much he likes to cling to you and is unable to pry off after missions. Getting called Soap is obviously unrelated to his body wash, the plain 3 in 1 one that makes you just shove your shower gel in his grasp. You know he just wants to steal yours so he can smell like you, but if you buy him the same product he’ll still snatch yours. Makes you wear his shirts so he can get it back and wear your scent like cologne around, he doesn’t care if you yell ew at him, nor he care that others might tease him for getting claimed by you, to be honest, that’s his goal. Everyone should know he’s knee-deep for you.

Gaz He smells good or at least not bad after missions, but still loves to tail after you. Maybe you two share the same perfume, but he insists that it smells different on you (bastard just want to find an excuse to squish himself against you, but the rejections always swallowed by you before they can come out, his beautiful eyes aren’t just decorations, he knows you’re weak when he looks at you with pleading eyes) Personally think that Gaz probably has some weird obsession with your nape, and when you spray your perfume there every morning, it’ll attract him like he’s a pokemon, sneak a chance to sniff and press a kiss there until you scowl at him. You put on lotions after showers to prevent dry skin? He won’t miss the chance to help you. Maybe that’s the secret you always smell so enchantingly, if you shoo him off and say you can do it yourself, he will look at you with sad eyes till you feel guilty and hand him the bottle of body lotion.

Ghost Caught him secretly sniffing around you after a mission and he didn’t talk to you the whole night out of embarrassment. He just sat on the bed and tried to intimidate you with his stare (0 damage when his cheeks were pink whenever you tease him). In the end he just gave in and admitted he loves how well you smell 24/7, and when you’re both on leave, he will drown himself in your bed sheets or the plushie you have. The plushie is his now, don’t expect to have it back unless he feels like your scent on it fades, that’s when you can squeeze it between you and him during sleep.

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

Text

Blood-Stained Wool Spun At Midnight (II)

AU MASTERLIST || PART III

PAIRING: Werewolf!Ghost x F!Tailor!Reader (Set in Van Helsing Era/Aesthetic)

WORDCOUNT: 7.7k

WARNINGS: Blood, very intense gore and body horror, angst, mutilation, violence, wounds, blades, death, being hunted, VERY intense religious imagery/references, nudity, protective!Simon, etc.

A/N: All I can say is that I'm sorry...take that as you will

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

He was still watching you when you woke up, groggily blinking and your mouth dry. It was amusing to him, really, how you twisted your lips and furrowed your brows before you shoved your cheek back into the pillow away from the cold light.

Simon tilts his head and stares—letting you come to your senses while he sits in his chair. He hadn’t moved once, thinking and stewing in questions.

It wasn’t rare for him to completely forget what he had gotten up to in his…state. More often than not, he remembered only the scent of blood and wind; broken earth and the taste of the moon. This time it was different.

You were different.

Simon remembered your scent. Recalls tracking it down as he abandoned all the others in the air. Racing to it with a rapid heart like a simple fool. He knows he held you down, laid his great snout along your neck, and tried to scent you—layer your flesh with him so your sweet fragrance mixed with his own.

The thought made his lips thin and his hands clench, the blanket sitting tightly wrapped around his waist as his body expanded with a tight-jawed huff.

There was still a spark of pain in between his legs, but at that, he welcomed the grounding reality of it. In fact, a bit of pride even made his nose twitch. Simon’s lashes caress his cheeks as he blinks at you, shifting his thighs wider as his hands hang off the arms of the chair.

He hadn’t expected you to come to this forest during his little problem—this could have gone very, very wrong. The man runs a hand over his head, pushing his fingers through his locks and watching you slowly sit up; confusion is seen in the lines on your forehead.

“Can I ‘ave my fuckin’ clothes back now?” You flinch at the low question, sleepy eyes snapping open and locking onto the nearly nude man in his chair.

The air stalls in your lungs, strangled down as you bite your tongue so hard you taste copper. Brown eyes flicker to your mouth before Simon’s lips move in a thin smirk.

“C’mon now. Easy, then.”

“Mr. Riley,” you clear your throat, gawking at the rippling tension in his abdomen and the scars along his pecs. Your entire soul burns as you snap your head away from the image of his face—the first time you’d seen it fully.

Stubble along a strong jaw; bent nose and carefully crafted lips with pulling disfigurements.

“You…you’re back,” you push out, fingers intertwining into the sheets. Simon gazes into the sliver of flesh from above the collar of his shirt that you wear, licking at the corner of his mouth before he looks away.

“And getting cold, Love,” he levels to you. The strips of his own clothes had been thrown on the table, no use wearing them as they offered no coverage. All he had was the blanket. “You hear?”

“Right,” you’re still not looking at him, nervous. Standing quickly, you stubble and brush your hands along the man’s top—flattening it before scampering to grab your clothes from yesterday.

Ripped and dirty, you drag them to you while having to stand closer to Simon as his knee hits yours. He tenses lightly but doesn’t comment.

“My apologies, Mr. Riley, I didn’t want to dirty your bed, you see.” Your hands are shaking. “I suppose I could have taken the floor, of course, but I admit, I didn’t think about—”

A hand grabs your one shoe and hands it to you, Simon having stood up and his chest against your shoulder. You still, breath hitching tight.

You stare at the shoe before your free hand carefully moves out to take it, being side-eyed by an earthen stare and blank expressions. Fingers blush, and you have to swallow a sigh at the heat you feel emanating from Simon’s bareness.

Taking your shoe back, you clear your throat. “Thank you.”

“No need to apologize—that’s my bloody cross, yeah?” He moves back from you, and your lungs take down air again. You don’t like how you respond to him or his touch. How you’re stuttering and stumbling over words.

Sure you found him attractive…incredibly attractive, but with the knowledge you now held all of this became jumbled. The memory of your sheer terror flashes, a mad dash and gripping thorns. The murders. Your wounds pulse.

“Mr. Riley?” You ask, lips twisting at his comment. The man rubs a hand over his face, and you notice the bags under his eyes with a small bead of concern.

“Simon,” he glances at you. “Just Simon. Figure with all I’ve done that’s better than nothing.” A hand hovers over the bottom of your sleeve, pushing it back a smidge to look at the bloodied bandages. “Fuckin’ hell, I do this?”

He leans closer again, picking at the bandages as you explain.

“No,” you breathe. You’re taken aback by his attitude—his flickering eyes as they slowly move to look up at you. “No, I ran through some thorns.”

“Can smell the blood.” Simon bluntly eases out, releasing you and taking a step back. “Get dressed—there’s a stream. I’ll get some fresh water.”

Before you can say anything, the man’s walking outside in nothing but a tied towel, the door opening and quickly closing behind him. Gobsmacked, you blink rapidly as you open and close your mouth, pushing your clothes farther into your chest. Inside your ribcage, your heart palpitates; the flesh is an inferno of contained fire.

“My neighbor is a werewolf,” you breathe, putting a hand to your temple. “Simon Riley is the Ghost. Oh,” you drag. “Where’s the alcohol when you need it?”

Dressing went quickly, and you hope Whistlejacket is out of the forest and was able to find shelter like you had. It became obvious as you tightened your belt and slipped your silver blade into it, that Simon would not hurt you—not in this state or the other. When you’d woken up, you’d feared that if the man was back in the monster’s place, he would snap at the sight of you.

Damage control. But now…

“Now I’m just bloody confused,” you huff, glaring down at your one shoe as you wiggle your toes. Back in your skirt and shirtwaist, you frown at the damage done and vehemently avoid looking at Simon’s own scraps. It would only serve to make you angrier.

Pushing your gloves into your pockets, you grimace at the aching in your wrist and legs but push forward until you open the door to a small covering of snow. The world overnight had continued without you, it seemed, and you frown as you wrap your hands across your chest from the chill.

Wherever you look, the forest rules. It speaks and lives—writhing and bending; this place wasn’t meant for you or your kind. It was meant for monsters.

But was Simon a monster?

You find with all the memories you have in your head, you can’t answer that question anymore. Before you can, you need to get answers.

Real answers.

You wait for the man to return, and he does so with a wooden bucket sloshing liquid over his blanket-skirt. Blinking, you hold open the door and allow him in. He grunts in thanks, running his eyes up and down your outfit.

“You fell from your horse.” It isn’t a question, but the tone makes it seem like he doesn’t know for sure. Simon places the bucket on the floor and gathers his clothes that you’d folded.

“Miriam’s horse. Yes.” You take down a breath. “Simon?” He stares hard at his shirt, nose twitching and eyes going small.

The man’s fingers clench over the fabric before he comes back to the present.

“What is it?” He forces the shirt over his head, blanket holding fast. Simon has to stop himself from shaking as your scent buries itself into his nostrils. A noose around his neck that makes his voice gruff and breathy.

“You’re going to explain to me what’s going on.” He grunts.

“Bit complicated, that is—”

“What’s complicated is that I just got chased through the forest by a dog as tall as a damn statue that stands on two legs. Not to mention the strange obsession you have with smelling me.”

“It’s not fuckin’ me,” Simon growls, eyes flashing. You tense and he settles, snapping his head away to glare at the far wall. He grabs for his blanket and you just manage to snap your head up before you see anything besides the very tops of his large hips and the dip of his pelvis.

The fabric hits the ground and your under-the-skin hellscape spreads all the way to your curling toes.

“You weren’t supposed to be in here.” The man pulls up his pants, shoving himself into them and pulling the strings tight. “Got distracted.”

“I apologize for having work to complete,” you huff, still hyper aware of every sound from the man a few feet away. “I wasn’t aware that I’d get favored by a dog.”

A low growl lets you know his displeasure at the comment.

“Dog, yeah?” Simon grunts.

“Am I wrong,” you state dryly, glaring at the ceiling.

“Bloody mutt can’t compare to me, Love.” The man scoffs and pushes his top into his pants, walking over to his trunk to peel it open and snatch at the pair of large boots inside.

“Oh,” you breathe, slowly looking back to him and sighing when he’s fully clothed. “I’m so very lucky, Sir.”

“Would you quit it?” Simon snaps. “Christ, just ask your damn questions. And use the water on your wounds.”

Rolling your eyes, you walk forward and pull out a chair at the table—grabbing at the bucket and pushing up your sleeves. You tap at your forearms with your fingers, open your mouth as you think, and begin to speak.

Yet something’s missing. A weight at your side. Something that was there before but is now absent.

Pausing, you blink slowly, finally able to calm yourself and get a handle on your emotions. Looking down at your hip where the comfortable weight of your satchel is supposed to be, you grow tense.

Wait a second…

Simon pulls out a rough-looking jacket from the trunk, shifting his large arms into it and quickly fixing the collar as he rubs at his chin.

“...Where’s my bag?”

The man pauses, hand leaving the last few buttons of his shirt open to glance at you—confusion grows in his eyes.

“What?” You’re already standing, turning in a circle.

“My bag,” you say again. “I had it on Whistlejacket but now it's gone. I…must have dropped it when he bucked me off.”

Simon’s jaw clenches, expression going somewhat tight at the mention. “Thought you said you fell.”

You wave a hand and step around the bucket, walking swiftly to the door with your one shoe and intent on trekking back to the path.

“Same thing,” your lips utter, frowning. “It must have slipped off my shoulder. Hell.”

You’re only able to put your hand on the barrier before you’re pulled back into a firm chest. You’re reminded of the blanket of fur that had encompassed you just yesterday, and while the sensation might not be the same, the pure muscle underneath is still just as prominent.

An arm circles your waist and you’re lifted easily.

“Hey!” You shout, but Simon says nothing until you’re dropped back down into the chair and you’re glaring heavily at him. His heat leaves for only a moment before he pulls up your sleeves with his large palms; fingers slipping under the bandages and caressing your skin with scars and calluses.

Watching, wide-eyed, you grumble out, shocked, “What exactly are you doing, you brute?”

“Making sure that you don’t get fuckin’ sick if you insist on being difficult.” You pull your head back, lips parted.

“I’m the difficult one? Simon, you do realize that you turn into a god-forsaken gigantic wolf in your free time?” You’re leveled with an unimpressed look and dead eyes. “Don’t you stare at me like that,” your face burns, nose pointing up. “You know I’m right.”

“You speak too much,” the accent gravels, blunt.

“Well you kill people too much,” is the answer, and none of the fear that should be there is. It’s as if the second you realized that the Ghost was Simon Riley, the terror had leaked out of you steadily to form annoyance instead. “And rip up all of my work.”

Simon clenched his jaw and reached for the water in the bucket, picking up a rag from the table and dipping it in before closing his fist around the fabric to wring most of the liquid out.

“I pay you,” he tries, voice hissing.

Growling, you glare into his head as he presses the rag into your small cuts. “Not enough.”

“Why were you in the forest,” you’re snappily asked. You try not to show how his grasp on your wrist makes you weak to him, the scent of his body so close bleeding into your nostrils. Even Simon seems to react to the close contact, a pulse in his veins making his grip tighten before loosening. Something flashes his deep browns; brows tight on his scarred forehead before he grunts and rolls his shoulders.

“I needed wool from the farmers.” You huff, body lightly shifting on the chair. “Why did you kill all of those hunters?”

“They were trying to kill me.” Tight orbs glance up as the inside of your forearm is soaked with the warmth of his touch—the essence of his inner care. You tilt your head, narrowing your vision. You could believe that, of course, but there was one man you couldn’t.

“And Mr. Lambert?” Simon pauses, chest expanding with a grating sigh. But even he knows you won’t be taking anything short of the truth.

He shifts his feet, moving back to grasp your ankle and begin peeling at the wrappings there as you blink in surprise at his willingness to help. You rewrap your arm and frown, shivering at the slide of his hand under your calf; yet you can’t stop the shaky inhale you take.

The man delays, half-narrowed eyes turning their attention to you in slow intervals of flicking earth and glinting charcoal. He stares, not blinking, not moving. Exactly like the beast that had waited at the edge of the glade to lock eyes and turn your insides outward—splaying you open like a book and flipping the pages of your mind.

You don’t know how someone can stare like that, can’t make sense of it. If those brown eyes kept stuck with yours, you wouldn’t find it entirely unpleasant.

Simon grips your leg tighter and blinks, tilting his head away. The rag lets water drip long down your flesh, but it’s wiped away by a thumb before the accented voice graces your eardrums.

“He was trying to bite you.” You’re torn back to the present, your face and neck tight with burning sin. You clear your throat and re-think the words you’d just heard.

Silence falls for a moment.

“He…what?” Simon’s lips flicker into some semblance of a smirk. He stands and tosses the rag to the table.

“Vampire.” It’s like your heart nearly jumps out of your chest.

A Vampire? Speechless, you stand carefully and turn your head to the side in rapid thought.

“That’s not…” Simon interjects.

“Pinned him to the tree branch, right?” He had done that. “Never came to visit, ‘cept at night, yeah?” The man shrugs, putting his hands into his pockets. “Could smell it.” Watching. Dead burial-mound eyes. “Didn’t like him comin’ ‘round to bother you.”

It’s how he explains this that makes you wonder, an internal understanding as you stutter a question.

“You don’t remember things when you’re…like that,” you breathe, “do you?”

He had said the beast wasn’t him—that had stuck with you. The shock of Mr. Lambert being a monster sunk in, dots connected with thread. It made your shoulders tight to imagine what could have happened if Simon wasn’t there every time the other man was. There was no way you’d be able to fight something like that by yourself.

The man blinks, and for the first time, he can’t answer that question honestly because now he truly doesn’t know how to.

Simon hums, looking at the door.

He only remembered you despite all else.

“I’ll bring you back to the path,” the man grunts, moving to the door and exiting the hut with a last comment over his shoulder. “Keep the knife on you.”

Simon slips out of the house, door open and the chilled breeze filtering through. You watch him take a silent deep breath and begin walking into the trees. With one last shaky twitch of your hands, you look at the journal on the desk and dart after him.

It’s a silent affair until you speak, and Simon had known without a doubt that you would the minute the dark trunks were all around. He guides you with heavy steps.

“Why didn’t you kill me?”

“Don’t know.” A lie.

“Why did you shove your head under my neck?”

“I don’t know.” A second lie. The man’s tone doesn’t change, a bare grumble as he walks ahead of you.

“What else lives in this forest?” Simon stops walking. The dead air all around you is thick and heavy, like a blanket of uneasy weight; you can put a description to it now, and your last question wasn’t only out of curiosity but a hunch.

It felt like the very trees were listening when you spoke.

“Things like me. Things that are worse.” Simon turns and gives you a tight look as you stare up at him and barely feel yourself breathe. “So never for one second leave my sight.” He nods his head to your knife in a quick jerk. “And ever lose that if you don’t want to end up on a bloody butcher’s block, eh?”

You nod slowly, swallowing. The man looks like he wants to say more but refrains, making a noise in the back of his throat before he locks onto the shivering of your body. Not even noticing that the cold was getting to you, you had words coming off your lips in small chatterings of teeth.

“W-Well, if all of the things in this forest will let me live, they can’t be that b-bad.” Squeaking, a jacket is layered over your shoulders, and in a flurry of skirts, you’re picked up into a bridal hold as your hands snap to wrap a thick neck.

A voice in the shell of your ear.

“They’re not like me, Love.” Your eyes widen. “An’ they won’t take a fancy to you like I ‘ave, hear?”

He carries you with as much ease as the trunks of fabric for your shop, stepping over rocks and easily stomping up ravines. From the side of his eye, he blinks at you as his smell surrounds your body to coat it just the way he wants it to, even if he hates the instinct with a bitter grudge.

Why couldn’t you have just stayed away until he came back to the city? When all of his senses were eased back to normal, when the song of the wolf was no longer in his head—that call and primal embrace of fang and claw.

There was a reason he left, there was a reason he always wore your clothes to keep him here—away from others and not to seek you out.

Your scent.

The oils on your flesh that press into him and make his head swim; hold you tighter into him to take it in. Simon’s heart pounds, his eyes going small the longer you stay here with him.

You were both a blessing in the dark and the very phantoms that haunt it at the same time. A hurdle and a stepstool. You made it worse, but, damn him, you also made it better.

Grunting, Simon shakes his head once, staring straight ahead and willing away the sharp pinch of claws poking from his nail beds. He clenches his jaw as you melt into him, legs swaying with the loping movements of his legs. Your hands around his neck dig into the skin softly, letting it mold around you as you lick your lips and avoid his eyes, shy to this type of chivalry.

You shivered far less than before.

“Thank you,” you say, hesitantly.

Simon huffs a chuckle at the tone.

The man carries you through the bed of thorns that you remember, and he hikes you farther into his arms until not even a single one thinks to touch you—no sharp drag. Your face gently rests on Simon’s head, the top of his scalp as your nose itches at the feeling of his hair.

You blink softly, holding on as he moves you back down after the threat is gone.

“What other monsters, Simon?” Your voice is tiny. “What’s out here with us?” He sighs, and you feel it.

But he doesn’t answer you.

“When I get you out,” Simon explains. “You don’t come back. You never come back.”

Your heart skips a beat. “And what about you? Do I just…” You trail off, licking your lips. “Do I just let you keep living like this?”

“Yes.”

“Simon,” his hands tighten on you in warning, but you continue without fear. “I want to help you. We know each other enough to care, don’t we?” You both make it back to the path and Simon clears off a rock with his foot before placing you down next to the large boulder from yesterday.

Simon turns to look around the area for your bag, glancing at you with thin lips. You grow more serious and ask him again, “Why didn’t you kill me?”

“It’s nothing that you need to know about,” you’re glared at, though it holds no true venom to it.

“I have been thrown from a horse,” you stand, pulling Simon’s jacket closer as you spot your lost shawl off in the bushes. “My practice insulted, and most certainly thought dead by now. Mr. Riley, I am not asking you for answers—” You set your jaw. “I am demanding them. So speak and be a good boy.”

Simon watches you, his face blank and his mouth slightly slackened. He doesn't answer you for a long time, as if put in a trace as his eyes flash with life for a moment. You hear him clear his throat at your last sentence, cheeks gaining a sheen of red that could be played off as a reaction to the cold.

His stomach flips.

“It’s your scent,” he says, low and even like a steady promise. You had already started to gather that, at least, so it wasn’t as much of a shock to you—but it was still strange. “It’s like a fuckin’ opium. Can’t get it out of my damn head.”

Simon speaks as he looks around as if to distract him from what he’s telling you. “Whenever I smell it, it’s like my head’s about to cave in, yeah? Like I can’t think of anything else.”

He leans over the small hill to where you fell, and he hones in on long three-fingered drag lines along the earth. Simon’s brows pull in, eyes fluttering from one tree to another, his ears twitch.

You don’t notice, sitting back on the rock and rubbing a hand on the back of your neck as the air changes.

“But why, Simon? I don’t understand what’s so important about that—besides what soap I use.” You mutter the last bit and groan. “This is hurting my head.”

“Stop talking.” The forest is dead. No bird wings flapping, no wind, even. No smells besides yours, which makes Simon back up a step.

Yet, no…no there was something else. It smelled like flesh rot and maggots; a church’s pews that had been laid with black fire.

You throw up a hand at the man’s comment. “Would you stop saying that to me—!”

A palm is placed on your lips and held there firmly, fingers digging into your cheeks. Simon’s eyes bore into you, far darker than they had been at any other time than when you’d been face-to-face with the wolf. You take in a swift breath, hand snapping up the wrist and gripping it in shock.

The snow begins falling again, flakes sitting in his hair as Simon puts his free finger to his lips and motions you to not speak again. Growing more and more nervous, you nod twice before the flesh is removed.

“Get your knife up.” It’s a deep rumble like a falling stone. Felt more than heard. “Stay behind me.”

You do so with a swift hand, knowing something else is going on just by how he keeps glancing at you and then at the trees. That's when you hear it—the low whispering like it’s almost speaking in tongues.

The same you had heard on short occasions when you’d been with Whistlejacket. And then far off into the woods, that shaping of bark.

It wasn’t a twig—you’d known that. You glance at Simon and he seems tensed for something to jump out at the two of you, his large shoulders hiding you from most of the view. One of your hands grabs onto his shirt, your un-shoed foot freezing but you don’t make a comment.

“Simon?” You whisper, and he holds out his hand to once more tell you to not speak.

The long shadows in between the trees darken, and that whispering choir infects your ears—what is it saying? You can’t make any sense of it…it jumbles and jumps like these flakes of snow as they fall to the ground.

Girl…Girl…Listen

You flinch—free hand releasing Simon and coming up to your head to grasp at it as a bad headache starts to form. The man ahead of you, for whatever reason, seems to not be affected by this.

He stands rod-straight and you see his fingers curling into fists, the knuckles going white and facing deep into the open forest—wound up and tight. You try to speak but it all goes like metal on metal behind your skull. The whispers come into focus before the light is swallowed by a shade of gray.

It is a void of all else; you have forgotten what your heart feels like as it pounds in your ribcage.

I can show you the sound of your soul tearing in two.

You gasp and then the screaming starts.

Dropping your knife you fall to your knees, your fingers both dig into your scalp and draw blood from the sheer volume of voices inside of your head—yelling in tones accumulated by victims and imprisoned specs of being. Old, young, middle-aged, yet still the rattle of diseased bones going through osteonecrosis; clacking of baby’s teeth.

You’re screaming with them.

Simon’s panicked face comes into view, grasping at your hands and trying to move them away from your flesh. He’s calling to you, loudly and in an ordering tone, but you can’t hear it.

The screaming, oh, the screaming. This is what Hell sounds like.

Something in you is ripping, and you plead for it to end as Simon begins looking around the space, standing and bringing you with him as he keeps you to his chest; you feel his heart hammering twice as fast—hands grasping at your clothes and pressing you into him with all his might. He’s growling and snarling, trying to find what’s hurting you so he can help.

The reverberation of his challenge is felt in the vibrations of his throat as you scream again. Simon flinches, cursing, and you feel the poke of claws on your spine as the scent of your fear enters the air—your suffering.

Your body is shaking; quivering, and in the state of here and there reality begins to blur like a musty window, like mud on a cup. In Simon’s grip, you’re entirely slackened, coughing and choking down saliva.

But then it all stops.

You gasp so loudly that your busted vocal cords finally snap, blood is expelled from your mouth and it ends up all over Simon’s neck, staining his clothes and splattering onto his cheek. Trying to force down breaths, you push at the man’s abdomen—begging to be released weakly.

Your legs don’t work beyond the shaking.

Watching you with wide eyes and panting breath, Simon’s canines had gone sharp, claws on your spine fully out; he’d even grown taller, your feet only brushing the ground as pale skin began to gain pigment along his neck.

He lets you down just as you vomit all over the snowy grass, sputtering and letting vile tears make lines down to your chin.

“What in the bloody hell..?” Simon breathes arms still around your waist. Your ears are ringing, high-pitched, and reverberating in your skull. “Fuck!”

Whispered laughter makes you whimper through a sob.

Simon can’t get the smell out of his nose—the maggots, the black fire. He knows what this is, what game it plays.

It wants a show.

Oh, you never should have come here. This forest…it wasn’t just a place of black trees and buried deeds; of monsters.

It was a prison. And these lesser beasts were the wardens.

The shadows grow closer, and Simon, as a wailing breeze picks up from the South, covers you with his changing body; hiding a breathless gasp on his lips as muscles tear and ears elongate.

Pain encompasses him, making him bury his face into your neck and grunt out garbled curses as his teeth morph and shatter to re-form. You shake, shell-shocked, from under him, feeling the brushing of fur and the tear of fabric before you’re encased in a canopy of shaggy blackness and snapping jaws. The arms around your waist broaden and elongate, bones snapping.

You’re both panting now, breathing hard and in pain unimaginable. The glint of your blade is far off into the side of your fluttering eyes.

A figure forms from those wisps of shadow—those thrown-away memories of death and the recollection of ancient cities burning back to before the creation of metal machines or the wheel. Formed before oceans or continents and ultimately trapped here in ages long past when these trees were saplings.

You felt it under fur and muscle just as the Ghost did atop you as your shield, his eyes now shining with rage and horror.

This being was not old. It wasn’t even ancient.

It was primordial.

Your eyes look up slowly from behind the curtain of obsidian, arms shaking as they twist into the Ghost’s lengthy forearms still anchored to your waist. His snout slips past your right ear, digging you into him as a low snarl emanates from the back of his throat.

It stands on two legs, and has two arms—you could mistake it for a human at a far-off distance. But its body is malnourished, nothing but thin, twisting, skin over bone as if devouring maggots live under that barrier. Your terror increases the longer you look at it, snow hitting your eyes not even making you blink.

This being was a very stain upon reality as if the body it takes is a rip in time itself—a ripple of disease and an unforgivable sin.

Look at me.

You are looking.

Looking at a featureless face and the large black hole that takes the place of nose, mouth, and eyes—unending and limitless as if what had once been there had been ripped through and replaced with eternity. The shadows writhe to make an imitation of wings on its back, a leaking circle above its head, and the slash of fleshy, pulsing horns that secrete blood down to the snow.

Fingers that shake and twitch as if in the throes of death. Its arms are melting like gray wax. An appendage slowly leaks out from the void of its face, forming a hand holding something like rope, and then a long, blackened arm deeper than a moonless night. It turns over and the intestines, not ropes, are dropped from its grip. Long and viscera-coated; flies dig themselves out from the tubes and you have to stop yourself from heaving again as they flinch and quiver.

As if the owner was still alive.

The hand splays itself, waiting for another’s palm to slip over and grasp it. An invitation as it’s clicking body takes a stumbling step forward.

It’s calling to you.

Look at the face of God.

The Ghost roars and you snap your vision away, burying your face into his neck to shake the image from your brain.

You don’t know what to do—what to think. But you knew you had to run.

“Simon,” you gasp out, and the Thing laughs through muttering generations as sigils flare to life on its skin, words and powers that have no meaning to living souls. “Simon!”

A panting maw shifts to you and the threat of violence is still in the air. Large human-ish hands tighten as blood drips off your chin.

“Run.” Your hand scoops back up your blade, and not seconds later the wind is making your clothes ripple all around you as you’re lifted and carried away. Arms around the Ghost’s neck, you breathe shakily, your head still pounding something awful as the Primordial watches Simon’s rapid dash—far faster than any dog or horse.

It tilts its blood-slick head, and, for some inner intuition…you know it’s smiling.

The beast below you keeps you tight to him, one hand pressing on the small of your back and the other under your knees, not at all slowed by your weight; he can smell your fear and it makes him enraged.

The Ghost’s eyes are small when you press your face into his cheek, but they flicker to you as you send your bone-deep distress his way. He lets loose a low whine in between pants of breath.

“S-Simon, what was that—”

There’s a glimpse of that monster from over his shoulder and you startle, head popping back up to stare fully as you pass trees at an alarming rate. But when you blink the maggot body is gone. Looking behind, you see it again as the Ghost runs faster, taking a sharp right and you once more get the view blocked by a large stone.

Everywhere you look, that blackened halo shows up, hands grasping the side of a tree or watching from a river—its third hand outstretched. Whispering still dances in the shell of your ears, and in your heart, it feels like a string is being plucked; stitches undone from a tapestry.

Until it ends up right in front of Simon in a blink of a second.

All he can do is roar and twist himself, curl around you as his claws kick up snow and dark earth before there’s a sudden sweep of power that ricochets through the trees. It breaks down trunks and makes the world scream, and you, trapped under the body that does anything to protect you, hit the ground hard.

You think perhaps you flew through the air at first because you seem to remember the sensation of flying before the ground came up to meet you.

Yelling Simon’s name, you shatter and slide, clothes ripping more, and other shoe gone to the wind. Flesh peels and tears, cheek skinned on harsh material.

And the whispers laugh, and giggle, and speak in a million voices of the damned.

Look at me.

You cough and stagger upward, stumbling with twigs in your thighs before backing up and immediately looking for Simon while keeping this monster at the edge of your vision. This was more than fear—more than terror. You can’t describe a feeling like this; can’t put it into words or thought.

It made your body shake just by it being here, made you want to turn your blade—which you’d held onto, miraculously—on yourself to end it.

Simon was the only thing to stop you, and you kept backing up, feet knocking over roots and stone. You find his limp body far to the right, wisps of shadow leaking out. You yell, glancing at the Thing as it limps to you with failing legs.

“Simon, get up!” You can’t get to him without taking your eyes off the Primordial—can’t risk that faster-than-light movement as if it wasn’t falling apart just by standing. Its third-hand dribbles black liquid from its fingertips; pooling it in its palm. Closer now. “Simon, fucking get back up!”

You can’t leave him here, but the instinct to run was infecting you just as much as your care for him. The more you looked the harder it was to turn away, mind slipping from you. But you can’t move your eyes from it either.

What was this? This temptation and possession? Oh, God, it was sucking you in.

The great blackened beast does not stir and you grasp your blade until your knuckles ache.

This headache was ripping your brain apart, and you gasped and gripped your head again, noises of agony escaping your lips.

It laughs, but the action makes it sound like an entire world is on fire.

Groaning in suffering and wrenching your eyes closed, you send your palm into your skull; hitting it over and over again.

“Get out of my head!”

Your voice echoes off the trees, breaking and desperate. Shaking your head back and forth, you growl and whine like a dog with a knife through its stomach—intestines in your body bunching and turning in knots.

The presence gripping your mind leaves.

Immediately, you sag to the ground; knees slamming into the earth. Eyes still closed but able to think again, you take a breath, cold sweat falling quickly down your temples to mix with congealed blood and bile.

Knife-hand burning from all of the force you’d exerted, you loosen it and sag forward to take a deep breath.

A hand lightly captures your chin, and you sigh out easily, leaning your weight into the grip as a thumb caresses your cheek.

“Simon,” you open your buggy eyes in relief but only see a void.

You freeze, comfort immediately turning to pure horror. Black sludge drips down your neck, staining your shirt and burning as it absorbs into your flesh.

Its head tilts, and that blackened limb levels your face with the nothingness behind the vale of its ripped-open flesh. There’s a jumbled twitching and horns that make the tight skull dance like it's on a string.

There’s a brush against your mind and the fingers dig into your flesh; pushing and breaking the skin. You can’t move. You can’t look away.

Its face moves closer, demented elbow bending as your neck is dragged forward to meet it. Infinity rolls out behind your quivering eyes.

Don’t worry, it breathes, though you don’t know how because you can’t see its chest moving. God sees you.

Your throat closes, and the black dig of its hand leaks into your open flesh, tendrils of infection that move like worms into your being and up your veins; maggots, flies.

You start choking on air, your spine arching and your hands jerking around, tensing up closer to your chest. There’s foam at the corners of your mouth, eyes still stuck open into the bleak reality of your future.

You smell rot. You smell like rot.

Simon, you think of him—of his actions in the city and the way he always came to you to fix his clothes. You wondered then, in a moment of numb hysterics and revelation, that if he liked your scent so much then he must have stuck around you because of it. To feel your presence and bask in your company. Recalling moments of soft words and looks you could not decipher before.

Surely he could feel when he was going to change, he could have slipped out of his clothes and left them somewhere.

The question that you think of in the small moment before your hand twitches over your blade is like a spark of light.

Was he purposefully wearing them because he wanted you to fix them for him later?

A sniffing nose can almost be heard in the clutch of your neck, and the whispers dim. One shoulder shaking and spasming, you’re able to push back just a small bit.

Brown eyes and ivory fangs. A deep voice that you can feel against your heart. Blood runs from your nose, down your face, and splatters to your bent knees. It bleeds down your throat; your chest and your shirt. Bathing in it, mixing with black damnation.

The grip on your lower face tightens, fingers drilling deeper until muscle tears and snaps.

Your fingers tighten along the hilt once more.

It clicks at you as its bones break in its throat, corpse-like body’s flesh opening to let unearthly tendrils of blackness leak out like it was a cup of wine only holding something until it can be drank down.

The corpse shivers with pleasure. My Vessel shall please Him. Let your soul join His choir.

Your throat feels like it’s being slit, your very essence being corrupted. It’s hot, burning—it all gets brighter, like a fire and a pit of ice. A beast at the very center of Hell; three faces and bat-like wings under every chin. Great and terrible—beautiful and disgusting.

A slobbering, wordless being punished just as all sinners for eternity unending.

You throw up black blood, and as the concerning amount of gore floods you, your mind flashes one last time.

You blink softly, holding on as he moves you back down after the threat is gone.

Simon, you plead, Simon, oh, my Simon.

Your hand seizes over the blade and in a brief second of fading thought—mind flickering between screaming souls and black fur stuck in your ears as blockers—you force your watering eyes to blink.

And when you blink you bring the silver blade up…and then stab it directly into the oblivion of a starless sky.

It rips its fingers out of your skin, screeching louder than a mountain being split in two. You do as well, arm jerking out of the gaping face and bringing the smoking limb to your chest. It was like you’d just put your arm into an oven—your sleeve was on fire before you fell backward and shoved it into the snow, yelling and screaming in pain.

It mirrors.

Third-hand snapping and waving as it whips its head back and forth, its halo quivers and melts atop of it like black fire; sigils glowing brighter. Smoke comes out of its face, wings jerking up and down.

You notice none of it—mind fading fast with maggots still in your flesh. Worms. Parasites. You can feel them moving, up and down and to the sides of your ripped jaw, to your burning arm.

Infected.

All you can do is lay there and vomit them out—black writhing blood mixed with crimson. You feel empty inside, void of something important. Cut in half.

The Thing backs up and as it does it begins to bend in on itself, body splintering like a wet piece of paper before it begins to stretch back out. Reality shifts, time warps as you blankly watch through leaking eyes that hold burst veins.

Its legs break backward as its rib cage pushed in, but before it can entirely be sucked away, it points at you.

You will never forget how it speaks. It’s a wail—a brand of unholy tongues and a world lost to distant memory. A clanging of war bells and dark deals signed in a night of eclipses and the hidden homes of shadow. But you know what it says to you.

I know the sound of your soul and I mark it as mine in Hell!

Something snaps in your chest, and you flinch wildly, bending over yourself and shrieking.

And then there’s a strike of wind and a roar of rage, and the being gets sucked into itself without another word.

You pant, slamming back down to the ground and laying limp—quiet. Dead to all else besides the agony you can now express. With one last wheezing breath, your eyes flutter closed and you pass off into a blessing of unconsciousness.

—

The Ghost’s nose sniffs the air, eyes tight and small, head roving from where his back is large in front of you. You see his tail lightly swish, feet lifting and settling back down to the floor.

Simon seems confused, one leg limping more than the other and leaning heavily to one side; he shakes his large head and his ears slap as he does.

It’s deep night now, and you slowly, weakly, push yourself to stand up. You’d been out the entire day.

Your blood is all over the snow, and as you stumble to your feet, you can’t speak beyond a slurred gargle from your ripped-open jaw.

How have you not bled out yet?

“S–Sim…” A black head snaps to you, but there’s nothing familiar in those eyes.

They shine in the moonlight and those ivory teeth glint. Ears swiveled forward with sharp tips and tiny whispers of tufts. Long arms that scrape the ground in front of a bent spine.

He doesn’t blink.

Stumbling, one leg giving out, your only option is to breathe through your mouth in shallow gasps.

The Ghost’s nose twitches, but otherwise he is deathly frozen. Too frozen.

Like he can’t recognize your scent.

Infected.

Your burst eyes widen, but it’s already too late.

An open maw bites down on your throat with a tearing of flesh before your neck fully snaps.

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