Cami🎸

You aimlessly toyed with the thin material of your hospital gown, settling on tracing the diamond pattern of the polycotton blend to ground yourself amidst the bedlam of medical professionals.

Buzzing around your bedside table was a swarm of nurses checking your vitals and asking a plethora of questions. You could barely understand the words flying out of their mouths, coming at you faster than your husband's top running speeds.

You did your best to answer coherently, using a makeshift code, due to your postpartum handicaps. Your shoulders still had a modicum of feeling, so groggily shrugging was your go-to emote for most, if not all, of their rapid-fire questions.

Upon sensing your exhaustion, the nursing team reverted to basic maternity procedures, such as providing you with water and offering cold cloths.

It wasn't until you recovered an ounce of energy that you could even slightly rotate your head from right to left, and did your eyes widen at the spectacle taking place just a few feet away from your birthing bed. The sight nearly sent you back into a comatose state.

Looking like subjects who had just stepped out of a Renaissance painting, your good-for-nothing husband, Naoya Zen'in, was sitting on a chair, gently cradling your baby boy swathed in the hospital's cream-colored swaddling blankets.

He was as dressed down as you could get a highfalutin prick like him to be. He was wearing a plain white T-shirt, black dress slacks, black loafers, and a crisp black haori with dark blue floral accents—a birthday gift from you after you had invaded his personal space to track his online shopping habits.

He looked so at peace, for once, maybe even happy...

It would be a real shame if someone desecrated such a sacred moment.

"Aw, Naoya, I didn't know you were pregnant. Congratulations!" You croaked out.

Your ribbing shattered your husband's paternal reverie in an instant. The blonde was now looking at you like he had suddenly developed telepathic powers and was trying to explode you with his mind.

"Oh, you're finally awake. Could you go back to sleep? I prefer you better when you're unconscious."

"You should come up with something original. You always use that line when you're not quick enough to Google better ones."

"I should have told the doctors to use heavier sedatives. Drop the unbecomin' act already, would you? You wouldn't want to become a bad role model now that you're a mother."

"As if you haven't been planning to teach him all sorts of distasteful things to say to me when he becomes old enough to talk."

You scoffed at his threat.

Of course, Naoya was already using your son as a pawn for psychological manipulation. He wasn't even a day old yet.

Well, checkmate, motherfucker.

Your hushed banter continued until it didn't, bringing about a mutually appreciated silence, save for the faint click of a closing door. The doctor had stepped out momentarily to answer a call, and the nurses had quietly converted the room for the signing of paperwork during your quarrel with Naoya.

The only remaining inhabitants of room 237 were your already dysfunctional family of three.

You and your husband lamely stared at each other. You had not gotten a good look at the other spouse since you startled Naoya awake at midnight, flicking his forehead to tell him that your water broke.

Now, the painfully prideful Naoya would rather die than shower you in genuine compliments; however, he couldn't help but be held captive by your radiant postpartum glow. Bare-faced, drenched in sweat, and hair tousled this way and that from hours of thrashing in pain...You never looked more gorgeous. He mentally praised the elders who chose you out of a long line of hideous, less conversationally adept women—yes, even your "wit" was growing on him.

Just a bit.

It was...all right having someone around to volley back and forth with his genius after growing up in a household of drunks and stuffed shirts.

You were unexpectedly in the same position as Naoya. The 27th head of the Zen'in clan prided himself on his looks and the supposed superiority of manhood before anything else, so, with dark circles and bloodshot eyes, the rakishly disheveled man lacking his usual traditional garb and rocking a baby with surprising deftness, was a striking sight to say the least.

As you were a great deal more kindhearted than your husband, you spoke freely, uninhibited by the embarrassment of sincerity, "You know, you look like a natural holding our son. I thought you would have dropped him on his head by now."

Remember, you were a great deal more kindhearted than your husband, not a kindhearted person overall.

"...I'm choosin' to overlook the second half of that statement, sweetheart."

"Huh, fatherhood really has changed you, Naoya. I was expecting something like..."

You contorted your face into one resembling the ever-so smug bastard sitting to your left, adjusting your voice to mimic his strong Kansai dialect, "Of course, I look like a natural. That's because I look better than the entire population of planet Earth! My name is Naoya Zen'in, and I think men should eat steak and women should eat salad! Also, real men fix cars, and women's be trippin'—"

"Stop it. That gratin' voice of yours is goin' to scare our son."

"Technically, it's your grating voice."

"You're incorrigible—here, hold him," Naoya carefully transferred the cream-colored bundle in his arms off to you. "My back is killin' me. These chairs must be cheaper than the hair products in our Prime Minister's bathroom."

While Naoya continued his mixed yoga session featuring the verbal assault of a hospital chair's non-supportive seat cushions, you took the time to admire your son's sleeping face.

Unfortunately, people are right when they say newborns look the same. You didn't see much of Naoya or yourself in the pudgy infant swaddled in your arms. His only distinct features, as of now, were a flat, wide nose, sparse eyebrows, and tufts of hair on his scalp.

You closed your eyes and prayed to the gods above that the 28th head of the Zen'in clan would favor you more than Naoya. It would be the greatest middle finger to the sorcerer clan since Naoya's older cousin, Toji, married into the Fushiguro family.

Still, your son was, without a doubt, more adorable than the typical newborns you've seen in pictures and videos on social media.

That was a problematic thought your husband would definitely verbalize at some point...but, were you much better for thinking it?

You leaned forward to kiss the slumbering baby's chubby cheeks, doing your best not to disturb whatever dreams 1-day-olds may have.

"Mm, you look sexy like that. I should get you pregnant more often," your slimeball husband said.

There it is—the karmic retribution for agitating Naoya when he was having his moment with your son earlier.

"Do you only think with your dick, Naoya? How is it even possible that sex is on your mind at a time like this?"

The blonde shrugged his broad, haori-covered shoulders, dismissing your protest against his crudeness, "It's just how men's brains are, sweetheart. You should know that by now."

With one last crack of his back, Naoya sidled up to your birthing bed with his decidedly least favorite chair in the world.

His trademark condescending smirk died on arrival, passing on into the ghost of fondness the longer he marveled at his wife and child.

"Do you have a name picked out yet? The redheaded crone in the scrubs told me we have fourteen days to decide, and I want to get that done sooner rather than later."

"I had a longer list of names in case we had a girl—"

Naoya gagged.

"You're not funny. Anyway, I had a longer list of names in case we had a girl and a shorter list for if we had a boy, but nothing felt right the moment we found out we were indeed having a boy. I ended up consulting Mai and Maki's mom, and she helped me find a perfect fit."

"And what did you settle on?"

"Manao. Manao Zen'in."

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Tomorrow marks the first birthday of Manao Zen'in—a milestone in sorcerer history, delineating the longevity and power of one of Japan's most instrumental clans in shaping jujutsu society.

But for you, it was simply your baby boy's special day.

Originally, you and Naoya arranged a visit to the Edo-Tokyo Open Air Architectural Museum for Manao, and to carry out all of his first birthday rituals at night—just the three of you.

When you asked if he would like to invite the rest of his family, Naoya confided in you that he disliked the idea of sharing such an intimate moment with his dense older brothers, drunkard father, and gaggle of detested relatives.

Somehow, your father-in-law, Naobito, managed to convince Naoya at the last minute to gather the entire household for cake and sake, so they could all celebrate Manao's isshou mochi and erabitori—two birthday traditions that would determine your son's security, career, and personality.

You had no proof to back your theory, but you held the sneaking suspicion that Naobito appealed to his son's apparent paranoia surrounding his own son's development.

"The sin of the insignificant is ignorance of strength," Naoya's words echoed.

As Manao's mother, the brunt of party planning fell onto your shoulders. You spent the day cleaning the house, organizing tomorrow's dinner menu, placing an order for Naobito's favorite strawberry shortcake, and procuring birthday decorations and candles; all while keeping the newest addition to the Zen'in family on your hip.

This supposed "signifier of longevity and power" was currently in deep conversation with his favorite Anpanman plush doll.

"I don't know how you picked your favorite character so quickly. I'm still deciding between Shokupanman and Currypanman, but then I can't pick between just those two because Melonpanna is so adorable!"

"Bah!"

"Yeah, Rollpanna has better lore than Melonpanna, but I don't know Manao. Melonpanna has the better design."

"Bah!"

You never expected to be debating Soreike! Anpanman with a one-year-old.

You never expected to be debating Soreike! Anpanman with a however-old Naobito was!

A well-known fact about the 26th head of the Zen'in clan is that he is a huge anime buff, possessing extensive knowledge about and intense respect for the medium. If he wasn't delivering tirades about the "inutile" Gojo family, you could find him in the living room, binging reserves of sake as well as every anime under the sun from Astro Boy to Paprika.

Consequently, Naobito allowed you access to his Criterion Closet of anime DVDs, wanting nothing more for his grandson than to be a capable clan leader with a refined taste in movies and television, unlike his spoiled, shounen-obsessed son.

You appreciated Naobito's efforts, but now your son was an otaku before he even turned one.

"I cannot believe the amount of labor your first birthday requires," you said to the portly baby, talking as if he were a colleague and not a one-year-old who has no firm grasp of language.

You had been roaming the halls in search of Naoya to tie up any remaining loose threads that—you hoped—wouldn't unravel the day of Manao's celebration.

You hoisted Manao higher onto your hip, then shifted your bag of erabitori items to hang more comfortably on your shoulder.

Your husband had better be in one of these hallways' rooms or else.

Your poor body was hurting all over. Your shoulders were sore, your arms ached, your breasts were engorged with milk, your feet were killing you, and the day wasn't even over yet!

The fool wouldn't answer his phone, which probably meant that he was—

"Aha! Say hi to your useless Daddy, Manao," you said in a sing-songy tone.

You turned to slide the shoji screen closed as Manao paused his exchange with Anpanman to wave a pudgy, closed fist at Naoya.

"Boe!"

"Don't call me 'useless' if you don't want to be called somethin' far worse in return."

It appeared that Naoya had holed up in his favorite study room in the house. It was a scarcely decorated room the size of a walk-in closet, only housing a squat wooden table with a lamp, a small merlot-colored sofa, a bookshelf overflowing with loose-leaf papers, and a vintage piano.

Naoya looked up from the black-and-white keys, eyes brightening at the sight of Manao, and darkening once they landed on you, but not in a hostile manner.

His gaze was sinful—territorial in a way.

Did he have the libido of an incubus?

"Hold your son. I need to store the erabitori items in here. I don't want Manao getting into this bag and misplacing everything before the ritual."

Naoya happily accepted Manao from your outstretched arms and positioned the one-year-old on his lap, gently puppeting your baby's hands to play the simple piano piece "Der Flohwalzer" in G-flat major.

"You should go through them to make sure you didn't miss anythin'."

"I went through them a thousand times, Naoya."

"And not a single one of those times was I present. Go through them again."

You rolled your eyes, but complied, spilling the bag's contents onto the tatami mats of Naoya's study room.

Out came a miniature globe, a ruler, a silver hand mirror, a Japanese dictionary, chopsticks, a calligraphy brush, yen, scissors, a calculator, and an inoperable retro-style telephone.

"That...looks about right. Go put them on the shelf over there. There should be some room if you clear out the stacks of sheet music first."

Naoya shamelessly stared at the curve of your ass as you bent over and carefully placed the bag next to a file holder bursting at the seams with Joe Hisaishi's arrangements.

The blonde sorcerer, growing bored with the novice "Der Flohwalzer," transitioned to the considerably more intricate piece, "Fairy Tale" by Anton Stepanovich Arensky.

Manao squealed in delight at the faster pace.

You couldn't tell if you were reading too much into his expression, but your firstborn seemed focused on the way his father's nimble fingers recreated the Romantic classical composition.

You sat with your legs tucked underneath you, raring to find a camera to capture the endearing sight of your devilishly handsome husband playing the piano with your son.

Before Naoya could start the next piece of his piano recital, you asked, "What do you think about enrolling Manao in piano lessons when he's older? He looks like he's enjoying himself."

Naoya hummed in thought, removing his son's hands from the piano, playing with the boy's chubby cheeks before he could start crying.

"Aw, did you hear that Manao? Mommy already wants to get rid of you."

"Excuse me, that is not what I meant."

"That was a joke, sweetheart. Learn to take one. Besides, we won't have to worry about that for a while. Children typically develop their musical prowess when they reach 6 or 7 years old. Prodigies start even younger, at 4 or 5 years old."

"I'll start tutorin' him when he's ready. I'm a much better teacher than those music conservatories that think they know more than you. Manao won't learn anythin' at those snobbish institutions."

"And where exactly did you learn to play the piano?"

"...At a music conservatory..."

"Right."

Naoya redirected his attention from the piano and onto your folded form on the floor—his gaze lingering on your swollen chest pressing up against your light orange yukata,

"As a matter of fact, I want all of our children to play some form of classical instrument. I don't care if it's the violin or the oboe, as long as they're first chair. Children brought up knowin' how to play an instrument have significant cognitive advantages over those who don't."

"Am I hearing you right? Children? As in the plural form of child?"

"You didn't seem to have a problem with promisin' me five children when you drained my cock in the gardens," he said unabashedly. Naoya hooked a thumb at the window behind him.

The view of the imposing wooden torii gateway to the Zen'in gardens was clear as day.

You inched closer to Naoya, removing Manao from his lap and covering his ears with your hands to protect him from whatever vulgarity was about to spill from Naoya's mouth.

"Th-that was...the heat of the moment, all right? I didn't mean that then and I didn't mean that any other time we tried for a baby."

Naoya clicked his tongue, "You're not bein' a woman of your word. Regardless, you don't have a say in givin' me another child. Have you ever heard of the phrase, 'the heir and the spare'?"

"Yes, I know—"

"It means that for every firstborn child of an estate, a secondborn child is needed if the direct inheritor fails to fulfill their role." Naoya salaciously licked his lips, "Every heir needs a spare, Mommy. So, why don't we start tryin' for a second son, hm?"

"Would you knock it off? The last thing I want is for Manao to turn into a filthy pervert like his—"

You were interrupted by the sliding of the shoji screen behind you. A breathless older woman bowed to you and Naoya—her grey-streaked hairstyle looking haphazardly done up.

"Apologies for the delay, ma'am. There was an incident in the kitchen that I had to oversee. I've come to watch the young master while you finalize tomorrow's plans."

"Oh," you smacked yourself on the forehead, flustered by your temporary lapse in memory, "I'm ashamed to admit I forgot all about that, Ms. Fujie."

Saved by the nursemaid.

She nodded sagely, gesturing for you to hand over Manao, "That's quite all right. You're a young mother. Now, if you had the memory of an elephant, I would be advising Master Naoya here that he might have married a demon."

You laughed politely, nudging Naoya's leg to get him to do the same. You swear, the Zen'ins must have tightened their wallets when it came to etiquette lessons for your husband.

Ms. Fujie scooped up Manao with the grace of a swan—a move she probably mastered long before Naoya was born. Your baby looked like he was about to cry, but Ms. Fujie expertly shook his Anpanman plush around, softly cooing into Manao's ear. Your baby instantly quieted, entranced by his favorite superhero "flying" around his head.

"Myself or one of my girls shall return him to his nursery at the time you requested. I look forward to seeing you both at the young master's celebration tomorrow. Have a good night."

And with that, the kind, older woman exited the room, taking any of the remaining warmth Naoya's study had with her.

She had left you alone with the real demon in this marriage.

You slowly turned to face your husband, who was resting his head on his hand, smirking down at you from his seat on the cushioned piano bench.

"Don't look so scared, sweetheart. It's just me."

Getting down on all fours like a cat slinking through tall grass, Naoya prowled his way over to you. He pulled apart the opening of your light orange yukata—the soft cotton material deliciously rubbing against your pebbling, wet nipples.

"You look so tasty, Mommy." Naoya's thumb lightly encircled your leaking buds, "And you need Daddy's mouth, don't you?"

Naoya's ministrations gave way to thin rivulets dribbling from your large, milk-filled breasts down the length of your torso.

About three days after Manao was born, you started producing enough milk to increase your breast size by four cups. Not only was the pressure on your breasts an enormous pain, but you also felt like the phrase, "tits on a stick."

Naoya, being the man-child that he is, was beaming like a lighthouse during inclement weather when he observed your bodily changes. You had never seen that man in such high spirits, though the bar was so low, you could order chūhai at it in hell.

In fact, when the Kukuru Unit's reports came in, Naoya's Hei review had risen to one star. The members noted that he seemed a skosh nicer these days, openly praising his newborn son in place of his characteristic trash-talking.

Did Naoya's Mommy issues run that deep to the point where you breastfeeding him almost every night alleviated some of his mental blockage? That can't be right. Maybe he's just happy to be a father.

Naoya shifted his weight forward, forcing you to swing your legs out from under you and lie flat on your back. He then pressed his face into your cleavage, inhaling your lavender perfume mixed with the sweetness of your milk.

"I wonder how much more you can give me," he mumbled against your skin.

"You give me your body. You give me your milk—"

Naoya took your left nipple into his warm mouth, whining at the creamy, vanilla taste spreading across his tongue. You sighed in relief at the ability to finally express yourself after today's unrest.

"Mm, what else can I take from you before you're reduced to nothin' but a warm, wet hole?"

His words and his whines reached your ears, making you roll your eyes at his blatant hypocrisy. Naoya loved to posture as a domineering man with a no-nonsense attitude, but, truly, he was the one who was reduced to nothing by the mere sight of your body. He could call you a bitch or a whore all he liked. Naoya's insolence was negated by his incessant need for your affection and, perhaps more indecorously, your pussy wrapped around his dick.

Naoya's hand found its way under your robes, massaging your folds as he continued to slurp up pints of your milk. You throbbed at the presence of your husband's thick fingers, prodding at your weeping entrance.

Your husband briefly unlatched from your nipple to talk down to you, spurred on by the strong sexual tension permeating the room, "You're such a messy slut, baby. Mm, I could probably split you open on my cock right now. You would like that, wouldn't you? Does Mommy want Daddy's cock to fuck her pregnant again?"

As vexing as your husband could be, damn, did he have a way with words—and his fingers. The blonde proceeded to help himself to your overflowing tits, just as you felt him rip off your panties to push his middle and ring finger into your sopping wet core.

You moaned at the intrusion, reaching down to play with your beating clit that was rubbing against Naoya's muscly stomach.

He licked a long stripe up from your abdomen to your nipple, then back down to your middle, groaning out, "I miss when you were pregnant—when you were full of me. You've never been more beautiful."

That statement was...oddly vulnerable for him.

"You m-miss that?"

"I've missed it every day since you gave birth. I miss how everyone could tell you belonged to me just by lookin' at your swollen stomach. I miss how much you had to rely on me. You couldn't do anythin' for yourself. You were so weak—so helpless. And I need you like that again."

Naoya ground his hard-on into your thigh, humping your leg like the pitiful, pussy-whipped man he was.

"If it takes four more pregnancies, so be it. You can handle it. That's why you're such a good Mommy."

You forced a moan back into your throat at his admittance.

Truthfully, you missed being pregnant, too. The morning sickness, the back pain, and the actual birthing process you could live without, but for once, your husband seemed so very in love with you. The sorcerer was exceptionally doting by his own standards.

Was it because you finally embodied Naoya's idea of a perfect woman? Maybe your powerless condition validated his theoretical hierarchy.

He needs confirmation that he’s as powerful as he thinks he is.

"N-Naoya, stop drinking s-so much milk. You're going t-to hurt your st-stomach," you chided.

"Do you seriously think you can tell me what to do? You're beneath me in more ways than one. It's really a mystery why I have yet to buy you a gag when I need to get my dick wet."

You shut up and focused on the pure bliss that was his fingers working themselves in and out of you. Convincing a rock that it was Sugawara no Michizane in a past life was easier than arguing with Naoya. When Naoya does end up drinking himself right into a stomachache, you'll be babying him along with your actual baby. He never heeded your warnings.

The wet sounds of your soaking pussy were so loud that you were certain anyone standing right outside the shoji screen could hear your illicit activities.

You looked down at the blonde now nursing at your right nipple—your milk supply streaming out of the corner of his mouth and down his perfectly angular jawline. You sighed at the way his balmed lips enveloped your nipple. His skillful tongue flicked and flattened itself on the erogenous zone, capturing any droplets that escaped. You ran a hand through his coarse hair, scratching at his scalp in the way he liked.

He whimpered into your breast, "Ngh, Mommy, you taste so good."

Indeed, the pinnacle of the "alpha male" philosophy he championed.

Naoya briskly untied the sash of his hakama and undid the fastenings of his robes, quickly replacing his fingers with his rosy pink erection. His movements were so expeditious that he looked like a blur of pale limbs and dark teal and grey fabrics.

The initial stretch of Naoya's length was a deliciously tender torment. He eased his cock into your pulsing cunt, satisfying his raging hard-on by coating every inch of himself in your slick. You arched your rigid body into his at the sensation of his large, veiny cock rubbing against your walls.

Naoya bent down to kiss you, adjusting his body into a sort of plank position, causing him to drive into you even deeper, "Ah, tell Daddy what y-you want or," he smirked against your lips, "We're goin' to s-stay like th-this until I get bored with you."

Heavily aroused by your husband's paradoxical dominant and submissive energy, you subconsciously coaxed out a trickle of breast milk. Naoya's eyes followed the milky fluid, pupils dilating at the sight of your breast milk mixing into the ring of arousal at the junction of his dick nestling into your cunt.

"Fuck, Daddy, I need you to f-fuck me."

"And?"

"What do y-you mean 'and'?"

"You need somethin' else f-from me. You know precisely w-what I want to hear."

Naoya started to rock his hips, growing impatient with your obliviousness.

"Okay, okay, okay. Please, Naoya, I need you to get me pregnant. I n-need Daddy to keep me full of h-his cum!"

At your lewd words, Naoya hooked his arms under your legs and pulled them up to his shoulders, beginning to piston in and out of you at a breakneck speed and sounding like a malevolent spirit was erotically choking him out. That was your Naoya, a loudmouth in public and an even louder mouth in private.

As you lay there underneath your husband's formidable, muscular frame, his full and heavy balls slapping against your ass, the seed of a horrifying thought process bloomed into the flower of an identity crisis:

Would it be so bad to truly and wholly submit yourself to Naoya?

He can be cruel, yes, but he's shown you a softer, caring side to himself.

Maybe he really does have your best interests in mind.

What if you were a perfect porcelain doll that he could do with whatever he liked? You wouldn't have to think for yourself. You wouldn't have to dress yourself. You would only have to stay by his side, prim and proper, honoring his every need.

He's asked you for a second child, and here you are allowing him to rail you in his study like a common whore, knowing that you will be spending the next nine months going to bed stuffed with Naoya's cream and waking up with his cock inside you, intent on filling you again and again and again.

If he commanded you to suck him off in the hallways or let him keep you on his dick during clan meetings, would you do it?

Stop it. This is some sort of...sex-fueled fever dream. You're a person, not a doll.

A particularly hard thrust forced you out of your pleasure-induced limbo and back into the sweltering heat of your husband's study.

You and Naoya were covered in a heady mixture of sweat, arousal, and breast milk as he plowed into you, his hips setting a brutal pace—not caring if you came or not. He was self-serving like that.

He didn't deserve you.

Not. At. All.

"You're thinkin' s-so hard that I can hear some gears t-turnin'. Are you pickin' out names already? Th-that's a little early."

His right hand came down hard on your ass, the shock of the spanking making you contract around his pistoning shaft, "You know, I thought havin' kids would absolutely r-ruin this body, but y-you're still s-so tight, princess. Guess I got l-lucky with you. You're not like other women, in that r-regard."

Your long fingernails trailed up and down his back, hard enough to leave scratch marks, but still gentle enough not to draw blood.

Every dulcet moan Naoya violently ripped from your throat sounded more mellifluent than any advanced piece he could perform on the piano.

He studied your current predicament. His light brown eyes traveled down your body, starting from your teary eyes, to your gaping mouth, then to your swollen, lactating breasts, and finally, your sensitive, gushing cunt.

You were the closest thing to perfection in Naoya's world.

You could be so helpless and weak at times.

"Fuck, you're so tight, Mommy. You're always s-so tight for me. I can't wait for you to start showin' again. God, you have n-no idea how hard it was to keep my hands off of y-you," he made a sound that landed somewhere between mirthless laughter and a breathy moan.

"It's not like y-you could leave m-me alone, either. The sight of you wakin' up with my cock down your th-throat, gaggin' and chokin' on me—tryin' to fit all of me in your mouth..."

He tilted his head to mouth at your tits, ravenously indulging in your sweet milk.

"Fuck, I know you're d-desperate for my cum, baby. Give me another son, Mommy. Y-you were made for this. You want th-this just as much as I do—don't fuckin' pretend you don't. Tell me you w-want to make me a Daddy again. Say it!"

This motherfucker was going to cum already?

"God, you're a little degen—"

"That's not wh-what I ordered. You know what t-to say, Mommy. Beg for it like a bitch. Beg Daddy for a baby."

Fuck, he's going to cum.

"Daddy," you whined, grabbing his chin to direct his full attention to the most licentious face you could conjure up, "I want you to make me a Mommy again, too. You're right—you're a-always right. You need to breed me every day and keep me f-full of you. I want to feel you inside me in the sh-shower, in our b-bed, against the walls—anywhere! I have to f-feel you leaking down my legs every second of every day."

"I can do that for you, Mommy. I'll stuff every i-inch of you with my cum. I don't care if it h-hurts. I'll start fuckin' your ass if I have to. Ngh, I'm cummin', I'm cummin, fuck, Mommy, I'm cummin'!"

Perfect.

One of the few moments in life Naoya will ever let his guard down is during sleep and sex. He fucked the will out of you to kill him in his sleep a long time ago, and now that you two were forever linked through Manao, there was no way in hell you would try that again now. But that didn't stop you from getting away with lesser evils.

In the midst of him cumming his life away, you effortlessly rolled Naoya onto his back, taking great care to keep his semi-hard cock inside of you.

"Wh-what the hell are you doin'—"

"I'm cumming is what I'm doing, you idiot."

You did your best to match Naoya's earlier pace, rocking your hips back and forth to satiate your unsatisfied cunt.

"I didn't tell you you could d-do that. Get the f-fuck off of m-me!"

He didn't sound that upset. Actually, he sounded more like a pornstar.

"Just shut up and let me e-enjoy myself, honey. It's not like you'll have to carry a baby for n-nine months and do the hard work of pushing it out."

"You're actin' like that's the m-most painful—"

"If you even think about f-finishing that sentence, I swear to the heavens you'll never dr-drink a drop of my breast milk again."

You felt Naoya's cock twitch, veins bulging in defiance.

As you sank further onto his entire length, a spurt of breast milk dripped down to the crevice of your thighs and into the dip of your pussy, lubricating his cream-covered dick. There was little to no friction as you rode him into the light green flooring of his study.

Your husband's breathing grew ragged the faster you went. He looked so cute fighting his body, trying and failing to keep his tongue from lolling out of his wide-open mouth.

You got in close to his ear, sensually licking circles around the silver piercing in his earlobe, "You're being really quiet, honey. I just t-told you not to finish that sentence. I didn't s-say to stop talking completely."

"Come on, do the thing that I like," you playfully drew patterns on his glistening pectoral muscles, "I'm asking n-nicely, too."

Naoya groaned, covering his beet-red face with trembling hands, "Fuck, g-give me a second. You're naggin' isn't a-attractive."

"N-nagging? You had me begging you to get me pregnant—twice. I think you like my nagging."

You flicked his defined cheekbone just as his pulsating cock reached that deep, spongy spot that made you release a high-pitched moan fit for a pornographic film.

"Say it."

A hush blanketed the room for a few minutes, aside from the sounds of your and Naoya's mess between your tangled legs. The squelching of his cock and the sloshing of your pussy were having a more productive conversation than you two.

"You're such a good wife to m-me, princess." Naoya mumbled from behind his hands, pressing them into his face so hard that his knuckles turned white.

A devious smile graced your features. Finally, dirty talk that will get you off in seconds.

You rested your hands on his shoulders, sinking your nails into the soft, pale skin, "There it is. Keep going, honey. You're doing gr-great!"

Naoya rolled his eyes, but obliged, "You're the m-most beautiful woman in the world and you work so hard to please m-me and our s-son. I love you so much, sweetheart."

"Degrade yourself a little m-more. Oh, and say that l-last part again, baby."

"Absolutely not."

"Naoya!"

"...You deserve so much more than me. I don't appreciate the meals you c-cook for me or how much effort y-you put into takin' c-care of the house. I. Love. You."

He said those last three words through gritted teeth.

"Fuck, you're s-so sexy when you're like this, honey. Why can't you b-be this pleasant a-all the time?"

Even though his words were most likely devoid of any meaning, it felt nice to hear them every once in a while, though it was funnier to watch him squirm. It was equal parts ridiculous and pathetic as hell that he felt so much shame whispering such sweet nothings, but was willing to voice the filthiest, most depraved fantasies you've ever heard from another human being.

You pressed your kiss-swollen lips to your husband's, silencing your increasingly loud moans as you got closer to your climax. You could tell Naoya was teetering on the edge of his second orgasm, too. And you wanted this man drained.

You returned to sucking his earlobe, this time, the ear with zero piercings, so that you could run your tongue along the shell.

"Daddy, I think you're very close. Do you want to cum with M-Mommy? You can cum all you w-want inside again. I won't stop you."

Your silken folds massaged Naoya's spent cock. All he could feel was the mess you two made from earlier with every cant of your hips.

How do you always manage to get him on his back and fuck the soul out of his body?

Naoya's hands abruptly flew from his face to your hips. The muscles in his neck tensed, and he started to buck up into you.

"Fuck, I'm—"

"Just let g-go. I want every last drop inside of me. Can you do that for m-me, Daddy?"

Instead of just his neck, Naoya's entire body tensed. You felt the warm flood of his orgasm as soon as you hit your climax. You dropped your entire body weight onto his squirting cock, securing every driblet of semen inside of you.

Naoya's orgasms were never quick and clean. If it were anatomically possible, you were certain that every time he emptied his reserves into you, you would be dripping his ejaculate out of your mouth. But still, you rode him through your shared high, savoring the overstimulation.

Naoya squeezed your hips, yanking you down onto his pelvis to stop your movements, inadvertently kissing your cervix with his tip.

"Ow! Naoya, you need to be careful—ngh!"

Your husband was upright in seconds, already licking up the globs of milk beading at your nipples. His arms encircled your waist as he started nursing again, not caring about the puddle of cum forming underneath you two. His hands massaged the padding of your hips as he swallowed your milk like a parched man stumbling upon an oasis.

"You can be a real bitch, sometimes."

୨୧┄⋯┄୨୧ ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʟʟ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘᴀᴛɪᴇɴᴄᴇ. ᴀɴ ɪɴɴᴏᴄᴇɴᴛ ꜱᴛʀᴏʟʟ ɪꜱ ᴍʏ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴘᴏᴘᴜʟᴀʀ ꜰɪᴄ, ꜱᴏ ɪ ᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴏʟʟᴏᴡ-ᴜᴘ ᴛᴏ ᴇxᴄᴇᴇᴅ ᴘᴀʀᴛ 1'ꜱ Qᴜᴀʟɪᴛʏ. ʜᴏᴘᴇꜰᴜʟʟʏ, ɪ ᴅᴇʟɪᴠᴇʀᴇᴅ. ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ, ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢꜱ, ᴀɴᴅ ʟɪᴋᴇꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴀᴛᴇᴅ (ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ɪɴꜱᴀɴᴇʟʏ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴘᴏᴄᴋᴇᴛ).

୨୧┄⋯┄୨୧ ᴄᴏɴꜱɪᴅᴇʀ ʟᴇᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴍᴇ ᴀ ᴛɪᴘ 💌

୨୧┄⋯┄୨୧ ᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴇʀꜱ ʙʏ @ꜱᴏᴍᴇʙɪᴛᴄʜᴘʀᴏʙᴀʙʟʏ-ɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄᴅᴜᴍᴘ

You smile blissfully. “You- hck- you can be meaner, Cho, I can take it-“

Your voice is cut off by a sharp thrust from behind, Choso’s pelvis smacking into your ass hard enough to leave a mark. He fills you ruthlessly, the whites of your eyes fluttering behind your eyelashes as he relentlessly ruins your cunt.

You're on the verge of something good, so, so good, and your moans come out in tangled, wrecked little huffs. Saliva smears across your lips and the pillow, cotton dampened under the damp lacquer of blissed-out drool seeping steadily from your parted lips. You're almost in disbelief- he's really doing it, your sweet, caring Choso is degrading you for all he's worth, and reaping the rewards.

"Fuck, fuck-" you wail, eyes screwed shut as another swathe of slick decorates the base of Choso's swollen cock. Oh, how you wish you could see- see the gloss spread across his pelvis, coo up at him, but your neck is immobilised.

Not just in pleasurable shock at his harshness, but you physically cannot move. Choso has taken it upon himself to weave one of his big hands through your messy hair and slam your face down into the cushion below, rendering you unable to do anything but lie there and take it like the dumb girl he keeps saying you are.

"You're so needy." He breathes, taking in the arch in your spine and the way your pussy clenches tighter around him. He hisses at the squeeze. "Fuck, you are needy, aren't you? All you can do is whatever I tell you, isn't it?"

"I- I-"

"Can't speak?" He moans from behind, palm still splayed hungrily across your hips. "Fuck, you really like this?"

"I'm gonna- fuck, Cho-"

“Shut up.” He continues shakily, “shut up, you don’t deserve to speak, do you? Just lie there like the slut you are-“

You moan. Never, never would you have dreamed to hear that little piece of degradation drip out of Choso Kamo’s beautiful mouth, and the surprise pushes you over.

“Look at you cumming all over my cock, too stupid to even hold it-“ a whine tangles itself around his speech, then a sob-

A sob?

“I’m sorry, baby, I’m so so sorry-“ he bleats, wretchedly big tears working their way down his cheeks as he still manages to fuck you through your orgasm.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean any of it, you’re pretty and perfect-“ he keeps going, reverting back to his default (and only, apparently) setting of doting praise, emptying himself out inside you until it’s splurging out onto the sheets.

You lie there and shake through it, back still arched under his big hands. You don’t even realise he came until you hear the noise, a high-pitched whimper muffled against the sweaty skin of your nape while Choso plasters his toned front to your back.

“I’m sorry…” he keeps whispering into your skin, “I tried, baby, I really tried, but…” his lip quivers like an overgrown toddler and your heart aches through the onslaught of giggles you’re trying to hold back.

“Choso-“

“You aren’t a slut, you never could be, you’re the furthest thing from it-“

“Cho-“

“And I didn’t mean what I said about you being greedy, you can have me any time you want, if anything I’m the greedy one and you should- should punish me for it-“

“Choso, I know you didn’t mean it.”

He blinks at you. “You do?”

“I asked you to be mean, Cho- and if you don’t want to be, then that’s fine.” You assure him, naked and gorgeous and all his.

He nods, hair flopping out from behind his ears. Then, he clears his throat. “But, baby…”

“Yes?”

“Can you be mean to me next time?”

Is he fucking serious?

ೃ࿔*:･

masterlist

a/n: all credit for this idea goes to @f33bs because she’s been asking me to write this for MONTHSSSS!! <33

tags (open):

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

and it would be you.

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

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

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

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

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

but then… oh, then…

then he saw your smile.

oh, your smile.

your fucking smile.

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

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

no one.

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

and it was… until he was sick.

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

however, he did not expect one problem.

and that would be you.

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

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

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

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

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

but he couldn’t finish the thought.

because you walked in.

smelling like fucking lilacs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he scrunched his eyes at the door, swallowing hard.

however, he didn’t understand why.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he had to know. he had to.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

why. why. why.

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

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

the act would drop. it always did.

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

and he fucking hated himself for it.

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

but you had kept reading for him.

he grew angry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

that would have to be righted immediately.

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

they always slip.

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

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

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

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

"good evening," you greeted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

so he went with what was natural: manipulation.

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

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

“what troubles you?” he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“please,” he answered and nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

for research purposes, of course. only research purposes,

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

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

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

how had he not expected this?

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

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

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

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

good and honest. how fucking unfortunate.

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

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

he hated himself for the lilacs.

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

however, it didn’t.

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

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

he knew what he had to do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“which one are you?” coriolanus inquired.

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

now was the time.

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

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

damn, he thought. didnt bite.

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

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

he nodded.

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

“i don’t understand.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

oh.

you invited him in to… to…

that he had not expected.

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

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

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

what was he to do?

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

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

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

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

he reasoned a reward was in order.

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

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

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

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

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

he shut the door behind him, keeping your gaze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he jumped then. “teeth,” he spat.

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

a low hum filled his chest.

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

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

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

you had to do something.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you nodded, looking into his eyes through the mirror.

he cocked an eyebrow.

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

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

oh… you were done for.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you grasped onto him and threw yourself back.

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

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

his breaths were heavy, similar to yours.

“corio…” you whimpered, almost whining.

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

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

“what’re you sorry for?” he demanded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i promise,” you returned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he chuckled darkly. "watch it, sweetheart."

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