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phoward89 · 2 months

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Banner by me. Dividers by @saradika

Summary: Coriolanus leaves you in the care of his cousin, Tigris, while he goes about his day at the Citadel. Sadly, the pitiful look in her eyes when she looks at you doesn't go unnoticed.

Warnings: Coriolanus Snow is his own warning! Possessive!Coriolanus, Obsessive!Coriolanus, DelusionalCoriolanus, Dark!Coriolanus, Soft Dark!Coriolanus?, Head Gamemaker!Coriolanus, Cheating/infidelity (not on reader), Reference to prostitution, Talks of prostitution, Poison, Murder Plans

Story Masterlist

This chapter's a bit long.

Chapter 4:

The bright light of the morning sun shines thru the large floor to ceiling window in the master bedroom of the penthouse, causing Coriolanus to groan and blink his groggy eyes open. He craned his head down, only to see that you were still fast asleep and tucked into his side. The sight of you sleeping soundly with his arm protectively wrapped around you brought a smile to his usually stoic face.

He thought that you looked beautiful as you slept. Well, he thought that you were beautiful no matter what, truth be told. You could be wrapped up in his silk sheets, in the most expensive designer dresses, or in a sack dress and he'd still think you’re beautiful.

To Coriolanus you were more beautiful than any of the rarest diamonds in Panem. Hell, the world. And you were all his. His precious gem to polish and cherish.

To own.

He was disappointed that he couldn't see the love bites and bruises he left on you due to the sleeping position you were in. He really wanted to see his marks on your radiant skin. Just thinking about it made his morning wood even harder than it already was.

If you weren't having so much trouble sleeping due to nightmares, he would've waken you up and had you suck his cock. Of course he also wanted to feast on your cunt for breakfast as well, but sadly he couldn't. He had to let you get some rest, plus he needed to get to the Citadel.

He had a busy day ahead of him, so despite how much he wanted to, he couldn't spend the entire day in bed with you. Damn his duties. One day when he's all powerful (the President of Panem) if he wants to spend his entire day in bed fucking you then he will.

Hell, maybe he'll even make a national holiday where all citizens get a day off in your honor just so he can stay in bed having his way with you once he's Mister President. Yes, that's a lovely idea. He'll make your birthday a national holiday; name it Darling Rose Day.

With a heavy sigh, Coriolanus gently untangled himself from you and went to take a shower. It doesn't take him long before he's back in the room he shares with you, towel wrapped around his waist and a smirk plastered on his face as he takes in the sight of you snuggled into his pillow. Seeing you long for his scent, for him, in your sleep gives his already inflated ego a boost.

He doesn't want to disturb you by turning on the lights, so he uses the sunlight streaming into the room to help him see what's in his closet. He didn't have much in there, just a few suits and dress shirts, but it was enough to ensure he looked presentable on the days he chose to seek refuge in his penthouse from his bitch on a wife.

A bitch of a wife that would be no more after tonight's dinner at Avelina’s.

A lush that would choke on her own blood after eating a couple bites of their appetizer.

Their seafood appetizer.

Yes, he had everything planned out perfectly considering he literally concocted the plan last night (around midnight or so).

Coriolanus’ smile went from ear to ear as he thought about how he was going to be running the Cardew (now the Snow) bank since Livia was the only one in her family left (damn those deadly shellfish allergies) along with having you. And if that wasn't enough to make him happy, well he’d soon be announcing that he was putting his name in the hat as one of the men running for president (President Ravenstill would be getting a bit sicker within the next few days and his cabinet along with the ministry would have to announce a campaign season and voting season for a new president.).

Deciding to pull out a white jacket to pair with the white shirt and black pants he wore last night to pick you up (they were perfectly clean given he only had them on for roughly half an hour or so), he quickly dressed and left your room.

Once in the main room, he called Tigris on the video phone and told her to come to the penthouse to watch over you while he was at the Citadel. The response expected wasn't the one he got.

No…

What he got from Tigris was a sour look paired with the question of, “Why did you sign her out of the hospital if she's not ready to be alone, Coriolanus?”

He let out an aggravated sigh. Why couldn't his cousin just say yes and leave it at that? Did she have to push back about this?

“Tigris, she's perfectly capable of being alone.” He told his cousin, not wanting her to think that you were a basketcase when you weren't.

Tigris was about to say something, but Coriolanus beat her to it with the long-winded remark of, “It's just that I don't want her to be alone in the penthouse after everything she's been through. I thought a friendly face might make her first day out of the hospital easier for her.”

Once you felt more comfortable in the Capitol, Coriolanus planned on introducing you to Clemmie. He felt that she'd be a good friend for you; could help you navigate the social circles of the Capitol housewives and socialites.

Clemensia Dovecote was known for serving cunt everywhere she went and that was just the kind of friend you needed in the Capitol.

Between him being your lover, Clemmie being your friend, and Tigris being your personal stylist (and friend as well) he was sure you'd quickly learn how to fit in.

Then, another reason for Tigris to come see you popped into his head. “Plus you do need to work on both her exit interview and crowning dresses.” Smirking, he finished his thoughts with the rhetorical question of, “What better way to start working on her dresses than to spend the day with her?”

Tigris' warm blue eyes turned frosty as she disdainfully bit out, “You're concerned about her being alone after what she's been through as if it isn't your fault that she experienced all those horrors in that beautiful deathtrap of an arena you designed special for that Quarter Quell?” Giving him a look full of judgment, she said, "Oh, that's rich coming from you, the head gamemaker.”

Oh how Coriolanus wanted to reach into the video screen and smack Tigris upside her light blonde and black highlighted head. How dare she speak to him like that?

If it wasn't for him being head gamemaker she wouldn't have a fucking job since he's the one that made her into one of the most sought after stylist in the Capitol.

Hell, bitch should be grateful.

But no…ever since he got back from his summer stint as a peacekeeper in District 12 she's been cold and offish to him.

One day he's going to say enough’s enough and cut her off, but today isn't that day. He needs her to be your friend; to design your dresses and be your personal stylist. Hell, he still needs her to be his stylist.

She knows all his measurements and inseams; he doesn't want to have to deal with somebody new learning all of that.

“Tigris, I need to go to the Citadel soon so just come here with Y/N’s clothes and spend the day with her.”

“Why do you care so much for Coriolanus? She's just another district gutter rat that won those barbaric games you design.”

The platinum blonde’s icy eyes turned hateful upon hearing his cousin call you a district gutter rat.

How dare she?

You weren't like the rest of the people from the coal district. You were different.

A diamond made out of the pressures coal undergoes.

His rare diamond that was too good; too beautiful for district life.

“She's not a district gutter rat; she's going to be my wife. Now, are you going to come over or do I have to have somebody go and fetch you?” Coriolanus snapped, feeling rage consume him.

Tigris’ eyes (which were heavily lined with too much black eyeliner and made her look like a cat if you asked him) went wide. “Your wife? But, Coriolanus, you're already married!”

“Well, I see I'll be sending somebody by to fetch you. Make you to bring your key, I'll be at the Citadel when you arrive.” He told his cousin in a clipped tone before hanging up and ending the call.

He ran a hand thru his flawlessly slicked back hair and let out a long sigh. That call was worse than some of the ones he has with political sponsors and that's saying something.

He turned his head and looked down the hall, to where you were still sleeping soundly in his bed, before rising from his chair and making his way over to the foyer. With a smirk on his lips he walked out of the penthouse. He knew that the next time he walked thru the door he'd be free to be with you.

Forever and ever.

When you woke up it was alone in the large king sized bed. You were still in the same spot that you fell asleep in, the only difference being that you were clutching onto Coriolanus’ pillow. Your nose was buried into it as well, breathing in his scent that was a mix of roses and musk.

You let out a groan from how brightly the sun was shining thru the window; burying your face deeper in Coryo’s pillow. The strong scent of roses was intoxicating; nearly overpowering your senses, as you hid away from the bright sunlight.

You didn't have the opportunity of using the platinum blonde man's pillow as a shield from the sun for long.

The door opened followed by Tigris' cheery voice proclaiming, “It's nearly noon, Y/N. It's time to get up.”

“Close the drapes, it's too bright in here.” You complained.

“My cousin doesn't have practical drapes, just decorative curtains that don't close.” Tigris told you, a suitcase full of your clothes from your time as a Hunger Games tribute rolling behind her as she walked further into the room. “I brought your clothes; I figured Coriolanus wouldn't have any for you here.”

“He let me borrow a shirt last night; said he'd have you come over with my things.” You explained while lifting your head from the rose scent pillow it was buried in.

Tigris' brows furrowed. You said Coriolanus gave you a shirt, but your back was bare. Surely he didn't…

As you sat up in bed the blanket around you shifted, causing the stylist (whose blonde and black striped hair along with her heavy lined eyes were similar to her feline name) to gasp.

Her hand shakily covered her mouth as her eyes took in the bite marks on you. Silently, she counted them. A large one on your collarbone that seemed deep. Looked as if it went down to the bone, as if her cousin sunk his teeth in deliberately to brand you. Then you had a one on the side of your breast left breast. It was plum and dark purple; it looked angry and ugly.

And if that wasn't enough, the left side of your cheek had a purplish-reddish bruise on it.

A bruise that was a large imprint of a hand.

She looked at you like you’re broken while rushing over to you. “Sweetheart, did he hurt you?” Tigris asked, sitting next to you on the bed and reaching out to gently touch your swollen cheek.

Your brow scrunched up, wondering why she asked that. Then you realized the blanket had shifted and she probably saw the marks Coryo left on you last night (err this morning?) when you were fooling around.

Oh how embarrassing.

“No.” You quickly shook your head. “He didn't hurt me.”

“But, Y/N, it looks like he did.”

“But he didn't, Tigris.” You protested.

“Did he-” You knew what she was going to ask and the question disgusted you. So you cut her off.

“God no, he didn't make me do anything!” You quickly shouted at her.

Despite being a bit dominant and slap happy, Coriolanus did respect you enough to ask you what you wanted. To tell you to use your words; tell him what you wanted to do.

He knew how far to push and when to ease up. You felt that your first sexual experience with him was breathtaking.

It was an experience you'll never forget.

The fact that Tigris could think her own cousin could do something so horrible to you pissed you off. How could she think so low of him? Was it because he had marriage problems or was it because she knew he liked you?

The stylist shook her head, only to sadly say, “He did something with you, sweetheart or you wouldn't have a bruised cheek and such painful bite marks on you.�� A look of pity flashed in her eyes. “He's too old for you and you're an innocent girl. Coriolanus should've never coerced you to do whatever happened last night.”

“He didn't coerce me into anything. Whatever happened between me and Coryo was consensual.” You told Tigris, taking her aback since you used her cousin's nickname.

Coriolanus never let anyone call him Coryo anymore. Him telling you to use it meant that things were worse than she thought. That he was probably going to keep you held hostage in the Snow penthouse to earn your trust and break you in before he turned you over to the highest bidder.

Oh yes, Tigris knew all about her cousin's disgusting side hustle of pimping out desirable victors to rich capitolites for cold hard cash.

She hates that he does it. Every time she tries to confront him he just tells her that she has no room to judge since she sold herself to buy them half rotten food and outdated ill fitting clothes.

That at least he was doing something useful with the money.

She never asked him what he was doing with the thousands if not millions of money he made being the biggest pimp in all of Panem. She was too hurt that he cruelly threw a very painful part of her past up in her face.

Tigris honestly should've cut him out of her life years ago. Sadly, despite all of his evil deeds, she still loves him. Also, she feels that she sort of owes him for her stylist job so she deals with him occasionally.

He does have the power to get her fired; take away her boutique and condo if he wished.

Tigris couldn't help but think that Coriolanus was full of shit this morning when he told her that he wanted to marry you. She thinks he just told her that so she'd come over and make you look pretty for him.

You didn't like the way Tigris was looking at you as if you were a wounded animal. She wasn't giving you the same warm and friendly looks she did before you went into the arena.

Now she looked at you as if you should've died back in the games.

Her eyes held so much pity in them that you couldn't handle it.

Coriolanus didn't look at you as if you'd crumble so why was Tigris looking at you like that?

“He's a married man, Y/N. He's also heavily involved in politics.” The stylist reminded you, making you feel sick to your stomach.

How could you forget about his wife, Livia?

Now you feel bad. Oh no, you're the other woman. Even though he said that he was getting rid of her it didn't stop you from feeling guilting about being an accomplice in his infidelity.

Feeling dirty, you looked at Tigris and asked, “Can you show me where the bathroom is? I'd like to shower.”

“Of course, sweetheart.”

After opening the bathroom door and giving you a gentle push inside, Tigris told you she'd bring you a change of clothes and left you to your own devices.

You felt so small in the large, navy blue tiled bathroom. Hell, the bathroom was larger than your bedroom back home.

Why was the bathroom so big?

You slowly moved your head this way and that, taking in the large layout of the room.

One wall was lined with shelves; you assumed they were for towels. Also against that wall was the toilet, a marble topped vanity, and a large mirror.

A vanity in which the sink looked a bit lost in the middle of it.

Oh…

This was Coriolanus’ private bathroom.

And the reason you knew that was because of the shaving kit, jar of shaving cream, and bottles of aftershave and cologne stacked on the vanity- neatly below the bathroom mirror.

Of course, he has the biggest bathroom in the penthouse.

Shaking your head, you placed your focus on the large shower in the far back corner of the room. It looked to be an octagon shape, which you thought was weird. The door to the shower was frosted and larger than the front door of the mayor’s house back in 12.

Wow…just…wow…

And alongside the shower stall was a large claw bathtub. It baffled you how somebody needed both a shower and a bathtub in a room larger than some people's houses back in District 12.

Never in your wildest dreams did you ever think you'd be in the large and over the top bathroom of Panem's head gamemaker, Coriolanus Snow, but here you were.

Should you pinch yourself to make sure this is real?

Nah. The aches on your body from the activities you and Coryo had partaken in are enough of a reality check for you.

Hearing the click-clanking of Tigris' heels coming from down the hall, you rushed into the shower and turned on the water.

You weren't used to hot water flowing out of a showerhead (having lived in the Seam your entire life you, sadly, were used to time tub baths with lukewarm water that was heated on top of the stove) so when the water hit your body, you jerked in surprise.

You also let out a hiss, but that was because of how the scalding hot water felt like daggers piercing the deep teeth marks on your collarbone.

Teeth marks that Coriolanus left last night when he got a little carried away with his nips and suckling on your neck and chest. Or at least you think he just got carried away because he always seemed like such a put together and reserved man.

Or at least that's the image he portrayed publicly for the media.

A knock sounded on the door, followed by it slowly opening. “I'll put your dress on the vanity.’ Tigris told you while walking into the room. “There's a towel on the rack by the shower door.”

You already knew that. You saw it.

“Thank you.” You called out while reaching for the nearby bottle of shampoo.

A pink bottle with roses printed all over it.

What the hell’s with Coryo and roses?

You noticed though that the bottle of conditioner was purple and couldn't help, but wonder what that smelled like.

You heard Tigris leave the room as you began to lather up your hair with the strong floral scented shampoo.

The scent of roses.

Coriolanus’ scent; a scent that you'd share with him til the end of the line.

After leaving your clothes on the vanity, Tigris laid out her sketch book and sample swatches on the dining room table. Then, once her impromptu work space was set up to her liking, she went into the main room and called her cousin on the video phone.

After about 3 or 4 rings Coriolanus' face appeared on the phone's tv screen. “Tigris, how is Y/N this afternoon?”

Tigris just gave her cousin a disgusted look. “She just woke up and she's in your shower right now trying to scrub off all the filth leftover from your unwanted touch last night.” She bluntly told Coriolanus since she felt she needed to be your voice.

That since you were so young and innocent that she needed to try and stop her dark souled cousin from corrupting you.

From ruining your life.

Coriolanus’ icy blue eyes went wide at his cousin's words. Was she implying- fucking hell! “I didn't touch her in any unwanted ways, Tigris. Believe it or not, I am a gentleman when it comes to such matters.”

“I saw the bruises and the bite marks you left on her, Coriolanus! Don't tell me she wanted you to do that to her, no woman in her right mind wants that done to her!”

Ah, so this wasn't about you and him, but about the stylist’s past demons haunting her. Oh, she just has to let go of the past. Whatver happened to her, well, she was paid for it.

Projecting her feelings onto his darling rose wasn't the answer tho. It wouldn't make Tigris’ shame go away.

Why couldn't she just be grateful that he made her a fashion icon and just befriend you like he asked? Why does she have to make everything so complicated with her soft ways and overly compassionate feelings?

That quality is going to get her hurt one day…

“Did you talk to her about it? If so, then you should believe what she told you.” The head gamemaker told his cousin while looking over the paperwork on his desk for his darling rose’s Capitol residency permit.

A permit that was a K-1 Visa.

Better known as the 90 Day Fiance Capitol Citizen Sponsorship Immigration Form.

Yes, he was going to marry you to keep you tied to him forever.

It was the only way to keep you safe. To keep the rich and vile creatures of the Capitol from trying to steal you away from him.

Nobody would dare try to steal his wife. Everyone was afraid of him; knew trying anything with Mrs. Coriolanus Snow would get them a certain date with death.

One that he'd personally send them on with the aid of his many poisons.

Tigris looked towards the hall, checking to see if you were still in the shower, before telling Coriolanus, “That girl”s too sweet and innocent for you, Coriolanus. She's been thru so much at your hands already; just let her go.” Feeling her resolve grow, she added in, “Don't use her as your mistress because your bored with Livia; don't break her in for your clients either. Just send her home to her family.”

The head gamemaker looked up from the paperwork in his hands, only to let out a dark chuckle. “I see you don't listen to me anymore. I told you this morning that I'm going to make Y/N my wife.”

“Coriolanus, you can't divorce Livia to marry the latest victor. It’ll sink you politically.”

Coriolanus knew that. It's the reason why he's slipping some poison into the wine glasses at dinner tonight.

He needed Livia dead and buried so he can spin a second chance love story narrative concerning you and him to the Capitol.

“Tigris, as much as I want to continue this conversation, I need to complete some important paperwork.” He told his cousin before abruptly hanging up on her.

Tigris just stared at the black screen of the video phone. She couldn't believe how insane Coriolanus was acting over a girl he barely knew.

Oh god, she hoped he wasn't obsessed with her because she was the first victor (and a female) from District 12 in the last 15 years. The first being Lucy Gray, who she assumed he loved. Who, as she understood, mysteriously disappeared around the time Coriolanus was discharged and returned to the Capitol to study under Dr. Gaul at the University. Around the same time he became the heir to the Plinths fortune.

Oh no…

She hoped her cousin didn't hurt or kill Lucy Gray. She hoped he didn't have a hand in Sejanus' death as a traitor either.

But somewhere deep inside of her soul, Tigris knew that Coriolanus did something horrible to both his first love and the true heir of the Plinths fortune.

“Coriolanus, what are you doing going to your study? I thought you were taking me to Avelina's for dinner?” Coriolanus heard his wife's screeching voice ask as he walked down the hall, away from where she was in the main foyer.

She was sitting on an entry bench, dolled up and waiting on him to take her to dinner.

She'd just have to wait a little bit longer.

“I need to put away some paperwork, Liv. Then I'll be right there to take you to Avelina's.” Coriolanus told his wife because he couldn't tell her the real reason he was going to his office.

Poison.

He kept a case of poisons and antidotes locked up in the bottom drawer of his desk. Tonight, he was getting a vile of sweet, but deadly tasting poison to dump into their drinks.

Both of them will choke on their own blood tonight, but only one of them's dying.

And it ain't him since he's built up a partial immunity to this specific poison he'll be using.

“Hurry up, Coriolanus! I don't want to get stuck at a table by the kitchen door like last time!” Livia shouted as Coriolanus entered his study and made a beeline to his desk.

She acted like it was his fault that her favorite restaurant was a hot spot for every fucking socialite under 40 in the Capitol; that seating was hard to get and wait times were atrocious.

Oh yes, everything that went wrong in Livia's life seemed to be Coriolanus’ fault. Or at least that's how her endless nagging made him feel. Like she was blaming him for dumb, petty bullshit.

Whatever. It didn't matter anymore because she'd be dead within an hour.

Quickly, he pocketed his vial of poison, locked up his bottom desk drawer, and exited his office. “I'm on my way, Livia. Car’s outside with Bentley; just have him let you in.” Coriolanus called out to his wife as he started walking down the long hallway leading to the main entrance of the house.

Livia didn't reply back to him, but Coriolanus knew that she heard him since he heard the front door slam shut. He couldn't help but chuckle manically. For once in her life the shrew actually listened to him. And it was on her last night breathing too.

How ironic was that?

Oh, he was going to enjoy dinner tonight. Maybe he'll sue Avelina's for a wrongful death suit; bankrupt the owners and take everything they have?

After all, everything that's going to happen tonight's only business.

Tags: @kuroosbby001, @purriteen, @poppyflower-22, @meetmeatyourworst, @whipwhoops, @bxtchopolis, @readingthingsonhere,@savagenctzen, @ryswritingrecord, @erikasurfer, @tulips2715, @universal-s1ut, @thesmutconnoisseur, @squidscottjeans, @sudek4l, @wearemadeofstardust0, @mashiromochi, @gracieroxzy, @belcalis9503, @shari-berri , @aoi-targaryen, @whiteoakoak, @spear-bearing-bi-witch, @gisellesprettylies , @loverandqueenofdragons, @qoopeeya, @mfnqueen1, @tatumrileyslover

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xxsycamore · 8 months

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SS-Rank Husband Duty

↬ 💎 You don't even know how you managed to close the distance, but here you are. On the lap of your pretend husband. Doing something that a pretend wife is not supposed to do…❝ Performing an act reserved for married couples. One that would definitely bring us closer together. ❞

Shelby Snail x f!Reader • rating: E (MDNI) • tags: Fake/Pretend Relationship; Fake Marriage; First Kiss; Resolved Sexual Tension; Kissing; Making Out; Oral Sex; Cunnilingus; Size Kink; Size Difference; Shelby is packing; of course he is; Condoms; Vaginal Sex • wordcount: 3,246 • masterlist

a/n: Happy (belated) Birthday, mister President...of Cupid Corp 💘I wrote this fic one year ago after Shelby stole my heart.His route had EVERYTHING I wanted in a route and more. I can't wait for the fandisk!I miss my husband 😭

Gradually, dinners with your pretend husband, Mr. Snail, start to have an air of familiarity to them. Recently though, all your mind has been filled with is spending even more time with him than you normally do. You already explained to him your desire to strengthen the bond you two have, in order to guarantee the success of the mission - the more you practice acting like a married couple, the more convincing it will look. As his ever-so-trustworthy subordinate, Shelby had no reason not to listen to you. Any ideas you might have, you're encouraged to share with him.

And ideas you have.

Fidgeting nonchalantly with the fork around the remaining contents of your plate, you patiently wait for the moment he excuses himself for the night… watching from your peripheral vision the exact moment he diligently wipes his mouth clean with a napkin, about to stand up.

"Shelby…actually, I…"

Brows arched, Shelby's attention is all on you - and not just because of the sound of his first name falling from your lips. He still hasn't gotten used to hearing you address him so informally, and the proof is sitting on his face unmasked. Out of respect towards what you have to say, he doesn't gaze away to hide the faint blush.

You gulp down and continue, putting a note of laughter in your tone.

"I thought we could benefit from spending some quality time together after dinner."

Shelby produces a low noise of surprise. 'For the sake of our mission', he crafts the correlation quickly on his own, as expected of him.

"Very well then. What should we do?"

You feign thinking about it, the answer long prepared at the tip of your tongue.

"It doesn't have to be anything too engaging. Even a simple evening in front of the TV is okay. I suppose you still have work to attend to, so please don't feel too obligated to pay attention to the TV screen."

Hearing that, Shelby gradually calms down. As expected, you've come up with a plan of double, no, triple benefit - taking care of his business affairs from the comfort of the luxurious living room is a nice change of pace, doing so alongside his pretend partner would surely close any gaps they might have in sitting in each other's company comfortably.

"That's very thoughtful of you. Alright then, I will bring my laptop to the living room."

The noises coming from the TV prove to be the perfect ambiance for a relaxing couple's late evening spent together. Even for the ever-workaholic Shelby occupying the couch, work correspondence flows more smoothly somehow, as if carried on the wings of the summer evening's bliss. His tireless fingers dart across the keyboard to complete email after email, soft clicks of a mouse accompanying them from time to time as if joining the symphony. He feels your presence without feeling the need to shoot a glance above his laptop's screen too often.

Phone resting atop your raised knees as you sit on the armchair nearby, you've engrossed yourself in catching up with colleagues in the group chat - work matters quickly morphing into social matters and occasionally shared rumor there and there - the usual. As absorbed as Shelby is in his work, he hardly notices when you let out a giggle while reading their nonsense. You know you're supposed to take it slow with your plan, but soon even the phone games you attempt to play grow dull for your entertainment, mind occupied with other things. Paying half a mind to the movie you put on, one that you lied you haven't seen before, the knowledge of what is to come starts knocking on the door and you know you should start carrying out your plan.

Leaning up more against the side of the armchair, you're now facing Shelby more than you're facing the TV - and truth to be told, stealing a glance at him every now and then would captivate you more than any movie in the world, you can't be blamed in indulging yourself. His serious expression is only broken by a hint of a smile every once in a while, probably indicating his self-satisfaction of a job well done. Other than that, he is absolutely stoic, as you're used to seeing him while in work mode.

It's ridiculous, it's pathetic, but you want him.

You've been wanting him for a long time now…

Taking in a slightly deeper breath, you think of recent events. You and Shelby bumping hands on accident, you and Shelby getting on the same wavelength as you speak the same words at the same exact time and exchange an amused glance; him running into you just before you drop your towel in the shower; the thump of the door shutting back in a hurry with a string of apologizes; the electricity sparkling invisibly between him and you when you bumped hands; the sight of what you swear could only be a hard-on the one time you needed some help with putting on your dress-

He always looks at you with the same eyes he looks at his work matters, with professionalism. And something else.

And you want to bring that something to light.

Granted, as absorbed as he is, he fails to notice the extension of your leg, then the other, accompanied by a half-faked yawn and arms raising as much as you can get them to, while still in the armchair. You easily prop up your legs to rest on the couch, in close proximity to your pretend husband.

Right on time, the movie's otherwise monotonous plot takes a sudden turn - the couple on screen, spies with different goals finding themselves working together on a dangerous mission, succumbing to their lust for each other in the heat of the moment. It's wild, it's ridiculous, it's all they can think about right now.

The sounds of their heated affair get to Shelby's ears, cracking the stratosphere of his professional world. He is startled by this unforeseen, awkward moment as soon as he realizes what it is about - and hiding his momentary stupor with a cough, he palms around his side in search of the remote.

The room is not too dim, you already allowed him the negligence of working after dinner instead of taking a proper rest, you're not allowing him to ruin his eyesight in the meantime, too. Still, he somehow misses your feet on the couch and his hand grazes directly on their underside, making you stir on the spot.

"That tickles, Shelby…!" You laugh, once at the sensation and then again at the haphazard way he changes the channel as soon as he gets his hands on the damned remote, apologizing for tickling you. His cheeks are red, too. Maybe he saw more than what he anticipated from the erotic scene while dealing with the distraction…

After some shuffling through the channels, he decides to turn the TV off for good.

"I think we should turn in for the night. We can do this again sometime, I genuinely felt relaxed tonight. And I can tell our bond…ahem…benefited from it."

Reasonable in his responses as ever, you think while nodding, letting him know you agree, but your tone lacks confidence.

"Actually…there is one more method of strengthening our bond that I thought about. I wanted to discuss it with you."

Shelby sets his laptop on the table, closing it, and prompting you to go on. To be fair, having you around for the duration of another short conversation is welcomed - was it not for the erotic scene urging him to turn off the TV and put an end to your time together, he'd anticipated some more of that. Sleep is the last thing on his mind after such refreshment as this change of pace.

You curl your toes, your hands' fingernails biting at the soft cushioning of the armchair in sudden reluctance. That's when your gaze falls on your otherwise innocent "husband" 's crouch, now tented with an obvious erection.

Oh…

He must be awfully distracted tonight as to forget that his laptop is no longer blocking the sight. Your heart leaps, confidence builds, mouth going dry nonetheless-

"It might be a stupid idea."

Shelby's beautiful, clear eyes sharpen in question, only to soften anew with a playful smile playing on his lips.

"You and stupid ideas? I doubt it. You know I trust your brilliant mind."

He is being generous with the compliments today, you almost bite on your lip, feet swinging slowly from side to side, close to his knee. Testing the waters, you nudge his knee a little. Then snake your way over his knee, until it rests dangerously close to the place between his legs.

Shelby shudders, but does nothing. He likely already realized just how much the arousal had gone to his head, too. His mind is a whirlwind of the worst of embarrassments, the memory of how much the scene from before matched a particular fantasy he had with you, and the anticipation which his rational mind bolds - he is dense but he is not dumb. You're…probably making a hint at him.

No, that can't be right.

He needs to focus and hear the rest of what you want to say, judge the best exit from the situation from there on, close himself in his bedroom and curse himself for these uncontrollable feelings.

There is no hiding it now. He looks at you, waiting for an answer, anything.

"Well, then, my idea is…"

Gripping the arms of the chair, you prop yourself up before the urge to press your foot directly on his bulging pants can defeat your sanity, and standing up you realize that you're hearing your own heartbeat in your ears. Finally being up and getting closer to Shelby, if not directly throwing yourself into his arms, is giving you maddening thrill. You don't even know how you managed to close the distance, but here you are.

On the lap of your pretend husband. Doing something that a pretend wife is not supposed to do…

"Performing an act reserved for married couples. One that would definitely bring us closer together."

Shelby produces another one of those groaning noises deep in his throat that you so adore hearing. He marvels at how good it feels to have you in his lap. Desires kept under a key emerge to the surface, images he banished from his imagination for good. Your lips on his lips, your waist in his hands, your body pressed close against his…

"Do you think you can carry out this particular, erm, husband duty, Mr. Snail?"

Going back to honorifics out of a sudden is making him stir again. He can only hope you didn't feel the way his cock jumped at the sound of it, underneath your butt. One, because it's embarrassing to be so turned on at the sound of your voice, and two, because he doesn't want you to take that as a positive reaction to this rude erasure of progress between you and him.

"With an SS rank, like everything else."

You don't believe his words at first. Such a sharp turn in demeanor is reasonably making you gasp in surprise.

His stern expression accompanies the trademark serious intonation. You don't have too much time to dwell on it, because the hands on your waist work to lower you to a lying position on the couch.

Behind the eyelids of your fluttered-close-for-a-second-eyes is cast a dark shadow of his towering figure. Before this moment, you had no idea how lonely your lips were without Shelby's warmth on them.

The kiss you share is a synopsis of everything you felt for each other up to that point, dwindled to the duration of half a minute. The pretended reservation, the push and pull, and lastly, the explosion of emotions.

His experience in such acts is limited, but not to the extent he would feel insecure about it. Granted, things change when it's you in front of him - you with your unfamiliar air of young love that he didn't know he was capable of inhaling. He feels like a horny teenager, heat rising to his face among other parts of his body.

His intuition tells him he should be ashamed of showing his lust like so, resembling a man starving, as he takes from your mouth what he longed to be his for such a long time now.

The way his tongue swirls around yours is exciting, wild, and making your head spin - is that the same company president that you've known for so long? Lust dresses his manners into an honest display of lust. Looking at him, his cheeks are flushed when he finally withdraws - but so are yours. You're equally out of breath, but more than that, you find yourself the stunned one, feeling as if you might explode if he touches you further.

And touch further he does.

Unassisted even when you wished to help, Shelby peels article after article of clothing off you - yet the heat clinging to your skin doesn't reduce, quite the contrary. In a daze, you figure it might be the same for him. Shaking fingers undo the buttons of his shirt, one, two, three, four, a big hand interrupting and almost tearing the expensive silky fabric in the process until he is all yours to touch, hills and valleys of muscle and all.

The feeling of his abs under your fingers is so nice, nicer than that one time you caught yourself daydreaming of it when watching him take lap after lap of his devoted swimming routine. Hands moving up, his shoulders are sturdy and giving you a sense of security - more so than the one time you fell off a chair in an attempt to reach a high kitchen shelf, and landed in his arms, gripping his shoulders.

The sheer amount of suppressed wanton you have for his man is coming to render you utterly, fully capitulated to his charm. And you don't mind.

Shelby appears to be not any better, sucking on a breath each time his trained lungs fail him in not letting out strained breaths. He wants to kiss you without pausing for a minute, to share his oxygen with you until it's enough for both and he can let go and believe this is not just another erotic daydream he is having about you.

He knows he hardly would get enough from now on. But that's fine. He has a duty to fulfill.

Resuming his position of towering above you, he is aware that he is smiling - because you are smiling back. You wrap your hands around his neck in an attempt to bring him back down for a kiss, and he uses the change to lift you up. Your legs wrap around his torso instinctively as he supports your weight, standing up from the couch and going in what you know is the direction of the bedroom.

The cool bedsheets on your naked back are heavenly, and the feeling grows tenfold when Shelby makes you squirm on them. Your back arches as his wet kisses drop lower, all of your skin caressed thoroughly as if he makes sure not to miss a spot - your nape, collarbones, the place in-between, the valley of your breasts and lower, on your tummy, the gentle hill of your sex…and yet lower. A kiss blooms directly at your clit, igniting the first sparks of definite, pure pleasure that is promised to you for the duration of the night. Shelby look at you for reaction. He is satisfied with what he sees, and smirks against your sex. He is very serious in his intentions to bring you to the throes of pleasure, not suspecting just how easy it is for you to come undone at the mere sight of him going down on you.

Your over-sensitive sex is a victim to his sweet ministrations as Shelby eats you out like a professional; the lewd sounds of his mouth greedily drinking your arouse is driving you crazy and the pleasure spirals until it reaches its peak. You scream and fist the sheets, your body soaring. When you come down from your high, Shelby is seemingly far away, making you whimper - in reality, he is only just busy putting on a condom.

"Always prepared, aren't you?"

Shelby shoots you another smirk, the redness dissipated from his face but only somewhat. True, he does take pride in being prepared for all kind of situations, but keeping those condoms around is like admitting to his secret hopes of this very scenario becoming reality.

He doesn't need to know you carry some in yourself for the exact same reason.

Teasing him should be left for a time where you can at least catch your breath, you decide, as you reach and grasp his hard cock. And your built-up confidence shatters at the realization just how big he is.

"Shelby I don't think-"

He shushes you. Groaning at the softness of your hands, he lets you grasp and stroke experimentally all you want, despite his urge to finally be inside you. His kisses are reassuring and his gaze is having that trustworthy light in it, and you maintain eye contact as you prepare yourself for the sensation of him pushing inside.

He rubs his blunt head into your inner lips, collecting the copious amount of lubrication you produced, dripping with fresh need even after that mind-blowing orgasm he gave you. You get used to the teasing touch eventually, shoulders relaxing as Shelby looks down at you, whispering.

"Why are you having doubts in us all of a sudden? I thought you already knew that we…"

He slowly, slowly makes his way inside.

"Are compatible in all aspects."

It feels like he is pushing in forever until he finally hilts all the way in, and you cannot bear the thought that you hold the whole of him inside you. Muscles contracting a little too tight, he whispers to you to relax.

"Shelby…" You moan out to him, helpless, needing to be held tight in the bottomless pit of desire that reveals itself in the wake of his following thrusts.

Your insides are on fire and it feels so good. He holds you in his strong arms, chasing after the same thing that you chase after, calling your name just as you call his. The desire to consume all of each other leads you two to another push and pull, with bedsprings creaking under the change of positions and with countless kisses shared inbetween.

In one perfect, blissful moment, you two truly become one, the waves of climax coming to wash over the both of you at the same time.

In the next moment, over the sound of your own heavy breathing, you hear his satisfied groans and feel as if you can pounce on him right away, if it isn't for the energy you need to replenish over the course of a very welcomed cuddling.

Shelby uses the chance to ask you a question in his raspy, sex-marred voice, and you shiver.

"Is my wife satisfied with how I'm carrying out my husband duties?"

Face buried in his chest, you mewl and start thinking of ways to let him know just how much you're enjoying it. You're not putting his trust in you when it comes to ideas to shame.

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