[SP] Being In A Relationship With Him

[SP] Being in a Relationship with Him

Being able to call Sejanus your boyfriend is such a life accomplishment. 

He’s the epitome of a gentleman, always extremely attentive and caring towards you. He’s always trying to be respectful about you and your boundaries, protecting you from anything that makes you uncomfortable. 

He constantly defends you from malicious comments from classmates, effectively shutting them up when they start mocking you. Sometimes Sejanus feels guilty, sensing that maybe they enjoy picking on you because you’re dating him - a previous district resident. 

Sejanus is an often presence at your house, opting to stay in the sitting room or the library as you both study, despite your claims that your room would be more comfortable.

He’d hate for your parents to have the wrong assumption about him, so he prefers not to offer them any reason to dislike him. 

He wins the future best son-in-law award, always complimenting your mom about the smallest details and keeping up a polite conversation with your father. Never coming to your house empty-handed, always carrying a goodie to present your mother with. 

Sejanus enjoys keeping you company. He doesn’t mind when you drag him to shopping hauls or to exquisite social parties that your family hosts, even if they aren’t his favorite places. He cherishes every moment of your company, being around you as any good boyfriend would. 

I feel like Sejanus would be a bit reserved when it comes to PDA, preferring to show his affection by keeping his hand on your back or by being attentive. But it doesn't happen that occasional public kisses never happen. They do - short but reassuring kisses that make your belly flutter. 

Sejanus is the type of boyfriend you know you can count on for everything. He is always ready to listen to your problems, which leads to him worrying even more than you do.

He’s not someone who’ll forget about important dates - your birthday, the anniversary of your relationship, your parent’s birthdays, etc. So you don’t have to worry about him forgetting anything. It’s more likely for you to forget a date than Sejanus. 

Sejanus would definitely buy you a piece of jewelry - something simple but elegant at the same time - something to remind you of him. Maybe a pretty necklace or a bracelet with his initials. 

That way he’s always there with you.

If you liked this, please make sure to like, comment and reblog! Means the world to me 💖

Israel’s senseless slaughter leaves thousands of children orphaned. Palestine must be free! Don’t tire keep talking about what’s happening!

This GAME man...

POSSESSIVE JJ SMUT! POSSESSIVE JJ SMUT! POSSESSIVE JJ SMUT!

i heard you & i present to you, possessive!jj smut <3

Your breath was coming out in ragged moans. JJ was pushing his cock so deep into your dripping hole you lost all senses and mobility of your body, so that he had to pin you against your bedroom door until you could barely breathe.

“You think you deserve to get fucked like this, huh?” JJ’s voice was harsh in your ear. You knew you had upset him the moment you laughed at John B’s joke and touched his arm, all while your boyfriend was standing right next to you watching the whole interaction.

You shake your head, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you feel your knees start to buckle.

“Use your words.” JJ hisses, a rough slap landing on your thigh, the sting a completely different sensation to the pleasure you were feeling between your legs.

“N-no.” You finally push out. Your eyelids flutter as he slows down his strokes but still hits places deep inside you never knew about.

It feels wrong to be enjoying the way JJ is angry with you. Normally he’s soft and sensual when you have sex, but when you push his buttons– especially in public– something switches in his brain and he has to make sure you know that you’re his and only his.

“This pussy is too good to share.” JJ looks down between your bodies where you connect; your arousal drips down your thighs and he sees you’ve already creamed around his cock. “Such a desperate girl to get fucked stupid, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” Your hands cling to his biceps, revelling in the way his muscles feel toned and hard under your fingertips. “Need you to fuck me so hard that I only know your name, JJ.”

JJ smirks devilishly, his cock pulsing inside your warm cunt. “Gonna fuck you so good that John B will hear how I can only make you feel this way. Yeah. Only I can make you feel this good, can’t I, baby?”

His hand slides down to your swollen clit to rub circles. Your pussy clenches around his cock and you feel yourself starting to get light headed but the pleasure is too good to zone out. “Fuuucccckkk, Jay!”

“That’s my girl. Cry out my name.” JJ sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, admiring how pretty and fucked out you look for him and only him.

Baby Blues || Young President!Coriolanus Snow x reader

Summary: motherhood has not been kind to you, neither has Coriolanus.

Warnings: r is implied to be young, toxic, mean Coryo, r experiencing post-partum depression,

Wc: 794

A/n: I’m always gravitating to write these type of coryo fics for some reason…. I hope you like them! Apologies for lack of Tom Blyth/Coryo content, I promise I have some coming!!

You sat in the sunroom, the weight of your 5 month old daughter on your hip, while Coriolanus read his newspaper, seemingly unfazed by his daughter’s cries that filled the room.

Your hands shakily pick up the delicate china tea cup, bringing it to your lips and taking few sips.

You stared at nothing in particular, feeling the weight of both youth and motherhood. You subconsciously start to bounce your leg, all while your daughter wails in your arm, begging for attention from her own mother.

Coriolanus sips at his black coffee, trying his best to drown out the cries as he tried to focus his attention back on his newspaper. Your concerned servant in the room exchanged worried glances with Coriolanus, and finally, he glances at you, frustration etched on his face.

“Y/n, tend to her,” he instructed, irritation evident in his voice. “Don’t just sit there like a mad woman, do something,” He hissed as your gaze moved to him. Your eyes seemingly empty as you stare at his icy blue ones.

At an attempt to soothe her down, you stand up to bounce her on your hip, hushing her. Your daughter’s cries only intensified, drawing Coriolanus to his feet.

The rustle of the newspaper ceased as he took his daughter into his arms. Almost magically, her cries subsided in the secure embrace of her father. A wave of inadequacy washed over you as you witnessed his effortless ability to calm her.

~

You stand infront of the large floor to ceiling window that overlooked your courtyard, gazing blankly at the last few socialites leaving the presidential mansion after a soirée that Coriolanus hosted.

Your once vibrant, youthful eyes now dull, overshadowed by the weight of motherhood. Coriolanus, sat on one of the chairs, watches you from where he was. “You’ve been standing there for about 20 minutes, sit,” He says, gesturing to the seat beside him as you turn your head, lightly biting your lips before moving.

“It’s like you were in another world tonight, what ever is the matter with you now?” Coriolanus remarks, frustration edging his tone.” You feign a smile, “I’m just tired, Coryo. That’s all,” but your eyes betray the facade, revealing a profound weariness that transcends mere fatigue.

“You always seem tired,” Coryo scoffs. Your gaze flickers towards the nanny, cradling your daughter in her arms. Your heart aches with a mixture of guilt and relief as you observe the bond forming between them.

Coriolanus’s gaze follows your eye line, “Perhaps you’ve been focusing too much on your duties and not enough on our daughter,” He suggests, unaware of the storm raging within you.

“I’m doing my best, Coryo,” you respond, voice barely audible as Coriolanus lets out a tired sigh, massaging his forehead.

The baby’s cries cut through the air, and you flinch as if struck—something Coriolanus observed. He glances at you, a mixture of annoyance and concern etched across his features.

“Can’t you tend to our daughter? You’re her mother, after all.” You nod absentmindedly, standing up and making your way toward the source of the cries.

The nanny, a woman just a couple years younger than yourself, hands over your daughter, a look of sympathy etched on her face.

You clear your throat, feeling Coriolanus’ eyes on you. You cradle her awkwardly, attempting to soothe her, but your efforts were feeble. Coriolanus observes, frustration simmering beneath the surface.

“You’re always like this. Will you always treat our child as if she’s a stranger?” He spat, and you bit your lip, glancing down at your daughter whose features closely mirrored yours, except for her eyes and blonde hair.

Your eyes well up with unshed tears, swiftly wiped away. “I just… just need time, Coriolanus. I’ll adjust,” you stammer, seeking to reassure your husband and, more importantly, convincing yourself that you will.

Nearly half a year has passed since you gave birth to her. Skillfully, you’ve evaded numerous public appearances with your daughter, fully aware of the pervasive curiosity surrounding your role as a mother.

You were aware of their judgments. The notion that you were too young to be a mother echoed in your mind, a sentiment you shared as you gazed at yourself in the mirror, your stomach swollen with the imminent arrival of a child into the world.

Coriolanus sighs, a blend of disappointment and impatience coloring his tone. “Pull yourself together, for both our sakes. The people want to see their First Lady and my heir. You can’t keep hiding away. There are already whispers going around,” he admonishes sharply, and you gulp, your baby cradled in your arms as you turn to face him.

Coriolanus couldn’t deny the noticeable change in you since giving birth. When he married you, the youthful aura enveloped you, a stark contrast to the transformation he now witnessed.

The aura had dissipated entirely. Despite your youth, you appeared to have weathered a lifetime. Fatigue etched into your eyes, weariness evident in your mental state.

“It’s wise for you to step back from the public eye for a while, away from your duties. You need to rest,” Coriolanus states firmly, his gaze fixed on the world beyond the window.

Your gaze shifts to your baby in your arms, her doe-blue eyes locking onto yours. Unaware, Coriolanus discreetly signals the nanny to take your daughter.

Caught off guard, you hesitated when she reached for your child, desiring to hold her longer. Reluctantly, you allowed her to take the little one. With a heavy heart, you observed the nanny exit the room, and Coriolanus broke the silence, reassuring you, “Don’t worry about her; go rest.” Slowly, you nodded in agreement.

i know palestine will be free in my lifetime. i know palestine will be free in my lifetime. i know i will see the day palestine is free and i will see her shake the dust of occupation from her heels. i know the old people and children of her history will return to their ancestral homes, their houses, their valleys, their olive groves, not to to set their roots down again because their roots have always been there, will always be there, but to grow again, bear fruit for harvest, and never be cut down again. i know palestine will be free. i grieve for palestine and dream of palestinian joy.