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#hunger games fanfiction
cherienymphe · 4 months
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Everybody Knows That I'm A Good Girl, Officer (Coriolanus Snow x Reader)
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WARNINGS: Dub-Con, power imbalance, abuse of power, degradation, manipulation, slight stalking, choking, semi public sex, mentions of cockwarming, mentions of gun kink, dom/sub elements, free use elements, jealousy
➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies
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summary: ...and everybody knows. Everybody knows...that he fucks you.
~
You didn’t know a thing about Coriolanus Snow.
Not until he quite literally cornered you in the meadow one day.
Peacekeepers came and went, especially in District 12, so you never took it upon yourself to pay attention to any new face that appeared on the streets of your district in those blue uniforms. In truth, you never took it upon yourself to pay attention to any of their faces. They all perfectly blended together into one faceless being that was merely a puppet of The Capitol, anyway.
However, standing in front Coriolanus Snow, you wondered how you missed him. Not because he was handsome—and he was—but because there was a hard glint to his blue gaze that told you he wasn’t the average capitol dog. Gun tight in his hand at his side, he stared at you like he wasn’t at all surprised to find you there.
He wasn’t.
You learned that Coriolanus Snow liked to watch you, silent footsteps shadowing yours as he wondered what you were up to when you crossed the district line. He liked to watch you pick flowers and write underneath a tree and bring back the occasional caught animal for your ma and pa. He watched you play with the children in your district and help that old neighbor with her window…and steal food on occasions when your family couldn’t afford it.
“You could get into a lot of trouble for that.”
His tone was even and strong, but something about it told you that he didn’t want you to get in trouble for that.
“I know,” you told him, jutting out your chin as if challenging him to do something about it.
You said nothing, merely pressing your back to the tree when he moved closer, the gentle breeze ruffling the tall grass around his feet. You said nothing when he stood so close that you could smell him, wondering to yourself what a peacekeeper could possibly have access to that would make him smell so good. You even remained quiet when his free hand reached for yours, the softness of it shocking you, a sharp inhale when he turned your hand over.
Your palm was lightly stained from the bird you’d killed.
You curiously eyed him, a slight frown between your brows as he studied the skin. You drank in his prominent nose, full lips, and those unsettling blue eyes. Staring at them for too long actually made you uneasy, and when his gaze lifted to meet yours, you couldn’t look away fast enough. It only then occurred to you that you were out in the woods alone…with a peacekeeper who could do absolutely anything he wanted to you.
His next words surprised you.
“If someone other than me were to catch you…I can’t imagine what they’d do to you,” he murmured, making your frown deepen. “So, I would advise you to stop.”
By the way the corner of his mouth twitched, you knew that your shock and confusion was all over your face. When he dropped your hand, he pointed his gun at your catch of the day in a gesture for you to get your things, waiting for you to grab your dinner and your book.
You thought that he was letting you off the hook.
You thought wrong.
You learned that Coriolanus Snow was not a good man.
“Your daughter dropped these, ma’am, and I knew she’d kick herself if I didn’t bring these home.”
That smile on his pink lips was perfect, blue eyes twinkling when your mother thanked him profusely for bringing home your groceries—groceries you both knew you didn’t buy. When your eyes met his over her shoulder, that charming smile didn’t move an inch, and the longer he stared at you, the more uncomfortable you felt.
“Thank you,” you told him the next day, seeking him out.
He wasn’t technically on duty, and you found your gaze lingering on the dog tag around his neck. However, you found your gaze lingering on his face instead when he took a step closer, gaze unreadable.
“Anytime.”
It was a strange thing to say about bringing you food that you didn’t buy, and when he took another step towards you, your face pinched ever so slightly. You were all too aware of your close proximity, and when you felt his chest lightly brush against yours, your lips parted in realization. The moment it clicked had your blood running both hot and cold, uneasy and conflicted.
As you stared at each other, there seemed to be a lot of unspoken words between you, Coriolanus with one hand on the wall and you with one hand fidgeting with your shirt. You looked between his eyes, looking for some hint of hesitation, some evidence that deep down this wasn’t something he actually wanted to do…but there was none. There was a resolve in his gaze that felt all too familiar. It was the same determination you were sure was in your gaze anytime you swiped food for your household.
The same determination when your desperation won.
You took a deep shuddery breath.
“Anytime…?” you wondered, keeping your eyes on him.
Something in his face relaxed, evening out as he completely crowded you, now.
“Anytime.”
When his lips met yours, you didn’t exactly know what to do, feeling both unsure and sure at the same time. You were sure that you wanted to live comfortably and not have to wonder how you’d get your next meal, but you were so unsure of how this would end and what this would mean for you. You wouldn’t be the first girl to give herself to a peacekeeper or the mayor or whoever else she needed to just to ease the weight in her chest.
Coriolanus kissed you like he was the hungry one, lips moving against yours in a way that left you breathless. His hand wouldn’t stop kneading into your waist through your shirt, and his other found a home on your face, thumb brushing over your skin and tilting your head back. The only thing to pull you apart was a noise coming from inside the building you were pressed against, and when the blond man told you to hurry home, you did.
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You learned that Coriolanus Snow liked obedience.
He wasn’t the kind of man who enjoyed repeating himself, and you learned that quickly, so now when he told you to get on your knees, you didn’t hesitate. When he told you to open your mouth, you did, and when he practically begged you to look up at him, you did. Coriolanus would never beg, he would never do that, but it was evident in the way his voice strained—the way the words left him breathlessly.
Or maybe that was because you had your lips around his cock.
With a hand in your hair and a hand on your chin, he gently guided you to take him into your throat again and again. You were no virgin, but there were still a lot of firsts to be had for you, and sliding your tongue over the tip of him was one of them. The feel of his fingers massaging your scalp soothed you, made this less nerve-wracking, and to your surprise, it even stroked a slowly burning fire between your legs.
There was such a stark contrast between the gentle touch of his fingers in your hair and the harsh hold of his hand on your chin. It wasn’t the easiest to take all of him into your mouth, and you couldn’t swallow down the noise that escaped when he hit the back of your throat. His smooth baritone reached your ears when he gently shushed you, softly telling you to use your hands.
“Wrap them around me,” he whispered in the otherwise quiet room.
Coriolanus liked obedience…so you did.
Your hand slid along his length in time with your lips, twisting around his cock, an easy task with the help of the mess you were making. He didn’t seem to mind though, only groaning above you, and when you glanced up at him from beneath your lashes, you took in the way his head was thrown back, the skin of his throat straining and bobbing as he swallowed.
When he lowered his head, you started to look away, but the tightening of his hand in your hair told you not to. You kept your eyes on his as best as you could, sucking your cheeks in and flattening your tongue against the side of his cock. Every bob of your head made him shudder, and you dropped your hand when his hands came to rest on both sides of your head.
Remaining still for the man standing over you, you kept your mouth open as he slowly began to push his hips forward. With every surge of them, his cock dipped into your waiting lips, sliding over your tongue and against the inside of your cheeks. His thumbs brushed against your cheeks as he lost himself in his movements, blue eyes gazing down at you as he filled your mouth.
You didn’t know why—couldn’t understand it—but something about his outright use of your body and your lips had you squeezing your thighs together. It made heat settle in the pit of your stomach, twisting and burning violently until your not-so-subtle movements became noticed by him. In between his uneven breathing, a soft chuckle reached your ears.
“You’ll get your turn.”
…and he was a man of his word.
With the taste of him still on your tongue, Coriolanus had one forearm completely pinning your hips to the bed as he pressed his face between your thighs. Another first ripped away from you, wide gaze on the ceiling as you fought to keep from squirming. The feel of his tongue inside of you was jarring, and you couldn’t stop your toes from curling at the warm feel of it quite literally lapping at you.
Your hands came down to rest on his short blond hair, hips attempting to lift from the mattress, chest arching upwards towards the ceiling. When he hummed between your legs, you felt it all over, and you couldn’t stop the moans that climbed out of your throat. With him holding you down, the only appropriate thing to do was claw at whatever you could, turning your head from side to side.
It wasn’t enough for you to come into his mouth once. Coriolanus needed to know that he was the best you’d ever get, and even when you were out of breath and exhausted and overstimulated, he didn’t let your thighs go, only using them to drag you closer as he knelt between them. His perfect teeth winked at you when he leaned in to kiss you.
If your ma and pa wondered what kind of job you lucked out with to afford all of the food and clothes you started to bring home, they didn’t ask. Although, something in you suspected that they had an inkling of just what you had to do to bring home the freshest bread and the warmest clothes they’d ever had. You started to suspect that everyone did.
Coriolanus wasn’t exactly the most discreet, and you learned that he didn’t intend to be.
On the off chance you crossed paths in the street, he stopped you for all to see, voice lowering as he got really close and asked you how you were. You would feel the eyes of his peacekeeper friends on you as the unspoken questions lingered between you. Did you need more food? Did you need a new dress? You would tell him that you were fine, code for you didn’t need anything at the moment, and he wouldn’t try to hide his perusal of you, those unsettling blue eyes slowly dragging over your frame.
He didn’t seem the kind of asshole to brag about such things, but you weren’t stupid. Even without saying it, he made your arrangement abundantly clear. The way he talked to you, studied you, and ran his fingers over the back of your arm without a care as to who saw. Coriolanus had staked a claim on you, an unspoken display of ownership, and you wrote it off to some sick power trip.
…but you learned that Coriolanus Snow was a very jealous man.
That revelation struck you as odd because you didn’t think anyone would have anything he’d be jealous of, and you certainly didn’t think he’d be jealous over you. You were some average thieving girl whom he exploited the first moment he saw an opportunity to do so. Considering that he was willing to do it to you, you didn’t doubt that he was willing to do it to someone else should he find himself unable to have you anymore. That was what you believed anyway…
Until his fist was ruining the face of some District 12 boy you’d grown up with. You were far from friends, but he’d been a familiar constant in your life for years, and so sharing a drink with him while everyone danced to the live music on stage seemed like nothing at all to you. You didn’t even think there were lines to cross, a sentiment that was quickly corrected.
With one hand curled around your throat—holding you in place—there wasn’t any other option but to take Coriolanus’ thrusts. The sound of guitars and flutes and fiddles bled through the thin walls, everyone quickly moving on from the brief display of violence they’d witnessed. You could still remember the shock on your face as other peacekeepers pulled him off of the unsuspecting man who’d never been anything more than an acquaintance, really.
Your horrified gaze had met that of a familiar blue, and there wasn’t much time to do anything before Coriolanus neared you, reaching for the back of your neck as he walked you away from the crowd. It had been hard to ignore the numerous eyes following your movements, and you wondered now if they quickly moved on from the display because it was nothing or because they were too nervous to get involved with Coriolanus and the girl the whole district knew belonged to him.
“I’m sorry,” you choked out in some back room, your chest pressed to the table.
Your eyes were squeezed shut as he stretched you out, cock pushing into you and throbbing with every push of his hips. You knew that the words wouldn’t change anything, but you felt compelled to say them, anyway. His fingers were tight against your neck, and every time you reached up towards them, he only squeezed tighter. Despite the discomfort, you couldn’t stop your stomach from squeezing, coiling tight as you gripped him.
When he pulled you up so that your back was firm against his, his hold on your neck loosened a bit, and you took a deep inhale. His thumb was pressed to your jaw, and he brought his face down to rest on the other side of your neck where his arm didn’t rest, pressing open mouthed kisses there.
“You don’t even know what you’re apologizing for,” he whispered against your skin.
It was the truth, and at your silence, he squeezed your neck again.
Your nails scraped against the table he fucked you on, upper body straining as he kept you upright and against him, hips lifting to push his cock into you with the kind of thrusts meant to make a point. When his teeth grazed your skin, you shuddered in his hold, and despite the fact that you couldn’t hear his laugh, you felt it deep within his chest.
“He can’t give you what I can…”
You started to tell him that you knew that, but Coriolanus didn’t let you.
“…so, don’t go thinking he can.”
“I wouldn’t…”
Your words died in the air when he pushed you back down, completely pressed against you and pinning you between him and the table.
“Wouldn’t you?” he hummed, his free hand trailing over your visible cheek. “Everybody knows your price.”
The demeaning words made your stomach turn, but the way he curved his hips against you only had you clenching down on him at the insulting insinuation.
“They see the nicer clothes…the better living conditions…and they know why. They know what you did to get that.”
His lips brushed against your skin with every word, and as if it make his point, he reached down between your legs to brush his thumb over you, making you gasp. With the circling of his fingers, you fidgeted beneath him, toes pushed to the absolute tip to get some reprieve and lips parted as you scraped and clawed at the table.
When he came inside of you, something he never did before, he held you down, forcing you to milk his cock until he was completely satisfied. The nice dress he’d gotten sewn for you was ripped, and you reached up to touch it with trembling lips the moment he let you go. He was so determined to get his hands on you the moment the door was shut that you liked to think it was an accident, but the way you were forced to wear the jacket of his uniform as you walked out made you think otherwise.
Even though Coriolanus was nowhere near you once you rejoined the crowd, his presence was still loud and clear. No one needed to be a genius to figure out where you’d been, and as you glanced around, you realized that he was right. The discreet looks and nervousness around you… Everyone knew.
…and you didn’t know how to feel about it.
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You learned that Coriolanus Snow liked to have you whenever and wherever he wanted.
Whether it was in his bunk when he should’ve been on duty or in your room during the early hours of the morning when your pa was in the mines and your ma was asleep or between the openness of the trees when you were only amongst the grass and the birds. He didn’t like disobedience, and so, he didn’t like the word no. So, you never uttered it.
Even when you wanted to.
“Good girl,” he purred into your lips when you did as he wanted, reaching down between you and sliding yourself onto his cock.
It was late when he knocked on your door, gently telling your ma to go back to bed when you answered it. You didn’t know if you wanted to see the look on her face when you left with him, afraid of what you’d see. There was a rare stillness about District 12 when you crossed the district line, Coriolanus’ fingers brushing over your neck the entire way.
The only light was from the moon, his soft hands gripping your hips and guiding you over him. His gaze alternated between your face and his lap where you two connected. Occasionally he lifted his own hips, driving his cock up into you and making you gasp. His hands ran up and down your frame, kneading your skin and basking in the thin layer of sweat that clung to you—to both of you.
“Show me how bad you want it,” he’d murmur in the darkness, completely letting you go.
He opted for leaning back on his elbows, his own pink lips parted, blue eyes glinting under the light of the moon as he watched you fuck yourself onto his cock. Your hands pressed against his chest, keeping yourself upright as your lashes fluttered. There was a burn in your hips that ached too good to stop, the sound of you squeezing him and sliding up and down him loud to your ears.
“Make yourself come,” he’d whisper, refusing to touch you as his voice lowered. “Work for it.”
When you finally did tense on top of him, shuddering and pressing your nails into his chest, the blond man wouldn’t hesitate to circle his arm around your waist, flipping you before you could even catch your breath. Back pressed into the grass, he snapped his hips against yours, the sound of skin slapping against skin loud in the air.
Under the cover of darkness, Coriolanus allowed himself to lose control, holding your throat and pushing into you—taking full advantage of having you at his mercy. He plunged his cock into your walls, praising how wet you were for him and how snugly he fit inside of you.
“Whenever I want,” he told you.
“Whenever you want,” you agreed, nails digging into his back.
When you returned in the early hours of the morning, your ma never acknowledged it. She never acknowledged how the house stayed stocked with food despite you never going to the market. Her only acknowledgement of the clothes sewn for her were quiet ‘thank yous’…but she knew. Everyone knew.
…and it bothered you less and less until it didn’t bother you, at all.
It couldn’t bother you.
…because if it did you would have to say no when Coriolanus wanted you to rest in his lap, cock fitting snugly inside of you as he held you there. You would have to say no when he brought you another dress he had made or the freshest groceries you would’ve never been able to afford. You would have to say no when he asked if you were his good girl, demanding you prove it as he slid his gun between your legs, telling you to remain completely still.
…but you didn’t say no to any of that because it didn’t bother you—because it couldn’t bother you. Even when the discreet looks were hard to ignore or your ma started to ask if you’d be out late or you started to feel cheap and used. You couldn’t let it bother you.
You were his good girl, and that was what he told you when he tied a pretty delicate ribbon around your neck for all to see one evening.
It was soft.
White.
Just like snow.
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eloves-writes · 3 months
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careful who you’re talking to
[coriolanus snow x reader]
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desc: snow hears a conversation with the academy boys about the girl he is secretly seeing and wants them to know who you belong to warnings: snow being snow like fr (toxic, controlling, insane, blah blah blah), smut, exhibitionism, public sex, unwarranted sexual comments about reader behind her back, she/her pronouns used, reader is wearing a dress, if i need to add any other warnings please lmk a/n: hiiiii! i'm back again. this is slightly unhinged and i didn't mean for it to be this unhinged but anyway hope u enjoy, send any and all coriolanus requests my way! mwah mwah mwah ily this work contains mature themes, minors dni
it was a cold night in the capitol, and you were steadily sipping a glass of posca to keep warm in your blood-red dress. the silky material was slit up your leg and cut down to reveal just the right amount of cleavage; you might feel a chill but you looked damn good and everybody knew it.
especially coriolanus snow. the two of you had been spending a lot of time together recently- behind bookshelves in the library, in dark corners of the academy halls, bend over desks in empty classrooms. it had begun as purely physical. stress relief. but after a month or so, you had each caught feelings for the other and were struggling with whether or not to admit it. and in that moment, he was also struggling tremendously to take his eyes off of you.
you stood talking across the room with arachne and livia, unable to concentrate on whatever meaningless gossip they were discussing with the feeling of coriolanus’ ice blue eyes on you; there was an electric thrill passing between you like you were connected with a live wire. to say your relationship so far had been hot and heavy would be an extremely severe understatement, and you found your mind constantly occupied with the thought of him touching you and the need to have him touch you again.
-
“i think y/n is checking me out,” festus creed smirked to the group of boys around him.
coriolanus almost snorted in amusement. you were obviously looking at him, and only him.
“something funny, snow?” gaius asked sharply. “jealous, perhaps?”
snow reserved his irritation. “not at all, breen.”
“whoever she is looking at,” felix stated earnestly, “i’m certainly jealous of them. i mean, just look at her. she looks fucking hot.”
festus nodded in agreement. “i’d love to rip that dress off of her. she acts so innocent, but you just know she likes it rough.”
coriolanus felt his blood boil. you were his. how dare they talk about you like you were a common whore? perhaps you did like it rough. he would know, he was the one fucking you. not these basic capitol losers. none of them could make you scream the way he did. none of them had scratches down their backs beneath their shirts from your nails. only he did. only he ever would, and he would make sure it stayed that way.
the other boys laughed, agreeing with festus. adding on their own ideas. detailing the ways they’d make you fuck them. describing the times you had supposedly sent them signals. assuming that you did not already belong to snow, that you would even think about going near them. that you would get on your knees for them like you always did for coriolanus.
he couldn’t listen to them any longer. “she’s seeing somebody,” he jeered, fixing the cuffs of his jacket and making definitive, unquestionable eye contact with you and subtly tilting his head towards the exit.
festus laughed incredulously. “is she now? i think we’d have heard.”
oh you’ll hear it alright.
“yes,” coriolanus replied with a chilling calm, watching you make your way to the door. “if you’ll excuse me.”
-
on the steps outside the ridiculously grand building, you waited patiently for snow to follow you out. it was only a few minutes before you heard the door open again, turning to face corio and immediately sensing anger. you worried, sometimes, about his anger. you knew he wouldn’t seriously harm you, but the same could most certainly not be said for any others who dared cross his path. the future president of panem could only afford so much blood on his hands.
“what’s wrong, coriolanus?” you asked gently.
he inhaled deeply and stared into your eyes in a way that strongly suggested you would be unable to walk the next morning. you waited for him to answer.
“you shouldn’t have worn that dress," he warned.
“what?”
“you heard me.”
either the cold or a fucked up part of you sent shivers down your spine, hairs standing up on your neck. your underwear dampened at his fury.
“i thought you would like it, corio,” you flirted, stepping closer to him. he placed a large, firm hand on your waist.
“i do like it, y/n,” he said before speaking in a low voice. “i would like it better if you took it off.”
you smiled and leaned up to kiss him, but he turned his head. you pulled a face in protest.
“behave,” he spat. “so desperate. do you not want to know why you shouldn’t have worn this?”
“yes, corio,” you replied, doing your best impression of somebody who wasn’t about to throw yourself on top of him. he liked when you were patient.
“because every man in that room wants to see it on their bedroom floor," he attested lowly.
“and you’re jealous,” you smirked.
coriolanus suddenly grabbed a fistful of your hair and roughly pulled your head backwards so that your face was tilted towards his. “and nobody else should be looking at you like that.”
a jolt of excitement ran through you. “corio-”
he gave your hair another tug. “say you’re mine.”
“am i yours?”
he realised instantly the meaning of your question. he didn’t have to think about his reply; he had thought about it every waking moment since the day you met. “you’re mine. say it.”
“i’m yours.”
“good girl,” snow spoke deeply before kissing you like he’d never kissed you before. without breaking apart from your lips, coriolanus guided you around to the side of the building. he counted the windows you passed until finally stopping by one that was cracked open and pushing you against the cold wall. as he removed his jacket and unfastened his belt, he looked inside the hall and you assumed he was checking no one was looking. he wasn’t. he was making sure that festus creed and the other boys were still stood in the same spot; directly in front of this particular window, and far enough from the rest of the partygoers that only the boys would hear you.
you gathered the skirt of your dress at your waist and wrapped your legs around corio’s sturdy form as he reached to move your underwear to the side. he circled your clit until you were practically whimpering, then slid two fingers inside of you.
“corio, feels so good,” you moaned softly.
he kept his same pace with his fingers, fucking you into a state of bliss where he knew you would be uninhibited and so drunk with his stimulation that people would think you’d finished every glass of posca in this stupid party. coriolanus was too good at what he was doing, you were on the edge of release within minutes and still desperately trying to quiet yourself in the name of dignity.
“corio, please, corio, i’m so close,” you whimpered into his neck.
he pulled away his hand, making you whine in displeasure. he liked to do that. liked to know he was in complete control of you, you would only cum when he willed it.
corio looked through the window again, but the boys had yet to hear anything out of the ordinary. they were still laughing amongst themselves. he unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock, using the slick on from your pussy to stroke himself before he pushed inside of you.
you tried again to stay quiet, but coriolanus began to coax you. “look at you, taking me so well. you wouldn’t let anybody else fuck you like this, would you? who makes you feel this good, huh?”
you couldn’t hold back anymore, his beautiful face spewing such foul things whilst fucking you raw and digging his fingertips into your flushed skin. “you do, corio. fuck,” you moaned, loudly enough that festus turned to look outside.
coriolanus smirked as they made eye contact. the initial confusion about the sounds coming from outside, the look of shock as he realised his classmate was balls deep in a girl he had pushed against the exterior of a building in the damn capitol, his face finally dropping as he realised who corio was fucking by the colour of your messed up hair and the visible strap of your dress, his eyes widening as he heard the things snow was saying to you.
your moans were getting louder too as you got even closer to your orgasm, whimpering corio’s name and repeating “i’m yours,” like a mantra.
snow took his gaze from the boys to you, feeling satisfied that he’d proved his point and starting to performatively enjoy himself, knowing yours weren't the only eyes on him. his pace quickened, driving you over the edge and making you clench around him as you came. he moaned aloud himself as continued to fuck you through your high and the overstimulation that came after until he finished inside of you.
you were completely fucked out, relishing the feeling of snow’s cum beginning to drip down your thighs after he swiftly removed your underwear to fold into his back pocket. he picked his discarded jacket up from the floor and placed it over your shoulders, kissing your head and leading you to the front of the building and helping you into a car which would take you both home. before you walked away from the window though, coriolanus smoothly pulled your lace panties from his pocket and waved them nonchalantly in the night air, catching the attention of the rest of the group. you would never have to know why he fucked you, only that the boys would stop bothering you now they knew who you belonged to.
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ichorai · 4 months
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button ; coriolanus snow. (m)
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pairing ; young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader (gender-neutral)
synopsis ; what did make him pause, however, was the very top button of your shirt. misshaped. odd. not matching the rest of your buttons. his gift to you. “you’re wearing it,” coriolanus whispered. his voice sounded strained.
words ; 3.4k
themes ; fluff, mild angst, smut
warnings / includes ; unprotected sex (not very explicit), possessiveness, themes of classism, we meet reader's rich parents !! and grandma'am and tigris appear, coryo's paranoia, he's not exactly toxic yet but the seeds are very much planted, i tried to keep him in character as best i could </3
a/n ; there will be a third part loosely following the events of the movie (obv tweaked for the fic!)
series masterlist. main masterlist.
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Your home was the very definition of old money—wealth and grace and high status carved into the marble floors, hung up in the large oil paintings, found within the fibers of the expensive carpets leading into grand halls. Snow had to consciously remind himself to appear unphased. He had this sort of life, too, as far as you were concerned.
It was only expected, especially considering your parents’ high positions: with your father being the top admiral of the navy, and your mother a renowned physicist with several awards under her belt. Dozens of rows of medals and framed certifications from both your parents were more than enough for Snow to gauge the mass of their importance.
He shifted the weight of his feet in his too-tight shoes. Anxious. He wore his dress shirt again, though not before asking Tigris to try and rework the buttons. The buttons hewn from his bathroom tiles. Make them look the same, he had told her. They’re uneven. Snow turned away before he could see her mildly crestfallen expression.
It was a special occasion, hence his dressed-up attire. There was a rose pinned to his waistcoat, a deep shade of red, from his Grandma’am’s rooftop garden. Your father had come home today, after months of military work in the districts. And to celebrate such a momentous evening, you invited him to dinner. 
To meet your parents. How utterly fraught.
Though, now that the two of you were officially together (albeit only recently—Sejanus asked if the two of you were a thing and Coryo replied with an instinctive, possessive yes, much to both of your surprise), Coriolanus supposed there was no use in delaying the inevitable.
“Don’t be nervous,” you told him, arm looped around his. The white rose he’d given you upon his arrival was tucked neatly behind your ear, a lovely contrast to your all-black garb. In a light-hearted tone, you added, “Father would be able to smell it on you. The fear.”
Coriolanus shot you an exasperated glance, to which you only smiled. You landed a soft, reassuring kiss onto his cheek, hand sliding down from his elbow to lace with his. 
“You look… breathtaking,” he said, lifting your conjoined palms to brush his lips over your knuckles. Of the many lies that he told you, this certainly wasn’t one of them. 
Your eyes gleamed with the light from the chandelier hanging above you.
“And you look handsome as ever.” A pause. You seemed bashful all of a sudden, averting your gaze to the gold patterns on the marble floors. “I know this is all very new, so I apologize in advance, if my father asks about our, uhm… our future… He’s a very forward man.”
A smile twitched at the corner of his lips and he slotted his free hand beneath your chin, the pad of his thumb pressing lightly over the side of your throat, forcing you to look back at him. “I have no intention of letting you go, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
You smiled again, all sunlight and warmth, and Coriolanus couldn’t help but steal it away with one last kiss. 
“Ready?” you asked, jerking your head in the direction of the dining room. 
Snow swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded.
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Dinner was quite a pleasant affair. The food was better than anything the academy ever served—Coriolanus wondered how you could willingly go from eating such delicacies at home to basic, run-of-the-mill meals the cafeteria provided. There were courses, tender peppered steaks (his very favorite), rich mushroom soups, iced lemon cakes, and several sorts of breads and butters were offered all throughout.
Your mother was a delight, enchanting him with stories of laboratory mishaps and her dangerous adventures with radioactive material. You looked a lot like her, he realized.
Your father, on the other hand, was pressing at first, grilling Coriolanus with dozens of personal questions. If you hadn’t warned him beforehand that he was a military leader, he most definitely would’ve worked it out for himself then. There were times where you politely but forcefully snapped at him, telling him to lay off the invasive interrogation and to let the poor man eat. But Coriolanus really didn’t mind—he’d spent hours upon hours preparing himself for this. He answered all of the questions with effortless ease.
By the third course, your father was satisfied. Reluctant, but satisfied. By the fourth, he was already asking about marriage, much to your mortification. Coriolanus smiled down at his plate, and quietly listened to you lecture your father about privacy and civility.
Yes, dinner was quite enjoyable. Several containers of food from unseen servants were wrapped up for him to take home, at your request, despite his polite protests. It wasn’t a common thing to do in the capitol, but your parents hadn’t batted an eye. 
He was safe. They didn’t know. It was an ongoing mantra the entire night.
He was shown out the door by your father, who clapped a large hand on his shoulder and told him to take care of you, especially while he was gone. Your mother kissed him once on each cheek as farewell, and you did the same, though your kisses strayed far closer to his lips. He caught the mischievous gleam in your eyes. 
The door shut behind him once he strode into the expansive courtyard in front of your mansion of a home. He glanced down at the rose pinned to his coat, wondering if you were still wearing yours behind your ear. A minute later, he jumped out of his reverie when the entrance creaked open once more. You peeked your head back out, eyes alight, pleased to see that he was still there. 
You slid out from the entryway and made your way to him with quick strides, wasting no time to rest your hands upon his chest. To his delight, you were still wearing the rose. “Father and mother left to watch television in the estate’s Northern wing. Didn’t want to kiss you in front of them.”
There were wings to your house? Coriolanus blinked at you, accidentally letting his indifferent mask slip for a few seconds. If you noticed, you didn’t say anything about it, leaning forward to kiss him sweetly. It took him another moment to gather his wits, before winding his arms about your waist and deepening the kiss, nearly bending you backwards with his vigor.
He could never tire of this, he thought, fingers curling so his nails dug into the expensive black fabric of your top. Kissing you, touching you, entertaining the notion that you were his, and only his. 
When you pulled away, your lips were wonderfully kiss-swollen and your pupils were blown wide, to his amusement. Were his eyes just the same?
“Thank you for being here today,” you mumbled, that smile-frown he was so fond of gracing your features once more. “I’m sorry if my parents were too—”
“They were wonderful. You’re wonderful,” he interrupted, tone soft. His hand lifted from your waist to cup your face. Cold fingers against flushed skin. “I’ll see you at the academy?”
A nod, a grin, and a relieved sigh. “Sleep well, Coryo.”
“You, too.” He pulled away, reluctant, allowing his hands to fall back to his sides. “You look good with it, you know. The rose.” With a final nod, he turned on his heel and walked away from your estate, back to his own cold penthouse, where he had to burn newspaper scraps to keep warm.
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The months drew by like a lazy stream of water, gliding over a bed of stones, languid and pleasant. Your time with Coriolanus was nothing short of utter bliss. He was a sweet lover, despite his possessive streaks, always making sure you were alright with what he was doing. The two of you went slow and steady, always asking, always gentle. He kissed you as if you were made of sugar glass, and you held onto him as if he was a fragile ceramic vase.
Exams were drawing nearer with each passing day, and the two of you found yourself studying and cramming more than anything. He would often tell you that there was no need for you to study so hard, especially when you were already at the very top, likely to claim the Plinth prize for yourself, but you always waved him away with a modest laugh. If the two of you weren’t at the library pouring over dozens upon dozens of books, you were finding ways to sneak him into your home: kissing behind stone statues in the gardens, hiding behind velvet curtains, pulling him onto your massive, four-poster bed.
It was only a matter of time until you asked.
His arm was draped over your bare midriff, drawing mindless shapes into your hip. Your head rested back against his chest, mildly sweaty from the lovemaking session the two of you were still dwindling down from. You stared out your window, watching the sun slowly bleed the sky a hazy clementine hue, teeth sinking down into the flesh of your bottom lip in thought.
“Why haven’t we ever studied at your home, Coryo?” you asked. “I’ve yet to meet your cousin. You talk about her a lot… she seems wonderful.”
You felt a cold breath billow over the back of your neck. It sent pleasant chills spider down your spinal column. And you could’ve imagined it, but his fingers seemed to flex over your bare flesh. Twitch. Almost antsy. Did your question make him uncomfortable?
Shifting in his grasp, you turned within his arms so you could face him. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to pressure you, or anything. I just… just know that I’d never judge you.”
His expression was near unreadable, the blue of his eyes even paler than usual with the sunset’s light casting a honey-glow over both of your sprawled-out forms. He kissed you again, hungrily, almost as if to distract you. You let him.
Kiss you, touch you, bruise you. Any of it, all of it.
A low groan barreled within his chest when you fisted a handful of his soft blonde waves at the base of his neck, gently tugging. 
“Nothing you could show me would make me love you any less,” you muttered against his lips, nose nudging against his. “Nothing, Coryo.”
And he, in a moment of love-addled weakness, let himself believe you.
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Come the next afternoon, you were at the door of the Snows’ penthouse, a basketed batch of warm cookies held in one hand, the other holding a heavy bag full of all your textbooks to study. If the two of you were going to study at all today. Your mother was aghast that you were about to visit his home without some sort of gift, and abruptly shoved the basket of goodies into your arms out of seemingly nowhere, as if materialized out of thin air.
“Coriolanus loves the chocolate chip ones,” she harrumphed whilst ushering you out the door. “Honestly, showing up to someone else’s home empty-handed? Who raised you?”
The irony was not lost on either of you, and you barked out a laugh before kissing her farewell and setting off to visit him. 
You rang the rusted doorbell once—curiously regarding the little button once you realized that it was broken. Then, you knocked the door twice, then another two times for good measure. There was a muffled scuffling behind the door, a woman’s voice echoing from behind.
And when it swung open, you were met with an elderly woman, shrouded in a too-large, black tunic with embroidered flowers on the sleeves, the threads loose and pulled, the once-vibrant colors faded. She wore a turban, covering most of her white hair save for the few thin tendrils framing the sides of her face. 
“Hello, I’m Coriolanus’ classmate,” you greeted, in an ever-so-capitol-esque manner. “You must be his… Grandma’am?”
She appeared confused for a moment, before slow sparks of recognition fired across her blue eyes. Coriolanus had the same eyes, you noted.
“Oh!” she crooned. “Oh, dear me! Coriolanus! It’s your lovely friend!” 
There was a bit of commotion down the hall. The brief moment of pause allowed you to finally take in why Coriolanus hadn’t wanted you to come to his home all this time. The penthouse was still quite lavish, as the Snow estate was one of the most expensive properties in the capitol, but it was clear that the space was diminishing with the weight of its upkeep—flickering lights, dusty floors, tears in the wallpapers, mold on the countertops…
Your attention was drawn away from the view when Tigris and Coryo emerged from the same room, and you couldn’t help the smile that threatened to break across your features. His cousin was fretting over his lopsided curls, and he discreetly tried to duck out of her way to get to you.
“My, you are just as gorgeous as he said you were!” Grandma’am said in a pitching tone, wrangling your attention back to her. She lifted her hands to lightly pinch at your cheeks. “Yes, you’ll do just fine.” Her fingers fell away and she scuttled off, murmuring something about the Capitol’s First Partner—
Coriolanus breathed out your name and his hand was on your shoulder, apologizing once, twice, three times (what was he even apologizing for?), before Tigris popped up by his side, bumping him out of the way so she could shake your hand vigorously.
“Hi! I’m Tigris—it’s so nice to finally meet you!”
You shook the blonde woman’s hand, smile seeming to grow impossibly wider. “It’s nice to meet you, too! I love your dress.”
Her mouth dropped open in a flustered manner and a lovely rose shade dusted over her cheekbones. “Oh, this old thing?” She absentmindedly smoothed a hand down the frills of her pink dress. “Yeah, I… oh, it’s nothing, really, I just made it myself.”
“That’s incredibly impressive! You must be a really talented seamstress.”
A sharp clear of his throat made your eyes snap back to Coriolanus. 
“Coryo,” you greeted warmly. “I brought you cookies. Chocolate chip. Mother sends her regards.”
The two Snows in front of you eyed the basket with large eyes. 
“Thank you,” he croaked, accepting the basket from your extended hands and handing it over to his cousin. “Tigris, if you’d excuse us—we’ve got some studying to do.”
Coriolanus began to tug you down the hall, and you waved back to Tigris, telling her that you’d love to see any of her other dresses later. She’d already reached into the basket and had a cookie halfway to her mouth as she nodded at you with a toothy grin.
His room was in around the same state as the rest of the home. Furniture was old, torn, frayed, or simply broken. There were several boarded-up holes in his dresser. There was a box of rat poison below his desk, which was full with all sorts of papers and stacks of yellowing books. You skittered in and dropped your heavy bag down by his bed, allowing him to close the door behind you. You just barely registered the click of a lock.
“So?” he asked, voice sounding much louder in such a confined space. He seemed tense, as if bracing himself for the worst. “Are you disgusted yet?”
“What do you take me for?” you replied easily, having already gathered why he was so afraid of bringing you here in the first place. “I’m not a leech, nor am I vain, Coriolanus. I don’t want more money, and I’m not here to offer you charity to flaunt my wealth. I thought you’d know that by now.”
He stalked closer, observing you like a wolf would its prey. “What is it you want, then?”
When you took a step back closer to his small, rather wiry bed, he would take two longer strides, crowding you back against it. He dipped forward so that his lips were only a hair’s breadth from yours, but just barely not touching.
“You know, I’m sure.”
“I do.” Coriolanus knew that you wanted him just for him, and nothing gave him more pleasure than that simple fact. His nose brushed yours. 
“Would it make me a fool to stay?” you asked, the question fanning over his mouth. Inviting, ever so tantalizing. “You’re not planning on chopping me up and selling my organs for some cash, are you?”
He didn’t laugh at your little joke. Instead, he dove forward, one hand yanking your hips to his, the other winding over to the back of your head. He kissed you desperately, all teeth and tongue, hardened lips and his knee slotting between your thighs. 
“No,” he susurrated thickly, as if he’d swallowed honey and soil, pressing you down until you were fully laid down over his rickety bed, back arched. “You’d be mine. All of you, just mine.”
He swallowed any sort of gasp and moan that fell from your mouth. Greedy, lustful, determined to make you pliable. His kisses didn’t slow down whatsoever when he tore himself away from your lips, freckling them down your cheeks, your jaw, your neck, your collarbones. 
What did make him pause, however, was the very top button of your shirt. 
Misshaped. Odd. Not matching the rest of your buttons. His gift to you.
“You’re wearing it,” Coriolanus whispered. His voice sounded strained.
“Mmh?” You glanced down at the button. “Oh. Of course, I am. I like how it looks.”
His face hovered above yours once more. His stare was so intense you began to shy away, staring at a moldy patch on the ceiling. The silence felt suffocating as you waited for him to do something. Anything.
“I love you,” he breathed out, finally. Upfront and abrupt. It wasn’t often that he said it. Maybe once or twice before, since you said it more than enough for the both of you. 
You laughed then—your wonderful, wind-chime laughter. It was more out of shock than anything. He kissed you soft and sweet, momentarily quelling your chuckling. But as the afternoon of so-called ‘studying’ drew on, the laughter melded into sighs of pleasure when clothes were shed, shifting towards wanton moans of desperation when heated flesh slid against one another. 
You nearly choked when his length breached your entrance, scratching faint red lines down the expanse of his back as he pushed in, pulled out. Rhythmic. Again and again and again—you couldn’t seem to get enough of him on top of you, inside of you, all around you. Your chest was pressed up against his; could he hear your heart beating through your ribs, yearning to feel his? The coil within your lower abdomen tightened. He read your every microexpression just perfectly.
He’d unbuttoned your entire shirt save for the oddly-shaped one, hands groping all over your bare skin, teeth biting down onto the patch of skin just above the button as he rocked himself into a climax, roping you down into the abyss with him. Ragged groans and broken sighs. 
Coriolanus dragged his tongue up your chest and your neck, leaving a cold trail in his wake, and he sucked in a deep breath. When he pulled back to stare at you—flushed, hair mussed, sweat beaded along your hairline, his pearlescent spend between your thighs, your eyes half-lidded… chest only barely covered by his one button…
“Thank you,” he croaked, kissing the space beside your left eye. “For not running.”
“Don’t make me a fool for it,” you replied, looping your arms over Coriolanus’ neck so he could kiss you properly.
5K notes · View notes
americaswritings · 4 months
Text
Voices of Roses and Ruin
Warnings: Psychological torture, manipulation, Coriolanus being himself
Summary: Coriolanus is forced to watch the gamemaker use his voice against you in the arena.
Words: around 2k
Pairing: Young Coriolanus Snow x reader
A/N: I watched TBOSAS yesterday and yeah don't judge me but young Snow is hot and I shipped him and Lucy Gray a lot (until it all went downhill cough cough). Obviously he's horrible and does many unspeakable things later (!!!). But I think the idea of a love story between a mentor and their tribute has so much potential and when I saw the birds in the film I thought of this idea.
This is written from Coriolanus perspective (I haven't read the book yet. I just bought it and I'm so excited to read it!). I obviously wanted this to be about real feelings, but I tried to stay true to his character so there are some 'questionable' and alarming thoughts and motifs in here.
Can be read as Lucy Gray x Coriolanus Snow here
Part II | Masterlist
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Coriolanus had thought watching you in the arena, alone and scared, hiding from a pack of murders that were hunting for your life was among the worst things he had ever gone through, but nothing could have prepared him for the Gamemaker’s new horrendous plan.
He was tired, just as you were, but refused to go home like most students had done. Instead his head was resting in his hand as he kept watching your sleeping form, as if he could protect you if he just kept his eyes on the screen and on the lookout for a potential threat.
He wouldn’t be able to do anything for you, if the pack of murders found you. He couldn’t warn you or give you advice.
All he could do was sit here and watch and he found himself thinking if this was not the worst torture of them all; being trapped here while you were out there and all he could do was watch.
You were trembling in your sleep, if from the cold or fear he didn’t know, but he kept his expression carefully guarded as he felt his own heart breaking bits by bits.
Even there covered in dirt, with your hair a wild mess and your clothes strained with mud you looked breathtaking to him.
You were pretty, there was no denying that. Everyone else saw it too. He saw it in the way heads turned for you, men‘s eyes raking over your body like you were theirs to take.
He hated it, every part of it.
They all deserved to die.
But it wasn’t your looks that had drawn his attention to you. What had fascinated him. He liked to think he wasn‘t shallow like most people and blinded by pretty things.
No, what has drawn him to you was the way you carried yourself. The confidence you wore like an amour. Yet you were breakable at the same time.
You seemed to be made up of duality; strong but so weak, fierce but uncertain, opinionated but withdrawn, stubborn but helpless.
You were a dangerous little thing and a petite fragile flower at once. Drawing all eyes on you but forgotten due to your ordinariness by most after a moment.
Not by him though. To him you could never be ordinary.
It was frustrating and captivating and alluring.
Naturally, his constant worry for you since you had entered the arena stemmed from his will to get the scholarship. It was what he deserved and he would claim it.
Tht was why he was so engaged in saving you, not because of the deep unease he felt when he saw you in that arena, your eyes drifting around frantically until they passed a camera and he could have sworn they had locked on his for a moment.
It had nothing to do with the way his whole body seemed to light up when you smiled or the invisible pull he felt towards you when you were in the same room as him.
He definitely didn’t want to kiss you and he didn’t dream about you since the reaping, when his eyes had fallen on you for the first time and he had only thought one thing: You’re mine now.
Mine to claim, to showcase, to protect.
He had gone into the mentorship thinking he would use you to serve him and his purpose of getting what he deserved, but as he watched you now, still rooted in his chair although a deep exhaustion weighted down his body, he knew he was serving you.
Being here with you every second of the way. Vowing to protect you. Whatever it took.
You awoke from your restless sleep right before the screaming started. In an instant you were up, your eyes widened in panic as you gazed around, trying to locate the source. With the rest of the students that had stayed Coriolanus flinched in his seat, leaning forward to try and help you figure this out.
As quickly as it had started the screaming stopped and for a moment you were one, both breathing and blinking heavily as your mind tried to make sense of what happened.
And then he heard a voice. His voice. “Follow me.”
He forgot to breathe for a moment as he stared at what was happening in pure shock. You seemed just as confused, turning around in circles as you tried to find him there.
„Coriolanus?”, you whispered and took a step forward, towards the voice. “Follow me”, it whispered again and he watched you do.
No, no, no.
Around him he heard chuckles from the other students, but he drowned them out. All he could focus on was you, following his voice through the darkness. “Where are you?”, you hissed, your eyes darting around. “Why are you here?”
“I’m here for you.”
He sank lower in his seat, wishing himself somewhere else. It wasn’t him saying the words, obviously, but it was his voice and everyone could hear it, see you follow it.
He hoped people would laugh about you. About your nativity and the brilliant idea of the gamemaker to use your mentors voice against you. Hell, he didn’t even care, if they thought you might have a silly little crush on him and the gamemaker used it against you.
Because if people knew the whole truth, he couldn’t imagine the catastrophe that would follow.
The truth that there was something between the two of you, the mentor and the tribute. That it was something he couldn’t explain, but had let him do dangerous things. Break rules. Forget himself.
The truth that this might not be him speaking those words now, but that he had spoken them to you once. Had they been listening all this time?
His stomach twist in terror as he tried to remember all you had shared with each other, all he had said to you. Promised you.
It would ruin him.
“I can’t see you”, you whispered now, being led further into darkness.
Damn it, think! He wanted to yell at you. It’s not me. I’m not there.
There was no reason for him to be there.
Except…there was.
“I’m here to see you. I won’t let anything happen to you!”
“How cute”, one girl hissed in his ear, but he remained stoic. “She’s as dumb as they come”, another said and he wanted to punch her. Enjoy the feeling of triumph when she looked at him in horror and didn’t dare open her mouth again.
“Looks like you’re guiding her straight to her own death. How ironic.”
And it was ironic.
Maybe in his attempt to protect you, save you, all he had done was ruined your one chance.
All he had said to you to make you trust him and then because he hadn’t been able to stop himself were used against you now and all he could do was watch. Keeping his face carefully blank he shut out their voices. They didn’t matter.
Finally he saw you hesitate. Maybe you had remembered his exact words or maybe you realized that you weren’t getting anywhere. That if it truly was him he would have just stepped out of the shadows and shown his face. “Is this real?”
Oh how funny it was to the people around him. He hated them all. Every single one.
Your words hit a mark. They pierced right through his heart, because he had said them to you. Whispered them. Before your farewell, when he had visited you one last time.
Your faces had only been separated by a few inches and he had fought the urge to kiss you right there and then. But he couldn’t.
Because of everything, but also because it felt too much like goodbye. It was stupid, but if he didn’t give into the temptation then, a part of him hoped it meant you would come back to him.
That your chapter wasn’t over, your story just starting. He would kiss you when you won. When there was a chance for a future with you.
Still those words had escaped his mouth, like he needed the reassurance that you felt the same way. That this meant something, so much that it was worth the risk.
Coriolanus leaned forward in his seat, hope blossoming in his chest. He didn’t know why whatever game they were playing with you hadn’t affected the other tributes yet, but he was sure their time would come.
And right now it seemed you wouldn’t fall for their tricks. Because there could come no answer to your question, as he had been the one asking it.
But he had underestimated the gamemakers.
Instead of a reply there came a scream and then a groan. “Coriolanus?” “Help me!”, he heard himself yelp. What?! He had never sounded like that.
But then flashes came back to him. The bombs. How the arena had collapsed, almost burying him alive. He would have died there, if it hadn’t been for you.
You had saved him.
But how in the hell did they get his voice now?!
“Coriolanus!”
Gone was the glimpse of hesitance and suspicion and you began sprinting into the direction the voice was coming from.
No!
He watched with dread as you ran directly towards the sound. It’s not real, he whispered, knowing you couldn’t hear him but desperately hoping somehow his words would reach you.
When you stumbled upon a clearing you jerked to a stop, twisting and turning, your gaze furiously searching for something.
“Coriolanus! Tell me where you are!” But he could only hear his own painful screams, in between pleading for your help. Sounds he was certain he had never made.
What was this?
With a stab of pain he saw your face was tearstained. You were crying. For him. For someone from the capitol.
Was this what the gamemaker wanted?
Whatever you did or said would never matter again.
All everyone would see when they looked at you now was the broken girl in a dark forest, all alone and desperate and crying for a man she never stood a chance with.
A man who knew hunger just as you did, who in a way fought for survival every day too. But they would never see that, because unlike you he wouldn’t let them. Where you had no choice, he still had one. And he was watching that one chance crumble in front of him.
Flashes of a better life filled his mind.
A house. Plates of food. Tigris smiling. His uniform, a real one made from the finest materials hanging draped neatly over a chair. Laughter echoing through the corridors and then a flash of your face as you stepped into the room, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as you leaned over the desk to peek a look at what he was working on.
It was the life they deserved, he deserved, if he got the scholarship. But you were there too. Alive and well, just as breathtaking. And you were his.
There had never been the choice between the scholarship and you, because they were one. Your life was connected to it and so his was to yours.
But now he could loose both and he felt the agony of that thought travel through his whole body.
The screaming seemed to be everywhere and he watched helplessly as you bent forward, covering your ears. All he wanted was to get the screaming to stop, wrap his arms around you and tell you everything was okay.
Instead he forced a neutral expression on his face, as if seeing you break didn’t break him the same way and pray for this hell to end.
Part II
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gogobootz1 · 4 months
Text
The Mentor
Finnick Odair x Reader
Summary: As a mentor, you do your best to help your tributes. When one of them turns into a victor, she knows just how to embarrass you in front of people you’d like to impress.
part two | part three
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You whisk through the backstage hallways of the filming center, wet hair whipping as you turn corners. You’re on a mission. Apparently your tribute, now victor, is having a total breakdown.
Your fellow mentor told you he could absolutely handle her post-games interview. Clearly not, though, since your phone wouldn’t stop ringing while you sat at the bottom of your shower. When you finally pulled yourself out of your stupor to answer it, the district ten escort was on the phone begging you to get down here and fix her. You thought she was exaggerating until your stylist came on and told you it was bad. At that point, you threw on the closest clothes you could find and flew out of the apartment.
Darla is a sweet girl, and you’ve grown quite fond of her. You busted your ass getting her sponsors. Every year you try your best, but you thought she had a good chance and she proved you right. Seeing her in the hospital bed, though, you knew she was different. You thought something like this might happen, but you didn’t think it would happen during your shower.
Rushing around another corner, you crash right into another body.
“Sorry!” You try to quickly remove your hands from where you’d steadied yourself, and sidestep this new obstacle.
“What’s the rush?” The obstacle won’t quite let go of you, though. Now interrupted from your task, you look up to recognize the person in your way. Finnick Odair. It couldn’t have been anyone else?
“Emergency,” you quickly dismiss, trying to get by him again. If you look into his eyes you will be thoroughly distracted. You generally try to avoid Finnick at all costs. His intense stare makes you rather nervous.
“Everything ok?” He raises a brow.
“It will be when I get through here,” you start to get antsy. You tend to accidentally default to short and rude with him.
He lets out a scoff of a chuckle, “you’re a tough egg to crack, you know that?”
You’re really not. The Capitol knows you as the gentle victor, who often visits classrooms and reads to children. You guest star on daytime Capitol tv, making some of your favorite recipes in your houses’s enormous kitchen. You’ve designed gardens and parks and are generally well liked here for your friendliness.
“Look,” you huff, “Darla’s in trouble.” This, at least, you know he’ll understand. “Let me through so I can help her.”
“That’s why everything’s been delayed?” He asks. He’s right, too. The time it’s taken you to get dressed, get a car, and get here is all time that Darla should’ve been on air.
“Finnick,” you snap.
He steps aside in an instant, “good luck.”
You breeze past him.
“Mother hen is a good look on you,” you hear from behind you.
“Shut up,” you bark over your shoulder.
Back on track, you quickly find the right door. Whipping it open and rushing in, the entire district ten beauty team turns to look at you. Their eyes are wide and they look quite upset.
“She’s been staring at the wall since before we called you,” the hairstylist whispers, quickly rushing up to you and taking your hand. You instantly tug it away, they are not your priority.
You breeze past them and slowly approach where Darla is sat. She faces away from you, and is curled up in a ball staring at the wall. Quietly, you sit parallel to her and enjoy a similar view of the wall.
“Hey, D,” you say quietly. Taking a slow approach will probably be more effective than trying to force her up. You’re certain the beauty team tried that approach, but quickly got scared.
She’s silent for a bit, “I can’t do this.” Her voice comes as a relief to you.
You hate what you’re about to tell her. You’d really rather whisk her away back to the apartments, but there’s not exactly another option here. “Look at me, honey, yes you can.”
“No, I-“
“Darla, you can.” You try to be firm, but it falls short.
“You don’t under-“
“Now I know you weren’t gonna say I don’t understand. Baby, I might just be the only one who does.”
Darla starts to cry, and suddenly she looks her age. In this moment she’s not a victor. She’s just a sixteen year old who’s been through far more than she should. You move from your spot to embrace her.
“I know, honey. I’ve been here. Sometimes I’m still here. I know. But they don’t- and they can’t.” You say as you hold her close to your heart.
“So what do I do?” You pull away to see her teary face. You rise to your feet and slowly pull her with you.
“We’re gonna clean you up, and send you out there good as new,” you say, trying to imbue some confidence in her.
Darla’s eyes widen in fear.
“Relax, honey, we’ve got time,” you wipe her teary cheeks. You wave the makeup artist over, as you sit Darla in a chair. “Now in the meantime,” you start, pouring a glass of water and forcing it into Darla’s hand, “I’m gonna tell you a story. How’s that sound?”
Darla nods reluctantly, taking in ice water through the straw. You sit on the glass coffee table in front of the girl as the makeup artist gets to work.
“Now this happened a looooong time ago- back when I was ten. It was a bright summer’s day on the ranch, and I was up nice and early when my Paw came up and told me he’d lost his wedding ring. Now, my Nana was an insightful gal- if she had noticed (and believe me she would’ve) she’d have pitched a fit.
So I was enlisted to help him find it. Well, we searched everywhere. All around the house, the garage- no luck. Finally, we headed out to the pasture. We were digging through manure, when suddenly my foot sank into a pothole and I went flying toward the ground. I landed face first in an enormous pile of shit. But that’s not the worst of it- ohhh no.
When I pushed myself off the ground, I saw my nana had come home. She’d brought four of her friends and all of their grandkids. That included little Jimmy Price, who I happened to be enamored with. (Not that I ever spoke to him since I was so shy.) And in that moment, my Paw, back turned to the whole thing, held up his ring and shouted ‘found it!’ Only to turn and find me covered in cow poop and his wife watching with all her friends.”
Darla smiles a bit at your misfortune, “so he found the ring in the poop?”
“Oh no,” you shake your head, “it was in his pocket all along.” Darla cackles this, nearly messing up the eyeliner her makeup artist tries to fix from her earlier tears.
“So what was the lesson in this fable?” Darla asks teasingly.
“Oh none,” you reply innocently, but a smirk grows on your face, “but at least you’re not heading out there covered in cow shit.” Darla grins and shakes her head, feeling up to the task now. The makeup artist nods at you and dashes from the room.
“Now honey,” you start, pulling Darla up from her chair, “you just blame your tardiness on me. Tell Caesar I was fawning all over you like a mother hen.” At least something useful came out of your run in with the Capitol’s darling.
Darla smiles a little, nodding. “And remember, just be your charming self- everyone here adores you,” you remind her. She seems a lot better now.
“Oh hey, where were you earlier?” Darla asks, about to head out the door.
“I’ll tell you when you’re older.” You tell her, smile dimming.
“Now you really sound like my mother,” Darla quips back, and you grin again.
With that, a stagehand pulls Darla away to where Caesar’s been waiting. There’s not much else you can do for the girl now. Out of your hands and into the Capitol’s. You can only hope Darla won’t freeze feeling all their eyes upon her.
You shouldn’t have been worried, though. Darla nails her post-games interview. The audience finds it adorable when the girl says she took so long because her mentor was fussing over her hair and her dress.
“You wouldn’t think it- but she’s a real mother hen.” Darla says, and you smile as you watch from backstage. The audience erupts into a gleeful sort of laughter at the comment.
Caesar knows just what to do with it, too, “well it’s no wonder, I’m sure you’ve made her proud!” Darla beams, and very convincingly so. “Let’s take a look back at Darla’s games!”
To your great relief, Darla holds it together through the recap. The girl gets boisterous applause as the leaves the stage, then comes flying into your arms once she’s out of sight. The force of it makes you stumble, but you quickly plant your feet and return the hug.
“You did great, kiddo,” you tell your tribute.
“Thanks!” Darla replies, speaking loudly from the adrenaline rush, “and thanks for telling me about when you face planted in a pile of cow poop back home, it really helped!”
Every single person milling around backstage turns to look at you when Darla says it. Not that the girl notices the extra eyes.
You drop your chin, trying to avoid the stares of these people. This is what you get for comforting her at your own expense. Taking a calming breath, you look up only to meet a pair of sea-green eyes.
Of course Finnick Odair heard that, and of course he’s smirking teasingly at you.
Like Jimmy Price all over again.
You stick your tongue out at him.
———————————————————
I did not edit this so I hope it’s ok lmao. The new hunger games movie was great so ofc finnick’s been on the brain
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pinchofhoney · 6 months
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broken promises, part one
part one | part two | part three »
coriolanus snow x fem!reader
word count: 1.8k
warning: none
summary: In Snow's world, only one thing mattered more than his family's reputation—you. But that was before he met Lucy Gray.
a/n: coryo is the type of person i sincerely hate and i'm glad that there are no such arrogant people in my life, who think they are better than others and who in crisis situations only care about themselves and to save their own arse. but at the same time i'm aware that young snow could be someone i'd catch a crush on at school. so why shouldn't i hate him even more?
pages that may interest you: masterlist ♡ taglist ♡ who i write for
taglist: you told me to tag you everywhere, so i'm back to doing it again; @wolfmoonmusic
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gif is not mine, credit to the owner
The problem with snow is its tendency to melt, mirroring the way we once thought our feelings would endure forever. Yet, shouldn't emotions, particularly those nestled in our hearts, last longer?
You had known Coriolanus since childhood, and your families had always been close. You had grown up together, surviving the hardships of the war-torn Capitol side by side, and now, in the post-war era, you were still inseparable. There was an unspoken understanding between the two of you going above a simple friendship. Your connection ran deep, like the roots of the oldest trees in the Panem's forests.
Coriolanus was an intriguing character, a puzzle you had been solving together since you were children. He was the embodiment of Capitol charm, with his perfectly tailored suits, polished manners, and charismatic smile that could sway even the most skeptical of Capitol elites. But you knew that beneath that carefully constructed facade was a mind as sharp as a blade and a heart that carried the weight of his family's fallen reputation.
Yet, when he was with you, it was as if a different side of him emerged. The hard lines on his face softened, and his icy demeanor melted away. With you, he could be himself, unburdened by the expectations of Capitol society. It was a rare glimpse into the man behind the mask, and you cherished those moments even more than your favorite jasmine tea and the cat you found shortly after the war had ended.
You couldn't help but admire his intelligence, his quick wit, and his relentless determination to succeed in a world that often seemed stacked against him. His family's name might have been tarnished, but Coriolanus was determined to reclaim their lost glory. He was driven by a burning ambition that flickered like an eternal flame, and you were his unwavering support, the one who fanned that flame to keep it burning bright.
In your eyes, he was more than the sum of his flaws and ambitions. He was the boy you had shared secrets with under moonlit skies, the man who had held you when the world crumbled around you, and the person who knew you better than anyone else. With him, you felt safe, cherished, and loved in a way that no one else could replicate.
Your love for him was boundless, and you were content in the knowledge that you were his confidante, the one person he could be truly vulnerable with. Your relationship with Coriolanus was the envy of many in academy, a seemingly perfect match of two souls intertwined by fate and affection. You were the golden couple, a shining example of love and devotion in a world that often lacked both.
But you wished you had known sooner that it's often the things we love most that destroy us, as Coriolanus Snow's world was about to collide with that of a girl named Lucy Gray and you were not ready for it to happen.
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As the day of the tribute's arrival approached, you had been by Coriolanus's side more than ever. The weeks leading up to this moment had been filled with your unwavering support. You had reassured him countless times, sitting together in your cozy bedroom, his head resting gently on your thighs while you combed your fingers through his soft blonde curls. It was a calming gesture, one that had become a comforting routine. You listened to his concerns, his fears, and his ambitions, and you were sure that everything would be fine, that he would be just perfect as a mentor, and that his scholarship and dreams of continuing his studies at the university were within reach.
Your words were like a soothing melody to him, a reminder that he wasn't alone in this daunting new role. He would look into your eyes with his cold ones, filled with gratitude, and you could see the weight lifting from his shoulders, if only temporarily. And in those moments, you felt like his anchor, the one who kept him grounded amid the chaos of his own thoughts.
Now, you both stood at the nearly deserted train station, the oppressive heat of the day hanging heavily in the air. The scorching sun beat down relentlessly, casting shimmering waves of heat across the empty platform. It seemed that most of the Capitol's citizens had chosen to stay indoors, seeking refuge from the sweltering weather.
The only other souls present were a handful of stoic peacekeepers, their pristine white uniforms stark against the dull backdrop of the station. The silence was broken only by the distant hum of the city beyond, a reminder of the bustling Capitol life that lay just outside the station's borders.
Coriolanus tightly held a single white rose plucked from his grandmother's garden, a symbol of his intent to make a lasting impression on his tribute. It was a stark contrast to the vibrant colors of your academy uniforms. The simplicity of the white rose spoke of his sincerity and dedication to this new role as mentor.
With no clear timetable for the tribute train's arrival, the two of you stood patiently, pretending that the day's weather didn't bother you, the weight of uncertainty hanging over you like a heavy cloud. Coriolanus shifted his gaze between the tracks and the single white bloom in his hand.
You observed him closely, and when his gaze finally met yours, you offered a reassuring smile. “Remember, Coryo,” you murmured, “no matter what, you'll be the mentor she needs; your sincerity and kindness will shine through.”
“I hope you're right, Y/N,” he replied softly, his voice filled with a hint of doubt. “I need her to survive on the arena as long as she can,” he added, as if the idea of a group of vulnerable youths engaging in brutal competition in just a few days were the most ordinary occurrence in the world.
But that was precisely what it represented for the Capitol residents – the Hunger Games, an annual spectacle of entertainment.
Time seemed to stretch endlessly under the unrelenting sun, and the station remained eerily devoid of any signs of life. It felt as though hours had passed, but in truth, you couldn't be sure. Beads of perspiration formed on your brows, and you could feel the heat radiating from the platform's surface.
You and Coriolanus were on the verge of giving up and returning to the cool embrace of your penthouses when, at long last, the distant rumble of an oncoming train reached your ears. The sound grew steadily louder, and you looked at each other, exchanging tired glances.
Coriolanus's grip on the white rose tightened as he turned his gaze towards the approaching train. As he rose from the bench where you had sat, his anticipation peaked. You stood beside him, wanting to be his support, but you had no idea that your role was about to change very soon.
The train pulled into the station with a hiss of steam and the screech of brakes, billowing clouds of moisture and smoke into the scorching air. The two of you watched the machine in silent, your heart pounding in your chest. This was the moment when you would come face to face with people from the Districts, individuals whose lives were so far removed from the opulence and extravagance of your own. It was a rare and humbling experience, one that left you with a slight quiver in your step as you clung to Coriolanus, seeking solace in his reassuring presence.
For what felt like an eternity, nothing happened. The train's doors remained sealed shut, as if holding its cargo of tributes in a reluctant embrace. The only thing that reached you was an unpleasant stench wafting from the carriages, a stark reminder of the grim reality that these young souls were about to face.
Finally the impatient peacekeepers took matters into their own hands. They descended upon the train, their authoritative presence enough to scare the tributes out of their temporary sanctuary. One by one, they were herded onto the platform, their expressions ranging from fear to defiance.
And then, your eyes locked onto a figure unlike the others. A girl stood there, her presence a stark contrast to the muted palettes of others tributes. She wore a rainbow-colored dress that shimmered with vibrancy, a flare of color and individuality amidst the sea of old attire. You recognized her immediately from the television screens, a girl whose name had already become a part of your daily life even before this encounter.
Lucy Gray Baird.
The very name whispered in the hushed tones of Capitol citizens as they watched her on the screens, intrigued and fascinated by her enigmatic presence from the Reaping. Her gaze swept across the platform, and for a brief moment, your eyes locked onto each other's.
You couldn't help but break into a warm, welcoming smile. With a cheerful wave of your hand, you signaled to her that both you and Coriolanus were eagerly awaiting her arrival, hoping to ease the initial tension of this life-altering moment.
Lucy Gray's response was a hesitant yet appreciative smile in return. Her steps were slow and cautious as she walked slowly toward you, a palpable sense of curiosity radiated from her, her eyes flitting between the unfamiliar faces that lined the platform.
Your gaze briefly shifted to Coriolanus, a subtle expectation in your heart that his eyes would mirror the warmth you felt. But when you looked at him, you noticed something different. It was as if his eyes were magnetically drawn to Lucy Gray, locked onto her with a nearly unwavering intensity that bordered on fixation. Those eyes, usually so sharp and calculating, now held an expression you had never quite seen before. It was as though he had stumbled upon a priceless museum exhibit, left captivated, awestruck, and undeniably intrigued.
A soft, knowing smile played at the corners of your lips, silently acknowledging his reaction to the girl before you. You gently squeezed his hand, a gesture of affection and solidarity. You understood that this moment bore immense significance for him, that he was on the corner of a journey filled with unforeseen challenges. Lucy Gray was the keynote of this new chapter in his life, and you couldn't help but admire her from a distance, captivated by her unique presence and the aura that surrounded her.
Before you could utter a word, Coriolanus took a determined step forward, his eyes still locked on the girl. He extended his hand, offering her the pristine white rose he had clutched throughout the wait and with a subtle nod, he greeted her in a tone that resonated with formality and welcome.
“Welcome to the Capitol.”
part two »
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pinkydevil16 · 4 months
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Dark!Coriolanus Snow x Reader: gilded cage
18+ smut, possessiveness, toxic af, 
Snow was a manipulative bastard and yet he was so charming that now he sat in front of the capitol as President, something which terrified Y/n to her core as he held out his hand towards her. Much like her husband she wore all white, a beautifully crafted white dress with roses embellished all over the skirt identical to the one Coriolanus wore on his breast pocket. Stepping forward Y/n placed her bejewelled hand in his, their wedding bands touching as he wove his fingers between hers and stood. Kissing her hand as she bowed to her husband, the President of the capitol and all the districts, an honour bestowed upon him yet Y/n had no doubt this would happen some day, just not so quickly. Coriolanus turned to the audience, pulling Y/n close as he placed a kiss on her forehead, hearing the crowd cheer for their President and his Victor from district 12. His first victor, his first love and his little pet. 
Y/n could feel his hand on her back as many of the Capitols elite and powerful congratulated him, each one grinning ear to ear as he thanked them, tapping his fingers to signal Y/n to talk. Her hand coming out to introduce herself and thank them for voting for her husband, although she was sure it had been rigged in his favour. He was fond of cheating, he cheated so she could win her games a few years ago, cheated the system to keep her in the capitol and most certainly cheated to become President. Although she wasn't permitted to call it cheating when they argued about his manipulative nature, no that word made him angry and he'd shout that he only did what was necessary. That she'd be dead without him, some nobody from district 12 that even her parents would forget to mourn, at first his words had stung, had given him a chance to comfort her and apologise. Hold her in his hands whilst she cried that the world wasn't fair, let him whisper sweet things of how he was only saving her but over time his sweet words hurt more than the insults, they cut deeper. Reminded her how she'd been caught by the snake, locked away from her family and treated as though she was lucky for being slowly destroyed by Snow. 
"It is so wonderful to see the Capitol's darling doing so well, President Snow you did a beautiful job with this one." Y/n could feel her eye twitch, the comment angering her, they all spoke about her like she was an animal he'd tamed and made perform. Not that they were wrong, unfortunately she was an animal to them, a dirty, pitiful nobody who Snow had dusted off, put in pretty dresses and showed off to the rich. A doll dressed up for the masses, just like the victors after her, although she was in a gilded cage, locked away from all but her husband, they were in a similar condition. The victors village, another genius idea from her husband, so the Capitol could visit them, see how they coped after the games. See them reunite with their families and congratulate themselves on allowing those outside the capital to thrive under their watch. It disgusted Y/n, another element of control that Coriolanus enjoyed exploiting, it had only been 5 years since her games yet so much had changed. The arena was harsher, more cameras, more blood shed and now the reason to win, protect your family and give them everything they could ever want. Not like in her games or those before where you were sent back to your district to starve, to work yourself to the bone whilst the blood stained your hands. 
"I am so proud to be apart of the Capitol, it has been an honour to marry Coriolanus, i fell for him the moment i saw him as i stepped off that train. He was the first gentleman i'd ever truly met, he gave me the most beautiful rose and since then he had my heart." Y/n repeated the same story she'd told for the past 4 years, almost like a robot as the words came out, her cheeks hurting as she smiled and looked at Snow. His blue eyes staring down at her as he gave her an approving smile, loving how she followed the script he had for her, not allowing her to speak freely. He called her his dove but she felt like a mockingjay, repeating his words over and over. That word was also a big no, he despised the birds, claimed they were failures of the Capitol and she should never compare herself to such a disaster. 
"You have been married for almost 4 years now, shall we start preparing for babies soon?" One of his Academy 'friends' joked, whilst Y/n's blood ran cold she could almost feel the burning desire in Coriolanus as he laughed and joked back something Y/n couldn't hear over the pounding of her heart. She knew he wanted children, he'd always wanted to be President more and she'd played that against him, reminded him that he had to think of his career. Placated him as he stood in the mirror, her perfectly manicured hands wrapped around his middle as she pressed against his back. Goating his ego, he had work to do, he was going to be President and become the most powerful man in Panem, President Snow. He loved to hear those words come from her mouth, it stroked his ego to no end and would distract him from his desire to have her round his baby. Instead he would demand she bend the knee to her President, would exert as much power as he could over her, make her thank him for everything she had and everything she would ever be given, all thanks to him. But it was better than carrying his child, nurturing his child and watching that child grow up to be him. It didn't matter what influence she could have on the child, she could spend hours upon hours teaching them morals, teaching them to be good, she knew they'd be like him. Tigris had once told her of how Coryo was good, was misunderstood and told her tales of their childhood that made Y/n almost feel pity for Snow, almost. But each story still lead to where he was now, a possessive, controlling and paranoid man. 
In the first year of being victor she'd been so jumpy, hearing things, thinking she was being followed, driving herself into madness with fear. She'd had countless accidents with hurting people from being spooked, and thought she'd never recover from the games, that it was just in her head and she was losing it. Until he'd finally talked to her, confessed his feelings and told her he knew she felt the same, that he'd been there the whole time. That he'd been protecting her, had seen how she'd not been able to cope without him and suddenly all her fears rolled into own person, Coriolanus Snow who had been orchestrating her downfall since she left the arena. Suddenly her Mother and younger brother were being put in the new 'Victor Village' unveiled before the 11th hunger games, with Y/n and her family waving happily to the districts and a speech of how wonderful life was to be a victor. 
"You did so well my dove." Y/n looked up at Coriolanus as he placed a soft kiss on her forehead, his hands barely touching her arms as he did. Pulling away he smiled down at her before lightly grasping her chin, pulling her into a searing kiss which she reciprocated after a small, sharp grip to her arms. Coriolanus pulled back, grinning as he stepped away and turned to begin removing his suit jacket, hanging it carefully to stop it creasing.
"Can i see my family, please Coryo. It has been almost a year since i last saw my mother." Y/n could feel her voice getting weaker as she spoke, seeing him slouch slightly as he let out a sigh making her wring her hands in front of her before he abruptly turned. Y/n looked down at her hands as he approached, aware of his body towering over her, almost like she was a small child asking a parent for something. 
"Do you think you deserve such a reward? My sweet dove." Y/n let go of her hands and placed them behind her back, forcing herself to look up at him as he stood with his arms crossed. This was a test, much like all the others he'd presented to her over the years. She thought one day she'd have mastered how to answer but her palms still became clammy, her chest tightened and she felt dizzy the same as the first time he'd asked her such a simple question.
"I think i deserve whatever you give to me." Y/n could see him preen at the obvious submission, a cat like grin taking over his features as he moved fast, leaning down and hoisting her into his arms as Y/n yelped in surprise. 
"And if i think i deserve more for such a reward? What would you give to me, what would you do to see them?" His hands held her thighs in a deadly grip as he walked them through the apartment, her hands gripping his shoulders as her eyes darted around trying to gauge her surroundings. 
"Dove." His tone held a warning as her eyes dropped back to his as he slowed his pace and pressed her against a wall, her eyes moving to where their bed sat behind him, the sheets newly changed and perfectly arranged. Moving her eyes back to his as she tried to hide her fear, recalling what his old friend had said, she knew what he wanted. He'd always wanted it, and now nothing she said could be put inbetween. He was holding her family against her for a family of his own, although even if she hadn't asked, she'd still be in the same position. Being told to ask for it. 
"I don't know." Y/n stuttered out, aware of how hot she was becoming, the panic seeping into her bones at the thought of being a mother, she could see it in his eyes, feel it against her thigh as he looked at her like prey.
"That's okay my precious dove, i don't expect my beautiful wife to have to think about things. Why don't i just take what i deserve and you look pretty whilst i do?" Coriolanus pressed his face into her neck, pressing her against the wall with his body so his hands could push her dress up and around her waist. 
"You make those pretty noises for me and take me just as you normally do. But this time i'm going to fuck a baby into you just as i have wanted to do since i met you." Y/n let out a small yelp as she felt his fingers reach into her underwear, her mind dissociating as he whispered words she couldn't hear into her ear. 
"No! You don't get to do that!" Coriolanus shouted all of a sudden, pulling Y/n back to where she now laid against the bed, her dress gone and her husband angrily stood between her legs, hands gripping the bed til his fingers were white as he seethed.
"I'm sorry." Y/n forced out, it wasn't often he noticed her mind was elsewhere, too consumed by his pleasure and how her body responded. She allowed her body to relax, whilst her mind ran through fields, dove into lakes and occasionally put her back into the game except now she was fighting against Coriolanus. Raising a hand she lightly touched his face, guiding him down until she could kiss him, soothing his anger as she wrapped her legs around him. Guiding him to where he wanted to be, allowing him to enter her as he sighed at the loving embrace, pulling back to push his head into her beck. Placing small kissing against her hot skin, hands roaming along her as he moved against her. Y/n was given reprieve as she closed her eyes, imagining she was swimming in the lake with Coriolanus, a memory she fondly looked back on. Two friends swimming together, and in her memory she could remove the look in his eyes, the way his hands touched her and instead it was a beautiful memory of a time when she felt safe. 
"You are so beautiful, i knew i had to have you. Since the minute you were picked you were mine, you were my tribute, to save and nurture. To protect. And now you are going to repay me, with a beautiful child for us to love. Although i do fear i will never love our child as much as i love you. But everyone will know you are forever mine, no one will ever hurt you." Y/n placed a hand on his hair, running it through his curls as she let out a sigh, spurring her husband on as he raised his head.
"I cannot wait to see you round with my child." Y/n nodded, pulling him down to her lips as she raised her hips to meet his thrusts, knowing his own words were spurring him more than any action she could do. He was in control.
Y/n sat next to Snow, their children, grandchildren and great grandchildren all stood behind them as he unveiled the 75th hunger games, the 3rd Quarter Quells. And his last hope of ending the rebellion. But all Y/n hoped for, was that the Mockingjay would sing and she could be free at last.
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nicksolemnlyswears · 4 months
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WAYS TO DESTRESS
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summary: after a long day, all coriolanus wants to do is blow some steam off. nothing will stop him from getting what he wants…not even your sleepy state
pairing: young! coriolanus snow x capitol! reader
word count: 3.1k
warnings: 18+, smut, cursing, somnophilia, dub non-con, p in v, oral (f receiving), fingering, squirting, pussy spanking, belly bulge (?), LISTEN I KNOW ITS UNLIKELY BUT LET ME BE UNHINGED, a bit rough nothing too crazy, get your holy water though, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it please)
a/n: this came to me the moment i opened my eyes this morning. pure filth. i shouldn't be proud but i am. goes to show how much coriolanus is plaguing my thoughts day and night. my new little hyperfixation. a new villain to add to my collection <3
PT. 2
requests open ✨
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All Coriolanus feels is anger. It's been pumping through his veins throughout most of the day, almost causing him to lose his composure at all the wrong places. He can never afford to fuck up. He already did it once, and second chances are nonexistent in the Capitol.
He owes a lot to Dr. Gaul. After all, she saw the value in Coriolanus. She saw right through him and his faux kindness and unearthed his true wickedness. He simply needed a nudge in the right direction.
While working for with her is an honor, it is hardly easy. Like all aspects of his life, he's had to adapt to how she runs her lab. Coriolanus is hardly a follower; he's a leader, but as long as he remains under the tutelage of Dr. Gaul, he will have to follow her orders. Which means he has to talk when spoken to and perform how she expects him to.
There are days when it all becomes too much. His pride rises to the surface, forcing him to stifle it as best as he can before he does something he regrets.
He has to think of the scrutinizing gaze of his peers waiting for him to fail. As much as they pretend to be his friend, they want him to make a mistake so they can rise to the occasion. He won't allow that.
His apartment is silent when he steps in. The lavish decor is obscured by the lack of illumination. It's to be expected, seeing it's well past midnight.
Leaving his coat by the door, Coriolanus walks towards the bedroom. He needs to destress now, or he'll carry all his anger and frustration on his shoulders for the rest of the week. He can't have that. He can't lose control and look bad in front of Dr. Gaul and the others.
In the master bedroom, he finds you lying on the soft mattress, tangled in the silky bedsheets. He watches your chest rise and fall with gentle breaths, your pouty lips slightly ajar. It's a shame he's going to disturb your sleep, but he needs to let off some steam. That's one of the numerous reasons he has his pretty little girlfriend.
Coriolanus unbuttons the red waistcoat and removes his shoes, leaving them in the armchair. As he approaches your side of the bed, he notices the bright orange bottle on the nightstand and your book thrown haphazardly on the floor.
It's rare for you to take sleep aid medication because you hate how they knock you out. You only take them when you've had a particularly rough day. It seems Coriolanus is not alone in this. Today has been bad for both you and him.
Still, his plan remains the same. Coriolanus leans over you, kissing your forehead gingerly before his lips continue to trail down to kiss your cheek and lips. You don't stir with the soft touches.
Coriolanus darkly chuckles. It's not often he gets to do this. He'll take it as a treat for his patience throughout the day. He'd say the universe is working in his favor if he believed in such silly things.
Having you so pliable and willing in his hands excites him to no end. Lying on the bed, he digs his head on your shoulder, leaving marks for you to find in the morning. It spurs him on to hear little gasps falling from your lips.
"Beautiful and all mine," he mutters into the silent room as he lowers down the thin straps of your night dress to reveal your chest.
Coriolanus takes his time with your body. Even while asleep, it responds to his touch. He sucks and squeezes on your breasts harshly, biting down on the stiff peaks of your nipples.
He's not as gentle this time around compared to other times in the past. Then, you were simply asleep; now, you're completely doped out. He will miss your whines and the way you berate him.
Coriolanus continues down your body until he settles between your legs. "Fuck, darling," he audible groans when he lifts up your nighty to find a patch on your panties. Who would've thought you'd be as responsive to him while asleep.
He gives into his urges as he presses his nose against your center, smelling your arousal and licking up the wet fabric with his tongue. He only parts for a moment as he roughly slides the thin fabric off.
With you like this, there is no reason to tease. He doesn't have to kiss your thighs or hold himself back. Coriolanus can truly delve into what he wants without a spectacle.
It's why he buries his tongue into your wet cunt as soon as he has the chance. He holds your limp thighs on his shoulders as he presses himself against you, his blue eyes closing in ecstasy at the taste.
Soft noises- moans- come from above him as you slightly stir in your drug-induced sleep. While Coriolanus suck on your pearl of nerves, he wonders what you're dreaming about and if he's the protagonist as well.
His hips roll onto the mattress underneath, soothing the ache on his cock. He could go straight to fucking you but wants this to last. He needs to keep his mind busy, and eating you out is the answer.
Unconsciously, you grind your cunt on his tongue, chasing your release. Coriolanus smiles at this and rewards you with fucking you with his tongue. He's determined to make you cum all over it.
"Oh," he hears you whine when his nose rubs on your sensitive clit. He knows you're close. He feels it in the way your thighs are suddenly clenching around him.
There is no doubt in his mind you're still asleep. If you were awake, you'd be gripping his hair like a vice and calling his name for everyone to hear. You'd be begging him to fuck you silly.
Coriolanus laps up your juices like a starving man when you cum. Despite living in poverty, he never felt the need to act in such a way until he tasted you for the first time. He treats his sweet little girlfriend's cunt like a delicacy.
He stops himself before he almost makes you cum again as he slurps and sucks on your cunt. From up close, he can see the way your clit twitches under the pleasure. He leaves a bruise that will turn purple by morning on the inside of your thigh. It'll be a telltale sign he was there, devouring you while you soundly slept. A reminder you're his to use whenever he pleases.
Taking the rest of his clothes off, Coriolanus returns to your sleeping body. He pumps his cock in his fist as he looks at all the bruises and marks he left behind, and you'll have to hide because you can't have him seem like a pervert in front of his classmates.
Kneeling on the bed, he wraps your legs around his hips. He teases your wet cunt with the fat head of his cock, nudging over your clit repeatedly. He continues this until his cock is slick with your juices. As an extra, he spits down on your cunt, spreading his saliva over you. Not because you need lubrication but because he likes the sight of him on you in every which way.
No matter how many times Coriolanus has fucked you throughout your two years of being together, he's always had trouble pushing his cock in. He has to take a deep breath when he bottoms out as your cunt tries to choke him out. It's one of his favorite things about you, a constant reminder of the day he took your innocence.
It's only when he begins rocking his hips into you that you give any indication of waking up.
"What?" You whine as panic settles into you. Your brain isn't working properly. You're hazy and confused. Not knowing where you are, you get scared, and your heart races.
Coriolanus holds your hands as you begin struggling. As he leans down to talk to you, he pins you down, leaving you impaled with his cock. He immensely enjoys the struggle but can't have you screaming out in panic.
"It's just me, darling," he coo's in your ear, nuzzling his nose against your face. It works as your heart begins settling down.
"Coryo?" You sniff with tears in your eyes as your panic is quickly swept away. You try to speak, but the pills leave your tongue heavy and your brain foggy.
"Yes, your Coryo," he responds, kissing your cheek sweetly.
You've stopped struggling and spread your legs once again, just how he likes it. He even feels you clenching down purposefully around Coriolanus' cock. You're no saint; you enjoy making it hard for him even in your drugged-out state.
"Relax, darling. Go back to sleep," he hushes you, softly rocking into you.
Your eyes are already closed as he utters the words. You have no choice in the matter. Granted, now you sleep calmer, knowing it's Coryo touching you and making you feel food.
Coriolanus calls your name once, twice, and there is no response. You're back with the sandman, peacefully asleep. He takes it as a sign to keep fucking you.
Kneeling back on the bed, Coriolanus brings up your thighs to touch your chest. Your pretty cunt is on full display, showcasing the hues of pink and glistening fluids that shine under the lowlights of the bedroom.
Coriolanus licks the pads on his fingers before they smack down on your center. The only way it'll look even better is if it had that familiar twinge of red. He aims for the center, straight at your pearl, and smacks his hand down several times.
It manages to wake you again, eyes hooded with sleep, staring at him and complaints falling from your lips. Each time the 'smack' reverberates and you flinch, he soothes the sting, spreading the clear strings of arousal that drip from your hole.
Only when your cunt is flushed red and your clit is puffed out of its fleshy covering, does he pull you down on his cock. He fucks in and out of you mercilessly, addicted to the way your tight walls hug his cock even as he pulls out.
He glances towards your face and notes you're back to sleep. If it were up to him, you'd take the pills more often just so he could find you waiting for him asleep, naked on the bed. A real-life doll of his own.
The sound of skin slapping and his desperate moans and grunts fill the room, along with some of your smaller ones. He doesn't tend to be so vocal; he prefers listening to you beg for him, but with no one to hear him, he lets it all out.
Coriolanus places a hand on your lower tummy, pressing down to feel himself through your walls. It's an erotic thing to feel his cock slipping in and out, reaching the deepest parts of you.
He slows the pace of his thrusting, opting to go harder and deeper, just where he can make out the bump on your pelvis of his cock head.
The pressure Coryo is causing doesn't go unnoticed by you. Groggily, you open your eyes to find him with his head dipped down, whispering profanities to himself, a pretty sheen of sweat covering his fair skin.
"Mmm, Co-coryo," you moan, catching his attention.
With a glint in his eyes, he grabs your hand, placing it where you can feel it too, his fingers lacing through yours as he holds it down, "Feel this? No one will ever get you to feel like I do, darling. I'm going to ruin you for all others. Not like I'll let you leave anyways."
It's never crossed your mind to leave Coriolanus. Not for a second. The moment you set eyes on him, you knew he was it, and the ring on your finger is a promise of that. It's why you let him use you as he pleases.
You babble out a response as the darkness consumes you once more. By morning, you'll barely remember a thing as a side effect of the pills, but Coryo won't let you forget.
The mixture of your relaxed state, Coriolanus' hand pressing down on you, and the angle of his thrusts allow for something that hasn't happened before. Something he'll enjoy for the years to come.
As he viciously snaps his hips to chase his release, you wiggle under him. There are words on your heavy tongue neither can make out, a warning.
"Shh," Coriolanus quiets you down, focusing on the way you're milking his cock for all that his worth.
He's in for a surprise when a particularly angled thrust causes you to squirt around him. A stream of your juices covering his cock and abdomen. Although he falters for a moment, he quickly pulls out and rubs at your clit, causing a smaller stream to leak out of you.
His night has become a hundred times better. His eyes widen in wonder as his brain creates new ways to have you and make you do it again. "This is going to be fun."
When you wake up in the morning, you don't remember what happened, but you know something did. It's in the way your cunt aches and how thick cum runs down your leg when you get up.
Brief, blurry memories surface as you shower. Truly, you didn't care. If anything, you're upset you missed out on the fun and can't remember the pleasure. Ultimately, you trust Coriolanus and that he won't hurt you.
You feel well-rested as you dress and make breakfast for the two of you. There is an undeniable ache in your cunt, but that's always welcomed. Your problems from yesterday are only a quiet hum in a dark corner of your brain.
"My love," you softly call out to Coriolanus, touching his naked shoulder.
"Good morning," he says with his eyes closed, although there is an undeniable grin on his lips. All the stress he felt yesterday has dissipated, leaving a pleasant feeling in his chest.
"Good morning to you, too," you giggle as you lean down to catch his lips in a kiss. There is a tangy taste attached to them that you recognize well. "Had a good night, did you?"
"I certainly did. Do you remember anything?" He asks, sitting up on the bed. The falling bedsheets reveal his toned chest and stomach. Gently, you grab the tray with food and place it on his lap.
"Barely," you scoff, "It's a shame." You technically haven't had sex with Coriolanus in two long weeks. His stunt from last night did nothing to satiate you or your mind that keeps picturing him in all sorts of compromising positions.
Coriolanus hums as he takes a bite of toast. You know him well enough to know he's amused that you don't remember and that he's hiding something.
"What is it?" You prod, brushing a strand of pale blonde hair away from his eyes.
"Nothing," he says with a shrug. He's making you work for it. Coryo loves his games, after all.
"Coryo," you speak his name with a warning.
He takes his time, sipping on the glass placed on the tray. "I just…I didn't know you could squirt," he reveals cheekily, stabbing his fork on a piece of fruit.
"What? That's because I don't," you say, taken aback.
A crease forms between your eyebrows. You and Coryo are not ashamed to talk about sex. It took you by surprise at first because he always presents himself so elegantly and no-nonsense. Behind the scenes, though, when he's with you, he's open to discussing everything he wishes to try and his likes and dislikes.
You, in return, have been the same. Admitting that you've never been able to squirt and might never be able to. It's been a topic of conversation numerous times, seeing as it's something Coryo has always been curious about.
"Yes, you do. Last night, you squirted all over my cock and my fingers and my tongue," he boasts with a smirk as he remembers all the times he made you cum after that.
"I did?"
"You were such a good girl for me, darling," Coriolanus responds, putting the tray of food to the side and cupping your face, "All you had to do was relax."
"Hard to do when you're edging me for hours," you roll your eyes at him. Edging you is just one of the fun ways he tortures you.
"Don't be a spoilsport," he frowns, gripping your face harder before planting another kiss on your lips.
"It's not fair. I can't remember anything," you softly murmur. It's a real damn shame you won't remember the first time you squirt or the face Coryo made at the realization.
"Poor thing. I can show you how to do it again. I practiced last night a couple of times," he whispers in your ear, kissing down to your pulse point, "But I can't right now, or I'll be late."
"Huh?" You dumbly respond, enthralled by his words, imagining all the pleasure he'll give you.
"Thanks for breakfast," Coriolanus says, standing from the bed and heading into the bathroom butt-naked.
You watch after him lustfully and angrily, forced to continue your morning as if nothing happened.
In less than an hour, Coriolanus is ready to return to Dr. Gaul's laboratory. He has to check for any progress in his experiment before heading to the university for his classes.
He sits you on the bed before he leaves, though, to show you something 'important.' "I'll see you tonight," he says, kissing the crown of your head and turning on the TV.
The screen shows you lying on your back, whining helplessly as Coryo slips two fingers into your cunt rapidly. The rings on his fingers and the palm of his hand glisten with your sticky juices.
He did not lie about your new ability as you watch your hole leak clear liquid. The Coryo on the screen, who had been encouraging you with lewd words, eagerly attaches his mouth to catch it all. When he pulls back, his chin is dripping with your release.
Watching yourself in that fucked out state and Coryo behaving so obscenely gets your silk panties wet. Glancing at the clock, you note you have 30 minutes till you have to be at the door.
In no time, you're spread out on the bed with your hand under your university skirt, panties pushed to the side fucking two fingers into your cunt. Your eyes are focused entirely on the screen, rewatching the clip.
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thanks for reading! i hope you liked it!
part two for coryo making her squirt while she's actually conscious?
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lis-likes-fics · 1 month
Text
Poison
Pairings: Coriolanus Snow x district!Reader Word Count: 13.3k words Warnings: NSFW, smut, technically dubcon, swearing, post-ballad, mentions of killing and death, violence, technically prostitution, oral (m and f!receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, sadistic tendencies, p in v sex, unprotected sex, coriolanus snow is NOT a good person. A/N: I started this a bit ago but writer's block hits hard. Reader did not remember who the enemy was...but she also kinda did. ANYWAy, I wrote this based around a song from Hazbin Hotel called Poison. All credit for the song goes to Sam Haft and Andrew Underberg. I hope you enjoy and thank you for reading!
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PART ONE: The Deal
The knocks which echo off the walls of your house are loud, firm, assertive. You jump at the sound, watching the door like it would fly off its hinges. For far too long, you stare at the door, debating whether or not you should open it.
Who could it be? You don't get many visitors… You don't get visitors.
You stand slowly, the hairs along your arms and the back of your neck on edge. You swear that you can feel your hands shaking. You hold your breath just so you can actually hear what's going on around you.
Another firm knock is given, and you snap out of your haze.
Your feet carry you across the length of the living room. Your fingers brush the cold knob of the door, and you hesitate before pulling it open, just enough to peek through the crack to see who could possibly be visiting you.
Your eyes widen and you fight the urge to step back, both of pure shock and a modicum of fear. “Mr. Snow.”
The sight of Gamemaker Coriolanus Snow at your door was not one you ever thought you'd see. There are two Peacekeepers behind him, holding their guns tight in offense against you.
You clear your throat, looking upon his expensive suit, his white-blonde hair, the single rose in his breast pocket. You force yourself to look him in the eye, afraid to antagonize him and risk any violence, before remembering who he was. He wouldn't get violent, but you would pay for it if you angered him.
He smiles when you finally meet his gaze, but he doesn't bother to tilt his chin down to level it. “Hello,” he greets politely.
You straighten your posture slightly, opening the door a bit more out of obligation more than a desire to welcome him in. Seeing that he is the man who designed the Games that put you through hell, you would rather keep him out.
“What are you doing here?” you ask, keeping your voice as non-confrontational as possible. “Sir.”
He shrugs, pulling his hands from the pocket of his jacket and holding them behind his back. He almost seems taller this way.
“Checking up on our latest Victor,” he smiles. He motions toward your living room, “May I come in?”
You don't have much of a choice now. With a sigh, you take a reluctant step to the side and grant his invitation. When he takes his first step forward and the Peacekeepers begin to move, he stops immediately and holds up a hand. They stand firmly in their place. Snow turns back to you, smiles, and then walks inside.
He takes the time to examine the place before he ever speaks, and you close the door behind him to shut the grunts out. Snow clasps his hands behind his back once more and glances around the room like it's speaking to him. He nods slowly, humming to himself.
“How are you?” he finally asks after you've both spent far too long in uncomfortable silence. “How is the life of a champion suiting you?”
You try not to scoff, bowing your head and crossing your arms over your chest, making yourself as small as you feel.
“Well enough, I guess,” you mumble.
He glances over his shoulder at you. “You guess?” he wonders, raising a curious brow.
You clench your jaw once, “Mr. Snow respectfully, why are you here?”
He shrugs. “As I said…checking on our Victor.”
You hum. “And you do this with all your Victors?”
The corner of his lip kicks, barely perceptible if you aren't paying attention. But you are. It would cost you a lot not to pay attention.
“That's the routine,” he says. His eyes wander around the room once more, falling back on you with a cold expression. His eyes are like frost, and you shudder at the sight of them. He tilts his head.
“You don't seem quite happy with your turnout,” he suggests, his eyes narrowing slightly in a questioning manner. You feel like your blood has just run cold. The anxiety seeps into your skin. “Why is that?”
You clench your jaw nervously, clearing your throat as you shrug. You tear your eyes away from him for just a moment and force yourself to look back immediately after.
Your voice is small and your attempt at lying fails because of it. “Why wouldn't I be happy?” you ask. “I have…” You glance around, trying to find something to point out before you seem too suspicious—uselessly, you already know you've been caught red-handed. “I have...a new house and—and prize money. And fans, apparently.”
You try not to be too disgusted by that—fans gained with the useless slaughter of children. A few months you've been out of that arena. And you still see the faces of all those children in your head wherever you go, the sounds of regret and their deaths deafened by the screaming cheers of the mindless crowd that celebrated you for it.
“I'm…” you take a breath, “all set.”
He doesn't believe you. Why would he?
“Yet you've barely moved in,” he points out, making a small circle in the place where he stands. He holds his arms out, as if to emphasize his point. “No pictures, little to no personal belongings. This house looks exactly as it did when you first moved in.”
You furrow your brows, tilting your head slightly. “You know what it looked like?” you question, a gentle and hopefully empty challenge.
He raises a brow. “I was the one who approved everything here. For your comfort, of course.”
Ah.
“No one lives here with you?” he wonders.
You shake your head tentatively. “No one to live with.”
His brows raise slightly. “No family? Friends?”
You clear your throat and shake your head once more.
He hums. “A little lonely, don't you think?”
You shrug, your arms crossing tighter over your chest as you turn slightly away. “I'm used to being alone.”
His eyes scan you up and down. “That's quite sad.”
You swallow thickly. “Doesn't matter to me.”
“Here you are all alone in your little District 7,” he says. The way he looks at you, his predatory gaze, it makes you feel so small. But his voice is soft, not as mocking as it should sound compared to his diction. “No friends, no family, and no care about the way it all is.”
You want him to leave, leave you alone to your loneliness, your quiet misery. If he is just going to stand there and call you an outcast, you don't see any reason that he should stay.
“Yeah. Your point?” You don't mean to sound so hostile but you couldn't help it.
He seems to smirk. “How would you like to change that?”
You could have gotten whiplash. You blink rapidly, licking your lip as you try to figure out if you heard him correctly. “What?” you ask.
“How would you like to change that?” So you had heard him right. “Be a little less lonely, You'd have money, friends, all of your needs would be taken care of.”
You don't trust him. Why should you? Why would Coriolanus Snow offer you all of this? Comfort and stability, a life of luxury?
At what cost?
“And you're offering this to me, why?” Attempting a little boldness, you uncross your arms and straighten your spine a bit. “What did I do? I mean…” you scoff, “I won, sure, but only by the skin of my teeth. And I'm sure you don't go around offering this to all your other Victors. What's so special about me, huh?”
There's a long silence where he just…stares at you. His face is completely unreadable, devoid of any type of emotion as he watches your face too closely.
Then a smile begins to curl his lips and he tilts his chin up just a slight. “You're right,” he says simply. Then his eyes look you up and down. “Truth is, I lied.”
You don't like the change in demeanor. It's a different kind of superiority than the one he displayed before. “I figured as much,” you reply, trying not to lose your confidence, though your voice does become a little quieter. “So what do you want? Why are you here?”
He tilts his head and steps toward you. You take an instinctive step back. “You're special,” he says. You scoff but he just shakes his head. “I can feel it. I wasn't lying about my offer. I came to give you more than…” he looks around and sighs, “an empty house with no pictures on the walls. As I said…all your needs would be taken care of.” The smallest shrug raises his shoulders. “With a price.”
There it is.
Again, you scoff. You cross your arms and roll your eyes and plop down on the couch. “Have I not paid enough?”
He walks toward you, and suddenly you regret putting yourself in such a physically vulnerable situation. “You're right,” he hums. “You have. I'm not asking much. Truth is…all I need is an assistant.”
You furrow your brow. “And you're choosing someone from District instead of Capitol?”
He takes a slow breath in, shrugging. “You suit my interests. Capitol does not.”
“So I have to, what, follow you around? Take orders from you?” You lick your lip. “And I get what exactly?”
He takes his hands from his pockets. “Shelter, money, a sprinkle of fame. Anything you could ever need or want.” He stops a moment, thinking to himself with a light hum. “You'd have to sign a contract, of course.”
You sigh, a million thoughts rushing through your head as you actually consider his offer. This is the man who literally designed your hell. He is one of the very people who forced you to fight for survival, to kill for it. For months, you've lived with nightmares full of slaughter and regret.
But for years, you've lived with isolation and solitude. He would give you everything. Shelter, money, a sprinkle of fame. A chance to start over, a chance to be a little less lonely.
But you are all too aware of the chance that this could all blow up in your face. This is Coriolanus Snow. He's not to be trusted, surely.
“And if I say no?”
He stands still for a moment, so still you wonder if he'd frozen in time. You have to urge yourself to hold his gaze. You can't seem afraid of him, you just can't.
Finally, Snow lets out a long sigh. He steps close, before turning and sitting next to you on the couch. He leans back, getting comfortable as he crosses his legs and sets his hands in his lap.
“Then you stay here,” he says plainly, shrugging before letting his gaze wander around the living room of this hollow home. “In this big…empty house.”
This big empty house. Your grand solitude.
Knowing the things you know now, you wish you could say that you would go back and change your decision. You wish you could say you'd go back and choose your loneliness over the dark nights you'd sucked yourself into.
You made a deal with the Devil. And you know that if you had the choice…you'd do it again.
I'm not above a love to cash in…
~
PART TWO: Paradise
A week later, you found yourself standing in the Capitol, in Coriolanus Snow’s office, with a contract and a pen in front of you. You scanned over the words, took a deep breath, picked up the pen, and signed your name on the dotted line at the bottom.
Snow gave you a large smile and sent an escort to show you to your new living quarters. In his house. Down the hall from his room.
And for the next couple of weeks, you've been to two separate welcome parties, two other Capitol parties, and six meetings as Snow’s new assistant. You've handled messages, documents, scheduling, and a variety of appointed tasks that have put you in positions so far above so many Capitol members, you briefly wonder if you've signed into a scam.
At first, there was…resistance among the people. There were insults that you were an animal, a bottom feeder, a whore, a parasite. But every person who had dared to insult you had gone missing the next day. No one made any questions, or remarks, after so many people mysteriously disappeared.
And, soon, you got comfortable. Because Snow held up his end of the bargain. You were comfortable, wealthy, made some friends who had taken a moment to get used to you (you suspect they're trying to be nice to you to earn favor from Snow, but at least you aren't being insulted anymore). You don't go hungry every night, you always have fresh clothes. Sure, your schedule was a bit stressful, but that was an adjustment that could be made. Asking for more would be selfish—and insane, what more could you want?
You were, on the levels that counted…happy, content.
In just a few weeks, you had settled in like you belonged. Well…maybe not to that extent, but the work became easy and the needless parties were much appreciated.
When someone knocks on your door, you're pulling your robe over your body as you walk over to answer it. One of the servants stands on the other side, looking tired from the day's work.
“Yes, Charlotta?”
“Mr. Snow has requested your presence in his study, ma'am,” she says.
You glance behind you at the clock in your room. “Now? It's so late.” You hum, “Alright, thank you. Go to bed. You must be exhausted.”
She nods thankfully and turns away. You're quick to pull your slippers on, pulling your robe tight around your nightgown before rushing down the hall. You don't want to be late to him.
You reach his door down the hall, taking in a breath and raising your fist. Your knuckles meet the door four times.
“Come in,” His muffled reply comes.
You turn the knob, opening the door. Peaking into the room, you slowly walk inside, standing by the door. “You called?” you speak gently.
Snow is slouched over his desk, his pen scrawling away at a file of papers in front of him. “I did,” he nods. There's a moment of silence between you as he finishes up the last part of his work.
He sets his pen down and sits up, his back straight as he sets his clasped hand over his lap and turns his full attention to you. “I have an urgent matter I need you to take care of.”
You close the door behind you, establishing some privacy. It must be important if he's asking you this late. He probably needs you to run some important documents to someone, or schedule another meeting with one of the ambassadors that came to one of his meetings today.
“Yes, sir?” you ask.
“Come here,” he says, making a come hither movement with his fingers. Clasping your hands behind your back, you walk toward his desk and stop in front of him. He clarifies, “Behind the desk.”
You tilt your head, your brows furrowing as you hesitate. You begin to take your first step, pause, and then make your way behind the desk.
He turns his chair as you come to stand in front of him, your hands held tightly in front of you. He sits there, staring up at you as his eyes rake over your body.
You shift from foot to foot, suddenly feeling very self-conscious about the way he's looking at you. And again…silence.
“Get on your knees.”
All the heat escapes your body at the same time. A chill rushes up your spine. And once the initial shock has dissipated, a fire spreads across your flesh and you're burning up. You feel like your hands have begun shaking, so you shift them behind your back.
You have to find your voice again, clearing your throat timidly. “Sir?” you nearly stutter, clearing your throat again.
He shakes his head, amused by the timid look on your face. “I didn't stutter.”
You don't move, shocked to stillness. Snow sighs, standing to his feet and moving in front of you. He holds his chin up, looking down his nose at you to emphasize his superiority. You shrink underneath him.
“You're my assistant. You signed a contract,” he explains. “I take care of your needs, you take care of mine. No matter the request.”
You really should have read the fine print.
“Right now,” he continues, raising a hand to brush his knuckles over your cheek. Your eyes flutter lightly at the contact, holding your breath, afraid to breathe wrong and upset him. “My needs are for you to get on your knees and put your pretty mouth to good use. Then I'll do the same for you.”
Another shudder rushes through your spine. He pretends not to notice, but his smirk does deepen. Your lips part as you try to speak, unsure of what you'll say. “I…���
He drops his hand, lifting a brow expectantly. “Is there a problem?”
You clear your throat one more time, shaking your head and glancing away from his eyes, his intense, cutting blue eyes. “No, sir.”
He smiles. “Good.”
You glance up at him. His hand reaches up and grasps your chin. In the next moment, he's pulling you in as his lips crash down against yours. It's a possessive kiss, deep and devouring—controlling.
You have no choice but to kiss him back, letting your hands fall at your sides and lifting them up to his arms. You don't know where you're supposed to put them.
Just as you're leaning into the kiss, he pulls away from you and takes a step back. His lips, still parted and smiling, are wicked. He lowers himself into his seat, his legs wide open and his hands clasped in front of him. “As you were.”
Your heart pounds in your chest. Taking an unsteady step forward, you slowly kneel to the floor. You hold your breath, avoiding his gaze as your shaky hands reach for his belt.
You undo it, pulling open his button and unzipping his pants. Exhaling, you nervously dip your hand into his pants and feel the warmth of his length against the pad of your fingers. You shudder, braving him as you pull him out of his pants.
And he doesn't disappoint.
Your eyes widen and you don't feel like it's real as you hold him in one hand. He's long with a nice enough girth that he will stretch you a bit. You curse under your breath, licking your lips as you glance up at Snow.
He smiles, watching you closely. Suddenly you feel naked. “What are you waiting for?” he asks, not cruelly.
You tear your gaze away from him, looking back down at the pink tip of his cock. You let your lips part and let your tongue fall to the edge of your lip…
~
The soft red light of Coryo’s lamp glows dimly on your skin as his strong hand cards through your hair, balling into a fist to grip your locks at his own need. Your moans stutter deep in your throat where his cock sits, the tears spring to your eyes.
His tongue plunges inside of you, licking the honey from your folds as you arch your back and moan his name. Your fingers tangle in his hair, and he groans into you at the sting of his scalp from your insistent grasp.
His lips press kisses to your back as you white-knuckle the headboard of his bed. His fingers dig into your hips, creating crescents in your flesh that crater your skin. He fucks you in long, hard strokes of his cock. His teeth are bared like a beast, his hair falls over his forehead, his groans are rough with lust.
The crashing of waves drowns you, explosions are set off deep within your body. His liquor fills your mouth, your throat, your belly. It's warm and sating, and he pulls you close to make sure you never stray from his hold.
And through the night, his arms never leave your body, his claws never leave your flesh…
~
It wasn't hard to get cocky after that. The Capitol was lavish, and it had a way of turning people to bathe in the lap of luxury. You slowly began to learn what kind of position you truly held here, and after months of being high-seated in the Capitol, you had begun to sink into your role.
Snow is the Head Gamemaker, you are his assistant. Everyone had to listen to you if they wanted to make it back home safe to their families. With a whisper in your boss’ ear, you could ensure no one ever spoke badly about you again.
Not that you have exercised that power yet, but you could. And Snow was happy to oblige.
After that first night in his room, your lips around his cock, his hand tangled in your hair, the pleasure didn't end. No, it's normal to find yourself tangled in his sheets, to find your head buried between his thighs (or vice versa), to have his name falling from your lips like you were praying to the gods that men had killed years and years ago.
You've become addicted to the taste of Snow, the smell of Snow, the feeling of Snow. It's an easy thing to overdose on.
Should you have been more careful?
Yes. Yes, you should have.
But Snow is an easy thing to get high on.
Katri spots you through the luscious crowd of one of the Capitol’s many needless parties with ease. Surrounded by nobles and benefactors, you brought your flute of champagne to your lips with a smile. A giggle erupts from your throat at one of the party-goers’ jokes—one that you didn't find particularly funny, but you've gotten really good at pretending.
Katri walks up to you, a tray of champagne in hand as she does. “Ma'am?” You turn toward her, smiling and grabbing a fresh flute from her tray with thanks. She clears her throat, “Mr. Snow has requested your presence.”
You hum gratefully. “Alright, I'll be there in a moment.”
You begin to turn around again but she insists. “He says it's urgent. He wants you immediately.”
Ah, then he's pent up. You wave a hand dismissively, sticking to your response. “Well, tell Coryo I'm busy. I'll be there in a moment.” She gives you a hesitant look, and you smile. “He doesn't have to worry his pretty little head about it. Okay?”
She scoffs lightly, turning away. “Whatever you say.”
The anxiety in the air around her is palpable with the fact that she would have to return this news to Snow. She finds him in the same place she left him, surrounded by diplomats with his own—now empty—flute of champagne.
As she approaches him, he smiles politely. “Where is my little assistant?” he asks.
Katri clears her throat as she switches his glass out for a fresh one. “She said she'll be here in a moment.”
The shift in his attitude is so slight, it's easy to miss. But she notices the slight clench of his jaw, the faintest clutch of his fingers. “Did she now?” he questions, his head tilting a bit to the side.
She nods slowly, switching her tray to her other hand. “Her exact words were…” She clears her throat once more, not wanting to recite your words back to him. You must have been out of your mind. “ ‘Tell Coryo I'm busy. I'll be there in a moment.’ ”
He seems to know there's more to it because he bids her to continue. Her eyes glance away from him as she does. “She said, ‘He doesn't have to worry his pretty little head about it.’”
She can tell there's something else he wants to say but chooses not to as his smile becomes tight. “Thank you,” he says simply, politely.
She nods. “Yes, sir.” She walks away.
PART THREE: Reality
You smile a bit when you feel Coryo’s hand land on the side of your arm, grazing up the length of it to reach your shoulder. You look up at him, immediately noticing the stiffness of his grin.
I shoulda guessed that this would happen…
“Coryo,” you greet with a smile. He nods toward the people surrounding you, greeting them politely. He doesn't look at you, just begins to lead you away from them as he ducks his head nearer to your ear.
“My office.” His words are firm, with no room to refuse.
Still, like a fool, you say, “In a moment please? I–”
His smile does not falter, but his voice is a demand as he speaks through his teeth. His grip on your shoulder becomes tight. “Now.”
You clear your throat, your smile still intact but not as professionally kept as his own. You nod once, “Yes, sir.”
He walks away, but not in the direction of his office. You watch him leave, clearing your throat discreetly and dismissing yourself from those who try to speak to you. You go straight to his office, not daring to refuse him again.
When you're there, you find yourself pacing the length of the room uneasily, waiting for him to join you. But he doesn't join you, not immediately. He makes you wait, he makes you stir. You stew in your own anxieties, cursing yourself for being so stupid as to tell him to wait.
Him.
Coriolanus Snow.
He interrupts your thoughts ten minutes later—you know, you counted—opening the door and shutting it gently behind him. He doesn't meet your gaze as he walks past you dismissively. He rounds his desk, pulling open a drawer that holds his personal scotch.
In silence, he pours himself a glass. In silence, he takes a sip. In silence, he savors the taste on his tongue and refuses to look your way for even a second.
You bow your head as you wait for him to say something, anything.
And when he does speak, you suddenly wish he hadn't.
“You're ‘busy’?” he questions.
“Sir?” Your voice is barely above a whisper.
He smiles, turning to finally look at you. “ ‘Tell Coryo I'm busy. He doesn't have to worry his pretty little head about it.’ ” He licks his bottom lip, scoffing as he shakes his head at your audacity. “You let those words come out of your mouth?”
You clear your throat as quietly as possible. “I…didn't think it was a big deal… I was on my way.”
He stares at you, unblinking. Then he takes another sip of his drink and sets it down again. He walks from behind his desk, rounding to the front and leaning against it.
“Do you think you're special or something?” He furrows his brow, as though he's confused. You want to sink into the floor, to let the world swallow you whole, to disappear. “What, because I fuck you, you can talk to me any way you want?”
He puts venom behind the word, enough force to ensure you felt it. You swallow thickly, wanting to step away but knowing that if you did that, you would only make matters worse.
“Look at me,” he demands. And immediately, you obey.
You speak quickly, trying to fix your mistake before it can get worse. “Coryo, I'm sorry. I–”
“You're not special,” he cuts you off, advancing toward you. He grabs your wrist, pulling it up sharp and pulling you close to his face, inches away. You can feel his breath on your cheeks. “I own you. You belong to me.” His voice is low, dangerous.
But you've still got some pride left over. And that would be your downfall…
“I don't ‘belong’ to an–”
“You're mine!” he exclaims, though he doesn't shout. There's force behind his words, and his voice raises to a more stern, more possessive growl as he shoves you back. You stumble to the floor, grunting from the pain that shoots up your arm from landing on your elbow. You look up at him, your eyes wide with fear.
I shoulda known it when I looked in your red hot eyes…
“That's what it says in your contract, or do you not remember?” He takes a step closer, standing over you. His voice is low and dangerous, but he has no use for yelling anymore as he speaks to you. “You take care of all my needs—no protests, no complaints. Those words say that you do whatever I want, whenever I want it, however I want it. And if you complain, I take away everything you know, drop you back in your sad little district, and put your name back in the raffle one hundred times over.”
You should have known it from the beginning. A deal so good had to come with a hell of a lot of strings. From the very beginning, he had been lying to you with the idea of a shiny new life.
Spewing all your red hot lies…
He stares at you, his jaw clenched, his breath slowing to a gentler seethe. He lifts his chin, collecting himself as he takes a steadying breath. He kneels in front of you, resting his elbow on his knee.
His voice is a whisper. “You belong to me.” His tone is final, definite. “If I say speak, you say?”
Your breath trembles with a mix of anger and fear as you look up at him, tears threatening to well in your eyes but refusing to breach the surface and give him the satisfaction. Your lips part, though you hardly give yourself space to speak.
“Yes, Coryo.”
“If I say jump, you say?”
“Yes, Coryo.”
His hand wraps around your throat, pulling you forward enough so that your faces are once again only inches apart. “And if I say open your mouth, you get on your knees and drop your jaw.”
You stare at him, your gaze so close to blurring as you sigh, choked up from his suddenly poor treatment of you. “Yes, Coryo.”
The smallest smirk creeps over his lips and threatens the rest of your already weak composure. He pulls you in and his lips press hungrily against yours. It's all teeth and tongue, biting your bottom lip and licking the top of your mouth. You want to resist, but you can't. His touch, however wrong, however killing, is addictive.
When he pulls away from your lips, you nearly seek him out, releasing a breath like he'd filled your lungs with smoke. Your skin picks with red hot spite at the tiny moan that slips through your lips.
He holds your throat a little tighter, not enough to stop your breath but enough to make the tips of your ears tingle. Enough to make the heat in your core grow.
“I own you,” he whispers. “You belong to me. Do I make myself clear?”
Your lips part and shallow breaths pass pathetically through them before you finally respond, a whisper of your own. “Yes, Coryo.”
“I can't hear you.”
“Yes…Coryo.”
His grip loosens. “Good.”
He lets you go, standing to his full height once more as you take in a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as your hand flies to your throat.
You watch his hands find his belt, undoing it with deft hands. “Now open your mouth,” he commands.
You swallow thickly, slowly adjusting yourself to sit on your knees. You glance away as you drop your jaw and stick your tongue out over your teeth.
“Look me in the eyes.”
You do, immediately. His blue eyes, hiding so many lies behind them that they brim with color. “Good girl.”
Your jaw ticks as you raise your hands to pull his cock from his pants, already hard from the power he holds over you.
What's the worst part of this hell? I can only blame myself.
You wrap your lips around the tip, laving your tongue against the head before slipping it underneath him. Stroking the rest of you, you take special care in providing his pleasure as you let your lips suckle around him.
Up and down his length, you go, giving him your hot, wet mouth as he likes it—as he needs it. His hand tangles in your hair and grips it tight, guiding you just a bit to take him deeper down your throat. And you do. You take him as far as he'll go, keeping the gag awaiting at bay as you swallow around him.
I know you're poison. You're feeding me poison.
And when you think you've gone far enough, he holds you down and shoves the rest of him farther inside. Your lungs are tight, they burn with the lack of air. But you just hold onto his thighs and hope he grants you enough mercy for breath.
And when he pulls out enough for you to snatch that merciful breath, you can taste his precum on your tongue. And you waste no time in taking him again, up and down and up and down. Just like he likes it—just like he needs it.
He curses under his breath, holding you tighter as his desperation grows and grows. “Fuck, just like that,” he huffs, fighting to keep his eyes open as your tongue caresses the vein along the bottom of his cock.
His lips part, his eyes shut. He shoves you farther down on his cock as your good work pushes him over the edge. The warmth fills your mouth, down your throat in generous amounts of pent up stress. And you drink it up. Every drop. Like liquor.
Addicted to this feeling I can't help but swallow up…
You catch your breath as he collects himself once more, his chest heavy with the lust simmering down in his belly. He tucks himself away, back into his pants. And as he watches you, you lick your lips free of his poison.
He smiles wickedly, cupping your chin in his hand. “Good girl,” he praises again. You stare at him and say nothing else. He inhales, exhales, and straightens his back. “Come. We have a party to re-attend.”
You stand on unsteady feet, wiping your face clean just to ensure you aren't going back to the party with Snow’s cum on your lips.
He pulls his arm around your waist and leads you back.
At the first sight of you and Snow, the vultures swarm. “We were beginning to think you weren't coming back down,” one of them jokes.
Snow smiles, “Of course not. I just had some business to take care of. Isn't that right?” He turns to you expectantly.
You let your smile widen across your lips as you nod. “Yes, Coryo,” you say.
You can see the wicked beast glint happily in his eyes. Pleased, he turns away from you again to look at his hand, realizing it lacks the champagne flutes each of his guests hold in their hands. He smiles at you once more.
“Would you mind getting drinks for me and my guests?” he requests.
You avoid the clench of your jaw that you long to grant him, instead deciding to pull your smile into a wider grin and nod.
“Yes, Coryo.”
“Thank you,” he grins. He lifts a crooked finger to the underside of your chin, tapping it lightly. “And cheer up… It's a party.”
You give him a tight smile and walk away in the direction of the kitchens, which is currently bustling with people making another batch of the well-loved appetizers and refilling more glasses for the guests.
You pass by the champagne entirely to get to the, quite large, liquor cabinet. You pour yourself a hefty glass of scotch and gulp it down, braving the burn of your throat as you finish it with a sigh.
You replace the scotch, claim a tray, and walk out with the requested beverages. You hand them to Snow and his guest, a glorified waitress.
Taking your own flute, you hand the tray to a passing server and let the effects of the scotch sink into your bones.
You wouldn't call the rest of the night a blur, especially because you are completely aware of what was happening as you continued to mingle with the guests. You kept a hold of your wobbling tongue, and you remained civil and polite. Snow could tell there was something off—and of course he knew what it was—but you hadn't embarrassed him yet, so he let it slide.
And that night, when the guests took their leave and the party came to a close, you met Snow in his bedroom once more so he could more thoroughly remind you of who you belonged to.
And like the addict you are, you happily obliged.
~
PART FOUR: Lap Dog
You made sure not to forget your place again.
Weeks turned to months, months turned to years, and you were still seated at Snow's right hand as he climbed the ladder, dragging you along through the journey. You did everything for him, anything for him. That was your job. Whatever he asks of you is considered done as soon as the request passes his lips. Whatever he wants, whenever he wants, however he wants. No matter what.
You sold your soul to the Devil, and you were addicted to the madness of your deal.
“I need you to give this to Snow.”
You're stopped in the middle of the hall by some woman with a stack of files in her arms. She's got a smug face, and you immediately don't like her as she grabs the file at the top of her stack and thrusts it out toward you.
You sigh, taking it as you begin to flip it open. “What is it?”
She pinches the top corner closed, shaking her head. “It's not your business to know, is it?”
You scoff, smiling as you tilt your chin up. The same way Snow does when he wants to stress his rank over another person's head. “Actually,” you wave her hand away from you, “as President Snow's assistant, it is my job to know anything and everything about what goes to and from his desk.” You take a step toward her, looking down on her just as he would. “So I ask again, what is it?”
There's a long pause as she stares at you, her eyes dark with the hatred and prejudice that bleeds from her gaze. Capitol taking orders from District? It's unheard of…
You would think, since you've been here so long, that they'd learn that you rank higher than they ever will. They don't have to like you, but whether they like it or not, they have to listen to you.
It wasn't hard to become cocky, but cocky was something you learned. This woman, whoever she was, was born with it. And that was a plague that would be the end of her.
She huffs quietly. “It's the request he made for some documents.” Your brow furrows slightly. A mistake. Now she believes she knows something you don't. Now she believes she has the upper hand. Her tone betrays her. “Something about the Games’ Victors.”
You don't know what this is. You've heard nothing of the sort.
But she keeps saying “something”. You want specifics. Does she not have it? “You don't know?”
“Of course I know,” she lays a delicate hand over her delicate chest. For a moment, you wonder if she's ever had to do any kind of work (you know she hasn't). She wouldn't last a second…
“And I'd elaborate,” she continues, pulling you from your thoughts, “but I, quite frankly, don't want to tell you, and you probably couldn't read it to figure it out for yourself.” Your jaw tenses at her unfounded insult. You don't respond. “I mean, that's why you want me to explain it to you, isn't it?”
I got so good at being untrue.
You sigh forcefully, a long, deep sigh to try and control yourself. “Excuse me?” Does she truly dare to challenge you in such a way?
“You heard me,” she replies, unblinking.
Clearly, she thinks you're an idiot. A stupid, incompetent idiot. You want to take her words and shove them back down her throat. You want to grab her by the hair and drag her around like the dog she seems to think you are.
But you can't. You must remain civil, so the only way you can try to hurt her is through your words.
You don't need trouble with Snow for embarrassing him…
“Ah,” you scoff, lifting your chin again to keep your superiority. “So you're stupid?”
The blatant insult has her clutching her pearls. Obviously, she wasn't expecting that kind of bluntness from you.
You smirk at her reaction, no longer collected. You have the upper hand once more.
“You really think it's a good idea to talk to me like that? Me? President Snow's second hand?” You don't love playing that card, but it's a play that will almost always work for you.
No one would dare object to President Snow.
She hums, trying to seem unphased. “You're right,” she says, “I probably shouldn’t speak to Coriolanus Snow’s little pup like that.” Her face contorts into one of mocking sorrow, her lip jutting out and her brows furrowing. “She might get sad and go tell her master on me.”
Little pup. Little pup.
Flashes of late nights spent in Coryo’s room, nights where his stress gets the better of him and he decides to take it out on you, nights where he spanks you and calls you names and takes you hard and rough, cross behind your eyes. “My dumb little girl, my pathetic little whore, my pitiful little pup.”
And you would let him, you would encourage him. You would moan and writhe and bend to his will. And your fists tighten at the memory. They clench with rage and regret and the desire to be more than an animal.
You aren't an animal, you are a human fucking being.
I got so good at telling you what you wanna hear. I disassociate, disappear.
Baring your teeth and losing composure, you huff. You're seething as you speak. “I am not his pup.”
She chuckles, finally striking a nerve as she lifts her brows. “Aren't you? His little lap dog.” She puts emphasis on each word, ensuring the ‘G’ hurts. She walks toward you, but you don't move. You stand your ground. You aren't scared of her.
You're going to fucking kill her.
Foolishly, she continues on. “You think just because you won the Games and he decided to take pity on you, that gives you any real power?”
You scoff. Pity. He doesn't know the meaning of the word.
“You're his whore,” she spits. It doesn't anger you because it's true, it angers you because no one even knows about that part of your deal, and she's accusing you of being a whore because of who you are.
Her face is inches from yours, her voice trying to be lower, though it's so naturally snooty that it's hard to reach that threatening level. She sounds like a child. And her sneer makes you want to treat her like one.
“You're a fucking slut. Just a little District animal who got lucky.”
Your anger flares. You grit your teeth. You lower your voice, successfully, and nearly growl.
“You wanna say that again?”
She smirks wickedly. “You are a whore.”
You walk toward her. She's standing so close that she is forced to step back with the stutter of her heels scraping the floor.
“You forget,” your lips turn in a venomous smile, fueled by rage and violent tendencies you're trying your best to hold back, “I fucking won the Games. I killed tributes with my bare hands, and you want to challenge me?”
And you see the flash of fear behind her eyes at the reminder, though she tries to hide it. But you know fear. You've felt it slice your flesh, you've used it to slice other's flesh. You know the biting and the tearing and the clawing of fear, and you can see it clear in her eyes even as she tries so hard to hide it.
Being afraid is the smartest thing she's done since she decided to open her mouth.
“You aren't going to do anything,” she says, as a defense more than an accusation, a reassurance for herself more than a taunt for you. “You'll just tuck tail and run to master–”
You're done being civil. You're done rolling over and showing your belly. You're done bowing your head and taking orders.
If they are going to treat you like an animal, you'll behave like one.
And she meets the blunt end of your rage with a fist to the face. Stacks of files smack loudly in a pile on the floor. You clip her cheek with the ring on your finger, and you huff at the pleasure that comes with defending yourself.
Her face whips to the side. It's a full body reaction. She staggers, crying out as her hand flies to her face, unable to take the heat of your violence. She looks back at you, her eyes wide with fear, too much to have room for anger.
You don't give her the chance to make room for it either. You punch her again on the same side, this time letting your fist connect with her brow. And when she stumbles again, you shove her back so she falls to the floor.
The sounds of her pain are loud and evident. But the bliss you gain from them is only so perfect because she deserves it.
And as you straddle her body, you can smell her fear just as well as you can see it. You can taste it like the blood she tastes on her tongue as you hit her again, and again, and again.
“What is going on here?”
You're off of her in an instant—and it's no scramble. You maneuver off of her with ease and scoop up your files once more, straightening your spine as you stand back and join Snow's side with one hand behind your back, bloodied knuckles and all. You sniff, the rueful look on your face taking a moment to dissipate as you replace it with civility.
You are a human being.
You don't look at Coryo’s face. You know it's covered with anger and disappointment. It's worse if he's stone cold. You can salvage this…
The woman rolls over onto her side, holding her nose delicately as she struggles to her feet. Tiny gasps and painful moans slip from her lips. She got what she deserves.
“Sorry, sir,” you say, obviously lying.
Suddenly, you feel like you should have punched her one more time. Because she begins to laugh. It's a bubbling laugh that you're sure is hurting her.
You can't do anything now. Not while Snow is here.
She shakes her head, licking her split lip and wincing through her laugh. Snow finds that more offensive than your empty apology, more offensive than even your savage display of violence.
“What's your name?” he demands.
She straightens up just a bit more. She also doesn't seem to understand the situation because she has a snarky grin on her face that says that she believes she's coming out of here on top. But those odds are not in her favor.
“Ellyn Halper,” she says.
“Ms. Halper.” He watches her, looking her up and down, his eyes strict and cold. He makes her squirm, even as she looks confidently at him. “You're fired.”
The news hits her like a train. She steps back, faltering, the horror crossing her face. “What?” She scoffs, glancing between the two of you as she shakes her head. “She attacked me!”
“And she wouldn't have attacked someone unprovoked,” he raises a brow. You try not to smile at him taking your side—and it's easy, because they talk about you like a misbehaved pet. “She must have had good reason. Clean out your desk and get out of my sight.”
She lingers, disbelief painting her features and mixing with her anger. When she doesn't move, Snow tilts his chin down and glares.
“Now.”
It's here that her rage outweighs her sense. She loses it. “You're going to protect this animal over Capitol?” she yells, pointing at you.
Still riding the high of your violence, you bare your teeth. “I'm not–”
“Quiet,” Snow snaps.
You shut your mouth.
Ellyn shakes her head, her lips twitching. She looks straight at you, sighing. She steps forward, stopped by Snow's warning hand. She leans in, “You're a disgrace.”
Snow can't have such blatant disrespect.
“Pack your bags, Ms. Halper,” he says. “I'm sending you to the districts.” Her horror is palpable. “We'll see who the animal is. I'm sure they would love to get their hands on Capitol.”
Snow doesn't give her any more attention. He turns and walks away, your impending punishment terrifying as you listen to his steps. You huff gently at her, slowly allowing your lips to split into your triumphant grin.
Snow calls your name. Your lips fall. You turn.
“Lap dog,” she spits.
Your jaw ticks. You turn again, and watch her step back. Your lips part, but before any sound can actually breach your lips, Snow calls your name again, firmer this time.
You huff, harder this time, and leave. You try to wipe the sight of that terrible smile on her bloodied face from your memory.
~
“What was that?”
He's pissed. His jaw ticks as he sets his hands on his hips.
But there's enough anger to go around.
Smacking the files on the desk, just as loudly as before as you jut your finger out towards them in accusation, you counter, “What is this?”
He dismisses you carelessly. “That's my business. Not yours.”
Before he can speak again, you cut him off, speaking quickly and concisely. “In my contract, it says I take care of your needs. It also says that I am your secretary and personal assistant. I handle your accounts, your documents, everything—so that means this is my business.” Stepping close to his desk, you lean forward toward him and lower your voice. “What is this about?”
Instead of answering you, he straightens his back and lifts his chin. With an amused scoff, he smirks lightly. “You actually read your contract.”
You don't appreciate his taunts. You read the full extent of your contract years ago, and you make sure to reread it every month to ensure you've memorized every detail. If he's got you on a tight leash, you need to know how much room you actually have to move.
“Coriolanus,” you huff. You wish you could say you won't say it again, but he'd make you repeat a million times if he felt like it. And you would have to obey. “What is it about?”
He's silent as he thinks to himself, contemplating. How does he answer your question without giving you the power and the luxury of a response?
But it's easy for him to remember that he will always have the power. He will always have the upper hand.
He breathes in, and you watch his lips curve. “The Victors.”
“I heard that,” you say. “What about them?”
His smile grows. The mischief and cunning lights up in his eyes. He places his hands in his pockets, rounding his desk as he leans back on it, crossing his ankles as he does. “This deal between you and I works pretty well, I'd say.”
You clench your jaw, unhappy with where this conversation is leading. You shake your head, “And?”
“And,” he shrugs, “there are and will be plenty more victors out there fit to do the same.”
You lose some of your bravado, your anger and confidence replaced by hesitant disbelief. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Sometimes you forget that Snow was, in truth, an evil man. Between your nights of passion and unnecessary gifts, it's easy to forget about the monster underneath his façade of fancy suits and beautiful roses.
He circles your body, like predator to prey…as always.
“I make sure people stay interested in the Games. And people like to keep up with our Victors,” he turns toward you suddenly. “I mean, they seem to take plenty of interest in you.”
You shake your head, your voice weak, “Coryo.”
He ignores you, continuing on. “These Victors are interesting. And some are considered to be quite…attractive in some senses.” He stops in front of you, smiling evilly. “A contract here and a signature there–”
“Coryo,” you try again, your voice trembling this time.
“–and these rich cats can have a Victor all to themselves.”
“Coriolanus.”
He stops, watching you expectantly as you try to wrap your head around his vile proposal.
They didn't deserve this. These Victors have already been through so much and he wants to add more grief and misery to their lives?
You were already lost the moment he stepped foot in your house, the moment you signed that contract, the moment you fell to your knees in his office and had your first taste of him. There was no hope for you now.
He'd gotten you addicted a long time ago…
“These are people,” you all but beg, clasping your hands together in hopes of persuading him away from his sadistic plans, “they're human beings. They aren't animals for you to sell.”
He makes a face, smiling wide as he leans in. “They are animals.” You expected this response, but it still hurts for him to say it so indisputably. “And they're for me to do whatever I want with.”
You clench your teeth and watch him turn away again, reclaiming the file and dropping it into a drawer he pulls open. “And besides, they won't be sold indefinitely.” He looks up at you with that sly grin of his. “The Capitol should be able to have their fill…”
You scoff. “Oh, so they're not just your slaves, they're your prostitutes.” You can't believe him, though you know you should.
He’d done it to you. What was stopping him from doing it to the rest?
Hopefully, you.
“They're my pets,” he counters. He leans forward onto his desk. And he's so tall, that he manages to lean in so much that he can see each little fleck of your irises as you stare unblinkingly at him. “Just like you.”
You nod, pursing your lips. “Okay, then I'm your pet.” You lean in as well, this time. You lean in so close that he has no choice but to shift away from you. “Not them.” You lick your lip and round the desk, wanting so desperately for him to hear your voice for once.
You plead, because it's the only thing you can do. Your voice is quiet, desperate, weak. Just the way he likes it.
“Let them go. You do enough to them, they don't deserve this.”
He doesn't hear you. He doesn't care.
“They deserve whatever I decide.”
Your jaw tenses, your thoughts scrambling to figure out a solution. Any solution. You just need to persuade him, to change his mind. This doesn't need to happen.
But his eyes are so cold, so stoney, so lying. There's no sympathy there and there will never be sympathy there. So you try to sway him in the way you know best.
You drop to your knees, skilled and shaky hands grasping his belt as you begin to undo it quickly. “What are you doing?”
The metal clinks as you work at it, pulling it free from the first loop as you begin to take the latch from its adjusted position. “Changing your mind,” you answer plainly. As you loosen the belt, tugging on it to remove it from the loops of his pants. “This is what you want, isn't it? You're just trying to rile me up to get me to do what you want. I'll do it–”
“Get the fuck off me.”
He pushes you away, shoving you onto the floor like you're nothing. And to him, you are. Nothing.
He doesn't seem angry, just annoyed at your audacity… And then he seems amused. His face lifts and he begins to smile. His smile turns to a chuckle, and he shakes his head as he looks down at you, purely amused by your attempt at persuasion.
“Oh, I get it,” he laughs, walking toward you to properly tower over your meek body. “You think that because I fuck you that I actually care about what you want.” He pronounces the F to hurt, punching it while also saying it with such disregard that it truly shows how little it means to him… Nothing.
He kneels down, resting his arm on his knee and watching you with those taunting eyes. “This isn't about you,” he whispers. Though his voice is soft, it cuts like a knife. Your hands tremble as they lift you up.
He spews his poison without restraint. “You are an animal. And yes, you are my lap dog.”
He feigns sympathy and remorse that he isn't capable of. “You think I swooped in earlier and punished that stupid girl because she talked down to you? I punished her because you're mine, and if I let someone get away with disrespecting my things, no one will respect me.”
He spews all his hatred, and you take it all. “I couldn't care less that she called you an animal or a whore or whatever the fuck else because you are.” It's a slap in the face each time as his voice becomes more and more hateful. “You're my pet, and you're my whore. You belong to me.”
So far beyond difficult to resist another gulp.
You stare at him, your face fallen as you seem to learn your lesson for the thousandth time. You're nothing to him. You're just property, and you mean nothing.
He smirks, standing to his full height once more as you remain tossed to the floor. You stare at him, your fight diminished.
“Speak.”
Like a dog.
“Yes, Coryo.”
Obedient.
“Smile.”
It looks like a sneer.
“Yes, Coryo.”
Well-trained.
Your lips part as you open your mouth, dropping your jaw as you've been doing for years.
And though that satisfies him beyond all belief, that satisfaction is all he needs. “Close your mouth.”
Nothing.
“Yes, Coryo.”
Your monotonous tone falls silent as you await his next command, a dog waiting for orders from her master.
He bends down, grasping the front of your shirt in his fist and pulling close. His face is inches from his. You don't fight him, you don't resist in any way. You let him move you as he pleases, staring blankly at him.
He looks about the length of your face. His smile is wholly evil. “Don't forget what you are.”
Quiet, broken, weak is your voice. Just the way he likes it.
“Yes, Coryo.”
He hums, letting you go. “Good girl.”
~
PART SIX: Addiction
You hear the footsteps coming down the hall and ignore them all the same. Flipping the next page in your book, you sigh gently and pull your legs closer toward you. Just a couple more sentences is all you ask…
Your door opens without a knock, and you aren't surprised. This is his home, you are his pet. Why ask permission for something which belongs to him?
You force yourself to meet Coryo’s gaze, the exhaustion in your eyes clear. He's in the same clothes as before, though his hair is more relaxed and his shirt is looser, the top few buttons undone to let his chest peek from its hiding spot. With one last sigh, you close your book.
You slip off the bed, easing down to your knees. Letting your hands rest in your lap, you allow your jaw to drop open wide, ready to receive him as you push your tongue out over your bottom teeth.
He smirks lightly, his chuckle even lighter. “Down girl.” You close your mouth.
“How do you want me?”
He sighs gently, closing the door behind him and slowly walking inside. “Believe it or not,” he says, his voice gentle, “I'm not here for me, I'm here for you.”
You raise a brow, unimpressed and suspicious. “Why?”
Your attitude amuses him. He shrugs, taking a seat at the edge of your bed and looking down at you. It doesn't feel as condescending as it usually does. “Making up.”
Foolish hope sparks in your chest, but you don't let it show. “So you're not going through with it.”
“No, I am.” He hums, “But I can't have my pet neglected, now can I?”
You sigh, turning away from him. You don't know why you asked.
He pats the spot next to him. “Get back on the bed, my flower.”
You look down at your hands as you rub at your pinky. “Yes, Coryo.”
As you sit up, taking the spot next to him, he tuts gently. “Now, now. No need for that tonight,” he says, closing the gap between the both of you.
You look up at him, your attitude fully present still. “Yes, Coryo.”
He sighs. Coryo sets a hand on your knee, turning toward you. “You're upset,” he says. You scoff. “That's understandable. I upset you.”
You want to say something snarky, but you're on thin ice from today, and you don't need to make it thinner. You turn away, but he catches your gaze as he takes your chin with his crooked finger and turns you to face him again.
And you hate yourself for feeling cared for.
“Let me make it up to you.”
You hate the way you nearly melt. “You can make it up to me by letting them go.”
He hums, shrugging. “Or I can eat you out.” You feel like you might shake at the idea. When you don't speak, he raises his brows. “Unless you just want me to leave…”
He's manipulating you. You know he is. He's been doing it since the beginning. You'd think you had some sort of defense against him at this point, but he's had years of practice in bending you to his will, in getting you hooked on him.
He knows. He knows what you are.
You're feeding me poison.
And you give in. Because you've never been strong against him, not even for a moment. You give in because you're so addicted to him that you'd die without the taste of him on your tongue…
With a long sigh, you lay back against your pillows and spread your legs. His smile spread across his face in such a wicked way, self-satisfied and fully amused.
He sets a hand on your knee and shifts himself to kneel in front of you. He slowly pulls your panties down your legs and pushes your nightgown away, teasing you and increasing your still-there frustrations.
Yes, you've lost the ability to resist this man and his sexual prowess, but that doesn't mean you want to draw this out. It's shameful enough…
He knows this. That's why he does it.
His lips press to the inside of your knee, then further down your thigh, and then right back up. You huff silently, annoyed with his antics.
He gives you a disarming smile. “Come now, my flower,” he tuts. “I may be spoiling you but that doesn't mean we don't still have our manners.”
You lay your head back, sighing as you let your eyes shut. You lick your bottom lip. “Please, Coryo.”
He hums. “I am sure you can do far better than that.”
Maybe you should cry. Maybe if you cry, he'll think you're ugly and leave you to live back in your lonely home at Seven. He'll think you're too worthless to go back into the Games. You could sober up the hard way… He'll leave you be.
But you know Coriolanus, which means you know that would never happen. He'd tsk, tsk, tsk and tell you how perfect you look crying. He'd hold you down and fuck you and tell you to be a good girl and keep crying for him. And you would. You know would.
Besides, if he did cast you out, he would just choose someone else to take your place. Then he would do this to them.
Better you than someone else.
You look up at him, screwing your face into a self-pitying expression. Your voice is small and meek when you open your mouth.
“Please, Coryo,” you whisper, “I'm yours.”
Just the way he likes it.
Pleased, he presses another kiss to the inside of your thigh, and then lets the flat of his tongue lick along the seam of your pussy. A whimper slips from your lips at the feeling, and you let yourself fade into the pleasure.
You forget that this man is your captor, your master. You forget that he's the reason for your nightmares. You forget that he's dark, cruel, sadistic, that he does not truly care for you.
You lose yourself in the fantasy that he is a loving man who only wants to see you happy.
“Coryo,” you moan as he suckles eagerly at your clit, a man starved of his sweet wine. Coryo. Not Coriolanus. Not Snow. Your Coryo. Your gentle, loving Coryo. The man who held you when he wasn't forcing you to your knees and bidding you to be his good girl.
His fingers stroke inside of you, two long fingers curling with you as his tongue flicks at your clit. The stretch of his fingers is welcome, and you look down at his head nestled between your thighs. You whine at the feeling of his tongue, hungry and searching.
His dull nails dig into the flesh of your thigh. As his tongue delves inside of you with his lips suckling around you, you feel his nose press deliciously against the sensitive bundle of nerves, which aches for release.
Circling his head, your legs wrap around him and squeeze, the tension tightening in your belly as he works eagerly at your pleasure. You're helpless to him as sounds rise from your throat like a gentle hum. Again, you whisper his name, lost to the feeling of him. He grunts into you, your body warm with the vibration, with the warmth of his mouth, with the warmth of his hands on your thighs.
“Coryo,” you whimper as you feel your pleasure rising within you, tingling in your legs and in your toes. Your open-mouthed breaths make your throat dry, but it’s hard to focus on that when each breath you take fills your chest with more and more desire. “I’m so close,” you gasp. “Please, can I cum?”
Instead of answering, he just sucks harder on your clit, prying your thighs further apart as he licks you up. As that coil tightens in your belly, your legs tremble and almost fight against his grip keeping them apart. You grind your hips up to meet his face, he holds you down.
You know how he likes it—the grinding, the moaning, the pleading, the strength. And when the pleasure crashes down on you, your clit pulsing against each lick of his tongue as he continues to work you, you shut your eyes and let out the breathy moans he loves so much. Your chest is full of warmth.
I’m choking on this feeling I can’t help but swallow up.
“C-Coryo,” you mutter, the sensitivity becoming too much as your legs continue to tremble. You arch away from him, but he holds you tight and pulls you closer. He forces your legs apart still, not quite finished as he continues to suckle around your sensitive bud.
You gasp when he finally pulls away, satisfied with the taste of you. “What a good girl you are,” he murmurs, smiling almost wickedly—though you replace it with one full of love and care. One can only dream.
He crawls up your body, stalking like a predator as he leans in, his face inches from yours. You bring your hands up to his cheeks and pull him down to meet your lips, kissing him with all the passion you can muster. He cares, he cares, he cares.
He cares as he traces his tongue along the seam of your lips. He cares as he smooths his hand along your soft thigh. He cares as he brings your leg up against his side and grinds his hips against you. He cares as he digs his dull nails into your flesh like the claws of a lion. He cares as he sinks his teeth into your bottom lip like the fangs of a wolf.
He definitely cares as he brings a strong hand to your hair and tangles his fingers there with every intention of tugging you back to see your face. You whimper lightly, sinking into it and pretending the burn of your scalp is just the heat of your desire.
I made my choice and every night I’m wasted like there’s no tomorrow.
“You’re so pretty,” he smiles, and you fully understand the unspoken “like this” that follows his words but you choose to ignore it.
He kisses you again, this primal, devouring kiss you gladly mistake for ardor. He takes the bottom of your nightgown in his hand and pulls it up and over your head. You let him take it off of you. You let him strip you bare as his greedy hands smooth along the length of your body. Tentatively, not fully committed (you would be perfectly content with his lips on yours, kissing him forever under the illusion of simple intimacy), you pull at his belt. He undoes it and pulls it off entirely. You think he’ll toss it away, but it doesn’t.
“Open your mouth.”
Obediently, you do. He wraps the belt around your head, fitting it in your mouth as he loops it behind and pulls it tight. You nearly wince at the feeling, but he’s done worse. He unbuttons his pants, leaning down as he presses his lips to your neck. He kisses and sucks and nips at your throat, and you both let out deep moans that rumble in your chest when he presses inside of you.
You lean your head back, giving him more space to paint your neck in his claim. The taste of leather is strong on your tongue. Each breath you take is full of the earthy scent of his belt. You set your hands on his waist as he braces his fists on either side of your head. His thrusts are deep and rough. You feel his hips as he moves, his slender waist fits perfectly between your legs.
Your moans are muffled by his belt. As you dig your heels into his back, encouraging each thrust as he gives them, he grunts at the way you tighten around his cock. His hips snap into you with a greed that makes you crazy, that drives him wild. Taken by the pleasure, he grabbed the belt behind your head and pulled it in a way that made you look up at him.
His lips are plump from kissing you so roughly, his hair is loose and falling in delicate locks across his forehead, his breath fans gently across your own face. He looks pretty like this. Even with the predatory gaze in his eyes, he looks pretty. You want to kiss him but you don’t. You can’t.
He breath stutters in his throat after a particular thrust, and your eyes flutter shut as you moan at the feeling. He continues to fuck into you, like it’s the last time. There’s nothing gentle about it, nothing sweet or nice or careful. He fucks you to his own need, but knows you well enough that it would fill you with so much pleasure that it doesn’t matter if he does it for him.
And he knows you well enough that the lack of care he has in his thrusts fills you with so much longing that he doesn’t need physical pain to be sadistic.
He pulls out of you suddenly, his breath coming out in hot puffs as he leans back on his haunches. “Turn around,” he orders, though his voice is quieter—there’s no real need to bark with you.
Anyway you want me, baby, that’s the way you got me.
You do as you’re told, ignoring the discomfort in the loss of him inside of you as you sit up and move as quickly as you can with the sluggish nature of your desire for him mixing with your depletion. As soon as you’ve turned around, he doesn’t care to give you time to adjust to the new position before he’s grabbing the belt again, wrapping it around his fist, and taking your hip in his other hand as he shoves his cock into you once again.
You go to hang your head, the feeling too great, but you’re stopped by his grip of the belt. Setting the quickened pace at the beginning, he fucks into you fast and rough. The sound of his skin smacking against yours fills the room. A light sheen of sweat coats your body as the heat fills you inside and out. His name is muffled on your lips, but his grunts are clear in the air.
His hand on your waist circles around as he presses his fingers to your still-sensitive clit. He rubs fast circles against it, building you up, up, up. You can’t help but whine, you can’t help but feed his hunger as he fills you with pleasure. Your legs tremble, and with his skill, it isn’t long until he hurls you into your second orgasm.
You throw your head back and moan, the sound rough with your desperation. But he doesn’t stop. He isn’t finished. He fucks your sensitive cunt. His eyes flutter at the tightening of your cunt.
You feel so weak, tired from the exertion but not fully satisfied until you’ve given him all that he needs. You’ve been with this man for years and the conditioning settled in a long time ago.
I’ll be yours.
So, yes, he keeps going and keeps going and keeps going. He takes you on your back, he takes you on your hands and knees, he takes you against the wall (front and back), he takes you in his lap, and he never stops each time until you’ve come apart in his hands. Pent up with so much stress and spurred on by the fatigue in your eyes, he lasts through it all.
You don’t know how long you’ve been going by this point. All you know is the rhythm of his hips thrusting in and out and in and out as he pushes you down into the bed with your ass pulled up against his hips and your face buried in a pillow. His hands push against your back, keeping you down still. You can hear his breath, heavy with his own nearing exertion. His thrusts are beginning to lose their rhythm, becoming more and more desperate with his nearing release.
You can hardly keep your eyes open. All your breaths have been reduced to shallow whimpers, and as his finger presses against your clit again, a mewl slips from your throat as it pleads for relief and release alike. You hear him begin to curse under his breath, his thrusts rougher though not as steady. And he presses you further still as he moves closer, seeking his relief as it gets so close, he can taste it.
And, because you know him just as well as he knows you, you tip him over the edge as you let your lips part. Your voice is small and meek and whiny, a needy little cry that he hears because he craves it. “Coryo.”
“Oh, fuck,” he growls.
He fucks you hard in the first few seconds that he spills into you, his cum hot and plentiful as he moves himself farther against you as if he could go deeper still. And as his fingers flick at your clit, you accompany his needy moan with your own as you cum as well. You’re blinded by the feeling, left mewling as your eyes well with tired tears. It’s almost uncomfortable and you wince slightly when he presses a little too deep into you.
Coryo lingers there, his breath evening into a steadier rhythm as he eases off of you. You take in a full breath as he pulls out of you, closing your eyes and going limp against the sheets. Your body is so heavy, full of the exhaustion that has haunted you for years, exhaustion that comes with belonging to Coriolanus Snow. You wish you could slow down, take a breath, but whatever Snow wants, Snow gets.
My story’s gonna end with me dead from your poison.
Coryo runs a hand through his hair, letting out a long sigh. He picks your nightgown up from the floor and wipes the both of you clean with the smallest modicum of care. You feel his knuckles brush against your shoulder and you shiver as he lets it graze gently along your spine. He stops it at the dip of your back.
Coryo turns off your bedside lamp, crawling into the bed as he shifts behind you, a gentle hand falling to your side as he pulls you into his body. And you actually find comfort in his arms as he pulls you closely to his body. His head rests in the crook of your neck, your body is pulled flush against his. His warmth seeps into your skin and you let your eyes flutter shut as he pulls the covers over your bodies.
And for a moment, everything is perfect. For a moment, you trick yourself into believing that this man can be capable of love.
But you feel his arms tightening around you until your lungs are so tight that it’s nearly impossible to breathe. You feel his nails, eager and greedy, digging into your flesh, and you wince at the terrible sting of them. He pulls you closer, not just seeking your warmth, but seeking full control and possession over something that already belongs to him. You silence your whimper.
I’m drowning in poison. I keep fillin’ my glass but it’s always hollow, full of poison.
When you can get past the pain of his embrace, you manage to lull yourself to sleep. You rest in his clutch and indulge in the false security of his empty arms.
But your rest is short-lived. Because halfway through the night, he wakes. Coryo opens his eyes and loosens his hold on you. You rouse from your own sleep but you stay perfectly still with closed eyes and steady breath. He lets go of you completely, getting out of the bed and leaving the room with silent steps. He has work to do.
I’m sick of the poison.
Once the door is closed, you’re left cold and alone. You curl up in on yourself, turning your head into the pillow as you feel the dam break. And like an idiot, you cry into your pillow. Your chest stutters with all the pain and weariness and hopelessness you carry with you through the day, through the night. You let it out, but it never seems to fade. And as the fatigue takes over once more, you let it take you into a sleepless kind of sleep where your nightmare of holding love in your hands plays in your mind over and over and over again.
Wish I had something to live for tomorrow.
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Coriolanus Snow taglist: @the-nerdy-goddess Tag yourself here...
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http-finnick · 4 months
Text
𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 - 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐬.𝐬
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coriolanus snow x fem!reader
summary: you and coryo run into the meadow for a picnic date
cw: fluff, kissing, coryo is not evil.
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the weeds tickle your ankles as you giggle through the hills, the sun warming your blood as your dress flows with your running
"can you hurry up?" you yelp as he rolls his eyes, head freshly buzzed and tank top just washed, he speeds up.
you smile when he's finally in reach, grabbing his shoulders before staring in his blue eyes
"well, is this the spot?" he asks, breaking you from your trance as you quickly nod. he swings the basket on the grass and lets the wind unfold the blanket before placing it at your feet
as you relax under the sun he passes you bread and berries. your teeth sink into the blackberry as he snaps a piece of hearty bread.
you move to lay on your stomach when you notice a lonely ladybug crawling on your blanket, letting her crawl on your fingertips as you feel a light tickle on the loose strands of your hair.
in a few minutes, you look back to see your hair decorated with wildflowers and grin to see Coryo trying to look oblivious. As you let the ladybug crawl off your finger you move towards him.
his lips are plump and redden from the strawberries and you lean to kiss them. he smiles into the kiss, moving on top of you so you lay relaxed into his love. when your sweet kiss is finished he hovers over you with an arm resting above you, studying your face like it's the first time he's seen it.
you blush under his gaze and try to look back into the meadow but his hand guides you back to him before laying another kiss on you.
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an: hiii guys! i'm so happy to be posting for coryo! I hope you guys enjoy it! <333
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nebulaafterdark · 4 months
Text
Exile (Part 3)
Summary: Y/N Undersee thought the games were over after becoming a victor. Unfortunately, life outside the arena has become just as dangerous. Prequel to Moves & Countermoves
Trigger warning: forced prostitution, explicit sexual content, alcohol abuse and other mentions of trauma. 18+ ONLY
Part 2
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Days turn into weeks and they fall into a routine. Y/N and Haymitch lead different lives for the most part. He likes to stay in, she needs to go out. To see people. To prove to herself that the world didn’t actually change, only she did.
“My father wants you to come over for dinner.” Y/N tells her husband, upon her return from town.
“He wants me?” Haymitch frowns.
“Well, it’s a family dinner,” Y/N shrugs. “You haven’t really met my family.”
“I know your family.”
“I didn’t mean…” Maysilee.
“You said your mother struggles,” Haymitch remembers their conversations. Every word she’s ever said. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for her to see me.” The boy who won, the year her little sister died.
“My dad wouldn’t have asked if he thought it would be too much for her. He’s very protective of my mother.” Sometimes at the expense of his own daughters. “It would mean a lot to me.”
“Fine.” Haymitch takes a long swig from his glass. “We can play happy family, why not?”
“I don’t want you to feel like you have to put on a show. Just be yourself.”
“If I didn’t know any better I’d almost think you like me.” Haymitch smirks.
“Good thing you know better.” Y/N grins, turning away from him.
————————————————————————
“Well, Haymitch, it’s good to see you again.” Mayor Undersee claps the other man on the back as he steps over the threshold into Y/N’s childhood home.
“Nice to see you too.” Haymitch forces a smile.
“Please, come in and make yourself comfortable at the table. Dinner will be served momentarily.”
Y/N gives Haymitch’s hand a squeeze, kissing her father’s cheek, in greeting, before leading him deeper into the house. If Haymitch could even call it a house. More like a mansion, similar to the ones they occupy in victor’s village.
Madge and Mrs. Undersee are waiting for them at the dinner table. The girl glares up at him from her seat. She’s younger than Maysilee was, when Haymitch met her in the arena, but it’s still like seeing a ghost. It hurts to look at her.
“Madge pie, this is Haymitch.” Y/N smiles at her little sister.
“I know who he is.” Madge bites out. Y/N never had many nice things about him, until a few weeks ago when she up and married him.
“Y/N talks about you all the time.” Haymitch tells Madge. “All good things.”
Madge scowls, and says nothing.
“I understand that this is confusing for you. I know he and I don’t have the best track record.” Y/N sighs. “But what I need you to know is that Haymitch is good to me; he’s so good to me and he’s…important to me.”
Haymitch stares at Y/N, snapping his mouth shut as Madge huffs, but agrees to drop the subject.
He was important to her? Haymitch stews on it, through dinner. He couldn’t be important to her, he isn’t good enough. It’s his fault they’re in this mess to begin with.
But Y/N seems…happy. Happy with him and her family all together. Happy to make him part of her family.
Perhaps things have changed for her too.
The Undersees are nice enough, but they make Haymitch long for his own family. To have people he could bring her home to meet. His mother would’ve loved her. His little brother. His father was a man of few words, even still, Haymitch is sure Y/N could’ve pulled a smile from him.
When they are stuffed from their meal, the table disbands. Waving Y/N and Haymitch goodbye, from the doorway.
The victors set off, back to their village. Their foot steps falling in tandem atop the melting snow.
“I think they like you.” Y/N says, after a moment of silence.
“Your kid sister wants to string me up.” Haymitch chuckles.
“Madge will come around. She just needs time.”
Haymitch nods. “Well, they invited me for an encore next week. So at least there’s that.”
“You can tell them no, you know?” Y/N reminds him.
He shrugs, “happy wife, happy life.” You’re important to me too.
They manage to make it home, to the new couch in the foyer, before they’re a mess of lips, tongues and wandered hands.
“I want you.” Y/N breathes, staring up at him above her.
“You have me.” Haymitch assures her.
“Please?” She is prepared to beg. Because surely that wasn’t allowed.
They haven’t…not since their wedding night. Never just for them. Never just because they wanted to. Mostly, they exchanged a few words and then did this; kisses and heavy petting.
“Angel,” he sighs. She couldn’t possibly want that, she must want comfort and to be close to him. “This is enough, I’ll stay right here.” With her legs wrapped around him like a vice. “We don’t have to do anything else.” He nuzzles her nose.
“I want to. Just for us. Unless you don’t-”
“Oh believe me, I want.” His cock is hard and pulsing between them. “But only if you’re sure.”
Y/N nods. “I’m sure.”
Haymitch kisses her then, letting her set the pace. Their clothing hits the floor and Y/N keens as he slips a hand between them. She’s so wet.
“Please.”
“Anything you want, anything you need.” Haymitch murmurs, lining himself up with her entrance and easing inside.
“Fuck,” Y/N says. He angles her hips upward, hitting that spot with each pass.
“Is that all you want, angel?” He hums, cupping her breast in his hand. “I’ll keep you full of me and make you cum until you can’t think straight. Is that what you want?”
Y/N nods.
“Oh, sweet girl,” he all but growls. Leaning back on his heels, driving into her faster. “I want that too.”
He can’t avoid her like this, or feign a shred of indifference. All he can do is love her and love her and love her. Fuck, how he loves her. Even though he isn’t supposed to, even if he’ll only admit it to himself when he’s balls deep. Haymitch is in love. In sinking, festering, all consuming, inconvenient, love.
Y/N kisses him reverently, because Haymitch makes her feel things. He’s one of the few people who can, after the games. Like parts of her went numb in the arena. She feels nothing at all. But he sets her ablaze. Sometimes with rage, other times with passion, but she’s never felt this way about anyone before.
It is real, so very real.
The coil in her belly goes hot, impossibly tight. What is he doing to her? “I-” she begins to protest. “Uh!”
“You’re ok.” Haymitch assures her, pressing his hand to her lower belly, adding to the sensation.
“Oh god,” Y/N gasps. It’s unlike anything she’s ever felt before. Building and building… “Haymitch!” She claws at his forearms, in warning.
A rush of wetness greets him. Her cheeks heat up, but Haymitch won’t allow her to be embarrassed. “I want you all over me- make you cum on every piece of furniture in this damn house.”
Y/N whines, lost in him. His words, his touch, his eyes, boring into her soul as he ruins her. Until there is nothing left but him. All of him and all of her, splayed out for the other to see.
————————————————————————
Things are different after that. Haymitch becomes very…attentive. Bringing Y/N little gifts. Anything from books he found at the hob, to flowers he’d found growing around the back of their house.
Because it has become theirs now, not just his. Little pieces of her are everywhere, twining themselves into his DNA.
Y/N takes an interest in fixing his favorite meals, watching his face light up.
“Went down to the hob today.” Haymitch tells her, lying his latest offering on the dinner table.
Y/N turns away from her pot on the stove, flipping the burner off. “Oh?”
“Funny enough, they asked about you.”
“Haymitch-”
“Whatever you’re doing down there,” supplying them with things to sell, bringing money back into the district, “is grounds for execution. Even for a victor.” Haymitch reminds her. “So you’re gonna stop doing it.”
“I can’t stop, Haymitch. Those people, our people, they need that money. They’re starving!”
“I’m taking over. You supply the goods, I’ll pitch in some things of my own. But you stay away from the hob. Peacekeepers can’t see you there, nobody can see you there.” Haymitch continues.
“I’ve been doing this for years.” Since before the games. “I haven’t been caught.”
“You got lucky.” He reasons, “or maybe you didn’t.”
“What?”
“What are the odds that the mayor’s daughter gets her name called at the reaping? You didn’t have to take tesserae, so your name was in there once? That’s some incredibly bad luck on your part. Or maybe somebody did know that you were trying to help the people in the seam.” Haymitch lifts a shoulder.
“My aunt’s name was in there once. Just one time. It can happen and it does.” Y/N crosses both arms over her chest.
“Look, I don’t want to fight. I know this is important to you, but I can’t have you there. It’s too much of a risk. I’ll be the middle man.”
“Fine,” Y/N sighs. Reaching down for his glass and taking a swig. The liquid is foul, burning her nostrils and throat, causing her to sputter and gag. “Is that fucking rubbing alcohol?”
“That’s the hard stuff, angel.” Haymitch claps his hand against her back as she continues her coughing fit. “Should’ve started off with wine or champagne.” Something sweet for his sweet girl.
“It tastes different when…” Y/N’s eyes dart to his lips. “When it’s on you.”
“Interesting,” Haymitch muses. Suddenly he’s having her for dinner.
Part 4
Taglist: @spideysimpossiblegirl @ancientbeing10 @1-800-styles @l3xi3luv @lam-ila
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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐰𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞.
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pairing: coriolanus snow x toxic!fem!reader
summary: someone always throw a spanner in her works, to achieve her biggest dream —being coriolanus’ lover, wife and claiming power. luckily, y/n is not on the loser side when it comes to playing. 
trigger warnings (overall): mastermind!reader, toxic!reader (for real, she’s doing nasty things), reader’s family is a bit fucked up, reader is obsessed with coriolanus snow, lying, swearing, blood, violence, killing people, hunger games stuff, i just love volumnia gaul, reader hates lucy gray and everybody who’s around coriolanus, mental health problems mentioned such as psychotism, domestic violence mentioned, drugs, mention of sexual fantasies.
trigger warnings (in this part): mastermind!reader, toxic!reader (for real, she’s doing nasty things), reader’s family is a bit fucked up, reader is obsessed with coriolanus snow, lying, swearing, domestic violence mentioned, drugs, mention of sexual fantasies, mentions of gaining weight and wearing a corset (patrick bateman vibes), i really hope it doesn't seem like bodyshaming, reader has problems only with her own body.
prologue.
𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐖𝐒.
another day. another chance to win him over. 
y/n could be named for many things: a filthy liar, a nepo-baby, a psychopath or simply a crazy girl, but she was never, ever lazy. waking up, she always had the same routine: getting out from the bed, changing into her underwear she wore the day before, making her hair up into a bun, spreading carbon on her teeth to be white as marble. working out, even if it hurt, because how could she be the best wife ever for coriolanus if she was lazy and out of shape? through workout, she thought about who she is. i am y/n y/l/n, youngest member of the house y/l/n. we are noble, i am noble, and i deserve everything what i have now. i am beautiful, clever and nobody can ever drag me down. the people who hate me are only envious of my life, my body and my mind, but they’re all going to soil. i love the life i have, and i will appreciate every single second of the life i will have when i achieve my goals. i have every tool i can use to win, and i will use them to be the woman i want to be. it’s not far away, and everyday is a chance to be closer to the woman i want to be.
after that, taking a bath, scrubbing her body with a sponge, so her skin would always be silky, using her razor to get rid of the unwanted, ugly hair on her body. smearing vanilla and rose oil onto her skin: vanilla for being gentle, and rose for coriolanus. brushing her teeth, washing down the charcoal, washing teeth with the regular toothpaste. sitting in front of her dressing table, picking her eyebrow, putting cosmetic oils and serums on her cleavage, her neck and her face. while letting it dry, picking out the outfit of the day, calling in her maid, hortense to help her with the corset if she felt that she gained too much weight because of the medicine, or was on her period. y/n hated so-called red days, and waited for the day when she could bear her husband’s children. putting her clothes on, sitting at the dressing table again, her maid helped her if she wanted a special hairstyle. checking her manicure, it was now soft pink, it’ll match with her clothes. making her hair, she did her makeup, curling her eyelashes, putting a little chili on her lips to be so full –it hurt like hell, but how could she be perfect if she didn’t put effort in it?, whilst repeating another list in her mind. this was for coriolanus. 
be kind with him, but never too kind. be kind and modest with everybody else, so they won’t notice it. agree with him in the things that are important, but also speak your mind if he seems doubtful. speak your feelings to convince him, you are important to him. always accept his help, but don’t make redundant situations, don’t look like the damsel in distress. make him feel special, let him be the man he is, make him feel that you support him and his plans, but never make too big promises. don’t look pathetic, don’t show your emotions too much. never talk about him to others, only if they mention him, talk good about him, and talk bad about others if it’s needed. don’t make a scene if something doesn’t work your way, it will sooner or later. take action when it’s the right time. 
applying lipstick as the last step, she was ready to step out from home. y/n knew she had a strict routine, but doing mornings on autopilot let her think about more important things, like her daily plans. first destination was the school where coriolanus was, but first, she needed to get her papers after graduating, after that they’re gonna have lunch together, and then, she’ll look for the letters to see if volumnia gaul accepted her application. probably she will, she knows her entire family, how great they are, and she probably heard about y/n herself too. 
“good morning ms. y/l/n, how are you?” lacy, her sister’s maid asked her as she carried the laundry in a big basket through the hallway on the ground floor. 
“i slept well, lacy, thank you. where is my sister?” 
“your sister, morphia went to arrange the flowers and the cake for her marriage. i am so happy for her, ms. y/l/n!” 
y/n couldn’t decide if lacy was truly happy or just acting. but she wasn’t a threat, so y/n didn’t care. 
“me too, lacy.” 
her father was sitting at the head of the table, reading the tabloids, her mother, lorelei was eating some eggs with meat, some gin in her glass on the side. 
“this pheasant is really good, cyril.” she mentioned, looking up to see her youngest child. “oh, my sweet, y/n! good morning.” 
“good morning, mommy.” she said, giving her a kiss on the cheek, going to her father, she waited until he stopped reading the tabloid and looked at her. her father, cyril y/l/n was really strict, but not as strict as crassus snow. once, after her father made her burn the flowers she tore off from their garden and beat her, her mother stroked her cheek, saying “oh, honey, don’t be sad. your father is a good man, not like crassus snow. i think you should be glad that you don’t have him as your father.” so this way, y/n was happy. or so her mother thought. 
“good morning, father.” she told him too, giving him a kiss on the cheek too. she could do that until she was eighteen, after that, only the greeting was acceptable. y/n saw once, when morphia tried to kiss her father when she passed eighteen, she got slapped across the face. but they were happy, weren’t they? 
“how’s your application with gaul?” he asked as y/n sat down. 
“i handed it in yesterday. probably a letter will wait for me in the afternoon.” 
“why, what will you do today?” 
“cyril, i already told you that! your butler even wrote it down for you!” her mother whined, looking at her daughter. y/n took a slice of bread, reaching for the butter and the knife. 
“don’t mind it, mother. i’m going to the school to get my graduating papers, then have lunch with coriolanus, and then–”
“coriolanus snow? that boy and his family are broke, his father was gullible and got killed by the rebellion. why are you humbling yourself in his presence?” 
control. control your face, your hands. y/n’s fist curled around the knife tighter, grabbing it with real force. 
“i know, but he has great talent. and he’s gonna be the next president of panem.” she replied calmly, looking at him. sometimes she fantasized about stabbing him there, at the head of the table. 
“president of panem? y/n, you are so amusing when you say things like this. but i truly hope your words will become reality someday. crassus wasn’t gullible, everybody was afraid through the first rebellion.” his face softened, just as he spoke to a three year old. 
“yes, honey! your father doesn’t doubt you, he’s just amazed at what you are saying.” her mother added, sipping on her gin, batting her lashes. it wasn’t even ten in the morning, as she was already wasted. after eating the slice of bread, y/n stood up, hiding the knife into her sleeve. 
“i’m going out, but i’m gonna be here for the letter. please don’t open up before me.” she asked, making her father look up. 
“hortense is going to bring it to your room.” 
“thank you, father.” 
“honey, you didn’t even touch the caviar and the honey, please eat some more!” 
kissing her mother’s cheek again, y/n looked at her. she got her eyes, her mother was truly beautiful when she was young, acrimonious lips talked cyril only married lorelei because of her looks. nevertheless, the creed family was also noble, y/n only had to bear festus’ horrible personality twice a year, christmas and the reaping. 
“don’t worry mommy, i’ll be fine.” 
she could work easily with an empty stomach, getting back to her room, preparing her bag. looking at the medicines, she put the bottle under her clothes. she didn’t need these pills that made her useless, slow and lazy anyway, she needed something else… and she knew her horrible cousin, festus got that white, powdery thing. grabbing the butterknife from under her sleeve, she touched it. it was the worst knife ever, blunt and short, like some of the fighters in the games. y/n loved her father, respected him and counted on his words, but questioning her and laughing at her, it was the exception if it came to love and respect. and if her father is doubting her again, she will–
funk! well, who thought that people could stick butter knives into the wall? 
arriving at the school, showing her papers that she was a private student, the secretary gave out her graduation stuff. nodding, the secretary told some things, but her mind was focused on finding festus. going to the main hall, everybody whore red, y/n was the only outstander with her black skirt, soft pink blouse and black blazer. every school uniform was truly awful, the capitol is the wealthiest in all panem, couldn’t they make it a little bit more… pleasant? it’s a shame that every fabric is on their hand, available, and still, they style it horrible. nevermind, festus was there, chatting with that bitch arachne and that fucker pliny harrington. 
“hey, festus, hey, everybody. can we talk for a minute?” she turned to her cousin. festus looked at her, smirked, then looked at the others. 
“of course. sorry, it’s only a minute.” he said to them, walking to one of the corners with y/n. leaning to one of the marble piles, he dug his hands into his pockets. “so, what do you want?”
“why are you asking me so pitiless?” y/n blinked at him. for some people, formality in family could seem heartless, but she was relieved that she didn't need to waste her time if she didn't want to.
“you talk to me only if you need something.” 
“me? don’t be ridiculous, i helped with all your assignments in school, what would your mother say if she heard that?” y/n couldn’t be a big gamer if she didn’t knew the connections in her environment perfectly well. seeing how festus’ face became a little bit rigid, she continued. “anyway, i want from that white dust you gave me last time.”
she couldn’t even carve a wider grin on his face, even if she wanted to.
“so you liked it? it’s better than your stupid pills.” y/n had a poker face, but she wondered how he got to know. “you’re not the only one who knows things in the family.” fucker, you don’t even know everything, yet you still play like you’re the most clever. the funny thing is that it ain't what you don't know that gets you into trouble, no. it's what you know for sure that just ain't so.
“i have business somewhere else soon, can i get it or not?”
“it will cost some money, but i am always happy to help my family.” oh, fuck off. y/n reached her hand like she wanted to shake hands with him, and this way, demand and supply met. “if you drink some of it, it’ll be better. you are a crazy bitch y/n, but if snow really will be the president, remember me as one of your biggest supporters.” he smiled. “oh, and volumnia heard some of his great ideas about getting more audience for the games. if you’ll work for her, that ugly power couple thing can be really dangerous.” what ideas? she knew it was a problem that the game wasn't so popular, and he thought that coriolanus wasn’t so interested in that. of course, until now, because big money was at stake, and everybody was prowling around the corner. y/n curled the corner of her lips up under duress, bidding goodbye to festus. she wasn’t gonna take it now, she used it only for emergencies.
now, she could completely focus on coriolanus. where was he? walking to the other long hallway, looking around, he was nowhere despite that they stuck to eleven am yesterday. suddenly, she felt two hands on her shoulder, making her turn. 
“there you are!” there he was. y/n could look at him for an eternity, could he look better under eleven hours? everything about him was perfect, from the way he looked to the point he talked, and y/n almost tasted the sweetness when his mind was forming those clever, great thoughts. and his looks? she knew they could have the most precious children; angel blonde hair, blue eyes, chiseled jawline she could kiss a million times, his body was sculpted by the gods who were looking down on them, and she prayed every night to the deities so they could be each other’s one day. in y/n’s mind, coriolanus wasn’t just a boy or a soon-to-be-man. no, he was the base of everything, he had everything that y/n needed, and y/n was raised truly the best way. nobody else could get in the near of the perfection he formed, and y/n could see the future. the future, where they marry, she is in the longest, most beautiful white dress full with gemstones like rubies, sapphires, diamonds and emeralds, vowing endless loyalty to each other, the whole world is envious of the wealth they have. the future, where he becomes the president of panem, leading the nation with a strong hand and making decisions with a strong mind, while y/n helped to make the games more impressive, more dangerous, more cruel, but first of all, supporting him in everything, even if she has to get her hands dirty. the future, where she was pregnant with his children, naming them ancient names so they could mirror the same noble qualities those deities had, raising them the best way so they could even outgrow them, perfect people. “how was your morning?”
the future they could have. the future they WILL have. 
“hello, corio. mine was pretty good, got my graduating papers. how was your day so far?” 
“it was… good, i guess? this mentoring thing is new for everyone, i spent all night thinking how lucy gray could win.” 
that name, again. keep it cool. 
“i’m sure you will think it out. shall we go and eat lunch?” 
sitting in a gorgeous, golden restaurant, y/n chose a corner for them to sit in. when their food arrived, she waited for him to speak. it seemed like something was itching his mind, and she was one of his best friends, wasn't she? corio looked to the side, then at her, then took a bite from his lunch. let’s break the ice. 
“is everything okay, corio?”
“yes, yes, everything’s fine. is it… on my face?” 
“well, since i…” don’t make it too personal. “...since we know each other so well, i see worry on your face. you can tell me everything.” 
“it’s… it’s gonna be really, really embarrassing for me, but… so, y/n, it’d be my pleasure if… you’d come with me on a date?”
clawing on her thigh, was this reality? was coriolanus really, really asking her out in this glorious place? was she truly worthy of his love? moderating her grin to a smile, she looked at him. he was truly a love-child of an angel and a god, and while y/n was truly a masterpiece herself, it was the biggest honor for her to get into the grace of this guy. now, the idea of the wedding and the best imaginable life wasn’t so far away. did the gods hear her prayers above, and saw the list she created? 
“forget it, y/n, i know i’m not–” coriolanus tried to hush the previous idea with an embarrassed look on his face, but y/n shook her head. obviously, her mind wandered for too long. 
“no, no! of course i’d go on a date with you. with pleasure.” y/n smiled, slowly reaching for his hand that was on the table. they touched each other frequently before, but not like this. she hated a part of herself, the part that could melt under his touch and got dizzy from only his skin. but truly, she could eat it up if she could. 
“oh, okay, well… i just… thought that it’s embarrassing, because you pay for all of this, and–” never let a man’s pride falter. it’s the firewood for the campfire, the pressure for the diamond, the water for the plants. if you feed a man’s ego, he’ll trust and love you. 
“corio, dear, please. i’m not with you because of your money, we can’t do anything about our past and families. and you’re gonna win the plinth-prize, so what are we worrying about?” 
“but–” y/n hushed him gently, playing her finger in front of her lips. 
“i’m sure you will win that prize. why, who else would win it? the daughter of an energy secretary? or a rich, spoiled kid?”
“they are all rich and spoiled.” y/n totally let pass the fact that she was too. but what was the problem with it, really? they couldn’t do anything about it, you can’t decide where you were born. a person can change everything about itself, but not its origin. it always stays with you, clinging onto your ankle, to drag with yourself everywhere. in this life, they got on the winning side of the wheel. and who cares about the next life? 
“but no one’s father is a general, except you. and i know that you didn’t like him, but keep the mindset.” 
“you are so clever, y/n. thank you for always putting my mind into it’s place.”
“i’m just telling the truth. and… how are things with the game? is it hard?” 
“oh, it’s… i still need to figure out some things. but i had some ideas about ways to get people more engaged in the games, like getting them sponsors, or interviewing the tributes so the viewers can get closer to them, pick a favorite, some things like this.” 
“it sounds really interesting, did volumnia hear these things?” as much as she hated festus’ bragging, he also mentioned things that she could use. maybe that’s why everybody got rid of her so fast at a big gathering like the graduation two days ago. she never had ‘juicy tea’ or some things like that, only if she wanted to get something. and when she wanted to get something, the chamber of secrets instantly opened. 
“yeah, well she came in when we were discussing those things. she said that i need to write it down, and then clemensia interrupted that we’ve always worked and brainstormed together, so we can write that together, too.” 
totaling another pen, dovecote? being a tricky bitch, i wasn’t expecting less from you. 
“i think volumnia should know that the idea was yours. clemensia is your good friend, but why wasn’t she just cheering that you got the gamemaker’s attention?” plant the seed. maybe not with clemensia, she will do it for herself, but anyway. coriolanus needed to know the truth. 
“i will talk with her about this.” he won’t. he’s too kind-hearted for it. “and i’ll write down my ideas. anyway, how’s your application for volumnia gaul? did you hand it in?” y/n nodded at his question, chewing on the potatoes. 
“got handed it in yesterday. i really hope if i go home this afternoon, a letter will be waiting for me.” the smile on his face was worth everything. what could that mouth do if there were only the two of them? because she knew what her mouth could do. 
“i’m sure she’ll hire you. one of your thesis got onto her table, remember? the one you wrote about the possible content of venom in mono– and dicotyledons. and if she’s not, then she’s a dingbat.” y/n remembered that thesis, her brain always burned out from the three-day long insomnia. 
“careful, corio! i hope she doesn’t have ears everywhere.” that woman was the queen on her chess table, it was the side that could never be decided. 
all the way home, she thought about coriolanus. y/n gotta hide the grin she was forming with her lips when she was driving home with the chauffeur of the family. all the effort, all the pain… it was worth it. she almost teared up from the joy, but her mascara was really expensive, even her mother thought that it was too rich for their blood.
“is everything alright, miss y/l/n?” helius, their private driver asked, looking into the rear-view mirror. y/n nodded, exhaling and inhaling. big news like this always messed with her head. nodding, everything was perfect. 
stepping inside the house, she raced up to her room immediately. there was the letter, persephone slept beside it. picking it up, y/n used her nails to tear it up. she never waited for news like this. the sooner she knew, the sooner she could got suit in the new situation. 
dear y/n y/l/n, you got accepted…
throwing it away, she instantly picked up persephone, screaming into her fur. persephone meowed, already used to her owner’s insane habits. anyway, the food was tasty in the house, so why not bear it? 
“you hear this, persephone? the lucky star is shining on us.” she whispered to the cat, stroking her head. she couldn't sit back, not now. not when good things, the reward of the hard work could be felt. not when everything worked for her plans. “mother and father will be so happy. and we are happy too, aren't we?” 
y/n didn't know happiness, only when her heart got fast and drug-like feeling curled in her blood. but now, she got to be a predator. a predator who sat for hours, days to catch its prey. when news were coming in, things always changed. she had to be patient, but she couldn't get lazy, not now. not when strange news was coming up. news that didn’t match with her expectations, nowhere, never. news that bathed her soul with venom. news that raised her little game onto a new level. 
a/n: the prologue got so many notes like my tumblr literally BLEW UP thank you so much girliez 😭 i hope you liked this part, more focus will be on corio i just want to size up reader's mindset
take care of yourself babes, love y'all luisa
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eloves-writes · 3 months
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so it goes…
[coriolanus snow x reader]
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desc: part 2 here! as dr gaul’s assistant, you find yourself alone in her laboratory bearing an unpleasant task with her other mentee, coriolanus snow, who you strongly despise. or so it goes … warnings: smut, oral sex (f receiving), slightly public sex, reader is wearing a skirt, think that's it but please lmk if i need to add anything! a/n: thank you so much for all the love on my last fic! and thank you anon for this request, i love and appreciate requests more than you know!!! enjoy this. will for sure write a second chapter if one singlular person expresses interest. mwah mwah mwah ily this work contains mature themes, minors dni
dr gaul’s lab was filled with weird and wonderful (but mostly weird) things. you sat, bored, on your side of the gamemaker’s desk staring at shelves and shelves of creatures of all shapes and sizes with various muttations. according to the clock beside you, it had been 30 minutes since gaul herself had left the room to ‘see to something’. it was often best not to ask questions when things like that happened, but you really wished she would come back soon as your work day technically ended in a few minutes and gaul’s second-favourite mentee came to visit her after hours almost every day. coriolanus snow was not necessarily an unpleasant person, not to you at least, but he was certainly unbearable. he was so up his own ass thinking he was better than everybody else that he failed to realise how much of a pompous twat he was. ‘snow lands on top’. god, those four words were practically all you heard come out of his mouth when he wasn’t sucking up to dr gaul or spewing fake niceties to any authoritative figure who would listen.
as you were thinking about how annoying he is and how pretentious his stupid hairstyle was, the door to the lab was hauled open by the peacekeepers who stood guard outside. thank god gaul was back, you couldn’t wait to get out of here. not that you weren’t grateful for this assistant’s position, because it was a highly coveted role for university students each year and you’d beat them all out for it. even snow. ha. even suck-up snow. fuck. snow.
the tall blond had entered the lab and was walking up to your desk with his usual self-assured smile and red uniform.
“y/n, good evening.”
“snow.”
his pleasant facade dropped for just a moment at your monotonous response.
“where’s dr gaul?”
you passive aggressively put down the pen you had been tapping on the desk.
“i don’t know,” you replied blandly, studying his face like you trying to read his mind. “she left like a half hour ago to ‘see to something’, but she’s not been back. i’d suggest you leave and speak to her tomorrow instead.”
coriolanus pulled a face as if thoroughly surprised that anyone could be anything less than cordial to him. it was a subtle change in expression, but you figured that’s what he was thinking.
“that’s quite alright, y/n,” he smiled mockingly, “i’ll sit right here and wait. nowhere to be tonight.”
“shocker,” you murmured, watching as snow sat in the empty chair opposite you.
the two of you stayed sat at gaul’s desk for almost 10 minutes before either of you said anything else.
“how is the apprenticeship going?” snow asked, trying to fill the awkward silence by feigning interest.
“it’s great. thanks. thrilling, actually. i’m having the time of my life. this is so much fun,” you retorted.
coriolanus raised an eyebrow and shifted in his seat. “you know, every one of gaul’s students wanted this apprenticeship. if you’re not enjoying it, i am more than certain that you could find somebody to fill the role.”
you huffed sarcastically. “oh good try, snow. i’m not giving it up that easily.”
“so i’ve heard,” he muttered.
before you could respond to that, the laboratory doors hauled open again and dr gaul finally returned.
“ah, coriolanus, good,” she welcomed, entering with purpose in her stride. “i have a small ask of the pair of you.”
there was no way in the whole of panem that this would be a ‘small’ ask, coming from her. coriolanus’ eyes widened in apprehension.
“don’t make that face at me, coriolanus snow.”
“sorry.”
“good. i must continue to deal with a situation that has arisen, i need you two to feed chupa before he gets too hungry. that’s all, then you both may leave and i shall see you," you watched her search for a rhyme, "before tomorrow’s eve.”
then she turned to leave, with you and coriolanus pulling faces of horror. ‘chupa’ was a particularly hideous and dangerous looking creature that gaul had advised you, on multiple occasions, to keep your distance from. and now she was asking you to feed him? sometimes it was like she wanted you dead.
“wait a minute,” you said hesitantly. gaul moved only her head to look at you and you regretted opening your mouth immediately. “sorry, dr gaul, you want us,” you motioned to yourself and snow, “to feed that,” you pointed at the cage where the beast appeared to be smirking.
“yes,” she replied plainly. “he will eat anything, but he most likes the small green snakes.”
with that, she left the lab again.
coriolanus looked at you, looked at chupa, then looked back at you. “what the fuck is that?”
you snorted, enjoying seeing him uncomfortable. “do you want to get the snakes, or shall i?”
“you get them,” he spoke quickly. “i don’t like snakes.”
you were suspicious at this apparently strong aversion to the slithering reptiles. perhaps they’d scared him when he was younger, and never shook it off. or perhaps one had bitten him. you imagined him flailing his arms and screaming and it made you chuckle to yourself as you took a jar half-filled with thin, forest green snakes. they weren’t venomous, in fact they were quite amiable and undeserving of being fed to the ugly brute in the cage beside you. regardless, you removed two snakes from the jar and placed it back on the shelf.
coriolanus was keeping his distance, making you do all the work. lazy asshole.
“can you open the cage?” you directed snarkily. he tentatively unfastened the top of the cage, standing closer to you than he ever had before. up close, he looked like a real person. a real person who was just as real as everybody else in the capitol, not any better. he smelt better than a lot of them though. like cologne and fresh roses. you mentally chastised yourself for noticing and tried to focus on the task at hand.
your snake-holding hand slid towards chupa’s mouth, which opened to reveal a large set of sharp fangs that seemed to be moving upwards
“be careful of the fangs,” snow warned from behind you.
“thank you coriolanus, i’m so glad you told me that. i was truly about to stick my fingers into his mouth,” you retorted sarcastically, starting to feed the snakes to the disgusting creature.
he mumbled something incoherent that sounded something like “i wish you would.”
“sorry what was that, snow? did you say something,” you asked, becoming more irritated by his unhelpful presence.
as chupa finished the tail of the second snake, he bit the air above him in an attempt to get your hand for dessert, making you rapidly withdraw your hand from the cage and leap backwards. coriolanus dropped the lid in shock and it thankfully fastened itself.
when you had leapt backwards, you had leapt backwards straight into snow’s arms that he had instinctively wrapped around you in protection. his arms were stronger than they looked through his uniform jacket, and his chest much more toned. it felt beyond strange to be this close to him. but something deep inside of you suddenly yearned to be closer, and you slowly rotated yourself in his arms to face him, hands pressed against his chest.
coriolanus was looking into your eyes like nothing else was in the room. like he had never seen a person’s eyes this close before. he was looking at you like you were most incredibly fascinating thing he had ever seen.
and maybe you were; he had grown used to the capitol women throwing themselves at him. he didn’t struggle to take them home, had no issues finding a date to all the various events he attended. then there you were- snapping at him and poking fun at him, and not even waiting until his back was turned to roll your eyes or pull faces. in what he deemed a cruel twist of fate, you were the only girl in the capitol who didn’t look at him like he was god, and you were the only girl in the capitol he truly felt something deeper than momentary lust for.
his lust for you was not momentary. it was perpetual. and having you this close to him, safe and protected in his arms, confirmed for him that you needed to be his. the world bent to the will of coriolanus snow. and so would you.
in an instant where your body no longer obeyed your better judgment, you pressed your lips to coriolanus’.
he kissed you back like you were a source of oxygen, using his advantageous hold of you to force you to walk backwards towards the rows of bookshelves behind gaul’s desk without separating your lips. he swiftly checked the door to make sure nobody had snuck in before your bodies were eclipsed by the cover of the well-stocked shelves and you were roughly pushed up against them. snow continued to kiss you, moving down to your neck to leave marks sure to raise questions the next morning, then down to your collarbone, unbuttoning your blouse as he went so that his path was clear to mark you with his mouth all the way down to the waistband of your skirt. his kneeled down before you and pushed up your skirt, looking up at you for approval. you nodded, still caught up in the moment. this was fine. this felt good. it really felt good when snow removed your panties and placed your legs over his shoulders, holding you up at the waist and running his tongue along your folds, earning a loud moan from you. he withdrew his head from you skirt to shush you, before returning his tongue to your centre and flicking it against your clit. you bit onto your knuckle to absorb the sound of the whimpers escaping you. where the fuck had he learned to do this? it felt heavenly, his mouth drawing you ever closer to release with his large hands digging into your hips to keep you in position.
“coryo,” you whispered. “coryo, i’m close.”
he began to hum in acknowledgement, sending you right over the edge. a moan slipped from your mouth as you came, feeling your slick drip onto his face. he continued to lap at your juices as you rode out your orgasm, a blissful haze washing over you. if these were the skills making snow so cocky, you couldn’t fault him for that particular trait any longer. he lifted his head and smiled at you like a man who was very aware you’d just cum on his face by his manipulation. he helped you take your legs from his shoulders with a satisfied smirk when they wobbled under the weight of your body, then he kissed you again, softer this time, to force you to taste yourself on his tongue. you reached your hand forward to his crotch, palming him through his constricting pants. he indulged you for a minute, then removed your hand and lifted it to his lips like a true gentlemen.
you felt a little disappointed to not repay the favour, finally feeling content with your formerly repressed lust for the man.
but then he leaned down to your ear and whispered in a low tone, “you can owe me one,” before giving you one last lewd kiss and leaving you stood behind the bookshelves in the head gamemaker’s office with messed up hair and a realisation that you really wanted coriolanus snow to come and visit after hours again tomorrow.
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ichorai · 4 months
Text
wool ; coriolanus snow.
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pairing ; young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader (gender-neutral)
synopsis ; when you laughed, airy and light and reminiscent to that of wind chimes, coryo wished he could bottle up the sound and keep it as his, only his.
words ; 1.5k
themes ; mild fluff/angst, slightly suggestive
warnings / includes ; set before events of tbosas so no actual spoilers, making out, clemensia appearance, mentions of other characters, coryo's paranoia, he's not exactly toxic yet but the seeds are very much planted, i tried to keep him in character as best i could, let's pretend the academy also serves dinner
a/n ; this man has consumed me body and soul. this fic was inspired by the song wool by flatland cavalry on the movie soundtrack! let me know if you guys would like a second part :)
series masterlist. main masterlist.
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Coriolanus Snow was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He bore an aristocratic last name—yet you noticed that his dress shirt’s buttons seemed to be various different shades of black and slightly misshapen. His voice, so sweetly saccharine, charming, seductive—would whisper falsities like it was second nature. He would often claim that he wasn’t hungry, but you’d catch the longing glint in his pale irises as he eyed the steaming bread rolls Sejanus slathered with generous helpings of butter. 
Control. That was all he needed. 
It crumbled, ever so slightly, when you nudged your slice of apple pie in his direction. His eye twitched, and you pursed your lips, pulling your plate back to you. You ate quietly, and Coryo stared at you all the while, as if he were mentally dissecting your mind—studying you. 
You knew. It was all too clear, even if he wouldn’t tell you. And if he wouldn’t tell his closest friend—or, the closest thing he had to a friend, the two of you certainly did things that friends wouldn’t do—he most definitely wouldn’t let it slip that he was financially strapped to anyone else.
That same day, he met you in the back of the library. The two of you were supposed to be studying history—Professor Demigloss was one of the nicer teachers at the academy, but that didn’t mean he was any less strict with grades. And neither you nor Coryo could afford slipping now. Not if you both wanted to get into university. Being on top meant that there was only greater distance to fall.
But there were… distractions.
Mainly, his foot knocking against yours under the table. Your hand over his jostling knee. His teeth digging into his bottom lip. When you shifted so that your thighs brushed against his, the books spread out over the table were entirely forgotten.
He pushed you against the bookshelves a mere second later, the wood digging into your back uncomfortably, and kissed you until you grew dizzy. You were a welcome distraction—he could taste the apples on your tongue. The way you snaked your arms around his neck, toying with his pale blonde curls, pulling him closer until his body slotted against yours just perfectly—clicking into place like a pair of magnets facing opposite directions. It was desperate and heavy and he could only barely pull away to inhale sharply before cradling the base of your head to tilt your jaw back and kiss you even harder. Coryo swallowed any muffled whimpers that slipped from you when his free hand traveled lower.
Lower, lower, dangerously low—
When Clemensia’s voice echoed through the library in search of her lab partner, the two of you sprang apart, gasping for air.
She rounded the bend, and her dark eyes landed on the two of you. Keen, observant, narrowed. Coriolanus was flushed, hair mussed, lips swollen, chest rising and falling erratically. You were looking anywhere but the two of them, smoothing out your clothes and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.
“Oh! I guess I’ll just have to find another time to bother you, Coriolanus,” she tittered, sickly sweet. She tilted her head with a tempered smile. “What’re you guys studying?”
Snow rolled his eyes in exasperation. “History,” he said. Curt, simple.
“Right.” She eyed you curiously. When she spoke again, it was directed more to you than him, sounding uncharacteristically void of frigid scorn. “I’d be careful if I were you. You sure he’s not just sleeping with you because you’re the top of the class?”
You stiffened, and Coryo bristled. 
“I’ll be fine, Clem. See you tomorrow.” 
There was another beat of terse silence. Her eyes darted warily between the two of you, and she whisked away in a flutter of red and black.
You blew out a breath. Your mouth tingled with the phantom memory of his lips planted over yours, and your cheeks flushed with heat. The two of you sat back down, both quiet. You worked in fluid tandem with each other, as you always did. His hands kept to himself this time. 
“I’m not using you,” he whispered, eventually. “It’s not like that.”
“I know,” you replied hesitantly, testing the waters. “It’s not like you’d need to. Your grades are just fine as is.”
The two of you kept working until your fingers cramped with overuse and his head pulsed with the beginnings of a migraine. 
“Dinner?” you asked once the clock struck six, nudging him. “I think they’ll be serving mashed potatoes today.”
His stomach clenched at the thought of warm food. Control.
“Sure,” he replied coolly, flicking his books closed and gathering up all the papers to stuff into his bag. “I’m sick of mashed potatoes, though.”
You shot him an incredulous smile, brows quirking up. He was lying, but you didn’t know. “Not even when it’s seasoned with roasted garlic? A dash of the freshest of herbs?”
The blue of his eyes gleamed when they bore into yours. “Not even then.”
“You’re a strange man, Coriolanus Snow.” Your lips twisted downward, but it was more of a smile than a frown. When your eyes darted below to glance at his school uniform, you couldn’t help but notice the unironed creases in the carmine fabric. One of the buttons—the very top one—was oddly shaped and a different color from all the rest. It reminded you of his dress shirt. You quite liked that dress shirt. He looked handsome in it, but you chalked it up to his uncanny ability to look handsome in just about anything.
Your head tilted to the side, molten eyes fixed on the button. You knew. He knew that you knew. Panic seized in his chest, an irrational clawing sensation searing within his lungs. Would you tell the rest of the class? What would you say to them? That he was living as filthily as a District boy? That he skipped meals because he couldn’t afford them? That his cousin mended his clothes for him?
But your frown-smile deepened. Fondness stained your expression, clear as day. Coriolanus found himself surprised, as he often did around you. 
“I love your buttons, by the way,” you mumbled, reaching out to trace it with a finger. He held his breath on instinct. “Is it a stylistic choice? Having them all irregular like this?”
Stylistic. Coriolanus almost laughed.
“Mhm. It’ll be in fashion one day. I’m just ahead of the trends,” he murmured charmingly. A bluff.
When you laughed, airy and light and reminiscent to that of wind chimes, Coryo wished he could bottle up the sound and keep it as his, only his. 
“Maybe I’ll start wearing mismatched buttons now, too. Rebel against uniformity.” You stood up from your chair as you spoke, not catching the way Coriolanus’ expression faltered momentarily with your last three words. It was a joke, he had to remind himself. Just a joke. “Come on. Let’s go have dinner. I’m starving.”
He jerkily stood up. Grabbed your hand just because he could, fingers folding over your wrist. He could feel your pulse, thumping quicker and quicker. You regarded him curiously. Snow’s remaining spindly hand cradled your face and he stepped closer, intuitive eyes roaming over your face, wondering just how much of you was real. How much of you was lying, just as he was?
His lips fell over yours again. This time, the kiss was sweeter. Slower, more languid. His nose brushed over your cheekbone, warm to the touch. You hummed pleasantly against him, before placing a hand flat over his chest—over the crooked button—and pulled away with a dazed smile. It felt dangerously good that you hadn’t tugged your hand out of his grasp yet. His grip tightened in a near possessive manner.
As the two of you began walking out of the library, Coriolanus couldn’t help but think back to your hyperbole—about how far from starving you truly were. You wouldn’t ever know, not when your family was the very epitome of Capitol wealth. But he was glad he wasn’t the only one lying, for once, even if your lie was merely an inflation of the truth. 
After dinner, Coryo worked off the top button of his uniform with repeated tugs to the threads, pulling apart Tigris’ handiwork. He slid it over the table to you, watching the way your countenance softened in endearment. He kissed you again in the dark hallways outside the cafeteria, finding it difficult to get your lips to melt away from your tightly-stretched grin.
He walked home with a mirroring smile and a missing button that night. One less piece of the wolf’s sheeply clothes.
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rose-pearls · 1 year
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Right where you left me
Summary: Finnick and you had to marry back in the Capitol but as you fell in love with him, Finnick fell for Annie. District 13 breaks everything.
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The room had been dragged into a loud silence after Coin’s words and you couldn’t help but look at her in surprise.
“As I said, the two of you can divorce. After all your wedding had been planned by Snow and the two of you were forced into it.”, she explains further and you feel panic grabbing you, scared of what is going to happen right now.
“I think that’s a good idea.”, you look at Finnick in surprise, but he looks at Coin with a determined gaze. 
“Well, then it’s decided.”, you want to tell her that you haven’t said anything about it, but the words aren’t able to leave your mouth. The gazes of the other victors are far too heavy as Coin continues with the meeting. You try to pay attention, but you aren’t able to, to busy thinking of how Finnick left your marriage like it was nothing. 
The meeting ends at some point, but you stay there, not knowing what to do just staring at the table where everything got decided. A hand on your shoulder makes you look up and you see Haymitch looking at you with pity in his eyes.
“They have asked you and Finnick to go to the courtroom to sign the divorce papers.”, you nod absently, the words not getting inside your head. 
The halls are all the same and it feels like your head is spinning, not understanding what is happening. Coin is in the room, Finnick and Plutarch with her and the papers in front of her.
“So, you just need to sign the documents and then you won’t be married any longer.”, she tells you simply, but you can only stare at them as Finnick takes a pen without any hesitation and signs them. The pen sits in front of you and after a slight nudge from Haymitch you take it with shaky hands and manage to sign it.
Coin says something but you don’t know what something is happening, frozen in place at what just happened. Finnick in front of you but you can’t even look at him, tears form in your eyes as she declares you divorce, and you leave the room not being able to stay there. 
The storage room is small, but you don’t care as you close the door and try to breathe again, tears streaming down your face. Your chest feels like it’s going to explode from the pain, and you try to breathe again and again but it doesn’t seem to work. A sob leaves your lips, and you try to keep yourself upwards but fall down on your knees. 
Deep down you knew this would come, Finnick had never loved you even when you fell for him. After your games Snow had decided to marry the two favorite four victors to each other and while you felt obliged you couldn’t really complain, Finnick was a good man.
You tried to make it work, tried to get him to talk to you and get closer to him but it never seemed to work. While you fell in love with him and his kindness, he fell more for Annie Cresta who always seemed to get his attention. 
The only time he touched you further then a fond smile or a quick hug was when he had drunk a bit and needed the reassurance that everything was going to be fine. And although you wanted to have him close to you, you only felt shame as he held you. 
Sometimes you tried to imagine what it would’ve been like if Annie hadn’t been there, if he could’ve fallen in love with you but deep down you knew it wouldn’t be the case. 
Something beeps in the room, and you take a look at your wrist, seeing that it’s time for dinner and then moving out of the family cubicle they had given you and Finnick. You tried pulling yourself together, but something felt missing, like some part of you was still there in that room. Shaking your head, you leave the storage room and join a group of people moving towards the dinner hall, not knowing what you were going to do.
“Pull yourself together.”, a voice tells you in the line and you look at Johanna, who looks at you with sad eyes, pity in them.
“I don’t need your comments. If you are here to tell me how shitty I am or look then leave.”, you tell her, anger in your voice that had never been there before, and she takes a small step back.
“Just wanted to tell you, everyone is looking at you and not in a good way. You look like shit!”, she says harshly, and you know that this is how she is. Filled with anger and every time you try to set her back in place she lashes out, maybe before you would’ve stopped but the hurt was just too much.
“Fuck you, Mason.”, you tell her through gritted teeth before letting your plate in line, ignoring the comments you receive and leaving the dinner hall. Anger filling your veins, you don’t know how to get rid of it, but you need to get rid of it. The training room is luckily empty as you take a couple of knifes and throw them at different targets. But it isn’t enough, and you keep doing it until you aren’t able to, your muscles aching. 
You crumble to the floor, holding your head between your hands and trying to make sense of everything. A cold band against your forehead makes you look at your hand, the wedding band still sitting there. You rip it off and throw it with all of your force somewhere you are able to, feeling tears in your eyes at the sight of it falling down.
The next weeks are the same, trying to figure out how to live without him and seeing him getting closer with Annie. Dinners are tense and everyone seems to want to leave you alone, like you are an animal that will lash out at any moment. Coin puts you in training and quick enough most of you are ready to head into battle and as you get ready for it you see Annie kissing Finnick before letting him leave.
The anger, hurt and jealousy bubble over and you try to keep yourself together, trying to keep that grace that the academy taught you. But deep down you know that you are getting closer and closer to a boiling point. 
District ten is a ruin and as the fight starts you try to put that anger and hurt into the fight, and it’s all going well until someone points a gun at Finnick, and you push the man down taking the gunshot but still able to kill the other with a knife in his throat. 
Finnick is on the floor, looking at you in shock but you don’t see it. A pain in your ribs, makes you realize that the gunshot got you. 
“Hey, hey!”, Gale yells and as you stutter back but you end up against his chest and he tries to talk to you, but you can’t listen to him. 
The words coming out of his mouth are far away and he takes you away from the battle, holding your body close. A strong hand pushes against the bullet wound and you groan, feeling breathless at the pain.
“That’s good, she’s feeling the pain.”, a voice yells as you are laid down, but you try to get up. A hand pushes you back and you see Haymitch looking at you seriously.
“Stay down sweetheart!”, you try to nod at his words, but your body feels hazy, like you don’t have any control over it anymore. Your eyes start to flutter close and for the first time in months you feel at peace, no anger or pain running through you.
Multiple voices say things, but you don’t hear them and after a moment the pain gets smaller, and you can’t help but smile as your eyes finally close and you don’t feel anything anymore. 
--
The beeping of machines wakes you up, your eyes fluttering open to see the familiar grey walls of district thirteen staring back at you. Your ribs are hurting like a bitch, and you try to move but it leaves you breathless, the machine beeping even harder. 
“Don’t move.”, a doctor scolds you and you fall back on the bed breathless, like you had run a marathon. The doctor looks over you and scribbles some things over his sheet.
“Welcome back.”, he tells you and you look at him confused.
“What happened? How long was I out?”, the doctor sighs while looking at you with hard eyes.
“You took a bullet and it got into your ribs, but it punctured a ligament making you lose a lot of blood. You have been out for five days.”, the words don’t really register but you nod at his words, five days. 
“There is also something that I need to tell you.”, the doctor tries to say, looking uncomfortable for a moment and you look at him impatiently, but a voice interrupts you.
“Thank god you finally waked up.”, Haymitch says, and Johanna is behind him, coming in the small cubicle they placed you in. Finnick and Gale arrive a minute later, and you look at all of them tiredly.
“I’m fine! I just need to get some pain medication and then I will be back to normal.”, you tell them through gritted teeth, trying to cope with the pain.
“You aren’t going into battle for a long time.”, you turn to look at the doctor with a glare, but it doesn’t seem to frighten him.
“What do you mean?”, Haymitch is the one that asks the question, and the doctor looks at you unsure.
“Well?”, you ask him, wanting to know what he wasn’t telling you.
“While they were taking out the bullet wounds, they did a scan to find out if you had any internal bleeding.”, he hesitates for a moment, but you nod quickly. 
“They found out that you are currently three months pregnant.”, it feels like he has just slapped you across the face. 
“By some miracle, the bullet didn’t make any damage around the child, only by your ribs and it punctured your lungs. But the baby is completely fine, still growing.”, you feel like you are going to faint at the words, Finnick seems panicked as he asks more information, but you just feel your hand tremble. 
“Hey!”, Johanna tries to get your attention, but the world turns black, and you fall back on the bed, letting the darkness take over.
--
The next time you wake up, Finnick is sitting by your side, looking at a picture of something. You try to move in the bed but aren’t really able to, Finnick looks at you surprised but you ignore him for a moment.
“What do you want?”, you manage to croak out and Finnick looks at you with sad eyes.
“I’m sorry.”, he whispers after a moment, and you scoff.
“For what? Making me feel like shit, going to Annie when you knew I had feelings for you or just throwing me away like I was just some trash. Or one better for getting me pregnant.”, you nearly yell and Finnick flinches back at your words.
“I know I-”, he tries to say but you stop him.
“You don’t know anything Finnick. You were everything to me and I tried everything to be there for you, to get you to love me. But I guess I just wasn’t enough, was I?”, the words hit him hard, you can see the pain in his eyes, but you don’t care. 
“Let me help you, with the baby and everything please.”, he whispers after a moment and you scoff, looking at him in disgust.
“Why don’t you go back to Annie and play happy family, like you were doing the last few weeks, hell years! If I do have this kid, it will know you because I can’t erase the fact that you are the father, but I won’t play the happy woman like nothing ever happened.”, Finnick nods, looking at the ground ashamed and you try to find any of the love you had felt for him before, but you couldn’t.
“Annie is also pregnant.”, the anger fills you up once again and you can’t help but laugh out of disbelief making him flinch.
“Just go, leave! It’s the least you can do after everything because I don’t think I can even look at you anymore.”, you tell him and Finnick nods, tears in his eyes at the harsh words before putting the picture on your bed.
“It’s the ultrasound picture of our kid. It’s a boy”, he whispers dejectedly, and you feel sick at the words, looking at the picture like you want it to burn.
The picture lays there as he leaves and you take it softly after a moment, looking at the blur of white and black. Tears come up at the sight of it and unconsciously a hand travels down on your stomach, a sob leaving your lips as you feel the roundness of it.
--
Some people come by, trying to talk with you but you ignore them, just eating your food for the kid but otherwise just lying in bed.
“Can I come in?”, you hear a voice ask and you turn around to see Peeta, you couldn’t help but be surprised at the sight of him.
“Sure.”, you tell him and the man shuffles in awkwardly, looking around the room.
“They left this morning to end it all.”, you can’t help but be surprised that he isn’t with them but then you remember what the Capitol did to him.
“Guess it’s just the two of us now.”, Peeta smiles at your words before looking at your bump.
“Well three of us.”, he says, and you can’t help but chuckle at his words.
“True, nearly forgot about it.”, you feel calmer with him there, not feeling the raw pain as much as before.
“How are you doing?”, you can’t help but ask him and Peeta sighs after a moment and looks at you with sad eyes.
“Doing better, I’m starting to see the differences between what the Capitol tried to tell me and what is real. Things with Katniss are weird, I think she is with Gale, but she seems to find it hard to tell me.”, he whispers the last part, and you can’t help but look at him in sympathy. 
“How do you feel about that?”, Peeta lets out a sigh at the words before looking around.
“I think I knew deep down that nothing real would ever happen between us but still, it hurts. I think I always had that hope, but it was stupid.”, you know how he feels, the pain of it and you take his hand to squeeze it in reassurance.
“Love really is something shitty, isn’t it?”, Peeta chuckles at your words and looks at you in sympathy.
“I’m sorry you had to go through all of that.”, he tells you and you nod at his words while looking at the bump.
“Well, can’t really do anything about it now, can we?”, Peeta shakes his head no and looks at the bump with a small smile. 
The two of you stay there in silence before you feel something kick against your stomach and you look down at it. Taking of the cover over it you look at the bump worriedly while Peeta seems to do the same thing as he sees you panic.
Another kick comes and this time you see a small foot pushing against your stomach.
“Holy shit.”, Peeta says, and you can’t help but agree, feeling a smile on your face for the first time in months.
“Want to feel it?”, Peeta looks unsure, but you smile at him in reassurance. He takes his hand and places it carefully on the bump, like he is scared to hurt it. After a few seconds a third kick comes right against his hand and Peeta laughs in disbelief at it.
“This is – I don’t even know how to describe it.”, he murmurs, and you laugh softly at his words looking at him with a smile, not even realizing that you haven’t felt any sadness in the past half hour that he has been there. 
--
“James! No running!”
“Yes mum.”, a small voice tells you right back, but you still send him a pointed look making him pout before going down the stairs calmly.
“I swear one day he is going to kill me.”, you mumble under your breath before taking your daughter into your arms and going down the stairs, the smell of breakfast taking over the house.
“Good morning.” You say as you enter the room and can’t help but smile as you see Peeta and James putting everything on the table. 
“Good morning you and mini you.”, Peeta says while kissing you softly, ignoring James’s disgusted noises. He quickly takes his little girl from your arms and starts talking to her and nodding at her babbling. 
“Don’t forget your backpack and everything for when your father comes.”, you tell James as he starts eating and he nods quickly, a bright smile appearing at the knowledge that his dad is coming.
“We are going on the boat today!”, he tells you excitedly and you listen to him ranting about the different fishes he wants to see while looking at Peeta feeding your little girl and listening to James tell his story.
The world isn’t perfect, and there is a long way to go but you have your children and Peeta so deep down you knew that everything would be fine.
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gogobootz1 · 4 months
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The Mentor pt.3
Finnick Odair x Reader
Summary: A morning chat at the train station proves very revealing for you and Finnick.
Warnings: mention of forced prostitution and mild self-harm
part two | part four
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The marble steps you sit on are practically ice, and the cold seeps quickly through your pants. The train station is entirely empty, and you sit outside of it looking out at the city.
Knees up to your chest, you take a deep breath. The roses you clutch in your icy fingers seem to taunt you, and once you look at them, you can't pull your eyes away. A beautiful gift belying your tragic fate.
You set all but one down beside you, then start to pick at its petals. Completely transfixed, you don't even hear the sounds of someone approaching until you drop the last petal.
"What'd you land on?"
The words break your focus, and you quickly gaze up to find who interrupted you. Finnick interprets your gaze as a confused one and elaborates, "Loves you/loves you not?"
That's not why you were picking the petals, but if you had been asking the flower, it would've been about him. The thought is embarrassing, so you give a half-hearted shrug and look away.
"Well, I got these for you," he holds out a small, far more rustic bouquet. Violets. "But it seems like someone's beaten me to the punch." What a cruel metaphor. Snow blocking your chances yet again. Standing in between you and a real life with real connections. Soon enough, you won't be real. What'll be left when you run out of choices you can make for yourself?
For now, you put the roses down anyway. The breath from your melancholy laugh is visible in the crisp morning air. "Thanks," you say, holding your hand out to accept the flowers. They remind you of home. A patch of them grew out in the field behind the house you grew up in. Your fingers brush over his as you accept the bouquet.
He jolts, "You're freezing!" Dropping down next to you on the steps, he removes the violets from your grasp and rests them in the small space between you. You follow the purple flowers with your eyes as he swiftly takes your hands in his own, attempting to warm them. "Do you purposefully torture your hands?"
You don't answer, still looking at the flowers he brought you. Finnick sighs, "You take such good care of Darla. Do you even bother looking after yourself?"
"What's the point?" Your heart hurts. As much as he hates it, he doesn't have a reply to that. He often wonders the same.
"How will you hold all the flowers you're collecting if your fingers freeze off?" He tries for lighthearted, but you wince. Instantly, he frowns. While typically, your replies to him are short, bordering on rude, they're always spirited. You seemed upset before he left you at the party last night, but now you seem disheveled. Like you hadn't had a wink of sleep.
Clearly, he's caught you in one of those moments. All the victors have them, but usually in private. He's not keen to leave you, though.
"Who gave you the roses?" He ventures, suddenly getting a sickening feeling. He's not expecting a real response, necessarily, but a 'wouldn't you like to know' would ease his anxiety.
You pick up the heavily perfumed flowers, "Oh, these? A gift, I suspect. I made someone very happy last night, and I'm sure I'll be doing it more often," you say bitterly before you toss them back down. Your voice comes out small, though, like you haven't built your armor thick enough to face this yet.
"From the office of the President?" It's not even a question. He already knows. Your face reveals your surprise. "I got a similar congratulatory present when I made my first deal." While he figured out that Snow had you in a similar position, it's clear you suspected nothing of the sort when it came to him. As you look into his eyes, he hopes you're getting what he's trying to convey. That the two of you are the same. And you can finally, finally, be honest.
"It was more of a negotiation," you nod, holding his eyes. "Not my first deal."
"I figured," he says.
You laugh sourly, "Is it easy to tell that I'm a cheap whore?"
"Don't sell yourself short," he scolds, "you're a very expensive whore." He almost worries it won't go over well when you snort and launch into the freest laugh he's heard in his life. Thank God someone appreciates his humor- Mags hates these jokes. He's got plenty more of them, and will definitely use them on you now that he knows they'll land.
"Thank you for the vote of confidence," you reply, tongue-in-cheek. Finnick can tell by your genuine grin, however, that you appreciated the joke.
"You're welcome," he nods, "You know, I've considered abandoning prostitution in favor of stand-up comedy."
Somehow your grin grows wider, "Really?"
"Really," he confirms, "I just have to perfect my material before I pitch it to the big man." You nod sagely, entertaining his bit. "He might just keel over in laughter," Finnick suggests.
You lean in a bit, "Think he'll keel over dead?"
"Here's hoping!" He leans in, too, sending you a flashy smile. You laugh again and look back out at the city. An amicable silence falls between the two of you, and you enjoy it a bit before breaking it.
"I met with him before the taping to tell him our deal was off. My nana died during Darla's games, so I thought he had nothing to hold over my head anymore. Then, at the party, our escort told me that Snow wanted everyone to get to know her. And when I saw her talking to-" you cut yourself off, but he understands. Some of them are too difficult to even think about. "I marched into his house and told him I'd take on twice the clients if it meant Darla would never see one." Finnick's breath catches in his throat for a second.
"So... a reminder of my renewed imprisonment," you pick the white roses up again and wave them sarcastically.
Finnick snatches them from your hands and launches them far across the steps with a firm throw. They scatter and tumble across the white marble. The action is so unexpected that another laugh bubbles out from you.
"I think you're incredibly brave," he declares, looking you right in the eye. "You might be the only victor worthy of the title."
"No," you're quick to insist. "That's Darla. She's earned her peace."
"You haven't stopped to think that you might've too?"
You shake your head, "But I haven't. I don't think I could ever atone for what I've done- no matter how hard I try." His brows furrow, finding your words worrisome.
Catching his look, you elaborate, "Every visit to Mrs. Montgomery's classroom, the parks I design, the gardens I dedicate, my broadcast segments- they're all born of guilt!" You admit, getting choked up, "It's my way of saying sorry. Sorry for fucking your husband, even though he paid to fuck me, and I wanted to die each time he did it. Sorry for being a plague upon the Earth, here's something to make it better. Sorry for-" You only notice you'd been aggressively scratching the back of your hand when Finnick grabs your wrist. It cuts off your rambling and prevents you from hurting yourself anymore.
"Why don't you talk to someone instead of torturing yourself?" He sounds pained.
“Who would I talk to?” You shrug, swiping at a stray tear. 
“That was… supposed to be an offer,” he winces.
“Oh?" you blink at him. 
“I’m really just a call away,” he nods, awkwardly rubbing the back of his head. 
“Right,” you say, still sounding a little unsure. You blink a few times, averting your gaze and thinking it over. 
“I know you think I’m gorgeous, but I’m sure it’ll be less of an obstacle for you over the phone,” he jokes. 
You turn toward him slowly, eyes wide, “she didn’t.” 
“She did,” he smirks at you. 
You hit him firmly in the gut, and he lets out a heavy breath as he curls inward. He’s glad you’re feeling up to your usual abrasiveness. 
You’ve already moved from your spot and are heading toward the station. He stumbles up after you. 
You stop suddenly. Not that you were really going anywhere. The train for Ten won’t leave without Darla and Darla is chronically late. He nearly runs right into your back, and you see him struggle to regain his balance as you whip around. 
He’s much closer than you thought, and you have to take a small step back. “What’s your number?” 
“What?” He asks, reeling from the near-collision. 
“How am I supposed to call if I don’t have your number?” You ask, and his eyebrows raise at the question. You totally skipped the ‘yes, thank you, what a great idea,’ part he’d been hoping for. But, he’ll take what he can get. He rattles off the number in an instant. 
“Are you going to remember that?” He asks. 
You nod noncommittally, “We’ll see.” The exasperated look on his face pulls another grin from you. He doesn't fight the smile off his face when he sees yours. 
A car door slam breaks your extended eye contact. The other District Ten mentor breezes right past you and Finnick, clearly annoyed at being up so early. You know him well enough to know he’s going right back to bed on this train. 
Darla, however, looks like hell-warmed over. “What the fuck happened to you?”
“Shhhhh,” she holds a finger to her lips, the other clutching her head. Your expression drops as you take in her appearance.
“Are you hungover?!” You try to steal her dark sunglasses, but she’s too quick. 
“Whatever, Mom,” she grumbles, “hurry up and kiss your boyfriend goodbye so we can leave.” She trudges further into the station, where a train is inevitably waiting for you. Your eyes go wide in embarrassment. 
“Darla!” You yell, and she winces at the noise. 
Finnick chuckles, “What happened to moderation?” She throws him the finger, earning further laughter. 
You shake your head at her behavior, and when you turn back to Finnick you find he’s already looking at you. “What?” 
“Nothing,” he shrugs, acting innocent. “Oh wait,” he snaps and doubles back to grab the flowers he arrived with. “You almost forgot these.”  
You shake your head at him, smiling, “Can’t have that can we?” 
“Safe travels,” he nods at you, turning to go. He makes it a few paces before you call out after him. 
“Finnick,” he quickly turns at the sound of his name. When you recite his number back a surprised grin lights up his features. “The uh- the phone works both ways, you know. I’m not a bad listener.” 
“Noted,” he nods, smiling. You smile back at him, a genuine one, and it makes you look younger. A loud call of your name from a train within the station makes the both of you laugh. 
“Bye, Finnick,” you smile at him, giving a cute little wave. He returns it readily.
And he thought he was in trouble before. 
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@emerald-09
I also didn't really edit this one, but I think I like how it turned out? I'm not sure if I'll write more for this mini-universe since I have a few other Finnick ideas but we'll see
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