#Story: Snow and Speech

[phlebaswrites]

Snow and Speech

Summary:

Izuna knows what he wants.

But how does he get it?

Rating: Mature Fandom: Naruto Relationship: Uchiha Hikaku/Uchiha Izuna/Senju Tobirama Word Count: 982 (Complete)

Entry for Naruto Polyamory Appreciation 2022 @polyam-naruto​

Bells / Silent night

An impossibility is just a possibility you don't understand yet. — Matt Haig, A Boy Called Christmas

Izuna climbs the steps of the temple, using chakra in order to leave the snow undisturbed.

The night is cold and lonely, but the moon is bright enough for him to see where he's going, even without the Sharingan.

The water in the chōzubachi has frozen over, but a quick katon takes care of that and Izuna relishes the warmth as he washes his hands. The touch of water to his lips feels like the breath of the divine, and he lets it run out of his cupped palms with respect. The sound of his coin in the saisen-bako is hollow, expected since this shrine is not a popular one, but the bell chimes sweetly, echoing in the still mountain air.

Izuna bows and claps his hands, holding his wish in his mind as he invokes the gods.

Silence creeps back into the world but not his heart, for that is all too full of emotion.

Read the rest on AO3.

[starleska]

brain is still so scrambled from watching The Legend of Ruby Sunday and Empire of Death in cinemas yesterday but...all i can say is. that felt too easy. far too easy. are we willing to bet that Ruby's story is not entirely over, and when she returns in the next season we will be unearthing that? or am i coping?

[shironezuninja]

My ADHD has my focus outside the empathy wagon again. The Italian Crow VA/retro Nezu-Chan episode story writer passed away. I’m grateful that I gave my fanfic writing all to an old pre Pokemon childhood cartoon franchise a few years ago, with a PG-13 leveled attitude and mouth that could’ve rivaled the red and black clad mercenary that I ignored.

[middle-earth-mythopoeia]

Uh, guys? Don't confuse your crappy televised fanfic for the story that Tolkien actually wrote.

Galadriel was never "under Sauron's thrall." That's something ROP made up. In Unfinished Tales, she was the only one in Eregion who suspected that Annatar was lying about being an emissary of the Valar. Celebrimbor was deceived by him. She was not. She was certainly not "under his thrall." No, not even because she had Nenya.

Yes, when Frodo offered her the One Ring, she was tempted. It could have given her the power to prevent the fading of Lothlórien. But when she makes this speech in the book, and in the Peter Jackson movies, it's her own thought, she's not repeating something that Sauron said to her once:

“You will give me the Ring freely! In place of the Dark Lord you will set up a Queen. And I shall not be dark, but beautiful and terrible as the Morning and the Night! Fair as the Sea and the Sun and the Snow upon the Mountain! Dreadful as the Storm and the Lightning! Stronger than the foundations of the earth. All shall love me and despair!”

These are Galadriel's words. Her words. Not Sauron's. And she was tempted by the One Ring because she could have been a more powerful queen, not Sauron's queen. Like, you guys really took one of the most powerful and complex female characters in Tolkien's works and you made her story all about a man and his power over her and his manipulation of her. Fuck off.

And stop tagging ROP as Lord of the Rings.

[evielmostdefinitely]

Imagine how distraught snow would be if his wife had a really rough time giving birth to their child where she’s coming in and out of conscience and there’s blood and he’s terrified she won’t make it like his mother leading to him hating the baby for a little bc of how badly his wife was recovering sorry for the angst! Ignore this if uncomfortable <3

forever winter |young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader|

prompt: as requested, troubles with child birth leaves coriolanus very cold towards your son.

contains: angst. mentions of parental death, blood, complications during birth. darkish coriolanus. kinda fluffy-ish end?

Coriolanus knew the horrors of childbirth. He knew the dangers, the risks. He’d seen the blank stares of a new mother rocking her baby, eyes blank and distant like she’d been through war. He’d heard the solemn whispers in a dim room, quiet and hushed, darting eyes that looked everywhere but the casket- sometimes two. His own mother had been torn from his grasp at a young age because of it, and for a while, he was sure he’d never let his own wife experience it. 

Then he met you. 

You who lit his world up from the inside out, who he rose only each day to see- to love. You who cradled a baby at your engagement announcement, a friend’s newborn, held him so naturally and delicately that it ignited something inside Coriolanus. He wanted a dozen babies with you, he decided at that moment that he’d do anything to make it happen. 

You’d blossomed so naturally, swelled up overnight. Round belly and a glowing demeanor- it was addictive to Coriolanus. How he’d brag, boast proudly to anyone who’d hear it- his wife pregnant, he couldn’t be happier. 

All those fears, worries, were replaced with new ones. Horror stories about infants, toddlers. His own consuming thoughts about being a father. The idea of childbirth was nothing but a fading thought to him. That had been in the war, technology was better, he was in a better place. Your father had ensured his darling daughter would have the best of the best- you always did. The best doctors, the best birthing suite, the best nursery- the best. 

But money couldn’t buy your own body betraying itself at birth. It didn’t stop the bleeding, the paling of your skin as you fluttered in and out of consciousness. 

You’d grunted like an animal, tearing yourself into two for hours, cursing Coriolanus’ name, begging him to make it stop, crushing his hands with your legs up in the stirrups, pushing your baby out. 

Coriolanus was in awe of you, though he’d never get the chance to tell you. How you’d willed yourself to hurt yourself, inflict that selfless pain to bring life into the world. It was positively poetic. 

He’d been so overjoyed hearing your babies gargled cry, the nurses announcing its gender- his gender. His son. A boy. A beautiful boy, wailing and delicate and covered in matter that Coriolanus didn’t even care about when he held him close to his own chest. 

“What is it, Coryo?” You muttered, eyes drooping, chest heaving with aftershocks of pain from the birth. 

“A boy, my love.” Coryo’s eyes shone with tears, lips pressing together to conceal it. “It’s a boy. Our boy, my darling.” 

“A boy…” Your speech was slurred, head lolling back onto the pillow. 

Coriolanus noticed for the first time how still the room had become, his son’s wailing the only sound. The nurses and doctors, once chipper and gleeful, now bearing a sickly paleness to their face, eerily quiet. 

“What? What’s wrong?” Coriolanus snapped, eyes wide, frantic, bouncing around the room. “What’s happening?” 

“We-We can’t find-” The doctor’s voice shook, ducked between your legs in a pile of crimson. Coriolanus’ stomach turned violently. 

“She’s bleeding. We-We can’t find where the bleeding is.” The nurse whispered. 

“What?” Coriolanus snapped. “Bleeding? H-How can she- Find it!” The baby wailed over the sound of Coriolanus’ demanding barks. 

“President Snow, we-we’re trying our best-” 

“-Try harder.” Coriolanus sneered, clutching the baby closer to his chest. “If anything happens to my wife, I will single handedly ensure your bloodline ends with you. Each of you will know what it feels like to lose your family too if you lose her.” He spat, sending the nurses and doctors into a fearful frenzy. 

The newborn wailed, doctors shouted, and Coriolanus’ ears rang, his chest too tight, painfully tight. He couldn’t lose you, he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t survive that loss. His eyes fell to the screeching baby beneath him, scrunched face and wailing gums. How was he to raise this baby without you? 

Anger boiled through his chest at the sight of his son- his fault. A cowering nurse, frozen in shaking fear in the corner, watched him carefully as he stormed towards her. “Take this.” Coriolanus sneered, shoving the baby in her arms. 

He hated the feeling, the helplessness that consumed him as he stood, wide eyed and shaking hands he clenched into fists. 

Somewhere, somehow, the doctor found the bleeding, stopping it with a triumphant cry. “Get the blood, get the blood!” He shouted, head hooked over his shoulder. “Infuse it now!” 

Coriolanus wasn’t sure he could remember how to breathe. Memories of the two of your: the moment you met, the first date, his shaking hands asking for yours in marriage, the way you beamed under your veil at the altar, the same glow that you had when you told him you were pregnant. It could all be gone so easily. Had his father felt this way? So helpless? 

Maybe that’s why he’d been so hardened and resentful, so he’d never feel attached- never allow himself to feel so helpless. 

Coriolanus decided he couldn’t blame him, sitting in this chair, watching as you rested. The doctor said there’d be a lot of that in the coming hours. That you’d gone through trauma and you needed time. He wanted to rip you from the bed, shake you until you awoke and told him you were ok. He needed to hear it, maddenned himself with the need for it. 

Instead, he sat. 

Coryo sent the baby out to the nursery. He knew your parents, Tigris, everyone waiting would be thrilled to see the baby boy. Coryo just couldn’t muster the feigned excitement now. The site of his own son made his stomach turn, fear soaked repulsion settled deep in the pitt of his own core. 

Somewhere in the night, you awoke. A rustling and a groan that had Coriolanus snapping out of his dazed sleep, head tucked to his shoulder, slumped in the chair beside your bed. 

“Don’t move.” Coryo commanded, eyes a kind of bright, frantic wide that had you stilling. 

Your throat burned, head dizzy with the medicine they’d pumped into your system. Coriolanus’ hands shook as he brought you the water, hand cupping your jaw gently to feed it to you. You blinked, bleary with confusion. “You’re alright, my love.” Coriolanus' heart swelled, suffocatingly in his own chest. You were alright. 

“Coryo,” You croaked, throat tight, rasping from before, you were sure. You remembered the birth, most of it anyways, the blurry memory of your baby in Coryo’s arms before your memory failed. “The-The baby… Is he alright? W-Where’s my baby?” 

“He’s with your parents, my love.” Coriolanus’ hand smoothes down your matted hair, sticky with dried sweat. “Nevermind him. How are you? Is anything wrong? Do you need anything? I-I’ll call for the nurse.” 

You shook your head, looking around the room. The sheets were clean, your gown clean, but you felt an achy soreness splitting you in half. “What happened?” 

Coriolanus felt the lump in his throat grow, strangling his words in his throat. “Y-You had some complications, darling.” He swallowed the burn of his own tears down in his throat. “You were bleeding but they stopped it.” 

You blinked, unmoving, soaking in the details of your injury. Coriolanus watched you with a studying glare, eyes scanning for any tiny, minor infliction that something was wrong. “Is-Is the baby ok?” You whispered, eyes shining with fear when you met his gaze. 

“The baby’s fine.” Coryo snapped, harsher than he meant to. It alarmed you, your eyes snapping to his carefully. He took a deep breath, holding your hand carefully into his own, thumb running over your knuckles. 

“He’s fine.” Coryo said, softer this time. “I need to know how you are. What do you need from me, my love? What can I do to make it better?” 

You squeezed his hand lightly, your strength weaker than normal. It made Coriolanus’ spine tingle with shooting chills of concern. “I want to see my baby.” You whispered, head leaning against Coryo’s shoulder. 

“No,” Coriolanus shook his head furiously. “No, you-you need to rest, and-and not be bothered by the baby-” 

“-Coryo,” Your eyes rounded, so pitifully pleading Coriolanus would have walked through fire for you if you asked him to. “Please? I just want to see our baby.” 

And how could he say no? He couldn’t, so instead, Coriolanus called the nurse in. Your parents, proud grandparents, holding the baby, tutting over you. Everyone flitting about the birthing room, Tigris even gleaming with joy at the birth of her nephew. All except Coriolanus, who watched in the corner of the room, a stoic look on his face. 

You looked positively radiant, glowing with joy as you held your son. As if that baby hadn’t nearly killed you, Coriolanus wanted to scream the reminder to you, but he didn’t. He wouldn’t dare upset you, risk upsetting you in front of your family. 

“Coriolanus,” Tigris’ soft voice pulled him out of his thoughts, brought him away from his own sinking, heavy feelings of disappointment. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine, Tigris.” Coryo’s voice was tight, firm and forced, like the look of awkward contentment he tried to paint across his features. 

“You… You haven’t held your son.” Tigris hesitated, voice dropping softly so the others wouldn’t overhear. 

“I don’t wish to hold him right now.” Coriolanus sneered. 

“He is your son, Coriolanus.” Tigris hissed, her voice dropping to a low hush in the room, terrified you or the others might hear. 

“And he almost killed her.” Coryo’s eyes flashed to Tigris’ in horrified rage. “Nearly fated her as my sister did my mother, and if you think for one second I am to be happy at that, then you are-” 

“-Coryo,” Your voice croaked, still weak and tired. It made his heart lurch, attention on you in a second, already walking towards your bedside. 

“Yes, my love? What do you need?” Coriolanus muttered. Normally, he’d be embarrassed, showing such affection especially in front of your parents, but he hoped they’d pardon his vulnerability in the moment, given the circumstances. 

“Look at him,” Your eyes shone with love, pure adoration, as if you weren’t cradling the very thing that almost killed you. It made Coryo sick. “He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” 

Coriolanus looked down at the small newborn, wrapped in swaddles, eyes closed and lips twitching with the faintest whimper of a cry. He looked so much like you, so much like himself- the perfect blend of the two of you taking your lips but Coriolanus’ nose. 

His heart swelled with pride before he could help it, lips curling in a half smile. He’d grown weak, Coriolanus decided, softened by you and your love. He should be disgusted by the baby, despise him and reject him like an animal in the wild would. But he couldn’t bring himself to it. 

“A fine young boy.” Your father boasted, nodding proudly. “The two of you should be very proud.” 

“Yes,” Coryo swallowed around the lump in his throat. You leaned into his touch, shifting the baby so he could better see him. 

“Any idea on the name?” Your mother hummed, moving beside you. 

“I still think Cyrene would be fitting.” You’re beaming, beautiful and proud when you meet Coriolanus’ gaze. “What do you think, Coryo?” 

“Yes,” Coryo nodded. “I think that would be a fine name.” 

“Cyrene Snow,” You cooed, pressing your nose to the baby’s, pressing a gentle kiss there. Your eyes brimmed with tears when you met Coriolanus’ gaze. “Do you want to hold him, darling?” 

“Are you getting tired?” Coryo watched you carefully. “Do you feel alright?” 

“Yes,” You nodded. “I don’t want to hog the baby. Want you to have a chance too, darling.” 

“That’s alright.” Coryo shook his head politely, suddenly very aware of your parents and Tigris’ gaze on him. “You hold him, my love.” 

You frowned lightly. You knew something was off with Coryo, the tightness in his tone, lips falling in a flat line. You waited until later, when Cyrene lay in his bassinet, your family all gone for the night, just you and Coryo in the birthing suite. 

“Why will you not hold him?” You asked through the still darkness. Coriolanus' eyes snapped to yours fiercely, startled by your tone. 

“Excuse me?” 

“Our baby.” You groaned when you sat up, Coryo rushing to your side. 

“You need to be careful-” 

“-You won’t hold him, Coriolanus.” You gripped his arm, eyes shining in something new- something Coryo wasn’t certain of, but it made his stomach twist. “Why?” 

Coriolanus swallowed, the lump in his throat suffocating him. “The last time I held him,” Coryo’s voice was soft, rasping in the quiet room, barely above a whisper. “You nearly died.” 

The room was still, far too still for either of you to find comfort. A harsh, shocking truth for the both of you, sickening and cruel. Your near damned fated reality, Coriolanus’ worst fears, the peaceful baby resting in the bassinet besides the two of you. 

Pressed into the side of your hospital bed, Coriolanus held you carefully, a stilled reminder that you were still there, that you hadn’t left him. The icy wall he’d built high for his son melted with every soft coo and whisper you gave him, a reminder that you were still with him and would be. 

When Coryo finally held Cyrene again, when he’d stirred awake and you were asleep, he turned to the window overlooking Panem’s Capitol, eyes shining with tears- of regret, joy, pain? Even Coryo wasn’t sure, but he rocked his son to sleep carefully, promising him that one day, he’d have what Coryo had. That he wouldn’t leave him the way his father had, that he’d keep him safe, teach him how to keep you safe.

[writers-potion]

Could you give any advice for "descriptive" writing of any scene or action scenes or mapping out the scenery (Mountains, forests, streets etc) - i believe this is a struggle for Non-English speaking writers due to lack of vast vocabulary.

Common Scenery Description Tips

Vocabulary is clearly an important part of description, but it doesn’t have to be a limit. The most important thing about description in fiction is picking the right details to mention:

How does the details add to the mood of the story? A mountain ridge will be dark, gray and foggy if the overall mood is meant to be mysterious/brooding. In contrast, a mountain can be brilliantly snow-capped, lush green and “smiling down” upon the character if they’re out for a light stroll.

How are the contrasts/complementary aspects being brought out?

Are you using the five senses? You can even combine the senses, ie. blue ringing of the church bells

(If you have the POV character) what 

Some other tips for setting description:

Use similes and metaphors. Creative figures of speech always get my attention as a reader. 

Mention story-specific elements. For example, “The sky was the shade of Zoes’ eyes” or “the mountains looked like a group of trolls sleeping on one another” 

Be concise. Today’s readers don’t want to read paragraphs and paragraphs about one landscape. Outline the larger elements in the scene, their location and general mood. Add some details, then move on. 

If the same location appears multiple times, differentiate the description little by little as you write, instead of trying to lay out one scene in too much detail at once. 

That said, here are some helpful words/phrases:

Forests/Mountains

Color: bone-white, phantom-white, hazy gray

Sound: rumbling, booming grumbling, bellowing clapping, trundling, growling, thundering

Shape: crinkled, crumpled, knotted, grizzled, rumpled, wrinkled, craggy, jagged, gnarled, rugose  

Action: sky-punching/stabbing/piercing/spearing, heaven-touching/kissing, snow-cloaked/hooded/wreathed/festooned

Sloping sides, sharp/rounded ridges, high point/peak/summit

Majestic, gargantuan humbling, vast, massive, titanic, towering, monumental, mighty, vast, humbling

Mountains having faces, etc. 

Seas

Color: blue-green, crystal-clear crystalline, emerald, frothy, hazy, glistening, pristine, turquoise

Size: boundless, abyssal, fathomless, unconquerable, vast, wondrous

Sound: billowing, blustering, bombastic

Action: boisterous, agitated, angry, biting, breaking, brazen. Churning, bubbling, changing, brooding, calm, convulsing, enticing erratic, fierce, tempestuous, turbulent, undulating

Alluring, blissful, betwitching, breezy, captivating, chaotic, chilly, elemental, disorienting

Deserts

Sight: A landscape of sand, flat, harsh sunlight, cacti, tumbleweeds, dust devils, cracked land, crumbing rock, sandstone, canyons, wind-worn rock formations, tracks, dead grasses, vibrant desert blooms (after rainfall), flash flooding, dry creek

Sounds: Wind (whistling, howling, piping, tearing, weaving, winding, gusting), birds cawing, flapping, squawking, the fluttering shift of feasting birds, screeching eagles, the sound of one’s own steps, heavy silence, baying wild dogs

Smell: Arid air, dust, one’s own sweat and body odor, dry baked earth, carrion

Touch: Torrid heat, sweat, cutting wind, cracked lips, freezing cold (night) hard packed ground, rocks, gritty sand, shivering, swiping away dirt and sweat, pain from split lips and dehydration, numbness in legs, heat/pain from sun stroke, clothes…

Taste: Grit, dust, dry mouth & tongue, warm flat canteen water, copper taste in mouth, bitter taste of insects for eating, stringy wild game (hares, rats) the tough saltiness of hardtack, biscuits or jerky, an insatiable thirst or hunger

Streets

Dusty, fume-filled, foul, sumptuous, broad, bucolic, decayed, mournful, seemingly endless, empty, unpaved, lifeless, dreadfully genteel, muddy, nondescript, residential/retail

Bleach, flimsy, silent, narrow, crooked, furrowed, smoggy, commonplace, tumbledown, treeless, shady

The blacktop streets absorb the spring sunshine as if intent upon sending heaven's warmth back through my soles.

The streets absorbed the emotions in the air, the city as the steady and reassuring mother.

The streets were a marriage of sounds, from bicycle wheels to chattering.

In the refreshing light of early daytime, the streets had the hues of artistic dreamtime, soft yet bold pastels.

Cobbled streets flowed as happy rivers in sunlight.

Parties

Some extra tips for locations like parties, where lots of action is going around practically everywhere:

Focus on the important characters - where they are, who they’re with. 

Provide some overall description of the structure of the party scene (a pool, a two-storey house with yard?), then move on to details. 

Don’t try to describe everything. 

whirlwind of laughter and music, a symphony of joyous chaos.

It was a gathering that shimmered with the glow of twinkling lights and echoed with the rhythm of dancing feet.

The air was alive with excitement, buzzing with conversations and the clink of glasses.

Every corner held a story waiting to unfold, a moment waiting to be captured in memory.

It was a tapestry of colors, a mosaic of faces, each adding their own brushstroke to the vibrant canvas of the night.

Laughter cascaded like a waterfall, infectious and unstoppable, filling the room with warmth.

The night was a carnival of senses, with aromas of delicious food mingling with the melodies that filled the air.

Time seemed to slip away in the whirl of the party, moments blending into each other like colors on a palette.

The energy of the crowd was electric, pulsing through the room like a heartbeat, binding everyone in a shared moment of celebration.

It was a celebration of life, where worries faded into the background, and the present moment was all that mattered.

[leviathanspain]

Hey could you write a Finnick odair / reader where snow forces them to pretend to date like he did with katniss and peeta? The whole convince him and get married as a distraction thing? Thanks :)

the pretender

finnick odair x reader

synopsis: being reaped from the victor’s pool changed your life in more ways than you imagined

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

you were his favorite girl.

girl. you were a girl when you had been reaped, a girl when your feet stepped off the platform, more shocked that you didn’t immediately blow up into bits. a girl when you had committed your first kill. you remembered the sound of your knife slicing into human flesh for the first time. the ringing in your ears had become permanent after you had been too close to the explosion that had killed half of the tributes. an explosion that you had accidentally caused.

your rebellious spirit was fun at first, for the capital to laugh and delight in, until you stopped using the scripts that they had written for you, and tried to destroy the idea of the girl in their minds.

snow subdued you, tried to barter your family’s life with cooperation. unbeknownst to him, you hadn’t seen your family in years since they had abandoned you, for fighting against your father’s abuse.

“kill them. do whatever you want to them. just leave me alone.” your own words haunted you since the day snow had presented evidence of their murders. you didn’t dare flinch in his presence, holding a strong facade that you didn’t care, that they were beneath you.

as he left, irritated at your refusal to comply, letting ideas stir in his head with what to do with you, you broke down. tears shed as you realized that they were gone because of you, because you couldn’t let your anger go.

but snow liked you, he must’ve had a reason to keep you around for so long, and until just a few days ago, you hadn’t known why.

you breathed deeply as you heard your name called. it was deja vu, and suddenly you were back to the thirteen year old girl, who was so emaciated and starved that when her name was called, she believed she was hallucinating.

you looked crudely into the screen, not offering any smiles or sign of pride that you had been reaped, all over again.

“y/n l/n.” hearing your full name made you turn around immediately. you were slightly blinded by his blonde hair and pearly white smile.

“finnick odair.” you realized who the man was, quicker than you’d admit. the last time you had seen him was at a ridiculous capital party that snow had forced you to attend. finnick had been leaned against a wall, with two capital sluts hanging onto his shoulders, whispering in his ears simultaneously.

he smiled, not surprised that you didn’t say anything else besides his name. you had that tendency about you, to shoot down any attempt at conversation. even going as far to avoid it all together. “i’m glad you haven’t tried to run away, not after i had caught you eyes and you dashed off at that party. how long ago was that? three,” his speech hung onto the words, “four?”

“five months. it’s been five months, finnick.” you remembered his gaze, and remembered how your feet made you run at the sight. you had heard stories about finnick, and you weren’t exactly planning on ever talking to him.

“that’s right.” he smiled, “i hope you’ve been well since then. it was nice seeing you in something other than a bloody shirt.” his gaze suddenly seemed very far away, as if he was remembering exactly what you wore that night.

you shrugged, deciding to change topics, “everyone else is polishing their weapons,” you heard a guttural war cry, and saw another tribute lunge at a partner, “and methods.” finnick turned to the source of the cry and laughed slightly, “oh yeah? what’s your choice of weapon, again?”

“knives. anything long and sharp.” you always had an affinity for knives. it was second nature to you, an art of your district. your mind drifted away slightly to the array of knives that you had collected during your games. every tribute that you had slaughtered had a knife, and you collected them as a token. by the end, you had 23 knives, all representing a kill.

it had been upsetting when you went on your victory tour, to see the look on their family’s faces, but you had blurred out their emotions, and at the height of your submission to snow, had given out the same apathetic speech to every district.

finnick watched as your mind drifted back to reality. wherever you had gone for the better half of a minute, was a place finnick spent every waking moment, running away from.

he grabbed your shoulder, squeezing it slightly as he looked into your eyes, whispering your name, “hey, hey.” you focused on his eyes, gaze shifting to his mouth as they shaped the syllables of your name. you swallowed thickly, “im sorry-i…” you pulled away, his hand falling free of your shoulder. finnick watched as you exited the training room, your hands balled up into fists as you disappeared through the doorway.

“absolutely not.” you had spent your childhood under the thumb of one man, and you had barely made it out from under snow’s. this was only another way to get you under it once more.

finnick had his head bowed, having listened to snow’s pitch to make the two of you a couple. he needed something to distract the capital citizens from peeta and katniss, who everyone knew, was just a thorn in snow’s side.

“my dear, i really don’t think you have a choice in the matter.” snow’s eyes narrowed at you and you sighed, “what else is there left for you to do? im already being marched to my death, again, just speed the process up. poison me like you do the rest.” you took a good jab at one of the many secrets you had obtained, living in his cage.

snow laughed, “i would’ve done that a long time ago, y/n.”

just as you were beginning to argue again, finnick looked up, eyes catching yours. he held your gaze for a minute, blinking his wet eyes at you. there was something that was telling you that this wasn’t just about you.

finnick.

oh how could you forget finnick.

there was something clearly at stake for him too, otherwise why had he remained silent this entire time?

compliance was something he had to get used to, also under snow’s control.

“okay, fine.” you felt yourself swallow bile, “i’ll do it.” you looked at finnick, your future husband, and the reason why you were even agreeing.

“why did you do it?” his voice cracked, a raw noise as he looked over at you. you had been silent the whole time since leaving the meeting with snow. you shuddered with the strong winds, having been sat out on the stoop of the building, housing all the reaped former victors.

you looked at finnick, having caught his gaze, holding it for a moment, “my entire life i’ve been selfish, and i guess i realized that it isn’t always about putting myself first.” you knew the stories, heard the rumors. snow had barely played with the idea, making you like finnick, but you had always refused. there was nothing left for him to leverage, and so it never went anywhere.

but this, pairing the two of you was nothing short of cruel. finnick who has everything to lose, with you, who he probably didn’t expect to agree.

finnick hitched a breath, understanding what you weren’t saying. “thank you.” he breathed, “and im sorry.”

you stood up suddenly, nodding as you turned towards the entrance, “just-“ you cut yourself off, waving a hand as you continued inside.

he made the announcement. finnick had decided that with the pull he has on the capital, that he would be the one to do it. especially since he was so beloved, the attention from it was to challenge katniss and peeta’s.

you had agreed to play the part, and now you had to act like it.

there was loud cheering and applause from the crowd, and you were pushed out onto the stage, more cheers erupting as finnick stood up to meet you halfway. you kissed his cheek, grabbing his hand tightly as you two fluttered across the stage.

caesar flickerman was already standing there with a bright, capitol smile. “this is your lovely bride. we hear the honeymoon is the arena?” he looked at finnick who tipped his head back for a laugh, but didn’t answer outright.

you gave a soft laugh, “we just loved each other so much, we couldn’t wait.”

caesar looked at you, as if remembering who you were exactly, “wow.” he seemed truly amazed, perhaps even shocked.

finnick noticed the heaviness in the interview and turned his head at caesar, trying to keep the attention on the union rather than the individuals.

he grabbed your hand suddenly, clutching it tightly. as he held it for the rest of the interview, you staring at the faces in the crowd, more love struck than you, you wondered if he was trying to comfort you or himself.

“finnick.” you looked around behind you, only seeing peeta in front of you. the first few days in the arena had been a blur. you had stuck by close with finnick, who made it his mission to stay close to katniss. there was something he wasn’t telling you, but you didn’t once doubt him.

“finnick?” you whipped your head around and couldn’t find him. you were always in front of him, so he could remain in his eye line at all times. except you had failed to make sure he was in yours.

your ears started ringing as the panic set in. you scanned the trees and couldn’t find any sign of him or katniss, realizing this as peeta shared your same panicked look. your throat felt tight as you screamed his name, “finnick!” peeta suddenly took off, feet blazing towards more greenery. you had no choice but to follow, knowing finnick would’ve had you stick with peeta.

as you barely caught up to peeta, you saw him hit the floor as you ran up. whatever he had bounced off of was holding katniss and finnick back.

you looked at finnick, unable to catch his eyes as he looked up frantically. there was something you were missing, there were just bir-

“jabberjays.” peeta groaned out, “they can’t hear us, but they hear our screams.” he swallowed thickly, resting near the force field. katniss was knelt down at the edge, eyes tightly shut. you stared at finnick, at a loss for words. the panic in his face looked so real, you wondered who he was hearing.

you tore your eyes away, watching him suffer was not something you had signed up for. you felt defeated, unable to do anything as you and peeta sat like sitting ducks, waiting this torture out.

you hadn’t talked to him since the jabberjays. peeta had comforted katniss, in any way she’d let him. but they were different, you and finnick were different.

yes, you were married, he was your husband. but the issue was, you hadn’t much time to even begin to share intimate details, let alone have a good conversation. this was what snow wanted, an empty marriage to stir up all the attention.

except you knew your performance was failing. the audience could see right through you.

“hey.” finnick had snuck up on you. you had stayed a few feet away from him and the others, unsure how to handle it all. but it seems like finnick was trying to make it work. but it should be the other way around.

“finnick.” you breathed a sigh of relief unintentionally, hoping he didn’t catch on, you watched as he sat down on the sand beside you. he grabbed your hand, and for a moment you thought it to be genuine, until he raised an eyebrow.

right.

“i’m so sorry.” your voice hitched, and finnick steadied his gaze, “seeing you like that-“ you faked a choked sob, “i just couldn’t do it. i couldn’t look at you and see-“ you cut yourself off, throwing your head in your hands.

snow had to be happy that you were selling yourself off to protect finnick. but beside that heart to heart you had with him in the beginning, you had nothing else to go off of.

“i heard you.” finnick’s voice cracked, “you were screaming, these terrible, horrible screams.” he shook his head, as if he were hearing them all over again, making you realize that he was telling the truth. “and it wouldn’t stop.” he breathed. his breathing got harder and you found yourself kissing him to make him stop. finnick panted into the kiss, as if you had grounded him. you pulled back, catching his eye as you looked away.

your hand that he had been holding gripped his harder. you looked out into the water, watching as it’s dangerous waters moved, unsure on how you would survive this.

with or without him.

[casualhedonists]

✩ it don’t need your loving, it just needs attention ✩ (chapter five)

pairing: Coriolanus Snow x reader

warnings: NSFW (18+), snow being snow, themes of sex work (not the reader), cuckolding, eventual smut, fake relationship, unprotected sex, themes of voyeurism & mild exhibitionism, murder/violence mention (but no actual murder) , MAJOR manipulation/gross power dynamics + generally darkish themes, some power play, lots of switching between dom/sub dynamics, oral sex, thigh riding, face sitting, degradation, dirty talk, edging/orgasm denial, roughhousing, eventual piv, one chapter specific dubcon scene (pls tell me if i forgot anything!)

chapter: 5/6

words: um. 9.5k (sorry? but also you're welcome??)

chapter warnings: this chapter contains a scene that falls solidly into dubcon territory, so please proceed with caution, stay safe out there.

moodboards

series masterlist

a/n: WELL. here we are, almost at the end of our little rollercoaster ride. i've lost brain cells over this chapter, almost cut it up into smaller chunks, but ended up leaving it as long as i originally planned (longer, in fact. whoops). as always, feedback is very welcome + encouraged (i love hearing/reading your thoughts as things progress) buckle up, please do take note of the dubcon warning, prepare for the angst, and most importantly, enjoy!

i do not give permission for my work to be reposted/translated anywhere, under any circumstances.

He was back to ignoring you again.

But this time, the feeling was mutual. You’d never felt as thoroughly rejected as you did the night he had you walk back to your room, legs weak, wrapped in nothing but his shirt.

Once upon a time, this scenario would have been one you dreamed of, but reality often falls flat on its face. You wouldn’t have dreamt of walking away from him like this if you’d known it would feel this empty.

Humiliation ran rampant through your body, starting with the tears you blinked away as you left his room, closing the door behind you, and then flooding over as you stepped into your own room, slumping on the bed, curling up into yourself and weeping, pressing your still aching legs together but too upset to finish yourself off.

You kicked yourself for getting carried away, for getting too loud, too possessive with his face between your thighs and your hand in his hair. For getting so caught up in the moment, briefly forgetting your games, and for believing even for a second that you would be on the same page.

This push and pull had begun to wear you thin, and you were tired. So, you slept. Until nearly midday the next morning, when Lucille knocked on your door to remind you it was time for your monthly PR debrief.

The good news, though arguable at this point, was that your arrangement hadn’t been affected by recent events. At least, not on paper. Cordelia ran you through each gala, public appearance, and dinner, barely noticing your preoccupation, rambling on about speeches, coordinating outfits, dates and times of events, what to say and how to say it.

For you - and you could only imagine, Coriolanus too - everything had changed over the span of a month. 

Your shame made you abnormally quiet, head hung low, gaze averted, nodding along as Cordelia prompted either a response or approval from you. Snow just stared, glancing at her only when completely necessary, but otherwise, he didn’t take his eyes off you.

He was enjoying this. The sick fuck. You were glad when the meeting ended and you could scamper into the library, eager to lose yourself in a story of any kind other than the one you were living.

This went on. By day, you barely looked at him; by night, you tried over and over to prove that your own fingers were enough to keep you satisfied. To convince yourself that you just wanted him, you didn’t need him.

Because if you needed him, then he called the shots. He would win. And victorious as he may seem, the game wasn’t over yet. You’d slipped up in a moment of vulnerability, he’d tricked you into a corner just to prove his point.

You wanted him, you didn’t need him. But if you did… well.

He was going to have to need you more.

You held back this time. Keeping your cards safe, close to your chest. In a strange way, you found a kind of solace in your arrangement. Recent events had caused it to feel unstable, breakable even, but the meeting had ensured that it was all still on the right track. It allowed you to take a small piece of what you wanted from him without guilt or repercussions. After all, it was planned out to benefit you both. Then, when you were ready, and with a gentle hand, you began to weaponise it, loading it up in the barrel of a gun aimed directly at Snow.

You didn't have much left, but you had this. You knew where your promiscuity had led you. This time, you wanted to pull on his heart strings. Make him feel remorse, or whatever similar emotion he was capable of. Make him soften to you. Torture him with almosts that were never enough.

So when you took, you took cautiously, tentatively. You deepened your usually light kisses to what was just past socially acceptable, only to pull back when Snow began to lean in, turning away and smiling at the people surrounding you, or full-on entering into conversation with somebody else. You'd brush your thumb against his when you held hands, waiting for him to look at you, drawing your hand away when he did. You'd offer smiles to everyone but him, talk and laugh a little louder when you could feel him watching.

You pretended he didn’t exist. You could feel him begin to simmer. It wasn't as brazen as your usual game, but it was working.

Until it wasn’t.

“Something’s wrong, what is it?”

Lucille’s face dropped, her shaking hands lowering from the zip she was struggling with. You were getting ready for a luncheon, and you’d picked out an emerald green dress, one of your favorites for daytime events.

“I’d hoped you wouldn’t notice, ma’am. I apologise. It’s my brother, he… it’s getting worse again.”

“Sit down for a second. Talk to me. What’s going on?”

You listened to Lucille open up uncomfortably, visibly nervous that you would offer your financial support as you’d done before. But you didn’t, sparing her from having to turn you down.

Lucille was stubborn - she would never accept your charity. She was more than happy to work for her wages, and frequently worked longer hours. As months went by, you’d brought her pay up as high as you could without her noticing. But now things were getting more critical, and you knew there was only one thing you could do.

“Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? Go and see your brother.”

“But you’re not dressed-”

“I’ll take care of it. Go home, Lucille. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

She smiled softly.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

You’d tried with the zip, you really had. You didn’t want to have to knock on Snow’s office door with two favors to ask instead of one, but the dress was tight and the zip kept getting jammed. So, there you stood, dress half undone at the back, heart in your throat. You counted your blessings; at least it wasn’t his bedroom. You didn’t think you could face him at all in there. You heard typing from inside.

“Come in.”

You pushed the door open, feeling like an intruder.

“Sorry, I just… Could you help me with this?” Your hand tightened behind your back, holding the dress together.

He narrowed his eyes. He was already in his suit, typewriter on the desk in front of him.

“Lucille forget how to do her job?”

“I don’t need snide right now. Please, Coriolanus? I’ll explain when I’m not half naked. It’s drafty in here.”

You tried to make it clear in your tone that this wasn’t some ploy. You weren’t sure you had many of those left to offer.

“Fine.” He sighed, and stood, making no motion towards you, so you crossed the room, gripping onto the fabric, turning your back to him.

His hand came to rest on your waist as the other took the zipper, and you tried not to flinch at his touch. You pressed your lips together as he carefully zipped you up, cold metal sending a chill down your spine. Or maybe that was just him. You felt your eyes slide shut and your lips part as his hand lingered on your waist. You couldn’t hear anything but your heartbeat and the tick of his grandfather clock.

“Is that okay? Not too tight?” His breath on your neck gave you goosebumps, you hoped desperately that he wouldn’t notice.

“No, it’s perfect. Thank you.”

The second his hand fell from your waist, you missed it. You carefully met his eye; he was looking at you like you had something he wanted.

So why hadn’t he wanted you? You’d been right there, and he’d turned you down.

He cleared his throat.

“I should finish this letter before we leave. Was there anything else?”

You paused.

“Actually, there is. Could I ask you a favor?” You glanced off to the side, suddenly very interested in the knots of wood on his desk. What helped was that you'd never seen inside this room before, and you hid behind your curiosity like it was a lifeline.

“What is it?”

“It’s…” you lowered your voice, “it’s about Lucille. Her brother, actually. He’s in the hospital again. The family can’t afford the medical bills to keep him in for as long as he needs. I’d like to foot the bill, but I can���t do it anonymously. I thought… well, I was wondering if you could pull a few strings.”

You were overexplaining, something you weren’t at all used to doing, but these days, just being in the same room as him made you nervous. You stared at his desk, at the lack of photographs on it, the single pen laying to the side, the smoothness of the glaze.

It was quiet for a moment.

“Consider it done.”

You looked up.

“Really?”

“Did you think I’d say no?” He asked.

“I- no, but…”

“It’s something that matters to you.”

You blinked, dumbfounded at how simply he put it.

“Yes. It is. Thank you, Coriolanus.”

“Don’t mention it. I’ll make sure it’s anonymous.”

“Thank you. Or, I mean…”

He looked at you, and you wanted to melt. Wanted to throw strategy out the window, god, but -

You couldn’t. It hadn’t worked last time. You’d hoped to avoid a stalemate, but here you were, sat right in the middle of one.

“The car’s coming in a half hour. Are you almost ready?” He asked.

“Yes. Almost.”

The luncheon was going well, at first. You were at the head of a large table, sat beside Snow, straightening your salad fork as he stood up to make a speech. You’d been glancing at him throughout the afternoon; it wasn’t so hard to anymore. It felt like his willingness to help Lucille without question, just because it was what you wanted, had more of an effect on you in five minutes than the entire week of your teasing had on him. One conversation, and the tides had changed.

As he began talking, you started to realise that your gentler approach may have been affecting you more than it had him. The party was transfixed; people loved to hear him talk, and you were proud. He had a certain way with words; you knew better than anyone. You’d fallen victim to them.

You weren’t sure why his words affected you – you’d been there, you’d agreed when Cordelia had suggested he say something nice about you in this particular speech, really make the crowd swoon, lay it on thick - but when he started to talk about you, about how proud he was to have you by his side, how strong you were-

You knew he was just reciting a script written for him, but you couldn’t help it. The tears began to quietly fall. You thanked whatever higher being was listening for not letting anyone notice.

Or so you thought.

It was just typical that out of all the people that could’ve noticed, the one person who knew better was the only one who did.

The rest of them would’ve brushed it off as you simply being moved by emotion, honored by his kind words. You blinked away your tears, taking small, polite sips of your wine. It was painful because you knew it wasn’t true. None of it was, you knew he could never say those words and mean them.

And he knew that too.

It was dark when you got home, and you trailed behind him awkwardly on your way upstairs.

“Can I have a word?” his voice was gentle, and it set you on edge.

“Sure.”

You stood awkwardly in the hallway, then he led you into the office. He leaned against his desk, and you shifted your feet where you stood, eyes on the floor, on the art on the walls, on anything other than him.

“You were upset today.” He started.

You swallowed.

“It won’t happen again, I promise.” you kept your voice steady. He paused.

“If that was my fault, I apologise. If I took it too far, if I upset you-”

You weren’t sure which part he was talking about, but you finally looked at him in a sort of distant defiance.

“Do you even care if I’m upset?”

“Of course I do. Especially when it’s something that affects you… publicly.”

You huffed, forcing yourself to stare him down.

“Because that’s all that matters, right? What the public sees?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Sure it is. It’s okay, Snow. I’m a big girl. And I can take a hint, too. So don’t worry about me, I’ll be just fine. Business as usual, right?”

He just stared, puzzled. You took a breath.

“Look, it’s been a long day. Can I go, or are you going to keep me here all night?”

The silence was like smoke, clouding between you. His brow furrowed, calculating. Then he sighed, long and heavy, and you tried not to let it phase you.

“Fine. Go.”

You nodded.

“Goodnight.”

You’d never been more relieved to get away from him. Your broken walls were starting to build back up. You wouldn’t let him break you, you couldn’t. You were stronger than this.

That night, for the first time, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was truly what you wanted.

“Darling, you look ravishing.” Lilian drawled. “It’s a pity Snow is so far across the room, and can’t appreciate you. If I dressed half as nicely as you did, perhaps my dear husband wouldn’t be screwing the maid.”

A scandalised chorus of giggles erupted from the group. It was a pretty dress, one of your best. Long and smooth black fabric, ruched at the waist, with a deep cut up the leg that was just acceptable for an evening gala. You stood tall, champagne glass in hand, gossiping with your friends.

Well.

Friends was being generous. You kept few true friends, and they would hardly be gossiping in a circle like this.

Acquaintances was a better fit. Pawns if you were being brutally honest. Politicians’ wives, senators’ mistresses, a chancellor’s daughter or two. Pieces of chess, really, in this bigger game. Anyone who could help you climb higher, whisper carefully spun words into open ears at your whim.

“I just know George would rip that dress off me the moment I got home. He might not even be able to wait, and just pull me into a closet here instead.”

Another eruption of giggles.

“Well, I’m flattered, my darlings.” You smiled. “This is one of my favorites. Coriolanus treats me well.”

“I’m sure he does,” a suggestive glance from Lilian, “in all the ways one would expect, I assume?”

You gasped in mock modesty.

“Lilian,” you drawled, “I certainly hope you’re not suggesting I disclose our-”

“Oh, just tell us dear, please. We’re all dying to know. You’re always so coy about it. What’s he like?”

You pulled your lips into a knowing smile, your perfectly painted face helping you slide into this facade. You scanned your eyes across the ballroom, across to Snow. He stood talking to a group of men, colleagues of his. You recognised their faces.

It had been four days since the luncheon. Four days since your outburst. Four days of hiding away. You’d been dreading tonight’s gala, but it gave you an excuse to dress nicely, and as soon as you’d arrived, you and Coriolanus has gone your separate ways.

“Well,” you hummed, masking your uncertainty as anticipation, “he can be a slight tease.”

A few dramatic gasps sounded through the group, and you turned back to face them, their eyes wide and expectant.

“Salacious. Do tell.” Another voice piped up with a giggle.

“He can be fun to toy with. I do enjoy pushing back, but sometimes he takes it… a little far.” You said carefully.

“My, who would have known? But you get what you want, my dear, surely.” Lilian asked.

You smiled, glancing back at him, suit pristine with a white rose in his breast pocket. You hated how good he looked. He was smiling politely at the group of men around him, but you could tell from the tick in his jaw that something was bothering him.

“Sometimes, I do. Others, I wait for my chance to push his buttons right back.”

“Oh, but where’s the fun in that? I don’t suppose,” she pressed, “that you’re in one of those… entanglements at the moment?”

“Lilian, darling, you know I don’t kiss and tell.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Another giggle sounded from the group.

“Oh, my.” Lilian repeated, glancing between the two of you. “I do hope you’ve been making him suffer.”

“Well, I’m playing a longer game this time, so I’m afraid there hasn’t been as much fun lately.”

Lilian sucked in a breath, like the perfect idea had just dawned on her.

“Well, I see no moment like the present. You’re here, you’re dressed marvellously, I propose you walk right over there and show him just what he’s missing.”

A chorus of yes and do it and we’ll cheer you ons rang out. Loosened by the champagne, you looked across the room at him again. You could do it. He wouldn’t be able to react, it would be the most perfect torture. You suddenly decided that you were done making small moves, done playing it safe like this was some schoolgirl crush. It was time to step up to the mark again. Take your power back.

Your group could sense the newfound determination in you. You smiled, slow and cunning.

Show him what he’s missing.

Simple. It’s what you did best.

“Watch and learn, ladies.”

A hush fell over the group as they watched you run a hand through your hair, handed your glass to one of them, and pressed your lips together. Before you’d left the house you’d added a swipe of red lipstick, dark red, almost bloodlike. It always made you feel more confident and tonight, you needed the pick me up.  

The middle of the ballroom was practically empty; the dancing was over, and everyone had long since gathered in groups to the sides. So you turned heads when you stepped out, the only one on the floor, black satin hugging your frame like a second skin. You didn’t look at them, you made a steady beeline to Snow. You felt more and more eyes on you as you crossed the room, heels clicking on the floor. They all watched, waiting for… something. Coriolanus didn’t look up until you were a mere few steps away, now deep in some conversation he was going to forget very shortly.

Blue eyes flashed to yours with a confused apprehension, but you didn’t give yourself time to think about the twitch of his brow, or the looks on the faces of his colleagues. You didn’t think about the way he opened his mouth as if to say something, only for it to be swallowed away.

You didn’t think about any of that.

Because your lips were on his.

Hot and hungry, teeth clashing, your hand grabbing the back of his neck as he leaned in, surprised at first, then warm, wanting. Lips tugging at yours like he was starving.

It was sinful.

You’d never been kissed like this before. Your fuzzy brain wondered how you’d gone through life not knowing what this felt like, the press of his lips devouring yours, heated and messy.

He kissed you like breathing, like you were his oxygen supply. His hand slid to your waist and pulled you in, and you heard the echoes of chuckling coming from around you, morphing into a few light claps.

Then, just as you felt him fully melt into you, your hand slipped higher to the nape of his neck, grabbing a fistful of perfect platinum curls, and tugged.

It was nothing but an affectionate display to the people surrounding you, but a brazen reminder between the two of you. It was your way of showing you hadn’t forgotten, that you wouldn’t be made to feel ashamed, to cower in a corner while he got the better of you.

Not in this lifetime.

The second it happened, his breath hitched, and his hand tensed on your waist. You were the only one who caught it, getting high off the satisfaction, finally pulling away.

You weren’t sure you’d ever seen a prettier sight; his blown-out eyes, his face stained with scarlet.  

How’s that for tasting your own medicine.

Watching him attempt to collect himself was sweeter still. Watching him reset his face into one of distant amusement. He let out a small laugh, glanced at the rest of the party.

“Everything alright, doll? Had a little much champagne, perhaps?”

His colleagues chuckled, but you didn’t look their way. You stood your ground. Offered a sweet smile, but he could see your slyness.

“Oh, I’m swell. And I think I’ve had just enough, actually. I’m gonna go freshen up.”

You turned on your heel and made your way through winding halls to the bathroom, riding an adrenaline high. You picked up a glass from a server’s tray along the way – the champagne had dried out, all they were serving now was posca, which while disgusting, worked a treat to take the edge off. It wasn’t long before the door swung open and you saw Coriolanus appear behind you in the mirror.

“This is the ladies’ room, handsome.” You looked away, continuing to reapply your lipstick.

He stepped closer.

“What was that kiss about, sweetheart?” Straight to the point.

“Nothing.” You shrugged.

“Didn’t feel like nothing.”

“That’s called acting, Snow.”  You rolled your eyes, vaguely aware that your words sounded a little jumbled. You put the tube of lipstick away. “We had an audience. A rather expectant one at that.”

He folded his arms.

“I don’t like it when you catch me off guard like that. Not with people around.”

“Seemed to like it plenty to me.” You mumbled.

He didn’t answer, pacing past you to the other sink, grabbing a towel and wiping it against his face, where the red had stained his skin. It only served to spread it around further, and if you weren’t already smugly entertained by the marks you’d left on him, now it was just plain funny.

He glared at you when you laughed.

“Don’t give me that look. Here,” you offered, stepping across to him, taking the towel and wetting it, “let me.”

You wiped at a patch, but he snatched the towel back and took over.

“No, you’re rubbing it too hard. It’s-” he glowered at you – “fine. Do it your way.”

You went back to lean against your sink and took another sip of posca, admiring the ornate decorations in the room. A little excessive, a little new money for your tastes.

There was a rap on the door.

“President Snow?”

“Just a minute.” He said coolly.

“You’re in a mood tonight.” You remarked, and he huffed.

“Running a country can get exhausting. Don’t expect you to understand.”

“Right.” You said flatly. “Because I’m just a brainless pawn like everybody else.”

He looked over at you, at the drink in your hand.

“How many of those have you had?”

You shrugged again, and he tossed the towel into the sink, walking over to you.

“Answer me.” His voice was stern, and for a second, you soaked it in, drenched in the danger as he approached, closing in. Your tongue slipped out to wet your lips, and your eyes followed his as he moved to stand in front of you.

“Shame you don’t have someone to let all that frustration out on, isn’t it? Sounds like that could be helpful.”

His eyes pierced yours.

“Doll-”

“I’m just saying, it’s a pity you don’t.” You moved to bring the glass to your lips, anticipating the burn in your throat, but he gently stopped your hand.

“Okay, that’s enough.”

“Posca? It’s my first glass.” You smiled, eyes batting.

“You know what I mean. I think you should stop.”

You looked at the glass, then back at him, and pried your hand away, slowly and pointedly taking another sip.

“Sweetheart.” He warned.

“What, are you punish me? Gonna make me beg for you then kick me out again? Already did that once.”

He gave an incredulous half-laugh.

“That’s what this is about? You’re not really going to be mad about that forever, are you?”

“That depends. How long is forever?”

The door knocked again, and he worked the glass out of your hand.

“Drink some water. Sober up. We’ll talk about this when we get home.”

You sighed, heading for the door, but glanced back at him, his face still a stained mess. You brushed a finger against your own cheek to mirror his.

“You missed a spot.”

You sat in silence in his office, feeling a little like a schoolchild caught misbehaving. His typing was the only sound in the room. The seat was low; almost as if it was there to point out his authority over anyone who sat in it. Knowing him, it probably was.

He’d managed to clean off the rest of your lipstick, but his face looked rubbed raw, uncomfortable. A tall glass of water sat on the desk in front of you.

“Thought you said we’d talk.”

“Not until you finish that glass. I’m not talking to you inebriated.”

“Seriously?”

He shot you a look from behind his typewriter.

“Fine. Whatever.” You reached for it and took a few sips. He looked back down again. A few folders cluttered the desk, and in your boredom, your eyes scanned them. They looked complicated; legal.

“What are you writing there anyway? Or am I too dumb to understand?”

He offered another unimpressed glance.  

“It’s a new bill I’m trying to pass. Except apparently, I’m the only one around here with their head screwed on enough to work on it.”

You waited as Snow pushed the typewriter’s lever, carriage sliding the page as he began writing the next line. You sipped your water.

He sighed. “One day I won’t have to mingle with these idiots anymore. They’ll just listen to me, and obey.”

You took that in.

“Do you feel that way about me?”

He studied you for a second, and stopped typing.  

“No. Not really.”

“But you wish I’d be more… compliant.” You stared at the floor.

“Not necessarily.”

“You sure? Didn’t seem to like it the other night.”

His eyes narrowed. Knowing this conversation was a game of chess like any other. But lately the stakes were higher than ever.

“Never said I didn’t like it. Just that you were out of line.”

“And where is that fucking line?” You snapped. “I’m serious, Snow, because we’ve never talked about it.”

“You want to talk, all of a sudden? Okay, sweetheart. Fire away.”

You put the glass down on the table, heavier than intended.

“I just don’t understand you, Coriolanus. I mean, first you don’t want me, then you do want me, then you don’t again. And now what? I don’t know what I’m supposed to think when you don’t give me anything to go off.”

He watched you carefully, and you wanted to shake him, to scream, anything that would give you answers. You stood, unable to sit still, and started pacing.

“You know what’s worse? I don’t even know if you want me here anymore. I don’t know how to act around you because I never know what you’re thinking. At first I thought all this, the whole push and pull, was just some control thing. But-” you laughed, airy and insane, “you know what I realised? You’ve had me fooled, Snow. All this time I thought we were equals, but now I think I finally realise.”

He frowned, waiting for you to continue.

“You pay for my company, if you think about it. We trade services, don’t we? You get something from me, I get something back. I live in your house, eat your food, wear nice clothes. At the end of the day, that’s just it, isn’t it?”

“What?”

You shrugged, tears filling your eyes as bitterness took over, so strong you could almost taste it.  

“I’m no better than a whore myself.”

You’d never heard a louder silence. If that hadn’t just taken everything out of you, you’d have begged him to say something. Instead, you just stared, eyes blurry with tears, as he seconds seemed to stretch into minutes, and you gave up trying to read his mind, because his expression was indecipherable.  

After what felt like hours, he took a long breath.

“Sit down.”

You glanced at the floor, then took a step towards your chair. He stopped you.

“Not there. Here.” He nodded at the desk in front of him, and you swallowed thickly, stepping around the desk, getting awfully close to him, and pulling yourself onto the desk, legs pressed together. He stood, looking down at you. 

“That’s really what you think of yourself?” He asked, voice steady and controlled.

You kept your eyes averted.

“Am I wrong?”

He lifted a hand and brushed his fingertips against your jaw, tipping your head up to look at him. And when you looked at his eyes, you knew exactly what he was feeling. He wasn’t hurt, or upset.

He was mad.

“Tell me something. What do you think I’d do if I heard someone talking about you that way?

“I don’t-”

“I’d have them executed. And you expect me to stand by and let you talk about yourself like that?”

You felt a tear spill down your cheek.

“I don’t know, Coriolanus, you tell me. Am I disposable to you?”

“Of course not."

“But you’d replace me if I left.”

“What makes you think I’d let you leave in the first place?”

A chill caressed your spine.

“That’s right. I’m keeping you here, doll. If I made you doubt that, I apologise. But you’re no whore. Though sometimes, I…” He trailed off.

“What?”

His eyes were on your lips again, hungry. You wondered how someone could switch from distant to depraved and wanting this quickly.

“Sometimes I wish you were. Because it’d make it a lot easier for me to take what I want. If you were, then I’d have no hesitation in ripping your clothes off right here. Fucking you on my desk, or up against the wall, not caring if you cum. Not caring if you enjoy it. If you were a whore, I’d have fucked you in every room in this house, twice over. I wouldn’t let you sleep.”

His hand was on your thigh, the now-creased fabric of your dress crumpling as it slid up. You weren’t sure when your eyes had fallen shut, your hot breath mixing with his as his thumb rubbed against your skin.

Your voice was pathetically quiet.

“Then why don’t you?”

He sighed, tone shifting into something tense, something you could cut through with a knife.

“Because you’re fucking impossible, you know that? I can barely think when you’re around. I don’t know where the games begin or end. I don’t… I don’t understand this power you have over me. I thought you knew, you must know that you’re under my skin. I don’t know if you’ll ever stop playing with me. It drives me fucking insane.”

You opened your eyes, hand gripping his wrist and pulling it from your thigh. You slid off the desk and took a step away from him.

“You think I’m playing with you? The only time you pay an ounce of attention to me is when you’re trying to fuck with my head, Snow. I said my piece, you heard me and you still didn’t care. So please, for both our sakes, stop torturing me. Just… come find me when you decide you want me again, okay? Let’s leave it at that.”

You made for the door, which you slammed with such an impressive force that it even took you aback.

You replayed his words in your head that night until you fell into a deep sleep, and when you woke, you felt like your dreams made more sense than he did.

“Tigris!” you exclaimed, catapulting into the blonde’s arms. The people who stood scattered around you in the manor’s large ballroom spun their heads around at your display. A few even dodged to the side as the momentum that you’d built running down the stairs nearly knocked her over.

A few days of silent glances and fewer exchanged words had passed. And now, you were just happy to be hosting in the comfort of your own home, and to finally see Tigris again. You wondered if she noticed how you hugged her, if she wondered - like you did - if you’d ever let go.

“I’m so happy you’re here. How’s your Grandma’am?”

“She’s quite well, she’s sorry she couldn’t make it. You look beautiful as ever. It’s been too long!”

“I know! I don’t think I’ve seen you since your birthday, which makes me the worst friend ever.” You groaned, scrunching up your face in shame.

“It’s okay! I know busy Coriolanus keeps you with all these functions. You must be going out of your mind by now. How are you holding up?”

The two of you walked to the edge of the room, where prying eyes had settled down after your greeting.

You looked at Snow, stood across the ballroom, dressed in a pristine suit with a champagne glass in hand, talking to yet another group of men who worked for him – ministers and such, a little higher ranking than the group from the other night – and spared you the occasional glance. As if he was keeping tabs on you. It wasn’t long before Tigris caught on and politely inquired.

“I don’t understand him, Tigris. I think he hates me.” You sighed.

“What? No, he could never. He has a soft spot for you, really, and I have it on good authority.”

“I’m not so sure anymore. I think I’ve pushed it a little far this time. I think… maybe we both did. I’m in uncharted waters, here.”

“Look, I know I don’t know all the ins and outs of how this thing between you works, but I don’t think he could ever hate you for doing anything. Coryo – I mean, Coriolanus, he does care, contrary to popular belief. It’s just that his way of showing it can get a little…”

“Fucked?” You offered, and she laughed.

“Yes, exactly. Now, I’m not going to lie to you and say that he’s an angel on earth, he’s had to do things to get to where he is now. Things that even I don’t know the extent of, and they’ve… changed him.”

You rarely got the chance to speak with Tigris alone these days, with Snow usually playing chaperone, or keeping one or the both of you busy, but it had always been easy to slide right back into conversation with her like you’d never been apart.

You’d first met Tigris at a Plinth gala years ago, on the same day you’d met Snow. The two of you had talked and laughed and she had an easiness around her, she wasn’t shallow and judgemental like a lot of the girls you’d grown up with, though you never knew why until many months later. Snow had placed a large wall between his life before the Plinth endorsement, and after. Few people knew the conditions he’d grown up in, but after countless hours with Tigris, you’d begun to assemble small pieces. Despite your closeness with her, you knew from her warnings that Snow had a sort of temper when it came to this topic, so you approached it with caution.

“Changed him how?” You inquired, finally.

“Well… It wasn’t always fancy balls and lunches with him. It never was, with any of us, as you know, but especially for him. He’s… had a different experience. Grandma’am and I, we’ve known hard times, but we haven’t seen what he’s seen. Not even close.”

“What kind of things?”

She glanced over her shoulder, making sure nobody was hovering.

“He’d kill me for telling you.”

“You know I won’t say a word. But you don’t have to tell me, if it’s too much to ask.”

 She took in a breath, and sipped her drink, voice dropping to a whisper.

“This stays between us, okay? Coriolanus has… been out there. In the districts, I mean. Before all this. And I can’t go into detail, he’d have my head if I…”

You swallowed.

“The districts? But… why? I don’t-”

“Tigris, lovely to see you, it’s been so long.” A male voice interrupted, and you quickly excused yourself, slipping away to let the two of them talk.

After mulling it over in your head and making small talk with a few more guests, you snuck out of a side door and into the hallways, winding upstairs until you were finally met with Snow’s bedroom door. The sound of voices and music a mere echo below you, you pushed tentatively, and stepped inside. It was strange, being in there alone, for the first time since he’d turned you away. But you paced the floor, looking for something, anything, that would answer the questions you had. Why the districts? Why couldn’t Tigris tell you what had happened there?

Glancing back at the door, you began thumbing through his closet, peeking inside drawers. You’d already given his room a once over, but you worked more meticulously this time, every corner you unsuccessfully turned over only fuelling your curiosity. You walked around the room again, getting frustrated.

You headed back to the door, scanning the place, and retraced your steps a third time. Knocking a little on cupboards and anything that appeared the slightest bit odd or out of place. It was a perpetually tidy room, neat as ever, save for the desk which contained folders you were sure weren’t for your eyes, but that didn’t stop you. You kept on, trying your best not to leave any stone unturned, and most importantly, trying not to move anything out of place.

Eventually, you moved to the smaller desk drawers again, rifling through them haphazardly, annoyed by the lack of evidence you were finding. One of the two drawers had very little inside it, just a pencil and a pocket dictionary, and as you pushed your hand further inside to feel for anything else, you noticed it felt smaller than the first. Shallower. When you knocked, it was hollow.

It had a false bottom.

Your father used to keep his cigars beneath one of these when you were growing up, so you knew what to look for. You felt around the edge until you touched a small, metal handle, then emptied the drawer, hooked your fingers into the handle and pulled. You frowned at first, there was less in the hidden compartment than there was above it. But you peered inside, and there lay two items: an old photograph, and a silver dog tag.

Suddenly, it all made sense. His efficiency, his drive, his orderliness.

Military. The districts. The dog tag.

You unfolded the photograph, caked in a layer of dust, and it hit you like a ton of rocks.  

Coriolanus was a peacekeeper.

But why? When? And why keep it a secret?

In the photograph, his hair was buzzed, and he was in a uniform you recognised immediately; if only because of the annual reaping ceremony shown in every building in the Capitol. He was standing next to a boy with dark hair, also buzzed. You recognised him as Sejanus Plinth, you’d never met the kid but you’d been to his funeral with your family, and had seen enough pictures to know.

You knew that the Plinth family had backed Coriolanus’ education, that he became their new heir, a protégé of sorts, but not that he’d been friends with their son. Not that they’d been this close, at least. They weren’t smiling in the photo, stood pin straight and alert in what looked like barracks.  

You folded the photograph and placed it back where you found it. Your hands lingered on the dog tag, though, despite the logical side of your brain screaming at you to put it back, leave the room and pretend you didn’t see this. But the louder part egged you on as you pulled it out of the drawer, examining the engraved words, running your hands over the name SNOW and, further down, DISTRICT 12.

You’d heard bedtime stories from your mother while growing up, about the war, the Hunger Games and why they existed, and why it was never safe to set foot in the districts, not even the richer ones.

They’re beneath us, she’d said. They’re dangerous. Barbaric. And 12 was notoriously the poorest, most dangerous of them all.

Coriolanus had now become more of an enigma to you than ever before, and a thousand new questions flooded your head.

You closed the drawer halfway, holding the chain, pulling out a chair in front of the mirror to sit down. You turned the tag over in your hands, as if it would start giving you the answers, if only you looked hard enough.

Why was he sent to 12? Why couldn’t he talk about it?

Despite the conditions Snow grew up in, there was respect behind his family name. It didn’t make sense why someone of his social standing and education would leave to be a peacekeeper, of all things, and in 12, of all places. A strange sort of pity filled you, wondering what he could’ve seen out there. What he could’ve done. It all drew you in as you got lost in a world of what ifs.

Despite yourself, you pushed your hair from your neck, and as if in a trance, wrapped the chain around it. It fell heavy and cold against your skin, sending a chill through your bones. You were so busy staring down at it, so lost in thought that you barely noticed the sound of the door pushing open. Or the floorboards lightly creaking. Or his reflection in the mirror. You didn’t notice any of that, until the door swung shut with a bang.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Coriolanus had had a long day, most of which he’d spent simmering over work and you. He’d kept his eye on you that evening; on the way you’d thrown yourself into Tigris’ arms, and talked, transfixed, and he hated not knowing what was being said. A strange feeling set in as he saw the two of you get deeper into conversation from the other side of the large room, a deep-seated uneasiness stirring him up as he drowned out the tales of his associates’ incompetence. It felt like a breath of relief when he sent someone your way to interrupt whatever talk you were having, pretending that Tigris had been looking for him earlier. He focused on your brief tour of the room when the distraction worked, eyes flitting around like you were preoccupied.

When he saw you dart away from the ballroom and up one of the stairwells, he followed you as soon as he got the chance.

He’d wondered if you might act up today, but this wasn’t what he was expecting. When he saw you, the all too familiar glint of silver around your pretty neck, something shifted in him. Something he’d done a very, very good job of keeping at bay during his first few years of presidency.

Rage.

Your eyes met his in the mirror.

“Coriolanus, I-”

His hands were on you before you could finish your sentence, hauling you out of the chair, fingers wrapped in a death grip around your arms, squeezing as he pushed you to the wall with a satisfying thud.

“What, you can explain? I highly doubt that.”

“I’m sorry, I just-” You gasped as he squeezed tighter, gripping your wrists.

“Do you even know what this means?” He seethed, dog tag pressed between his fingers, chain pulling at your neck.

The forest. The birds. The gunshots that deafened him for weeks.

“I didn’t know… I’m sorry. I never knew you were a peacekeeper, Coryo, I-” He flinched, saw the way you winced the second it passed your lips.

Snow may have been cold, but his eyes were fire. And you were only stoking it.

“So I’m Coryo now? Who the fuck told you call me that? Was it Tigris? I saw you talking to her, don’t lie to me.”

“No.” You shook your head. “She didn’t tell me anything, I promise. Please. It was just me.”

He moved in closer, eclipsing you altogether, grip on the chain so tight he was certain you’d be able to feel it pinching the back of your neck, digging a mark into your flesh. He let the sadistic part of his brain take delight in it, in the way your eyes widened, face pleading.

Whatever this game was between you, you’d gone too far this time.

“How did you find this?” He snapped.

You were crowded against the wall, unable to move. Tears started to brim, and you didn’t answer, he wasn’t sure you could. You just shook your head over and over, repeating I’m sorry like a broken record.

“Take this off. Now. Take it off.” He ordered, dropping it back to your chest, stepping away a little so you could lift your shaking arms over your head, removing the chain. He snatched it from you, gripping it in his palm, looking down at it, and you breathed out in relief.

“I didn’t mean to… I was just looking. I had so many questions. I didn’t know what I’d find.”

“And? Are you fucking satisfied now?” His voice chilled you to the bone as he looked up at you again.

You shook your head. Apologised again. Wished you could apologise in any way that would matter, but it was too late. You’d never been more afraid in your life, anticipating what might happen, remembering echoes of rumors you’d heard, of Snow poisoning his enemies, of sending them to hang. Some you knew to be true, but others you boiled down to rebel gossip.

Now, you weren’t so sure. These were the eyes of a man who’d dropped his mask, and it was like staring into a dark void. You could get lost in it, and never find your way back.

“Please. Don’t… I won’t tell anyone, I promise. You can trust me.”

He scoffed.

Stupid girl. Hadn’t you learned by now, that trust meant nothing?

“Like I trusted you in here? I don’t think so. Can’t believe you had me feeling sorry for you. Probably just made it up so you could lower my guard then turn around and stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“I didn’t, Coriolanus, I swear.” You pleaded. You were crying, tears slipping down your cheeks.

“I’ve been very patient with you, little girl. But this is where I draw the line. You have no idea how far you’ve pushed me. And you don’t even realise it, you’re so caught up in your little crush. Do you know how easy I’ve been going on you? The things I’ve let you get away with… I’ve killed people for much less.”

“You’ve…” You trailed off, barely hearing your own words, barely processing a thing. He laughed, low and dark.

“Does that scare you, sweetheart? Does it make you afraid?”

Eyes frozen open, you just stared. You felt your jaw go slack.

“Good.”  

Coriolanus toed an invisible line, one that had never been crossed before. You wanted him to show you he wanted you? Fine.

He looked down at the chain wrapped around his fist, but he didn’t pocket it, or place it to the side. He unwound it, and slowly pulled it over his own neck.

Your eyes dropped to where it sat in stark contrast, heavy and shining, garish against his fancy dress shirt. You felt your blood run cold.

“Get on your knees.” You heard him say. Your eyes darted back up.

“What?”

When he spoke, it sounded like someone else was talking. Someone you didn’t know at all.

“You heard me. Get on your fucking knees. Right now.”

What could you do? This was what you’d wanted. Just… not like this. Not when your hands were shaking in fear, and you had no idea what this Coriolanus was capable of.

Your head said yes; your heart wept. But you were far past listening to your sorry heart.

So, you obeyed. Legs all but giving in as you lowered yourself to the ground, knees meeting cold hardwood as the chill cut through your dress.

His fingers slipped under one of the straps.

“Take this off, baby.” He murmured, distant, like he wasn’t all there. Your head hung in shame, eyes on his feet as you pushed the straps from your shoulder, top half of the dress falling down. You heard his zipper slide down, and you shivered. No longer sure if it was in fear or anticipation.

“Head up. Look at me. Good,” he said, when you obliged, “now let’s see what this pretty mouth’s really good for, shall we?”

More tears welled up as his hand brushed your jaw, hooking a thumb to your bottom lip, pushing your mouth open. You couldn’t help the way your tongue grazed over it, tasting salt, whining when you realised it was the taste of your own tears. When your eyes fell open again, you finally caught a look at him, hard and tip weeping, and your brain filled with nothing but want, eclipsing your fear for a mere second, enough to bring Coriolanus to the ground again. He may have done terrible, unspeakable things, but he was still a man. A man who wanted you.

And why did that make your heart beat out of your chest? It thrummed like a hummingbird as you took in the sight of him, unbuttoning his shirt as he waited for you to move.

You’d seen how big he was from a distance. You’d felt him between layers of fabric, and you’d imagined this a million times over. But now, as he stood waiting in front of you, you hesitated, because it all finally felt real. Your mouth watered despite yourself, seeing the mess he’d already made, any more and he’d start dripping -

“Go on, sweetheart. It’s not gonna suck itself.”

Your eyes squeezed shut as you let him past your lips. The heady taste of precum filled your mouth as you ran your tongue along the shaft slowly, trying to start steady. He wasn’t having it. His hand twisted through your hair, pulling you in closer, making you gag a little. You instinctively lifted a hand up to his thigh to brace yourself, and he laughed.

“Giving up so soon? Thought you’d try harder than that.”

He pushed further, and the indignant sound you made as you adjusted only served to spur him on.

You tried to focus on breathing through it, but he slipped in and out your mouth unevenly, and faster than you could think, catching you off guard. He looked down at the way your mouth struggled to take his length as if you were a piece of art, like he was mesmerised by it, and that feeling was encouragement was enough to keep you going. His hand twisted harder in your hair, making a fist, and he swore when you hummed in discomfort.

“Look at you.” He said, strung-out and shaky. “You strut right in here from your silver spoon life, and think you can call the shots? You’ve bitten off more than you can chew, sweetheart. You have no fucking idea what the world is really like. What people are like. What they have to do to survive.”

He moved faster, and you let your jaw go slack. You were barely moving now, he was starting to fuck your throat like he owned it. You’d started to cry again, and when you looked up at him, it was a blur. The furthest you could see was his chest, shirt unbuttoned and falling to the sides, and the dog tag, silver catching in the low light, swinging against his chest as he moved. You closed your eyes again, trying to go somewhere else in your head. Trying to breathe through your nose, to focus on being used, on how good you were making him feel, on finally being his. It was all you had left to hold on to.

But he was unwinding you with his words, knowing just where to press to make it sting, to make the tears fall harder.

“You don’t have any fucking shame about it either. Touching yourself on my bed and wearing my clothes, like you’re – fuck, that’s it - like we’re married or something. Like you’re worth more than everyone else. But look at you. Maybe you were right after all. Maybe you are my whore.” he gritted out.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you tried desperately to catch your breath between sobs.  

“I mean, you sure look like it now, on your knees for me, making a mess of your pretty face. So fucking good. You’re sucking me off better than she did, and you’re barely even trying.”

You hated it. Hated the way his thumb brushed painfully gently against your cheek, dusting away a tear as his cock bruised the back of your throat and you tried not to gag around him. Hated the way his words twisted around in your head, and how fucked up it was that your broken brain took it as praise instead of punishment.

Most of all, you hated the throb between your shaking legs, panties soaked through and probably ruined. Humiliation seeped through you as you imagined it dripping down your legs and onto the floor. Your salty tears spilled down your face, mixing with your spit and his precum. Hating every second, until your head went blank, and you didn’t feel much of anything anymore.

You weren’t sure exactly how it happened.

One second, he was pulling your hair, twitching in your mouth and spilling down your throat, and the next, in what felt like a flash, you were on the floor, loud, wrecked sobs spilling out of you as you held your knees to your chest, face hidden. He was on the floor too - when did he get down? - and his voice was soft, oh so soft and gentle, saying something you couldn’t quite make out, dull and repetitive past your ringing ears.

“- so sorry. I’m so sorry, baby. I know I - I didn’t… I took it too far. Can you hear me, sweetheart? Look at me. Please, look at me. I’m right here.”

You pulled your head from your hands, and through blurred eyes, you looked at him.

This wasn’t a face you’d seen on him before. His brows knitted, lips apart as he stared at you, like you were some wounded animal he wanted to save.

“Talk to me, sweetheart. Please.”

“I can’t…” You trailed off.

“You can tell me.”

Another wave of choked back sobs took over you. He held your jaw up like you were something breakable. Like maybe you’d broken already, and he was holding you together.

“I can’t do this.” You whispered. “Not like-”

He nodded, brushing a tear from your cheek.

“Okay. It’s okay, baby. Tell me what I can do for you. Just say the word.”

You caught your breath, and he flinched a little as you collapsed into his arms. The cool metal of the dog tag pressed into your cheek.

“I don’t know. I’m sorry.” You cried.

“I’m the one who’s sorry. I didn’t realise how far I’d pushed you until… I know I can’t make it up to you, but I’ll try. Whatever you need me to do, I’ll do it. If you want to leave, I understand. I’ll make the arrangements.”

“What? No, that’s not…”

He cut you off, looking into your eyes.

“Decide tomorrow, okay doll? You don’t have to think about that now.”

“I didn’t know about… about the districts.” You hiccupped. “About you. You didn’t want me to know. I ruined everything, I-”

“Listen to me. It doesn’t matter anymore, I promise you. It’s okay, baby.”

You nodded into his chest.

“Here.” He leaned away from you, and you looked up in a question. He took the chain from his neck and placed it in your palm.

“You can have it. So long as nobody sees. You can throw it away, wear it around the house, whatever you want. It’s yours.”

You pressed it between your fingers. It cooled your hot skin like a salve.

“Thank you.” You whispered. Your head sank back onto his chest, and when you spoke again, it was barely audible.

“Coryo?”

He tensed for a second, but relaxed again just as quickly.

“Yeah?”

“Can I stay with you tonight?”

His hand brushed gently against your hair, and you relaxed into it.

“Of course you can.”

a/n: baby's first dubcon scene!! (screams cries and throws up bc navigating that was scary as fuck) p.s one more chapter left!! do we think they'll get their shit together?? who knows!! (i know)

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[thecharacterchronicler]

The Bitter Taste Of My Fury (Part 4) || Coriolanus Snow X Reader || Smut

GIF is not mine, credits to the creator/owner ❤️

Outline: After a vicious attack from the rebels, Coriolanus lets some of his true feelings for you show.

Word count: 5’133

Warnings: death, murder, PTSD and explicit smut.

Author’s note: I wrote this forever ago and can’t seem to be 100% satisfied with it for some reason, I’m feeling awfully self conscious putting this out so please have mercy on me.

I made a few changes to the original story so that it would fit with my fanfic. (Making the quarter quell for which they sent two boys and two girls the 25th one instead of the 50th so that Coriolanus and his wife’s ages would fit into my plot.) I tried to make it readable as a one shot but keep in mind that it’s actually part of a multi-part series if you need/want more context.

It would help me out a lot with my next WIPs if you could answer the poll down below 🖤

((Part 1 - There Will Come A Ruler)) - ((Part 2 - Snow Lands On Top)) - ((Part 3 - Insatiable)) - (( Part 5 - Craving ))

Coriolanus risked a glance from behind the black curtain to survey the large amphitheater quickly - and noisily - filling up. It was his last speech before the day of the election, his last opportunity to convince the people of Panem that he would be a good president. He had been working on his text for weeks, the last few days he had even stayed up all night to practice and memorize it to the point that the words were constantly turning in his head. He was nervous and, even if he usually was pretty good at hiding it - he felt like all the citizens taking place in the room to listen to him would notice how much he was afraid of messing up.

“You’re supposed to go on stage in five minutes.” Minerva said, Coriolanus’s young assistant was stressed out, as per usual. “Excuse me Sir, but I couldn’t help but notice that your wife isn’t here… Yet ?”

The last time Coriolanus had seen you, you both got into an argument which ended with him, fucking you rougher than what he ever allowed himself to until then. Once he was done with you, you still seemed upset with him and the reason of the dispute still grated on his nerves. For the three following days, he had spent his nights at his office. He had been mulling over what your strong feelings about such a futile matter might mean. He had expected you to be unhappy with his decision to fire Marius, your driver, but he hadn’t thought you’d be so vocal about it, even daring to demand that he be rehired. He had fired a lot of his employees in the past and you had never complained about it once, but your personal driver seemed more important to you than all the others… Was it because you had an affair with him ? Was he the one to provide you with comfort and attention whenever Coriolanus worked late ? And what if he was the one who ended up getting you pregnant ? Surely he couldn’t accept that. His heir needed to be his.

“I sent Alastair to get her an hour ago, they should arrive any minute now.” He replied, his tone unexpectedly soft in contrast to his growing irritation. But he had faith that his own driver would drag you out of the manor himself if you refused to attend such an important event for your husband.

Coriolanus glanced in the amphitheater once again, scanning the crowd in search of your familiar face but still didn’t find it. He tugged on his collar, feeling more stressed than ever before. He knew every word to his speech, he knew exactly how to behave, how to move, how to smile to win this once and for all and yet, beads of nervous sweat were forming on his forehead, his tie suddenly too constricting for his rapid breathing.

When Minerva waved a hand at him, he had no choice but to take his place at the center of the stage, even if he still hadn’t spotted you among the crowd. It was unlikely of you to be late. And even less likely that his driver would be late… The applause and cheers from his audience as he walked out from behind the black curtain almost made him forget about it all though. For a brief moment, he felt the adrenaline buzzing in his body, making him believe that he was capable of anything and proving yet again that his place was there, on stage, at the center of everyone’s admirative attention.

He smiled, waved, spotted a few influential people seating in the first rows and made sure to make eye contact with each of them as he started his speech. His best one.

But no matter how perfect his tone was, how carefully chosen his words were, the crowd slowly began to grow agitated. A few heads turned to take a look at the doors, some noise coming from behind them and before he could even fathom what had happened, an intense blow pushed him back, making his ears ring.

The loud explosion made the foundations of the ampitheater tremble, windows shattered, pieces of the ceiling came crushing to the ground but the chaos that followed was by far the scariest part. People screamed in terror, rushing in every direction to get out, pushing and stepping over each other with no decorum left, the crowd had turned into a bunch of frightened animals and they all were individually fighting for their lives.

A door was opened and a thick dark smoke rapidly filled the room, making everyone cough and scream louder. Coriolanus pulled his collar over his mouth and nose, trying to filter the smoke he’d inhale and retreated behind the black curtain, knowing there would be a door for him to escape much more easily there, out of the frenzy and chaos of the crowd.

He rushed to the back, fleeing by the concealed door while his people kept fighting to escape the suffocating smoke. He looked around, trying to get his thoughts back in order to come up with a plan, he needed to find a way to warn your driver about what had happened, so that he could avoid bringing you straight into danger. Better yet, he could drive you far away from it.

He walked in hurried steps while the people who had managed to escape ran away, the magnificent and imposing capitol building menacing to completely shatter and tumble down into dust. Leaving and reaching the street outside was the best course of action to ensure his safety, but a part of him with visibly no instinct of survival, remained determined to look around in search of a phone or whatever device he could use to warn you. To make sure you’d be safe.

He reached the front desk of the town hall, searching among the fallen bricks and thick layers of rubble with the hope to find something that would work to contact your driver…

Alastair ?

Coriolanus blinked a few times, stopping his frenetic search of the desk to stare at the silhouette running to the doors, recognizing the bald head and small frame of his driver.

“Alastair ?!” He called, as loud as he could to be heard above the distant screams and cries. The man turned around to look at him, fear appearing in his eyes when he recognized his boss… So he kept running.

Coriolanus took off after him, his tall legs giving him a clear advantage to catch up on the older man. He pushed him aside, grabbing him by his collar and slammed him against a dangerously unstable pillar.

“Where is my wife ?” He asked, leveling his face with his so that he could stare at him with his most menacing look.

“The rebels, they attacked… It was an explosion.” Alastair mumbled, inconherently. Coriolanus purposely slammed him against the hard surface again, hoping the shock it caused to his head would bring him back to his senses.

“WHERE IS MY WIFE ?!” He shouted, making it clear that if he had to ask again he might knock him unconscious instead.

“I don’t know, it exploded… The smoke… I ran.”

“You left her ?!” Your husband asked him, rage dangerously starting to take over at the realization that the one he had trusted with your security had so easily left you behind to save his own life.

“I have a family.” Alastair justified, his voice weakening and his breathing coming out raucous and labored. What was that supposed to mean ? That he was more important than you because he had children ? Was he implying that you didn’t deserve to live as much as he did because you hadn’t gave him a heir yet ?

Coriolanus’s gaze fell to his hands, the ones he was holding tightly around his driver’s neck, squeezing with all the strength of his rage. The older man started choking, tried to fight his employer off but he wasn’t strong enough and the shock of the whole situation didn’t help him think rationally enough to hope win this fight for his life.

Tighter.

Alastair’s face became alarmingly pale.

Tighter.

Alastair’s lips turned blue.

Tighter.

Alastair’s body dropped down on the floor.

Dead.

Coriolanus took a step back, watching the limp figure on the ground with clear disgust but he wasn’t sure if he felt it because Alastair had abandoned you or for himself, for adding someone else’s blood to his already stained hands.

There was no time to ponder his actions anyway. The judgment of his morals would have to wait until he found you and got you to safety. It was all that mattered. So, while people were still running out of the falling apart building, he ran back in, straight towards the thick smoke.

He called your name, so desperate to hear your voice answering him but the fleeing crowd was way too loud and agitated for him to hope hearing it and let it lead him to you. But he kept shouting anyway.

Some of his employees found him, tried to convince him to turn around and leave before the ceiling would collapse on him but he refused, determined to find you, even with the smoke burning his lungs and irritating his eyes.

His head was spinning, if the first people he had ran into were wearing their formal attire, slowly he started recognizing the red academy uniforms he used to wear every day. Then, he noticed the colors of a rainbow dress, fading in the thick smoke in front of him. A long time ago, the person wearing it had ran to him to save him from a similar situation, now she seemed to be running away, impossible for him to catch.

Was she the one who had led this violent attack against him ? And now she was here, running around the debris like an untouchable wild animal just to taunt him ? Of course she did. All she ever wanted was to end him. Ruin his life. Ruin everything.

Real or not, he followed her path, desperate to see where she would lead him. He didn’t like the feeling it gave him though, the feeling of being an eighteen years old boy who knew nothing about anything anymore. A naive man, who thought his survival depended on other people rather than on himself.

“Coryo…” Your voice called, answering his calls.

He perked up with a renewed determination to make his way through the smoke and find you. Rainbow colors and blood red uniforms faded from his vision. You were close, so he kept shouting your name, frantically searching around him until he collided against you.

He knew your body well enough by now to instantly recognize you, no one fitted in his arms the way you did. He looked down at you, trying to decipher wether you were injured or not but the dust covering your skin and hair made it hard to spot any trace of blood. He turned around, wanting to go back on his footsteps now that your hand was secured in his but he stopped when he noticed you could barely keep up, limping and coughing after each wince of pain that deformed your face.

Without a word, he came back to you and picked you up, carrying you in his arms even if his lungs were about to give up too. If he was going to die today, so be it but not before he got you out of there.

A plea for help resounded next to you, the barely visible shape of a woman stuck under a heavy pillar outstretching an arm in your direction, begging for her life. Coriolanus looked at her but kept walking, collateral damages were inevitable.

Finally, the smoke started dissipating, replaced by fresh air that burned your lungs in an entirely different way. A large crowd had formed in the street, kept at good distance from the collapsing building by peacekeepers. Many pairs of curious eyes turned to you, recognizing the presidential candidate heroically carrying his wife away from a vicious rebel attack. Some peacekeepers approached, freeing your husband’s arms to carry you to safety. They brought you to a medical tent that had been set up, where professionals and volunteers were running around, trying to care for the many injured and wounded victims.

An oxygen mask was placed on your face, providing you with the air you so desperately needed while a young woman tried to make you as comfortable as possible despite her apparent overwhelm.

“I’ll find some oxygen for you too, Sir.” She promised Coriolanus but he shook his head, refusing.

“Take care of my wife first.” He asked, and the woman nodded before scurrying away.

Time seemed to slow down as Coriolanus spent countless hours in the armchair next to your hospital bed, watching over you, making sure you were taken well care of and mulling over his thirst for revenge. The rebels had crossed a line with this attack, they were clearly targeting him - and you - with it and that was simply unacceptable. His desire to become the new president of Panem was consuming him more than ever, thinking about the possibilities such a position would offer him to retaliate in kind against the districts. He could order the troops to bomb them, erase them from the map and the surface of the earth. He could decide of the fate of the very ones who committed the crime to try and kill him, he could set an example of what doom would be brought upon anyone who ever tried to hurt a Snow again… But he wasn’t president, yet.

However, his position as head gamemaker of the Hunger Games gave him quite a unique chance to keep the districts in check and remind them who truly held the power, after all, he had learned all the tricks from Doctor Gaul during the few years he had been working for her. He knew the only way to get his message to the rebels would be to answer in kind and make sure they’d know the fear of potentially loosing someone precious to them too…

A few days later, the doctors cleared you to go home so he decided to go back to his office and put his plan in motion.

As soon as he sat behind his desk, Minerva entered his office, holding a large file against her chest.

“I received the official report of the incident.” She announced, handing him the paper. He flipped the pages, brows furrowed and eyes rapidly darting across each paragraph.

“Twenty four deaths… And counting.” He read out loud.

“And I’m very sorry to tell you that I was informed that Alastair is among the victims.” She told him, which caused him to look at her, gravity etched on his face.

He had the perfect reaction. Not too emotional. Still professional. Believable.

“Do we know what happened to him exactly ?”

“The coroner said he died of asphyxiation from the smoke, like many others unfortunately.”

“It’s unfortunate indeed.” Coriolanus nodded, with a forced frown. “Make sure to send our condolences to his family.”

“Of course, Sir.” His assistant said, taking notes. “Anything else i can do ?”

“Yes… Call the press, I have an important announcement to make.” He stated, still more determined than ever to make everyone involved pay for what they did.

“And now, a message from Coriolanus Snow, head gamemaker of the Hunger Games and candidate for presidency.” The news anchor announced, as the camera zoomed in on your husband’s tired face, his brow furrowed and severity marking his traits.

“On Friday, people of the Capitol were the target of a terrible attack from an outlawed and violent group of radical people. We’ve lost precious lives and many of our citizens were gravely wounded during the attack.” Coriolanus spoke, solemnly, as the cameras shifted between different point of views of him. His voice was calm despite the rage displayed on his face. “Therefor, in retaliation, as head gamemaker, I have decided to make the 25th edition of the Hunger Games one that will remind everyone of the Capitol’s power… For this first quarter quell, each district will be required to send two boys and two girls into the arena.”

You watched your husband’s press conference on the television in the quiet and lonely living room of the manor, jaw dropping at his announcement. Was he taking advantage of the attack to give a lesson to the district, show his almighty power and advance his presidential campaign by gaining the Capitol’s support ? Or was he seeking out revenge for you ? Your chest tightened at the thought, could he care about you enough to be doing this for you ? Imagining you could be one of the reasons - among a thousand more important ones - for the punishment he decided to impose on the districts made your heart beat faster. With a husband so shy for words, a gesture like this one would speak volumes about how he truly felt.

You reached for the remote with a wince and turned the TV off, plunging the living room in darkness apart from the faint light coming from the crackling fire in the chimney. You stood with another wince, silently cursing at the doctors for sending you home without any meds to manage the pain you still felt so vividly in your body. If you had been a simple citizen, surely they would have kept you there longer, made sure that you were fully healed before letting you leave the private sector of the Capitol’s hospital but since the crowd of reporters, cameras and photographers was increasing with each passing day by the entrance of the hospital, they took the decision to send you home. Officially, it was meant to reassure Panem about the health of their potential future First Lady, show them you were as strong and courageous as your husband. But really, they just wanted to get rid of the public disturbing their other patients‘ peace.

You climbed the stairs leading to your bedroom slowly, and then sat at your vanity with a sigh. The reflection in front of you didn’t do justice to how you really felt. As soon as you had been discharged, a team invaded your room to make you look as flawless as you were always supposed to be, taking care of your hair, your makeup, your clothes, hiding any trace of the attack so that you could walk out, dazzling and smiling for the cameras. And of course you did just that. You managed to answer a few questions shouted at you with elegance and respect , offering sympathy to the ones who had suffered more than you did , smiling as some children handed you flowers and holding your head high just to let the rebels know that it would take more than this to bring Mrs Snow down.

But deep inside, you were a wreck. Images of the attack kept popping in your mind, you could still smell the smoke, feel it filling your lungs, suffocating you. You could still hear the screams, the cries, the shouts and the explosions. You could still feel the sharp pain in your shoulder when the column behind you collapsed and a heavy piece of marble hit you. You still had the bruises and the scratches on your skin from all the debris that flew in your face, even if they currently were hidden under a thick layer of makeup.

You slowly took it all off with a wipe, feeling almost relieved at the sight of the purple mark on your cheek and the other one on your neck, like a validation that you weren’t feeling so bad for nothing. You reached up to untie the sophisticated hairdo your beauty team had insisted on doing, but the sharp pain in your shoulder combined to the stiffness of your neck made it impossible to take more than two pins out before having to bring your arms down and take a deep breath to try and soothe the pain.

You had always considered yourself lucky to have such a big team of talented people to prepare you for every event you had to attend, sometimes they even got you ready and looking your best for simple shopping trips or private dinners if they expected you to be followed by reporters and photographers. But then, once the lights were out, the crowd long gone and the cameras pointed somewhere else, once you were back in the privacy and loneliness of your own home, then there wasn’t anyone to help you take off all this attire and help you be yourself again.

You were about to give up. At the moment, sleeping with twenty pins stabbing your scalp didn’t seem merely as painful as lifting your arm again did. But a movement in your mirror caught your attention. You lifted your eyes to the reflection, noticing a white silhouette, almost glowing in contrast to the darkness of your room, standing by the door, big blue eyes set on you.

You observed him quietly for a moment, unsure if he was really there or if it was yet another trick your mind was playing on you. Because you had a lot of visions of him lately. His face appearing in thick smoke. His voice shouting your name. His arms carrying you out of the chaos. His hand holding yours in the cold hospital room… You weren’t sure which memories were real or not. You couldn’t tell if he really had been by your side at the hospital this whole time or if you had just imagined his presence to reassure yourself. Were you imagining him there again so you wouldn’t feel so desperately lonely ?

“Let me help you with that.” He said, his tone softer than usual. He took the few steps in your direction, stopping behind you. You watched in the mirror as his fingers wandered in your hair in search of pins to take off, letting locks of hair fall down on your shoulders each time he removed one.

His touch was real. The heat you felt coming from his chest and radiating on your back was real. The expression of worry on his face every time he met your gaze in the reflection was real. He was real.

And instead of reassuring you like you thought it would, you suddenly felt invaded in your privacy to have him here, in your bedroom for the very first time. He shouldn’t see you like this, with your makeup off and your hair down, the bruises and the sorrow all too visible on your face. This wasn’t the image of the wife he had asked for. The wife who he wanted to impregnate. It was a pathetic reflection of a wounded and scared girl, wondering if she’ll ever be able to recover from such an horrific incident.

“I didn’t leave the hospital looking like this.” You felt compelled to say to justify how you looked in front of him, uncomfortable at the thought that it was the very first time he’d see you as you really were.

“I know, I watched the news from my office.” He simply said, focusing on finding the few last pins still tugging at your hair.

“And I watched your press conference.”

“What do you think about my idea for the quarter quell ?” His pale eyes found yours, silently gauging your reaction.

“I think a lot of people will love it, it’ll probably gain you many votes for the next round…”

“Probably but I meant what do you think about it ? Will it be a clear enough message to the districts that there will be hell to pay if they ever even think about hurting us again ?” He leaned closer, his breath brushing your ear. “Do you think all of Panem will now know that nobody hurts my wife without meeting the consequences ?”

You left out a breath, shocked by the rage you saw burning in his usually charming eyes. Either he was masterfully manipulative, wanting to make you believe that the decision he took to hold special games in retaliation was to avenge you, while it was, in fact, all about his career first. Either he really had done it for you, and the implications of such a revelation in regards to his true feelings for you were as terrifying to you as the first hypothesis was.

He remained quiet, removing his hands from your hair once he had pulled out the last pin and reached down to the zipper of your dress, slowly pulling it down with his pale eyes fixed to yours in the mirror.

Your breath caught in your throat. Was he trying to help you ? The zipper being in your back, you probably would have struggled to reach it, but the way he was taking care of it, so torturously slow, the tip of his fingers grazing the soft skin he revealed on his path made you question his true motives.

He leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on your neck, exactly where your heart started pulsing wildly in reaction. He pulled the fabric of your dress down, until it pooled around your hips. You saw him take a look at your reflection in front of him, the sight of the bruise on your chest and the other one over your clavicle setting his fury ablaze. He balled his fists tightly, as if he was trying to contain himself so you turned around to face him, placing a gentle hand on his cheek.

You didn’t dare consider that the reason for his anger was because he cared about you enough… But the way he relaxed into your touch made you wonder if you should.

He kissed your lips. Softly. Gently. Almost reverently, as if he was taking the full measure of what he could have been deprived of for the rest of his life with a different outcome of the events of that night.

“I will kill them.” He declared, a cold determination in his tone you had never heard from him before. “I’ll kill every single person responsible for this.”

He moved his fingers over the purple bruise on your chest, a featherlight touch that still caused you a sting of pain, to mark his words.

You remembered a quote you had studied in school, it said something like “pain is the only thing that makes us feel alive.” And, since it was written in your book and taught by your professor, you had always considered it to be true… Until now. Now you knew that there wasn’t anything else on earth that could possibly make you feel more alive than Coriolanus Snow and the way he kissed you, touched you and filled you up. And no pain would be able to stop your determination of feeling alive tonight. Maybe his way to cope from the attack was to hunger for violence and blood, but yours was to live.

You leaned towards him and kissed him with more fervor than he did. He returned the kiss but kept some restraint from the usually hungry and rough way you were used to having him.

“Don’t tempt me.” He groaned, against your lips. “Not when you’re hurt and still recovering.”

“I’m not made of sugar.” You assured him, with a soft smile but he didn’t return it, moving away to look at you like he had seen a ghost. Did he have flashbacks of the attack too ? Or something else ? He’d probably never tell you anyway, because he shook it off before you could open your mouth and ask him if he was alright, worry leaving its place to resolve on his face.

He walked to your bed, stopping at the edge and scanning your nightstand carefully as he slowly started unbuttoning his shirt. Then, he looked around, his eyes taking a moment to consider each object, each piece of decoration in your bedroom. It was the first time he entered it and although the way he threw his shirt on the floor and began unfastening his belt suggested he had other plans than simply asking you for a tour, he still took in most of the details of the only place where you could find privacy in your own home.

You stood up, removing your dress too and feeling suddenly very exposed to him. Your room, your face without makeup, your hair undone, your bruised skin, everything you usually kept hidden from your husband was now on display for him to see and you felt self conscious about it.

“Lie down.” Coriolanus demanded, kicking his pants off, leaving him with nothing on but his bare body for you to stare at, his skin almost as white as the suits he liked to wear.

You obeyed, climbing on the bed from the opposite side from where he stood. You let your head fall down on your fluffy pillow, breathing a sigh of relief as you noticed how the many aches in your body were appeased by the comfortable mattress under you.

He climbed on the bed next to you and it felt somewhat strange to see him there, in your room, on your sheets, naked. He hooked his fingers under the elastic of your underwear and gently pulled them down your legs, the lace fabric sending shiver down your spine on its way down your body.

He spread your legs open for him, and placed himself between them, sitting back on his knees. He looked at your bruises again so, instinctively, you tried to hide them with your arms and hands in fear that he might change his mind and leave you wanting. Thankfully, he had mercy for you and, even though he didnt seem quite sure about how to proceed this time - as if he was worried that he wouldn’t be able to tame his usual roughness - he slowly stroked the tip of his cock between your folds.

He guided it in circles, teasing your entrance every once in a while, pressing over your bud, spreading your growing wetness all over in its wake and you noticed how it made him harden too, his cock increasing in length and girth in his hand with each movement.

It didn’t take long for either of you to be ready for more. After all, it had been a whole week during which the only physical contacts you had shared was him holding your hand at the hospital or placing a chaste kiss on your forehead each time he had to leave you for a while, and that was if you hadn’t dreamed or imagined it.

No longer able to tease you, he ended up pushing his erected member inside you, finding its way in so easily it felt like you were made to fit him by now. He noticed it too, how easy it was for him to bury himself all the way in you until his balls were squeezed between your bodies and he sighed with contempt as your warm and wet pussy engulfed him fully.

You said his name in a panted breath, loving the way he filled you up with his hard cock and his eyes darted to yours, his gaze shining with lust. He moved, starting with short slides back and forth to make sure you could take it then, once he saw you close your eyes and bite your lip to conceal a moan, he got a bit rougher and faster, shoving himself back in with enough force to make the bed crack loudly.

“Yes!” You cried, as you felt his dick repeatedly hit the perfect spot so deep inside you, sending such pleasure through your entire body that you already felt close to coming undone. If there was any pain in your bruised body, you didn’t feel it anymore. All your mind could focus on was the intensity of his thrusts inside of you and the ecstasy building in your core in reaction.

He moved to hover over you, the change of angle making his strong movements even more intense. A moan fell from your lips but he silenced it with a hungry kiss, his taut chest pressing against yours.

He gathered you in his arms, holding your body tightly against his as he kept relentlessly thrusting inside you, swallowing all the moans that escaped from your lips with his desperate kisses.

You closed your legs around his hips, holding on to him as tightly as he was holding on to you. His thrusts lost their speed and intensity, but he still hit exactly where you needed him, making you whimper and moan with pleasure. His grip tightened and so did yours, both of you determined to never let each other go, him holding you like you might vanish at any moment and you holding him like your life depended on it.

He groaned, spilling his seed inside you with one powerful push. You dug your nails in his back, as his movements slowed down and your body contracted, your mind swimming in bliss.

He was panting, from his efforts and from the feverish kisses he kept giving you through it all. And yet he captured your lips with his again, in a much softer - almost loving - kiss. Then he set you free from his embrace, rolling on his side next to you and you istantly felt cold without the weight and warmth of his body on top of yours.

You shivered and he noticed, pulling the sheet over your numb body. You looked at him, wondering if he’ll stay the night. It would be the very first time you’d get to sleep with your husband. If the idea would have been dreadful to you just a year ago, now you wanted nothing more than to press your spent body against his and feel his presence as you drift off to sleep, knowing that you are safe with him by your side.

♡ - (( Tip Jar )) - ♡

[ellastone-olsen]

can you write a smut story where reader had to wait the entire ceremony (Golden globes) before she could take the gorgeous dress off of Lizzie. And Lizzie’s been just teasing her so when they get home reader rips the dress and takes Lizzie please 🙏🏻 I love your writing <3

Wicked game | Elizabeth Olsen

★Pairing: Elizabeth Olsen x fem!reader

Summary: your girlfriend has gone too far with her teasing. that's what it says in the request

★Warnings: SMUT 18+, teasing, dirty talk, overstimulation, sex toys, strap on usage, praise, aftercare, fluff

★Word count: 1.8k

★AN: I have some kind of creative block, but I'm alive. I spent 5 days on this little thing instead of the usual 1.

The car slowly cut through the road, drifting between streams of the same iron boxes on wheels. The interior of the black SUV was spacious, but you and Elizabeth still sat shoulder to shoulder as the pad of your thumb stroked her knee through the fabric of snow-white dress. "Am I look good?" such a simple question with an obvious answer, but she still needed your confirmation. You cupped her cheek with your hand and turned her head towards you. “You are always beautiful my love” You give her a quick kiss on the lips and then look into her big green eyes. An idea just came into her sweet head, otherwise you can’t explain the sudden change in mood. She takes your hand and places it on her chest. “Then can you show me how much?”

A shiver runs down your spine and you nervously look at the driver's seat, noticing how the man is looking at you through the rearview mirror. As soon as your gazes intersect, he immediately turns his eyes back to the road. “Oh don’t worry dear, he will have to pay dearly if he spills the beans about what he saw.” Elizabeth whispers in your ear, you hope that by pay she means money. She moves your hand further, under her dress so that you touch her bare breasts and moans softly in your ear, making your core begin to pulsate. "Babe." You're warning her not to start something she can't finish. Her teeth bite your earlobe and you want to pull her away by hair, but you remember about styling. "Elizabeth." Your stern tone and the full form of her name still have an effect and she moves away. You don’t respond to her sweet smile, the car is just stopping.

The Golden Globes look spectacular, but boring. You are absolutely not interested in the speeches all these people make when they receive an award. People you don't know say words of gratitude to people you don't know again. The waiters obligingly drift back and forth, serving glasses of champagne and appetizers that are inedible to your taste. You just stand on the side and look around while your girlfriend talks to other celebrities or gives interviews. When you finally sit down in your seats, you cross your legs and lean back, unable to sit up straight. Elizabeth sits in such a way that the Queen of England would envy her if she were alive.

Time passes and you drink your second glass of champagne when it seems to you that something is touching your leg under the table. You don't pay attention to it until the action is repeated. The head turns to your girlfriend, but it looks like Robert Downey Jr.'s award ceremony is the most interesting thing she's ever seen. However, where her hands are says otherwise. Elizabeth's right hand triples on your thigh, red nails lightly scratching through the thin fabric of your pants, sending shivers down your spine. You stare at her, but the older woman doesn’t even think of turning her head. "Stop it." Your irritated, harsh whisper flies past her. As a sign from above, the bell rings, signaling a break, and without wasting any time, you grab Elizabeth’s hand and drag her away towards the toilets.

She sighs when she suddenly finds herself pressed against the wall, of course you can be rude, but first cover the back of her head with your hand so that she doesn’t get hurt from the blow. “What games are you playing today?” A hot whisper near her ear makes the woman hold her breath for a couple of seconds. Her answer doesn't keep you waiting. “But you like it, don’t you?” Elizabeth puts her hands on your waist, touching you through your thin shirt and tilting her head to leave small, light bites on your neck. “If you continue, I’ll push you into the toilet, lock the common door, bend you over the counter and...” You lose your breath from the stronger bite. “And what, dear?” The bell rings again, signaling everyone to return to their seats. You stand pressed against her for a few seconds, then push yourself off the wall with your hands and rub your neck where Elizabeth’s lips were, erasing non-existent traces of lipstick. The two of you go to your seats and no one seems to notice your disheveled state.

The ride home is quick and quiet, for two reasons. The older woman realized that you would ruin her for all her antics as soon as she set foot on the threshold of the house. She was in anticipation and silently looked out the window, imagining all the options for the development of events. The second reason is what you said to the poor driver when you got into the car. “You have 10 minutes to take us back, Elizabeth is terribly tired.” The black car brought you home in exactly 10 minutes. You gave the driver a tip for being in a hurry, even though it was not customary. When the front door closed behind you, what the older woman expected and desired happened. You grabbed her hand and quickly led her to your bedroom. When the door to the room closed, in one motion you threw Elizabeth onto her stomach on the plush blanket of your large bed.

Your hands pushed her hair back, exposing her slender neck so you could kiss and bite it. The woman's hips shot up, but you blocked the movement by straddling her. “If you think that you will get what you want quickly, don’t hope.” The zipper of the white dress was pulled down, almost breaking the zipper. Her dress and panties disappeared from her in record time, and you somehow managed not to tear them.

When you took a few steps back admiring the picture in front of you, your gaze caught on her wet shiny folds. She had definitely been looking forward to this all day. Elizabeth turned her head to the lack of action on your part to check the situation and saw you taking out from the nightstand the black compact vibrator that she loved so much. There were two scenarios in her head: either now she would get the best orgasm of her life, or she would die from overstimulation, but she really hoped for the first.

You returned to your girlfriend and moved her hips closer to the edge of the bed so that she rested her knees on the plush pile of the carpet and exposed her ass to your view. Your hands stroked her soft thighs, you couldn’t resist and leaned towards her dripping center to run your tongue along the entire length, tasting her. A shaky sigh escaped the woman's mouth above you and you repeated the action, gripping her hips even harder (there might be bruises there later). A mixture of pleasure and slight pain made her unconsciously lean back for closer contact. In what seemed like such a simple and innocent action, your palm landed on her ass with a loud slap. "No, no, don't you dare move." There was the first warning, which caused a groan of pain to escape from the older woman.

After you were satisfied with her taste, two fingers slipped inside her so easily, stretching the velvet walls. The second hand pressed the toy’s power button and you set the speed to medium, bringing it to her pulsating clit. "Hold it." Elizabeth reached underneath her and grabbed the silicone object, holding it in place. “If you disobey me, an even worse punishment will follow. You understood?" The older woman's mind was clouded with pleasure, but she hummed in agreement anyway. Her thoughts were confused by the way you moved inside her, pressing on a sensitive spot. Another slap to her ass. "Use your words." Her back arched and she was ready to swear that she would cum from such rough treatment. “Yes, I understand...please Y/N.” With every thrust, you felt her walls squeezing tighter around you. Elizabeth could no longer find words and shouted curses into the emptiness of your house. “Fuck...I'm going to cum...please can I?...” You cut her off. "No. Take it away."

She obediently removed the toy from her throbbing clit, stopping any stimulation. You were still moving inside her, but it wasn't enough to make her fall over the edge. “Oh fuck...fuck...so good...please can I continue?” You were silent for a minute before you gave her permission, making sure she didn't cum instantly. The woman's hips jumped as the stimulation began again. You pounded into her at a fast pace and after a couple of minutes you felt your orgasm approaching again. "Elizabeth stop." Oh how she didn’t like it when you called her by her full name, it never meant anything good. She put the toy away again and you pulled out.

The woman heard the chest of drawers open again behind her, the sounds of the harness, and then the cold tip of the faux cock pressed into her dripping entrance. You spread her natural lub along entire length and pushed the thick toy into her in one motion. Your girlfriend’s mouth opened in a silent scream, her hands grabbed the sheets as if they would tear them. "OH FUCK ." You returned her hand with the vibrator to the right place and pounding at her at a fast pace. “Do you like my cock baby? Mmm? Is this what you wanted all this time? So that I could fuck you like the whore?” Your dirty words turned her on even more. "Yes! Yes! Y/N can...can I cum?” She was ready to cry from overstimulation and you took pity on her. You leaned down to leave a kiss behind her ear and whispered. “Cum for me baby.”

Almost immediately, the woman fell over the edge, screaming your name mixed with curses into the softness of the mattress. You continued to fuck her through her orgasm until a small whine was heard from her. You pulled out and took off the strap, throwing it somewhere deep in the room, thinking that you would take care of it later.

Your arms grabbed Elizabeth and you helped her climb onto the bed, lying on her back. Her knees were red from standing on them for a long time and you gently rubbed the skin in the hope of relieving the pain. "My good girl, Lizzie." The lips began to pass everywhere you could reach, starting from the neck and ending with her cute tummy that you loved so much. When you looked up at her again, you noticed that the woman had begun to fall asleep.

“Baby, don’t sleep, you need to take off your makeup.” A hand covered her cheek and the pad of her thumb gently rubbed her cheekbone. “Mmmmm but I’m so tired, it can wait a couple of hours.” She mumbled sleepily. You gave in and covered her naked body with a plush blanket, setting the alarm for 3 hours. When the light in the room went out, Elizabeth had already fallen asleep and hugged you, breathing steadily into your neck.

Your fingers played with her blonde hair until you fell into the realm of Morpheus after her.

[soracities]

"Persephone Writes a Letter to Her Mother", by A.E. Stallings

First – hell is not so far underground – My hair gets tangled in the roots of trees & I can just make out the crunch of footsteps, The pop of acorns falling, or the chime Of a shovel squaring a fresh grave or turning Up the tulip bulbs for separation. Day & night, creatures with no legs Or too many, journey to hell and back. Alas, the burrowing animals have dim eyesight. They are useless for news of the upper world. They say the light is “loud” (their figures of speech All come from sound; their hearing is acute).

The dead are just as dull as you would imagine. They evolve like the burrowing animals – losing their sight. They may roam abroad sometimes – but just at night – They can only tell me if there was a moon. Again and again, moth-like, they are duped By any beckoning flame – lamps and candles. They come back startled & singed, sucking their fingers, Happy the dirt is cool and dense and blind. They are silly & grateful and don’t remember anything. I have tried to tell them stories, but they cannot attend. They pester you like children for the wrong details – How long were his fingernails? Did she wear shoes? How much did they eat for breakfast? What is snow? And then they pay no attention to the answers.

My husband, bored with their babbling, neither listens nor speaks. But here there is no fodder for small talk. The weather is always the same. Nothing happens. (Though at times I feel the trees, rocking in place Like grief, clenching the dirt with torturous toes.) There is nothing to eat here but raw beets & turnips. There is nothing to drink but mud-filtered rain. Of course, no one goes hungry or toils, however many – (The dead breed like the bulbs of daffodils – Without sex or seed – all underground – Yet no race has such increase. Worse than insects!)

I miss you and think about you often. Please send flowers. I am forgetting them. If I yank them down by the roots, they lose their petals And smell of compost. Though I try to describe Their color and fragrance, no one here believes me. They think they are the same thing as mushrooms. Yet no dog is so loyal as the dead, Who have no wives or children and no lives, No motives, secret or bare, to disobey. Plus, my husband is a kind, kind master; He asks nothing of us, nothing at all – Thus fall changes to winter, winter to fall, While we learn idleness, a difficult lesson.

He does not fully understand why I write letters. He says that you will never get them. True – Mulched-leaf paper sticks together, then rots; No ink but blood, and it turns brown like the leaves. He found my stash of letters, for I had hid it, Thinking he’d be angry. But he never angers. He took my hands in his hands, my shredded fingers Which I have sliced for ink, thin paper cuts. My effort is futile, he says, and doesn’t forbid it.

[racinggirl]

you always will be

a/n: As a dedication to our boy's FIRST FORMULA ONE WIN, here a story that hopefully will be appreciated and loved. It's very different from my usual stories, and it may need some sort of trigger warning or just a warning in general. We don't always get what we want, and life can really be a bitch. Everybody struggles, it might not always be seen. I'm here for you <3

Warnings: mentions of car accident, hospital, breakup, swearing, death, cemetery, and some fluff bc I'm not THAT cruel

Also, please leave a comment/reblog, anything that makes me feel like you absolutely loved this story. It can also be a tip, anything to make my writing better and more enjoyable for you, thank you

Enjoy 🧡

Winning a race was something he dreamt of. Winning a race meant all his worries disappeared like snow in the sun.

‘You can’t win, you always fuck up’

‘Russia 2021 was the closest you’d been to a win, you’ll never get that chance again’

‘You should have switched teams when you had the chance’

No more. He won, and he’d be damned if he would ever let any hate comment, any judging advice or any disrespectful tone push you further away from him than you already were. He won, but somehow it felt like he lost.

‘’Mate, I don’t get it. Help me understand, okay? You won your first Formula One race. You gave all of them haters a big fuck you. You proved them wrong. The team’s proud of you, everyone’s cheering you on.’’

It was true, everyone was proud of him, everyone cheered for him, chanting his name after the podium ceremony. Everyone. But one person.

‘’Hello? Lando?’’ Max seemed worried, he knew something was bothering his best friend, he knew him through and through. ‘’You’re confusing me, mate. What’s the matter? Aren’t you happy? You can’t be too hard on yourself now, mate, you wo-…’’

‘’It’s her!’’ He finally snapped, all the emotions he had bottled up and put in that jar, stashed away somewhere on the back shelf of his heart AND brain sneaked its way through and made a reappearance.

‘’I won! Yes, I fucking won! But at what cost?! I lost her mate! I won and she wasn’t here. That doesn’t mean I fucking won. I lost, I lost it all, I lost her…’’

Max let out a heavy sigh. He knew something was bothering his friend, and he had a slight feeling it would have had something to do with the girl that stole his heart. See, you and Lando go way back, and you’d always thought you’d end up together, whether it was in England, in Monaco, it didn’t matter, what mattered was that it’d always been the two of you together, till it wasn’t.

‘’Lando…’’ Here it was again, the 'I feel sorry for you, but you need to move on' speech, which sometimes Lando could appreciate, but not now, not at a moment like this. However, he remained silent.

‘’Look, mate, I know it’s hard, okay? You.. You’ve dreamt of this moment for years, and I’m sure she’d have been by your side in all those dreams, but…’’

‘’But reality is, she isn’t. I know Max, I know.’’ Lando ran his face through his hair, then over his face. ‘’I’m going to get a shower.’’

‘’Lando..’’

‘’I’m gonna shower, Max, I’d appreciate it if you’d leave and let me fucking shower!’’ Lando snapped, he never did, but today was full of too many emotions he couldn’t handle, too many mixed emotions that made the bucket spill over.

Raising his arms in defence, Max stepped back and nodded, slowly. He knew Lando needed time, but tonight was the after party, Zak had scheduled the flight for this evening back by a day, which meant they were planning on partying all night long.

‘’No, Lando, it’s not okay!’’ Your hands rose up in the air, toward your hair as you tugged on it, gently, but enough to let your frustrations out. ‘’It’s not okay, how is this okay?’’

‘’I… We’ll make it work, I promise you we’ll mak-‘’

‘’Stop trying to fix everything! Some things just can’t get fixed, okay?!’’

Lando and you were like two puzzle pieces that fit, perfectly fine. But what happens when one day, the piece that made those two pieces of the puzzle once a whole, disappeared. Broke off. Got thrown away which made it almost impossible for those two pieces to ever become whole again.

You loved him, more than anything in this whole entire world. You were determined to give up everything you ever had to be with him, to support him through thick and thin and you would never. Ever. Give up on each other...

‘’It’s been 4 months, give him some time.’’ Pietra’s reassuring hand made its way to Max’ shoulder.

It’d been 4 months since you and Lando broke up. You’d said your goodbyes at the airport after the two of you decided it was best to part ways. Lando tried almost everything to keep you at his side, but he knew that loving also meant letting go. That was the hardest part of a breakup, though, but he’d manage. Or so he thought.

You were lying when you said the breakup hadn’t torn your heart apart. It felt like it went through a shredder and every time you’d tried to pick up a piece and place it back, it didn’t fit. There were pieces missing, some things were upside down, backwards, or not even in the right place. It was heart-breaking.

Your breakup was something that nobody had seen coming, the fans, your friends, heck, not even the two of you saw it coming. You had always been different, but that didn’t stop you. Where you loved to stay at home and read a book, Lando loved to go out with his friends, plan his schedule full of events and parties. You’d join him, every now and then, but you preferred staying home.

Until you didn’t. But then it was too late.

‘’My parent’s need me back home.’’ You explained, the warm cup of tea in your hand preventing you from shivering. You and Lando were outside, watching the snow fall down the sky and onto the grass of his back yard in London.

‘’Alright, I can come if you want me to, I’m free till-..’’

‘’No, Lando, they need me back home, permanently.’’ You let out a shaky sigh, tears prickling behind your eyeballs as you kept your gaze focussed on your tea.

You had lived with Lando for almost 3 years now, the two of you dating for more than 5 years by the time you moved in together. Your parents knew his parents, and so the ball went rolling till it came to a stop in front of the two of you.

‘’What? But…’’

‘’I know.’’ Your voice was barely a whisper, the tears that you were desperately trying to hold back now made its appearance. Your parents were sick, both of them. You loved them more than anything, so leaving them and going to London, then to Monaco with the love of your life made you both happy and sad.

‘’No, Y/N, baby listen please, we can make it work. Okay? I’ll come over every month, we’ll do it together, I can…’’ But he knew everything he was saying was a lost cause. Your parents needed you, and as much as he wanted you to be with him, he knew you loved your parents. He’d never forgive himself if you staying with him meant you’d barely see your parents again.

‘’You know we can’t. We’ve been over this before.’’ Your voice was breaking more and more every word. ‘’It’s okay.’’ You whispered, the tea in your hands not being enough to keep you warm anymore. ‘’It’ll be okay…’’

‘’… on your win. And let’s make this party one to remember!’’ Cheers were hearable in the entire club, Lando being one of them. He laughed, partied, and celebrated. He won, he couldn’t ignore that, but that didn’t mean he didn’t think of how it could have been.

His job was hectic, of course. Being a Formula One driver – a race winning Formula One driver – meant events, races, meetings, and mostly, fame. You knew that if Lando would have stayed with you, if you would have done what he wanted – which was coming over once every month, it would bring attention to you and indirectly, to your parents, who could not use the attention at all.

After you and your parents got in a horrific car accident a few years after you and Lando started dating, the media was all over it. You barely had a chance to recover before the media would send you emails; press would be in front of your house and Lando’s interviews were all about how you and your parents were doing. It wasn’t healthy, at all. The press that did those things soon got boycotted by his fans, but that wasn’t the point here. They were there, they took away that bit of privacy you’d loved and cherished even more when Lando got more well known in the racing industry. When he joined Formula One.

You recovered completely – thankfully – but your parents, that was a whole other story. Both in a coma, one worse than the other, and the survival chances were low. Miraculously though, they woke up. The first 6 months, they had to stay at the hospital. Their wishes were to go home, so after 6 months, the hospital arranged things here and there so they could recover at home.

However, 2 years after the accident, you got the worst news possible. The car accident you and your parents were in caused your parents to both have brain damage, severely. They would need 24/7 care, and they would not get better. It was the worst possible scenario, but Lando was always there for you.

You just couldn’t do it, not with his fame, his busy schedule, your work. You worked from home, something you rearranged the moment you recovered from the car accident. It was the best option; you’d be able to work whenever you wanted, you could join Lando for his races. You could work from Monaco, England, it didn’t matter. You could work at home whenever Lando had a triple header, so you could take care of your parents whilst working from your laptop.

‘’You know they need me, and I love you so much, I…’’ The tears were streaming down your face after you had finished packing everything from Lando’s apartment – you were leaving.

‘’Shh..’’ Lando’s tears had dried on his cheeks, the sight of seeing you pack all your clothes in suitcases was the worst thing he’d ever seen. ‘’I know, sunshine, I know, but it’s okay. We’ll be okay.’’ He mumbled with the sorest throat from crying. He knew there was no more ‘we’ after you stepped out of that door. It was a commitment you made to each other.

‘If I need to go back and take care of them, move on. I don’t want you to spend the rest of your life waiting for me because I don’t know how long that’s going to take. I can’t expect you to put a hold on your life and come with me. You have a career, and I need you to put that on number one, be selfish, please.’

He always responded with the same thing. ‘’It doesn’t matter, you are my number one, you always will be.’’

‘’Lando Norris, your number one!’’ The music was pounding in his ears, the smile he had put on for this evening was fading slightly. When there was no camera around him, he’d let it drop, what was there to smile about?

Three months later

Moving on from a breakup was one thing, moving on from a breakup in which both individuals still loved each other but had to let go was another. Moving on from a breakup after finding out your parents had 2 more months to live, was impossible.

Your parents passed away 4 months ago, 3 months after you and Lando broke up. It was the hardest period of your life, and at some point, you weren’t even sure if you wanted to live the life you’d known for so long.

You’ve thought to yourself multiple times, why not go back to Lando? Tell him your parents passed away and everything would be okay. But that’s not the first thing that crosses your mind after your parents pass away. Especially not within the first four months of them being gone.

The number of times you’ve gotten close to pressing call on your ex-boyfriend’s number had been too many to count, but you couldn’t get yourself to do it. What were you going to say?

‘Hey Lando, yeah, my parents passed away, so I don’t have another thing to do, let’s get back together?’

Yeah, no. Not a chance.

You’ve watched his race win so many times it almost felt like you were there. You could imagine what it would have been like to be there, knowing the crew and drivers.

Why hadn’t you called him yet? Or why hadn’t you tried to congratulate him, reach out to his friends? No idea, you were still in that grieving state and you weren’t sure if you were going to break out of it.

That was until, one day, you saw this quote. It’s stupid to think one quote can change one’s perspective on things, but this one did.

‘If you don’t do it now, don’t regret it later.’

It was hard, doing the things you did, but not impossible. Impossible was getting over the death of your parents AND not having the one person you’ve loved more than anything not be there to help you through it.

So, you did it. You got in that car, which was something you’ve been avoiding after the accident, till Lando helped you get back into it. Your fingers dug into the leather of your father’s car, the one they left to you. Just like they left everything to you, the house, the money, the company.

A weak smile appeared on your face, so many memories in just one movement, one moment. The road was long, far, you had to stop at a hotel for a night of sleep before continuing your lonely road trip to London. Back to him. Because if you didn’t do it now, you would regret it later, and that’s something you couldn’t live with.

Another long day at the factory, more meetings, more shaking hands, interviews, you name it. His feet dragged him through the entire factory, not once, but three times already – and it was just lunch time. Things were better, he still missed you, but he was starting to accept it, just that, though, because moving on was impossible for him.

It wasn’t when one of the mechanics he always had lunch with called your name, that he turned his head so fast it would have almost gotten him a whiplash from the force and the speed. Your name, you were there, here.

A weak smile appeared on your lips. It wasn’t an easy choice, contacting Max, ignoring all his questions because you needed to see where he was, where the man you loved – and never stopped loving – was. It was bold, he might have moved on, gotten a new girlfriend, but you dug around the internet and didn’t see any signs of that being the case.

‘’Hey..’’

He was a race car driver, so he was fast, – very – fast. But the speed of which he got up and ran to you was another level. Your arms didn’t hesitate once. They found their way back around his neck, his positioned at your waist as always, and he looked into your eyes for a brief second, just to check, just to make sure that what he was about to do was okay. It was more than okay.

Your lips melted together instantly, his soft, warm lips immediately welcomed your slightly colder – due to the air-conditioning in the car – and even softer ones in a heartbeat. It felt good, it felt so good, you lost track of time, place and it was just the two of you in this moment. You did not regret it.

‘’Congratulations on your win, champ.’’ Your breath was a bit more rapid, your voice a lot hoarser than you would have liked it to be, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that you had found your way back to him, like you always would have.

4 years later

It was no longer impossible. It was hard, for sure, but the moment you stood in front of their gravestones, your hand intertwined with his and a weak smile on your lips, you were exactly where you were meant to be.

‘’Mom, dad..’’ You whispered, head resting against Lando’s chest as he pressed a delicate kiss to your temple. Your hand rested on top of Lando’s, who had a protected arm around you, his hand rubbing small circles on your stomach. You played with his ring for a few seconds before you swallowed the lump in your throat. You looked up at your husband, who gave you a reassuring smile as you placed the tiny shoes on top of their gravestones.

‘’You’re gonna be grandparents…’’

[tsukimefuku]

old regrets and guilt ridden pasts ꕥ higuruma hiromi

this part → part 2 → part 3 (soon) | mdni!

summary: you and hiromi are sent out on a mission to exorcize a strong curse at an abandoned hospital. as hiromi has to use his domain to strip you from your cursed technique, things start to go downhill.

tags: +18!, starts out with an explicit! sex scene, some smut, f!reader, established relationship higuruma x reader, reader is kind of emotionally stunted, mentions of death, grief, yuuji and nanami make an appearance, implied past nanami x reader, overall angst, fluff, hurt + comfort.

wc: 3.9k

notes etc.: heavy spoilers for "sand and snow" readers. written to the sound of nothing in my way (keane). as always, i write flawed characters that can (and will) sometimes be assholes.

ꕥ collection of stories: "jujutsu partners au" → masterlist for fics listed in chronological order of events

The day had been pleasant. You and Hiromi shared a lazy Sunday with no missions or jujutsu sorcery whatsoever, watched a few movies on TV, talked and spent time together. He tried teaching you principles of criminal law, but you understood virtually nothing.

After a few glasses of wine, though, your hand wound up on his thighs, his lips on your neck, and well, here you were.

You were splayed in front of him, propping up your body with your arms, and his abdomen was pressed sweaty against your back, as he rolled himself into you. Hiromi had one hand on your thigh, and the other supported him over your trembling body.

"Ah, Hiro-" you gasped, in between mewls and moans, turning your chin over your shoulder, just so you could ask him to move, making it easier for you to come undone over him.

He huffed, warm, humid breath pressed against the hair in the back of your neck, as he answered with a husky voice, "yes, my love?"

He had called you that once or twice before, but this time, it swirled and tangled itself around you like divine rope, drowning you in molasses. The request you had lingering went straight to the back of your mind, as you moaned to the sound of his gravely, breathless voice calling you 'my love'.

"Call me that again," you pleaded, whimpering, while you felt him brushing against the deepest parts of you.

"Ah, my love..." Hiromi repeated, an audible smile while he spoke, nuzzling his gorgeous hooked nose behind your neck as he planted wet kisses wherever his lips passed. "My love, my love, my love…" His mouth traveled to the back of your shoulder, and you lifted your head to moan his name, shivers prickling on the roots of every hair in your body.

He kept cooing my love against you until his speech became nothing but incoherent mumbling against your bare, sensitive skin.

Before you noticed, his hand, previously on your thigh, descended to rub you as he approached his own release, and upon the pressure from his digits on you, already sensitive by then, you let out a strained moan of his name. 

Hiromi came with a watery groan, having you tip over the edge some time after, letting out a last cry for him.

As you were navigating your euphoric ecstasy, trying to keep the comedown at bay for a few moments longer, both falling to the side with him pulling your body closer, you felt him whispering against your locks.

Even though you couldn't be sure about it, you thought you heard Hiromi say I love you.

***

"I have to go," he said, playfully trying to untangle your arms from his waist, kissing your cheek with the sultry smell of fresh black coffee breath. You were both in your balcony, the breakfast plates empty over the only chair you had, and you giggled and kissed his jawline insistently.

"Why do you have to go?" You asked, parting slightly to look at Hiromi. As he looked back at you, you formed a pout with your lower lip, and he smiled, planting a quick kiss on your mouth.

"Because I have to water the sunflower you gave me," he replied, lovingly.

"Why don’t you just bring your sunflower here? You basically sleep here the entire week now. You should bring some clothes too, and other things you might need" you replied, liberating his waist from your tight grip on his body, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

Then you realized what that sounded like.

He also did.

"Are you... Asking me to move in with you?" He questioned, and you instantly blushed, red wash covering your cheeks.

"I... Just bring the sunflower already. I-" you stuttered, "just don't want you to leave every single morning to take care of it and change into clean clothes."

Hiromi put both of his hands on your shoulders and smiled fondly. "I will, I promise," he answered, as he kissed your forehead with a feathery touch. You smiled at him, and let your arms down, aligning his tie with the tips of your fingers. At that, he sighed contently.

It was then that you remembered what you thought you heard last night.

"Hey, Hiromi..." you began.

"Yes, my love?" He replied, sugary tone as he brought one of his hands up to caress your cheek.

You quivered to the sound of that, just like you did the night before.

"Yesterday, after we..." you cleared your throat, feeling a faint sense of trepidation creeping over you, "did you whisper or say anything? I mean, I thought I heard something."

He widened his eyes a little, and you could swear his face had become a light peachy pink. You kept silent, waiting for an answer, and his mouth opened, without a sound coming from it, as he blinked mindlessly thinking of anything to say.

Words failed him, hard.

Then, your phone rang.

You cursed internally at the interruption, sighing deeply.

Grasping at it with the tips of your fingers, you pulled the thing out of your pocket, seeing Gojo's name lit up on the screen. 

Pressing the green icon, you said, "yes, Satoru? I was kind of in the middle of something."

"Hey!" His whimsical voice echoed through your ear. "So, we have a mission for you and Higuruma, and I'd like to ask for you to take Yuuji along."

"Oh, okay, no problem. What is it?"

"There's apparently a Grade 1 curse in a closed-down hospital, just by the outskirts of Tokyo. You or Higuruma alone would suffice, but I want Yuuji to train coordinating himself with other sorcerers in the field, so the more, the merrier! Also, you are both great at it, so he might actually learn a thing or two." 

You smiled, noticing how this enthusiasm wasn't purely a facade. Gojo had been slowly — but surely — been chipping away at his frivolous-smile persona, and it became evident in how he sounded genuinely thrilled when talking about his students.

"Okay! I'll be delighted to have him tagging along."

"Alright, then!"

You hung up, and darted your eyes to Higuruma, that seemed curious about your call.

"We have a mission together. Just let me get ready" you stated, and he hoped for a second that you had forgotten the question you made moments before the phone rang.

You hadn't.

***

"Nitta, we'll be right back! Please, take care. This area seems kind of shady" you said, as you, Higuruma and Yuuji stepped outside the car. 

The blonde woman turned her head to smile at you, giving you a thumbs up. "No worries. Also, I'm bringing the veil down right after you go inside. Even if we're a little far from the huzz buzz of Tokyo, it's better to be safe than sorry."

You nodded. "Great. Thank you, Nitta."

After closing the doors, the three of you began walking towards the hospital. It was a considerably big structure, and seemed to be closed off for at least a few years, with the unforgiving weather weaving black cracks of mold across the sleeping giant’s facade.

"So, are you excited?" You asked, turning your head to look at Yuuji. He looked back at you, big puppy eyes flickering with anticipation.

"Yes!" He chirped, opening a wide smile. "I really want to see you and Mr. Higuruma fighting together on the field, I heard you two are mad strong working together."

Barely before Hiromi began taking missions on his own, and after working together for some time, you both became something of a legendary duo for having exorcized a particularly strong special grade curse side by side in a sequence of black flashes — you both had dealt three black flashes each.

Hiromi silently smiled, gazing at you, and after noticing it, you couldn't help but blush a little bit. You shook your head softly, and breathed deeply to ease yourself back into professional mode.

"So, Yuuji-kun," you began, enunciating every syllable separately.

"Yes, sensei?" He replied, imitating your cadence.

"Let's have a quick run through on cursed spirits again, shall we?"

"Okay!"

"So, why do you think a strong cursed spirit manifested here, inside a closed off hospital?" You quizzed.

"Because cursed spirits manifest due to negative emotions, and places like hospitals, cemeteries and such pool a lot of those" He answered.

"Good! But this hospital has been closed off for a while, so what do you think could've happened for a cursed spirit to manifest here currently?"

"There are two options. First, it took some time for the negative energy to concentrate enough for it to appear," he began, "and the second is that this spirit had already been exorcized, but after a while, it respawned."

"Yes, yes, good," you answered, nodding, trying to keep a straight face to mask the proud feeling. "But there is a third option!"

"Oh, is there?" He inquired, whipping his head in your direction.

"Yes! If this is an almost special grade curse, like some we all have faced in the past, then it could've spawned elsewhere and come here out of its own volition" you completed, finger extended up beside your face to make your point.

"Oh, true!" He replied.

"So, which one do you both think it is?" Hiromi asked, as he mindlessly swirled his gavel around his fingers, the crunch of leaves and dirt under your feet filling the air.

As the three of you entered what you liked to call the invisible cloud, the point where the energy emanated by the cursed spirit around its area seemed to hit like a whiff of strong air, similar to the forming winds of a tornado, you sighed, putting your hands in your pockets. 

"It's strong, but not that strong. I'd place my bets on the first or second options."

***

"There is no time to argue, Hiromi, I need to go in there with Yuuji and I need you to use your domain on me!"

The curse had its own kind of veil, from what you all could tell, and the only people allowed inside were those who apparently had no innate cursed technique. Yuuji easily peered his hand inside its realm, and so did Nitta, apart from her protests of being used as a lab rat. 

"Judgeman can pick any random crime to judge, I have no say in that" he hesitantly answered. "It can be a serious offense, worthy of the death penalty. I'd just like to avoid that happening" he concluded, voice simmering with hesitancy hitting the back of his throat.

"I'm not a contumacious criminal, and you can go easy on me when it's your time to speak. Come on. We can do this!" You tried reassuring him, one hand planted to each of his shoulders. "I can't let Yuuji go in there alone, I'm responsible for him. He's my student, and a teenager."

"You sound just like Nanamin" Yuuji complained more to himself than anyone else, crossing his arms on his chest, still mumbling. I'm not a kid.

"Hiromi, please."

He sighed deeply before nodding.

"Itadori, I'll need you to step behind."

The boy acquiesced and distanced himself, as the other sorcerer stepped his way into your direction and expanded his domain, drawing you in.

No matter how many times you got pulled into other sorcerer's domains, going in was always a jarring and disorienting experience, overall. 

In a few short moments, you and Hiromi were standing facing each other, and you sighed deeply at the sight of that shikigami, remembering that the last time you saw it, the thing gave you one hell of a headache.

Or better, it and Hiromi did, when he was still a curse user.

"Fine, let's go on with this" you stated, getting ready to hear yet another possible (or not) misdemeanor or unknown crime you might've committed.

But you weren't ready for the words that left the shikigami's mouth.

"February 24th, 2008."

That date.

"Odate City, Akita Prefecture."

Oh, no.

Your eyes widened in panic, and Hiromi saw it.

You could visualize his lips moving, he was talking to you. Perhaps asking if you were alright. 

However, you heard nothing.

"You stand accused of homicide against-"

You didn't need to hear the rest.

"I confess. I killed him."

Whatever Hiromi was speaking suddenly drowned in his chest. You looked at him, and he tried futilely holding your faltering gaze to ask you what the hell was going on, shocked eyes wide open, but you just crawled your way back inside your head, desperately wishing for this fucking day to be immediately over.

"Confiscation! Death penalty!" The creature shouted, before dissipating away.

That little shit.

And then… It all happened in a split second.

Hiromi saw the Executioner's Sword in his hand. Yuuji began asking what the hell is going on under bated, preoccupied and terrified breath. You nearly lost your balance before coming back to your senses.

Hiromi immediately dispelled his technique, feeling equal parts mortified and disgusted to be holding that against you.

"Why did you-" the former lawyer began, extending his hand your way.

You flinched away, eyes glued to the ground.

"Not now. I have to go in with Yuuji and finish exorcizing this curse."

"My lo… Please" Hiromi pleaded, before exhaling slowly. "Be careful."

"I will."

***

Hiromi sat beside you, as Yuuji looked worried from afar, since you were never one to be so unbearably quiet and aloof.

The sorcerer knew you were finding it incredibly hard to speak right now, and when everyone got back to Jujutsu High, all you did was sit at the base of the stairs, not uttering a single sound, and not following them when they began walking upstairs. 

Hiromi stayed quiet, gazing at you, and held your hand to see if you'd react.

You didn't move, frozen in your spot, feelings hurricaning inside you like a blizzard. You feared that, if you moved, even a single inch, you'd come crumbling down.

"My love, please, talk to me."

You couldn't do anything other than shake your head.

You just couldn't.

Hell, breathing was barely manageable under the broken dam of painful memories flooding your mind all at once. 

Hiromi sighed, ever so patient, aware of what he had to do. He didn't particularly appreciate the idea, but it was his only option then.

"Tell me the truth" he began, "is it me that you need by your side right now?" Hiromi asked, earnestly.

Your lips trembled for a moment, your jaw clenched, and you searched for the strength to find your voice again. When you did, you felt horrible for what you knew you were about to say, but you chose to honor your promise to Hiromi — always tell him the truth, even when it hurt.

Truth is, you had never told him about your brother and all that happened at Odate, and right now, you knew you couldn't muster up the strength to explain it all to him. It would be necessary to make Hiromi understand the depths of the emotional struggles that had been at stake ever since his shikigami bestowed upon you the death penalty.

Only one person could talk you through this.

"No, it’s not."

He resigned, feeling the words piercing him like needles. The sorcerer was aware that he had to talk to you about it, but decided to do it at a later time.

At that very moment, he knew what you needed to talk about, and Nanami was the only person you'd speak to.

Hiromi got on his feet and walked towards Yuuji.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" The boy asked, genuinely concerned.

"Itadori, can you please call Nanami? Tell him it's important, that it's about her, and ask him to come" Hiromi stated.

Yuuji nodded and pulled his phone, immediately starting to dial.

After the call, Hiromi asked if you wanted to be alone, to which you nodded. He and Yuuji walked upstairs as you waited — for Nanami or for this feeling to go away, whatever happened first.

Some time passed before a car stopped in front of you. 

As Nanami got out of it, he looked at you, and you had a completely defeated look on your face as you were still sitting on the same spot ever since you got there an hour prior.

He closed the door behind him and made his way towards you, steady stride taking him to meet you at the steps, as he, himself, descended, sitting by your side. He didn't glance at you, choosing to look at the sky after removing his glasses, putting them inside his blazer's pocket, and waited patiently.

Nanami had done this many times before, and knew you usually only needed some peace, quiet and space in order to begin spilling your ruminations and thoughts all over his ears.

With a sigh, you began. 

"I got sentenced to death today for killing my brother. Wonderful day."

Nanami was instantly taken aback, not grasping what you were on about. 

"Could you please clarify?"

You shuffled uncomfortably.

"We were fighting a curse, and long story short, only people without innate cursed techniques could enter its own brand of veil in order to fight it. I asked Hiromi to use his domain on me, so that Itadori wouldn't go in alone, and I was tried for my brother's death."

The sorcerer had some knowledge as to how Higuruma's domain worked, and it still didn't make sense to him. He knew that Higuruma didn't pick the crime to be tried, as it was chosen at random by his shikigami, and also knew there were two possible different penalties, confiscation and death sentence, the second reserved for the most serious of cases, which granted Higuruma the executioner's sword.

He also remembered very distinctly how your brother died, and knew for a fact that you weren't culpable for his death. 

"I apologize, but I still don't understand how that could've happened" he proceeded.

"I..." you stuttered, "I confessed."

Oh.

"Why did you confess?" Nanami asked, voice lowering softly.

You looked at him, and in an instant diverted your gaze back to the ground.

"He died because of me, to save me. He sacrificed himself in a gamble for me to live."

"That doesn't make you culpable" he answered, his voice a mixture of empathetic and objective.

"Why not? He's still dead, and I'm still the reason he died."

You leaned your arms to hug your knees shortly after you said that, physically holding your pieces together.

“You're aware he’d wish you to be happy and at peace after he was gone, right?” Nanami asked.

“And that’s the worst part!” You let out, now finally choked on tears that wouldn't come, allowing your fragments to burst at the seams.

Relief, however, was slow to come, and your chest still was tight around your heavy heart.

Nanami was surprised at your response, and remained silent, so that you had the time you needed to elaborate on your feelings.

"I… I know he’d want me to be happy, so now I don’t just feel sad for his departure, but I feel guilty for not being able to fulfill his wish, to just be happy after his death." 

You sighed tightly, trying to air out that wrenching sensation. It didn't work.

"I feel guilty for not being able to fulfill his dying wish. It's like... I failed him in every single way imaginable."

Nanami gave it a pause before he spoke again.

"I understand."

"You... do? I'm not crazy for feeling like that?" You inquired, looking at him.

Nanami shook his head. "No. Navigating grief is a hard challenge, and it can show itself in many ways, often nonsensical."

"I can't imagine how people deal with grief without undoing themselves every time they have to face it" you blurted out.

Looking at you, his eyes softened, as he said, "sometimes, they end up undoing other people in the process."

That caught your attention, and you looked back at him.

With half a mind to distract yourself from the pain regarding the loss of your twin, you unconsciously decided to poke at another kind of ache, one that you hadn't touched upon ever since you and the sorcerer in front of you had defeated the Lover's Pass curse.

"Kento, why-" you halted for a brief second. "Can I call you Kento?"

He smiled so discreetly you nearly missed it. "Yes."

Acclimating yourself to it, you proceeded.

"Kento, why did you shove me away like that after we spent a night together?" You asked him, unsure if you really wanted to know the answer to that question.

Nanami sighed and looked down for a while before he answered you.

"I was... Frightened."

That definitely took you unexpectedly, and you looked at him puzzled.

"Of what?"

"Dying and leaving you behind."

He sighed before allowing himself to proceed.

"No, that's not all of it."

Nanami took a few seconds to muster up the courage to admit the not-so noble part of his reasoning for doing what he'd done.

"I was afraid of the pain I'd endure if you died, too."

"Afraid of me dying? That was your reason?" You felt genuinely confused. "Why was that even a reason to push me away? This is a risk just as much now. I'm still a jujutsu sorcerer, you know."

"Yu Haibara" was everything he could say, involuntarily pinching the bridge of his nose, impassive face concealing the sting of pain that came from the depths of his past.

"Your friend?"

You remembered when Nanami told you about the mission where his partner died. How they were both chased by the town's people that treated the curse like a deity, how Haibara was fatally wounded, and how Nanami helplessly tried to flee taking Haibara with him, unable to do a single thing to save his best friend's life.

"Yes. At the time, I had only met a few older sorcerers who died in the field, and dying while on a mission myself felt somewhat like a foreign concept to me. I was young and just saw it as an abstract possibility of being a jujutsu sorcerer" Kento said. You waited quietly for him to proceed, collecting his thoughts.

"When he died, I felt his death deeper than any other that had happened up until that point," Nanami began, now turning his eyes to look at you as he said his next words, "and when I failed your mission years ago, it felt quite like the same. That distinct sense of helplessness and failure."

You were both silent for a moment, letting it all hang in the air.

"I thought that if I kept my distance, and something happened to either of us, it wouldn't hurt so profoundly for me or for you" he concluded.

Upon hearing that, you shook your head and looked away, smiling bitterly and incredulous.

"Well, that's just stupid."

He huffed, with a regretful, quitted expression on his face. "Yes, I know that now. But it seemed to make sense then."

After a few moments, gentle and polite, Kento got up and offered you his hand.

You took it and lifted yourself with his help, feeling like his unwavering serenity could somehow be passed over to you from that brief contact alone.

"Thank you" you murmured, nearly whispering.

"Whenever you need my assistance" he answered, fondly.

It felt like the film that had been suffocating you ever since you stepped out of Hiromi's domain was finally removed, and you could breathe in peace again.

-

Tag list (that I keep forgetting, sorry): @yammy-yammy-yama @g-kleran @otomesass @redlikerozez

[little-pondhead]

Who Will Be Danny's Universe?

-happy 20th anniversary!!-

[special close-ups and details below cut]

-

Sputnik 2's launch date: 3 November, 1957

Sputnik 2's time of launch: 02:30:42 UTC

Chronicles of the Last Starman is a comic book written and illustrated by Gio Nostra. Signed with the message, "Thanks for your support, Danny! Remember to keep stargazing! -Gio"

[This is a fictional title and author I made up for the sake of the story. The original first two pages of this comic are based on an actual comic seen in the episode Kindred Spirits. I redrew them in my style, and the last panel shows that Danny put down the comic book to continue reading at a later date.]

A collection of books and a snow globe. The snow globe has a piece of the Andromeda galaxy stored inside, and the label says ANDROMEDA in canon ghost speech.

The green book is titled Native Plants of the Gardens and is written in canon ghost speech.

The purple book is titled Time Travel: Don't Fuck It Up and is written in fanon ghost speech developed by @five-rivers

The yellow book is titled People and Their Choices and is written in a font called Galaxia (I forgot where I found it)

[mimasroom2]

Accelerating fury

A Hunger Games Ellie au

In this specific au the hunger games didn’t end with Katniss,, just bc I wanted this to take place after ^•^. I mainly focus on the reader/you until the parade with all the costumes and chariots, but I PROMISEEEEE Ellie comes into play😭🙏 plz I just love to yap. This isn’t the plot of the original Hunger Games! It’s very similar but I did tweak it to be different so! Know that if you read!

Reader is from district 8 (textiles)

Ellie is a badass from district 2 (masonry)

((Btw the photo of the dress I included is the dress that reader wears,, I am OBSESSED w Lolita fashion !!))

C/w: uhhh it’s the hunger games sooo… death? No smut in this one (everyone throws tomatoes at me). SLOWWWWWW BURNNNNNN. If you don’t like yapping and plot don’t read😭 No use of Y/N. Cursing bc ms collins couldn’t😘 Strictly lesbian reader.

W/c: 5k

𓆟. ° .• .𓆝 .• ° . 𓆟 . ° .• .𓆞

It started like all the stories you had ever heard. The same girl from every year, Maria Miller, gave her speech about the Hunger Games. How everyone was oh so excited for this year. Apparently President Snow and the gamemakers had something special planned, as if they don’t say that same thing each time.

You scoffed, and crossed your arms as the same video began. After all this time you basically had the thing memorized. ‘War. Terrible war.’ you repeated to yourself. The few friends you had snickered to the side of you, and you playfully bumped them to get them to shut up. There were so many capitol officials here today. The peacekeepers were easily more than tripled. They wanted absolutely no distractions from Maria - they saw today as regal as the balls you hear about that go on in the capitol. You looked down at your clothes and smoothed them out. Thankfully since your district was textiles, you actually had something decent to wear, unlike the kids you see from district 12.

And you were well off enough to only have your name entered the minimum number of times, not more times for food like some of your friends with large families had to do. You only had this year, and then next year, and you were done. They cut you off after you turn 19, and then you never have to worry about the Hunger Games again. Well, unless you happened to get pregnant and have kids. But there’s no chance that was happening. You’d rather play dead at a necrophilia convention than have sex with a man.

“Well, as usual, ladies go first.” Maria snaps you out of your endless stream of thoughts and you look up to see her hand already rustling in the bowl of names. You reach over and hold the hands of your friends at you side. Your friends have a tradition of holding hands during the reaping. You’ve been doing it every year, and none of you have been picked. Knock on wood.

Maria digs around in the fishbowl full of names, you look over nervously at your friend Riley. She’s one of the people who had to enter more for extra food. You gulp and look ahead as Maria begins her painfully slow process of opening up the paper and reading the name.

It started how every living victor describes it. They say the more you hope it doesn’t happen, the more likely it will. The more you repeat ‘please don’t say my name’ in your head, the more likely your name will be called.

Maria opened her mouth and your blood went cold. You felt that horrid feeling one only feels when something disastrous happens. You had only felt it once before, when you late girlfriend was taken away by peacekeepers, about two years ago. At least you weren’t the one being dragged away to be hung. At least then you knew you were going to survive.

Everything around you went fuzzy as dissociation swept in. You couldn’t hear your friends gasping, or Maria calling out your name a second time. You barley felt the ones you loved letting go of your hands, until you realized you were carrying yourself down the rows and rows of people right to the stage.

Your thoughts about mundane things drew in as you stood there waiting for the male tribute’s name to be called. You thought about your cat, and your friends. The plans you had made for the rest of the week. The new job you were going to start soon, after you had the courage to quit your old one.

Before you know it, Maria is already back at the mic and talking to the crowd, “Everyone, please give a big hand to the tributes chosen to represent district 8 in this year’s Hunger Games!”

You didn’t even see the male tribute come up. You slowly look to your right and see a guy named Jesse. You’ve met him before, went to school with him and took a job together. You knew him, but you didn’t really know him. That would probably make it easier for you, if he was one of your friends then you’d be obligated to protect him. At least when he dies you can keep going. Fuck, now is not the time to think about that. You mentally scold yourself for being so grim.

~

Right now you were following an Avox down winding staircases and hallways to meet your stylist. You’ve heard rumors saying she’s supposed to be one of the best, always coming up with unique and astonishing outfits every year. I mean, that makes sense, she was styling outfits for the textiles district after all. The Avox leaves you in a little room to wait.

Suddenly the door opens and a girl steps inside. She looks only a few years older than you. “Hi. I’m Dina. I’ll be your and Jesse’s stylist.” She actually holds out her hand, and you shake it. She grabs a stool and sits down in front of you. “Now, I’m guessing they already told you about sponsors, right?”

You nod. Your mentor, Tommy, already told you all about them on the train to the capitol. You’re trying to use your organization skills from your job to your advantage. You’ve been thinking about what angle to take: wether you should paint yourself as a smart stow away or a sexy young lady. No matter what you thought of, it had already been done before. Even if you had never seen it televised yourself, your mom and dad had told you stories passed down of a beautiful singer from one of the first games who poisoned everyone, the man who used the force field to his advantage who then made the gamemakers mad, and the girl from a few years ago with the bow and arrow who did everything to save the one she loved.

“Great.” She claps her hands together. “Tell me a bit about yourself. I like to take direct inspiration from my tributes in order to give you guys the best shot.”

You can’t say anything. You just stare at her. The way you pictured it, only frilly old people worked in the capitol. This girl seemed so.. normal. No fancy jewelry, no over the top hairdo, no long spider lashes. She’s not even wearing work clothes.

“How did you end up here?” You ask. You’ve been wondering, but you never meant to actually say it out loud. “Oh shit, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that, you don’t have to answer.” You look away from her.

“Wow. No one’s uh.. ever asked me that before.” She laughs shyly and when you look up, she’s nervously fidgeting with the bracelet she has on. She clears her throat, “My older sister took care of me when my parents died. This used to be her job. We had family debt, so when she died, I took it on.” She sighs, “That’s about it.”

“I’m sorry about that.” You try comforting her. There’s really no use. There’s no cameras here. It’s just you and her. You really don’t have to please anyone, but you’ve decided in this moment not to be overtly cruel just to win. If you were going to do it, you were going to do it right.

She smiles softly, “Thank you.“

“Uhm, do you seriously not have a plan yet? Like, for what I’m gonna wear?” You try getting back on track, there’s really no time to waste. If you do this wrong, you only have a few days guaranteed left to live.

She smiles, “Nope. I do my best work in the middle of the night. There’s a reason why everyone oohs and ahhs at my designs.” She winks.

“And there’s a reason you haven’t been fired yet.” You try testing the waters.

“Damn, you sly dog. Gonna have to let Tommy know we got ourselves a wild one.” She laughs and rubs your head, like how dads do.

Huh. If all capitol citizens are like this, this is gonna be easy.

~

The next day, you and Jesse briskly follow the same Avox to get dressed in whatever Dina cooked up for you.

“She uh, she ask you to talk about yourself too?” Jesse prompts, keeping his hands in his pockets.

You nod, “Yup. Quite the character huh? Not really what I was expecting when I picture a capitol official.”

You glance over, look him up and down, and snort. He couldn’t have been bothered to change out of his pj’s. “Hey don’t look at me like that.” He throws his hands up. “We’re going straight to get into costumes. Needa save my energy for the arena.”

The mention of the arena makes your heart drop. You were so entranced by the yummy food and cool technology you forgot why you were in the capitol in the first place. Jesse goes silent after that, keeping his head low as he continues to follow the Avox. You don’t know why, but you just now realize he must be scared too. You also realize you never actually told Dina about yourself, so you assume she must have taken inspiration from some of the conversations you guys had.

You guys finally arrive and meet Dina in front of a dressing room with huge mirrors. “You’re up first, Jesse.” She smiles and pats him on the shoulder. They disappear into the changing room, leaving you to sit with your own thoughts on a little chaise. You hear Jesse laugh, and think about how nice it would be to get to know him under different circumstances.

“Heya, stranger.” A voice says from behind you, and you instinctively jump. You turn around and see Tommy, your mentor. “Woah there, games haven’t started yet.” He chuckles and you laugh a little. He reminds you of your dad. He won his games awhile back. He’s getting old, and his wife, Maria, is the one who called your name at the reaping. You didn’t realize the two were married until you were bad mouthing Maria, about how she just had to pick your name, when he showed you his ring. You apologized profusely, and he was very kind. He even said that’s not the first time that’s happened since he’s become a mentor. You sure lucked out. The people on your team almost seemed like family, even though you only met them a few days ago.

“What’re you doing here, Tommy? And where’s Maria?”

“Maria’s talkin’ to the gamemakers. She basically runs us here in the district 8 level. Even me.” He crosses his arms and chuckles. He really is like a dad. “Yeah, but I’m here cause I honestly don’t have nothin’ else to do. Only reason I’m still alive is cause I won my games, so now I gotta tell you how to win yours.”

“What about Jesse?” You tilt your head and ask.

He keeps eye contact with you, “I meant Jesse, too.”

“Oh.”

He pauses for a second. “Nah, don’t worry ‘bout it. Good girl, keepin’ your head in the game.” He pats you on the back, a little too hard.

Before you can cringe at the exchange that just happened, Jesse walks out in an all white aristocratic outfit. The shirt has so many ruffles you can’t even count. Must be a pain to iron. The pants are high waisted but are tailored to fit him perfectly. There’s a white bow tie with pearls on it, too. Everything is so simple, yet so fancy. You can tell Dina used some really expensive materials. Probably the most expensive she could find. Jesse even has a little white cane to go with the look.

He does a little spin for everyone watching. “Cool, right? Almost breaks gender norms a little.” He smiles and blushes softly at Dina, who looks proud.

“It’s called Ouji fashion. Used to be real popular couple hundred years ago.”

She faces towards you. “Alright. Now it’s your turn.” She grabs your hand and leads you into the dressing room, “Yours is called Lolita.” She explains.

“Is this all for a certain occasion or anything? Like they’d go to a fancy dinner and wear this?”

“Nope. For fun.” She grins widely and holds open the curtain for you.

Your jaw drops. “Wowww.” is all you can say.

The most gorgeous dress you’ve ever seen in your entire life rests on a mannequin in the middle of the room. You swear to god, you might actually cry. Working in textiles, you could only dream to even ship out a dress as pretty as this.

It’s all white, like Jesse’s, but what it lacks in color, it makes up in texture. There’s so many details to it. Your head spins trying to figure out how the hell Dina did all of this in one day. It’s got this beautiful big skirt that looks like it can swallow you whole. Long sleeves that flare at the end. And lace everywhere. There’s absolutely every accessory you could ever wish to own: earrings, necklace, little lace gloves, stockings and heels. Not to mention the headdress with pearls all over it to match Jesse’s tie.

You carefully reach out to touch the fabric, almost like you expected it to melt, like snow. “I’m wearing… that?”

Dina pretends to look around the room. “Who else could it be for?”

She talks as she helps get you undressed and into this thing. “I think it really says something about you guys. Like, ‘Hey. We’re from textiles alright, and we don’t play around. We’re here to knock you off your feet!’ Well, both figuratively and literally.” You try smiling a little, but every time someone mentions other tributes, you feel sick.

Once you’re finally in the outfit you walk out to show Tommy and Jesse. Dina opens the curtain back up, and everyone gasps as you slowly walk out. Maria’s there too, and she immediately runs up to hug you.

“Alright, guys.” Dina claps her hands together. “It’s go time.”

~

You and Jesse stand together, slowly looking at all the tributes.

“Fuck,” he mutters, “There’s so many of them.”

You nod. “They seemed so small on TV…” you trail off as you look around at each costume. They just keep getting better and better, but you think Dina was right in getting to know you and Jesse. You think your costumes fit you the best.

Everyone’s in a blob, so you can’t tell who’s from where. Dina shows up behind you and leads you two to the 8th carriage. Before you get on, she points around and tells you who’s from which district.

“Sorry, Dina. I’ve never been around horses before.” Jesse says as he tries to get up into the carriage.

“You’ll get used to it.” Dina smiles, and goes to take her place backstage.

“Ladies and Gentlemen welcome to the 81st annual Hunger Games! I’m your host, Caesar Flickerman, and today we are awaiting the tributes for the famous carriage parade…”

As he drones on, you can’t help but keep looking at the female tribute Dina said was from district 2. You scoff to yourself, she must be a career. The capitol should, in theory, make them illegal. But they love the drama they stir up. You take a deep breath, flattening out the dress near your hips and fluffing up the skirt, all while keeping your eyes locked on the girl a few carriages in front of you. This has to be perfect.

Jesse sees you staring her down. He nudges you a little, “Her name’s Ellie.” He starts, even though you didn’t ask. “Saw it on tv on the train here while you were sleeping. Supposedly she got blackmailed into volunteering. Her dad fucked with the wrong crowd and this girl threatened to kill him if she didn’t volunteer. At least, that’s what I heard anyway.”

You simply hum in response, closing your eyes and continuing to make your dress look as neat as possible.

Not satisfied with your response, Jesse states, “She’s pretty, right? Not my type though.”

You look up at her again. “Yeah, no. Not my type either.” You lie through your teeth. Damn, if you had seen this girl anywhere but here, you’d wanna be buried in her thighs. What, who said that! You clear your throat and try to focus. It’s gonna be easy. Just wave and flash that pretty smile and the sponsors will love you.

You see the first carriages start to go, and you hear Caesar announce, “And they’re off! Wow! Look at them go!”

You take one more deep breath before your carriage starts to be pulled out of the shadows and into the stadium.

“Would you look at that! District 1, never failing to impress.” Caesar goes on, he sure can make anything sound like the best thing ever. “And here comes district 2. I hear we have a bit of an outlier this year.”

All of a sudden, the girl, who appeared to just be wearing a normal suit, spreads her arms out and metallic wings emerge. She doesn’t even smile. She just smirks, and the crowd goes wild.

You look up on one of the big screens and finally get a clear view of this Ellie girl. She’s wearing just a plain black suit, and behind her are those giant metallic wings. You squint your eyes. The camera zooms in and you see the wings aren’t just made of hunks of metal, they’re made of guns. Your jaw drops, but then you remember you’re on live television, so you immediately straighten up.

“That’s crazy.” You mutter to yourself, but Jesse must have heard it because he nods in agreement.

“I love it, I absolutely love it!!” Caesar goes on, and the crowd never stops cheering for her, even as more carriages come through.

You take your eyes off the screen and look at her in front of you. She’s absolute eye candy and she doesn’t even look like she’s trying. Your stomach and chest twist out of jealousy. If these people don’t cheer for you and Jesse just as loud… there’s going to be a problem.

Finally, it’s your turn. There’s big lights shining on you as you emerge into the light of the stadium. You wave your hand like how you and Dina practiced in the mirror. You want to give almost a regal look, so you give a small, elegant wave. At the same time, Jesse raises his cane to the crowd, almost like he’s saying ‘Hello. How do you do? I’m very fancy, yes. I’d love it if you sponsored me.’

“How charming! Oh my, I love it! That is amazing!” You smile when you hear Caesar praising the two of you.

You reach the middle of the stadium, and bust out the move you know is sure to get a good reaction: you smile wide, but keep it classy, and start blowing graceful kisses into the crowd. When you’ve done that enough times, you pick up your skirt in one hand, put your other hand up to your heart, and bow graciously.

The crowd absolutely eats it up.

You come back up from the bow and look in front of you. You can’t even hear what Caesars saying, because you lock eyes with Ellie, who’s turned around to stare at you. You can’t exactly tell what her expression is, because she’s so far away, but you swear you can hear exactly what she’s thinking:

‘I’m going to kill you.’

~

That night, you lay awake in the plush bed of the room you’re staying in. Maria keeps saying ‘your room’ ‘your bed’, and it honestly annoys you a little bit. They’re not yours. You’d rather be back in district 8, in your own actual bed. You roll over, trying to get comfortable, as you need to sleep and conserve all your energy for the games. Oh shit. The games. You groan, reaching over to grab a pillow and hugging it to your chest. Why are the games still a thing? They should’ve ended years ago. You remember there was almost an uprising all over Panem. That girl Katniss maybe? Your brain is too foggy, you can’t even think straight.

You hug the pillow tighter. And what was with that girl Ellie? You made a mental note to watch her during training tomorrow, to see what she does.

You sigh, and reach up to rub your head. Now with thoughts of Ellie, there was no way you could sleep.

~

“How’d you sleep?” Jesse asks the next morning. After breakfast the two of you walk with Maria to the training center. She keeps telling you that if you’re on time, you’re late, so you guys always end up at every place at least 15 minutes early.

You shrug your shoulders, “Fine I guess.” You don’t want to tell him that you couldn’t really sleep, or all the nightmares you had, or what you had to do to stop thinking about Ellie.

“It’s weird. It’s way too quiet.”

You look up at him. “Where?”

He gestures around the ginormous building, “Here. In my room.”

You laugh a little, “Oh, so it’s your room now?”

“Cmon. You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Oh, look. We’re here.” You nudge Jesse a little, trying to lighten the mood. He just shoots you a disappointed look.

You, Jesse, and Maria sit side by side on a little bench outside the training center. There’s already a couple people there, but not too many. Now that you’re closer to the other tributes, you can really evaluate them in your head. You look at them one by one, saying things to yourself like ‘Oh I could definitely take him in a fight.’ And ‘I’d feel bad but that 12 year old would get absolutely hounded.’

As each new pair of tributes arrive, you do the same thing. Eventually, everyone is there but two.

The head trainer comes out and taps her foot. You look around. Of fucking course it’s her. The one person you actually wanted to see. You hear a laugh in the distance and look up to see Ellie, her mentor, and the district 2 male tribute casually walking to join the rest of you. Huh. You’d think she’d wanna be here early to scope out her prey or something.

You slowly look her up and down, you hope she locks eyes with you so that she knows you’re staring. You cross your arms and mutter to yourself, “I could take her.”

Jesse seems to have a talent for hearing you when you don’t mean to, because he asks, “In a fight or…?”

You gasp and punch him. You both laugh, and you feel grateful he’s not the vengeful type.

The head trainer explains all the rules for today, and even though you hate being here, it’s actually pretty cool to see how it all works.

You and Jesse decide to split up. You’ll focus on survival, and he’ll focus on combat. Then, when your time is halfway done, you’ll come together and tell each other what worked and what didn’t, and you’ll switch.

It’s a pretty nice plan, considering some of the tributes from the same district are already starting to get sour with each other and split up. You hope that doesn’t happen to you and Jesse, you’re actually starting to really like his companionship and company. You sigh and start to look around at what to do first. There’s the plant matching game, the fishing area, or maybe you should focus on shelter instead of food?

You start to head over to the makeshift tent area, when something off to the side catches your eye.

You see Ellie all by herself, squatting in the area where people learn to make fires, with a little switchblade. You cock your head to the side, and look around. No one’s paying any attention to her.

All the other careers from 1, 2, and 4 have already teamed up, like they always do early on. They’ve come up with a game where if you fall on the monkey bars, or can’t shoot a perfect arrow, you have to stay behind an extra 3 seconds by the cornucopia.

It’s absolutely fucking stupid, and they even go and win almost every year. You glance back over at Ellie. Her hair is in a messy half up half down style, and somehow she makes the weird training suit you guys are forced to wear work.

Your breath starts to quicken, but you say fuck it and go to talk to her anyway.

You shuffle your feet a little so that she knows someone’s coming. Now is really not the time to scare her. “Too bad we had to end up here, huh.”

She seems a bit shocked someone’s actually talking to her, with how quickly she looks up at you. “What?”

“Too bad we had to end up here.” You repeat yourself.

Ellie stares at you. “Least it’s not the quarter quell.” She says flatly.

You swallow, surprised that her voice is higher than you expected. You realize you’ve never actually heard her speak before, and you pictured her voice to match her face: rough and a little mean.

But it’s sweet.

You just laugh awkwardly and agree. You don’t want to seem like you’re towering over her, so you sit down on the ground next to her. She only continues playing with her switchblade. You try to sneak another glance at her, and you notice she has so many beautiful freckles up close.

“You do know how to make a fire, right?” You decide to break the silence and ask.

She sighs, “Of course I do.”

You gesture to the pile of sticks and wood in front of her. “Let’s see it then.”

Ellie just stares at them. You guess she’s probably trying to figure out what to do first. “Right. Of course. Fine.” She says, shaking her head. She grabs two sticks and tries to rub them together.

You gently place your hand on hers to stop her. “You need to make a nest first.”

She blinks at you. “Like for birds?”

You laugh a little, “No, silly. Here…” you grab the sticks out of her hands and place them down to build a nest for the fire. Ellie watches closely to what you’re doing. You hold out your hand for the knife Ellie’s holding, and she reluctantly gives it to you. You carve the end of one stick into a point, and then twist it into a log until the fire starts. “There.” You say, and look at Ellie.

She slowly looks at you. “Just never had to make one before.” She mutters.

You don’t mean to stare to be rude, but her green eyes are almost sucking you in. She seemed so cool and able during her first appearance in the parade. But now that it’s just all the tributes together by yourselves, she’s acting almost… apprehensive. I mean, it doesn’t really matter. The goal is to appease the sponsors and mentors, so they can send you gifts in the arena. There’s really no point in making friends if you’re going to kill them.

“I’m sorry about what happened by the way.” You suddenly spit out. You mentally slap yourself for being so awkward and having no rizz.

Ellie sure seems to have a habit of just staring at people until they elaborate.

You inhale sharply, “With your dad.”

She sighs and shakes her head. After a few moments of pause she replies, “Yknow just cause I’m from 2 doesn’t mean I’m a career.”

You nod, you didn’t want to say you could tell in case she got mad and tried to kill you early.. “Yeah… but, it’s not like you had to be here.”

She hugs her knees closer to her. “I mean. I kinda did, actually.”

You cock your head to the side, “What do you mean?”

“To make a really long story short,,, I was forced to volunteer or else my uh, dad Joel, would have died. This girl named Abby has had it out for me. She put her name in like, hah, fucking 200 times for so she’d get called. Told me if I didn’t volunteer to take her place she’d uh… yeah she’d kill Joel.”

You can’t really hide the way your mouth drops. “Shit, man. Wow. That’s- yeah, I’m sorry.” You were never really good at consoling people.

She mutters out a quick ‘thanks.’ You think it’s so quiet it could classify as a whisper.

Ellie goes on, “I mean.. everybody now thinks I’m this total badass cause of the parade. That wasn’t even me. That was my stylist,, hell, he told me what to do and when to do it to get the best reaction.”

“You did look really cool during the parade, to be fair.” And you’re not even lying. You were sure all of Panem was losing their shit as soon as Ellie raised her arms.

She looks at you and softly laughs. “Hah. Yeah, I’m just tired of relying on other people and taking away their credit, yknow?”

You nod. You never really imagined she could be so… thoughtful.

Even though you’re in a death game, you mentally slap yourself for not having proper manners like how you were taught, “Oh wait. I never introduced myself. I’m-“

Ellie quickly puts a finger up to your lips to tell you to shut up.

“I know who you are. I saw your reaping too. And who couldn’t forget that dress you wore.” She whistles, looking you up and down.

Now it’s your turn to stare at her. The conversation is going better than expected, and you hate to say it, but you couldn’t get rid of that butterfly feeling in your stomach. You hoped that if you didn’t win, it was Ellie. And if she did happen to die, it was quick.

You can’t help but look at her lips, although you look up at her again when you ask, “Why are you being so nice to me?”

She looks into your eyes and mutters, “Because you’re the first person who’s actually made an effort to talk to me.”

Part 2 :3

𓆟. ° .• .𓆝 .• ° . 𓆟 . ° .• .𓆞

[lqveharrington]

Silver Roses & Fallen Snow

5: The Winner’s Guilt (Series Masterlist)

summary: Your father makes another deal, and Coriolanus Snow wins the 10th Annual Hunger Games, but Dean Highbottom won’t let him feel too good about it… Especially when he knows his weakness.

pairing: young!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

includes: reader’s dad being a dick, major fluff at the beginning, allusions to sex, kissing, death, mentions of murder, yelling/screaming, mentions of cheating, mentions of heartbreak, italics are flashbacks, bold italics are Coriolanus’ thoughts

word count: 4.4k+

a/n: oopsies, sorry for the long wait 😔 ALSO THIS STORY IS NOT OVER YET, DONT WORRY

Waking up and hearing your father’s nonsense about the Hunger Games was not the best way to start your morning as a mentor. Especially when your tribute had just survived the blood bath by the skin of her teeth and an ally. You really did not want to stay home any longer, but your father insisted that you stay and listen to his thoughts about the games, asking about your own thoughts and strategies on how you were going to get the young twelve-year-old to win.

“Mhm.” You nod mindlessly, poking your food in boredom. You were grateful for the food made by your wonderful staff, but your father was just ruining it.

“Be glad your sickly tribute had an alliance with the other District Eleven tribute. She would have been dead otherwise.”

You hum again, sipping from the tea this time. It took at least ten minutes before he switched the topic, something that made you want to listen to his speech about the Hunger Games instead.

“How are you and that young Snow doing?”

The question was out of the blue, which meant it was attached to something much worse afterward.

“We’re doing as fine as it always is.” You meet his eyes, the weight of your rose charm suddenly becoming prominent. “Why?”

“Can’t I take interest in my daughter’s relationship with a boy who isn’t worth anything?” Your father raised his brow, an entitled chuckle following. You glare at him, gaining his attention back. “You know his songbird won’t win. She barely escaped. And she’s friends with the other tribute who got bitten in the neck. They won’t make it out even if they tried. Plus, I know he would do anything to win, even if it means breaking a few rules—”

You shake your head, “Is this going anywhere? Or are we going to keep talking about the games?”

“Ah, you take after your mother.” He smiles at the memory before switching back to his authoritative tone. “I was speaking with Porcius Creed about his eldest son—”

“Father—”

“---And if all else fails with young Mr. Snow, he would be delighted to have his son wed you.” He finishes, looking at your expression with amusement. “What?”

“I hate you.” You seeth and push away from the dining table, taking your coat and leaving the Lovett Manor.

Your father had been talking about setting you up with another one of your peers after the games. You didn’t expect him to already arrange something without knowing if Coriolanus was going to win or not. Sure, his chances were slim, but you had the hope that he would win, even if that meant your tribute couldn’t. And it was hell knowing that if he lost you were stuck with Festus for the rest of your life. He wasn’t as bad as the other prospects your father had brought up, but there were others more worthy of you than Festus.

Including Coriolanus Snow.

There were several times when you knew you wanted to marry Coriolanus. You could be separated from him for months and still want to marry him. It was something you believed that would never change.

Lovett Manor was filled with the most prestigious families of the Capitol. Your father had invited almost everyone he was business partners with and those in control of the government. He had left little invitations for you to give out as the majority of them were already well acquainted with you through the Academy. Luckily, you were able to sneak an invite to the Snows, having the power to veto your father’s own opinions.

After all, it was your eighteenth birthday.

However, you had zero say in how your party was supposed to go. Your father had planned everything and hired the best staff to make the house and ballroom presentable for your birthday. All you did was watch from the living room and pick out a dress from the dozens your stylist brought in.

And with all the families present in the grand ballroom, you thought it would be best to sneak away while the party was still hot and heavy, taking quick steps up to your room.

Entering your room, you swung open the balcony doors to reveal the vast garden looming over the backyard. You could still hear the muffled songs playing from the ballroom from below as you leaned against your balcony’s concrete railings.

It felt like only a few minutes before someone came knocking on your door, making you release a heavy sigh.

“Yes?” You ask, body still facing away from your room.

“I haven’t seen you all night, beautiful.” Coriolanus entered, watching your eyes light up as you whipped around.

You smiled and let him pull you into an embrace, wrapping your arms around his torso. You tilt your head up, meeting his eyes. “Hey.”

“Hi.” He held you by the hand and twirled you around, admiring your figure. “You look stunning.”

Truth be told, the dress and makeup were truly beautiful. You wore an off-shoulder, silk red gown that cascaded down to the ground, with ruby earrings dangling and shining from the moonlight. Your lips were painted a daring red, matching your complexion beautifully. Not to mention the necklace hanging around your neck, which was Coriolanus’ favorite jewelry you’ve ever owned. But really, he loved the way you looked all the time.

“You look so beautiful.” He breathed almost intimately, his blue eyes now focusing on yours.

You continued to smile brightly, taking note of his matching outfit. You wondered how much Tigris had to spend just so he could look proper at your party. The thought gnawed in your mind for a bit before you snapped back, coming up with a quick compliment to cover your silence. “You look quite handsome yourself.”

A new song started up in the ballroom. A slower song preferably for the couples and single men your father wanted you to dance with. Coriolanus tilts his head at the music, a playful glint in his eyes as you raise a brow in curiosity.

Coriolanus formally extends his hand out to you, “Would you like to dance, beautiful?”

You shake your head with a small smile, placing your hand on top of his. “Of course, Coryo.”

He kisses the top of your hand and pulls you into a graceful waltz. One hand was placed delicately on your waist while the other held your hand that wasn’t holding onto his shoulder. He guided you effortlessly across your balcony, matching the song’s pace. You two spoke about your day and brought up memories from the past. It was refreshing to talk to someone you genuinely wanted to talk to.

“Thank you for the flowers.” You mention, remembering the orchids that were sent up to your room earlier while you were getting ready, Coriolanus’ handwriting scrawled on a piece of paper attached to it. “I love them.”

“I have another gift, but that won’t come until later.” He winked as he spun you around, watching your face flush red as he caught you.

“I hate you.” You bite back a smile, your heart wanting nothing more than to kiss and marry the man in front of you. You promised yourself you could never actually hate him. You knew there would never be a chance where you could have the strongest emotion to hate him.

He let a small smirk slip through, “You love me.”

“Yeah, I do.” You reply with the softest voice.

Coriolanus dipped you as the song came to an end, holding onto you tightly. “Happy birthday, my love.”

You smiled widely at him, knowing that he was the only one who completely swept you off your feet.

He pressed a loving kiss to your lips as you wrapped your arms around his neck. It seemed like fireworks went off in your stomach as the actual fireworks went off in the night sky, signifying the end of your birthday party.

“And Happy Anniversary,” Coriolanus spoke when he parted your lips briefly, gazing into your eyes filled with adoration.

By the time you snapped out of your memories, you arrived at the Capitol’s Citadel. You were unaware of how long you were disassociated with the world around you until the horns honking behind you grew more aggressive and loud. As you left the car and entered the impending building, whispers were going around of another tribute’s death. Many suspected it was another one of Coral’s, but you knew the truth and didn’t dare say a word about it.

Soon enough, Lucretius Flickerman announced the death of the tribute.

“Wakey wakey, my Capitol friends! I’m Lucky Flickerman and welcome to day number two of the Tenth Annual Hunger Games.” He introduces himself to the camera once more. “Now while most of you were getting your beauty sleep last night, something scintillating occurred. Bobbin, from District Eight, slaughtered.”

The screen flashed to the boy’s frozen body, the buzzer indicating the official death.

You bit the inside of your cheek, resting your hands on the back of your seat. You glanced around the huge room, looking for a particular blond when Lysistrata and Festus came over to where you stood, supposedly finding someone new to rope into their conversation about the fallen tribute.

“We have a question for you.” Festus clasped his hands together and pointed toward you. You blinked for a second, hoping that he wasn’t going to bring up anything your father recently told you. “Why do you think they wouldn’t show us the death of the young boy?”

You shrug and slip into the mask of a Capitol student with no care after realizing Festus didn’t know what his own father roped him into. “Maybe they lost the footage.”

“How can they? They were live all night.” Lysistrata furrowed her brows, glancing up at the screen. “Something is off.”

“Maybe they’re building suspense, Lyssie.” You silently thank whoever was in charge of the program for changing the camera feed. “Who knows what could have happened. Maybe the death was just too brutal.”

Festus shook his head like your thought wasn’t something practical. “Obviously it was one of Coral’s. Everyone else we’ve talked to said that no one else has moved throughout the night except her and the rest of her pack.”

You zoned out from their conversation as they started to argue more about the young boy, picking at your nails. The sounds around you meshed into one while the Citadel filled with Academy and University students, along with families of the remaining mentors. With your distracted self, you hadn’t realized Coriolanus arrived and was well aware of your disassociation.

“Good morning, beautiful.” Coriolanus slipped an arm around your waist as he left a quick kiss on your cheek. He quickly noticed you being absent-minded, rubbing soft circles in your waist. “What’s wrong?”

You hummed, taking his hand and lacing them together. “A lot of stuff.”

“You can’t be vague.” He clicks his tongue and lets you mess with his fingers. “What happened?”

You tilt your head up and peck his lips. “I love you a lot, you know that, right?”

“I do.” He murmurs, looking between your eyes. “I love you more than you realize… What did your father say to you?”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes at the mention of your father, cursing your boyfriend’s quick judgment. “I’ll tell you later.”

“Fine.” He gave you another quick kiss, unbuttoning his blazer. “What are they talking about?” He titled his head to the duo to your right.

“Tribute’s death.” You loop a finger around your necklace for a bit and then move your hand over to Coriolanus’ left shoulder, gently massaging as he tenses. “Are you feeling any better?”

He shrugs, “Hoping for everything to end today.”

You give his shoulder one last squeeze, “You better sit down. Flickerman looks like he’s gonna murder Festus for standing around.”

“I’ll talk to you later.” Coriolanus removed his arm from you and placed a brief kiss on your lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You reciprocate.

Truly, you found it strange that Coriolanus became more attentive and doting toward you recently. But who were you to complain about your boyfriend’s sudden increase in affection?

You took your seat as the screen flashed to Jessup and Lucy Gray down in the same spot from last time. You weren’t interested too badly until the male tribute moved to attack Lucy Gray. You weren’t expecting it, nor did everyone else watching as gasps emerged from the stands. Everyone was fixated on the screen as the camera switched to the main part of the arena, capturing the chase.

“Jessup, going for Lucy Gray.” Flickerman commentates, more gasps and murmurs coming from the stands inside the Citadel.

You shifted your gaze over to your right, watching Coriolanus converse with Lysistrata. You knew he was trying to talk his way into getting his tribute to survive, but you were silently hoping Jessup took out Lucy Gray. You weren’t one to wish death upon someone, but the little memory locked in a chest started to break open the more you thought about your father’s words. However, you knew Jessup was done for the second you caught Lysistrata giving in to Coriolanus’ efforts.

She sent a drone out with water, the glass smashing against the tribute’s chest which sent panic to course through his body. Everyone watched as he tried to balance, but he fell over the concrete ledge and promptly died, the buzzer indicating the time of death. You watched as your peer walked out of the room with a broken face, avoiding the eyes of her classmates.

Your eyes flickered back to the screen as you heard the crowd’s murmur increase in volume. Lucy Gray was surrounded by Coral and her group and it felt like she had lost the game as more donations started to roll in for the other tributes. There were positives and negatives to Lucy Gray’s life in the games. If Lucy Gray died now, you would be stuck with Festus. If she survived and won, you were sure you would be stuck with seeing red everywhere, even if you had Coriolanus to yourself.

And as if he heard your thoughts, Festus looked over at you and then to Coriolanus, watching both of your faces to find any change emotionally.

“Oh, look at this! The pack doing what they do best, packing it in!” Flickerman switches his gaze over to the mentors as he hears a computer switching keys. “Mr. Snow going for his community packages.”

You reach up for your necklace’s charm, watching as the horrid drones come pouring into the arena and smashing into the tributes. You were thankful that Dill was safe and away from the chaos that happened within a span of just a few minutes. If anything, you would rather have Dill stay hidden for the rest of the games and let everyone else fight for their lives.

“Hey! You can’t attack the tributes.” Vipsania stood from her seat, all heads turning toward her and then to Coriolanus.

“I’m just sending water.” Coriolanus shrugs, looking at you for a split second in amusement.

Honestly, you were on the verge of letting a small laugh out at his response. Of course, he used the drones to attack the tributes, but what they don’t know can’t hurt them, right?

Instead of looking back at the screen like the rest of your classmates did, you let your eyes train on Coriolanus. He was just so immersed in the live feed and you couldn’t help yourself. His tongue would slightly poke out and his eyebrows would furrow every couple seconds. It would have been cute if you weren’t mentoring the Hunger Games or if there wasn’t a buzzer just now.

When you said you were going to study with Coriolanus, you weren’t thinking that you were going to study for the next four hours after class ended. You studied for about thirty solid minutes before you started to lose focus.

You shifted your attention from the Latin textbook in your lap to the blond next to you. You smiled at the sight. He was focused on reading a passage in Latin that he didn’t realize his tongue was poking out with the scrunch of his nose and brows.

“Coryo.” You shifted from your spot on his bed, sitting up as he hummed. “Do you know you look like an angry kitten when you read?”

“Pardon?” He looked up at you, watching your eyes shine in delight.

“Well, you make a face that looks like an angry kitten whenever you focus on something…” You hide your face behind his shoulder, suppressing a short laugh. “Never mind.”

Coriolanus swore his heart skipped a beat at your laughter, falling deeper and deeper in love with you each day. “Beautiful, I won’t be compared to an angry kitten outside of this conversation.”

“Fine.” You bite back a smile as you peer up at him from your spot. “But I’ll be thinking about it whenever I see you do it. It’s cute.”

He felt the tips of his ear warm at your words, “It’s not cute.”

“It is.” You peck his cheek. “It so is. I’ll take a picture of it one day and print it for you.”

“Again, falling. Ending a tribute’s game.”

Your attention shifted back to the screen as Lucy Gray ran up into the fallen stands and into the air ducts. The second she locked herself in there, another buzzer went off moments later.

Coral killed one from her pack. Despite having an alliance together, she had zero hesitation to turn against someone to prove her worth and not let anyone get in her way.

“Seven tributes remain. Merciless Mizzen, cunning Coral, treacherous Treech. Dill, Reaper, of course, and the little ones. Little Wovey and Lucy Gray.”

You blew a small breath out, watching as Coral and her pack left to get Wovey. You felt bad for the poor girl, but you would rather have them after anyone else who wasn’t your own tribute. You shut your eyes for a moment, but you could sense something bad was about to happen with all the silence filling the room.

“And who do we have here? Ah, it’s ill Dill. Tuberculosis on legs.”

Your eyes immediately shoot open as you hear your tribute’s name being called. You wish she could have at least waited for Reaper to go with her out in the arena. She had no weapon, and it wasn’t practical to be in the Hunger Games without a weapon. You were just praying that no one would see her, hoping that she could get the water and go.

She looked around the arena before taking a sip from the water left by the pack. Dill placed it back down and coughed a fit, something that confused you. She was coughing a lot more than the other day. You creased your brows as she moved to lay down on the ground, continually coughing. You swore she was better before she entered the arena. And if she wasn’t, you gave her medicine to take during the games.

Coriolanus dropped his gaze down from the screen and glanced over to you, knowing the truth of what happened to the girl. He knew that your tribute already lost the games by drinking the water.

You watched as Reaper came running across the screen, shaking her awake before dread spread through your body as he flipped her over. He screamed, looking around the arena.

“No no no no no no.” You mumble, eyes glazed over. “How did that even—? No no no no no—“

The buzzer went off. Officially indicating the death of your tribute. You bit your tongue and left, not daring to look back at the screen where your tribute lay dead or meet your lover’s eyes which were burning into you.

You stepped out of the room and leaned against the wall, holding back sobs for the young girl. You promised yourself you would get Dill out, and you couldn’t even keep it. Mentoring the games increased your hatred for them, but the deaths of each tribute shot the hatred far past the point of return. You wiped stray tears that managed to get away from you, the tears darkening your red Academy uniform. You were about to head back to Lovett Manor when you heard someone clearing their throat beside you, making you freeze your movements. You saw Dean Highbottom waiting for you with what seemed like a videotape in his hand labeled: NIGHT 3, CAPITOL ZOO.

Fireworks went off in the early evening as Coriolanus entered one of the most important Capitol buildings. He was instructed that his tribute was waiting for him inside, but he still wanted to find you. You were not present when he won the Hunger Games and no one knew where you went.

Until now.

“Lucy Gray?” Coriolanus called out in the monumental room, the peacekeepers escorting him waiting by the front. “Lucy Gray?” He called one more time, voice echoing.

He slowly spun around looking at the table in front of him, the color draining from his face as he saw his father’s handkerchief and his mother’s compact. Albeit confused as to why a television was placed amongst them.

“Coriolanus.” Your own voice reverberated around the room, entering the room with your own pair of peacekeepers.

“Beautiful,” He loosened his tense shoulders, smiling at your presence. “Where were you? I—“

“I heard you won.” You frown, walking over to him. “Congratulations.”

He creased his brows at the way you carried yourself. It was different. “What’s wrong—“

“You cheated, Coriolanus.” You glance at the items laid across the table, tapping the videotape the dean gave you against your palm. “You know that’s against the rules.”

“Yes, but—“ Then he cut himself off as he noticed your puffy, bloodshot eyes. He knew were crying for a while if they had gotten to that state.

“You cheated.” You said again. This time, your voice trembled at the thought. “Was I ever going to know?”

Coriolanus kept quiet, waiting for you to continue. There was no way you knew about it… Right?

“Coriolanus, when?” You quickly wipe a falling tear, keeping your composure up.

“Never.” He spoke as he reached out to you. “But it was all for you! I don’t—“

You pull away from his touch, shoving the tape down onto the table. “Play the tape, Coriolanus.”

He sighed, taking the recording and putting it inside the slot, the television coming to life.

The video that was played was a recording from the Capitol Zoo. And according to the timestamp at the top, yesterday.

You couldn’t watch the screen even if you tried. You knew that if you did, there was no coming back from breaking down and sobbing for what seemed like the nth time today.

“Beautiful…” Coriolanus runs a hair through his hand, watching the tape. “That kiss with Lucy Gray meant nothing.”

Apparently watching it happen and hearing it coming from your lover’s mouth was entirely different because you snapped the second he mentioned those three words in one sentence.

“You kissed Lucy Gray, Coriolanus!” You yell, tears now free-falling from your face. His eyes widened at your tone, looking between your fiery eyes. “You kissed her so you could win! You manipulated the poor girl! You thought I wouldn’t find out about this? You gave her your mother’s compact filled with poison and it killed my tribute! It’s not—”

You took deep breaths, shutting your eyes as your heart slowly broke with each second passing he said nothing.

“Do you want to know why I was upset earlier, Coriolanus?” You quickly wipe a tear. “Because my father and Festus’ father agreed to let me wed Festus if you didn’t win. You won, but at what cost?”

He wanted to comfort you, but the second he touched you, it was all over. He knew that his touch would be unwelcome.

“You kissed Lucy Gray when you promised I was your top priority.” You disregarded the few tears that continued to pour out of your eyes. “You kissed her when you promised wherever we go, you stayed with me.” You bite your lip, looking down at the floor, almost whispering the next words. “You kissed Lucy Gray when we were together like I meant nothing to you.”

“Were?” Coriolanus questioned your use of the past tense to reference your relationship status. “What do you mean were?”

You flicker your eyes up to his, “As in we were together. Coriolanus, you cheated on me. And no, we can’t just fix this issue this time or forget about it. You could have come up with any other way of getting Lucy Gray to win, but you chose one that could hurt me…” You crease your brows at the inflection of your words. “And it did. You think you did the right thing, but choosing to kiss someone else to be with another is not how this works.”

“Beautiful…”

“I can’t.” You murmur, unclasping the necklace off of you and handing it over to him. “You can’t expect me to stay with you after you cheated on me. After you reassured me that you weren’t acting a certain way with Lucy Gray.”

He paled as the necklace fell into his palm, the weight of the silver burning his hand like the burden it was. “You know I never meant it like that. I wanted to win for you.”

“I know.” You gave him a bitter smile at the thought of your father’s deal, calming yourself from your earlier reactions.

Coriolanus wrapped his fingers around the hot necklace, watching you become more and more distant with him. “You know I love you, right?”

“I know.” You replied as the peacekeepers signaled for you to wrap it up. You let out a shaky breath as one last tear fell from your face, getting ready to leave before Highbottom came.

Coriolanus couldn’t help but wipe it off, causing you to frown at his cold touch. “Please.”

You take a hold of his hand, squeezing it. “Coriolanus… It’s not fair to myself.”

Before you could leave, Coriolanus pulled you into his arms, one hand holding your hip while the other held your back. He kissed the top of your head, “I’m sorry, beautiful.”

You choke back a sob that threatened to escape, bringing your hands to your mouth. You knew you had to leave, but it wasn’t like you could leave his embrace. It gave you comfort even if you didn’t want it from him. And he held you. After everything, you let him hold you tightly.

Everything was wrong. The wrong place at the wrong time. And the only thing that both you and Coriolanus felt as you left him was fallen snow melting on burning silver.

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