#The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes

[demonkitty-toebeanz]

"I actually met the original artist and she wrote a song about me😌💅🏾y'all are fake fans!!!"- Coriolanus snow probably

[slaymitchabernathy]

Cruel Intentions

| based off the man requests i have gotten for a new arranged marriage series!!! |

Coriolanus often wonders how he missed it. How it slipped his mind, how he was so naive, so stupid to miss it.

He thinks back to their wedding day, how sweet she was, how well behaved and perfect she was. To him, it made total sense, she was perfect because he deserved someone perfect, someone to devote their life to making him happy.

After all, Snow lands on top.

So he gave her his last name, slipped the ring on her finger, smiled for the photos, cut the cake, and whisked her away to his penthouse that would forever be her home.

The ring on his finger now feels like a ball and chain and he wants nothing more than to rip it off and toss it into the trash.

Three months ago Coriolanus Snow married Soarynn Nightingale. It was an arranged marriage, nothing new in the Capitol's elite circles who intended on keeping their circles small and exclusive. Why risk your son or daughter marrying out of their tax bracket when you can just arrange the whole thing?

Coriolanus met Soarynn at a dinner with both their parents, or well, his parents and her father. Apparently, her mother tragically passed away during childbirth, leaving Glen Nightingale with a baby girl and not a clue as to how to raise her. But he did good, he raised a polite, quiet, submissive daughter who conformed to all societal norms without the blink of an eye.

She was perfect.

Or so he thought.

The more he thinks about it, the more the signs become so obvious. Glen's eagerness to get the show on the road, how quiet Soarynn always was, how they never went on a date alone despite him being twenty-five and her being twenty. Coriolanus had brushed it off, his parents didn't want to risk a failed marriage so they were simply making sure that everything went as perfectly as possible.

Soarynn was one of the most beautiful girls he had ever seen, with dazzling eyes and luscious hair. She put other women to shame with her natural beauty. She dressed impeccably for someone her age and always used her manners when they were in public. Which was a good thing considering that Coriolanus was an aspiring politician who could not afford a bad reputation.

So when it came time to propose, he had no hesitation. He went out and bought a beautiful, expensive ring and slipped it on her finger without batting an eye.

Like a lamb to the fucking slaughter.

Their wedding was huge, it wasn't every day two prominent families became one. Everyone in the Capitol tuned in to watch their wedding and all their friends were there to witness the exchanging of vows.

Soarynn had been all sweet smiles and blushing cheeks, curling into him the moment too much attention landed in her lap. She had looked stunning in her wedding dress, it had been classy yet flattering for her figure, once again solidifying that he made the right choice in marrying Soarynn.

Once the wedding was over, he took her home and prepared to take her virginity, something every man planned for and every woman somewhat dreaded. He had been prepared to be gentle yet stern, she'd have to know who was the dominant party in their relationship.

She let him get the both of them undressed, on the bed and just as he was about to sink into her, she sunk her claws into him.

Soarynn was a fucking thorn in his side.

Coriolanus was quick to find out that the pretty quiet girl he thought he married was only like that in public. Behind closed doors, she gave him a run for his money. It had truly surprised him and the worst part was, no one would believe him if he told anyone. To everyone who knew her, Soarynn was so pliant, so sweet and willing to please.

He knows that he vowed to stand by her side no matter what but this has been a true testament to their marriage and they're only three months in. But he can't give up now, no, he has to push through, be strong and break her into the woman he wants her to be.

Right now she looks as innocent as ever, laughing with his mother across the room, sipping her tea. That little liar. Coriolanus looks at the man next to him who happens to be his father-in-law and wonders if Glen Nightingale is aware of the little fucking tyrant his daughter really is.

Soarynn should really consider becoming an actress based on the performance she's given everyone, including him. He was the dumbest audience member, drinking up every second of her lies.

"So when can we be expecting grandchildren?" His father asks him, causing his throat to dry up. Coriolanus has barely had time to think about children with his current campaign for President but he knows that children are expected with marriage, and sooner than possible. He can't imagine having children with Soarynn right now, they barely even have sex.

Despite her undesirable attitude towards him, Coriolanus wasn't going to let anything keep him from what was rightfully his. Sex was the one thing they could agree on. He only partook in sex when he needed to put her in her place, fucking her until she was screaming into the pillows.

It wasn't the most effective method, unfortunately. It would keep her quiet and put her in her place for about a day before she sparked back up and then he'd have to do it all over again. Coriolanus never thought he'd live in a time when sex felt like a chore but Soarynn really did bring out the worst in him.

"Soon," is all he says, watching his wife place her hand on top of his mother's. It's even worse because his mother loves Soarynn, she adores that girl like she's her own daughter. His father is more reserved in showing affection in general but Coriolanus can see it in his eyes that he's pleased with this union between them.

To his father, this is a successful business deal.

To Coriolanus, it's a punishment from an unknown source.

"How has she been doing?" Glen asks him, sipping his drink, "I know she was a bit nervous to move out." Coriolanus wants to roll his eyes at Glen's naivety but he too was once a fool who believed Soarynn's little act, "She's good," he tells Glen, offering him a tight-lipped smile, "it's been an adjustment for the both of us." The understatement of the fucking century but who's counting?

Glen nods, pleased that this has been going so well, "Ah good, I worried for the longest time that she wouldn't find someone, she's just so shy." She's also a fucking minx but what Glen doesn't know about his daughter won't hurt him.

It'll only hurt Coriolanus.

꧁ ꧂

Later that night the young Snow couple returns to their penthouse apartment and the act is dropped the second Soarynn steps through the door. "Keep your hands to yourself next time," she snaps, glaring up at him, "I'm not your fucking dog."

Coriolanus gave up on trying to be nice to her about a week into their marriage, "Well you certainly act like a little bitch," he shoots back, enjoying how her face falls. It's a battle of wits between the two of them and to his dismay, they're very well matched.

Soarynn is sharp and quick, never giving him too much time to recover from her little jabs. But Coriolanus sleeps well knowing that at the end of the day, she belongs to him.

"I'm not the one with my tail between my legs whenever we're around our parents," she says, walking down the hallway with haste. Coriolanus is right on her heels because she has no idea what he has to worry about on a daily basis. Soarynn spends her days shopping with friends and going to social events. She doesn't lift a fucking finger and yet she loves to show him her middle one.

He grabs her arm and pulls her back until they're face to face and he's fuming, "Fix your fucking attitude," he hisses, "before I fix it for you." If Soarynn was who she pretended to be, she'd be cowering in front of him with tears in her eyes, begging for forgiveness.

But she's not.

She smirks and tilts her head in the most sinister way possible, "What're you gonna do? Fuck me again? You know, you can't solve all of your problems by sticking your cock in me. One of these days you're going to have to actually grow a pair Coriolanus."

He's seething now, he'd never hit a woman but boy does she tempt him. "You belong to me," he says through gritted teeth, "and as my wife, your main priority should be to make me happy, not fucking miserable."

Soarynn rips her arm away from his grip, glaring up at him with her stormy blue eyes, "I don't belong to anyone," she spits out, "especially you."

Coriolanus watches her walk down the hall, furious and defeated at the same time.

He needs to get her under control, but how?

꧁ ꧂

"It's simple," Festus says, leaning over the table, "stop giving her what she wants."

Coriolanus feels terribly lost. He had come to his good friend Festus Creed for advice about his marriage since Festus actually believes his tales about Soarynn's behavior but now he's starting to wonder if he really is doomed.

"I don't give her anything," he claims and Festus shakes his head. "You keep giving her the reactions she's looking for," he explains, "she wants you to get upset, so you get upset. She wants you to doubt yourself and then you go ahead and doubt yourself. Stop reacting to her behavior and then you can correct it."

Coriolanus sits there dumbfounded, for once, Festus might be right.

Soarynn is clearly acting this way on purpose, to evoke a response, and one of these days if he's not careful, he's going to snap in public and then he will be the bad guy.

"Stop giving her what she wants and she'll be on her knees in no time," Festus promises, "it's reverse psychology."

Well, it's worth a shot.

꧁ ꧂

When Coriolanus comes home later that day, he doesn't go to find Soarynn like he usually does. Mostly because all he'll get in return is a glare and a scoff. Soarynn has made it very clear to him that she wants nothing to do with him unless they're in public. Behind closed doors, they stay apart, go their separate ways until it's time for bed.

He goes to his study instead, figuring he might as well prepare for his interview on Sunday. The Capitol News is interviewing all of the candidates running in the race and this will be a good time for him to gain some new supporters. He spends a few hours holed up in his study, going over questions, coming up with new, clever answers.

He still has time to go over anything with his advisors but he feels much better now that he knows what to expect. He glances at the clock on his desk and is shocked to see that it's well past dinner time. They usually have dinner together if he's home although they rarely speak and sit on opposite ends of the table.

Very domestic.

He considers getting up and going to the dining room to join her but decides against it, calling the maid to bring his dinner to him instead so he can do some more work.

It's nearing eight o'clock when he's disturbed by a soft knock at the door. "Come in," he says, still looking down at the papers in front of him. The door slowly opens and he hears her soft voice, "When did you get home?"

"Around one," he answers, not even looking at her.

"Oh."

Coriolanus resists the urge to grin, he might need to kiss Festus on the forehead because he's a genius for this idea.

"Did you need something?" He asks, flipping to the next page casually, "No," she says, "no I didn't need anything."

Coriolanus grunts, "Close the door behind you then."

He doesn't see her face but he can tell how his dismissing her makes her feel. Soarynn closes the door behind her and he listens to her quick receding footsteps.

Coriolanus finally breaks into a grin, it'll be a slow process to break Soarynn down but he's willing to put in the effort.

It's all about moves and countermoves.

꧁ ꧂

Coriolanus dives deep into his strategy of being cold and distant towards Soarynn. He doesn't speak to her unless absolutely necessary or if they're in public. He keeps himself busy with work and locked away in his study whenever he's home and refrains from taking any bait she lays out for him.

It's working tremendously well for him. Soarynn has been much more quiet and a lot more drawn back since he started acting this way. In public she's sweet but he can tell that she's desperate for the smallest touch he can offer her. But the second they're back home, he doesn't even look at her.

She did this to herself really, he's not the one to blame.

He's officially two months out from the election and the polls are in his favor. For now, though, something could always change as his advisors love to remind him. His mother is over the moon for his success and his father for once, seems genuinely proud of him. Running for President hasn't been an easy feat but he's doing exceptionally well if he says so himself.

He's getting ready for a charity dinner tonight, anything to show face and shake hands. Soarynn is coming with him to show support for her husband and he's got her in the palm of his hand.

He checks his reflection in the mirror one last time, making sure that his curls look perfect and that his tie is straight. The press will be there and he needs to be prepared for any questions they might ask him.

He can hear a small struggle ensuing in their bathroom and looks through the doors to see Soarynn struggling with the zipper of her dress. He sighs, he's been doing an excellent job of remaining cold and withdrawn so far but the small, hopeful part of him knows he should help her. After all, he is her husband.

He steps into the bathroom and she immediately tenses, watching him through the mirror, "Need some help?" He nods at the back of her dress and she looks unsure as to whether or not this is some sort of trap.

She finally nods, "Yes," she says softly.

Coriolanus walks up to her and rests one hand on her back while the other pulls the zipper up with ease. "Thank you," she says, turning to face him. He can see it in her eyes how lonely she is, despite having lots of friends and visiting her father, she's lonely in this big apartment when it's just the two of them. At least when they were arguing she could talk to someone.

"Tonight is very important," he tells her, ignoring her gratitude, "best behavior tonight." He walks out before she can say anything else, it's better this way.

It's better this way.

| Part 1. |

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

| taglist: @strawberriicakes @wonderlandbound111 @kickmybark @villiansarehottest @thevoicesinmyprettylittlehead @melodyoflovee |

[tannertbosas]

Doing what *I* do best, PACKING IT IN!

[runningfrom2am]

requiem // part seven

summary: according to coriolanus snow, his best friend had the most beautiful voice in all of panem. she had been training her whole life constantly to get where she was; being up for a residency at the most elite opera house in all of panem. singing was her passion. her true love; and when that got stripped from her in a second, his world became a whole lot quieter. he loathed every minute of it.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 1.4k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: opera singer!mentor!reader (blink and you'll miss it), she's kind of a prodigy!! p cool imo, mute!reader, bestfriend!coryo, friends to lovers trope ooo, mentions of graphic violence early on (particularly the prologue) but after that it's pretty safe, depictions of ptsd/trauma, mental illness and minor suicidal ideation but at least she's not entirely alone, descriptions of minor medical treatments and use of medication.

a/n: omg hi i am not dead i swear i was just in school which,,, was pretty close to death but here i am

also, reminder to follow @runningfrom2am-library and turn on my notifications there to join my taglist for this series!!

my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // playlist // pinterest board

Coryo was getting frustrated that it seemed you didn't want to tell him anything. Tell, write, confess through charades- whatever it would take. Whatever it was that you went to Dr. Gaul about, you were taking it to the grave.

He had to be fair, though, he was scared to ask directly.

When he went to your house that evening, you had just wanted to talk about his apprenticeship with her. You were so excited, and the fact that your reason for attending the citadel was still an unknown slipped easily to the back of his mind because you were smiling again.

'I'm so proud! :)' You had written on that notepad of yours moments after pulling away from a hug, nearly bouncing with excitement as you held the book up for him to read your thoughts.

You were smiling again, and he wasn't going to ruin that for the world- so he just trusted that if it was important you would tell him, because that's what you always did. You told each other nearly everything, important or not, and this was an odd exception but as the weeks went by he figured that it was just nothing at all, and you had forgotten the event altogether.

Your parents weren't home today, but your staff let Coryo in anyway, as they always did. You had told them years ago he could come and go as he pleased, so they were used to it. They rarely even notified you of his arrival anymore, it had well and truly become his second home.

The halls of the large estate were quiet until he reached the wing of your room. Opera music poured from behind your closed bedroom door, a song he had never heard before. But it was your voice he was hearing over the crackling of the track, no doubt in his mind.

His feet carry him faster down the hall, and he could just about hear his heart in his throat.

It was you. You were singing again.

Coryo opens the bedroom door, hesitantly, almost; equal parts delighted and shocked and scared he was dreaming. But there you were. Your back was to him, your form encased in tulle and embroidered silk around the bodice that's tied loosely, just enough to hold it on. In the mirror he could see your reflection, your eyes closed for the time being and lips moving with every word. But you weren't singing.

Your record player spins and cracks in the corner, volume cranked as high as it would go and he wonders if that was an intentional reflection of the power behind your voice in its natural form. To convince you that you were back in that moment, that you had never changed. Every year your parents get you a record of every performance and dress rehearsal you had done that year, assuming they were good enough to make the annual cut. This one, he recognizes is from last year. Watching you pretend to be the girl you once were, god, Coryo feels his cheeks burning- he shouldn't be seeing this, he's most definitely intruding, even though he would love to sink into this moment and just for a few minutes, be able to pretend with you until maybe it would just come true.

He takes a small step back, intending to close and then knock on the door to give you a chance to prepare for his entry, but you hear the slightest creak of the floor under his heel. You nearly jump two feet in the air where you're stood across the room, hands flying to your chest to hold onto your racing heart, feeling it kickstart from the sudden intrusion. You catch a glimpse of him in the mirror and spin around quickly, dress swinging around your legs as soft as a cloud while your lips form his name.

"Sorry." He chuckles, watching you bunch up the skirt and stomp over to your record player. The fact that your embarrassment was quickly manifesting as upset was something he couldn't help but find nothing short of adorable.

You turn off the record with a huff of silent frustration, your cheeks burning under his gaze. You've no doubt scratched the vinyl in your haste, but you can't be bothered to care at the moment. The next time you played it you'd only hear this moment anyways, so you knew this one would soon be joining the oldest ones at the back of your closet.

"So... how's it going?" Coryo asks, but the slight upturn at the corner of his lips is enough to make you feel that he's laughing at you.

You wave at him dismissively, brow still creased and that little pout still forming your expression as you stomp over to your walk in closet and close the door with a dramatic slam.

He laughs a little to himself, making his way over to your bed and sitting down on the plush sheets, placing his bag next to him and rifling through it to gather what he had brought for you.

He wasn't sure if you would like it, he was going out on a bit of a limb here- but the Plinth Prize was treating him so well he could afford to fumble a few impromptu gifts.

You emerge a minute or so later, still kicking your poofy dress off your feet and into the depths of the closet as you pull the drawstrings on your pyjamas tighter. They may have been Coryo's at some point, a relic from days past when you were allowed to have sleepovers, but by now it hardly mattered.

You fix Coryo with a glare over your shoulder as you shove the closet door closed and he makes quick work of asking how your "performance" went.

"I'm kidding! I'm sorry. Should have knocked." He laughs, shrugging as you pad over to the bed, slippered feet hardly making a sound. You throw yourself down next to him, dragging your hands down your cheeks before sitting up again and grabbing your notepad from the side table.

'If you tell anyone, you'll be the next one to lose your voice.'

"Ha, ha." Coryo mocks, rolling his eyes. "I'm hoping you'll forgive me when you see what I brought for you."

You tilt your head, eyes flicking to his bag as he pulls a couple thin books from it. Sheet music. He's honestly surprised you couldn't smell it as soon as it passed the threshold of your property within his bag.

You take the books from him eagerly, hardly sparing a glance to the cover of the first one before beginning to flick through it, eager to see its contents and imagine the sound. In your mind, your fingers are already trailing over the keys discovering a new pattern, a new melody to fill the painful silence of your world.

Until... it doesn't work. You're looking at the sheet music and the sound doesn't come, you can't picture it the way you normally can.

Your brow furrows as you flip back to the front page.

"It's for a guitar." Coriolanus explains, having picked up on your obvious distress right as you read the cover.

You give him a thoroughly confused look, the blue of his eyes offering you no explanation like it so often did.

"I thought maybe... it might be good for you to try something different. If you wanted." He adds, leaning back on his palms. "I mean, you're really good at piano, and singing, and the harp sometimes, right? So I just thought maybe trying a new instrument would give you something to do, a bit of a change of... musical scenery, if you will."

You tilt your head slightly as you look down at the pages again, considering his suggestion. All you can think of, selfishly, is Lucy Gray playing that guitar in her interview, and the way Coryo looked at her before she died in the Games. How her voice seemed to enchant him when she sang at the reaping, and how he had looked over at you expecting a pleasant reaction from you as well, expecting you to see some form of kinship in her.

You force a slightly tense smile onto your lips, nodding in agreement. "Thank you." You mouth to him, trying to seem cheery about it as you wrap an arm around his shoulders to give him a hopefully convincing side hug which he happily returns.

It didn't look that hard, after all, and you're sure you could play guitar better in a few weeks than Lucy Gray Baird ever could after a lifetime of practice. There's only one way to prove it.

no taglist this time around!! my fics usually get over a hundred requests to be added to the taglist so instead i made a library! follow me over on @runningfrom2am-library and turn on notifs to get updates when i post new parts!!

[bubbles-on-the-tide-of-empire]

"Lucy Gray, where are you?"

[daenysthedreamersblog]

SECRETS OF US - V

i love you, im sorry

you were the best but you were the worst

as sick as it sounds, i loved you first

i was a dick, it is what it is

a habit to kick, the age-old curse

masterlist // previous chapter // next chapter

summary: fate was a funny thing, it seemed to be incessantly chasing you in the form of a kiss intent on being your doom

pairings: modern!coriolanus snow x reader

warnings: MDNI! swearing, smut (we are so back), fingering, handjob

You just need to breath, if you can breath you'll be okay.

His knuckle brushes against yours.

Inhale. Exhale.

His thumb traces your bottom lip.

Inhale. Inhale. Exhale.

He breaths you in.

Fuck breathing, and fuck Coriolanus Snow.

You can't stop thinking about him, about the taste of his warm breath, how you wanted to swallow it down like you needed it for air. You didn't even want to know when that had suddenly appeared within you, how you could only focus on him. On the strange comfort you found when your face rested in his hand, how his eyes suddenly softened when they took you in.

You dig deep, you try to remember hating him, you try to hate him, but its so hard to feel those feelings even after reminding yourself of the long burning history written in the stars.

"Flickerman wants you out there." One of the costume designers says to you, and by the looks of it she had been saying it for a while and you simply weren't listening. 

"Okay." You nod watching as she smooths down the pretty dress she put you in for the play's rehearsal. "Okay." You flex your fingers, ignoring the sweat in your palms, and walk out of the dressing room. You knew what scene was today, the one he had finally wanted to rehearse again, and you knew you could only run so fast from his lips before fate caught you.

He's standing center stage holding a folded back script, brows furrowed as he reads. He's wearing a white button up and black tie loose around his neck, a costume, a part, you had to remember that. He finally looks up at you, blue eyes dark as they take you in, his normal smug smirk appears, the feel of animosity attempting to come back between you two, "You look hideous."

You glare. You're so pretty when you glare at me.

The blush tinged your cheeks at the remembrance of his husky words.

Flickerman claps his hands, "Alright folks!" He walks across the stage towards you. "Let's get romantic."

Your stomach turns and you were annoyed by his excitement towards your displeasure. You know your face is scrunch in disgust as his elbow nudges you, "Come on he's not that bad." He wasn't but you were regretting not dropping out sooner in order to not deal with this, not deal with your heart pounding with anticipation, and maybe that had been his whole big plan to chase you away all along. "Okay action!" He runs from the stage to take his spot in the fourth row back.

Coriolanus cleared his throat allowing you both a moment to slip into your characters. He's in front of you the next second, hand slipping up to your cheek, "Please," His face seemed pained, "Don't."

"Don't what?" Your forehead creases.

Eyes flicker around your own, "Leave...just yet."

"Give me a reason to stay." You whisper.

He swallows. "I...I..."

Your hand goes to his wrist to slowly pull it from your face, "Even now the truth scares you so."

"The truth isn't the issue." His brows furrow as he stares down at your intwined hands. "It doesn't matter what I feel, what I want, we can never be together. It would be better to let me go, let me let you go."

You drop his hand, "Is that what you want? For me to never think about you?" You take a step back, "To live a lie?" He nods slowly, "Then teach me. Teach me how to not feel this way."

He scoffs. "I wish I knew how. I'm consumed by you, undone by you..." He blinks and you think its because he is adding in dramatic flair but his blue eyes quiver. He forgot his lines, he forgot...He stares at you, through you as if he could see every fractured part. "I burn for you."

That wasn't the line, wasn't his characters words. You're moving before you can think, hands coming to cup along his neck. He's rigid and his brows furrow in anger. You're searching his eyes, his face, and realize he's not angry at you and he didn't forget his lines at all. "Say it." You whispered. "Say it was real." The hatred or whatever weird thing was going on right now, you're not sure. You need him to admit to something, and maybe then you could too.

His hand shoots out to grab your face walls going up behind his eyes as he growls out, "You're a fool."

"Then tell me you hate me." 

You're surprised Flickerman hasn't stopped whatever mess this was. Coriolanus opens his mouth, but closes it shortly after.

A breathless laugh leaves you,"You really do want me." You glance around his face, "And you hate it."

"You're just a habit I need to kick."

You barely have time to inhale before he kisses you and suddenly the world seems to cave in on itself in that moment of contact. Time slows, you're lost in it for that strand of connection with him, in soft lips, in fingers tangled in the base of your hair. You were two stars colliding taking the world with it in a single kiss. It burns through your skin, exploding within you like a supernova engulfing everything you've ever known in blue flames. Your mouths are moving, melding together, tongues sliding between teeth, brain reeling with utter nothingness, but him.

"Cut!" The two of you snap apart, faces flushed as you take in a blank expression on Flickerman's face. You open your mouth to apologize, to explain, but his face breaks into a grin. "That was...perfect! I love this direction, did you two come up with this?"

He shakes his head, "Uh...no uh that-!"

"Improv? I love it!" He's beaming. "I'll pencil this all in you two are truly in-tuned with your..." You can't hear him over the ringing in your ears, over the harsh pounding in your chest. 

You glance over at Coriolanus who's staring at a wooden plank on the floor completely dissociated from the same reality. Theres a gentle furrow in his brows and you wonder what emotions are causing him to disappear into the back of his mind.

You go through the motions of the rest of rehearsal, not even present as you get undressed to put on your normal clothes. You wanted to get out of your head, wanted to stop thinking about him this way, it was impeding on everything.

The harsh chill breaks everything up as you focus on walking forward down the street tucked deep beneath layers of wool. You tuck into yourself deeper feeling colder and colder the farther from the building you walk. The only thing scorching hot seemed to be your lips, still numb from a kiss you should have never received, a kiss that would always haunt you. You tug the door of the store open relishing in the warmth spreading throughout the rest of your body.

You take your hand out of your pocket, pulling the glove off with it and your phone. You search for your friends' names. You need to call them, divulge your withering soul to them; instead you tuck it back into your pocket. Not yet...not yet. You're not sure how to even begin that conversation with yourself, let alone your friends.

You peruse the racks of clothing trying to lose yourself in retail therapy instead of thinking about Coriolanus's hands running through your hair, the feel of his tongue in your mouth. Your cheeks are heating at the mer thought of it, at the taste of him, at wanting more of it. You chew on your cheek, fingers mindlessly pushing hangers around not entirely all there.

The door's chime goes off and the energy shifts inside of the store. You know it's him, you just know. You could always tell when he entered the room, even before...this. His presence demanded attention, before it had been fierce loathing, but now it seemed to be intrigue...curiosity. You had two options: pretend like nothing ever happened on that stage, or run.

You look up at him as he stands on the other side of the rack. "It's freezing out there." He says so casually; it makes you forget how soft his lips had been against yours.

"Yeah." Your eyes dart to said lips before back at his face.

"What are you looking for?" He motions to your hands still resting on hangers.

You try to shrug. "Nothing really."

He smirked, "Then why are you in the men's section." You suddenly look down at your hands resting on men's dress shirts. You step back not even realizing you had been in the wrong section. His deep chuckle follows you as you step around him, "Hey," His hand softly lands on your arm. "Want to go get a coffee?"

Yes. "I uh..." You close your eyes. You did, you wanted to go and talk to him about what happened, make sure it was nothing, make sure it was something. You're not sure what you're looking for in a conversation, so you choose option two finally. "I have to meet up with Clem in a bit."

He drops his hand, face hardening. "Tell her I said hi."

You smile softly before turning and running from him.

You know it's wrong, but you do it anyways as your fingers run through strands of white blonde hair, as your tongue slips into his mouth, as the whole stage goes up in flames to hide the burning hidden desire sparking from your chest.

You needed to stop, needed to peel yourself off of him before Flickerman, or yourself for that matter realized this was more than just acting.

Because what else would explain the need of him?

It's a disaster, nothing but bad news as you use every chance you can get to kiss him, let him kiss you, let him pull you against his body and connect it all. Rehearsal after rehearsal you're jumping his bones, and maybe he is letting you, as the kisses last longer, as you start to feel swept away in it all. Maybe he's just as weak.

You were right, I am just as loathsome and lonely as you.

Once you finally able to detach yourself from him the true horror started as you would stare at your dark ceiling warding off sleep thinking of him, what this all meant, what had it ever meant, and the worst of all; was this some big ploy to reel you in to then destroy you once and for all. The last one kept you awake long into the night.

But as soon as you're back on stage with him you're lost once more, sucked into a black hole of him, time a forgotten existence as your hands twist into the fabric of his shirt. It felt good, too good to be true, that an enemy had somehow given you a perfect kiss, passion and longing driven from the depth of fire fueled hatred. 

He consumed you and for once you ignore every warning thrown your way, even your own, it didn't matter, only this, only him. The very fabric of reality was shifting, changing from this very moment, and you knew, you had known the minute you began walking towards him that day nothing would ever be the same. You forgot to care. You couldn't care, not as his hands slid into your hair, not as his tongue explored your mouth, as his body pressed against yours.

But Flickerman would yell cut and that has you shooting backwards away from him electricity still zapping through your lips as you traced them. You stare at him with heavy breaths taking in his darkened eyes and flushed cheeks knowing you looked just as wild. You needed to say something, anything, but words failed and all you could do was run from him, run from the expression lingering around his face. You knew joy, anger, confusion, sadness even, but you couldn't place the one he would get once you finally separated yourself from him.

Everything comes crashing down on your little slice of delusion when your seated on a prop couch with him. He's too close, the body heat radiating off of both of you, his cologne, a smell you had always gagged at, now smelled too delightful. You know he's going to kiss you, know you've been waiting on baited breath for action to be called, dreaming of him swallowing you whole.

You avoid looking at him as he pulls you closer by the back of your neck. You watch him lick his lips and then your mouth is on his. One hand slips around his neck to pull him closer as his tongue explores your mouth like you weren't being watched by classmates. Because that's how it felt, like you two were committing arson together, watching the world burn around you taking this stupid theater with it. 

His hand traces a line down the back of your ear. Your hand trails over his thigh fingertips accidentally moving too high, brushing slightly against his hardening cock. 

Your name falls from his lips like a man sent to worship.

He freezes, you freeze.

You pull back looking up at him, watching every strange emotions pass through his blue eyes until it settles back onto a familiar anger. You pull back further, no he wasn't angry, not really. 

It was fake.

You let him go and sit up as rehearsal continues on around you. You disappear into the back of your mind as questions and doubts spin around everything you ever knew, and nothing you wanted to know it all.

"To stop feeling this way, to know it doesn't always lead to ruin." 

"You're so pretty when you glare at me."

"Burn me until I'm nothing but ashes."

Little seeds scattered across a ruinous timeline that had started long before the bones of this earth, or so it felt. You're spinning out the whole way home avoiding ever looking in his direction as you leave.

You peel at the skin on your nails while you try to distract yourself from everything that had happened. You want to call your friends, spill you roiling guts to them. You wanted to call him, see him, understand him, kiss him.

You opened a bottle of wine instead, turned your phone off, and put on some horrible reality show. What did it all mean? You couldn't seem to find the answer within the depths of your own mind, you couldn't find sense. You winced as the skin gave way, blood bubbling up from the small self-inflicted wound, so you stood up heading for your bathroom to grab a bandaid out from under the sink.

Once wrapped, you head back to stew in anxiety when you stop, eyeing the book still sitting peacefully on your nightstand. You're walking towards it before you can think about it, tracing the title, flicking through pages you had read too many times with thoughts of him. You bought the book the day he has recommended it in class, you figured it was some way to thwart him, embarrass him by proving how stupid the book was, prove you knew more than him. You dragged your bandaged finger along highlighted sentences when the knock sounds down the hall. You know it's him when your heart jumps in your chest, the book now suddenly pressed against it as you go to open the door to him. 

Say something. 

"Regret giving me your address huh?" He chuckles taking in the sight of you, the book clutched underneath flimsy bandaids and chewed nails.

You're still holding the door open, you could close it, end this tragedy before it even begins. "You do come here a lot."

He coos, "You keep letting me in." His smile falters as he takes a step backwards. "Take a walk with me." He nods down the hallway. You should say no, you should force him to have a conversation with you right here, right now...or never if you wanted. Close the door. You set the book down on your counter, grab your coat, and follow him.

The door closes behind you.

It is silent for the most part as you; white flakes gently floating around you under midnight blue skies. You hear the faded honks, various distant yelling from pedestrians, more useless noise. "Jungle of background chatter." He smiles over at you reminding you of your spilled guts over sacred sand.

"Those poor boats." You tuck your hands deep into your pockets. "Trapped in ice."

He chuckled, "Nah, they sailed away somewhere warm."

You glance up, at the street lights, at the buildings towering overhead. "Some always stay."

"I guess so." He's watching you, you can tell by his voice turned towards you. "If they had a reason to."

You look over at him. "How unfortunate for us, to be stuck in this frozen city while they get flee to warmer waters." You sighed, "I should have went with them." Flee the cold, flee your mind, flee from this man confusing everything you thought you knew.

"There's still time."

You shook your head, "I'm trapped like those poor little boats."

He snorted, "You're not a boat." He cleared his throat looking down at his feet, "Don't stay stagnant."

"I move where he tells me." Your shoulders brush.

He stills, "Then stop listening."

The clouds shift, white light cutting through the clouds and you take in the bright moon. You wanted to tell him you had been, tell him it was the one thing you were horrible at, sob out your story how it pained you to stretch the tether between you and your father, how for some reason you couldn't cut it for foolish selfish insecurities. You watch the snow fall, watch it catch in his hair, on his eyelashes. You wish you knew how to be weak, how to bare your soul to someone who had once been a threat, know that he wouldn't betray your trusted secrets. You wonder if you ever could, and for that reason you find yourself stepping away from him despite the warmth of his presence next to yours.

You shiver. "I am freezing though." You nodded back the way you came, "Can we head back?" You head back around towards your block curling inside your coat more as your breath swirls around you. He holds the door open for you as you hurry inside your building taking the stairs to warm up quicker enjoying the heat blasting through the vents. He's behind you, following you silently up the stairs like a shadow.

You fling your door open hanging your coat back up and blowing into your hands. You scoop up the book again, intent on settling it back on your nightstand when the sound of your door closing isn't heard. You turn back to see him, "Are you going to invite me in?" He's standing at the threshold; reality at a breaking point as his foot teeters along the edge of everything.

"You're not sly Snow." 

He watches you as you take a few steps away, "I can keep my hands to myself kitten. I'll be good."

"When have you ever been good." You rolled your eyes.

"Touché."

He crosses the room in one quick stride smashing your lips to his the book clattering to floor beneath you. It's heated and intense and filled with unrestrained feeling. You felt it all like a freight train hitting you as you open your mouth for him to delve inside of. You should have felt weary, embarrassed, strange, but all you felt was want, for him, for this. His hands grab on your hips and he's moving, pushing you until your legs hit the couch and you're falling, falling, falling...

He's there, hands around your body, teeth grazing down your neck as your pulse throbs beneath skin. You're shoving at his shirt, opening it up to run hands down his bare chest, as he pushed yours up until a hand cups your breast. A sigh is breathed onto your collarbone as he kneads his hand into the flesh of you and a few seconds later he sinks his teeth into the bone. He slithers fingers behind you unclasping your bra to let the fabric bunch up around your chest. It should be awkward, but he doesn't care as he drags his mouth over your bare nipple. 

You moan as his tongue swirls around the bud and his fingers dig into you harder. Your back arches, his hand toying with the other one, running his fingers around it as you tug on his hair. And too soon, he's pulling back, hair mused from your hands and blue eyes dark and heavy. You'd never seen him look like this, look at you like this; your head spins. Suddenly that unfamiliar expression comes into view with clarity; want, it had been want on his face every moment you were forced to break away.

He unbuttons your pants, but stops you before you can tug them off. "Not like this." Is all he says gently pushing your wrist away. 

"How do you want me?" It's whispered and you sound too desperate. You don't care, you were desperate.

He chuckled to himself as his hand disappeared beneath your waistband and long fingers run down wet folds. "Truthfully?" You nod as you chew on your bottom lip. "Tied to my bed where no one can hear you scream for me." He pushed his fingers into you and your head falls back with a curse. "Just me." He's curling his fingers, pushing them in and out of you with delicious precision. You're clawing down his muscled chest, feeling the rub of his palm against your clit sending shockwaves up to your skull. "That feel good?"

"Yes." You groan out tiling your hips to take his hand in deeper. "Let-Let me..." You're fighting with the button of his pants to dig your hand into them stroking a palm down his hard length. 

"Fuck." He stutters as your hand slides along him as his hand starts to fuck you harder. You swirling around his cock, twisting your hand at a too awkward angle to run your hand along the whole thing while he pressed down hard at your clit feeling warm starlight burning under your skin.

He leaned down swallowing your breathless moans, shoving his grunts down your throat. It's all spit and teeth and sighs of pleasure until finally his grip bruised you with stuttered movements cum spilling along fingers and down your wrist. "Coryo." You moan, back arching as you orgasm soon after.

It's starry eyed and dismantling how the euphoria washes over you underneath someone you had sworn to destroy. Yet, here you were, pleasure dripping out of you for him. When you come to he's staring down at you, hand still buried in your cunt and for a moment you seemed unwilling to let it all go, to move on from the intense moment. Your brain is too mushy to comprehend any of it, to make sense of how bright his eyes seemed as they stared into yours catching breaths. You take your hand back as he pulls his out of you, and then you roll off the couch to wash your hand. As you close the door you see him put his fingers in his mouth and everything burns through you once more.

You stare at yourself, the glazed eyes, the flushed face, the glow from yielded pleasure. You chew on your cheek as you wash your hands, as you splash cool water across hot skin feeling the lingering touch of him everywhere. It's gone the next second dread replacing warmth as cold water runs down your neck; this had been the plan right? To make you give yourself over to him, give your power over to him through moans and spread legs. He's planned it all, faked softness and genuinity to make you put your guard down so he can slip through the gaps of armor. You dry your face and leave the bathroom to face him with walls high and armor tightly back on. He's still seated on the couch chest still exposed, pants still open at the top while he skims the book. Moonlight pour in over him, he looks like a statue of some long dead god, cut from marble, sculpted from precious stone lounging along your couch. He looks beautiful and you miss when you didn't say that about him.

He looked up at you as you stand there rigid; his shoulders sag.

He closed the book, "Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?" You cocked a brow.

"Like you think you know who I am," You opened your mouth but he continued. "And you hate him." He sighed standing up, "Do you always think the worst of me?" 

"I only know that version of you." The cruel enemy you had always kept too close. "What are we doing? What are you doing?" Your eyes narrowed, "Is this all some ploy, some game to entertain a dark place within you?"

He pauses, taking in every feature on your face. "Let me take you out tomorrow night." He stared down at you.

You raised your brow as he avoided your question, "A date?"

"A date." He came closer hand wanting to come up, but he left it at his side, the only indication was the slight twitch in his ring finger. "A proper date." You eyed him suspiciously. "Just you and just me, no more feuding or lying or armor, just us. And then I'll answer your question."

"Just us?" You like the word too much.

He nodded, "Us."

next chapter coming soon!!

[booksandpaperss]

Suzanne collins wrote a trilogy where a main media propaganda strategy was to market a horrific act of violence as a love story to distract ppl and then it got adapted into a box office breaking movie and ppl made it all about the love triangle. so then since they didn’t get the point the first time Suzanne collins wrote a prequel story about the main dictator and she makes it so that you as a reader want it to be a genuine love story so badly even tho it’s so very clearly not and instead feels extremely unsettling to make her point even more meta which then gets adapted into another box office breaking film and now ppl are making romantic snowbaird tik toks. do u think she’s gonna write another book that’s somehow even more blatant or just give up and start executing ppl? hard to say but I wouldn’t blame her for the second one

[quinnspinkcamera]

when people are like "i didn't come here to make friends" i'm like thats sooooo unrelatable. i am always on the look out for some girl friends. I would be in that hunger games cornucopia like "your ex boyfriend did WHAT."

[super-nova5045]

and just when you think you’re at your absolute lowest a blonde motherfucker comes along and makes everything so much worse

[zorosnavigator]

[agentmilayawithshield]

Her manifestation skills are actually insane

[sweetlucygray]

sadly the only copy of s10 of thg i found is in the spanish dub but the only thing theyre saying is i love you and i know thats not right so can someone hook me up with their panem plus pleasee

[slaymitchabernathy]

A Snowflake

“Do you think I look fat?”

Coriolanus freezes at his wife’s question. Surely this is some trick, some ploy to start up a pointless argument. There really should be lessons taught to husbands of expecting wives about these things because he’s been navigating the past seven months clueless as can be.

He glances up from the newspaper at his wife, dressed merely in her underwear while standing in front of their dresser, looking at herself in the mirror’s reflection.

Her hands rest on her protruding stomach, swollen with their first child, a baby girl.

Coriolanus feels pride in knowing that he not only managed to marry a woman as beautiful as Soarynn, but also managed to get her pregnant. She’s absolutely glowing with this pregnancy and he’s heard nothing but praise about how she’s been going about it.

And yes, in public she’s the sweet, graceful Soarynn Snow everyone knows her to be. But at home she’s sometimes a little…emotional.

He’s learned to choose his words very carefully the past few months since most sentences can lead to tears. He knows it’s just the hormones, that she’ll be back to her normally sensitive self once she gives birth but still, he’s been walking on eggshells.

“Of course not, darling,” he smoothly answers, and he’s telling the truth. Soarynn is a rather slender woman, and yes, she’s put on a few pounds during this pregnancy, but in all the right places in his opinion.

Her breasts have grown in size and her ass, well, he’s been enjoying these developments very much. Turns out pregnancy is a blessing.

But Soarynn is still looking at herself, with a frown on her lips now. Coriolanus sighs, he knows his wife isn’t vain or self obsessed but all his friends warned him about this stage of pregnancy. The stage in which women tend to obsess over every little thing about their appearance, comparing their current bodies to the ones they had before becoming pregnant.

Not that he can blame her, he’d do the same thing if he were in her position. Coriolanus prides himself in his toned physique, working out regularly to ensure that Soarynn has a fit and attractive husband at all times.

But this pregnancy has only made her more beautiful in his eyes, she’s gotten softer, prettier, brighter. She’s simply glowing.

He rises from his seat once he realizes that a few kind words will not be enough to soothe his wife’s insecurities.

He comes up behind her and rests his hands on top of hers, admiring how they look in the mirror. They make quite the attractive couple in his opinion and if they’re lucky, their baby girl will look just like Soarynn.

He can picture her now, wavy blonde hair, blue eyes with a hint of gray in them, freckles too. She’ll have him wrapped around her little finger in no time if she’s anything like Soarynn.

“My love,” he says softly, kissing behind her ear, “you look beautiful, believe me you do. There’s not a day where you haven’t looked beautiful, pregnant or not but to see you carrying my child makes you even more beautiful.”

Soarynn leans into his touch, fully trusting him with her care and his heart beats a little faster knowing that very soon, he’ll be taking care of two people.

His girls.

“I just,” she bites her lip, “I don’t ever want to disappoint you and I worry that I may not look the same once I give birth. I’ve heard stories of women experiencing tearing during birth and…”

He can see that his wife has fallen victim to horror stories of birth. He’d by lying if he said he hasn’t as well but for different reasons.

Coriolanus remembers his own mother’s death all too well. Too much blood, not enough time. His little sister he never got to meet and his mother he never got to say goodbye too.

No, that won’t be happening to Soarynn, he’ll make sure of that.

He holds her a little tighter though, just to be safe, “You won’t tear,” he promises, “and I love you Soarynn, no matter what your body looks like. If you think I’ll be put off by a stretch mark then you clearly don’t realize how I can’t get enough of you darling. I’d take you every day if I could.”

To prove his point he kisses down her neck, making her giggle which has to be his favorite thing to hear, “You already do,” she laughs, squirming in his hold.

She’s right, he makes love to her about every day just for the sake of reminding her how much he adores her. Soarynn is like a goddess with her swollen stomach, lying on their bed. It’s hard not to make love to her when she looks like this.

He chuckles and gives her one more kiss before pulling away, “See? You’re beautiful and you’re not fat, you’re growing a tiny human being inside of you darling, you shouldn’t be concerned with such things.”

Soarynn sighs, looking at their reflection with his hands resting on top of hers. “Our little snowflake,” she softly says and he raises an eyebrow. “Snowflake?” He repeats and Soarynn smiles up at him, nodding, “Mhm. Get it? Because she’s tiny and we’re the Snows? A snowflake!”

Coriolanus kisses the top of her head, amused by how cute she is. “You’re terribly clever darling,” he tells her, “but it’s a good thing we already picked out a name hmm?”

They chose the name of their baby girl once they found out the gender. Mostly because Soarynn wanted to get her as many personally monogrammed items as possible. Pillows, blankets, stuffed animals, clothes, whatever she could get her hands on.

Coriolanus didn’t even bother with trying to stop her. Not when she was so excited. The nursery was already done, with soft pink walls and a beautiful crib.

“Our Ceraphina,” Soarynn says dreamily.

Coriolanus smiles, “Our little snowflake.”

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| taglist: @kickmybark @strawberriicakes @wonderlandbound111 @thevoicesinmyprettylittlehead @melodyoflovee |

[dcvina-claires]

i am a tragedy enjoyer before i am human

[janeaustensgf123]

The Percy Jackson renaissance and The Hunger Games renaissance happening in the same year is something so special to me