#ballad writes

[balladofthewhitehorse]

A Brief Respite

Seagulls wheeled ahead, their noisy cries filling the air as the three padded their way down a narrow path; It wound through tumbling gorse and over tufts of heath, some vestige of footsteps trodden over centuries upon centuries.

England paused briefly to regard the white cliffs, now reduced to a bright trail along the horizon before they tumbled into the North Sea; For many years, England had stood here and felt anxiety claw at his rib-cage. For many years, this was the wall between him and danger - perhaps it still was, England worrying his lip with his teeth as Scotland sauntered past him with a loud groan (A sword to the back; Splintering vertebrae as his brother collapsed at England’s feet. Northumbria would remain his for now). With the Sun shining on his face however, and a quickly melting ice-cream in his hand, England sank onto the bench alongside his siblings. He readily leaned back, overcome with the realisation that he was with them for the first time in…days, weeks, months? Perhaps it was years, and nothing had brought the three together; Aside from their own desires, pulling them together no matter how far apart they’d become. England almost wanted to ask Scotland and Wales what had brought them here. But, he dared not disturb their peace - England sighed with the satisfaction of their presence, of their shadows stretching over the dusty path together. Swinging one leg over the other, he leaned back against the bench’s headrest; A lonely ice-cream van had been their respite, and England was glad for it. ‘’...This is nice, eh?’’ He mumbled to no-one in particular, watching the sea quietly. ‘’Mhm.’’ Scotland hummed lightly, prodding his ice-cream with a spoon. He knew his brother was proud of his countryside; Of the South Downs and the Lake District, England could get very sentimental about it - and although Scotland was liable to wax poetic about his own countryside, he also knew that his ice cream was rapidly melting in the summer heat. ‘’Aye, it is.’’ Scotland drew in a deep breath (salt lined his lungs; bringing forth some tangle of memories, half-drowned and half-forgotten). He took a spoonful of his ice-cream, casting a ponderous glance towards England’s half-licked ice-cream before it flickered towards Wales’ portion (mint choc-chip, or as Scotland had teased on their way down towards the cliffs; Toothpaste flavour, to which Wales rebuked whether Scotland had ever brushed his teeth - an argument, that for a change, was mostly just silly claims over each other’s dental hygiene). ‘’Say England, do ye ken what that bird is there?’’ A black figure stood on the cliffs, stark against the pale chalk. ‘’I told you about it once.’’

‘’Eh? You mean when I was a child?’’ England replied, turning to peer at the bird in the distance. With no hesitation, Scotland leaned forward - and took a great bite of England’s ice-cream; He leaned back smugly as his brother whirled around, eyes bugging in offence. ‘’...That was the bird.’’ He snorted, beaming impishly at his brother. ‘’Cormorants fly real fast, didnae ken that?’’ A crafty bugger - as Scotland might’ve put it, as he watched England’s eyes narrow. ‘’Consider that the older brother tax.’’ He teased, shrugging coolly. ‘’I don’t make the rules, it’s just the way it is.’’ Scotland licked his lips with satisfaction, humming as he glanced innocently at Wales; Who was shielding her ice-cream with her hand, watching him with suspicion. ‘’Oh Wales, you’re breaking my heart.’’ He crooned softly, biting back a snicker (mischief flashed in his eyes - as Scotland mimed wiping a tear from the corner of his eye). ‘’...I’d never dare steal ice-cream from my favourite sister.’’ 

‘’I���m your only sister.’’ 

Wales slowly began to stand up, shielding her ice-cream close to her breast as Scotland followed - some strange dance down the dusty path. ‘’Scotland! If you touch my ice-’’ Her voice broke into a shrill shriek as Scotland lunged forward - cold hand around her wrist, narrowly dodging a kick to his shins. ‘’-You bastard!’’ Wales hissed as Scotland took a bite of her ice-cream, huffing as she watched her younger brother wipe his mouth. ‘’England, attack!’’ England (not wishing to lose any more ice-cream to Scotland) looked up sheepishly, ice-cream cone awkwardly pushed into his mouth, cheeks puffed out in a suspiciously cone-like manner. ‘’Um-’’ He glanced down at his feet, scuffing them in the dirt. ‘’-I’m a bit busy?’’ Laughter bubbled in his chest as Wales sighed, tutting something or other about England choking if he didn’t chew his food (it tugged at his heart-strings, a sense of nostalgia; England wolfing down a bowl of rabbit stew, his belly aching afterwards and Wales telling him that she warned him so). ‘’Mhmph’’ Wales’ eyes goggled at the sight - and then the corners crinkled with mirth. ‘’Are you a squirrel?’’ She teased, snickering as England awkwardly swallowed (for a moment, Wales though he might choke for real - and yet he simply turned his eyes towards her, wide-eyed as if stunned by himself). Any disagreement that she might have had with Scotland over these so-called sibling taxes was forgotten, as her knees trembled with laughter - Wales wheezing as she sat back down onto the bench, sinking against the headrest as Scotland joined her, laughing soundly too. 

‘’Aye, I think he is.’’ Scotland wheezed, chest heaving as he leaned forward; Arms on his knees, the Sun warming his back as he rocked with laughter. ‘’Jesus Christ-’’ He snorted, shaking his head as he reached for his ice-cream (carefully placed on the bench - so as not to be spilled while he took a younger brother tax from Wales’s ice-cream). ‘’-Hey…where’s my ice-cream?’’ Scotland jerked upright, staring at Wales in disbelief as she stared back at him, eyebrow raised. ‘’What?’’ ‘’I rightfully took my younger brother tax from you.’’ Wales scoffed, shaking her head. ‘’I didn’t touch your ice-cream.’’ Her gaze flickered towards England, spotting the small plastic tub in his hand. ‘’Maybe you should ask squirrel-boy behind you?’’ She teased, watching as Scotland’s eyes snapped towards England; Astonishment on his face as familiar as ever (she remembered Scotland learning very quickly that a young England who didn’t want to bathe was very liable to pull Scotland in after him). Wales snickered as England shot up from the bench - shoving a spoonful of Scotland’s ice-cream in his mouth with a satisfied hum, darting down the little dusty path as his brother swiped at him, complaining loudly.

‘’I’m rightfully taking my younger brother tax!’’ England exclaimed, scooping another spoonful of salted caramel into his mouth; He hummed in approval, giggling as Scotland chased after him.

‘’Don’t eat it all, you prick-!’’

‘’Piss off!’’

The cormant watched them disdainfully from the cliffs, as Scotland and England chased one another through the tumbling gorse and over tufts of heath, winding their way back up the path. It seemed to sigh, shaking its sleek black head - before taking to the air with a flap of black wings.

[misc-fandoms-ballad]

You stare at the Grim Reaper, and Death stares back. You can see the flickering echoes of fire in their eyes, seeming to glow in time to your own breath. Mere embers remain, already dulling to grey. You inhale shakily and slowly breathe out.

“A game,” you whisper. Death stands unmoving, unflinching, unwavering. “A game for a second chance at life, you said. You’ve already claimed my soul and now you wish to toy with me?!”

Death nods, their movements slow and steady. They carefully lift their scythe and in a swooping movement gesture to the nearby table, which is covered in a variety of games. You see chess, checkers, a deck of cards, all kinds of board games, a bottle of alcohol next to supplies for a number of drinking games, and more. You glance from the table back at Death, but they have not moved even an inch. They stand so still, so cold, so silent that you could mistake them for a statue, if not for the faint glint of flame in their eyes.

Reluctantly, you walk to the table and scan the options available. You immediately discount the chess board, never having been one for tradition. Moving it to the side, you consider the board games present. Clue, Monopoly, Scrabble, Life (isn’t that ironic, you snort), Battleship… but none of them seem appealing. You don’t want to risk your life on a game of Guess Who, after all.

Pacing alongside the table, you survey the remaining options. A drinking game? No, it was too risky to hinge a second chance at life on the slim chance that a skeleton could get drunk. Poker? Just the thought makes you outwardly cringe, you’ve never been very good at bluffing or hiding your emotions. Though maybe you could challenge Death to a game of solitaire, and use their confusion and escape. Although, now that you really look around and take in your surroundings, you realize there isn’t anywhere to escape to—it’s just you, Death, the table of games, and a wide expanse cloaked in shadows and darkness.

Maybe you could win a game of Uno. You have a deck in your back pocket for this exact reason.

…Well. Maybe not this exact reason, but close enough.

You turn to announce your choice to the Grim Reaper when a stack of hardcover books catch your eye. You recognize these books. They’re old friends—you’ve read and referenced and used them all many times over the course of your life. A smile tugs at the corner of your lips as an idea begins to form in your mind.

A whisper of fabric catches your attention and you spin, coming face-to-face with Death. Their black cloak billows about them like thick smoke, and the embers in their eyes have brightened, burning an intense orange-red.

Though no words are spoken, you can tell Death is asking for your decision.

Taking a deep breath, you enunciate, “The game I choose is Dungeons and Dragons.”

Death stares at you, and you hold their gaze. After what seems like an eternity, Death slowly inclines their head and reaches for the stack of books on the table—specifically for the Dungeon Master’s Guide. Without thinking, you reach out and snag the sleeve of their cloak, halting their movement, and say, “I never said I chose you to be the Dungeon Master.”

You can feel as the surprise sets in. You can feel as the suffocating silence envelopes you. You can feel Death turning to look at you, can feel the power they hold.

You can also see that the embers have burst into flames now, burning bright and hot and true.

Before you lose your nerve, you press forward. “I choose Life to be the Dungeon Master. You and I will be players, along with Mother Nature. You three will not be allowed to use your power over your domains to influence the outcome in your favor, and will not use any outside influence to change the course of the game. We must abide by the rules the Dungeon Master makes and if I win, you let me go back and live.”

The Grim Reaper doesn’t move. You hardly dare to breathe.

Finally, Death lifts a hand and pushes back their hood. The shadows on their face fall away and you see Death itself, the Grim Reaper, give you a wide grin.

“Very well,” they say, extending a bony hand. “Let the game for your life begin.”

[timelesslords]

thinking about how the hunger games were designed to prove that without society, order, government, someone to rule, we devolve into little more than animals, and how the games themselves prove over and over again that this is not true. We see it in every single game we witness.

Katniss placing flowers around Rue's body in the arena. Thresh sparing Katniss because she was kind to Rue, even though he was making it that much harder for himself to win.

Haymitch going back for Maysilee after hearing her scream even though their alliance had been broken. Haymitch holding her as she dies the same way Katniss did Rue.

Coral's "I can't have killed them all for nothing" when she realizes she's not going home. Lamina cutting down Marcus at great personal risk. And, my favorite moment in tbosas, Reaper collecting the bodies of his fellow tributes, his peers, even the ones who tried to kill him, into a pile. Taking the weapons from their hands. Closing their eyes and crossing their arms in the best approximation of a proper burial he can manage, covering them with the Capitol flag as a makeshift shroud.

The Games bring out the worst in people, yes. But despite the extreme circumstances, despite the exterior pressure of the Capitol, despite the fact that it could mean pain and heartbreak and death, it also shows that people have an enormous capacity for goodness. That even in a situation purposefully designed to make empathy impossible, people can't help but have it anyway.

Snow looks at the Games and all he can see is what's inside himself-- this pure animalistic drive to conquer and defeat. He kills and it feels good and he thinks that everyone else must feel that way too. He doesn't realize (maybe can't realize) that he is the exception, not the rule. He cannot see outside himself, outside his own warped perspective, to realize that the fact that people do show humanity in the games proves his entire worldview wrong.

[ervotica]

please don’t go, i love you so

pairing: young!coriolanus snow x reader

warnings: a lil toxic!coriolanus, he’s rough with r, possessive talk, quite tame in this but imma tamp it up soon, a bit of making out and being lovey

note: i do not careee about who likes this character or who doesn’t okay i am writing about him because he is literally one of the hottest men i’ve ever seen, kay? i’m not here for moral dilemmas thank u, enjoy (yes i will follow up w smut and my young!coriolanus snow reqs are OPEN!) please please remember to comment and rb, it helps me so much!

hunger games masterlist

Coriolanus is possessive.

It sickens him to his very core, sends nausea rolling like a wave through his chest; he’s not a child. Yet, the mere sight - thought - of you engaging with any other man, even innocently, is enough to have him seeing red: white-knuckled, muscles drawn taut like a bowstring, ready to eliminate any and all threat standing between him and his girl.

It's the way those boys look at you. As if you're a piece of meat, a toy to play with that they're just begging, aching to sink their teeth into, to leave a permanent mark on. The boys in this district are barbaric- that's what Coryo thinks anyway. It's disgusting, the things that he knows they think about you.

It's been a long day in District Twelve. Coriolanus' grey jumpsuit rubs and itches and his skin crawls with an uneasiness settled at the pit of his stomach. It's a warm day, his skin sticky as he peels the top half of the jumpsuit from his slender arms and ties it neatly around his waist. The grass by the lake is damp with the leftover dew from the morning.

He catches sight of you amongst the trees, weaving and bobbing through the undergrowth as you do, your lithe fingers brushing against leaves. Your head dips and then raises as his tall figure creeps into your peripheral vision. A smile graces your features, real and earnest with all your teeth.

There’s a slight waver in your countenance when you catch Coriolanus’ own expression; his brows are knit, pushing his forehead into a crease, lips pushed together tersely.

You walk straight into his arms, balancing yourself on one leg and pushing your shoulder underneath his armpit. You needle your way in, your forehead rested against his chin, so close you can feel his breath against your face.

“Hi, gorgeous,” you murmur. You reach up to push out the ridge in his brow and your thumb traces the bridge of his nose in a way that couldn’t be perceived as anything other than unbridled affection. “Something wrong?”

His slender fingers settle against your waist. You shiver at the contact when he spins and pushes you back into a tree. The bark digs into your back as you shuffle to meet his eyes— his eyes that have suddenly clouded with something dark and possessive.

“What is it?” you ask again; your voice is becoming more strained the longer he stays quiet, your own hands snaking up his arms like vines and squeezing.

He shakes his head and drops his face to look at you properly.

“Nothing. I have you.”

“Okay.” You click your tongue, tilting your head at him. His face gravitates towards yours, breath hot and mixing with your own. “You gonna kiss me or what, handsome?”

He doesn’t need any encouragement, surging forward to catch your lips between his own; his hands are rough, kneading the soft flesh of your hip. His other makes its way up to your jaw, fingertips pressing so hard you’re sure he’s branding you. You’ve never been kissed like this, with such fervour and passion and need. You gasp into his mouth and your arm wraps around his neck to pull him further into you.

“Coryo,” you pant.

“Shh,” he forces out, his fingers suddenly an iron grip around your neck; the hollow of your throat is bared to him and bobs under his cruel touch.

“Coriolanus, that hurts,” you say, strangled. His eyes are alight with a fire, a blazing inferno roaring in his head as he squeezes your throat and laughs.

You wheeze, clutching at his wrist in an attempt to loosen his grip. He obliges you, running a thumb over the indents he’s left in your soft skin to smooth them away.

“You know I’d never hurt you, right?” he asks. His head drops to the juncture of your neck, arms hooking loosely around your middle as he relaxes into you. “I just wanted to feel you. To know you’re mine.”

The incident is forgotten as soon as it ends. He has a charm in that sort of way; you don’t see his faults even when he shows them to you clear as day. You’ll never see what’s right in front of you even if he wants you to.

“Of course I’m yours, Coryo. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“The way they all look at you here…” He falters. “Like they all want you. Like they want to take you away from me. You’re mine- they have to understand that.”

“No one could take me away from you,” you giggle, your temple resting against the tip of his shoulder so you can duck your head to meet his eyes. “I know where I belong. And that’s right here with you.”

“Good.” He mouths at your neck like a man starved, arms coming right up until they’re hooked just underneath your own. He pulls away heaving for breath.

“Wanna show me just where you belong?”

[quin-ns]

Always Forever (Coriolanus Snow x Reader)

Word count: 8.2K

Summary: coriolanus finally lets himself acknowledge that he can’t stand to see you with anyone but him

Tags: (18+), cw: dubcon, cw: noncon, pseudo!incest (not related, reader raised with the snows), dark!coriolanus, pre-mentor era, jealousy/obsession/possessiveness, oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v sex, fear of getting caught, lots of drama for my lovely readers

A/N: second coryo fic and it’s somehow longer than the last one lol. only one part. pls read the tags and proceed with caution 🫶

Misc masterlist + main masterlist

“Look at you, you look so pretty!” Tigris beamed, adjusting the straps of your dress. “Doesn’t she, Coryo?”

In his peripheral, Coriolanus could see his cousin had turned to look at him expectantly, but his eyes were already on you. They always had been, and always would be.

“Yes, she does,” he replied without thought.

You faced him with a smile, and Coriolanus couldn’t help the pride that swarmed him just looking at you.

It was because of him that you were in his life, and until the day he died Coriolanus knew it would remain the best decision he ever made.

As children during the war, when he and Tigris would scavenge the streets, Coriolanus stumbled across you. Not much younger than him, huddled behind a pillar, all alone. You had a half a loaf of bread. It wasn’t fresh, but he still didn’t understand where you got it. You tore it in half and shared it with him.

He returned to Tigris with you in tow, his small hand clutching your even smaller one, and his cousin took pity.

She also took the brunt of the consequence for bringing home another mouth to feed, but sacrifices had to be made, didn’t they?

It was worth it. You were worth it to him—to both of them, really.

As you got older, Grandma’am eventually took a liking to you, although Coriolanus wondered if it was because she could see how much he cared for you.

It didn’t matter. Not really. You were part of the family now, even if you did not share the Snow name.

“Thank you, Tigris,” you said sweetly, pulling the older girl into a hug.

It was a big day for both you and Coriolanus. The academy was hosting an event for students to mingle with administration and alumni of the university.

Coriolanus had put on his best outfit—he already knew it was the same one he was going to wear when the Plinth Prize winner was announced in only a few weeks. He was sure it was going to be him.

Tigris had fashioned your dress by hand. Coriolanus was past questioning how she paid for her fine fabrics, but he had an inclination it was the same way they could suddenly afford food some days.

The long dress reminded Coriolanus of freshly fallen snow, the white holding a sense of purity and wealth that his family once had. It had a sense of elegance that you only furthered with donning it, but it lacked an extravagance that would force you to stand out.

It was perfect.

You parted from Tigris to approach Coriolanus. You had a light smile on your face as your hands ran down his black vest, adjusting it.

“We almost match,” you commented, referring to the white shirt beneath said vest. “If only I had something black.”

“Well, I’d let you borrow this, but then we’d be in the same position, only switched,” he teased lightly, drawing a small chuckle from you.

Coriolanus liked when you looked up at him, same as he liked hearing your laugh.

“Don’t worry, I’ll survive without.” Your hands fell to your sides. “Besides, it definitely looks more handsome on you.”

Hearing those words from you meant more than you’d ever know, and more than he’d let himself acknowledge.

You were so good to him, he couldn’t imagine spending the evening with anyone else.

When he walked into the ballroom of the academy with you on his arm, Coriolanus got a rush of power. Especially when heads turned. Looking at him, looking at you, just looking.

He wondered what the minds behind all those gazing eyes were thinking.

He hoped it was a balanced amount of envy and respect.

“We should find Sejanus, let him know we’re here,” you said, not thinking much of the sentence as you looked around the room, taking in the people and the decor.

Coriolanus thought everything of it, a sourness settling over him. Sejanus was his friend, but Coriolanus wished they hadn’t gotten as close as they did. It was because of his friendship with Sejanus that you met him, and began to develop… feelings for him.

God, Coriolanus hated to even think about it.

When you told him you had begun dating Sejanus, Coriolanus nearly had a heart attack. Then he felt violent. Not towards you. Never towards you.

It wasn’t just because he felt protective of you, or because Sejanus was district, or because Coriolanus knew you were far, far too good for his friend… it was everything. All of that and everything in between.

Before you could find him, Sejanus found you.

He was in a fine black suit, finer than anything Coriolanus owned, and a bright smile appeared on his face at the sight of you.

That was one thing they still had in common. Reverence for you.

“Had to come find my girl before everyone thinks she ditched me,” Sejanus joked, pulling a laugh from you. “Where have you guys been?”

“Making sure we look our best,” you replied, shooting Coriolanus a wink.

If Sejanus wasn’t reaching for you, Coriolanus might’ve smiled.

“Well, you did a wonderful job.”

Coriolanus let you slip away from his side, reluctantly giving you away to Sejanus.

The unfortunate thing was Sejanus was truly a decent person. Not perfect, but decent. Better than most, even if he was beneath you all. You cared nothing for status, and seemed to really like him. He treated you right from what Coriolanus had seen, making disapproval not exactly warranted.

Although, Coriolanus was always going to be incredibly protective of you. He doubted there was a world where he would be pleased with any relationship you found. Your interest in other people was becoming tiresome, truthfully. Did you really even need friends? Or lovers? You had Coriolanus, and he was sure that was enough.

His jaw clenched when you pressed a light kiss to Sejanus’s cheek. It would be much simpler if he was a terrible person. Coriolanus would have an excuse outside of his own selfishness to separate you—which he did not have now.

“Can I ask for this dance?” Sejanus wondered, shooting you a smile. At least he had the awareness to still look anxious.

But you… you grinned. You were too good.

“Well you just asked, so I guess you can,” you started sarcastically, but let him off the hook quickly. “And of course I’ll say yes.”

Sejanus looked relieved, taking your hand in his. You turned to look at Coriolanus, a small bit of guilt in your expression. You clearly hadn’t been planning on leaving his side so soon. You masked it with the same teasing tone you’d used before.

“I won’t be long, don’t get too bored without me, Coryo.”

Coriolanus only smiled for your sake. It fell the moment Senjanus led you away to a small group of other students dancing together.

From the sidelines, Coriolanus watched as Sejanus led you in a slow dance. He tried to avoid his eyes landing on his friend. He didn’t want to view the two of you in the same light as the other couples embracing one another.

Coriolanus tried to remember the first moment he realized how beautiful you were. It was so long ago, it wasn’t something he was even aware he thought so often.

The sun rose in the morning, roses had thorns, and you were beautiful.

It was simple as that.

After a dance and a half, Coriolanus couldn’t take it anymore.

His feet carried him to the dance floor, mind absent as he tried to justify his jealousy as protectiveness. Yes, that’s all he was. Protective. Like an older brother… like what he was supposed to be. Even if it wasn’t what he wanted to be.

You and Sejanus were swaying and talking, but as he snuck up on the two of you, Coriolanus couldn’t make out the words. It didn’t matter.

You turned your head to look at him, smiling in surprise at his presence.

“Coryo!”

“Can I cut in?” Coriolanus requested. His hand itched to rest on your shoulder, but he withheld. He wasn’t going to take no for an answer, and he briefly wondered if Sejanus sensed that or not.

“All yours,” Sejanus agreed, spinning you by the hand. You turned in a circle, then a half, facing Coriolanus. “I’m going to go find my father, he’s here tonight,” he informed.

“I’ll come find the two of you in a few minutes,” you told Sejanus, who nodded then headed off. Before he did, he looked to Coriolanus and said, “Take good care of her.”

“I always do,” Coriolanus responded easily, because it was the truth. He didn’t need Sejanus telling him that. He’d been there for you long before either of you even knew his friend existed. He looked down to you, taking your hand in his while the other fell to your waist. You looked amused. “I do, don’t I?”

“Yes, Coryo,” you replied with a smile. “Better than anyone.”

The slow waltz felt so natural, your movements in tune with his without thought. You two were always like that, always in sync.

“What were you and Sejanus talking about?” Coriolanus wondered, curiosity getting the best of him.

“Nothing important,” you dismissed with a shrug. “Sweet nothings.”

Coriolanus didn’t miss the shy smile appearing on your face. He couldn’t control the frown trying to take over his.

A more thoughtful look crossed your face, your smile faltering.

“Are you happy for me, Coryo?”

Coriolanus blinked.

“I… want to be,” he confessed, eyes scanning your face. It was the truth for the most part. He did want you to be happy, just not with Sejanus.

You nodded slowly, taking in his words. Coriolanus wished he could open your head and investigate every corner of your brain. He wanted to know every thought you had.

“Sejanus is your friend, I would’ve thought…” you swallowed and looked away. “Never mind.”

“No, what is it?” Coriolanus pressed, tilting his head, trying to make you meet his gaze.

When you did, he saw the disappointment in your eyes.

You stepped back from him, parting completely.

“I need to find Sejanus. I’ll put in a good word for you about the Plinth Prize with his father.”

Then, you departed, not leaving room for Coriolanus to argue for you to stay.

He would’ve, and you knew that.

The moment you disappeared from his view, Coriolanus went looking. You had moved quickly. He found you across the room, sitting down at a table with Sejanus and Mr. Plinth.

He didn’t approach, he couldn’t make himself look bad in front of Mr. Plinth.

So he watched you talk, and drink, and laugh, and drink some more…

“I can’t believe she’s doing this,” Arachne whispered, suddenly appearing at his side. Coriolanus looked down at her. She was clearly talking about you. He could see the way she flicked her heavily decorated eyes in your direction. “Associating with him was one thing, but… well”—Arachne let out a vicious laugh—“do you think their children will call her “Ma” too?”

Coriolanus felt ill at the thought. Leave it to Arachne to provoke him, to conjure up nightmares he hadn’t even thought of yet himself.

“She’ll come to her senses,” Coriolanus muttered, gritting his teeth.

Arachne rolled her eyes. “Let’s hope so,” she mused, continuing on her way, blood red dress dragging behind her with each step.

Coriolanus looked back to you. He was overwhelmed with nausea as Sejanus grabbed your hand atop the table. Damn Arachne for placing that thought in his head.

He watched as you lifted another glass to your lips, smiling along as Sejanus talked to his father. What was that, your third? Sejanus had yet to say anything to you. He was fine with allowing you to get intoxicated?

Drinking alcohol wasn’t exactly a crime, but Sejanus didn’t know you well enough to know you were inexperienced. The last thing Coriolanus wanted was you making a fool of yourself.

Darker thoughts crept in. Maybe Sejanus was allowing you to inebriate yourself on purpose. The thought of him climbing on top to you made Coriolanus’s blood boil. His fingers twitched to form a fist, and his jaw clenched even tighter.

In that moment, Coriolanus decided he wouldn’t let Arachne’s mockery come true.

He had to help you. You needed his protection, even when you didn’t know it. You needed him. You always would. Coriolanus could remind you, then perhaps you'd see you didn’t even need Sejanus at all.

When you left the table—Coriolanus wasn’t sure why—he saw his opportunity. He approached you quickly, finding no problem in catching your arm and leading you away from the party. Away from all the people, where it could just be the two of you.

Out a door, down a long, empty corridor until the two of you ended up outside in the school’s garden. It was isolated from the party, you’d be safer here.

“Coryo? What—“

“Are you alright?” Coriolanus asked, cutting you off. He released you to stand across from you, leaving you to lean back against the stone wall behind you. “I saw how much you were drinking.”

You looked up at him, confused, but not frightened. If anyone else had handled you the way he did, you surely would’ve been. But you trusted him. You always had.

“Did I drink a lot?” you asked, a slight pout on your lips. “I didn’t notice.”

“Oh.” So, you were okay. That was good, wasn’t it? “I thought maybe you needed rescuing,” he admitted, unsure whether to feel embarrassed or not.

You chuckled a little and the sound washed over Coriolanus, bringing him a sense of relief from all his previous tension.

“My hero,” you said lightly, smiling up at him. You were always smiling at him, but Coriolanus no longer wondered if he was worthy of it all. “You’re always there for me, aren’t you?”

Coriolanus stepped closer. His hand rose, his fingertips trailing the outline of your face. Someone so pretty, so sweet, had to be careful in a cruel world like this.

“What would you do without me?” he proposed, not expecting an answer.

You didn’t need one, because you never would have to find out.

He’d follow you to the end of the Earth, just as he knew you’d follow him. You needed each other. You didn’t need Tigris or Grandma’am and especially not Sejanus, but without Coriolanus, who would you even be? Coriolanus couldn’t imagine his world without you in it. Not even if he tried.

Staring at you now, Coriolanus heard the voice in the back of his mind begin to whisper. The one that urged his protectiveness, knowing it was fueled by possession. The one he would use all his power to silence.

Something new had overcome him, watching you galavant around with Sejanus. Well, not new, but clear. Coriolanus finally had clarity. That’s what it was. That was how he finally acknowledged what had so long been lingering in his peripheral, just on the edge of his mind, waiting for the right moment.

Was this the right moment?

He made no effort to banish his most repressed thoughts. For once, he let them win.

Coriolanus leaned down, pressing his lips to yours. Gentle, testing the waters. You did not react right away. Maybe it wasn’t necessarily a good sign, but that didn’t stop him from using it as an excuse to deepen the kiss.

His other hand found your face, holding you against him as he nipped at your lip, begging you to invite him in.

Your reaction was delayed, and Coriolanus thought maybe, just maybe, you had been thinking the same thing he had all along. That the faint taste of alcohol on your lips meant you were feeling more open to exploring this with him, and that all you needed was a nudge in the right direction.

But no, you were turning your head, making his lips part from yours.

Coriolanus faltered, but you still did not speak. Your breaths were clipped—flustered and confused. He could understand that. His own heart was racing, although adrenaline and need were to blame for that.

“Coryo…” you whispered so softly he nearly didn’t hear it. “What are you doing?”

Leave it to you to not get angry with him. Or even upset. At this point he questioned if you were even capable of feeling anger at him.

Coriolanus stepped closer, making you have to tilt your head up to look at him.

“I don’t think I can share you,” he confessed under his breath, but with conviction. “I know I can’t and you… you don’t need anyone else. You have me.”

You swallowed, eyes looking down. “Sejanus—“

“Doesn’t know you like I do,” Coriolanus finished, one hand still holding your cheek, tilting your head, making you meet his eye again. “Seeing you with him… he’s not good enough for you.”

“I thought you were above judging him for being district.” You sounded so disappointed in him.

“I don’t care that he’s district, he’s not good enough because no one will ever be,” Coriolanus corrected, imploring you to understand.

With a light sigh, his eyes fell shut. Gently, he leaned to press his forehead to yours. He blindly reached for your hands, and found them in each of his with no problem.

“I would not be happy seeing you with anyone else,” Coriolanus confessed, voice low. “Not anyone but me.”

You inhaled slightly. Was it that big of a shock?

He gave you no chance to voice it because Coriolanus was capturing your lips again, passion erupting in his veins.

His mind was clouded with thoughts that fought for center attention, his built up desires controlling him as his hands and lips cascaded down your body. Your neck, your chest, your stomach—

“Coryo, what are you doing?” you questioned when he began to move lower.

“Shh, don’t worry,” he cooed, dismissing your concern.

Coriolanus finally fell to his knees in front of you. He’d never take such a humiliating position for anyone else. But with you, it didn’t feel humiliating. It was exhilarating, knowing he was on his knees worshiping you, but he still held all the power. It was nearly perfect.

You gasped a little when he gripped your right leg and maneuvered it over his shoulder. More of your weight rested back against the wall, unable to stand straight on just one leg.

He looked upward, watching your face the entire time as he pushed your dress up around your hips, revealing your underwear to him.

Coriolanus was so close and you had yet to move.

Words couldn’t find their way to his lips. It was all too overwhelming in the best way. His heart slamming against his rib cage was a welcome feeling, and so was the pressure on his knees.

You bucked away before his mouth could reach your core. Coriolanus didn’t think much of it. He had a lot of other images rushing through his brain. Ones he wanted to become reality.

He scooted forward and tried again, this time making contact with the layer of fabric separating him from your most intimate spot.

Coriolanus heard a choked noise from you as he ran his tongue across the front of your underwear.

Right away, he wanted more.

His hands found the material acting as a barrier and he gripped it then pulled, tearing it from you one leg at a time, exposing you to him.

Before it could fall to the ground, he caught the shredded material and stuffed it into his pocket.

He felt a bit guilty, knowing how little you all had when it came to clothing, but he wanted to do this the right way. Coriolanus wanted nothing blocking him from showing you how good he could make you feel.

As much as his eyes were tempted to linger, impatience got the best of him.

He made contact again, licking a stripe across your bare cunt. Once he got a taste, Coriolanus couldn’t hold back.

His mouth latched onto you, tongue sliding between your folds, drawing a stifled moan from you. You reached for his head, trying to knock him away, but Coriolanus persisted. His will easily overtook yours. You weren’t going to take this away from him, not when he could make you want it just as bad.

He held onto the leg over his shoulder, gripping your flesh, surely leaving bruises in his wake. He held the skirt of your dress up with the other hand. With his mouth, he devoured you. Lapping at your core like a man starved, even more so when wetness began to form.

This wasn’t something Coriolanus had done, but he knew you better than anyone. He was sure he could figure out your body. He’d dreamt about it long enough, making you fall apart for him in such an intimate way.

He soon found that to be the truth when in only a matter of minutes your body was tensing. He continued to drag his tongue across you, giving every bit of you his full attention. He liked the way your thighs quivered when his tongue brushed your clit, it gave him an excuse to hold you tighter.

Your whole body flinched suddenly, but he shoved your hips back, pinning you to the wall as he brought you to the edge

His own pants felt constricted as his senses were overwhelmed by you. Your taste, your scent, the sound of your choked down moans, your hands smacking the wall (unsure what else to do), the feel of you against his tongue and how your leg strained over his shoulder, and the sight of you when he looked up through his lashes… god, you were magnificent.

You whimpered from above, teeth digging into your bottom lip, as he finally made you come undone.

Coriolanus held you still, relishing in the way you finally jolted into his touch instead of away.

He couldn’t take his eyes off of you. You were the stuff of dreams in the most literal sense.

Your head tilted back against the wall, your ragged breaths causing your chest to rise and fall in an unsteady pattern. Your leg, still draped over his shoulder, was tense, even as he pressed a gentle kiss to your inner thigh.

A wide grin spread across Coriolanus’s face when you shivered. He couldn’t help himself. He nearly chuckled at your state, but then your hand moved to rake through his wavy locks. The sound caught in his throat as you tugged him away, finally looking down at him. The all consuming pleasure had faded into something more composed.

Coriolanus could tell how much of an effort you were making, and as your eyes struggled to focus, he briefly wondered how strong your drinks were.

“I’d like to go home now,” you said slowly, conscious not to let your voice falter.

You allowed him to help get both to your feet on the ground, but you did not touch him for the rest of the night, even when he tried to reach for you.

He was still hard behind the confines of his pants, imagining the slickness between your thighs that was the result of his actions. As you walked back through the ballroom, it took everything he had to not push you back against a nearby wall. People be damned, he wanted you more than anything.

He would press his chest to your back—no, he’d make you face him. Coriolanus wanted access to your lips so he could kiss you as much as he liked, even swallow down your moans when he lifted your dress around your stomach and—

A shiver of excitement coursed through Coriolanus’s body. What would your darling Sejanus think if he knew what just transpired? If he knew it was only for your dignity that Coriolanus wasn’t fucking you against the wall hard enough that you forgot where you even were?

You silently bid the party a farewell, forgetting to say goodbye to Sejanus (Coriolanus made no attempts to remind you). You continued to ignore him, hardly speaking and not even looking his way. Not as you walked from the school to the apartment. Stumbling up the stairs, you only spoke to claim you were fine as you gripped the handrail for dear life. Then you went back to silence as you traveled from the front door to your bedroom and locked the door.

Coriolanus only found out about the door because he’d tried to follow you in, but the door knob did not budge. You never used your lock.

Even if you weren’t ready to finish what had been started, it was still incredibly cold. Were you really upset enough to deprive him of your presence until the morning?

“What’s going on with you?” Coriolanus asked through the layer of wood. The taste of you still lingered on his tongue as it traced his bottom lip, waiting for your response. “Can we talk? Can you open the door?”

He gripped the knob tighter and tried again. It wasn’t going to suddenly unlock, but something urged him to prove it.

There was a faint thud as his forehead fell to the door, much as it had to yours not too long ago.

“Can I at least say goodnight to you?”

Again, no response.

He swallowed. Cleared his throat.

Again.

“Please?”

If they could afford to fix it, Coriolanus would break the door down.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood outside your door before begrudgingly going to his own room.

He laid in his bed and fished the underwear from his pocket. Your scent still lingered on them, and it was enough to fuel his imagination as he unbuttoned his pants and pretended his own hand on his cock was yours.

Even after finishing, Coriolanus had a nearly sleepless night. His mind was plagued with memories of his lips on yours, your dress bunched around your hips, him on his knees with his mouth on your cunt. He’d never forget the sounds you made.

When the sun rose, he returned to your door, only to find it still locked. He didn’t even knock, just simply grabbed the door knob and twisted.

You always woke up early for school, putting yourself together in a way that could reflect wealth that you did not truly have. Coriolanus was sure you did it for his sake, knowing how much appearances mattered to him.

You were good to him like that.

If only you’d let him in now.

The laugh that escaped him lacked humor. It was a bitter, frustrated sound.

His hands rested on his hips, his own fingertips pressing in. It was that or gripping the door knob and if he touched that thing again and found it locked…

“This isn’t funny anymore, Y/N,” Coriolanus called through the door. “If there’s a problem we can talk about it. Just stop acting like a child.”

“What, did she steal your blazer again?” Tigris wondered, appearing out of nowhere. Despite her voice being soft with sleep, Coriolanus was still startled.

“No, just a minor disagreement,” Coriolanus replied, quick on his feet as always. “Nothing to worry about, I’m sure we’ll talk it out.”

He emphasized the word ‘talk’, hoping you’d hear him through the door. If you did, he wouldn’t know. Tigris, on the other hand, just nodded and headed for the kitchen.

The smile he gave his cousin on her way was forced. She couldn’t tell that his teeth were clenched together, which was for the best.

A thought dawned on him. You could just be testing him.

Coriolanus knocked on the door and waited, like he’d just solved your puzzle.

What was that thing about insanity—trying the same thing over and over and expecting a different result?

“You’re going to have to come out of your room at some point,” he reminded, trying his best to make it not sound like a warning.

Coriolanus wasn’t used to being frustrated with you. You were usually his relief from people who made him feel this way. He didn’t understand why everything changed all of the sudden.

You’d enjoyed yourself while he got what he wanted. Why was that so bad?

You had always been an enigma, but Coriolanus felt as if he’d come to understand you—that he was the only one who did or would.

Sejanus would never know you the way he did, that was for certain.

From in your room, Coriolanus heard movement. Your dresser opening, maybe. It didn’t matter. You were awake. And ignoring him.

“Y/N? I know you’re awake.” The neediness in his voice was embarrassing. No one else could make him resort to this. “I can hear you. Are you coming out?”

“What is going on?” Grandma’am questioned, standing at the end of the hall. “You aren’t dressed for school. We can’t have you being late.”

Coriolanus looked down at himself. He’d gone to sleep in the outfit he’d worn the night before, and still wore it now.

Arguments died in his throat. You and Coriolanus walked to the academy together. You’d have to come out and talk to him. Grandma’am would drive you crazy if you missed a day of classes.

In record time, Coriolanus was in his uniform.

He might’ve been quick, but apparently you were quicker. As he opened the door to his room, he heard the front door shut.

“Whatever you did, Coryo, apologize,” Tigris advised when he chased the sound of your exit.

Coriolanus just looked at her. Why on Earth would he do that? He’d done nothing wrong.

Down the stairs and out of the building, Coriolanus finally—finally—got a glimpse of you. A flash of red as you turned the corner, setting off down the sidewalk.

It took nothing for him to catch up to you.

“How are you feeling?” he wondered first, recalling your drunken state. “I was worried about you.”

“Were you?” you challenged, eyes forward.

It was good to hear your voice, but Coriolanus furrowed his brows at your tone. You had no reason to be this rude.

“Of course I was, Y/N. How can you even ask me that?” His hand dropped to your shoulder, only for you to shrug it away. “What is wrong with you?”

You looked at him, finally, but the emotion in your gaze… there was something wrong with it. Something distant, lacking the affection those beautiful eyes of yours usually held for him.

Coriolanus swallowed.

“Are you really going to be like this? Is it because of Sejanus? You don’t have to be with him anymore.”

You turned your head forward.

“Leave me alone, I’d like to walk in silence.”

Since when had you become so spiteful? Coriolanus didn’t like it. It evoked something similar in him. He leaned down, getting near your ear.

“You liked it, I know you did,” he hissed out. Coriolanus hadn’t meant for it to come out so harsh, but you were being completely unfair to him right now. “You can’t lie to me.”

Despite the way you shuddered, your jaw remained clenched. You not talking to him was more infuriating than if you had screamed in his face. At least that way he could tell what you were thinking. But no, you wouldn’t allow him to be privy to your inner thoughts, no matter how much effort he put into prying them from you.

It wasn’t a conversation for the public, even Coriolanus knew that, so when you got to the academy a few steps ahead of him, he bit his tongue.

“What did you do to piss off your sister?” Clemensia asked him in a whisper in class. “You’re usually attached at the hip walking in.”

The way she called you his sister felt wrong in a way that it hadn’t before. Even if he never thought it fit when people would say that or assume it, something had shifted.

And was it that obvious? Coriolanus hadn’t even brought it up. He’d simply been a few steps behind you into the classroom. You’d gone to your desk without a word. Was that strange to everyone else too? It was validating, in a way, to know your behavior was, in fact, targeted and odd, but it also made him wonder what the two of you appeared to be from an outside perspective.

“It’s nothing,” Coriolanus lied to her under his breath, keeping his eyes on his paper.

“So you didn’t get into a fight?”

Coriolanus’s brows curved down. He glanced her way.

“A fight?”

“Arachne and Festus saw you pull her away from Sejanus and disappear somewhere last night.”

It was mostly the truth, but she said it so nonchalantly. She couldn’t know what happened after you disappeared. Coriolanus hadn’t seen a single person lay their eyes on either of you in that private moment.

“I get it,” she continued. “I wouldn’t want to be associated with someone from the districts either. She’s not thinking about how she’ll be perceived, or you. Don’t let her drag you down.”

Coriolanus just listened, the night flashing through his mind. No one could’ve known, there was no way.

He quickly corrected the hypocrisy in his own mind. He hadn’t done anything wrong, it was just private. No one else deserved to see you in that state—no one but him.

“We’re fine,” Coriolanus told her. “And her and Sejanus aren’t together anymore.”

Clemensia smirked to herself. “Good.”

Word spread quickly, and with the way you avoided Sejanus—a byproduct of you avoiding Coriolanus—everyone believed it. The final nail was the way you failed to appear at lunch. It got under Sejanus’s skin, causing him to question the state of your relationship without you to answer any said questions.

Truthfully, Coriolanus hadn’t seen anything as amusing in a long while, but your absence weighed on him, too.

The walk home alone was dreadful without you. Even in the morning when you had ignored him, it was better than you being completely gone.

When he got home, your door was shut. How quickly had you left your classes, how fast had you walked, all to avoid him?

This was growing old very, very quickly.

Grandma’am was on the roof with her roses, and Tigris seemed to be missing from the apartment. It was only because of that that Coriolanus devised a way to get into your room.

Why he didn’t think of picking the lock before, Coriolanus supposed it was because he thought you’d give in quicker and let him get the better of you. You were usually weak to him, allowing him to get his way without a problem. You had before.

“Last chance,” Coriolanus called through the locked door. He almost thought that would be enough. He wanted you to open it of your own will. “You can’t avoid me forever, just let me in.”

No such luck.

You looked surprised when he forced the door open, as if you really believed he would just take the loss. You were supposed to know him better than that.

You’d been sitting on your bed in pajamas, evidently already done with the day. Your legs were criss-crossed with a textbook in your lap. You looked up at him, a questioning expression taking over your features.

“What are you doing, Coryo?” you asked, voice low, eyes not quite meeting his directly.

“You weren’t opening the door.” Coriolanus squared his shoulders. “I wanted to talk to you.”

You shook your head, something between a sigh and a laugh escaping you in a puff of air. Coriolanus did not like the accusatory undertone.

“Did you think maybe I left it locked on purpose?” Were you mocking him? “That I wasn’t lying this morning and I really don’t want to speak to you?”

“That’s ridiculous,” Coriolanus insisted, closing your door behind him. He moved towards your bed, watching your body language the entire time as he finally sat on the edge beside you. “You thought I would just let you ignore me?”

You swallowed, closing the book in your lap. “I guess not,” you admitted, setting the textbook aside. “I am well aware of your ego.”

A frown crested Coriolanus’s lip. “Is that what this is—you want to hurt me?”

You tilted your head, catching his gaze, much like he’d made you do the night before. It was the first time in nearly a day since you’d looked him dead in the eye.

“What do you want, Coryo?”

“I want you”

“You want me to what? Not be with Sejanus? Is that it? Is that why you did what you did?”

“You say that like it was something awful. I was there too.” Coriolanus felt a familiar heat rush through him at the memory. “I know what I saw.”

“You humiliated me.”

“In front of who? No one saw us.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is? Because you know Sejanus is weak?” Coriolanus searched your eyes and leaned in closer. He was feeling antagonistic. “I mean, how could he touch you, knowing I got there first?”

Coriolanus caught your hand as you raised it, presumably to strike him.

“Is that what we’ve resorted to?”

He squeezed your wrist, enough to cause pain. You winced and tried to move away, but Coriolanus wasn’t going to let you get away.

“I could ask you the same,” you sneered, sounding like an entirely different person.

“What has happened to you?” Coriolanus questioned. He took a breath. “Do you want me to be sorry for what I’ve said? Fine, then, I apologize. But I’m not sorry for what I’ve done. You should not be with him.”

“I’m supposed to believe someone driven by jealousy?” you inquired back, blinking back tears. Why were you being so dramatic? “How can I trust anything you have to say to me now?”

Coriolanus was taken aback by the question. Did you really not trust him anymore? Even with the tight hold on your wrist, he could feel you slipping from his grasp. If you were to leave him, he’d never forgive the universe for its twisted irony. Coriolanus put so much time and care into you because he wanted you. His family didn’t, at least not at first, but even so, you’d have nothing if it wasn’t for him. Is that what you wanted to leave him with now? Nothing? Nothing but the memory of when you were his?

No, that wouldn’t do.

It just wouldn’t.

“You can trust me, I promise,” Coriolanus insisted, pleading, even. “I love you, I always have—you can’t have expected me to sit back and do nothing while you…”

You looked more betrayed, if that was even possible. He was trying to make it better but explaining was only making it worse. Coriolanus had never met a person where the more he talked, the more he tried to persuade them, they believed him less. In that way again you were an anomaly.

If Coriolanus couldn’t tell you, he could show you. He had to make you understand—he could salvage this and get what he wanted in the end. If he was anything, it was persistent. It had worked before, excluding the aftermath.

Coriolanus moved, keeping his hold on your wrist as he shoved you down, pulling himself up and then on top of you in a fluid motion.

You squirmed, questioning, “What are you doing?”

Coriolanus caught your other hand and brought it to join your other wrist he already had a hold of in one hand. He straddled your waist, keeping your body pinned.

“You won’t listen to me,” he pointed out. Something inside him urged him to lean down. “But I can still prove it to you, that it’s me you should be with. No one else.”

Then he crashed his lips onto yours. It was more forceful than it had been the previous night, ensuring you couldn’t turn away again. His tongue was already in your mouth before you thought to turn your head.

It didn’t matter if you didn’t kiss him back, Coriolanus was in bliss. Your lips were soft, molding perfectly to his. You moaned into his mouth, or maybe it was a protest, but it made his body heat up all the same. Coriolanus couldn’t get enough of you. Last night left him wanting more, not less.

More than that, he was determined. When he finally detached his lips from yours, the both of you panting, Coriolanus set forth on a track that wouldn’t allow him to turn around.

Even if he tried to take it back, everything would already be changed.

So he didn’t even bother hesitating. Coriolanus was determined, even, at yanking your clothes from your body.

Your words were jumbled by the time they reached his ears. His own heart racing with excitement drowned out any requests you had for him.

The word “stop” left his vocabulary until you yelled it too loud for his liking.

Your whole body shook when he clapped his hand over your mouth. Your top was completely gone, your chest heaving as you breathed through your nose. While Coriolanus could’ve easily been distracted by your state, he trained his eyes on your wide ones.

The word helpless crossed his mind, and he had to take a moment to control himself.

“Grandma’am is upstairs,” Coriolanus finally warned, voice low. “Don’t disturb her.”

You blinked. Coriolanus was almost surprised by the way you settled down, but it told him you understood the implications of alerting her.

Your position beneath Coriolanus had to be better than starving and cold on the street, didn’t it?

You didn’t have Sejanus anymore. If you thought you did, Coriolanus would make sure to remedy that with his friend before you got to him first.

As Coriolanus lifted his hand from your mouth, he silently implored he was the only one who could save you from being branded a liar.

Just as Coriolanus had always admired, you were a quick learner. As heartbroken as you looked, you didn’t raise your voice again.

“This isn’t how you make me want to be with you,” you pleaded. Coriolanus wasn’t sure whether to laugh or take it as a challenge.

“We’ll see,” he mused in response.

He got you bare, and then himself.

You averted your eyes from his body, which offended him more than he thought it would.

“You can look,” Coriolanus said, voice heavy.

Something about his voice must’ve gotten to you, because your eyes flicked between his legs. You swallowed and looked back away.

A prideful smirk overtook Coriolanus’s face.

He moved then, still keeping hold on your wrists in one hand, dragging them down over your belly, and placed himself between your legs.

With one hand still holding your wrists, Coriolanus shoved his other hand in between your legs, two prodding fingers finding your entrance before making their way in. Eagerness won out over his patience. He could take things slow later.

You tensed around him, fighting the intrusion, but he wasn’t going to let you win. Even if you weren’t squirming against him, you were resistant. Coriolanus slowly worked at breaking your resolve, massaging his fingers inside your walls, thumb on your clit.

He could see shame wash over your features when a wetness began to form, coating his fingers and allowing him to work you open for him.

“See, you can lie to me, but your body can’t,” Coriolanus asserted, voice thick with arousal.

That triggered something in you, and perhaps Coriolanus reacted too harshly.

It felt like it all happened in a flash. One moment you were on your back, beneath him, clenching around his fingers, and the next he had to manhandle you onto your chest and knees to fend off your attack and keep you still. He regained his hold on your hands quickly, pinning them behind your back while you panted from the short lived exertion.

Coriolanus leaned down to press his lips to your ear.

“I thought we agreed you weren’t going to fight me,” he growled.

Your shoulders shifted as you found further discomfort in your new position, but you didn’t speak. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of your voice—just like before.

Coriolanus wanted to watch your face as you submitted to him and his love for you, but if this was the only way he could have you for now, so be it.

He lined himself up with your entrance, enjoying the twitch of your body as he pressed the tip in.

Despite all the effort to get you where you were now, Coriolanus slid his cock into you with ease. Your body welcomed him, even if you didn’t.

He couldn’t help himself, his hips bucked forward, shoving himself into you deep. You whimpered into the pillow and Coriolanus’s mind went blank for a moment, basking in the feel of your warm cunt around him. It was better than he imagined.

His cock twitched inside of you, eager to fill you, but he had to make this last. Just like before, Coriolanus wanted to make you feel good. So good you had no choice but to want him.

Coriolanus drew his hips back after a few moments of just resting inside you. When only the tip remained, he thrust forward. Your body rocked against the mattress.

He did it again, this time slower. Forcing you to feel the drag of his thick cock inside of you. Coriolanus liked the way your body quivered as you succumbed to the pleasure he could give you.

You felt like heaven, all wet and warm and squeezing around him in a way that made him want to never leave you.

To show he trusted you, Coriolanus let your hands go. They immediately fell to grip the pillow beneath your head. You didn’t go to fight him and that counted for something. He had an ulterior motive, though, because now he could hold your hips with both hands.

He leaned down, pressing kisses to your back. He ran his hands along your skin, drinking the entirety of you in as he moved inside of you.

His movements were a bit slow, calculated, making you feel every inch of him stretching you out. Coriolanus imagined you rocking your hips back, your moans filling the room, eager for more. That would have to be saved for another time when you were more willing.

You body tensed and shivered, and Coriolanus knew you were getting close. You still had yet to speak.

It was petty, the sudden sharp thrust of his hips to shove his cock deep and hard into you.

A gasp—he drew a gasp from you.

He allowed his weight to fully fall on top of you, finally. Your skin was so warm on his chest, it was as if your body was trying to burn him off of you. Maybe it was all in his head. But it didn’t really matter. It was far too late for that.

“It’s okay to want it,” Coriolanus muttered into your ear.

He felt your body reacting and you were moments away from what he’d been pushing you towards. His thrusts grew shallow, not letting too much of himself leave you as you finally came undone.

You buried your face into the pillow, muffling your cry as you finally came around his cock. It was then that he got what he wanted, even if it was only brief. Your body spasmed and pushed back, trying to feel every inch of him stretching you out, clenching down to hold him there.

Coriolanus followed you soon after, cock throbbing in your walls, spilling inside of you and painting them white. He held your hips so tight he was sure he’d leave bruises as he held himself still, letting the both of you experience the sensation in full.

After however long—Coriolanus didn’t count the minutes—he withdrew from your body. He was a gentleman, so he helped you to lay down before your body collapsed on its own.

He laid down beside you, pulling your blanket over the top of both of your bodies with the intention to bring you comfort.

You were wordless, rolling onto your side, facing away from him.

Coriolanus turned with you, wrapping his arms around your midsection and pulling you back to him. He pressed a kiss to the back of your head before resting his lips near your ear.

“Do you really think not talking to me is the best idea?” he whispered, less frustrated than before.

You shook in his arms, but your voice was steady as you asked, “What do you expect me to say to you?”

Coriolanus didn’t have to think all that long.

“That you love me.”

You were silent for a moment, Coriolanus thought he was going to have to repeat himself.

“I did love you,” you uttered, voice threatening to break. “But it wasn’t enough for you.”

Coriolanus could’ve been angry, but he knew he’d win you back. He had all the time in the world, knowing you wouldn’t dare continue your relationship with Sejanus. How could you? You were already spoken for.

You were Coriolanus’s, you always had been. He realized it before you, but he knew you’d come to learn the truth. You’d accept it eventually, and everything would fall into place exactly as he wanted.

[hrrystylesbookclub]

i don’t just want a book about each hunger games, i want to know the entire history of panem: the fall of north america and how it became panem, how long they existed as a capitol and thirteen districts, what led to the dark days, how panem changed in the time between the 10th and 74th games, if they have contact with other countries, what happened to the other countries, how far into the future this is

the brilliance of suzanne collins is that she created such a rich world where i’m genuinely interested in any sort of story set within panem, not just in context of the games but their entire history books

[murdrdocs]

coriolanus snow who kisses like he’s trying to consume you. his lips are hungry and a tad too aggressive. they’re passionate, he kisses passionately. his hands, big and holding power within his palms, engulf your cheeks. his fingertips thread in your hair. one of his hands venture down and cup your jaw and with just a lift of your chin, his hand is slipping down to your jugular. when your lips still, his do too, and he gives a single kiss that is meant to soothe you. it works well enough for you to comfortably allow coriolanus to wrap his hand around the front of your throat like a collar. marking yet another form of possession off his list.

[coryosbaby]

i’d do ANYTHING for a part 2 of life lessons

Teacher

synopsis: Coryo oversteps some boundaries with himself (and doesn’t regret it).

♡ content warning . Threesome, more Sejanus x coryo in this? (the genderfluid in me screaming rn) + some sexuality questioning and inner homophobia, handjobs, praise and degradation, cum eating . Dom! Sejanus, switch! Reader, sub! Coryo <3

He didn’t think it would happen again.

Not in a million years. Not after that one night, when him and Sejanus had let go with you watching. When Sejanus had punished him for taking your orgasm from him. When they touched each other. He thought their friendship was ruined.

Oh boy, was he wrong.

Sejanus has him sprawled out on your bed now, the pink sheets that made Coryo let out a snort before the other boy had scolded him silky and soft. Coryo’s cock lays against his stomach, red and aroused to its fullest capacity. You’re on your stomach, your cheek nuzzling Coryo’s thigh, leaving little kisses on the meaty skin there. You’ve grown fond of him, this handsome blonde boy, and you know Sejanus’ adoration has only increased since that one night.

And that’s why Coryo has allowed him to touch him again.

It’s not as intimate or close as it was that one night. No— this is easier, simpler. Coryo feels less pain slicing through his stomach when Sejanus’ face isn’t towering over his own. When it isn’t a fight— a rough, desperate battle of tongue on tongue and skin on skin. When he’s not seeing a boy above him.

He has no problem with men who like other men. He finds it stupid to worry about such a dumb, small thing, to be in other people’s business like that. But those words from his peers, the hatred towards such people, it makes his gut twist with guilt.

Guilt because he likes men. Guilt because he likes Sejanus.

He likes you, too. At least sexually. Maybe a little romantically too, but he doesn’t know how comfortable Sejanus would be knowing that, so he keeps his mouth shut about his feelings. About it all.

He shakes the thoughts out of his head. There’s no reason to think these things right now, not when Sejanus’ fingers are wrapping around his cock and tugging, something he’s oddly good at and Coryo suspects he’s probably done this before. His precum drips over the other boy’s fist, wet and warm and perfect. You keep giving Coryo these teasing little eyes, challenging him to do something, anything to test your limits, to test Sejanus’, and you know that once Coryo is challenged that he’ll try his hardest to win.

He tries to move away from Sejanus’ hand. He doesn’t want to. It takes all his willpower to pull his hips away. But he does it, and he does it because he wants Sejanus to put him in his place and not because he wants to stop. Sejanus knows this, because if he really wanted to stop he would use the safeword. He grunts, his big arm grabbing onto Coryo’s lean body.

“Stop it,” he growls, burying his chin in the boy’s golden curls. “Don’t be a brat.”

Coryo smirks, his nails digging into the other boys equally bare thighs.

“Or what, Sejanus? It’s not like you have any power, anyway. She’s wanting to suck my cock.”

Oh, he’s done it now. Mentioning you in his little tantrum, claiming some kind of territory over you. Sejanus hand goes up around the boy’s neck, the kind of grip that Coryo didn’t expect from him. His teeth scrape against his neck and his hand goes back down to his cock.

Only this time, he slaps him. Hard.

Coryo grits his teeth. A groan escapes him, and his cock reddens under Sejanus’ hand.

“What did I tell you?” The brunette warns him.

“Mmm…” Coryo lets out a sultry little whine, his hips humping up into the open air with precision. “I’m sorry.”

He says it with no real meaning, a faux tone in his voice. Sejanus scoffs, and his hand wraps around him again. You watch the whole scene with an amused look.

“You’re gonna be,” Sejanus says, and his eyes direct to you. “Open your mouth, sweetheart.”

You obey, all sweet and innocent. Sejanus’ hand furiously rubs over Coryo’s cock, and the boy gasps, his hips lifting up as he groans throatily. You think he looks gorgeous, abs pulled taught, wet cock threatening to squirt into your open, awaiting mouth. Sejanus’ hardness rubs against the boy’s back as he watches the scene, his best friend and his girl getting each other all hot and bothered. Coryo’s face is contorted in intense pleasure, and he knows he’s close. Can feel it in the way his balls draw up tight, in the way his ears begin to ring from the force of his upcoming orgasm.

When he cums inside your mouth, your tongue laps him up greedily. You’re a slut for cum, all salty and creamy and thick, and you can’t wait to get Sejanus’, too. Coryo pushes your head forward, demands you lap up the rest of it. Sejanus lets him. You clean his cock up in no time.

But Sejanus gives you a look. A look that tells you not to stop. You know your boyfriend well, after all, and you can read practically any expression he makes.

So you don’t stop sucking him. Coryo tries to move your hand off, tries to get you to stop, “‘s too much,” he says in that whimpering tone. But Sejanus grabs his fingers and holds them down so he can’t take you off of him. He cries at the overstimulation, literal tears flooding his blushing cheeks, and Sejanus kisses his neck.

“It’s okay, Coryo,” he says softly. “Gonna cum again, yeah? Gonna cum for us?”

And how can he resist that?

So with a mix of pleasure and pain coursing through his cock, he makes himself let out weak spurts of cum onto your tongue again. But your mouth doesn’t stop— again. And no, no, it’s too much, it hurts, but how can Coryo resist?

So he sits back, lets Sejanus move down to play with that space behind his cock, and submits.

[sentient-stove]

“Clockwork, give me strength to break up with my boyfriend.”

“Daniel, that’s not in my wheelhouse.”

Danny shrieked at the response, clearly not expecting an answer considering he’d been standing alone in the room moments earlier. He wrenched back, door handle snapping off into his palm and then his legs caught the abandoned backpack on the floor, sending him to the ground with a thump.

Turns out, landing on a weeks worth of abandoned homework and textbooks in a cramped dorm room genuinely hurt. Danny lay there for a moment, staring at the glo in the dark stars stuck to the ceiling and wondered if he should maybe just give up for the day and crawl back into bed.

“Clockwork! Warn a dude next time!”

“Are you alright?”

“Yes! No! Yea— Can I be honest? I’m gonna be honest- I wasn’t expecting you to show up.”

“You specifically requested my help. Why are you breaking up with the Drake boy, the timelines are still intact.”

“I can’t do class, vigilante-around and date my hyperaware and paranoid boyfriend at the same time. Dating happens to be the one I can cut out. I already held a funeral for my social life.”

“A funeral for— I’m sure that there’s other solutions here.” For as confused as the ghost sounded, he sure was taking it in stride. Danny liked that about Clockwork, guy really just went with the flow and nodded along to any gossip Danny brought over. Or summoned in in this case apparently.

“Will the space time continuum collapse if I break up with Tim?”

“…No.”

“Cool, then I’m doing it. I might not even cry a little.”

[kamaluhkhan]

you are so gorgeous (it makes me so mad)

pairing: young!coryo snow x fem!reader

summary: clemensia dovecote has a theory that you and snow are destined for an enemies to lovers arc. you're sure it's completely, absolutely not true...right?

warnings: 18 + smut; biting + mention of blood ; both reader and snow are not the best ppl and have some very classist/elitist opinions

a/n: finally!! i wrote one of the ideas that has been haunting me ever since i've been back in my hunger games obsession + watched tbosbas...needless to say this will likely be a series inspired by taylor swift's reputation album. also i am so sorry this is unedited bc ofc it's 3am when i had the motivation to write this but i hope y'all enjoy ♡

i've had enemies so intense it felt like love, so mutual it felt romantic (chelsea hodson)

"what in the name of all the gods is he doing here?"

you're practically seething when coriolanus snow walks into your foyer. he's wearing an ensemble made with crisp white silk and intricately embroidered with gold thread - elegant, eventhough its silhouette would have been fashionable last year. a single white rose sits in the pocket of his jacket. he surveys the crowd, like he's calculating who's most worthy of his attention, platnium blond hair perfectly curled and practically glowing under the light of the chandelier. he looks beautiful, almost angelic.

you absolutely hate it.

"oh, i invited him," clemensia dovecote informs non-chalantly.

coriolanus makes eye contact with you from across the room, and you turn your head sharply to your best friend.

"why would you think it was okay to invite him?"

clemensia smiles mischeviously, grabbing two champagne flutes from a passing silver tray. she hands one to you.

"i know the two of you have your petty squabbles — "

"they are not petty, nor are they squabbles," you grumble, taking a sip of your drink.

your contempt towards coriolanus was perfectly reasonable and absolutely mutual. he had some ridiculous notion that snow had to land on top, that it was his right to be there instead of yours. your relationship, if you could call it that, was limited to nothing more than snide remarks, sarcastic comments, and scornful stares. you both hyperaware of the importance of keeping up appearances, but the older you got - the closer to life outside of the academy and the higher the stakes - the more any sense of civility between you two faded. just earlier this week, you'd gotten into such a heated debate about the best way to increase viewership for the upcoming 10th annual hunger games, that your professor excused you both from the class early due to the disruption. it seemed that no one knew how to make you burn with anger quite like coriolanus snow.

clemensia rolls her eyes. "whatever you want to call it, i actually think the two of you would get along if you really tried."

one of the things you admired - and, frankly, loathed - about clemensia was her determination to always prove herself right. she had this theory - one you would call ludicrous - that the tension between you and coriolanus had nothing to do with academics or status and everything to do with wanting to rip each other's clothes off.

your eyes catch coriolanus' icy blue ones again and you down the rest of your drink. obviously, clemensia was wrong about this. so, very wrong.

"well," you huff, setting your empty glass down on another silver tray that passes by. you brush invisible dust off your dress - a deep red lace, short and form fitting with exaggerated long sleeves - and add: "you'll be lucky if i invite you to my next party."

clemensia might have had the sense to apologize then, but you walked away before she had a chance.

you allow yourself to weave through the crowd, greeting every guest with an equal facade of enthusiasm and grace. you smile as brightly at one person as you do the next, showing off your newly bleached teeth and making sure that everyone feels special. silver trays of food and drinks appear and reappear throughout the crowd, being carried by nameless waiters. there's a table overflowing with gifts concealed by crisply folded wrapping paper - you expect at least half of them will be worthless.

you put up a good front, but soon enough your lipstick needs reapplying and your hair readjusting, so you briefly excuse yourself lest anyone notice a crack in your perfectly constructed image. the door to your room is slightly ajar, and you open it to reveal none other than the person you'd deliberately, but not so successfully, tried to ignore all night, his white silk shirt stained a dark crimson that happened to match your dress.

coriolanus was furious when he found out you'd invited the entire graduating class, except him, to your birthday party. you'd even invited sejanus. it wasn't that he particularly wanted to celebrate you, of all people. you were the most brilliant, biting, enfuriating person he knew, but to be excluded in such a way was insulting. when clemensia extended him the invite, he jumped at the chance to prove to everyone, to you, that he belonged here. tigris curated his outfit, and it would have been perfect had arachne crane, vapid creature she was and ever the lightweight, spilled an entire glass of red wine on him. he hurried away before anyone could see him in such a humiliating state. coriolanus is in the middle of calculating his options when you walk into what he now realizes is your bedroom.

you don't say a word at first. you haven't said one to him all night. instead, you close the door behind you and your eyes graze his figure.

"you show up to my party, late no less, and now you're parading around in what looks like a bloodstained shirt that is far too outmoded to be appropriate attire for this occasion," you remark, displaying that signature fierceness. "are you trying to ruin my birthday, snow?"

"don't blame me," coriolanus scoffs. his shoulders tense and he makes a point to stand up a bit straighter. "blame arachne for not being able to hold her alcohol while she's complaining about the food."

"oh?" you raise an eyebrow. "what did she say?"

"something about people in the districts having better options."

"vapid bitch," you mutter under your breath. you walk over to your closet, disappearing for a few seconds before bringing out a fresh shirt. you extend it to him, but he doesn't take it.

"i can't very well have a good time when one of my guests looks like he just got killed in the hunger games," you huff. "so either you put this on or your leave my party. now."

coriolanus holds your gaze, his jaw clenched, before giving in and taking the shirt from you. he goes to undo the buttons of his shirt, but stops when he notices that your eyes never leave him.

"some privacy would be nice," he says sharply.

you roll your eyes, muttering something about it being your house and your room, before sitting across the room at your vanity. as he undresses and throws his soiled shirt on the floor, coriolanus watches you closely. you meticulously apply lipstick, the shade of red almost as dark as your black nails.

you were attractive, there was no denying that, but ultimately dangerous. because you weren't carelessly cruel like arachne, nor did you wear your heart on your sleeve like sejanus. you didn't use your family's status as an excuse to avoid hard work like felix, nor were you a spineless know-it-all like clemensia. no, you were different from the rest. you had a fiery ambition and a sharp tongue, a wicked streak with just enough charisma to lure people in. sometimes when he thinks of you, coriolanus recalls stories his grandma'am once told him and tigress, about sea monsters who would tempt sailors with their bewitching voices and enchanting beauty, enticing them to risk everything - to jump into the ocean and never be relevant as anything more than a midnight snack. you were a constant, suffocating reminder of how quickly he could lose everything if he lost control, if he gave in.

coriolanus watches you set down the tube of lipstick before picking up a compact. you lightly brush the shimmery powder inside over your face to accentuate some of your gorgeous features.

the desire that burns throughout his body now has to be a side effect of the few glasses of liquor he managed to drink, allowing himself the appearance of having a good time alongside everyone else without losing control.

your eyes leave your reflection momentarily, and you finally catch coriolanus staring at you. you wink at him from across the room just as he's finished with the last button. the way you look at him makes the collar of his shirt feel tighter.

he can not give in....but what's the harm in admitting, just for one night, that he would let you drown him? devour him? beg on his knees to give you pleasure, and then thank you after the fact?

coriolanus clears his throat. "this feels wrong. i should be the one gifting you with a new shirt. it's your birthday, after all."

you let out a breathy laugh, setting down your makeup. you walk over to him, until there are only a few inches between you despite the vastness of your bedroom.

even you had to concede that coriolanus snow had such a gorgeous face for such a vicious person. you're infuriated by how elegant he looks now, in your shirt. your hands busy themselves in smoothing down his already perfect collar and you take note of the intensity of his heartbeat. you notice the way his jaw remains clenched, his posture stiff, his skin flushed. you realize that he must be trying so hard right now to retain his composure around you and you feel something that can only be described as triumph.

you smile at him, sickly sweet, and remove your hands from his body. "the best birthday present i could get is winning the plinth prize over you, snow. we both know you're not good enough, let alone better than me."

he hesitates slightly before responding.

"sorry, valerius. that's the one thing i can't give you. is there anything else you'd want from me?" he whispers, words dripping like honey.

"that depends, is there anything you want from me?"

he hums, moving his hand to cup your cheek. he begins to trace your lips with his thumb, ruining the look you had so meticulously crafted.

if only you knew.

"you're the birthday girl, sweetheart," he chides. "i'm supposed to be the one giving the gift. you do know how birthdays work, don't you?"

he's mocking you, you know that. he's trying to make you feel weak and small. you had the power a second ago, his heartbeat in the palm of your hand, and normally you wouldn't stand for him turning the tables. you'd push him away, storm out the door. but right now all you want is to tug on his perfect blond curls, to bite the smirk off his lips. maybe it's the way he's so close and can't seem to take his eyes off your lips or the calculated amount of wine you drank that's made your head a bit foggy, made you put your guard down. made you start to entertain the idea that maybe possibly clemensia's theory had some truth to it.

"why don't you surprise me?" you suggest.

coriolanus surges forward and kisses you with such ferocity, he might as well be a man starving. teeth on teeth on tongue. you instantly tangle your hands into his hair, pull on some curls just to see what he'd do. he retaliates by biting down on your bottom lip, hard enough that you taste the metallic tang of blood mixed with the remnants of honeyed wine on his lips. you whimper and pull away slightly. he holds your face firmly between his two hands, so you cannot go too far.

"sorry." but he smirks, and you know he doesn't really mean it.

eventually, you've both stumbled onto the bed half-naked. coriolanus positions himself above you, effectively caging you in with his arms and legs. you take note of his lean thighs, his bare torso with skin taut around his bones. you're almost taken aback by how frail he looks - like a malnourished teenager from one of the districts. you reach out to trace the outline of his ribs, your nails scraping against his skin, and he shudders. your hand moves lower, teasing the waistband of his underwear. he stops you before it slips underneath the material.

instead, coriolanus begins to indulge in his deepest fantasy. he kisses and sucks and bites down your body, his tongue trailing down your chest, over your breasts and around your nipples, across your stomach. he laps up your soft whines, the curses that tumble from your lips for him to do something more. you sink further into the silk sheets when he arrives between your thighs. you raise your hips, desperate to find any sort of relief, and you feel his nails dig into your hips.

"patience," he teases, his breath fanning over where you needed him most. "so needy." you could practically feel coriolanus roll his eyes.

"i swear to god snow, if you don't do something soon. i-i'll go find someone else to fuck me. felix, or maybe sejanus --"

you yelp when his teeth sink into your inner thigh. he looks up at you, eyes the darkest blue you've ever seen them.

"don't," coriolanus warns, and he gets back to work, lips actually arriving at where you needed them most.

after you've reached your high, he comes back up to kiss you, allowing you to taste yourself. when he pulls away, you take note of how his lips and nose shine with remnants of you. the way he looks at you while he licks his lips shows you that he wants more. you move your hand down, and you're deeply satisfied when you feel him half hard, already sticky with his release.

"oh." you smirk. "you already finished."

his eyes widen, skin flushing pink. you could feel his heartbeat grow faster above you. you could imagine he was debating the best way to restore his dominance from before. yet, here he was, nothing but a horny teenage boy who came untouched as he was eating out his worst enemy. you find it in you to not call him pathetic, but instead decide, in your post-orgasm haze, you find it endearing.

"i-i didn't mean to, but --"

"i'm just that sexy when i cum," you suggest, running your hands through his curls to calm him down. "how about we try again, pretty boy?"

soon enough, he's sitting up with his back against your headboard and your legs wrapped around his waist, his length fully nestled into your warm cunt. coriolanus' blunt nails graze your hips, moving lower to your ass to guide you with each thrust. you love seeing him underneath you, seeming completely mesmerized by how your breasts bounce up and down in front of him. he leans forward to wrap his lips around your nipple, but you beat him to it. you bend forward and suck bruises onto his skin, everywhere and anywhere: underneath his chin, across his collarbone, where his neck meets his shoulder.

his moans are so loud, and you're sure he's not going to last much longer. you're also worried that some of the other party guests might catch you, so you pull his head away from your shoulder and crash your lips back onto to his. you swallow his moans as best you can, tongues fight for dominance, but he lets out a deep groan, and lets you win. you bite down on his bottom lip just as you reach your climax, causing him to let out a deep groan once more.

you gasp when he suddenly flips you over, pulls out of you and stokes himself a few times before painting your body with his release. coriolanus all but collapses on the bed beside you. you're both breathing heavily for a few moments, on your backs looking up at the ceiling, before he turns on his side towards you. coriolanus trails hs fingers down to your abdomen, sticky with his cum.

"i told you: snow lands on top."

"was that a joke, coryo?" you guffaw, genuinely surprised at the mischievous but playful glint in his eye. a bit surprised at yourself, too, for using his nickname that you'd so carefully avoided. you had to remind yourself that he was still the same coriolanus snow you'd grown to hate.

the boy tangled in the sheets beside you, his messy curls translucent under the light of your chandelier, his skin glowing with sweat and decorated with lipstick and rose-petal bruises. the boy who now smiles at you with dazzling blue eyes, leans closer and whispers:

"don't get used to it. it's a special occasion." coriolanus kisses you sweetly, and you shiver before he adds: "happy birthday."

this boy in bed with you now is the same manipulative, power hungry snake who would stab you in the back if need be. and, the truth of the matter is: you aren't much different, either.

you get up to grab his wine-stained shirt, use it to wipe off his release and toss it back down to the floor.

his eyes follow you the entire time, even as you come back to straddle him again. almost instantly, you feel him harden underneath you. you hold his head in your hands, kiss him deeply, tease his bottom lip between your teeth as you pull away.

"snow lands on top, huh? not for long, if i can help it."

[balladofthewhitehorse]

Beowulf

One of the earliest mentions of Sweden in old English literature comes in the form of the epic poem of Beowulf

It was an old story, but England remembered every word (brimming with valour and courage, the mead-hall just as alive in his memory as it had been hundreds of years ago). ‘’You know, I used to think you were really cool.’’ He murmured softly, as they walked through the woods - the walk had been insisted upon, Sweden resolute as he shouldered his coat and strode through the doors; It was an early morning, with the birds still rousing - and ordinarily, England would have just have scoffed at the notion of an early hike before skulking back to his bedroom. Yet, when Sweden’s eyes caught his across the floor of the lobby, England found himself inexplicably drawn towards - and then out the door with Sweden, despite the sleepiness in his limbs. 

(Sweden had told him not to smoke, and although pride implored that he didn’t need anyone to mother him, England felt a little warmer for the other’s blunt kindness; And he stamped his cigarette out beneath his boot with a half-hearted grumble about how the other worried too often). Half-listening, Sweden arched an eyebrow ponderously. ‘’You used to find me cool?’’ He replied with a soft grunt as he strode over a mossy log; He turned on his heel to stare England down, a rare smile (as fleeting as the flash of scales, beneath the briny sea). ‘’I don’t think that’s how you make friends, England.’’ He retorted softly, as they ambled beneath the dawn-painted trees. ‘’...Is there something that you wanted to talk about?’’ Something thorny bristled inside him, itching beneath his skin as Sweden’s jaw tensed (He hadn’t noticed anything wrong between himself and England - and yet, he knew England could be frustratingly evasive at the best of times).

‘’You know Beowulf?’’ Sweden frowned, brows knitting together in bemusement. ‘’It’s an old story, what about it?’’ (England clung to the fuzzy gorse of the hill, trembling like a hunted rabbit; They had come at dawn when the skies were still vermillion. The village burned on the horizon, an ugly plume of smoke marking the spot; A scar on the Earth, a wound upon England’s pride as he pursed his lips in a seething anger. Two figures walked steadily along the dirt track at the hill’s foot, and he watched them in a stony silence. Only the night before, England had been in one of the houses as one of the older men recounted the tale of a Geatish hero who had defeated three monsters.

Sweden slowly walked up the hill, breath heavy as he strode through swaying throngs of plantain and grass. Sweat clung to his brow - and Sweden longed to kneel, to catch his breath while Denmark and Norway were still occupied; As he crested the hill, Sweden caught sight of a shape lying prone in the grass, hands clasped tightly together. It was a boy, praying in the grass with a face scrunched in fitful concentration - and no doubt one of the villagers, judging by his clothes. 

He was wondering what to do, hand drifting to his axe - when the boy’s eyes snapped open. 

‘’Beowulf.’’ Breathed England - quickly staggering to his feet. ‘’Y-you’re Beowulf. The brooches.’’

Perplexed, Sweden could only nod. ‘’Uh-...Geatish.’’ He mumbled. ‘’They’re from the Geats.’’ The confirmation of the Geats was enough for England, who rose to his feet (knees stained with grass and buttercup; Sweden almost wanted to brush his hose clean). Blood pounded in his ears as he stared up at the taller man, awe leaving him transfixed; Leaving England harrowed, a tremor in his limbs as he grasped Sweden’s sleeve. ‘’Beowulf-’’ He pointed towards the figures at the base of the hill, heart heavy - tongue heavier - as he stared in anguish. ‘’-Rip his arm off, like you did with Grendel.’’ The command was easy to give, England’s voice trembling with hope. ‘’D-denmark?’’ Sweden echoed, raising an eyebrow. ‘’You want me to-’’ He shook his head, frowning solemnly as England turned his face towards him; This was no boy, Sweden could tell. ‘’-Kill him.’’

A lump rose in Sweden’s throat, as England’s eyes began to well-up; At the base of the hill, Denmark had frozen and turned to peer towards the crest, and Sweden knew what he would do. He might have done the same, had England not spotted him. ‘’Run. Lay low, let…let Beowulf deal with this.’’ Sweden cleared his throat solemnly, guiding the boy towards a small deer-track that ran down the other face of the hill. ‘’I’ll take care of…of Grendel for you.’’ Sweden knew that he would do no such thing - At most, he could buy England a few days of freedom; He could offer him one more chance, it didn’t feel right to strike the boy down when he looked at him like that.) 

‘’You were Beowulf to me, once.’’ England scoffed, cheeks flushed. ‘’It was-’’ He trailed off, shoving his hand in his pocket as sheepishness lapped at the pit of his belly; Childhood fantasies, made to cope with the realisation that his existence was going to be a long and painful one. Denmark’s bossing around tempered by the notion that somewhere, out-there was a hero who would save him in the end; Once he’d realised those were just tales, England had sought out to become stronger. Less dependent, although he never quite shook that sentimentality. Sweden smiled gently, snorting with amusement as he nodded in understanding. ‘’It was silly.’’ It was just a story; All of it was just a story, the kind that Sweden would read to his own children at bedtime.  ‘’So-’’ He cleared his throat, frowning quizzically. ‘’-What’s made you bring it up now?’’ In the grand-scheme of things, the tale of Beowulf was a small thing - a manuscript with no name, no author; England had many more tales like Beowulf, as did Sweden. But then, he knew England could be vastly more sentimental about these things than he was - and he wondered what his friend saw in the tale, that would bring him to remind Sweden about the tale of the hero. ‘’I dunno.’’ Ah, of course. 

Sweden shoved down his irritation at the vague response, sighing. There had to be a reason that England might bring it up; Some attempt at digging beneath his skin, an irritation that had come to a head and this was his way of hinting that Sweden had fallen short in some way? Discomfort lodged itself in his throat, Sweden rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly as they ambled beneath the trees. The pause felt suffocating. He was a man at sea - and he felt horribly inept about the situation, frowning as he cast his gaze skyward (ducking away from catching England’s eyes, Sweden clung to the sanctuary of the branches; Admiring the way the sun slowly filtered through the leaves). ‘’Is that it?’’ He scoffed, unable to help rolling his eyes. ‘’Sure?’’ ‘’Ah-’’ England huffed quietly, recognition flickering in his eyes. ‘’-Don’t take it personally, Sweden. I used to think you were Beowulf.’’ It was an old story, and sheepishness lapped in the pit of his belly (he’d whispered it to himself as he’d watched Sweden walk away - and ran off, certain that his new friend would fix all of his problems for him). ‘’And well, I eventually learned you weren’t.’’ ‘’When was that?’’ England sighed, watching the thoughts racing behind Sweden’s eyes (a storm - rolling over the mountain peaks - quiet, yet thunderous all the same; A less familiar man might have walked away, but he had seen this sort of ruminating air about Sweden all the time). ‘’Hey-’’ He smiled, a cheerful burr in every syllable. ‘’-I like Sweden.’’ Sure, his friend was no dragon-slayer of yore; Yet England still felt compelled to walk by his side as a friend (just as Wiglaf, perhaps, had padded after Beowulf into that final lair; His most faithful ally, a comparison - England felt, with a pang of guilt deep in his bones - that might be far too grand for the likes of him). ‘’Who could resist you?’’ 

‘’You just like me because I bring pastries.’’ Quipped Sweden, with a smile like sunlight breaking through the grey clouds. Slowly, the pair were beginning to loop back around to the hotel. ‘’Hm?’’ England scoffed with amusement. ‘’Not true-’’ He rolled his eyes. ‘’-You’re thoughtful.’’ ‘’Thoughtful?’’ ‘’Did you know that nobody knows who wrote Beowulf?’’ England murmured. ‘’Or when?’’ Sweden crossed his arms, and frowned ponderously;

‘’Tell me more about Beowulf.’’ England smiled, and obliged gladly. 

(Sweden inspired by + belongs to @nordickies, thanks for letting me borrow him :D)

[childrenofcain-if]

Picture this: ROs showing up to their morning classes looking slightly disheveled and quickly taking a seat. Little do they know that their necks are covered with hickeys left by MC the night before. Their reactions when people point it out should be priceless 😂😂

C LACROIX

C barely made it out of bed that morning, the remnants of the night still clinging to them like a warm, invisible string. they hadn’t even looked in the mirror beyond a quick pass of the toothbrush and mouthwash, hadn’t registered the faint bruises blooming like dark smudges on their fair neck.

it was an unusually rushed morning—coffee sloshing in its cup, a blazer haphazardly pulled on over yesterday’s rumpled button-up shirt, and the quiet contentment that still lingered under their skin from the night before.

the lecture hall was in that strange, early-morning lull, with only the few dedicated souls filtering in. C took a seat near the front of the lecture room, slouching down and letting their eyes drift, half-focused on the professor setting up for the day. the room filled up slowly, a dozen students murmuring, flipping open their notebooks, the usual dull hum of university mornings. C felt halfway to a daydream.

it wasn’t until ten minutes into class that the girl sitting directly behind them leaned in with a conspiratorial grin.

“hey, C,” she whispered, her gaze flicking from their bored green eyes to somewhere just below their jaw, amusement dancing in her expression. “had a busy night?”

C looked at her, eyes narrowing in confusion, and she just giggled, clearly finding some private delight in whatever she was looking at. the professor’s voice was droning on in the background about economic indicators, but C’s attention had slipped, irritation prickling.

“what are you talking about?” they muttered back, still bleary with early-morning fatigue. “your neck,” she said with a little wave of her hand, as if that explained everything. “care to explain what that is?”

C’s hand shot to their neck, feeling the skin warm under their touch. they hadn’t given it much thought, hadn’t even realized—last night’s memory a blur of laughter, close warmth, the heady closeness of you, but now it crystallized sharply in their mind. they could feel the heat creeping up their neck, but the words came out automatically, with practiced precision.

“this is a sign,” C said, raising an eyebrow and giving her a look that could have frozen rivers, “for you to mind your own business.”

the girl laughed, raising her hands in mock surrender. “all right, all right,” she said, but her smirk didn’t fade, and C could feel other eyes turning in their direction, whispers curling through the air like smoke. they slouched further in their seat, wishing they could disappear entirely and regretting the decision to sit on the front.

as the professor rambled on, C sat there fuming, each murmured glance another spark on an already frayed wick. what had you been thinking, they found themself wondering, though they knew perfectly well that you’d been thinking of nothing but the electric thrill of the moment, your hands in their hair, the quiet gasps and the blurred edges of night.

the guy two seats behind caught C’s eye and smirked.

“didn’t know you were the type,” he said, barely containing his laughter.

“what type?” C snapped, keeping their tone flat but seething inside.

“the type to walk around like a billboard,” he replied, nodding toward C’s neck. “seriously, you might want to invest in a scarf.”

C shot him an unimpressed look. “thanks for the suggestion, but i’m not taking fashion advice from poor people.”

the guy frowned in disbelief before huffing and muttering, “whatever, rich prick.”

class dragged on, the ticking of the clock like nails on a chalkboard. C tried to keep their head down, but the whispers and glances only seemed to get louder. every time they caught someone’s eye, there was that same smirk, that same knowing look that made C want to snap, to tell everyone to go back to their notes and leave them the hell alone. but of course, that would only make things worse.

by the time class ended, C was practically out of their seat before the professor had even finished dismissing them. they strode out of the room, head down, hoping to avoid any more looks or comments, but of course, luck wasn’t on their side. just as they stepped out into the hallway, someone else called out.

“nice look, C,” a girl from one of their other classes teased, looking far too pleased with herself.

C sighed, letting out a sharp breath. “you know, there are more interesting things in this world than staring at my neck.”

“oh, but it’s the most interesting thing we’ve seen all semester,” she shot back, laughing, her friends joining in.

C rolled their eyes and kept walking, feeling the last shreds of their patience fraying. they practically stormed down the college halls, footsteps echoing, each step a reminder of the mess they’d somehow gotten themself into. and all because of you, they thought, though they couldn’t bring themselves to be truly angry. there was a part of them—a very small, very hidden part—that was secretly pleased, that liked the quiet claim your marks had left on their skin.

finally, they found a quiet corner, pulling out their phone with a sigh. it only took a second to find your name, to start typing a message they hadn’t planned to send but couldn’t hold back any longer.

they kept it short, precise: “i hope you’re happy with the unwanted attention i’ve been getting today.”

your reply came almost immediately, as if you’d been waiting for it.

“oh, i am,” you texted back, and C could almost picture the smirk on your face, the gleam in your eyes. “plus, it’s not like you’re complaining.”

they scoffed, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of their mouth despite themselves: “you’re an idiot, starkid.”

“you still didn’t deny it though,” came your reply, and C shook their head, slipping their phone back into their pocket.

they straightened up, brushing a hand over their neck as if that could somehow erase the marks before walking back to their dorm to do something about it.

V NÆSHOLM

V was already late, stumbling out of their dorm with a heavy book clutched against their chest, their fingers pressed tight to the leather cover like it was a lifeline. they’d overslept, an unusual occurrence, the morning alarm buried somewhere under last night’s fog of dreams and restless shuffles in bed. their curls were a bit of a mess, the hem of their shirt tugged half-untucked in their rush to get dressed. V didn’t bother with a mirror—they rarely did—just shoved their notebook into a worn leather bag and hurried out into the crisp morning.

the classics lecture room was already half-full when they slipped in, doing their best to keep their head down as they found an empty seat by the window. they fumbled with the zipper of their bag, pulling out pens, notes, the creased corner of an assignment they’d meant to retype. a couple of glances flitted their way, but V paid them no mind, assuming it was just the consequence of arriving late—not their usual style, but excusable, they supposed. they hadn’t quite noticed the warmth still lingering on their neck, hadn’t registered the faint marks, those tiny bruises left by your lips in the hazy hours of last night, each one like a dark cherry painted on their skin.

professor caldwell’s voice began to drone on from the front, and V dropped their gaze to the desk, willing themselves to focus, to let the rhythm of greek declensions and conjugations drown out the lingering warmth that tingled through them. you had laughed about their major, half-joking about the language of romance and poetry while your mouth traced along the curve of their neck, each word becoming something soft, quiet, reverent in the dark. they thought they could still feel it, could still remember the press of your hands against their shoulders, the unguarded look in your eyes that made V feel both completely exposed and utterly safe.

across the room, someone leaned over to their friend, whispering something with a smirk, and V felt the faint prickling sensation of being watched. they glanced up, catching the raised eyebrows, the conspiratorial gleam in their classmates’ eyes. V’s face warmed instantly, but they managed a small, polite smile before dropping their gaze back to their notebook, convinced that if they focused hard enough, they could make themself invisible.

it wasn’t long before someone inched closer, a girl from their study group, flashing them a look that was equal parts amused and intrigued.

“V,” she whispered, leaning in, “looks like you had an eventful night.”

V blinked, taken aback. “an eventful night?”

she gave them a playful grin, tilting her head just enough for her eyes to drift to the side of their neck, and suddenly, V felt the weight of her gaze as if it were a burning mark itself. they pressed a hand self-consciously to their skin, realizing with a jolt what she must be seeing—the faint outline of each mark you’d left, the soft purples and blues etched into their dusky skin.

the girl’s grin widened, and V could practically feel the heat creeping up their neck, staining their cheeks.

“i– it’s not–” they stammered, words tumbling over themselves in a futile attempt to explain something that needed no explanation. “it’s just… nothing!”

she laughed, a soft, knowing sound that made V feel like every inch of them was under a spotlight.

“sure,” she replied, her tone teasing. “nothing at all.”

another voice piped up from across the room, this time one of the guys they vaguely recognized from last semester, watching them with a smirk. “get it, V!”

V felt their heart sink, the warmth on their cheeks intensifying as they desperately tried to avoid making eye contact with anyone. they wanted to disappear, to melt into the seat and let the floor swallow them whole. this wasn’t like them—V, quiet and unassuming, the one who read too many old texts and held onto thoughts like secrets. they could hardly bear the thought of all these eyes on them now, each one reading the evidence of last night like an open book.

professor caldwell finally took note of the murmuring, glancing up from his notes with a frown. “is there something particularly fascinating happening in the back of the room that i should know about?”

silence fell, and V took the opportunity to bury themselves deeper in their notes, trying to will away the warmth in their cheeks and the prickling awareness that your mark on them had become the morning’s unspoken headline. they could feel every sideways glance, every whispered comment, as though it were written in neon across their skin.

when class finally ended, V was the first out of the room, slipping through the hallways as quickly as they could, every step carrying them further from the embarrassment of those lingering glances and raised eyebrows. they found a quiet alcove near the library, leaning against the cool stone wall, finally able to breathe.

V closed their eyes, a quiet, helpless laugh slipping out as they leaned back against the wall, feeling every inch the awkward, bashful mess you somehow adored.

W OSTENDORF

W stumbled into their morning cinematography lecture, barely awake. they hadn’t even glanced in the mirror before dashing out of their room, their shirt collar slightly askew, blonde hair tousled in a way that looked less artful and more accidental. their eyes were ringed with the faint shadows of sleep deprivation, deep-set from too many late nights and one too many bad dreams. they’d long accepted that sleep, for them, was like an old friend gone missing.

W slipped into a chair near the back of the room, hoping to fade into the background. but, almost immediately, they felt a tap on their shoulder. they turned, meeting the curious gaze of bailey, one of the classmates they usually talked to. they were already leaning in, their eyes bright with mischief.

“W…” bailey said, a sly smile creeping up their face, “so how was it?”

W blinked, looking back at them with a blank expression. “what?”

bailey stifled a laugh, glancing pointedly at W’s neck. “i’d be more concerned about covering those up if i were you.”

confused, W’s hand drifted to the side of their neck, their fingers brushing over what felt like faint ridges in the skin—tender and, unmistakably, hickey-shaped. last night came back to them in fragments: the soft press of your lips against their skin, the warmth of your hands, and the way W’s heart had beat so fast it was like it was learning to keep time for the first time. they could still feel it—the gentleness of you, the careful way you’d mapped out their skin, the way you had filled the empty spaces in them like sunlight spilling into shadows.

“oh,” they mumbled, barely audible, color rising in their fair cheeks as they finally understood what bailey was implying. they fumbled with their winter coat, as though it could somehow cover up the evidence. but it was too late; bailey had already seen, and so had half the classroom, if the muffled snickers and side-glances were any indication.

W swallowed hard, trying to suppress the urge to shrink into themself. it was one thing to carry the memory of last night like a secret tucked close to their chest, but it was another to have it branded on their skin, visible for everyone to see. “with a reaction like that, i’m curious now,” bailey whispered conspiratorially. “who was it?”

W was too flustered to answer, too aware of the heat creeping up their neck. they just shook their head, mumbling something incoherent under their breath.

they could practically feel the weight of everyone’s attention pressing down on them, and it was unbearable. the classroom had never felt so small. they wanted to disappear, to dissolve into the air and float away. their fingers tightened around the edge of their desk, knuckles white.

just as they were beginning to think they might actually combust under the weight of it all, professor shah finally started the lecture, mercifully redirecting everyone’s attention to the topic of 60s cinematography. W tried to focus, to let the professor’s voice anchor them, but they kept getting distracted by the faint brush of their own fingertips against their neck, as though they were reassuring themself that last night had been real.

but the worst part, the part W couldn’t admit even to themself, was that somewhere beneath all the embarrassment, there was a strange, inexplicable warmth in their chest. it wasn’t just the memory of you; it was the fact that, for once, they felt like someone who mattered. you had looked at them like they were more than a bundle of nerves, more than a collection of protruding ribs and insecurities. you had wanted them, had left marks on them like an artist signing their work, as though to say, “this precious one belongs to me.”

W kept their head down for the rest of class, pretending to take notes while their mind wandered. they thought about your laugh, the way it filled up the quiet spaces between words; they thought about the constellations embedded in your eyes, a collection of universes unknown. and even as their skin burned under the scrutiny of their classmates, they couldn’t help but feel a kind of ridiculous, unsteady happiness, as though they were holding a fragile piece of you.

after class, as W gathered their things, bailey caught up with them again, their eyes dancing with barely-contained laughter.

“whoever they are,” they said, leaning in with a grin, “they did a number on you. you look like a jackson pollock painting.”

W managed a small, awkward smile, brushing them off with a half-hearted shrug. “i… thank you? i think?”

but bailey just laughed, giving them a pat on the shoulder before they sauntered off. W watched them go, exhaling a long, shaky breath. the hallway stretched out in front of them, crowded with students milling about, voices echoing in the familiar buzz of conversation. they felt oddly detached from it all, like they were drifting, the world around them softened by the memory of you.

when they finally stepped outside, the winter air was like an ice pack against their flushed cheeks. they pulled their coat tighter around them, but they couldn’t help the faint smile tugging at the corners of their mouth. even in their embarrassment, they felt lighter, their heart buoyed by the quiet assurance that they had been seen, and known, and wanted.

for a brief, foolish moment, W wished you were there beside them, walking through the crowded hallway, your shoulder brushing against theirs. they imagined the feel of your hand slipping into theirs, the easy way you would laugh at their embarrassment, and they felt a surge of something that was both longing and contentment.

D DIACONU

D showed up to their morning music class like they did every day: with a sort of effortless swagger, their bag slung over one shoulder, hair messier than usual, and the faintest grin ghosting their mouth as though they were carrying a secret joke. they slipped into their seat near the back, collapsing into it with the practiced nonchalance of someone who had perfected the art of looking utterly unfazed.

to D, mornings meant more than just a groggy start; they were an opportunity to blend their night life into the mundane day, to turn the hours of dawn into some blurry prequel that nobody else needed to understand.

what D didn’t realize, though, was that last night had left its mark in more ways than one.

the professor was droning on about music theory, the class settling into its familiar rhythm, when senne, a friend sitting beside D, leaned over, his eyebrows quirked, mischief lighting up his eyes.

“good morning to you,” he murmured, his voice low, his smile mischievous. “do you, perchance, have a good mirror at your dorm? you can borrow mine if that’s not the case.”

D glanced at him, half-interested, arching an eyebrow. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

senne snickered, nudging his chin toward D’s neck, gesturing without making a scene but just enough to catch D’s attention.

D frowned, hands drifting to their collarbone almost instinctively, fingers brushing over their neck. the memory of last night washed over them—your lips, your hands, the way you laughed softly against their skin as if every touch could be a confession. in the hazy, half-lit memory, the feel of your warmth and weight lingered as though it had seeped into them. but that feeling, that heated moment, had seemed so ephemeral, so fleeting, something to fold up and pocket away by morning.

D’s fingers brushed over the skin—the sensitive spots, the small, faint bruises where you had left traces. hickeys. and not just one.

a dozen memories flashed in their mind. the way you had leaned in, your mouth grazing the edge of their collarbone, the laughter that bubbled up in between breaths, a hand gripping their shoulder. D’s smile faltered, turning instead into a half-smirk as they let their fingers drop, trying to play it cool even as their face warmed.

senne whistled quietly, leaning back with a knowing look that made it clear he wasn’t going to let this go. “you lucky dog.”

D shrugged, attempting to look bored but failing to disguise the slight, pleased flicker in their eyes. “well, i’m not going to deny that.”

at that, senne’s eyebrows went up. “oh, believe me, it shows. whoever they are, they really… left their mark, huh? quite a possessive one you got there.”

D rolled their eyes, feeling strangely irritated under the scrutiny of both Sam and a few other classmates who had caught on, now sneaking glances and stifling laughs. the professor continued to lecture in the background, blissfully unaware of the scandalous distraction sitting right in front of him. metronomes would wait; apparently, D’s love life was more important.

“i didn’t ask for you to take a guess,” D murmured, voice low and defiant, as if the room wasn’t filled with people trying to catch a glimpse of the faint marks you’d left on them. they tilted their head, defiant as ever, lips pulled into a smirk that only grew when senne laughed.

“not my fault you’re wearing your social life like a badge of honor,” senne retorted, giving them a playful nudge. “i don’t think i’ve ever seen you be okay with people giving you hickeys.”

“maybe this person’s special,” D shot back, pulling the collar of their leather jacket up just a bit. “or maybe i don’t particularly care about it anymore.”

as the professor continued to lecture on how music was seen as a blessing from the gods, it struck D as amusingly fitting. aphrodite would have approved, they thought with a sly grin, leaning back in their chair with a certain satisfaction, a sense of belonging to a story larger than themself, even if just for a night.

the professor’s voice carried on, explaining some about some more old instruments. D tried to focus on the words, on the way they wove together in that heavy, ancient way, but every phrase seemed to loop back to you. your eyes. your teeth against their skin. the way you’d whispered things that only mattered in the small hours, words that vanished with the dawn but left their mark all the same.

senne leaned over once more, whispering, “so, is it, y’know?”

D smirked, tilting their head as though considering it, as though they didn’t already know the answer.

“maybe,” they said casually, but there was a knowing glint in their gray eyes. “i’d prefer not to reveal anything yet.”

senne chuckled, rolling his eyes, but there was a part of him that seemed genuinely curious, almost as if he wanted to know what it was like to be seen the way D was seen last night—to be held and marked and claimed, even if just for a moment. of course, he was thinking about emerson again.

when class ended, D stood up, brushing off senne’s continued teasing, rolling their eyes with a smirk that was equal parts cocky and lazy. they didn’t bother to fix their collar again, didn’t try to hide the hickeys. Instead, they let them be—little maroon trails of a night well-spent, reminders of a heat they’d carry with them through the rest of the day, a secret in plain sight.

M WHITLOCK-SINGH

M slipped into their philosophy class with the quiet poise of someone determined to avoid attention, a little bleary-eyed from the night before. they moved with the precision of a dancer, even half-awake, shoulders straight and head held just high enough to nod politely to the few classmates they recognized.

it had been one of those endless nights, where time seemed to slip in and out of itself, conversations trailing into dawn without ever quite stopping, hours blending until they felt like one long and breathless moment. M had walked to class still caught in the residue of that night, smiling privately, replaying your smile, the warmth of your hand, the way you’d leaned in close with that unmistakably needy glint in your eye.

they slid into their seat, adjusting their collar out of habit, but the faint ache at their neck went unnoticed in their early morning haze. they didn’t see the subtle bruises—purple shadows kissed onto their skin like reminders of you. but someone else did.

“morning, M,” murmured eli, who sat next to them, their tone riddled with a soft irish accent. they eyed M’s neck for a second too long, their gaze slipping toward the faint trail of hickeys there before they looked away, poorly disguised laughter on their lips.

“good morning, eli,” M replied, their usual courtesy unfazed by the glances and whispered chuckles around the room. they didn’t catch the murmurs, or the sneaky glances, still thinking of last night—how you’d wrapped them in your laughter, how you’d left them breathless with the reckless ease that only you had.

it wasn’t until professor dunbar, a tall and somewhat intimidating figure with a penchant for socratic questioning, entered and began the lecture that M started to catch on. he looked right at the royal, paused, and then coughed, almost as if trying to conceal a smirk.

the entire class seemed to ripple with an electric, almost surreptitious amusement.

finally, one of the other students, a lanky guy named oliver who was known for his bluntness, leaned over. he barely whispered, though, letting his voice carry to others seated nearby. “your highness, didn’t know you were the type to show up to class wearing your nightlife around your neck.”

M blinked, feeling the words settle before they fully registered. “i beg your pardon?”

they touched their neck absentmindedly, but as they felt the faint bruises beneath their fingers, realization spread across their face. the warmth of last night’s memory filled them again, and there was a warmth in their cheeks that couldn’t quite be disguised.

oliver grinned, looking far too pleased. “you’ve got souvenirs, nice.”

M’s hand dropped, and they straightened, composure slipping for just a heartbeat. a rush of images flooded their mind—you, under the dim lights, your lips lingering on their neck, the world a comfortable blur around you both. they felt exposed in a way that was unfamiliar, like someone had opened a book they’d meant to keep closed.

eli leaned over, their voice gentle with a thread of teasing. “they suit you, actually. just… remember to cover it before class next time”

M managed a demure smile, lifting their chin slightly. “i’ll keep that in mind.”

eli’s smile widened, but they said nothing, only gave a small shrug as if to say no worries.

M could feel their heart thundering under the calm mask they usually wore, wondering how they could possibly explain to these people how it felt to be with you. how every touch had felt both wild and intimate, like a shared whisper that neither of you could ever forget. there was no explaining to eli or oliver or anyone here how your presence lingered, how it was both comforting and thrilling, how you’d looked at them like they were someone worth keeping close.

the professor’s lecture drifted on, dissecting concepts of ethics and purpose, but M’s mind wandered. they half-listened, still feeling the ghost of your touch, remembering the twinkling of your eyes in the small hours of the night. when the lecture ended, and they were finally free to leave, they lingered, half-expecting another comment, another nudge from a classmate.

instead, it was eli who sidled up to them, his tone light but laced with curiosity. “so… who was it, mate? don’t be shy now.”

M raised an eyebrow, almost amused by their persistence. “i’m afraid i can’t disclose that, eli.”

eli shrugged, undeterred. “fine, keep your secrets. but hey,” he added with a knowing smirk, “they must be something else if you’re willing to come here wearing their love bites.”

for a second, M considered dismissing eli with their usual reserve, but something in them softened. they allowed a faint smile, a rare and almost too-open thing, as they looked toward the door, already picturing you there. “yes,” M said, their voice a quiet warmth that made eli blink, momentarily thrown by the softness in their tone. “they really are something else.”

[etherealperrie]

Anywhere With You

Chapter 1: "it's time to go"

Coriolanus (Coryo) Snow x Reader Word count: 2.4k Contains: pre-hunger games Coryo | longtime friends to lovers | Coriolanus being soft for the one he loves | mentions of minor tbosas characters | immense amounts of fluff and comfort | slight tbosas spoilers (but not really)

Want More? Chapter 2

--

“The Plinth Prize is no longer.” Dean Highbottom’s voice echoes through the stadium of students, the weight of his words settling amongst the first three rows of Academy standouts. Gasps and whispers fill the crowd, the hair on the back of your neck standing at attention, the buzz of others’ words sending chills down your spine. You don’t dare look at Coriolanus, instead letting your eyes fall shut.

“You’ll face one more test to prove your worth,” the Dean continues, making his way up to the podium at the front of the hall. “After all, you are our most promising students. This is in your DNA.”

Swallowing hard, you force your eyes open, a sick feeling reeling in your stomach. This was supposed to be the end. This was supposed to be the start of your summer with Coriolanus – the time before University. The day that was supposed to change both of your lives for the better.

Murmurs fill the quiet space in between Dean Highbottom’s dramatic pause, stopping not only to drag out this horrific explanation but to soothe himself with a bottle of morphling. You’d never once wished to try the drug, but today, with your vision of the future thinning before your eyes, you’d gladly share the vile with him.

The feeling of skin brushing against yours turns your attention from the front of the room to the chair next to you. Coriolanus. You can’t hold back anymore. You didn’t care who saw, or what they thought. You watch his jaw twitch, his eyes still facing forward as his hand grasps yours, his thumb pressing slow, gentle circles into your skin. He’s holding it in. Another hurdle yet for him to surpass. When you squeeze his hand in return, an involuntary response, he lets out a shaky breath, his eyes flickering to you for only a moment.

Coryo.

Not Coriolanus Snow. Just your Coryo for that moment.

The eyes of your fellow classmates burn at the back of your neck. They all knew Coriolanus was meant for that prize. Top student with stellar marks, after all. Only you knew, though, how badly he needed it. How badly Tigris needed it. The Grandma’am. You, too. This day was supposed to change everything.

Indeed it had.

“On this day of the 10th annual Reaping for the Hunger Games, you all are no longer students, but mentors.” Dean Highbottom continues speaking, pulling you from your own head. Coriolanus shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his free hand tugging at the collar of his shirt. A shirt he’d nearly outgrown, even with Tigris’ adjustments. His other hand never releases yours, his thumb continuing to trace up and down your skin, working to calm you. In any other circumstance it might have worked.

“Each of you will be paired with a tribute from the districts and act their mentor leading up to and throughout the Games.”

“For what purpose?” you ask. The question leaves your lips before you have a chance to even think. Before you have a chance to consider the consequences. What harm could an innocent question have? It was innocent, of course. A student simply inquiring about the new assignment. Certainly nothing more. Most definitely not an imposition of the justness of withholding the Plinth Prize and meddling in “game” that was nearing its natural end. No one in the Capitol had watched the games in years, they were savage. Inhumane. Disconnected from the current state of affairs; the war had been over for years.

Deep, dark laughter fills the room, an unfamiliar voice echoing off the walls. Chills crawl up your spine, a shive running through your body. Everyone's heads whip around, a tall figure entering the auditorium. She slithers down the aisle towards the podium, stopping just in front of your chair. You slip your hand out of Coriolanus’, but he refuses to let go now more than ever. His grasp tightens on you and you notice him shift forward in his seat. It’s now your turn to soothe him, running your thumb over his.

“For what purpose?” the woman before you mimics. You swallow, noting her duochromatic eyes. Her makeup is severe, her hair frazzled, her hands draped in bright red latex gloves. The faint sound of hissing grows louder as she takes another step forward. A snake is wrapped delicately around her wrist, flicking its tongue, slithering over the shiny material. “My dear, remind me. What are the Hunger Games for?” She speaks softly, but in the silent room, her words are clear to all.

“I– well, they’re to –”

The woman shakes her head, clicking her tongue. “You see? We’ve already forgotten.” She turns to Coriolanus, a smile spreading over her lips. “Mr. Snow,” she says. “Why don’t you remind your –” her gaze drops to your intertwined hands, “classmate what the Hunger Games are for.”

Coriolanus shakes his head, looking at you then back to the woman. You weren’t sure who she was, but she knew Coryo. But then again, that came with the territory of being a Snow. He could never escape the history and prowess of his father, no matter how hard he tried. And believe you, he’d tried.

“You tell us they’re to punish the districts for the war.”

“Precisely, Mr. Snow. We all seem to have forgotten what this all is for. And that is where each of you come in.”

“Ah, Dr. Gaul, thank you for providing that insight,” Dean Highbottom interrupts, turning the attention back to the center of the room where the woman – Dr. Gaul – sulks away to join him. Coriolanus leans back in his seat, his breathing heavy. He releases your hand and leans in to place his hand on your thigh. The feeling of his warm palm through the fabric of your uniform lets you take your first deep breath since arriving.

He’s with you.

The remainder of the day goes by in a blur. When you emerge from the Academy, the afternoon sun is beginning to set. You, Coriolanus, and your classmates had each been assigned a tribute. A tribute to make a spectacle of. A tribute to use then sacrifice into the slaughter in order to obtain some prize. It made your stomach turn, the idea of being forced to take the small boy you’d been ‘given’ and parade him around only to send him to his death. A small boy no more than thirteen. A boy you were meant to despise simply because he’s district. But this boy, nor any of the tributes – especially the small girl assigned to Coriolanus – had seen the war, they hadn’t caused it. They were collateral in the Capitol’s game of control. Control they garnered with false promises of the prize. A prize that neither you nor Coryo thought actually existed.

“Who’s to say they don’t dangle it in front of us again?” you ask later that night, standing beside Coryo at the sink while he washed out the pot of potatoes and cabbage Tigris cooked. “That they don’t give us another assignment – another hurdle – to obtain the prize. Just to use us for their bidding?”

You slide behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. He sighs, setting down the pot and turning to be face to face with you. His hands wander around your waist, pulling you tighter to him.

“Those poor kids are going to die for nothing, Coryo. And we’re to blame,” you cry, resting your head on his chest. He takes a deep breath and presses a kiss to the top of your head. You fit into him so perfectly. The steady, rhythmic beat of his heart in your ears grounds you, tethering you to the moment.

“It’s not your fault,” he whispers. “Dr. Gaul is clearly mad. The way she taunted you?” He pauses, sucking in a breath. There’s a few beats of silence before he speaks again. “I don’t know what she’s capable of, but if she’d have laid a hand on you, I-”

You lift your head to look up at him and lift your hands to place one on each side of his face. His eyes, a blue so clear you can see right into his soul, meet yours.

“I know, Coryo, I know.”

“We have to get out of here,” Coriolanus says. His gaze still holds yours, his demeanor serious.

Your brow furrows. “Get out of where? The Capitol? Coryo, where would we go?”

“Sejanus talks of a place up North, somewhere off the grid where nomads persist.”

“You can’t be serious,” you say, letting your hands fall from his face.

You wanted out. You’d heard rumors of this place up North too, but assumed it was fictitious – maybe a story the districts orchestrated to provide some hope after the war. You’d been taught to be grateful for a life in the Capitol, after all, your name would never be reaped. But the longer you spent here and the older you grew, the more the story of the Capitol and its protection seemed to fall apart. Today had been further proof. Putting the lives of district children in the hands of Capitol children for the sick purpose of entertainment and control.

Coryo turns his head to look out the floor to ceiling windows of the Snow penthouse. Coriolanus had many thoughts about his home, not all of them poignant and kind. He hated the way his home had crumbled throughout the war. Sure, it wasn’t as luxurious as it had once been, but you had an unspoken appreciation for it, knowing that everything within these walls shaped him into the Coryo you loved.

“If we go back to the Academy tomorrow, we’ll never escape. I have a sinking feeling about this game, love. I don’t want Gaul and her creatures hurting you and who’s Dean Highbottom to miss either of us? The miserable bastard will be three morphlings gone by the time the games begin.”

“What about Tigris? The Grandma’am? What about my family?”

Coriolanus sighs. “I’ll make arrangements with Pluribus tonight, he’s always done well to take care of us before.” Coryo reaches out to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, taking a pause to caress the side of your face. “And I’ll go wherever you go. If you want to stay, I’ll remain here with you. Whatever you decide, I’ll be there to protect you. This,” he whispers, running his thumb over your bottom lip, “is the most important thing to me.”

When your eyes meet his, the defense falls away. He sometimes wished you didn’t have such an effect on him. He never struggles keeping things in, or keeping the world out of his head. But with you – those eyes – he couldn’t hide. He’s grateful for it, really, before you he’d never had a soft place to land. But now, with your hands caressing him, he knows he’s found it.

You could imagine it. The thing you’ve always wanted, a life with Coryo. A life without the influence and ever-looming threat of the Capitol. Of their control, of the stress of finding a way to the top. Coryo wanted the same thing, a life with you. A life where you two were free to be whomever you wanted; a simple life where you could eat what you wanted, when you wanted, and spend your days lying with one another and living amongst others peacefully the way you imagined you would when the war first ended.

“I can’t go back there, Coryo.”

“Then tomorrow morning, we’ll go.” He says it so matter of factly. As if it’s all going to be okay. You choose to believe him and sink into the strength of his chest, wrapping yourself around him tightly. He chuckles, bringing some levity to the decision the two of you just made. “Why don’t we bask in one last hot shower, hm?”

You follow him down the hallway to the bathroom, his foot kicking the door shut in one swift movement. He reaches into the deep green tiled shower and turns on the water, running his hand under to test the temperature. You’re out of your clothes within seconds, eager to shed the identity of the Academy. Coryo does the same, eyeing you with a grin as you step past him and into the shower. He’s so himself here, stripped before you, not carrying the weight of the day, letting it all wash away from him as he ducks beneath the water, dampening his curls.

Without thought, your hand is in his hair, pushing the light blonde strands away from his face, those piercing blue eyes wandering every inch of you. He breathes into your touch, his hands following his gaze, mapping every inch of your body as if committing it further to memory. They say it’s the things we love most that destroy us and – god – he was certain you destroyed the parts of himself that he sometimes feared. With you, he was just Coryo. Your Coryo. And starting tomorrow you could be each others forever.

The warmth of the water combined with the feeling of his skin pressed against yours is heavenly. The steam rises, fogging up the glass as you tip your head back to dampen your hair. Your eyes fall shut, letting the water run down your body. Your body awakens when Coryo’s lips meet your neck, peppering kisses up your jawline until eventually, his hands are tangled in the ends of your hair, lifting your head back to meet him. Sighing, your body alight with warmth and desire, Coryo presses his lips to yours. There’s a quiet moan that you can’t make out as distinctly his or yours, but a shared expression of your feelings.

Something about this being the last night with life as you’d known it changes the kiss. There’s no hesitation, but no urgency either, your bodies intertwining in a way they haven’t before. As if there was nothing and nowhere else that mattered. You’re typically both so consumed with academy assignments, or house work, or recovering from whatever the day brought you. But tonight, with tomorrow on the horizon, it was simply you and Coryo.

[casualhedonists]

✩ it don’t need your loving, it just needs attention ✩

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 (lmk if i forgot anything!) murder mention (but no actual murder) (not yet at least?), MAJOR manipulation/gross power dynamics + generally darkish themes, some power play, oral sex, thigh riding, eventual piv, i’m new to full on smut bear with me here

chapter: 1/? (chapter 2 here)

MASTERLIST

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

A/N: this is what happens when i let my brain loose to do whatever tf it wants (title is from attention by doja cat as is the general theme)

Show you how to touch it Hold it like it's precious It don't need your lovin' It just needs attention

You were getting tired of this charade.

Snow was courting you, or so it would seem. In truth, it was all for show. He was seen with you on his arm at public events, just enough to make it look like you were together. Marriage was probably further down the line, but Snow was in no rush for that to happen. For now, he was pleased with the positive attention he received for appearing like a reliable, loving, doting partner.

“There’s a science behind it,” Cordelia, Snow’s preferred public relations manager - and one of the Capitol’s best - had told you in a meeting between the three of you, discussing strategy, coordinating events, and how best to make the relationship seem authentic. “The more the public see you as grounded, committed, and warm, the more respect they hold for you. The more open they are to your ideas, and any changes you make as president.”

You’d concealed your smirk well enough for it to go unnoticed upon hearing that.

Snow was a lot of things, but he was never warm. The name itself decreed it. He was cold, calculating, sharp witted, manipulative. Power hungry.

You were fine with the arrangement at first. It suited your thirst for power; despite coming from one of the richest families in the capital, Snow’s power was of a different breed. You wanted in, and so when your social circles crossed over and the proposition was made, you’d risen to the occasion.

The reality was this: it was a good arrangement. Coriolanus was adored and admired by any outsider with a pair of eyes, and you got anything you wanted. You got to live in the manor house Coriolanus occupied, eating good food while being waited on hand and foot. You got to network with powerful people in the highest of society. Even if you wanted someone executed, it would be carried out in turn, without question. Name it, and it was yours. Snow was a generous host and ally to you.

It was everything you wanted.

Almost.

Somehow, despite it all, all the custom gowns shipped in from the expensive designers, the buffet spreads and the silk sheets, the way that people had begun to stare in respect as soon as you walked into a room, there was just one thing that itched at you, one thing you knew wasn’t part of the plan.

It was Snow.

Somewhere, between the light kisses in front of expectant eyes, the gentle hand on yours at dinner, that was hurriedly removed once you were behind closed doors again, you’d grown a gnawing, incessant want towards the man that had given you almost everything you could ever hope for.

Eight months, this had been going on. Eight months since Snow suggested this business proposal. Sex was never a part of the deal. And of course, you couldn’t sleep with anyone you pleased; that would be catastrophic for both of your reputations. And so it had been eight months since anybody had touched you other than yourself, biting your pillow so nobody could hear Snow’s name on your lips as you gripped the sheets. Even if you wanted to sleep with other people, you couldn’t. Truth is though, you’d developed rather expensive taste. A taste for only him. Even if you had the choice, nobody else would do.

You wondered if he ever thought of you while he touched himself. That thought slipped into your head every so often, when your hand was between your thighs. Then it became a more frequent occurrence. Then it became a nightly one, and by then, you were pretty sure you’d started going crazy.

You weren’t a romantic - this arrangement would never have worked if you were. You were like him; power hungry, relentless, impatient. And most of all, when you wanted something, you got it. And you wanted to seduce Coriolanus Snow.

So you’d started leaving breadcrumbs. Put an extra glint in your eyes when you glanced over at him, in public, first, and then in private more and more. You’d thrown out dozens of your more conservative dresses, keeping only the shortest ones that hugged your hips and dropped tantalisingly low on the neckline. Started wearing them more around the house, pretending to drop things just so you could bend down in front of him.

You estimated this act would last for a good week or two before Snow folded.

You were wrong.

If anything, it seemed to render Snow even more indifferent to you than he’d been before you started playing your little games. And each time he ignored you, glanced unimpressed at your outfit then looked away, or full-on walked right past you out the room, you started to simmer even more.

A normal girl in a normal situation would take a hint, cut her losses. But you were no normal girl, and this was no ordinary situation.

You had to be in the same boat, surely. Snow was still just a man, after all. A man with similarly limited options, and you knew he must’ve at least found you a little attractive, else he wouldn’t have chosen you to parade around on his arm in public, in pretty dresses and expensive jewellery.

Snow’s indifference only fuelled your fire. Sure, an ordinary girl would just give up. But eight months of this torture and you were at your breaking point. Besides, it was either him, or nobody. You weren’t giving up. Not in this lifetime.

So you got more obvious. Started taking breakfast in your nightgown each morning instead of getting dressed, sitting opposite Coriolanus with several feet of the mahogany table between you, biting into grapes from the fruit bowl and letting the juice trail down your chin, wiping it off then sucking your fingers clean, humming with your digits in your mouth, glancing at him with full-blown bedroom eyes when he’d look over at you from behind his paper.

It was no use. Nearly a month had passed and he’d barely even looked at you for more than a second at a time. Your conversations were short, lacklustre and strictly business related. You’d even tried playing on his heartstrings, asking about his day and work and his family. You were lucky if you got more than blunt, one-worded answers every time.

You’d exhausted yourself with all these failed attempts, until one Thursday night you heard footsteps walking past your bedroom door. This wasn’t abnormal - Snow kept extensive household staff - except for the sound of these were different. You recognised the faint clicking of heels against the hardwood, a sound you heard all the time at galas and balls, but never in these halls, when an event was nowhere on the radar. And this was one such night.

Your curiosity led you off your bed and to the door, gently opening it to glance outside. Whoever it was had turned the corner, the clicking fading down the hallway. You carefully closed the door behind you and began to follow the sound. A chill ran up the backs of your legs as you walked; it was getting slightly colder as winter closed in, and your bedroom attire wasn’t exactly fit for the weather, given that you picked out the laciest, most impractical slips to sleep in, ready for your performance the next morning at breakfast.

You paced down the corridor, winding past the door to each room, a study, a small library (the larger one was downstairs), Snow’s office, and then finally, at the end, the door to Snow’s bedroom.

Oh.

This room was always enigmatic to you, as you’d never been inside. Your obsession with Snow had led you to wonder, day in and day out, what lay behind that door. The color of his bedsheets, what sat on his dresser, the contents of his closet, what aftershave he wore that had caused you to develop a practically pavlovian reaction anytime he got close to you.

You paused, a few feet away from the door, fearing Snow’s response if you crossed that line, if he were to walk out and find you hovering between his office and his room, clearly attempting to eavesdrop.

You heard shifting, then voices inside as you focused all your attention onto listening, trying hard to pick up on the conversation. You took another tentative step forward, practicing in your head what you would say if he stepped outside. I just wanted to ask what you wanted me to wear on Monday’s gala, I was thinking the white dress with the gold detailing. It wasn’t too late in the evening for that to be a viable excuse, if you could make it sound convincing enough.

But as you got closer you noticed something. There was a soft light spilling out from behind the door, which was in fact, just slightly ajar.

Snow usually kept the door locked at all times, you knew that from testing the handle - admittedly more than a few times - when he had been out of the house, and you were certain he wouldn’t be home for hours. This was something different. This felt dangerous, like walking a tightrope that was about to get cut, but the thrill of adrenaline pushed you forward.

You’d stopped hearing voices by then. You snuck ever closer, ears starting to ring as you found yourself drawn to the open door, taking silent steps towards it until there was no going back, and your body was practically flush to it. Holding your breath, you peeked through, pushing it ever so gently, praying that it wouldn’t creak. You had to crane your neck slightly to see any movement in the room, but it didn’t take long to see it, and when you did, you certainly didn’t feel cold anymore. Any curious whims on the color of his furniture and walls were long pushed to the side, because you couldn’t have focused on anything else in the room if you tried.

Snow was sat on a deep red velvet ottoman at the foot of his bed, shirt buttons undone and pushed behind him, leaving you with a full view of his chest. Your eyes panned down to see his usually pristine dress pants rolled carelessly down, pooling around his ankles. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows in a similarly rushed manner. One hand was behind him, propping himself up, and the other was tightly gripping a handful of blonde hair, belonging to a girl that knelt at his feet in nothing but black underwear and stiletto heels - the culprit of the footsteps - moving her head up and down as Snow roughly guided her, lips parted, head tipped back, eyes firmly shut, breathing roughly. A few strands of damp blonde hair had fallen to his temples, just enough to make him look disheveled, yet somehow still regal, like a greek god.

You stood there, frozen. A million emotions battling for dominance in your head, anger, panic, fear, raging jealousy. Desire.

That was the one that stuck with you in the moment. It was a good thing Snow’s eyes were closed and the girl’s back was facing you, because your feet were firmly planted on the ground, watching this scene unfold, and you wouldn’t be able to go anywhere even if you tried. Watching as Snow’s breathing got heavier, as his grip on the girl’s hair got tighter and more forceful. Watching as her one arm gripped his thigh, and the other moved to where her mouth was, out of your eyeshot, and the obscenity of this was made somehow worse by the fact that you couldn’t see exactly what was happening.

Firstly, because it allowed your brain to fill in the blanks as Snow hissed through his teeth and dropped his head back. Secondly, because from this angle, you couldn’t see the girl’s face, and you were able to picture yourself in her place, wet mouth wrapped around him, being the cause of his undoing.

Come to think of it, there was another reason you were glad you couldn’t see her face, and it was purely for her sake. Because if you could’ve seen her, you would’ve had no excuse not to kill the bitch then and there.

You could hear, though. You could hear her soft moans and the lewd wetness of her mouth as her head moved even faster, before Snow took full control as his hips started to jerk, holding her head in place. There was a fire in the pit of your stomach and your lips were parted, staring. Knowing that if even for a second, Snow opened his eyes just for a glance, he’d see you immediately. You’d be hanged, probably. Or worse. And yet you didn’t run; you couldn’t. Nothing on God’s earth could’ve caused your feet to turn you around and leave the room. It was like you were suspended in some dream-like state, hearing going fuzzy, head spinning.

Then Snow started groaning, breath hitching in his throat as he got closer to the edge, you could hear it. Your brain began melting, and you didn’t have time to think through what would happen after he was finished and he saw you. If you were going to be hanged for this, it would be worth it, you thought, as his hips started to jerk even faster and his groans turned into strained whispers. Fuck and that’s it and good girl, and finally, as his eyes squeezed shut even tighter, and he came into her mouth with a strangled cry, you heard a name.

Yours.

[quin-ns]

Eventually (Coriolanus Snow x Reader)

Word count: 6.7k

Summary: Coriolanus could appreciate irony, but the one person he desires more than anything wanting nothing to do with him pushes him to new territory

Tags: (18+), cw: noncon, dark!coriolanus, deeply implied stalker!coriolanus, unreliable narrator coriolanus (boy is delusional tbh, no one is doing more mental gymnastics than him), pre-mentor era, obsession, unprotected sex, choking (only for like a second), virginity status undisclosed but as I was writing I began to imagine this being the first time for both of them—it’s not even implied tho, so do with that what you will

A/N: a character as evil as him I couldn’t conceive writing fluff for. he’s bad and guess what I’m not gonna fix him, but I also can’t make him not-hot so… hehe. please read the tags and proceed with caution <3

Misc masterlist + main masterlist

You wanted nothing to do with him, and that made him crazy.

No, if anything, you were the crazy one. Coriolanus hadn’t done anything but try to be your friend, but you snubbed him without reason.

Coriolanus did a good job at keeping the financial situation of his family a secret. No one knew, and he doubted you were an exception. Yet, it was as if you looked down upon him.

Although, you’d grown fond of Sejanus, so even if you did know, status wasn’t a concern of yours. It was something he admired, yet questioned all at once. There had to be a reason for your dismissal. A reason you couldn’t bring yourself to even offer a smile back. It’s not like he was asking a lot.

It’s not like he wasn’t trying, either. He’d gotten used to trying to make people like him, to see him as better than he was, but it was never this hard. It would’ve been so much simpler if you just told him to his face what your problem was, but whenever he came around, mostly when you were talking to Sejanus—they were friends, it was the perfect excuse—you just went quiet. You’d greet him, make no effort to continue the conversation, then excuse yourself.

All Coriolanus wanted to know was why.

“You’re watching her again,” Clemensia whispered to him, eyes flicking between him and the paper in front of her.

They were class partners, but Coriolanus was beginning to think he spent too much time with her.

“Who?”

Clemensia let out a small chuckle, mocking him. The professor at the front of the class looked up, and Coriolanus quickly looked down at his paper, taking his eyes off of you.

“You’re too obvious,” she muttered, a smirk in her voice. “Maybe that’s why she doesn’t like you. Because you stare at her too much.”

She didn’t get a response—it didn’t deserve one. Coriolanus questioned why he ever told her anything. She made him sound like some sort of stalker. Which, for the record, he was not.

His eyes managing to find you frequently wasn’t a crime, and neither was crossing your path. Maybe it wasn’t a coincidence most of the time, but it’s not as if he was harming you by watching you. He doubted you noticed anyway.

Seeing you nearly everyday had been enough to keep him sated, but then Sejanus started talking about you. Through no fault of his own, Coriolanus learned things about you. What he came to know made him curious to discover more. Even if you did not seem keen to let him.

Being content with what he had didn’t keep its appeal for long. Not when you were right there, your presence taunting him. Making him want what you would not let him have.

“You just need to talk to her, Coryo,” Tigris told him one evening, when he revealed everything to her. “Not in class and not with Sejanus. Just you. Let her know the real you and I promise she’ll like what she sees.”

Coriolanus took his cousin’s advice to heart. She was much more empathetic than him, she had to be onto something, right?

Everything changed when Coriolanus sat across from you at a study table in the library.

As beautiful as you were from a distance, being up close was something else entirely. He could admire you for hours and never get tired.

You looked up at him, he smiled and said hello just like Tigris advised. The smile you returned seemed forced, and you ignored that he had spoken.

It upset him, but not as much as when you got up and walked out. It was the last straw. Coriolanus was following you into the hall before he could think better of it.

He caught up to you, dropping his hand to your shoulder to make you turn around and face him. When you did, you looked surprised. That wasn’t what made Coriolanus hesitate, but the realization that he had never been this close to you before. Not even sitting across from you compared to touching you.

His heart skipped a beat.

“What do you want?” you questioned, a level of annoyance he thought to be unearned in your voice.

His heart started again.

“Have I done something to you?” Coriolanus confronted you, feeling a familiar sense of agitation creep over him. He had to know. “To make you feel such distaste for me?”

“I don’t dislike you, Coriolanus,” you replied, calmly after recovering from your initial shock. “I’m just… indifferent to you.”

The answer confused him more than it did enrage him. He smothered the latter feeling as he observed you.

“You’re… indifferent,” he stated, not asking. His feet shifted beneath him. It hurt, for some reason. “Why?”

Your eyes narrowed ever so slightly, studying him. It was the same way you’d look at your books when you were struggling with a subject, lingering behind in class or the library until a triumphant smile crossed your face.

Only, that smile never came. Your expression just faded back to normal.

“You shouldn’t put so much weight on what other people think of you,” you advised, stepping closer to him. His breath caught in his chest. You smelled sweet, like flowers. “Especially not someone you don’t even know.”

It was then, he realized, you hadn’t moved closer to him with purpose. You’d been on your way moving past him. His eyes focused on your back as you walked away, figuring out what to say.

“I’d like to know you,” he announced earnestly, verbally trying to pull you back. “If you’d only give me a chance.”

You slowed to a stop, looking over your shoulder. Coriolanus felt as if he was on display as your eyes raked over him, determining for yourself his sincerity.

“You’re friends with Sejanus, aren’t you?” you wondered. It wasn’t what he expected, but Coriolanus nodded. You sighed, which irked him to think it was pity. “If you’d like to join us for lunch I wouldn’t be against that.”

“I’ll see you then,” he said, but you were already turning away. He kept to himself that he had already tried in the past.

His friend was nice. Too nice for his own good, truthfully. It wasn’t as if Sejanus completely abandoned him the moment he befriended you. It was more like he split his time, attending to both friendships. The only thing Coriolanus held against him was that he never tried to reintroduce the two of you. Maybe even put in a good word.

At lunch Coriolanus found you and Sejanus quickly, he knew where you liked to sit.

“Hey, Coryo,” Sejanus greeted, smiling. “About time you decided to join us.”

Coriolanus put on a smile as he sat down. “Well, I would’ve sooner, but I wasn’t sure I was welcome before.”

The comment made you smirk, in on the joke as Coriolanus looked at you.

“Who’s to say you are now?” you sarcastically replied, as if you hadn’t been the one to invite him.

Well, “invite” was being generous, but he still seized the opportunity nonetheless.

“Ignore her, she can’t help herself,” Sejanus said with a chuckle, used to your humor.

This time, when he tried to talk to you, you engaged. In between discussions of classes and assignments, Coriolanus had to dodge your quick wit.

He liked the challenge, and the next day, he went back for more. Even walked right past Clemanisa and Arachne, who tried to invite him to their table with Festus. You were waiting for him.

He noticed you and Sejanus already talking.

When he sat across from you, you raised your brows. “Seeking refuge?”

Before he could ask what you meant, you nodded your head towards the girls he’d left behind.

You knew about his friends?

“You could call it that,” he replied, a smile starting to appear.

You nodded and hummed.

“Well, what are your qualifications?”

“Excuse me?”

“You joke too much, Y/N,” Sejanus lightly scolded you, interrupting whatever path you were going down, which made you laugh. “He’s going to think you don’t like him.”

“He knows I don’t mean anything by it,” you assured, looking at Coriolanus. “I’m just trying to figure him out.”

Your tone was filled with confidence, but your face… Coriolanus wasn’t sure how to place your underlying expression. You had a shield up, he knew that much, but what did that have to do with him? Were you trying to figure out if you could let it down for him? Or something else?

“Of course,” Coriolanus answered, not taking his eyes off of you. “I’m an open book.”

“Are you, now?” You folded your arms on the table. “Your friends love to gossip, and I don’t think I’ve heard that about you.”

“It’s not my fault if they don’t know how to read,” Coriolanus quipped, proud of himself for being so quick.

None of his friends had wronged him, but the joke at their expense was worth it for what followed after.

He made you laugh. Not just smile, but truly laugh. It was exactly what he wanted, and it actually worked. Awe didn't begin to describe how it felt.

Joining your table for lunch became the best part of his day. Sometimes he forgot Sejanus was even there, far too eager to see you. He saw you all the time, of course. Watching you was a habit he had yet to break, but this was different. You were aware of his presence, and he was able to speak to you. It didn’t matter that you still seemed weary, it was enough.

Even if you didn’t like him, you still had conversations with him, so that was something.

Sometimes, if you were deep in a discussion, debating ethics—your favorite topic—it would continue beyond just the table. He’d walk you to class, wanting to hear your voice just a second longer.

“I want to meet this girl,” His grandmother declared one night, after Coriolanus drifted to the topic of you over dinner. He’d been doing it more recently.

Tigris gave him a look, a light frown. There was no way to do that without you coming to his home, and he wasn’t going to let that happen.

“Let Coryo decide that, Grandma‘am,” Tigris insisted, patting the older woman’s shoulder.

“Well, he has feelings for Y/N,” she argued, looking at Coriolanus. He used your name enough that she remembered it. “And she likes him too—doesn’t she?”

Coriolanus gave a tight smile. “Yes, she does.”

Keeping up appearances.

“Well, that settles it, then,” Grandma‘am decided.

“I think it’s time you get to bed,” Tigris intervened, getting their grandmother up from her chair.

Later, when they were alone, Tigris asked him, “Does she even know how you feel about her?” She knew him too well. He took too long to answer. “You should tell her. From what you’ve told us, you two should be together. But it won’t happen unless you make it known how you feel.”

Coriolanus’s dreams were filled with you, as they usually were, but something was different the morning he woke up after the conversation with Tigris.

All he had to do was prove himself to you, and he knew that now.

Coriolanus found you in the library a lot, often pretending to stumble upon you. This time, he didn’t put on a facade.

“I thought I’d find you here,” he acknowledged, sitting down beside you. Often he’d sit across, but he was testing the waters. Seeing if you were put off by the proximity. “Studying for Featherly’s class?”

“I’m terrified for his test,” you confided, rubbing your temples as you hunched down at your book. “I feel like my mind has no room for anything else. I’ve memorized nothing.”

With a sigh, you sat up and pushed the book away.

“I can help you,” Coriolanus insisted, reaching for the book. He read over the page you were on, knowing he’d already perfected the subject. “You should’ve asked for me sooner.”

Maybe it was a little spiteful, but he hadn’t purposely meant it to come out that way. You still noticed it, taking your book back.

“I’m not asking for your help now, Coriolanus,” you muttered, looking at him out of the corner of your eye.

You were the last of his friends to still call him that. Most everyone else called him ‘Coryo’. Not you. But you were stubborn in many ways. This too, apparently.

“I didn’t mean anything against you,” he said lightly, even chuckling a little. It was forced, but he wanted to show he wasn’t being that serious.

Using your own words on you did not have the desired effect.

“Mmmhmmm,” you hummed.

Coriolanus tilted his head down, trying to get you to meet his gaze. You gave in, facing him, looking unamused.

He wanted to wipe that look away, but didn’t know how. If he could just make you like him—

Suddenly, your watch began to beep.

“Test time,” you grumbled, taking back your book and getting up.

Coriolanus followed you down the hall and into class. The tests were already on the desks, waiting. You two were early—he noticed that because of the clock on the wall.

He walked you to your seat and wished you good luck. To his surprise, you offered the same in return. Then, he went to his own. Other students filed in quickly after, professor Featherly being the last to enter the room.

The professor declared, “Begin,” then sat at his desk in the middle of the room and began to read.

The test wasn’t easy, but Coriolanus knew what he was doing. One look around the classroom and he saw that wasn’t the case for most other students. He felt a sense of pride, until his gaze landed on you. You were one row down and four seats to the left. He’d counted before. You were fiddling with your pencil, struggling to come up with what to write down.

While he could’ve been the first to finish, Coriolanus let other students turn their tests in before him. An hour passed by, but it moved quickly.

There were only a few students left when you finally got up. You radiated an anxious energy, much like the others, but Coriolanus didn’t care about the others.

Clemensia stuck her hand up in the air, waiting for the professor to notice her, distracting Coriolanus briefly. When the professor looked up and noticed her, Clemansia got her wish.

Coriolanus considered himself lucky, convincing himself with his own mantra frequently. As he watched you leave your test on Featherly’s desk and rush from the room, he realized how he could help you.

He quickly marked down the rest of his answers, having stalled so he could leave when you did. The professor was making his way away from the desk, while Coriolanus got up and went in the opposite direction.

With a swift, hard kick to the leg, the professor's desk wobbled and papers spilled off on the other side. It looked like an accident.

Featherly looked over his shoulder at the noise.

“Sorry,” Coriolanus apologized, kneeling down behind the desk to collect the papers.

Without anyone watching, he found your test. He had no time to change the written questions, but he made quick work of erasing and re-doing the multiple choice, with his own test and knowledge as reference.

He had to give you credit for getting a decent amount correct, but not enough for a passing grade.

When Coriolanus fixed that, he stacked together the papers and placed them back on the desk and exited.

Everyone was waiting in the hall. Against tradition, the professor graded tests directly after and would call students in to give the results. It was time consuming, and kept everyone on campus after hours, which was against the rules, but perhaps he’d gotten some kind of exception.

You were leaning against the wall opposite of the classroom, talking to some girl from the class—Coriolanus didn’t bother to learn her name. He wanted to go to you, but Sejanus got to him first instead.

“How do you think you did?”

Coriolanus shrugged, looking down at his friend. “Fine, I think.” That was the humble answer, right? “How about you?”

“Not perfect, but I passed.”

Clemensia trotted out then, a confident look on her face.

“What was so important you had to ask during the test?” Coriolanus couldn’t help but wonder. She’d unknowingly helped him, after all.

“Just clarity on a question, wanted to make sure I got it right,” she answered with ease.

“And did you?”

She gave Sejanus a look.

“Yes, of course.”

The last person exited the class, and professor Featherly closed the door. And so the grading began.

One by one, the professor called people in. There was no method to the order, it seemed likely he shuffled the papers or chose which one to grade next at random.

Time passed, Coriolanus didn’t know how much exactly, but it was beginning to get dark outside. Tigris would be worried until he got home, but she’d understand. His studies came first.

Eventually, Coriolanus realized it was dwindling down to be just you and him left. He was lucky today.

The third to last student was in the classroom, leaving you across the hall from one another.

You pressed your lips together before speaking.

“Do you think you did alright?”

The corner of Coriolanus’s lip twitched up at the sound of your voice.

“Yes, I think so,” he answered humbly. “What about you?”

You let out a self deprecating laugh. “When I said I was terrified, I wasn’t being dramatic.” You sighed, accepting your fate. “I’ll have to do perfect on the next one, I guess.”

“I can help you with that,” Coriolanus offered.

The smile he gave you spawned a mirror reaction. He knew he was charming, he had to be, and this time you actually seemed receptive to it.

“Maybe you can.”

The sound of a door opening made Coriolanus turn. Arachne was leaving, a smug look on her face as she thanked the professor.

Then the door closed, and the professor graded another test. There were only two left.

“I wish he wouldn’t do it like this,” you filled the silence. “The others don’t make us wait like this.”

“It builds suspense, I suppose,” Coriolanus mused. “Keeps us on our toes.”

“That’s not something I need right now.”

“At least you have good company,” he noted flirtatiously. He couldn’t help but grin at his own words, especially when you bite your lip to keep yourself from smiling.

“Could be worse, I supposed,” you retorted.

More time passed. The door opened again.

“Coriolanus Snow,” the professor addressed him next. “Your turn.”

As expected, Coriolanus did close to perfect. One answer off. Best in the class.

Back in the hallway, when he was done, Coriolanus waited with you. He didn’t announce he was staying, he just returned to his spot against the wall.

“Don’t keep a girl waiting. How did you do?” you asked, departing from the wall.

Coriolanus wondered where you were going, but then, you stood next to him, leaning back against the wall. There was still an arms length between the two of you, but it was something. You’d gone to him for once.

“You’ll think I’m full of myself if I tell you,” he teased lightly, which made you roll your eyes.

“Maybe I already think that, so just tell me,” you insisted.

The comment made him falter.

“Best in the class,” he divulged.

You almost looked impressed. “Good for you.”

The door opened.

“Y/N L/N, you’re up.”

“Wish me luck,” you said under your breath before following Featherly in.

“Good luck.”

Coriolanus waited for you, just like before. He tapped his foot. The professor didn’t actually go over the answers, he just told you the grade. You’d have no way of knowing what he did for you, but he’d be there to share in your excitement when you discovered how well you’d done.

Or, how well he’d done for you.

Not long later, you and the professor exited the class together.

“Wasn’t expecting you to still be here,” Featherly addressed Coriolanus. “You should get going. I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”

Then, he left you and Coriolanus alone in the hall, presumably leaving the building.

“So,” Coriolanus began with a smile. “How did you do?”

“He asked if I’d been studying with you. Apparently we had all the same answers,” you told him, crossing your arms. “Except when I asked him to show me my exam—which I did great on, apparently—I saw answers circled that weren’t mine.”

Coriolanus hadn’t expected you to find out so quickly, but a part of him was relieved you did. It meant he got to take credit, and he could show you that he really did want the best for you.

Or, he could always lie.

“You weren scared of failing,” he finally admitted. He offered a sympathetic smile. “So I helped.”

“No, you cheated!” you accused, causing his eyes to go wide. “You’ve implicated us both. If anyone finds out…”

“Don’t be so loud,” he hissed out in a whisper, stepping closer to you. The professor could still be in the building. He doubted anyone else would be. “I just wanted to help you, okay? You needed it, so I—“

“You helped, I get it. But I didn’t ask you to do that for me, Coriolanus. I have never asked you to do anything for me,” you sneered, somewhere between offended and betrayed.

He saw the way you scanned his face—his eyes. The pleading was beginning to seep through.

A wave of realization washed over you before he even opened his mouth.

“You didn’t have to ask me to,” Coriolanus said meaningfully, stepping closer to you. “I wanted to. I wanted to help you.”

You back hit the wall. The hallway was so empty it seemed as if the subtle sound still echoed.

“I’d do anything for you, don’t you get that?”

The sound of a large door closing carried from a distance.

Coriolanus reached for your face, wishing he could take away the concern that riddled your expression. Instead, he brushed a stray piece of hair from your face.

You swallowed. Why did you look so nervous around him? You were friends now, weren’t you? You never looked scared around anyone else. Why him? Why now? His own questions frustrated him.

“We’re not supposed to be on campus after hours,” you said calmly. It was the same tone you used when you first described your indifference to him. Coriolanus thought about that moment a lot. “Featherly already left. We should leave before we get caught.”

The corners of his lips twitched down.

“We’re still talking, though, aren’t we?”

You let out a shallow breath. You had no reason to look as scared as you did.

“I think we’re done.”

Coriolanus thought back to his cousin’s advice. He could’ve followed it better if she’d written it down, perchance.

“You’re so beautiful, you know that?” Coriolanus pondered, smiling to himself at the sight of you. “You caught my eye from the beginning and I—I couldn’t figure out why you wanted nothing to do with me.” You watched him carefully. He wondered if you could sense the dejectedness brewing. “Did you see something in me? Is that it?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted under your breath. “People like you, and you’ve been making an effort to be my friend, so I don’t know what told me to stay away from you, but something did. I’ve tried to ignore it, but I still…” you swallowed. “I don’t know.”

The confession should’ve been a relief. That’s what he imagined it would be. That you would admit the truth, and he could fix whatever misconceptions you had.

Coriolanus did not know what to do with “I don’t know”.

Staring down at you, Coriolanus noticed your back was against the wall. Literally. He hadn’t meant to put you there, but he had.

It got you to listen, didn’t it? He’d gotten an answer?

“Can we start over?” Coriolanus suggested, even throwing in a smile that would charm most anyone. It worked on you before. “We can forget all this mess.”

You blinked. You didn’t believe him.

For most people, he wouldn’t simply let numerous slights go, but for you, if it would fix whatever this was, if it meant the two of you could have a real chance, then he’d overcome his instincts—old and new.

“I’m afraid my memory is too good for that,” you finally said, looking up at him with defiance.

Defying what, was the question. It wasn’t as if you were enemies.

The thought made his jaw clench. He let out a laugh that was sharp. It lacked any sense of humor.

“Why can’t you just accept my apology?”

Your brows arched up, questioning him.

“That was supposed to be an apology?”

“Yes,” he confirmed. “But it’s not as if I owe you one.”

“I never said you did. I never said anything. You took it upon yourself to insert yourself into my life and now you are not happy with your place in it. You’ve overstepped, and you need to let me leave.”

Coriolanus frowned.

“You act like I’m keeping you here by force.”

You look up at him, silently telling him you believed he was.

That frustrated him further.

In an act that jarred even him, Coriolanus pressed his palms against your shoulders and pushed you back against the wall when you tried to move away.

“This is force,” he declared sternly, leaning down, making you maintain his gaze.

Everyone liked control, but he hadn’t used it in such a physical way before. It thrilled him in an odd way.

“Get your hands off me.”

“Why should I? You already think so poorly of me, why not let you be right?”

You moved again then, trying to catch him off guard and squirm away. But Coriolanus was quick to shove you back against the wall.

“We can still start over. If you would give me a chance, I think we can be good together.”

He let one hand rise to rest on your cheek. Your skin was so smooth. He inhaled deeply, resolve slipping further as his eyes fell to your lips.

If Coriolanus could just prove it to you, he was sure you’d understand what he meant.

He leaned in cautiously, gauging your reaction. You didn’t flinch away. You tilted your chin up, even. That familiar skip of his heart returned.

Coriolanus’s lips only just brushed against yours before you reacted. He had a second of relief before you brought your knee up, jabbing him in the lower stomach, although he doubted that was where you were aiming. It was still enough of a shock to throw him off his game. He stumbled back, and in a flash, you were gone. You were running down the hall—trying to get away from him, like usual.

Only this time, he didn’t feel like letting you go.

Something he had slowly come to learn was when he wanted something, it wasn’t just going to be handed to him. Vying for the Plinth Prize highlighted that, alongside his childhood.

He caught you easily, hand snapping out like a snake to grip your arm and yank you back to him. You collided with his chest. It was like you weren’t even trying. Not really. Just toying with him.

“Am I a game to you?” Coriolanus hissed into your ear, wrapping you in his arms. “Something for you to play?”

“I haven’t done anything to you! I hardly even know you!” you defended, but it just made him hold you tighter.

“I know you,” he implored, fighting against your squirming. He lost balance and when you fell to the ground, you took him with you. Coriolanus got you onto your back, sitting on your thighs, gripping your wrists in his hands to keep you from swinging at him. You let out panicked breaths, staring up at him. “I know more than you think.”

Something about the position made the front of his pants begin to feel constricting.

“Coriolanus, you’re frightening me,” you enunciated, as if trying to reason with him.

“I’m not being unreasonable,” Coriolanus grit out, working to maintain his composure.

“What?” you questioned, brows pinching together, a deep frown on your face. Confused and scared. Coriolanus used to feel that way. “Just let me go.”

“And then what? You go back to ignoring me? No I can’t… I can’t go back to that. If you just give me a chance I can show you.”

Coriolanus didn’t know what happened next.

Tigris told him it was like he left his own head, sometimes. She said he’d get so caught up, he wouldn’t notice things. At the time he had laughed. If anyone stayed aware, it was him.

It wasn’t that he left his head, but got lost in it. Lost in his own inner monologue to realize what he was doing.

In this case, what he’d done.

Far too busy thinking of ways to convey everything he wanted to say to you, how to make you understand, visualizing your reaction, he’d already acted.

Maybe there were two people living in his mind. One with a conscience, one without. Or perhaps that was just something he used to justify his less than decent actions. An excuse. He’d never let himself know the truth. Not really. Not yet.

What he did know was what he could see. You, beneath him, clothes torn from your body. The only thing left was a shirt. Too much effort, apparently. Your wrists were snatched together in one of his hands.

The power stirred something within him.

One might say he was out of excuses when he reached for the zipper of his pants, but no one else was here, were they?

Your mouth was moving. Speaking. Maybe even yelling. Looking at him, looking around the room. He couldn’t hear a sound but his own heart thumping in his ears paired with his own eager breaths. Was that normal?

He moved, wedging himself between your legs, nudging them apart to make room for himself.

“It’s just us,” Coriolanus spoke, loud enough to hear himself. You flinched. “No one’s here.”

He gripped himself, stroking his cock, lining himself up with your entrance. His patience was running incredibly thin.

Tears pricked in your eyes. You stopped struggling at his words, accepting it for what it was. Good.

“Why are you doing this?”

He heard your voice clearly, that time, despite the strain in your tone.

Coriolanus observed you carefully, squeezing your wrists together in one hand and lovingly caressing your hip with the other.

He finally understood the answer you’d given before. He found it fitting now.

“I don’t know.”

To him, it was the truth.

The moment Coriolanus pressed himself inside of you, it was as if the rest of the world disappeared. After so long of wanting you in every way, shape, or form, this was long overdue.

“You’re perfect for me,” he breathed out. Coriolanus gave a shove of his hips, his gaze falling to your mouth as an unwilling yelp slipped out. “I knew you would be.”

You were tight, too tight, even. Unwelcoming. Yet still, you felt like home.

His hand—the one that was on your hip—drifted between your legs. He found your clit, running his thumb in small circles, trying to ease the pressure you must’ve been feeling.

Coriolanus did not want to hurt you.

He looked into unfocused eyes. Where were you? Were you trying to be somewhere else?

He let your hands go. You didn’t move to slap him or shove him or anything. You were learning.

He leaned over you more, reaching for you face with his now free hand, and ran his thumb over your cheek, encouraging your gaze to actually meet his. He smiled softly when you did. You got more beautiful every second he looked at you. It was even better when he could see you were present.

Coriolanus found himself unable to resist it, so he gave into the urge to press his lips to yours. A real kiss, this time.

Your lips were softer than he’d imagined. You made a noise when his tongue tasted your mouth. His kiss was hungry—aggressive, even. But he’d waited so long he didn’t know how to contain himself.

Your body reacted to his touch. Your bent knees inched up his hips to accommodate him, and your walls were becoming slick, accepting the invasion.

A deep moan escaped him, cock throbbing inside you at the feel. The sound was muffled by his lips pressed to yours, but he still felt vulnerable, giving himself to you in this way.

Coriolanus pulled back from the kiss, only to rest his forehead against yours and breathe out a small puff of air from his lips.

“I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want you. Not even the Plinth Prize,” he confessed in a whisper.

“What’s the difference?” You finally spoke, voice wavering. “You have to earn the prize?” The accusing tone felt like a slap.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” Coriolanus muttered, eyes boring into yours. “You’ll see.”

He gave you one more searing kiss before moving his hips.

A gasp that morphed into a moan clawed its way up your throat. The sound was like music to his ears. He wanted to hear it again.

He began to move more consistently, finding a pace that suited him. Rough enough to keep you present, but not so harsh as to hurt you. He wanted you to enjoy yourself, even if you were trying to avoid it.

Still figuring you out, Coriolanus found your sweet spot with a hard thrust, causing you to wince. Instinctively, you tried to push him away, just like you had before, not wanting to surrender.

You stilled when you felt his hand. He hardly realized how he’d reacted until he felt your throat bob beneath his palm.

Coriolanus retracted his hand, like your skin and shot a volt through him. His movements slowed to a stop.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized earnestly, brushing the hand through your hair gently. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

Your chest heaved as you breathed shaky breaths through your nose. Your lips pressed together in a line.

You weren’t going to dignify him with a response. In a way, he understood.

Coriolanus locked his arms under your body and in a surge of strength, pulled you from the ground and into his lap. He hugged you against him, nuzzling his face into your neck.

“Forgive me,” he requested softly.

You shifted in his lap, adjusting yourself to find comfort in the new position. You did not speak.

He slammed his hips up, forcing a gasp from your lips. That was something, wasn’t it?

You pulled back, and he did it again. And again. And again.

You fell against him, jarred by the change in his movements as he thrust into you. He liked it, feeling you in his lap, your chest against his, leaving you no choice but to hold onto him.

His lips latched onto the skin of your neck as he moved, barring his teeth and nipping the skin. You reacted as if he were venomous, straining away from him, but he’d left his mark.

You could pretend all you wanted that you didn’t like him, but Coriolanus could feel your body reacting to his. He could feel the way your walls squeezed around him, drawing him in, and how your body quivered as he pushed you closer to your edge.

“Just let go,” Coriolanus whispered, holding you tighter. He cradled the back of your head against him as he moved inside of you. Soothing and rough at the same time. “It’s okay, I know you want to.”

“Shut up,” you hissed into his neck, hands finding his chest.

Were you really going to try and get away from him? It was a bit late for that.

Coriolanus moved his hand between your bodies, finding your clit with the pad of his thumb, speeding along the process.

“What was that?” he taunted, feeling your legs start to shake.

A moan tore from your throat as you came around him, body slumping against his as he shoved himself deeper inside you. He wanted to feel your body tensed around him.

“That’s it,” he drawled, pressing his face to the side of your head. He inhaled, letting your scent flood him. Every sense was overwhelmed by you and if anything, it made him hunger for even more.

You became more pliable in your daze, going easily when Coriolanus laid you back down on the cold ground. He planted one hand on the ground near your head, where he held most of his weight, while the other rested on the base of your neck. Not squeezing, just resting. Reminding you of before.

Now that he’d taken care of you, made you realize the pleasure he could inflict upon you, it was his turn. Coriolanus was relentless with the thrust of his cock inside you, stretching you around him, groaning with nearly every movement. You felt so good, he never wanted to leave the warmth of your body.

You shifted beneath him, squirming as the intense feeling. Coriolanus was tempted to drag it out, to watch your face as the pleasure became too much for you to handle.

If it wasn’t for the desire to fill you, to claim you, he would’ve. There would be more times after this, he’d ensure it. He didn’t own a lot, but he treasured the things that he did.

“I can’t let you go, not now.” He meant to keep it inside his head, but the words spilled out. “You’re the only thing I want.”

At that moment, it was true.

Coriolanus gave one final shove of his hips before spilling inside of you. It crashed over him in an unexpected wave. His whole body shivered with pleasure at the feel of your body milking him. You wanted him. Your denial would eventually fade. He was sure of it.

Coriolanus let out a heavy sigh of your name as he watched your face. You’d turned your head, wincing as he filled you to the brim.

“Hey,” Coriolanus said when he finished, voice low. He ran a delicate hand over your face, persuading you to open your eyes. “We’re okay.”

As much as he didn’t want to, Coriolanus withdrew from you. You’d given up fighting against him, so he took the opportunity to help you redress. You were so pliant, it was like dressing a doll.

You rested your arms on your knees when he made you sit up. He wasn’t keeping you from moving from the floor, you chose not to.

Coriolanus watched you cautiously, searching for the same fire in you before, trying to figure out if he’d somehow snuffed it out.

There was a nagging in his gut. It was only for a brief second, but his confidence wavered.

“Can you talk to me?” he pressed, laying a hand on your shoulder and he knelt across from you, pants readjusted.

It was as if nothing happened, but you both knew that was untrue.

“Why should I?” You wrinkled your nose as you focused on the ground.

“Because, I care about you,” Coriolanus replied without thought, gaze softening. “I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I don’t think you care for me,” you said in a tone so hushed, Coriolanus wasn’t sure if you even meant for him to hear. Then, you met his eyes. The fire had only been dulled, not put out. “I think you’re a liar, Coriolanus Snow.”

His hands fell to clasp yours. He brought one to his lips, pressing a small kiss to the back of your palm. You eyed him as if he were some sort of predator, but he managed a smile nonetheless.

“Let me prove it to you, and you’ll come to learn you’ve been wrong about me all along.”

[murdrdocs]

as much as we all love the buzz,,, imagine trying to get coryo to sneak around during academy hours for a lil make out sesh + pulling his hair 🤭

changed to the university bc ... college woop woop ! nd also his hair then 😁

there's just ten minutes between your classes and you plan to use them fruitfully.

there's energy behind your steps, driven by the desire to find the man you're desperately seeking. you round a corner, loafers clapping against the marbled floor of the University, and then you almost collide with someone's chest. you're close to mumbling a half assed apology, not even bothering to look up at your almost victim.

it's not until there are strong arms along your biceps to steady you that you glance up, a grin breaking out on your face when you see coriolanus snow staring down at you.

"hey, i was looking for you." it's all you manage to say before you're grabbing coriolanus by the pocket of his trench coat and pulling him down the hall. you throw a glance both ways, even giving it a second look before you pull him into a closet.

"what are you–? we can't. i have to go to class in," coriolanus looks down at his watch, new and shiny and certainly bought with plinth's money. just when he looks back up at you, you press your lips against his.

he's startled, not reciprocating at all. you frown, pulling back and lowering yourself back onto your heels, only to stare up at coriolanus in an attempt to decipher how he feels. his face is stony, cold, and you feel a little ashamed as you take a step back from him.

"i'm sorry, i–" coriolanus interrupts you before you can even fully begin.

your back presses against the wooden door, your lips gratefully press up into his. he slots a leg between your skirt, and he doesn't press the fabric against your center, instead letting his thigh hover a few inches away from your core.

his hand slots under your jaw, finger tips resting along your jugular while his thumb hooks under your chin, keeping your head angled as he wants.

your hand slots up into his hair, a territory that's typically been off limits when he has to go back in public. but now, he hums into the kiss instead of scowling against your lips.

and when he's kissed you breathless, he pulls back with disheveled hair, a few loose curls freely dangling outside of his pristine hair. he checks his watch almost uninterestedly and informs you, "we've got 5 minutes. make it count."