#coriolanus snow drabbles

[ichorai]

button ; coriolanus snow. (m)

pairing ; young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader (gender-neutral)

synopsis ; what did make him pause, however, was the very top button of your shirt. misshaped. odd. not matching the rest of your buttons. his gift to you. “you’re wearing it,” coriolanus whispered. his voice sounded strained.

words ; 3.4k

themes ; fluff, mild angst, smut

warnings / includes ; unprotected sex (not very explicit), possessiveness, themes of classism, we meet reader's rich parents !! and grandma'am and tigris appear, coryo's paranoia, he's not exactly toxic yet but the seeds are very much planted, i tried to keep him in character as best i could </3

a/n ; there will be a third part loosely following the events of the movie (obv tweaked for the fic!)

series masterlist. main masterlist.

Your home was the very definition of old money—wealth and grace and high status carved into the marble floors, hung up in the large oil paintings, found within the fibers of the expensive carpets leading into grand halls. Snow had to consciously remind himself to appear unphased. He had this sort of life, too, as far as you were concerned.

It was only expected, especially considering your parents’ high positions: with your father being the top admiral of the navy, and your mother a renowned physicist with several awards under her belt. Dozens of rows of medals and framed certifications from both your parents were more than enough for Snow to gauge the mass of their importance.

He shifted the weight of his feet in his too-tight shoes. Anxious. He wore his dress shirt again, though not before asking Tigris to try and rework the buttons. The buttons hewn from his bathroom tiles. Make them look the same, he had told her. They’re uneven. Snow turned away before he could see her mildly crestfallen expression.

It was a special occasion, hence his dressed-up attire. There was a rose pinned to his waistcoat, a deep shade of red, from his Grandma’am’s rooftop garden. Your father had come home today, after months of military work in the districts. And to celebrate such a momentous evening, you invited him to dinner. 

To meet your parents. How utterly fraught.

Though, now that the two of you were officially together (albeit only recently—Sejanus asked if the two of you were a thing and Coryo replied with an instinctive, possessive yes, much to both of your surprise), Coriolanus supposed there was no use in delaying the inevitable.

“Don’t be nervous,” you told him, arm looped around his. The white rose he’d given you upon his arrival was tucked neatly behind your ear, a lovely contrast to your all-black garb. In a light-hearted tone, you added, “Father would be able to smell it on you. The fear.”

Coriolanus shot you an exasperated glance, to which you only smiled. You landed a soft, reassuring kiss onto his cheek, hand sliding down from his elbow to lace with his. 

“You look… breathtaking,” he said, lifting your conjoined palms to brush his lips over your knuckles. Of the many lies that he told you, this certainly wasn’t one of them. 

Your eyes gleamed with the light from the chandelier hanging above you.

“And you look handsome as ever.” A pause. You seemed bashful all of a sudden, averting your gaze to the gold patterns on the marble floors. “I know this is all very new, so I apologize in advance, if my father asks about our, uhm… our future… He’s a very forward man.”

A smile twitched at the corner of his lips and he slotted his free hand beneath your chin, the pad of his thumb pressing lightly over the side of your throat, forcing you to look back at him. “I have no intention of letting you go, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You smiled again, all sunlight and warmth, and Coriolanus couldn’t help but steal it away with one last kiss. 

“Ready?” you asked, jerking your head in the direction of the dining room. 

Snow swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded.

Dinner was quite a pleasant affair. The food was better than anything the academy ever served—Coriolanus wondered how you could willingly go from eating such delicacies at home to basic, run-of-the-mill meals the cafeteria provided. There were courses, tender peppered steaks (his very favorite), rich mushroom soups, iced lemon cakes, and several sorts of breads and butters were offered all throughout.

Your mother was a delight, enchanting him with stories of laboratory mishaps and her dangerous adventures with radioactive material. You looked a lot like her, he realized.

Your father, on the other hand, was pressing at first, grilling Coriolanus with dozens of personal questions. If you hadn’t warned him beforehand that he was a military leader, he most definitely would’ve worked it out for himself then. There were times where you politely but forcefully snapped at him, telling him to lay off the invasive interrogation and to let the poor man eat. But Coriolanus really didn’t mind—he’d spent hours upon hours preparing himself for this. He answered all of the questions with effortless ease.

By the third course, your father was satisfied. Reluctant, but satisfied. By the fourth, he was already asking about marriage, much to your mortification. Coriolanus smiled down at his plate, and quietly listened to you lecture your father about privacy and civility.

Yes, dinner was quite enjoyable. Several containers of food from unseen servants were wrapped up for him to take home, at your request, despite his polite protests. It wasn’t a common thing to do in the capitol, but your parents hadn’t batted an eye. 

He was safe. They didn’t know. It was an ongoing mantra the entire night.

He was shown out the door by your father, who clapped a large hand on his shoulder and told him to take care of you, especially while he was gone. Your mother kissed him once on each cheek as farewell, and you did the same, though your kisses strayed far closer to his lips. He caught the mischievous gleam in your eyes. 

The door shut behind him once he strode into the expansive courtyard in front of your mansion of a home. He glanced down at the rose pinned to his coat, wondering if you were still wearing yours behind your ear. A minute later, he jumped out of his reverie when the entrance creaked open once more. You peeked your head back out, eyes alight, pleased to see that he was still there. 

You slid out from the entryway and made your way to him with quick strides, wasting no time to rest your hands upon his chest. To his delight, you were still wearing the rose. “Father and mother left to watch television in the estate’s Northern wing. Didn’t want to kiss you in front of them.”

There were wings to your house? Coriolanus blinked at you, accidentally letting his indifferent mask slip for a few seconds. If you noticed, you didn’t say anything about it, leaning forward to kiss him sweetly. It took him another moment to gather his wits, before winding his arms about your waist and deepening the kiss, nearly bending you backwards with his vigor.

He could never tire of this, he thought, fingers curling so his nails dug into the expensive black fabric of your top. Kissing you, touching you, entertaining the notion that you were his, and only his. 

When you pulled away, your lips were wonderfully kiss-swollen and your pupils were blown wide, to his amusement. Were his eyes just the same?

“Thank you for being here today,” you mumbled, that smile-frown he was so fond of gracing your features once more. “I’m sorry if my parents were too—”

“They were wonderful. You’re wonderful,” he interrupted, tone soft. His hand lifted from your waist to cup your face. Cold fingers against flushed skin. “I’ll see you at the academy?”

A nod, a grin, and a relieved sigh. “Sleep well, Coryo.”

“You, too.” He pulled away, reluctant, allowing his hands to fall back to his sides. “You look good with it, you know. The rose.” With a final nod, he turned on his heel and walked away from your estate, back to his own cold penthouse, where he had to burn newspaper scraps to keep warm.

The months drew by like a lazy stream of water, gliding over a bed of stones, languid and pleasant. Your time with Coriolanus was nothing short of utter bliss. He was a sweet lover, despite his possessive streaks, always making sure you were alright with what he was doing. The two of you went slow and steady, always asking, always gentle. He kissed you as if you were made of sugar glass, and you held onto him as if he was a fragile ceramic vase.

Exams were drawing nearer with each passing day, and the two of you found yourself studying and cramming more than anything. He would often tell you that there was no need for you to study so hard, especially when you were already at the very top, likely to claim the Plinth prize for yourself, but you always waved him away with a modest laugh. If the two of you weren’t at the library pouring over dozens upon dozens of books, you were finding ways to sneak him into your home: kissing behind stone statues in the gardens, hiding behind velvet curtains, pulling him onto your massive, four-poster bed.

It was only a matter of time until you asked.

His arm was draped over your bare midriff, drawing mindless shapes into your hip. Your head rested back against his chest, mildly sweaty from the lovemaking session the two of you were still dwindling down from. You stared out your window, watching the sun slowly bleed the sky a hazy clementine hue, teeth sinking down into the flesh of your bottom lip in thought.

“Why haven’t we ever studied at your home, Coryo?” you asked. “I’ve yet to meet your cousin. You talk about her a lot… she seems wonderful.”

You felt a cold breath billow over the back of your neck. It sent pleasant chills spider down your spinal column. And you could’ve imagined it, but his fingers seemed to flex over your bare flesh. Twitch. Almost antsy. Did your question make him uncomfortable?

Shifting in his grasp, you turned within his arms so you could face him. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to pressure you, or anything. I just… just know that I’d never judge you.”

His expression was near unreadable, the blue of his eyes even paler than usual with the sunset’s light casting a honey-glow over both of your sprawled-out forms. He kissed you again, hungrily, almost as if to distract you. You let him.

Kiss you, touch you, bruise you. Any of it, all of it.

A low groan barreled within his chest when you fisted a handful of his soft blonde waves at the base of his neck, gently tugging. 

“Nothing you could show me would make me love you any less,” you muttered against his lips, nose nudging against his. “Nothing, Coryo.”

And he, in a moment of love-addled weakness, let himself believe you.

Come the next afternoon, you were at the door of the Snows’ penthouse, a basketed batch of warm cookies held in one hand, the other holding a heavy bag full of all your textbooks to study. If the two of you were going to study at all today. Your mother was aghast that you were about to visit his home without some sort of gift, and abruptly shoved the basket of goodies into your arms out of seemingly nowhere, as if materialized out of thin air.

“Coriolanus loves the chocolate chip ones,” she harrumphed whilst ushering you out the door. “Honestly, showing up to someone else’s home empty-handed? Who raised you?”

The irony was not lost on either of you, and you barked out a laugh before kissing her farewell and setting off to visit him. 

You rang the rusted doorbell once—curiously regarding the little button once you realized that it was broken. Then, you knocked the door twice, then another two times for good measure. There was a muffled scuffling behind the door, a woman’s voice echoing from behind.

And when it swung open, you were met with an elderly woman, shrouded in a too-large, black tunic with embroidered flowers on the sleeves, the threads loose and pulled, the once-vibrant colors faded. She wore a turban, covering most of her white hair save for the few thin tendrils framing the sides of her face. 

“Hello, I’m Coriolanus’ classmate,” you greeted, in an ever-so-capitol-esque manner. “You must be his… Grandma’am?”

She appeared confused for a moment, before slow sparks of recognition fired across her blue eyes. Coriolanus had the same eyes, you noted.

“Oh!” she crooned. “Oh, dear me! Coriolanus! It’s your lovely friend!” 

There was a bit of commotion down the hall. The brief moment of pause allowed you to finally take in why Coriolanus hadn’t wanted you to come to his home all this time. The penthouse was still quite lavish, as the Snow estate was one of the most expensive properties in the capitol, but it was clear that the space was diminishing with the weight of its upkeep—flickering lights, dusty floors, tears in the wallpapers, mold on the countertops…

Your attention was drawn away from the view when Tigris and Coryo emerged from the same room, and you couldn’t help the smile that threatened to break across your features. His cousin was fretting over his lopsided curls, and he discreetly tried to duck out of her way to get to you.

“My, you are just as gorgeous as he said you were!” Grandma’am said in a pitching tone, wrangling your attention back to her. She lifted her hands to lightly pinch at your cheeks. “Yes, you’ll do just fine.” Her fingers fell away and she scuttled off, murmuring something about the Capitol’s First Partner—

Coriolanus breathed out your name and his hand was on your shoulder, apologizing once, twice, three times (what was he even apologizing for?), before Tigris popped up by his side, bumping him out of the way so she could shake your hand vigorously.

“Hi! I’m Tigris—it’s so nice to finally meet you!”

You shook the blonde woman’s hand, smile seeming to grow impossibly wider. “It’s nice to meet you, too! I love your dress.”

Her mouth dropped open in a flustered manner and a lovely rose shade dusted over her cheekbones. “Oh, this old thing?” She absentmindedly smoothed a hand down the frills of her pink dress. “Yeah, I… oh, it’s nothing, really, I just made it myself.”

“That’s incredibly impressive! You must be a really talented seamstress.”

A sharp clear of his throat made your eyes snap back to Coriolanus. 

“Coryo,” you greeted warmly. “I brought you cookies. Chocolate chip. Mother sends her regards.”

The two Snows in front of you eyed the basket with large eyes. 

“Thank you,” he croaked, accepting the basket from your extended hands and handing it over to his cousin. “Tigris, if you’d excuse us—we’ve got some studying to do.”

Coriolanus began to tug you down the hall, and you waved back to Tigris, telling her that you’d love to see any of her other dresses later. She’d already reached into the basket and had a cookie halfway to her mouth as she nodded at you with a toothy grin.

His room was in around the same state as the rest of the home. Furniture was old, torn, frayed, or simply broken. There were several boarded-up holes in his dresser. There was a box of rat poison below his desk, which was full with all sorts of papers and stacks of yellowing books. You skittered in and dropped your heavy bag down by his bed, allowing him to close the door behind you. You just barely registered the click of a lock.

“So?” he asked, voice sounding much louder in such a confined space. He seemed tense, as if bracing himself for the worst. “Are you disgusted yet?”

“What do you take me for?” you replied easily, having already gathered why he was so afraid of bringing you here in the first place. “I’m not a leech, nor am I vain, Coriolanus. I don’t want more money, and I’m not here to offer you charity to flaunt my wealth. I thought you’d know that by now.”

He stalked closer, observing you like a wolf would its prey. “What is it you want, then?”

When you took a step back closer to his small, rather wiry bed, he would take two longer strides, crowding you back against it. He dipped forward so that his lips were only a hair’s breadth from yours, but just barely not touching.

“You know, I’m sure.”

“I do.” Coriolanus knew that you wanted him just for him, and nothing gave him more pleasure than that simple fact. His nose brushed yours. 

“Would it make me a fool to stay?” you asked, the question fanning over his mouth. Inviting, ever so tantalizing. “You’re not planning on chopping me up and selling my organs for some cash, are you?”

He didn’t laugh at your little joke. Instead, he dove forward, one hand yanking your hips to his, the other winding over to the back of your head. He kissed you desperately, all teeth and tongue, hardened lips and his knee slotting between your thighs. 

“No,” he susurrated thickly, as if he’d swallowed honey and soil, pressing you down until you were fully laid down over his rickety bed, back arched. “You’d be mine. All of you, just mine.”

He swallowed any sort of gasp and moan that fell from your mouth. Greedy, lustful, determined to make you pliable. His kisses didn’t slow down whatsoever when he tore himself away from your lips, freckling them down your cheeks, your jaw, your neck, your collarbones. 

What did make him pause, however, was the very top button of your shirt. 

Misshaped. Odd. Not matching the rest of your buttons. His gift to you.

“You’re wearing it,” Coriolanus whispered. His voice sounded strained.

“Mmh?” You glanced down at the button. “Oh. Of course, I am. I like how it looks.”

His face hovered above yours once more. His stare was so intense you began to shy away, staring at a moldy patch on the ceiling. The silence felt suffocating as you waited for him to do something. Anything.

“I love you,” he breathed out, finally. Upfront and abrupt. It wasn’t often that he said it. Maybe once or twice before, since you said it more than enough for the both of you. 

You laughed then—your wonderful, wind-chime laughter. It was more out of shock than anything. He kissed you soft and sweet, momentarily quelling your chuckling. But as the afternoon of so-called ‘studying’ drew on, the laughter melded into sighs of pleasure when clothes were shed, shifting towards wanton moans of desperation when heated flesh slid against one another. 

You nearly choked when his length breached your entrance, scratching faint red lines down the expanse of his back as he pushed in, pulled out. Rhythmic. Again and again and again—you couldn’t seem to get enough of him on top of you, inside of you, all around you. Your chest was pressed up against his; could he hear your heart beating through your ribs, yearning to feel his? The coil within your lower abdomen tightened. He read your every microexpression just perfectly.

He’d unbuttoned your entire shirt save for the oddly-shaped one, hands groping all over your bare skin, teeth biting down onto the patch of skin just above the button as he rocked himself into a climax, roping you down into the abyss with him. Ragged groans and broken sighs. 

Coriolanus dragged his tongue up your chest and your neck, leaving a cold trail in his wake, and he sucked in a deep breath. When he pulled back to stare at you—flushed, hair mussed, sweat beaded along your hairline, his pearlescent spend between your thighs, your eyes half-lidded… chest only barely covered by his one button…

“Thank you,” he croaked, kissing the space beside your left eye. “For not running.”

“Don’t make me a fool for it,” you replied, looping your arms over Coriolanus’ neck so he could kiss you properly.

[julietsbody]

innocence — modern ! coriolanus snow + reader : your friends ask you to get some drugs from the local dealer, but you never expect he would take a liking to you.

tags : 18+!!! MDNI!!! drug dealing ! coryo, drugs, praise kink, overprotective behavior, possessive behavior, porn with feelings, p in v sex, fingering, special treatment

coriolanus snow hated parties, they were loud, and the people were insufferable— but he needed the money from the things he sold. cocaine, weed, even some ecstasy. whatever the people wanted, whatever helped support his grandmother and cousin. they weren’t living in the most luxury like all the other people who held parties in these neighborhoods, so that’s why coriolanus attended them, they always paid the most.

he typically got douchebags or stuck - up pretty girls, they both always paid him in crumpled up ones that he took forever to straighten out and count— what a bunch of assholes.

what he never expected, though, was you, coming up to the man dressed in a korn shirt and baggy jeans with a bow in your hair as well as wearing a pretty dress. your doe eyes peered up at him when you tapped his shoulder, he turned, eyes slotting down to meet yours, “hey.”

“hi,” you hesitate, cute, “i.. do you sell drugs?”

he clears his throat, “sorry?”

“do you—“

“probably shouldn’t repeat yourself, doll,” he tips his head up, “i do, are you buying?“

“just for my friends, yeah,” you smile shyly at him, and he returns it.

you’re so innocent, had you ever done any drugs before? definitely not the ones he sells, maybe the weed, but cocaine or ecstasy? no, no way. if it were for you, he wouldn’t be selling you it anyway. coriolanus had a certain soft spot, if you will, for the innocent girls that wander up to him at parties with their batting eyelashes and naturally pouted lips.

“alright, let’s go upstairs,” he tips his head to the stairs, chuckling when you move to give a thumbs up to your friends before following after him, “why do they make you ask for them?”

he suddenly moves back to grab your wrist when the halls find themselves crowded, not wanting to lose you in the sea of people, nor you lose him. you were a client, a customer, and he always treats his customer this way.

loud incorrect buzzer.

he doesn’t!

coriolanus never dares to allow himself to sweeten up around his customers, or anyone, but something about your shy, deer like attitude— it had a wolf wanting to protect.

“they say they’re too nervous to do it themselves,” you finally answer when he leads you into the nearest empty room, closing the door behind you.

he finally lets go of your wrist, “that so? what are they askin’ for?”

“cocaine,” you swallow.

“then they’re not nervous,” he chuckles, having to deal with his fair share of cocaine users, none of them are nervous to approach him, “why do you let them push you around?”

he moves to sit on the bed, chopping up the cocaine from his pocket on the nightstand next to him. he typically doesn’t like when his customers stand over him, because he never knows what they will do, and he likes to be in control at all times— but you’re harmless, aren’t you? just a little deer.

you exhale a nervous laugh, “they’re not pushing me around, they’re just asking me for favors.”

he hums, eyes peering up at you as his hands absentmindedly work on the pearl powder, it was muscle memory for him at this point. “you promise you’re not doing this shit, too?”

“i promise,” your lips tip up to a curt smile, “it’s really.. scary, honestly.”

he exhales, eyes trailing over the curves of your face before they meet the nightstand again, swiping the powdered sugar like substance into a little baggie. you watch him, almost admiring, “yeah. it is really scary, dangerous, too— don’t want you doin’ this shit too.”

a warm feeling courses through your veins, you hardly realize he’s holding the baggies out for you until he clears his throat, you blink a few times, quickly trying to grasp the money you had— it wasn’t given to you by your friends to spend for them, it was just your own money. how cruel.

“it’s on the house,” he quickly says, almost unaware of what he was saying himself until it finally passes his lips.

you bat your lashes at him, “what—“

“free, doll, just take it,” he allows himself a faint smile.

you hesitantly reach to take the baggies, “are you sure…?”

he nods, “‘m positive.”

“thank you, snow,” his eyebrows furrow at how sweet his name sounds on your tongue, like nectar delivered by the kindest dove from the gods.

you turn to leave, but he quickly stands, “hey—“ he pauses, eyes sweeping over your figure as he tries to figure out what to say, you probably go to millions of parties with your asshole friends, possibly with other dealers.. “some other dealers are gonna try to rip you off, make you pay a lot for a little bit— so just, come to me and i’ll treat you good as long as you’re staying out of trouble, princess.”

“okay, i will,” you nod quickly.

“good girl.”

⊹˚. ౨ৎ

you don’t see coriolanus for a while after that night, it has been no more than a few days, less than a week but the idea of you is rotting in his brain and eating him whole from the inside out. at every party he went to, every girl with a bow in their hair (he despises that it’s the latest trend) or wearing a baby pink dress reminds him of you. with their fluttering lashes and soft smiles, god, he hates that he sees you in every one of them. he hates that you have completely plagued his entire conscience, but yet he never complains about it, not once.

sometimes, sejanus, one of the other known dealers, though he more so considers himself a look - out when coriolanus is selling, or a promoter for coriolanus’ business— he notices how coriolanus’ eyes linger more than usual on the women at parties, it almost makes him laugh, or tease coriolanus.

isn’t he supposed to be intimidating? not a man easily falling for women.

a lover boy, that’s what he seemed like now.

sejanus swishes around his drink in his cup, eyes falling to coriolanus, “what’s up with you?”

coriolanus blinks once, twice, “what are you talking about?”

“you haven’t blinked in like an hour,” sejanus liked to overexaggerate, “are you okay?”

“of course i am,” he scoffs, “‘m gonna find arachne.”

arachne, sejanus’ best friend, albeit she talks so much shit about him behind his back. sejanus is sweet, passive, and arachne is the complete opposite. some would call arachne a maneater, coriolanus thinks of her as a conceited bitch who needs to be put on a leash. she had a tendency to run off whenever she went to parties with coriolanus and sejanus, so coriolanus always had to run after her to try and find her.

sejanus nods, offering a small i’ll look too.

coriolanus allows sejanus to walk the opposite way as he turns the corner, eyes scanning each room for a brunette with a bold red lip. he doesn’t find her anywhere, god, she better not be having sex in one of the rooms upstairs like how she was last time. coriolanus likes to think opening that door to that sight was something out of a horror movie.

he does find a different brunette, though, with more golden tones and curlier hair.

festus creed, of fucking course creed is here. he was another one of the other well known dealers in the area. he wasn’t that well with his sells, mostly because he acts like he’s above everyone else in the worst way possible, and even allows people to pay with sex.

coriolanus heard his sex is never good.

funny, isn’t it? how someone with a small dick and hardly any skills on pleasing women would offer sex as payment.

coriolanus, at least, thinks it’s hilarious.

what he doesn’t think is hilarious, though, is that festus is talking to someone coriolanus is far too familiar with. glittery eye makeup, a lacy bow in their hair, baby pink dress.. it’s you.

coriolanus’ mouth runs dry when you spot him in the corner of your eye, your lips twisting into a sugar - coated grin as soon as your eyes widen, “snow!”

you immediately move to give him a hug, festus’ searing gaze following your every movement in the creepiest way possible— god, coriolanus hates him. his fingers lace around your waist, tugging you close, “hey, princess.”

“princess?” festus snickers.

coriolanus tries to ignore him, but he finds it near impossible with the words that leave your lips next, “this is festus, my friend, do you know him?”

coriolanus scoffs, does he know him, what a joke, “i know of him.”

festus finds himself chuckling bitterly, “is that right, pretty boy?”

coriolanus takes a step, and you feel a certain mold of metal against your waist when he does, a gun, his cold lips part, “sure is.”

your eyes roam over his features, the curves of his skin when his brows collide, the way his eyes darken with malice, the grit of his sharp teeth, the flush of his jaw against his flesh as he moves it. his muscles flex underneath his baggy band t - shirt, veins pulsing. he was angry.

festus’ lips part, but you speak before him, “snow?”

his head nods in your direction, but he doesn’t say anything.

“answer your girl, snow,” festus taunts.

“go upstairs,” he mumbles, it’s to you.

so you do.

⊹˚. ౨ৎ

coriolanus sighs when he closes the door behind him, coming in mere minutes later. you had been sitting on the bed in the vacant room, fingers playing together, eyes glossed over in fear and pricking with tears. coriolanus wasn’t the only one who carried, but you didn’t hear any shots, fortunately.

“kid’s such a fuckin’ asshole,” he mumbles, cracking his bruising knuckles, “he’s not sellin’ you shit, is he?”

“sometimes—“

“don’t buy from him anymore,” coriolanus pauses, swallowing, “he laces his shit sometimes.”

it was true, festus was messy with his work, he didn’t lace the products himself but the people that distributed them to him would, he was just too lazy to even notice.

“i’m sorry,” it comes out hushed, a mere whisper, but coriolanus’ ears pick up on it easily.

his tone is softer now, “why?”

“i didn’t know—“

“then don’t apologize,” his head tips to the side, sniffling the bubbling blood in his nose, he inhales, pupils wide as they roam your features. a glass tear raced down your pliant cheek, and he immediately moved to carefully wipe it away, “don’t cry, doll.”

you don’t say anything, merely melt into his touch. coriolanus isn’t good with affection, he’s hardly had any girlfriend before and if he has, they don’t last long due to his struggles with showing kindness. so it’s obvious the next word that leaves his mouth isn’t one born from honeysuckle, “cocaine?”

your lips move nervously, bottom lip tugging under your teeth as your mascara covered lashes move to his frost - bitten eyes, “do you have.. ecstasy?”

his lips drop to a frown, “why?”

your lips tremble when they part, cheeks heating under his touch, “my friends want to try it.”

“no,” he swallows, jaw ticking, “i’m not selling you that shit.”

“what? why not?”

“that shit is too dangerous,” he chuckles, albeit it’s bitterness, “i don’t want you around that, it’s trouble.”

“i’ve been good,” you reassure, hips swaying when you scoot closer to the edge of the bed, closer to him.

“have you, now?” his thumb is gently rubbing against your skin.

“i have, i promise,” you offer, feeling his fingers move so his thumb is now moving against your bottom lip, dipping into your mouth ever so slightly.

you smile around it and his pupils dilate even more, are his eyes blue anymore or merely just sole pupil? “naughty girl.”

then he stops, as if he had realized something, and pulled away. your lips curve downward to a frown, desperate to have his touch again, “snow?”

“don’t,” his molars collide, “i’ll hurt you.”

“that’s okay—“

“—i’m bad news—“

“—i don’t think that—“

“—i’m dangerous, doll.”

you hesitate, inhaling sharply, “but you won’t hurt me.”

he doesn’t say anything for a minute, “so, you want cocaine?”

you give him a careful nod, and he smiles. again, he’s being sweet.

“you know how to chop up cocaine?”

you allow yourself a giggle, “you know i don’t.”

“i’ll show you.”

and he does, his hand is gentle as it guides yours, fingers curling against the curve of your own as he crushes up the cocaine, guiding you to chop it up with the card he gave you. you’re warm underneath his cold touch, his movements experienced whilst yours are new. “how many times have you done this?”

he shrugs, breath fresh against the shell of your ear, “a couple hundred, for sure.”

“i could help you, you know, with the business,” you offer, despite not even really wanting to.

“no,” his fingers are tighter against your skin, but not enough to hurt, “i don’t want you in this business, you being around me is dangerous enough.”

“you’re not dangerous, snow,” you hush out.

he moves closer, and you feel his gun brush against your ass, lips curving into a smile, “you think so?”

you shiver from the touch, it’s loaded, the safety is probably off, “i know so.”

your thighs push together, he feels it, making him chuckle, “you’re so needy, princess.”

“snow,” you breathe out, ���this isn’t fair.”

“how so?” he presses a soft kiss behind your ear, “just because you aren’t getting what you want?”

“do you want it?” you pause your movements.

“of course i do, i want it as much as you,” he moves your fingers so you drop the card, guiding them to his bulge, “‘m just not spoiled.”

you frown at his works, fingers curving around his bulge, god, how big was he? “‘m not spoiled either.”

“whatever you say, princess,” he grits out.

you palm him so well, it nearly has him rutting against your hand, breathing getting heavier against your ear. his fingers move to trail down down your back, dipping underneath the hem of your skirt and tracing along the thin material of your lace panties. his jaw shifts, “such a dirty girl, wearing these panties.”

you whimper when his fingers graze along the soaked part of your panties, thick fingers brushing against your clothed clit, “please— snow.”

“please what, princess?” you mumble something in response, but it’s nearly incoherent, more of a whimper, “use your words.”

he moves to pull your panties to the side, now touching your bare clit, making your thighs tremble, “i need— fuck, i need you— inside.”

he nods, pressing kisses along the side of your neck, finding himself already pussy - drunk. it almost felt sacrificial, a sinful man dipping his fingers inside of a goddess, the way you moaned at the feeling of his finger stretching you out— it was as if he could be confessing of his sins at any minute.

to see your hips bucking against his finger, his name hushed on the tip of your delicate tongue. didn’t you know that many people wanted him dead? how many people hated him? how the police could arrest him at any second? yet you didn’t care, a lamb to the slaughter, a deer in between the jaws of a wolf.

yet you were rutting against his hand, begging for more, desiring him to push another finger in— and he did exactly that, prepping your tight cunt for his cock, “you’re so fuckin’ tight, doll, i don’t know if it’ll fit.”

“it will— it will, i know it will—,” you’re just babbling nonsense at this point, and coriolanus wanted to be gentle, he really did, but your sweet moans, your sugary whimpers, the way he so easily pushed his fingers inside of you, the way that when you curl, your moans up a few octaves. you were so sensitive, god, were you a virgin?

the thought had coriolanus pulling his fingers out, twirling you around so he can push his fingers into your mouth, allowing you to taste yourself as his other hand undoes the belt holding his baggy jeans up. his eyes are crystalizing the memory of your tongue swirling against his fingers, sucking up every taste of your own cunt— have you thought of this as many times as he has?

he moves his hand to take his gun before it falls, placing it on the counter behind you, his fingers move from your mouth to help him push his jeans down, your lips part, “why do you have a gun?”

he smiles sweetly at your words, nearly chuckling, “why do you think?”

“‘m not sure, that’s why i asked,” you had a certain tinge in your voice that makes him quirk a brow.

“it’s to protect myself, princess,” he pushes his boxers down, finally freeing his cock, “now be a good girl, turn around, and bend over.”

of course you do exactly what he asks, bending over the counter so he can push your skirt up. the feeling of your innocence being stripped away right in front of you was far too good, like a cross ripped from the chain around your neck, or your holy water being unpurified. you were a cupcake with frosting on top, and coriolanus was sinking his teeth into you, rotting his sweet tooth.

his dick slaps against your heat when your legs part with desire, making you whine against nothing, “snow— please..”

“just say it, princess,” he moves to rub his red tip against your clit, making you shudder, knees buckling already.

“fuck me— f..fuck me,” you repeatedly beg.

he moves closer to press a sweet kiss on the back of your neck, bones colliding when his cock finally pushes into your cunt. you were so tight around him, squeezing him around your velvet walls. your jaw falls slack when you gasp at the feeling of him stretching you out, his lips pull tight together in a grunt, “so tight for me, princess— jesus christ..”

his breathing is labored when he pulls his hips back and thrusts in, he goes slow at first, treating you like you were a fragile statue made from porcelain, but then you’re begging him to go faster, to go harder. your fingers graze along the gun placed on the counter, right next to the cocaine. his tongue swipes along the roof of his mouth before he speaks, “are you sure, doll? i don’t— fuck— want to hurt you.”

“h-hurt me, it’s okay,” you mumble out, and he truly does hesitate for a second, then his thrusts are suddenly faster, bumping you into the counter with the sheer snap of his hips. your cries sound like noises formed from a blessed harp, passed down by the gods for him to listen to, each moan getting louder and louder until his ears are ringing, until the music sounds hushed compared to your screams.

it’s so obscene, all of the things that he finds himself spitting out as he harshly bucks into you. so cute, jus’ wanna ruin you, takin’ my cock so well, that feel good princess? he can’t help the way his hands snake up to your hair, tugging at the pretty bow wrapped around it, earning a frosted moan from your glossed lips.

it’s not long until you’re cuming on his cock, with him pulling out to twirl you around and push you to your knees, allowing you to jerk him off until thick white stripes are decorating your face. the white glitter, the sweet scent of your lip - gloss, now accompanied by his cum.

how cute.

“so fuckin’ pretty,” he mumbles as he tucks his dick back in his boxers, pulling his jeans back up when your painted nails move to wipe away the cum on your face, lapping it up with your pretty tongue.

you giggle sweetly, “do you do this with all your customers?”

he shakes his head, “no, doll, you’re special, you know that.”

and it’s true, you really were special.

you were a dangerous man’s doll.

[lqveharrington]

For Better or Worse | C.S.

summary: Coriolanus was never the same after he came back from District 12. All he saw was power and fame.

pairing: President!Coriolanus Snow x First Lady!reader

includes: BABY SNOWWW aka Elizabeth Snow, manipulation, fluff, comfort, angst, death, guns, blood, trauma, coryo is kinda misogynistic, lying, Lucy Gray makes an appearance, (tell me if I forgot anything!)

a/n: love me some coryo fics :)

You’ve known Coriolanus Snow for as long as you’ve lived. You were there when he was at rock bottom and—somehow—you were by his side when he rose to power and fame. His sudden rise to politician to president wasn't at all shocking to anyone in the Capitol. Especially when he "rightfully" won the Hunger Games.

The second he was inducted as the President of Panem, you became his First Lady. It was expected of you by your past peers and inner circles. You dated him in while attending Academy and there were records of you and Coriolanus sending and receiving letters from one another while he was stationed in District 12.

But when Coriolanus came back from the Districts, he was different. You weren't exactly sure if he changed for the better, but it definitely came with its own challenges. His ideals and principles switched like a magnet. Those ideas that used to uphold his promises and quiet words to you were now vowed to the entire country. Your opinions no longer mattered to him—just the image of a loving wife doting on his every move.

Eventually, you changed.

Half your heart belonged to the boy Coriolanus once was while the other half belonged solely to you daughter—Elizabeth Snow. The second you learned you were pregnant, you practically begged the universe to bless you with a healthy child. Luckily, she came out absolutely perfect. She was an absolute rose.

Coriolanus loved his daughter more than anything Panem could offer, but his idea of being the best reined over his love. He was constantly away at business meetings rather than tending to his daughter—sending you or nurses to tend to Elizabeth rather than face the music himself.

He wanted—no, needed—a perfect family. He made sure to adorn the both of you in the best materials whenever presented to the public, even if you made quiet complaints about it being too much for you daughter. He made sure his daughter would be as smart as you, never him. No one should be as smart as Coriolanus Snow. Besides, you were tied with him for Valedictorian long ago.

If all his demands were pushing his family to their limits, so be it. Coriolanus demanded perfection—no matter what.

Despite all of his requirements to be absolutely perfect, you and Elizabeth found time to just relax with no expectations. Just you and her away from press and public images your husband set up for the both of you.

“Liza, what are you doing?”

You and Elizabeth were in the backyard of the Presidential Manor, although it was like a mini sanctuary if you were to describe it. There was a gorgeous pond in the middle with an entire forest encapsulating the entire backyard. There were rows and rows of flowers—mainly roses—and a greenhouse designated for fruits and vegetables you and Elizabeth would pick from time to time. It was your heaven away from the mess Coriolanus made, but you would never admit that willingly.

“Watching the swans, mama. They’re making funny patterns.” Elizabeth pointed out before beaming brightly when she saw you shut your art journal and approach where she stood, her platinum blonde curls bouncing with her every move.

“And why is that?” You hummed and dusted your charcoaled hands off, careful not to touch her precious clothing or stain her beautiful face with any idiotic movements.

“Well, it means a lot of different things.” She tilted her head to the side and squeezed her eyes shut, doing her best to remember everything she's read about swans. “The most common reasons are for establishing territories or displaying affection.”

You hum and look out toward the two swans, “What do you suppose those two are doing?”

“Neither.” Elizabeth opened her eyes again and shifted her gaze toward the swans, pointing toward the bigger one. “See how the male swan is fluffing his feathers and sticking his neck high? He’s showing off his dominance to the female.”

To be honest, you were quite stunned your daughter knew so much about nature. This wasn't the first time she was able to explain events within living organisms. You knew she read loads, but you didn't think she would ever remember all of the information. Especially since she was merely seven.

“Where did you learn this?” You ask as you lead her back toward the manor, your journal in hand.

“The books papa has stored in the library.” She stepped on the stone path like the grass was lava, using her arms to balance herself. She spun around once she passed the stones, running around the willow tree until you caught up. “Miss Beth lets me read them when papa brings you on business trips at the Districts or when you leave for parties.”

You hold back your laughter at her actions and look around before beckoning her over, whispering in her ear—yet her giggles infect you. “Perhaps I’ll speak to your papa about getting you a miniature library in your room.”

“Really?” She grabbed your arm with wide eyes, practically jumping from excitement. Elizabeth squealed when you nodded—pulling you closer and closer to the manor. Now that you mentioned a miniature library just for her, she would do anything to make the process faster.

“You seem to like reading as much as I do.” You start to clarify as you let her lead you to the back porch, leaning down to whisper in her ear once more. “Besides, it’ll be an excuse for papa to buy even more books.”

Elizabeth squealed once more and tugged you even harder to follow her, your laughter and hers ringing out in the backyard. You loved moments where you and your daughter could just exist in a world without constraints. She was a light in your dark and shrouded world—if anything ever happened to her, you swore you would become the exact person the Capitolites expected you to be.

Just as ruthless and unforgiving as your husband.

“Where are you two off in such a hurry?” Coriolanus appeared in front of the both of you, eyebrow raised in minimal interest.

Speak of the devil himself.

Of course, he wore his pristine—blood-red—suit with a white rose pinned to the jacket's lapel and a white ribbon looped in the hole of his pants. The ribbon was stolen from you the day of your wedding and he chose to wear it everyday to show everyone who belonged to him. It was one of his many prized possessions in life.

“Coming to find you, papa.” Elizabeth left your side and moved to her father's—allowing him to pick her up in his arms. She pushed a stray hair away from his face, earning a half-hearted smile from him.

“Is that so?” He shifted her weight into one of his arms, locking his gaze to your “messy” appearance.

In his eyes, you looked terrible. The curls in your hair were flat; your hands were covered in charcoal; your dress was wrinkled; and it was clear to him you were running from the way your chest rose and fell. It was unacceptable for you to run. People ran for the First Lady—not the other way around.

Rather than dwelling on your husband’s scrutiny, you casted your gaze toward your daughter—who looked like she was ready to explode in excitement if you didn’t say anything. “I have a request on Liza’s behalf.”

“And what does Elizabeth want?” Coriolanus spoke in a sure tone, using his daughter’s full first name. He never understood the need to shorten her name—her name was pure class and power. She was the daughter of the President after all.

“A mini library in my room!” She clasped her hands together and spoke dreamily, eyes filled with stars and fireworks. “I want to fill it with all the books in the world.”

“I see.” He fixed the collar of her dress before tilting his head to the side, catching your eyes for a split second. Coriolanus saw your face soften as Elizabeth’s silent begging, therefore giving him the answer to his daughter’s request. “That can be arranged.”

Elizabeth grinned so wide that it looked like her cheeks began to hurt. She moved to kiss her father’s cheek, words of gratitude spilling from her lips until she couldn’t breathe.

For a moment, you swore you saw the person your husband used to be. You saw the boy who would do anything to make his family happy, even if it cost him more than what he could give. Yet the moment was fleeting as he set Elizabeth down and sent her off to her governess—who was waiting by the double doors of the back porch.

“What is it?” You ask quietly as he guided you away from any prying ears, leading you toward the bed of roses and small fountain by the left side of the backyard.

Coriolanus subtly gestured toward where the governess last stood, adjusting the cuffs of his suit in a composed manner. “She’s not filling her head with fairytales and nonsense, is she?”

“Absolutely not, Coriolanus.” You walk beside him and tuck your hands behind your back—watching every step you took on the cracked path of stones. “She’s been taught all her mathematics and history. When she has the time, Liza does her own reading.”

He hummed and nodded his chin toward the journal behind your back, “Is her portfolio as diverse as yours?”

“She’s learning new mediums every week.” You answer and look up at him—his piercing blue eyes boring into your eyes.

“What have you been up to?” He asked—snapping a rose from it's place and placing it delicately behind your ear, his eyes lingering on the earrings your adorned. Coriolanus had bought them for you mere days ago and expected you to wear them until he bought you a new pair.

“Taking note of everything in our backyard starting with the pond.” You say calmly and back away from his touch—instead—observing the swans and plants that you were drawing earlier. When you felt a burning stare in the back of your head, you continued to speak, hoping to please and ease his mind. “Peacekeepers were at a distance and surveyed the area before we came out.”

“Good.” Coriolanus replied in a curt tone and began to follow you once more, his mind going over a check list he conjured up earlier that day. “We have a conference with the mayors of each District at five.”

“It’s not the end of the quarter yet.” You curl your fingers tighter around your journal—your lips tugging down into a frown at the thought of another rebellion happening in your lifetime.

“They demand to push back the Hunger Games.” His own lips pursing together into annoyance. Who were they to tell him to push back such a crucial event that ever existed in Panem?

“How foul.” You respond accordingly and face him—having already made a short loop around the rose garden. “Of course you won’t agree.”

“Of course not.” He pushed a stray piece of hair away from your face—something Elizabeth learned from him after years of observing her parents. “They don’t have the power—“

BANG!

A loud, clear shot rings out of the Presidential Manor, your eyes widening at the sudden sound. Your grip on your journal tightens as peacekeepers begin to surround you and Coriolanus, your mind instantly wandering to your daughter's safety. You clutch Coriolanus' arm and look into the double doors leading into the manor—every sound muffling the second he begins directing the peacekeepers.

All you could hear was the blood rushing in your body—your heart pumping faster and faster. Your breathing was labored, each second that passed felt like an eternity until you saw the familiar curls rushing out of the house with her personal peacekeeper close behind. You pushed through the wall of peacekeepers surrounding you and instantly dropped to your knees, catching your daughter in your arms.

“Liza.” You breathed and held her closely, feeling for her pulse anywhere you could reach.

She was alive and well. She was alive.

“Mama,” She said shakily and buried her head into your neck, tears streaming from her eyes at the death she witnessed. She would never dare speak about the moment again and she swore her entire life on it. “Mama, Miss B-Beth—“

“You’re okay, I’m here with you.” You rub her back and wipe the tears from her face, your own voice shaky when you look up at your husband who looked like he was about to murder someone. “Coriolanus—“

“Already on it.” He replied coolly and took purposeful strides toward the back doors of the manor—peacekeepers to his left and right.

A peacekeeper from inside came out of the manor and saluted him before gesturing to the following group of peacekeepers behind him. “Sir, we found the intruder and murderer of the governess.”

Coriolanus' gaze hardened at the sight of an old acquaintance, his breath catching momentarily until he heard a quiet sob from his daughter—snapping him back to reality.

“Lucy Gray Baird.” Coriolanus shook his head at the woman, resentment filling every single step he took toward her. The sky began to darken as clouds covered the sun; the wind was much colder than it was earlier; and the tension that filled the air was thick enough to be seen.

Someone had to go, but it wasn't going to Coriolanus. He wasn't going to ever fall for her tricks again.

“Let go of me!” Lucy Gray fought against the peacekeeper's arms, eyes wild with rage and fury for the platinum blonde male in front of her.

“You killed my daughter's governess.” Coriolanus bent over and spoke to her face to face—hating how unfazed she was with his movements. “How the did you escape 12? Run off with the Covey after all?”

Lucy Gray clenched her teeth at him and shoved forward, barely moving from how hard the peacekeepers held her. She was probably bruised with how tight they were holding her. “You deserve no love for what you’ve done, Coriolanus. You know you were wrong.”

“You’re not supposed to be here.” He gripped her arm and pulled her closer to him, watching her eyes widen at the sudden aggressiveness. He scoffed, “I—“

“Your wife doesn’t even love you.” Lucy Gray spat and continued to struggle, hands clenching by her sides.

Coriolanus’ grip on Lucy Gray’s arm tightened the more she struggled and spoke, his knuckles whitening with the force of restraint. He spoke through his teeth—his voice low and dangerous. “You don’t know what you’re talking about."

Lucy Gray laughed. A brittle, sharp sound spilling from her lips.

“Don’t I? Look at her.” She tilted her head toward where you kneeled with Elizabeth, your arms wrapped around your trembling daughter. “Tell me, First Lady Snow, do you love your husband?”

Your heart pounded against your ribcage. The question hung in the air—heavy and suffocating. You glanced at Coriolanus—your husband—whose cold blue eyes pinned you in place.

He expected an answer. He always did.

“I love my family." You replied ever so carefully.

Lucy Gray snorted and tilted her head at you, tone mocking at your avoidance of answering a yes or no question. “That’s not what I asked, darlin’.”

“Enough.” Coriolanus’ voice was final—cutting through the thick tension like a blade. He shoved Lucy Gray back into the arms of the peacekeeper who found her originally, “You came here to what, Lucy Gray? Kill my family off until it was just me?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, “I meant to kill you, but f’course you would never be with your daughter.”

Elizabeth gasped and buried her head into your neck again, squeezing her eyes shut. She wished this was all a dream—that everything she saw and heard was her imagination. A horrible and crude imagination.

“All that's left is to get rid of you." Coriolanus shook his head and glared down at the pathetic woman. Some winner she turned out to be. "Did you really think you could harm me or what belongs to me?”

“You’re sick." She spat and nodded her head toward you and Elizabeth. “Keeping them in this golden cage of yours. But they’ll never be yours, not really. You can’t make someone love you, Coriolanus.”

You take her words in—eyes darting between Lucy Gray and Coriolanus. Long ago you would’ve fought tooth and nail to defend him. Now, you weren’t sure if he was even worth defending.

“Take her away.” Coriolanus ordered the peacekeepers, stepping closer to Lucy Gray one last time, his breath hot with rage. “Make sure she never steps foot in the Capitol again.”

Lucy Gray smirked even as she was dragged away. Her voice was clear to everyone in the backyard, “You can erase me, Coriolanus, but you can’t erase the truth. One day, she’ll see you for what you are.”

The doors slammed shut behind her as they all left, leaving the Snow family in complete silence.

The sun returned and the winds calmed—even the swans came out of hiding to enjoy the once beautiful day. You finally stood up and wiped Elizabeth’s final tears, whispering words of reassurance and love until you felt the same burning you felt earlier.

Coriolanus turned to you with an unreadable expression, clearing his throat when he met your eyes. “Go inside with Elizabeth.”

You hesitated as Elizabeth held onto your hand tighter, her entire body still shaking from shock.

His eyes softened—just slightly—as he looked at his daughter. She was clinging onto you for dear life and you were thumbing circles into her palm, something you did for Coriolanus when he was stressed back in Academy.

“I won’t let anything touch you.” He murmured to the both of you, kissing your temple and leaning down to kiss the top of Elizabeth’s head.

But the question lingered.

Hadn’t something already?

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[ficmenrhot]

Possession and Jealousy /drabble/

TW: slightly suggestive content, hickeys, possessive and jealous behaviours

A/N: OMG thanks everyone for the love on my last posts, maybe getting back into writing was the right thing to do :)

This is not smut BUT let’s talk about how possessive and jealous of a man Finnick Odair can be. Finnick Odair who can’t stand it when your attention is on another man for too long, even if that’s just you listening attentively to them talk. Finnick Odair whose eyes searches for you from the other side of the room to make sure you’re well and happy. Finnick Odair who feels a lump in his throat when he sees another man’s body pressed too closely to yours, even if it’s a close friend of yours or a tribute you’re training. Finnick Odair who grasps on his champagne glass so tightly it nearly shatters in his hands when he sees a hungry Capitol citizen staring you down and making you feel uncomfortable at a party. Finnick Odair who glares at oblivious men to tell them you’re taken and holds your waist to show possession. Finnick Odair who kisses you, well knowing that others are watching. Finnick Odair who loves to leave hickeys and love marks on your neck and collarbone.

“Finnick! Look at what you did to my neck,” you’d whine when you see his attack on your skin in the morning, “fuck- my stylist is going to kill me! You’re not a goddamn vampire.”

You’d throw a pillow at Finnick’s smug and smirking face, him laying on your shared bed, happily being scowled at by you.

“Well I think they make you even hotter, honey,” Finnick would wink at you.

At least now the other men in your life would know that you’re taken and that’s all that matters to him.

[kolsmikaelson]

jealousy looks good on you

cw ; smutty little jealous!coriolanus drabble, public piv sex, 18+

“what the hell was that, huh,” coryo’s hot breath is hitting the shell of your ear from behind. his thick length stretching you beyond what you thought possible. his pace is brutal, but it feels so, so good. “asked you a question. the hell was that back there with sejanus?” his lips, rough against your skin, press hot, desperate kisses to the juncture between your neck and your shoulder.

“nothing! coryo i swear it was nothing.” coriolanus had been getting more and more stressed as the reaping had come and gone and he had to begin preparing lucy gray. he didn’t want to be spending all his time with some girl from twelve, he wanted to be spending it with you, his lovely girlfriend. after a particularly rough night, coryo hadn’t slept much, the hunger in his stomach keeping him awake for a good portion of the night. he couldn’t wait to see you the next morning, only to see you all over sejanus. it was an innocent, friendly gesture. the two of you were talking while waiting on the platinum haired boy and sejanus cracked a joke at the wrong time, causing you to laugh while throwing your head back and smacking his upper arm lightly. coriolanus in his tired, hungry state didn’t take the sight of you two together all that well, dragging you away from a confused sejanus and to a secluded hallway, promptly flipping your skirt up and sliding your panties off of you and straight into his pocket. immediately pulling his cock out and stuffing you full.

“you sure about that,” he speeds his thrusts up, flicking his fingers over your clit. “‘cause it didn’t seem like nothing to me. you’re mine y’know” his thrusts are starting to get sloppier, a sign that he’s reaching his orgasm. “not stupid sejanus’. mine.” he all but growls in your ear. coriolanus brings his free hand up to cover your mouth to keep your moans from wandering ears while fucking into your wet heat harder.

“promise coryo, baby, ‘m yours. don’ want sejanus, only you.” you promise him, already so fucked out. his hips keep rutting against yours, pushing your back against the wall harder as your head falls into the crook of his neck.

“i believe you,” he pants in your ear, “cum, my darling, it’s okay.”

coriolanus fucks your pussy through both yours and his orgasm. “i’m not done with you,” he smirks, pressing a harsh kiss to your lips. “you’ve still got making up to do, darling.” and before you knew it, you were back in coryos room, a chair shoved under the door knob to keep it from opening, on your knees in front of him with his cock in your mouth.

[risingoftime]

coriolanus snow x fem!reader | smut below mdni

“Coryo, stop teasing,” you whined.

Coriolanus rubbed his tip against your puffy clit. The tingling sensation began to overwhelm you while he continued to stroke your folds with his cock.

“Shhh.” He softly kissed your forehead and leaned his head close to your ear, licking the skin from the base of your neck to your jaw. “You hear that?” he whispered. Before you could respond, Coriolanus slammed his cock into your hole, forcing you to take in all of him with no time to adjust. He spread your legs further apart to give him more access. Coriolanus took his precious time thrusting in and out, and your wet cunt gripped around his length. You cried out his name, pleading for more.

“You sound so pretty, baby. I love to hear you moan my name,” Coriolanus praised.

He pushed himself in more profoundly, hitting your G-spot, “Ahhh Coryo, fuck yes right there.” You could feel yourself pulsing around his cock. When attempting to force him to move faster, Coriolanus removed his hands from your legs to pin your hands above your head on the mattress. “I will fuck you when I want and how I want,” he snarled. And Coriolanus did just that, engulfed in your wet heat and edging himself to orgasm, one stroke at a time.

He kept your wrists pinned down with one hand and took the other to caress your clit. Coriolanus found joy in watching you squirm under his intense stare, waiting to see your eyes roll back when you orgasm. He loved admiring your pussy squirting on his cock even more.

“Tell me that this pussy is mine.”

“It’s all yours.”

You watched in awe as his thick veins pulsed before spouting his cum on your pussy before pumping more inside of you, painting your walls with his seed.

[euphemiaamillais]

money, power, glory - coriolanus snow

on the night of your victory party, president snow decides that he wants a little more than a kiss from his victor—after all, don’t you ought to show your president just how patriotic you are?

cw: 18+//dub-con//age gap (reader is 18+)//abuse of power//mentions of exploitation//objectification//blowjobs//piv sex//coercion//loss of virginity//creampie//district 7 victor!reader and president!coryo

the party is all for you; the gaud and festivity, the fountains of alcohol, the ridiculously clad guests. you won, they tell you—but it’s a reminder of the children you killed as you fought tooth and claw in that arena. it feels wrong, to be put on display like this when twenty-three children lay dead in their districts. the celebration of murder—it’s as if you’re the prize animal at the circus.

you had been primped and preened by your stylist drusilla all afternoon, gritting your teeth as every part of your body was plucked and waxed, as she pulled your hair back into some elaborate hairstyle, the pins now digging into your scalp. that pain—the dull ache of it—ironically served as a reminder of the pain you had to endure in the games. you only survived because you slit the throat of that boy from two, watching the blood trickle out of his neck as you practically limped away.

you’d since been repaired, though many a time you felt that familiar ache in your ankle—the one that had been broken—and supposed it was punishment for the cruelty of your actions. but put twenty-four helpless children in an arena and ask them to fight to the death, and you learn that the ‘inherent goodness’ in human beings is nothing but a thin veil maintained by law and order.

‘enjoying the show?’ you hear the familiar, cut-glass voice of drusilla, who’s currently festooned in a garish purple gown covered in feathers—with a hairpiece to match.

you shrug, taking a sip of the expensive champagne, feeling the bubbles fizz down your throat as you swallow. it’s all so much, the noise, the people—as if you’re being smothered.

‘you’re being awfully quiet,’ she sighs, brushing your shoulder with her perfectly manicured hand. ‘isn’t there anything to tempt you?’

drusilla is more sympathetic than most in the capitol; she’d listened as you’d told her about your family back in seven, the trees that spanned for miles, how you often lay under their green blanket and daydreamed of a world beyond this one. but still, she would never understand what being a victor was like, there were scarce few in panem who did. many turned to morphling or alcohol upon their return home, and you’d heard horror stories whispered about victor’s being sold for certain services.

‘i’m just tired, that’s all,’ you murmur, reaching for another glass of champagne as a waiter walks past.

drusilla cocks a thin brow, a suspicious look glittering in her eyes. the throng of people is dizzying as you down your second champagne, but you feel your nerves ease, and pray that this night will become more bearable.

‘come, they all want to see you—their victor,’ she grins, pearly white teeth glistening under the golden light of the strings of lanterns.

you take her hand, and she pulls you through the crowd. it’s a vertigo-inducing sea of rainbow; hands clasping together in applause, rich cheers from their panted mouths. you feel your own lips twitch into a smile, but your eyes are somewhere else; far away from this. you can smell the soil back home, see the larks that fly through the trees that reach to the heavens. there’s a dreadful pang of homesickness thrumming in your heart.

and yet you cannot return home, not when they’re all watching you, waiting for the pretty victor to make a witty remark, or to make bids on who will get to have her first. you’re acutely aware that your pink dress is practically see-though, it’s gauzy fabric not leaving much to the eye. your feet ache from the heels they’ve put you in, and you know no matter how much they primp and preen at you, you’ll always be district. an outsider among those in wealthy excess.

among the throngs of people, you spot him—president snow. your breath catches between your lips. you’ve seen him before, obviously. his touch has always strayed a little too much when he’s been around you, but of course, you’d never say anything. you wonder how such a young man—he’s only 24 after all—rose to such power. nobody can deny how attractive he is, piercing blue eyes and platinum blonde curls. if he hadn’t put you in these games, maybe you’d even be persuaded to like him.

drusilla pushes you to him, and you stumble a little, the champagne causing a heady, floaty feeling in your body as you make an attempt to make yourself presentable. you hadn’t expect to be thrust towards him so soon, but the way he’s staring at you is as if he’s been expecting this.

‘don’t be so nervous, you look gorgeous,’ drusilla reminds you as you come to a halt before president snow.

he’s wearing one of his finely tailored suits; this one the crimson shade of red you’ve so often seen him wearing. you feel your cheeks burn with embarrassment, and feel the absence of drusilla’s hand from your back. when you crane your neck—only slightly, so as not to seem rude—she’s disappeared into the throng of brightly clad partygoers.

‘my favourite victor,’ president snow reaches for your hand and presses a kiss to it. his lips are strangely cold. not that you knew what to expect, but somehow it makes sense. his demeanour is like ice.

‘president snow,’ you lean back into curtsy, your bad ankle aching as you do so.

he smiles, icy eyes flickering over your form. he can practically make out your undergarments in that dress; they’re a shade of peach and of such a sheer satin that you can nearly see right through, but it leaves enough for the onlooker to be left wondering what lies underneath. your eyes follow him, and you clutch at your arms shyly, as if half of the capitol hasn’t seen you dressed so scantly.

‘shy tonight, are we?’ he inquires, edging close enough to you that you can make out the slight five o’clock shadow on his jaw.

‘i’m tired, that’s all,’ you mutter, flinching as one of his hands grips at your waist.

‘i would’ve thought you’d enjoy this spectacle, seeing as you made quite the circus out of the arena,’ he leaned in close to your ear, in what you assumed was an intimidation tactic. in spite of being hardened by the arena, deep down, president snow terrified you. ‘the way you killed that boy from two—brutal. but you made yourself the star of the capitol…’

his touch strays further, grasping at the thin fabric that surrounds your ass. one blonde brow arches in surprise, and his lips flicker into what you assume to be a smirk. if he was anyone else, you would’ve pushed him away, but he’s your president. one word and you’d be good as dead; and after enduring the games, you’d rather not come face-to-face with that sort of confrontation again.

‘how pretty,’ he muses, fingers tracing lightly against your form. ‘did you wear this just for me?’

your lips purse, but your body propels you to give a swift nod of your head. ‘do you like it?’

president snow smiles, eyes dancing at your quick wittedness. the girls he has are usually stupid whores who he pays to suck his cock—you, on the other hand, are a precious prize. intelligent, obviously, and startlingly beautiful. and you’re the first female victor since mags flannagan, not that he has any say over her because he was still crawling his way up under dr. gaul then.

‘oh yes, i think you know why,’ he drops the fabric, and takes a few steps away, a blasé look crossing his features.

he watches as your cheeks turn a pretty pink, and you cast your gaze to the ground. how charming; you feigning bashfulness. he’d seen you at your most primal, knife dragging along the jugular of that boy. you couldn’t charm your way out of this one.

the silence pierces the air, and you are prompted to speak—anything to change the topic. the stagnancy between you two has wrapped it’s suffocating arms around you—and you don’t want to choke.

‘i must thank you, president snow, for the festivities,’ you gesture to the ridiculous amount of decorations; the blaring music and the light show.

‘i’m glad you like it,’ he remarks, but his eyes are still trained on you. he wants something from you, and you’re not sure what. ‘i had to celebrate my favourite victor, after all.’

you stifle a scoff; his flattery is sickening. he’s never this charming among company. he’s cold, calculating—you can see it in his eyes, still, but he so obviously needs you wrapped around his little finger. and of course, you can’t resist. who would disobey their president, after all?

‘you flatter me, sir,’ he swallows thickly at the appellation. god, he’d love to hear you call him that as he bends you over one of his expensive armchairs. he wonders if you’d beg him to stop, or if you’d take it. he can’t figure out which type you are, just yet.

‘there’s nothing wrong with flattery, don’t you think?’ he is close to you again, breath fanning your cheek. ‘especially when it comes from your president.’

you feel your body freeze up. there’s something so intimidating about him, and although you want to outsmart him, the way he makes your knees buckle turns you into another one of those bumbling capitol fools.

‘now, if you’ll excuse me, sweetheart. i’ve got a few matters to attend to,’ he backs away, leaving in a flourish of red.

you have to blink a few times to register his absence, and reach for another glass of champagne as a waiter holds out a decadent tray to you. why not? you think, taking time to sip elegantly at this one. there’s no harm in imbibing if you have to make it through this hellish night.

—

drusilla taps you on the back as you’re shoving an expensive vol-au-vent past your painted lips. when you turn around, she’s shocked to see your mouth full of the pastry, cheeks rounded out as you attempt to swallow it. the hunger pangs had grown considerably, and when you finally gulped it down, the effects of the champagne made you giggle.

‘oh honey,’ she shakes her head, reaching for a pristine napkin to wipe at the flakes of pastry by your lips.

the night had drawn on, and you’d been left with an anxious feeling after your encounter with president snow. everytime somebody so much as brushes against you, your head had whipped around as you searched for a head of perfectly-set blonde curls and a crimson coat. to your luck, it had only ever been waiters, carting more champagne. you reckoned you were drunk enough now that you didn’t care how you acted.

let them think you were a fool, you’d be heading home tomorrow anyways.

‘how much have you had to drink?’ she inquires, and watches as you furrow your brows in thought.

‘six, no—seven glasses,’ you admit, and drusilla scolds you with a clucking tongue, her pink curls bobbing as she shakes her head.

‘president snow won’t be very happy with that,’ she remarks.

your mouth turns into a curious pout, watching as her face falters into some sort of cryptic, far-away look. you run the soft fabric of your dress through your fingers as you let the words settle. no, it doesn’t make sense.

‘why would he care?’ you asked, a little piqued by the thought that he’d even be remotely interested in whether you were sober or not.

drusilla’s purple lips are drawn into a thin line, and she bends in close as if she’s ready to tell you a secret. your throat’s gone dry, the anxiety prying at you with it’s cold hands.

‘look, sweetie,’ her golden tone is laced with a little condescension. ‘president snow won’t like that you’re drunk. it won’t make the situation ideal for him.’

your brows quirk into a look of confusion. situation? drusilla sees your loss of words and takes it upon herself to inform you of the events. how naive you are, that you’ve got no idea just what he wants with you.

‘you’ve been asked to stay the night at the mansion,’ her eyes flicker to search for any eavesdroppers, and then she continues. ‘look, i’m sorry if i didn’t tell you earlier, but he’s asked to keep quiet about it. what with the others being jealous—’

‘others?’ your voice falters.

‘well, sweetie, you know how desirable victors are. president snow just wants to make sure nobody else gets their hands on you. that’s why he’s keeping you here, under close guard.’ drusilla bites her lip, revealing that she’s worried for you. she didn’t have much of a choice in your fate, but if she could forewarn you, she would.

you understood now why he’d been so touchy before—clearly he was jealous that somebody was trying to get their hands on his precious victor.

you lose all your words, mouth opening, nothing spilling out. it feels like it’s been filled up with dirt; you can hardly speak. drusilla goes to strike your arm, but is prevented from doing so as she’s whisked away by some blue-haired man harping on about her latest designs. once again, you feel the pangs of loneliness.

you had to reconcile yourself to the fact that the rest of your life—however long that may be—would be a lonely existence. you’d spent the better part of the month on the train, zigzagging back and forth between the districts, reading off prewritten speeches as you had to face the families of the fallen. all those children—their children—dead.

every night, you’d taken those pills prescribed by the doctors, the ones that stopped you from waking up with your hand around your throat as you screamed. you slept a dreamless sleep, but it became hard to not depend on them. what would you do without them tonight?

—

the party draws on long into the night, and you grow bored and overwhelmed. as per drusilla’s advice, and also not wanting to wake up with a throbbing headache tomorrow morning, you resorted to drinking the assorted non-alcoholic beverages.

your head is pounding by one am, but the party doesn’t seem to cease by any means. deciding you’ve had enough, and that nobody would really miss you—after all, nobody’s even talked to you for at least two hours—you stumble your way across the marble steps of the mansion. you hazily remember drusilla telling you what door you were meant to enter by, and you find it manned by a singular avox.

without a word, they let you inside, and you trail tipsily after them up a velvet staircase. your ankles roll as you climb the steps, head spinning, but it doesn’t take long to reach your room. your feet are aching, and when the avox leaves you to your own company, you practically tear the shoes off your feet.

you lay back against the white sheets, revelling in the feeling of the thousand-count cotton brushing against your skin. you’d never felt anything like it, and could feel your eyes shutting as you relax into the plush sheets.

you awaken what seems like hours later, but only twenty minutes have passed on the alarm clock by the bed. the sound of footsteps can be heard outside your door, and you’re surprised you can make it out as the party still booms outside the vast windows of the mansion.

you sit up, heart racing, and head throbbing slightly. you’re groggy from the champagne, and the bubbly tipsiness has given way to the absolute misery of sobering up.

the door opens, a small sliver of light giving way to the shadowy figure that progresses into the room. you squint, unable to make out a face, but pray it’s not one of the men you’ve heard were making bids for the victor.

you sigh a breath of relief when you see president snow, not a hair out of place as he stands beside your bed. your dress is up around your thighs, and you can see his blue eyes dancing across your frame.

‘president snow,’ you murmur into the darkness.

you wondered who had turned off the light in the first place—your memory is hazy at best but you don’t remember flicking the switch. an avox must have come past while you were sleeping.

‘i see my favourite victor has taken some respite,’ he muses, one cold hand reaching out to stroke your thigh.

you flinch back reflexively, not used to the icy feeling against your skin. nor are you used to the prying hands of men. the most you’d ever done was kiss a boy, and even then, that was years ago, you weren’t even sure it counted.

‘sorry,’ you spit out, lips trembling with apology. he only laughs, hand still tracing your smooth skin.

‘no need to apologise. i’d rather you doze here than fall asleep on a bench where any of those men could lay a hand on you,’ he makes a sound of disgust, shaking his head at the thought. ‘i couldn’t let them spoil my pretty victor.’

you feel your cheeks warm—did he really think you were pretty? but you remembered who he was; in fact he was the very reason there were even any games at all. he could put a stop to all this if he wanted, and yet he didn’t. you couldn’t let him fool you with his charm.

‘it’s very thoughtful of you, president snow,’ you offer, not wanting to raise suspicion in him.

in the moonlight, you can see a smile flicker across his lips. his hand moved further up to the apex of your thigh, and your breath hitches. what was he doing?

‘do you like that?’ he murmurs, leaning in against your ear, breath hot.

you can’t think of what to say. your thighs tingle a little with the touch, but you don’t want him there. it’s wrong. he’s the president though, and how can you tell him no when he could have you killed?

‘you’re a quiet one, aren’t you?’ he mutters, but wanting to rouse a sound out of you, he moves his hand to press flush against your panties, thumb stroking the area where your clit is.

you let out a breathy gasp; the pleasant warmth flooding your belly. his brows quirk up at your quick response—you’re so willing. he wonders how far he can push you; of course he wants to have you no matter what, after all, it’s his right as president—but he wants to know how much of a whore you are under those pretty clothes.

he knew what district girls were like. lucy gray—though that name made him shudder—bent easily under his guidance. he hoped you’d do the same; obey him. he had more power now, six years after his stint as a mentor and then peacekeeper. he kept that to himself; everybody else simply thought he’d been struck down with a bad bout of the flu, when really he’d been uncovering rebel plots by day and by night was burying his cock deep inside of whatever district slut would have him.

‘please, president snow,’ you beg, head spinning as he rubs at your sensitive nub.

‘please what?’ he inquires, an undercurrent of menace in his voice.

‘i mean—are you sure we should be doing this?’ you furrow your brows with anxiety. ‘aren’t there men who want to pay you good money for this?’

you squeeze your legs together in the hopes that he’ll stop, but this only angers him and he uses his muscular hands to pry your thighs apart. you can’t deny him this; he wants it, and he’ll have it.

‘oh, they’re not going to get you. no, you’re far too precious for the likes of them,’ he shook his head in disbelief. ‘when i realised you were going to be sold to some scumbag who’s been divorced three times, well, i couldn’t let that happen.’

your mouth stretches into a perplexed pout, and you let out another soft moan as he rubs diligently at your clit. his other fingers brush over your red lace panties, and he sucks in a breath as he feels how soaked you are. surely you cannot deny him when you’re practically begging for it?

‘but…’ your lips tremble and you are almost deterred from saying what you want to by the scornful look painted across his noble features.

‘surely you don’t want me,’ you scramble to find an excuse.

‘why wouldn’t i? it’s not like you’re a girl anymore, hm? you’re nineteen, and ever so pretty,’ his other hand thumbs your cheek. you didn’t feel it, but you’d been crying. his thumb presses against a droplet.

‘please,’ you plead. ‘you wouldn’t enjoy it—i’m a virgin.’

he laughs, shaking his head at your stupidity. he hasn’t suspected it, what with the way you were dressed; the gown revealing far too much of your body to him—he could see the top of your nipples sticking out of the neckline.

‘oh no,’ he clucked his tongue. ‘then i simply must have you. how could let you i waste your virginity on any of those men when i could have you?’

you shake your head, body trembling as you feel yourself give way to his fingers, which were slowly bringing you to your pleasure. you clutch at the plush sheets and feel yourself gush, your panties growing even more damp.

he can’t believe it, how quickly you came. he wonders if you’d ever even touched yourself before. sure, you’d killed a boy, but you really knew very little about the world, and even less of men. it enthralled him.

his cock strained in his suit pants, and he let out a low grunt. you responded with a shocked look, but sighed as he stood up, letting go of your thighs. the way he’d touched you—it was scandalous. surely he’d be in a lot of trouble if anyone found out?

but your heart fell when you remembered that he was president. it’s not as if you were anything more than a hired whore who had to do her duty by him.

‘you’re going to be good for me, aren’t you?’ he called out, combing a hand over his perfectly styled hair.

your mouth went dry, but you stood up, wanting to be defiant, clawing for anything to make you seem like you had some sense of autonomy. it was a lost cause, however. you forgot how he towered over you now that your heels were discarded. you couldn’t face up against him.

‘i said, you’re going to be good for me, aren’t you?’ his voice was wrought with ire this time, and you nodded.

‘yes sir,’ you respond with a clear tone. you’re surprised you even managed it.

he reaches out to stroke your face again, sighing as your warm cheeks meet the cold pads of his fingers. you tremble a little, knees buckling in fear. anything could happen.

‘now, are you going to be a good girl and show your president how patriotic you are?’ he asks.

‘yes, mr president,’ you reply blankly. the name sends the blood straight to his cock.

‘then get on your fucking knees,’ he commands.

your head is spinning, but you somehow find your way to the ground, knees aching as you press them into the wooden floorboards. you hear the sound of something unzipping, and when you glance up, you come face to face with his cock.

he’s hard, and huge—not that you’ve ever seen one before—and he lets out a heavy grunt as he sees how pliant you are. he wants nothing more than to fuck that pretty little face of yours and watch how you gag around his length. he hasn’t known he was so big until he’d gotten to district 12 and the stupid district sluts kept choking on his cock. when he’d dressed in academy rouge he’d only ever known his own hand. but now, he knew what power he could exert with all eight inches of himself.

‘good girl,’ he strokes your chin, and when you open your mouth, he slides his thumb over your bottom lip.

your saliva coats his thumb, and you gag a little as he slides it to the back of your mouth. a small grin flickers across his lips; if you’re choking on his thumb, just imagine how bleary-eyed you’ll be as you gag around his cock.

‘god, i don’t want to think about what i would be missing out on if you’d died in that arena,’ he tuts at the thought, and slides his thumb out of your mouth, smearing your own saliva at the corner of your lips.

your lipstick is smudged now, and he’s determined to ruin it even more; perhaps even have your mascara running down your cheeks as you take his cock in your mouth.

‘when i’d heard that the victor was to be the eighteen year old girl from district 7, well, i knew i’d be able to have you. especially once i got a look at you, in your victory dress. did they make it that short on purpose? to make my cock hard?’ he laughs, reminiscing how he’d taken a whore that night that looked just like you, pretending it was you that he was fucking from behind.

you shiver, terrified by him, his words. they’re disgusting. the way he viewed you as something to exploit—and it can’t even be considered taboo because you’re nineteen, after all. if the president wants you, he’ll get you.

‘answer me!’ he scowls, tugging at your intricate hairstyle, which hurts because the pins holding it together were already poking at your scalp.

‘no,’ you murmur, because it’s the truth. you wore what they told you to, you didn’t think it was supposed to be for him.

‘no?’ he laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘well then, tonight at least—they must’ve known i wanted to have you. wasn’t going to let you get away from me this time.’

you swallow thickly, mouth agape in terror, knees trembling against the cool floor. you can feel the bruises forming on them; the dull ache of kneeling is humiliating.

finally, he presses his cock against your open mouth, a little pleased that it was hanging agape in shock, making it easier for him to slide it right in. you freeze, blinking back tears of mortification, but you can't say no, not when he's your president, not when there's that nagging ache in your core that makes you yearn for his fingers back against you.

you open wider, and he slides himself in, cock hitting the back of your throat instantly. you gag, the tears now dribbling foolishly down your cheeks, and president snow just laughs, the sound mottled with undertones of a soft groan. you wrap your lips around him, and move to bob your head up and down, but he grabs your hair and tugs it towards him.

you cry out, scalp stinging and mouth stuffed full to the brim with his cock. his grip tightens as he begins to thrust into your mouth, grunting as feels your saliva coat his length. he can't even fit himself all in, it's pathetic, but he'll help you learn in time how to deepthroat, so he can watch as your mascara runs while you beg him to push himself further down your throat. you'll become his personal fuckdoll.

'teeth,' he winces as he feels your top teeth make contact with the skin of his cock, and embarrassed, you make sure to push your top lip around them.

his lips stretch around a groan, forcing your nose to meet his pubic bone—the sound of your gags are delightful, and when his eyes flutter shut, you know he's enjoying it. he tosses his head back, cock throbbing as he forces it back and forth in your mouth. when his eyes open again, it's to the sight of your mascara running, thick black streaks painting your cheeks as you choke around him.

'so pretty,' he strokes your cheek, smearing the mascara even more. he wonders if you'll still be crying as he stretches you out, filling your cunt with his big cock. probably; he's forgotten how much whining virgins do.

feeling himself close, his thrusts grow more haggard, and you feel his balls slap against your chin as you attempt to breathe—through your nose, of course. his movements are suffocating, you're grasping at his hips, praying for it to be over—and then it is.

hot sticky spurts of cum slide right down your throat as he gives a loud moan, crying your name in praise. part of you—the part you revile—reddens at his praises, you want nothing more than to please your president. the other part of you tries not to gag as the pearly ropes of his cum slither achingly slow down your throat.

'good girl, swallowing it all—you'd do anything for your president, wouldn't you?' he coos, pulling his cock out of your mouth.

your lips ache, and you're sure the back of your throat is blooming purple with a bruise; but you nod, eyes all fucked out because your cunt is dripping wet, all for him.

'well, i really only want one more thing from my victor...' his voice trails off, lips pursing. you can see the desire in his eyes, icy gaze dripping with lecherous intent.

and yet, you cannot deny the fact that he had already made you cum once, that your body is begging for him. you hate it. you want to scream—if only you weren't so tired and your mouth didn't ache so sorely.

'how about you lay back in the bed, hm?' his voice is soft, laced now with the sweet tone he uses to charm the wives of senators and the little girls that give him roses.

you oblige blindly, and rise, knees black and blue, legs trembling, but somehow you find yourself laid back against the plush sheets once again.

‘can’t believe nobody else has had you,’ he murmurs, removing his shoes carefully, and then undoing his suit. it’s brand new, and he doesn’t want to spoil it.

when he’s undressed to his boxers, you can’t help but admire his form. he’s well-toned, biceps muscular, the slight formation of abs on his stomach, and you can see his cock has once again hardened. you press your thighs together in want, and he watches as you gaze at him, half-terrified, eyes blown wide, and yet half-wanton, body beckoning him to take you and make you his.

‘god, you’re so pretty,’ he muses, crawling across the bed and placing his arms either side of you.

you shiver, suddenly feeling brushed with cold, perhaps it’s from him. how fitting, you think, that his name and touch are both reminiscent of the cold. you can feel his hard cock pressing against your thigh, a reminder of your helplessness in this situation. the way he’s going to do whatever he wants with you.

he slides his fingers under the straps of your dress, forcing it down your arms. you lie still as a stone, letting him slide the dress down your body, exposing your breasts, watching him sigh as your nipples respond to the frigid temperature radiating from his body.

he takes one breast in his mouth, laving at your nipple until it hardens under his tongue. your hands are urging you to clutch at his perfectly styled hair, but you cannot move; the tears are brimming in your eyes and you’re not sure if they’re out of shame that he’s touching you, or shame that your body is so pliant to his touch.

he pushes the dress down further, and gets on his knees until he’s completely stripped you of it. there you lay, among the pristinely white sheets, the party alive outside of your window; completely bare besides your panties. your skin is pocked with goosebumps as he runs his hands over your bare stomach, fingers latching at the waistband of your panties.

‘god, are you wet for me?’ he chuckled as he removes your soaked panties—still evidence that he’d managed to make you cum.

you are unresponsive until he gives your skin a pinch between his slender fingers, and a soft yelp escapes your lips.

‘talk to me,’ he commands, though there’s an undertone of begging. not that the president should ever have to beg. ‘i can’t have my pretty victor keeping silent, especially not while i fuck her. i want to hear the sweet sounds that are going to come from your lips.’

you give a nod, eyes flickering to glance at the ceiling, watching as the hazy lights from outside dance upon the ornate eaves. one of his hands touches your cheek, the chill bringing you back to meet his gaze.

‘gonna make you mine,’ he groans, reaching down to palm at his cock through his boxers.

you push away the tears at your eyes, and your hands go down to clutch at the sheets. you’re still a little floaty from the champagne, but it can’t seem to take you away from what is occurring right before your eyes.

'look at me!' he snaps, hard cock now pressing against the inside of your thighs.

'sorry,' you manage to get out, lips trembling as you brace yourself—he's big... too big.

'fuck, can't believe i get to have you all for myself...but i suppose it's the least i deserve as president,' a soft laugh plays upon his lips, the sound soon mottled by a low moan.

he eases the tip into your hole, sighing at your tightness. your eyes flutter shut, but strangely, your core only tingles as he slides himself into you. it's the ultimate betrayal—your body is yielding to him, growing wetter as he sheathes himself completely inside of you; at least, most of his eight inches.

'so fucking wet,' he grins devilishly, beginning to buck his hips gently.

you look so angelic, hair sprawled out on the pillow like a halo, the soft lights from the party glowing against your skin. coriolanus wants to take it slow, in spite of how much his cock is throbbing, because you are his prize—he must relish you. he can't let your virginity go to waste, after all. half the capitol has been vying for it, and now he is the one to take it. he imagines the disgruntled looks on the faces of the men who had bid for you when he informs them that you've been spoiled—and if any of them complained, well, he's the president. he could see to their... accidental deaths.

as he stretches out your tight walls, a pretty moan escapes your lips, by accident, but he takes this as a sign that you are surrendering yourself to him. coriolanus smiles a little to himself, and fastens the pace slightly, grunting as your body opens itself to his caresses.

‘you like that, hm?’ he inquires, one cold hand moving down to rub your clitoris.

you let out another gasp, this time of shock and pleasure, as his thumb presses against your sensitive nub. his eyes dance with delight as you come apart under him, your cunt growing slicker by the second. you’re so beautiful, and he glances down at the part where you two meet—his big cock stretching out your tight walls. a milky ring of your arousal coats his shaft, only driving him more lustful as he fucks you.

‘president snow…’ you cry out, trying to shove his hand away.

you can see the ire returning to his eyes, and when he presses down on your clit harder you stop and allow your body to relax. you realise it’s fruitless to try and fend him off anymore—he’s making you feel good, after all. but that’s the terrible part of it, the fact that you can feel waves of pleasure washing over you again. he’s smiling sickly, groaning as he ruts into you with grunts.

‘you're so fucking tight,’ he moans, watching you moan with pleasure as his fingers bring you to climax.

‘so good…’ you say, barely above a whisper, but the knowing look he cast you makes you admit it—after all, perhaps he’ll be kinder next time. let you decide when you want it.

‘yeah? you like the way my big cock is filling you out? how your president is reminding you who you belong to?’ he grunts, and you give a lazy nod.

the coil in your stomach comes unbound slowly as the combination of his cock stretching you out and his thumb rubbing diligent circles around your clit drives you over the edge. your toes curl sightly, arms moving up to grip at his back. you find the smooth, cold skin is surprisingly toned; hard muscles prominent under your touch.

you feel your pleasure peaking, body dancing with warmth and want. you try to stifle your moan by turning your head into the pillow, but his hand grasps your chin and pulls you back to meet his gaze.

‘don’t turn away from me!’ he scolds, brows knitting into a pained expression.

‘i’m sorry…’ you murmur, too ashamed to meet his gaze.

you feel a wave of pleasure wash over your body as his thumb coaxes another orgasm out of you—your second one for the evening. your cheeks fill with warmth as your arousal coats his cock, causing coriolanus to let out a breathy groan.

you pray that it ends soon, but your body continues to dance with pleasure and satisfaction, giving into him, allowing him to make his stake in you. his pretty little victor that he was deflowering—and she came around his cock and everything!

‘fuck,’ coriolanus grunts, hands travelling down to grab at the soft skin of your hips as he pounds into you. ‘all fucking mine. taking me so well…’

when you clench around him, he feels his balls tighten, and cock still for a moment as he reaches his own climax. you’re mewling so prettily—half-begging for him to stop by the way your head roles about in a dissociative reverie shows him that if your heart cannot be persuaded to take him, your body will.

‘shit,’ he spits as he slows his pace, dragging in and out of you at a painfully still speed.

he doesn’t want to finish so quickly, but you’re so fucking tight and your slick coating his cock has set his nerves on fire—his tip is throbbing with desire. coriolanus’ fingers are plunged into the supple skin of your hips, digging far enough that you feel a few bruises forming under the skin.

'so fucking tight,' he curses, sliding himself all the way out before filling you up to the hilt again. the sound of your wet cunt squelching around his big cock reverberates against the walls.

another moan escapes your plump lips, egging coriolanus on—clearly you're enjoying this to some extent; you've come twice tonight. next time he might not be so kind, after all, he's only being so sweet because you're a virgin—you're more like a prize to enjoy than anything else.

'gonna fill you up with my cum,' he sneers, eyes rolling shut as he pushes himself against your g-spot. you contract around him in response. 'you'd like that, wouldn't you? taking your president's cum? so patriotic, aren't you?'

the way he's still squeezing and pinching at your hips urges you to respond, so you cast a groggy nod—the champagne is still making your head swim.

'good girl,' he praises, and you respond with a genuine smile.

coriolanus grunts heavily, his balls tightening, and he feels hot spurts of cum spurt out from the tip of his cock. the relief that washes over him is blissful; watching you take every last drop of him makes him sigh deeply. you can't help but squirm at the sticky feeling as he thrusts his cum back up into you. you're trying not to lurch away in disgust—his hands, now clamping down on your shoulders, are keeping you there, close to him.

when he pulls out, he gazes at your weeping cunt in awe as his cum trickles down your thighs. you’ll always be his—he can see that by the tiny smudge of blood that also coats your inner thigh on one side. he doesn’t know if he can bear to sell you to those other men now; perhaps he’ll just have to lock you up here and keep you all to himself.

‘thank you, mr president,’ you murmur, half on the verge of sleep.

your body is humming with exhaustion, and you begin to curl up into a supine position, trying to force away the uncomfortable combination of his sticky cum and the dull ache between you thighs.

‘i’ll be back tomorrow,’ he presses a kiss to your forehead, smoothing a few tendrils of hair out of your half-closed eyes. ‘don’t think you can get away from me now, my pretty victor.’

[bonesandchalamet]

snow melts — Coriolanus snow

masterlist | pairing: Coriolanus snow x reader

summary: Coriolanus likes to keep people at arm distance, but what does it look like when he lets someone in?

warnings: kinda fluffy(?) + BOOK SPOILER OF TBOSAS

a/n: I’m unsure if the one thing I spoiled from the book is in the movie.. if it is someone let me know! I must’ve missed it

the capitol is in walking distance. all you have to do is cross the traffic circle, pray you don’t get hit, and enter the warm building. you can see it now, you can feel the precipitation building up against your skin under the thick layers— honk!

a curse falls out of your lips. too busy daydreaming about the warm welcoming breeze of the capitol, you failed to notice the cars that’s tires crunch under the snow and spread slush around your thick boots.

days like these were meant to sit inside your warm apartment and sip hot tea. they weren’t meant for you to cross in inches deep of snow and bore yourself with lectures and reading.

but there’s one person who might make things worth it. if he’s there. you’d imagine a snow would love this weather, to watch the heavy flakes cover the capitol and dance around making peoples lives miserable, Coriolanus was a lot like snow. a bit evil, a bit cold, but at the right temperature you could melt him into mush.

the traffic clears, and finally, you can sprint across to make your way to class. it had taken far too long for you to cross to the capitol, with traffic, ice, and snow, but once you make it inside you don’t regret coming.

“gosh you look awful.” festus’s comment earns a low growl to escape your lips, it’s hard to ignore him, but coriolanus does so easily, and helps remove your layers.

“how’d you beat me here?” you ask, he’s folding your coat against his arms and flattening your static hat hair. typically, Coriolanus was on time, he’s never early, but today he must’ve had a meeting with clemnesia, or possibly sejanus, that sent him into the unplowed roads and blustery wind.

you can’t imagine how cold he must’ve been. it’s his worst kept secret with you. Tigris had made him a wool coat, but he’d been to embarrassed to wear it, and he refused a coat from your families closet. this then results in him walking in brutal conditions with nothing but his school uniform on.

“meeting with dean highbottom.” its his turn to growl. the two weren’t fond of each other, but with Coriolanus being a student, and a man with scarce amount of money, coriolanus was in no position to make enemies in the capitol. so, he did what any student would do, suck up to the dean in hopes that’ll erase all the problems.

“is it about your demerit?” you whisper the words quietly enough that not another soul could hear you. Coriolanus hadn’t told his grandmother, but only you and sejanus knew of such record.

Coriolanus rolls his eyes muttering a yes, before guiding you through the mass crowds of students into the lecture hall. feeling his hand on your back sends a wave of electricity through your body. you loved his hands on you, in anyway possible, but Coriolanus was a love starved man. it was never easy to get him to show affection.

“I should thank Tigris.”

coriolanus’ eyebrows nearly string together when you turn to look at him, “well you’re not good with showing your affection, I know she has to do with this.” you chuckle a thank you, taking your things from him and watch him march across the lecture hall to his side of the room.

Coriolanus was as cold as snow sometimes, but with you? he was always melting.

[ichorai]

wool ; coriolanus snow.

pairing ; young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader (gender-neutral)

synopsis ; when you laughed, airy and light and reminiscent to that of wind chimes, coryo wished he could bottle up the sound and keep it as his, only his.

words ; 1.5k

themes ; mild fluff/angst, slightly suggestive

warnings / includes ; set before events of tbosas so no actual spoilers, making out, clemensia appearance, mentions of other characters, coryo's paranoia, he's not exactly toxic yet but the seeds are very much planted, i tried to keep him in character as best i could, let's pretend the academy also serves dinner

a/n ; this man has consumed me body and soul. this fic was inspired by the song wool by flatland cavalry on the movie soundtrack! let me know if you guys would like a second part :)

series masterlist. main masterlist.

Coriolanus Snow was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He bore an aristocratic last name—yet you noticed that his dress shirt’s buttons seemed to be various different shades of black and slightly misshapen. His voice, so sweetly saccharine, charming, seductive—would whisper falsities like it was second nature. He would often claim that he wasn’t hungry, but you’d catch the longing glint in his pale irises as he eyed the steaming bread rolls Sejanus slathered with generous helpings of butter. 

Control. That was all he needed. 

It crumbled, ever so slightly, when you nudged your slice of apple pie in his direction. His eye twitched, and you pursed your lips, pulling your plate back to you. You ate quietly, and Coryo stared at you all the while, as if he were mentally dissecting your mind—studying you. 

You knew. It was all too clear, even if he wouldn’t tell you. And if he wouldn’t tell his closest friend—or, the closest thing he had to a friend, the two of you certainly did things that friends wouldn’t do—he most definitely wouldn’t let it slip that he was financially strapped to anyone else.

That same day, he met you in the back of the library. The two of you were supposed to be studying history—Professor Demigloss was one of the nicer teachers at the academy, but that didn’t mean he was any less strict with grades. And neither you nor Coryo could afford slipping now. Not if you both wanted to get into university. Being on top meant that there was only greater distance to fall.

But there were… distractions.

Mainly, his foot knocking against yours under the table. Your hand over his jostling knee. His teeth digging into his bottom lip. When you shifted so that your thighs brushed against his, the books spread out over the table were entirely forgotten.

He pushed you against the bookshelves a mere second later, the wood digging into your back uncomfortably, and kissed you until you grew dizzy. You were a welcome distraction—he could taste the apples on your tongue. The way you snaked your arms around his neck, toying with his pale blonde curls, pulling him closer until his body slotted against yours just perfectly—clicking into place like a pair of magnets facing opposite directions. It was desperate and heavy and he could only barely pull away to inhale sharply before cradling the base of your head to tilt your jaw back and kiss you even harder. Coryo swallowed any muffled whimpers that slipped from you when his free hand traveled lower.

Lower, lower, dangerously low—

When Clemensia’s voice echoed through the library in search of her lab partner, the two of you sprang apart, gasping for air.

She rounded the bend, and her dark eyes landed on the two of you. Keen, observant, narrowed. Coriolanus was flushed, hair mussed, lips swollen, chest rising and falling erratically. You were looking anywhere but the two of them, smoothing out your clothes and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Oh! I guess I’ll just have to find another time to bother you, Coriolanus,” she tittered, sickly sweet. She tilted her head with a tempered smile. “What’re you guys studying?”

Snow rolled his eyes in exasperation. “History,” he said. Curt, simple.

“Right.” She eyed you curiously. When she spoke again, it was directed more to you than him, sounding uncharacteristically void of frigid scorn. “I’d be careful if I were you. You sure he’s not just sleeping with you because you’re the top of the class?”

You stiffened, and Coryo bristled. 

“I’ll be fine, Clem. See you tomorrow.” 

There was another beat of terse silence. Her eyes darted warily between the two of you, and she whisked away in a flutter of red and black.

You blew out a breath. Your mouth tingled with the phantom memory of his lips planted over yours, and your cheeks flushed with heat. The two of you sat back down, both quiet. You worked in fluid tandem with each other, as you always did. His hands kept to himself this time. 

“I’m not using you,” he whispered, eventually. “It’s not like that.”

“I know,” you replied hesitantly, testing the waters. “It’s not like you’d need to. Your grades are just fine as is.”

The two of you kept working until your fingers cramped with overuse and his head pulsed with the beginnings of a migraine. 

“Dinner?” you asked once the clock struck six, nudging him. “I think they’ll be serving mashed potatoes today.”

His stomach clenched at the thought of warm food. Control.

“Sure,” he replied coolly, flicking his books closed and gathering up all the papers to stuff into his bag. “I’m sick of mashed potatoes, though.”

You shot him an incredulous smile, brows quirking up. He was lying, but you didn’t know. “Not even when it’s seasoned with roasted garlic? A dash of the freshest of herbs?”

The blue of his eyes gleamed when they bore into yours. “Not even then.”

“You’re a strange man, Coriolanus Snow.” Your lips twisted downward, but it was more of a smile than a frown. When your eyes darted below to glance at his school uniform, you couldn’t help but notice the unironed creases in the carmine fabric. One of the buttons—the very top one—was oddly shaped and a different color from all the rest. It reminded you of his dress shirt. You quite liked that dress shirt. He looked handsome in it, but you chalked it up to his uncanny ability to look handsome in just about anything.

Your head tilted to the side, molten eyes fixed on the button. You knew. He knew that you knew. Panic seized in his chest, an irrational clawing sensation searing within his lungs. Would you tell the rest of the class? What would you say to them? That he was living as filthily as a District boy? That he skipped meals because he couldn’t afford them? That his cousin mended his clothes for him?

But your frown-smile deepened. Fondness stained your expression, clear as day. Coriolanus found himself surprised, as he often did around you. 

“I love your buttons, by the way,” you mumbled, reaching out to trace it with a finger. He held his breath on instinct. “Is it a stylistic choice? Having them all irregular like this?”

Stylistic. Coriolanus almost laughed.

“Mhm. It’ll be in fashion one day. I’m just ahead of the trends,” he murmured charmingly. A bluff.

When you laughed, airy and light and reminiscent to that of wind chimes, Coryo wished he could bottle up the sound and keep it as his, only his. 

“Maybe I’ll start wearing mismatched buttons now, too. Rebel against uniformity.” You stood up from your chair as you spoke, not catching the way Coriolanus’ expression faltered momentarily with your last three words. It was a joke, he had to remind himself. Just a joke. “Come on. Let’s go have dinner. I’m starving.”

He jerkily stood up. Grabbed your hand just because he could, fingers folding over your wrist. He could feel your pulse, thumping quicker and quicker. You regarded him curiously. Snow’s remaining spindly hand cradled your face and he stepped closer, intuitive eyes roaming over your face, wondering just how much of you was real. How much of you was lying, just as he was?

His lips fell over yours again. This time, the kiss was sweeter. Slower, more languid. His nose brushed over your cheekbone, warm to the touch. You hummed pleasantly against him, before placing a hand flat over his chest—over the crooked button—and pulled away with a dazed smile. It felt dangerously good that you hadn’t tugged your hand out of his grasp yet. His grip tightened in a near possessive manner.

As the two of you began walking out of the library, Coriolanus couldn’t help but think back to your hyperbole—about how far from starving you truly were. You wouldn’t ever know, not when your family was the very epitome of Capitol wealth. But he was glad he wasn’t the only one lying, for once, even if your lie was merely an inflation of the truth. 

After dinner, Coryo worked off the top button of his uniform with repeated tugs to the threads, pulling apart Tigris’ handiwork. He slid it over the table to you, watching the way your countenance softened in endearment. He kissed you again in the dark hallways outside the cafeteria, finding it difficult to get your lips to melt away from your tightly-stretched grin.

He walked home with a mirroring smile and a missing button that night. One less piece of the wolf’s sheeply clothes.

[slaymitchabernathy]

coriolanus snow definitely has this cup.

[lqveharrington]

The Black Dog | C.S.

summary: Coriolanus left you alone after he realized he had a better life in the Capitol. He didn’t know your ghost would come back to haunt him.

pairing: President!Coriolanus Snow x ex!reader

includes: angst, abandonment, pregnancy, narcissism, a singular use of Y/N, manipulation

a/n: i love and hate coriolanus snow.

When you won the Tenth Annual Hunger Games and your name was spread across all pages, you thought you were finally through with all the pain and torture the Capitol would put you through. You thought that you were able to be sent back to District Twelve with no repercussions. The thought of just being able to exist with the Covey and the music. But the Universe had a funny way of showing you that your actions were disgusting.

They sent you your mentor.

You didn’t expect to see him anymore, especially when they found out you both cheated. Yet his gorgeous blue’s still allured you when he caught your gaze down at the Hob. The familiarity in them made you smile and the supposed love you both shared were fanned once more.

While he was peacekeeping in District Twelve, he spent all his free time with you and the Covey, learning about all your little quirks and how you grew up here. He was so obsessed in love with you that he would trade positions with the other peacekeepers to stay with you for longer or steal you away from the Covey whenever he thought you were spending too much time with them. He was absolutely smitten.

Or so you thought. You never thought he would leave after everything you went through together.

“Why are you up so early?” You put your chin on Coriolanus’ shoulder and tilt your head ever so slightly to see his face, smiling when he pressed a kiss to your temple.

“Just thinking.” He murmured and messed with his dog tags. “Do you think we’ll ever get out of here?”

You hum and sit up straight, looking at him with curiosity. “I do… Why? You already thinking about leaving this horrible place? Not to your liking?”

“The only thing I like about this place is you.” He moved his dog tags over his head and put it around you, smirking when you held them tightly in your hand. He moved closer and pressed a light kiss to your lips, only partially moving away to speak. “That’s for you now.”

“Don’t you have to head back soon?” You whisper back and glance down at his lips then back up to his eyes. “Won’t you be in trouble?”

Coriolanus pressed another feathery kiss to your lips before standing and rolling his shoulders back. “I won’t be.”

You watched him begin to leave before you quickly ran over to him and grabbed his hand, smiling brightly at him and earning a curious look back. “When you get back, I have a surprise for you! I think you’ll like it considering everything you’ve told me before.”

He raised his brows and shook his head, kissing your forehead. “Can’t wait to see it, darling.”

But he never did come back. He left for the Capitol that night and you were left heartbroken and pregnant.

Over the years, Coriolanus’ power grew. He was a politician everyone feared and soon the President everyone feared. The Hunger Games soon became more and more ruthless, the humanity taken away faster than ever.

Although he grew in power and wealth, he lacked the empathy and emotion. All he felt was the need to be the best and be better than ever before. By the 28th Annual Hunger Games, he felt no remorse from anyone in the Districts. He wanted to forget the girl’s face he fell in love with all those years ago.

“The female tribute for District Twelve is…”

As the crowd hushed to hear the news, Coriolanus scanned the crowd for a familiar face even if he didn’t want to. When the announcer finally pulled the ticket out of the glass ball, Coriolanus stood faster for the person than he had ever done in years.

“Rose Alarie!” The announcer smiled into the microphone as the eighteen year old girl made her way to the front.

When her image flashed across the screen, Coriolanus knew exactly who her mother was. Rose was a spitting image of you. From the eyes to the nose. The only difference was the hair color. Yes, it was your hair, but the entire front of her hair was platinum blonde.

“Get that girl in the Capitol now.” Coriolanus looked over to his council and paused the television, staring at the eyes that haunt him in his dreams. “And get me her family history.”

“Me? Here? But this isn’t where the tributes go. My counter part—“ She was struggling to understand why she was being sent to the President’s quarters. She looked around the expensive material she would have never seen until now, eyes and mind memorizing every way to escape if everything went to shit.

“The President has some questions for you. He’s… Intrigued with you.” His advisor spoke with distaste and opened the office door, guiding her to step inside before shutting the door tightly behind her.

Her shaking hands reached up to play with her father’s military tags as she saw the President himself stand only a few feet away from her. She felt for the name her mother scratched out, only leaving the identification number on it. Rose had memorized it long ago.

5263099.

She still wondered why Snow wanted to see her. She was probably the least interesting tribute out of all the others. There were some who seemed incredibly gifted, and Rose only knew the music her mother introduced to her. Maybe because her mother was once in the games, but that was years ago. The footage was erased and her name was long gone from everyone’s memory.

“Rose Alarie.” Coriolanus spoke, sending shivers down Rose’s back. He shifted around and glanced at her, messing with files in his hands. “Do you know why I called you here?”

She shook her head but caught herself, averting his icy gaze, although the shine from the window was glaring through. “Uh, no, sir.”

He raised his brows at her mannerisms and noticed her fidgeting, knowing all too well who she got that from. Coriolanus slowly approached Rose and only stopped when she took a small step back in defense. Now that he was closer, he could see more features that resembled her mother and her… Father.

“What are you playing with?”

Rose felt her face shift to shock before schooling it, handing him the military tags her father once wore. “They’re my father’s, sir. My mother gave it to me when I turned ten. She said my father gave it to her when he was still around.”

Coriolanus held the silver chain to his eyes, reading the familiar numbers that once haunted him eighteen years ago. “And your mother? Where is she?”

“Dead, sir.” She murmured as he clutched the tags in his hands tightly. Thinking that he was going to break it, she quickly spoke again. “She died a year ago… The tags are uhm,” Coriolanus’ azure eyes met her eyes, making her eyes widen in fear before she cleared her throat and finished her sentence. “My mother scratched them out so the name is gone. I never met my father.”

He hummed and tossed a manila envelope to her, watching confusion make its way onto her face. “I had the officials search everyone’s family history and it seems like your father isn’t in the data base at all.”

Silence took over the room as Rose flipped through the many faces and names of her relatives, stopping at her smiling mother. She swallowed a lump in her throat before shutting the folder, looking up at him.

“I don’t understand, sir.”

“You know,” Coriolanus moved to sit in his office chair and spun to look outside the garden full of beautiful roses that his grandma’am loved so much. “I knew your mother. Quite well actually.”

Rose stepped closer to him, “You did?”

He nodded and waved a hand in the hair, the sun catching his silver ring he wore on his left hand. “I mentored her in the Hunger Games. She was quite a talent and beauty.” Coriolanus clenched his fist around the metal tags before breathing. “She had the wits. It’s how she won her game. Sadly, we had to erase that from Panem’s history.”

She took another step closer and tilted her head to look at his expression, noticing the longing look in his eyes. She was still quite perplexed by everything. After all, Rose’s mother never mentioned her mentor being the President of Panem.

“Your mother was Y/N Alarie, yes?” He cleared his throat and looked at Rose with recognition. Coriolanus felt his heart pound when she nodded and messed with her clothing. “She was kind to the other tributes and myself… She was always very sweet.”

He paused and handed Rose the military tags back. He caught the small smile tugging on her lips at her mother’s praise as she slipped the dog tags back on. Immediately, her fidgeting habit was back, her thumb following the indents in the tag. But before Coriolanus could comment on it and finish his small speech about her mother, his advisor walked in to collect her.

“Sir, we’re here for the girl. Ten minutes is up.”

“Leave her be. She won’t be competing in the games anymore.” Coriolanus barely looked over to his advisor, not caring for him or anything he had to say. Really, he just wanted to spend time with Rose. And his surprise was coming up anyway.

“But—“

Coriolanus put a hand up and immediately shut him up, glaring at the man with annoyance. “Pick another tribute or find a deadbeat from the streets, I don’t care. But leave this one here.”

His advisor raised his brows in surprise and left, leaving the pair alone once more. The silence continued, leaving an uncomfortable tension in the air. The sun began to hide behind a cloud of white as Coriolanus huffed and spun his ring around his finger, jaw ticking in thought.

“What do you want from me?” She whispered after he left, eyes dropping to the information on his computer screen. She felt ice pierce her veins as she read the contents, meeting his eyes again. “You’re my father.”

“I won’t have my daughter be in the games like an animal.” Coriolanus stood from his chair and grabbed his coat, beckoning her to follow. He handed her an extra coat, sending Rose a small smile. “Your mother would have talked my ear off if you did.”

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[spideyhexx]

mdni

tw dark coriolanus? dom/sub dynamics.

Coriolanus cocks his head, studying your expression as he answers your question.

You joked about how easy it is for him to get hard around you. How he must always be horny and without a beat he said those words and you felt any confidence you had left in you start to diminish.

“Or, to correct that, I always wanna fuck you, bunny.”

There it is. His lips curl as it rolls off his tongue and he's about to roll his eyes at how quickly you're on your knees in front him, pawing at his thighs, waiting for any sort of permission.

Coriolanus crouches down to your level, his icy eyes searching yours. His hair is fixed to perfection and you long to mess it up, deprave him of this clean cut look he's trying on.

You have no idea what's running through his head and it's killing you.

"Do you need your mouth filled?" You tell him yes and Coriolanus' gaze darts to your neck as you swallow. He tsks.

He stands back up and walks over to his desk. When he sits down in his padded chair, he sees you're still in the same spot.

"Are you coming?"

You go to stand and he holds his hand up to signal you to stop. Coriolanus needs to say nothing. He's trained you well and your mind flashes back to his sweet little name for you. You always used those as a means to tell you exactly what mood he's in.

So you crawl over to him. He's not that far, but with every move you make, your insides are burning with a humiliation so deep and you're glad Coriolanus is the only one who gets to experience it.

Once you're on your knees beside his chair, he's presenting his fingers in front of your face, the tip of this thumb brushing your lips.

"Drool around these until I'm finished working, bunny. I'll stuff your mouth with something bigger later," he says, without another glance to you as he focuses on whatever work he needs to get done.

You hold his wrist gently, taking two, maybe three of his fingers into your mouth. You'd try to tease him, lolling your tongue around them, sucking on them, anything, but Coriolanus has the most self control you've ever seen.

And you'd sit there, his fingers stuffed into your mouth, your hand caressing his wrist and Coriolanus would ignore you the entire time.

He'd work slower just cause he knows you're waiting for more. But regardless of his teasing, when he does finally let you have his cock in your mouth despite the ache in your jaw your mouth and chin covered in your own spit, he's oddly gentle and caring. He helps you slowly bob your head on him, cooing about how he knows you love his cock, thick and heavy in your mouth. He relishes in your little whimpers and the way he can see you drool from the corners of your mouth. Coriolanus loves that you're sloppy with it. It's something that only he gets the pleasure to witness and isn't that one of his most powerful turn ons?

But Coriolanus still likes to be mean.

He doesn't let you swallow his cum, despite your cute little protests and the way you lap up any pre cum beading from his tip as he takes his cock out of your mouth.

Coriolanus makes you take it in your cunt, laying you on your tummy, his weight almost completely on you as he fucks you from behind. He's reciting back his words from earlier as he pounds into you, his hand snaking to hold onto your throat, his lips ghosting at your ear.

"I always wanna fuck you, bunny. Cause this? This is all mine," and he makes sure you know that every single time his length twitches inside of you. "Your pussy, your mouth, your love, your life is all mine," he'd growl and make you repeat it to him before he finally lets you have all of him.

let's chat about coryo, here :)

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

First Premiere || Tom Blyth x actress!reader

Summary: You attend Tom's premiere for the new season of 'Billy The Kid' with Elise for the first time, and your first public event being pregnant with your second child.

Warnings: none at all!

Wc: 956

divider by @pommecita

Elsie had been non stop jumping up and down in excitement to attend her first premiere. The other half of season 2 of 'Billy The Kid' was going to be released very soon and of course you wanted to support Tom, as did Elsie, by attending the premiere.

This was also going to be your first public event since you released the news that you were having another baby a couple months ago. "Woah," Elsie gasps as she looks out the car window to the event.

At first you and Tom were skeptical on bringing Elsie along just because it can get overwhelming, especially for a little girl like her who wasn't used to all these cameras and people. But you figured that she would be fine since the two of you were gong to be there with her the entire time.

"Remember what we told you Elsie, stay with mummy and I and tell us if you want to go to auntie, okay?" Tom fixes her little dress as she listens intently, nodding her head. Your sister was going to come as well just so that she could look after Elsie if we needed her to.

You could already hear the screams and the flashing of cameras when the car came to a halt. Tom squeezes your hand, a silent question asking you if you were okay as you squeeze it back. The car door opens and Tom was the first to step out, waving to the crowd.

He turned around, helping Elsie out of the car as she looks around with wide eyes. She clung to her dad's leg shyly as Tom holds you hand as he helps you get out. You give him a grateful smile as you wave to crowd as well.

Tom's left hand moves to the small of your back while his other hand holds Elsie's hands. The crowd were at awe at the family as cameras furiously snapped pictures. There were speculations before that you and Elsie would attend but it wasn't confirmed until now.

You look over to Elsie who was quiet as she looks at the paparazzi before moving in between the two of you. You expected her to be slightly shy in front of all these cameras who were calling out her name.

You stop to lean down at her level, "You okay bubba?" You softly say to her as her eyes stay focused on the crowd behind you. Elsie says nothing as she plays with her dress as you look up to Tom who is already look at the two of you. You bite your lip lightly, already regretting your decision to bring her.

Tom opens his arms a bit, an invitation for Elsie to be picked up as she immediately walks into her arms as he picks her up. Her arms wrap around her dad's neck as she hides her face from the crowd. You stroke her cheek before you and Tom move on.

You stop to pose for a few pictures with Tom as Elsie continues to hide. Trying to cheer her up, Tom whispers something in Elsie's ear which makes her immediately turn her head and smile and giggle. After that, Elsie was no longer camera shy as she smiled for the cameras.

You and Tom look at her in his arms with huge smiles as your hand subconsciously rubs the swell of your stomach–this cute moment being captured by paparazzi. "Tom! Y/n! Hello!" An interviewer calls put as you and Tom turn your head.

You and Tom immediately recognise her; she was the same woman who asked if you were wanting to grow a family and the first person to know about Elsie outside family. "Oh my gosh, hi!" You quickly walk over to her as Tom and Elsie follow.

"It's so lovely to see the two of you again! And hello Elsie! So nice to be finally be able to meet you! You have been the talk of this event," The woman smiles warmly at your daughter as Elsie shyly smiles making the three of you chuckle.

"Congratulations on the series Tom, and congratulations for being dad to your second child!" Tom smiles at the woman as he pulls you closer to him as you look up at him. "Thank you! You look stunning by the way," He compliments the woman as she thanks him.

"Do you know the gender of the baby yet?" She looks to you, "We do actually, and we're so glad we saw you because we were going to tell you," Her jaw drops open in shock as you and Tom laugh. "I feel so honoured to be the first one to know about this," She puts her hand on her heart.

Tom watches your side profile as you talk to her, "Elsie, do you wanna tell the lady if you are going to have a baby sister or baby brother" Tom lifts Elsie up as she looks at the lady and then the mic and camera. "Uhm... baby brother," She responds as the interviewer starts squealing, pulling you into a hug which catches you by surprise but you hug her back. "Biggest congratulations to the two of you again!" She says before you wave goodbye to her and move along.

There was no surprise that Elsie was the talk of the event. She was photographed a lot and majority of the pictures that you and Tom were in, Elsie was either at the front, up close to the cameras as she looks at them with curious eyes, or in Tom's arms. The minute you enter the car to go back home, Elsie feel fast asleep in between you and Tom, exhausted from the night.

[ficmenrhot]

Finnick Odair with a praise and corruption kink/smut/

TW!: 18+ content, dom!experienced!finnick, sub!reader, corruption!kink, praise kink, dirty talk, oral (fem receiving), P in V, very brief mention of forced prostitution (Finnick), brief aftercare, that’s about it.

A/N: Ok so this initially started off as a drabble but then it kept adding on and ended up way longer than planned, hahah. Anyways, enjoy! The amount of Finnick smut is criminally low.

Minors DNI

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Finnick Odair who has a corruption kink and praise kink. You just look so innocent and pretty in your tight floral dress, clinging by his side as he greets the other victors at parties. You are being such a good girl for him, simply smiling sweetly at everyone and letting all the hungry men who are staring you down know that you are taken by letting him press kisses to your temple with his arm wrapped around your waist.

Later when the two of you return to your home in the Victors Village, he’d reward you for behaving so well and make you feel good.

“You’ve been such a good girl for me tonight…you deserve to feel good hmm, honey?” He would say, voice laced with lust and so smooth as he begins to kiss down your neck. You whimper as you let him, nodding eagerly, knowing that Finnick knows how to work your own body better than you do.

He starts by burying his face between your thighs and feasting on you, expertly licking, sucking, and fucking you with his skilled tongue. He takes notes of the way your chest rises and falls, the sweet noises you make are music to his ears. He feels you tensing a little as your legs clamp around his head and he holds them open with his big, strong arms.

“Nuh uh darling….” he tuts as he raises his head up from your heat, “keep them open or I’ll stop”. He returns to work and he inserts a finger, pumping in and out of you as he draws figure eights on your clit with his tongue. You’re a loud moaning mess, back arching as you whimper and release all over his face. Finnick smirks and lifts his head up, his chin dripping from your arousal.

Then he moves on to fucking you. As everyone knows, Finnick is extremely experienced because of his past and he definitely puts his skills to good use. This man pushes in slowly and increases his pace. His thrusts are nice and deep, rough yet his hold on your waist is gentle. He finds that spot which makes you squirm in a matter of seconds and thrusts into you in a rhythm which makes your eye roll to the back of your skull. The sensation is indescribable, a mixture of bliss and pleasure and slight pain from the stretch of his size. Finnick whispers sweet praises in your ears as he feels you clenching around his cock.

“Mhmm..doing so good for me darling…so nice and tight, just like that”

“I can feel your sweet little pussy clenching around me…you close, honey?”

“F-fuck you feel perfect….this body is made for me huh darling?”

Let’s just say that the night is long and after many rounds, it ends with your legs shaking and body sore yet so satisfied from the immense pleasure you’ve just experienced. The aftercare is just as amazing as the sex (better if it’s possible) and Finnick smiles knowingly as he watches you doze of into a deep slumber on his chest almost immediately, gently caressing your hair as he presses soft kisses to your forehead.

Finnick Odair who wants to corrupt your innocence by teaching you about your body and his, encouraging you with praises and his way of showing affection being to leave you breathless and covered in his scent.

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A/N: well I hope everyone enjoyed reading this bc it’s the first time I’m writing smut or any fic in general after I accidentally deleted my account. Previously it was also called @ficmenrhot or @sullymenrhot. Please reblog or like if you enjoyed this, a follow is appreciated too :);)

[s6ngbird]

tw — nsfw, rough sex, coryo being mean

coryo would adore it when you showed him your collections of dresses, ribbons, and shoes because he really felt like you were a doll

he already loves to call you doll, so whenever you show him these things, he really does feel like your his doll

he loves to play dress up with you, choosing your outfits, makeup, jewelry, and most importantly your ribbon in your hair

the reason he loves whenever you wear ribbons because he gets to pull it off during sex or when you suck him off

if you object to wearing a ribbon that day, he'll threaten to deactivate your credit cards which usually has you complying to his orders

or if you still don't listen, he'll fuck you, hard and rough with you sobbing as you clench around his length while just laughs at you

"god you're so pathetic doll, defying me and then clenching me like a fucking vice while you cry? what a whore"

he might slap your ass a few times after that if you've put up a fight to not wear the ribbon but most of the time he'll just pull out, not allowing you to come, coming on the floor and making you clean it up after because it's all your fault that he couldn't come inside you!

[sukunasbow]

academy coriolanus and sejanus using their fingers on you at the same time ; mdni

you’re sitting on your bed, leaning against sejanus, your back pressed up to his chest. his friend, coriolanus, is sitting next to you. they both reach one of their arms around you and down your stomach, making their way into your panties. sejanus works on rubbing at your clit, the pads of his fingers slowly making circular motions. as you get more wet with every movement, coriolanus pushes two fingers into your tight cunt with ease, curling his fingers inside of you.

a soft moan escapes your lips and you turn your head to the side, sejanus shifting his body so he can pull you in for a kiss. your tongues swirl around together and the kiss is interrupted occasionally when you let out moans, the two of them continuing to work on getting you off with just their fingers. “you’re so pretty.” sejanus pulls away from you, admiring the sight of you as your eyes roll back, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip. “isn’t she pretty, coryo?” he uses his free hand to gently grab your jaw and move your head so you can look at the blonde boy on the other side of you.

“so fucking beautiful.” he smirks, pumping his fingers in and out of your cunt at a faster pace. “you like that, hm?” coriolanus whispers. you’re unable to answer with both of them abusing your cunt, simply letting out a small whine, your eyebrows knitting together in pleasure.

“answer him if you want me to continue, baby.” sejanus mocks you, slowing down his fingers on your clit, waiting for a proper response from you.

your nod your head. “please, i like it.”

“good girl. i know.” coriolanus coos.

you move your hips back and forth, gaining more friction as the two of them relentlessly tease your cunt. “faster, sej. i did what you asked, i answered.” you’re barely able to speak, your voice shaky as your chest is quick to rise and fall.

“say please, doll.” sejanus shakes his head.

“please.”

he listens to your begging and continues to rub your clit even faster, switching between circular and figure eight motions on the swollen nub. coriolanus does the same and quickens the pace of his fingers, mercilessly hitting that spongy spot in your pussy. your eyes shut and you can feel your cunt slowly starting to clench around the blonde’s fingers, the sounds of your slick being pumped in and out of you getting louder every second.

moments later and your cunt is completely clenching around the fingers of coriolanus, your clit getting overly sensitive as you orgasm, cumming all over their fingers and soaking your panties.

coriolanus takes his fingers out you, bringing his hand out of your panties and towards your mouth, “open wide.” you do as he says, watching him with half shut eyes as he sticks two fingers into your mouth. “suck them.” he demands and, once again, you listen to the blonde, bobbing your mouth up and down his fingers, tasting yourself on them.

“you did so good.” sejanus opts to be kinder, kissing your cheek as the other boy takes his fingers out of your mouth and you swallow your juices. “let me clean you up.”