#oneshot unless anyone wants a second part 😓😓

[piscesbae7]

coriolanus and his pretty little best friend <3

trigger warning: coriolanus snow is a manipulative, whiny bastard!! discrimination against the districts, misogyny, self righteousness, sexual implications, sassy man apocalypse, etcetera!!

District bound for the foreseeable future and cheated out of the Plinth prize by his own hand, an 18 year old Coriolanus Snow’s thoughts often turn vile, driven by his maddening desire for revenge — against the war about nothing that had cost him everything, against the Districts, against dean Highbottom, against mother nature herself for taking his young self’s only source of light in childbirth.

If any positives are to be sought, he was rendered starving no more in the Districts — in exchange for slumming it in 12, mingling with morale lacking filth under the guise of serving his country, his basic needs were met. Late at night, when the barracks prove too noisy to sleep in due to the hushed ramblings of his fellow peacekeeping grunts, Coriolanus’ mind would drift to her. The Crane’s youngest daughter, who had begun to attend the Academy amidst his junior year — those who broke the strict dress code never ceased to irk him, serving as a cruel reminder of his calculatedly hidden class insecurities; but he found himself unable to be truly vexed by the darling bows she adorned in your hair, the sparkly pink lip gloss she thought unnoticeable to those unsuspecting. He knew by the end of the first semester, he simply had to have her.

And as it would seem, fate had other plans for him — a Snow, diminished to serving in arguably the lowliest of Districts? The mere concept is laughable. With each and every boyish string cut — the luckiest of which being Sejanus, clearly, as Strabo Plinth took it upon himself to give his dear boys inheritance to his self proclaimed brother — he was back in the Capitol just in time to begin University.

Not long after returning, he purchased an opulent penthouse separate from Grandma’am and Tigris with a small chunk of his fat, newly granted inheritance, assuring the two of them are taken care of entirely before he takes his leave. It’s still on the Corso, of course, but with the gained luxury of beginning his adulthood on his terms. Not long after settling into his shiny new bachelor pad, he offered his darling girl her own room in his home — after requesting her parents permission, of course. While he thinks Mrs. Crane a sentimental fool and Idmon Crane a slimy bastard, he’d paid his dues in kissing their asses whilst in the Academy — therefore, he feels owed the companionship of their now only daughter. He’d weaseled his way into her life through becoming Arachne’s science partner, though her death is what truly solidified their lifelong friendship — he’d wiped the tears from her pretty face, coddled her endlessly and swore never to rest until payback was had on the Districts for their barbaric, senseless violence. Arachne deserved what she got, of course, but he didn’t dare say that aloud.

With his somewhat self detrimental work ethic and blossoming desire for power, Coriolanus graduated University in 2 years rather than 4, the Valedictorian of his class. Now that she lives in his home and is partially provided for by him, a proposal is an unspoken expectation amongst their friend group and families — with Coriolanus’ ability to swiftly clime the ranks, as he was given the role of co- Head Game-Maker almost immediately upon his graduation, any young lady would be lucky to become his bride!

Bitterness and cynicism had long ago dominated his mind, plagued his relationships. Oh, but he adores his girl. Perhaps it isn’t love — he isn’t quite sure he’s capable, after being foolishly conned by Lucy Gray — but he feels as if he owns her. She is his to provide for and to protect, to have and to hold. Over his dead body would he allow some silly boy to steal her from his grasp — she’s to be Mrs. Coriolanus Snow, in due time. Unbeknownst to her, a ring with a price tag fat enough to feed an entire District for a year is awaiting being picked up at the jewelers this very week — a beautiful, richly colored ruby, surrounded by glittering diamonds; nothing lab grown, as the price increase for mined ones are well worth the bragging rights.

The lighting in his study is dim, on the middle setting, as he burns the midnight oil — so to speak — attempting desperately to finish the tonight draft of his latest Game proposal before he retires to bed for the night. His gelled back, platinum blond hair is messed up past what he’d ever show his face with in public by now, his tie strewn across one of the overstuffed armchairs in the corner of his office and his cufflinks neatly pushed beside his fathers watch, rested on the antique mahogany of his desk. The crack of the door and a pair of hands daintily rested upon his shoulders alert him to his sweet girls presence rather than the usual tell-tale announcement of her heels click clacking against the hardwood flooring, the silk material of her nightdress smooth against the side of his head as she leers over him in an attempt to catch a sneak-peak of his proposal.

“Just a few more pages, I promise.” Coriolanus claims, sighing heartily as he leans back in his chair. He glances at his watch — the time reading 5 past 1 AM — before running a hand through his hair. Unsettlingly blue eyes now fixed upon her smooth, glittery eyeshadow free face, he takes her wrist and presses a kiss to the palm of her hand. He prefers her this way, he thinks, free from the intricately made confines of the Capitol’s latest fashions, in merely her pajamas — so utterly his. God forbid anyone catch him acting such a way; Festus had, once, having stumbled upon them giggling like lovesick fools in a secluded hall of the Heavensbee’s manor, having snuck away from last years reaping party. He’d snickered before walking away, insisting Coriolanus was ‘pussy whipped’ — the thought was so crude he thought it almost laughable; if only she’d let him get so far.

“I’m afraid there won’t be any essays if you drop dead of exhaustion.” She comments, sarcasm more prominent than worry in her tone, sweet like summer rain no matter what she’s speaking of.

“There won’t be a thing if I don’t get these wretched plans approved.” The blond sulks, his never dormant desire to poke and prod at her boundaries bubbling up alongside his instinct to wallow in loathing for Volumnia Gaul. He grabs her wrist, yanking her to stand in between his legs.

Draped in silk and heavy velvet, a chiding sort of smile appears on her features. “Coriolanus.” She scolds — Coryo is saved for his redeeming, chivalrous moments, which are slim to none nowadays. It isn’t necessarily that she’s a pure hearted saint — she had starred in a rather raunchy musical during her time in the Universities theater program as a freshman, thank you very much — she simply knows she’s worth a fat diamond ring and a prestigious last name before gracing any man with a thing. Certainly Coriolanus would have bored of her by now, had she granted him what he seeks. He is very much aware of that — but, a Presidential hopeful undoubtedly needs a wife, and Miss Crane will do just fine.

“My father would have a heart attack.” She reasons, a little gasp falling past her lips as borderline manhandles her, tugging her down onto his lap.

“He would.” Coriolanus agrees with a soft chuckle, cocking his head to the side slightly to gaze at her properly. He adored her propriety, not partaking in the same sexual promiscuity as many of your shared peers — as the call girls he’s visited on more than one occasion. A rare gem indeed. Greedily, he sinks his fingertips into the flesh of her plush hips, shifting to sit up beneath her.

“He should be thankful I remain a gentleman, even in private.” He reasons, shamelessly burying his face against the soft skin of her breasts, sighing as he inhales the heavenly scent — rose and vanilla — of her now signature perfume, the one he’d gifted her over the holidays. His perfect girl, through and through.

“If I were a lesser man, I would do far more to you than simply pull you into my lap.” The Game-Maker promises, voice somewhat muffled by the steady, open mouthed kisses he’s littering where her velvet robe is fallen open.

She simply sighs in discontent, feigning propriety in a surface level attempt to keep the upper hand. The gossip rags remain correct in her newfound title — the gem of Panem — sickeningly desirable with her conditional affections and good family name.

“Enough.” She finally finds it upon herself to insists, smothering a girlish grin before it can fully blossom as she steadied herself against his broad shoulders, feigning being scandalized at his vulgar implications, his desperate touches. Standing up, she wraps her robe tighter around herself, leaning against the edge of his desk — careful not to slide around any important documents regarding his work. All the riches he spoils her in and necessities he provides for her aside — they aren’t yet married! Simply the best of friends.

Coriolanus groans lowly in disapproval, reluctantly letting her hips slip free from his eager grasp. He leans his head back, resting it against the back of his heavily padded leather chair. Although he remains immensely disappointed that he cannot have his darling girl in his arms anymore, watching her strut around tauntingly in her silk nightgown and velvet robe was — and will eternally be — pleasing on the eyes.

He sighs once again, reaching forward to tug at her hand. "Cruel woman." He accuses, a hint of frustration in his tone.

“It’s already far past midnight. Come sleep with me.” Coriolanus prompts, dangling the enviable thread count of his comforter and sheets so silky they’re borderline sinful as one would a prettily bundled ball of yarn to an awaiting feline.

“Shameless.” Is all she has to say in response, turning her nose up at him as if he’s insulted her entire bloodline and requested she drop out of University to pursue a career as a high dollar whore, secluded to his spacious office downtown.

She leans down, pressing a dainty kiss to his clean shaven cheek — a token of her affection, rendered precious due to the scarcity.

“Goodnight.” She offers with a squeeze to his tense shoulder, before sauntering off to her professionally decorated bedroom down the hall and leaving her political-to-be best friend to brood in the solitude of his own company.

Coriolanus sighs heavily, glancing to the grandfather clock on the wall of his study. How a silly young woman with more fashion sense than brains has managed to wrap him around her perfectly manicured finger is beyond him — perhaps he should beckon a call-girl over to the penthouse, he ponders, endlessly fed up with her playing hard to get.

But, alas, there is an essay to be completed — a Presidency he strives for, respect he demands — so, tomorrow, maybe.

Realistically? Not even then.

If all else fails the young Snow, his delusion prevails — his sense of spite, branded to him permanently as a result of all he’s lost. It’s saved him many-a-heartbreaks, really — Crassus would most definitely be proud of the dictator-to-be, strikingly resembling him in more ways than one.

not proof read oopsie