#the hunger games the ballad of songbird and snakes x reader

[er1nne]

Own You

Pairing – coriolanus snow x black!reader Word Count? 9.3k Summary – What happens when you’re forced to confront the unsettling truths about your place in a world that feels both luxurious and inescapable? Tags: (18+), cw: mentions of suicidal thoughts (small part in the middle), dark!toxic!coriolanus, emotional manipulation, gaslighting, physical abuse? AN: This is my first time sharing my writing on Tumblr, so please ignore any typos. It hasn’t been proofread, but I hope you enjoy reading. Please let me Thank you! Do not reshare or use without giving me credit

The room was cold, the kind of cold that seeped into your skin and settled deep in your bones. The sharp scent of antiseptic stung your nose, sharp and cloying, almost like it was trying to suffocate 

The room was freezing, the chill creeping into my skin and settling deep in my bones, leaving me restless and uncomfortable. The sterile air smelled of antiseptic, sharp and chemical, clinging to the back of my throat in a way that made me want to gag. It was the kind of smell that had grown familiar over time but never less unpleasant, a constant reminder of the reason I was here. I perched on the edge of the examination table, its crinkly paper cover rustling beneath me every time I shifted. The noise felt deafening in the oppressive silence, each movement amplified in the cavernous emptiness of the room. I swung my feet slightly, my heels tapping against the cold metal frame in a nervous rhythm. It wasn’t a conscious movement—more of an outlet for the tension that had been building since I arrived.

The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed faintly, their harsh glare reflecting off every polished surface in the room. The white walls were devoid of anything resembling warmth or comfort, the kind of blank canvas that seemed designed to erase the humanity of anyone inside. My gaze wandered to the counter where an assortment of medical tools sat neatly arranged, their metallic edges gleaming under the stark light. Everything here was too precise, too pristine, as though the room itself wanted to remind me that I didn’t belong. My fingers twisted at the hem of my sweater, pulling at the fabric until it stretched, the familiar texture grounding me just enough to keep the growing anxiety at bay.

I let my eyes drift to the window. Outside, the rain poured steadily, streaking down the glass in thin, erratic lines. It had been raining all day, the kind of relentless storm that turned the world into a dull, gray blur. The sound of it was faint but persistent, a soft, rhythmic tapping that filled the silence like a heartbeat. I watched the droplets race each other down the glass, merging and splitting, their paths as unpredictable as my own thoughts. For a moment, I focused on the rain instead of the sterile cold of the room, letting its soothing monotony lull me into a false sense of calm.

Through the frosted glass of the door, I saw two figures standing in the hallway. Even distorted, Coriolanus Snow was unmistakable. His silhouette was tall and commanding, every line of his posture exuding power and control. He stood with the same unshakable composure he always carried, an aura of authority that seemed to demand respect—or fear—from anyone in his presence. Even blurred by the frosted glass, I could sense the sharpness of his gaze, the calculating mind behind those ice-blue eyes. Beside him, the doctor looked small and uncertain, his shoulders slightly hunched as he clutched his clipboard like a lifeline.

My stomach churned as I watched them. The doctor gestured faintly as he spoke, his movements stiff and hesitant, as though he were choosing his words with extreme care. Every so often, he glanced at Coriolanus, his eyes darting toward him like a child seeking a parent’s approval. Coriolanus didn’t move, didn’t respond outwardly, but his mere presence was enough to command the entire interaction. Even here, in the sterile confines of the hospital, the weight of his influence was palpable. He didn’t need to speak; his power was a constant, unspoken presence that loomed over everything.

The door opened with a soft creak, and the sound made my heart skip a beat as I straightened my posture. The doctor entered first, his expression carefully neutral, though his eyes flicked toward me with a mix of pity and reluctance. Behind him, Coriolanus followed, his movements precise and deliberate. The faint scent of his cologne—crisp and sharp, like cedar and rain—cut through the antiseptic air. He closed the door behind him with a soft click, the sound final and unyielding, much like him.

The doctor cleared his throat, the sound breaking the silence like a shard of glass. He began, his tone professional but edged with hesitation. “After reviewing your latest results…” He trailed off, his gaze flicking briefly toward Coriolanus, seeking some unspoken signal. Coriolanus gave the barest nod, and only then did the doctor continue. “It’s clear that your condition has progressed. The flare-ups are becoming more frequent, and the current medication is no longer sufficient.”

The words landed heavily, like stones dropping into my chest, one after the other. “I thought…” My voice cracked, barely above a whisper. “I thought I was getting better.”

The doctor hesitated again, his hands tightening around the clipboard. “Sometimes these conditions are unpredictable,” he said carefully, his words slow and deliberate. “We’ll need to start you on a new treatment plan. It’s a stronger medication, and while it comes with potential side effects, it should help manage the symptoms more effectively.”

I nodded automatically, the motion robotic and detached, as though my body had moved without consulting my mind. It always happened like this. Every time I thought I was making progress, every time I allowed myself a glimmer of hope, it was snatched away. Improvement followed by relapse, hope followed by despair—it was a cycle I was trapped in, and I was tired of fighting it. The thought settled in my chest like a heavy stone, cold and unyielding.

Coriolanus moved then, stepping closer to you with a deliberate grace that made your stomach tighten. He placed a hand on your shoulder, the weight of it grounding and suffocating all at once. “I know this isn’t the news you were hoping for,” he said, his voice smooth and measured, each word carefully chosen. “But this new medication will help you. I’ll make sure you have everything you need.”

The doctor handed him a folded piece of paper—the prescription—with a motion that seemed almost reluctant. His eyes met mine briefly, and for a fleeting moment, I thought I saw something in them. Pity? Regret? Whatever it was, it disappeared as quickly as it came, replaced by the same professional detachment he’d worn when he entered.

Coriolanus nodded to the doctor, his tone polite but firm. “Thank you, Doctor. That will be all.”

The doctor nodded stiffly, his movements tight and deliberate. “Take care, Miss,” he said, his voice softening slightly, though it did little to cut through the haze in my mind.

I weakly nodded again, my motions mechanical, my thoughts dulled by the weight of it all, not trusting myself to speak. The lump in my throat made it hard to breathe, and the walls of the room seemed to close in around me as I digested the information. As the doctor left, the silence that followed was suffocating. Coriolanus squeezed my shoulder gently, a subtle reminder of his presence, a silent signal to follow him.

“Come,” he said, his voice low and steady. “Let’s go home.”

I slid off the examination table, my legs feeling like lead as I moved to gather my things. The crinkle of the paper beneath me was loud in the oppressive quiet, a final jarring sound before I stepped into the hallway. As I followed Coriolanus out, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was leaving more behind than just the sterile confines of the room. Something inside of me had been left behind too, my hope.

The rain outside hadn’t let up, the steady downpour creating a symphony of soft taps against the hospital’s glass doors. As Coriolanus and I stepped into the hallway, the storm seemed louder, closer, as if the entire world were drenched in the same heavy weight pressing down on my chest. His hand never left my shoulder, its pressure firm, steering me like a ship through a tide I didn’t have the strength to resist. My feet moved in time with his, though each step felt disconnected, like I wasn’t in control of my own body anymore.

We passed room after room, the doors half-open, revealing glimpses of other patients. My eyes were drawn to them, even as Coriolanus’s hand guided me forward. In one room, a woman lay motionless in her bed, her face gaunt and pale, her thin arms resting limply at her sides. A monitor beeped steadily beside her, the sound faint but insistent, like a clock counting down. In another room, a man was hunched over in a chair, his head cradled in his hands, the kind of exhaustion on his face that spoke of battles fought and lost. The sights blurred together, each one feeding the gnawing fear in my chest. Is that my future? The thought clung to me like the rain clung to the windows, cold and inescapable.

Coriolanus’s voice broke through my haze, but it was like hearing him underwater. “We’ll have your favorite dinner tonight,” he said, his tone soft, almost kind. “And I’ll stay home with you. No work tonight. Just us.” He paused, his hand tightening slightly on my shoulder, the gesture almost possessive. “Doesn’t that sound nice?”

I nodded, the motion automatic, disconnected from any real thought or feeling. A faint smile tugged at my lips, the kind of smile you give when someone expects it from you, not because you want to. My gaze remained on the passing rooms, each one a silent reminder of what could be waiting for me.

The rain was relentless, its presence enveloping the world around us as we stood in the lobby. It was louder here, the sound of it drumming against the glass walls a constant, unyielding rhythm that seemed to echo the weight in my chest. The streaks of water on the windows distorted the view of the city beyond, turning the Capitol’s towering buildings into blurred silhouettes. Their lights shimmered faintly through the storm, muted and dulled by the gray haze that cloaked everything. I couldn’t decide if the sight was calming or oppressive—perhaps it was both.

Coriolanus pulled a small communicator from his coat pocket, its polished surface gleaming faintly under the soft light. “Bring the car around,”, his voice low but carrying an unmistakable command. As he slipped the communicator back into his pocket, his gaze turned to me. His blue eyes, sharp and penetrating, scanned my face with an intensity that made me feel exposed, like he could see every unspoken thought lurking beneath the surface.

As if the moment couldn’t have come quick enough, the black car appeared, gliding to the curb like a shadow. Its polished frame gleamed under the rain, water beading and rolling off its surface in perfect, smooth rivulets. The driver stepped out swiftly, umbrella in hand, his movements quick and efficient. He was a man I’d seen countless times before but knew nothing about, his presence always hovering at the edges of Coriolanus’s world.

As he approached, I caught a glimpse of his face, illuminated briefly by the dim lights of the lobby. His expression mirrored the doctor’s earlier—a tight, strained politeness that bordered on discomfort. His eyes flicked to mine for the briefest of moments, and I thought I saw something there—something like fear, or perhaps duty so deeply ingrained it had choked out anything else. Whatever it was, it disappeared as quickly as it appeared, his gaze lowering as he came to stand before Coriolanus.

The umbrella opened with a soft snap, a shield against the unrelenting storm. Without a word, the driver handed it to Coriolanus, who took it with the kind of quiet authority that seemed to dictate every interaction around him. He held it over us, his other hand pressing lightly against the small of my back. “Go on,” he said, his voice soft but leaving no room for argument. “Get in. I’ll make sure you’re comfortable.”

I hesitated, my gaze lingering on the hospital behind me. The glowing facade loomed in the rain, its sterile, unyielding light spilling onto the wet pavement like a beacon. For a fleeting moment, I considered turning back, retreating to the cold, clinical detachment of its walls. It felt safer in its distance than the warmth Coriolanus offered—an offering that always came with invisible strings. But his hand at my back applied the faintest pressure, guiding me forward, and I found myself moving without thought.

The interior of the car welcomed me with a warmth that was almost suffocating after the cold rain. The leather seats were smooth and cool against my skin, their faint scent mixing with the ever-present cedar of Coriolanus’s cologne. He slid in beside me, folding the umbrella with a practiced ease before handing it off to the driver, who returned to his post without a word. The door closed with a soft, final thud, sealing us in from the outside world. The rain became a muted hum, a backdrop to the quiet of the car and the faint purr of the engine.

“Home,” Coriolanus instructed, his voice steady, deliberate. The driver nodded, the car gliding smoothly away from the curb.

I stared out the window, the city outside blurring into streaks of light and shadow. Neon signs glowed faintly through the rain, their reflections shimmering on the wet pavement like fragmented pieces of another world. It was beautiful in its distortion, distant and untouchable, like something from a dream. My reflection in the glass was a stark contrast—pale and tired, my eyes hollow and rimmed with unshed tears. I tried not to look at it for too long, but it lingered in the corner of my vision, a ghostly reminder of the weight I carried.

Coriolanus reached for my hand, in a gesture that was both gentle and unyielding. His thumb ghosted over my knuckles, the motion slow and deliberate, as though he were trying to coax some life back into me. With his other hand, he reached up to my hair, his fingers gliding through my curls with a softness that sent an involuntary shiver down my spine.

The car ride felt like drifting through a dream, one where the edges of reality blurred into an indistinct haze. he sound of the rain was ever-present, a steady, rhythmic patter against the car roof that merged with the faint hum of the engine. It wasn’t comforting. It wasn’t soothing. It was simply there. I stared out the window, my eyes tracing the streaks of water as they raced down the glass, but the sights outside barely registered. The city lights, distorted and shimmering, passed in a swirl of gold and silver against the wet pavement, but they felt as distant as stars in the night sky. My thoughts churned endlessly, a tangled knot of emotions too heavy to unravel. The weight of the day pressed heavily on my chest, each breath a little harder than the last. My thoughts circled endlessly, tangling into a mess of guilt, doubt, and something I couldn’t quite name. My hand rested in his, his thumb brushing over my knuckles in that slow, deliberate way, but instead of comfort, it only brought a creeping sense of suffocation. My mind spiraled, darting between the doctor’s words, the fleeting looks of pity I’d received, and the heavy, inescapable presence of Coriolanus beside me.

When the car slowed, the shift in motion barely registered. It wasn’t until the driver stopped and stepped out, the faint sound of the rain growing louder in the sudden stillness, that I realized we had arrived. Blinking as though waking from a long sleep, I glanced toward the window and caught sight of the house looming ahead. The sharp angles of its pristine white facade stood stark against the rain-heavy sky, the warm glow of its lights spilling out in quiet defiance of the storm.

A tear clung to the corner of my eye, unnoticed until I felt its chill against my cheek. I brushed it away with the back of my hand, the motion automatic and strangely detached, like it was someone else’s tear I was wiping away. The door opened, and the driver was there, his umbrella poised like a soldier at attention. His movements were precise, practiced, the kind of efficiency that spoke of discipline but also a careful avoidance of anything personal. For a moment, our eyes met, and I saw something flicker in his expression—a faint echo of the doctor’s earlier look, a blend of duty and something sharper. It was gone as quickly as it came, his gaze dropping as he held the umbrella higher, waiting for me to step into its shelter.

Once Coriolanus emerged from the car, his gaze quickly dropped from me onto the ground below me. Corioalanus’ movements were fluid and unhurried. He adjusted his coat with a subtle flick of his wrist before joining me under the umbrella’s shelter. His hand found the small of my back, guiding me toward the grand entrance as I allowed myself to be led by him. The umbrella shifted slightly above us as he adjusted it, ensuring not a single drop would fall on my head, though his shoulders were speckled with water.

The house loomed larger with each step, its towering white facade glowing faintly against the storm’s dreary backdrop. The marble steps leading to the entrance gleamed under the rain, their slick surfaces reflecting fractured glimpses of the golden light spilling from the windows. For a moment, I hesitated, my feet slowing ever so slightly as I stared at the building. It looked like something out of a painting, too perfect to be real, its grandeur almost mocking in the face of the storm. The house was beautiful, undeniably so, but tonight, it felt imposing, its towering columns and immaculate design a reminder of how small I felt within its walls. Coriolanus’s hand pressed gently but insistently against my back, breaking my reverie and guiding me forward once more.

The servant at the door opened it with practiced precision, his bow low and exact, his movements almost mechanical in their efficiency. He didn’t look at me, not really—his eyes barely skimmed over my figure before fixing on Coriolanus with the kind of deference that bordered on reverence. For a brief second, I caught the faintest flicker of emotion in his expression—a shadow of something that felt too fleeting to name. Was it pity? Resignation? I wasn’t sure, and before I could decide, the moment passed, his face smoothing into the polite neutrality of someone who had long since learned how to mask their thoughts. The rain slipped from the edges of the umbrella as Coriolanus handed it off, the sound of droplets splashing against the stone floor oddly soothing.

Inside, the warmth enveloped me instantly, a stark contrast to the chill of the storm outside. The air was thick with the scent of fresh flowers, lilies mingling with the subtle aroma of polished wood and leather. Crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, their golden light spilling across the polished marble floors in shimmering pools. Everything about the space was designed to impress, from the intricate molding along the walls to the soft glow of the sconces that lined the hallway. It should have been comforting, this carefully curated display of wealth and power, but instead, it felt overwhelming, the sheer perfection of it all pressing down on me like a weight I couldn’t shake. The house was beautiful, yes, but it wasn’t warm. It was pristine, a masterpiece of design, but it lacked the lived-in messiness that might have made it feel like a home.

“Rest for a while before dinner,” Coriolanus said, his voice calm and steady, yet carrying an undertone that left no room for argument. He removed his coat in one smooth motion, handing it to a waiting attendant without so much as a glance. His movements were fluid, deliberate, every gesture calculated with the precision of someone who knew exactly how much space they commanded. “You’ll feel better,” he added, his gaze settling on me with an intensity that made my breath hitch. There was no question in his tone, no suggestion that I might disagree. It was a statement, a certainty, as if my well-being were something he could dictate with his words alone.

I nodded, the motion small and automatic, as though my body were responding on its own. “Perhaps I will,” I murmured, the words slipping from my lips before I could think about them. They felt distant, hollow, as if I were borrowing someone else’s voice to fill the space between us. The corners of my mouth lifted in a faint smile, one that didn’t quite reach my eyes but seemed to satisfy him all the same. He lingered for a moment, his gaze lingering on me as though searching for something he wasn’t quite sure he’d find. Then, with a slight incline of his head, he turned and strode down the corridor toward his study, his footsteps echoing softly against the marble.

I didn’t rest. Resting felt impossible, the idea of lying in that massive bed, surrounded by soft linens and perfectly fluffed pillows, too stifling to bear. The very thought of it made my chest tighten, the weight of the day pressing down on me like a stone. Instead, I found myself drawn to the window, its towering panes offering a view of the rain-soaked grounds. The bench beneath it was soft, lined with cushions that felt almost too indulgent for the ache that had settled in my chest. I curled up there, tucking my legs beneath me and pressing my forehead lightly against the cool glass. The chill seeped into my skin, sharp and grounding, a welcome contrast to the oppressive warmth of the room

The room I slept in was so vast, Coriolanus’ way of showing me the treatment he thought I deserved, but instead I felt small here, swallowed by the grandeur of it all; a grand four-poster bed draped in silken fabrics, its headboard carved with elaborate scrollwork; a writing desk positioned by one of the room’s smaller windows, its surface empty save for a single vase of fresh flowers; a seating area complete with armchairs and a low table, the kind of space meant for quiet conversations that never happened. 

The room dwarfed me, its elegance a stark contrast to the gnawing emptiness inside my chest. The air felt heavier the longer I sat, the silence pressing against my ears until even my own breath seemed too loud. I curled up tighter on the window bench, tucking my knees against my chest as if making myself smaller might somehow lessen the weight of the space around me. The glass was cool against my forehead, a sharp reminder that the world outside this cage continued on without me, unbothered by my existence.

The rain continued its relentless descent, streaking down the glass in chaotic trails that blurred the world outside. Beyond the window, the gardens stretched into the darkness, their carefully manicured edges softened by the storm. The lights of the estate shimmered faintly through the rain, their golden glow distorted into shifting patterns of light and shadow. I followed the path of a single raindrop as it slid down the glass, merging with others before disappearing from view. There was something oddly mesmerizing about it, the way it moved unpredictably, as though it held a secret I couldn’t quite grasp.

I was grateful to be home, I told myself. Grateful for the warmth, the shelter, the quiet that wrapped around me like a cocoon. Outside, the world was wild and chaotic, full of joys and freedoms I could never hope to experience. Here, within these walls, I was safe. Protected. Hidden. Yet, even as I tried to hold onto that gratitude, it felt hollow, as though the edges of it were fraying under the weight of something I couldn’t name. The house was a sanctuary, yes, but it was also a barrier—a place where the outside world couldn’t reach me, but where I couldn’t reach it either.

I stared out at the rain-soaked grounds, my gaze tracing the endless trails of water that blurred the gardens and trees into a muted palette of green and gray. Beyond the estate’s walls, the world stretched out in ways I couldn’t imagine, filled with wonders I would never see, joys I would never taste. The thought settled in my stomach like a stone, heavy and cold, pulling at the edges of my mind until it became hard to ignore. This room, this house, this carefully curated life—it was all I had ever known, and yet it felt so far removed from anything real.

 Why am I here? The question slipped through my thoughts like a whisper, delicate and fleeting. My hand moved almost without thought, fingers brushing against the cold glass of the window. The coolness seeped into my skin, grounding and yet strangely distant, as though I were touching something that wasn’t really there. I watched the rain beyond the glass, its chaotic patterns blurring the world into something unrecognizable, unreachable. My fingertips lingered, tracing the faint condensation that had gathered on the surface, and I felt the weight of the thought pressing down on me.

Why am I here?

The question wasn’t just about this room, this house, or even this life. It was something deeper, a quiet ache that I had never been able to name. Was there a reason for all of this—the endless routines, the careful balance, the constant feeling of being preserved and protected like something fragile and breakable? My hand slid lower on the glass, the smooth surface unyielding beneath my touch, as if even it refused to give way to my wandering thoughts.

The doubt began to creep in, threading itself through my mind like the rain streaking down the window. What was my purpose here? Was I anything more than a burden, something to be cared for and kept out of harm’s way? The room seemed to grow larger around me, its vastness pressing in on my small, curled frame. The grand furniture, the soaring ceiling, the soft golden light—all of it felt suffocating, like a gilded cage meant to hide me from a world I would never know.

My gaze drifted back to the rain, following the erratic trails of the droplets as they merged and split, their movements unpredictable and yet strangely beautiful. I thought of the world outside, the one that carried on without me, filled with joys and freedoms I couldn’t touch. For a fleeting moment, the thought came softly, unbidden: What if I wasn’t here at all? My breath hitched, the idea settling in my chest like a stone. It wasn’t angry or desperate—just a quiet acknowledgment, a shadowy corner of my mind whispering truths I didn’t want to hear. If I disappeared, would anything really change? The rain would still fall, the house would still stand, and the world would move on, untouched by my absence.

I pressed my palm flat against the glass, the chill biting into my skin like a reprimand. The thought lingered, heavier now, and I found myself gripping the edge of the cushion beneath me, the rough texture grounding me as I fought against the pull of my own doubts. Stop it, I told myself, the words harsh and insistent. I shouldn’t think like that. I had no right to. The ache in my chest was my own burden to bear, but it didn’t mean I should give in to it.

I forced my hand away from the glass, curling it into a loose fist in my lap. The cold sensation lingered on my fingertips, a reminder of the path my thoughts had taken. “You’re better than this,” I whispered aloud, though my voice sounded small, almost childlike in the vastness of the room. I didn’t know if I believed it, but I clung to the words all the same, as though saying them aloud might make them true.

The rain continued outside, steady and relentless, its rhythm unbroken by my turmoil. I turned my gaze back to the storm, letting the endless cascade of water fill my vision. I wasn’t the rain. I wasn’t free to simply exist, to move and flow and disappear without consequence. But perhaps that wasn’t my purpose. Perhaps my reason for being here was something I couldn’t yet see. The thought didn’t bring comfort, not exactly, but it was enough to steady the trembling edges of my mind.

The world beyond the glass remained blurred and unreachable, but I stayed there, watching the rain and telling myself that the doubts would pass. They had to. For now, I would sit in this room, in this house, and try to remind myself that my place here, whatever it was, mattered—if only because I was still here to question it.

And then came the knock.

It wasn’t loud, but in the stillness, it might as well have been thunder. The sharp sound jolted me, shattering the fragile thread of calm I’d been clinging to. I pulled my hand back from the window as if caught doing something I shouldn’t, my pulse quickening as I turned toward the door. The knock came again, softer this time, followed by the hesitant creak of it opening just enough for a maid to peek through.

“Dinner is ready,” she said, her voice small and careful, almost apologetic. There was a nervous edge to her tone, as though she were unsure whether interrupting me had been the right choice. Her gaze lingered on the floor before darting upward to meet mine for the briefest moment.

I swallowed, my throat dry as I nodded. “Thank you,” I replied, the words leaving my mouth almost automatically. My voice was steady, but quieter than I expected, like the weight of my thoughts still hung over me.

The maid nodded quickly, ducking her head before retreating from the room as quietly as she had entered. The door clicked shut behind her, and the silence rushed back in, even louder than before. For a moment, I remained where I was, staring at the door as if expecting her to return. The interruption had pulled me out of my spiral, but the lingering threads of doubt still clung to me, fragile yet persistent.

I exhaled slowly, smoothing the fabric of my clothes with trembling hands. My fingers lingered over invisible wrinkles, a futile attempt to press them out as though tidying my appearance might restore some semblance of order to my mind. My reflection in the glass caught my eye, pale and uncertain, my posture slouched in a way that felt unfamiliar. I straightened my back, forcing my shoulders into a semblance of composure. You’re better than this, I told myself again, this time with more conviction.

Turning from the window, I glanced around the room, its vastness suddenly more pronounced in the dim light. The grand bed loomed in one corner, its silken sheets untouched, while the writing desk sat pristine and empty, a silent testament to a life I wasn’t living. I resisted the urge to glance back at the window, knowing that if I lingered there again, the weight of my thoughts might pull me under.

The dining room was like a scene from a painting, too perfect, too composed to feel real. The chandelier above cast a golden glow that danced across the pristine table, stretching longer than it needed to, its polished surface almost blinding under the light. Each place setting was immaculate, every fork, knife, and plate precisely where it should be. Yet the grandeur of the room felt oppressive, as if it were bearing down on me, reminding me how small I was in comparison. The rain outside provided a soft, relentless drumbeat against the windows, its sound faint but unyielding, a background rhythm to the suffocating silence.

Coriolanus sat at the far end of the table, his posture so perfect it looked carved from stone. His sharp blue eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made my chest tighten, a faint smile curling at the corners of his lips. It wasn’t a warm smile, not really. It felt deliberate, calculated, as though he were allowing me a moment to think I was safe. He rested his elbows lightly on the table, his fingers steepled, his presence filling every corner of the room. The distance between us, though vast, felt suffocating. Every time I glanced up, his gaze was there, steady and unwavering, like he could see through every thought I didn’t dare voice.

The maids moved like shadows, their footsteps silent against the marble floor. One glided to my side, adjusting my chair ever so slightly, pushing it closer to the table until the edge pressed against me. Another refilled my wine glass, her hands steady, but I caught a flicker of hesitation in her movements. I muttered a soft “thank you,” but she didn’t respond, her head bowed as she stepped back into the background. I noticed the way her eyes darted briefly toward Coriolanus before returning to the floor, the faintest tremor in her hands betraying an unease that mirrored my own.

I forced myself to pick up my fork, my fingers trembling slightly. The food on my plate was a masterpiece, a delicate arrangement of colors and textures that should have been appetizing. But it felt alien, like it didn’t belong to me. Each bite turned to ash in my mouth, my stomach twisting with unease. Across the table, Coriolanus ate with deliberate precision, each movement of his utensils smooth and controlled. He wasn’t eating much; he was watching me. His gaze was too steady, too penetrating, and the longer it lingered, the more I felt like an insect pinned beneath a magnifying glass. The silence was unbearable, broken only by the faint patter of rain against the windows and the muffled shuffle of the maids moving in the background. They moved like ghosts, their footsteps barely audible, their eyes flickering toward Coriolanus with an unspoken understanding that sent a chill down my spine.

“You’ve been quieter than usual,” Coriolanus said finally, his voice soft but unnervingly sharp. He set down his utensils with deliberate care, the clink of metal against porcelain echoing like a gavel in the stillness. “Do you have nothing to say? Nothing at all?”

“I’m sorry,” I said quickly, my voice trembling. “I’m just… I don’t feel well.”

He tilted his head slightly, his blue eyes narrowing. “Not well,” he repeated, his tone deceptively calm. “Is that all? Or is there something else you’re not telling me?” His smile was faint, but it carried no warmth. It was a warning, a reminder that he could see through me.

I shook my head, my hands gripping the edge of the table. “No, there’s nothing else. I just…” My voice faltered, and I dropped my gaze to my plate. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know,” he murmured, leaning back in his chair. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if he were giving me time to reconsider my words. “Interesting.”

The maids paused in their movements, their presence like shadows against the edges of the room. I could feel their unease, see it in the way their hands hovered just slightly too long over a decanter or a tray. They knew something I didn’t, something that made my stomach churn with a sense of impending doom.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” I stammered, my words tumbling out clumsily. “I appreciate it, I really do. I’m just—”

“Just what?” he interrupted smoothly, his voice lowering slightly. His eyes narrowed, the faint smile on his lips disappearing as he leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. “Tired? Distracted? Ungrateful?”

The last word hit me like a slap, and I flinched, my fingers gripping the edge of the table. “No,” I said quickly, shaking my head. “I’m not ungrateful. I just—sometimes I feel—”

“Feel what?” he pressed, his voice growing quieter, more dangerous. “That this is too much? That you don’t deserve it? Or that you don’t want it?”

“No, it’s not that,” I tried to explain, but my voice cracked, betraying the panic rising in my chest. The maids moved silently around the edges of the room, their movements slowing as though they, too, sensed the shift in his demeanor. One of them hesitated by the sideboard, her hands trembling as she adjusted a tray that didn’t need adjusting.

“Then what is it?” Coriolanus asked, his words deliberate, slicing through my feeble explanations. 

“Because from where I’m sitting, it seems as though you’ve taken everything I’ve given you for granted.”

The words were harsher than anything he had ever said to me, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. He had never spoken to me like this before, not even in frustration. My chest tightened, and I felt my cheeks flush with both shock and embarrassment.  “That’s not true,” I said, my voice trembling. The word hung in the air like a slap, and I flinched, my hands gripping the edge of the table until my knuckles turned white. “I’m not ungrateful,” I said quickly, my voice trembling. “I’m grateful, Coriolanus. I swear I am.”

“Are you?” he asked, leaning forward now, his elbows resting on the table, his sharp gaze narrowing. His faint smile faded, replaced by an expression so cold and calculating it sent a chill down my spine. “Because from where I’m sitting, it seems as though you’ve taken everything I’ve given you for granted.”

“That’s not true,” I stammered, my pulse pounding in my ears. “I didn’t mean—”

“What did you mean, then?” he interrupted smoothly, his tone dropping an octave. “Do you think this life is too much for you? Or perhaps, you believe you don’t deserve it?”

“No, it’s not that,” I said desperately, my words faltering as I tried to explain. “I just… I don’t know. Sometimes, I feel like I don’t belong.”

The admission hung in the air like a toxic cloud, suffocating and irreversible. Coriolanus’s expression didn’t change immediately, but I saw the flicker of something dark and dangerous in his eyes. Slowly, methodically, he straightened in his chair, his movements so controlled it felt like watching a storm gather in slow motion.

“You don’t belong,” he repeated softly, almost to himself. He let the words linger, rolling them over like a bitter taste on his tongue. “After everything I’ve done for you, after everything I’ve given you, you dare to sit at my table and say you don’t belong?”

“That’s not what I meant,” I said quickly, my heart pounding so hard it drowned out the rain outside. “I just… I don’t know. I feel out of place sometimes. Like I’m not doing enough.”

“Not doing enough,” he murmured, his voice almost a whisper. He shook his head slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. “Do you know what it takes to ensure you have everything you need? The time, the effort, the resources? And you’re sitting here, telling me it’s not enough?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” I said desperately, my voice cracking. “I’m sorry,—” I said quickly, my voice cracking under the weight of his gaze. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Offend me?” he said, his voice soft but seething. “No, you didn’t offend me. What you’ve done is far worse. You’ve wasted what has been given to you, what others can only dream of having. And for what? Because you’re ‘not hungry’?” He leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my stomach churn. “Do you know what it takes to provide this life for you?”

“I am grateful,” I said, my voice breaking under the weight of the moment. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. “I’m grateful for everything you’ve done. I swear I am.”

“Gratitude,” he said softly, his tone turning icy as he tilted his head slightly, studying me like a predator might study prey. “Do you even know what that means? Because from where I’m sitting, your gratitude looks hollow. Empty. Like a facade you wear to appease me, nothing more.”

“That’s not true,” I whispered, shaking my head, but my voice lacked conviction. The words felt weak, fragile, like they might shatter under the weight of his scrutiny. The rain outside pounded harder, the sound merging with the thundering in my chest, a relentless rhythm of fear.

The maids froze mid-motion, their faces carefully blank, but their eyes betrayed them. I saw the unease flicker there, a shared, silent acknowledgment of something I didn’t yet fully understand. The maids exchanged glances again, their movements almost imperceptible, but I caught it. They weren’t just silent; they were terrified. One maid’s hand trembled as she adjusted a wine decanter that didn’t need adjusting, her eyes darting toward Coriolanus as though gauging when it might be safe to breathe again. The realization struck me like a blow—they had seen this before. They knew this version of him, the one that simmered with a quiet, unrelenting fury. But I didn’t. This side of him was foreign to me, and that unfamiliarity made it all the more terrifying.

Even the rain outside seemed to intensify, its relentless drumming against the windows a hollow backdrop to the suffocating stillness. My heart raced, a staccato beat that I was sure he could hear from across the room. His gaze bore into me, unflinching, cold, and I felt my breath catch as if he’d wrapped an invisible hand around my throat.

I opened my mouth, desperate to explain, to claw my way out of the pit I’d inadvertently dug, but no words came. My throat felt tight, as though invisible hands were squeezing the air from me. The maids shifted nervously, their glances darting between him and me like animals watching a predator. They seemed to know what was coming, their wary expressions a silent confirmation of what I had begun to suspect: this wasn’t the first time Coriolanus had unleashed this quiet, seething fury. But for me, this was uncharted territory, and the man sitting at the far end of the table no longer resembled the Coriolanus I thought I knew.

He raised his hand, and the nearest maid stepped forward instantly, her movements stiff but quick. “Take her plate,” he commanded, his voice calm but carrying a finality that sent a chill through the room. The maid didn’t hesitate, her hands trembling slightly as she lifted the untouched plate from the table. The absence of it felt like a blow, a visceral reminder of just how easily everything could be stripped away.

“Coriolanus,” I tried again, panic rising in my chest, but he ignored me entirely

“Quiet,” he said sharply, his tone cutting through my words like a blade. He didn’t raise his voice, but the command in it was undeniable. 

He raised a hand, silencing me instantly, the gesture so precise, so commanding, that I found myself shrinking under the weight of his authority. “Take her plate,” he said, his voice calm, yet carrying a quiet menace that made my stomach churn.

The nearest maid stepped forward, her movements quick but visibly strained. Her hands trembled as she reached for my plate, her fingers brushing the porcelain as she lifted it away. The absence of the plate felt more significant than it should have, a hollow emptiness settling in its place. My chest ached with the realization of how effortlessly he could strip away something as mundane as a meal, a symbol of care now reduced to a calculated show of control.

“Coriolanus, please,” I whispered, desperation creeping into my voice, but he ignored me entirely. His cold, unrelenting gaze remained fixed on mine as though daring me to protest further.

“Take her chair,”

The scrape of wood against marble was deafening, and then, without the support beneath me, I fell hard to the ground. The impact was jarring, the cold marble biting into my knees and palms as pain radiated through my body. My breath hitched as I struggled to push myself up, my limbs trembling under the weight of my humiliation. The sound of the chair being carried away echoed in the now silent room, leaving me alone on the floor, exposed and vulnerable.

The clack of his shoes broke the silence, each deliberate step sending a fresh wave of dread through me. Coriolanus rose from his seat, his movements slow and controlled, his composure unbroken. The maids disappeared quietly through a side door, their departure as seamless as their service, leaving the two of us alone. Each footfall brought him closer, the sharp sound of his polished shoes against the marble floor growing louder, more oppressive.

“I didn’t mean it,” I whispered, my voice trembling as tears spilled down my cheeks. “I swear, I didn’t mean it.”

“Stand,” he said, the command sharp and unyielding.

I tried to push myself upright, my arms shaking as I braced them against the cold floor. My legs felt weak, useless, and I collapsed back onto my knees, my breath coming in shallow gasps. “I—I can’t,” I stammered, shame and fear choking the words as they left my lips.

His eyes narrowed, and without warning, he reached down, his hand gripping my arm with an iron strength that left no room for resistance. The suddenness of his touch made me gasp, and he hauled me to my feet effortlessly, his movements precise and controlled. My knees wobbled beneath me, my body leaning against his for balance before I quickly pulled back, trying to steady myself. His grip didn’t falter, his hand unyielding as he turned toward the door.

“This,” he said, throwing the door open with a swift motion, “is what waits for you out there.”

The storm roared beyond the threshold, the wind howling and rain slashing against the marble steps with relentless ferocity. The cold air rushed in, chilling me to the bone, and I recoiled instinctively, my arms wrapping around myself as though I could shield against the biting cold. The darkness outside stretched endlessly, a yawning void that promised nothing but chaos.

“Do you understand now?” Coriolanus asked, rising from his chair with a deliberate grace that made my knees feel weak. He circled the table slowly, his footsteps measured and purposeful, like the ticking of a clock counting down to something inevitable. “Do you see how easily everything you have can be taken away? How fragile it all is? Is that what you want?”

“No,” I sobbed, my voice breaking as I shook my head. Tears streamed down my face, mixing with the rain that clung to my skin. “I don’t want to go. Please, Coriolanus. Don’t make me go.”

“Then prove it,” he said, his voice deceptively soft, each word delivered with a measured precision that made the air around me grow colder. It wasn’t a shout or even a reprimand; it was a challenge, calculated and cutting. His tone demanded submission, his icy blue eyes pinning me in place as though daring me to contradict him. His hand on my arm tightened slightly, enough to remind me of his physical presence, his control. “Convince me,” he continued, leaning in closer, his voice dropping to an almost intimate murmur. “Because right now, all I see is someone who doesn’t understand the gravity of their position. Someone so blind, so ungrateful, that they’d rather throw away everything they’ve been given.”

My breath hitched, a shiver rippling down my spine. His words struck a chord deep inside me, each one carefully chosen to cut through my defenses and twist the knife. I tried to look away, to retreat from the intensity of his gaze, but his fingers moved to my chin, tilting my face upward with deliberate force. The gesture was controlled, not violent, but it carried a weight that made my heart pound painfully against my ribs.

“Do you think anyone else,” he continued, his tone softening but losing none of its edge, “would have done what I’ve done for you? Do you think anyone else would have kept you alive, sheltered, cared for, when the world outside would swallow you whole without hesitation?” His thumb brushed against my cheek, a movement so slight and calculated it made my stomach twist. “No,” he answered himself, his voice like steel wrapped in velvet. “No one else would. No one else could.”

I wanted to argue, to tell him that wasn’t true, but my throat felt like it was closing. Words died before they could form, and I was left trembling under his relentless gaze. “I didn’t mean it,” I finally managed to whisper, the words cracking as they left my lips. “Coriolanus, I swear, I didn’t mean it.”

“Didn’t mean it?” he echoed, his lips curving into the faintest semblance of a smile, though it carried no warmth. “Words, darling, are meaningless without action. An apology without understanding is hollow. A lie.”

“I’m not lying,” I protested weakly, my voice trembling as tears spilled over my cheeks. “I’m sorry. I swear, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry isn’t enough,” he said, his voice cool and measured, like a judge handing down a sentence. “Gratitude isn’t a word you utter when it suits you. It’s knowing your place. Knowing that without me, you wouldn’t just be lost—you wouldn’t exist.”

His words landed like a physical blow, and I felt my legs weaken beneath me. The rain outside seemed to roar louder, a violent symphony that mirrored the storm brewing in my chest. I tried to hold his gaze, but the weight of it was unbearable, and my vision blurred with tears. “I—I understand,” I stammered, the words trembling on my lips. “I do. Please, Coriolanus, I understand.”

He studied me for a long moment, his piercing gaze never wavering. His hand remained on my chin, keeping me locked in place, and I could feel the warmth of his breath against my skin as he leaned in closer. “Do you?” he murmured, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Because right now, all I see is a child throwing a tantrum, blind to the reality of their situation. Blind to the lengths I’ve gone to ensure their survival.”

“I’m grateful,” I sobbed, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I am. I swear, Coriolanus, I’m grateful.”

His thumb pressed slightly against my jaw, a subtle reminder of his control, before he released me abruptly. The absence of his touch left me unmoored, trembling as I tried to steady myself. He stepped back, his icy gaze flicking over me as though assessing whether I was worth the trouble. Then, with a deliberate slowness, he adjusted the lapels of his suit, smoothing the fabric with practiced ease.

“Good,” he said finally, his voice returning to its usual controlled cadence. But then he leaned in once more, his hand catching my chin again with a sharpness that made me flinch. His eyes burned into mine, and when he spoke, his words carried a menace that froze me in place. “If you ever forget again, I’ll remind you. And you won’t like how I do it.”

I bit back a sob, nodding frantically, the tears on my face mingling with the rain still dripping from my hair. My knees threatened to give out, but I forced myself to stand, every muscle in my body trembling. His grip on my chin tightened for a moment longer, his eyes narrowing as though to drive his point home, before he finally released me. I staggered back slightly, my hands trembling at my sides.

“Clean yourself up,” he said, his voice calm now, almost indifferent. “And get back to the table. Dinner isn’t over.”

With that, he turned and walked back toward the dining room, his footsteps echoing against the marble with an unhurried grace that made the contrast between his composed exterior and my internal chaos all the more jarring. He reached the table, smoothing his suit as he lowered himself back into his seat. When he glanced up at me, his lips curled into a faint smile, as though the scene that had just unfolded was nothing more than a momentary hiccup in an otherwise pleasant evening.

I remained frozen in the doorway, trembling, my hands clenched into fists as I tried to stop the shaking. The storm outside raged on, its fury a stark contrast to the eerie calm that had settled over the dining room. The maids began to move again, their steps quiet and practiced as they brought fresh dishes to the table, their faces carefully blank. Coriolanus picked up his fork, his movements slow and deliberate, as though savoring the meal in front of him.

But his smile—it lingered, soft and satisfied, a chilling reminder that this was his world, his control. And as his words echoed in my mind—Without me, you are nothing—I realized with bone-deep certainty: He owns me. Entirely. And there’s no escape.

[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.

[percabething]

when the fandom is so small that everybody knows everybody

[snowsinterlude]

need someone older.

(teacher!coriolanus × student!reader.)

summary: a teacher can do a lot in private lessons.

c.w: reader is 19 for repeating a year, age gap (coryo's 29), fingering, tummy bulge, heavy smut, edging (f. recieving), overstimulation, stuffed panties, mild public sex, petnames (coryo calls reader bunny, pet, good girl.), reader thinks coryo is married so . cheating implications, marriage proposal

being a dumb girl was something you tried your best to do ever since you repeated the first year of high school, watching all your friends graduating before you was something you weren't proud about- not for them, but for you. you were supposed to be by their side.

thankfully, you had your professor, coriolanus snow. god. he was the only reason for you to pay attention to class (or at least try to), you were hungry for his approval. for you to be called a "good girl", and be said that you've done well in your tests? yeah, you were willing to do anything for that.

when he offered you private classes, you said yeah without even thinking much. you needed to learn, and spending more time with him was something you craved for. the ring on his finger? fuck it. you wanted it. you deserved it. more than his wife – if he had one.

you've been day dreaming about it constantly, eyes always searching for his on every class you had with him, and he would keep that smile painted on his face, not wanting anyone to think you were the reason for him to be smiling, even if you were, the didn't need to know about it.

"bunny," he voiced, leaning on your desk and taking advantage of the fact that you both were on the library, every student on the school had gone home and the teachers had gathered to go to a nearby bar. "stop looking at my dick now, will we?" he said, chuckling at you.

"huh?" you asked, finally waking to your reality.

"you need to learn that if you don't want to repeat a grade again." he said, sitting by your side, his hand holding your thigh. "you don't want to repeat now, do you?" you shaked your head negatively, and he loved seeing you like that, shy as a kitten even if you usually had his dick on your mouth when that used to happen. "c'mon, don't look at me like that. we have to put these things on your brain if you want to graduate already." he said.

his fingers slowly travelled all the way up on your panties, finding a small damp on the fabric, he looked at you with his usual smirk, his pupils blown already from everything he was about to do to you.

and now you looked like a mess. hands gripping on the library desk as your legs trembled with the aftermath of every time you almost came. you counted six till now, crying from how good it felt having him behind you, his fingers thrusting lewdly into your cunt.

"c-coryo- t-teacher, please. please stop it, i have to cum- i can't hold it in anymore!" you begged, clenching as his fingers rubbed deliciously on your clit after thrusting so many times inside you.

"well, it's not my fault, pet. you're the one getting your questions wrong." he said, pulling his dick to tease the core of your pussy, your cries only making him feel and making his ego bigger. "tell me, baby, how do you want it?"

"q-quick, pleease! if it get slower i-i think i'll die!" you said, legs spread as your skirt revealed a small part of your ass.

"oh, c'mon, i'm sure you can take it, baby" he purred in your ear, the tip of his cock teasing your pussy and slapping your clit slightly, making your body jolt slightly. you bend over, your elbows being now your main support at that table.

"please, teacher..!" you begged. but he didn’t even bat an eye to your cries, slowly sliding his dick inside you, and fuck, you both fucked on wednesday, how come he always seems to stretch you up so good? the pace he choose to torture you with was so slow, making sure you felt every inch of his dick inside you, stretching you, making you his. "please, don't do that to me. j-just ask something easier!" you cried.

"easier? okay... let's see" his hips bucked slowly into yours, your pussy gushing around him as if your own body needed that- as if he was the hair you breathed for. "what's your age, babe?" he asked, a playful tone being cast as his free hand massaged your boob, pinching on your nipple and freeing both your boobs from it's cage.

"n-nineteen." you said, and he laughed again as he said: "good girl, you're right.", his hips giving you a powerful thrust that made you cum with only that, making you cry from your own humiliation.

"ah, bunny, don't tell me you came already only with that." he said, joking with your face as you cried.

"i'm sorry- too good. i-it was too deep." he laughed, pulling back and thrusting deeper again, this time, you made sure not to cum again, edging yourself as he changed your position to put your leg over his broad shoulder, his dick making a bulge appear at your tummy. he loved that view- much more than he loved you.

"look at you, taking me so well. how does it feel, baby? use one of the words we learned at the literature class," he grunted your tightness coating his dick with your own juices, "use them, even if it's just two, and i'll let you cum."

"tortuous," you begin, crying from how good it felt, from how dumb you were getting. "spiralling, it's twirling my insides!" you cried. and he smilled, kissing and licking your tears before placing the most gentle kiss on your lips, pouding faster into you as you closed your eyes shut, moaning and grunting from all the pleasure- and yet you tried your best to avoid moaning only to hear his moans and the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh.

"good girl." he said, his hands holding your hips as he fucked you. it felt truly out of your world experience. his phone ringed just at the right moment he hit your cervix. "t-teacher, your phone- it can be your wife." you said, earning a frown from him as he turned the phone off.

"wife? baby, i'm single." he said, chuckling at you. "you've been walking around school with my cum stuffed in your panties even thought you thought i was married?" he pounded into you with a more quicken pace. "god, what a dirty girl you are. fucking around with married teachers." he teased you.

you felt a heat on your cheeks that you never felt before. god, how much would you end up humiliating yourself? "b-but, fuck! y-your ring-"

he showed you the ring. taking it off his finger with his mouth and sticking his tongue to you, an invitation for you to take the ring.

"keep it." he said once you took the ring

"but- s-sir, i-"

"mm, bunny, i'm a faithful man." he said. "and right now, i'm faithful to you." he said. you squirmed deliciously at the feeling of his cock filling you up again, his tip on your cervix as you came again, and soon enough, he came too.

he helped you get dressed into your panties again and straightned your clothes, a cast kiss on your lips before he smiled sweetly at you, putting the ring on your middle finger.

"i hope you know what that means."

"i-i do." you said, for both questions heavily implied in that context.

"great. then make sure to graduate, bunny." he smiled. "i'm sure the honeymoon will be great."

[cosmicschmidt]

I need this man biblically.

[ghostfacd]

YOU CAN LET GO NOW ! | TOM BLYTH

PAIRING. tom blyth x fem!actress!reader

SUMMARY. in which tom blyth can’t let go of your hand after an intense argument scene in your film

installment of this au | your character and Tom’s lines in the film are written in italics

“Action!”

Tom and you have probably been on your tenth cut by now, the scene was an argument between yours and his character, Balleona and Coriolanus. It was fierce and intense, filled with lots of angry yelling and a few tears.

Needless to say, your director was on both of your asses to make sure you got everything down perfectly, from the lines and hand movements to the crocodile tears.

“You can’t just expect everything to be okay Coriolanus!” You yell exasperated. You look up at Tom, who was currently looking down at you with a cold gaze. “You decided to cheat! You decide to risk your entire career for Lucy Gray, now you go sit with the consequences!”

Tom slams his hand on the table nearby, making you flinch back. “I had to! I did it for us! All of it! The rat poison—the scarf—I did everything for us! And now you repay me by yelling at me like a child?!”

You push Tom back with an accusing finger, eyes lingering with hurt. “You’re acting like a child Coriolanus Snow! I told you that my family has enough money, enough for you to go to university. But you just had to ruin the entire system, didn’t you? Is it Lucy Gray? The disgusting filth from District 12? Is she influencing you?”

Tom places his hand on your chin, grabbing it harshly, making you let out a whine.

“You don’t speak about her like that, do you understand?” Tom tightens his grip, making your hands come up to try to get out of his grasp. “Do you understand?!” He yells, causing you to close your eyes tightly.

“Let me go, you’re hurting me.” You say, “Coryo, let go, you’re hurting me.”

Tom’s eyes suddenly switched from anger to softness, and he lets go of his hold on your face. “I’m sorry sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

He brings you into a hug, letting you bury your head into his chest. “You know I didn’t mean it right? You know you’re more important to me than Lucy Gray—that’s why I did all of this. It was for you.”

You nod, letting out a few tears. Tom breaks the hug to hold your hand, his other one coming up to wipe them away.

“And.. cut!”

Tom stops wiping the tears that have fallen down to your cheeks, sighing in relief when the director says that they don’t have to redo the scene again.

However, he’s still holding tightly on your hand, nodding slowly at each of the words that come out from the director’s mouth.

“You okay?” You whisper to him.

“Hm? Yeah, no, I’m fine.” He reassures you, smiling down at your figure. “I’m a bit thirsty. Water?”

You smile and nod, letting him walk you two over to the water dispenser. He’s still holding firmly onto your hand, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by your co stars, Rachel and Josh.

“Geez Blyth, do you always have such a possessive hold on our dear Y/N here?” Rachel jokes, smiling teasingly at you two.

You roll your eyes, looking up at your boyfriend. He doesn’t seem to hear Rachel’s words, instead, focusing on getting the two of you water.

“Do you want some Rachel? Josh?”

“I’m good,” Rachel replies, “and Josh is too. We were gonna head out to this smoothie place for our lunch break.”

“Ah.” With his free hand, Tom pulls you closer to him until you’re practically leaning against him. “Well have fun you two.”

Rachel and Josh say their thanks, but before they leave, Rachel slips by you, whispering “he’s stuck to you like glue, isn’t he?” in your ear.

You try to hold in your smile, butterflies filling your stomach. Despite shooting the scene 15 minutes ago, Tom was still holding onto your hand as if you were his lifeline.

“Hey babe,” you say, which automatically makes all the gears in Tom’s hand focus their attention on you.

“Hm?”

“How come you’re still holding onto my hand?”

He seems to be surprised at your words, glancing down briefly at your intertwined fingers.

“Oh, I didn’t realize.” He says, shrugging.

“Yeah,” you tease him. “Obsessed with me aren’t you?”

He rolls his eyes, but nods in agreement. “Just a habit I guess. I felt really bad for yelling at you so much in the scene and grabbing your face. I’d never do that in real life.”

You let out a laugh, making Tom furrow his eyebrows in confusion.

“Aww Tom,” you say, leaning into his chest with your head. “I know you would never do that in real life baby. It’s just acting.”

“I know,” he sighs. “I just hate arguing with you, whether it’s acting or not. Coriolanus is a loser for not realizing what he has, you know.”

Now that made you laugh even louder, “yeah, but Tom Blyth is a sweetheart.” You tippy toe to reach his nose, placing a small kiss on the bridge of it. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[darknight3904]

It Burns For You

𝕊𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: ɪɴ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏʀʏᴏ ɢʀᴏᴡ ᴜᴘ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀᴘɪᴛᴏʟ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏɴᴇ ᴅᴀʏ ᴄʀᴏꜱꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪɴᴇꜱ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅꜱ

𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: ɴᴏɴᴇ, ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ. ᴏᴏᴄ ᴄᴏʀʏᴏ, ʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴛᴏᴛᴀʟʟʏ ʜᴇᴀᴅ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ʜᴇᴇʟꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ. ᴄʜᴇᴄᴋ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴍʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ!

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ

Coriolanus is 12 when he sees you for the first time. Your red uniform is pressed perfectly and your school bag looks brand new. Your lunch consisted of a hearty-looking sandwich with roast beef and lettuce and a container of fresh fruit that had his mouth-watering.

"Do you want a piece? Our maid always packs too much and I can never finish it. You can have some if you want." Your voice fills his ears

A delicate-looking hand is holding a juicy-looking strawberry in front of him. He reaches for it and it takes every ounce of self-control he has not to shove it in his mouth. Instead, he takes a small bite and thanks you for sharing.

"Don't you have a lunch today?" You ask

He doesn't. The school had said they would start supplying the students with lunches soon but how soon? Coriolanus had already been attending for a number of years and still nothing.

"I already ate it." He lied

"You're still hungry though. You can have the rest." You say with a smile as you push your fruit bowl to him.

"Is it your first day?" He asks

"Yes, my mother thought that my governess wasn't doing a good job so she had my father enroll me here. I miss being at home with my new kitten though. She has long white hair and she is the cutest thing in the whole world." You said

Coriolanus can't believe that you had your own governess, let alone a pet to call your own. He later learns from Arachne that your father became incredibly rich by manufacturing weaponry for the Capitol. Despite your inherent wealth, you've never flashed it around him.

You and Coriolanus are 15 when you discover all the lies he tells at school about his family. He had left his uniform jacket behind on his chair and you got his home address from Sejanus, meaning to give it back so he'd have it for tomorrow. Instead, you had discovered the Snow's decrepit-looking building and barely functioning penthouse. Coriolanus' heart nearly stops when he emerges from his room to see you and his Grandma'am sitting together as she compliments your shoes.

"What are you doing here?" He asks, ready for your judgment and teasing words

"I wanted to return your jacket, Coryo. You'll need it for tomorrow."

The red of the jacket in your arms matches his face as he ushers you to the door, trying to hide the fact that Tigris was preparing cabbage in the kitchen that would undoubtedly stink the entire place up with the scent of the Snow's poverty.

"Stop rushing me, your cousin invited me to stay for dinner." You say trying to stop the way he is leading you to the door.

"You don't want what she is making. Tigris is a terrible cook." He said

Tigris lets out a shout of disagreement from the stove and Coriolanus ignores it.

"How about, I go out and get something to add to the meal Tigris is cooking, and by the time I get back you change your attitude about me staying for dinner Coryo. "

And with that, you walk out the door and slam it in his face. He's rather stunned at your declaration but knows you're serious. He rushes around their home, trying to clean up what he can while Tigris laughs at his frantic motions. Then, just as he was debating whether or not he wanted to change out of his uniform, you return from your short trip to the closest market.

"I wasn't sure what Tigris is cooking so I got a couple of things." You say placing the bags on the table.

Coriolanus is sure you spent a fortune on what is in these bags. Fresh bread accompanied by a sickly sweet fruit spread and a block of butter sits in one while the other holds something else in a brown box. You take your seat next to him at the ugly little table he has eaten too many meals at and cut a piece of the bread for Grandma'am. He is worried when Tigris starts portioning out the cabbage she cooked on the stove. Coriolanus watches your expression as you take a bite but nothing that he expected happens. You don't knit your brows in disgust or get up to leave and take your fresh bread and mysterious box with you. Instead, you go back for a second bite and compliment what Tigris has done with the food.

He sits stiffly next to you and can barely accept the slice of bread you offer him. You excuse yourself to use the bathroom and Tigris reaches across the table and pinches his shoulder.

"Stop sitting like that, Coryo!" She scolds

"Like what?" He asks,aware that Tigris meant how oddly straight his back was.

"You're making her uncomfortable. You've been friends with her for years she isn't worried about what our home looks like." Tigris says

"She might not be but what happens when she goes to school tomorrow and talks?" He asks

He shuts up when he hears the sound of the bathroom door opening again.

"That was lovely Tigris. I've never had anything like it, I'll have to invite you all to my own home for dinner sometime. Our cook makes these pastries that are simply wonderful. They even get sold at local markets, which leads to this..."

His eyes widen when you finally unveil what was hiding in that second bag. A dozen expensive looking deserts sit in the brown box you brought, each one decorated differently.

"I hope I picked something everyone would like. I know Coryo mentioned that Grandma'am liked chocolate so I picked this one just for her."

Coriolanus feels a wide smile stretch across his face as you pass out your little desserts. His worries about you gossiping to their peers fade from view as he bites into what he thinks is a croissant. You laugh at his reaction and toss a napkin at his face which is most likely covered in the gooey fruit filling that was in his pastry.

He walks you back to your home that night and thanks you for making his night. He can't remember the last time Grandma'am had smiled from eating chocolate. You accept his thanks and gently tell him that he shouldn't be ashamed about his financial situation. He never gets to disagree with you though because a soft kiss is pressed to his lips followed by a rushed,

"Goodnight, Coryo! Thanks for the cabbage!"

He walks back to his own home with a jump in his step. Thoughts of you consume him as he smiles to himself, proud his first kiss was shared with you. He feels his heart burn with something that felt like it was going to come up and out his mouth as he finally made it back to his room, you officially had him wrapped around your finger.

Your room is flooded with sunlight the first time Coriolanus sees it. A soft, silky-looking bed spread sits atop one of the biggest beds he has seen as you beckon to your cat, Maisy to come and say hello to him. He looks at the oversized wooden dresser that sits against one wall. He sees the photograph of him and you that was taken a few weeks ago at your 17th birthday party nestled among little knickknacks. Books Coriolanus has never even heard of line your shelves as he you place a record on the player that sits on your desk. Soft sounds of a piano and the words from an unnamed singer fill your gorgeous room as he turns to you.

"Do you want to dance?" He finds himself asking

You accept and he leads you or well tries to. You're rather stiff and it turns out dancing is harder than it looks because he isn't any good at it either. You laugh as he trips over his feet and end up falling with him, landing on the ground entangled in each other. Your fingers brush his curls from his eyes as his nose brushes yours.

"What're you doing?" You ask quietly

"Nothing." He responds, his eyes flicking to your lips.

The moment his lips touch yours, a tingle shoots down his spine. This is a real kiss, not what you gave him when you were both 15. He cups your face and your hands are tangled in his hair as he deepens it. He felt his head spin as you moved against him, almost as if you wanted him to swallow you whole right here on your bedroom floor. A giddy feeling swelled in his chest when he pulled away for air.

"Coryo...what was that?" You ask

"I thought you'd know by now. That was a kiss, darling." He laughed brushing his thumb across your lip

"I know that...but why'd you give me one?" You ask

"Don't you know?" He smiles and places a chaste kiss on your lips "My heart, it burns for you, it always has."

Part 2 is out now!

Series Masterlist

[ervotica]

please don’t go, i love you so

pairing: young!coriolanus snow x reader

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

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

hunger games masterlist

Coriolanus is possessive.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing. I have you.”

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

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

“Coryo,” you pant.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wanna show me just where you belong?”

[coryosmin]

► THG P Links

NSFW | Minors Do Not Interact

All links are from twitter! i have compiled a list of links that anons have sent me + some that i have found for you guys to enjoy! this list will be updated frequently.

► Coriolanus Snow

• politician coryo relieving his stress

• riding drug dealer coryo in his car

• academy coryo and innocent reader

• breeding & overstimulation with university coryo

• post peacekeeper coryo x you

• politician coryo punishing you

• riding coryo’s cock while sej games

• riding best friend coryo

• riding coryo

► Sejanus Plinth

• sej desperately fucking reader

• breeding kink w sej

• soft dom sej teasing you

• district men do it better

• soft & sensual sex with sej

• sej fucking you hard and fast

• taking control

• sej eating you out

► Finnick Odair

• mutual masturbation with finnick

• riding finnick

• finnick fingering you

• finnick worshipping you

[hellisagemini]

He's so tall and handsome as hell

He's so bad, but he does it so well (...)

[m0chaminx]

Coriolanus Snow | “What about you?” “She's the star.” “Luckily I Like Roses.”

*•.¸♡Request: omg can you write a coryo x reader, i don’t mind what, just pls don’t make him go batshit crazy at the end😩😩

*•.¸♡Prompts: none

*•.¸♡Warnings: Coriolanus, I completely forgot the other Covey peoples names :I, reader is shorter than Snow, Cori isn't insane (ish), Snow is slight ooc, and yes he's a terrible person but you’re here too

*•.¸♡Paring: Coriolauns Snow x F!reader

*•.¸♡Summary: On Coriolanus’s trip down to the lake with the star Lucy Gray, he found the most beautiful rose ever seen

Or

Coriolanus pervs on you while swimming (romantic)

*•.¸♡Words: 1.1k

Part 2

Growing up in the Covey had been a stroke of luck, simple as it gets, when Lucy Gray Baird and her family had been forced into District 12 Seeing the talent you had with a guitar one night as you played to the darkness, they took you to their next show where you played alongside Lucy Gray. She was still the star, she had the smile, the voice, the charisma. You could sing when you needed to, and you played the guitar just as well, but she always took the spotlight. And when she strolled into town after winning the Hunger Games, that star power only grew. She was the star, until one sunny morning.

Mockingjay's sang into the wind, the warm sun beating against your skin and the gentle breeze made your sundress flow in the wind. Meeting Lucy and the others on the walk to the lake you came face to face with Coriolanus Snow. Buzzed blonde hair, sharp jawline and the bluest eyes you had ever seen. His smile was bright, and his laugh was as sweet as Lucy’s singing. And it should be, he was laughing at her jokes. Smiling at her. Before he could catch you staring your eyes had shifted quickly, focussing on Lucy as you walked to her side.

She beamed as she saw you, wrapping her arms tightly around you.

“Coriolanus, I want you to meet only the bestest person in the world,” Lucy went on, kissing you quickly on the cheek.

The same smile returned as he turned to shake your hand, his skin soft on your calloused palms. “It’s nice to finally meet you.” He spoke your name softly, the syllables dripping from his tongue like honey. Your hand slipped from his, the tips of his fingers running along your palm.

Lucy quickly ushered you and the rest of the group on, starting the long hike down the green hills. Lucy walked ahead with Aurora, talking wistfully into the wind. You walked in silence, one hand gripping the strap of your satchel as you watched the critters race up the branches of the trees.

“Lucy said you played the guitar,” Coriolanus spoke up, swatting away another mosquito. He walked beside you, his tall figure blocking the sun from your face. He looked down at you, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. “Why didn’t I see you performing last night?”

You simply shrugged. The answer was the crowds didn��t cheer for you, Lucy was the star, and she could play for hours without backup. But it sounded sad. You looked over the trees, the Mockingjay's flying higher into the trees. “Nothing special, you probably just missed me when I left.”

Coriolanus shook his head softly, “I feel like I’d remember you.” You couldn’t place what Coriolanus meant, your eyebrows furrowing as you thought over his words. You didn't say anything more after that, keeping your eyes ahead on the track leading to the lake.

As soon as the dock was close enough Aurora and Tip had stripped their clothes off and thrown themselves in the water. You tossed your bag down, the hot sun that had beat against your skin had made you more than happy to rush into the water. Tossing your sundress aside with your satchel you ran down the dock and dove under the crystal blue water. The cool lake chilled your skin enough to relieve the sun but not enough to raise goosebumps.

You swam up to the surface, pushed the hair back for your face and fixed the straps of your handmade bra that slid down your shoulder. Lucy jumped in after you, and with a yell, Coriolanus jumped in, the splash of water hitting your face. You laughed, using your arms to keep you afloat. Coriolanus muttered an apology through a smile, but you barely noticed as your eyes fell over his light skin, his collar bones and muscular shoulders.

The lake was sweet, a nice relief from the constant smell of coal and sweat, the rowdy crowds and the smell of liquor on everyone's breath. Some time later Lucy had swam to shore, helping Aaroa and Tip fish and dig up Katniss' roots.

You floated on your back, the gentle waves lapping at your skin as the sun warmed your face. Coriolanus sat on the edge of the dock, toying with his fingers as he watched you. The wind blew the waves softly, the sun reflecting on your skin like liquid gold. He pushed himself off the dock, slipping below the cold water once again. “Can I hear you sing?” His voice made you turn your head to look at him.

“I don’t sing,” You muttered, turning your head to face the sun again.

“Lucy said you sing.”

You turned to swim properly, treading water. “If you wanna hear someone sing you should ask Lucy,” You insisted. You pushed yourself closer, slipping your fingers under the slim metal chain of his dog tags, untangling the knot. You moved it to hang properly from his neck, your nails dragging ever so slightly across his soft skin.

His icy blue eye moved from your hand on his skin and looked up at your face, droplets of water falling from your hair, and slipping down your skin and when they hit your lips, you swiped them away with your tongue. “I wanna hear you sing.” His eyes snapped up to meet yours as you lifted her gaze from the metal chain.

You chuckled softly and he swore it sounded like the sweetest melody, a honeydew sound that he couldn't help but smile at. “You’re funny Coriolanus Snow,” you said softly. “Turning down the winner of the Hunger Games. A true victor.”

Coriolanus wiped a hand down his face, wiping away the water running over his eyes. “What about you?” He asked.

You shook your head softly. “She’s the star, the songbird,” You insisted, unsure you were convincing him or yourself. His smile made your stomach flip, his gaze made your cheeks burn, but his words… his honey words.

His hand slowly reached out, his fingers slipping beneath the strap of your bra and sliding it back up your shoulder. His hand lingered there for a moment before falling back into the water. “Luckily I like roses.”

ﾟ°☆Page navigation

[billysgun]

smitten

billy the kid x fem!reader |requested!|billy is still love-sick for you with your new domestic life and baby boy|

the baby stirs in your grip softly, a grin spreads on your face as your infant sleeps soundly in your arms

you turn as the door opens, billy takes his hat off and a wide smile finds his lips at the sight of you two

"how was your ride?" you whispered. billy often rides into the meadows -sometimes turning for the town if you need anything- after he left his outlaw life behind and married you. he's a cowboy at heart, though, so he rides almost every morning

"it was great," he said, voice low, he moved toward you pushing a loose strand of your hair to the side to get a good look at your face

"you look gorgeous" he whispered, a smitten look deep in his eyes as he moved down to kiss you

still as lovesick as ever, you melt into the kiss, and the baby in your arms whines at your attention moving and billy makes sure to greet him too

"hey little cowboy" he whispers and kisses the top of your baby's head, the infant's eyes barely open to see his dad

billy impossibly grins wider once your baby boy smiles at him, their matching eyes filled with love as billy scoops him up

"did you sleep good last night?" billy babbles to the baby,

"I'll make breakfast while you too talk" you giggle as you make your way to the kitchen, billy follows as the mumbles to the child

"mama's gonna make us some food. you'll help her one day so pay attention"

he narrates your movements to your baby, as you fry a few eggs your eyes drift to your husband and you couldn't help your heart as it swelled at the sight

this tall, threatening-looking man with a gun on his hip rocked your baby ever so softly with a love-filled grin plastered on his face

"I love you" you told him, he looked up at you before stepping closer to kiss you slowly

"I love you more than you could ever know"

an: thank you for the request! <3 I love love love the simple life with billy 🥺🫶

[bonesandchalamet]

the hunger games masterlist

back to navigation | main masterlist

you can’t catch me now - c.snow

snow melts - c.snow

in this world, it’s just us - f.odair

from the shining lights, to the sandy beaches, I’ll only love you - p.mellark

[percabething]

“you better not be drinking and getting pregnant behind my back”

ma’am, I read fanfics on tumblr to fall asleep

[snowsinterlude]

fucking sit on it.

c.w: face sitting, pussy eating, friends with benefits, modern c. snow, petnames (snow calls reader 'darling', 'good girl' and 'doll'), slight mention to a blowjob

your best friend, coriolanus snow and you, have been keeping secrets from everyone about your relationship.

fine, it started as a joke, but who would know he fucks you so good that you can't help but ignore every boy that flirts with you?

and god, coryo is such a mess when he gets to eat you out, is like he can't help it. he can't stand the sight of your bare pussy without burying his face in it. and is so good, he does it like he is a starved man and god knows how much you came on his mouth and fingers. he's addicted to the feeling of your warm pussy on his tongue, he loves the way you wet his face entirely, your scent on his nose making him crazy and fuck, that nose would be the death of you.

you, with your sensitive clit against his nose as he eats you out. you, who can't help but roll your eyes to the back of your skull from the plasure you feel on his skilled tongue.

and, to your surprise (that's irony), he wanted you to sit on his face. more than anything.

"just sit on it. it's not like you don't want it too." he purred, his lips on your neck and his hands on your waist as he placed the sweetest kisses on your skin

and he convinced you. the next time you both were on bed, you were hovering on his face, never letting your full weight down. and boy, he couldn't have it. "darling," he called, his hands on your thighs as you prevented yourself from fully sitting on his face, his nose only mere inches of your clit.

"yes?" you asked, voice filled with the fear of ending up hurting him with your weight.

"why aren't you sitting?"

"i don't wanna hurt you, coryo." you said, still hovering.

"oh, how sweet" he said, chuckling. "but when i tell you to sit on my face, i need you to fully sit on it. don't put just 10% of your body weight down." his eyes bored into yours, kissing your inner thigh. "fucking sit on it."

"but-" you were interrupted.

"no but's. i need you to sit on my face, doll. be a good girl and just do it, okay? the rest is up to me." he said. and god, it felt so good. the way he knew just how to do it as you sat on his face, your hips rolling back and forth in his face as he devoted his entire being to suck you, to pleasure you. it felt incredible. especially when his nose was grinding deliciously against your clit, and he knew just how to do it.

it felt like he was starving, like he needed you to suffocate him for him to cum. and you did cum two times on his face, legs still trembling as he placed kisses on your inner thighs.

"see? it wasn't that hard." he said, kissing your lips as you tasted yourself on them.

"now, be a doll and suck your best friend's dick as a payment, okay?" and you did, happily fitting his eight inches into your mouth.

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

hii!! could i request a snow fic where she finds out she cheats on him and voluntarily tributes and hes trying to get her back? i loved the other fics!! I NEED MORE CHEATING SNOW FICS OMGG

Don’t blame me, love made me crazy. || Young President!Coriolanus snow x district!reader

A/n: Sorry anon I hope you’re not disappointed that I didn't fully write your request. I wanted Coryo to lowk suffer in this which is why I didn't dive into details of him getting her back. There is also one scene that is heavily inspired by a scene in the movie Priscilla! I also spent so many hours perfecting this and it was super fun!!!

Warnings: fem!reader, implied infidelity, toxic!coriolanus, manipulation, not proofread, if there's anything else pls lmk!

Wc: 1609

Divider by @firefly-graphics

The rapid clicks echoed throughout the hallway, the sound reverberating off the 12-foot-high ceiling walls. You walk with an eager stride, each step filled with anticipation as you take the familiar route to Coriolanus' office where he spent most, if not, all of his time cooped up in due to the upcoming hunger games.

There was a heaviness in your heart. You have always been the epitome of grace and composure, a woman who played her role in the political theater with finesse, albeit your brief upbringing in district 2. However, behind closed doors, the truth unfolded, resulting in you heartbroken and most of all betrayed. You couldn't ignore the letters that would pile up weekly, the gifts, all for him, from someone by the name Lysandra.

Not bothering to knock, knowing it would provoke a reaction from him, you forcefully swung the double doors open. There sat Coriolanus Snow, seemingly unbothered at your entrance. "Is there a problem?" An icy, impersonal tone carried his words, sharp and emotionless.

Your nose flared as you felt a surge of frustration, his lack of concern and emotion fuelling your anger. Besides, you had never stormed into his office unannounced before. Surely, he would question your sudden abruptness and, visibly, your anger.

Your voice, though filled with a trembling resolve, posed the question, "Who is she?" You hold a letter between your fingers, lifting it up to show him. He lifts his head up from his papers. "And why on earth is she sending my husband gifts and-and love letters?" You stammer, throwing the piece of paper with writing and a kiss—in the form of a lipstick mark in a shade of deep red—on his desk; your façade crumbling at your feet.

Snow stares at you before a scoff leaves his lips, leaning back on his chair. "You know how the people admire me, it's likely that whoever it is, she's simply passionate about expressing her feelings to me," Coriolanus shrugs. Your eye twitches at his response. Lies.

"Really? Well, Lysandra is ever so passionate about expressing her undying love for you," You recite the words from her letter as you watch a subtle glint of knowing in his eyes, "She's the only one who has described her so-called affection for you so intimately!"

As you question your husband's loyalty, an unsettling quiet settles around him. His eyes, cold and calculating, hold yours without a trace of vulnerability. The absence of words from his lips becomes a formidable response, leaving an ominous uncertainty lingering in the air.

His office echoed with a tense hush, broken only by a subtle tapping of his fingers against the armrest in a rhythmic patter. "For god's sake, Coryo. Say something! Who is she?" The slip of his nickname makes you swallow.

"I won't entertain your accusation. She's merely an admirer, nothing more! Have you finished exhausting yourself with this matter, wife?" Coriolanus seethes, abruptly standing up as he gathers his papers, opens his drawer, shoves them in, and slams it shut with such force that you swore you felt it in your bones.

"Is there something your hiding from me?" There was a tense silence that followed your question, Snow's features contorted with a mix of frustration and defiance. Avoiding eye contact, he clenched his jaw and emitted a sharp exhale. The air was thick with unspoke tension, revealing an anger that simmered beneath the surface.

"I have nothing to hide from you," He says calmly but you knew damn well there was anything but calmness within him. Annoyed and frustrated at the lack of information, you open your mouth again.

'"Throughout our entire marriage, I have done nothing but showed you how grateful I am that you chose me to marry, a district girl. You helped me build a reputation here in the capitol so that I would finally be respected, and now, I ask just one simple thing of you," As you speak your voice wavers slightly, revealing the depth of emotion behind your words. "Who is she to you?"

In mere seconds, Coriolanus storms past you, a blur of motion, leaving you momentarily bewildered as you blink, only to find yourself in the same spot. "Coriolanus!" You yell, spinning around as you follow him. "I've just had about enough of you for today y/n," He spat as he briskly walked up stairs, you following him. Servants who were around hurriedly walk pass, heads down.

He steps into your shared private chamber, adorned with decadent furnishings and overlooking the Capitol. He walks a couple steps before he just stops. His breath came in heavy, rhythmic waves, his chest rising and falling with urgency, leaving you standing frozen at the entrance.

"You know, I think you should go see your family for a little while," He turns around as you felt your heart drop. "What?" Your voice echoed with a helpless tone. "You heard me, I think your family has been missing you in the districts, go pay them a visit. Tell them how grateful you have been that I chose you as the First Lady of Panem, hm?"

He takes purposeful strides to the next room, filled from top to bottom with expensive, lavish pieces of clothing befitting both him and you. Coriolanus then pulls out a travelling trunk. The thought of you going back to district 2 sent shivers up your spine. You knew that everyone there now thinks of you as a traitor.

"What- No- Coryo, I'm not going-" Coriolanus cuts you off with a yell, tears forming in your eyes, "I think you should! Matter of fact, I'll help you start packing." A loud noise comes from the trunk making contact with the floor making you jump, a sob leaving your lips. The trunk opening as he starts aggressively pulling your clothes from the black velvety hangers, tossing them into the trunk.

"Coryo- please. Don't make me go back there," You fall to you knees in front of the trunk as your shaky hands remove the pieces of clothing from it. "Yeah, well I think a few months in the districts, away from your lavish life here, will make you realise how easy it is that I can send you back there." He forcefully takes your chin in between his thumb and index as your glassy eyes stare back at his icy, raging, blue eyes.

"Please, please don't send me back there-" Your beg becomes interrupted as he drops his grip on you and yells out the door, "Simon! Get the train ready now for Y/n to go back home!" He calls out to his assistant who answers out a "Of course Mr. President," You let out another sob as you rest your head on the pile of clothing.

Coriolanus glances over his shoulder, his breaths lingering in the air, he could hear your quiet pleas. There's a yearning within him, a desire to approach you and envelop you in a reassuring hug, to tell your that everything is alright and that forgives you. Yet, and unyielding pride restrains him, holding him back from acknowledging that what he was doing was wrong.

With one final look, he turns around, leaving you in a crying mess. Coriolanus was going to send you back to district 2 until the hunger games finished, then, he would come get you and hope that your time there made you ponder your actions, although he knew they were quite reasonable.

Your allegiance to your husband shattered when you were forced onto the train, Coriolanus stood a couple metres away from you as you squirm in the peacekeeper's grips. As you made your way back to a place you once called home, a quiet determination settled within you as you hatched a plan that would not only expose Coriolanus' betrayal, but also allow you to reclaim a piece of your shattered identity.

~

As the Reaping day approached, you made a choice that sent shockwaves through the carefully orchestrated world of Panem. With a steady hand, you inscribed your own name on a slip of paper and placed it in the glass ball, committing yourself to the Hunger Games.

On the day of the Reaping, the Capitol Square buzzed with anticipation, the districts, not so much. Coriolanus, very much unaware of his wife's hidden actions, stood in front of the dignitaries on the stage.

The customary ceremony began, the escort pulls a slip pf paper from the glass ball, announcing the male tribute who would face the Capitol's twisted version of justice.

As the tension mounted, the escort unfolded a slip of paper and read aloud, "Y/n Snow." A gasp rippled through the crowd, and Coriolanus's face contorted with disbelief. Time seemed to free as he processed the shock of seeing his wife's name called out. Surely there was a mistake.

The realisation hit him like a sledgehammer, and anger boiled within him, mixing with the shock and confusion as the crowd erupted in whispers. A woman of Capitol elegance was now standing among the district 2 residents.

You weave through the rows of people, maintaining a stoic expression. As you step up on the stage, your eyes land on the camera a couple feet away from you where you know Snow was watching back in the Capitol.

Coriolanus stared at your face and in that moment, he saw the resolve and defiance that had replaced the hurt in your eyes. The Capitol, known for its love of spectacle, witnessed an unprecedented turn of events. Coriolanus Snow, the powerful President, was rendered speechless as his own actions came back to haunt him in the cruelest twist of fate.